Celibate marriages in late antique and Byzantine hagiography : the lives of Saints Julian and Basilissa, Andronikos and Athanasia, and Galaktion and Episteme 9781306844307, 1306844304

Table of contents :
Acknowledgements ix
Abbreviations xi
Introduction 1
Part I: Foundations and Interpretation 25
I Recreation and Invention 27
2 Representing Celibate Marriages 51
3 Implications of a Celibate Marriage 81
4 Resolution: Virgin Wives 99
5 literary Anctestors 111
Pa rt II: The Texts 155
The Vita of Julian and Basilissa. 157
The Vita of Andronikos and Athanasia 249
The Vita of Galaktion and Episteme 279
Appendix: the Afterlife of the VIB J09
Bibliography 317
Index 339

Citation preview

Celibate Marriages in Late Antique and Byzantine Hagiography

Celibate Marriages in Late Antique and Byzantine Hagiography The Lives of Saints Julian and Basilissa, Andronikos and Athanasia, and Galaktion and Episteme

Anne P. Alwis

Continuum International Publishing Group The Tower Building 80 Maiden Lane 11 York Road Suite 704 London SE1 7NX New York, NY 10038 www.continuumbooks.com © Anne P. Alwis 2011 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission from the publishers. First published 2011 British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: 978-1-4411-2739-6 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.  Typeset by Fakenham Prepress Solutions, Fakenham, Norfolk NR21 8NN

For Amma and Thathi

Contents

Acknowledgements

ix

Abbreviations

xi

Introduction

1

Part I: Foundations and Interpretation

25

1 Recreation and Invention

27

2 Representing Celibate Marriages

51

3 Implications of a Celibate Marriage

81

4 Resolution: Virgin Wives

99

5 Literary Ancestors

111

Part II: The Texts

155

The Vita of Julian and Basilissa

157

The Vita of Andronikos and Athanasia

249

The Vita of Galaktion and Episteme

279

Appendix: the Afterlife of the VJB 309 Bibliography 317 Index 339

Acknowledgements This book is a reformulation of my PhD thesis, which was undertaken at King’s College, London under the steady guidance of Judith Herrin. Her continual kindness and generosity have meant that I owe her a great deal to this day. At King’s Charalambos Dendrinos, Charlotte Roueché, Dion Smythe and the late Julian Chrysostomides instilled in me not only their love for Byzantium but also the discipline required for such a complex field. It was also Charalambos who introduced me to the text of Andronikos and Athanasia and thus, the topic of celibate marriage, and who has cast an exacting eye over all the translations. The probing queries and sound advice of my examiners, Joseph Munitiz and Averil Cameron, undoubtedly gave my fledging work its first steps towards its present form. My postdoctoral fellowship at the British School in Rome afforded quality time in the remarkable Vatican and Augustinianum libraries. Andrew and Jo WallaceHadrill were marvellous hosts whilst Jaco Booyens, Jo Crawley-Quinn, Helen Dawson, Lucy Grig, Brian Kennedy, Guto Machado, Rosamond McKitterick, Elizabeth O’Keefe, Alex Pittendrigh, Frank Sear, Robert Coates Stephens and Megan Williams helped create an unforgettable nine months. A three-month Stanley J. Seeger Visiting Research Fellowship at Princeton University provided the perfect environment to write Chapter 5. There, Dimitri Gondicas, Slobodan Ćurčić and Efthymia Rentzou offered unlimited kindness. John Haldon, Maria Mavroudi, Froma Zeitlin, Marco di Branco, Endoxios Doxiadis, Maja Kominko, Eleni Papargyriou, Katerina della Porta, Alicia Simpson and Eka Tchkoidze all spared the time to help me think through various ideas. Back in the UK, Karl Leydecker at the University of Kent created SECL’s Young Researchers’ Fund, which eased my teaching load for two separate terms. Fervent thanks are also due to the librarians of the Warburg Institute, the British Library, the Institute of Historical Research, Dr William’s Library, the Heythrop Library and King’s (Maughn) Library. It should also be noted that no obscure reference has ever defeated the matchless staff (past or present) of the Institute of Classical Studies, in particular, Colin Annis, Christopher Ashill, Sophia Fisher, Paul Jackson, Sue Willetts and Lois Woods. Richard Alston, Wesley Ariarajah, Carlotta Dionisotti, Stephanos Efthymiades, David Ganz, Charlotte Roueché and Ellen Swift read parts of the book over the years and have proffered invaluable advice. Huge thanks are also owed to Efrosyni Boutsikas who actually volunteered to type the text of the vita of Galaktion and Episteme and to David d'Avray who gave wise

x Ack n ow l e d g e m e n t s counsel when it was needed. I am particularly indebted to Peter Brown, Jane Chaplin, Janet Downie and Kristin Holder, who read the entire monograph in its earlier versions despite their busy lives. Jane and Janet’s acute comments helped clarify many arguments while Peter and Kristin’s insights turned the book around. I can never thank them enough. All errors are my own. In the final stages my editor, Michael Greenwood and all at Continuum have been the epitome of efficiency and kindness. Many friends and family have long suffered the writing process. Valentina Arena, Philippa Bull, Jane Chaplin, Antoinette Daniel, Izabella Donkow, Stefano Evangelista, Kristin Holder, Clare Midgley, Charlotte Murphy, James Robson and Sima Sandhu have given comfort and reason. Christine, Shasi and Ethan Mahendran have continually made me laugh. In addition, Toni Johnson, Alan King, Vince Miller, Jane O’Mahony, Ellen Swift and Gabor Thomas were always by the office door/internal line whenever I needed to check an idea or grammatical point. They, together with the rest of the gang (Eva Fernandez, Andrew James, William Rowlandson, Balihar Sanghera and Mathan Satchi), have helped me make Canterbury my home. My penultimate thanks go to three exceptional people: Sebastian, my husband, who often understands me more than I understand myself; and my parents, to whom I owe everything. They have supported me in so many ways that I have lost count and so this book is dedicated to them with the deepest love. The last word, however, has always belonged to my niece, Eleanor. She has lived with this book for most of her young life and I would like to record my heartfelt gratitude to her for her understanding. I will always remember the same expression that lit up her eyes – a combination of resignation, acceptance, and above all, humour – over many, many years, every time I said to her, ‘I have to go to the library’.

Abbreviations AASS AB ASAE Bauer

Acta Sanctorum Analecta Bollandiana Annales du service des antiquités de l’Égypte A Concordance to the Old and New Testament, A. Bauer (ed.) (Routledge: London, 1899). BF Byzantinische Forschungen BHG Bibliotheca hagiographica graeca BHL Bibliotheca hagiographica latina BMGS Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies DOP Dumbarton Oaks Papers EHR English Historical Review Eus: HE Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History, G. A. Williamson (tr.) (Penguin: London, 1989). HF History of the Franks JEA Journal of Egyptian Archaeology JECS Journal of Early Christian Studies Kriaras LexikotēsMesaiōnikēsHellēnikēsDēmōdousGrammateias, 1100–1669, E. Kriaras (ed.) (s.n.: Thessalonike, 1968). Lampe A Patristic Greek Lexicon, G. W. H. Lampe (ed.) (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1961). LSJ A Greek to English Lexicon, H. Liddell and R. Scott (eds.) (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1948). ODB Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, A. Kazhdan, A.-M. Talbot, A. Cutler, T.E. Gregory, N.P. Ševčenko (Oxford University Press: New York, 1991), three vols. P. Oxy The Oxyrhynchus Papyri (Egypt Exploration Society: London) Palladius: LH Palladius, The Lausiac History, R. T. Meyer (tr.) (Longmans: London, 1965). PG Patrologiae Cursus Completus … Series Graeca, J. -P. Migne (ed.) (Turnhout: Brepols, 1860–1894). PL Patrologiæ Cursus Completes, J. -P. Migne and A. -G. Hamman (eds.) (Garnier Fratres: Paris, 1958–1974). RB Révue Bénédictine RM Regula Magistri ROC Revue d’Orient Chrétien

xii A b b r ev iat io n s SB Socrates: HE VAA VGE VJB

Sammelbuch griechischer Urkunden aus Aegypten (Heidelberg and Wiesbaden 1934–1955). Socrates, Histoire ecclésiastique texte grec de l’édition, G. C. Hansen (tr.), P. Périchon and P. Maraval (Éditions du Cerf: Paris, 2004), four vols. Vita of Andronikos and Athanasia Vita of Galaktion and Episteme Vita of Julian and Basilissa

Introduction This book is a literary study of the curious phenomenon of celibate marriage as depicted in the Greek vitae of saints Julian and Basilissa,1 Andronikos and Athanasia2 and Galaktion and Episteme.3 Three anonymous authors tell us that Julian and Basilissa and Galaktion and Episteme never consummated their union, while Andronikos and Athanasia permanently renounced intercourse after the birth of their children. Intriguingly, despite their shared theme, the vitae have no discernable influence on one another. They originate from three distinct literary traditions and were composed in three different time periods (between the fourth and tenth centuries ce). Until now, the versions that form the foundation of this book have not been published in English,4 and no scholarly monograph has compared the three. Thus, the book provides access to three new vitae with accompanying translations and commentaries as well as dating information. Explorations of the texts’ literary background are paired with a thematic analysis of celibate marriage (literary, typological and gendered). Such a wide range of approaches is rarely employed on a single concept or theme in hagiographic scholarship. Yet foundational and interpretive material aids the understanding of the other; they are not mutually exclusive and I believe a solid understanding of both (as far as is possible) is intrinsic to the understanding of any hagiographic text. It is important to stress that this monograph is a literary study and does not include a study of celibacy over the six centuries covered. Although the topic of celibate marriage would appear to demand such an examination, as we shall see, close analysis of the texts reveals that these marriages are not actually about celibacy but about relationships. Furthermore, these types of unions are not even given a name in any of the vitae. Thus, a historical exploration of celibacy that parallels the literary and thematic investigations is not pertinent for these vitae. What the thematic investigation does yield is a rewarding and wholly unexpected conclusion: each hagiographer deliberately and painstakingly chooses to depict a continuing emotional bond between the partners despite their celibate lifestyle. Each couple continues to have some sort of positive interaction. This is highly unusual in hagiography, as marriage without intercourse simply appears to have no purpose for authors of early Christian literature. In Christian antiquity the Bible solidified the paradigmatic relationship between man and woman in both the J and P narratives of Genesis (2:18–25 and 1:26–29 respectively) where a sexual, monogamous union is taken for granted: ‘… a man shall leave his father and mother and shall be joined to his wife and the two shall become one flesh’.5 Thus, from the inception of Christian belief, sex was an intrinsic feature of marriage, a belief that informs relationships today. In antiquity, marriage had an innate forward dynamic and a purpose – procreation.6 If this function is abolished the entire process is negated and

2

Celibate Marriages in Late Antique and Byzantine Hagiography

valueless. Without sex – for children or for obligation – what would be the point of being married? What actually becomes of the social positions of husband and wife? What does it mean to assume these roles in a celibate marriage, when marriage is an institution defined by intercourse? This leads to the next conundrum: the absence of sex would then herald a platonic friendship or a form of social contract between a man and a woman, based on nothing other than mutual regard and respect. This would be another revolutionary notion for Christian marriage, which, according to some understandings of the Pauline message, was essentially a container for lust.7 Early Christianity’s dogmatic imperatives point to one conclusion: fornication is sin and crucially, the inevitable consequence when a man and woman are in close proximity, no matter what the circumstances. This feeling is so pervasive that even though intercourse is permitted within marriage the contamination that sex engenders never leaves hagiography. Consequently, the portrayal of a happily married saint engaging in guiltfree intercourse did not exist in Late Antique and Byzantine hagiography. Essentially, three scenarios unfolded: saints strived to avoid marriage, they wished to break from their matrimonial status or they endured unhappy marriages. Christian sanctity for the pious was essentially a matter of alternatives; whether or not to maintain a virginal or controlled (sexless) purity when faced with the minatory potential for intercourse, unremitting poised to fracture free will. It is this element of personal endeavour – easily comprehensible to every stratum of humanity – that ensures the inclusion of this struggle, in some form or another, in every vita. When a budding saint is placed in a marital situation, the circumstances are posited in terms of confrontation where the spouse who demands consummation is portrayed as abusive, incredulous or disparaging. Remarkably, this paradigm does not exist for the three vitae in question and consequently, the concept of positive marital relations formulated in each is explosive. Of all forms of sexual renunciation in early Christianity, it is clear that none created as unique a conflict as a celibate marriage. Other familiar characters from the sphere of Late Antique literature who gained sanctity, such as the hermit in the desert, the penitent prostitute and the domestic virgin, embodied an intense awareness of sexuality as a force to be denied and contained, expressed through various forms of asceticism and abstinence.8 In rejecting their carnality, they disrupted their social place and space.9 However, by doing so, they are rewarded. Sanctity is subsequently conferred on the hermit; the prostitute is guaranteed a place in heaven; and the virgin gains immortality: renunciation in these other guises thus offers transformation but not so for the celibate married couple. There is no obvious immediate role for a wife and husband. Holiness is indeed possible but it is bestowed uneasily. There are too many unknowable factors. Will both partners be equally willing to forego sex? Might they slip into temptation? Such questions are even more compelling for the chosen vitae where, uniquely, positive interaction between the partners

I n t r o du c t io n

3

continues voluntarily and is described in detail. The tension between the sacred (desire for celibacy) and the profane (the endurance of positive marital relations) provides the momentum for each vita. This book will show how the hagiographers recognized this clash but rather than avoid the issue, deliberately engaged with it to a remarkable degree of inventiveness to widen the boundaries of human experience.10 With this in mind, it is time now to meet our protagonists.

The vitae Julian and Basilissa (hereafter the VJB)

Julian belongs to a very wealthy Christian family held in high esteem in Antinoopolis, in Egypt. His parents are keen for him to marry but Julian tries to resist, fearing that in taking a wife he will stain his purity. He is reassured by a divine vision in which God Himself foretells that He has chosen a wife for him and that both Julian and his bride will remain virgin. On their wedding night the couple take a solemn vow of celibacy and at that very moment, the ground shakes and the most beautiful, incandescent light that can ever be imagined shines into their bedroom. At that very moment, Julian and Basilissa are rewarded by the magnificent sight of the Holy Host of tens of thousands of angels, Christ and Mary. They are allowed to read the Book of Life that reveals to them their future: they will nourish and tend young men and women, guiding and instructing them. The pair convert their houses into two monasteries and are inundated by people from all walks of life, eager to follow their teachings. After an undisclosed period of time, Basilissa has a dream in which God tells her that she will soon die but Julian will face more hardships before he earns his crown in Heaven as a martyr. The prophecy is fulfilled and Julian is left to carry out his destiny without his wife. The martyrdom now begins with a persecution in Egypt set during the reign of Diocletian and Maximian. Although Julian is given seven chances to sacrifice to the gods, he refuses each time, thereby earning the unrestrained rage of the governor, Markianos. Markianos’ only son, Kelsios, is drawn to Julian, as are the soldiers guarding the saints. Then Markianos’ wife, Markianilla, is also converted. The governor, with increasing desperation and no little exasperation, tries to force Julian and his followers to recant by exposing them to various forms of torture, but in vain. The saints remain stubbornly alive, unharmed and relentlessly argumentative. Julian also performs various miracles infuriating Markianos further. Eventually the entire band of martyrs is beheaded triggering a tremendous earthquake that both destroys a third of Antinoopolis and explicitly signals the enormity of Markianos’ crime. The governor attempts to flee but falls ill and is devoured by worms. The narrative ends with Julian’s relics being buried in the ‘great church’ and subsequently, we briefly learn of the miraculous healing of visiting lepers.

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Celibate Marriages in Late Antique and Byzantine Hagiography

Andronikos and Athanasia (hereafter the VAA)

Andronikos is a wealthy banker who lives in Antioch, Syria. Exceptionally pious in word and deed he spends most of his considerable wealth in caring for the poor and needy. His wife, Athanasia, is the daughter of a colleague and is as devoted to the philanthropic life as her husband. After having two children, John and Mary, the couple decide to forgo sexual relations in order to devote more time to matters of the spirit as opposed to the flesh. But tragedy strikes when John is twelve and Mary is ten: both children fall seriously ill and die. Athanasia is distraught and wishes only to join them but Andronikos realizes that such a terrible event must be God’s will and tries to pacify his inconsolable wife. The children are buried in the church of St. Julian the martyr and Athanasia maintains a vigil by their tomb on the night of the funeral. Exhausted by grief, she eventually falls asleep and dreams of a monk reprimanding her for her unhappiness. She realizes that the monk was in fact St. Julian and, hurrying home, announces to Andronikos her intention to enter a monastery. The couple embark upon a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and then journey to Egypt, to the shrine of St. Menas. There, Andronikos meets a monk from Sketis and decides to accompany him to the great lavra. His first encounter with the great Abba Daniel involves bringing Athanasia to Sketis for Daniel to instruct her in the monastic way of life, teaching which culminates in her entering the convent of Tabennesi with letters of introduction from Daniel. Andronikos remains with Daniel for a further twelve years, at the end of which, he decides once again to go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land. The journey is arduous and he takes rest in the shade of a tree, hampered by the heat. Suddenly he sees a figure approaching in a monk’s habit. It is Athanasia but he does not recognize her as her face is sunburnt and worn by suffering. However, she identifies him instantly but keeps this piece of knowledge to herself and travels in silence with him to Jerusalem. On their return journey to Egypt, the pair decides to live in the same cell at the monastery of Oktokaidekaton and remain inseparable for the next twelve years. Andronikos never realizes that the monk with whom he spends every moment of his life is actually his wife and Athanasia never tells him the truth. When Athanasia dies and her body is prepared for burial, to their utter amazement the monks discover that she is a woman. Documents she keeps in her pillow reveal her true identity and a shocked Andronikos is inconsolable, dying soon afterwards. An argument breaks out between the monks of Sketis and those of Oktokaidekaton as to where Andronikos should be buried. Daniel solves the quarrel by threatening to leave Sketis unless Andronikos is buried beside his wife at Oktokaidekaton. Thus husband and wife are laid to rest side by side in the Fathers’ cemetery.11

I n t r o du c t io n

5

Galaktion and Episteme (hereafter the VGE)

The tale opens with the troubled story of Galaktion’s parents, Kleitophon and Gleukippe. The pagan couple live in the Syrian city of Emesa, in the midst of an unspecified time of Christian persecution. Their domestic situation echoes the turmoil in the outer world since Kleitophon repeatedly beats Gleukippe because she is barren. Desperate to alleviate their intolerable situation both husband and wife worship Artemis, the goddess of fertility and childbirth, but to no avail. Their lives change completely with the chance arrival of the wise Onouphrios, a monk in disguise, who begs for alms. Learning of Gleukippe’s situation, he persuades her to convert to Christianity, as only then, he claims, will she bear a child. In desperation she consents, abstains from intercourse and miraculously conceives Galaktion. Many years later persecution is still raging and Galaktion is now betrothed to Episteme, a beautiful and noble pagan girl. When he refuses to kiss her, she is upset. Her complaint to her father, who in turn remonstrates with the reluctant bridegroom, induces a wholly unexpected response from Galaktion: he finally explains to Episteme in private that since she is not a Christian, he cannot embrace her. Accordingly she agrees to convert and he baptizes her secretly in the garden. Unbeknownst to Episteme, Galaktion has other plans for their married life. He convinces his wife that they should renounce all worldly ties to follow God and so they distribute their possessions among the needy and depart for Mount Pouplion, a distant retreat located on the Sinai Peninsula. Once they arrive, they discover two small communities comprising a group of monks and four old women, with whom the pair happily settle, notably, in separate communities. From thence onwards they never lay eyes on one another until the fatal day that Galaktion is abducted by the governor’s guards. Episteme runs to join her husband, determined that she will never be separated from him again. During a vivid trial scene, the couple are interrogated; their hands and feet are cut off; and eventually, they are decapitated. The family servant, Eutolmios, who was supposedly in the service of Galaktion’s mother and who has joined them in their ascetic endeavours, narrates the whole tale.

The date of the texts The VJB

The Greek version of the VJB survives in three manuscripts dated to the tenth century.12 No earlier manuscripts or adaptations of the Greek text survive, in direct contrast to numerous Latin versions.13 In Chapter 1, I show that the vita and the passio were created separately.14 Julian’s passio was written first, in Greek, followed by the vita of Julian and Basilissa, written as a prequel, in Latin. Each half was then translated into the other language to form the complete VJB, so that it exists in its entirety in both Greek and Latin. Moreover, I surmise that

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Celibate Marriages in Late Antique and Byzantine Hagiography

Basilissa is a later addition, created with the vita.15 Thus, three dates need to be ascertained: the date of the original passio, the date of the vita and the date when the complete Greek VJB was formed. Venantius Fortunatus’ (d. c.600) inclusion of Basilissa in his lists of virgins and martyrs (and thus, her acknowledgement as a prominent virgin) gives an initial terminus ante quem of 600 for the vita.16 Further corroboration can be found within the VJB by the prominence given to Mary in Chapter 7 as virgo Mater Domini.17 The Virgin Mary was given her status as Theotokos at the council of Ephesus in 43118 and from this time onwards and particularly in the sixth century there is ‘a steady development of the liturgical feasts of the Virgin’.19 A terminus post quem of 431 for the vita can thus be established. We also know that the Regula Magistri (a text allied to the Rule of St. Benedict and hereafter, the RM) cites phrases from the vita.20 Now de Vogüé dated the RM to the first quarter of the sixth century and his study is dependent on the date of the decree of Pope Gelasius, since Benedict advocates many of its condemned precepts. The decree’s date is itself debatable21 but current consensus places it at the beginning of the sixth century (500–525). Therefore, the current date of the RM provides the Latin vita with a terminus ante quem of 525.22 If de Vogüé’s critics are correct, the latter is set a century later, though on the basis of Basilissa’s appearance in Venantius’ carmina, 525 is more likely. In any case, the Greek passio must be earlier. In this narrative the doctrine of the Trinity is expounded at length several times.23 Several times one of the protagonists in the passio declares utter devotion to ‘One God … He Who is One in the Trinity and the Trinity in One … He is Christ God, the Father in the Son and Holy Spirit’,24 specifically advocating the ‘Consubstantial Trinity’.25 Such proclamations belie a strong anti-Arian bias and therefore provide the passio with a terminus post quem of 325 (the Council of Nicaea) and a terminus ante quem of 431 (the terminus post quem of the vita). Thus far, we can hypothesis that the passio was composed at some point between 325 and 431 and that the vita was created as a response roughly between 431 and 525. The earliest complete Latin version of the VJB we possess features in a seventh-century lectionary found in Luxeuil, France.26 However, thus far, it not possible to deduce when the Greek VJB appeared apart from the fact that it must have happened after 525. For the purposes of this monograph, all discussion relating to date will concern the original passio and vita and the understanding that a complete VJB was in circulation by the seventh century. Interestingly, the tenth-century Greek version of the VJB used in this book seems to have undergone very little change judging from its seventhcentury Latin recension lying in the Luxeuil lectionary whose text is in turn quoted in the early sixth-century RM. Thus, any observations made for the eleventh-century version hold true for the Ur-text, or at least, down to the sixth century.

I n t r o du c t io n

The VAA

7

The story of Andronikos and Athanasia is relayed to us in a single Greek codex: Urbani 36, which is dated to the tenth and eleventh centuries. However, the tale is traditionally ascribed to the much earlier ‘Daniel Cycle’, a narrative series comprising spiritually edifying tales allegedly related by the sixth-century Abba Daniel of Sketis to his disciples.27 The popularity of these tales is evident from the wide number of translations made from the original Greek into languages as varied as Syriac, Arabic, Coptic and Ethiopic.28 The contents of these vary from one manuscript to the other but the tale of Andronikos and Athanasia (Andronikos the money-changer and his wife Athanasia) is a particular favourite among such titles as, Abba Mark the fool, Abba Daniel atones for a murder he committed, The holy mendicant, The woman who pretended to be a drunkard, Concerning Thomaïs, the chaste and holy young woman, A monk, tempted by sexual sin, receives a blessing from Thomaïs, Anastasia Patrikia or The monk falsely accused of theft.29 Among the surviving translations of the VAA are a thirteenth-century Syriac manuscript30 and an eighteenth-century Ethiopic copy, whose late dates attest to the vita’s popularity.31 The date of the ‘original’ VAA revolves around the problematic identity of Abba Daniel. Clugnet makes a claim for the sixth century, predicated on the mention of Daniel of Sketis who was alive during this period.32 He uses as evidence P. Bib. Nat. Coislin 283 (eleventh century), which has an overall title for the entire collection of stories: ta\ kata\ to\n a)bba=n Danih/l. The Greek is also present in PG 115, 1049–1054, however the first tale begins: e0n tai=j h(me/raij Qeodosi/ou tou= mega/lou basile/wj, admittedly, a popular claim for many narratives claiming authenticity. Theodosius the Great ruled in the fourth century (379–395) but Clugnet is dismissive, stating that since the Syriac, Arabic, Coptic and Ethiopic versions do not have this incipit, the transcriber inserted the line to tally with his own personal belief in a fourth-century date. However, Delehaye later discovered two Greek manuscripts, both dating to the eleventh century, with this very incipit: Ott. gr. 9233 and Vindob. Hist. gr. 3 fol. 11.34 The complexities are compounded when Daniel is missing in two other stories nor is he the narrator of The sinful woman who was penitent and The demented religious woman. This casts doubt on the authorship of the spiritually edifying tales and hence it is disputed whether they actually form a complete narrative cycle. Moreover, the date of composition is further complicated. For the VAA, therefore, the problems lie in whether the vita belongs to stories attributed to Abba Daniel of Sketis and, consequently, what the date of composition might be.35 Abba Daniels are numerous, especially in the Apophthegmata Patrum.36 The two most famous apart from Daniel of Sketis are Abba Daniel, the disciple of St. Paphnoutios who died at the end of the fourth century, and the Abba Daniel

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Celibate Marriages in Late Antique and Byzantine Hagiography

who was the disciple of Abba Arsenios, St. Cyril’s contemporary, who died in 444.37 Goldschmidt and Pereira, the editors of the Ethiopic texts, proposed the amalgamation of various Daniels.38 Be that as it may, it is clear that in all three versions of the VAA discussed in this study, Daniel is clearly meant to be the sixth-century Daniel of Sketis, whatever earlier or later redactions of the collections state: the ‘great and celebrated Daniel’39 is located at Sketis and has sufficient standing to silence all the Fathers in the great desert retreats of Oktokaidekaton and Sketis when conflict erupts over Andronikos’ burial plot. In his reputation, authority and explicit geographical positioning, Daniel (who is the only other character in the VAA to be given a main speaking role) is indisputably Daniel of Sketis. His identification therefore provides the vita with a terminus post quem of the sixth century and a terminus ante quem of the tenth–eleventh century (the date of the manuscript). Narrative similarities and parallel descriptions between the VAA and the other accounts in the collection indicate that the story is indeed part of the cycle. For example, the funeral of Mark the Fool is analogous to the account of Athanasia’s: kai\ a)ne/bh pa=sa h9 Skh/tij a1sproforou=ntej meta\ kla/dwn kai\ bai5wn, o9moi/wj kai\ to\ !Enaton, kai\ ta\ Kelli/a, kai\ oi9 ei0j to\ o3roj th=j Nitri/aj, kai\ pa=sai ai9 lau=ra ai9 kata\ 'Aleca/ndrei/an … 40 compared with o9 ge/rwn a0nh/negken o3lhn th\n Skh=tin kai\ th\n e0swte/ran e1rhmon. kai\ a0nh=lqon pa=sai ai9 lau=rai 0Alecandrei/aj, kai\ pa=sa h( po/lij sunh=lqe kai\ oi9 Skhtiw~tai a)sproforou=ntej. ou3twj ga/r e0sti to\ e1qoj e0n th=| Skh/tei. kai\ meta\ kla/dwn kai\ bai5wn ….41 Likewise, discontent voiced by the monks of Oktokaidekaton over Andronikos’ burial in the VAA mirrors the same theme in Concerning Thomaïs. The same group of ascetics are again reluctant to allow Thomaïs interment in their cemetery but Daniel once more intervenes and wins (kai\ ou0dei\j h0nantiw/qh tw~| ge/ronti).42 She is finally laid to rest with the Fathers (meta\ tw~n pate/rwn).43 Dahlman identifies four linking themes: ‘1) the presence of an Abba Daniel, who is associated with Sketis, 2) the presence of an unnamed disciple, and 3) the theme of secret holiness.44 To this may be added that the events in some of the stories take place in the sixth century’.45 The distinct analogies between the VAA and the other tales traditionally assigned to the cycle indicate that the author wished to associate the tale with the group. From this evidence, there is no reason to doubt the generic location of the VAA in the literary tradition of the desert fathers and the milieu of the sixth century.46

The VGE

The vita and passio of Sts. Galaktion and Episteme survives in fifteen extant Greek manuscripts47, eight of which date to the eleventh century.48 Delehaye’s edition lies in the Acta Sanctorum, under 5 November.49 A metaphrastic version (BHG 666) is present in the same volume50 and the pair also appear in the

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Synaxarium.51 Braginskaya has found that Joseph the Hymnographer (d. c.886) wrote a canon based on the VGE52 and thus we have a terminus ante quem of the ninth century. Given the lack of textual deviance among the extant versions of the premetaphrastic tale (a version that has been unaltered by Symeon Metaphrastes in the tenth century), we might assume a fairly consistent transmission history – probably due to the vita’s destined place in a menologion.53 Startlingly, standard reference works such as the Dictionary of Saints,54 A Biographical Dictionary of the Saints55 and the Lives of the Saints56 suggest that the couple’s martyrdom occurred between 250–252 ce and thus under Decius, a spurious date based on no evidence.57 Various measures can be employed for verification. A schema utilized by Delehaye58 permits the incorporation of the name of the persecuting emperor, the use of genuine locations with some mention of architecture and/or local custom for authentication, or named governors who can be traced in surviving records and/or trial detail.59 Another clue is the employment of what Bowersock describes as ‘living language’60 or official terminology as noted in, for example, the martyrdom of Pionius.61 Severe problems arise if this exploratory framework is applied to the VGE. First, there is no mention of a presiding emperor. The governors who span the two generations of Galaktion’s family – Sekoundos and later Oursos – are standard Late Antique names. The absence in the prosopography of a Sekoundos for the region of Phoenicia or of Oursos for Arabia prohibits situating the narrative in any known historical epoch.62 Secondly, the landscapes of Emesa and Sinai are merely noted with no irrefutable description of topography or local customs. Given that Galaktion’s parents occupy a relatively large fraction of narrative space (five out of fourteen chapters), we might hope that details of life in Emesa would emerge.63 However, no information is relayed with the exception that Gleukippe worships Artemis. Since the goddess’ cult is not documented for Emesa the mist of unreality continues to blur the vita’s claim to authenticity. Moreover, given the cult’s standard function – helping barren women to conceive – it is possible that local women might have invoked Artemis privately and may not necessarily have needed a public shrine.64 Thirdly, Galaktion and Episteme’s journey from Emesa to the Sinai Peninsula apparently takes ten days, which is impossible.65 Fourthly, using Coles and Bisbee’s evidence, the events of the couple’s trial bear no similarity to authenticated martyr trials. Thus the story is set in an unspecified time of Christian persecution and when the pair leaves Sinai, the events take place in an unknown location.66 Finally, after the couple are beheaded, their family servant, Eutolmios, who has been the eyewitness and narrator of the unfolding events, gathers the remains of their broken bodies and buries them ‘in that place’.67 The vagueness of the burial location adds to the fictional quality of the vita and passio. Chapter 5 explores the narrative against a typological study of other so-called ‘hagiographic romances’ but though this proves fruitful in terms of thematic discovery, it does not aid in finalizing a date.

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Unfortunately, a study of the language also does not assist detection since, for example, the majority of the vocabulary is common both to the fourth to fifth centuries and the ninth to tenth centuries. Late usage of words such as mainas,68 toparchos,69 peripasmos70 and zwarxikos71 is attested. Kleitophon’s reference to ‘Galileans’ can also be found in Nikephoros, George Synkellos, Photios and George the Monk. Certain words are not attested from the third to sixth centuries and only appear from the seventh century onwards. Such examples are purimorphos72 and the compound melanoforos.73 The adjective polurrafa has late usage from the fifth century onwards but is also prevalent in the works of Theodore Studites. The noun udroxeion is only attested in the sixth-century Menander and then in the Suda. The passive participle andrunthentos is attested in the sixth century in Olympiodoros but also used in the ninth century by George Synkellos. In short, hunting for words in lexica and databases has limited results since not every hagiographical text is present in these repositories in order to provide an unassailable search and thus pinpoint a date for the VGE. Braginskaya, however, attempts to narrow the date to two periods: the end of the fourth and the fifth century and the second half of the fifth and the sixth century on the grounds of internal evidence, though each analysis is accompanied by doubt74 and she ultimately admits that these results are inconclusive. What we do know for certain is that the text has an obviousness awareness of the ancient novelist, Achilles Tatios (to what degree, will be elaborated on later), which indicates that the vita and passio must have been composed at some point between the second century ce (the approximate date for Achilles Tatios) and the ninth century (the date of Joseph the Hymnographer). For current purposes, I will regard the VGE as a product of the ninth–tenth century and, particularly, as a probable re-working of an earlier text. As Braginskaya observes, Galaktion and Episteme are not widely commemorated before the tenth century.75

Celibate marriage The three texts are joined by a conceptual exploration of sexless marriage but this book means to enforce the distinctions between the stories as literary interpretations and as representations of reality. It therefore makes sense to attend to the general Christian context that forms the backdrop to these stories before we turn to the main thrust of this book, which is the literary construction of these marriages. The first question is how does the scholarly literature define its terms? My answer is, with difficulty.76 Variously labelled ‘chaste marriage’, ‘spiritual marriage’ and ‘celibate marriage’, the importance of making a clear distinction between chastity, continence and celibacy at the beginning of this study is obvious, though as we shall see, the vitae themselves have no firm lexical stance.77

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In current dictionary usage, ‘chastity’ is defined as ‘abstaining from unlawful or immoral (also from all) sexual intercourse; pure; virgin’. ‘Celibacy’ is defined as ‘the unmarried state’ or the ‘renunciation of marriage’ while continence is ‘abstinence or self-control related to sexual activity’.78 Greek distinguishes between enkrateia (self-control, that is continence), which is related to ‘ascesis’ (‘training in self-denial’) while sophrosyne is defined as wisdom/prudence/chastity.79 In summary, chastity relates to marriage while continence is a more restricted state of celibacy.80 Importantly, despite a general need for clarification, the vocabulary issue is not entirely relevant to the discussion that follows. Nowhere in the three vitae is there a definition of this particular form of marriage. Julian and Basilissa decide to ‘guard virginity’ (th\n parqeni/an … fula/cwmen);81 Andronikos and Athanasia ‘both entered into agreement and pledged with unfailing trust to unite no longer with each other for the rest of their lives’ (sunqh/kaj kai\ pistei/j a)sfalei=j a)mfo/teroi e1qento tou= mhke/ti sunelei=n a)llh/loij par' o3lhn dh\ th\n zwh/n o3lhn dh\ th\n zwh/n)82 while Episteme refers to her husband as ‘he whom God joined to me as husband in chastity’ (o$n o9 Qeo\j e0n a)gnei/a| moi sune/zeucen a!ndra).83 These phrases are not used extensively or with any theological or linguistic subtlety.84 Contrary to expectation, not one idiom describes this state of marriage. Such disinterest in classifying an unusual and potentially transgressive union in three different literary traditions and time periods indicates the malleability of this form of marriage as well as the difficulties involved in conceptualizing it. Thus, given the definitions outlined above, for the purposes of this investigation, celibate or continent marriage seems the most appropriate label. The practice of continent marriage in the West was investigated by Dyan Elliott.85 She surveyed a vast array of evidence, yielding mainly historical, theoretical paradigms of what she terms ‘spiritual marriage’ and demonstrated that continent marriage is a construct, which shifts and adapts to its social realities. Where this book diverges is in its focus on Eastern hagiography and so its conclusions necessarily deviate from some of Elliott’s, in particular her ­illustration of how this condition of marriage could both elevate female spiritual autonomy while also provide a further position of subordination for the female within a rigid socio-sexual structure: the wife generates the dichotomy since it is she who generally initiates the desire for the abstinence that leaves her husband powerless. For many women religious awakening acted as a channel to independence but the dangers of this imbalance provoked immediate disquiet and St. Augustine, for example, argued for the transcendence of a husband’s authority over consummation, thereby increasing the wife’s dependence. Elliott also noted the transcendence of the virginal marriage bond over death, to ‘purify and transform the marriage bond into something eternal … (but) this triumphal and antitheological aspect of spiritual marriage is peculiarly Western and affords no correlative in the Eastern Church’. Relying on Peter Brown, Elliott argued that, ‘For the East, the locus of sanctity was the living saint.’86

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The examination of the chosen vitae demonstrates that the understanding of sexless marriage in the East was more complex. Basilissa, Athanasia and Episteme’s distinct and individual voices are in fact raised in devotion to their husbands despite enforced separation. The women do gain a certain form of autonomy and sanctity as a result of their actions but, as we shall see, it is always in relation to their husbands. These husbands were not hindrances, but routes to spiritual greatness. It is their marriages, the interaction between the spouses, which are pivotal to both wife and husband’s eventual entry into the Kingdom of Heaven. A second point naturally follows on from this conclusion: what then, is the function of the marriages depicted in these texts? Unusually, the hagiographers do not deal with the onslaught of lust, which is an overwhelming feature of Church rhetoric when the subject is a male/female dynamic. Although the possibility of temptation is ever present, not one of the spouses suffers from the torments of frustrated desire.87 From an author’s point of view, two protagonists are more interesting than one and in their mutual devotion they exemplify certain types of faithfulness and fidelity, not unlike the metaphor of God and the Church, often described as a spiritual marriage. This is very unusual since the Greek East, unlike the Latin West, simply could not reconcile the idea of an emotional bond or even a bond of companionship between a man and a woman. What is so interesting about the Greek vitae is that all three couples (to varying degrees) are portrayed as still being emotionally bound to one another even if the primary force in a man and woman’s licit union is eliminated. The fact of such a bond, so rarely portrayed in the sources, supports the premise that each text is essentially linked to the couples’ relationships, not solely the matter of celibacy itself. And although these events can be contextualized against a dismissive classification of ‘hagiographic’ romance this cannot be the entire explanation.88 Other tales falling into this category, such as the vitae of Cecilia, Alexis or Timotheos and Maura do not place emphasis on the relationship between husband and wife, but these vitae do.89 The possibility of this interaction being depicted positively in an Eastern context proves the significance of all three.

Hagiography Delehaye’s definition of hagiography still stands: ‘to be strictly hagiographical the document must be of a religious character and aim at edification. The term then must be confined to writings inspired by religious devotion to the saints and intended to increase the devotion’.90 As material evidence, hagiography is more complex than appears at a cursory glance.91 A criticism often directed against it is that we are presented with a bland cast of ciphers, typologies of good and evil. But hermeneutical interpretation allows us to understand this type

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of religious narrative where imagery and symbol coalesce to unveil meaning in a world teeming with an overwhelming sense of humanity.92 Certainly in its early stages, hagiography was involved in examining what it meant to be a human being in a troubled, sinful world where certainty existed in the afterlife alone. Beggars, prostitutes, noblemen and women, ascetics, dancers, hermits, housewives, soldiers – essentially every scrap and level of civilization – populate a harsh universe striving to achieve perfection or, in their negative portrayal, provide counter ballast for the heroic protagonist. Hagiography suffuses the imaginative with essential truths in order for the Christian to believe just as, for example, the novel in antiquity played with the idea of fiction by balancing the degree of the imagined with reality in order for the reader to absorb and relate to the experience.93 Familiar toponyms or contemporary history were injected into the fictive narrative enabling the reader to connect and interact with the story. From the vita of St. Antony to the imminent vita of St. John Paul II, from the first to the latest hagiographies, the purpose of this form of literature is to instruct so that humanity may learn with an express call for imitation.94 Where the Christian message of imitatio or mimesis differed from its classical origins lies in the emphasis on oneself.95 However, hagiography does not display the past or present but involves the creation of a living icon by whose example we can enter into the Kingdom of heaven – the emphasis is eschatological.96 The conceptual shift in Late Antiquity was obviously influenced by Christ’s call, although debate continues on the semantics of whether ‘to follow’ is the same as ‘to imitate’.97 This form of sacred narrative did not spring newly formed: a vita is essentially an idealized biography. The non-linear developmental path from biography to vita has been the subject of extensive study98 and Perkins, in particular, has traced its early stages up to the sixth century.99 What is remarkable is how nameless monks, hermits, priests and Church fathers seized upon this material and absorbed elements from all types of literary genres (all of which contain elements of each other): panegyric, biography, novel, ‘history’, anecdote, fable, the gospels and many more, to create new types of narrative, literature that essentially has no rigid structure but which enjoys a wonderful fluidity to generate individual, referential and distinctive bursts of devotion.100 The very joy of hagiography is its diversity but this is also what lies at the heart of its complexity when attempting its conceptualization and interpretation. The VJB, VAA and VGE incorporate all these elements and more. Each analysis of the texts will highlight the flexibility of literary genres within which the authors created their edifying message. From their stories, it would initially appear that the VJB, VAA and VGE all fall into the category of ‘imaginative romances’101 but as the following chapters will show, each vita has a distinctive flavour and purpose and cannot be dismissed in such a way. Moreover, the term hagiographic ‘romance’ or ‘fiction’ should be, and is, reassessed in Chapter 5.

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Methodology It has long been recognized that the vitae of saints are historical documents. The Ur-text, historically considered the purest form, was thought to be the only way in which the main message of the hagiographer could be understood.102 But this is no longer the case.103 Hagiographic texts naturally reflect their productive environment; they are designed for a purpose and that purpose may or may not alter. And these very content-specific changes are the key to understanding the mindset of a contemporary audience.104 Sacred biographies are a key primary historical source because it is understood that although an eleventh-century copy of a sixth-century text may well be accurate, it is just as likely to be a distinctive recreation, created for a new purpose or for a new community.105 This book specifically dwells on the creation of such material. The major problem is that our texts are three separate entities, separated in time and in context and with no impact on one another, although they share one theme. Cohesion, however, can be found in the very creation of the material. Chapter 1 therefore centres on ‘Recreation and Invention’ and describes how each hagiographer either reworked existing material to shape his version of celibate marriage (the VAA and VGE) or, as in the case of the VJB, literally created a vita to fit an existing passio to develop the idea of a sexless union. Thus, the crucial starting point for appreciating these narratives is the assumption that the couples’ sexless unions and, most importantly, the maintenance of their relationship, perform pivotal functions in the narrative as opposed to merely acting as another feature of the saints’ worthiness.106 Chapter 2 recognizes that the vitae have very different conceptions of celibate marriage. Each narrative is examined individually to show that this type of union is a malleable construct moulded to adapt to the purposes of the hagiographer. However, common ground is found in the inevitable debate on the merits of marriage and celibacy, the tension between profane and sacred. The authors’ reconciliatory attempts propel the VJB, VAA and VGE’s depiction of marriage. The unavoidable friction that celibate unions provoke leads to the question of longevity: given their paradoxical message, why did these vitae remain so popular for so long? Here, Pierre Nora’s lieux de mémoire (sites of memory) proves an invaluable framework within which to examine the vitae and their varied reception throughout centuries. Chapter 3 looks at the wider implications of having a sexless marriage and splinters these unions into the smaller issues that arise: the question of whether sex is regarded as a pollutant; the eschatological implications of having such an unusual marriage; this form of marriage as a remedy for ‘distraction’ from God; the notion of secrecy inherent within each union; and most importantly, the bond that is made manifest in each couple’s interactions, which uniquely persists throughout their mortal lives and is portrayed as everlasting. Chapter 4 explores the roles of the women as marginal spouses with reference

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to their perpetual state of virginity. The hagiographers settled the inherent contradiction within celibate marriage by utilizing and exploiting the women’s position not as a wife but as a virgin wife. Basilissa experiences an array of sensory events that are remarkably visceral for a young virgin; Athanasia, whose life of continence begins after she and her husband have had intercourse, can be said to regain her virginity, in the evolution of her status from normative married woman to disguised, transgendered wife while Episteme’s continually transgressive behaviour could be read as a woman demanding to be viewed as a sexual being despite her paradoxical acquiescence to a life of virginity. Finally, Chapter 5 situates each vita within the wider literary Late Antique and Byzantine tradition. An examination of the VJB’s literary surroundings unearths an intriguing continuum of chastity tales that clearly influences and affects one another and which spreads from the second century to the fifteenth in both the East and the West. In the case of the VAA, the tenth–eleventh century account used in this study (Urbani 36) is far more descriptive than the original. Thus, the VAA is examined against the general trend of an increased interest in fiction, which started in the ninth century and which reached its zenith in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. The VGE is the most problematic vita: deliberately allusive and of uncertain date. Its most interesting aspect is its evident allegiance to the ancient novel and the theory that it is the Christian sequel to Achilles’ Tatios’ Adventures of Leukippe and Kleitophon. Chapter 5 thus explores a range of hagiographic vita classified as ‘romances’ and/or ‘fiction’ to explore the VGE’s position within this framework. In this chapter, the VGE garners more discussion than the VAA or VJB since its date is far from obvious and any previous scholarship on the ‘hagiographic novel’ has focused on single texts and not a comparative range. The texts, translations and commentaries on the texts follow. The text of the VJB is taken from F. Halkin’s edition in AB (1980), 241–96. The text of the VAA is my edition from the single Urbani manuscript and the VGE is from the Acta Sanctorum 3:35-41. The translations are literal. I have retained the Greek spelling for people and places, thus, ‘Andronikos’ and ‘Sketis’. The exceptions are names that are generally Anglicized, for example, ‘Julian’. Quotations from the Bible are according to the New King James Version. The commentaries are not intended to be exhaustive and are more in the nature of notes, highlighting points of interest and raising questions for the reader. The variety of methodologies used in this book – textual (linguistic criteria, dates of composition), literary (literary traditions, the question of ‘genre’); thematic concerns (marriage, sexuality, celibacy); and gender analysis (the status and construction of virginity) – generate three outcomes: first, that sexless marriage is a flexible construct, moulded by the hagiographers to suit the themes of their narrative; second, that the fundamental tensions embracing this condition of marriage are constantly debated with the startling result that the marital bond is deemed more important than celibacy; and third, that the contradiction of a sexless union finally finds rest in the capable figure of the virgin wife.

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In many ways, this is a book about problems. Eventual revelation thus necessitates a gradual approach to circumnavigate the (often uncharted) layers surrounding hagiography. Each chapter, therefore, is a step along the path to discovery. It is my hope that the journeys I have undertaken to understand Julian and Basilissa, Andronikos and Athanasia, and Galaktion and Episteme’s intriguing life stories prove helpful, though perhaps not in the way their original authors intended. If so, this book will have achieved its purpose. Notes 1 2

3 4

5

6 7

BHG 970: Greek edition in F. Halkin, ‘La passion ancienne des saints Julien et Basilisse (BHG 970–1)’, AB 98 (1980) 241–96. BHG 123a: The VAA is an edition of Cod. Urbani 36, ff. 183–93v (tenth–eleventh century), which is the sole extant manuscript for this version. The manuscript is described in A. -C Cataldi Palau, Catalogo dei Manoscritti della Biblioteca Franzoniana, Genova (Urbani 21–40), Supplemento n. 17 al Bollettino dei Classici (Academia Nazionale, Lincei, 1996) 164–73. Two other versions exist, which have been edited by Clugnet: BHG 121 and BHG 122: ‘Vie et récits de l’abbé Daniel, de Scété’, Revue d’orient chrétien 5 (1900) 49–73; 254–71; 370–91 [BHG 121:370–5; BHG 122:375–80]; idem, ‘Vie et récits de l’abbé Daniel de Scété’, Revue d’Orient Chrétien 6 (1901) 51–87. A revised and superior edition was produced by Dahlman in B. Dahlman, Saint Daniel of Sketis: A Group of Hagiographic Texts (Wallin and Dalholm: Uppsala, 2007). The edition and translation of ‘Andronikos the Money-Dealer and His Wife Athanasia’ appears in 166–79. BHG 665: Greek edition in AASS 3:35–41. For Andronikos & Athanasia, see above, n. 2. Vivian has also produced a translation of the Abba Daniel version, in an exemplary collection: T. Vivian (ed.), Witness to Holiness: Abba Daniel of Sketis (Cistercian Publications: Kalamazoo, 2008) 50–65. Upchurch has published a translation of an abridged version of Julian & Basilissa based on a Latin manuscript (London, British Library, Cotton Nero E. I, pt i, ff. 75v–85r) [R. Upchurch, Ælfric’s Lives of the Virgin Spouses (Exeter University Press: Exeter, 2007)]. Nina Braginskaya and her team are currently preparing a new critical edition of the VGE using 19 manuscripts with a commentary and modern Russian translation. They will also produce the Russian-Slavonic translation of the Versio Vetus, the unpublished Russian-Slavonic translation of the Metaphrast’s version and information on the popularity of the vita on Sinai, in Greece, Georgia and Russia, with details on icons and illuminated manuscripts. For further information on their work, see http://librarius.narod.ru/galactio.doc. The Slavonic VGE can be found in Великие Минеи-Четии, собранные всероссийским митрополитом Макарием, в. 1 14, СПБ. 1868–1917. The VGE lies in the 1897 vol, 146–60. I am extremely grateful to Nina for this reference. A modern-Greek translation also exists, by D. Tsames, To Marturologion tou Sina (Thessaloniki, 1989) 140–59; metaphrastic version: 160–79. Matthew 19:5–6 echoing Genesis 2:24. Stevenson points out that the emphasis on monogamy is surprising given the number of polygamous situations arising in the Old Testament: K. Stevenson, Nuptial Blessing: A Study of Christian Marriage Rites (SPCK: London, 1982) 4. See also C. Brooke, The Medieval Idea of Marriage (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1989) 41–51. For a summary of the New Testament position, see H. Rhee, Early Christian Literature: Christ and Culture in the Second and Third Centuries (Routledge: London & New York, 1995) 114–16. In Greco-Roman antiquity, marriage was considered a legal institution that fulfilled a civic need: to generate legitimate citizens who would then gain appropriate inheritance. A. Rouselle, Porneia: On Desire and the Body in Antiquity (Blackwell: Oxford, 1983) 129–59. See also Chapter 3 for the ways in which Paul’s message has been misunderstood. We do have evidence from the Classical period of husbands and wives who have affection for one another: Pliny, in one of his letters to his wife Calpurnia, writes, ‘You say that you are feeling my absence

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9

10

11 12 13

14 15 16

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very much, and your only comfort when I am not there is to hold my writings in your hand and often put them in my place by your side … I, too, am always reading your letters … but this only fans the fire of my longing for you … ‘ [The Letters of the Younger Pliny (Penguin: Middlesex, 1963) 6.7] (however, it should be taken into account that Pliny was always very aware of his audience). Plutarch, in ‘Advice to a Bride and Groom’, seems to advocate similar sentiments: ‘… it is a lovely thing for the wife to sympathise with her husband’s concerns and the husband with the wife’s … so that … the co-partnership (h( koiwni/a) may be preserved through the joint action of both.’ Nevertheless, he goes on to say that this is because of the union achieved through licit intercourse: ‘… for Nature unites us through the commingling of our bodies’ (mi/gnusi dia\ tw~n swma/twn h(maj): F. Babbitt (tr.), Moralia II (Loeb: London, 1962). See also S. Treggiari, Roman Marriage: Iusti Coniuges from the Time of Cicero to the Time of Ulpian (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1991) 249–61, who briefly covers Cicero, Augustus, Statius and Quintilian among others, with provisos (259–61). Averil Cameron comprehensively covers the problems of finding affection in the sources in ‘Sacred and profane love’ in L. James (ed.), Women, Men and Eunuchs (Routledge: London, 1997) 1–23, esp. 7–10. But see also S. Dixon, ‘Sex and the married woman in ancient Rome’ in D. Balch and C. Osiek (eds), Early Christian Families in Context: An Interdisciplinary Dialogue (W. Eerdmans: Michigan, 2003) 111–29, for a methodological approach to viewing evidence of positive feeling in the late republic and early empire. The seminal work on this is, of course, P. Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (faber and faber: London, 1988, repr. 1991) but see Averil Cameron’s overview raising further debate on asceticism and with more recent bibliography in ‘On defining the holy man’ in J. Howard-Johnston and P. Hayward (eds), The Cult of Saints in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages: Essays on the Contribution of Peter Brown (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1999) 27–43, esp. 29–30; 34–43. Useful introductions are V. Wimbush and R. Valantasis (eds), Asceticism (Oxford University Press: New York, 1995); P. Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority and the Church in the Age of Jerome and Cassian (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1978) and D. Martin and P. Cox Miller, The Cultural Turn in Late Ancient Studies: Gender, Asceticism, and Historiography (Duke University Press: Durham, NC & London, 2005). For the hermit, see D. Chitty, The Desert A City: An Introduction to the Study of Egyptian and Palestinian Monasticism under the Christian Empire (St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press: New York, 1995) and J. Hevelone-Harper, Disciples of the Desert: Monks, Laity and Spiritual Authority (John Hopkins: Baltimore, 2005). Among the numerous works of scholarship on the harlot, see S. Constantinou, Female Corporeal Performances: Reading the Body in Byzantine Passions and the Lives of Holy Women (Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis: Uppsala, 2005) 59–89 for the most recent treatment and for bibliography. For an introduction to all the pertinent issues for women, see S. Elm, Virgins of God (Clarendon: Oxford, 1994). Examples of these sexless unions are promulgated across such genres as the Apophthegmata Patrum, the vitae of saints or chronicles. Advice on marriage may be gleaned from Scripture, the writings of the church fathers and sermons while attitudes towards marriage and sexuality may be assembled from canon and secular law. All these sources require critical analysis and the scope of this monograph does not permit such a survey but what can be a focus are the three chosen vitae with their shared theme, which present another way to understand the phenomenon. This last sentence describing the end of the story is not present in Urbani 36 as the manuscript breaks off after the description of the argument. AB 98 (1980) 241–96: Vat. gr. 1667; Athos, Vatopedi 84; Athos, Dionysiou 143. BHL 4529–36 plus an epitome cf. BHG 970, 971 and 971b (passio, vita and metaphrastic version respectively). BHG 970 is listed as the passio but is actually the vita since the desinit cited lies at the end of chapter 16: tau=ta e0pra/tteto e0n po/lei 0Antioxei/a|, h3tij e0sti\ mhtro/polij Ai0gu/ptou. See Chapter 1. See Chapter 1. Venantius Fortunatus, Carmina VIII 3. 35: Hic Paulina, Agnes, Basilissa, Eugenia regnant et

18

17 18

19

20 21

22 23

24 25 26

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quascumque sacer vexit ad astra pudor: Venantius Fortunatus, Carmina, livres v-viii (ed. and tr.), M. Reydellet [les Belles lettres: Paris, 1998]. VJB 7 (p. 32 of Salmon’s transcription): P. Salmon, Le lectionnaire de Luxeuil: Paris MS. Lat. 9427: édition et étude comparative. Contribution á l’histoire de la Vulgate et de la liturgie en France au temps des Mérovingiens, 2 vols (Vatican Library: Rome, 1944–1953). Averil Cameron, ‘The cult of the Virgin in Late Antiquity: religious development and myth making’ in R. Swanson (ed.), The Church and Mary (The Boydell Press: Suffolk, 2004) 1–21. Here, Cameron reflects on her earlier famous article, ‘The Theotokos in sixth-century Constantinople: a city finds its symbol’, Journal of Theological Studies 29 (1978) 79–108, to solidify and push forward her earlier ideas. For current purposes, in the 2004 article, she proves that ‘traces of a real cult of the Virgin before the late fourth century are spare or non-existent’ (6). Hunter verifies her conclusions in D. Hunter, Marriage, Celibacy and Heresy in Ancient Christianity (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 2007), esp. 171–204. For disinterest in Mary’s virginity in the first three centuries, see 172–87. Helvidius and Jerome’s ‘reluctance to fully the embrace the doctrine of Mary’s virginitas in partu is yet another indication of the marginal status of this teaching in Christian tradition up to the end of the fourth century’ (189–92), citing 192. See also C. Mango, ‘Constantinople as Theotokoupolis’ in M. Vassilaki (ed.), Mother of God: Representations of the Virgin in Byzantine Art (Skira: Milan, 2000) 17–25. For the Theotokos as symbol of angelic virginity, see Av. Cameron, ‘The early cult of the Virgin’, in Vassilaki (2000) 7–8. Av. Cameron (1978) 95. See also 95, n. 4. The notion of Mary as the queen of heaven is reflected in the text: VJB 7:193–7: kai\ e0k tou= e9te/rou me/rouj a)nari/qmhta plh/qh parqe/nwn, w{n ta\ prwtei=a h( e1ndocoj Mari/a h( parqe/noj e0kra/tei … kai\ e0k tou= me/rouj th=j basili/sshj e0kra/zeto: makari/a ei], Basi/lissa … A de Vogüé, ‘Un écho de Césaire d’Arles dans la Règle du Maître, le Chrysostome Latin et la Passio Iuliani’, RB 90 (1980) 288–89; ‘Une sentence de Cyprien citée par le Maître, le Chrysostome Latin, Césaire et la Passio Iuliani’, RB 91 (1981) 359–62. A de Vogüé (ed.), La Régle du Maître, 2 vols (Editions du Cerf: Paris, 1964) 221–5. A heated exchange between de Vogüé and Marilyn Dunn in the EHR intensified the debate. Contrary to de Vogüé, Dunn argues that Benedict preceded the Regula: M. Dunn, ‘Mastering Benedict: monastic rules and their authors in the early medieval West’, EHR 105 (416) [1990], 567–94; A de Vogüé, ‘Debate: the Master and St Benedict: a reply to Marilyn Dunn’, EHR 107 (422) [1992], 95–103; M. Dunn, ‘The Master and St Benedict: a rejoinder’, EHR 107 (422) [1992], 104–11. Upchurch, who is interested in the old-English translation of the VJB, states that ‘it is difficult to date their legend earlier than the sixth century’: Upchurch (2007) 3. VJB 21:547–8: ‘We are proved true worshippers through the consubstantial Trinity’(tria/doj o9moousi/ou); VJB 49:1125–7: ‘Only you must deny utterly from your heart, the gods of your homeland, so that you may believe in one God, He who rules in the Heavens, He who is one in the Trinity and the Trinity in one’ (o9 ei[j e0n tri/adi kai\ h( tri/aj e0n e0no/thti); VJB 49:1141–3: ‘Do you believe as you heard that there is one true God, Who exists in the heavens, in the consubstantial Trinity?’ (e0n o9moousi/w| tria/di.) See also Notes to the VJB for chapter 21. VJB 49:1126–7. VJB 21:547–8. A. Alwis, ‘The Luxeuil connection: The transmission of the vita of Julian & Basilissa’ in C. Dendrinos et al. (eds), Porphyrogenita: Essays on the History and Literature of Byzantium and the Latin East in honour of Julian Chrysostomides (Ashgate: Aldershot, 2003) 131–6. Some of the conclusions I reached are now amended in Appendix 1. Dahlman (2007) for all the relevant information. Vivian (2008) for translations of the stories from Greek, Coptic, Ethiopic, Syriac, Armenian, Latin, Old Church Slavonic and Arabic. P. van Cauwenberg, Etude sur les moines d’Égypte (Imprimerie Nationale: Paris, 1914) 12–22. British Museum add. Syriac 235. The Syriac version of the VAA has been edited by P. Bedjan in Acta Martyrum et Sanctorum, vol. VI (Otto Harrassowitz: Paris, 1896) 405–417. F. Nau provides a French translation in Revue de l’Orient chrétien 5 (1900). I am very grateful to André

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31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47

48 49 50

51 52 53

54 55 56 57

19

Binggeli for this reference. The Syriac translations of Abba Daniel’s tales are in Vivian (2008) 183–205 (Andronikos & Athanasia at 185). P. Bib. Nat. 126. The translations of the Abba Daniel Ethiopic account are in Vivian (2008) 131–80. Andronikos & Athanasia are in the Ethiopic Synaxary at 158. Clugnet (1900) 71–3; idem (1901) 60–2. Dahlman gives a full account in Dahlman (2007) 60–3. I arrived at the same conclusions independently. E. Feron and F. Battaglini (eds), Codices Manuscripti Graeci Ottoboniani Bibliothecae Vaticanae (ex typographeo Vaticano: Rome, 1893). H. Hunger, Katalog der griechischen Handschriften der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek I (Georg Prachner Verlag: Vienna, 1961). Dahlman (2007) 65 also explains the confusion but reaffirms that ‘the story must early on have been associated with other stories of the sixth-century Daniel’. eadem (2007) 45–6; 60–3. Clugnet (1901) 56. L. Goldschmidt and F. Esteves Pereira, Vida do Abba Daniel do mosteiro de Sceté (Emprensa Nacional: Lisbon, 1897), viii. See also ‘Bulletin de publications hagiographiques’ in AB 17 (1898) 367. VAA 8:189. Dahlman (2007), ‘Abba Mark the Fool’, ll. 58–60. Dahlman (2007), ‘Andronikos the Money-Dealer and His Wife Athanasia’, ll. 166–70. Dahlman (2007) 4A: ‘A Holy and Chaste Young Woman’, ll.40–1; 4B: l. 45. eadem 4A: ‘A Holy and Chaste Young Woman’, ll. 41; 4B: ll. 45–6. See Chapter 3. Dahlman (2007) 63. eadem 65–6. Vat. gr. 803, ff. 18v–22v; Vat. gr. 808, ff. 54–62; Ven. Marc. gr. 349, ff. 65–70; P. Bib. Nat. gr. 1468, ff. 206v–11v; P. Bib. Nat. gr. 1519, pp. 150–164; Dresden A187 (6), pp. 23–38; Douai. ff. 73r–9r; Ottbr. gr. 427, ff. 51–7v; Ottbr. gr. 429, ff. 61v–8v; C. Munich 143, f. 62; Athos Prwtatou 2, fol. 24; Athos Esfigmenou 2090, fol. 5; Athos Dion. 3658, fol. d’; Athos Dion 3669, fol. e’ and Athos Inhrwn 4887, fol 16e’. Vat. gr. 808; Ven. Marc. gr. 349; P. Bib. Nat. gr. 1468; P. Bib. Nat. gr. 1519; Douai. ff. 73r–9r; Ottbr. gr. 427; Ottbr. gr. 429 and Vat. gr. 803 (latter dates to between the eleventh and twelfth centuries). AASS Nov 3:35–41. Delehaye used six manuscripts for his edition (Vat. gr. 803, Vat. gr. 808, Ven. Marc. gr. 349, P. Bib. Nat. gr. 1468, P. Bib. Nat. gr. 1519 and Dresden A187 (6), pp. 23–38). AASS Nov 3:41–45. Symeon Metaphrastes emended the entire corpus of saints’ vitae available to him in the second half of the tenth century, rendering many in a form far from the original. See the excellent collection of essays edited by C. Høgel (ed.), Metaphrasis: Redactions and Audiences in Middle Byzantine Hagiography (Research Council of Norway: Oslo, 1996). Laura Franco gives a thorough study of the metaphrastic process in an unpublished dissertation: A Study of the Metaphrastic Process: the case of the unpublished Passio of St James the Persian (BHG 773), Passio of St Plato (BHG 1551–1552) and Vita of St Hilarion (BHG 755) by Symeon Metaphrastes. Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae (ed.), H. Delehaye (Société des Bollandistes: Brussels, 1902), s.v. 5 November. N. Braginskaya (2009) 44–5 from unpublished work. A menologion is a collection of saints’ vitae arranged by liturgical date. See A. Erhard, Überlieferung und Bestand der hagiographischen und homiletischen Literatur der griechischen Kirche: von den Anfängen bis zum Ende des 16. Jahrhunderts (J.C. Hinrichs Verlag, Leipzig: 1937) 1:18–24. J. Delaney, Dictionary of Saints (Kaye & Ward Ltd: Surrey, 1982). Rt. Rev. F. Holwerk, A Biographical Dictionary of the Saints (B. Herder Book Co.: London, 1924). Rev. S. Baring-Gould, The Lives of the Saints 13, Nov [part 1] (John Grant: Edinburgh, 1914). The couple are further noted in the Martirologio Romano as being martyred under the rule of Decius, 6th ed. (Vatican: Vatican City, 1964), s.v. 5 November.

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58 Summarized by R. Aigrain in L’hagiographie: ses sources, ses méthodes, son histoire (Bloud & Gay, Poitiers, 1953), esp. 56–72. 59 For extensive research on the latter, see R. Coles, Reports of Proceedings in Papyri (Fondation egyptologique reine Elisabeth: Brussels, 1966) and G. Bisbee, Pre-Decian Acts of Martyrs and Commentarii (Fortress Press: Philadelphia, 1988). See also the detailed account of the martyr Stephanos by P. van Minnen, ‘The earliest account of a martyrdom in Coptic’, AB 113 (1995) 13–38, esp. 17; J. -P Pierron, ‘La dimension figurative du témoignage. L’exemple des premiers martyrs chrétiens’ in F. Lestringant and P. -F Moreau, Martyrs et martyrologes (Rsh: Lille, 2003) 1–32; G. Bowersock, Martyrdom and Rome (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1995) 27–8; 31–9 and L. Grig, Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity (Duckworth: London, 2004) 39–42. For the fictive nature of some Egyptian martyr acts, see E. Reymond and J. Barns, Four Martyrdoms from the Pierpoint Coptic Codices (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1973), esp. 1–6. 60 For example, the recurrent use of nai/: Bowersock (1995) 31. 61 L. Robert, Le martyre de Pionios, prêtre de Smyrne (Dumbarton Oaks: Washington DC, 1994). See also Bowersock (1995) 28–32. 62 A. H. M. Jones, The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1992) 4 vols; P. de Rohden and H. Dessau, Prosopographia Imperii Romani, saec. I, II, III (Deutsche Akademie der Wissenschaften: Berlin 1898–1998) 6 vols. 63 The vita of Symeon Salos described both in D. Krueger, Symeon the Holy Fool: Leontius’ Life and the Late Antique City (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1996) 108–25 and V. Déroche, Études sur Léontios de Néapolis (University of Uppsala: Uppsala, 1995) is an excellent example for illustrating how Emesa has been described topographically in hagiographic literature. 64 For Artemis’ many attributes, see Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae II [1]: Aphrodisias-Athena (Artemis: Zürich und München, 1984) 618–855. 65 If we look at Egeria’s travels for an approximation of journey times, we find that when she travelled from Mount Sinai to the nearest inhabited town (Paran), the journey is described thus: ‘It is thirty-five miles from the mountain of God to Paran and when we arrived there, we needed two days rest’ in J. Wilkinson (tr.), Egeria’s Travels to the Holy Land (Aris & Phillips: Warminster, 1981). 66 cf. M. Alexiou, ‘A critical reappraisal of Eustathios Makrembolites’ Hysmine and Hysminas’, BMGS 3 (1977) 23–43. 67 VGE 15:365: e0n e0kei/nw| tw~| to/pw. 68 Nicephoros; Photios; and the chronicle of George the Monk. 69 George Synkellos (ad 8–9); Scriptor Incertus; the chronicle of George the Monk; and the vita of Michael Synkellos. 70 Photios and Theophanes the Confessor. 71 Vita of Stephen the Younger; the vita of Michael Synkellos; and Photios. 72 The earliest from John Damascene; the vita of Nicolas; Theognostos; and Constantine Porphyrogenitos. 73 Damascene and Constantine Porphryogenitos. 74 N. Braginskaya (2009), from unpublished work, 43–64. These include, for example, dating baptismal practice, the absence of any mention of the Eucharist, the first settling of retreats on Sinai and the reference to deaconesses. She also discusses the remark concerning the absence of a priesthood, which she ascribes to fifth-century disagreements between Palestinian monks and their bishops over theological issues. These are persuasive but not conclusive pieces of evidence as Braginskaya herself notes. Since we have a terminus ante quem of 886 based on the canon of Joseph the Hymnographer, it seems sensible to regard the VGE as either a re-working or a product of the ninth century. 75 They do not appear in the earliest complete menologion (Vat.gr.1669) [ninth–tenth century] or in early Western lectionaries influenced by Byzantine tradition (for example on The Marble Calendar of Naples, ninth century: H. Delehaye, ‘Hagiographie Napolitaine’, AB 57 (1939) 5–64. 76 D. Elliott, Spiritual Marriage: Sexual Abstinence in Medieval Wedlock (Princeton University Press: Princeton, 1993) 3–6. 77 Will Deming alerts us of the need to distinguish between asceticism, sexual asceticism, and

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78

79 80

81 82 83 84

85

86 87 88 89 90

21

celibacy in Paul on Marriage and Celibacy: The Hellenistic Background of 1 Corinthians 7, 2nd ed. (Eerdmans: Michigan, 2004), xiv–xv. The Concise Oxford Dictionary, 5th ed. (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1964). The Catholic Encyclopaedia (The Encyclopaedia Press: New York, 1908) makes the following distinctions: ‘Celibacy [relating to the clergy]… is the renunciation of marriage implicitly or explicitly made, for the more perfect observance of chastity.’ (vol 3:481–8). ‘Chastity is the virtue which excludes or moderates the indulgence of the sexual appetite’ (vol 3:637–9) and ‘Continence may be defined as abstinence from even the licit gratifications of marriage … Continence, it is seen, has a more restricted significance than chastity, since the latter finds place in the condition of marriage. The abstinence we are discussing, then, belongs to the state of celibacy, though clearly the notion of this latter does not necessarily involve that of continence.’ (vol 4:330–1). These nuances of meaning have not always been strictly adhered to with the label of ‘celibate marriage’ freely applied to a variety of situations including the circumstances surrounding the ‘subintroductae’. This form of cohabitation, also known as ‘spiritual marriage’ involved male and female ascetics living out their daily life in close proximity as if married, without sexual intercourse. See B. Leyerle, Theatrical Shows and Ascetic Lives: John Chrysostom’s Attack on Spiritual Marriage (University of California Press: Berkeley, 2001), esp. 75–99. Spiritual marriage has further been employed to depict the union between Christ and his bride, the Church. M. Foucault, The History of Sexuality, vol. 2 (Penguin: London 1988) 10–11; G. Quispel, ‘The study of encratism: a historical survey’ in U. Bianchi (ed.), La Tradizione dell’Enkrateia: Motivazioni Ontologiche e Protologiche (Edizioni dell’Ateneo: Rome, 1985) 35–81. The potential for ambiguity is huge since, in the former definition, ‘chaste’ behaviour in a marriage may simply indicate monogamy, but it would not imply abstinence or more to the point, an unconsummated union. This anomaly can be illustrated by the western case of Ida of Blom (d. 1113) who is said to have had a chaste marriage: servato nempe caste conjugio. However, her hagiographer later mentions her children [Elliott (1993) 5 citing AASS April 2:142]. A chaste marriage could also apply in cases where couples would be sexually inactive for a certain period, for example before a religious festival. VJB 6:176. VAA 3:46–8. VGE 14:335–6. This is in direct contrast to, for example, the twelfth-century vita of Cyril Phileotes where, after Cyril marries in order to have children, he persuades his wife to have a celibate marriage. Her response, as Mullett points out, is founded on the principles of sophrosyne and enkrateia, and she cites Maximos the Confessor for his words on love: ‘since the soul is superior to the body and is created by God, to prefer the love of the body to the love of the soul is tantamount to idolatory.’ See M. Mullett, ‘Food for the spirit and a light for the road: reading the Bible in the life of Cyril Phileotes by Nicholas Kataskepenos’ in her Letters, Literacy and Literature in Byzantium (Ashgate: Aldershot, 2007), part VII, 16–19, esp. 17, citing Maximos’, De caritate, Cent. 1.7. Such an elaboration, given weight by patristic authority, is not present in the three chosen vitae. Elliott (1993). For a valid critique of Elliott, see M. McGlynn and R. J. Moll, ‘Chaste marriage in the Middle Ages: “It were to hire a greet merite”‘, in V. L. Bullough and J. A. Brundage (eds), Handbook of Medieval Sexuality (Garland Publishing, Inc.: New York, 1996) 103–22, esp. 112–14, where they argue that she does not contexualize hagiography (112). Elliott (1993) 69–72, esp. 72. Episteme comes the nearest to expressing passion for Galaktion. Yet this is contexualized against a background of the novel and a mirroring of the relationship between Thekla and Paul. For her similarity to Thekla, see Notes on the VGE for chapter 12. For an analysis of ‘hagiographic fiction’, see Chapter 5. See Chapter 3. H. Delehaye, The Legends of the Saints (Four Courts Press Ltd: Dublin, 1955) 3; Grig (2004) 146–7. See also B. Cazelles, The Lady as Saint: A Collection of French Hagiographic Romances of the Thirteenth Century (University of Pennsylvania Press: Philadelphia, 1991), esp. 4–7.

22

91

92 93 94

95

96

97 98

99

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Cazelles points out that many vitae are anonymous since the goal is not ‘auctorial prestige to contribute to the moral welfare of society’ (4). The definitive guide will soon be the forthcoming handbook of hagiography under the spearhead of S. Efthymiadis. E. Patlegéan comprehensively covered all the main problems of interpretation in ‘Ancient Byzantine hagiography and social history’ in S. Wilson (ed.), Saints and their Cults (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1983) 101–21. For defining hagiography, M. van Uytfanghe, ‘L’hagiographie: un ‘genre’ chrétien ou antique tardif?’ AB 111 (1993) 135–88, esp. 170–9 is very useful as is C. Rapp, ‘“For next to God, you are my salvation”: reflections on the rise of the holy man in Late Antiquity’ in J. Howard-Johnston and P. Hayward (1999) 63–81, esp. 63–5 where she argues that hagiography cannot be labelled as a ‘genre’. ‘“Monastic literature” ’ would make more sense since most of the literature absorbed under the aegis of hagiography does not include the performance of a miracle – a requisite of the holy person’. Within these parameters, the VGE and VJB do qualify since Julian and Episteme execute miracles. The VAA would thus be termed ‘monastic literature’. For hagiography reflecting its author, see D. Krueger, Writing and Holiness: The Practice of Authorship in the Early Christian East (University of Pennsylvania Press: Philadelphia, 2004), esp. 189–97. See the collection of essays in P. Ricoeur, Figuring the Sacred: Religion, Narrative and Imagination (Fortress Press: Minneapolis, 1995), esp. 35–72. Bowersock (1994); J. Morgan, ‘Introduction’ in J. Morgan and R. Stoneman (eds), Greek Fiction: The Greek Novel in Context (Routledge: London, 1994) 3–4. Averil Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: The Development of Christian Discourse (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1994) 15–88; eadem (1999) 37. An interesting point is made by Kruegar, who notes that ‘in some sense, hagiography as practice begins not with the first saints’ lives, but with the subsequent generation of texts imitating the first’ in idem, ‘Literary composition and monastic practice in early Byzantium’ in M. Kaplan, Monastères, images, pouvoirs et société à Byzance (Publications de la Sorbonne: Paris, 2006) 46. Foucault (1988) 3:39–68 and also D. Boyarin and E. Castelli, ‘Foucault’s The History of Sexuality: the fourth volume, or, a field left fallow for others to fill’ in Journal of the History of Sexuality 10 [3&4] (2001) 357–64. For a comprehensive discussion see the collection of essays in D. Brakke et al. (eds), Religion and the Self in Antiquity (Indiana University Press: Bloomington, 2005) and J. Perkins, ‘This world or another? The intertextuality of the Greek romances, the Apocryphal Acts and Apuleius’ Metamorphoses’ in R. Stoops, Jr (guest ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles in Intertextual Perspectives, Semeia 80 (1997) 247–60, esp. 247–58 for an exploration of this concept in the Apocryphal Acts. For Livy in the Preface to his great history of Rome, the Ab Urbe Condita, the study of history (istoria being another creative blend of fiction and interpretative truth) is of value if one learnt from exempla, which not only provided object lessons but also could be manipulated to create meaning. Livy, Praef. 10: ‘For in the study of history it is especially improving and beneficial to contemplate examples of every kind of behaviour, which are set out on a clear monument. From it you can extract for yourself and your commonwealth both what is worthy of imitation and what you should avoid because it is rotten from start to finish.’ See J. Chaplin, Livy’s Exemplary History (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 2000) for a thorough analysis. For the living icon, see, for example, J. Wogan-Browne and G. Burgess, Virgin Lives and Holy Deaths: Two Exemplary Biographies for Anglo-Norman Women (Everyman: London, 1996), xi and J. Earle, ‘Typology and iconographic style in early medieval hagiography’, Studies in the Literary Imagination 8 (1975) 15–46. G. Constable: Three Studies in Medieval Religious and Social Thought: The Ideal of the Imitation of Christ (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1995) 143–217. P. Cox, Biography in Late Antiquity: A Quest for the Holy Man (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1983); P. Alexander, ‘Secular biography at Byzantium’, Speculum 15 (1940) 194–209; R. Lane Fox, ‘The life of Daniel’ in M. Edwards and S. Swain (eds), Portraits: Biographical Representations in the Greek and Latin Literature of the Roman Empire (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1997) 175–225; A. Momigliano, The Development of Greek Biography (Harvard University Press: Cambridge, Mass., 1971, repr. 1993). J. Perkins, ‘Representation in Greek saints lives’ in J. Morgan and R. Stoneman (1994) 255–71.

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For the development of hagiography in the seventh–tenth centuries, see L. Rydén, ‘New forms of hagiography: heroes and saints’ in the 17th International Byzantine Congress: Major Papers (Aristide D. Caratzas: New York, 1986) 537–54. For the tenth century, see idem, ‘Byzantine hagiography in the ninth and tenth centuries: literary aspects’ in Kungl. Humanistiska Vetenskaps-Samfundet (Årsbok: Uppsala, 1986) 69–79; P. Magdalino, ‘“What we have heard in the lives of the saints we have seen with our own eyes”: the holy man as literary text in tenthcentury Constantinople’ in Howard-Johnston and Hayward (1999) 83–112. For the eleventh century, see C. Roueché, ‘Byzantine writers and readers: storytelling in the eleventh century’ in R. Beaton (ed.), The Greek Novel ad 1–1985 (Croom Helm: London, 1988) 123–33. 100 cf. Krueger: ‘Hagiography served to set boundaries, establish patterns and to inflame desire’ in idem (2006) 44. 101 For further definition of the romances, see Delehaye (1955) 4. 102 B. Crostini, ‘Mapping miracles in Byzantine hagiography: the development of the legend of St Alexios’ in K. Cooper and J. Gregory (eds), Signs, Wonders, Miracles: Representations of Divine Power in the Life of the Church (Ecclesiastical History Society: Woodbridge, 2005) 1: ‘Hagiographical narrative is often examined through the well-established text-critical principle according to which the earliest text is necessarily the most skeletal in outline, the least wondrous in plot and therefore the most historically believable’. I am very grateful to Barbara Crostini Lappin for showing me a draft of her paper pre-publication. 103 eadem (2005) 15–16; B. Merdrignac, ‘The process and significance of rewriting in Breton hagiography’ in J. Cartwright (ed.), Celtic Hagiography and Saints’ Cults (University of Wales Press: Cardiff, 2003) 177–97, esp. 178–80. 104 K. Winstead, Virgin Martyrs: Legends of Sainthood in Late Medieval England (Cornell University Press: Ithaca, 1997) 3; Merdrignac (2003) 184–89; Cazelles (1991) 8, 18. 105 Crostini (2005) 1–16; D. Rollason, The Mildrith Legend: A Study in Early Medieval Hagiography in England (Leicester University Press: Leicester, 1982), esp. 3–14; M. McGlynn and R. J. Moll (1996) 113. 106 Although in the VJB, Basilissa dies early and the succeeding passio, which is far greater in length, is dedicated to Julian and his companions, there are three main reasons why their marriage should be included in this collection: first, too much prominence is given to their decision to live a life of continence for the marriage to be a mere topos; secondly, this vita is clearly part of a literary continuum of a tradition of chaste marriages [see Chapter 5] and finally, the transmission of the text and its later contexts firmly illustrate that Julian & Basilissa’s celibate marriage was acknowledged to be a crucial element of their attraction for their audience [see Alwis (2003)].

Pa r t I

Foundations and Interpretation

1

Recreation and Invention Introduction Each hagiographer wished to depict marriage as relationship and bond and explored this dimension of human interaction using their unorthodox creations. The dismantling of each text that follows exposes the distinctive Byzantine practice of recreation and invention that pervades the configuration of celibate marriage in the VJB, VAA and VGE. The VJB comprises vita and passio. The evidence below suggests that a Latin vita was devised after the Greek account of Julian’s martyrdom and, moreover, that the figure of Basilissa was deliberately created to examine the concept of a sexless marriage. In the VAA we have a conscious reinvention of a marriage. In its original sixth-century version, Andronikos and Athanasia had a sexless union but emphasis was laid on their eventual monastic achievements, of which their marriage was just another element. However, in the tenth–eleventh-century version that features in this monograph, the pair’s relationship is expounded fully by the deliberate expansion of their characters and by the hagiographer maintaining their interaction throughout the intriguing situations they inhabit: marriage, celibate marriage, separation and disguised cohabitation. The VGE is a skilful reworking of the pagan novel, which additionally has reverberations of the Acts of Paul and Thekla. The emotional bond of the pagan hero and heroine that formed the heart of the ancient novel is the catalyst for this vita. Galaktion and Episteme are reconfigured as the breathless Christian protagonists in whom pagan eros is transformed into the transcendence of desire for Christ.

Creating the VJB We start with the VJB and the puzzle of its origins. The VJB’s Greek origins have long remained unquestioned. Dissent however was initiated by de Vogüé, the editor of the Regula Magistri. He identified pithy extracts from the VJB strewn among the RM’s numerous admonitions to the faithful, together with several Roman martyr texts.1 Consequently, in two articles published in the 1980s, de Vogüé conjectured that the VJB was, in fact, originally composed in Latin. To support his argument, he observes that a sentence of Cyprian, the third-century

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bishop of Carthage, appears to have been utilized not only in the VJB but also in the Regula, a Latin sermon of Pseudo-Chrysostom and by Caesarius of Arles.2 The evidence of Cyprian is unconvincing since the sentence in question is epigrammatic and moreover is not duplicated verbatim by these sources. Rather, it appears in mangled form in each instance.3 However, de Vogüé has launched an intriguing idea. Halkin edited the Greek vita and passio of the VJB on the basis of three manuscripts dated to the tenth century.4 In the first part of the edition (comprising the vita of both saints) he collated the primary manuscript, Vat. gr. 1667,5 with Athos, Vatopedi 84,6 and in the second part (comprising the passio of Julian and his companions), he used Athos, Dionysiou 143.7 As noted earlier, no adaptations of the Greek text survive, in direct contrast to numerous Latin versions.8 Aldhelm (d. 709), for example, adapted the text in his prose9 and poetic versions of de virginate.10 Of particular note is the Latin seventh-century recension found in the lectionary of Luxeuil, France.11 This text displays an almost word-for-word affinity to Halkin’s Greek edition. When I originally compared the two, I assumed that the Latin transcription was a good and literal translation of the Greek.12 However, four approaches; two linguistic, two literary, now lead me to believe that the passio is indeed Greek but that the vita was originally composed in Latin and therefore written after the passio. The question of a text’s linguistic origins is exceedingly complicated.13 No established methodology exists but certain pointers may indicate if a narrative is a translation.14 One such test is the examination of biblical citations: a redactor will automatically translate what is in front of him. The Latin, for example, will be more or less an exact copy of the Greek. However, if the text is not a translation but an original, then the Latin will not correlate directly to the Greek but instead, the Latin citation will be taken directly from the Vulgate15 (naturally, if the Greek is the original, the reference will be a copy – or a close adaptation – of the Septuagint or New Testament). This method is not an exact science but when applied to the VJB the results from a selection of readings begin to fall into a pattern.

The vita

In the vita (Chapters 1–16 of Halkin’s Greek text), the majority of the thirty-four biblical citations are reproduced directly from the Vulgate or are close adaptations.16 Not one is an exact quotation from the Septuagint or New Testament. This indicates that the vita has a Latin origin. Three randomly selected examples demonstrate that the Greek follows the (often misspelt) Latin: 1 Corinthians 7:31 (cited in VJB 2) VJB o3ti to\ sxh=ma tou= ko/smou toutou pareleu/setai

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New Testament

para/gei ga\r to\ sxh=ma tou= ko/smou tou/tou Latin (Luxeuil: Salmon) praeterit enim figura huius mundi Vulgate praeterit enim figura huius mundi 1 Corinthians 2:9 (cited in VJB 4) VJB ou)de\ o)fqalmo\j ei]den ou)de\ a)koh\ h1kousen New Testament o)fqalmo\j ou)k ei]den kai\ ou]j ou)k h1kousen Latin (Luxeuil: Salmon) nec oculus vidit, nec auris audivit Vulgate oculus non vidit nec auris audivit Revelation 14:4 (cited in VJB 7) VJB mh\ xranqe/ntwn meta\ gunaiko/j New Testament oi4 meta\ gunaikw~n ou)k e0molu/nqhsan Latin (Luxeuil: Salmon) qui cum mulieribus se non quoinquinaverunt Vulgate . . . qui cum mulieribus non sunt coinquinati

A particularly interesting case is 1 Corinthians 4:9 (cited in VJB 7). Here, we can conjecture that the Greek translator has rendered qe/ama literally from spectaculum, whereas the New Testament has qe/atron: VJB

qe/ama e0genh/qhmen kai\ a)gge/loij kai\ a)nqrw/poij New Testament qe/atron e0genh/qhmen tw| ko/smw|~ kai\ a)gge/loij kai\ a)nqrw/poij Latin (Luxeuil: Salmon) spectaculum facti sumus angelis et hominibus Vulgate spectaculum facti sumus mundo et angelis et hominibus For Psalm 7:10 (cited in VJB 4), we have Julian’s prayer of thanks to Christ. Renum has been added into the Greek as frenw~n – though it is not present in the Septuagint version:17 VJB

. . . o4j e0reunhth\j ei] kardi/aj kai\ frenw~n . . .

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Septuagint Latin (Luxeuil: Salmon) Vulgate

. . . tou= sw/zontoj tou\j eu)qei=j th|= kardi/a| . . . . . . qui es scrutatur cordis et renum . . . . . . probator cordis et renum . . .

The exact opposite occurs once we reach the passio from comparatively fewer citations (sixteen in forty-seven chapters). Quotations are mostly rendered accurately in Greek but not in the Latin, with the Latin now following the Greek syntax.18 Some examples are the following: Psalm 118:71 (cited in VJB 42) VJB a)gaqo/n moi o3ti e0tapei/ nwsa/j me, o3pwj a2n ma/qw ta\ dikaiw/mata/sou Sept. a)gaqo/n moi o3ti e0tapei/nwsa/j me, o3pwj a2n ma/qw ta\ dikaiw/mata/sou Latin (Luxeuil: Salmon) bonum est mihi quod humiliasti me, ut discam iustificationes tuas Vulgate bonum mihi quia adflictus sum ut discerem praecepta tua Psalm 95:5 (cited in VJB 57) VJB pa/ntej oi9 qeoi\ tw~n e0qnw~n daimo/nia . . . New Testament pa/ntej oi9 qeoi\ tw~n e0qnw~n daimo/nia . . . Latin (Luxeuil: Salmon) omnes dii gencium daemones . . . Vulgate omnes enim dii populorum . . . Matthew 11.5/Luke 7.22(cited VJB 64) VJB oi9 tufloi\ a)nable/pousin New Testament tufloi\ a)nable/pousin Latin (Luxeuil: Salmon) caeci inluminantur Vulgate caeci vident

The second linguistic clue

Another warning signal to indicate translation is the presence, in a Latin translation, of a proliferation of pronouns, especially at the beginnings and endings of sentences or as the subject of a sentence. The employment of particles such as autem or vero, in an attempt to cope with the Greek me/n and de\, is a further hint. We find plenty of these signals in the passio but not in the vita, signalling

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that the two were composed independently. Note also the use of the present participle in the Latin in an attempt to follow the Greek. For example (using Salmon’s transcription of the Latin Luxeuil lectionary; my emphases in bold): ch. 17: au)to\j de/ o9 Markiano\j cf. ipse autem impius Marcianus ch. 17: nu=n, a)delfoi/, eu)cw/meqa, e0peidh\ h)ggi/kasin oi9 diw/kontej kai\ h(ma~j zhtou=sin w(j u3dwr katapiei=n cf. nunc fratres oremus, quia adpropinquaverunt persequentes nos, qui querunt velut aquam absorbere nos ch. 19: tw~| de\ plh/qei tw~n a(gi/wn . . . cf. multitudinem vero sanctorum . . . ch. 59: o9rw~n de\ tou=to o9 e0xqro/j keleu/ei tou= a(gi/ou 0Ioulianou= kai\ tou= sebasmi/ou paido\j to/ de/rma th=j kefalh=j a)faireqh=nai. tou= de\ a(gi/ou Antwni/ ) ou cf. haec autem videns inimicus Marcianus, iubit sancto Iuliano et venerabili puero, cutem capitis auferri; sanctum vero Antonium presbyterum . . . The two linguistic analyses indicate that the passio was first composed in Greek, then the vita in Latin. Such findings further explain the awkward disjunction in the Greek text between the end of the vita and the beginning of the passio, adding further evidence that the two were composed i­ ndependently. In chapter 11 of the vita, the audience is informed that, ‘In the times of Diocletian and Maximianus, the madness of persecution fell and suspicion of it spread all over the province of Egypt’.19 The vita then clearly ends in chapter 16 with: tau=ta e0pra/tteto e0n po/lei A)ntinw|, h3tij e0sti\n mhtro/polij Ai0gu/ptou (‘And these things happened in the city of Antinoopolis, which is a metropolis of Egypt’).20 However, the subsequent section, chapter 17 (the passio), begins: bi/a diwgmou= e0pekra/thsin. kai\ e0rxome/nou Markianou= a1rxontoj e0n po/lei Antino/ 0 ou th=j Ai0gu/ptou (‘The force of persecution prevailed. When Markianos arrived as governor in the city of Antinoopolis in Egypt’…)21 Information is being repeated: the audience is reminded that a persecution is raging, the location of the action is being repeated for no good reason and most noticeably, the way of identifying Antinoopolis as a city of Egypt is altered; in the first example it is in the dative; in the second, the genitive. Thereupon, from chapters 17 to 64, the tangled syntax that had marked the vita eases (now explained by the fact that it is a Greek translation), the language is less image laden and the text is more explicitly driven by the narrative and not swollen with biblical citations. Add to this, the detail that the Greek vita and passio are sometimes transmitted separately, which is

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never the case in the Latin tradition, then, in short, we find an overall inconsistency between the VJB’s vita and passio.22

The vita of Cecilia

The reason for the invention of the VJB’s Latin prequel could only be to create a celibate marriage since this is its key feature. One possible inspiration for such an act could have been the famous vita of Cecilia in which the eponymous heroine persuades her spouse, Valerian, to a life of celibacy on their wedding night. Linguistically, the vita of Julian and Basilissa indicates a Western origin and now Cecilia demonstrates another link since the vitae overlap in seven key points in the events leading up to, and including, the bedroom scene. Some are hagiographic topoi but are noted for completeness. First, there is the common pressure exerted by the protagonist’s parents on the child to marry: ‘parentum enim tanta vis et sponsi circa illam erat exaestuans, ut non posset amorem sui cordis ostendere, et quod solum Christum diligeret indiciis evidentibus aperire nolebat’.23 Secondly, Cecilia, like Julian, fasts and prays that she may remain a virgin: ‘non diebus, non noctibus a colloquiis divinis et oratione cessabat’.24 Thirdly, it is noticeable that in Cecilia, as in the VJB, there is a need to have a priest, an approved member of the church, to baptize the uninitiated. Valerian and his brother, Tiburtius, are baptized by bishop Urban.25 During Valerian’s baptism, an old man appears, dressed in white. He holds a tablet on which appear letters of gold: ‘subito ante faciem ipsorum apparuit senior niveis vestibus indutus, tenens titulum in manibus, aureis literis scriptum’.26 Fifthly, after Julian and Basilissa have been praised for deciding to remain virgin, an angel, clad in white, steps forward. Echoing the VJB, he asks Valerian to read what is written on the tablet, ‘lege huius libri textum et crede … et videre angelum cuius tibi aspectum Caecilia virgo devotissima repromisit’.27 Next, on Valerian’s return, he finds Cecilia praying in their chamber accompanied by an angel who is holding two brilliant crowns, one white with lilies and one crimson with roses: ‘duas coronas ferentem in manibus coruscantes rosis et liliis albescentes quique unam dedit Caeciliae et alteram Valeriano dicens ‘istas coronas immaculato corde et mundo corpore custodite, quia de paradiso Dei eas ad vos attuli’….28 In the VJB the young bride is made aware of the scent of lilies and roses in her bedchamber. In both instances, lilies symbolize virginity or purity and the roses, the blood-red of martyrdom. The angels present one crown to them, an act that echoes the marriage ceremony and further foreshadows martyrdom. Lastly, just as Basilissa is overcome by the scent of lilies and roses, so is Valerian’s brother, Tiburtius: ‘miror hoc tempore roseus hic odor et liliorum unde respiret? Nam si tenerem ipsas rosas aut ipsa lilia in manibus meis, nec sic poterant odoramenta tantae mihi suavitatis infundere. Confiteor vobis: ita sum refectus ut putem me totum subito renovatum’.29

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The bedroom scenes are too similar to be coincidental but frustratingly, Cecilia’s origins are veiled.30 She is noted in the so-called Martyrologium Hieronymian (Jerome’s Martyrology), which has been dated to the fourth century (though this is also debatable),31 while the Greek Acts of her martyrdom have been dated to the fifth century.32 If my conjectures are correct, then Cecilia too was created in Latin and inspired the composition of the VJB’s vita. Naturally, far more work needs to be done for Cecilia as well as the Latin tradition of the VJB before this can be proved conclusively. Nevertheless, this sequence is the more plausible since the author of the VJB’s vita was inspired to develop Julian’s original passio and so it is probable he was motivated by an existing story. So how does this all fit together?

Reclaiming Basilissa

Thus far linguistic pointers and thematic similarities combine with i­ ncongruities between the VJB’s vita and passio to establish an anomaly. The figure of Basilissa binds these various elements together as she is the main feature of two remaining pieces of evidence. The first is that she transpires in twin guises in the great Synaxarium of Constantinople. For the 8th of January we recognize our familiar story: the martyred husband and his wife, Julian and Basilissa. But in another version, preserved under the 21st of June, Julian does not have a wife. Here, Basilissa does indeed exist but she is named as the spouse of Markianos the governor, a figure known to us in the extant versions as Markianilla. Before using this information, there is a second piece of evidence that is relevant. Basilissa dies at the end of the vita but in chapter 59 of the passio, she manifests in a vision, as Julian is about to undergo his last torture. She is the key participant of this episode and her purpose is to strengthen Julian’s resolve and to remind her husband of what awaits him after death. Meanwhile, Markianilla (the governor’s wife) is killed with the holy band of martyrs in chapter 62. Based on all the surviving evidence, I hypothesis two scenarios based on the assumption that Julian the martyr lived and died in Antinoopolis, Egypt, and that a Greek passio was written to commemorate the event. In the martyrdom of Julian, the governor’s son, Kelsios, and wife, Basilissa, join Julian in the ultimate sacrifice. The story is transmitted to the West where, inspired by Cecilia, a vita is created in Latin as a prequel and the need for a wife for Julian inevitably arises. Julian’s new spouse is renamed Basilissa, recycling a character already present, while Markianos’ wife is now allotted the patronym of Markianilla. The reappearance of a Basilissa in chapter 59 is therefore a later interpolation, inserted after the creation of the Latin vita to strengthen the bond between husband and wife and perhaps to reinforce the vita and passio as a complete unit. This is supported by the fact that Basilissa is accompanied by ‘the whole chorus of saintly virgins’, which reflects back to her role and function in the vita.

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Since the governor’s wife features in subsequent chapters of the martyrdom, and dies in chapter 62, the Basilissa who enters in chapter 59 could never have been the governor’s wife, the woman noted as Basilissa in the Synaxarium for the 21st of June. Chapter 59, therefore, must have been created after the vita was composed, given credence by the fact that this chapter is devoted to the vision of Basilissa. The second, more remote, possibility is that Julian’s passio did originally include Basilissa his wife but the sections pertaining to her were lost. Her sole memory is enshrined in chapter 59 of the Greek text, so taking this as a cue the eager Latin copyist crafted his tale of celibate marriage, using Cecilia as his guide. This is far more unlikely as the passio reads as a complete work with few suspicious gaps. Once the Latin vita was complete, the Greek passio was then translated into Latin to create a satisfying whole. Meanwhile the cult rapidly gained immense popularity throughout Western Europe, unlike in the East, but such widespread fame winging throughout Italy, France, Germany and Spain cannot fail to be noticed33 and soon the Latin vita is translated into Greek and the necessary amendments made to the passio. I thus conclude that until further evidence or standard versions of the Latin text appear, the VJB possesses a dual Late Antique heritage. The VJB underwent multiple recreations from its origins as a Greek passio of the martyr Julian. Not only was a new story created but also a new character. The birth of Basilissa gave the hagiographer a chance to develop the idea of celibate marriage, a feature crucial to the continued popularity of the vita as a whole. The VJB’s audience embraced the pair as a couple, evidenced by their joint veneration throughout the empire and the copying of the text up to the seventeenth century.34 The Luxeuil lectionary is a prime illustration since the VJB is the chosen reading for Epiphany – the wedding at Cana.35 Even though the title page bears only Julian’s name and the likelihood is that the lectionary was destined for one of his churches, the vita is included to accompany John’s account as an example of the true nature of marriage.36 All the evidence clearly demonstrates that Julian and Basilissa’s subsequent veneration rested on their continent marriage, as opposed to their celibacy in general. This is nowhere shown more distinctly than in the Mozarabic calendar where their spiritual union is glorified: Deus … qui inter Iulianam et Basilissam magnam et spirituale connubii fedus statuisti, quo una coniuncti in gratia, spiritu non carne fructificarent … Omnipotens Dominus, qui Iulianam et Basilissam ita gratie sue opibus premunivit ut sic spiritualis coniugii copulo necterentur ne carnis commixtione ullatenus miscerentur, ipse vos ad corum exemplum efficiat castimonie dono sublimes.37

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Recreating the VAA Gender and the basis of celibate marriage

The VAA is the work of an assiduous hagiographer. The spare and pithy tale of the ascetic achievements of a banker and his wife was reworked to bring the celibate marriage of Andronikos and Athanasia to the fore. The author seized upon the curiosity of the relationship and decided to reformulate the ideal of the paradoxical marriage by revising the entire tale. Fortunately, earlier recensions of this story are extant, illuminating how the author of the VAA revised his portrait of a marriage with great awareness.38 The three versions that are compared below are A (Dahlman’s edition, translated in Vivian)39; B (the version found in Paris, Coislinianus 282 (eleventh–twelfth centuries; also translated in Vivian)40 and the VAA. Essentially, the VAA elaborates and lengthens its episodes, taking care to dwell on the expression of human emotion and gives explanations for the characters’ reactions. It also includes a prologue and certain plot elements omitted in the Cycle-versions. These emendations provide a direct contrast to the terse and compact narrative styles of the earlier narratives. They do not appear merely for entertainment but serve a deliberate purpose; for the author embraced the entire structure of the couple’s relationship (normative marriage, separation, cohabitation), which creates a unified whole with themes that continue to frame, and importantly, enhance the couple’s relationship, regardless of their changing life situations. This is done primarily through the manipulation of gender, which is underpinned by a constant reiteration of the couple’s piety. The latter is most important in order to ensure that Andronikos and Athanasia achieve sanctity without blemish, despite the unusual circumstances they inhabit. Thus, the reinvention of the VAA was to probe Andronikos and Athanasia’s relationship fully in order to recreate the idea of a celibate marriage. The author accomplished this by constructing distinct gendered roles for his protagonists. He fine-tuned Andronikos and Athanasia’s temperaments and began his tale by styling them in classic gendered opposition: logic (male) versus irrationality (female). Episodes are deliberately altered to emphasis the gendered dichotomy. This is deliberate; for once they cohabit as two male monks, these contrasting positions are tellingly reversed. In particular, Athanasia now undergoes a mental transformation as well as the famous physical alteration attested in all versions of the story. The thoughtful elevation of Andronikos and Athanasia throughout the piece, combined with continual emphasis on their individual piety, certifies and validates their relationship through its various stages; from the time they are married until they die. Some of the variations are merely small details but taken together and combined with the larger changes, all contribute to the wider purpose of the VAA. The first contrast between the couple is planted when Athanasia arrives

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home early from church to discover both her children feverish and clearly seriously ill. Horrified, she throws herself between them, vainly trying to ease their pain. Upon his return Andronikos berates his wife, assuming that she has overslept.41 In all the accounts this is the first proper scene of the drama and in it we find Andronikos asserting his male authority. Athanasia’s distraught reaction to her children’s illness is portrayed by the VAA as an innate female response: ‘This would not have been bearable to anyone else, especially a mother who loved her children so much, to see her children worn down by disease. For even though the woman loved God, she was nevertheless tortured by maternal love, and indeed, by the demands of nature’42 The other versions remain silent but the VAA’s author deliberately inserts this comment to emphasize that Athanasia is inherently conditioned by her feminine nature. Physical and mental weakness, impulsiveness and emotional outbursts combined a propensity for tears are all conferred on Athanasia’s fragile figure. For example, when Julian the martyr appears to Athanasia, the VAA claims that she remained by her children’s tomb all night weeping inconsolably, until exhausted, she fell asleep and dreamed. This is a conscious expansion on the earlier versions. There, A explains the situation thus: ‘ slept in the martyrion. In the middle of the night, the martyr appeared to her’. B narrates, ‘in the middle of the night, the martyr, dressed in a monk’s habit, appeared in a dream to blessed Athanasia as she slept in the martyrion …’. It is not only Athanasia who is reinvented but also Andronikos. He is initially given the male attributes of stoicism, reason and calmness, thereby embodying a deliberate juxtaposition to his reactive wife. While we see Athanasia’s terrible grief after the death of her beloved children, the text now also focuses on Andronikos vainly trying to console his wife. Not only are we discovering more drama but a clear attempt to add depth to the characters. As we have seen, Athanasia’s desire for death is ascribed to her innate maternal feelings. Andronikos, however, has a far more fatalistic approach to the situation. Once he realizes the enormity of the situation, he immediately goes to pray in the church of St. Julian43 where his parents are buried. His first impulse is to seek God’s help and his first spoken words reflect his absolute belief in God’s ultimate purpose, ‘the Will of the Lord be done’.44 All the versions describe Andronikos’ actions but it is the VAA that explicitly compares him to Job (the others suffice with the quotation) and accordingly, endows Andronikos with his biblical patience, the endurance of a man who lost absolutely everything yet still maintained a wholehearted trust in his God.45 Accordingly, the VAA also portrays Andronikos trying in vain to comfort the tormented Athanasia, assuring her that their children are safe with God and will no longer suffer: ‘For though they are dead to us, they live in God, by Whom they were received, Who wisely managed this for their and our own good’.46 His philosophical view is skilfully contrasted with his wife’s passionate outbursts and continues to illustrate the VAA’s determination to construct a sophisticated piece.

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The form of Andronikos and Athanasia’s reactions concerning their children’s death remains consistent throughout the narrative: Athanasia is repeatedly prone to bottomless depths of emotion and she is easily swayed by events: once she receives the divine vision from St. Julian (who, more or less, gives her the same advice as her husband), she decides to separate from Andronikos and enter a monastery. She claims that the desire for a monastic life had always been present in her but having children prevented her from fulfilling her longing: it was a desire to give up a worldly life ‘and desert to the peaceful one. But my love for my children persuaded me to remain in life and worldly things’.47 Versions A and B concur but the point is made that Athanasia was too ‘embarrassed’ to ask Andronikos to retreat from the world while their children were alive.48 Rather than use this, somewhat curious reason, the VAA ascribes her reticence to Athanasia’s ‘love for my children’, which makes for a tighter narrative as it reminds us of her distressed reactions when the children died and concurs with her intrinsic maternal, feminine nature. Andronikos does not agree immediately but asks her to consider her decision for a week. When she remains resolute, he agrees and they set off on their journey. Andronikos’ prudence and cautiousness are again highlighted when he asks his wife to take some time to think about her choice, as if he knows that she is impulsive. Having visited the Holy Fathers in Jerusalem, the couple journey to Egypt and complete their travels in Alexandria. Andronikos makes the decision to travel to Sketis and it is here that our protagonists’ characters start to develop further: Athanasia tearfully begs her husband to take her with him. Her initial fervour back home in Antioch is dampened by her unwillingness to be separated from Andronikos when the moment actually arrives. This seems strange, as it was she who initiated the idea of entering a monastery, an event that would inevitably herald their separation. However, it is to no avail. Andronikos is resolute; women are forbidden at Sketis, but he promises her that he will return. The author seems to be portraying Athanasia’s initial eagerness almost as a whim that is in keeping with her character depicted thus far. We are dealing with a hagiographer with very firm views on what it is to be a woman and what it is to be a man. There is now a twelve-year separation of spiritual training, echoing the twelve years of celibate married life they had prior to the death of their children and then the story resumes with both protagonists making their second pilgrimage to Jerusalem, this time separately. On the way a ‘chance’ encounter – we are told it is due to God’s dispensation/management (kat' oi0konomi/an Qeou=)49 – leads to the reunion of husband and wife. The surprise is that Athanasia is disguised as a monk and thus a stranger to her husband. There is another development in that she actually recognizes him as Andronikos but does not reveal her identity to him. This is another revelation – Athanasia’s ascetic training has seemingly given her some self-control.

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Once again, this time in silence, the two monks travel to Jerusalem together, an echo of their initial pilgrimage as husband and wife, and finally, as before, return to Egypt. Athanasia suggests that they both move to Oktokaidekaton, again, a seemingly impulsive act and also one steered by emotion as the author implies that she does not want to ‘lose’ her husband again. It is a reminder for the audience of the old, impetuous Athanasia. Andronikos agrees but insists that he first receive Daniel’s blessing. Again his caution and prudence are emphasized. By receiving Daniel’s permission (who has realized what is happening), Andronikos cannot be accused of impropriety if Athanasia’s true identity is ever revealed inadvertently, especially since the idea of living together is initiated by the woman. The importance of proving male chastity and restraint is paramount. Andronikos and Athanasia (now, brother Athanasios) once again cohabit for another twelve years. This could be interpreted as an ascetic endeavour but also, given their mutual background, that their bodies are now regarded as asexual. At this key stage their gendered roles, so carefully delineated thus far, have been abolished. The VAA gives us an extended description of their lives together: He joined brother Athanasios, living under the same roof, eating together and being known as completely inseparable from him’.50

The point is made that: ‘they remained with each other for another twelve years, making little or no account of the body, while providing the soul sensibly in all ways with the service of the spiritual life with all their strength.51

This is in complete contrast to the other versions who keep firmly silent on the matter. A states: ‘After Abba Andronicus returned and found Abba Athanasius, they remained together in the fear of God another twelve years and Abba Andronicus did not recognize that she was a woman’.52 B has much the same: ‘He (Andronikos) left and [returned and] remained with him (Athanasia) in the fear of God another twelve years and she was not recognized by him.’ The VAA deliberately gives us more detail in this key stage of the couple’s lives and answers the questions of the curious. Furthermore, as we shall see in the next Chapter, the hagiographer has effectively recreated their former celibate, married existence in another form. For now, it is evident that the VAA is a master exercise in reformulation. The intensity given to the characters reinvigorates their original relationship. We now have the moving story of a husband and wife who unintentionally find themselves in a remarkable situation of their own making. The concise tale from the desert has become a pseudo-novel.

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Reinventing the VGE Introduction

As we contentedly reach the climax of Achilles Tatios’ ancient novel, The Adventures of Leukippe and Kleitophon, we are summarily informed that the happy couple, breathlessly reunited in love and legitimized marriage, are sailing to Byzantium.53 All’s right with the world. It therefore comes as somewhat of a shock to rediscover the couple (now named Gleukippe and Kleitophon) living a life of misery in the Christian vita of Galaktion and Episteme. The scene opens in Emesa during an unspecified time of Christian persecution. Stamping on romantic idealism, the narrator transforms Kleitophon into a wife beater who, enraged by his spouse’s sterility, daily abuses the helpless Gleukippe. Having converted to Christianity, she miraculously conceives Galaktion. At first glance a reader’s attention is immediately arrested by Galaktion’s parents, names which instantly recall Achilles Tatios’ second-century novel.54 MacAlister has summarily commented on the metaphrastic version of the VGE concluding that it is a ‘Christian sequel to the happily-ever-after ending to the pagan novel’55 as do Delehaye56 and Beck57 who also propose that Galaktion is the son of Leukippe and Kleitophon. Rather suggestively, the eleventh-century Venetian manuscript (Ven. Mar. gr. 349) initially names Galaktion’s mother Leukippe58 but thereafter reverts to Gleukippe while Symeon Metaphrastes employs ‘Leukippe’ throughout his recension.

A Christian sequel?

The VGE’s affinities to Achilles Tatios together with the general unspecificity of the narrative, has led some to proclaim a Christian sequel. But is it? If the vita was intended to succeed the pagan novel, it follows that at the very least, various associations or a chain of intertextuality should bridge the texts. However, direct narrative allusions to Leukippe and Kleitophon are few and only a series of vague parallels can be drawn in terms of plot. For example, at the end of the novel, Leukippe and Kleitophon marry in Tyre and are about to journey to Byzantium. In the vita the couple have settled not so far away from Tyre, in Emesa. Another tenuous link can be found when, after Kleitophon’s mother dies, his father is eager for him to marry. This episode is mirrored for the next generation in the vita for Kleitophon and his son, Galaktion, when Gleukippe dies: ‘When he was twenty-five, his father wanted to give him a wife as his revered mother Gleukippe had died. So he found a girl who was very beautiful, the daughter of one of the high officials, called Episteme, and he (Galaktion) was betrothed to her …’.59 The vita further echoes Tatios’ novel in its evocation of the theme of feminine devotion though, of course, the signification of feminine chastity in the Christian narrative has diametrically opposite connotations. Leukippe

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is sexually faithful to Kleitophon, though he is not, and her ultimate reward is marriage to her romantic ideal. Consummation is pivotal to their relationship since the couple wish to have intercourse but are continually frustrated in their desires. In the VGE, Episteme and Galaktion are technically sexually faithful to each other but for completely opposite reasons. Episteme knows that she will never have a physical relationship with her husband but still craves to remain emotionally connected to him. However, it could be argued that such an attachment is a generic novelistic trait and not specific to Tatios. Leukippe and Episteme’s sense of what is owed to them by their partners do have parallels in their respective stories. In the ancient novel, once the lovers are separated yet again, Kleitophon marries, convinced that Leukippe is dead. She however, has ended up as a slave on his estate and sends him a reproachful note, telling him that she is alive and has kept her virginity (the obvious reproof is that he has not). In the note she writes: ‘For you I left my mother and undertook a life of wandering … for your sake I have been a sacrificial victim, an expiatory offering … for your sake I have been sold and shackled in iron …’.60 These are protests Episteme echoes in her speech when persuading her deaconess to allow her to follow Galaktion once she realizes that he has been captured by the governor’s guards: ‘… because of him I abandoned everything, wealth, parents, property and all my wealth, which was very great …’.61 The context, however, is quite different. In the novel we have an abandoned heroine, convinced that her lover has betrayed her by marrying another woman and obviously, losing his virginity. In the vita, the hero is in peril and his wife proclaims how much she owes to him, so much so that she is willing to die with him.

The vita as a novel

Though direct allusions to Achilles Tatios’ novel are few, there are hints of knowledge of the novels in general and their authors.62 Gleukippe and Kleitophon live in Emesa, Heliodoros’ birthplace, and Memnon, Gleukippe’s father, has the same name as an ancestor of Chariklea’s.63 Nevertheless, it is evident that these questionable associations are as insubstantial as the previous tenuous connections to Achilles Tatios. Most importantly, we should note that Galaktion’s mother is not called Leukippe, but Gleukippe. Thus, the author wishes to create a certain distance from Tatios and further achieves this by naming her father as Memnon,64 not Sostratos, as in Tatios.65 Such an act is given weight when Episteme’s father, who plays a minor role in the narrative, is never named, in direct contrast to Memnon who performs no function whatsoever. If direct correlation to the novels seems feeble, an examination of the literary framework underpinning the VGE does reveal a working model of the text as a short Christian novel, or at least a vita with novel-like tendencies.66 What we have, yet again, is the reinvention of an earlier text, focusing on the relationship

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between two protagonists in a celibate marriage. This time, however, the recreation is taken a great deal further. In antiquity, the novel was not a clearly circumscribed genre with critically defined categories and approved themes.67 In spite of this, certain elements persisted in the transmitted texts: a virginal, handsome aristocratic hero and a sexually naïve, beautiful heroine fall in love, are cruelly separated and undergo various trials and adventures, emerging triumphant in a renewal of civic values realized in the institution of marriage.68 Characterization is not necessarily three-dimensional but a great deal of sensationalism and vocalized passion, in the service of stark absolutes such as love, anger, desperation and fear, are evident from the women as well as the men. Many rudiments of the ancient novel have been integrated into this saints’ vita: exotic Eastern settings, emotional display and an interest in the perspective of female characters. Emesa forms the setting for an exotic and far-away adventure fulfilling a similar function to Sidon, Tyre and Beirut, all located in a similar region. The women in particular echo the voluble passion of the traditional heroines. As the tale commences Gleukippe is given a lament, which not only outlines her grief at her inability to bear a child but also permits the audience a glimpse into her everyday tribulations: the remedies she has desperately tried, the way she is treated by all around her and even her mental torment.69 Moreover, the description also allows the audience to empathize with Gleukippe at Kleitophon’s atrocious reaction: I am childless and barren and one time I am slapped by my husband and at other times, I am scorned and persecuted in small ways. And I have exhausted my life with doctors and medicine because of this childlessness of mine but nothing helps. I am punishing my soul beyond endurance and I am living painfully.70

Episteme’s characterization, in contrast to every other figure, male or female, is expanded to a startling degree. A delightful example occurs in the scene after the betrothal, when Galaktion refuses to embrace his bride as she is a pagan. The slighted Episteme is so aggrieved that she complains to her father who then remonstrates with her bridegroom. Galaktion pretends to be ‘shy’, a very natural reaction when accosted by one’s father-in-law, and then explains to Episteme (not her father – presumably anticipating his horrified reaction) the reasons for his behaviour. Moreover, he does so in secret but not before Episteme is again allowed her say: Galaktion pretended to be shy and said to Episteme with nobody in sight or within earshot, ‘Do you know lady, why I am not kissing you?’ And she said to him, ‘No, my lord and I am very grieved about this.’71

This play on the embrace could also be a subtle signal back to Tatios, who has much to say about a kiss.72

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Once she and Galaktion decide to have a continent marriage, Episteme’s foremost concerns are not only to determine how celibacy will affect her relationship with Galaktion but also how she may remain with him, regardless of their unusual situation. She abstains from comment on the sanctity of the moment and their dedication to God but asks instead, ‘if we do this, lord, and we separate from one another, will we always be able to rejoice with each other?’73 Galaktion’s answer reassures her, ‘Give me this hour your promise, lady, that you follow me, and I will not be separated from you in this world or the next …’.74 Despite the celibate nature of their married life Episteme’s regard for Galaktion remains undiminished. Barely eight days after the wedding, Episteme is persuaded by her husband to leave her home, family and material possessions to journey to an unknown distant retreat where the couple eventually lead discrete lives for at least six years. She is initially ignorant of their destination; he merely urges her to abandon everything she has ever known in her young, sheltered life and she acquiesces without question. Her basis for this faith in him is Galaktion’s promise to her that they will never be separated. Once she realizes that Galaktion has been captured, knowing that this will mean the end, Episteme flies to her deaconess to beg permission to follow him. The threat of certain death fails to sway her resolve, and much like Thekla (whom she is told to emulate) running to find Paul, Episteme rushes off in pursuit of her husband, ‘so that I may die with you’.75 She does not seek glorious death as a martyr nor is she concerned about her ascetic practice or remaining hidden; all she desires is to be with Galaktion. Her sole concern is the continuation of her relationship with her husband. The full extent of her fervour is encapsulated by her reaction to Galaktion’s agony when she and her husband are on trial for their lives. Episteme is forced to witness Galaktion being whipped ferociously by the governor’s guards. Martyr accounts generally relate that victims do not complain or cry out while ­undergoing excruciating torture76 but even urge the guards on,77 often persuading onlookers to undergo similar punishments.78 Here, on the contrary, Episteme is beside herself with pain and more importantly, anger, at Galaktion’s suffering, so much so that the governor calls her a ‘maenad’.79 Incredibly, she begs Oursos to stop beating him: ‘O merciless tyrant, O heartless governor. Wretch, how can you not pity such beautiful limbs, which you consume by scourges? Spare the young man, O brutal and foul one’.80 There is no practising of Christian temperance here when the sight of Galaktion in pain fills her with so much anguish. The thought that these are the trials of a martyr is of no consequence; what matters is that her husband is suffering and she cannot bear to see it. While Christian vitae are certainly not devoid of voluble female personae, it is unusual, nonetheless, to find such a reactive female whose complaints, fears, demands and anger are so clearly voiced throughout the narrative and, in their manifestation, do not advance the plot specifically. Thekla, Melania and

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Perpetua are examples of enterprising women but they are also first, exceptional and secondly, the protagonists of their vitae. Episteme does play a lead role but she shares the stage with Galaktion. Episteme’s vocalized emotion and her desire not to be separated from her husband, both point to her characterization as a prototype heroine of a novel. Emotive speeches are not the only novelistic attributes in this vita. The separation of the couple is a standard plot device and is a technique utilized by the hagiographer in creating Galaktion and Episteme’s independent lives on Sinai. Moreover, this severance helps to invert the pagan sexual motifs. Whereas in the novel the couple are forced apart by circumstances beyond their control and spend the rest of the novel trying to reunite, in this Christian context the parting is enforced by the holy pair themselves, strengthening the variation on the pagan topos. Galaktion is permitted to see Episteme and even encouraged to do so but in the world of Christian morality this cannot be and he actively resists: He drove virtue to such a degree of chastity that he did not see the face of a woman during the six years of his asceticism. For often those saintly old men called him saying, ‘Come with us and see our lady, the deaconess, who is spending her ninetieth year. And at the same time you can also see sister Episteme.’ But he could not endure this saying, ‘Until it is the necessary time, I will not see her.’81

Christian ‘self-control’ (enkrateia) reverses the pagan ardour that drives the entire Greek novel.82 Their sexual purity is thus reaffirmed in a Christian context while conforming to the rubric of a novel. As Christian ‘hero’, Galaktion is painted in terms of the rather mechanical prototype of a typical saint. The trials tackled by his pagan counterparts are echoed in his ascetic feats (silence muffles any of Episteme’s) and in his rejection of his wife and, thus, repudiation of sexual temptation. The inversion of the sexual themes prevalent in the ancient novels to create an ethos of unisexual devotion is taken even further in terms of narrative space. After Episteme consents to be baptized by Galaktion, he instructs her to ‘pretend to wash in the garden with fine linen … and I will baptize you’.83 The garden is the scene for many an erotic encounter in the pagan novels84 and even more so in the twelfth-century novels.85 By baptizing and so cleansing Episteme in the narrative space where so many heroines are seduced, the hagiographer reverses the motif. The fountain, which usually commands a lengthy ekphrasis,86 becomes a water basin – the instrument of Episteme’s baptism. Sexual connotations are also rife in connection with water in late-Byzantine literature. For example, Kazhdan noted how in the thirteenth century, the hero Kallimachos was ‘hired as a mi/sqargoj to carry water and irrigate the garden’.87 Galaktion personally baptizes Episteme (though a reason is given for this lack of propriety – notable in itself) ‘in one of the waterbasins’88 adding the final touch to a scene, which deftly reverses yet subtly acknowledges a wealth of knowledge. This brief literary analysis of the VGE reveals many features of the ancient

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novel, such as exotic landscapes, passionate heroines and the exploration of sexual fidelity. Furthermore, the peripatetic travails of the novels’ protagonists could be metaphorically mapped onto the transformation of Christian faith into everlasting matrimonial love, which triumphs against the trials of different religion, desire and separation.89 The vita is possibly too short to be considered a Christian novel (though length was not generally a criterion). Classifications of genre in this instance are unhelpful since none existed. In spite of this, the degree of referentiality is notable and important. What is also pertinent at this point of the VGE’s analysis is the degree to which Christian thought and belief are withheld to allow for a good story, particularly in the case of the women who convert to Christianity or choose to be baptized simply for personal profit. The VGE clearly deals with emotions and the relationships between the people whose lives we are following.

The Acts of Paul and Thekla

When Episteme learns that Galaktion has been captured, she asks permission from her deaconess to follow him. Her wish is granted with the added pronouncement: ‘May your road, child, be blessed in everything and you will complete the course of your trials just like Thekla, the protomartyr’. This reference to Thekla illuminates another path into the shifting literary allusions of this text. In addition to the ancient novel, the hagiographer has also created fleeting parallels with the Acts of Paul and Thekla. Both women give away items of jewellery. Thekla sells ‘bracelets, earrings and necklaces’ to buy the right to see Paul (8.18–20). It is significant that Episteme’s jewellery is similarly listed in comparison to the description of Galaktion’s disposal of his belongings. In that instance, the hagiographer merely states that he gave away ‘all his possessions’, sharpening the similarity between Episteme and Thekla. The deaconess’ injunction for emulation goes much further; the hagiographer puts Thekla’s words and actions into Episteme’s mouth. When Thekla escapes her trial by fire and runs to be reunited with Paul, she says to him, ‘I will follow you wherever you go’.90 This is reiterated by Episteme when she in turn, runs to catch up with the captured Galaktion: a)kolouqh/sw soi, o3pou a1n poreu/sh|.91 By leaving her home and journeying to find Galaktion, Episteme mirrors Thekla in her quest to find Paul particularly when Thekla is reunited with him. Having escaped her trial by fire, she says to a child: ‘I have been saved from the fire and am following Paul’.92 This idea is echoed by Episteme running to catch up with the imprisoned Galaktion.93 Intriguingly, once Thekla finds her apostle, he denies her request for baptism, saying, ‘Times are evil and you are beautiful. I am afraid lest another temptation come upon you worse than the first and that you do not withstand it but become mad after men.’ This speech is echoed and subverted in the deaconess’ admonition to Episteme when the latter informs her superior that she is leaving

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to find Galaktion: ‘Don’t, my child Episteme, don’t go, lest you cannot bear the tortures and deny Christ and defile your virginity’.94 Both Thekla and Episteme are threatened with nudity in a public arena. Thekla is stripped and ‘received a girdle’95 and eventually, ‘… there was round her a cloud of fire so that the beasts could neither touch her nor could she be seen naked’.96 Later, Alexander, whom she repudiates and who orders that Thekla undergo her ordeals, fearfully asks that she be released. As her clothes are returned to her, Thekla replies, ‘He who clothed me when I was naked among the beasts will in the day of judgement clothe me with salvation’.97 This is inverted for Episteme, who, when Oursos gives the order to strip her, cries: Yet more accursed (man) and thrice-wretched one, he whom God joined to me as husband in chastity did not see my nakedness in my holy baptism but you order that I should appear naked before you and all the people; may your eyes become blind so that you may never see my nakedness.98

And so it comes to pass, with blindness metaphorically symbolizing ignorance: And with this speech of the saint, the governor and all those with him immediately became blind. Then they shouted saying, ‘Save us, holy servant of Christ, from this darkness and we will believe in your God.’ And the saint had pity on them and entreated God and everyone immediately regained their sight and fifty-three souls believed in our Lord, Jesus Christ.99

A final point of comparison exists in a single manuscript that states that once Thekla escapes from her trial, she dwells on Mount Calamon or Rodeon in a retreat where ‘some of the well-born women, having learned about the virgin Thecla, went to her and learned the miracles of God. And many of them bade farewell to the world and lived an ascetic life with her’.100 Episteme and Galaktion journey to Mount Pouplion where they find ‘twelve monks there who had nuns with them, four very old sisters, far away’ and Episteme joins the community of women.101 These apocryphal echoes paired with the play on ancient fiction signal the VGE’s reinvention as a Christianized novel. In common with the VJB and VAA, the VGE’s form of recreation exists to facilitate the exploration of celibate marriage and the bond between continent partners. However, the construction of this unorthodox union is not uniform across the vitae. We have three very different representations of celibate marriage and it is to this inconsistency that we shall now turn. Notes 1 2

Chapter 90, verse 47 (p. 263) and chapter 91, verse 4 (p. 267) in A de Vogüé (1964). de Vogüé (1980) 288–89; idem (1981) 359–62.

46 3

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

12

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Cyprian’s sentence appears in one of his letters (Epistles 10, 1, 2): ‘quia maior est qui in nobis quam qui est in hoc mondo nec plus ad deiciendum potest terrena poena quam ad erigendum tutela divina. The VJB’s citation is cura tibi sit, Christe, de nobis, quia plus valet dextera tua ad erigendum quam fortitudo persecutoris ad deiciendum’(VJB 11), while the quote from the Regula reads as follows: ‘quia fortior est dextera eius ad protegendum quam diaboli inquitas ad laedendum’ (RM 91.4) [de Vogüé’s emphasis]. The other formulas de Vogüé compares do not involve the VJB. Halkin (1980) 241–96. Ehrhard (1936–), I. 641–45; R. Deveeresse (ed.), Codices Vaticani Graeci 1485–1683 (Vatican Library: Vatican, 1950) 410–15. Ehrhard (1936–), I. 358–62. S. Lampros (ed.), Catalogue of the Greek Manuscripts on Mount Athos I (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1895–1900) 343; Ehrhard (1936-), III. 450–3. See Introduction, n. 13. ‘The virginal glory of the martyr Julian’: M. Lapidge and M. Herren, Aldhelm: The Prose Works (Rowman & Littlefield: England, 1979), xxxvi; idem, Aldhelm: The Poetic Works (D. S Brewer: Cambridge, 1985). Upchurch (2007) 10–11. Salmon (1944–1953). The story of Julian & Basilissa serves as the reading for Epiphany; John 2:1–12 is the account of the Wedding at Cana. Julian & Basilissa’s commitment to a virginal union is celebrated by a vision of Christ Himself with Mary and tens of thousands of angels, and so the unqualified divine approval meeting the couple’s decision allows this illustration of the true nature of marriage to accompany the account of the Wedding at Cana [See Alwis (2003) 131–6]. Some of the conclusions I reached are now amended in Appendix 1. Carlotta Dionisotti observes that no matter how eloquent a translator may be in his own language, whenever he engages in the act of translation, the result tends to be literal: A. C. Dionisotti, ‘Translated saints: Wisdom and her daughters’, JECS 16 (2) [2008], 167–68. She adds, ‘Generally speaking, when we have more than one version of a translation, as is the case with many saints’ lives, it is not a translator, but an interfering, intelligent reader, like the venerable Bede, who revises the translation by improving its Latinity, and sometimes tampering with quite a bit more besides’ (168). Scholarship has tended to focus on Greek texts being translated into Latin and not vice versa. An excellent example of examining this is Dionisotti (2008) 168–80. Two relevant articles for Latin into Greek are V. von Falkenhausen, ‘S. Erasmo a Bisanzio’, Formianum 3 (1995) 79–92 and J. Noret, ‘La Passion de Chrysanthe et Darie a-t-elle été rédigée en grec ou en latin?’ AB 90 (1972) 109–17. Von Falkenhausen accumulates a body of evidence to support her theory: The absence of Erasmus’ cult in the East compared to his fame in the West (though this is often the case) [79–80], particularly in Italy, where monasteries were dedicated to him throughout the sixth century and eighth centuries (80) and the diffusion of his cult throughout France and Germany in the eighth and ninth centuries is telling (80). Moreover, Erasmus is not commemorated in the Synaxarium of Constantinople (80). Most interestingly, his Greek passio is transmitted in South Italian manuscripts (80). All this is unusual given that Erasmus is supposed to hail from Antioch, which is also where he achieves martyrdom (80–1). At the end of the passio we learn that Erasmus escapes from prison with the help of the Archangel Michael and sails to Formia in Campania (81), which becomes the centre of his cult. Von Falkenhausen believes that this provides a strong case for a Western origin, given that other passions of local saints who are based in Naples, Cumae and Pozzuoli are all written in Latin. It, therefore, would be very strange if this particular saint had a Greek passio (83). She highlights Greek migration to the mainland in the tenth and eleventh centuries from Calabria and Sicily, which instigated the establishment of Greek monasteries and concludes that the Greek version of Erasmus’ passion was created in this environment (83). Like Noret (see below), von Falkenhausen also uses linguistic evidence as the keystone of her argument (82–7 for von Falkenhausen). Noret’s work is of particular interest as the vita of Chrysanthus and Daria (hereafter the VCD) concerns another couple with a celibate marriage whose tale exists in both Greek and Latin and which dates to around the same period as Cecilia and the VJB.

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14 15

16 17 18

19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

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Noret concludes that the VCD was written in Latin. His evidence is wholly based on linguistic comparison (111–114) and his conclusion is confirmed by E. de Strycker who notes that the VCD cites a line from Virgil, Aeneid 1:26–7 (in the VCD, chs. 10–11): manet alta mente repostum iudicium Paridis spretaeque iniuria formae: ‘Une citation de Virgile dans la Passion de Chrysanthe et Darie’, AB 90 (1972) 336. For the following I am indebted to Carlotta Dionisotti for her invaluable advice. All conclusions and (any) errors that follow are my own. Note, though, that the Vulgate itself existed in many versions: see C. Brown Tkacz, ‘“Labor tam utilis”: the creation of the Vulgate’, Vigiliae Christianae 50 (1) (1996) 42–72, for an insightful account: ‘The oldest complete Latin Bible is the Codex Amiatinus (ca. 700)’ [47]. She also notes that Jerome did not translate all the books, certainly those he considered non-canonical (44) and it is now believed that only the Gospels are his own work (52). Essentially, from the psalms and the gospels. Three examples where neither the Greek nor the Latin is in accordance with the biblical text lie in chapter 10 with Luke 18:29; 9:62 and Matthew 7:14. The same occurs in chapter 11 for Revelation 2:23 and Psalm 120:3. There are five examples where neither the Greek nor the Latin follows their respective biblical traditions. These are for Ephesians 4:26 (chapter 16); Matthew 21:22 (chapter 39); Matthew 10:34–5 (chapter 53); Psalm 103:8–9 (chapter 57) and Psalm 144:14 (chapter 64). Three instances where the Greek is not exact but is more accurate than the Latin are Matthew 25:41 (chapter 38); Matthew 7:6 (chapter 53: here, the Greek is only slightly more accurate than the Latin) and Mark 9:48 (chapter 57). There is one instance where the Latin is more precise than the Greek: Revelation 1:15 (chapter 45). Finally, the Latin citation is missing twice in the following: 2 Corinthians 6:14 (chapter 21) and Matthew 25:15/ Luke 19:13 (chapter 46). VJB 11:294–6. VJB 16:432–3. VJB 17:434–5. BHG 970 is the vita; 971 is the passio. Following Halkin’s edition, Athos Dionysiou 143 (seventeenth century) contains the passio with the title: martu/rion tou= a(gi/on 'Ioulianou= kai\ tw~n su\n au)tw~| teleiwqe/ntwn (i.e. no mention of Basilissa) and Athos Vatopedi 84 (eleventh century) contains the vita; Eustratiades does not include the incipit in his catalogue of Vatopedi manuscripts cf. Vat Gr. 1667 (tenth century), which does contain the vita: bi/oj kai\ matru/rion tou= a(gi/ou 'Ioulianou=: tau=ta/ e0stin ta\ pa/qh tw~n martu/rwn 'Ioulianou=, Basili/sshj kai\ tw~n loipw~n in S. Eustratiades, Catalogue of the Greek manuscripts in the Library of the Monastery of Vatopedi on Mount Athos (Kraus reprints: New York, 1969). H. Delehaye, Étude sur le légendier romain: les saints de novembre et de décembre (Société des Bollandistes: Brussels, 1936) 196, chapter 3. idem (1936) 196, chapter 3. idem (1936) 198, chapter 6. idem (1936) 196, chapter 4. I use the Latin transcription by Salmon (1944) in the Luxeuil lectionary. Delehaye (1936) 196, chapter 4. idem (1936) 199, chapter 8. idem (1936) 199–200, chapter 9. As Delehaye notes, ‘il est permis d’affirmer qu’il n’y a peut-être pas de sujet plus embrouillé dans toute l’hagiographie romaine’ (74). Delehaye (1936) 75, 87–90. L. Duchesne and J-B. De Rossi, Les sources du Martyrologe Hiéronymien (Philippe Cuggiani: Rome, 1885). Cecilia’s church in Trastevere was dedicated to her in 545 (Delehaye [1936], 74). For Julian & Basilissa’s wide-ranging devotion (with references) spanning France, Germany and, Spain see R. Upchurch (2007) 7–8. Ælfric also translated the vita and passio into the Old-English vernacular, stressing its importance for the laity: Upchurch (2007) 21–2; idem, ‘Married virgins as model Christians: Ælfric’s legend of Julian & Basilissa’, Anglo-Saxon England 34 (2005) 197–217. For Spain, see J. Lorenzo Arribas, ‘Tradición oral, unos santos barqueros y algunos datos documentales disperses sobre la nave’ in L. Caballero Zoerda (ed.), La Iglesia

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34 35 36 37 38

39

40

41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58

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de San Pedro de la Nave Zamora (Zamora, 2004) 19–37, esp. 21 ff. He also notes that Julian is often confused with S. Julian the Hospitaler. For details on iconography, Upchurch (2007) 7–8 details three Roman frescos (one, destroyed, from the eighth century; one from the ninth; the last from the eighteenth century). See also E. Kirschbaum and W. Braunfels (eds), Lexikon der christlichen Ikonographie, 8 vols (Herder: Rome, 1968–76), cols 239–41. For the eighteenthcentury fresco, see M. Rochelle, Post-Biblical Saints Art Index (McFarland: Jefferson, NC., 1994) [under entry for Julian & Basilissa]. Athos Dionysiou 143 is dated to the seventeenth century [S. Lambros, Catalogue of the Greek Manuscripts on Mount Athos (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1895–1900), vol 1]. Appendix 1. Appendix 1. M. Férotin, Le liber Mozarabicus sacramentorum et les manuscrits Mozarabes (Edizioni Liturgiche: Rome, 1912), col 93. Vivian effectively sums up the complicated background to the Abba Daniel mss: ‘There are many different redactions of the texts and almost every manuscript contains a unique Daniel dossier with its own combination of stories and its own ordering of different redactions of the texts. It is impossible, or at least, very difficult, to reconstruct the original texts’ [Vivian (2008) 41]. Dahlman notes that there are over 100 extant manuscripts [Dahlman (2007) 90]. She has painstakingly edited the manuscripts where the Daniel texts are transmitted as part of the Apophthegmata Patrum collections (eadem 90). Dahlman’s edition uses four manuscripts in particular (E, M, P and V): E (El Escorial, Real Biblioteca del monasterio de San Lorenzo, cod. Scorialensis R. II. 1 (Revilla 21) [c. 1170–80]; P (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, cod. Parisinus gr. 919 [thirteenth–fourteenth century]); M (Moscow, Gosudarstvennyj Istoriceskij Muzej, Sinodal. Bibl., cod. Mosquensis Synod. gr. 345 (Vladimir 342) [first half of the eleventh century]); V (Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, cod. Vaticanus gr. 865 (olim 796) [fourteenth century]). All details for these manuscripts are in Dahlman, 90ff. Her edition and translation for ‘Andronikos & Athanasia’ is on 166–79.Vivian’s translation is in Vivian (2008) 50–6, with both a shorter and longer conclusion. According to his notes, Vivian uses two manuscripts here, which he identifies as mss 232 and 282. These correspond to Paris, Coislinianus 232 (eleventh century) [Dahlman (2007), 104] and Paris, Coislinianus 282 (eleventh–twelfth centuries) [eadem 99]. Vivian’s translation is in Vivian (2008) 57–61. VAA 4:76–77: h)|tia~to th\n su/zugon. VAA 4:70–5. See Notes to the VAA for chapter 5. VAA 4:82. cf. Eustathios in Chapter 5. VAA 5:108–10. VAA 6:152–4. Version A, p. 52 and version B, p. 58 [Vivian (2008)]. VAA 9:230. VAA 10:276–7. VAA 10:277–80. Version A, p. 54; version B, p. 60 [Vivian (2008)] Achilles Tatios, ‘The Adventures of Leukippe and Kleitophon’ in B. P. Reardon, Collected Ancient Greek Novels (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1989) 175–284. Leukippe and Kleitophon, 175–284. S. MacAlister, Dreams and Suicides: The Greek Novel from Antiquity to the Byzantine Empire (Routledge: London & New York, 1996) 110–11. H. Delehaye, Les passions des martyrs et les genres littéraires (Société des Bollandistes: Brussels, 1966) 229. H. -G. Beck, ‘Marginalia on the Byzantine novel’, in B. Reardon (ed.), Erotica Antiqua, Acts of the International conference on the ancient novel62 (University College of North Wales Press: Bangor, 1977) 59. f. 65r. For this codex, see E. Mioni, Bibliothecae Divi Marci Venetiarum, Codices Graeci

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59 60 61 62 63 64 65

66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92

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manuscripti. Thesaurus antiques, vol. 2 (Istituto poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato: Rome, 1985) 103–4. VGE 6:161–6. Leukippe and Kleitophon 5:18 (p. 242). VGE 12:294–5. It is also very difficult to find a linguistic comparison between the two texts. Similar vocabulary occurs but it is of those words in common usage, for example qhsauro/j, e1leon, musth/ria and nosei=n. Psellus: The Essays on Euripides and George of Pisidia and on Heliodorus and Achilles Tatios (ed.), A. Dyck (Verlag der Osterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften: Vienna, 1996) 81, n. 11. VGE 2:41. There was a misunderstanding in classical times about an Egyptian ruler. Herodotus observed that Memnon was often mistaken for Sosoteris (II. 106–10). A. Bataille also notes the confusion in Les Memnonia: recherches de papyrologie sur le nécropole de la Thèbes d’Égypte aux époques Hellénistique et romaines (IFAO: Cairo, 1957) 16–17. For examples of Latin texts, see W. Robins, ‘Romance and renunciation at the turn of the fifth century’ JECS 8 [4] (2000) 531–7. See, for example, B. Reardon, The Form of Greek Romance (Princeton University Press: Princeton, 1991) 3–14; 46–76 and D. Selden, ‘Genre of genre’ in J. Tatum (ed.), The Search for the Ancient Novel (John Hopkins University Press: Baltimore & London, 1994) 39–64. For problematizing this description, see Chapter 5. For laments in the Komnenian novels, see P. Roilos, Amphoteroglossia: A Poetics of the TwelfthCentury Medieval Greek Novel (Harvard Univerisity Press: Cambridge, Mass., 1995) 78–83. VGE 3:75–80. VGE 7:171–5. Leukippe and Kleitophon 2 (pp. 191–2). I am very grateful to Froma Zeitlin for this observation. VGE 8:203–5. VGE 8:205–7. VGE 12:303. See also K. Cooper, The Virgin and the Bride (Harvard University Press: Cambridge MA., 1996) 45–67. Carpus smiles as he is being nailed down in the ‘Martyrdom of Carpus, Papylus and Agathonice’ in H. Musurillo (ed.), Acts of the Christian Martyrs (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1972). Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis: Latine et Graecae (ed.), C. van Beek (Nijmegen: Bonn, 1938), chapter 9; B. D. Shaw, ‘The passion of Perpetua’, Past and Present 139 (1993) 3–45. See ‘Martydom of Carpus, Papylus and Agathonice’ in Musurillo (1972) where Agathonice, a bystander, jumps onto the pyre. VGE 14:332. VGE 13:327–30. VGE 10:246–52. See Cooper (1996) 52; 55–6. VGE 7:180–2. A. Littlewood, ‘Romantic paradises: The role of the garden in the Byzantine romance’, BMGS 5 (1979) 95–115; idem,‘Gardens of Byzantium’, Journal of Garden History 12 [2] (1992) 126–53 and C. Barber, ‘Reading the garden in Byzantium: nature and sexuality’, BMGS 16 (1992) 1–19. R. Beaton, The Medieval Greek Romance (Routledge: London, 1996). Barber (1992) 6–7. A. Kazhdan with L. Sherry & C. Angelidi, A History of Byzantine Literature (650–850) (National Hellenic Research Foundation Institute for Byzantine Research: Athens, 1999) 189. VGE 7:184. With thanks to Eleni Papargyriou for this suggestion. Acts of Paul in J. K. Elliott (1993), chapter 29 (p. 369). VGE 8:210. Acts of Paul, chapter 23 (p. 368).

50 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101

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VGE 8:210–11. VGE 12:288–90. Acts of Paul, chapter 33 (p. 370). Acts of Paul, chapter 33 (p. 370). Acts of Paul, chapter 38 (p. 371). VGE 14:334–9. VGE 14:339–45. Acts of Paul, chapter 45 (p. 373). VGE 9:227–39.

2

Representing Celibate Marriages Despite their unifying theme and their determination to explore the boundaries of celibate marriage, the vitae are far from homogenous in their renderings. The characters in the VJB represent a range of affirmative and negative perspectives on celibacy and marriage that engender terrible personal conflict, most notably between parents and children. The emphasis is largely on the rupture of the family and each case is vigorously and emotively debated among both Christian and pagan families. Conversely, the VAA has a slightly narrower focus and concentrates on its main characters. The hagiographer attempts to reconcile the stark imperatives by allowing a phase of normative fecund Christian marriage for its protagonists, followed by a celibate period where they continue in their daily routine. The couple’s separation soon after their decision to embrace continence seems to confirm the disquiet inherent in portraying such a marriage but the VAA continues to broaden the way in which human experience may be structured by creating a situation where the pair ultimately continue their continent marriage by cohabiting as two men, with one partner (Athanasia) living in full awareness of the remarkable situation. The VGE provides yet another angle since it bypasses all debate and uses the concept of a celibate marriage as a literary tool to invert pagan topoi. Since this vita is essentially a Christianized version of a pagan novel, the controversy that raged and simmered in the VJB and VAA exists in the VGE only in order to subvert the fictional relationship of the hero and heroine of the ancient novel into the purity of a non-sexual union. The pagan eros of antiquity is transformed into a passion for Christ. Celibacy and marriage are indeed significant concerns in the VGE, but only as part of the overall narrative strategy of the hagiographer – as experimental themes in his Christian novel. The lack of cohesion displayed in the three vitae clearly reflects the concern infiltrating hagiographers when composing these tales, an unease stemming from the dogmatic constraints they experience. Christianity is not the only religion to experience disquiet but other religious systems have found a way to counter the issue. In the Buddhist tradition, for example, the tension was resolved by the introduction of two levels of spiritual life: the higher, the celibate life of the monk that would lead to the goal of nirvana (liberation) and that of the Householder, who enters into a marriage but acquires merit by supporting the life of the monastery. This is possible in Buddhism because of the attendant belief in rebirth, which would eventually make it possible for everyone to become a monk in a subsequent birth. Thus one could devote all of one’s life to the quest of liberation.1

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In the classical Hindu tradition, there is an attempt to hold the two modes of life together, a series of stages called āśramas: ‘childhood, studentship, householder, retiree and ascetic’.2 The person that performs all his duties as householder is expected to detach himself gradually from all worldly attachments, including his wife and children, eventually becoming a saryasim (monk). In this persona, the devotee has turned his life totally to the pursuit of attaining moksha (liberation). In Hinduism, as in Buddhism, the belief in reincarnation and the possibility of multiple lives opens the possibility of attaining the ‘higher’ goal of celibate life at a certain stage of one’s existence. Devoid of the teaching of rebirth and reincarnation, Christianity was hard pressed to square the benefits of married life and sexual union with the affirmed goals of celibate life, which is why the attempts made in three vitae composed at different dates merit a great deal of attention.

Julian and Basilissa … The Lord appeared and comforted his faithful servant … He (God) commanded him to carry out these orders and He addressed him with the following advice, ‘Get up, do not be afraid nor fear either the advice of these words or your parents’ choice. For you will have a wife who will not separate you from Me by defiling you, but through you she will remain a virgin and I will receive both you and her in Heaven as virgins.’3

The conventional family

As the vita begins, the hagiographer presents the audience with a model of familial conventionality. Julian’s parents are part of a wealthy, Christian elite. As their son grows to maturity they realize that he is intending to reject his traditional role within their community, that of husband and father, and consequently plead with him to relent, using Christian teaching, specifically Paul, in their argument: listen to your parents’ healthy advice, given that we have been taught in the sacred law of Christ with spiritual teachings, according to the blessed apostle, the teacher of all Christians. For he says, ‘bear children, build a home, offer no pretext for the evil one’ … so that you appear faithful to the Lord’s law.4

Such a pronouncement is of course, a standard attitude, pagan or Christian. The anxiety experienced by Julian’s parents concerns his desire to remain unmarried since by so doing, Julian will not produce children and thus continue the family line: ‘… with one common purpose you will come together with the united and saving teaching’5 and thus: ‘the desires of the body will be

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pacified and conquered’.6 They then cast his age against him, arguing that the time is right.7 This situation continues when the rest of the family and even his friends offer him ‘advice’ which Julian finds distressing (e0paxqei&aj).8 Providentially, a solution satisfactory to everyone arrives in the comely shape of Basilissa, whom God has promised to Julian as a suitable bride. With these familial and social arguments the author paints a perceptive picture of conventional expectations for lay Christians. However, familial expectations and the nexus created by these bonds are not limited to Christian sentimentality. Throughout the narrative the emotional demands of one’s family are also dwelt upon for the pagan protagonists. Julian is the son of the first man of the city and his family commands much respect: three major officials are sent in a delegation to him for his first interrogation, because of his family’s status.9 The assessor admits as much to him.10 So powerful is the pull of family that Markianos initially decides to show Julian some leniency: ‘I am adjourning the punishment to spare your good name’,11 and pleads with the saint, appealing to shared values: ‘I urge you, as my son, to hasten gladly, offering frankincense to the gods in praise of your family’.12 Markianos places such an unshakeable value on the family unit that he is convinced that the act of calling Julian ‘his son’ will have an effect. It is precisely this confidence that makes his anger, grief and most of all disbelief so poignant, when his real son, Kelsios, rejects him. Tragically and ironically Markianos’ only child turns against him in the bitterest way possible. Twice Kelsios is referred to as being born from his father, a startling statement, accentuating the strength of the governor’s attachment to his child: ‘the fruit of my belly’.13 When Kelsios’ teachers realize that he is determined to find Julian, they flee, amplifying the seriousness of the situation.14 When the boy’s feelings become evident Markianos is simply in disbelief: ‘how can a son deny his father and not recognize his mother?’15 The notion is absolutely inconceivable to him. He pleads with Julian, begging him somehow to release Kelsios from what he perceives as enchantment: ‘only save my only son’.16 But when he realizes that there is no hope, the family go through the ritual of mourning.17 Family ties are further widened to include the entire city. When the martyrs are led to the burning cauldrons the men in the crowd cry: ‘O injustice, and we have children as well’.18 By exposing the values and needs of Christian and pagan families, the author dissects the bond that binds these traditional Christian and pagan families. The VJB thus portrays an internal conflict between the sin of carnality and the need for perpetuation. Yet importantly, a vehement case for the negation of the family unit is also presented.

The denial of family

As the narrative commences, Christ’s command that ‘he that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and he that loveth son or daughter

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more than me is not worthy of me’ is seized upon.19 In chapter 7 of the vita, the Book of Life foretold: ‘those who preferred nothing but the love for Christ, neither father, mother, wife children, land, wealth or the other things that hinder the soul in this age … Among this number you will be deemed worthy to be included’.20 And once Julian and Basilissa establish their separate communities this starts to happen: ‘so men were leaving their wives, children their parents, fiancés their fiancées and also the paternal properties’.21 The climax comes when Kelsios converts in a very public and vociferous manner. Several times he declares: ‘I deny my father and mother’.22 He patently and unashamedly rejects the idea of continuing the family line.23 Antonios the priest pushes home the extent of Markianos’ personal loss when he proclaims: … your son did not prefer you, his bodily father over Christ the father. Similarly the person whom you call your wife, recognizing the message of the Lord, despised you, the mortal, and your corruptible bed, so that she would be deemed worthy of rest through the immortal Christ.24

The message is stark in its intent and meaning. But the text means to show an alternative to the conventional family. It replaces this historical, traditional and integral unit of society with the concept of the spiritual family.

The spiritual family

Extra-familial bonds were well documented throughout the Byzantine Empire and were regarded as socially important, creating an additional network of kinship ties accompanied by legal obligations and proscriptions.25 The VJB, however, deals with a covenant formed not for personal promotion or with a political view in mind but as an expansion of one’s family, a replacement. Rejection of one’s worldly mother and father leads to a spiritual family.26 This is more complete, its rewards are more certain, and moreover, there is an overwhelming sense of community; a united purpose which, in the circumstances of persecution, would have been all the more reassuring. In a sense, Christianity itself is a spiritual family. With this perception, the vita simultaneously denies and re-conceptualizes the model of the family. This ideology frames the narrative. The relationship between Basilissa and her group of virgins and later Julian and his virgins is portrayed as that of mother and father respectively.27 Julian later retorts to the assessor that his followers are not his disciples but his fathers.28 He points out that this relationship will lead to the Kingdom of Heaven: ‘so that the children with their fathers and the fathers with their children journey to the Kingdom of Heaven’.29 The message becomes more overt and socially disruptive when Kelsios rejects his worldly parents and announces that he recognizes only Julian as his father: ‘I recognize you, father of my second birth, whom Christ my master reveals’.30

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Not only is there a ‘natural’ religious relationship of spiritual father/mother to son/daughter between the person who baptizes and the person who is baptized but also now there is an actual replacement for a blood father and mother. Once again a spiritual son in a continent marriage is born, this time explicitly. There is an added twist when Kelsios’ mother is baptized: ‘he (Antonios) baptized the woman and her blessed son Kelsios received her, having become her (god) father in the baptism’.31 Thus the son becomes his mother’s spiritual father in baptism. As a result, Kelsios knows that ‘I will possess my mother forever and she will possess me, her son’.32 Once Markianilla converts, a close family unit is implicitly formed, strengthened by the blood ties and marital bonds entwined within.33 The family unit of the earthly realm, which demands physical succession and emotional wastage, cannot possibly reap the benefits of the spiritual family: ‘I must believe in this true Christ, in Whom I shall have no succession, by binding myself to His eternity. I will not fear death. For this is true glory and nobility for the family’.34 ou)dei&j dia&doxoj refers to virginity and thus the cessation of procreation. It is neatly juxtaposed with the use of sunafqei\j, which normally is used for sexual intercourse. Kelsios points out that this is what is required for a)lhqh\j do/ca kai\ semno/thj ge/nouj.

Julian and Basilissa’s celibate marriage

The ultimate denial of the worldly family unit is a continent marriage and Julian and Basilissa have exactly that.35 The connection between Julian and Basilissa’s marriage and their virginity is emphasized when two angels crown them and unite their hands, mirroring the marriage ceremony. From the side of Christ, angels hail the pair as ‘My soldiers, who defeated the ancient serpent’s pleasure’.36 It is their virginity within marriage that is highlighted and praised. It is for this that they are deemed worthy to join the rank of the angels. ‘You have won, Julian, you have won’, is cried aloud from the king’s side.37 From Mary’s side is proclaimed, ‘You are blessed Basilissa, who consented in this way to the salvific advice and who spurned the illusions of this world, preparing yourself for everlasting glory’.38 Julian and Basilissa’s continent marriage prove them worthy to be included in the immortal company of angels, in a prelapsarian articulation of marriage. Moreover, the couple even have children. Physically barren they may choose to be, but by their commitment to God and their teaching of young men and women, these people are regarded as their progeny: ‘Behold, , we, together with the children whom You gave us, none of whom has been lost’.39

Contextualizing Julian and Basilissa’s celibate marriage

Of all three vitae, the VJB expresses an unequivocal conflict between marriage and celibacy and initially appears to declare that celibacy wins. The author

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borrows the template of the reluctant spouses40 and promotes an unambiguous message: such a union is divinely sanctioned. Inspired by the ideals of celibacy and abstinence rampaging throughout the Greek passio, the Latin vita’s author embraces a substitute mode of living, viable in the face of social and biological renunciation, and already fêted in the passio: the creation of a spiritual family. The passio’s ascetic fervour is typical of Christianity in Egypt and Asia Minor in the early centuries41 where the practice of asceticism spawned a rich array of possibilities for both men and women: solitary retreat in the desert, coenobitic monasticism, ascetic communities, women and men living in a spiritual marriage, urban asceticism or even practising asceticism within the family home.42 The passio’s extreme preference for virginity over marriage and its uncompromising rejection of marital and family life are trumpeted throughout the narrative. This stance was echoed throughout Late Antiquity and indeed, may be deemed fairly representative. Take, for example, Eustathios of Sebaste who inspired a following in fourth-century Asia Minor. As Elm writes, ‘Eustathios’ followers, men and women, were condemned because they had severed all ties with their natural families … Men had abandoned their wives, women their husbands and children their parents …’.43 This is an identical situation to that portrayed in the VJB. Between 330 and 336 Eustathios was the ‘dynamic figure behind the ascetic development in Asia Minor’.44 Similarly, Hieracas of Leonotopolis, a highly regarded teacher, also preached renunciation and denied marriage.45 From what survives via Epiphanius, Hieracas seems no more ascetic than other leaders such as Antony, Amoun or Paphnutius.46 Thus, ‘a stringently ascetic notion of Christianity was widespread ….’47 Certainly, the VJB’s passio adopts the dominant position. Its explicit promotion of the spiritual family is not an isolated example. Non-hagiographical evidence such as papyrus letters, contemporary with the passio, belonging to the Egyptian leaders Paphnutius, Nepheros and the hermit John, refer to the concept, as do the sixth-century letter collections of the hermits Barsanuphius and John of Gaza.48 Shenoute, the imperious Egyptian monastic leader (348–466 ce), utilized the metaphor of a family in a novel way: he extended the idea to impose a hierarchical order on his followers to consolidate his leadership.49 Wielding this tool, he justifies his decision for corporal punishment, against which many monks, and particularly nuns, protested.50 The VJB diverges from this latter motive fundamentally. For the hagiographer, the family metaphor is evoked not to impose authority but to reaffirm that renunciation of one’s biological kin is the key route to salvation. While such evidence for an overwhelming enthusiasm for zealous austerity appears conclusive, records from ecclesiastical councils, such as Gangra in 340/341,51 and Athanasius’ reproofs show that asceticism was not omnipresent. Perhaps this is why the hagiographer openly allows a need for procreation [interestingly, both on the Christian (Julian’s parents) and pagan sides (Markianos)], despite unwaveringly promoting the repudiation of intercourse. Biblical

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authority, such as Matthew 19:12 endorsed and supported such a position: ‘not everyone can accept this teaching, but only … those to whom it is given. Let anyone accept this who can’. The VJB is thus part of a general outlook and mood of asceticism but the narrative’s significance lies in its vivid portrayal of the human cost of such a decision. Such an emotive text could not fail to capture and sustain an audience’s attention.

Marriage as a bond

However, there is more to the VJB than the commemoration of saintly celibacy and its scrupulous account of the destruction that the decision can cause. It celebrates a marriage that endures despite all the evidence to the contrary. Unlike Cecilia and Valerian (with whom our couple share unquestionable parallels), the author continues an association between Julian and Basilissa. They run a joint enterprise – described as a ‘holy trade’52 – and maintain contact to discuss matters of importance.53 The men, women and children whom they teach are described as their offspring thus strengthening their alliance. Julian and Basilissa’s hagiographer does not cast his protagonists as an extreme eremitic duo nor does he separate them. Instead, he places them in an unusual, controlled, domestic/urban environment: a double monastery: ‘The blessed ones agreed, not only to be anxious for their own salvation but also to accept the care of many souls. They divided their homes’ (diairou=ntai ta\ oi0khth/ria) … 54 and they ‘established monasteries’ (kaqistw~si toi/nun monasth/ria).55 If, as speculated in Chapter 1, the early part of the story was indeed composed to emphasize the couple’s interaction, then a double monastery is an inventive ploy to ensure its continuation. Nevertheless, an obvious propriety is maintained by emphasizing that the pair do not live together, illustrating the unease that constantly accompanies the practice of celibate marriage. Julian and Basilissa’s monasteries not only serve to solidify their purity and worthiness for sanctity but with bricks and mortar, the hagiographer has found a temporary way to circumvent the inevitable temptation of sexual intercourse ever present in the Christian mind. Simultaneously, however, he contrives to deepen their relationship. Chapter 1 explained that chapter 59 of the VJB was a late interpolation, showcasing Basilissa. The sole reason for this scene could only be to add indubitable emotional depth to the couple’s relationship. Nevertheless, the perils of sexual intercourse are too profoundly embedded within Christian consciousness to vanish and consequently, despite these concessions, the author makes it clear that the couple establish separate institutions and Basilissa is eventually eliminated from the tale. When faced with a precarious situation of uneasy celibacy, the simplest solution is the eradication of one of the partners. There seems to be a limit to the imagination, no matter how inventive.

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Andronikos and Athanasia And behold, by God’s dispensation, he saw his wife coming in the garments of a man, as she herself was also travelling to the Holy Land. When they spoke to each other, the holy Athanasia recognized the blessed Andronikos. But he did not know her at all. For how could he know her, as her face had been altered with suffering, and moreover she looked like an Ethiopian.56

A very different conception of sexless marriage lies in the VAA. Here, the hagiographer circumvents all tensions surrounding a celibate marriage in two ways. First, he neatly evades the issue by ensuring that his protagonists embark upon both consummated marriage and (later) celibacy. Secondly, he then attempts to settle the paradox by having the couple recreate their marital bond in accordance with Paul’s teachings.57 But to enhance the bond, the author deftly topples gender expectations to reach a position where Athanasia is more male than Andronikos. In their new guises the couple re-live their secular married life and thus reformulate the contradiction of a celibate marriage.

A new Christian marriage

Like Julian and Basilissa and Galaktion and Episteme, Andronikos and Athanasia submit to an arranged marriage and they are wealthy. Unlike the other two couples, they practise Christianity in an unproblematic period of history. Where they most obviously differ is in their sexual practice. At a minimum, in twelve years of marriage, they had intercourse two times, both resulting in a successful pregnancy; more likely, they had sex throughout those first dozen years. Despite this, their carnality is not an impediment to achieving sanctified status since the author carefully portrays their worldly life as that of the ‘good Christian’. Moreover, by having children, they fulfil an essential requirement of biblical teaching. The hagiographer initially sets up the story by detailing the Christian couple’s normative married life. Andronikos and Athanasia’s marriage appears to have been the standard agreement between two families known to one another: Athanasia is the daughter of Andronikos’ fellow workman and the legality of their marital bond is emphasized: sunh=pto de\ au)tw~| kai\ gunh\ no/mw| ga/mou quga/thr tw~n o9mote/xnwn tino/j I)wa/nnhj.58 The age of the protagonists is not given nor is there any detail of their attitude towards their marriage or of the ceremony itself. Thus we do not know if family pressure forced them to marry, as in the cases of Galaktion and Julian. The couple have two children, John and Mary, but it is only after the couple have fulfilled their Christian marital role that they decide to cease sexual relations. The reason for their decision is stated clearly: ‘therefore having bid farewell to the flesh and all carnal desires, they devoted all their effort to the spirit and spiritual works’.59 Sex is thus considered a distraction from

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worthier occupations. There is, however, no direct allusion to the pollution of intercourse.60 The two are represented as united in mind and deed. Athanasia is as pious as her husband and carries out the same deeds of charity, which include bathing the poor and destitute and generally attending to their needs. The couple’s lives are devoted to living a godly existence and so the narrator clearly portrays how it is possible to lead a normative pious family life both with and without intercourse. Public acknowledgement of Andronikos and Athanasia’s worth is widespread: ‘these blessed ones were loved exceptionally by almost everyone in the city’.61 At this stage, we seem to have some form of compromise of the doctrinal imperative. But a couple living together in a continent relationship can never stay together for very long as the weight of suspicion will fall upon then. Separation is inevitable. For Andronikos and Athanasia, rupture comes with the untimely death of their children and provides the author with his first main chance to precipitate an underlying theme that continues to the end of the tale: the careful gendered depiction of Andronikos and Athanasia’s characters, as we saw in Chapter 1, which is inverted by the time the story reaches its climax. Once the couple reunite in Egypt, with Athanasia in disguise, to all intents and purposes they live the same continent form of life as they did after their children died. It is an idealized form of marriage but even better than the life they had before, since Andronikos’ ignorance of the gender of his companion underscores and elevates the spiritual bond between them. In the mind of the hagiographer, the dangers of fornication are now no longer an issue. Andronikos never once realizes that he is living with his wife and she never tells him. The fact that Athanasia is aware of their connection is dismissed. Her role is to illustrate how it is possible to overcome the womanly defects of emotion, not to act the part of temptress in order to contaminate the perfect bond as is so common in hagiography. Her silence can be viewed by the audience as all the more remarkable and praiseworthy when they remember the careful portrayal of Athanasia’s character throughout the narrative. Thus there was a distinct purpose to exploring Andronikos and Athanasia’s characters in a specifically gendered way, as detailed in Chapter 1. Athanasia’s restraint concerning her true identity is phenomenal if we consider that this is the same woman who was earlier moved to such depths of uncontrollable distress. It is essential to understand Athanasia’s potential for emotional volatility in order to appreciate her selfcontrol when she eventually cohabits with her husband. Her unpredictability drives the entire piece, creating dramatic suspense that is underpinned by questions asked by the characters and the captive audience: when Athanasia asks her husband for his name, will she reveal herself? Will she divulge her secret during the twelve years of their cohabitation? Will she relent when her husband weeps as she lies dying? The Athanasia described in Chapter 1 would have undoubtedly declared her identity but the fact that she chooses not to

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underscores her ascetic training and permits the tentative shoots of their new form of marriage to blossom. She wants to be with her husband even if it means that he never knows who she really is. She has to destroy her feminine role in order to have a celibate marriage. Reconciliation of celibacy and marriage can thus be found but, yet again, uneasily. For Andronikos and Athanasia, unlike Julian and Basilissa or Galaktion and Episteme, celibacy is not regarded as a primary factor of their existence. They lead a very pious life and are publically considered to be doing so even while they are having a sexual relationship. Only once they have performed their familial/Christian duty by producing two children, do they cease sexual relations. The melodramatic description of the children’s deaths elevates the impact of their choice to pursue celibacy and so procreation is viewed as the source for which their early claim to sanctity and the fulfilment of Christian duty is based, as well as helping to flesh out their gendered roles. Only the death of their children separates Andronikos and Athanasia and after they are reunited, they resume a higher form of their marriage. Their new relationship is an adaptation of marriage that is essentially identical to the type of life they had before their children died. Andronikos may not know that he has been reunited with his wife, but the author makes it clear that the union has been recreated by the parallel lengths of time (twelve years) that span each major section of their joint lives: marriage with intercourse; spiritual training; spiritual cohabitation. Moreover, once Athanasia dies, Andronikos reclaims her as his wife. The holy brothers tacitly confirm their bond by burying them side-by-side. Andronikos and Athanasia therefore have an idealized form of marriage that is celebrated despite its contradictory framework of celibacy and separation. The VAA then does not merely centre on celibacy but the sanctity and holiness of the marriage bond.

The ‘Transvestite Saints’ and the marriage bond

The story of Andronikos and Athanasia generically falls into the literary category reserved for ‘transvestite saints’; tales of women who dress as men, usually in order to flee a worldly situation.62 The woman’s departure and subsequent disguise usually signal a significant break from her customary way of life.63 Clothed in the garb of a monk or hermit, the woman achieves a plane of sanctity unheard of for the female sex. Her disguise is usually revealed on her deathbed, much to everyone’s amazement and there is eventual acknowledgement that a woman can overcome the barriers of her sex so as to become ‘manly’. Athanasia certainly falls into this category but with important qualifications that deepen our understanding of the couple’s bond. Anson identified female ‘transvestites’ as the wish-fulfilment of male monastic fantasy. Women represented all that was evil to the male mind, especially to the men who made the desert their home. Chief among the moral themes governing the spiritually edifying tales was the battle to overcome the

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temptation of fornication. Moschus, for example, relates the story of Abba Elijah who gives a fellow female ascete some water, but ‘when she had departed, the devil began working against me on her account putting lewd thoughts into my mind. The devil gained possession of me and I could not bear the flame of lust’.64 The clearest formulation of the monks’ belief is the statement of an elder who says, ‘Children, salt comes from water. But if it comes back to water, it is dissolved and disappears. So the monk comes from a woman, and if he comes back to a woman, he is undone and insofar as his being a monk is concerned, he dies’.65 Moschus also relates two tales of women who go to extreme measures to prevent men from being attracted to them. Females are still regarded as the instigators of lust, just because they are women, but here they attempt to combat the feelings of temptation they inspire. In one story, a woman retreats into the wilderness for seventeen years with only a basket of soaked beans when she realized that a man found her attractive.66 In a particularly shocking tale we are told of a woman who, on being told by an admirer that her eyes were her most attractive feature, immediately gouges them out.67 To have a woman living among monks, no matter in how clandestine a fashion, obviously represents the ultimate temptation. In the ‘transvestite’ tales, the women undergo terrible ordeals; being accused of rape or fathering children are two favourites. Despite these hardships they always endure their punishments with the utmost humility – punishments for crimes of temptation to which the monks themselves are most susceptible. Anson views the ensuing castigation of the woman as atonement for the monks’ own desires and ultimately, ‘their guilt is compensated by turning her into a saint with universal remorse and sanctimonious worship’.68 The initial focus of the tales of ‘transvestite’ women was on the flight from marriage or unwanted male attention. Of these, Margaret, Anastasia patrikia and Euphrosyne are prime examples.69 St. Margaret, for example, disguises herself as a man to escape her wedding and on eventually becoming prior at a monastery, is accused of fathering a child. Margaret reveals her true identity on her deathbed.70 Anastasia patrikia wears her disguise to escape the attentions of the emperor Justinian. Living as a hermit for twenty-eight years with the help of Abba Daniel, she dies without anyone ever recognizing her true identity.71 Euphrosyne also dresses as a man to flee marriage. She seeks refuge in a monastery, but her beauty attracts so many men that she is eventually placed in solitary confinement.72 As the tales evolved, heightened emphasis was laid on the recognition scene, focusing more on the disguise.73 Anson places Athanasia within this particular niche of recognition scene merely stating that she ‘foreshadows the disguised heroines of medieval romance. (But) more immediately … she simply remains one of a number of female monks whose legends conclude with some form of familial reconciliation’.74 One example comes from Euphrosyne’s story, which displays a marvellous circularity: fleeing marriage, she becomes the monk

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Esmeraldus and ends up comforting her own father who is tormented by the thought of his missing daughter. This practice goes on for a remarkable thirtyeight years. Euphrosyne finally confesses the truth on her deathbed whereupon her father locks himself away in his daughter’s cell until his own demise. He is eventually buried next to her.75 So where does this leave Athanasia? Simply as a woman who stands apart: unlike the women described, she is the only woman who dresses as a man in order to be with her husband, not escape from him. This is the material point. Anson’s comment that this tale is based around ‘uxorial service’ is thus justified.76 The fact that she desires to remain unrecognized is an inversion rather than a variation of a literary topos: Athanasia must remain unrecognized if Andronikos and she are both to achieve sanctity. Her hidden holiness is the key to the entire text and the resolution to her particular paradox of continent marriage.77

Galaktion and Episteme The blessed Episteme said to him, ‘If we do this lord, and we separate from one another, will we always be able to rejoice with each other?’ The blessed Galaktion said to her, ‘Give me this hour your promise, lady, that you follow me, and I will not be separated from you in this world or the next’.78

Narrative devices: Galaktion and Episteme’s marriage

The marriage/celibacy debate that we have witnessed for the VJB is not a major preoccupation for the VGE. Here, as typified in the VAA, the emphasis is firmly positioned on the couple’s interaction. The changed literary context prompts a fresh option for this third representation of a celibate marriage. Galaktion and Episteme’s virginal union can be read on multiple levels. The couple’s marriage could be interpreted as an ironic take on the ancient novel and as a narrative device to fit in with the requirements of this particular genre. Thus, if the hagiographer wished to create an edifying sequel to Achilles Tatios’ Adventures of Leukippe and Kleitophon, as assumed by some scholars, then the misery of Kleitophon and (G)leukippe at the beginning of the story can be read as the misery that is inevitably bestowed upon those who choose to live as pagans. The famed lovers of Antiquity are exceedingly unhappy but conversion solves all their problems. Given that Galaktion’s parents were the definition of pagan eros, their son and his bride (whom he persuades to become a Christian) have to display an equal and parallel desire for Christian a)ga/ph. They perform the ultimate service of love to God and dedicate themselves and their virginity to him. They have a celibate marriage. If the text is read as a Christian inversion of a generic pagan novel, Galaktion and Episteme’s sexless marriage, it can be argued, is a narrative device.79 In the

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pagan novels the hero and heroine tend to remain virgins until the end of the tale so that when they are inevitably married, both can pass the sexual standards held by their society. Their chastity is paramount and, if it is ever threatened, a development in the plot ensures that the lovers are separated. In Leukippe and Kleitophon, her mother bursts into the bedroom at the crucial moment.80 By refusing to consummate their marriage, the saintly pair echoes the virginity of the protagonists of the ancient novel but the crucial difference in the vita is that Galaktion and Episteme renounce sex voluntarily and separate intentionally, enhancing the Christian celibate motif. Moreover, the saints die with their marriage unconsummated. But Christian thought compensates this earthly matter by granting the couple eternal life together. As Galaktion reassures his wife, if she keeps the faith, they will not be separated in this world or the next. Given the undeniable novelistic approach to this vita, it is no surprise that the story is more important than the theological and ‘spiritual’ implications of their sexless union and that the celibate nature of the saints’ marriage is not dwelt upon. Celibate marriage here is a technical device that stands at the intersection of novel and Christian tale.

Celibate marriage reconsidered The lack of a technical term for celibate marriage in the hagiographic canon, coupled with the fact that no two unions are ever the same forewarns us of its elusive nature. No couple enters into marriage with both participants knowing or arranging beforehand to lead a sexless life. The pair are either forced into matrimony or make a joint decision to abstain once they are married. A third alternative opens when one partner is reluctant, whereupon various events, usually of a divine nature, concur to persuade the spouse to relent.81 The decision to abstain from intercourse transpires at a variety of points during the relationship: after the betrothal (Galaktion and Episteme), more dramatically, on the wedding night (Julian and Basilissa) or after a period where the couple have had sex or after they have performed the Christian duty of having offspring (Andronikos and Athanasia). Once the decision to be continent is made, the lives of the married couple vary greatly. Some try to cohabit but acknowledge the difficulties of daily temptation (for example, Amoun of Nitria).82 Other hagiographers shy away from the possibility of fornication as the reason for separation, as in the case of Andronikos and Athanasia. The reason is implicit but not stated outright. Several couples separate immediately (Galaktion and Episteme) to forestall temptation. In rare cases a couple remain together and here Julian and Basilissa are particularly interesting. We have seen how they continue to interact to maintain the welfare of those in their care. But even here the hagiographer makes it clear that they establish separate monasteries and eventually banishes Basilissa from the tale.

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The notion of a couple living together in continence forever was completely unfeasible even to the imagination. Paulinus of Nola, who eventually led a continent life with his wife Therasia, ‘advised people at least to abstain from conjugal relations for long periods, to make it easier to pray as the state of marriage made it almost impossible to do so’.83 When at last we do discover tales of married couples who live in complete chastity, in the Historia Monachorum and the Sayings of the Desert Fathers, such as the couple who wore hair shirts at night, their chastity is kept a total secret.84 The only other viable route for this condition of marriage lies in circumstances such as Andronikos and Athanasia’s where one partner is in complete ignorance of the fact of the other’s identity. On one level, this descriptor ridicules marriage but the beauty of the VAA lies in how the hagiographer circumvents this state of affairs and crafts precisely the opposite: an ideal continent marriage. Another disparity between stories is the extent to which the married couple conduct a public life of celibacy. Galaktion and Episteme leave almost immediately after their wedding leaving the workings of their private life a mystery to their families. Julian and Basilissa keep their virginal union a secret, in order not to incur their parents’ wrath and the disapproval and possible laughter of the entire city, whose inhabitants congregate bawdily outside their house the next morning to see the newly weds.85 De Gaiffier isolated two instances of what he termed ‘actual’ marital chastity in Late Antiquity. The paucity of numbers is telling in itself. The first example is found in Augustine’s Confessions where two of the emperor’s officials are inspired by the vita of Antony: ‘habebant ambo sponsas: quae postea quam hoc audierunt, dicaverunt etiam ipsae virginitatem tibi’.86 The scarcity of cases, however, could suggest not that few celibate marriages existed but that a minority were made public for fear of derision. The vita of Melania is de Gaiffier’s second example and has often been cited as an example of actual marital chastity.87 As is well known, Melania the Younger was forced into a marriage with Pinian at the age of fourteen. Her young husband refused her repeated pleas for a life of chastity until they produced two children to whom they could bequeath their substantial fortune. Unfortunately for Pinian, their eldest daughter died soon after the stillbirth of their son, and he subsequently acquiesced to his wife. However, their respective families were so enraged at this turn of events, doubled by the couple’s generous charitable donations, that Melania and Pinian considered leaving the city.88 In this tale forced marriage is once again a prime narrative component, with the protagonist harnessed with the recalcitrant partner and familial disapproval once chastity is made public. Hagiography’s lack of a formalized pattern demonstrates that the authors could not reconcile the essential paradox of a celibate marriage and consequently resolved the dilemma in two ways: first, they saw an array of dramatic possibilities in this condition of marriage and exploited these to their fullest theatrical potential. In addition, the vitae disclose a rhetorical battle between marriage and celibacy. Melania and Pinian are just one couple who demonstrate

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that in desiring a sexless union, one essentially has to choose between marriage and celibacy. The two make very uncomfortable bedfellows even for the imagination, which leads to the central question entrenched within each text: which is more important, marriage or celibacy? What the VJB, VAA and VGE articulate is that marriage wins, but only just.

Time regained The VJB was composed between the fourth and fifth centuries; the VAA in the sixth and the VGE was either created or reworked in the ninth and tenth centuries. All were copied in the tenth and eleventh centuries and beyond. The stories’ longevity in the Byzantine consciousness is notable. For at least seven centuries, their message persisted and was celebrated: sanctity may be secured triumphantly even if the profane (the couple’s continued shared bond) trumps the sacred (the ideal of a continent life that does not allow for positive interaction between a man and a woman). Moreover, their individual manuscript traditions indicate that both the VJB and the VGE were copied over centuries with little emendation. Though the VAA shows a substantial reworking easily attributed to the literary innovations of the tenth and eleventh centuries, its focal point remains on the couple’s marital bond. How and why then, were these vitae continually copied if their premise was so contrary to accepted Christian belief? An instructive methodological tool is Pierre Nora’s lieux de mémoire, or ‘sites of memory’. Inspired by the classical mnemonic system (loci memoriae), Nora successfully coined this phrase to establish a new way to think about French national identity89 and his mammoth seven-volume enterprise gathered together a vast array of contributors who furthered his idea.90 ‘Memory’ here is to be ‘understood in its ‘sacred context’ as the variety of forms through which cultural communities imagine themselves in diverse representational modes’.91 Nora argued that ‘archives as well as … the tricolor … libraries, dictionaries and museums … commemorations, celebrations, the Pantheon, and the Arc de Triomphe …’ could be seen as repositories of French identity.92 For example, André Vauchez, who discusses ‘The Cathedral’, observes the remarkable survival of the medieval cathedral in comparison to prominent abbeys.93 If viewed as a lieu de mémoire, this edifice transcends its original purpose and, over the centuries, becomes a source of inspiration for art, architecture, religiosity, politics, music and nationalism. The tension between the material world and the sacred that embodies our vitae is also present in the shape of the cathedral since it continues to be a loaded symbol in an intensely secular age. Given that roughly only ten per cent of the French population are worshippers94 and moreover, that the original sources of the cathedrals’ power no longer carry the same weight of influence (for example, as the seat of the powerful bishop, the site of a martyrdom or as the emblematic casket for relics since the middle ages) it is curious that in

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more recent times the secular Republic took an active interest in paying for war damage while a 1986 appropriations bill from both sides of the political system voted to prioritize the restoration of France’s major cathedrals. One reason is that the cathedral and the vitae share the ability to remain relevant and meaningful in various temporal existences (actual time and its Christian conception: past, present, eschatological). In the middle ages, these sacred buildings maintained a connection to their hallowed beginnings artistically, by means of stained glass, which depicted all the cathedral’s bishops from its founder onwards, as well as the usual cycle of saints. This venerated past (in the form of the images as well as the awareness of the origins of cathedral as, often, the site of martyrdom) is reflected in the texts. They are deliberately steeped in the mists of antiquity and fable, a well-known tactic employed by hagiographers to authenticate their tales and gain currency.95 Thus the VJB is set during the infamous stricken era of persecution: the epoch of Diocletian and Maximian. The VAA is located among the arid lands of the early desert fathers while the VGE not only takes place in the exotic locations of Emesa and Sinai (prompting memories of the fantastical lands of Tyre and Sidon) but engages with famous fictional protagonists from the pagan world. Antiquity is valued, a simple fact that persists into modernity. An important concept is what Vauchez labels the ‘eternal present’.96 The cathedral’s aforementioned portraiture and lists of bishops helped preserve the memory of the traditional apostolic tradition of the cathedral. The past is constantly kept literally in the mind’s eye.97 The vitae also suggest this ‘eternal present’ in an alternative context, since whenever and wherever they are read, heard and absorbed, they must necessarily connect to a Christian audience alert to personal salvation. The mimetic demands of the vitae are elastic so the call to emulate can be considered as actual or metaphorical as is demonstrated below. The immediate present is also very much evident in the vitae. For example, the author of the VJB explicitly twice notes events that occur in the fabled past that ‘to this day’ can be witnessed in varying forms. For example, when Julian’s companions are burnt alive while they shelter from the wrath of the governor, the hagiographer notes: Everybody there was consumed by fire but there was such grace in that place, that to this day it appears to all who pass by: at the regular time of the psalmody – the third, sixth and ninth hours and at vespers, at night and at daybreak – they hear a group singing. And if anyone weakened by whatever disease was to approach during these times, he goes away, healthy.98

An obvious dissonance between the vitae and the cathedral when the latter is utilized as the exemplum of the lieu de mémoire is that it is a physical site of memory. However, the last phase of time – the eschatological age – emphasizes the physicality of the vitae via the dissemination of the saints’ cults. Commemoration of the saints after death is an inevitable aspect of memory and

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we find that each tale concludes with a burial and thus the site of a future locus of cult attention.99 In the VGE, the narrator, Eutolmios, takes care to tell us that he gathers Galaktion and Episteme’s bones for burial100 while in the VJB, the site of Julian’s execution transforms into a healing shrine.101 As lieux de mémoire these hagiographic texts act as repositories of multi­ dimensional thinking about a central conundrum of Christian life. Through them we can see Byzantine writers and audiences imagining various ways out of a doctrinal impasse, just as Vauchez’s examination of the cathedral demonstrates how this sacred building was perceived in a multitude of ways throughout history. The continuum of time – the fabled past, the eternal present and commemoration – contribute to these tales’ lasting memorial but it must also be their actual particularized content that harpoons the vitae onto the Byzantine consciousness. To investigate this, we must turn to the potential audience of these stories; an anonymous assortment of individuals or groups, who read, listened and engaged with these tales over the ages. How would they react to the paradox of continent marriage?

The audience Given that the chronological span of the vitae is vast and there is no hard evidence to suggest where they were created or copied, it is a complex question to ascertain which audiences at which period in time were likely to care about such stories. However, the obvious point to make is that different audiences care in different ways and this is illuminated by the diversity of messages harboured in each vita. The three variegated approaches taken in constructing the tales illustrate that the same concern about continent marriage was shared across a fairly wide social spectrum, comprising both the secular and the devout populace. This observation can be witnessed most plainly in the VJB where the dramatic renunciation of family and the dismissal of earthly marriage highlight vital worldly social issues such as property and status. The vita relates: ‘so men were leaving their wives, children their parents, fiancés their fiancées and also the paternal properties’.102 Basilissa specifically notes that ‘renunciation of the parents brought the company of angels’103 and right at the beginning, Julian’s parents voice their anxieties at the thought that their only son would remain unmarried.104 The hagiographer interjects at this stage, in case the message has not been made clear enough: ‘The parents were acting thus in order to resurrect their own seed which they believed would come to an end unless it would be renewed by his begetting offspring’.105 At this stage the implications of repudiating one’s earthly family are only voiced but the bleak realities are witnessed in the terrible conflict between Julian and Markianos, and also Kelsios and Markianos. Not only is this a battle within a family but the audience also witnesses a power struggle in the guise of a son who blatantly and publicly

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denies his father’s authority. Markianos’ constant agonized pleading endures for over thirty-seven chapters: he gives the stubborn group countless chances to recant and allows Kelsios to see his mother, in the hope that she will see sense. He cannot watch his son being burnt to death, a punishment that he himself has initiated. Above all Markianos’ sheer disbelief is overwhelming as he constantly questions Julian, Kelsios, Antonios and the seven Christian brothers. The intensity of such a painful dynamic inevitably creates a new focus for those listening106 and so the VJB plunges headlong into the key issue of social expectation.107 However, the text also suggests a liturgical purpose, indicating that it could just as easily have been written for a monastic audience as well as a lay one. We know that it was copied into a lectionary, a move that substantiates this theory.108 There is undoubtedly far more emphasis on Christian teaching and instruction in comparison to the VAA or the VGE109 and the doctrine of the Trinity is expounded at length several times.110 Correct religious procedure is also emphasized: for example, a priest is needed to perform the baptisms. The author creates an entire sub-plot involving the seven brothers and Antonios the priest so that the newly converted Markianilla and the guards can be baptized by a recognized authority, just as Valerian and his brother Tiburtius in the vita of Cecilia are baptized by bishop Urban. Many of the speeches throughout the vita and passio are not relevant to the main plot but can be read/heard as instruction for the audience.111 For example Basilissa, in response to a divine vision delivers in effect two homilies to her virgins. In the first she declares: So let us depart towards eternal life, so that those powers that prevent souls from going to heaven shall not find any of their own work within us, and so that on finding nothing in us, the demons may be cautious, seeing the holy help accompanying us and the spirit of chastity rejoicing with us. Comprehend and search out the forbidden of your breast, so that in the time we have left, you may turn your soul away from all weakness, purified of sins by pure water, and by deeds returned to God the Creator. Let us obtain this request from the Lord, that we send ahead everyone undefiled to the kingdom of heaven, where is the bridegroom, the Lord, Christ. For this reason, I send you in advance, holy sisters, so that no leaven of evil may remain in your heart. But all of you give yourself to each other as a reward in case you have harmed one another in some way, so that you will receive a perfect crown of integrity of soul and of body. You will show me as the victorious mother of the salvation of your pure number. Know this, that virginity of the flesh has no power wherever resentment of the heart resides.112

Her second oration focuses on a wholesale condemnation of the Devil: I despise you, Devil, who lost the fruit of your machinations. I despise you, pleasure of serpents, who did not alienate the vessels destined for God by any devices. I despise you,

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teacher of falsehoods, since not one of the flock entrusted to me will perish with you. I despise you, intoxicating drink that was unable to conquer sober hearts. I despise you, lover of the world, who did not have the strength to summon the souls who stretched forth to the plough towards your own desire. I despise you, Devil, who failed to overcome those who seek perfection by any schemes, plots or snares.113

In her first speech, the main thrust of Basilissa’s rhetoric is to exalt the spirit of virginity and chastity, exhorting her charges first to conduct themselves appropriately lest their purity be corrupted and secondly, to express triumph that they have not failed in this spiritual mission. But in her promotion of temperance and appropriate behaviour to others in the second oration, Basilissa speaks to a congregation, who could not only relate these actions back to maintaining virginity, or in concrete terms, to being sexually chaste, but also to basic moral behaviour. In conduct books of the late medieval period, particularly those in England, virgin martyr legends were used more as exemplars of sexual abstinence than for virginity per se.114 Basilissa thus provides a form of moral typology in which her audience could identify and respond to her call to all Christians.115 In this speech, ostensibly attacking the Devil and his machinations, Basilissa implicitly provides a code of conduct for her audience: she attacks people who lie and who submit to temptation; interestingly, she equates yielding to the lure of the Devil with imbibing an ‘intoxicating drink’; a metaphor that speaks of everyday life. Again, such sentiments are relatable subjects and could easily be appropriated by anyone listening/reading, allowing them to ‘pray with the saint, praising God and affirming their own commitment to Christ as they read or hear the legend’.116 In so doing, all could acknowledge their potential to stumble and lose their way but ‘beseech God’s indulgence for their own weaknesses’.117 The audience are also reminded of the glory of heaven that awaits them if they follow the narrow path of the saints.118 However, this is not necessarily an easy task as Julian notes, when he observes that one must earn the right to be called a saint: For many people are called what they are not and they become unconcerned by this one hope, because they are called what they are not, they become too lazy to work because of what is fabricated against them. These men are truly saints and it is not said about them what they are, but full of humbleness and grace, they do not wish what they are to be distinguished from normal men, so that they may receive recompense from Him, He who knows what they are.119

Julian’s devotion and love of God are expressed in chapter 39 where the saint utters his thanks to Christ saying, ‘From the height of heaven look down at this hour at the shame of our enemies and the strength of the faith of those who have believed in You’.120 Here he reminds those listening that there is a greater reward waiting if faith is sustained. In a later speech he speaks again to a wider

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audience by upholding care for the poverty-stricken, praising those who deny themselves in order to help others and promoting forbearance especially in terms of controlling anger. He refers to: Those who perceive know the rest; especially he who undertakes care of the poor and those who deny need so that others may flourish. For it is a gift that is very acceptable to God when a poor man is sated, when anger is not accomplished and evil is not returned against evil. , when one’s fill of anger is not guarded but by not answering to anger, he who is not forbearing is more than conquered, this man who is not called a saint before the time when he was born, although it could have been said very truly.121

Another call to the audience is reflected in the prayer Julian and Basilissa make when they hear that persecution has started in Antinoopolis. In this exposition the very real peril of persecution transposes into a potential violation of chastity and the clear message is transmitted that the struggle to remain chaste is permanent: Lord, You Who know hidden things, the witness of thoughts, the explorer of hearts and carnal desire, we implore You to enlighten us with a calm face and provide us with a friendly hearing. For You do not sleep or doze, guarding in each of us the struggle for chastity in which You Yourself, Christ, know to rejoice. So do not permit the purity of Your flock to be destroyed. Nor grant the insatiable wolf that is always hostile, power and permission to destroy the wall and the sign of faith that You provided to Your male and female servants through us, Your servants. Christ, take care both of us and of them because Your right hand is mightier in restoring than the tyranny of the persecutor is in smiting.122

The members of the audience are reminded that ‘hidden things … thoughts’, secret desires and longings, are a threat to their chaste status and that one must be made aware of such illicit dangers. The prayer could also be understood on another level; such petitions do not have to pertain to chastity. Within the overall framework of the prayer, the saints are entreating for protection on behalf of the congregation and as such the speech could be understood as a prayer for fortification and strength during difficult times. Importantly, since men and women are jointly and equally invoked, the assumed audience is apparently a mixed one. The faith of the congregation would also be stirred by the speakers’ biblical comparisons that invoke salvation history. Thus when Kelsios compares Markianos to Abraham, saying, ‘Being an unfaithful and cruel father, now take the sword as a true Abraham and offer your son to Christ’,123 he is not only making an apt biblical analogy but also calling upon God’s promise of deliverance and succour throughout history. Similarly, when Julian and Antonios petition the Patriarchs of the Old Testament thus, ‘You are the only God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob’,124 the congregation is reminded of the

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unbreakable chain of their religious history that stretches to the beginnings of their faith.125 Thus, as a lieu de mémoire, the VJB has the adaptability to appeal to a diverse public, allowing them to read their own story in the lives of Julian and Basilissa and to learn their own lessons throughout time. Similarly, the VAA’s strong story line would help to capture the imagination of the laity and its attention to minor character detail assists identification with the actors in this drama. For this to work most effectively empathy with the protagonists is essential and the tenth–eleventh-century hagiographer fleshes out the sixth-century couple from their succinct desert origins and pours blood into their parched veins. Consequently, any person, whether male or female, could now identify with Athanasia’s overwhelming grief at the deaths of her children. By crafting a dual existence for his characters – meshing the sacred with the profane – the hagiographer enables them to be worshipped through the ages. The couple could be regarded not only as saints who choose to live extraordinary lives but also as normative spouses and parents. In the process of recognition, a Christian could attempt to lead a spiritual existence, not by exact emulation, but by absorbing the core of Andronikos and Athanasia’s behaviour and applying it to their own lives. The most obvious way the vita offers instruction to the laity is in the description of Andronikos and Athanasia’s relationship, which is initially an exemplum of an ideal marriage, especially with regard to the roles of male–female/husband–wife. Athanasia’s careful management of the household and her comportment according to her class and status are emphasized: Athanasia did not propose to her husband ways by which they would increase and add to their wealth and fortune, but said and did everything so that both of them would be pleasing to God rather by throwing away their wealth.126

Stress is laid on philanthropy in their actions as a couple, which not only is in accordance with the themes of hagiography of the middle-Byzantine period but also provides a guide for good Christian conduct. In Andronikos’ admonitions to his wife, for a matter as trifling as oversleeping and missing church: ‘when matins had ended Andronikos came home and scolded his wife for oversleeping’,127 or in instructing Athanasia to try to master her grief, the women in the audience would read a code of behaviour and the men would gain a lesson in how to treat their wives: … while Athanasia was saying these and similar words with many tears, the holy Andronikos tried to support her with imploring words, saying, ‘Don’t be so, wife. Do not lament for our children with inappropriate words like this, wife, like one of the foolish ones who have no hope for the Resurrection. For though they are dead to us, they live in God by Whom they were received, Who wisely managed this for their and our own good. For He received our children, unblemished, before they had even tasted

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the evils of life, while He has pledged us in marriage to pay attention to the salvation of the soul, since there is nobody now to distract and attract our attention.’ Encouraging his wife appropriately with these words, he took care of the burial of the bodies.128

Athanasia’s astonishing later display of self-control when the pair cohabits is another master class in the rewards for correct (and restrictive) female behaviour.129 The author’s many pronouncements and asides to the audience constantly draw them into the story and engage their consideration of the events unfolding before them.130 Thus, ultimately, the VAA does call for imitation and does speak to the laity. In the latter section, which is largely impossible to imitate, the audience can simply enjoy the tensions of the story: whether Athanasia will tell her husband that she has recognized him; whether Andronikos will ever realize that he is living with his wife or whether Athanasia will lose control and let slip her guard. Final catharsis comes with Andronikos’ sudden comprehension and understanding of the events of the past twelve years and the eventual acknowledgement of the couple’s bond with their joint burial. The vita has much to offer an audience. The VGE’s novelistic framework, nod to Achilles Tatios, and clever Christian inversions of pagan novelistic tropes are not easy to unpack. Although the narrative is both vita and passio, it is a curiously profane text with, for example, religious conversions occurring for worldly gain. Orthodox figures are surprisingly uncommitted. Episteme’s deaconess, for example, encourages her not to undergo martyrdom. Such evidence might point to material concerns. Nevertheless, intriguingly, a close reading of the VGE indicates a monastic audience, possibly a group of novices. The author indicates in the first two lines of the text that he is reading/ writing for a wider audience, a)kou/sate sh/meron . . . a)gaphtoi/’ (‘listen today, beloved’) but further on he refers specifically to his fellow monks, pepoqhme/noi mou a)delfoi/.131 The over-riding edifying message of the VGE is celibacy. Within its elastic framework, the only people who can really be termed genuinely devout in the entire text are Onouphrios (a monk in disguise), the narrator, Eutolmios (who becomes a monk)132 and Galaktion himself, also a monk. It is Galaktion who refuses to embrace Episteme,133 it is he who baptizes Episteme, he who desires to seek a monastic retreat and most strikingly, we only learn of Galaktion’s ascetic achievements on Sinai, not Episteme’s. Eutolmios, our narrator, steps out of the narrative twice specifically to mention that he also became a monk and to endorse his former master’s devotion to his ascetic regime, which is further emphasized by Galaktion’s refusal to see Episteme. Galaktion maintains his isolated position and superiority, even more so when he goes uncomplaining to his torture and death; it is Episteme who opposes the whole process. Even her deaconess, in a very un-Christian though perhaps human response, urges her not to follow Galaktion, as it would mean death for Episteme. The moral superiority of the male characters may seem

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conventional but there are sufficient extant vitae and martyr accounts where women attain ‘manliness’ through ascetic endeavour. Nevertheless, Episteme is simply not this type of woman and indeed, represents danger to Galaktion in many measures: her demands for her conjugal rights, her insistence on accompanying him wherever he may go, the potential threat she poses by remaining in the same geographical area as he when they are on Sinai and finally, her resistance to his ultimate triumph as a martyr. Such a message seems highly appropriate for a monastic audience (possibly novices) where a male hero’s sanctity is promoted through the various hurdles of womanly temptation and the horrors of persecution. Though the retreat on Poupion is described as a katagw/gion and not a monastic complex, a monastic framework is imposed upon the sixteen who live there. There are set hours for praying and the superiors of both Galaktion and Episteme are referred to as a hegoumenos and deaconess respectively.134 Nevertheless, in tension with its sacred purpose, the VGE is also a tale of high adventure and drama with strongly depicted female characters and is modelled clearly on the ancient novel. Thus, as a lieu de mémoire, the VGE functions brilliantly as a multifaceted text that works on many levels. In the VJB, VAA and VGE, we witness the same conflict unfurling within Vauchez’s understanding of the French cathedral: the tug between sacred and secular. In both cases, their plasticity enables them to transcend the dilemma and appeal equally to the opposing entities because they manage to embody each principle. This asset is crucial to the longevity of each. Another similarity arises from the social and cultural functions of the vitae and the cathedral but these meanings manifest in different forms. For vitae, their didactic qualities educate, inspire and guide their audience as we have seen. Parallel to this course, the cathedral’s ability to become a microcosm of the world in the eleventh/twelfth centuries had direct implications for the laity.135 Architectural expansion included extensions to house the cathedral’s growing communities, the most important of which was the school.136 Cloisters were another structural addition and housed the poor and needy. Moreover, artistically, composers, art critics, artists and writers etched their impression of the human spirit onto French perception.137 For Ruskin, the cathedral in Picardy was literally the ‘Bible in stone’138 while Rodin declared in 1914, ‘The cathedral epitomises the country … The north’s cliffs, forests, gardens, and sun are all summed up in that gigantic carcass. All our France is in the cathedrals, as all Greece is summed up in the Parthenon …’.139 Vauchez believes that the main player in this sensibility was Hugo since his popularization of the cathedral, teeming with life, allowed everyone, Christian or not, to find a place with which to identify.140 The VJB, VAA and VGE echo Hugo’s sensibility and are inspirational microcosms of the Byzantine world. Viewing these texts through the lens of the lieux de mémoire permits us to see that though celibate marriage was indeed a thorny topic for hagiographers, yet it was still possible. In the fluid creations

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that exist today we see the marvellous fertility and adaptability of the Byzantine imagination. Notes 1

This synopsis and the one on Hinduism that follows is an obvious summary of a more complicated process. For background, see R. Gethin, The Foundations of Buddhism (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1998), esp. 59–84. For the separation between monk and the laity, see R. Gombrich, Theravada Buddhism: A Social History from Ancient Benares to Modern Colombo (Routledge: London, 1988), esp. 73–8. For a succinct description of a variety of Buddhist ascetic practice and the formation of a ‘middle way’, see O. Freibeger, ‘Early Buddhism, asceticism and the politics of the middle way’ in O. Freiberger (ed.), Asceticism and its Critics: Historical Accounts and Comparative Perspectives (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 2006) 235–58. 2 P. Courtright, ‘Hinduism’ in D. Browning et al. (eds), Sex, Marriage and Family in World Religions (Columbia University Press: New York, 2006) 227–98. See also P. Phillimore, ‘Private lives and public identities: an example of female celibacy in north-west India’ in E. Sobo and S. Bell (eds), Celibacy, Society and Culture: The Anthropology of Sexual Abstinence (The University of Wisconsin Press: Wisconsin, 2001) 29–46, esp. 29. Note also that the very term ‘Hinduism’ is questionable: B. Pennington, Was Hinduism Invented: Britons, Indians and the Colonial Construction of Religion (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1995). For an excellent overall view, see A. Sharma, Modern Hindu Thought: An Introduction (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 2005). 3 VJB 4:89–96. 4 VJB 3:58–65. 5 VJB 3:73–4. 6 VJB 3:72. 7 VJB 3:68–9: e0niautw~n ei0 dekakaioktw/: kai\ pw~j paraith/sasqai du/nh| klhrw/sasqai su/ zugo\n. 8 VJB 3:76. 9 VJB 17:461–2: kat' a)ci/an au)tw~| parei=xeto timh\n e0k th=j oi0kei/aj ta/cewj (‘he was given honour from his own class according to the status of his own family’). 10 VJB 18:467–8: ‘Markianos, hearing about your nobility and the honourable root of your ancestors and the honour of your family … ‘. For Cooper, analysing the Apocryphal Acts, the ethos of this form of literature examined the fledgling order of Christianity as a system of ‘moral superiority’ over paganism. The practice of asceticism created a self-reliant man, dismissive of progeny and thus immune to the demands of ‘self-interest’ [Cooper (1996) 56–62]. In this way, the rhetorical slant of Christianity focuses on power and the authority of the individual [Averil Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: The Development of Christian Discourse (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1991)]. Of our three vitae, the VJB presents the fullest exploration of this concept and most appropriately, since it seems to be the earliest text. The study of social ties and the claims of authority are pivotal to the themes of the vita, propelling the VJB into the niche of early Christian literature, where works such as the Apocryphal Acts question and address these precepts. As Cooper further observes, the literature of the second to fifth centuries is not so much about ‘asceticism per se … but … the threat to established order posed by an outsider who is patently superior in moral and ethical terms’ [Cooper (1996) 57]. Where the VJB takes this a step further is in the depiction of Julian not as an outsider but very much an insider. He is given an edge by the fact that he is a Christian in a pagan world but what gives the plot impetus is that he firmly belongs to this world by his social status and that is what Markianos finds incomprehensible. The VAA and the VGE fall into an entirely disparate category, most particularly because they are partially ruled by their generic conventions and because they have an alternative focus. 11 VJB 20:539–40. 12 VJB 20:540–2.

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13 VJB 31:746: to\n karpo\n th=j e0mh=j gastro\j. Also 31:763: ‘for behold, he born of you is present’. 14 VJB 28:681–2: ‘for they were afraid because he was his father’s only child’. 15 VJB 43:990–1. 16 VJB 43:985. 17 VJB 45:1018–19: ‘tearing his robes and grieving, he said that he would return home with his wife who was near to death’. 18 VJB 42:970. 19 Matthew 10:33–7. 20 VJB 7:233–9. 21 VJB 10:275–6. 22 VJB 29:730–1; 32:772–3; 32:784–5; 51:1178. 23 VJB 28:698–9: ‘the ephemeral power demands a succession and life itself ends in death’. 24 VJB 53:1219–24. 25 A strong affiliation was formed by baptism whereby a godparent became in effect, a patron in his or her godchild’s life. The relationship of sunteknia refers to the bond between the godfather and the child’s father (C. Rapp, ‘Ritual brotherhood in Byzantium’, Traditio 52 (1997) 286–90, esp. 290). The connection became such an ingrained part of society that laws were eventually introduced denouncing a sexual relationship between a godparent and their sponsor, considering the deed incest (Cod 5. 4. 26). The net was cast wider when the Council of Trullo forbade the marriage between a godfather and the child’s mother (Canon 53). Canon law of the ninth century onwards also reflected the distaste felt for this type of union, an attitude also prevalent in the West. Pope Gregory related the story of a man who raped his young goddaughter [J. Lynch, Godparents and Kinship in Early Medieval Europe (Princeton University Press: Princeton, 1986) 229 citing Dialogi libri IV. 33]. The perpetrator thought he had escaped divine retribution when he attended the Easter services for six days afterwards without any sign of God’s wrath. But he died suddenly on the seventh day. His outrage is described as ‘terrible’, reflecting the breach of the code concerning the relationship between a godfather and his godchild. Moreover, the godfather also displayed a blatant disregard for the trust given by the child’s natural parents. Another way of adding to the biological family was through the legal process of becoming brothers (adelphopoieia) [Rapp (1997) 286–90], which was practiced from the seventh to the fifteenth centuries (eadem, 290). From the ninth century, these connections became integral for future advancement in political circles, for example (eadem, 304ff). The story of the rise of Basil I (867–86), from nobody to Emperor, is instructive. He started his rapid progression through society by becoming a brother to either the son of an incredibly wealthy woman (Danelis) or to someone from Constantinople, depending on which source is used (eadem 305–14). The alliance created thus forges a formidable link in society. 26 S. Ashbrook-Harvey, ‘Sacred bonding: mothers and daughters in early Syriac hagiography’ in JECS 4 (1996) 27–56; for the idealization of the biological family within the spiritual one, see R. Krawiec, ‘“From the womb of the church”: monastic families’ in JECS 11 [3] (2003) 283–307, esp. 285–6. For an overview and up-to-date bibliography on the problems in constructing the Christian family in the early Christian period, see A. Jacobs and R. Krawiec, ‘Fathers know best? Christian families in the age of asceticism’, JECS 11 [3] (2003) 257–63. They speak of the imbalance of sources, which are mainly on virginity, in comparison with those of the classical period that concern the family directly. A useful comparison is made by A. Jacobs, ‘“Let him guard pietas”: early Christian exegesis and the ascetic family’ in JECS 11 [3] (2003) 265–81, who provides examples of Western exegetes who tried to show how the command to abandon one’s earthly family was subverted to advocate the family unit. This was accomplished by interpreting Matthew’s injunction as loving God first, and then family, but not actually negating family (270). 27 VJB 13:362–3: e0me\ mhte/ra; 16:430: e1xairen o9 path\r e0n au)th=| th=| spoudh=| tw~n te/knwn. 28 VJB 18:497–8: ‘they are not disciples but fathers. For through them, we have received true birth’. 29 VJB 18:499–500. 30 VJB 29:714–15.

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31 VJB 50:1155–7. Cf. Theodore Studies’ funeral catechism for his mother Theoktiste: ‘it transpired that the mother had become her son’s spiritual daughter’: S. Efthymiadis and J. M. Featherstone, ‘Establishing a holy lineage: Theodore the Stoudite’s funerary catechism for his mother (BHG 2422)’ in M. Grünbart (ed.), Theatron: Rhetorical Culture in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (W. de Gruyter: Berlin, 2007), chapter 11. 32 VJB 51:1175–6. 33 Interestingly, Julian’s distance from Markianilla is noticeable, conforming to the unsullied state of all the connections. I am grateful to an anonymous reader for noting this. 34 VJB 28:699–702. 35 For the eschatological implications of the bedroom scene, see Chapter 3. 36 VJB 7:200–1. 37 VJB 7:195–6. 38 VJB 7:197–9. 39 VJB 11:317–18 cf. John 18:9. 40 See Chapter 5. 41 S. Elm, Virgins of God: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1994) 227–372. For a succinct summary with bibliography, see R. Krawiec, Shenoute and the Women of the White Monastery (Oxford University Press: New York, 2002) 121–3. 42 eadem (1994). 43 eadem (1994) 110–11. 44 eadem (1994) 124. 45 eadem (1994) 339–42. 46 eadem (1994) 341. See P. Amion (tr.), The Panarion of St. Epiphanius, Bishop of Salamis (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1990) 244–6. 47 eadem (1994) 341. ‘… to be Christian was to be an ascetic’ (Elm [1994], 340). 48 See Rapp (1999) 66–81. 49 Krawiec (2002) 133–7. 50 eadem (2002) 140–1. For Shenoute, obedience and monastic duty are everything [Krawiec (2002) 13]. Physical renunciation is, of course, important but it is viewed in tandem with these other duties [eadem (2002) 20–21; 139]. 51 Elm (1994) 108–11. 52 VJB 10:288. 53 VJB 11:296–7: ‘When the rumours [of persecution] were confirmed, the saints discussed it among themselves’. 54 VJB 10:264. 55 VJB 10:271. 56 VAA 9:230–6. 57 e.g. 1 Corinthians 7:29, ‘to have wives as if you had them not’. 1 Corinthians 9:5 concerns the brother-sister relationship the Apostles are described as having with their wives. 58 VAA 2:29–30. 59 VAA 3:48–50. 60 See Chapter 3. 61 VAA 3:42–3. 62 Other transvestite women located in Egypt are Anastasia (Latin text in AASS 2 March 2:40–1); Apollonaria/Apolinaria (AASS 1 Jan: 257–61); Euphrosyne (Latin text in AASS 2 Feb: 533–44); Hilaria in Patrologia Orientalis 11 (Fermin-Didot: Paris, 1916) 624–38; Theodora (Latin text in AASS 3 Sept: 788–91); Eugenia (Latin text in PL 73:605–24, Greek metaphrastic text in PG 116:609–52). See also Aigrain (1953) 229–30. 63 J. Anson, ‘The female transvestite in early monasticism: the origin and development of a motif ’, Viator 5 (1974) 1–32, esp. 5. For this phenomenon see also E. Patlagéan, ‘L’histoire de la femme déguisée en moine et l’évolution de la sainteté féminine à Byzance’, Studi Medievali III, 17 (2) (1976) 597–624; M. Delacourt, Hermaphrodite: Myths and Rites of the Bisexual Figure in Classical Antiquity (Studio Books: London, 1961); N. Delierneux, ‘Virilité physique et sainteté féminine’, Byzantion 67 [1] (1997) 179–243; S. Davis, ‘Crossed texts, crossed sex: intertextuality

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78 79 80 81

82 83 84 85

86 87

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and gender in early Christian legends of holy women disguised as men’, JECS 10 [1] (2002) 1–36; Constantinou (2005) 90–126. John Moschos, The Spiritual Meadow (tr.), J. Wortley (Cistercian Publications: Kalamazoo, Michigan, 1987), no. 19. idem no. 217. idem no. 179. idem no. 59. Anson (1974) 30. PG 116:919–54. AASS July 17:287; Anson (1974) 11. AASS March 2:40–41; Anson (1974) 14. AASS Feb 2:533–44; Anson (1974) 15. Anson (1974) 14. idem 15. idem 16. idem 15. For the theme of secret holiness in the tales of Daniel of Sketis see Dahlman (2007) 70–89 esp. 82–7 for Athanasia. Constantinou (2005) 93 does not discuss Athanasia as a cross-dresser in her study since she classes her story (and that of Anastasia Patrikia) as Apophthegmata Patrum and not as a vita in its own right. VGE 8:202–7. See Cooper (1996) 56 for the deliberate inversion of the pagan novels in the Apocryphal Acts. See also, for example, Chaereas and Callirhoe, chapter 11 or Daphnis and Chloe 2.20ff in Reardon (1989). Thus, Melania the Younger’s longing for a celibate life only happens after she compromises and produces the progeny that Pinian desires [chs. 5–6] cf. de Gaiffier (1947) 182 who does not identify the second possibility. In the third scenario, D. Elliott (1993) 65 forecasts the behaviour of each sex thus: ‘women stayed, men fled’, although see also nt 60. See Chapter 5. H. Musurillo and B. Grillry (eds), Chrysostom, La virginité (Editions du Cerf: Paris, 1966) 29–32; 38. Sayings of the Desert Fathers 20: 3. Over in the West, Margery Kempe had to endure physical abuse from the inhabitants of her town when they realized that she and her husband had a continent marriage and they were subsequently forced to separate [D. Elliott (1993) 10; 60–2; 66]. For the reference to Margery Kempe, see The Book of Margery Kempe (ed.), B. Windeatt (Brewer: Woodbridge: 2004) 1.76. B de Gaiffier, ‘Intactam sponsam reliquens: à propos de la Vie de S. Alexis’, AB 65 (1947) 166 citing Confessions I. 8, 6, chapter 15. e.g. de Gaiffier (1947) 166. de Gaiffier believes that the Acts of Thomas and the other Christian tales that followed fell into the sphere of Melania and Pinian’s influence, which is improbable since the Acts were written far earlier than the vita. Nevertheless, Melania’s importance is to offer us a fifth-century example of a celibate marriage and offers further evidence for an awareness of the phenomenon, and a paradigm for hagiographers. What the VJB shows is that this phenomenon had roots stretching far earlier. After examining previous scholarship in detail and collating her own evidence, Elizabeth Clark came to the conclusion that the vita dates to 452/453 CE. See E. Clark, The Life of Melania the Younger: Introduction, Translation and Commentary (Edwin Mellen Press: Lewiston, 1984) 24. eadem (1984) 30. P. Nora, ‘Between memory and history: les lieux de mémoire’, Representations 26 (1989) 7–24. idem (ed.), Les lieux de mémoire (7 vols) (Edition Gallimard: Paris, 1984–1992). L. Kritzman in L. Kritzman (Eng. ed., tr. A. Goldhammer), Realms of Memory: Rethinking the French Past (under the direction of P. Nora), vol 1: Conflicts and Divisions (Columbia University Press: New York, 1996), ix.

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92 Nora (1989) 12. For a useful critique of the English-language edition see Hue-Tam Ho Tai’s review in American Historical Review 106 (3) [2001], 906–23. 93 A. Vauchez, ‘The Cathedral’ in P. Nora (ed.), Realms of Memory, vol 2: Traditions (Columbia University Press: New York, 1997) 37. 94 Vauchez (1997) 38. 95 C. Rapp, ‘Byzantine hagiographers as antiquarians, 7th to 10th century’, in C. Rapp et al. (eds), ‘Bosphorus. Essays in honour of Cyril Mango’, Byzantinische Forschungen 21 (1995) 31–44. For the continuation of this theme in the late Empire, see A.-M. Talbot, ‘Old wine in new bottles: the rewriting of saints’ lives in the Palaeologan period’, in S. Ćurčić and D. Mouriki (eds), The Twilight of Byzantium: Aspects of Cultural and Religious History in the Late Byzantine Empire (Princeton University Press: Princeton, 1991) 15–26. 96 Vauchez (1997) 43. 97 He also mentions the labyrinths in most French cathedrals, through which worshippers had to travel on their knees. Upon arrival ‘they felt worthy of blessed salvation’ (44). 98 VJB 19:507–13. Also 64:1400. 99 The cathedral emphasized the eschatological future by pairing together scenes of Adam and Eve with the Last Judgement on their facades [Vauchez (1997) 43]. 100 VGE 15:364–6. 101 VJB 64:1398–1407: ‘It is necessary to tell this miracle too that the Lord deemed worthy to perform there to confirm the faithful, which no one has disputed to this day. Ten men with maimed and putrefied bodies were carried there on the day of his suffering, at Epiphany, so that they might be deemed worthy of baptism. And when the prayer had been accomplished for them on their behalf and they had been baptised in terrible agony because they could not be held by hand, each of them was deemed worthy of such health that it was difficult to find such beauty of body in the human race’. 102 VJB 10:275–6. 103 VJB 14:397–8. 104 VJB 3:68–74. 105 VJB 3:74–6. 106 K. Winstead, Virgin Martyrs: Legends of Sainthood in Late Medieval England (Cornell University Press: Ithaca, 1997) 47. She argues, ‘some women may have detected parallels between the fathers and the magistrates who are vilified … and their own spiritual fathers and governors, whose authority was justified by the same arguments that were used to sanction men’s supremacy in the secular world’. 107 eadem (1997) 40–5. Upchurch (2007) feels that a key aim for the hagiographer was to ‘address why the couple pursues perpetual virginity in marriage rather than a monastery. To that end, he builds in parental compulsion, divine approbation, secrecy and monastic vocations to explain and sanction the arrangement.’(5). The crucial step comes with Christ’s appearance to Julian allowing him to disobey his parents and biblical precedent. 108 See Alwis (2003) 131–6. 109 VJB 10–12. 110 See Notes to the VJB for chapter 21. 111 One example of how Aelfric adapted the Latin text into old English to appeal to a wider audience is his exchange of mœgŏhad, which denotes ‘virginity’, for the broader clœnnyss (‘chastity’/ ‘purity’). Upchurch theorizes that this ‘may represent an effort to make the legend as widely applicable to his audience as possible’ [Upchurch (2007) 101: commentary for lines 25–36]. For more generic alterations geared towards an Anglo-Saxon audience, see Upchurch (2005) 197–217. 112 VJB 13:348–65. 113 VJB 14:382–92. 114 K. Lewis, ‘Model girls? Virgin-martyrs and the training of young women in late-medieval England’ in K. Lewis et al. (eds), Young Medieval Women (Sutton Publishing: Gloucestershire, 1999) 25–46, esp. 25–6. See also R. Upchurch, ‘For pastoral care and political gain: Aelfric of Eynsham’s preaching on marital celibacy’, Traditio 59 (2004) 39–78: ‘Some of his audience might have understood clænnys to be a literal stoppage of sexual activity (40 days before

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Christmas; 1 of 3 periods of sexual abstinence)… alternatively, ‘chastity’ might have signified for them a figurative, collective purity of belief (church as Christ’s bride)… more obliquely, listeners might have interpreted his remark … as a reference to married priests who, to Aelfric’s disgust, fathered real, not spiritual, children’ (40). 115 See Cazelles (1991) 26: ‘These documents (people criticizing Peter Waldo) also demonstrate that the audiences of vernacular hagiographic texts such as the eleventh-century life of S. Alexis were not asked to imitate the saints, or when they did, as in Waldo’s case, they were regarded as potentially dangerous social agitators. Proper behaviour in their case involved practical rather than spiritual activities and charitable acts such as almsgiving, housing the homeless and clothing the poor. The reciting of saints’ lives thus served to confirm the subordinate role of the average Christian.’ 116 Winstead (1997) 24. 117 eadem (1997) 24. 118 eadem (1997) 26–7 using the example of St Agnes in AASS Jan 2:715. 119 VJB 46:1055–61. 120 VJB 39:919–21. Winstead notes a comparative example in the prayer of St Martina before her execution in Winstead (1997) 23 citing AASS Jan 1:17. 121 VJB 46:1048–55. 122 VJB 11:299–310. 123 VJB 32:777–9. 124 VJB 57:1292–3. 125 Winstead (1997) 25. 126 VAA 2:33–6. 127 VAA 4:75–7. 128 VAA 5–6:103–16. 129 For a fuller description of Athanasia’s behaviour and how this pertains to her status in her marriage, see Chapter 4. 130 For example, VAA 4:70–5. 131 VGE 1:12. 132 VGE 9:220–1. His worthiness is proved by the very fact of the vita itself as well as his evidence that he bore the saints’ relics to safety and buried them, thus ensuring the birth of their cult. 133 Note also that he did not seek marriage; his father willed it. 134 VGE 10:241–43 (hours for praying); Galaktion’s hegoumenos (11:264); Episteme’s deaconess (10:249; 12:284, 288). 135 However, during the revolution, cathedrals inevitably fared badly. It was not until the nineteenth century that they rose to prominence once again in France’s collective intellectual and social conscience. The labourers who constructed the cathedrals were eulogized by historians in the early nineteenth century as ‘the common men of old France’ [Vauchez (1997) 63 using J. Michelet in Histoire de France in P. Vaillaneix (ed.), Oeuvres Complètes (Flammarion: Paris, 1974) 4:604]. Cathedrals also began to be perceived as the epicentre of radical thought when the masons became involved with the later building extensions [Vauchez (1997) 58]. It was believed that medieval masons had passed down a tradition ‘of certain secret techniques and mathematical/alchemical formulas … ‘, which tallied with the known silence of certain thirteenth- and fourteenth-century guilds relating to their work practices. All this conjecture, allied with the fact that ‘the cathedrals had for centuries supported ‘lodges’ of ‘freemasons’, subsequently led to cathedrals singled out as the birthplace of freethinking’ [Vauchez (1997) 58]. 136 In time, the success of these educational establishments surpassed that of universities, producing renowned teachers such as Abelard [Vauchez (1997) 47]. The obvious examples are the schools of Chartres, Paris and Laon. 137 By the fifteenth century, the creative merits of these holy edifices dominated the cityscape with the construction of side chapels, towers, mammoth bells and even astronomical clocks, all in order to glorify the home city [Vauchez (1997) 48]. 138 Vauchez (1997) 60, paraphrasing J. Ruskin, La Bible d’Amiens (tr.), M. Proust (Mercure de France: Paris, 1903). Rouen cathedral inspired Monet and Debussy.

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139 Vauchez (1997) 64, citing A. Rodin, Les Cathédrales de France (Paris, 1914; rev. ed. Bartillat: Paris, 2009). 140 Vauchez (1997) 56–7.

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Implications of a Celibate Marriage Exploration of these celibate marriages has found more differences than similarities, unsurprisingly, given the lack of a typology for celibate marriage. The trend continues if we examine what each of these unions actually entails. Certain characteristics appear: sex as a pollutant and a ‘distraction’ as well as the pervasive sway of eschatology. However, what all three texts do share is the presence of secrecy in each marriage and the depiction of an emotional bond between husband and wife.

Sex as a pollutant Biblical pronouncements and subsequent exegesis on sexual intercourse send an uncompromising message: under any circumstances intercourse jeopardizes a truly Christian state of being, whether one is married or not. As many scholars have shown, early Christian texts, in particular, the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, propagate an extreme position towards sex, labelling it as corrosive and destructive.1 The Acts of Peter typifies this stance where a gardener’s daughter is killed rather than allowed to live as the embodiment of general temptation.2 Peter’s own daughter is kept lame in order not to attract a certain Ptolemy3 while the apostle’s teaching in a similar vein creates chaos in the community: ‘And many other women delighted in the preaching concerning chastity and separated from their husbands, and men too ceased to sleep with their wives, because they wished to serve God in chastity and purity’.4 For Peter, quite simply, purity leads to the path to God.5 Chapter 5 will outline the virulent position also held by the Acts of Andrew and of Thomas where sex is constantly proclaimed a filthy act.6 These instances do not always specifically concern intercourse within marriage but refer to intercourse in general. Essentially, sex is universally deemed abhorrent. The Apocryphal Acts represent a small fraction of the eruption of venom hurled at the practice of sexual intercourse from the early stages of Christianity. As texts produced or influenced within that conceptual framework, our tales of celibate marriage might be expected to represent sex as a moral evil and abstinence from it as unequivocally virtuous. However, only the VJB matches the vituperation of the Apocryphal Acts. The negation of intercourse is prevalent in the VGE and VAA but does not net the same sort of intensity. This is unsurprising, for the VJB was composed in the early Christian period where such vehemence was commonplace. Hence, defeating sexual desire is worded in terms of a battle: ‘He [Julian] sang to the

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Lord saying, Lord, cauterize my passion and my heart lest the ancient dragon wage war against me’.7 (Julian) asked God (to ensure) that he would not pollute his promised virginity under whatsoever pretext:8 ‘… And so he removed himself from all vices and desires of the flesh’.9 In the VGE, we have a changed degree of emphasis. Although sex naturally is a talking point when Galaktion meets Episteme, his prime concern is his bride’s paganism. Once she has been baptized, we neatly segue into Episteme’s dream, which broaches the subject but without any explicit articulation.10 Galaktion’s interpretation enforces an unambiguous judgement on those who inhabit the cosmos and those who have overcome it: sex has no function in the lives of those who wish to follow Christ. In spite of this understanding, the expected pronouncements on the negativity of sex never arrive. Instead, the ­hagiographer weaves in a prevalent awareness that sex per se is not acceptable as it poses a constant danger to purity, but he never openly condemns intercourse within marriage or in general. It is understood that it should not happen but the ‘filthy lust’ of the Apocryphal Acts are a distant echo. For example, when Galaktion is on Pouplion, we are told that: ‘he drove virtue to such a degree of chastity, that he did not see the face of a woman during the six years of his asceticism’.11 The implicit threat that Episteme poses simply by virtue of being a woman is imminent here, not a direct castigation of sex as we have seen in the Apocryphal Acts and the VJB. An alternative perception of sexual impurity in the VGE emerges in the episodes involving Galaktion’s mother. For Leukippe, miasma is linked to her baptism: ‘Let me not stain [molu/nw] my consecration by sleeping with my husband and behave as if despising the gift of the Holy Spirit’.12 Here, at last, sexual intimacy (sugkaqeu/dein) is refuted as strongly as in the Apocryphal Acts and indeed Galaktion is conceived miraculously.13 molu/nw is used twice in the VGE. But at this juncture, intercourse specifically corrupts the sacrament of baptism: Onouphrios does not instruct Leukippe to desist from sex, nor does he ever raise the subject; his concern focuses on her conversion to Christianity. Leukippe herself decides that intercourse is harmful but the vita confirms that such concerns are secondary as Galaktion is conceived, yes, without sex but primarily because his mother is now a Christian. We have a change in emphasis. molu/nw reappears when Episteme is counselled not to follow her captive husband: ‘lest you cannot bear the tortures and deny Christ and defile [molu/nh|j] your virginity’.14 It is not marital intercourse that contaminates but the lurking fear of rape at the hands of unknown torturers, referring back to well-known tales of virgin martyrs.15 Chapter 2 demonstrated the likelihood of the text being destined for an alternative listener, the brethren of a monastery, and so the dangers of lust and the risk posed by women would be more relatable to this audience, possibly comprising novices as suggested earlier. A wholehearted onslaught on marriage would fall on uncomprehending ears. By complete contrast, sexual pollution is never mentioned in the VAA in accordance with the text’s intention to run the gamut of Christian piety. Since

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Andronikos and Athanasia have to have children in order to prove a normative Christian life, it makes sense to downplay a virulent anti-intercourse message. It is surprising that no uniform abhorrence of sexual intercourse pervades our three tales of celibate marriage, as would have been expected. The attitudes range from the expected (pollution, as in the VJB) to silence (the VAA) and it can be seen that the underlying meanings of the texts dictate this stance. What then do the marriages and the absence of sex signify?

Eschatology The VJB yearns for the afterlife.16 Virginity and celibacy ‘grant a future, we shall reign with Him and not be separated from Him’.17 In the exposition of the martyrdom, the apocalyptic nature of the martyrs’ denouement as well as Kelsios and Markianilla’s conversion all point to the same objective. As Markianilla says: I believe Him to be the true God, Whom I have known through your proclamation: He who fixes the sea within firm boundaries, Who sets boundaries that cannot be trespassed, Who elevated the sky and adorned it variously with all our different brilliant stars, Who laid the foundation for the sun with perpetual light and Who established the moon as a beginning and end. This is the Lord Christ, in Whom I believe. I have abandoned all foolishness and I desire to have this ephemeral life taken away so that I might be deemed worthy to attain that eternal life with you.18

The book of Revelation, and hence apocalyptic fervour, bursts through the passio. The vision of Christ, Mary and a multitude of angels in chapter 7 is echoed in Revelation 5:11, ‘And I beheld and I heard the voice of many angels round the throne and the beasts and the elders: and the number of them was ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands’. The difference from the biblical passage lies in Mary’s presence. She manifests to champion Basilissa.19 The angels then present the Book of Eternal Life to the couple,20 an action paralleled in Revelation 5:1: ‘I saw in the right hand of Him that sat on the throne a book written within’. The Book of Life contained the deeds of all mankind; what has happened, what is and what shall be. It is from their actions that mankind will be judged in the final hour. Thus, Revelation 20:12 states: ‘and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works’.21 Sinners, those whose names are not included, will be cast into hell.22 Julian reads aloud from the Book and discovers that it contains the names of: the chaste, the sober, the true, the compassionate, the humble, the peaceful, those who have no false love, those who endure sadness, those who endure difficulties and those who preferred nothing more than the love for Christ the Lord …,23

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a pronouncement that easily reflects Revelation 20:7–8: He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God and he shall be my Son. But the fearful and unbelieving and the abominable and murderers and whoremongers and sorcerers and idolaters and all liars shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.

The parallels continue when two men dressed in white appear and crown Julian and Basilissa.24 White robes are often mentioned in Revelation in connection with martyrs,25 thus when Julian is being dragged through the streets of Antinoopolis in chains, as an example to others, he is dressed in white as an indication of the ordeal that he will eventually undergo and indeed that he has already borne.26 When Markianos’ young son, Kelsios, catches sight of him, he sees a vision of Julian surrounded by a crowd of people also dressed in white, among who are three men who are like heavenly beings,27 treating the saint with honour.28 The men who appear in the bedroom also wear golden belts. Revelation 1:13 refers to a man wearing a golden belt (zw/nhn xrusa~n), who is defined as an angel.29 Around the couple’s bed there are another four men/angels clad in white who carry in their hands ‘golden bowls filled with perfumes, issuing scents of various perfumes’.30 This harks to Revelation 5:8 where the four beasts and twenty-four elders have harps and golden vials (fia/laj xrusa~j) full of odours, which are the prayers of saints. Thus, Julian and Basilissa’s ‘perfection’ are their prayers for themselves and for others. And for them it ‘rises everyday’ (kaq )h(me/ran) and so, throughout their lives. They have to live for God. More parallels with Revelation are present in three other examples. The first is in chapter 40 where there is a description of hell given by one Athanasios whom Julian has recently resurrected.31 The second is in chapter 41 where the cauldrons of death are filled with brimstone.32 The final parallel occurs in the description of the great earthquake in chapter 62. The martyrs have just been killed and pandemonium strikes. An earthquake destroys a third of the city and the vast majority of the population die.33 An outpouring of thunder, lightning and hail follows and obliterates most of the unfaithful.34 Revelation 8:5; 11:13 and 17:19 concern an earthquake. In 11:13 a tenth of the city of ‘Sodom and Egypt’ fell and seven thousand men died. In 17:19 Armageddon itself is divided into three parts and ‘there were voices and thunders and lightning’ cf. Revelation 10:3–4. Hail makes its appearance in Revelation 17:21, ‘and there fell upon men a great hail out of heaven, every stone about the weight of a talent’. Thus the death of Julian and his companions initiates a furious revenge on Antinoopolis and her people, which has every sign of being the new Armageddon. The last event is even more visual. The saints are beheaded alongside common criminals and it is hard for the faithful to identify the bodies of the martyrs, not only from the sinners but also from among all the other corpses produced by the massive earthquake. When the Christians arrive, the souls of the saints are

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hovering about their own bodies so that they can be identified. Moreover, the spilt martyrs’ blood remains on their cadavers lest the earth receive the blood and mix it with those defiled.35 This episode can be compared to the passage in the gospel of Matthew 27:51–3. After Christ is crucified, there is an earthquake and ‘the tombs were opened and many bodies of the saints that had fallen asleep arose’. In the same way when Julian, who mirrors Christ (as a martyr always does) is killed, the souls of our saints rise to show the faithful the Way. Julian and Basilissa’s virginal union is heavily couched in the eschatological movement that infuses the entire narrative. Gregory of Nyssa believed that reproduction (which should happen within marriage) produced fodder for death, since the greater the rate of procreation, the greater the death rate.36 Death is therefore dissolved by virginity, which thus becomes a finite notion – an end in itself since reproduction ceases. The scene in the bedroom chamber encapsulates this position. The eschatological impulse is also present in the VGE. However, unlike the VJB, only one example serves: Episteme’s first dream where she sees the three choruses: One of the choruses has men clad in black and the other has very beautiful virgins. And the third has winged and fiery-formed humans.37 For these people whom you see in the one chorus clad in black, they left the worldly life and their wealth and their wives and followed Christ. The women, those of the other chorus, are those who left the world behind and in addition, their husbands, and followed Christ. The winged ones are angels with whom, rejoicing, they dance.38

The message in this part of the text is clear: renunciation and, more specifically, celibacy lead to God and eternal life. Unlike the VJB, the afterlife is no longer equivalent to union with God. For Galaktion and Episteme, the prize is perpetual fusion: ‘Give me this hour your promise, lady, that you follow me, and I will not be separated from you in this world or the next’.39 This surely must be due to the play on the novel.40 Eschatology plays no literal role in the VAA because neither Andronikos nor Athanasia are virgins and our texts have provided ample evidence to ­demonstrate how sexual purity is a vital prerequisite for the hereafter. Following the VJB and VGE, we would therefore anticipate some suggestion of everlasting life together from the hagiographer. For two of our couples, we can see that a strong reason for their celibate marriage is the promise of eternal life. Within the parameters of their literary and cultural assertions, for Julian and Basilissa, the ultimate aim is union with God; for Galaktion and Episteme, union with God is transposed into their eternal bond. But the VAA’s hagiographer remains mute on the subject. Instead, he creates a resurrection state for Andronikos and Athanasia on earth, much like that envisaged by Clement of Alexandria.41 However, Clement indicated clearly that he was referring to those men who

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‘live with their wives as with their sisters: without any sexual relations’42 and Andronikos is unaware that he is living with his wife. Even so, the VAA’s author makes it clear that their cohabitation is meant to correspond to their early married life (not least because each section spans the same number of years); their mutual devotion is maintained and their spiritual marriage is given a physical dimension and open acknowledgement by their joint burial.

Distraction If the first two categories are not a feature of the VAA, what comment does the author make of their unusual situation? The answer is that sex poses as a ‘distraction’. Once Andronikos and Athanasia fulfil their Christian duty by producing children, They both entered into agreement and pledged with unfailing trust to unite no longer with each other for the rest of their lives. Therefore having bid farewell to the flesh and all carnal desires, they devoted all their effort to the spirit and spiritual works.43

The hagiographer unequivocally explains that intercourse diverts the couple’s application from their inner and exterior skopos. He wishes to illustrate the zeal that must filter into a normative existence, and in order to accomplish this, unnecessary distraction must be eliminated. The first thing to go once it has outgrown its ‘use’ is sex. All three versions of the tale agree on this reason for celibacy. Painfully, the concept of distraction is pressed even further to encompass their children once John and Maria pass away, as Andronikos explains: ‘… He [God] has pledged us in marriage to pay attention to the salvation of the soul, since there is nobody now to distract [perispw~ntoj] and attract our attention’.44 Interestingly, ‘distraction’ also appears in the VGE in Galaktion’s words to his young bride: ‘Let us give thanks lady, to our God, that He deigned to listen to us, and our agreement will withstand a day of distraction [perispasmou=]and temptation’.45 Such a belief recalls 1 Corinthians 7:32–35, ‘Whereas the married are anxious about the affairs of the world and how to please each other, the unmarried are anxious about the affairs of the Lord’.46 In his study of 1 Corinthians 7, Deming convincingly traces the Stoic and Cynic influences that permeate Paul’s response to the Corinthians including a discussion of the unusual use of the adverb a)perispa/stwj.47 In its classical sense, perispa/stwj indicated distraction from the pursuit of philosophy. In his analysis of the verses, Deming surmises that ‘the affairs of the world’ in the Pauline epistle ‘has reference to the day-today responsibilities of a householder and his wife’.48 The significance of his exploration to this study lies in Demming’s call for urgent attention to sexuality’s insidious entry into early Christian thought on celibacy from the second century onwards, which laid the foundations for

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Christian thought on marriage and celibacy. He stresses that such an interrelation did not exist in Paul’s message.49 Clark has further explored how the Church Fathers read and interpreted various biblical passages to promote their individual messages. In the case of the Corinthians’ verses in question, she shortlists three possible ‘troubles’ of married life that arise from their reinterpretation: servitude to a husband, as Genesis insists (Basil of Ancyra and Jerome), intriguingly, cosmetics [presumably used by a wily woman to catch her innocent husband’s attention] (Eusebius of Emesa, Tertullian and Chrysostom), and lastly, attachments to family (Basil of Caesarea, Tertullian, Cyprian, Ambrose, Chrysostom). Another interpretation, proposed by Gregory of Nyssa and Jerome, is that the ‘married woman cannot please God and a husband equally’, a proposal emphatically denied by Clement of Alexandria.50 Augustine too argued that Paul intended to advocate eternal life and not promote denial of marriage and the trivia of domesticity. As Clark acutely points out, ‘Implicit in some readings of 7:32–35 is the Fathers’ concern that these verses could be construed to deny that marriage was God’s creation …’.51 If, as Deming suggests, Paul’s original intention was not to produce a theological treatise condemning marriage but simply to answer the question ‘is it good for a man to touch a woman’52 and if, by a)perispa/stwj he was referring to the disruptions emanating from day-to-day life that prevented a relationship with God, we can see that for Christian history, his pronouncements were re-interpreted dramatically. How then do our later texts deal with this concept within their worldview? By having Galaktion specify ‘this day’ in relation to distraction and temptation, his hagiographer is clearly referring to the sexless marriage he and Episteme have decided to pursue. Within the context of the vita, it is likely that ‘distraction’ would imply obstacles preventing the union, such as Episteme’s disapproval, or the imminent peril of lust or a future sexual encounter, threatening the couple’s relationship with God. The latter is more probable given that this theme is rife in the vita as well as the fact that it is allied with periasmou= in a pleonastic construction, a formulation for which the hagiographer obviously has some affection.53 He obviously understands periasmou= to have a sexual connotation. Since the original probable audience for the VGE was monastic, Galaktion’s mention of distraction is yet another reminder of their need to keep firm to their vows of celibacy. The VAA coheres more strictly to the exegetical pronouncements that allow for marriage yet acknowledge the detrimental effects of intercourse. However, when perispw~ntoj is used specifically, it is not with reference to intercourse but more to the distraction of children, as Church Fathers from Basil to Chrysostom decided. Such an understanding is given weight by Athanasia as she explains to her husband: ‘my love for my children persuaded me to remain in life and worldly things. But now, seeing that nothing is impeding us, if you listen to me, tonsure me and send me to a convent of pious women’…54

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Thus, there is a difference in terminology between the VGE and VAA, further highlighting the diversity involved in conceptualizing celibate marriage.

Secrecy We have seen that the portrayal of a positive celibate marriage in hagiography required an ingenious approach. A key component of this creative vision that has yet to be discussed is the inclusion of secrecy. As a motif, it unites the marriages. Given that the struggle for sanctity has a happy ending (even if it involves mutilation and death), one that is, furthermore, presumed uncomplicated and uncompromised, it is curious that the saints are made to hide their unions. Julian and Basilissa keep their decision a secret not only from their family but also from their larger community who gather at dawn, the day after their extravagant wedding, ‘long to see the marriage that they thought had joined these persons’.55 In Chapter 5, we will see that this deception is also prevalent in the VJB’s literary genealogy of the chastity story in every tale whatever its ‘genre’ (history, apocryphal act, vita).56 In the VGE, once Galaktion persuades Episteme not to consummate their marriage, the couple immediately leave for Sinai, without a word to their families or friends.57 Andronikos and Athanasia live out their marriage without full awareness since Andronikos is oblivious that he is dwelling with his wife. When they mutually renounce intercourse when the story begins, the period of their continent married lives is not given one sentence in description. Instead, we move directly onto their philanthropy and deaths of their children. By not permitting their characters to flaunt their unions, the hagiographers mirrored society’s deep anxieties concerning this form of marriage. They were, therefore, well aware of the enormous controversy surrounding this monumental choice and the repercussions that it would have on social order. Their carefully crafted pieces took into consideration their own visions of celibate marriage but each seems to have made the conscious decision not to push the boat too far. The intention was not to change society but to show the heights and boundaries of human experience. Secrecy, then, is a natural consequence when making a decision that is going to rock humanity. But, intriguingly, it also plays a much more insidious role in these vitae in its other manifestations: hidden knowledge, disguise, the veiling of intention, physical, or metaphorical absence and the creation of a new identity or even an alternative mode of existence.58 For instance, nearly every protagonist veils his or her intentions from other characters and also from the audience. In the VJB, for instance, Julian fails to disclose his prophetic vision from God to his Christian parents or to his young bride, even though the revelation explicitly concerns Basilissa. After the death of the children in the VAA, Athanasia suddenly divulges a buried yearning she has long cherished: to live in a retreat. No prior indication of her desire had

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been offered. Once Episteme has promised Galaktion that she will convert to Christianity so that he may finally embrace her, he suddenly reveals his true intentions to her: they are to leave immediately for a retreat. Interestingly, he does so where no one can see or hear them.59 Furthermore, Galaktion’s mother, Gleukippe, keeps her encounter with the kindly monk, Onouphrios, a secret from her abusive husband, Kleitophon. When Kleitophon finally converts to Christianity, the pair decide to worship Christ in secret and to tell no one. Secrecy permeates the constructed figure of the saint in Late Antiquity and Byzantium. Here, I am not attempting to unravel the idea of ‘mystery’, which lies at the heart of Christianity but to decipher, briefly, the social modes of concealment that are inherent in, for example, the characters of the penitent prostitute, the ascetics who wear hair shirts under their normal garments or the figure of the holy fool; figures that hide their holiness, literally and metaphorically, and in so doing, elevate their sanctity. The saints who have celibate marriages clearly belong to this band. Secrecy poses a dynamic duality, much like virginity,60 in that it confers a sense of control and also legitimization upon the holy figure but yet places the onus back onto the recipient/audience. For the latter, salvation can only be attained if s/he can penetrate what lies right in front of them.61 Thus, the worshippers adopt the role of an initiate, learning to infiltrate what lies beneath the mask. The veiling of identity is another aspect of concealment in the VGE and the VAA and is the catalyst that drives the plot of the latter. Athanasia’s disguise as Father Athanasios is the obvious manifestation of this.62 In the VGE, Onouphrios is physically in disguise. A generation later, Galaktion and the newly baptized Episteme hide on Mount Pouplion to avoid the wrath of the sacrilegious governor. For the holy man or woman, the concealment of holiness can take different forms. The couple in the Apophthegmata Patrum who hide their celibate marriage or the figures who wear hair shirts, such as St. Cecilia, are earning their sanctity against the odds, against a worldly backlash, peopled by figures aghast at their attempts to throw off their worldly mantles. These personages are usually portrayed with serene mien as their hidden secrecy gives them an innate power and knowledge; an awareness that they are serving God. That they live in conflict with the world merely adds to their sanctity. The paradoxical figures of the holy fool and the repentant harlot are the epitome of a deliberately concealed sanctity, one that is a deliberate embodiment. In Chapter 5, we will meet Theophilos and Maria whose story is narrated in John of Ephesus’ Lives of the Eastern Saints.63 They are considered a holy fool and a harlot respectively, but these actions are revealed as profane disguises for they actually have a celibate marriage. By masquerading as figures who earn disdain, their worthiness is proven. This paradoxical quality is well attested in the genetic make-up of early Christianity but the element of concealment

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is crucial to the fulfilment of holiness. Within this remarkable story we also discover our now familiar trope, the secret celibate marriage. Thus secrecy, concealment and disguise perform different functions when serving the holy man or woman but ultimately it acts to elevate sanctity and quite simply, too, secrecy makes for good drama, drawing the recipient/ audience into the scene. For the continued audiences of the VJB, VAA and VGE, the dramatic potential of each scenario most likely further contributed to the stories’ longevity. It possibly became another anchor that leashed the vitae onto the great corpus of Late Antique and Byzantine hagiography. Secrecy in celibate marriage echoed the unease that this phenomenon generated but ultimately, familiarity, anticipation and sheer imagination ensured these vitae centuries of life.

The bond between husband and wife In Roman Marriage, Susan Treggiari concludes a chapter entitled Coniugalis Amor with the words, ‘Rome’s particular (though not entirely original) contribution to the ideology of marriage was the ideal of the wife’s faithfulness to one man, the eternity of the bond and the partnership of the couple’.64 Intrinsic to these ideas is concordia, which Treggiari defines as ‘harmony’, related to ‘societas’, meaning ‘a close and harmonious partnership based on affection and co-operation’.65 While concordia is never explicitly articulated as a concept in any of the vitae, the essence of its meaning is reincarnated in a Christian formulation enabling us to find the last, and most important, common theme for the VJB, VAA and VGE arising from their three, very different, celibate marriages. A cautionary note to begin with. My aim is not to provide a general discourse on the values and ideals of Christian friendship or love; spiritual, erotic or otherwise. Furthermore, there is danger in imposing modern conceptions of ‘relationships’ – the word itself is a modern construct layered in meaning – on Late Antique and Byzantine literary creations. Reading too much into a text and over-identifying with the feelings laid bare, especially when dealing with a concept of such mutability and depth as ‘emotion’, is to crush any significance of nuance, feeling or indeed rhetoric, which the text offers. As Mullett has remarked, ‘a discourse of desire does not automatically mean a real-life passion’.66 Obviously it would be nonsense to try to mine the texts for subjective responses to the couples’ marriages by the couples themselves. The texts cannot tell us how a ‘real’ husband and wife would feel in a sexless marriage in the Late Antique and Byzantine world.67 We cannot find ‘real’ evidence of what a husband and wife meant to one another but what we do have are three unique texts that display open emotion between husbands and wives, a strength of feeling unusual in this type of Christian text, especially when celibacy drives a large, if not, essential component of the narrative.68 The following analysis therefore suggests that the vitae mark the importance of marriage as bond over celibacy.

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‘Love’ has countless shades of meaning in the modern age and it is a widely held belief that when two people marry, they are ‘in love’.69 Obviously in the Late-Antique/Byzantine world this ideal was not the norm nor a requirement but what was expected from a legal union was sex. As Chrysostom so acidly remarks, ‘no man would choose to live with (a woman) if he were innocent of desire’,70 a comment which betrays his natural assumption that with the exclusion of sex, comes the denigration of marriage. Yet in the saints’ vitae all three women, Athanasia and Episteme in particular, go to extreme lengths to maintain their relationships. What does this tell us about the wives? In all three celibate marriages the women need to be with their husbands. Though separation is imposed on Andronikos and Athanasia and Galaktion and Episteme in order to pursue ascetic training without the hurdles of temptation, each couple is reunited thanks to the wife, who seizes the initiative to remain with her husband. Athanasia changes her actual identity to be with Andronikos. Only then can she still share a life with him, accept his unconditional friendship and reap spiritual benefit. Given that she previously persuaded her husband to allow them to lead separate lives her decision shows yet more powerfully that the key to their union lies in the strength of their bond. In Episteme’s case, even torture and certain death do not sway her determination to follow Galaktion and although Basilissa never voices strong sentiment towards Julian and has her own separate monastery, the hagiographer does not use the latter excuse as a means of distancing herself physically and emotionally from her spouse. The authors concentrate on all three saints’ relationships. Without sex to fulfil their procreative potential the women are given alternative roles of devotion to their husbands. Meanwhile, the men are not as enthusiastic about their wives, being more concerned with the Christian message of salvation through the benefits of a celibate life. Julian, for example, has absolutely no intention of marrying and only succumbs after God Himself promises that he will remain undefiled. However, as time passes, we have seen how he comes to regard Basilissa as an equal and with seriousness, not questioning either that she should have her own monastery and ensemble, or her suitability as a teacher and general authority figure to the thousands who flock to them. When she dies while they are praying together he ensures that she is given appropriate prayer and burial. The manipulation of Andronikos (and his wife) in order to subvert gendered roles is particularly interesting for this does not happen to either Julian or Galaktion. By the end of the story Andronikos has transformed into a man who inconsolably weeps for the imminent death of his brother-monk (his disguised wife) and as someone who openly defies his spiritual father, by whose rules he has always complied, by openly refusing to return to Sketis.71 Clearly, there is now a shift in attitude where Andronikos is valuing his earthly bond over his monastic/ascetic one. Andronikos disobeys Daniel because he wishes to die with his wife, a desire that arises after an ascetic training that purportedly

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suppresses all worldly feeling.72 It is noteworthy that he still recognizes her as his wife (h( kuri/a mou).73 This is the reverse of the Andronikos who does not weep when his children die and who decides to go to Sketis leaving his wife behind, even though she begs him to take her with him. This is also a revealing reversal of character: just as Athanasia wished to die with her children and is consoled by her husband, Andronikos is comforted by his wife as she lies dying and subsequently he wishes to die with her. We have a gendered role reversal. Galaktion shows no interest whatsoever in Episteme when he realizes she is a pagan. Once he baptizes his bride and convinces her that they are destined for a life apart, Galaktion happily undergoes ascetic training giving her no further thought. When Episteme flies to join him after his capture, he very conventionally spends his time instructing and preparing her for their eventual torture. Galaktion never once displays or reciprocates the feelings that Episteme lavishes on him. Despite this the hagiographer maintains their connection through the tripartite mechanism of the novelistic framework of the vita, Episteme’s actions and their joint torture and death. Julian, Andronikos and Galaktion replace God as a new type of holy bridegroom.74 These three case studies are exempla of expressions of devotion and faithfulness, not sexual desire and forbidden passion. Eastern hagiographies of saintly couples do not usually dwell on personal interaction between the husbands and wives. Positive emotion is generally evoked for a rhetorical purpose and is certainly not intended as a display of conjugal affection in itself.75 For instance, in the vita of Timotheos and Maura (copied in the eleventh/twelfth centuries),76 the narrative concentrates on essential details: barely days after marrying Maura, Timotheos is called before Arianos, the governor, who commands the young bride to persuade her husband to sacrifice. Timotheos reproaches Maura for her efforts and so she defies Arianos. Husband and wife are crucified, kata\ pro/swpon a)llh/lwn (‘facing one another’) and remain alive for a further nine days before finally dying, consoling each other. The concise narrative has no prologue or description of the couple’s life up to their summons by the governor other than the knowledge that they are newly weds. There is no interplay between the characters as in the VGE for example, except when Timotheos chides Maura for yielding to Arianos’ demands. Lack of conjugal interplay similarly arises when celibacy becomes a necessity for one or both spouses in a saintly marriage, such as those of Cecilia and Melania the Younger. Here we generally find that the other partner is viewed as an obstruction to sanctity and the relationship’s focus is on the desire for celibacy and its resulting salvation. Any feelings husband or wife may have for the other are not elaborated. Comparable saintly figures such as Cecilia, and the anonymous bride (significant in itself) of Alexis, also do not exhibit this emotion. Even in historical examples such as Melania, the focus is on the celibate life. Figures such as Olympias, Chrysostom’s close friend, fall into the category of women who failed to persuade their husbands to a life of continence but nevertheless

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remained virgins,77 a situation very common in the West. Bede narrates how the seventh-century Anglo-Saxon queen Æthelthryth managed to withhold the delights of conjugal bliss from two spouses. Her second husband finally let her enter a monastery after twelve years of frustration.78 Christina of Markyate strenuously resisted the efforts of her family to trick her into consummating her marriage on her wedding night, which even included attempting to make her drunk: ‘They hoped that the compliments paid to her by the onlookers and the accumulation of little sips of wine would break her resolution and prepare her body for the deed of corruption’.79 Brooke comments that this anecdote ‘seems a little far-fetched’;80 nevertheless, these and other stories paint a contradictory picture of celibate marriage. Unlike our three vitae, the marriage bond is devalued in all these examples. There is no ideal of a spiritual covenant and one partner is seen as an obstacle.81 Affection in marriage had always been recognized and acknowledged from Roman times.82 Yet the union essentially remained contractual. Augustine was unique among Christian writers in describing the social bond between man and woman, stressing the level of companionship that could be attained in matrimony. However, it was not until the twelfth century that Western secular and ecclesiastical authorities fully emphasized the concept of love between husband and wife.83 What is interesting is how they used this emotion to resolve the paradox of celibacy and marriage, with particular reference to Mary and Joseph.84 Hugh of St. Victor, for instance, re-interpreted the proclamation of Genesis: ‘the two shall become one flesh’, reasoning that the Latin for ‘to join’ or ‘to be united with’ (‘adhaerere’), did not only mean a sexual union. The covenant was also one of spiritual love: ‘de affectu cordis et vinculo socialis dilectionis’ (‘the affection of the heart and the bond of love by which man and wife live together’).85 ‘Thus marriage is contracted by consent [consensus maritalis] and not by consummation [coitus]’.86 In this judgement, Hugh goes back to Ulpian. But this is in the West. In the East we have the Orthodox position of marriage validated by its role in the continuation of the human race. Virginity and celibacy are exalted as ascetic ideals. We further see a paradigmatic shift of erotic language, imagery and symbolism to describe ascetic endeavour. Origen’s commentaries on the Song of Songs did much to lend the vocabulary of erotic love to the religious sphere87 and Averil Cameron has illustrated its effect on writers from Gregory of Nyssa and Jerome to John Klimakos.88 Desire, and the battle for its extermination, is the language of the Desert and Church Fathers. Affection is not given much space. In an Eastern Christian context, the fact of celibacy is therefore deemed more important than its effect on the marriage. This is revealing in itself. Any couple we encounter are married in name alone. Thereafter they (eventually) live apart and any social contact between the pair is limited to actions carried out in the name of Christian deeds. What is exciting and important in our three vitae is that celibacy is indeed meaningful and necessary but this demanding concept does not mean that there cannot be a relationship, a personal interaction between

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partners. What we have are examples of mortal/earthly/human impulses performed in the name of devotion/warmth/affection/respect/love. Episteme cannot bear seeing her husband suffer pain, knowing that this is what a martyr has to undergo. Athanasia is content to live a harsh monastic desert existence for twelve years as a man in order to be near and valued by her husband. We might say that these are women who love their husbands. The purpose of this book is to show that marriage, as partnership and bond, is essential to each saints’ vita, and not simply celibacy, even if the essence of Christian marriage, sex and thus procreation, is eradicated. The vitae have been bequeathed to us as stories of two people in one situation in direct contrast to, for example, Cecilia, Melania and Alexis. The latter are not known as the vitae of Cecilia and Valerian or of Melania and Pinian. In their cases, their celibate marriages really are about celibacy rather than marriage. But Julian and Basilissa, Andronikos and Athanasia and Galaktion and Episteme’s life stories are important because of their marriages, their celibate marriages, and it is this phenomenon that has generated their continued veneration for hundreds of years. Notes 1

2

3 4 5 6

7 8

Y. Tissot, ‘Encratisme et Actes apocryphes’ in F. Bovon et al. (eds), Les Actes apocryphes des Apôtres: Christianisme et Monde païen (Labor et Fides: Geneva, 1991) 109–19, esp. 114–19; Rhee (1995) 127–8; J. Perkins, ‘The Apocryphal Acts of the apostles and the early Christian martyrdom’, Arethusa 18 (1985) 215–18. Acts of Peter in J. K. Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of Apocryphal Christian Literature in an English translation (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1993) 398–9: ‘A peasant had a girl who was a virgin … he besought Peter to offer a prayer for her. After he prayed, the apostle said to the father that the Lord would bestow upon her what was expedient for her soul. Immediately the girl fell down dead’. The message is clear when the peasant begs Peter to bring his child back to life, which Peter does. However, we learn that merely a few days later, she is seduced ‘and the two of them never appeared again’. There can be no alternative interpretation to this tale. Acts of Peter (397–8): ‘Ptolemy, God has not given the vessels for corruption and shame; it is not right for you, as a believer in me, to violate my virgin, whom you are to know as your sister, as if I had become one spirit to both of you’. Acts of Peter, chapter 34 (423). Acts of Peter (398) [to Ptolemy]: ‘God has not given the vessels for corruption and shame; it is not right for you, as a believer in me, to violate my virgin, whom you are to know as your sister, as if I had become one spirit to both of you … ’. Acts of Thomas, chapter 28 (458): ‘For fornication destroys the mind and darkens the eyes of the soul and becomes a hindrance to the right regulation of the body, changing the whole man into feebleness and throwing the whole body into disease’ In the Acts of Thomas, we have two examples of marital chastity. In the tale we will encounter in Chapter 5, marital intercourse is categorized as ‘filthy lust’ [452]. Later on in Thomas’ travels, he encounters Vazan, another king’s offspring, who was forced to marry Mnesara but the pair have managed to have a continent relationship that has lasted seven years [502–5]. Evidently, their sexual purity deems them worthy. VJB 6:153–5. VJB 4:86–7. See also 4:94–5: ‘you will have a wife who will not separate you from Me by defiling you’; 4:99–101: ‘I will be present with you, dwelling in you, so that I will destroy all the desires

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9 10

11 12 13 14 15 16

17 18 19 20 21

22

23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

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of the body and the war of the flesh’; 4:115–18: ‘But rather You be the good way in me and for those who love chastity and embrace the purity/unsulliedness of the soul and the purity of the flesh’. VJB 2:48–50. VGE 8:186–194 ‘When she was washing on the eighth day, saint Episteme said to the blessed Galaktion, “Do you know, my lord, what I see in my dreams since I received holy baptism?” He said to her, “Tell (me), my lady, what do you see?” She said to him, “I see a palace adorned very beautifully and in it, three choruses singing. One of the choruses has men clad in black and the other has very beautiful virgins. And the third has winged and fiery-formed humans.” The blessed Galaktion said to her, “Truly lady, we are blessed if we too become such.”’ VGE 10:246–7. Thus, following Mark 5:28: ‘one commits adultery in the heart even with a lustful glance’. VGE 5:120–2. It is not unusual in hagiography for the future saint to echo Christ from birth itself. VGE 12:289–90. See Chapter 4. As van Eijk states, when discussing the Acts of Paul and Thekla in relation to 1 Corinthians 7, ‘continence has become a condition of the resurrection’: T. van Eijk, ‘Marriage and Virginity, Death and Immortality’ in J. Fontaine and C. Kannengiesser (eds), Epektasis: Mélanges patristiques offerts au Cardinal Jean Daniélou (Beauchesne: Paris, 1972) 212, also 212–14. See also Rhee (1995) 114 for the New Testament understanding: ‘the significance of marriage in this age is only penultimate in relation to the ultimate eschatological reality: in that age and in the resurrection from the dead, people will not marry nor will they be given in marriage, for, like angels, they will not die’ (Luke 20:35–6; Mark 12:25; Matthew 22:30; 24:38–9). VJB 6:178–9. VJB 49:1143–51. VJB 7:196–8: ‘and from the side of the queen was cried “you are blessed Basilissa, who consented in such a way to the salvific advice”… ’. VJB 7:202: to\ bible/on th=j ai0wni/ou zwh=j. cf. Psalms 69:28; Exodus 32:33. The idea is based on Daniel 12:1–2 ‘… and at that time thy people shall be delivered, everyone that shall be found written in the Book. And many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth shall wake, some to everlasting life and some to shame and everlasting contempt’. Revelation 20:15: ‘and whosoever was not found written in the Book of Life was cast into the lake of fire’. The Apocalypse of Peter concludes in 17:7 by saying that the disciples ‘descended from the mountain, praising God who has written the names of the righteous in the Book of Life in heaven’. VJB 7:231–4. VJB 7:205–11. ‘One of the elders … (said), “what are these which are arrayed in white robes? And whence came they?” “…These are they which came out of great tribulation and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb”’ (Revelation 7:13–14 cf. Revelation 6:9–10). VJB 27. VJB 27:673: a0etw~n. VJB 27:673: au)to\n perie/pontaj. cf. Revelation 15:6: ‘seven angels came out of the temple having the seven plagues, clothed in pure and white linen and having their breasts girded with golden girdles’. VJB 7:213–15. See Notes on the VJB for chapter 40. cf. Revelation 9:17–18. VJB 62:1376–7. VJB 62:1378–9. VJB 63:1387–9. Gregory of Nyssa, Traité de la virginité (ed.), M. Aubineau (Editions du Cerf: Paris, 1966) 14.

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37 38 39 40

41 42 43 44 45 46 47

48

49 50 51 52 53

54

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1. 1–15; van Eijk (1972) 230–5. Also Acts of Thomas, chapter 12 (452): ‘if you refrain from this filthy intercourse you become temples holy and pure, being released from afflictions and troubles, known and unknown, and you will not be involved in the cares of life and of children, whose end is destruction … But if you obey and preserve your souls pure to God, there will be born to you living children, untouched by these hurtful things, and you will be without care, spending an untroubled life, free from grief and care, looking forward to receive that incorruptible and true marriage, and you will enter as groomsmen into that bridal chamber full of immortality and light.’ VGE 8:190–3. VGE 8:196–202. VGE 8:205–7. cf. vita of Matrona, chapter 9: ‘She … chose the monastic life, for, she said, she had loved this life from the beginning, and on its account she had taken leave of her husband, her child, abundant wealth, indeed the entire world and everything in it; and she averred that to her very death she would not forsake it.’ [tr. C. Mango in A-M. Talbot, Holy Women of Byzantium (Dumbarton Oaks: Washington D.C, 1996) 28] [my emphasis]. Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 3.7.57–8 in O. Stählin (ed.), Stromata i-vi (Akademie Verlag: Berlin, 1960), pp. 222–3. idem Stromata 6.12.100 (p. 482). VAA 3:46–50. VAA 5:113–4: mhdeno\j o!ntoj e1ti tou= perispw~ntoj h(ma~j kai\ pro\j e9auto\ e0pistre/fontoj. VGE 8:214: e0n h9me/ra perispasmou= kai\ periasmou=. E. Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton University Press: Princeton, 1999) 314–17. See also Deming (2004) 193–201. Deming (2004) 195–200. For a summary of the Classical understanding of perispa/stwj from the Cynic and Stoic perspectives as distraction from the pursuit of philosophy, see also Rhee (1995) 110–11 and L. Alexander, ‘“Better to marry than to burn”: St. Paul and the Greek novel’ in R. F. Hock et al. (eds), Ancient Fiction and Early Christian Narrative (Scholars Press: Atlanta, 1998) 242. Deming (2004) 193–4 based on verses 27, 28b and 30–1. One of the most important aspects of Deming’s study is to de-emphasize the association Paul has gained with sexual asceticism from celibacy (216–17): ‘Celibacy for Paul was … not the equivalent of sexual asceticism, a regime of self-induced privation and hardship … ‘ (216–17). idem 216–19, esp. 219. Clark (1999) 316–17 with references. Rhee (1995) 120–1 for Clement: Stromata 2. 23. 143; 3. 7. 58; 3.12. 88. Clark (1999) 317. Deming (2004) 109–12. e.g. 41–2 h]n de\ stei=ra kai\ ou)k e1tikte\n, 42 megi/sthn lu/phn kai\ a)lghdo/na e1xei=n, 356 ka/kistoj kai\ deino\j, 334–5 e0pikata/rate kai\ trisa/qlie, 345 a)ka/qaratoj kai\ ponhro\j, 317 a)sebe/statoj kai\ para/nomoj. Also for playing with words: 54–5 a)ll ) e1ndoqen au)to\ h)mfiesme/noj peribe/blhto e1xwqe\n, 56 e0k to/pou ei0j to/pon kai\ e0c oi0ki/aj ei0j oi0ki/an. VAA 6. cf vita of Matrona, chapter 10: ‘God … had taken her child Theodote unto Himself, lest she should add despair to despair and might, out of concern for the child, somehow slacken her purpose. Wherefore, finding that she had died, felt joy rather than grief, for she was thus set free of concern for … ‘ [tr. Mango (1996) 28]. The main difference in the two tales is that Matrona previously willingly gives away her child to one Susanna [chapter 3, p. 21]. VJB 8:244–5. Chapter 5. VGE 9. For current purposes I am not discussing secrecy as mystery, an essential part of a religion. See K. Bolle, ‘Secrecy in religion’ in K. Bolle (ed.), Secrecy in Religion (Brill: Leiden, 1987) 1–24 and his introduction to the volume; E. Wolfson (ed.), Rending the Veil: Concealment and Secrecy

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59 60 61 62 63 64 65

66

67 68 69

70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

82 83

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in the History of Religions (Seven Bridges Press: New York, 1999); F. Kermode, The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative (Harvard University Press, Cambridge.Mass., 1979). VGE 7:172–3. See Chapter 4 where I explain how virginity’s dynamism takes a different form. Bolle (1987) 2. Moreover, we learn that mysterious documents pertaining to Athanasia’s identity are hidden beneath her pillow, not to be revealed to her husband until after her death. Chapter 5. Treggiari (1991) 261. eadem (1991) 252. See also R. Brown, ‘Livy’s Sabine women and the ideal of concordia’, Transactions of the American Philological Association 125 (1995) 291–319; E. Kantorowicz, ‘On the golden marriage belt and the marriage rings of the Dumbarton Oaks Collection’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 14 (1960) 1–16, esp. 4–8, 10–13. M. Mullett, ‘From Byzantium with love’, in L. James (ed.), Desire and Denial (Ashgate: Aldershot, 1999) 3–22, esp. 21. See also Av. Cameron (1999) 40. For similar thoughts, see F. Cheyette and H. Chickering, ‘Love, anger and peace: social practice and poetic play in the ending of Yvain’, Speculum 80 (2005) 75–117, esp. 77–9. For an example of the construction of women as a rhetorical construct, see E. Clark, ‘Ideology, history and the construction of “woman” in late ancient Christianity’, JECS 2 (1994) 155–84 and Cooper (1996). Averil Cameron has pointed out that romantic love appears in the twelfth-century novels while there was an appropriation of ‘erotic language for the religious sphere’, see Cameron (1997) 1–23, esp. 8–17. For the difficulty in finding evidence of love in the sources, see Averil Cameron, ‘The ought and the is’ in James (1999) 205–13, esp. 211: ‘… this leaves precious little room for affection and emotion to come through in the sources, however much we would like to find them. When they do, as in the novels or the letter collections, they surface generally in genres that are highly literary and highly artificial and so difficult to interpret.’ (213). Chrysostom, Instruction and Refutation Directed Against Those Men Cohabiting With Virgins in E. Clark, Jerome, Chrysostom and Friends (E. Mellen: New York and Toronto, 1979), ch 5, p. 179. See Rousseau (1978) 18–32 for the relationship between ‘masters and disciples’. VAA 13:338: teleuth=sai me\ xrh. VAA 13:337. Rhee (1995) 129–30. Cooper (1996). F. Halkin, Hagiographica Inedita Decem (Leuven University Press: Brepols, 1989): Ven. Marc. Gr. 349, ff. 130–1. Chrysostom, Lettres à Olympias (ed.), A. -M. Malingrey (Paris, 1947). B. Colgrave and R. Mynors (eds), Bede: Historia Ecclesiastica (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1969), iv. 19, 390–1. The Life of Christina of Markyate (ed. & tr.), C. Talbot (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1987) 48–9. Brooke (1989) 146. D. Elliott (1993) 74–83 for Western examples. Attempts for a community based on these precepts were certainly alive in the West. See 51–5 for Paulinus of Nola’s spiritual community. But, as she points out, this was not attempted again for another six hundred years since the advent of monasticism became the natural medium for such endeavours. Treggiari (1991) 253–61. J. Leclercq, Monks on Marriage: A Twelfth-Century View (The Seabury Press: New York, 1982). See also G. Duby, Medieval Marriage: Two Models from Twelfth-Century France (John Hopkins University Press: Baltimore & London, 1978). For a ninth-century Western approach, see S. Nichols, ‘An intellectual anthropology of marriage’ in M. Brownlee et al. (eds), The New Medievalism (John Hopkins University Press: Baltimore & London, 1991) 70–95, esp. 80–9 where Nichols shows how the French philosopher Eriugena (c.810–c.877) took on the two interpretations of the Fall (allegorical and historical) and used the former approach to elaborate

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on the equality of sensuality and intellect in a prelapsarian context. Sensuality is an alternative way of looking at Eve’s deception, so Eriugena equates sense with the notion of a ‘vital life force’. He can then argue for ‘gender hierarchy (as) an historical phenomenon rather than essential.’ In this way, ‘as an historical accident, gender hierarchy was a human problem that could be overcome in seeking to return to prelapsarian unity. Adam and Eve, as joint principles of inner being, symbolize the true marriage of being, predicated on the balancing of intellect and sensuality’. Nichols observes that the next step from here is that Eriugena ‘managed, unwittingly, to lay the foundations for a discourse that perpetually activates the tension between voluptas and delectation: which is another way of describing romance’ (83). Brooke (1989) 53. Hugh of St Victor, On the Virginity of the Blessed Virgin Mary in J. Leclercq (1982) 25–6. Leclercq (1982) 25; Brooke (1989) 128–131; Digest 35. 1. 15; 50. 17. 30; 24. 1. 32. 13. Av. Cameron (1997) 10–14. eadem 12–15.

4

Resolution: Virgin Wives Diversity marks the VJB, VAA and VGE, ensuring that the Christian ideal of celibate marriage was not simple to formulate. Each vita’s attempt to resolve the marriage/celibacy dilemma is marred by a prevalent mistrust of sexual intercourse that hinders the creation of a perfect bond. However, we can find resolution for this dilemma by examining the virginal state of the wives in the vitae. The VJB, VAA and VGE converge in this key area and an examination of the virginity of the women is central simply because in most, if not all, ­hagiographical depictions of females, their sexual status is the most palpable element that can be manipulated. Manipulation intimates a malleable construct and it is true to say that there is an inherent dynamic instability within the tensions surrounding virginity.1 The possession of a sealed body did not automatically confer the status of virgin, a position destabilized easily by a series of negative mental and behavioural traits such as weakness of mind, having covetous or erotic thoughts or by even possessing spiritual pride in being a virgin.2 Basilissa warns her virgins: Comprehend and search out the forbidden of your breast, so that in the time we have left, you may turn your soul away from all weakness, purified of sins by pure water, and by deeds returned to God the Creator. Let us obtain this request from the Lord, that we send ahead everyone undefiled to the kingdom of heaven, where is the bridegroom, the Lord, Christ. For this reason I send you in advance, holy sisters, so that no leaven of evil may remain in your heart. But all of you, give yourself to each other as a reward in case you have harmed one another in some way, so that you will receive a perfect crown of integrity of soul and of body. You will show me as the victorious mother of the salvation of your pure number. Know this – that virginity of the flesh has no power wherever resentment of the heart resides.3

Basilissa proclaims clearly that virginity cannot be viewed merely as a physical state but pertains to a woman’s words, actions and behaviour.4 To some extent behaviour is dictated by apparel and its ensuing signals, what Butler terms ‘marks of gender’.5 A veiled woman enfolded within swathes of material discourages awareness of the outlines of her body, thus denying it. Yet this rejection yields a duality in that while this perception of her body is dismissed, a positive perception of corporeal intactness is simultaneously transmitted. A woman’s demeanour also plays a role in this interpretation; her comportment (that of modest bearing), probably affected by her garments, would illustrate virtue.6 When Galaktion instructs Episteme to give away her possessions to those in need, he is not only teaching her a lesson in worldly

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wealth but also moulding her virginity. Episteme’s belongings are detailed – Galaktion’s are not – and they include: ‘two belts, one necklace, four pairs of earrings, armlets and necklaces, in short, all her adornments …’.7 Such trimmings are not the ornaments of a woman of virtue. Virginity can thus be viewed as performative.8 Taking this notion literally, Salih explicates the case of St. Margaret who, in the midst of torture, prays only for serenity for by this means, she gains power over her tormentor. If Margaret were to show her pain and therefore her (feminine) weakness, she will have lost the fight and be perceived as the victim, automatically elevating the dominance of her oppressor. Accordingly, the saint implicitly acknowledges ‘the importance of spectacle’.9 Athanasia also understands the significance and consequences of display. By transforming her body, changing not only her gender but also her physical appearance and altering her behaviour to her husband, she encapsulates all the tensions surrounding her sexual corruption and triumphantly regains her virginity. A woman’s body is the most obvious locus for her virginal credentials. With its constant characterization of grotesquery and accusations of deformity,10 the purity offered by untouched and thus sinless flesh was unmatchable. However, given that most women were not virgins and being married was the only option for the majority of women of a certain status, chastity provided women with the chance to re-characterize their bodies and thereby gain an alternate form of identity and thus power.11 Salih argues that in the ‘Katherine group the martyrs are women, who through the practice of virginity, successfully redefine their bodies and identities as not feminine but virgin’.12 Virginity, she concludes, can therefore be posited as a third gender.13 The threat posed by the opening of women’s bodies is annulled by ‘moral and physical enclosure’.14 Basilissa, Athanasia and Episteme all encapsulate these concepts yet there are significant differences in their theoretical virginities, as the following sections will show.

Basilissa Unlike Episteme, Basilissa is the epitome of obedience. Since this text does not have literary pretensions in the manner of the VGE but focuses heavily on transmitting a late antique Christian message of renunciation, temperance, humility and chastity, Basilissa’s compliance with Julian’s wishes for their marriage is of the utmost importance. It is essential that she should submit to Julian’s wish as the concern here is not just the dynamic between the protagonists as in the case of Andronikos and Athanasia or Galaktion and Episteme, but what the couple can offer as an exemplum of Christian renunciation within marriage. Basilissa is, therefore, in all ways a dutiful and virtuous girl, worthy to be the saint’s consort. Beautiful, virginal and Christian, she readily consents to enter into a celibate marriage and her saintly credentials are confirmed in three ways:

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first, by the words of Mary; secondly, by her preaching and instruction of young virgins and married women; and lastly, by the visions granted to the young girl. Basilissa’s virginity is never in question nor does she threaten Julian’s. This has been foretold from the very beginning of the vita in the vision where Christ reassures Julian that marriage will not sully his purity and thus the audience’s expectations are fulfilled. Like Episteme, Basilissa’s virginity is essentially circumscribed to her body but greater emphasis is placed on her decision to remain undefiled. The Mother of God herself manifests to bestow her approval: ‘You are blessed, Basilissa, who consented in this way to the salvific advice, spurning the illusions of this world, preparing yourself for everlasting glory’.15 The importance of the body in a Christian context is dwelt upon constantly in the vita alongside its practical implications. Julian’s dilemmas and those of the virgins of both sexes who flock to the couple aptly bear witness to the difficulties of imitating Christ in the material world.16 Once Basilissa enters the story it is noticeable that she becomes a key player in elucidating the Christian message. As for all our saintly wives, her role is not as a mute consort but as an articulate and intelligent woman. However, there is a crucial difference for Basilissa: whereas Athanasia’s skopos lies in her silence and Episteme constantly shatters boundaries and threatens the men around her with her words, Basilissa’s two long rhetorical speeches (Julian has none in the vita), are to instruct and inform; in other words, she is allotted a male role. In contrast to Episteme, she cannot be accused of overstepping the limits since she has so strongly fulfilled all the requirements for a Christian virgin. Moreover, her speeches limit themselves to the question of virginity and accordingly, the boundaries of permitted knowledge. As outlined at the onset of this chapter, Basilissa recognizes that virginity is not restricted to the physical state but to one’s conduct. Her speeches are set up by a series of extraordinary visions, which, by their descriptions and Basilissa’s reactions to them, infuse the young virgin with the physicality that she will never experience. Of the three couples it is notably the women who receive divine instruction, either through a dream or from a vision. Their husbands are also certainly favoured but those granted to the other two women serve a specific narrative purpose by furthering the plot. Episteme’s dream of men and women clothed in black is interpreted by Galaktion as those who have renounced worldly desires and proves to be the catalyst for their withdrawal. Athanasia is comforted after the death of her children by a vision of St. Julian who counsels her not to grieve. With Julian’s advice she is able to liberate her pain, which consequently leads to her separation from Andronikos. The images are described simply and unambiguously with the emphasis either on the dialogue or on the visual message intended. Basilissa, however, receives the most amazing visions that do not extend the narrative in terms of plot but simply vitalize her senses.17 For a girl who has no familiarity with bodily passion the level of physical sensation she feels, combined with the arousal of her senses

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when she receives divine visions, is described at a level that is unparalleled in the other two vitae. The first occurs at the moment of highest tension, when the young couple are together for the first time in the bridal chamber. The aroma of ‘spring flowers’18 awakens her sense of smell to such an extent that she has a physical reaction: the hagiographer specifically says that she ‘shiver(s)’ [fri/ttw];19 the sense is that of one experiencing goose bumps or indeed, ‘to thrill with passionate joy’.20 The fact that such a corporeal reaction is highlighted is indicative of the vita’s sensuality. The spectacular vision revealed to the pair described in chapter 7 is incredibly vivid, with Basilissa’s senses of scent and sight evoked to the fullest extent. Lingering aromas emanate from the golden bowls in their bedroom and the atmosphere is fused with a pervasive imagery of vibrant brightness. This continues when Christ appears to Basilissa alone to inform her of her future. Basilissa lies awake in her bed, ‘overjoyed in the splendid form of the face of the Lord. For it was like the sun shining forth in its rising’.21 The vision gives her the impetus to preach to her virgins and, obviously, the audience, of the merits of chastity and she urges them to continue in their efforts. The moment she finishes speaking she is granted another vivid apparition. The ground shakes once again as it did on her wedding night, portending a significant event and, ‘in front of them appeared a pillar of light on which there was a golden inscription. And a voice came from the pillar with splendour and a beautiful smell’.22 This vision gives rise to her last sermon. A final image appears to Basilissa as she is praying: ‘at the sixth hour of day … a great grace gripped her’ – the phrase (xa/rwsij e1laben) (literally, ‘she was seized by grace’) is very physical. She then sees, ‘the whole chorus of holy virgins, about 1000 in number, clothed in splendid stolas and wearing royal girdles, bearing the royal cross’.23 The divine visions granted to Basilissa arouse her senses of sight, hearing and smell and it could be argued that the sensuality experienced by the virginal girl replaces the physicality she has voluntarily surrendered. She may be a virgin wife but she has received divine compensation. Like Episteme, Basilissa’s behaviour and experiences are relative to her position as a wife but unlike Episteme, she is not treated as a hindrance or a threat. Yes, she may be allowed to teach, have authority and awareness of the corporeal nature of the worldly life but her comportment and self-knowledge never thrust her into a position of deviancy. She is treated as an equal but to maintain the balance between husband and wife, Basilissa must die. Nevertheless, the hagiographer allows her dignity, by allowing her die peacefully while in prayer with her husband. He also gives the promise of their eventual reunion just before Julian is about to undergo his final fatal punishment when Basilissa appears to the martyr telling him that he will soon join her in heaven and that she is waiting for him. This is a telling moment. Right at the end of the passio, when Julian will surely die, Basilissa is brought back as a reminder of their marriage, for which they were deemed worthy to be praised and which has rewarded her, by reuniting her with her husband.

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Athanasia Athanasia stands apart from Basilissa and Episteme because she is older. By the end of the tale at least twenty-four years have passed since her marriage to Andronikos. Most obviously, she differs because she has had sex. Athanasia’s virtue derives initially from her gendered performance as saintly housewife and mother and then in the shifting, ambiguous gendered state she creates in order to remain with her husband. In this latter desire she is inconsistent. Unlike Episteme who expresses her need to be with Galaktion from the moment she meets him until she eventually dies with him and Basilissa, who leads a shared life of preaching with her husband, Athanasia initially asks for separation from Andronikos but later initiates their cohabitation. This anomaly is the key to understanding the vita, which, as we have seen, constantly plays with the roles of male and female and with what determines the sanctity of a man and a woman. In this instance, since Athanasia is ‘correct’ in wanting to live apart from her husband, seeking him out again would be frowned upon. But the circumstances surrounding this latter event all conspire to prove her sanctity, foremost of which is her eradication of her gender. Her disguise as a man as well as the emaciation of her body to nullify her femininity points to what Brakke terms a ‘vocabulary of the performative’.24 Scholars have increasingly characterized female cross-dressers as embodying principles of theatrical spectacle. In their change of garments and physical corporeal appearance to the roles they enact to maintain their gender-shift, the women perform their roles to create an alternative identity.25 By playing the character of Father Athanasios successfully to her death, like her transgressive sisters, Athanasia is elevated beyond the confines of her sinful body and nature, which are automatically granted to her by virtue of simply being female. However, unlike the other women, her corporality is not the pivot around which her sanctity revolves; her achievement in maintaining silence is the counterbalance to her physical transformation. The garrulous woman is a stereotype existing from antiquity.26 Evagrius, for example, is vehemently opposed to speech; particularly ‘empty’ speech, which he assumes is the province of women since it ‘obscures pure prayer’.27 Athanasia’s self-control, especially with regard to her identity, is accordingly a key feat and one that obliterates her femininity. Unlike the female solitary or a nun, but like the other ‘cross-dressers’, Athanasia deserves greater praise from men since she places herself in the path of greatest sexual temptation by living among men, yet does not slip. Nikephoros Kallistos Xanthopoulos praises Euphrosyne the Younger for the same.28 The threat is implicit and constantly present for Daniel, the audience, and Athanasia, all of who know that she is living with her husband. But the author dispels any rustles of disapproval from the audience by ensuring that Daniel knows the full extent of the situation and gives them his blessing: The revered man said, ‘Go my child (Andronikos), and remain with the brother,

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cherishing silence. For know that this one by the highest virtue is ranked with the greatest of the servants of God.’ The divine Daniel said these words knowing the story of the blessed Athanasia (for how could he not be, since God hid nothing from him concerning her), but waited, as it seems, the revelation of the truth from the outcome of these things.29

Moreover, the hagiographer takes care to make us aware that Daniel goes to check up on the couple to add conviction to the whole situation and also to act as a reminder that the circumstances of a man and woman living together is never considered an easy option: ‘So, many times the great Daniel used to visit them, discussing with them what was beneficial for them and then he would leave’.30 In this way both Athanasia and Andronikos’ sanctity is safeguarded. Despite their disguise, all the other ‘transvestite’ women in the early texts are continually faced with complications of a sexual nature when they inhabit a male monastic environment.31 Euphrosyne the Younger, Susanna and Matrona have to leave while Mary and Theodora are involved in scandal. But none of this applies to Athanasia because her gendered performance is centred not on her disguise, though it is a necessity, but her interaction with Andronikos. As the hagiographer remarks: So, they remained with each other for another twelve years, making little or no account of the body, while providing the soul sensibly in all ways with the service of the spiritual life with all their strength. However, the remarkable Andronikos never realized that the truly wise Athanasia was his wife.32

Athanasia’s epithet indicates that she is on the way to achieving her skopos. Athanasia is remarkable because her hagiographer shows an evolution of personality not addressed for either Basilissa or Episteme. As Andronikos’ wife at the start of the tale she combines Basilissa’s dutifulness with Episteme’s emotional outbursts but her own personality comes through with her decision to don male garb and live a life of secrecy with her husband. Athanasia encapsulates both Basilissa’s and Episteme’s characters, but goes further to achieve true immortality, worthy indeed of her name.33 By adhering to Basilissa’s obedience and Episteme’s devotion to Galaktion, Athanasia becomes a site on which she constantly alternates from conformity to transgression. Basilissa knew that true virginity is partially a state of mind and behaviour and Athanasia eventually realizes this and controls her appearance and her behaviour to such an extent that she could be said to regain her virginity. The inevitable unveiling of her deception starts with her first recorded display of emotion since her departure from the worldly life and, importantly, she weeps for Andronikos, not herself as she lies dying. Their marriage bond is ever present. Daniel gently reminds her of what awaits her, as reward for her struggles but Athanasia’s last actions are wholly concerned with Andronikos. She first ensures that Andronikos will not act rashly upon learning her identity and thus ruin his chances of sanctity.

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She requests that her secret be revealed after her death but relates this in such a way that Andronikos can not hear.34 As she dies painfully, with an inconsolable Andronikos at her side, she reminds her husband not to grieve for they will not be apart for long. Having reassured him, Athanasia, the immortal one, once more falls silent and earns her place in heaven with her husband.

Episteme Of the three women in our vitae, Episteme conforms most readily to the category of a typical virgin martyr. As succinctly described by Winstead, (she) ‘refuses to participate in pagan sacrifices, debates her antagonist, affirms the fundamental tenets of Christianity … performs miracles and endures excruciating torments’.35 The elements of violence, sexual exhibition and, according to some, levels of perversion that run through the accounts have been debated on various levels with the conclusion that virgin martyr accounts are strongly sexualized in order to appeal to the audience.36 Episteme, however, illustrates an alternative way of looking at these conclusions. A central component of the female martyr trials is formed by a threat to the saint’s virginity and so Margaret, Juliana and Agnes are persecuted by pagans who fall in lust with them, Martina, Euphemia and Katherine of Alexandria rebuff the officials who wish to marry them while Ursula, Cecilia, Justine and Lucy of Rome have to resist persistent suitors and in so doing, manage to persuade their partner to the delights of Christianity.37 Episteme differs from these women since she is not under any form of sexual threat from her husband and perversely, is eager for consummation. Unlike the typical virgin martyr, she is not wanted by any man sexually but takes the initiative in her relationship by continuing to retain an ambiguous bond with Galaktion. She resides in a sexual limbo. Once in the arena, virgin martyrs generally undergo a series of sexually humiliating ordeals. They are forcibly denuded of their clothes, whipped, their breasts are sliced off, and the women are sometimes shaved, usually threatened with rape and likened to prostitutes.38 Even though she is threatened Episteme is not stripped, as is the case for every other woman in this ‘genre’. Her nakedness does not imply rape as it does for so many to whom she is implicitly compared. Oursos demands that she be stripped simply because he is angry that she has dared to defend Galaktion: ‘Strip this maenad. For I see that her conduct is full of shamelessness’.39 It is her aggressive behaviour that is the catalyst for Oursos, not her sexuality; the ‘shamelessness’ of her actions is causally linked to being ‘shamelessly’ naked, just as Basilissa preached to her charges. The sexual threat to the virgin martyrs is made more menacing given that these persecutors/potential rapists are usually connected to the women, as father, suitor or suitor’s father; they are rarely unknown figures but here Episteme, again, is an exception.40 Oursos has no association with Episteme and

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though he does command her naked exposure, he does so out of anger not lust. He views her dispassionately as a woman, a sexual being; indeed by calling her a ‘maenad’, he locates her beyond the circumscribed arena of the female gender by not objectifying her as a ‘normal’ woman but instead, one who is Other, an outsider.41 The issue of nudity must arise for the hagiographer to comply with the generic ‘rules’ of virgin martyr accounts yet despite the glancing acknowledgement of this topos, the discrepancies outlined so far show that the sexual allusions connected with the abuse of the female saint do not apply to Episteme. The hagiographer deliberately de-sexualizes her in the eyes of the men in her life but what is remarkable is how Episteme reverses the situation, particularly when Oursos gives the order for her disrobing. Episteme is furious at her treatment, an unparalleled response for the virgin martyr; there is no hint of the serene Margaret here: Yet more accursed (man) and thrice-wretched one, he whom God joined to me as husband in chastity did not see my nakedness in my holy baptism but you order that I should appear naked before you and all the people; may your eyes become blind so that you may never see my nakedness.42

At this critical moment, she forges an explicit correlation between her nakedness and her sexuality and thus also her virginity. Galaktion and Oursos have denied her sexuality as a woman but Episteme reclaims it. Salih has observed, ‘nakedness does not necessarily signify sexuality’43 but to Episteme the link is undeniable. She is painfully aware that she is being threatened with exposure in a public arena and that this is shameful. Episteme equates nakedness with sex, which is why she mentions Galaktion and, more specifically, as her ‘husband in chastity’. Additionally, the purity of their virginal union is crucially brought into focus at this key point enhancing the importance of their celibate marriage. The audience are also reminded of her baptism by Episteme’s words and also by the use of o)qo/nhj, the linen cloth that was specifically mentioned at the time of her secret rendezvous in the garden with her young bridegroom.44 Once an innocent pretext for meeting Galaktion, the cloth now signifies her potential exposure and shame. The miracle she performs subsequently also relates directly to her virginity. Rather than be viewed as naked and vulnerable, Episteme takes control of her situation and the potential threat to her preciously guarded sexuality and actually blinds those around her. The actual act itself – blinding and eventually healing the gawping spectators – is a topos for martyr trials.45 Where Episteme again departs from the generic norm is that she herself performs the blinding and moreover, does so while in a state of anger whereas, generally, a saint would pray and deliverance would duly materialize from the heavens.46 No stillness pervades Episteme’s countenance and in no way does she accept her sentence; she is beside herself with passion. However, her innate feminine

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nature (‘spalancha’) dictates that she should feel ‘pity’ for those she has harmed and so those blinded regain their sight. In a lovely way the hagiographer plays on her name and thus the spectators are also blind to ‘episteme’ – knowledge (Christianity). Given that the couple are eventually treated as a single entity during the trial it is interesting that the hagiographer deems it appropriate that Episteme, not Galaktion, should perform the requisite miracle. Theoretically, however, her future acceptance as a saint is now ensured by her miraculous performance since Galaktion’s has been assured through asceticism and the refusal of all womanly temptation. Although Episteme has ascetic credentials, her role throughout the narrative has always been potentially dangerous and transgressive in her refusal to repudiate Galaktion entirely and by her passionate nature, and so her miracle ensures her identification as a saint. As the trial reaches its denouement, Galaktion is beaten not she. Her husband needs to have a role, given that Episteme continually takes centre stage during the scene. But when it comes to her actual punishment, the couple are unified, speak with one voice and suffer jointly when their hands and feet are cut off. The torture is not sexualized but depersonalized or rather, not individualized.47 Having proved their right to sanctity, both saints are now united in a way that emphasizes their marriage bond or, at least, togetherness, and thus die as one. Episteme’s virginity is initially inscribed and enclosed within her body given her agreement to enter into a continent relationship with her husband. Yet in her insistence to maintain a link with Galaktion lies the tension that her (and his) virginity might not be stable, which explains Galaktion’s adamant refusal to see her while they remain on Pouplion. Episteme’s sexuality constantly invades the narrative even though the prominent men in the text constantly deny her a sexual body. But, particularly during the events of the trial, Episteme demands a sexualized awareness of her body, which becomes a locus for debate and attack. According to Miles, Virgin martyrs ‘used their nakedness as a symbolic rejection, not only of sexuality, but also of secular society’s identification of the female body with male desire, its relegation of the female naked body to spectacle and object’.48 Episteme does precisely the opposite and this is because she is not merely a virgin martyr but she is a virgin wife. Every action this woman, and also Basilissa and Athanasia, performs is relative to their husbands and their awareness of the significance of this bond, reflected at the end of each narrative. In Episteme and Galaktion’s last moments together, all conflict between flesh and purity are resolved as the virgin bride and her virgin husband are united in one voice, one pain and ultimately a death that she knows will lead to their ultimate reunion in heaven. The paradox of celibate marriage finds resolution at last.

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Notes 1 2 3 4

5 6

7

8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

J. Wogan-Browne, Saints’ Lives and Women’s Literary Culture c. 1150–1300 (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 2001) 40; 48. eadem, ‘The virgin’s tale’ in R. Evans and L. Johnson (eds), Feminist Readings in Middle English Literature: The Wife of Bath and All Her Sect (Routledge: London and New York, 1994) 167. VJB 13:352–65. D. Brakke, Athanasius and The Politics of Asceticism (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1995) 34; Athanasius of Alexandria, De Virg. 106. See also Wogan-Browne (1994) 165–94; eadem (2001) 40–1 arguing against Atkinson’s view of static virginity in C. Atkinson, ‘Precious balsam in a fragile glass: ideology of virginity’, Journal of Family History 8 (1983) 131–43. Melania the Younger ‘gave strict rules to the sisters with her that no idle word or reckless laughter should come forth from their mouths. She also patiently inquired about their thoughts and refused to allow filthy imaginations to dwell in them in any way’ [chapter 23 in Clark (1984)]. J. Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (Routledge: London, 1990) 12–13. S. Salih, ‘Performing virginity: sex and violence in the Katherine group’ in C. Carlson and A Weisl (eds), Constructions of Widowhood and Virginity in The Middle Ages (Macmillan: Hampshire & London, 1999) 108; Clark (1993) 111. For Jerome and Chrysostom’s comments, see Clark (1979) 58–9 and T. Shaw, ‘Askesis and the appearance of holiness’ in JECS 6 [3] (1998) 485–99, esp. 487–96. VGE 9:224–5. Thekla too relinquishes her finery, providing another possible parallel with Episteme, as noted in Chapter 1. However, the context is very different. Thekla offers her bracelets and a silver mirror as a bribe to the guards holding Paul. Aubin suggests that her actions ‘involves revoking her traditional gender signifiers, and indeed, in the case of the mirror, a possible signifier of her former identity.’ (M. Aubin, ‘Reversing romance? The Acts of Thecla and the ancient novel’ in Hock (1998) 264. For asceticism as performance, see especially R. Valantasis, ‘Constructions of power in asceticism’, Journal of the American Academy of Religion 63 (1995) 775–821. For the link between asceticism and writing, see Kruegar (2006) 43–7, esp. 44–5. Salih (1999) 100: ‘In the Katherine Group legends, it is not veiling and enclosure but stripping and torture that produce the virginal body and the virgin identity’. P. Cox Miller, ‘Is there a harlot in this text? Hagiography and the grotesque’ in Martin and Miller (2005) 87–102. Salih (1999) 97. eadem (1999) 97. eadem (1999) 100. eadem (1999) 97, 105, 107. VJB 7:197–9. VJB 3:76–8. See S. Ashbrook Harvey, ‘Locating the sensing body: perception and religious identity in Late Antiquity’ in D. Brakke et al. (eds), Religion and the Self in Antiquity (Indiana University Press: Bloomington, 2005) 140–62: ‘In experience, expression and expectation, the sensing body offered knowledge that could not be obtained in any other way, forming a religious self that located Christian identity this world as God’s world’ (147). VJB 6:161. VJB 6:168. s.v. LSJ. VJB 13:336–8. VJB 14:367–70. VJB 15:409–12. D. Brakke, ‘The lady appears: materializations of ‘woman’ in early monastic literature’ in Martin and Miller (2005) 25–39, esp. 28. See also Constantinou (2005) 85–7. Brakke (2005); Constantinou (2005) 16–17; 91; 104–16. A range of examples from differing genres will suffice: Invective: Semonides (seventh century

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27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47

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bc); On Women: ‘In the beginning the god made the female mind separately … he made a bitch, own daughter of her mother, who wants to hear everything and know everything … always yapping’; Tragedy: Sophocles Ajax 238: ‘Silence is a woman’s glory’; Satire: Juvenal (second century ce), Satire 6: ‘An even worse pain is the female … who praises Vergil and excuses Dido’s suicide: matches and compares poets … No one can speak, not a lawyer, not an auctioneer, not even another woman. Such an avalanche of words falls, that you’d say it’s like pans and bells being beaten’. Such examples are the obvious ones and clearly, each falls within a certain context. However, it is apparent that a ‘talkative’ woman was not valued in the slightest for a multitude of reasons. Brakke (2005) 34–5. Constantinou (2005) 91: V Euphr Iun chapter 9. VAA 10:267–74. VAA 11:283–4. Constantinou (2005) 98; 116–17. VAA 10:277–82. VAA 2:31–3. VAA 11:300. Winstead (1997) 5. Constantinou (2005) 22–3. For examples of sexual violence, see 34–7 for the passio of Marina of Antioch (also known in the West as Margaret). For Agnes, 37–8. Winstead (1997) 6; Constantinou (2005) 23. Winstead (1997) 6; J. Perkins, The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era (Routledge: London, 1995). VGE 14:332–3. Winstead (1997) 6. The counter-argument would be that a maenad is associated with immoral conduct. Roilos (2005) suggests this occurs when it is used in erotic contexts and some virgin martyr accounts can certainly be termed such. VGE 14:334–9. For a theoretical framework of Episteme’s abusive language, see Constantinou (2005) 50–3. Salih (1999) 102. VGE 7:181: meta\ o)qoni/ou. cf, for example, with the trial of S. Agnes where a bright light (literally, heaven sent) blinds the audience. Winstead (1997) 13. For theories and ideas on torture in the trials of virgins martyrs, see Salih (1999) 95–112, esp. 95–6; Winstead (1997) 6; K. Lewis, ‘“Lete me suffre”: reading the torture of St Margaret of Antioch in late medieval England’ in Medieval Women: Texts and Contexts in Late Medieval Britain. Essays for Felicity Riddy (Brepols: Turnhout, 2000) 69–83, esp. 81–2. M. Miles, Carnal Knowing: Female Nakedness and Religious Meaning in the Christian West (Beacon Press: Boston, 1989) 24.

5

Literary Ancestors Introduction To complete the picture of the celibate marriages, the literary networks that influence the three texts need to be elucidated since hagiography is a literary form. The VJB’s pedigree encompasses a sequence of tales spanning the second– fifteenth centuries, which markedly exposes a set of circumstances surrounding a continent marriage: the familial expectations surrounding a wedding, the enforced marriage, the drama of the wedding night, an element of secrecy, and the societal disruption caused by this transgressive union. These marriages nestle within a variety of literature composed before the sixth century (the terminus ante quem of the VJB): the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, Palladius’ Lausiac History, Victor of Vita’s Historia Persecutionis Africanae Provincae, the vita of St. Cecilia, and Gregory of Tours’ History of the Franks. The VJB has a vital role in this typological continuum since it is the most detailed story and clearly has a great influence on later texts. Though it is from the seventh century, John of Ephesus’ Lives of the Eastern Saints is also integrated into the analysis as it provides an interesting counterpart to the earlier versions of the chastity tale. Analysis of the VAA calls for a different methodology because the survival of its three versions allows us to explore the evolution of a novelized style. The resurgence of ancient fiction was influenced by the fashions of the tenth and eleventh centuries such as an emphasis on individualism, an interest in the emotional reactions of women and attention to minor details to accent character,1 all of which are seen in the VAA. The case can be made quickly since various scholars have charted the rise of fiction in the mid-Byzantine period.2 The VGE could easily be placed within this framework but the narrative also plays a major role in the actual transmission of a form of novelistic writing. Certain vitae are categorized as hagiographic ‘fiction’ or ‘romance’ (vitae influenced by the ancient novel) but the nuances that underpin and possibly influence each text have not been examined collectively. Consequently, a brief look at some vitae straddling the second to eleventh centuries will help to see how and if the VGE fits into this rough schema. The chosen texts are a mixture of the familiar and unfamiliar: the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles and the vitae of the following: Xanthippe, Polyxena and Rebecca; Xenophon; Eustathios; Melania the Younger; Pelagia; Theoktiste of Lesbos; and Adrian and Natalie.

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Julian and Basilissa And behold, suddenly, the foundations of the bedroom began to move and an ineffable light shone forth, so that the light in the house was covered by the magnitude of that light … Then a most magnificent spiritual vision appeared in the bedroom. On one side was seated the eternal king, Christ, with countless crowds clad in white and on the other side, a countless crowd of virgins, among whom the first place was held by the glorious virgin Mary. ‘You have won, Julian, you have won’, was cried aloud from the King’s side. And from the side of the queen was cried, ‘You are blessed, Basilissa’…3

Recognizing that Julian and Basilissa’s marriage is the fulcrum around which their vita is positioned is the key to understanding this text. Its structure unfolds in tripartite fashion: The initial section is shaped by Julian’s fears in agreeing to a betrothal, followed by his parents’ anxious thoughts of the consequences for their family line and eventually God’s hand in reassuring and persuading the reluctant bridegroom. Next, Julian and Basilissa’s decision to enter into a virginal union is outlined in marvellous fashion. The tension escalates as Basilissa slowly comes to a realization regarding the true meaning of her marriage to Julian through her senses of sight and smell. The scene climaxes in the magnificent spectacle of the Holy Host and the revelation of the couple’s future life together. The final section establishes the consequences of the couple’s spiritual journey as partners and the alternative family they establish on earth, all as a direct consequence of their celibate marriage. Such attention to detail is alien to both the VAA and VGE. The VAA, from its origins to its later incarnations, explores the dynamics between Andronikos and Athanasia to bolster the tale but the actual story surrounding the couple’s resolution to cease intercourse within their already sexualized marriage is almost incidental to the main plot. Similarly, Galaktion and Episteme’s vow to remain virgin is just one aspect of their relationship though, of course, important, but the drama that could be extracted from the circumstances surrounding their vow is of no great concern to their hagiographer. In both these case studies the hagiographers’ attention is directed towards ‘what happens next’ in the couple’s relationships. Thus, the framework, storyline, protagonists and sensitivities of the VJB do not correlate to the VAA or VGE. What we do possess, however, is a specific construction of a celibate marriage in hagiography, and here it is ‘marriage’ in all its manifestations, embedded at the heart of the story: the reasons for a betrothal, the ceremony and above all, the unexpected wedding night. De Gaiffier isolated a chronological sequence of twenty-one tales from both the Greek East and Latin West, which also focus on this aspect of sexless marriage and its accompanying cluster of events. The genealogy begins with the Apocryphal Acts of Thomas and reaches the fifteenth century with the vita of St. Bernard of Montjoux.4 De Gaiffier’s succinct analyses reveal two types of story: the first group

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concentrates on bridegrooms who flee before or after their weddings (such as Alexis, de Gaiffier’s prime concern) while the second narrates how a couple mutually agree to a life of continence.5 Of the latter, he believes that seven tales are composed prior to the VJB: the Acts of Thomas6 and the stories of Amoun of Nitria7, Pelagius (a bishop of Laodicaea),8 Martin and Maxima,9 St. Cecilia,10 Theophilos and Maria11 and Injurious and his bride12 (the ‘Two Lovers’).13 Despite their varied contexts, five key points unify these narratives:14 every tale hinges on the drama of the wedding night; each protagonist is an only child from a wealthy and respected family; the couple are usually forced into marriage (or rather, their marriage is not the outcome of mutual love); one partner persuades the other to accept a life of celibacy on the wedding night; and finally, there is immediate acquiescence to this plan. The striking multitude of literary traditions illustrates the extent to which the idea of the negation of marriage captivated the imaginative universes of the authors of sacred narratives. Unlike the VAA and the VGE, where the relationship of the couple is re-envisaged, the VJB and the members of its genealogy focused on the disruption and implicit theatre of these events surrounding matrimony. However, there are inevitable disparities splintering the texts in terms of specification and of which events are narrated. Both are predicated on the different styles of narrative in which these tales of antisocial marriage unfurl and so a brief analysis of the context of each story will follow the main examination.

Tales of chastity Distinct narrative segments help categorize the chastity genealogy. Notably, the VJB is the only tale to boast every element further reflecting the mutability of this subject within its literary family. Following a natural order let us begin with the trope of forced betrothal.

Forced marriage His parents replied, ‘You are eighteen years of age. How can you refuse to choose a wife? We do not want you to bring up “the right time” as an excuse but we urge you to become the husband of a woman.’15

This topos of enforced marriage between two children who are sole progeny is present in every text. Here is the example of Amoun of Nitria: When he (Amoun) was a young man of about 22, he was constrained by his uncle to marry a wife – he (himself) was an orphan. Being unable to resist the pressure of his uncle, he thought it best to be crowned and take his seat in the nuptial chamber and undergo all the marriage rites.16

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Hagiographers obviously envisaged a mutual sexless union to have the greatest impact on the demographic of wealthy upper-class families and, as we shall see, experimented with the uproar that would inevitably ensue. In addition, given that all these unions are described in monastic, edifying literature, the idea that these protagonists were forced into potential carnality authorizes a neat loophole for the future saints or holy men and women, in that their desire to remain pure is thwarted by family obligations – again, a realistic situation. Julian’s hagiographer effectively portrays the future saint’s predicament: The blessed one gave this reply to those who advised him: ‘It is not easy for me to marry nor do I have the authority to reject what you urge. For this reason I ask for a space of seven days and as God deems worthy to inspire me, you will receive my answer.’ Hearing these things, his parents were worn down by many worries until the appointed day arrived in which they would hear their son’s answer. The honourable child accomplished the interval of days by keeping vigil day and night, and, offering prayers, asked God that he would not pollute his promised virginity under any pretext. And so, on the seventh day, as night was falling and his body worn out by fasting, he fell asleep, and the Lord appeared and consoled his faithful servant.17

The only variant of this topos transpires in the story of Martin and Maxima since, for the first time, our heroes are not aristocratic personages but slaves of a Vandal chief.18 Nevertheless, despite their lowly status, Victor of Vita reports that the pair occupied high positions within their chief ’s retinue. By their marriage, the leader hoped ‘that he would make them loyal to him by joining Martin and Maxima together in the partnership of marriage’.19 Marriage is still enforced and thus the pair belong to the overall schema. Even though they are slaves, they are esteemed and are considered of high station.20

The wedding celebrations

Once a betrothal is orchestrated, it is time to celebrate but, aside from the VJB, the only text of the collection engaging with the excitement that typically accompanies accounts of weddings is the Apocryphal Acts of Thomas. The animated description of the festivities heightens the expectation leading to consummation as the VJB’s hagiographer so deftly depicted.21 The Acts craft a delightful contrast between the noisy wedding party where flute players, waterorgans and trumpets reverberate throughout the city and the sudden deafening silence that resounds when all are dismissed and it is time for the bride and groom to face one another, unaccompanied.22

Silence

This stillness is dramatized in five of the texts. The pair are finally alone and

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have to confront the key moment – the juncture at which intercourse is rejected and, by implication, when society is potentially abolished. Such a crucial moment palpably excited the imaginations of many hagiographers and the tension of the moment is characterized as a heady silence. Once Julian ‘blithely’ leads Basilissa to their chamber and offers a prayer, we are told ‘the silence of the night was granted’.23 Even though Amoun’s wedding celebrations are not described, within his brief account Palladius still ensures that tension is present in a small detail: ‘After they had all put the couple on the couch in the bridal chamber and departed, Amoun got up and closed the door’.24 Victor of Vita writes that Martin and Maxima are in ‘the quiet privacy of their bedroom’.25 In the vita of Cecilia, it is described as the ‘cubiculi secreta silentia’.26 When composing these texts, it is clear that the authors felt that this loaded silence was the crux of the matter. The hagiographers could creatively play on the theatre contained in the perilous instant when a virginal man and a virginal woman reach the threshold of their liminal status. In the Acts of Thomas the author swiftly constructs the scene in minute detail leading to the moment of (potential) consummation: ‘the king requested the groomsmen to leave the bridal chamber. When all had left, and the doors were shut, the bridegroom raised the curtain of the bridal chamber that he might bring the bride to himself ’. Anticipation is rife and then comes the turning point: ‘And he saw the Lord Jesus talking with the bride’.27

Christ

Thus, once the couple are face to face in the thunderous silence of their room with the bed looming large, Christ appears in some form for the same five texts. In the VJB, He manifests as a marvellous apparition: And behold, suddenly, the foundations of the bedroom began to move and an ineffable light shone forth, so that the light in the house was covered by the magnitude of that light. As it has been written, what was said was fulfilled: ‘we have become a vision both to angels and men’. Then a most magnificent spiritual vision appeared in the bedroom. On one side was seated the eternal king, Christ, with countless crowds clad in white and on the other side, a countless crowd of virgins, among whom the first place was held by the glorious virgin Mary.28

In the Acts of Thomas Christ materializes in the likeness of Judas Thomas and proclaims the wonders of virginity, persuading the newly weds to lead a celibate life: Know that if you refrain from this filthy intercourse you become temples holy and pure, being released from afflictions and troubles, known and unknown … if you obey and preserve your souls pure to God, there will be born to you living children, untouched by these hurtful things, and you will be without care, spending an untroubled life, free

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from grief and care, looking forward to receive that incorruptible and true marriage, and you will enter as groomsmen into that bridal chamber full of immortality and light.29

For Amoun, Christ emerges metaphorically though the words of Paul: ‘And he (Amoun) drew a small book from a fold in his cloak and read to her from the Apostle, from the Saviour Himself as it were, for she could not read’,30 while Maxima (who is described as a ‘handmaid of Christ’) informs her new husband that she has ‘dedicated the limbs of my body to Christ’.31 Cecilia informs her spouse Valerian that she is betrothed to an angel of God: ‘angelum dei habeo amatorem qui nimio zelo corpus meum custodit’.32

Persuasion

The counterpart to a divine encounter is the persuasion of a spouse, found in all of our tales (with the exception of the Apocryphal Acts): Julian convinces Basilissa;33 Amoun, his bride while Maxima and Cecilia persuade Martin and Valerian respectively. A detailed example can be found in Gregory of Tours’ charming story of Injuriosus and his bride, which he recounts with characteristic simplicity.34 Injuriosus and his unnamed bride ‘according to the custom … were placed in the same bed. The young woman was greatly distressed: she turned her face to the wall and wept bitterly’.35 Fortunately for this frightened girl, she has married an understanding man who gently asks her to explain her fear. In a detailed speech, she explains her desire for virginity: ‘I had determined to preserve my poor body for Christ, untouched by intercourse with man’.36 Injuriosus is ‘moved with compassion’ for the wretched girl, who ‘raves on as the tears down her face’ and tries to console her with the knowledge that she is fulfilling her societal duty: ‘Our parents are the most nobly-born in Clermont … We are their only children, and they have planned this marriage for us to produce children, so that when they are dead no heir from outside our families may claim their succession’.37 As we have seen, such pleas from Julian’s parents also fall heavy on the future saint’s shoulders in the VJB and underscore all the tales relating the dilemmas of men and women who wish to abstain from marriage.38 However, this bride has no doubt: ‘This earthly existence of ours is of no value … wealth is of no value, the pomp and circumstance of this world is of no value, the very life which we enjoy is of no value’.39 For her, as for Julian, existence transposes into ‘that other life, which is not ended when death finally comes’,40 that life for which she intends to strive all her mortal days. Won over, Injuriosus consents. Traditionally, in every Western tale, it is the woman who convinces her husband (who is either a pagan or merely generally reluctant) to a life of celibacy.41 Thus, a wife’s persuasion connects Maxima, Injuriosus’ wife and St. Cecilia.42 For both Delehaye and de Gaiffier the archetypal scene where a woman converts her spouse in their bedchamber provides the antecedents for

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the vita of Cecilia.43 Indeed, choosing celibacy over marriage or remaining a virgin are two choices often cited as showcasing a woman’s agency, in particular for sources concentrating on the West.44 If the vita of the VJB is indeed of Latin origin, then Julian is an anomaly. However, his command in the bedroom can probably be attributed to the fact that his vita sprang from his passio and so he continues to play a leading role in his prequel.

Secrecy

Once the paradoxical alliance has been forged, the various stories continue to diverge. For the couple in the Apocryphal Acts, their story ends with mutual assent to a life of virginity and the king’s dismay. For the remaining five, there are three possible scenarios: concealment of their virginal marriages; distribution of all their wealth and worldly possessions; and/or refuge in a religious institution. Yet again the VJB embraces all these variants. Secrecy veils Julian and Basilissa’s first actions the morning after their eventful wedding night: Bearing fruits in spirit not in flesh, these blessed ones began to hide the mystery of the divine grace, which was established in them, so that it might become known from Christ the Lord and the angels, what was accomplished by them.45

Such covertness is only echoed by Martin and Maxima.46 Outside our selection, an extended meditation on this secrecy lies in the tale of Theophilos and Maria, whose later story is related by John of Ephesus. Outwardly, the two are vulgar and debauched: the handsome youth dresses as a mime and the beautiful girl, as a courtesan. According to John of Amida, who narrated the tale to John of Ephesus, they ‘used to go about the city in that assumed garb in order to deceive the spectators’.47 He guesses there is more to them than meets the eye. Spying on them, he discovers their secret: they have been leading double lives. They reveal to him the now-familiar account: ‘we are by our birth from Antioch … children of men of eminence of our city, and we were both only children of our parents’.48 Theophilos continues the tale, explaining that when he was fifteen he caught sight of a great brightness emanating forth from his father’s stable. He discovered that it came from the mouth and fingers of an old man lying on the horses’ dung.49 This mysterious figure is one Procopios, who himself fled his wedding day: ‘I am the son of great and distinguished people of Rome. And when my parents betrothed a wife to me … when the preparations had been made, I for my part left them and went on board ship’.50 He makes a prophecy to Theophilos: You are the only child of your parents, and they betrothed a bride to you who is also the only child of her parents. Know therefore that during this year the parents of both of you will die, and both the properties will fall into your hands.51

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They will dispose of their worldly property and live in ‘an assumed garb’.52 Everything comes to pass as Procopios foretells and Theophilos and his wife, whom he now calls his ‘spiritual sister’,53 devoutly practise a secret life of continence, emphasizing to John of Amida that ‘neither of us has been besmirched by carnal intercourse’.54 Their life of secrecy demonstrates the fear of family and society’s reprisal for choosing such an inconceivable and threatening way to live.

Renunciation

Theophilos and Maria’s disposal of their property resonates with the gospel precept to renounce all worldly goods, which is a strong theme witnessed also in the VAA and VGE. For Julian and Basilissa, we are told: And since God does not fail those who journey in unsullied love, the gifts of divine grace proceed so that shortly after, their parents departed from this life leaving them appropriate inheritance through which they would not be deprived of the heavenly kingdom.55

For saints or holy personages, this is the standard path along the ‘narrow way’. Theophilos and Maria take the initiative for their own lives only after their parents die and their first deed is to sell everything they own. Julian and Basilissa wait until the convenient death of their parents to disinherit themselves willingly, which points to a certain form of realism on the part of the hagiographers. Familial recriminations would be inevitable.56 None of the other texts include this element.

A religious retreat

Once separated from the world, a religious retreat is a desired aim. Julian and Basilissa ‘established monasteries in which they reaped the harvest of souls from the snare of the thorns of this present time’.57 According to Palladius, having lived a chaste life together for eighteen years, once Amoun and his wife decide to separate Amoun founds two domed cells on Mount Nitria, while she remains at home. Similarly, when Maxima secretly persuades Martin to submit to Christ, they surreptitiously escape to separate religious institutions.58

Refining the chastity tales De Gaiffier’s excellent schema can now be refined further. Of the original ten texts he selected, which he dated as prior to the VJB, four do not belong to the same typological family as the VJB (St. Syncletica’s brother, Pelagius

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of Laodicaea, Macarius the Roman and Abraham of Qiduna). Syncletica’s brother, Macarius, and Abraham are incorporated into the Alexis tradition while Pelagius’ story is too briefly related. Of the remaining six, two are Greek (the couple in the Acts of Thomas andAmoun of Nitria) and four are Western (Cecilia, the VJB, Martin and Maxima, and Injuriosus). The residual Greek story – Theophilos and Maria – was composed after the VJB. Of the five tales composed before the VJB, four focus on the drama of the wedding night: the Acts of Thomas, Amoun of Nitria, Cecilia and Injuriosus. The examination of the chastity tales also revealed that the VJB is the fullest exposition of this type of tale. Clearly these texts do not form an individual genre but they do influence one another. Chapter 1 illustrated the likelihood that Cecilia inspired the composition of the VJB’s vita. The fact these stories exist in such a wide literary and chronological spectrum illustrates the fluidity that diffuses throughout Christian sacred literature.59

Contexts Evidently, the genre and geographical origin of each narrative are just two factors that decide how a celibate marriage should be portrayed. For example, in comparison with the other Apocryphal Acts, Thomas’ enkratite stance is regularly considered the most powerful, forceful as they all are.60 Technically, therefore, it is unsurprising that the emphasis for this portrayal of celibate marriage lies heavily on the several lengthy speeches given by Thomas and Christ, conveying the malignancy of marital intercourse. In comparison to the other tales in de Gaiffier’s family tree, we are not fed any information about the couple whose wedding Judas Thomas attends, obviously because they are not the focus of the Acts. Consequently, neither persuades the other to a life of celibacy (Christ does) and after the momentous decision, the remaining section focuses on each delivering a lengthy speech on Christ as heavenly bridegroom (for the princess) and the deliverance of ‘disease’ (for her bridegroom). The angry reaction of the king, the girl’s father, is also an established response in the Acts as the apostles overturn established order. Amoun of Nitria’s story, on the other hand, forms part of Palladius’ Lausiac History, an early fifth-century Greek collection of seventy-one brief stories of ascetics and monks in Egypt, Palestine, Syria and Asia Minor. The monk’s tale is related also in Rufinus’ Latin translation61 and in the anonymous fourthcentury Greek Historia Monachorum. Palladius was also translated into Latin.62 Of these four versions, Palladius’ account gives the most personal detail and animates Amoun’s relationship with his wife despite the generic brevity of his work.63 Now, very interestingly, the other versions of Amoun’s life do not exhibit such detail. For example, in the Historia Monachorum, we learn that once Amoun persuades his bride to a life of celibacy, he leaves for Nitria in a matter of days (met 0 ou) polla\j de\ h(me/raj e0kei=noj me\n e0pi\ ta\j Nitri/aj

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e0ch|/ei).64 Meanwhile, his wife converts their home into a convent. There is no information on their relationship. Though Rufinus adds that Amoun leaves for the desert after the death of his parents (‘post obitum parentum ille quidem ad hunc vicini deserti secedit locum’),65 he does not dwell on the couple’s interaction. We can hypothesize that Palladius’ additions stemmed from the fact that he himself lived in the desert of Nitria for about a year, in c.389, and he either knew more about Amoun and/or wished to elevate the ascetic qualities of the founder of the great monastic complex. The latter seems the most likely. In Victor of Vita’s corpus, he wants to make it clear that subjects other than a straightforward barbarian invasion of North Africa occupy his attention.66 For this bishop, the atrocities that he is compelled to relate are akin to the great persecutions that raged at the inception of Christianity and he dwells on accounts of torture.67 Furthermore, as Moorhead puts it, he is ‘almost obsessed with the evil of rebaptism’ that was the unlucky fate of those reluctant converts to Arianism.68 In this way, Victor’s Persecution is as much about African Christianity, famed for its martyrs, as it is about the Vandals.69 Thus, Martin and Maxima’s story ends with the groom’s martyrdom; Maxima apparently enters a convent and the author knows nothing more. In this context theoretically, the format of their marriage is in keeping with Victor’s overall ethos of maintaining the African tradition of ‘radical, breakout Christianity’,70 but this answer is too simplistic. Delehaye and de Gaiffier believed that this tale influenced Cecilia (and therefore, in turn, the VJB). According to Moorhead, Victor appears to have written most of his work in 484.71 If this is the case, then Cecilia would have been composed after this and the VJB’s vita, even later. However, we saw in Chapter 1 that the VJB must have been created between 431 and 525. This brings the possibility that Victor’s tale was actually inspired by Cecilia instead. The two tales are certainly linked and their common use of ‘cubiculi secreta silentia’in the key bedroom scene is further evidence of this.72 Gregory of Tours penned a shorter version of the tale of Injuriosus and his bride in the Glory of the Confessors.73 Here, Injuriosus is unnamed, we are ignorant of the couple’s lineage and there is no dramatic bedroom exchange. We simply learn of ‘a man and a woman, who were joined in marriage but not sexual intercourse. Although they slept in a single bed, they were not polluted by the other in carnal desire’.74 The only detail present in the Glory of the Confessors but omitted in the detailed account in the History of the Franks (HF) is the couple’s decision to enter into religious life: ‘many years later, by common agreement the man was tonsured to become a cleric, and the woman put on the habit of a nun’.75 What is important to Gregory and why he added detail to the story in the HF is its edifying quality. Perhaps to accent the couple’s self-control, the bishop eliminates their religious incarnations. In this way, they have achieved an astonishing level of chastity as an ‘ordinary’ married couple for the entirety of their lives. This is more remarkable than if they had separated and thus were immune

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from temptation. Gregory writes in the HF: ‘Hand in hand, they went to sleep, and for many years after this, they lay each night in bed, but they remained chaste’. Then he adds, ‘in a way which we can only admire’.76 To bolster the enriching value of the tale, the bride gives two lengthy speeches on the necessity ‘to look instead to that other life which is not ended when death finally comes, which is not dissolved by any illness … but where man lives for ever in eternal bliss’.77 Why the couple are named the ‘Two Lovers’ is made clear at the end of the accounts, after both have died and been buried: … they were in the same church, each tomb was next to a different wall; one was on the south side, the other on the north side. But at dawn the tombs were discovered to be next to each other, which is how they remain today. The inhabitants therefore now call them the ‘Two Lovers’ and venerate them with great honour.78

Gregory adds in the HF: ‘This shows that when heaven unites two people the monument which covers their buried corpses cannot hold them apart’.79 In his idealistic exemplum he recognizes a way to attain everlasting love: ‘Down to our own times, the inhabitants of the place have chosen to call them “The Two Lovers”’. Gregory of Tours’ emendations (common practice for him) carefully bolster the instructive value of his tale. Our last example is John of Ephesus who wrote his Lives of the Eastern Saints after the composition of the VJB. The Lives followed a similar literary format to Palladius but with very different concerns, primarily focusing on the transformative power of asceticism that characterized early Syriac Christianity, as we saw for the Acts of Thomas. John relates a compelling amalgamation of not one but three variations of the celibacy tale.80 He hears the story of Theophilos and Maria from one John of Amida, who himself leads a life of chastity with his wife, though there is no extra information on this.81 The second modification transpires in Procopios’ story, in the familiar trope of flight before marriage (as in Alexis); and the third pattern occurs in Theophilos and Maria’s marriage. Here we find the elements of our archetype with the omission of the transformatory wedding night. With this exception, the set-up is familiar: Theophilos and Maria are the only children of wealthy parents; they take the initiative for their own lives only after their parents die and their first deed is to sell everything they own. In an extended footnote, Ashbrook-Harvey queries the supposed ‘literary incongruity’ of the tale of Theophilos and Maria within John’s overall work.82 In fact, the pair are classified as ‘holy fools’, given their disreputable behaviour in public and virtuous state in private. Countering claims that the tale is a fabrication, Ashbrook-Harvey rightly asserts that the story is coupled with a far more realistic account of an encounter with another holy fool and observes that if the account were fictional, then it would be unique within John’s work. She concludes that if the tale of Theophilos and Maria is a ‘pious fiction’, then

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‘probably it was a later interpolation’. To validate the story, she also makes a convincing point that in their narrative, the pair emphasize their allegiance to Amida, a city that had endured a civil uprising with citizen turning upon citizen. For these holy fools, this place of treachery and slaughter was the locus for their religious endeavours. And so: ‘true or not, the story provides John with a moving statement of redemption and divine favor for the city and its people, themes that are most often his central focus. The Amidan ascetics are affirmed and legitimized here by this outside witness: divine grace was thus made manifest in Amida. The ascetics’ own authority could only be strengthened by such testimony’.83 The absence of the key bedroom scene suggests that John, or a later interpolator, were not directly influenced by the other tales yet the presence of the other elements imply a common understanding of the practical and social consequences of this form of union, focusing on the demographic most affected and the financial implications. Thus, the literary context of each of these tales dictates their representation of celibacy within marriage. While the VJB gives the fullest and most vivid account of the circumstances surrounding the choice to have a continent marriage, it is evident that one simple reason is that as a bi/oj there is simply more scope and narrative space for embellishment.

Andronikos and Athanasia … Everyone was astounded by the strangeness of the news; that a woman displayed asceticism as a man from the beginning to the end, and most extraordinary, living among men and having her husband living with her.84

Spiritually edifying tales

Chapter 1 concluded that the VAA originated as a succinct story from the tradition of the desert fathers but that its tenth–eleventh-century incarnation embellished the story considerably. As a result, the VAA’s recensions allowed us to trace the evolution of a text. The style and language of the Abba Daniel tales, A and B, which are far more simply related than the VAA, belong to a category of narrative termed by the Bollandists as ‘spiritually edifying tales’ (narrationes animae utiles).85 The origins of such material relate to an Abba or Amma’s maxim, which in turn grew into the Sayings of the Desert Fathers, or the Apophthegmata Patrum.86 These were tales or, more often, pithy sentences, resulting from the daily situations confronting the hermits of Lower Egypt as they battled human weaknesses such as avarice,87 temptation88 or the evils of sexual desire.89 The spiritually edifying tales are an expansion of these accounts as is another label that has been used to describe the tales – a dihghsis. Rapp distinguishes between a bi/oj and a dih/ghsij by styling the former as a saintly narrative or biography and the latter

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as signalling an edifying tale that is presented as true.90 There is, however, no profound distinction between the narrative groups and overlap often occurs. The VGE, for example, described as a bi/oj kai\ marturi/on in the title, is also termed a dih/ghsij … xrh/simoj tai=j u(mete/raij yuxai=j (‘a narrative … beneficial for your souls’)91 and th\n yuxwfelh= i9stori/an92 in its first few lines. Based on eyewitness accounts93 and conveying a simple spiritual message,94 these ‘spiritually beneficial stories’ or dihghses utilize an uncomplicated structure allowing the listener to grasp the central moral without literary distraction.95 The VAA’s roots are embedded within the material of the desert fathers since the story belongs to the collection ascribed to Abba Daniel of Sketis and so the enclosed eremitic world of the Desert and the harsh existence of the men and women who chose to attain their skopos in this manner are carefully outlined. Edifying tales continued to be disseminated and so the tradition of the Apophthegmata Patrum,96 Historia Monachorum in Aegypto97 and Palladios’ Historia Lausiaca98 continued well into the seventh century with the tales of John Moschos contained within the Pratum Spirituale99 and the sayings of Anastasios the Sinaïte.100 The generic charm of these stories resulted in their proliferation throughout the Empire and produced a literary revival in the tenth century in the form of the tales of Bishop Paul of Monembasia.101

Themes of the Middle Byzantine period

Contextually, certain thematic aspects of the vita anchor the narrative to the mid-Empire such as the detailed emphasis on charity, a trend that recurs frequently in later hagiography.102 During Andronikos and Athanasia’s early married life, the hagiographer states that: They always distributed their income into three parts. The first was sufficient for the household and for those in it, the second for the feeding and clothing of the poor and the rest for the care of those who came to stay in Antioch, visitors and monks.103

This philanthropy is brought into sharper relief by a precise description of the couple’s activities: They devoted all their effort to the spirit and spiritual works. For three of the days in the week, I mean, Monday, Wednesday and Friday, the holy Andronikos together with his fellow bankers and other like-minded men, were preoccupied with caring for disabled and poor men, by bathing as if they themselves were servile, and caring for those whose bodies were suffering, and dispensing every other relief. The remarkable Athanasia, with other women of equal birth, provided exactly the same care as her husband, to women whose lives were stricken by poverty or any harsh or difficult situation.104

While A and B also relate the division of income, they differ on the couple’s benevolent activity; in fact, B launches straight into the birth of the children,

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omitting any mention of anything specific.105 A, like the VAA, gives us more information: ‘every Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from evening until dawn, Andronicus devoted himself to washing the men while his wife, because of her love of the poor, would devote herself to washing the women’.106 However, clearly the VAA takes care to dwell on the couple’s deeds and stress their individual contributions. We find similar examples in the contemporaneous vitae of Thomaïs and Mary the Younger though the difference is that both women are beaten for their actions by their evil husbands and attain a new form of martyrdom. Nevertheless, the care taken to underscore Andronikos and Athanasia’s actions is noteworthy. Emphasized too is a certain hierarchy between the rich and the poor, what Neville terms, ‘a vocabulary of verticality’.107 While helping the poor is not exactly unknown in hagiography, in this instance, the class-gap between Andronikos and the men in his care, and Athanasia and her charges are clearly delineated. Another aspect of the middle period brought to light in the text is ‘relational description’. Neville’s formulation articulates that ‘Byzantine writers described their society in terms of relationships between people rather than with absolute, classifying names.’108 We may see an feature of this when the VAA specifies that Andronikos marries his fellow workman’s daughter: quga/thr tw~n o9mote/ xnwn tino/j. A notes that Athanasia was the daughter of a (general) banker109 and B is silent on her background.110 What we also may have here is an example of marital alliance intended to strengthen a friendship or a bond between two households.111 Andronikos and Athanasia’s actions further reflect tenth-century lay piety, which countered traditional monastic life. Morris gives the examples of the emperor Nikephoras Phokas (who wore a hair shirt and lived a celibate life) and the devoutness of the saintly housewives Mary the Younger and Thomaïs of Lesbos.112 Such characteristics demonstrate how societies’ trends, here, aspects of the Middle Byzantine period, can be reflected in hagiography and help further to contextualize the VAA. It is also in this period when the seeds of an interest in fiction once again started to germinate.

The tenth and eleventh centuries and the rise of ‘Fiction’

The VAA permits a vivid insight on this narrative resurgence. As we have seen, the version of the story of Andronikos and Athanasia used in this book is a far fuller and more complex text than the other two recensions, in terms of the description of human motivation and emotion. The VAA attempts to elevate the original ‘spiritually edifying tale’ into the higher-level saint’s vita. For instance, in comparison with the barer A and B, the self-titled bi/oj kai\ politei/a provides a prologue to mark the absence of the protagonists’ childhood.

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Three fundamental differences elevate the VAA from A and B. The first, as outlined in Chapter 1, is that the account is far more expressive. Secondly, the VAA contains certain elements of the traditional saint’s vita where supernatural powers are taken for granted and understood as such. Twelve years after the death of their children and their consequent separation, Andronikos and Athanasia are reunited as strangers. Once they decide to cohabit, Andronikos asks Daniel for his blessing. The VAA expressly states that Daniel ‘surely’ knows that the monk whom Andronikos has met, is Athanasia (ou)k a)gnow~n dh/pou ta\ kata\ th\n makari/an 0Aqanasi/an). The saintly person as omniscient being is a recurring element in C, reaching its zenith when Athanasia is attributed the gift of prophecy, as she lies dying (proagoreu/ei profhtikw/tata). As Father Athanasios she has achieved her skopos; she has lived an ascetic life and most remarkable of all, never revealed her true identity to her husband. She has attained sanctity, which is given outward recognition by her ability to prophesy. The last element unique to the VAA is authorial asides such as the prologue’s little comments: w3j pou fhsi\n or a1xri tw~n kaq ) h9ma=j. The author’s most personal voice is heard when he describes Athanasia’s reaction to her children’s untimely death. It is not at all surprising, he declares, that a mother should feel such distress; it is her nature: ‘she was nevertheless broken by maternal love and indeed, by necessity of nature’. These significant differences promote the VAA to the status of bios by the time the manuscript was copied in the tenth and eleventh centuries (though it should be noted that the premetaphrastic text is contained within a metaphrastic manuscript).113 The narrative’s increased level of interest in individualism and a vivid narrative reflects the literary climate of the ninth–eleventh centuries, particularly the tenth and eleventh centuries. Kahzdan enthuses about Niketas the Paphlagonian’s animated letters, stating that letter 87 is one of the most vivid and ‘naturalistic pieces of tenth-century correspondence’.114 Roueché notes that Psellos’ Chronographia is ‘full of vignettes, freshly observed’.115 She correlates this trend to the increased period of stability gained in the eleventh century and also generally sees ‘a taste for narrative in support of moral points’.116 Versions A and B were unaffected by the literary changes being wrought. Their resistance can be explained by their affiliation to the Daniel cycle and thus they retain their links with the dihghsis style. The VAA’s author lifted thetale of Andronikos and Athanasia from the series and treated it as a self-contained unit although he ensured that its links with the world of the Desert Fathers were maintained. The heightened interest in fiction that is illustrated by the tenth–eleventhcentury VAA reached its culmination with the twelfth-century Comnenian novels.117 Over the centuries spanning the ancient novels and their medieval relatives, there is a great deal of evidence for hagiography’s avid consumption and reinterpretation of novelistic traits and it is within this intriguing development that the VAA and VGE firmly belong.

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Galaktion and Episteme Galaktion pretended to be shy and said to Episteme with nobody in sight or within earshot, ‘Do you know lady, why I am not kissing you?’ And she said to him, ‘No, my lord and I am very grieved about this’.118

Based on the analysis in Chapter 1, the VGE qualifies as a Christian novel/ romance.119 The term was coined by Delehaye in 1955120 and thence onwards, any vita that displayed fantastic elements and lacked historicity was automatically consigned to this pile with disdain.121 In this section, a selection of vitae classified as romances are submitted to a brief typological examination to emphasize that each text must be assessed on its own merits. Clark aptly summed up the difficulties in her edition of the Life of Melania the Younger.122 The most obvious complication is the question of genre.123 The ‘ancient novel’, like ‘hagiography’, is an all-encompassing classification, which creates a form of Ur-novel that does not, in fact, exist. Relatively recently, scholars have emphasized that even among the so-called Sophistic novels of Chariton, Achilles Tatios, Heliodoros, Xenophon of Ephesos and Longus there is a great deal of variation within the main themes of strong female characters, thwarted young love, enforced separation, sea voyages to exotic locations and eventual reunion culminating in marriage.124 A wide range of other narratives that might also fall into the category includes historical fiction or Jewish novellas.125 Accordingly, caution must be assigned when seeking canonical elements in the VGE, especially since, as Clark points out, ‘a genre of literature cannot simply be defined by incidents occurring in the plot’, citing the erotic misadventures in New Comedy as relevant comparison.126 To counter this, she emphasizes the need to seek difference as well as similarity and consequently identifies two key disparities: a pedagogical purpose and crucially, the accent on sexual chastity in the novels versus the denigration of intercourse in the vita.127 One leads to a licit union and the other disrupts the normative principle.128 By examining a range of dated Christian sacred literature, spanning the second to tenth centuries, we can begin to see the multiformity of some types of hagiography and appreciate the VGE and its contents within this matrix. The chosen texts are the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (second century) and the following vitae: Xanthippe, Polyxena and Rebecca (third century), Eustathios (fourth to sixth centuries), Melania the Younger (fifth century), Pelagia (second quarter of the fifth century), Xenophon (sixth century), Theoktiste of Lesbos (tenth century) and Adrian and Natalie (copied in the eleventh century).129 Following Clark, exploitation of the novel is noted but what is underlined is how and why the novel’s features and themes are manipulated (or not, as the case may be) by each vita.130 It is a deliberate choice not to define any of the chosen texts in terms of form or genre. In addition, since some of these narratives are not as well known (for example, the vita of Eustathios and that of

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Xenophon), it is occasionally necessary to recount the story at some length. Only then can the efforts of the hagiographer be appreciated.

The VGE, the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles and the vita of Xanthippe, Polyxena and Rebecca Introduction For I, Eutolmios, the unworthy and the least, who puts this soul-edifying narrative before you, although an eyewitness and servant of the struggles and contests of my masters, did not imitate their angelic and incorporeal life, having lived subject to passions … desiring the flesh over the spirit’ (th\n sa/rka ma~llon poqh/saj u(pe\r to\ pneu=ma).131

Eutolmios’ confession of dissipation in the VGE’s prologue alerts the reader to the primal tension between body and soul that binds the central events of the narrative. Gleukippe refrains from intercourse after her baptism and is rewarded with Galaktion’s miraculous conception. Twenty-five years later, Episteme receives the sacrament but only after she has consented to a sexless union with her husband. She then dreams of three marvellous choruses, one composed of virgins, and all she beholds lead celibate lives. On Sinai, Galaktion proves his virtue by refusing to see his wife, even when pressed by his fellow monks.132 When Episteme informs her deaconess that she intends to follow Galaktion after his capture, she is warned that her actions might cause her virginity to be defiled. At the end of her life, the prophecy achieves an alarming reality when the young girl’s chastity is potentially threatened by the command to strip her. These assorted pieces of the story highlighting the importance of celibacy, the negation of sexuality and the denial of desire, centre around the protagonists’ decision to remain virgins despite being married. Coupled with these themes is another major fixation of the VGE: baptism and conversion (Gleukippe, Kleitophon and Episteme’s), which saturates just over half the narrative. These subjects are also united in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles and the vita of Xanthippe, Polyxena and Rebecca (hereafter, Xanthippe), itself closely allied to the Acts.133 Those strident envoys of Christianity, the second and thirdcentury Acts of the Apostles, underscored their uncompromising message by emphasizing conversion within a literary subversive context – by playing with the ancient novel, and thus, seemingly, acting as a natural ally of the VGE.134 The rudiments of the narrative most commented on within this framework are the central dynamic between the stubborn, pagan husband, his passionate wife and the magnetic apostle, which Cooper has identified as a power struggle and a quest for ‘social order’.135 The ‘love triangle’ and the emotions it unleashes in the central characters hark back to the novel in particular but eros now refracts into desire for God.

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Dated to the middle of the third century, Xanthippe displays a marked resemblance to the Acts.136 The narrative is awkwardly constructed to read almost as a text of two halves: Xanthippe’s desire for conversion (1–21) and the adventures of her sister Polyxena when she is kidnapped (22–42). In its depiction of an aristocratic woman’s conversion to Christianity by an apostle, the vita pays homage to the Acts. Polyxena’s subsequent escapades are peppered with no less than four apostles. Naturally, this authority of the Acts sanctions the underlying influence of aspects of the novel, particularly in Polyxena’s story as well as Xanthippe’s.

Analysis

Since a feature of the Apocryphal Acts and Xanthippe is their inversion of novelistic topoi, it would be easy to marshal the VGE alongside these works using current diagnostic techniques.137 What we discover, however, is an intriguing divergence of portrayal. Xanthippe’s journey from pagan murk to the light of Christian truth commences when she becomes aware of Christianity via a servant who has returned from Rome where he has heard Paul. As in the Acts, the process by which Xanthippe realizes and operates upon her desire for Christ by using the apostle as a conduit, and effectively, as a substitute for her husband, is analogous to the moment when the heroines in the novels fall in love. When Callirhoe catches sight of Chaereas (‘surpassingly handsome, like Achilles and Nireus and Hippolytus and Alcibiades’)138 in Chariton’s novel, she is in agony: ‘when night came, it brought suffering to both, for the fire was raging in them. The girl suffered more because she could not bear to give herself away … she lay on her bed, her face covered, crying and uttering not a word’.139 Xanthippe adopts a similar reaction and lives in restless torment at her ignorance of Paul’s identity or how to reach him: ‘Xanthippe was incurable in her soul concerning this teaching … she was wasting herself away with waking and abstinence and other austerities … groaning said, “Woe is me, wretched one, lying in darkness, that I have not learned the name of the new teacher …”’.140 Her senses quicken when she finally does espy the apostle; a trait that also materializes in the Acts of Paul and Thekla.141 Such features reverse the novelistic norms of desire between a handsome young man and beautiful maiden leading to their legitimized union: ‘When Xanthippe saw the blessed Paul … she was greatly delighted in him and her heart leaped continually, and … she said to herself, ‘Why does my heart beat vehemently at the sight of this man?’142 In the VGE, the old monk Onouphrios replaces the mysterious apostle but Gleukippe’s response to him bears no parallel. She seeks baptism not because Christianity has engulfed her in the form of a man but that she might bear a child. Her personal ‘love triangle’ does not involve a charismatic apostle but a monk disguised as a beggar. Her reaction to Onouphrios is certainly not one of

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headlong, all-encompassing passion. Ignorant of his identity and of the message he bears, she sends one of her maidservants to shut the door in his face.143 Uxorious attachment is another common topos in the Acts, building on from the novels.144 Probus, Xanthippe’s spouse, also adheres to the convention: ‘All that thou hast wished unto this day I have served thee in’;145 and he even readily acquiesces when Xanthippe requests that they sleep apart, ‘for this day only’.146 Probus cares for her so much that when he returns from an important meeting to find his wife still wet with tears, ‘he began to pull out the hairs of his head, but he dared not speak to her then so as not to mingle other trouble with her trouble’.147 Convinced that she wants a divorce, he is sorely grieved. Kleitophon does not demonstrate much enthusiasm for his wife in the VGE. As a pagan, he is depicted as an insensitive, boorish husband. However, he is easily convinced by Gleukippe to worship Christ and to be baptized, so from thence onwards, we may assume that they have a more peaceful marriage. Lastly, sexual conflict, which plays such a decisive role in the novels, Acts and Xanthippe, is decidedly mitigated in the VGE. In the Acts of Andrew, Maximilla initially resorts to subterfuge, disguising her servant as herself to sleep with her husband. She then confronts Aegeates head-on, declaring: ‘I am in love, Aegeates. I am in love, and the object of my love is not of this world and therefore is imperceptible to you. Night and day, it kindles and enflames me with love for it. You cannot see it for it is difficult to see, and you cannot separate me from it, for that is impossible. Let me have intercourse with it and take my rest with it alone’.148 Meanwhile, Xanthippe escapes from Probus by bribing her guard after Probus has declared ‘think not that in bed also you will keep away from me’.149 But conveniently, before any discord can arise, Probus has converted. In the VGE, when Gleukippe decides to abstain from intercourse after her baptism, ‘lest I stain my consecration’, she simply pretends to be ill rather than oppose her husband outright by displaying the absolute contempt shown by Maximilla or running away like Xanthippe. Maximilla’s defiance in the Acts generates the essential fracas between apostle and husband, echoed by Probus’ interaction with Paul. In Xanthippe, though he initially welcomes the apostle, Probus eventually throws him out of his house.150 Remarkably though (and unusually), Paul eventually persuades him to convert.151 By contrast, the VGE refuses to acknowledge any showdown between Onouphrios and Kleitophon; rather Gleukippe persuades Kleitophon that conversion will grant them their hearts’ desire. Onouphrios in no way challenges Kleitophon’s standing in the community nor threatens his relationship with Gleukippe. Unlike the scenario played out in the Acts and Xanthippe, the VGE does not revolve on Cooper’s axis of power.

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Xanthippe and the VGE

The Apocryphal Acts carried this message because they were composed in a period when the Church had still to establish its orthodoxy. Their ‘categorical denial and renunciation of sexuality are essentially linked to the fundamental Christian identity and calling …’.152 and therefore their subversive convictions are in keeping with much of early Christian literature. Intriguingly, though Xanthippe genuflects to the Acts, its tone of renunciation is tempered to the extent that it admits the sanctity of marriage. Essentially, by the fourth century the established Church sought to assuage enkrateia and broadcast a more palatable message. Similarly, the bleakness of the Acts’ tenets is not the VGE’s concern. Christ’s representative is not one of his apostles but a humble monk with ‘a much patched habit’.153 Civic authority is glossed over as an occupation but the power it yields is negligible. The VGE is far more interested in relating a racy drama. Technically, the VGE corresponds most closely to the Apocryphal Acts and Xanthippe since both conversion and a strong emphasis on sexual suppression play such a large role within a narrative provoked by the ancient novels. We have seen, however, that there are no real parallels on closer inspection of Xanthippe’s initial section. Our famed lovers of Antiquity (thinly disguised) are in a relationship crisis. The daily torment that gnaws into Kleitophon and Gleukippe’s lives as a result of their sterility is starkly realized, as is their consequent miserable life together, a state firmly blamed on their paganism. Only by ceasing to be ei0dwlomanei=j and worshipping ‘Who stretched out the sky and laid foundations for the earth, and Who made man and Who created every breath’ can their pain be alleviated.154 If the vita is taken at face value, as a Christian ‘romance’ loosely related to Achilles Tatios and if Kleitophon and Gleukippe have been designed to allude to the illustrious pagan lovers of antiquity, as they surely are, then naturally they would need to convert, so greater emphasis is placed on this issue. Thus, conversion in this context acts as a narrative device. If the couple had already switched faiths and entered the story as a Christian couple, the reference back to Achilles Tatios would not hold, nor would the drama surrounding their married lives and inability to have children have so much impact. Evidently the author has deliberately created a framework within which he can ensure a good story.

Polyxena

With Probus’ conversion in Xanthippe, the scene switches to Xanthippe’s bedroom where we now meet her sister Polyxena, who is due to be baptized the following morning. A dramatic change of pace ensues when Polyxena is abruptly kidnapped with the aid of magic and whirled off by sea to Babylonia.155 The ensuing adventures form the remainder of the vita. Polyxena encounters

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a variety of characters, human and otherwise – Rebecca (a young Jewish girl), a kindly prefect’s son, a helpful ass-driver, a communicative lioness – and amazingly, has interaction in one form or another with no less than four apostles: Peter, who is instructed by Paul in a dream to ensure the safe landing of the ship in Greece; Philip, who meets the ship in Greece and asks a follower to look after her; and Andrew, who upon discovering Polyxena after she has fled to ‘the desert places of the hills’,156 baptizes her together with Rebecca, ‘of the tribe of Israel’ whom they meet at the baptismal well.157 Chastity is a preoccupation of both the novels and the Apocryphal Acts and it is no less so in Xanthippe. Polyxena and Rebecca resolve to live in the mountains in the company of wild beasts rather than ‘be compelled by Greeks and idolators to fall into the filth of marriage’.158 But, as is also typical, that resolute chastity must be tested and the pair are captured by the prefect of the city. Although Rebecca escapes,159 Polyxena is condemned to the wild beasts despite the efforts of the prefect’s son.160 Luckily, a lioness licks the soles of her feet and such a wondrous sight causes the entire city to convert. A certain Onesimus accompanies her to Spain, with the prefect’s son, on another sea voyage and Polyxena is finally reunited with Xanthippe. The vita concludes with the anonymous young man’s baptism and a declaration that Polyxena ‘from that time forward … left not at all the blessed Paul in her fear of temptations’.161 What then does this preliminary examination of the novels, the Apocryphal Acts and Xanthippe, tell us about the VGE? We knew that the Apocryphal Acts subverted certain motifs of the ancient novels. Xanthippe is an informative variation for although it follows a similar path of inversion (Xanthippe’s conversion and relationship with Paul and Probus) it contains its own take on the novel with Polyxena’s trials. There, the use of magic, the girl’s kidnapping, the voyages by sea, the threat to her chastity and a ‘happy ending’ that does not involve a form of sacrifice (actual or metaphorical), all directly recall the pagan novels. At no point is there an attempt to Christianize. The VGE conforms closely to these texts in its simultaneous destabilization and inheritance of novelistic devices. However, the vita does not utilize all the tropes available: high adventure; confrontation between a married couple and a third party; and/or kidnapping. Polyxena’s voyages and tribulations do not cohere to the VGE. Galaktion and Episteme change location but it is by choice and with no perils on the way. It could, however, be argued that Galaktion’s abduction (not Episteme’s, as is usual in the novels) creates the enforced separation, a division that his wife refuses to acknowledge. All three forms of narrative are unanimous in their rejection of sex but mediate their distaste. The Acts are unanimous in their unconditional abhorrence, expressing their sentiments in damning language. Xanthippe shares this aversion but its denunciation of intercourse is mollified, admitting the possibility of conjugal intercourse. Finally, the VGE denies marriage but its tone adopts the least harsh approach of the three. Major events and decisions in the

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VGE are predicated on the essential concept that sex equals sin but this claim is not trumpeted throughout.162 By weighing up the VGE against the Apocryphal Acts and Xanthippe, we find a correspondence of theme but a dissimilar method of expression. This initial conclusion is furthered strengthened if we look at other examples of ‘hagiographic fiction’. The vitae of St. Eustathios and St. Xenophon are instructive for illustrating further how authors deconstructed and reassembled other narratives as they deemed fit.

The vitae of St. Eustathios and St. Xenophon These vitae are far removed from the world of the Apocryphal Acts for their tales centre on the sanctity of a family. Chastity here is restricted to the monogamous relationship between a husband and wife. Let us now immerse ourselves into the adventurous worlds of Eustathios and Xenophon. The chief tropes the vita of Eustathios, Theopiste, Agapios and Theopistos (hereafter Eustathios) and the vita of Xenophon, Maria, Arcadius and John (hereafter Xenophon) share with the novel are the separation of the (four) protagonists, a tumultuous sea voyage and joyous recognition and reunion scenes.163 Eustathios dates to between the fourth to sixth centuries164 while Xenophon was composed between 540 and 555.165 Eustathios is set during the reigns of Trajan and Hadrian and has strong narrative segments: the conversion of the pagan protagonists; Job-like disasters illustrating the will of God; harrowing events on board a ship that trigger the severance of each member of the family from each other; and a protracted reunion with extensive recognition scenes.166 The tale ends with a graphic martyrdom. Xenophon shares the idea of the family unit but this time no conversion is needed as both Xenophon and Maria are already pious Christians. In contrast to Eustathios, husband and wife remain together but they lose their children, again during a sea voyage. The surprise recognition and reunion scenes are the setting for another deviation when, in the joy of finding their sons, Xenophon and Maria realize that they should renounce the world and embrace monastic life.

Analysis

Again, as for the Apocryphal Acts and Xanthippe, we begin with conversion and Eustathios.167 In comparison with the contentious scenes in the Apocryphal Acts and their rebellious echo in the VGE, Eustathios’ journey is a far more straightforward account of a pagan literally seeing the light. The pagan Placidas is a philanthropic, respected general in Trajan’s service, with a wife, Tatiana, and two sons. His decision to convert occurs during a hunting expedition. The horns of the deer he is pursing emit a wondrous light

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in the shape of the cross with the image of Christ. When the deer speaks to him, admonishing the pagan for being enslaved to impure demons and mute, corpselike idols despite his good deeds, the shocked Placidas is told in no uncertain terms that he is in the presence of Christ. He immediately falls from his horse in shock but recovers himself and is instantly persuaded. He asks whether he should tell his family, and he is commanded that everyone should be baptized. Meanwhile Tatiana too has seen Christ in a dream, and subsequently the entire family convert. Tatiana becomes Theopiste and the sons are christened Agapios and Theopistos. Placidas’ baptismal name, Eustathios (eu)staqh/j: steadfast/firm) hints at his metaphorical role in the events to follow. Christ forewarns his new disciple that he will face many trials – the nature of which is signalled by a comparison to Job. The convert is asked whether he wishes to take up the challenge. Eustathios never falters and unhesitatingly shoulders his burden whereupon Christ replies: ‘fight, and be strong, for My Grace will be with you, guarding your souls’.168 This scenario is uncomplicated and at this stage, free of the novel. The interaction between Eustathios and Theopiste is not posited in passionate, reckless terms. They appear to have a stable, devoted relationship (certainly when compared to the couples we have seen so far), witnessed by the fact that upon hearing Christ’s command, Eustathios’ first thought is his family; further, when the couple meet, Tatiana immediately confides her vision to him. As we shall see, their role as heroic protagonists is to embody Christian virtue. Another absent novelistic attribute is the presence of tu/xh, since Eustathios is forewarned that disaster will befall him. His correlation to Job leaves no room for doubt. By contrast to the VGE, conversion here is sincere, complete and powerful.169 In Xenophon, unlike every text analysed so far, there is no lesson in conversion: Xenophon and Maria already worship Christ and lead a happy life in Byzantium. Aspects of the ancient novel start to emerge in Eustathios when his family enter into a living nightmare; little by little, they lose everything they own. First, all their servants are struck by plague, then all their livestock. The family are finally left destitute when, after they have packed their possessions ready to depart, thieves steal everything during the night. Egypt seems to hold the promise of a better life, so the family board ship. Unfortunately the captain, a ‘savage barbarian’, has lustful intentions on Theopiste and takes her hostage. While Eustathios is protesting, with a nod the captain signals to his sailors to throw him overboard. The general is now in a desperate situation. Grabbing his sons he jumps into the river with many groans and tears. Fearing the swell of the water, he leaves one son behind on the riverbank and crosses with the other on his shoulders, leaving the child safe on the other side, or so he believes; for more tragedy lies ahead. As Eustathios turns to retrieve his first son, he sees a lion carrying him off. In horror, he turns to the other son and sees a wolf

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snatching him. The distraught father throws himself into the river in a desperate suicide attempt but is stopped short by the thought of God’s pronoia. What he does not know is that each boy has been saved from the beasts by shepherds and ploughmen respectively. The pair are reared in the same village, never realizing that they are brothers. Evidently, this section of the vita bears clear allegiance to generic novelistic traits. Theopiste’s virtue is threatened by an obvious villain and the audience is left tantalizingly in suspense. The hero and heroine are forced apart by events out of their control but here we have a quadruple separation: the sons from their parents and then from each other. How the Christian vita inverts these topoi lies in the constant reiteration of divine providence, submission to the Will of God and above all, knowledge of certain trials. Eustathios, understandably convinced that he has lost every single person he has ever loved, is prevented from committing suicide only by the memory of God’s pronoia. A similar situation happens in Xenophon when the couple decide to send their beloved sons, Arcadius and John, to Beirut for their education. Enforced separation occurs when a storm causes a shipwreck. Each brother believes that the other is dead but viewing their escape as the will of God, they independently become monks. Xenophon and Maria assume that their sons have perished but subsume their grief to the will of God.170 As in Eustathios the Christian message is pushed home: what was formerly viewed as Fate is now the will of God and the heroes act accordingly.171 Xenophon and Maria accept the loss of their sons with equanimity while Arcadius and John become monks, regarding their escape as providential. The underlying novelistic tropes are utilized again, as in Eustathios, to provide new meaning. The recognition and reunion scenes in Eustathios are extremely touching. The author informs us that the captain did not violate Theopiste and miraculously died, leaving her free. A serious barbarian uprising recalls Placidas to the Emperor so he sends word that the general should be found. Among those in eager pursuit are Akakios and Antiochos who were once Placidas’ subordinates. Wishing not to be discovered Eustathios denies any knowledge of Placidas but one of the men remembers that their general had a scar on his neck. He examines Eustathios more closely and discovers the same scar. Eustathios returns to the army and is joined by two new recruits who eventually turn out to be his lost sons. While on campaign, the army encamps near a garden where, fortuitously, Theopiste is spending her days. One day, one of the new recruits relates the story of his youth. Hearing his tale, the other realizes that he is in the presence of his long-lost brother. Both embrace in utter joy. Theopiste has been listening to the tales and understands that they are her sons. The following day she pleads with Eustathios to take her away from the country where she has been prisoner, and in so doing, recognizes her husband. The couple reunite with tears, and there is further joy when Theopiste reveals to Eustathios that their sons are not dead but literally, next door. The series of recapitulations (the elder brother’s tale and later Theopiste to Eustathios) is a stock narrative device

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utilized by the ancient novelists, as is the token of recognition, here, the scar.172 The garden, a prominent location in the VGE and the novels, is where Theopiste is discovered and we learn twice that she has not been dishonoured. Though she no longer has virginity to preserve, chastity is as important. In Xenophon, an old ascetic initiates the reunion stage of the story. A dream (our novelistic device) persuades Xenophon to travel to Jerusalem and later Jordan, with Maria. The venerable aged monk first reunites Arcadius and John, near Golgotha, and then cunningly introduces the boys to their parents, as his disciples. Eustathios climaxes with a triumphant return after a great victory against the barbarians. Hadrian has succeeded Trajan, and demands that everyone sacrifice at Apollo’s temple. When Eustathios refuses to do so, the entire family is taken to the stadium. Instead of devouring them, a lion bends its head in obeisance to the family and leaves the arena. Not to be cheated, Hadrian orders that a copper bull be kindled and the family placed inside. All die, giving glory to God.173 In Xenophon, once the family have been reunited, the hagiographer relates a very different outcome: Xenophon and Maria devote the rest of their lives to monasticism. Having renounced their possessions, the couple separate: Maria to a convent and Xenophon to the desert. Their sons return to their monasteries.174 The Will of God has been accomplished.

The vitae and the novel

Though certain tropes have been utilized for these vitae, here the message of Christian endurance is the key theme and the traces of the novel only serve to illustrate these issues. The only inversion for Eustathios concerns Eustathios himself as a new Christian hero, faithful and patient. Boulhol sums up the significance of Xenophon by emphasizing the weight placed on cenitei/a, defined here as absolute renunciation of possessions, mind, body and soul.175 For our purposes, Boulhol’s most significant observation is that renunciation of family occurs at the behest of divine providence, not out of personal inclination as in, for example, the VJB, VAA or indeed, VGE. In this capacity the Will of God plays on the role of Fate in the novels and creates a new dynamic.176 For Boulhol, Xenophon is a ‘fable sur la cenitei/a et de leçon de spiritualité ascétique’,177 and thus in recognizing their children, Xenophon and Maria identify their new purpose in life.178 Therefore, Eustathios and Xenophon both adopt a separate approach from the VGE in their implementation of the pagan novels or rather, their absorption of certain tropes. The VGE plays with motifs and adopts and subverts them as the author sees fit. Eustathios and Xenophon harmonize the patterns to promote their message – of endurance and submission to God’s will (Eustathios) – and the understanding that complete distance from worldly ties (xeniteia) is the only way to fully comprehend the Will of God (Xenophon).

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St. Melania the Younger and St. Pelagia The story of Melania the Younger is an interesting counterpart to that of Pelagia since both authors exploit the novel to communicate their message of women striving to achieve Christian perfection. However, both adapt the novel in different ways. For James the Deacon (author of Pelagia’s vita), the novel represents a rich seam to mine in order to add depth to his story; for Gerontius, Melania’s hagiographer, the novel is a literary platform on which to construct his edifice, as in Eustathios and Xenophon. Gerontius does not have to try as hard as James – Melania led such a remarkable life that there is little need to add rhetorical flourishes.

St. Melania the Younger

This vita, dated to the fifth century, has been comprehensively analysed by Elizabeth Clark and there is little need to reiterate her excellent material.179 In terms of this study, it is sufficient to point out that the novelistic features present in the vita enhance the narrative, much as in Eustathios: ‘Melania is a beautiful heroine of aristocratic background, who undertakes much travel, suffers storms at sea, encounters barbarian kidnappers, and is devoted to a deity’.180 Like the vitae examined above, Melania has a deeper message – Melania undergoes extreme asceticism, continually instructs those ignorant of the unworldly life (on chastity and abstinence,181 obedience,182 humility183 and keeping vigil184) and is vocal on the subject of orthodoxy. Thus, in common with Eustathios and Xenophon, Gerontius was ‘celebrating her life and virtues in a popular style of literature that Christians shared with pagans’.185 The real import of the vita was its denigration of heresy, ‘exaltation of asceticism and its pedagogical intent’.186

St. Pelagia

What of those vitae that do not involve a heady kidnap, dastardly villains, turbulent sea voyage or a breathless relationship? The vita of Pelagia is one such example, dated to the second quarter of the fifth century.187 Here, the concern again is the portrayal of a woman but this particular one is wanton, and the focus is the tale of her gradual redemption. As Pavlovskis has shown, the hagiographer’s crafting of Pelagia employs and subverts the novelistic characterization of women and male response to them, to tell his tale.188 Pelagia’s beauty and her nakedness; the public venue in which she is first seen; the role of tu/xh; and Nonnus’ initial reaction to her are stock novelistic characteristics, which further emphasize Pelagia’s marginality to a Christian milieu. For example, tu/xh is used in its novelistic sense (unlike its appearance in Eustathios and Xenophon where it transmogrifies into God’s pronoia). Here, Pelagia appears i0dou\ a!fnw to the council of Antiochene bishops but

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in the Christian reversal, we learn that they are appalled, repelled by such licentiousness.189 As Pavlovskis puts it, ‘what attracts their attention is not her uncommon beauty but her shamelessness and her sin’.190 Pavlovskis goes on to enumerate how the hagiographer continues on this mission, casting Nonnus as the hero in his muted, inverse desire for Pelagia and his use of a confidant (James, the narrator of the tale). Narrative devices such as dreams, letters and the repetition of the protagonist’s back-story (here, Pelagia’s) are also utilized.191 The incentive to convert is grasped by Pelagia herself, who takes the initiative to approach Nonnus by writing to him. Pavlovskis compares her here to the temptresses in the novels who feature prominently such as Manto or Melitte but notes, ‘In keeping with the Christian tone of the narrative, Pelagia’s letter contains no immodest proposals but expresses a strong desire to visit Nonnus in order to be saved through him, and to be within sight of his holy face’.192 The inversion is clear. Once baptized, Pelagia is confronted by the Devil who, in Pavlovskis’ interpretation, plays the role of the spurned suitor.193 Her lover now, she declares, is Christ the heavenly Bridegroom.194 After disposing of her worldly goods Pelagia disguises herself as a man and disappears. We discover that she travels to Jerusalem and becomes the eunuch Pelagius. Nonnus instructs James to visit this ascetic for his spiritual wellbeing and, when he first encounters Pelagia in the desert, James is ignorant of Pelagius’ true identity.195 Her identity is revealed after her death when her body is prepared for burial.196 Pelagia is buried as the consort of Christ, being carried to rest by a funeral cortege that resembles a wedding procession.197 ou{toj o9 bi/oj th=j po/rnhj, au3th h( politei/a th=j a)pegnwsme/nhj.198 To tell his tale of redemption, James casts his heroine in the role of a female protagonist of the pagan novels, creating and challenging the unspoken parallels in order to intensify his drama. His technique is very similar to that of the author of the VGE, who likewise confronts the novel headlong to create his own tale. The difference between Pelagia and all the others – Xanthippe, Eustathios, Xenophon and Melania – lies in the intricacy with which James selects detail after detail in order to manipulate the familiar into the newly familiar. It is this very manoeuvre that engineers the tension and generates depth for the creative piece.

Theoktiste of Lesbos Let us now move forward to the tenth-century vita of St. Theoktiste of Lesbos by Niketas Magistros, a very good example of a text imbued with a sense of the novel but firmly rooted in its time.199 Its narrative is framed by three tales in one: Niketas is the primary narrator and it is through his retelling of his story that we hear the story of Symeon, ‘as hairy as a beast, as kind as an angel’,200 who himself encountered Theoktiste.

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As Kazhdan observed, while it is clear that Theoktiste is modelled on the much earlier vita of Mary of Egypt, Niketas also clearly introduces contemporary mores into his composition. For example, female sexuality is channelled into more stable routes: Theoktiste is no longer the wild harlot but a tamed adaptation.201 Whereas Mary willing boarded ship so that she could satisfy her ‘uncontrollable lust to wallow in filth,202 indulging in acts into which I forced those wretched men against their will’,203 the tenth-century Theoktiste is a nun kidnapped by Arabs and made prisoner. She escapes and for the next thirty-five years, lives as an ascetic, ‘subsisting on lupin seeds and other herbs that grow in the wilderness or rather on the word of God …’.204 This vita intersects with the novel in its structure and content. The narrative device of a story within a story, for example, echoes Achilles Tatios when Kleitophon relates his ordeals to the initial narrator. Tatios’ influence resurfaces when our author, Niketas, lands on Paros, on the way to Crete, and finds in the local church the ruins of a once beautiful ciborium.205 The stone from which it is constructed is so beautiful that it reminds the author of ‘ driving a chariot drawn by bulls’.206 Such a description immediately invites comparison to Tatios’ great ekphrasis describing Europa and the bull.207 Theoktiste’s account to Symeon of her abduction from Lesbos by Cretan Arabs and her subsequent escape are all novelistic devices and further echo Longus in the novelist’s delighted response to a painting he sees while hunting in Lesbos. Among other activities, he also feasts his eyes upon, ‘a pirates’ raid, an enemy attack – and more, much more, all of it romantic’.208 While this vision is wreathed in a tender haze for Longus and inspires him to create his Daphnis and Chloe ‘as an offering to Love … something for mankind to possess and enjoy,’209 Niketas moulds it into an actuality and a scene of suffering for the Christian Theoktiste: ‘I did not stop running until I had torn my feet to pieces, piercing them with stones and sharp twigs, and had stained the ground with my blood.’210 Thus, this tenth-century vita also employs novelistic devices to add depth and resonance to his tale as we saw in the Apocryphal Acts and Xanthippe, Eustathios, Xenophon and Melania.

Adrian and Natalie The final story concerns Adrian and Natalie and was copied in the eleventh century but the lack of any evidence for its textual or historical background permits only a general comparison. The pair apparently dwell in Nicomedia during the reign of the Emperor Maximian. Adrian, a pagan soldier (prw~toj w2n th=j basilikh=j) is dispatched to arrest some Christians who persuade him to convert upon his arrival.211 His wife Natalie runs to the prison and exhorts the other prisoners to pray for her husband.212 Adrian bids her to remain at home but to return on the day of the tribunal to witness his death.

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On the appointed day, he unexpectedly goes home to see his wife, having given a guarantee (kai\ par ) au)tw~n e0gguhqei\j) to the other prisoners that he will return. When Natalie glimpses her husband, she assumes that he has deserted the band of martyrs and shuts the door in his face, reproaching him in her first and only piece of direct speech. Adrian rejoices to see his wife’s commitment and gently tells her213 that he has only come to say goodbye.214 Reassured, Natalie opens the door and embraces her husband, fortifying him for the trials ahead before Adrian honours his promise and returns to the other martyrs. Determined to attend the trial but knowing that women are not permitted to see the prisoners, Natalie dons male garb215 and manages to slip in. She strengthens the captives’ resolve and inspires other women, who subsequently imitate her disguise. Remarkably, when the martyrs are condemned to death by the sword, Natalie orders the executioners to begin with her husband and dramatically grips his feet while they and his hands are severed.216 Adrian dies instantly but, unperturbed, Natalie seizes one of his hands and graphically anoints herself with the blood trickling from the victims. A certain Eusebius then pays for the relics of all the saints to be taken by boat to Byzantium. But Natalie’s ordeals do not end with the death of her husband. She is now desired by a chiliarch217 but manages to escape on the boat with the official in hot pursuit. To make matters worse, a beguiling spirit, an illusion,218 materializes, pointing them in the wrong direction, but fortunately Adrian appears to warn her and then disappears.219 Once Natalie arrives safely in Byzantium, Adrian reappears to instruct her to rejoin him in heaven, whereupon Natalie immediately dies. The vita is tremendously interesting for a number of reasons. Though the text is very short and the action compressed, the narrative concentrates on the emotions between the chief actors. Several familiar motifs of the novels appear: affection between the hero and heroine, pursuit of the heroine by an unsuitable suitor, mishaps along the way, extended travel and eventual reunion with the spouse (with its Christian twist). In all her adventures, Natalie’s character is drawn in sharp relief. In her resourcefulness, boldness and bond with her husband she resembles the wives in the VJB, VAA and VGE. She takes the initiative to dress as a man in order to see her husband.220 Unlike Episteme, she glories in her husband’s martyrdom, commanding the executioners to kill him first. Natalie wants to experience Adrian’s pain and suffering and eventually witness his ultimate glory in achieving martyrdom. She achieves this by cleaving to him in a distorted form of an embrace, as his hands and feet are severed. She then goes even further by smearing herself with his blood and actually keeping his hand with her all the way to Byzantium.221 Natalie is a key player in the story. Moreover Adrian and Natalie’s relationship is given substance; in terms of the themes that were debated in Chapter 3, we have emotion between husband and wife. Adrian returns home solely to see his

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wife and to say goodbye to her before his certain death. Just as Basilissa appears to Julian before his death, telling him that she is waiting for him, so Adrian appears twice to Natalie; first, to save her from danger and the second time, to reassure her that they will be reunited in heaven.

Hagiographic ‘romance’ The purpose in re-examining a sample of vitae categorized as novels or romances was first, to illustrate a level of complexity rarely acknowledged and thus to problematize a convenient label and second, to contextualize a previously little-known vita – the VGE. Clearly the absence of a uniform pattern and an archetype from which these vitae spring point to a disinterest in formalization. The hagiographers bend, stretch and eradicate motifs as they see fit. Thus the authors of the Apocryphal Acts and Pelagia consciously subverted themes they understood as current in popular literature. Alternatively, Gerontius and the hagiographers of Eustathios, Xenophon, Theoktiste and Adrian and Natalie produced compositions that employed these themes as their creative foundations. The attraction of the VGE is that its author uses both techniques. This text continually and stubbornly refuses to be pigeonholed. The poetics of the narrative constantly advance and recede: subversion of novelistic attributes, allusion to novelistic attributes, incorporation of the Acts of Paul and Thekla plus generic elements of the bi/oj all happily converge. Categorizing this would be absurd. The VGE’s beauty is this multiformity, what Roilos terms ‘genre modulations’.222

Byzantine reception of the novel Since the only firm date we have for the VGE relates to the eleventh-century manuscripts, the last step to contextualize this remarkable narrative is to ascertain the popularity of the Apocryphal Acts and the novels in the Byzantine Empire. By the end of the Patristic period the Apocryphal Acts had largely lost their taint of marginality; Bovon can even refer to their ‘domestication’.223 From thence onwards the Acts were appropriated as homiletic, liturgical and historical material by priests, monks and historians to teach their flock and instruct their audience.224 The disruptive potential of these texts had either been exorcized or disciplined as the centuries passed and thus we find the Apocryphal Acts of Andrew transmitted in the same eleventh-century menologion as the VGE.225 The novels have a similar history but in their case it was not so much their context but their authors who were reincarnated.226 Acceptance of the torrid tales by a Byzantine audience was fostered by the belief that both authors had

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converted to Christianity.227 Even the Souda, under 0Axilleu/j Sta/tioj notes ‘ge/gonen e1sxaton xristiano\j kai\ e0pi/skopoj’. However, in the ninth century, the response to Achilles Tatios’ Leukippe and Kleitophon was unanimous in its distaste for the tale’s moral content. Photios wrote in the Bibliotheca: ‘the great indecency and impurity of the ideas tarnishes the intention and efforts of the author throughout. This leads the intending reader to reject and abhor the text’.228 Nevertheless, despite his disapproval, Photios also appreciated the novel’s rhetorical qualities.229 The literary climate of the tenth–twelfth centuries, the period when the manuscripts of the vita were copied, witnessed a resurgence of the Greek novels and their debt to, as well as departure from, their Hellenistic counterparts.230 By the eleventh century, the merits of Heliodoros and Achilles Tatios were still considered worth debating, even if Psellos had his doubts.231 One of his letters alternates between expressing distaste for Tatios and admiration for his literary style.232 He concludes: ‘it [the novel] is useful for the rhetorician as any other narrative, so that if he should wish to deck certain parts of his own works with graces drawn from it, he may take readily whatever, in his eyes, contributes to ornamental beauty’.233 Psellos underlines the importance of the novels in the eleventh century by advocating their teaching as the conclusion of one’s studies, not at the initial stage of learning as had been the case.234 This shift in attitude highlights the changing perspective in which the ancient romances were held.235 The surviving testament of the landowner Eustathius Boilas (1059 ad) includes a list of his books; the Adventures of Leukippe and Kleitophon is among his collection.236 These witnesses indicate that by the eleventh century, Achilles Tatios was appreciated by the literary public. The novelist’s protagonists further make guest appearances up to the twelfth century: Leukippe and Kleitophon appear in a poem by ‘Manganeios’ Prodromos,237 Eustathios Makrembolites makes copious use of Achilles Tatios in Hysmine and Hysminias,238 and the author of Digenes Akritas clearly has knowledge not only of Tatios but Heliodoros as well.239 The novels were not only enjoyed for their torrid tales of thwarted love and swift adventure but there is also evidence that they could be appropriated as Christian metaphor, as illustrated by the writings of Philip Philagathos, a Calabrian twelfth-century bishop.240 Philagathos wrote: ‘Charikleia is a symbol of the soul and the mind which orders it’, noting earlier that, ‘The book is didactic, teaching moral philosophy and blending the water of history with the wine of contemplation’.241 Thus, the renewed popularity of the novel proved that the romances continued to hold great attraction for the Byzantines.242 Achilles Tatios, in particular, evidently remained very popular and was deemed ‘suitable’, thanks to his late religious ‘conversion’, to be used directly in hagiography of this period or to influence it indirectly.243 As illustrated above, Theoktiste contains an ekphrasis modelled on Tatios and the author even cites the novelist, as well as Homer and Thucydides, reflecting the classicizing tendencies of this period.244 We also know that Niketas’ library contained many classical authors.245 The

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descriptions of a storm at sea in the metaphrastic vita of Xenophon are ‘taken almost verbatim’ from Leukippe and Kleitophon.246 Ultimately the VGE is best viewed as a bridge between the ancient pagan novels and the medieval novels of the twelfth century. Krumbacher’s description of a ‘Verbindungsbrücken’ spanning the fourth–twelfth centuries aptly evokes the sense of continuity and borrowing that pervaded Byzantine literature.247 The numerous novelistic motifs and the signposts via locations and nomenclature to Achilles Tatios and Heliodorus indicate a very skilled and imaginative author. The fictional layers of the vita are no impediment to sanctity in the ninth century since we have seen that Achilles Tatios and Heliodorus lived on in their Christian incarnations. Efthymiadis’ study of eighth–tenth century hagiography has noted that the ‘means of literary composition’ is important since from the ninth century, hagiography becomes a self-conscious literary activity thanks to the work of Methodios and Ignatios the Deacon, among others, in contrast to ‘hagiography in Late Antiquity (which) had much the character of an oral genre by creation and transmission’.248 By the time of the eleventh century, the period when the manuscripts were copied, it is easy to see why the tale continued in popularity with the resurgence of storytelling. The number of extant manuscripts indicates the popularity of the VGE. It remains a delightful and fast-paced story despite a gruesome end. As a fine example of multilayered discourse, it cannot be bettered: a Christianized novel, a bi/oj, martu/rion and dihgh/sij.249 The thread that binds these elements is the vita’s context as a product of Byzantine literary evolution. Why should the VGE conform to any one pattern? Indeed, what is so intriguing about this text is the diverse ways in which it can be read.250 The point is that this author is steeped, unconsciously or otherwise, in certain forms of literary traditions and narrative strategies and evidently takes much delight in playing around with his creation. Here, Roilos’ formulation referring to the Comnenian novels is helpful. He articulates a ‘dialogic referentiality: the paradigmatic axis – of the prior sanctioned ancient Greek and less evidently … Christian literary and cultural exempla and the syntagmatic axis – the broader contemporary Byzantine literary and cultural context of the Komnenian novels.’251 It is this form of discourse that, for Roilos, ‘enabled the Komnenian novelists to explore and develop the potential of their models and produce works of considerable artistic and intellectual value’.252 Such a model works for the VGE. Thus, although the VGE does belong to hagiography’s canon of fiction/novel/ romance, the vita proves that such definitions are too simple and limiting. An important consideration must be what we understand as a ‘feature’ of the ‘novel’ given that traits such as tokens of recognition, recapitulation scenes or a couple’s reunion can be traced as far back as Homeric epic. Perhaps in terms of hagiography, what is more fruitful is to understand the motif through the eyes of the hagiographer; what he believes to be a motif that would be appreciated by his audience so that when it is inverted, twisted or simply utilized, his message will

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be grasped. What is clear is that certain themes persisted from antiquity and heavily influenced the medieval Greek romances. Certain forms of hagiography helped to shape and transmit this form of literature and the VGE is one such fine example.

Conclusion The VJB, VAA and VGE belong to very different traditions in the Late Antique and Byzantine canon: chastity tale, mid-Byzantine fiction and hagiographic ‘romance’ and consequently their portrayals of celibate marriage invariably diverge. Hagiography’s variety is immense and by placing each vita in its literary tree, we can see just how intricate and complicated this ‘genre’ can be. Each of the preceding chapters has highlighted one aspect of celibate marriage, whether it be invention, dialogue, tension, secrecy or emotional bond. No single concept in hagiography can be simply grasped and the many paths meandering from the VJB, VAA and VGE only serve to showcase the brilliance of the hagiographers of Late Antiquity and Byzantium. Notes 1 2 3 4

5 6 7

8 9

For a similar trend occurring in late-French hagiography, see Cazelles (1991), esp. 31–5. Cazelles notes, however, that this was not standard practice for all hagiography of the period (32–3). Just a few are Roueché (1988) 123–33; A. Kazhdan and C. Angelidi (eds), A History of Byzantine Literature II 850–1000 (National Hellenic Research Foundation: Athens, 2006); Roilos (1995). VJB 7:187–97. de Gaiffier (1947) 157–95. The complete list of tales and personages involved is: The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas, Amoun of Nitria, the brother of St. Syncletica, Pelagius of Laodicaea, Martin and Maxima, S. Cecilia, Macarius the Roman, Abraham of Qiduna, Theophilus and Maria, the story of the ‘Two Lovers’ related by Gregory of Tours, Julian & Basilissa, S. Wandrilleor Wandregesilus (d. 667), S. Maximus, abbot of S. John of Limony, Theophanes the Chronographer (d. 818), Arnoul, bishop of Tours (1023–1052), S. Simon, Count of Crépy en Valois (1047–1081), the Holy Roman Emperor Henry II (d. 1024), Elzéar de Sabran (d. 1323), Catherine of Sweden (d. 1381), Jeanne-Marie de Maillé (d. 1414) and S. Bernard of Monjoux (923–1008). de Gaiffier (1947) 182. The following belong to the ‘Alexis’ category from de Gaiffier’s chronology: S. Syncletica’s brother, Macarius the Roman and S. Bernard (he of modern fame). S. Wandrille and S. Simon separate from their wives to enter into religious life. Acts of Thomas in J. K. Elliott (1993) 447–511. Palladius, The Lausiac History (tr.), W. Lowther Clarke (Macmillan: London & New York, 1918), chapter 8 (59–61); Rufinus, Historia Monachorum in Aegypto (ed.), A.-J. Festugière (Société des Bollandistes: Brussels, 1961) 24: Socrates, Histoire ecclésiastique. Livres IV–VI (ed.), G. C. Hansen (Editions du Cerf: Paris, 2006) 4. 23; Sozomen, Histoire ecclésiastique. Livres I–II (ed.), J. Bidez (Editions du Cerf: Paris, 1983) 1. 14. Theodoret, Kirchengeschichte IV. 13 (ed.), L. Parmentier (Akademie Verlag: Berlin, 1998) 233. Victor of Vita, Historia Persecutionis Africanae Provincae (ed.), M. Petschenig (C. Geroldi

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Filium Bibliopolam Academiae: Vienna, 1881), chs. 30–8 (13–17); J. Moorhead (tr.), Victor of Vita: History of the Vandal Persecution (Liverpool University Press: Liverpool, 1990). H. Delehaye, Études sur le legendier romain les saints de novembre et de decembre (Société des Bollandistes: Brussels, 1936) 193–220. John of Ephesus, Lives of the Eastern Saints (tr.), E. W. Brooks (Brepols: Turnhout, 2003), vol. 3. Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks (tr.), L. Thorpe (Penguin: London, 1974) 1. 47 (95–7). de Gaiffier (1947) 164–84. I have eliminated the brother of S. Syncletica, Macrius the Roman and Abraham of Quiduna from de Gaiffier’s chronology: the brother’s particular branch of celibate marriage is mentioned only in passing with scant detail; Macrius is more concerned with the ‘Alexis tradition’, that is, bridegrooms fleeing on their wedding night. Abraham is dealing with his niece Maria who has become a prostitute. Pelagius’ story will not be used as it is so briefly related. Theodoret merely discloses that ‘This latter [Pelagius] had been betrothed when very young but, on his marriage day, he persuaded his bride to choose a life of chastity and to accept fraternal affection instead of connubial love’ (Theodoret IV. 13). VJB 3:67–70. Palladius: LH 8 (59). VJB 3:77–84; 4:85–90. Victor of Vita, I. 30 (13–14). Victor of Vita, I. 30 (14): ‘ut fideles sibi magis memoratos faceret famulos, Martinianum Maximamque coniugali consortio sociare’. ‘… Martin was the one who made his weapons and always held in high regard by his lord, while Maxima was mistress over the entire household … : chapter 30 (14). VJB 5:140–7: ‘When the appointed day arrived, the neighbouring cities gathered together, bringing with them diverse enjoyments that the crowds delight in and through which tender minds might be excited by erotic desire. The squares echoed to the beat of instruments and the different melodies of musicians. A crowd of virgin girls, their locks adorned with gold jewellery, sang songs with the sweetest of voices, melting even strong men with the pleasure of their profligacy’. Acts of Thomas, chapter 4 (448). VJB 6:162. Palladius, LH chapter 8 (59–60). Victor of Vita, I. 30 (15). Vita of Cecilia, chapter 3 (196). de Gaiffier (1947) noted that this phrase (cubiculi secreta silentia) occurs in the Latin recensions of Cecilia, Martin & Maxima and Rufinus’ version of Amoun’s tale, during the scene in the bedchamber where the virginal resolve is made. Rufinus writes: ‘cum intra nuptiales thalamos convenissent et data eis essent cubiculi secreta silentia’ [E. Schulz-Flügel, Rufinus: Historia Monachorum (Walter de Gruyter: Berlin, 1990) (chapter 30:1.3) (375–6)]; Martinianus and Maxima has ‘at ubi ventum est ut cubiculi adirentur secreta silentia’ [Victor of Vita, I. 31 (14)]: de Gaiffier (1947) 157–95, esp. 167 nt. 1. We will soon see one pattern in the Latin tradition, that of a woman’s instigation of the life of celibacy; now we can trace another. Note that Rufinus emended the original Greek by adding in silentia, indicating that he was influenced by the earlier texts. The original has pei/qei th\n ko/rhn e0n tw| qala/mw| sumparqeneu/ein au)tw| e0n tw| kruptw| [Historia Monachorum in Aegypto, chapter 22 (128)]. However, care should be taken when making a direct comparison between the Historia Monachorum in Aegypto, Rufinus and Palladius as the history of their transmission and thus dependency on one another is notoriously complicated. See Dom C. Butler, The Lausiac History of Palladius, vols 1 and 2 (Cambridge University: Cambridge, 1898 and 1914). Acts of Thomas, ch 11 (452). VJB 7:187–95. Acts of Thomas, chapter 12 (452). Palladius: LH chapter 8 (42). Victor of Vita, I. 31 (15). Vita of Cecilia, chapter 4 (197). VJB 6:172–6: ‘Christ the Lord … is a lover of chastity, He Who grants eternal life to those who

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keep the integrity of their body. If you wish, accept His commands with me, so that we may love Him with all our strength, so that we may guard our virginity for a reward which has been granted … ’. Gregory of Tours, HF 1. 47 (95–97), s.v. ‘The Chaste Lovers’. See also Liber in Gloria Confessorum (hereafter GC) [tr.], R. van Dam (Liverpool University Press: Liverpool, 1988) 31. I am very grateful to Peter Brown for bringing this tale to my attention. Gregory of Tours, HF 1.47 (95). idem 1.47 (95). idem 1.47 (96) VJB 3:55–65: ‘His parents, seeing that he spent time with such an attentive soul with those ascetics of the Christian faith, called the honourable young man to them and they advised him with these words, “Our sweetest and honourable son, listen to your parents’ healthy advice, that in the holy/sacred law of Christ (issuing) from the blessed apostle, the teacher of all Christians, we learn with spiritual teachings. For he says, ‘bear children, build a home, offer no pretext for the evil one’. For this reason we urge you not so much as to agree with us, but so that you appear faithful to the Lord’s law.”’ And VJB 3:68–74: ‘You are eighteen years of age. How can you refuse to choose a wife? We do not want you to bring up your age as an excuse but we press you to become the husband of a woman, so that by becoming a father by yielding offspring, you will present the child to God with one consent, while the desires of the body will be pacified and conquered so that with one common purpose you will come together with the united and saving teaching.’ Gregory of Tours, HF 1.47 (96). idem. cf. D. Elliott (1993) 55: ‘they (women) were generally the ones who agitated for spiritual marriage’. See also 57–58 and 63 where she argues that in the West, this led to the overturning of a husband’s authority. Augustine became increasing aware of this and in his letter to Ecdicia, for example, ruled that a husband’s over transcended the bond itself: F. Parsons (tr.), Letter to Ecdicia (chapter 5), Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum 57:625, 32. Victor of Vita I. 31 (14). Also Upchurch (2007) who sees the tale of Maxima and Martin’s celibate marriage as ‘the putative source for Cecilia and Valerian’ (35, nt. 28). D. Elliott (1993), esp. 208–96. This trope of womanly persuasion for sanctity is in stark contrast to its Greco-Roman heritage where female wiles were constantly employed to entrap, emasculate and create chaos. VJB 8:246–50. ‘The Vandal remained ignorant of the spiritual secret they shared’ [Victor of Vita, Persecution chapter 32 (15)]. John of Ephesus, Lives, 166. idem 172. Note the enforced marriage. idem 173. idem 173. idem 172–3. idem 176. idem 177. idem 177. VJB 9:251–5. Melania and Pinian were also under considerable parental restraint: ‘Melania and Pinian suffered much pain since they were unable to take up the yoke of Christ freely because of their parents’ compulsion’ [Clark (1984), chapter 6 (30)]. The theme continues in later hagiography such as the tenth-century vita of Mary the Younger. Here, Mary is accused of squandering the family’s wealth by her in-laws (Lifeof Mary the Younger in Talbot (1996), chs. 7–8 (262–3). VJB 10:271–3. Victor of Vita I. 32 (14). See S. Ashbrook-Harvey, Asceticism and Society in Crisis: John of Ephesus and the Lives of the Eastern Saints (University of California Press: Berkley, 1990) 3 where she describes how Syriac

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stories were translated into Greek, such as Alexis. These were ‘told and retold in a variety of versions, in numerous languages, and which sparked related motifs that flourished too’. De Gaiffier briefly situates the third-century Acts of Thomas within an early Christian world of extreme asceticism [de Gaiffier (1947) 174; J. K. Elliott (1993) 441–2]. Early Syriac Christianity was noted for its austerity and pronounced emphasis on asceticism [idem (1993) 440 citing Ephraem, the Odes of Solomon and in some of the Pseudo-Clementine literature]. The five major Acts comprise John, Andrew (plus Secondary Acts), Paul (plus Secondary Acts), Peter (plus Secondary Acts) and Thomas. Schulz-Flügel (1990) 375–8. A. Wellhausen, Die lateinische Übersetzung der Historia Lausiaca des Palladius (Walter de Gruyter: Berlin, 2003). Palladius: LH (60). We learn that Amoun lived chastely with his wife for eighteen years. He had initially desired separation but she begged him not to leave her. Conspicuously, Palladius enforces propriety in his version: Amoun is the one who instigates and wishes separation; it is the woman (anonymous in all four versions) who cannot abide to leave him. In the years that follow their decision, we learn that Amoun occupied himself in the garden every day, and at night, ‘he would enter the house and offer prayers and eat with his wife; and then having said the night prayers would go out’. Eventually, both attain ‘impassivity’ and ‘the prayers of Amoun prevailed’. His wife realizes: ‘it is just that we should live apart … For it is absurd that you should live with me in chastity’ (a)topon ga/r e0sti kru/ptesqai/ sou th\n toiau/thn a)reth\n sunoikou=nti/ moi e0n a)gnei/a|) ‘and yet conceal such virtue as yours’ [60–61]. They spend another twenty-two years apart but Amoun ‘used to see that blessed lady his wife twice a year’ [61]. This would not appear unseemly since Palladius has stressed that not just Amoun but also his wife have attained detachment (impassivity – a)paqei/a) [Dom C. Butler, The Lausiac History of Palladius, vol 2 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1914), l. 4]. Thus it is safe for some form of communication to continue. Obviously a bond remains, though whether it is one of duty or not, is unclear. The text reveals nothing more. Historia Monachorum in Aegypto (ed.), A-J Festugière (Société de Bollandistes: Brussels: 1971), chapter 22, p. 128. Schulz-Flügel (1990) 376. C. Courtois, Victor de Vita et son oeuvre (Imprimerie Officielle: Algeria, 1954) and Moorhead (1992). See, for example, I. 33. Moorhead (1992), xiv. Victor of Vita I. 30 (14): ‘But it is clear that there were also a great many martyrdoms and a huge and numerous throng of confessors. I shall try to tell a few things about them’. Moorhead (1992), xiii. idem xvi–xvii, with nt. 18 for bibliography. See above, nt. 26. Gregory of Tours, GC, chapter 31 (45). idem chapter 31 (p. 45). idem chapter 31 (p. 45). idem HF I. 47 (p. 97). idem HF I. 47 (p. 96). idem GC 31 (p. 45). idem HF I. 47 (p. 97). de Gaiffier (1947) 171–2; Lives of the Eastern Saints, 164–79. Lives of the Eastern Saints, 170: ‘for it is twenty-four years that they have been living together, and he is supposed to have taken her to wife, but both have been preserved in the purity and holiness of virginity to the present time.’ Ashbrook-Harvey (1990), nt. 113. eadem (1990) 92. VAA 12:327–30. H. Delehaye, ‘Un groupe de récits “utiles à l’âme”’ in Mélanges Bidez, Annuaire de l’institut de philologie et d’histoire orientales II (Université libre de Bruxelles: Brussels, 1934) 255–66, esp.

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257, reprinted in Mélanges d’hagiographie grecques et latines (Société des Bollandistes: Brussels, 1966) 384–93. See also J. Wortley, Les récits édifiants de Paul, évêque de Monembasie, et d’autres auteurs (CNRS: Paris, 1987) 17. Wortley also gives a good overview of these tales in ‘Uses and abuses of psychophelitic tales’, Basilissa 1 (2004) 81–97. For a detailed analysis of two such tales see S. Efthymiadis, ‘Living in a city and living in a Scetis: the dream of Eustathios the banker (BHG Nov. Auct. 1317d), Byzantinische Forschungen 21 (1995) 11–29 and for an edition, idem, ‘The edifying story of the charitable gardener (BHG 1322j) and its original (BHG 1445e) in Byzantiaka 13 (1993) 39–46. 86 D. Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert: Scripture and the Quest for Holiness in Early Christian Monasticism (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1993) 90–1. 87 e.g. Gelasios, no. 3. 88 e.g. John the Eunuch, n. 90; Macarius the Great, n. 3. 89 Burton-Christie (1993) 77. For the history and a textual analysis of the Apophthegmata, see also G. Gould, The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1993) 5–9. For its geographical origins and the text’s relation to its community, see 9–17. 90 C. Rapp, ‘Storytelling as spiritual communication in early Greek hagiography: the use of “diegesis” ’, JECS 6 [3] (1998) 431–48, esp.436–7. 91 VGE 1:3–4. 92 VGE 1:17. 93 Rapp (1998) 434–35; 439–40. 94 eadem 434–6. 95 eadem 431–48, esp. 437–8. 96 For an overview of this literature enduring ‘in a special way as classics of Eastern Christianity’, see Burton-Christie (1993) 9–10 and Gould (1993) 4. 97 Festugière (1961). 98 Lowther Clarke (1918). 99 John Moschos, The Spiritual Meadow (tr.), Wortley (1987); J. Wortley, The Spiritually Beneficial Tales of Paul, Bishop of Monembasia (Cistercian Publications: Michigan, 1996) 25–36. 100 F. Nau (tr.), ‘Les récits inédits du moine Anastase’, Oriens Christianus 2 (1902) 58–89. Editions of BHG 1448p and 1448q are in preparation by B. Flusin and A. Binggeli. J. A. Munitiz is also preparing a critical edition of Questions and Answers. See also his ‘Anastasios of Sinai: speaking and writing to the people of God’, in M. Cunningham and P. Allen (eds), Preacher and Audience: Studies in Early Christian and Byzantine Homiletics (Brill: Leiden, 1998) 101 Wortley (1987); idem (1996). 102 See, for example, the vita of Mary the Younger in Talbot (1996) 239–89 or the vita of Thomaïs of Lesbos in Talbot (1996), esp. 303–4; 306. 103 VAA 2:37–41. 104 VAA 3:49–58. 105 B has the following: ‘… they gave themselves to the care of the poor and to doing good works’ [Vivian (2008) 57]. 106 Vivian (2008) 51. 107 L. Neville, Authority in Byzantine Provincial Society, 950–1100 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 2004) 80. 108 eadem (2004) 66. 109 ‘He took as wife Athanasia, a daughter of a certain money-changer named John [Vivian (2008) 50]. 110 He took a wife by the name of Athanasia … [Vivian (2008) 57]. 111 Neville (2004) 90; M. Mullett, ‘Byzantium: a friendly society?’ Past and Present 118 (1988) 18. 112 R. Morris, ‘Spiritual fathers and temporal patrons: logic and contradiction in Byzantine monasticism in the tenth century’, RB 130 (1993) 276. 113 Cataldi Palau (1996) 164. 114 Kazhdan &Angelidi (2006) 92. 115 Roueché (1988) 131. 116 eadem (1988) 131. 117 Roilos (1995).

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118 VGE 7:171–5. 119 For the reasons why these types of narrative existed, see Beck (1977) 59–65, esp. 59–62. 120 H. Delehaye, les legendes hagiographique (Société des Bollandistes: Brussels, 1955) 3–4. 121 Two examples to the contrary are Z. Pavlovskis, ‘The life of St. Pelagia the harlot: hagiographic adaptation of pagan romances’, Classical Folia 30 [2] (1976) 138–49, which forms part of the discussion to follow and T. Hägg, ‘The ‘Parthenope romance’ decapitated’, Symbolae Osloenses 59 (1984) 61–92. 122 Clark (1984). 123 A useful assessment can be found in M. Mullett, ‘The madness of genre’, Homo Byzantinus, DOP 46 (1992) 235–43. 124 T. Hägg, ‘The ancient Greek novel: a single model or a plurality of forms’ in F. Moretti, The Novel, vol 1: History, Geography and Culture (Princeton University Press: Princeton, 2006) 125–55; E. Cueva, The Myths of Fiction: Studies in the Canonical Greek Novels (The University of Michigan Press: Ann Arbor, 2004), esp. 91; C. Thomas, The Acts of Peter, Gospel Literature and the Ancient Novel: Rewriting the Past (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 2003) 3–10. 125 Hägg (2006); Thomas (2003) 5–10; 74–8. 126 Clark (1984) 156 citing B. Perry, The Ancient Romances: A Literary-Historical Account of their Origins (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1967) 19. 127 eadem (1984) 157. 128 eadem (1984) 165–7. 129 A very interesting twelfth-century vita that experiments with a variety of genres is that of Cyril Phileotes by Nicholas Kataskepenos. Two details stand out for current purposes: first, having produced their requisite progeny, Cyril and his wife lead a celibate life and secondly, their relationship is described by Mullett as a ‘love-story’ [M. Mullett, ‘Novelisation in Byantium: narrative after the revival of fiction’ in Mullett (2007), part XI, 20]. She notes the resemblances to the novels but notes that ‘this text in no way conforms slavishly to established norms’ (21). See also eadem (2007), part VII, 16–19. 130 The use of the novel to various degrees in hagiography may be compared to the use of myth in the novel itself. See Cueva (2004), esp. 2; 92; 94–6. 131 VGE 1:16–21. 132 cf. Matthew 5:28 (‘one commits adultery in the heart even with a lustful glance’). 133 Furthermore, Episteme could be said to follow Thekla in some aspects of her behaviour: see Chapter 1. 134 V. Burrus, Chastity as Autonomy: Women in the Stories of the Apocryphal Acts (Edwin Mellen Press: Lewiston, 1987) 7–26; Cooper (1996). For the impact of the Apocrypha on vitae, see S. Fitzgerald Johnson, ‘Late Antique narrative fiction: Apocryphal acta and the Greek novel in the fifth-century life and miracles of Thekla’ in S. Fitzgerald Johnson (ed.), Greek Literature in Late Antiquity: Dynamism, Didacticism, Classicism (Ashgate: Aldershot, 2006) 189–207, esp. 196–204. 135 Cooper (1996) 45–67, esp. 55. For a succinct overview of scholarship on the Apocryphal Acts, see Burrus (1987) 7–26. 136 E. Junod, ‘Vie et conduite des saintes femmes Xanthippe, Polyxène et Rébecca (BHG 1877)’ in D. Papandreou et al. (eds), Oecumenica et Patristica (Festschrift for W. Schneemelcher) (W. Kohlhammer: Stuttgart, 1989) 83–106. 137 Burrus (1987) 17 notes that ‘the omission of the teratological and aretological elements in the romantic novel speaks strongly against such a direct relationship’. See also 24–5. 138 Chaereas and Callirhoe, 1.1 in Reardon (1989) 22. 139 Chaereas and Callirhoe, 1.1 in Reardon (1989) 22–3. Cf also Habrocomes and Anthia in An Ephesian Tale, ‘when they went to sleep, their misery was total, and neither could contain their love any longer … her (Anthia’s) beauty wasting away without apparent cause … both … lay ill; their condition was critical, and they were expected to die at any moment’ [1. 3–5 (130–1)]. 140 Xanthippe: 2–3 (205); and her eyes are ‘inflamed with tears’: 5 (206). 141 J. Elliott (1993): Acts of Paul and Thekla 8: ‘For three days and three nights Thecla does not rise from the window either to eat or to drink; but looking earnestly as if upon some pleasant sight

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she is devoted to a foreigner teaching deceitful and artful discourses … Moreover, my daughter, clinging to the window like a spider, lays hold of what is said by him with a strange eagerness and fearful emotion.’ See also Thekla’s speech in chapter 24: ‘O Father who made the heaven and the earth, the Father of your beloved Son Jesus Christ, I praise you that you have saved me from the fire that I may see Paul again.’ Note too V. Burrus, ‘Mimicking virgins: colonial ambivalence and the ancient romance’, Arethusa 38 (2005) 57. 142 Xanthippe: 7 (206–7). 143 VGE 3:63–4. 144 See, for example, the Acts of Andrew, 23 where Aegeates, the proconsul, is ‘stricken by grief ’ at his wife, Maximilla’s repudation of him. Maximilla disguises her maidservant as herself and forces the girl to sleep with her husband. Upon discovering the deception, ‘Aegeates stayed in seclusion that day and ate nothing at all, baffled by the great change in Maximilla’s attitude toward him. After crying for some time and reproaching his gods, he went to his spouse, fell at her feet weeping, and said, ‘I cling to your feet, I who have been your husband now for twelve years, who always revered you as a goddess and still do because of your chastity and your refined character, even though it might have been tarnished, since even you are human. So if you are keeping some secret from me about another man – something I never would have suspected – I will make allowances and I myself will cover it up, just as you often put up with my follies. Or if there is something else even more serious than this that separates you from me, confess it and I will quickly remedy the situation, for I know it is entirely useless to contradict you.’ 145 Xanthippe: 3 (206). 146 Xanthippe: 3 (206). 147 Xanthippe: 6 (206). 148 Acts of Andrew, 23. 149 Xanthippe: 11 (208). 150 Xanthippe: 11 (208). 151 Xanthippe: 17–21 (210–12). When an obstinate husband does eventually convert in the Acts, it is because his wife has persuaded him. See, for example, Acts of John, 23 where we learn that Drusiana persuaded her husband Andronicus and the Acts of Peter, 1 where Candida wins over her husband Quartus, the prison warden. 152 Rhee (2005) 109. 153 VGE 2:55. 154 VGE 4:90–2. 155 Xanthippe: 23–24 (212). 156 Xanthippe: 26 (213). 157 Xanthippe: 24 (214). 158 Xanthippe: 31 (214). 159 Xanthippe: 35 (215). 160 Xanthippe: 36 (216). 161 Xanthippe: 42 (217). 162 See Chapter 3. 163 P. Boulhol, 'Anagnwrismoj: La scène de reconnaissance dans l’hagiographie antique et médiévale (Publications de l’Université de Provence: Provence, 1996), gives a fine analysis of Eustathios with main reference to the theme of ‘recognition’. 164 idem (1996) 80; 161. See also N. Thierry, ‘The worship of the stag in Anatolia and vision of saint Eustathios’, Monuments et mémoires 72 (1991) 33–100. 165 Boulhol (1996) 163–4. 166 idem (1996) 81–2 where he identifies a clear tripartite structure: the narrative of conversion; the story of the separation and the reunion; the passion. 167 AASS Sept 6 (125–35). The following concentrates on those characteristics relevant to this investigation. 168 Chapter 8. 169 Compare with the VGE, where after her clandestine baptism Gleukippe, ‘sighing deeply’, reports to Kleitophon: ‘a god appeared to me in a dream before my pregnancy and His palms

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were stretched out on wood’ (VGE 5:129–30). Neither she, nor anyone else who becomes a Christian in the VGE, has direct contact with Christ. In contrast, if we briefly return to the Apocryphal Acts, the apostle is literally God’s representative. 170 A slave is dispatched to Beirut and learns the terrible news. The same theme occurs in the Clementine homilies: les homélies Clémentines (ed. & tr.), A. Siouville (Rieder: Paris, 1933, repr. Verder: Lagrasse, 1991), chs. 9–10 (266–7). 171 For more on the role of Fate in the vita of Xenophon, see Boulhol (1996) 83. 172 T. Hägg, Narrative Technique in Ancient Greek Romances: Studies of Chariton, Xenophon and Achilles Tatius (Princeton University Press: Princeton, 1989) 245–87. 173 Boulhol (1996) 80–1. 174 idem (1996) 86–7. 175 idem (1996) 87–8 and nts 221, 223. 176 idem (1996) 89. 177 idem (1996) 87. 178 idem (1996) 90. 179 E. Clark, ‘The life of Melania the Younger and the Hellenistic romance: a genre exploration’ in Clark (1984) 153–70. 180 eadem (1984) 162. 181 eadem (1984), chapter 29 (47). 182 eadem (1984), chapter 44 (57–8). 183 eadem (1984), chapter 43 (56–7). 184 eadem (1984), chapter 42 (56). 185 eadem (1984) 170. 186 eadem (1984) 170. 187 P. Petitmengin et al., Pélagie la Pénitenté: Métamorphoses d’une legende [vol 1: CNRS: Paris, 1981; vol 2:1984). Here, vol 1 (15). 188 Pavlovskis (1976). 189 w\(j ou}n e0qea/sato tau/thn o9 xoro\j tw~n a(gi/wn e0pisko/pwn a)kekalumme/nw| prosw/pw| dieerxome/nhn meta\ tosau/thj a)naidei/aj (chapter 3, ll. 13–15) from H. Usener, Legenden der heiligen Pelagia (A. Marcus: Bonn, 1879). 190 Pavlovskis (1976) 143. 191 Pavlovskis (1976) 144–6. 192 Pavlovskis (1976) 145. 193 Pavlovskis (1976) 147. 194 o9 … peripoihsa/meno/j me ei0j to\n e0poura/nion au)tou= numfw~na (chapter 10, lines 8–10). 195 kai\ i0dou=sa/ me h( o1ntwj dou/lh tou= Qeou= e0gnw/rise/n me a)ll ) ou)k e0fane/rwse/ moi e9auth/n e0gw_ de\ au)th\n ou)damw~j e0gnw/risa (chapter 14, lines 7–9). 196 oi9 ti/mioi pate/rej e0n tw~| sxhmati/zein au)to\n pro\j th\n khdei/an kai\ xri/ein tw|~ mu/rw| e1gnwsan o3ti gunh\ h]n a)lhqw~j th=| fu/sei (chapter 14, lines 23–25). 197 sunh/xqhsan de\ kai\ pa/nta ta\ tw~n parqe/nwn monasth/ria: kai\ meta\ khrw~n kai\ qumiama/ twn sunekomi/sqh to\ a3gion au)th=j lei/yanon xersi\n a(gi/wn pate/rwn kai\ e0te/qh e0n ti/pw| semnw~| kai\ a(gi/w| (chapter 14, lines 28–31). 198 Vita of Pelagia, chapter 14, lines 32–3. 199 A. Hero in Talbot (1996) 96–8. 200 Vita of Theoktiste, chapter 8 in Talbot (1996) 105. 201 AASS Nov 4:224–33. See also H. Delehaye, ‘La Vie de sainte Théoctiste de Lesbos’, Byzantion I (1924) 191–200; A. Kazhdan, ‘Hagiographical notes’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift 78 (1985) 49–50; A. Hero in Talbot (1996) 95–116; Rydén (1986) 546. 202 Vita of Mary of Egypt, chapter 18 in Talbot (1996) 80. 203 Vita of Mary of Egypt, chapter 21 in Talbot (1996) 81. 204 Vita of Theoktiste, chapter 18 in Talbot (1996) 111. 205 According to Hero, this is a ‘structure in the form of a canopy supported by columns and placed over the altar as a symbol of Christ’s tomb’ (104). 206 Vita of Theoktiste, chapter 7 in Talbot (1996) 105.

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207 Achilles Tatios, The Adventures of Leukippe and Kleitophon, 1.1 in Reardon (1989) 106–7. 208 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, Prologue in Reardon (1989) 289. 209 idem in Reardon (1989) 289. 210 Vita of Theoktiste, chapter 18 in Talbot (1996) 111. 211 F. Halkin, ‘Une passion grecque inédite des saints Adrien et Natalie (BHG 29)’, in his Hagiologie byzantine – textes inédits publiés en grec et traduits en français (Société des Bollandistes: Brussels, 1986) 47–55, chapter 1. 212 We are not given their ages, nor told how long they have been married. 213 Adrian and Natalie, chapter 2: le/gei au)th| praei=a. 214 Adrian and Natalie, chapter 2: a)ll ) h]lqon sunta/casqai/ soi. 215 Adrian and Natalie, chapter 3: a)ndriko\n sxh=ma peribalome/nh. 216 cf. VGE 15. 217 o9 xilia/rxhj, described in LSJ as the commander of a thousand men. Also known as the Roman tribunus militum. 218 Adrian and Natalie, chapter 4: pneu=ma a)pathlo\n. 219 Adrian and Natalie, chapter 4: i0dou\ o9 ku/rio/j mou 'Adriano/j. 220 Disguise here is used in a positive way, as means of being with her husband and not as a device to escape from him as in so many other ‘transvestite’ tales. This also applies to Athanasia, see Chapter 2. 221 The prominence given to the importance of relics throughout the text is also noteworthy. 222 ‘In the sense of the incorporation of several elements from various literary genres into the genre of the novel … the incorporation of these genre elements in the text of a specific novel leads neither to the creation of a ‘generic hybrid’ nor necessarily to the formulation of a ‘generic mixture’. Rather, such components have the form of marked discursive modulations associated with more or less distinctive genre discourses (Roilos [1995], 16; 19). For a variant of this, see M. Mullett, ‘Novelisation’ (2007), part XI, 5 for ‘genre-mixing’ in twelfth-century Byzantium, following Bakhtin’s explanation of the novelization of genres. Of especial interest for him ‘are those eras when the novel becomes the dominant genre’. The impact of the novel creates a level of dialogue, ‘permeated with laughter, irony, humor, elements of self-parody and finally … an indeterminacy, a certain semantic openendedness, a living contact with unfinished, still-evolving contemporary reality’ [from M. Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays in M. McKeon (ed.), Theory of the Novel: A Historical Approach (John Hopkins University Press: Baltimore, 2000) 322. Mullett analyses three different texts (‘one high-style history [the Alexiad], one experimental saint’s life-cum-ascetic anthology [the life of Cyril Phileotes] and one highly inventive epistolary narrative [the Diegesis merike]’) for aspects of this novelization and finds some consistency with Bakhtin. The VGE contains similar themes to Mullett’s texts, such as extended characterization (the exhausted Gleukippe, the impassioned Episteme), a great deal of direct speech and of course, a love story of sorts. We can even hypothesize for Bakhtin’s intrusion of the author, with the figure of Eutolmios. However, what we do not find is irony, humour, monologues or description. It is even clearer that the VGE forms a prototype for the literature of the twelfth century and embodies part of Mullett’s characterization of ‘progressive change’ (28). 223 F. Bovon, ‘Byzantine witnesses for the Apocryphal Acts of the apostles’ in F. Bovon et al. (eds), The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (Harvard University Press: Cambridge, Mass., 1999). 224 See also D. Kruegar for transmission of the Acts of John: Kruegar (2004) 36 and E. Junod and J-D. Kaestli (eds), Acta Johannis, 2 vols (Turnhout: Brepols, 1983). 225 Vat gr. 808 (ff. 507–512v). See also F. Dvornik, The Idea of Apostolicity in Byzantium and the Legend of the Apostle Andrew (Harvard University Press: Cambridge, Mass., 1958). 226 Roilos (1995) 41–6. 227 It was also thought that Heliodoros became a Christian bishop (Socrates, Hist. Eccl. V. 22). Photios mentions him in Bibl. cod 73. 228 Cod 94. See also Dyck (1986) 82. Dyck also notes the entry in the Anthologia Palatina IX 203, supposedly by Photios, where Leukippe’s virginity is praised. The epigram is copied in two thirteenth-century manuscripts of Achilles Tatios. Given Photios’ disapproval in the Bibliotheca, Dyck observes that ‘the circulation of this notable encomium under the patriarch’s

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name … may have been intended to protect the novel against ecclesiastical approval.’ (82). MacAlister (1996) 109 gives further examples of the novel’s negative reception in the later Empire. 229 Roilos (1995) 42; R. Henry, Photios. Bibliothèque (Paris, 1959–1977), cod. 87.66a. 17–20. For Aethiopia: 41–4. 230 Beaton (1996), esp. chs 1–5. 231 Dyck (1986) 83–88; 90–118. See 94, where Psellos clearly prefers Heliodoros though admits that Tatios’ ‘diction is sweeter than his predecessor’s’ (gluku/teroj de\ e0kei/nou th\n fqa/sin e0sti/n). 232 idem (1986) 96–97: ‘In certain passages he wishes to raise himself to full height; but he is like a man suffering from gout … he gives the impression of making inexpert use of language to a considerable degree … he is negligent of the lovers’ relations (tai\j e0rwtikai\j o)mili/aij). 233 idem (1986) 98–99. Dyck also proposes that this shifting standpoint was a rhetorical ploy to augment Psellos’ view on Heliodoros (idem 84), also suggesting, ‘Psellos intended a plea for the freedom of the Byzantine rhetorician’, that is, the freedom to pick and choose from pagan writers if he wanted to, citing the letter to John Xiphilinus, Psell. Ep. Io. Xiph., 11. 179ff. See also Roilos (1995) 44–6. 234 Dyck (1986) 84, citing Charact., 48. Agapetos detects Photios and Psellos’ different approaches to the novels, which indicate the changes in literary appreciation between the ninth and eleventh centuries: ‘Photios … describes their plots as the basic material but is not really interested in the narrative as a substantial element of their structure. But Psellos, two centuries later, deals with exactly that’: P. A. Agapetos, ‘From the ‘drama’ of eros to the ‘narrative’ of love: novels in Byzantium (eleventh to fourteenth centuries)’ in C. Angelidi (ed.), Byzantium Matures: Choices, Sensitivities and Modes of Expression (Eleventh to Fifteenth Centuries) [The National Hellenic Research Foundation: Athens, 2004], 56. 235 For an interesting perspective, see Agapetos (2004), esp. 53–60; 63; 68–71. 236 See also S. Vryonis Jr, ‘The will of a provincial magnate, Eustathius Boilas (1059)’, DOP 11 (1957) 263–77. Also R. Browning, ‘Literacy in the Byzantine world’ in History, Language and Literacy (Variorum Reprints: Northampton, 1989), part VII, 25–54, esp. 44. 237 Marc. gr. XI, 22 f. 64r noted by E. Jeffreys, ‘The Comnenian background to the “Romans d’Antiquité”’, Byzantion 50 (1980) 479. 238 eadem, 455–86, esp. 479; Beaton (1996) 60–1. 239 C. Mango, Byzantium: the Empire of New Rome (Weidenfe1d and Nicolson: London, 1980) 253. 240 N. Wilson, Scholars of Byzantium (Duckworth: London, 1983) 216–17; Dyck (1986) 81. Roilos (1995) 48 observes, ‘The aesthetic appreciation of the ancient Greek novels by the Byzantine literati indicates that throughout Byzantium the genre of the ancient Greek novel was received and judged in rhetorical terms’. Roilos also gives the example of the twelfth-century philosopher, Philippos who re-interpreted Heliodoros (130–3). 241 Wilson (1983) 216–17. 242 Mullett (2007), esp. 2–4 for a pithy summary. 243 H. Hunger, Die hochsprachliche profane Literatur der byzantiner II (Beck: Munich, 1978) 121–3 traces Achilles Tatios’ ongoing popularity up to Antonios’ eleventh-century anthology, stating that to the late Antique/Byzantine reader, the novels offer ‘eine Willkommene Unterhaltung’. He links their tales of high adventure to the theatre, which at the time was limited to mime and pantomime, noting that later novelists such as Chariton of Aphrodisias would call their work dra/ma or dramatiko/n. 244 Vita of Theoktiste in Talbot (1996), chapter 7 (105); chapter 10 (106). This is in keeping with the literary level of Theoktiste, which is higher than that of the VGE. 245 L. G. Westerink, Nicétas Magistros. Lettres d’un exile (CNRS: Paris, 1973) 33; 34. 246 MacAlister (1996) 110: e.g. PG 114.1024 = Leukippe and Kleitophon 3.5.4; PG 114. 1021 = Leukippe and Kleitophon 3.3.1. 247 H. Hunger citing Krumbacher in Die hochsprachliche profane Literatur der byzantiner (Beck: Munich, 1978) 121. 248 See S. Efthymiadis: The Byzantine hagiographer and his audience in the ninth and tenth centuries’ in Høgel (1996) 59–80, esp. 64–69; 72–74. Quote cited on 65.

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249 Kazhdan (1999) 386. 250 cf. Fitzgerald Johnson (2006) 193 for late-antique hagiography: ‘That these late antique hagiographers chose as their mode of interpretation the genre of the ancient novel should not surprise us. The novel was not only still very popular, but its ‘popular’ element was the very fact that it could be applied to a variety of stories in a variety of religious and secular contexts, and has been read as exegesis in its own right.’ Mullett makes a similar point for the twelfth century in the conclusion to her article on ‘Constructing identities in twelfth-century Byzantium’ in Angelidi (2004) 144. 251 Roilos (1995) 21. 252 idem 22.

Pa r t II

The Texts

The Vita of Julian and Basilissa Text Bi/oj kai\ martu/rion tou= a(gi/ou 'Ioulianou=: tau=ta/ e0stin ta\ pa/qh tw~n martu/rwn 'Ioulianou=, Basili/sshj kai\ tw~n loipw~n 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40

1. oi9 o3sioi ma/rturej, to\ ai0w/nion tou=to h(mi=n katalimpa/nontej

dw~ron th=j e9autw~n a)naxwrh/sewj, tou=to kataleloi/pasin o3ti ta\j pra/ceij tw~n oi0kei/wn paqhma/twn a)sfale\j u(po/deigma toi=j a)qlou=sin pare/pemyan kai\ e0ge/nonto toi=j planwme/noij o9do/j, toi=j tufloi=j o1mma, toi=j a)sqene/sin pi/stij: pa~si pantelw~j tw~n i0di/wn a)retw~n shmei=a paratiqe/ntej, kai\ th=| ai1glh| tou= a(gi/ou perie/pousi pneu/matoj. e0k tou/tou tou= qhsaurou= th=j dikaiosu/nhj ou)dei\j plana~sqai du/natai ei0 mh\ o9 a1pistoj diame/nwn: u(mei=j de\ oi9 tau=ta a)kou/ontej kai\ a)naginw/skontej, pisteu/sate meq ) h(mw~n pa/nta dunata\ ei]nai tw~| pisteu/onti.1 dia\ tou=to a1neu tino\j distagmou= to\ th=j klhronomi/aj a)gaqo\n o3per h(mi=n ei0j mi/mhsin kataleloi/pasin oi9 ma/rturej metadiw/cwmen. parakalw~ ou]n u(ma~j, tou\j tau=ta me/llontaj a)naginw/skein, i3na proso/xw| kardi/a| a)kou/shte po/sh do/ca e0sti\n to\n ko/smon katalipei=n, i3na dia\ th=j stenh=j tw~n a(gi/wn o9dou= dunhqw~men a)ko/louqoi th=j e0kei/nwn ei]nai politei/aj, i3na e0n tw~| a)naginw/skein ta\j au)tw~n pra/ceij a)lhqe\j ei]nai o9mologh/shte o3per e0n tw~| eu)aggeli/w| h( a)lh/qeia marturei=: maka/rioi o3soi ei]don kai\ e0pi/steusan, makariw/teroi de\ oi9 mh\ e9wrako/tej kai\ pisteu/santej.2 h(mei=j e0peidh\ ei1domen toi=j h(mete/roij o)fqalmoi=j ta\j tw~n martu/rwn pra/ceij gra/fomen: o3qen h(mi=n mikro\n me/roj makario/thtoj pisteu/omen e1sesqai: u(ma~j de\ a)nagkaiote/ra perime/nei do/ca tou\j a)kou/ontaj kai\ pisteu/ontaj o3ti du/natai o9 Qeo\j plhrou=sqai e0n toi=j a(gi/oij au)tou=. tou= toi/nun o9siwta/tou ma/rturoj 'Ioulianou= to\ pa/qoj e0pidei/cw kai\ pw~j au)to\n e0k neo/thtoj tw~| Qew~| ti/mion pare/sxen ou) siwph/sw. pisteu/ete toi=j h(mete//roij lo/goij, i3na pisteu/ontej ma/qhte oi[o/j e0stin o9 misqo\j pistoi=j. 2. ou[toj o9 maka/rioj ge/nouj h]n e0pifanou=j e0n tw~| ai0w~ni tou/tw|. o4n oi9 gonei=j monogene\j e0ne/xuron tw~n i0di/wn spla/gxnwn kai\ th=j oi0kei/aj a)ne/qreyan au)tw~n gonh=j: o4n pa/sh| didaskali/a| kai\ sofi/a| tw~n sofw~n e0muh/santo: ou)demia~j ga\r dialektikh=j h2 r(htorikh=j tou=ton e0la/nqanen eu)fui5a: kai\ th\n tou= ko/smou sofi/an w(j kalo\j a)qlhth\j Xristou= a0pokeime/nhn e0kra/tei kai\ tw~| ko/smw| ou3twj e0ke/xrhto w(j mh\ xrw/menoj.3 a)negnw/kei ga\r to\n pa/ntwn dida/skalon tw~n xristianw~n, o3ti to\ sxh=ma tou= ko/smou tou/tou pareleu/setai: kai\ i3na mh\ meta\ tou= ko/smou a)kosmwj pare/lqh|,4 ou3twj e(auto\n ti/mion tw~| Qew~| parei=xen w3ste th\n tou= ko/smou sofi/an mwri/an logi/zesqai.5 hu1xeto ga\r a)ei\ w(j pario/ntoj tou= ko/smou a1neu mnh/mhj ei]nai meta\ Xristou=, e0rasth\j th=j pi/stewj

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th=j a(gi/aj e0kklhsi/aj geno/menoj: kaq' h(me/ran tai=j qu/raij tw~n a(gi/wn proskollw/menoj ta\j fulaka\j ou)demia~| pareli/mpanen h(me/ra|: kai\ w3sper kalo\j e0rga/thj qhsauro\n a)neti/qeto e0n th=| kardi/a|, pa/ntwn tw~n a(gi/wn kai\ e0klektw~n tou= qeou= ta\j pra/ceij mimou/menoj kai\ speu/dwn ei0j ta\j e9ka/stou a)reta\j e0ph/nqei xa/riti Xristou=: e0ne/keito toi=j spla/gxnoij au)tou= o9 te/leioj po/qoj o3stij e0kba/llei to\n fo/bon.6 ou3twj e9auto\n e0k pa/ntwn tw~n e0lattwma/twn kai\ tw~n e0piqumiw~n proeti/qei th=j sarko\j kai\ tou= ko/smou e0xw/rizen, w(j o)rqw~j o9mologw~n pro\j to\n despo/thn le/gein: “ e0f ) o3son e0n tou/tw| tw~| ko/smw| u(pa/rxw, ceniteu/w e0k tou= Qeou=.” kai\ o3stij tou\j a)nqrw/pouj lanqa/nein e0bou/leto o3ti Xristw~| a)re/skein e1speuden, e1krupte to\n skopo\n kai\ th\n i9era\n e0piqumi/an. 3. tou=ton oi9 gonei=j o9rw~ntej thlikau/th| prosexei/a| yuxh=j toi=j th=j xristianikh=j pi/stewj a)skhtai=j parame/nonta, proskalesa/menoi pro\j e(autou\j to\n seba/smion neani/an tou/toij toi=j lo/goij proe/trepon: “gluku/taton h(mw~n kai\ seba/smion te/knon, a1koue tw~n sw~n gone/wn th\n u(giai/nousan parai/nesin, o3tiper e0n tw~| septw~| no/mw| tou= Xristou= para\ tou= makari/ou a)posto/lou tou= pa/ntwn xristianw~n didaska/lou didaxai=j pneumatikai=j e0kdidasko/meqa. le/gei ga\r teknogonei=n, oi0kodespotei=n, mhdemi/an pare/xein a)formh\n tw~| ponhrw~|.7 dio/ se protre/pomen ou) tosou=ton ei0j to\ h(mi=n sunaine/sai o3son i3na tw~| no/mw| tw~| despotikw~| pisto\j ei]nai fanh=|j.” pro\j tau=ta o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j a)pekri/nato toi=j goneu=sin: “ou)de\ proaire/sewj ou)de\ h)liki/aj kairo/j e0stin i3na poih/sw a3 moi protre/pesqe”. pro\j tau=ta oi9 gonei=j a)pekri/nanto: “e0niautw~n ei] dekakaioktw/: kai\ pw~j paraith/sasqai du/nh| klhrw/sasqai su/ zugon; ou) boulo/meqa/ se to\n kairo\n profasi/zesqai, a)lla\ speu/domen mia~j gunaiko\j ei]nai/ se a1ndra, i3na gonh\n sugkexwrhme/nhn path\r geno/menoj e0k mia~j sunaine/sewj parasth/sh|j Qew~| to\ paidi/on, a)rgousw~n kai\ nikwme/nwn tw~n tou= sw/matoj e0piqumiw~n, w(j kai\ mia~| proaire/sei meta\ th=j sunhmme/nhj swthriw/douj didaxh=j sune/lqhte.” tau=ta e1pratton oi9 gonei=j o3pwj to\ e9autw~n spe/rma a)nasth/swsin,8 o3per te/loj e1xein e0pi/steuon ei0 mh\ th=| au)tou= gennh/sei a)nakainisqh=|. ta\j tw~n gone/wn toi/nun e0paxqei/aj mh\ u(pome/nwn kai\ tw~n fi/lwn tou= patro\j kai\ suggenw~n sumbouli/aj a)pofra/ttwn o9 maka/rioj, toi=j sumbouleu/ousin tau/thn e1dwke th\n a)po/krisin: “ou)de\ tou= e0pigh/masqai/ moi e1stin eu)xe/reia, ou)de\ tou= a)rnh/sasqai e0cousi/a ei0j tou=to o4 protre/pete/ me: di ) o3per e9pta\ h(merw~n diori/an ai0tw~: kai\ kaqw\j o9 Qeo\j a)ciw/sei me e0mpneu=sai, a)po/krisin a)p' e0mou= de/cesqe.” tau=ta a)kou/ontej oi9 gonei=j pollai=j e0nqumh/sesin kateth/konto, e3wj ou[ h( w(risme/nh h(me/ra parege/neto e0n h[| a)kou/swsin th\n tou= ui9ou= a)po/krisin. 4. o9 de\ septo\j pai=j to\ dia/sthma tw~n h(merw~n e0canu/saj h(me/ran te kai\ nu/kta dianuktereu/wn kai\ proseuxo/menoj h1|tei e0k tou= Qeou= i3na mh\ th\n e0phggelme/nhn parqeni/an oi9a|dh/pote mia/nh| profa/sei. th=| e(bdo/mh| ou]n h(me/ra|, paragenome/nhj th=j nukto\j kai\ tou= sw/matoj au)tou= e0ktethko/toj a)po\ th=j nhstei/aj, e0pigenome/nou u3pnou pare/sth

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o9 despo/thj: kai\ paramuqei=tai to\n pisto\n dou=lon: kai\ to\n kurwqe/nta logismo\n th=| dianoi/a| staqeroi=: kai\ tau/taj parakeleu/ei poiei=n ta\j paraggeli/aj kai\ toiau/thn parai/nesin prosfqe/ggetai le/gwn: “a)na/sta mh\ fobhqei\j mhde\ th\n sumboulh\n tw~n r(hma/twn h2 th\n proai/resin tw~n gone/wn dedoikw/j. lh/yei ga\r su/zugon, ou)x h3tij xrai/nousa/ se a)p' e0mou= xwri/sei, a)lla\ dia\ sou= parqe/non ou]san, kai\ se\ kai\ au)th\n e0n toi=j ou)ranoi=j parqe/nouj a)nade/comai: pollh\ ga/r moi di ) u(mw~n swfrosu/nh a)forisqh/setai: polloi\ neani/skoi kai\ parqe/noi dia\ th=j u(mete/raj didaskali/aj zwh=j ou)ranopoli=tai deixqh/sontai. pare/somai/ soi oi0kw~n e0n soi\ i3na pa/saj ta\j tou= sw/matoj e0piqumi/aj kai\ to\n po/lemon th=j sarko\j katastre/yw. kai\ au)th\n th/n soi sunhmme/nhn metastre/yw ei0j to\n e0mo\n po/qon kai\ sh\n a)ko/louqon poih/sw. kai\ e0kei= me\n e0n tw~| koitw~ni tw~| u(mi=n prohtoimasme/nw| o1yesqe/ me meta\ a)ggelikou= xorou= kai\ a)nariqmh/twn parqe/nwn e9kate/raj fu/sewj, ou4j h( me\n fu/sij e0poi/hsen a)nomoi/ouj, h( de\ pi/stij h( ei0j e0me\ o9moi/ouj a)perga/zetai: w[n su\ mimhth\j ei]nai gnwsqh/sh|.” kai\ tau=ta ei0pw\n o9 ku/rioj h3yato au)tou= le/gwn: “a)ndrei/wj pra~tte kai\ i0sxuropoihqh/setai/ sou h( kardi/a”.9 tau/taij tai=j a)retai=j staqerwqei\j o9 qauma/sioj pai=j, a)nasta\j hu)xari/stei tw~| Qew~| le/gwn: “eu)xaristw~ soi, de/spota, o4j e0reunhth\j ei] kardi/aj kai\ frenw~n,10 o3stij a)p' e0mou= ta\ sxh/mata kai\ ta\j te/ryeij tou= ko/smou po/rrw pepoi/hkaj, i3na speu/sw pisteu/ein th|= kardi/a, bohqou/shj th=j swfrosu/nhj kai\ brabeuou/shj e0n e0moi\ pro\j tou=to o3per ou)de\ o)fqalmo\j ei]den ou)de\ a)koh\ h1kousen, a4 h(toi/masaj11 tou/toij oi3tinej e0c o3lhj kardi/aj a)kolouqou=sin soi, o3stij me h)ci/wsaj ei]nai o9do/n: ma~llon de\ su\ e0n e0moi\ e1so a)gaqh\ o9do\j kai\ tou/toij oi3tinej a)gapw~sin th\n swfrosu/nhn kai\ th\n th=j yuxh=j a)keraio/thta kai\ tou= sw/matoj to\ kaqaro\n periptu/ssontai. su\ e1gnwj, ku/rie, o3ti e0k th=j h(me/raj h[j e0gennh/qhn e3wj th=j w3raj o3te me kale/sai h0ci/wsaj, ou)de\n proeqe/mhn tou= sou= po/qou. ei0 mh\ tou=to mo/non e0piqumw~ i3na to\ e0kporeuo/menon e0k tou= sto/mato/j mou su\ bebaiw/sh|j, e0peidh\ to/te e0mauto\n 5. teleiwqe/ntoj tou= lo/gou, e0ce/rxetai e0k tou= koitw~noj i9laro/j, th=| i9lari/a| tou= oi0kei/ou xarakth=roj th\n tw~n gone/wn a)fairou/menoj stugno/thta. kai\ le/gei pro\j au)tou/j: “ i0dou\ w(j e0pipoqei=te, e0k qei/aj paraggeli/aj e1gnwn to\n ga/mon moi mh\ pro/fasin a(marth/matoj ei]nai a)lla\ xara~j: h1dh poih/sw o3per protre/pete.” xai/rousin oi9 gonei=j e0lpi/zontej a)pogonh\n e0some/nhn. kai\ ti/ polla\ le/gw; zhtei=tai h3tij o9moi/a au)tw~| ei]nai dunhqh=| e0n eu)pori/aij kai\ tro/poij kai\ eu)genei/a| ge/nouj: pronoou/shj th=j tou= Qeou= filanqrwpi/aj o4j tou=to to\ dw~ron e0k tau/thj e1tatte th=j suzugi/aj, eu(re/qh parqe/noj toiau/th h3tij kai\ eu)pori/aij h]n polukth/mwn, e1ndocoj kai\ i1sh tw~| ge/nei, o)no/mati Basi/lissa: h3tij kai\ au)th\ monogenh\j toi=j goneu=sin quga/thr u(ph=rxen: kai\ w(j e1qoj toi=j a)nqrw/poij o9mili/aj peri\ ga/mou genome/nhj, a)nede/canto oi9 gonei=j th=j ko/rhj e0rwtw~ntej to\n lo/gon. kai\ th=| tw~n eu)genw~n ta/cei o9 tw~n ga/mwn kairo\j w(ri/zeto: kai\ pa/nta bebaiou=ntai ta\ tai=j de/ltoij ei0wqo/ta tw~n zeugnume/nwn perie/xesqai. o9 de\ maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j ou3twj

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th\n h(me/ran prosedo/ka tw~n ga/mwn w(j a)gaqo\j a)qlhth\j h(ttwme/nhj th=j e0piqumi/aj toi=j ou)rani/oij speu/dwn a)re/sai. paragenome/nhj de\ th=j o9risqei/shj h(me/raj, ai9 gei/tonej po/leij sune/rxontai, poiki/laj tou= plh/qouj te/ryeij meq' e9autw~n e0pago/menai di ) w[n h( dia/noia th=j trufera~j h(liki/aj ei0j e1rwtoj e0piqumi/an diegerqh/setai. h1xoun ai9 platei=ai tw~| tw~n o)rga/nwn pugmw~| kai\ th=| diafora~| tw~n mousikw~n. plh=qoj parqe/nwn, xruse/oij kosmi/oij poiki/llousai tou\j ploka/mouj, toi=j a1|smasi th=j h(duta/thj fwnh=j kai\ stereo\n e1luon a1nqrwpon th=| te/ryei th=j a)swti/aj. metacu\ thlikou/twn barbarikw~n e0qnw~n e1kamnen o9 tou= Xristou= a)qlhth\j o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano/j, mhdeni\ ta\ krupta\ th=j kardi/aj fanerw~n ei0 mh\ mo/non tw~| despo/th|, a)f ) ou[ th\n e0lpi/da th=j ni/khj prosedo/ka. 6. kai\ prosaxqei=san e0k tou= qala/mou th\n nu/mfhn de/xetai i9larw~j, meq' h[j kai\ a)ga/lletai e0n tw~| despo/th|: kai\ tw~| me\n plh/qei e9auto\n i9laro\n u(pedei/knuen, e0n de\ th=| oi0kei/a| kardi/a| tw~| despo/th| e1yallen le/gwn: “de/spota, pu/rwson tou\j nefrou/j mou kai\ th\n kardi/an mou,12 i3na mh\ o9 a)rxai=oj dra/kwn diegei/rh| kat' e0mou= po/lemon.” e0ggizou/shj de\ th=j w3raj e0n h[| pro\j th\n kli/nhn e1dei badi/zein meta\ th=j paradoqei/shj au)tw~| parqe/nou, o9 seba/smioj neani/skoj, a)sfalisqei\j para\ tou= despo/tou, to\n koitw~na a)meri/mnwj ei0se/rxetai: e0n w{|, pro/teron eu)xh=j genome/nhj u(p' au)tou=, o)smh\ kri/nwn te kai\ r(o/dwn e0fa/nh, w3ste dokei=n th\n parqe/non e0n toiou/tw| ei]nai to/pw| e0n w[| ei0w/qasin ta\ tou= e1aroj a1nqh poiki/laij o)smai=j a)nate/llein. di/dotai h(suxi/a th=j nukto/j: kai/ fhsin h( parqe/noj pro\j to\n au)th=| sunhmme/non neani/an: “qaumasto\n pra~gma ai0sqa/nomai, o3per ei0 kai\ su\ ai0sqa/nh|, mh/ moi a)rnh/sh|.” h[|tini o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j a)pokri/netai: “a4 ai0sqa/nh| pistw~j e0kdih/ghsai.” h( parqe/noj ei]pen: “kairou= o1ntoj tou= xeimw~noj kai\ th=j gh=j sunexou/shj pa/nta ta\ a1nqh, ou3twj e0n tw~| koitw~ni mou tou/tw| o)smh\ pa/ntwn u(pa/rxei, w3ste tau/taij tai=j h(duta/taij o)smai=j h(dunqei=sa fri/ttw, w3ste mh\ pantelw~j e0piqumei=n th\n th=j strwmnh=j suna/feian.” h[|tini o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j e1fh: “h( eu)wdesta/th o)smh\ h3tij soi e0fa/nh, h3tij ou)de\ kairo\n e1xei ou)de\ xro/nouj, o3stij e9ka/stw| tw~n kairw~n di/dwsi xa/rin, au)to/j e0stin o9 Xristo\j o9 despo/thj, o3stij e0sti\n e0rasth\j swfrosu/nhj, o3stij toi=j th\n a)keraio/thta tou= sw/matoj fula/ttousi zwh\n a)podi/dwsin ai0w/nion. ei0 ta\j tou/tou paraggeli/aj met' e0mou= boulhqei/hj a)nade/casqai, i3na tou=ton o3lh| prosexei/a| a)gapw~men, i3na th\n parqeni/an ei0j a)moibh\n sugkexwrhme/nhn fula/cwmen, kai\ genoi/meqa e0n tou/tw| tw~| ai0w~ni skeu/h au)tou= e0klekta\ e0n oi[j oi0kh/sei e0n tw~| me/llonti, kai\ met' au)tou= basileu/somen kai\ ou) mh\ xwrisqw~men au)tou=.” pro\j tau=ta h( makari/a Basi/lissa a)pokri/netai: “kai\ poi/a e0sti\n h( a)nagkai/a swthri/a ei0 mh\ e0n tw~| fula/ttein parqeni/an kai\ zwh=j e0pitugxa/nein ai0wni/ou; o3per pisteu/w w9j le/geij kai\ eu1xomai/ soi o9mognw/mwn ei]nai, i3na kth/swmai ai0w/nion misqo\n to\n despo/thn mou Xristo/n.” tau=ta au)th=j legou/shj, o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano/j, pesw\n ei0j prosku/nhsin e0pi\ tou= e0da/fouj, e1keito a)nabow~n kai\ le/gwn: “bebai/wson tou=to, de/spota, o4 ei0rga/sw e0n h(mi=n”.13 kai\ tou=to o9rw~sa h( parqe/nojw(sau/twj e0poi/hsen.

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7. kai\ i0dou\ e0cai/fnhj oi9 qeme/lioi tou= koitw~noj e0kinh/qhsan kai\ fw~j

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a)nekdih/ghton e0ce/lamymen, w3ste to\ e0n tw~| oi1kw| fw~j tw~| mege/qei e0kei/nou tou= fwto\j kalufqh=nai. kaqw\j ge/graptai, e0plhrw/qh o3per ei1rhtai: “qe/ama e0genh/qhmen kai\ a0gge/loij kai\ a0nqrw/poij”.14 gi/netai toi/nun e0n tw~| koitw~ni qe/ama me/giston pneumatiko/n: e0c e9no\j me/rouj e0ka/qhto o9 ai0w/nioj basileu\j Xristo\j meta\ a0nariqmh/tou plh/qouj leuxeimonou/ntwn: kai\ e0k tou= e9te/rou me/rouj a0nari/qmhta plh/qh parqe/nwn,w{n ta\ prwtei=a h9 e1ndocoj Mari/a h9 parqe/noj e0kra/tei. kai\ e0k tou= me/rouj tou= basile/wj e0kra/zeto: “e0ni/khsaj, 0Iouliane/, e0ni/khsaj.” kai\ e0k tou= me/roujth=j basili/sshj e0kra/zeto: “makari/a ei], Basi/lissa, h3tij ou3twj sunh/|nesaj tai=j swthriw/desin paraine/sesin kai\ ta\j a0pa/taj tou= ko/smou a0poptu/ousa pro\j th\n ai0w/nion do/can seauth\n prohtoi/masaj.” w9sau/twj e0k tou= me/rouj tou= basile/wj e0boa~to: “oi9 stratiw~tai/ mou, oi3tinej e0ni/khsan th\n a0rxai/an tou= e9rpetou= h9donh/n, e0k tou= e0da/fouj e0paire/sqwsan kai\ prosexei= kardi/a| to\ bibli/on th=j ai0wni/ou zwh=j to\ prokei/menon th=| prohtoimasme/nh| au0toi=j strwmnh=| a0nagnw/twsan.” tau/thj th=j fwnh=j siwpwme/nhj, oi9 e0c e9kate/rou me/rouj kaqh/menoi a0pekri/nanto: “a)mh/n.” kai\ parageno/menoi du/o tine\j leuka\ e0ndedume/noi, peri\ ta\ sth/qh e1xontej xrusa~j zw/naj kai\ a0na\ e3na ste/fanon e0n tai=j xersi/n, h1geiran au0tou\j le/gontej: “e0gei/resqe, e0peidh\ e0nikh/sate kai\ e0n tw~| h9mete/rw| a0riqmw~| katelogi/sqhte. qea/sasqe kai\ o3per o9ra~te e0n th=| strwmnh=| th=| u(mi=n proetoimasqei/sh| a)na/gnwte kai\ gnw~te o3ti pisto/j e0stin o9 despo/thj e0n toi=j lo/goij au0tou=”.15 kai\ kratou=ntej au0tw~n ta\j xei=raj e1zeucan au0tou/j. e0ne/keito de\ bibli/on lampro/teron e9pta/kij a0rgu/rou xrusoi=j gra/mmasin gegramme/non: kai\ pe/ric th=j strwmnh=j te/ssarej ge/rontej ei]xon e0n tai=j xersi\n fia/laj xrusa~j peplhrwme/naj a0rwma/twn, diafo/rwn eu0wdiw~n o0sma\j a0podidou/saj. kai\ a0pokri/netai ei[j e0c au0tw~n le/gwn: “ i0dou\ e0n tau/taij tai=j te/ssarsin fia/laij sune/xetai h9 teleio/thj u9mw~n: e0k tou/twn ga\r kaq 0 h(me/ran e0k prosw/pou tou= Qeou= eu0wdi/aj o0smh\ a0ne/rxetai. di 0 o3per maka/rioi/ e0ste oi3tinej tou= ai0w~noj tou/tou ta\j plei/staj e0nikh/sate te/ryeij, speu/dontej ei0j e0kei/naj a4j o0fqalmo\j ou0k ei]den kai\ ou]j ou0k h1kousen kai\ e0pi\ kardi/an a0nqrw/pou ou0k a0ne/bh.16 a1pelqe nu=n, 'Iouliane/: a0na/gnwqi o3per h9 mi/a tria\j keleu/ei.” kai\ proselqw\n pistw~j h1rcato a0naginw/skein: “ o9 'Iouliano/j, o3stij to\n peri\ e0me\ po/qon e1xwn tou= ko/smou katefro/nhsen, katatagh/setai tw~| a0riqmw~| tw~n mh\ xranqe/ntwn meta\ gunaiko/j.17 Basi/lissa de/, h3tij a0kerai/a ou]sa th=| kardi/a| suneta/cato th=| a9gnei/a|, diagnwsqh/setai e0n th=| ta/cei tw~n parqe/nwn, w[n h9 a0lhqinh\ mh/thr parqe/noj tou= despo/tou Mari/a ta\ prwtei=a kratei=.” tau=ta le/gwn e1ptuce to\ bibli/on. kai\ pa/lin ei0rh/kasin ai9 xilia/dej xilia/dwn to\ a0mh\n kai\ ai9 muria/dej muria/dwn18 to\ a0mh\n mia~| fwnh=| xai/rontej. kai\ pa/lin ei]pen pro\j au0tou/j: “ e0n tou/tw| tw~| bibli/w|, w9j o9ra~te, ei0si\n gegramme/noi oi9 sw/fronej, oi9 nhfa/lioi, oi9 a0lhqei=j, oi9 oi0kti/rmonej, oi9 tapeinoi/, oi9 praei=j, oi9 mh\ plasth\n e1xontej a0ga/phn, oi9 ta\ luphra\ u9pome/nontej, oi9 suntrimmou\j u9pome/nontej kai\ oi3tinej th=j peri\ to\n despo/thn Xristo\n a0ga/phj ou0de\n proeti/mhsan, ou)

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pate/ra, ou) mhte/ra, ou) gunai=ka, ou) te/kna, ou)k a0grou/j,19 ou) plou=ton h2 ta\ loipa\ ta\ e0n tou/tw| tw~| ai0w~ni e0mpodi/zonta th=| yuxh=|, oi3tinej ou1te au0ta\j ta\j i0di/aj yuxa\j u9pere/qento paradou=nai ei0j qa/naton dia\ to\ o1noma au0tou=: w[n e0n tw~| a0riqmw~| kai\ u9mei=j ei]nai kathciw/qhte.” 8. kai\ eu0qu\j h9 o3rasij h4n e9w/rwn e0k tw~n o0fqalmw~n au0tw~n a)fh|re/qh. to/te xai/rontej e0pi\ tw~| despo/th| oi9 a3gioi kai\ maka/rioi parqe/noi to\ loipo\n dia/sthma th=j nukto\j a0grupnou=ntej e0n u3mnoij kai\ w)|dai=j diete/lesan. kai\ ti/ plei/w; die/fausen h9 h9me/ra e0n h[| to\ plh=qoj to\ sunelqo\n h0gallia~to: kai\ prosedo/kwn i0dei=n to\ sunoike/sion o3per e0no/mizon a0nqrw/pouj e0zeuke/nai, a0gnoou=ntej kai\ mh\ ai0sqano/menoi qei=on gegenh=sqai to\ pa~n sunoike/sion. ou[toi de\ oi9 maka/rioi h1rcanto, pneu/mati kai\ ou0 sarki\ karpoforou=ntej, to\ musth/rion th=j qei/aj xa/ritoj to\ e0n au0toi=j i9drume/non kru/ptein, o3pwj e0k tou= despo/tou Xristou= kai\ tw~n a0gge/lwn gnwsqh/setai to\ par 0 au0tw~n pratto/menon. 9. kai\ e0peidh\ o9 Qeo\j ou0x u9sterei= tou\j e0n a0gaqh=| poreuome/nouj a0keraio/thti, ou3twj ta\ th=j qei/aj xa/ritoj dw~ra probai/nei w9j pro\ o0li/gou xro/nou tou\j e9kate/rwn gonei=j e0k tou/tou metoikh=sai tou= bi/ou, katalimpa/nontaj klhrono/mouj e0pithdei/ouj, di 0w[n th=j tw~n ou0ranw~n mh\ sterhqw~sin basilei/aj: h]san de\ kai\ au0toi\ pisto/tatoi xristianoi/. to/te oi9 maka/rioi to\n doqe/nta au0toi=j xro/non i9larw~j u9pede/canto, th=j e9autw~n a0dei/aj to\ brabei=on a0polhyo/mnoi, di' ou[ dunhqw~sin dia\ th=j fqarth=j ou0si/aj ei0j ta\ e0pe/keina tw~n ou0ranw~n oi0kh=sai. e0peidh\ de\ polu\j ko/poj e0sti\n kata\ ta/cin a0kolouqh=sai th=| tou/twn sebasmi/a| zwh=|, e0k tw~n thlikou/twn katorqwma/twn o0li/ga diece/lqwmen. 10. gi/netai toi=j makari/oij o9mo/noia ou0 mo/non u9pe\r th=j e9autw~n swthri/aj e0n meri/mnaij, a)lla\ kai\ pollw~n yuxw~n fronti/da a)nade/xontai. diairou=ntai ta\ oi0khth/ria: kai\ du/o lu/xnoi e0pa/nw luxni/aj u9yhlw~j e0pidu/ontai, oi[j o9 ai0w/nioj basileu\j to\ th=j xa/ritoj e1laion e0pixorhgw~n kai\ di 0 au0tw~n toi=j a0gnw/stoij e0pixe/wn tw~| purfo/rw| lo/gw| tou\j tribo/louj kai\ ta\j a0ka/nqaj tw~n a9martwlw~n kate/kaien: kai\ pantaxo/qen h9 dunath\ tou= despo/tou fwnh\ dia\ tou= sto/matoj tw~n a9gi/wn 'Ioulianou= kai\ Basili/sshj proe/trexen le/gousa: “deu=te pro/j me, pa/ntej oi9 kopiw~ntej kai\ pefortisme/noi: ka0gw\ a0napau/sw u9ma~j.20 kaqistw~si toi/nun monasth/ria e0n oi[j to\ qe/roj tw~n yuxw~n e0k th=j sunoxh=j tw~n a0kanqw~n [e0k] tou= ai0w~noj tou/tou e0ch/rpazon. kai\ ou0dei\j a0kou/wn e0k tou= sto/matoj tou= a9gi/ou 0Ioulianou= to\n lo/gon katei/xeto/ tini pra/gmati e0pisre/yai pro\j to\n ku/rion. kateli/mpanon ou]n a1ndrej gunai=kaj, te/kna gonei=j,21 mnhstoi\ ta\j e9autw~n mnhsta\j kai\ ta\j patrw/|saj ou0si/aj: kai\ dia\ th\n ai0w/nion zwh\n to\n u9perba/llonta plou=ton toi=j ptwxoi=j pare/xontej, th\n stenh\n a0fh/rpazon o9do/n:22 ou)de\ ei[j au0tw~n, e0piqei\j tw~| a0ro/trw| th\n xei=ra, ei0j tou0pi/sw a0pe/blepen.23 kai\ h]n o9 maka/rioj )Iouliano\j th=j i9era~j a0ge/lhj w9sanei\ de/ka xilia/dwn monaxw~n path/r: kai\ w3sper ge/graptai: genea\ pare/rxetai kai\ genea\ e1rxetai,24 o3soi ei0j th\n ou0ra/nion meteta/canto zwh/n, tosou=toi e0pe/strefon

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pro\j to\n despo/thn. kai\ ou0dei\j a0pariqmh/sasqai du/natai to\ tw~n yuxw~n plh=qoj to\ dia\ tou= a9gi/ou 'Ioulianou= teleiwqe\n kai\ e0pi\ to\n ou0rano\n meterxo/menon. o9moi/wj de\ kai\ h9 makari/a Basi/lissa parqe/nwn kai\ gunaikw~n yuxa\j e0k tou= r9u/pou tou= ai0w~noj tou/tou e0leuqerwqei/saj ei0j ou0rano\n proe/pemyen. kai\ h]n tw~| makari/w| 0Ioulianw~| a9gi/a tw~n a)ndrw~n e0mpori/a: kai\ dia\ th=j a(gi/aj Basili/sshj e0n parqe/noij kai\ gunaici\n swfrosu/nhj e0ce/lamyen ni/kh. e0peidh\ de\ nu=n pa~sin e0gnwri/sqh h( tou/twn sebasmi/a a)nastrofh/ te kai\ o9 bi/oj di' h(mw~n tou= Qeou= bohqou=ntoj safhnisqei/j, nu=n ei0j e0kei=non to\n kairo\n e0leuso/meqa e0n w[| th=j marturi/aj e0pe/tuxon kai\ dei/comen au0tw~n ta\ e1ndoca brabei=a. 11. e0n toi=j kairoi=j Dioklhtianou= kai\ Macimianou= mani/a diwgmou= e0pe/pipten, h[j h( u9po/noia e0plh/rwsen pa~san th\n e0parxi/an Ai0gu/ptou. th=j fh/mhj diagnwsqei/shj, oi9 a3gioi pro\j a0llh/louj diele/gonto. to/te o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j meta\ th=j a9gi/aj Basili/sshj toiau/thn i9kesi/an e0ce/xeon pro\ prosw/pou tou= Qeou= nhstei/a| kai\ deh/sei prosedreu/ontej: “de/spota, o4j ei] tw~n kruptw~n gnw/sthj kai\ tw~n dianoi=wn ma/rtuj, o9 e0reunhth\j kardi/aj kai\ nefrw~n,25 se\ parakalou=men, w(j h9ma~j galhnw~| fwti/sh|j prosw/pw| kai\ eu0h/koon para/sxh|j a0koh/n: ou0 ga\r kaqeu/deij ou0de\ nusta/zeij,26 fula/ttwn e0n e9kate/rw| to\n a0gw~na th=j swfrosu/nhj, e0n w[| su\ au0to/j, Xriste/, xai/rein ginw/skh|. mh\ ou]n sugxwrh/sh|j th=j sh=j a0ge/lhj th\n a0keraio/thta fqarh=nai: mhde\ sxh=| e0cousi/an o9 a0ko/restoj lu/koj kai\ a0ei\ dusmenh/j, e0n mhdeni\ sxh=| a1deian pro\j to\ dialu=sai to\ tei=xoj kai\ to\ shmei=on th=j pi/stewj, o3per ei0j tou\j dou/louj sou kai\ ta\j dou/laj di' h9mw~n tw~n sw~n dou/lwn pare/sxej. fro/ntison, Xriste/, kai\ h9mw~n kai\ e0kei/nwn, e0peidh\ kai\ ple/on h9 sh\ decia\ pro\j to\ a0norqou=n i0sxu/ei h1per h( dunastei/a tou= diw/kontoj pro\j to\ katabalei=n. gnw~qi kai\ e0reu/nhson ta\j e9ka/stwn duna/meij kai\ kata\ to\ th=j sh=j prognw/sewj dw~ron pa/ntaj ei0j e0kei=non to\n xoro\n ei0sa/gage tw~n zw/ntwn, o3pou ou0demi/a u9po/noia ou0k e1stin tou= teleuta~n, a00lla\ basileu/ein ei0j tou\j ai0w~naj, i3na e0n th=| h9me/ra| h[| e0leu/sh| me/gaj kai\ fobero\j para/sxh|j, de/spota, i3na pa/ntej oi9 douloi/ sou kai\ ai9 dou=lai/ sou ou4j di' h9mw~n soi\ strateu/sasqai e0poi/hsaj a0ke/raioi e9ka/teroi e0nw/pio/n sou stw~sin, i3na xai/rontej ei1pwmen: i0dou\ h9mei=j kai\ oi9 pai=dej ou4j de/dwkaj h9mi=n, ou0dei\j e0c au0tw~n a0pw/leto”.27 12. kai\ o3te to\ te/loj th=j eu0xh=j a0neplh/roun, a0ph/rxonto ei0j tou\j i0di/ouj oi1kouj. kai\ dh\ kata\ to\n au0to\n kairo/n, h9su/xou th=j nukto\j genome/nhj, paragi/netai pro\j th\n a9gi/an Basi/lissan prosfqeggo/menoj o9 ku/rioj kat' o1nar: “Basi/lissa, tou= sou= o0no/matoj a0ci/a, a3tina hu1cw plhrw~sai/ se proeqe/mhn, i3na pa/nta ta\ skeu/h a4 e0mautw~| dia\ sou= e0kaqa/risa, su\ zw~sa prope/myh|j ei0j ta\ ou0ra/nia basi/leia: kai\ e3ceij to\ h3misu tou= kairou= dia/sthma, e0n w[| dunhqh=|j e0k panto\j to/pou o3pou e1speiraj to\n si=to/n sou sunagagei=n kai\ a0sfali/sasqai to\ qe/roj tou= sou= kama/tou. kai\ ou3twj kai\ au0th\ e0pakolouqh/seij, ta\j klei=j de/camenh th=j a)poqhkhj th=j peplhsme/nhj tw~n a0gaqw~n yuxw~n, e0c h[j kaq' h9me/ran o0smh\ eu0wdi/aj a0ne/rxetai e0nw/pion tw~n a0gge/lwn. )Iouliano\j de\ w9j kalo\j a0qlhth\j maxh/setai kai\ nikh/sei: ou0de\ ga/r pote nikhqh=nai dunh/setai e0n w[| basileu/ei h( swfrosu/nh. e1stai

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ga/r moi di' au0tou= plh=qoj proporizo/menon yuxw~n: polla\ ga\r au0to\n dei= paqei=n u9pe\r tou= o0no/mato/j mou:28 kai\ polla\j a0reta\j kai\ shmei=a dei/cw e0nw/pion tw~n e0xqrw~n au0tou=. pri\n h1 me e0pikale/setai, e0rw~: i0dou\ pa/reimi.” 13. tau=ta a0kou/sasa h9 a9gi/a Basi/lissa a0grupnou=sa e1xairen e0n tw~| tou= despo/tou prosw/pw| xarakth=ri lamprw~|: w(j ga\r h3lioj h]n a)pastra/ptwn e0n th=| a0natolh=| au0tou=. kai\ dihgei=tai au0ta\ kata\ ta/cin tw~| 'Ioulianw~|. kai\ sugkalesame/nh th\n a9gi/an tw~n parqe/nwn plhqu/n, tau/th| au0tai=j prosfqe/ggetai th=| fwnh=|: “u9mei=j pa~sai, h( e0mh\ xara\ kai\ o9 ste/fanoj29 th=j kefalh=j mou, a3giai parqe/noi, tw~| Qew~| ta\j eu0xa\j a0podw/swmen kai\ qusi/an e0pai/nou e0n kardi/a| suntetrimme/nh| kai\ tetapeinwme/nh|30 prosene/gkwmen, e0peidh\ h0ci/wsen a0pokalu/yai h9mi=n ta\ musth/ria ta\ a0pokekrumme/na kai\ th\n o9do\n kai\ to\n xro/non w3risen e0n w[| kaqarqei=sai ta\j yuxa\j e0kei/nw| sfragisqw~men, u9perqe/sewj paraxwrhqei/shj i3na mi/a kai\ e9ka/sth h9mw~n katanoou=sa ta\ kru/fia th=j i0di/aj kardi/aj e0n tou/tw| tw~| ai0w~ni ceniteuqh=| o0rqw~j. pro\j ai0wni/an ou]n zwh\n metoikh/swmen, i3na mhde\n e1rgon i1dion e0n h9mi=n eu3rwsin e0kei=nai ai9 duna/meij ai4 ta\j yuxa\j ei0j ou0rano\n badizou/saj e0pe/xousin, i3na mhde\n e0n h9mi=n eu9ro/ntej oi9 dai/monej eu0labhqw~sin o9rw~ntej meq' h9mw~n th\n a0gi/an boh/qeian sunodeu/ousan kai\ to\ pneu=ma th=j swfrosu/nhj sugxai=ron. katanoh/sate kai\ e0reunh/sate ta\ a0po/rrhta tou= sth/qouj u9mw~n, i3na e0n o3sw| kairo\n e1xomen e0kkli/nhte th\n yuxh\n a0po\ panto\j e0lattw/matoj a9marthma/twn kaqarisqei=san u3dati kaqarw~| kai\ dia\ pra/cewn a0pokatasth=sai tw~| gene/th| Qew~|. tau/thj ga\r e0pitu/xwmen e0k tou= despo/tou th=j ai0th/sewj, i3na a0spi/louj pa/ntaj prope/mywmen e0pi\ ta\ basi/leia tw~n ou0ranw~n, o3pou e0sti\n o9 mnh/stwr o9 despo/thj Xristo/j: di' o3per u9ma~j prope/mpomai, a3giai a0delfai/, i3na mh/ tij zu/mh kaki/aj e0n th=| kardi/a| e0mmei/nh|, a0lla\ pa~sai dwrh/shsqe a0llh/laij ei0j a0moibh\n ei1 ti e0ptai/sate ei0j a0llh/laj, i3na te/leion ste/fanon a0keraio/thtoj th=j yuxh=j kai\ tou= sw/matoj a0nade/chsqe: kai\ e0me\ mhte/ra u9mw~n nikh/trian a0podei/chte a0kerai/ou tou= a0riqmou= th=j u9mete/raj swthri/aj, tou=to ei0dui=ai o3ti ou0de\n i0sxu/ei h9 parqeni/a th=j sarko\j o3pou oi0kei= o0rgh\ kardi/aj.” 14. tau=ta e0peciou/shj th=j a9gi/aj Basili/sshj, o9 to/poj e0n w}| h]san sunhgme/nai e0sei/sqh: kai\ e0fa/nh e0n o1yei au0tw~n stu=loj fwto\j e0n e9autw~| e1xwn xrusou=n e0pi/gramma: kai\ fwnh\ e0k tou= stu/lou proh=lqen meta\ lampro/thtoj kai\ o0smh=j eu0wdi/aj: kai\ to\ shmei=on tou= straurou= e0ce/lamyen le/gon au0th=|: “Basi/lissa, tou= o0no/mato/j sou a0rxhge/, o3per gegramme/non i1dh|j a0na/gnwqi.” tou= de\ e0pigra/mmatoj h9 grafh\ e0n tou/toij h]n: “ta/de le/gei o9 prw~toj kai\ e1sxatoj:31 pa~sai ai9 parqe/noi w[n su\ ge/gonaj h9gemw\n skeu/h kaqara/ ei0sin kai\ eu0pro/sdekta toi=j o0fqalmoi=j mou: ou0de\ ga\r e0n tau/taij a0do/kimo/n ti eu[ron, a4j su\ kaqa/rsei dikaiosu/nhj kai\ puri\ dokimasi/aj w9j xrusou=n kaqaro\n pare/sxej. e1lqete e0pi\ ta\ basi/leia ta\ u9mi=n eu0trepisqe/nta.” kai\ tau=ta au0th=j a0naginwskou/shj, h9 o3rasij a0po\ tw~n o0fqalmw~n au0tw~n a0fh|re/qh. to/te pa=sai hu0xari/stoun tw~| despo/th|, o4j th=| marturi/a| th=j oi0kei/aj qeo/thtoj a9gi/aj ta\j yuxa\j

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e0dei/knuen. h9 de\ makari/a Basi/lissa xai/rousa ei]pen: “eu0xaristw~ soi, de/spota 'Ihsou=, o3ti ta\j ma/xaj ta\j swmatika\j tau/taj e0ni/khsaj.” kai\ prose/qhken: “katafronw~ sou, dia/bole, o3stij tw~n e0piboulw~n tw~n sw~n to\n karpo\n a0pw/lesaj. katafronw~ sou, e9rpetw~n h9donh/, o3stij ta\ skeu/h ta\ tw~| Qew~| a0fwrisme/na ou1tisin te/xnaij a0pekh/rucaj. katafronw~ sou, dida/skale yeu/douj, e0peidh\ e0k th=j a0ge/lhj th=j e0moi\ pisteuqei/shj ou0dei/j e0stin o4j meta\ sou= a0polei=tai. katafronw~ sou, me/qusma, o3ti nh/fonta sth/qh ou0k h0dunh/qhj nikh=sai. katafronw~ sou, e0rasta\ tou= ko/smou, o3stij ta\j a0ro/trw| e0pitetame/naj yuxa\j pro\j to\n so\n po/qon a0nakale/sasqai ou0k i1sxusaj. katafronw~ sou, dia/bole, o3ti tou\j to\ te/leion zhtou=ntaj ou1tisin te/xnaij kai\ mhxanai=j h2 bro/xoij krath=sai i1sxusaj: su\ mo/noj th=| sh=| sugxu/sei ke/xrhso, su\ mo/noj th=| sh=| timwri/a| xai=re. o9ra~|j ga\r th\n a1gran, e0k tw~n xeirw~n sou a9rpagei=san, ta\ basi/leia tw~n ou0ranw~n a0nie/nai [toi=j a0nqrw/poij] o3qen su\ e1pesej. xai/rete met' e0mou=, a0delfai/, e0peidh\ basileu/ousin e0n h9mi=n ta\ shmei=a tw~n a0retw~n, h9 katafro/nhsij tou= ko/smou th\n tw~n ou0ranw~n e0de/cato basilei/an, h9 twn gone/wn a0pago/reusij sugklh/rwsin h1negken a0gge/lwn: h9 eu0te/leia w9sei ke/droj h9 e0n tw~| Liba/nw| e0sti\n kai\ w9j kupa/rissoj e0n o1resin 'Aermw/n.32 h9tthqei/shj th=j h9donh=j h9 swfrosu/nh plhqu/netai. ou0demi/a ga/r e0stin e0k tw~n e0xqrw~n tw~n h9mete/rwn to/lma, i3na ta\j pro\j to\n gene/thn badizou/saj yuxa\j krath/sousin. pa/ntej ai0sxu/nontai, e0peidh\ ou0de\n i1dion e0n h9mi=n ginw/skousin.” 15. tau=ta meta\ xara~j le/gousa, h1rcato h9 a1mpeloj h9 despotikh\ th\n dro/son th=j dikaiosu/nhj a0km/asasan a0sfali/zesqai. kai\ ou3twj h9 qei/a pro/noia e0plhrw/qh w3ste e0nto\j tou= e0phggelme/nou kairou= pa/saj metoikh=sai pro\j to\n Qeo/n, th\n de\ a9gi/an Basi/lissan a0me/rimnon peri\ th=j parakataqh/khj tw~n karpw~n gene/sqai. w3ra| th=j h9me/raj e3kth| e0n proseuxh=| e9stw~san xa/rwsij e1laben: kai\ o9ra~| pa/nta to\n xoro\n tw~n a9gi/wn parqe/nwn a0riqmw~| w9sei\ xili/wn lampra\j e0ndedume/naj stola\j kai\ basilikai=j zw/naij h0mfiesme/naj, to\n basiliko\n stauro\n bastazou/saj, mia~| fwnh=| th=| makari/a| Basili/ssh| legou/saj: “tau/thn th\n a0po/krisin e0deca/meqa i3na meta\ sou= to\n despo/thn kai\ basile/a proskunh/swmen. i0dou\ perime/nome/n se, i3na su\ h9ma~j prosoi/sh|j tw~| Xristw~|, w[| h9ma~j prosepori/sw.” e0gerqei=sa de\ h9 makari/a Basi/lissa e0pi\ th=| prorrhqei/sh| au0th=| do/ch| e1xairen, tau=ta meta\ xara~j a0nagge/llousa tw~| a9gi/w| 'Ioulianw~|. h9 de\ tou= Qeou= filanqrwpi/a ou3twj e0plhrw/qh w3ste, e9stw/twn au0tw~n e0n proseuxh=|, th\n a9gi/an Basi/lissan metoikh=sai pro\j to\n Qeo/n: h4n o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j pare/dwken a0ci/a| tafh=|, h9me/raj te kai\ nukto\j a0grupni/aj pneumatika\j ei0j mnh/mhn au0th=j a0nafe/rwn. 16. au0to\j de\ meta\ tou= xorou= tw~n a9gi/wn e1qallen: w[| xa/rij paraxwrhqei=sa w3ste mh\ ei]nai katw/teron to\n mh\ nikw~nta to\n e3teron e0n a0retai=j. polla\ ga\r shmei=a i0a/sewn di' au0tou= kai\ tw~n au0tou= maqhtw~n ei0rga/sato. ou0de/na e0kei= eu[ren o9 h3lioj o0rgizo/menon33 ou0de\ kate/lipen. ei0 de/ tij, w9j ei1wqen, tini\ e0n lo/gw| u9perh/fanoj e0gego/nei, ou0k e0de/xeto trofh/n, tapeinw/sei kai\ o0durmoi=j

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proskarterw~n, e3wj ou[ a0ga/phn a0pe/dwken. tau/th| th=| spoudh=| e1kamnon w3ste to\n tw~n proseuxw~n karpo\n qusi/an e0pai/nou tw~| Qew~| prosfe/rein. e1xairen o9 path\r e0n au0th=| th=| spoudh=| tw~n te/knwn. to/te ei[j e3kastoj e1legen: “e0n tau/th| th=| a9gi/a| sunagwgh=| ou0de/pote e0dunh/qh o9 dia/boloj saghneu=sai.” tau=ta e0pra/tteto e0n po/lei 0Antinw/, h3tij e0sti\n mhtro/polij Ai0gu/ptou. 17. bi/a diwgmou= e0pekra/thsin. kai\ e0rxome/nou Markianou= a1rxontoj e0n po/lei 'Antino/ou th=j Ai0gu/ptou, mani/a i9ero/suloj e0ch/pteto, w3ste mh\ a0gro\n mh\ xwri/on me/nein o3pou mh\ ei1dwlon i3stato, w3ste tou\j boulome/nouj h2 w0nei=sqai h2 pwlei=n prw~ton toi=j ei0dw/loij e0piqu/ein. h0nagka/zeto h9 po/lij th=| tou= a1rxontoj keleu/sei i3na ei[j e3kastoj e0n tw~| oi1kw| tw~| i0di/w| ei0ko/na tw~| Dii\ a0nistw~sin. au0to\j de\ o9 Markiano\j meta\ th=j gameth=j kai\ monogenou=j ui9ou= h]n h9gemw\n th=j a0pwlei/aj. a0kou/saj de\ o9 a1rxwn th\n 'Ioulianou= pi/stin kai\ o3souj ei]xen meq 0 e9autou= e9te/rouj oi3tinej e9autou\j u9pe\r tou= mh\ qu=sai toi=j ei0dw/loij h9toima/zonto pro\j qa/naton, o0rgisqei\j sugkalei= pro\j e9auto\n to\n e9autou= su/mponon, keleu/wn au0tw~| suntuxei=n tw~| makari/w| 'Ioulianw~|, i3na meta\ pa/ntwn tw~n i0di/wn kata\ ta\j keleu/seij tw~n kallini/kwn basile/wn toi=j qeoi=j e0piqu/sh|, o3pwj mh\ meta\ tw~n katafronhtw~n ta\j e0nanti/aj u9pomei/nh| timwri/aj. o9 de\ sumponoj a3ma meta\ tou= kournikoulari/ou kai\ tou= pri/gkipoj kai\ tou= prw/tou th=j po/lewj badi/zei pro\j to\n to/pon e0n w[| o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j tw~| Qew~| e0sxo/lazen, o3pou plh/qh polla\ i9ere/wn kai\ leui+tw~n kai\ pa/ntwn u9phretw~n th=j e0kklhsi/aj kate/fugon feu/gontej th\n lu/ssan tou= diwgmou=. a0gge/lletai tw~| a9gi/w| 'Ioulianw~| to\n su/mponon tou= a1rxontoj meta\ tou= kornikoulari/ou kai\ tou= pri/gkipoj kai\ tou= prwteu/ontoj th=j po/lewj pro\ tw~n qurw~n ei]nai. to/te o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j e1fh pro\j th\n a9gi/an sune/leusin: “nu=n, a0delfoi/, eu0cw/meqa, e0peidh\ h0ggi/kasin oi9 diw/kontej kai\ h9ma~j zhtou=sin w9j u3dwr katapiei=n. i1dwmen poi/an h9mi=n a0po/krisin didou=sin.” to/te o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j th=| sfragi=di o9pli/saj to\ me/twpon kai\ th=| th=j pi/stewj a0spi/di to\ sth=qoj o0xurw/saj keleu/ei tou/touj ei0selqei=n. kai\ e0peidh\ h]n prwteu/ontoj th=j po/lewj ui9o/j, kat' a0ci/an au0tw~| parei/xeto timh\\n e0k th=j oi0kei/aj ta/cewj. 18. to/te o9 su/mponoj tou= a1rxontoj ou3twj h1rcato: “nomi/zw mh\ lanqa/nein se, 'Iouliane/, tw~n i9erwta/twn basile/wn ta\j keleu/seij, ai[j oi9 tou= ko/smou sune/rxontai, w3ste mi/an ei]nai para\ pa=sin toi=j a0nqrw/poij th\n peri\ tou\j qeou\j qrhskei/an. kai\ ga\r o9 despo/thj mou o9 a1rxwn Markiano/j, a0kou/wn ta\ th=j eu0genei/aj th=j sh=j kai\ th\n timi/an tw~n progo/nwn sou r9i/zan kai\ to\ ti/mio/n sou ge/noj, tou=to kata\ th\n oi0kei/an fro/nhsin e0yhfi/sato i3na kata\ tou\j no/mouj h9su/xwj kai\ meta\ xa/ritoj meqodeuqh=|j: o3per dia/tagma tw~n basile/wn e0n xersi\n e1xw w3ste soi a0nagnw~nai e0k tw~n swthriwdw~n diatagma/twn: ou[per a0nagnwsqe/ntoj, a0podw/seij e9auto\n tw~| ge/nei tw~| sw~|, i3na kai\ toi=j soi=j u9pa/rxousin xrh/sh| kai\ eu0wxiw~n kai\ fili/aj basilikh=j a0ciwqh=|j.” w[|tini o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j ou3twj a0pokri/netai: “ou0 nomi/zw lanqa/nein th\n sh\n sofi/an o3ti o1fij ou0 kinei=tai e0k tou= oi0kei/ou fwleou=, ei0 mh\ a0po\ sto/matoj tou= e0pa/|dontoj a0lhqei=j

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gnw/setai e0pw|da/j. w3sper ga\r ou0k i0sxu/ei ou0de\ w0felei= ou0de\ du/natai kinh=sai e9rpeto\n o9 e0pw|da\j a0gnow~n, ou3twj ou0de\ do/gmata basile/wn ou1te filosofi/a h3tij pro/skairo/j e0stin dunh/setai ta\j tw~| Xristw~| douleuou/saj kardi/aj pro\j daimo/nwn e9lku/sai latrei/an.” o9 su/mponoj ei]pen: “katafronei=j toi/nun kai\ periora=|j kai\ a0na/cion nomi/zeij tw~n basilikw~n a0kou=sai keleu/sewn;” 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “a0kousa/twsan ta\\j tw~n basile/wn keleu/seij oi9 u9p' au0tw~| strateuo/menoi. h9mei=j de/, oi9 basile/a Xristo\n e1xontej e0n ou0ranw~|, e0pigei/ou basile/wj ou0k a0kou/omen.” o9 su/mponoj ei]pen: “kai\ tou=to le/geij e0pi\ pra/cewj;” 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “tou= plh/qouj tou/tou h9 zwh\ a3ma met' e0mou= e0k th=j tou= despo/tou h1rthtai kri/sewj. o9poi=on ga\r o9ra=|j e0me\ lalou=nta, toiou=toi/ ei0sin pa/ntej siwpw~ntej. ei[j ga/r e0stin despo/thj o4n o9mologou=men, o3stij e0sti\n Xristo\j o9 ui9o\j tou= Qeou= ”.34 o9 su/mponoj ei]pen: “kai\ tau=ta a4 le/geij a0paggelw~ tw~| despo/th| mou tw~| a1rxonti.” 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “o3per a0lhqe\j e0pe/gnwj kru/yai ou0k o0fei/leij. h9mei=j e3toimoi/ e0smen to\n pro/skairon qa/naton a0nade/casqai i3na ai0wni/wj zh/swmen: ou0 ga\r qe/lomen zh=n proskai/rwj, i3na mh\ ai0wni/a| kola/sei doulwqw~men.” o9 su/mponoj ei]pen: “a0kou/w o3ti kai\ e0pisko/pouj kai\ pa/nta to\n klh=ron sunhmme/nouj e1xeij meta\ sou=. mh\ kai\ au0toi\ maqhtai/ sou e0ge/nonto;” 0Iouliano\j ei]pen: “maqhtai\ ou0k ei0si\n a0lla\ pate/rej: di' au0tw~n ga\r th\n a0lhqh= ge/nnan e0deca/meqa: di 0 o3per pa/nu a1cio/n e0stin i3na ta\ te/kna meta\ tw~n pate/rwn kai\ oi9 pate/rej meta\ tw~n te/knwn badi/zousi pro\j th\n tw~n ou0ranw~n basilei/an.” 19. e0panelqw\n de\ o9 su/mponoj pro\j to\n a1rxonta Markiano\n pa/nta au0tw~| ta\ praxqe/nta e0nefa/nisen. o9 de\ a1rxwn, th=| boulh=| o9plisqei\j tou= diabo/lou, e0ke/leusen i3na 'Iouliano\n mo/non th=| oi0kei/a| fula/cousin a0kroa/sei. tw~| de\ plh/qei tw~n a9gi/wn polu\ pu=r periteqh=nai e0ke/leusen e0n au0tw~| tw~| to/pw| e0n w[| dih=gon tai=j pro\j Qeo\n eu0xaristi/aij sxola/zontej. e0chnu/sqh de\ h9 ke/leusij tou= a1rxontoj: kai\ pa/ntej e0kei= tw~| puri\ kathnalw/qhsan. e0n w[| to/pw| toiau/th xa/rij e0ge/neto kai\ e3wj th=j sh/meron h9me/raj a3pasi toi=j parerxome/noij fai/netai, kata\ to\n kairo\n to\n w9risme/non tou= ya/llein th\n tri/thn kai\ e3kthn kai\ e0na/thn kai\ e9spe/ra| kai\ nukti\ kai\ o1rqrou a0kou/ousin ya/llontoj plh/qouj. kai\ e0a/n tij kata\ tou\j kairou\j tou/touj parage/nhtai oi9a|dh/pote no/sw| kratou/menoj, u9gih\j a0naxwrei=. 20. h0gge/lqh de\ tw~| Markianw~| peplhrw~sqai th\n ke/leusin au0tou= kai\ 'Iouliano\n to\n maka/rion e0n fulakh=| dia/gein. to/te e0ch/fqh o9 e0xqro/j: kai\ th=| e9ch=j h9me/ra| bh=ma au0tw~| eu0trepisqh=nai keleu/ei e0n tw~| fo/rw|. h9 de\ ke/leusij tou= a1rxontoj eu0qe/wj e0plhrw/qh. kai\ suntre/xei pantaxo/qen pa~sa h9liki/a kai\ pa=sa fu/sij, i3na to\n maka/rion 'Iouliano\n o4n h0ga/pwn i1dwsin meta\ tou= diabo/lou maxo/menon. to/te o9 a1rxwn u9p 0 e0kei/nh| th=| fwnh=| th=| frikth=| keleu/ei to\n a3gion 'Iouliano\n e0nw/pion au0tou= sth=nai. ou[ a0gome/nou a0teni/saj o9 a1rxwn Markiano\j ei]pen: “su\ ei] 'Iouliano\j o9 tw~n paraggelma/twn tw~n despotikw~n katafronhth\j kai\ tw~n sebasmi/wn qew~n; su\ ei] o3stij a0naiti/wn plh/qh magikai=j te/xnaij pro\j e9auto\n

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sunaqroi/zeij kai\ ta\j pa/ntwn e0nalla/tteij dianoi/aj;” pro\j tau=ta de\ o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j h9su/xazen. pro\j o4n o9 Markiano\j ei]pen: “w9j o9rw~, th=| katadi/kh| th=| sh=| susxeqei\j ou0de\n pro\j ta\ e0rwtw/mena a0pokri/nh|.” 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “e0gw\ a0posta/thj ou0 ge/gona tou= Qei/ou no/mou, e0n w[| ta\ basilika\ th=j gh=j e0nta/lmata sune/xetai, a0ll 0 u9ph/kooj. kai\ ga/r, e0peidh\ siwpw~nta/ me qauma/zeij, meta\ sou= lalei=n sugxe/omai, o4n o9rw~ tw~| yeu/smati th=j a0pa/thj sumpefurme/non. tw~n ga\r basile/wn pw~j i9ero\j du/natai ei]nai no/moj, oi3tinej i9erosuli/an e0rga/zontai;” Markiano\j ei]pen: “lupou=mai peri\ sou= o3ti ou3twj magikai=j kekra/thsai te/xnaij, w3ste mh\ noei=n po/shn du/namin e1xousin ta\ tw~n basile/wn keleu/smata, oi[j o9 peiqarxw~n e0painei=tai kai\ th=j tw~n basile/wn a0ciou=tai fili/aj: o9 de\ mh\ peiqarxw~n, w3sper kai\ su\ fai/nh|, timwri/a| u9po/keitai kai\ qana/tou klhrono/moj gi/netai. kai\ ga\r a0kou/w se ou3twj lampro\n ei]nai w3ste dia\ to\ fei/desqai/ sou th=j eu0genei/aj th\n timwri/an a0naba/llomai. di' o3per protre/pomai/ se w9j ui9o/n mou i3na pro\j e1painon tou= sou= ge/nouj toi=j qeoi=j li/banon prosfe/rein i9larw~j speu/sh|j.” 21. tau=ta a0kou/saj o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j ei]pen tw~| a1rxonti: “th=| kaki/a| th=| sh=| tuflwqei\j to\n e1painon tou= ge/nouj mou gnw~nai ou0k e0pi/stasai. su\ e0moi\ sumbouleu/eij i3na toi=j qeoi=j oi[j qrhskeu/ete liba/nouj prosoi/sw, o3pwj fili/an kai\ do/can basile/wj kth/somai. u9mei=j fai/nesqe pollou\j qeou\j kai\ qea\j se/bein: h9mei=j de\ dia\ tria/doj o9moousi/ou a0lhqei=j qrhskeutai\ deiknu/meqa: oi9 u9me/teroi qeoi\ li/qinoi/ ei0sin h2 xalkoi: ei0 de\ xalkoi= ei0sin, pollw~| krei/ttona ta\ skeu/h ta\ pro\j th\n tw~n a0nqrw/pwn u9phresi/an e0k tou= au0tou= meta/llou gino/mena: ei0 de\ kai\ li/qinoi/ ei0sin, a0poblhte/oi ei0si/n, e0peidh\ e0c au0tw~n strw/nnuntai ai9 platei=ai pro\j to\ e0kkli/nein to\n r9u/pon. kai\ a0f 0 oi9oudh/pote meta/llou sugkexwneume/nouj h2 geglumme/nouj tou\j u9mete/rouj qeou\j e0cileou=sqe liba/nw|, nomi/zontej o3pwj i3leoi ge/nwntai. h9mei=j de\ oi3tinej e3na qeo\n se/bomen e0n toi=j ou0ranoi=j, magikai=j te/xnaij le/gete kateilhmme/nouj: di' o4 basani/zesqai h9ma~j keleu/ete, to\n a0lhqh= qeo\n o9mologou=ntaj. o0fei/leij ei0de/nai, o3per a0gnoei=j, o3ti w3sper ou0k e1stin koinwni/a fwti\ pro\j sko/toj35 ou1te a0sfalh\j oi1khsij a0mnw~| meta\ lu/kou, ou3twj ou0 du/natai h9 pi/stij h9 h9mete/ra th=| u9mete/ra| u9pokei=sqai prosta/cei.” Markiano\j ei]pen: “a1kouson ti/ keleu/ousin oi9 kalli/nikoi basilei=j, i3na e0k tou= no/mou au0tw~n gnw/sh| ti/ se pra/ttein prosh/kei.” 22. 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “ti/ keleu/ousin h1kousa. ti/ de/ me poiei=n xrh\ swthri/wdei boulh=| e0plh/rwsa. ai0sxro\n ga/r e0stin, th=j a0ge/lhj propemfqei/shj, to\n poime/na mh\ a0kolouqei=n.” Markiano\j ei]pen: “e0kei=noi dia\ th\n pla/nhn th\n e9autw~n a1cion hu3ranto qa/naton. su\ de/, i3na e0kkli/nh|j ta\j basa/nouj ta\j toi=j katafronhtai=j h9toimasme/naj, o3pwj kai\ th=| eu0genei/a| sou i9kano\n poih/sh|j, qu=son toi=j qeoi=j.” 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “ka/me u9pe\r sautou= kai\ tw~n sw~n, ou4j o9 dia/boloj kate/sthsen klhrono/mouj. e0mou= ga\r e0kei=noj fronti/zei o9 e0k gh=j diatupw/saj.” Markiano\j ei]pen: “ou3twj o0fei/lw meta\ sou= pra=cai w9j meta\ kardioplh/ktou

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a0sqenou=j i0atro/j, e3wj ou[ u9gi/eian la/bh|j. ei0 de/ se sw~on a0pokatasth/sw, megi/sth moi para\ tou= basile/wj genh/setai timh/. kai\ ga\r kai\ au0toi\ oi9 despo/tai tw~n pragma/twn polu\ th=| sh=| mani/a| sunalgou=sin.” 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “ou0de/pote h0kou/sqh o3ti tuflo\j fwti/zei o9rw~nta kai\ o9 nosw~n fronti/zei u9giai/nontoj kai\ o9 planw/menoj to\n o0rqw~j badi/zonta o9dhgei=.” Markiano\\j ei]pen: “w9j le/geij toi/nun, tuflo/j ei0mi kai\ nosw~n kai\ planw/menoj, o9 speu/dwn th=j sh=j pronoei=sqai swthri/aj: kai\ su\ mo/noj a0sfalesta/thn e1xeij u9gi/eian;” 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “tau=ta pa/nta e1xei ei0j se\ e0cousi/an: ei0 de\ qelh/sh|j au0tw~n e0pignw~nai, ou0k a0pofeu/gei se o9 i0atro\j o9 h9me/teroj, di 0 ou[ pa/ntej oi9 xristianoi\ a0lhqesta/thn e1xousin u9gi/eian. tou\j de\ u9f 0 u9mw~n qrhskeuome/nouj dai/monaj ei]nai fanero/n e0stin, oi3tinej a0pole/sai du/nantai tou\j au0toi=j pisteu/ontaj, e0leuqerw~sai de\ ou0 du/nantai.” 23. tau=ta a0kou/wn o9 Markiano\j e0bo/a toi=j dhmi/oij au0tou=: “e0ktaqh/setai ei0j ma/stigaj, i3na ka2n ou3twj h9 mwri/a au0tou= fanera\ genh/setai.” o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “ou0k e1stin mwri/a qeo\n ginw/skein, a0lla\ do/ca. su\ de\ toi=j proskai/roij deleasmoi=j sunexo/menoj a0gnoei=j to\ sumfe/ron.” Markiano\j a1rxwn ei]pen: “e0ktei/nate au0to\n kai\ r9a/bdouj sklhra\j kai\ desma\ fe/rete kai\ pa/nta ta\ me/lh au0tou= diaspara/cate.” tou/twn de\ ginome/nwn, e0k tw~n tupto/ntwn ei[j, plhgh\n e0pife/rwn tw~| a9gi/w|, to\n o0fqalmo\n a0pw/lesen, o3stij kai\ fi/loj h]n tou= a1rxontoj kai\ toi=j basileu=si gnw/rimoj. tau=ta o9rw~n o9 Markiano\j e0pebruxh/sato le/gwn: “tosou=ton i1sxusen h9 magei/a h9 sh\ w3ste se\ mhde\n ai0sqa/nesqai kai\ tou\j tw~n a1llwn e0kba/llein o0fqalmou/j;” 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “Markiane/, o9ra=|j o3ti tou=to/ e0stin o3per a1nw e1legon, o3ti tuflo\j kai\ nosw~n kai\ planw/menoj ei]; o3mwj, e0aqei/shj th=j xalepo/thtoj h[j kat' e0mou= pra/ch|j, a1kouson a4 proti/qhmi/ soi.” Markiano\j ei]pen: “ei0 u9pe\r th=j sh=j swthri/aj e0sti/n, a0kou/w h9de/wj.” 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “sugka/leson pa/ntaj ou4j e1xeij tw~n qew~n tw~n sw~n dedokimasme/nouj i9erei=j: kai\ e0pikale/sontai tou\j qeou\j tou\j e9autw~n peri\ tou= e0kspasqe/ntoj o0fqalmou=, i3na a0pokatasth/swsin tw~| se/bonti au0tou\j th\n o3rasin. ei0 de\ mh\ i0sxu/swsin, e0gw/, tou= o0no/matoj tou= Xristou= mou e0piklhqe/ntoj, ou0 mo/non to\n e0kblhqe/nta o0fqalmo\n a0pokatasth/sw, a0lla\ kai\ tou\j th=j kardi/aj au0tou= o0fqalmou\j fwti/sw.” 24. to/te o9 a1rxwn, pro\j to/n ou3twj a0lhqh= logismo\n a0porh/saj, e0ke/leusen pa/ntaj tou\j a0rxierei=j paragene/sqai: kai\ le/gei pro\j au0tou/j: “…tou\j qeou\j tou\j a0qana/touj o1yesqe i9erourgikai=j timai=j, i3na tw~| a0posta/th| au0tw~n 'Ioulianw~| dei/cousin th\n oi0kei/an a0reth/n, to\n o0fqalmo\n a0podido/ntej tw~| a0nqrw/pw|, o3pwj kai\ au0to\n ei0j th\n oi0kei/an a0reth\n prosla/boien.” tau=ta a0kou/santej ei0se/rxontai oi9 li/qoi pro\j tou\j liqi/nouj ta\j tou= li/qou keleu/seij plhrou=ntej: kai\ th=| xalepwta/th| qrhskei/a| tou\j dai/monaj e0ceumeni/santo, tau/thn deca/menoi e0n toi=j naoi=j th\n a0po/krisin: “a0naxwrh/sate a0f 0 h9mw~n, o3ti h9mei=j th=| dihnekei= kami/nw| a0fwri/sqhmen. tosou=ton ga\r i0sxu/ei pro\j to\n Qeo\n h9 'Ioulianou= para/klhsij w3ste, a0f 0 ou[ ei0j ta\j basa/nouj sunesxe/qh, e9ptaplasi/wn e0ge/neto h9mi=n h9 ko/lasij.”

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kai\ tau/thn labo/ntej th\n a0po/fasin e0ce/rxontai plasta\ e0paggello/menoi. o9 de\ maka/rioj 'Iouliano/j, o4n ou0de\n e0la/nqanen, proseuxh\n poih/saj ei]pen pro\j to\n a1rxonta: “Markiane/, speu=son taxe/wj ei0selqei=n ei0j to\n nao/n: kalou=si/n se oi9 qeoi/ sou.” kai\ ei0 kai\ mh\ proaire/sei ei0serxo/menoj ei0j to\n pulw~na tou= naou= ei]den pa/nta ta\ ei1dwla ta\ krusta/llina kai\ h0le/ktrina kai\ xrusa~ kai\ e0k panto\j meta/llou geglumme/na, ple/on h1per o1nta pentako/sia, ou3twj teqrausme/na kai\ ei0j ko/nin e0panelqo/nta w9j mh\ fai/nesqai ei0 e0ge/nonto/ pote. to/te o9 Markiano/j, tuflwqei\j u9po\ tou= diabo/lou, boa=n h1rcato kai\ le/gein: “w2 ta\j kakourgi/aj, w9j ou3twj i0sxu/ousin: w2 a0po/deicij e0pw|dw~n, pw~j kai\ th\n tw~n qew~n nikw~sin a0reth\n kai\ ta\ polu/tima co/ana ei0j ko/nin perie/sthsan; a0ll ) e1stin e0ntau=qa th\n tw~n qew~n a0necikaki/an qauma/sai, e3wj tosou/tou ta\j e0penexqei/saj au0toi=j u3breij a0nasxome/nwn e3wj ou[ to\n a0posta/thn au0tw~n e0n tw~| tau=ta u9pome/nein e9autoi=j u9pota/coien, au0to\n de\ i1dwmen ei0 th=j e0paggeli/aj th=j e9autou= plhroi= to\ te/leion kai\ to\n o0fqalmo\n to\n th=| plhgh=| tou= tu/ptontoj a0posbesqe/nta mo/nh| e0piklh/sei tou= oi0kei/ou Qeou= dunh/setai a0pokatasth=sai.” 25. tau=ta de\ e1fh pro\j to\n maka/rion 'Iouliano/n: “tou\j a0necika/kouj qeou\j nenikhke/nai e9auto\n qauma/zeij, w[n th\n peri\ se\ eu0se/beian ou0damw~j e0piginw/skeij. nu=n de\ to\ e0pa/ggela plh/rwson, i3na e0n tw~| o0no/mati tou= Xristou= o4n se/bh|, to\n a0posbesqe/nta a0pokatasth/sh|j o0fqalmo/n. a00ll 0 i3na mh\ tou=to magikai=j te/xnaij poih/sh|j, ou]ron perixuqh=nai soi keleu/w, di 0 ou[ pa=sai/ sou ai9 kakourgi/ai fugadeuqw~sin.” 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “tou=to o4 poih/seij ou) pro\j u3brin e0mh\n a0lla\ pro\j e1painon tou= despo/tou mou genh/setai, i3na kai\ to\n o0fqalmo\n th=| a0rxai/a| u9giei/a| a0pokatasth/sh| kai\ to\ o1zon ou1roj ei0j o0smh\n eu0wdesta/thn metastre/yh|.” kai\ e0n tw~| perixe/ein au0to\ ou3twj e0ge/neto w9j h]n u9po\ tou= a9gi/ou prolexqe/n, w3ste nomi/zein ou0xi\ ou]ron a0lla\ ba/lsamon perixeqh=nai. 26. to/te o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano/j, e0pa/nw tou= tuflwqe/ntoj o0fqalmou= to\n stauro\n tou= despo/tou poiw~n kai\ to\ o1noma tou= Qeou= e0pikalou/menoj, eu0qu\j a0pekate/sthsen to\n o0fqalmo\n w9j mhde\n peponqo/ta. tau=ta ou0 tai=j tou= Qeou= a0retai=j o9 a1rxwn a0lla\ magikai=j te/xnaij gegenhsqai e0pi/steusen. e0kei=noj de\ o9 to\n o0fqalmo\n a0polabw\n e0bo/a: “a0lhqh\j Qeo\j o9 Xristo/j: au0tw~| mo/nw| dei= qrhskeu/ein.” o4n tau=ta le/gonta o9 a1rxwn eu0qu\j ci/fei tufqh=nai e0ke/leusen: o4n ou0dei\j h0mfisbh/thsen tw~| i9erw~| ai3mati perikexume/non Xristw~| kaqierw~sqai ma/rtura. 27. to\n de\ a3gion 'Iouliano/n, diafo/roij timwri/aij basanisqe/nta kai\ sidhre/oij desmoi=j kata\ pa/nta ta\ me/lh fortwqe/nta, u9po\ th=| fwnh=| tou= kh/rukoj perii+e/nai th\n po/lin e0ke/leuse fa/skontoj: “tou=to pa/sxousin oi9 tw~n qew~n kai\ tw~n basile/wn katafronhtai/.” e0lqo/ntoj de\ au0tou= pro\j to\n to/pon e0n w[| o9 tou= a1rxontoj ui9o\j a0negi/nwsken, e1fh to\ paida/rion pro\j tou\j i0di/ouj summaqhta/j: “pra~gma o9rw~ mhde/pote a0kousqe/n.” e0rwthqei\j de\ u9p 0 au0tw~n poi=on pra=gma, e1fh: “i1dou\ o9rw~ e0kei=non to\n xristiano\n o4n a1gousin,

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meta\ plh/qouj leuxhmonou/ntwn dialego/menon kai\ ste/fanon e0k li/qwn timi/wn kai\ xrusou= u9pe\r kefalh=j au0tou= tiqe/menon, ou[ h9 lamphdw\n tou= fwto\j tou=to nika~| to\ fw~j, kai\ a1llouj trei=j a1ndraj w9sei\ xrusou=j w9j o9moi/wma a0etw~n au0to\n perie/pontaj. kai\ fai/netai/ moi tou=to a1cion tou= pisteu/ein toiou/tw| Qew~|, o3stij ou3twj tou\j i0di/ouj fula/ttei kai\ toiou/tw| ko/smw| paradi/dwsin. kai\ ga\r pisteu/ete/ moi, w] a0delfoi/ mou, o3ti th=j tou/tou te/rpomai o9mologi/aj kai\ tau=ta u9pome/nein e0piqumw~, ei0 o9 tou/tou Qeo\j h1qelen ei]nai e0mo\j Qeo/j.” 28. tau=ta a0kou/santej oi9 summaqhtai\ au0tou= kai\ o9 dida/skaloj au0tou= e0tara/xqhsan: kai\ h1qelon o9mili/aij kolakikai=j e0panorqw~sai au0to\n e0k th=j toiau/thj proqe/sewj. e0fobou=nto ga/r, e0peidh\ monogenh\j h]n tw~| patri/. kai\ prose/qhken o9 pai=j kai\ ei]pen: “a0lhqw~j me/gaj e0sti\n o9 qeo\j tw~n xristianw~n, ei0j o4n pisteu=sai e0yhfisa/mhn, o3stij tou\j pepisteuko/taj ei0j au0to\n ou0 katalimpa/nei. ti/j ga/r e0stin h9 do/ca tau/thj th=j zwh=j, ei0 mh\ w9j a0sko\j pefushme/noj faino/menoj toi=j o0fqalmoi=j kai\ e1swqen dia/kenoj, ou3twj kai\ h9 do/ca tou= ai0w~noj tou/tou, e0n h[| h9mei=j th\n pro/skairon e1xomen e0cousi/an kai\ th\n ai0w/nion tou= Qeou= dunastei/an ou0 ginw/skomen; qe/lomen a1rxein kai\ to\n a0lhqino\n a1rxonta e0n toi=j ou0ranoi=j ou0 zhtou=men e0c a0pi/stou kardi/aj. po/sw| krei/ttona h9mw~n e0stin ta\ a1loga zw~|a ta\ tou\j despo/taj tou\j i0di/ouj dh/gmasin kai\ panourgi/aij e0kdikw~nta; h9mei=j ga\r logikoi\ geno/menoi to\n h9me/teron gene/thn katalimpa/nomen kai\ sebo/meqa li/qouj. a0rke/sei moi to\ e3wj th=j deu=ro peplanh=sqai: loipo\n ou0 planhqh/somai. eu0pro/sdekton hu[ron kairo\n a0polau=sai tou= fwto\j a1neu te/louj. katafronw~ tw~n eu0olisqh/twn xrhma/twn kai\ ta\ ai0w/nia zhtw~. ta\ ga\r e0mpodi/smata tou/tou tou= ko/smou xwri/zousin a0po\ tou= qeou= kai\ h9 pro/skairoj e0cousi/a diadoxh\n perime/nei kai\ h9 zwh\ au3th peraiou=tai qana/tw|. e0kei/nw| pisteu=sai o0fei/lw tw~| a0lhqinw~| Xristw~|, e0n w[| ou0dei/j moi e0peise/lqh| dia/doxoj, ou[tinoj th=| ai0wnio/thti sunafqei\j to\n qa/naton ou0 fobhqh/somai. au3th ga/r e0stin a0lhqh\j do/ca kai\ semno/thj ge/nouj. u9pe\r tou/tou dei= paqei=n o4n basanizo/menoj ou0k a0pole/sw, o9mologw~n ou0 katalei/yw.” 29. tau=ta le/gwn o9 tou= h9gemo/noj ui9o/j, r9i/yaj ta\ bibli/a kai\ au0th\n th\n e0sqh=ta h4n e0nede/duto a0pe/balen a0f 0 e9autou= le/gwn: “memolusme/na i9ma/tia a0porri=yai/ me a0na/gkh e0sti\n pro\j to\n Qeo\n speu/donta. gumno/n me h9 mhtrikh\ gasth\r e0n tou/tw| tw~| ai0w~ni prosh/gagen: o3per e0sti\n tou= ko/smou katalei/pw tw~| ko/smw|.” kai\ tau=ta le/gwn dia\ th=j platei/aj th=j po/lewj e1dramen, e3wj ou[ ei0j to\n to/pon e1lqh| o3pou o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j e0basani/zeto. keleu/ei ga\r o9 a0dikw/tatoj Markiano\j i3na a0na\ pa/saj ta\j platei/aj kai\ ta\j r9u/maj th=j po/lewj a0go/menoj pollai=j timwri/aij u9poblhqh=|. to/te o9 neani/aj, strw/saj e9auto\n ei0j tou\j po/daj tou= a9giou 'Ioulianou=, e0bo/a le/gwn: “se\ ginw/skw pate/ra deute/raj gennh/sewj, o4n o9 despo/thj mou Xristo\j dei/knusin. Markiano\n de\ to\n pate/ra to\n e0mo/n, to\n e0xqro\n tw~n a0nqrw/pwn kai\ tw~n th=j a0lhqei/aj dou/lwn diw/kthn, a0rnou=mai kai\ perifronw~. kai\ soi proskarterw~n eu1xomai,

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u9pe\r Xristou= tou= swth=ro/j mou, o4n e3wj th=j sh/meron h0gno/hsa, tau=ta u9pomei=nai.” tau=ta au0tou= le/gontoj, oi9 tw~n timwriw~n u9phre/tai kai\ stratiw~tai e0ceqambh/qhsan kai\ o9 lo/goj au0tw~n a0pepa/gh. oi9 de\ dida/skaloi au0tou= ei0j fugh\n e0tre/ponto: kai\ pa=sa h9 po/lij e0pi\ to\ qe/atron tou= thlikou/tou pra/gmatoj e1trexon. kai\ pa/ntaj fo/boj ei0sh/rxeto o9rw~ntaj to\n tou= a1rxontoj ui9o\n ou3twj tw~| a9gi/w| 'Ioulianw~| proskekollhme/non kai\ ou3twj ta\ trau/mata au0tou= katafilou=nta kai\ toiau=ta bow~nta: “ti/ e0ceqambh/qhte, pa/ntej oi9 dh=moi oi9 sunelqo/ntej; e0piginw/skete/ me, o3ti e0gw/ ei0mi o9 tou= h9gemo/noj ui9o/j, o3stij meta\ tou= patro\j ta\ seba/smia tw~n a9gi/wn sw/mata e0spa/ratton th=| a0lazonei/a| th=j patrikh=j e0cousi/aj. tau=ta e0poi/hsa a0gnow~n to\n Qeo/n: gnou\j de\ au0to/n, ma=llon de\ gnwsqei\j u9p' au0tou= a0pota/ttomai toi=j qeoi=j. a0rnou=mai to\n pate/ra kai\ th\n mhte/ra. ta\ perissa\ a0poba/llomai xrh/mata kai\ to\n Xristo\n e0pikalou=mai. a0kolouqw~ tw~| makari/w| 'Ioulianw~|. ti/ bradu/nete, u9phre/tai kai\ stratiw~tai; a0pe/lqate kai\ a0naggei/late toi=j goneu=sin e0me\ to\n a0lhqino\n Qeo\n e0gnwke/nai kai\ tou/tw| proskekollh=sqai o4n a0lhqh= dou=lon Qeou= e1gnwn.” 30. e0fanerw/qh de\ tou=to pa/sh| th=| po/lei kai\ pa=san th\n e0parxi/an h9 fh/mh kate/laben. a0gge/lletai toi=j tou/tou goneu=sin, oi3tinej a0kou/santej w9j khro\j e0n puri\ kateka/hsan. kai\ e0peidh\ polu\ plh=qoj sunelhlu/qei, keleu/ousin to\n ui9o\n au0tw~n a0po\ 'Ioulianou= xwrisqe/nta au0toi=j prosenexqh=nai. th=| de\ tou= Qeou= filanqrwpi/a| dia\ tw~n eu0xw~n tou= a9gi/ou ma/rturoj sune/bh w3ste tou= e0ktei/nantoj th\n xei=ra e0pi\ to\ xwri/sai au0to\n e0k th=j tou= a9gi/ou 'Ioulianou= periplokh=j eu0qu\j ta\j xei=raj sh/pesqai. 31. e0ke/leusen de\ tou/touj o9mou= pro\j au0to\n a0xqh=nai. kai\ paragenome/nwn au0tw~n, qewrh/saj ei0j to\n maka/rion 'Iouliano\n ei]pen: “to\n karpo\n th=j e0mh=j gastro\j magikai=j e0pw|dai=j a0rnh/sasqai tou\j gonei=j su\ e1peisaj.” kai\ tau=ta le/gontoj tou= a1rxontoj, parege/neto kai\ h9 mh/thr tou= neani/skou meta\ plh/qouj oi0ketw~n e9kate/raj fu/sewj w9sanei\ pentakosi/wn, lu/sasa tou\j ploka/mouj kai\ gumnw/sasa tou\j mastou\j kai\ fwna\j e0kpe/mpousa. o9rw~n de\ o9 a1rxwn tau=ta, diaspara/caj ta\ i9ma/tia au0tou= ei]pen pro\j 'Iouliano/n: “w0mo/tate 'Iouliane/, qew/rhson to\n po/non tou= patro\j kai\ th=j mhtro\j kai\ th=j tosau/thj famili/aj tou\j qrh/nouj: kai\ to\n a0nai/tion lu=son e0k tw~n magikw~n texnw~n, i3na kai\ h9mi=n to\n monogenh= ui9o\n a0pokatasth/sh|j kai\ th=| tosau/th| u9phresi/a| a0podw~|j to\n despo/thn, i3na ka0gw\ u9pe\r sou= toi=j a1rxousin a0noi/sw kai\ a1neu timwri/aj a0naxwrh/sh|j.” o9 de\ a3gioj 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “th=j sh=j bohqei/aj ou0 xrh/|zw ou)de\ e0k tw~n basile/wn tw~n sw~n e0piqumw~ a0ne/sewj tuxei=n. a0lla\ tou=to parakalw~ to\n despo/thn mou 0Ihsou=n Xristo\n i3na a3ma meta\ tou/tou tou= a0rnou= e0k tw~n lu/kwn r9usqe/ntej pa/ntej oi9 pisteu/santej to\ martu/rion a0nade/cwntai e0n tw~| a0riqmw~| tou/tw| ou4j su\ a0naiti/ouj tw~| puri\ kathna/lwsaj. i0dou\ ga\r pa/restin o9 e0k sou= texqei/j: au0to/j soi a0pokriqh/setai, au0to\j ta\ th=j mhtro\j qewrh/sei da/krua, au0to\j u9pe\r tw~n mastw~n u9f 0 w[n a0netra/fh a0lgh/sei, qana/tou kai\ sfagh=j katafronh/saj.” 32. pro\j tau=ta de\ o9 seba/smioj pai=j: “w3sper e0c a0kanqw~n r9o/don

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genna~sqai ei1wqen kai\ ou0k a0po/llusin th\n h9duta/thn o0smh\n tw~n r9o/dwn to\ gennhqe\n a0po\ a0kanqw~n, ou0de\ ai9 a1kanqai ta\ r9o/da fu/ousai a0po/llusi ta\ ke/ntra, kai\ u9mei=j w9j ei0w/qate plh/ttesqe tou\j pisteu/ontaj ei0j th\n o0smh\n th=j eu0wdi/aj: u9mi=n peiqarxou=sin oi9 e3toimoi a0pole/sqai. e0me\ mimh/sontai oi9 a0po\ skotiw~n ei0j fw~j metelqei=n a0gwnizo/menoi. e0gw\ u9pe\r Xristou= tou= despo/tou mou u9ma~j tou\j gonei=j a0parnou=mai. u9mei=j dia\ th\n peri\ tou\j qeou\j u9mw~n qrhskei/an to\n ui9o\n u9mw~n kola/sate. dia\ ga\r tou= proskai/rou qana/tou ai0w/nion eu9rh/sw zwh/n. ou0de\ ga\r du/namai ei0j u9ma~j eu0sebh\j ei]nai kai\ ei0j e0mauto\n w0mo/j, ou0de\ to\n peri\ u9ma=j po/qon protima~n th=j ai0wni/aj xa/ristoj. ti/ pare/lkete; a1pistoj w2n kai\ w0mo\j path\r nu=n w9j a0lhqh\j 'Abraa\m la/be to\ ci/foj kai\ tw~| Xristw~| to\n ui9o\n prose/negke. ei0 de/ se to\ th=j gennh/sewj pa/qoj nika=|, pe/myon me e0pi\ to\n xalepw/taton basile/a, i3na ka0gw\ tou= despo/tou Xristou= to\ martu/rion timwri/aij e0kplhrw/sw. ma/taioi ga/r ei0sin oi9 u9me/teroi stenagmoi\ kai\ a0no/nhta ta\ da/krua. u9pe\r tau/thj th=j o9mologi/aj ou0demi/a eu0se/beia dunh/setai e0felku/sai: e0n tou/tw| ga\r tw~| me/rei pa=j o3roj filoso/fwn a0rgei=. a0naxwrei/tw a0p' e0mou= to\ tou= patro\j o1noma kai\ th=j mhtro/j: ou0 protimw~ au0tou\j u9pe\r tou= o0no/matoj tou= Xristou= mou.” 33. tau=ta a0kou/wn o9 Markiano\j e0ceboh/sen: “a0pokleisqh/twsan e0n i0diwtikh=| fulakh=| kai\ a0nagkai=ai eu0pori/ai au0toi=j parasxeqw~sin.” o9 neani/skoj ei]pen: “tau=ta a4 keleu/eij eu0trepisqh=nai, toi=j sunainou=si/n soi e0pana/lwson.” a0kou/saj de\ o9 a1rxwn Markiano\j e0pebruxh/sato w9j le/wn: kai\ u9polamba/nwn th=| timwri/a| ptoh=sai ou4j kolakei/aij pei=sai ou0k i1sxusen, e0ke/leusen e0n e0ndota/th| fulakh=| a0pokleisqh=nai o3pou ta\ tw~n katakri/twn me/lh, poluxroni/a| th=| thkedo/ni katanalisko/mena, friktw~n skwlh/kwn e0smou\j a0ne/bruon, kai\ o0smh\ pa/shj o0smh=j xei/rwn. ei0sa/gontai oi9 maka/rioi ma/rturej, ou4j prohgoume/nh h9 xa/rij tou= despo/tou to\n frikto\n to/pon terpno\n a0pete/lesen: kai\ mete/balon to\ sko/toj ei0j fw~j, o0smh\n eu0wdi/aj e0kpe/mpontej. 34. tau=ta de\ o9rw~ntej w9sanei\ ei1kosi stratiw~tai oi9 th=| fulakh=| a0fwrisme/noi e0pistrafe/ntej le/gousin: “ai0sxu/nh h9mi=n ou0k e1stin, ei1 ti sidhrou=n ei1xomen sth=qoj, ei0 a0po\ toiou/tou fwto\j ei0j sko/toj e0pistre/ywmen kai\ a0po\ th=j zwh=j ei0j qa/naton kai\ a0po\ o0smh=j eu0wdi/aj e0pi\ e0kxu/seij ai9ma/twn kai\ a0po\ toiou/tou patro\j pro\j dikasth\n o0rgizo/menon, a0po\ a0lhqei/aj pro\j yeu=doj, a0po\ nhfaleo/thtoj ei0j me/qusma, a0po\ swfrosu/nhj ei0j h9donh/n; ai0sxro/n e0stin u9postre/yai pro\j tou=to o4 e0geno/meqa, a0melh=sai th=j do/chj h[j hu3romen.” tau=ta de\ le/gontej ei0j tou\j po/daj e0kuli/onto tou= a9gi/ou 'Ioulianou=, e0painou=ntej kai\ o9mologou=ntej to\ tou= Xristou= o1noma. to/te o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j meta\ tou= sebasmi/ou paido\j hu0xari/stei tw~| Qew~|. a0kou/saj de\ o9 h9gemw\n Markiano\j e0piti/qhsin th=| fulakh=| w0mota/touj fu/lakaj, o3pwj prohtoimasme/naj pa=sin timwri/aj e0pana/gh|. o9 de\ maka/rioj 'Iouliano/j, merimnw~n peri\ th=j swthri/aj tou/twn w[n tw~| Xristw~| prosepori/sato, pareka/lei to\n Qeo\n i3na fronti/sh| o3pwj th=j tou= bapti/smatoj

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xa/ritoj tu/xwsin. kai\ tou=to de\ ou0 siwph/somai.

35. a1llo de\ dw~ron me/giston e0n th=| au0th=| po/lei paraxwrhqe\n h]n.

pro\ tou= kairou= tou= diwgmou= oi9 basilei=j Dioklhtiano\j kai\ Macimiano\j prwteu/onta/ tina th=j po/lewj monogenw~j h0ga/pwn, e0peidh\ e0k tou= ge/nouj tou= basile/wj kath/geto. o4j teleutw~n xristiano\j meta\ th=j gameth=j e9pta\ ui9ou\j xristianou\j kataleloi/pei: ou4j oi9 basilei=j dia\ to\n peri\ tou\j gonei=j po/qon e0ke/leusan a1neu tino\j diwgmou= th=| xristianikh=| douleu/ein qrhskei/a|. ou[toi ei]xon presbu/teron met' au0tw~n ta\ musth/ria e0pitelou=nta. keleu/ontai de\ kat' o1nar u9po\ tou= Qeou= a3ma meta\ tou= presbute/rou a0pelqei=n ei0j th\n fulakh\n kai\ i3na o9 pai=j kai\ oi9 stratiw~tai th\n tou= bapti/smatoj de/cwntai xa/rin. e0lqo/ntej de\ e0kei= qewrou=sin a1ggelon tou= despo/tou prolamba/nonta, ou[ a9yame/nou th=j qu/raj pa/nta ta\ klei=qra th=j fulakh=j h0new/|xqhsan. eu0xo/menoi de a3ma tw~| makari/w| 'Ioulianw~| e0bo/hsan: “i0dou\ pa/resmen meta\ tou= i0di/ou i9ere/wj 'Antwni/ou, i3na pa/ntej th\n xa/rin tou= bapti/smatoj de/cwntai. h9mei=j oi9 miktoi\ dia\ sou=, pa/ter 0Iouliane/, a0lhqei=j stratiw~tai Xristou= dia\ sou= genhso/meqa.” tau=ta a0kou/wn o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “eu0xaristw~ soi, a0gaqe\ 'Ihsou=, o9 a0ciw/saj plhrwqh=nai th\n e0piqumi/an mou, i3na ou[toi oi9 di' e0mou= soi\ prosporisqe/ntej dia\ th=j xa/ristoj tou= bapti/smatoj me/lh th=j pi/stew/j sou deixqw~sin, kai\ o3ti tou/touj, ou4j h9 a0sebh\j tw~n basile/wn eu0se/beia tou\j a1rnaj mikrou\j metacu\ tosou/twn lu/kwn kate/leiyen, pro\j th\n o9mologi/an tou= a9gi/ou sou o0no/matoj prosh/qroisaj.” 36. a0gge/lletai tw~| a0sebei= Markianw~| to\ gegono\j kai\ [o3ti] sunelqo/ntaj tou\j e9pta\ a0delfou\j a3ma tw~| a9gi/w| 'Ioulianw~| eu1xesqai qanei=n u9pe\r Xristou=. tau=ta a0kou/saj fu/lakaj perie/sthsen kai\ e0cagagw\n au0tou\j e0k th=j fulakh=j prosdiale/getai ou3twj: “ti/ u9mi=n sune/bh, w] pai=dej, ou4j oi9 basilei=j ou3twj a0gapw~sin w3ste kata\ proai/resin u9mi=n e0cei=nai qrhskeu/ein; ti/ u9pome/nete a1neu diwgmou= eu0xo/menoi a0poqanei=n, oi[j sugkexw/rhtai to/ zh=n; ei0 kai\ e0gw\ to\n ui9o\n kakourgi/aij a0pw/lesa kai\ ai9 tw~n stratiwtw~n dia/noiai ou0k oi]da pw~j e0pw|dai=j e0nhlla/ghsan, a0kou/sate/ mou kai\ e1ste a0me/rimnoi w3sper kai\ h]te.” pro\j tau=ta o9 mei/zwn tw~n sebasmi/wn a0delfw~n a0pokri/netai le/gwn: “h9gemw/n, a1kouson ta\ u9p' e0mou= soi lego/mena.” o9 a1rxwn ei]pen: “a0kou/w.” o9 pai=j ei]pen: “o9 xruso/j, kai\ bw~loj w1n, e1ti th\n oi0kei/an e1xei lampro/thta: th=| de\ tou= texni/tou xeiri\ meta\ li/qwn timi/wn ste/mma basiliko\n e0ktelei=, w3ste qauma/zein tou\j o9rw~ntaj th\n tou= xrusou= xrh=sin toi=j margari/taij kekollhme/nhn. ou3twj kai\ h9mei=j e0gennh/qhmen e0k xristianou= xristianoi/: ei0 mhde\ h9 ge/nnhsij dhmosi/a h]n pa=si fanerwqei=sa, e0n tw~| lelhqo/ti ou0 stefanou=tai: kai\ ei0 mh\ 'Ioulianou= a0spi/lw| o9dw~| a0kolouqh/somen, ei0j dia/dhma tou= ai0wni/ou basile/wj tou= despo/tou Xristou= ei]nai ou0 duna/meqa. pa/nu feukto/n e0stin de/ndron to\ fu/lloj qa/llon kai\ mh\ pare/xon karpo\n tw~| i0di/w| gewrgw~|.” tau=ta a0kou/wn o9 h9gemw\n keleu/ei au0tou\j ei0j th\n fulakh\n a0xqh=nai e0n h[| o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j kai\ pa/ntej

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175

to\n Qeo\n i9ke/teuon u9pe\r au0tw~n, i3na mh\ ai9 plastai\ kolakei=ai ta\ a0blabh= sth/qh e0kkli/nousin th=j kardi/aj. u9pode/xontai oi9 a3gioi i9larou\j peri\ w[n h]san u3poptoi. 37. to/te Markiano\j o9 h9gemw\n a0nafora\j e0poi/hsen pro\j tou\j basilei=j le/gwn: “toi=j eu0sebe/sin kai\ qei/oij a0ga/lmasin toi=j a0pomemenhko/sin para/sxete boh/qeian: kai\ to\n ma/gon 'Iouliano\n u9po\ ta\j u9mete/raj o1yeij parasth/sete, o3stij magikai=j te/xnaij ple/on h2 pentakosi/wn di 0 w[n o9 ko/smoj a0nqei= a0ga/lmata sune/triyen kai\\ to\n monogenh= mou ui9o\n a0p 0 e0mou= a0pexw/risen, kai\ tw~n stratiwtw~n ta\\j dianoi/aj ou0k oi]da poi/a| magikh=| te/xnh| e0nh/llacen, kai\ tou\j e9pta\ a0delfou/j, ou4j h9 u9mete/ra filanqrwpi/a e0ke/leusen tw~| i0di/w| qrhskeu/ein no/mw|, kai\ th=| i0di/a| magei/a| pro\j e9auto\n h1gagen kai\ peri\ ta\j u9mete/raj eu0ergesi/aj e0poi/hsen a0xari/stouj.yhfi/sasqe ou]n ti/ kata\ tou/twn o9ri/zete.” tau=ta a0kou/santej oi9 basilei=j tau/thn e1dwkan th\n e0cousi/an i3na, e0a\n 'Iouliano\j meta\ tw~n e9tai/rwn au0tou= e0n th=| o9mologi/a| th=| au0th=| e0pimei/nh|, pro\j para/deigma tw~n loipw~n, sugklhqei/shj pa/shj th=j e0parxi/aj kai\ e9nwqe/ntoj tou= plh/qouj kai\ qewrou=ntoj, e9ka/stw| le/bhta eu0trepisqh=nai pi/sshj kai\ a0sfa/ltou kai\ qea/fou ge/montaj pepurwme/nouj kai\ ei0j tou/touj e0mblhqh=nai puri\ u9pokaiome/nouj. ei0 de\ th=j magikh=j te/xnhj e0pw|dh\ ple/on i0sxu/h|, e1xein au0to\n a1deian oi3a| bou/letai timwri/a| tou/touj ai0ki/zein. 38. labw\n de\ tau/thn th\n e0cousi/an o9 a1rxwn keleu/ei e9autw~| e0n tw~| fo/rw| bh=ma eu0trepisqh=nai. kai\ th=| a1llh| h9me/ra| kaqi/saj e0ke/leusen to\n a3gion 'Iouliano\n meta\ tw~n e9tai/rwn au0tou= e1mprosqen au0tou= sth=nai. e9stw/twn de\ au0tw~n, tau/thn e1rrhcen th\n fwnh/n. “ou0de\n peri\ th=j u9mete/raj swthri/aj e0n tw~| thlikou/tw| diasth/mati tou= kairou= e0nequmh/qhte;” o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j a0pokri/netai: “h9 e0nqu/mhsij h9 h9mete/ra h3tij e0sti\n a0p 0 a0rxh=j, e0n w[| h1rcato e0n au0tw~| kai\ teleioi=. su\ de/, e0a/n tina timwri/an e0nequmh/qhj, e0kgu/mnwson.” Markiano\j ei]pen: “o3per e0nqumou=mai plhrw~.” kai\ prosti/qhsin: “h0kou/sate ti/ peri\ u9mw~n w3risan oi9 a0h/tthtoi basilei=j;” o9 seba/smioj pai=j a0pokri/netai: “h1kousaj kai\ su\ th\n timwri/an h4n eu0tre/pisen o9 Qeo\\j tw~| diabo/lw| kai\ u9mi=n toi=j genome/noij au0tou= a0gge/loij;”36 e0pakolouqh/saj de o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “o3per e0ke/leusan plh/rwson. a0kou=sai ga\r ou0x h9de/wj e1xomen.” 39. tou/twn de\ legome/nwn, sw~ma nekro\n dia\ th=j platei/aj katefe/reto e0pi\ tafh/n. to/te Markiano\j o9 h9gemw/n, tuflwqei\j th=| kardi/a| keleu/ei to\ sw~ma a0nenexqh=nai e0n me/sw| tw~| xorw~| kai\ a0poteqh=nai. kai\ le/gei pro\j 'Iouliano/n: “o9 dida/skaloj u9mw~n o9 Xristo\j le/getai o3ti pri\n h2 staurwqh=nai tou\j nekrou\j h1geiren. kai\ u9mei=j w3sper o9 dida/skaloj u9mw~n tou=ton e0gei/rate to\n nekro/n.” o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “ti/ w0felei= to\n tuflo\n o9 h3lioj a0nate/llwn;” o9 a1rxwn ei]pen: “tou/twn tw~n mu/qwn fei=sai. kai\ e0a/n ti/ pote du/nh| h2 o9 Qeo\j o9 so/j, w9j proei=pon, tou=ton to\n nekro\n e1geiron.” o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “ei0 kai\ h9 a0pisti/a u9mw~n ou0k h]n a0ci/a, a0ll ) e0peidh\ kairo/j e0stin i3na h9 tou= despo/tou h9mw~n a0reth\ fanerwqh=|, i3na mh\ a0du/naton nomi/sh|j, pisth\n e0paggeli/an

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e1xw tou= despo/tou, pisteu/wn o3ti o4 au0to\n ai0th/sw37 ou0x u9sterei= me.” to/te tou= a9gi/ou 'Ioulianou= toi=j o0falmoi=j a0teni/zontoj ei0j to\n ou0rano\n w9j e0pi\ dia/sthma w3raj, e0nhlla/gh h9 o1yij au0tou=: kai\ e0ge/neto w9j xiw/n. kai\ tou/toij toi=j lo/goij e0pi\ pa/ntwn e0ce/xeen proseuxh\n pro\j to\n qeo/n. “de/spota 0Ihsou=, o3stij ei] a0lhqh\j ui9o\j tou= Qeou=, o4j e0n a0rxh=| e0gennh/qhj e0k tou= patro\j a1neu kairou= kai\ e3neka tou= ko/smou tau/thn th\n sa/rka e1labej a1neu spe/rmatoj, e1pide e0n tau/th| th=| w3ra| e0k tou= a1krou tou= ou0ranou= pro\j ai0sxu/nhn tw~n sw~n e0xqrw~n kai\ bebai/wsin th=j pi/stewj tw~n e0pi\ soi\ pepoiqo/twn: kai\ a4 e0poi/hsaj e0n th=| gh=|, tou/twn e0pa/kouson nu=n e0n toi=j ou0ranoi=j: kai\ e1geiron tou=ton to\n teteleuthko/ta, i3na oi9 zw~ntej mh\ teleuth/swsin, a0ll' i3na oi9 tetleuthko/tej a0nazh/swsin.” kai\ tau=ta le/gwn e1fh pro\j to\ sw~ma: “e0pi\ tw~| o0no/mati tou= to\n tetrah/meron La/zaron e0gei/rantoj, au0to/j soi prosta/ttei: a0na/sthqi.” kai\ tau=ta le/gontoj au0tou=, a0ne/sth o9 teqnew\j kai\ fwnh=| mega/lh| e0bo/a: “w2 eu0pro/sdektoj proseuxh/, w2 a1xrantoj parqeni/a, w2 o3swn a0ciou=tai. pou= a0phgo/mhn kai\ po/qen a0nhne/xqhn;” 40. to/te o9 tuflo\j Markiano\j e1legen: “po/qen e0panh=lqej;” kai\ to/te e0kei=noj o9 teteleuthkw\j ei]pen pro\j to\n a1rxonta: “e0pi/treyo/n moi kat' a0ci/an ei0pei=n.” o9 h9gemw\n pa/lin e0ggelw~n au0tw~| e1fh: “ei0pe/.” pro\j tau=ta e0kei=noj ei]pen: “h0go/mhn u9po/ tinwn Ai0qio/pwn, w[n h9 h9liki/a w9j giga/ntwn h]n kai\ to\ ei]doj frikto/n, oi9 o0fqalmoi\ w9j pu=r kami/nou, oi9 o0do/ntej w9j leo/ntwn, oi9 braxi/onej w9j dokoi/, oi9 o1nuxej a0etou=, e0n oi[j ou0k h]n e0lehmosu/nh. ou[toi xai/rontej h]go/n me ei0j ta\ kataxqo/nia. e0ggi/zontoj de/ mou loipo\n th=| a0bu/ssw|, ei0j tou=to h]n ei0j to\ a0podoqh=nai to\ sw~ma th=| gh=| e0c h[j e0lh/fqhn. e0peidh\ de\ ou1te ai9 a1dikoi ou1te ai9 yeudei=j ou1te ai9 a9martwloi\ ou1te ai9 a0sebei=j yuxai\ paradi/dontai tw~| o0feilome/nw| to/pw|, ei0 mh\ to\ sw~ma th=| gh=| paradoqh=| e0c h[j e0lh/fqh, o9phni/ka de\ su/, h9gemw/n, to\ sw~ma/ mou e0poi/hsaj a0nakliqh=nai kai\ o9 maka/rioj 0Iouliano\j pro\j to\n tw~n ou0ranw~n despo/thn e0ce/xeen i9kesi/an, pa/nta ta\ kataxqo/nia e0tara/xqh kai\ h0kou/sqh fwnh\ tou= Qeou= le/gontoj: “dia\ to\n h0gaphme/non mou 'Iouliano\n e0panaxqh/setai, e0peidh\ e0n ou0deni\ luph=sai tou=ton bou/lomai, e0f 0 w[| ou3twj o9 path\r kai\ e0gw\ kai\ to\ pneu=ma to\ a3gion xai/rei.” tau/thj de\ genome/nhj th=j fwnh=j, h]lqon du/o leuxeimonou=ntej kai\ a0felo/menoi/ me e0k th=j despotei/aj tw~n a0sebw~n a0pedw/kasi tw~| fwti\ tou/tw|, i3na dia\ tou= e0gei/ranto/j me gnw/swmai meta\ qa/naton e0kei=non o4n periw\n a0phrnou/mhn.” tau=ta o9rw~n kai\ a0kou/wn o9 h9gemw\n e0tara/xqh: kai\ i3na mh\ dixostasi/a ge/nhtai metacu\ tosou/tou plh/qouj, keleu/ei tou=ton meta\ tw~n a9gi/wn e0n th=| fulakh=| a0pokleisqh=nai kai\ ta\ klei=qra tw~| daktulidi/w| au0tou= sfragisqh=nai. o4n o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j e0poi/hsen e0pituxei=n th=j xa/ritoj tou= bapti/smatoj. o3stij kai\ met' au0tw~n e0n th=| marturi/a| h0gwni/sato. 41. o9 de\ a0sebh\j Markiano\j keleu/ei th\n timwri/an proetoimasqh=nai th\n u9po\ tw~n basile/wn keleusqei=san. th=| de\ e9ch=j h9me/ra| a1ndrej te kai\ gunai=kej sune/trexon kai\ pa=sa h9liki/a sunh/geto e0pi\ th\n

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th=j i9ppodromi/aj qe/an. kaqesqe/ntoj de\ tou= h9gemo/noj e0pi\ tou= bh/matoj, le/bhtej kata\ ta/cin ti/qentai tria/konta kai\ ei[j. meta\ pollou= de\ fo/bou e0mblhqei/shj pi/sshj kai\ a0sfa/ltou kai\ qeia/fou kai\ plh/qouj cu/lwn a0poteqe/ntoj, keleu/ei o9 a0sebh\j h9gemw\n tou\j a9gi/ouj e0k th=j fulakh=j e0ca/gesqai. 42. o9 de\ a3gioj 'Iouliano\j kai\ o9 pai=j e9ni\ desmw~| e0kratou=nto, oi9 de\ loipoi\ baruta/taij a9lu/sesin ei3lkonto e0pi\ to\ qe/atron, u3mnouj tw~| Qew~| pa/ntej mia~| fwnh=| a1|dontej: “a0gaqo/n moi o3ti e0tapei/nwsa/j me, o3pwj a2n ma/qw ta\ dikaiw/mata/ sou”.38 w{n to\ ka/lloj pa/ntej e0qau/mazon kai\ pa/ntej sunaxqe/ntej e0qrh/noun. kai\ oi9 me\n a1ndrej e0bo/wn: “w2 a0diki/a: kai\ h9mei=j te/kna e1xomen.” ai9 de\ gunai=kej lusi/trixoi e1krazon: “w2 xolh=j pikro/teroj stenagmo/j. diati/ toiau/th neo/thj puri\ katakai/etai; w2 tuflh\ e0cousi/a kai\ dunastei/a, h3tij ou0de\ zw/ntwn fei/detai, ou0de\ nekrw~n a0kou/ei.” to/te o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j h9suxi/an ai0th/saj pro\j to\n dh=mon e1fh: “mh\ kwlu/shte h9ma=j lamprote/rouj gene/sqai xrusou= dia\ tou= puro/j, tou=to i0do/ntej, e0peidh\ o1yesqe h9ma~j, pistoi/ te kai\ a1pistoi, kai\ meta\ to\ pu=r kai\ pro\ tou= puro\j a0blabei=j.” 43. keleu/saj de\ o9 a1rxwn au0tou\j sth=nai ou3twj ei]pen: “w2 a0ne/lpistoi proaire/seij, di 0 w[n o9 ko/smoj th=j neo/thtoj e0pi\ to\n qa/naton speu/dei. ou0k oi]da poi/a| e0pw|dh=| h0llotriwme/nai u9mw~n ei0sin ai9 gnw~mai. metastra/fhte o0ye/ pote kai\ u9pe\r th=j u9mete/raj swthri/aj toi=j qeoi=j toi=j a0qana/toij toi=j u9pe\r u9mw~n ka/mnousin tou\j au0xe/naj u9mw~n ka/myate. ei0 de\ mh\ qe/lhte, e0gw\ e0k tw~n basile/wn katorqw/sw tou=to w3ste u9ma~j a1neu diwgmou= th=| qrhskei/a| th=| u9mete/ra| sxola/zein. mo/non moi to\n monogenh= ui9o\n perisw/sate, i3na mh\ e0n au0tw~| tw~| a1nqei th=j toiau/thj h9liki/aj u9po\ puro\j dapanhqh/setai. w2 a0ko/reste ai0sxu/nh e0n tw~| e0mw~| sth/qei: ti/na prw~ton qrhnh/sw; ei0j ta\ pa/ntwn ga\r eu0preph= sw/mata a0teni/zwn, ui9e/ mou gluku/tate, to\n so\n o0du/romai xarakth=ra. w] 'Iouliane/, pa/ntwn tw~n kakw~n ai1tie, pw~j polla\ a0gaqa\ meta\ sautou= e3lkeij ei0j qa/naton; pw~j o9 ui9o\j a0rnou/menoj to\n pate/ra ou0de\ th\n mhte/ra ginw/skei; ka2n pri\n h2 teleuth/sh|j, ui9e/ mou, r9hma/twn e0k tou= sto/mato/j sou tou= glukuta/tou a0kou/sw. i0dou\ e0leu/setai/ sou h9 mh/thr, h3tij tou= o0ikei/ou toketou= tou\j po/nouj tou/touj ou4j ou0x h1lpizen eu9ri/skei: kai\ i0dou\ to\ plh=qoj tw~n dou/lwn, oi3tinej e0pi\ soi\ tw~| despo/th| e1xairon, h]lqon e0ktele/sontej tw~| pe/nqei sou khdei/an.” 44. o9 de\ seba/smioj neani/skoj Ke/lsioj ei]pen: “qrhnw~si/n se kai\ e9autou/j: h9ma=j ga\r ou4j o9rw~sin ei0j th\n tw~n ou0ranw~n basilei/an badi/zontaj, diati/ qrhnou=sin; h9mei=j ga\r dieleuso/meqa dia\ tou/tou tou= puro\j kai\ a0blabei=j fanhso/meqa kai\ soi\ kai\ tou/tw| kai\ panti\ tw~| dh/mw| tw~| to\n h9me/teron a0gw~na prosdexome/nw|. tw~n de\ daimo/nwn w[n qrhskeu/ete kai\ tw~n basile/wn e0kei/nwn tw~n fqoropoiw~n w[n le/gete w9sperei\ kaqarma/twn katafronou=men.” o9 h9gemw\n ei]pen: “au3th u9mw~n e0stin h9 u9bristikh\ to/lma h9 mh\ sugxwrou=sa u9ma=j zh=n;” o9 maka/rioj Ke/lsioj ei]pen: “pro\j au0th=j se th=j mataio/thtoj h4n qrhskeu/eij o9rkw~ i3na a3 se ai0tw~ a0dista/ktw| kardi/a| para/sxh|j th=| ai0th/sei mou pe/raj.” o9 h9gemw\n ei]pen:

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“ei1 ti qe/leij ai1thson.” o9 neani/aj ei]pen: “o3te me i1dh|j meta\ to\ pu=r a0blabh=, e0pi/treyon th=| mhtri/ mou e0lqei=n pro/j me kai\ triw~n h9merw~n u9pe/rqesi/n moi sugxwrh/sh|j meta\ tau/thj me bouleu/sasqai di 0 e4n pra=gma. kai\ o3per qelh/sw ei0 sugxwrh/sh|j moi, ou0de\ e0me\ ou0de\ au0th\n a0pole/seij.” tau=ta a0kou/sasa h9 mh/thr e0pe/keito gene/sqai tou=to. to/te o9 a0sebh\j a1rxwn tuflwqei\j u9po\ tou= diabo/lou ei]pen: “ei0 e0k tou= puro\j a0blabh\j e0ce/lqh|j, o3per ou0 pisteu/w gene/sqai, a4 e0piqumei=j poih/sw.” 45. to/te o9 h9gemw/n, mh\ u9pofe/rwn i0dei=n kaio/menon to\n ui9o/n, to\n sugka/qedron kate/lipen o0fei/lonta ta\j tw~n basile/wn plhrw~sai keleu/seij: au0to\j de/, diarrh/caj ta\ i9ma/tia au0tou=, o0duro/menoj e1legen meta\ th=j gunaiko\j sxedo\n teqnew/shj ei0j to\n oi]kon a0nastre/fein. gi/netai de\ pe/nqoj me/giston, pa/ntwn koptome/nwn: e0qrh/noun ga\r oi9 gonei=j to\n ui9o\n kai\ to\ plh=qoj tw~n dou/lwn to\n despo/thn: kai\ ou0k h]n o9 paramuqou/menoj. o9 de\ su/mponoj, to\ e0pitaxqe\n au0tw~| plhrw~n, keleu/ei e3kaston tw~n a9gi/wn ei0j le/bhta a0poteqh=nai. o9 de\ a3gioj Ke/lsioj, o9 mhde/pote e0k tou= pleurou= tou= a9gi/ou 'Ioulianou= xwrisqei/j, ei0rh/nhn didou\j tw~| patri/, pro\j th\n eu0trepisqei=san ko/lasin a0pto/htoj e1speuden. keleu/santoj de\ tou= sugkaqe/drou u9poteqh=nai toi=j le/bhsi pu=r meta\ klhmati/dwn kai\ stou/phj, a0neko/xlazen h9 pi/ssa dia\ th=j flogo\j u9yhlo/teron o0beli/skou: e0k de\ tou= me/sou tou= puro\j plh=qoj yallo/ntwn a0ph/xei w9sanei\ mi/a fwnh\ u9da/twn pollw~n.39 a0nalwqe/ntoj de\ tou= puro\j kai\ koimisqe/ntoj, fai/nontai oi9 a3gioi w9j xruso\j h2 a1rguroj a0pastra/ptwn: kai\ toiau/th| yalmw|di/a| u3mnoun ya/llontej: “dih/lqomen dia\ puro\j kai\ u3datoj, kai\ e0ch/gagej h9ma=j ei0j a0nayuxh/n.40 kai\ pa/lin to\ pu=r to\ kaio/menon kai\ lampro\n th=j oi0kei/aj e0pela/qeto duna/mewj. 46. h0gge/lqh de\ tw~| h9gemo/ni tou\j a9gi/ouj tou= Qeou= a0nafai/nesqai. a0kou/saj de\ o9 h9gemw\n tau/thn a0fh=ken th\n fwnh/n: “ 'Iouliane/, o9rkw~ se pro\j tw~| Qew~| tw~| sw~|, i3na moi ei1ph|j po/qen th\n thlikau/thn tw~n kakourgiw~n du/namin e0ce/maqej.” o9 de\ maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j : “e0peidh\ kata\ tou= Qeou= w3rkisaj me, o3stij tou/twn tw~n qaumasi/wn a0rxhgo/j, du/natai/ tij a0ciwqh=nai maqei=n … o9 e0piqumw~n: e0a/n tij w3sper… eu0wdh\j th=j a9gi/aj a0rx… e0a/n tij speu/sh| i3na e0k… ai0w~noj tou/tou ge/nhtai… a0llo/trioj… th=j fwnh=j tou= despo/tou a0kou/sei a0pag kai\ le/gontoj: “o9 qe/lwn o0pi/sw mou e0lqei=n a0rnhsa/sqw e9auto\n kai\ a0ra/tw to\n stauro\n au0tou= kai\ a0kolouqei/tw moi”,41 i3na mhde\n protimh/sh| tou= Xristou= mhde\ a1lla e0pipoqh/sh| ei0 mh\ o3per o9 despo/thj e0pagge/lletai kai\ i3na mh\ skoph=| pate/ra h2 mhte/ra h2 te/kna. ta\ loipa\ i1sasin oi9 ai0sqano/menoi, u9pe\r pa/nta de\ o3stij ta\j tw~n penh/twn fronti/daj a0nade/xetai, oi3tinej a0rnou=ntai peina=n i3na a1llouj qa/llousin. pa/nu ga\r eu0pro/sdekton tw~| Qew~| e0stin dw~ron o3te pe/nhj kore/nnutai, o3te o0rgh\ ou0k e0ktelei=tai kai\ kako\n a0nti\ kakou= ou0k a0podi/dotai, o3te ko/roj o0rgh=j mh\ fula/ttetai kai\ e0k th=j a0necikaki/aj o9 mh\ a0neci/kakoj u9pernika=tai, o3stij ou0 le/getai a3gioj pri\n h2 ge/nhtai, o3per a0lhqe/steron lexqei/h: polloi\ ga\r le/gontai o3per ou0k ei0si/n, kai\ au0th=| mo/nh| th=| e0lpi/di a0me/rimnoi gi/nontai, e0peidh\ le/gontai o4 ou0k

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ei0si\n kai\ gi/nontai nwxelei=j ei0j to\ ka/mnein, o4 peri\ au0tw~n plastw~j le/getai. oi3tinej a0lhqw~j a3gioi/ ei0sin kai\ ou0 le/getai peri\ au0tw~n o3per ei0si/n, a0lla\ tapeinw/sewj kai\ xa/ritoj peplhrwme/noi a0po\ tw~n a0nqrw/pwn gnwri/zesqai ou0 qe/lousin o3per ei0si/n, i3na a0p' e0kei/nou de/cwntai to\n misqo\n o4j oi]den o3per ei0si\n ou[toi. tau/thn th\n te/xnhn e1maqon kai\ ou0 mo/non e0n tou/tw| tw~| sw/mati… ej, a0lla\ ai0wni/aj meta\ tou= despo/tou a0ciou=ntej… e0peidh\ prw~ton didaxqe/ntej u9po\ tou= Xristou=… to\ dw~ron to\ au0toi=j doqe\n e9au… … ontej: e1peita to\n plhsi/on… kai\ a0lhqei=j oi0kodo/moi. oi3… au0toi=j u3breij a0nti\ e0pai/ … ntai: oi3tinej e9autou\j kairo\n a0diki/aj… ttousin, oi3tinej filopoiou=ntej e9autoi=j… i/on prosfe/rousi tw~| Qew~|, oi3tinej th\n frosu/nhn e1xousin, h3tij e0sti\n sth/rigma tw~n kalw~n.” Markiano\j h9gemw\n ei]pen: “kai\ ti/j ou3twj a0no/hto/j e0stin o3stij tau/thj th=j zwh=j th\n xara\n e0kfeu/gei kai\ pro\j th\n thlikau/thn u3brin e9auto\n e0pikli/nei h4n u9mei=j u9pome/nete;” o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “o9 Qeo\j pa=sin e3toimo/j e0stin dido/nai ta\ au0tou= xari/smata, a0ll 0 o0li/goi e9autou\j a0ci/ouj pare/xousi tou= labei=n.” o9 h9gemw\n ei]pen: “h9 pro\j se\ o9mili/a moi te/loj e0xe/tw.” 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “tou=to e0gw\ a0ei\ eu1xomai. ti/ ga/r moi to\ o1feloj ei0j pi/qon tetrimme/non a0ntlei=n; a0ll ) o3mwj o4 e0pisteu/qhn ta/lanton dei= me pragmateu/sasqai,42 i3na oi9 a0kou/onte/j mou swqw~sin.” 47. to/te o9 h9gemw\n pro\j to\n ui9o\n to\n i1dion ei]pen: “i0dou\ h9 mh/thr sou: w9j h1|thsaj, trih/meron e1xeij met' au0th=j diwri/an. au3th ga\r pro\j pa/nta soi e9toi/mh e0sti\n sun…, i3na mh/ se to\n monogenh= kai\ gluku/taton te/knon a0pole/sh|.” o9 a3gioj Ke/lsioj ei]pen: “e0n tau/taij tai=j trisi\n h9me/raij e0n ai[j parexw/rhsa/j moi th\n mhte/ra, ou0k e1stai tini\ mesiteu=sai metacu\ e0mou= kai\ au0th=j.” o9 h9gemw\n ei]pen: “w9j qe/leij paraxwrw~ soi.” kai\ e0ke/leusen au0tou\j a0pokleisqh=nai e0n i0diazou/sh| froura=|. oi9 de\ loipoi\ a3gioi ma/rturej a0poklei/ontai e0n th=| politikh=| fulakh=| plhsio/n. oi9 de\ a3gioi, e0celqo/ntej gunai=ka, tau/thn th\n proseuxh\n e0ce/xean pro\j to\n qeo\n u9pe\r tou= e0pistrafh=nai th\n mhte/ra tou= a9gi/ou Kelsi/ou pro\j pi/stin a0lhqei/aj: “de/spota o9 Qeo/j, o3stij proginw/skeij ta\ e0so/mena kai\ ta\ parelqo/nta w9j paro/nta o9ra=|j, o4j a0pode/xh| gnwma\j a0lhqina\j kai\ ou) lamba/neij pro/swpon a0nqrw/pou, ou0 te/rpei mege/qei kai\ ka/llei swma/twn, a0lla\ ei0j ba/qh kardi/aj o9ra=|j, su/, de/spota, tou\j o0fqalmou\j th=j kardi/aj kai\ tau/thj th=j gunaiko\j a0noi=cai kataci/wson kai\ eu0pro/sdekton poi/hson tau/thn e0c h[j e1labej to\n karpo\n e0f 0 w[| xai/reij.” 48. eu0qu\j de\ e0kinh/qh o9 to/poj e0n w[| h]san: kai\ lamphdw\n lamprote/ra a0rgu/rou e0fa/nh kai\ h9 ei0wqui=a o0smh\ toi=j a9gi/oij parege/neto kai\ fwnh\ yallo/ntwn e0n tw~| a0e/ri a0nth/xei: “a0lhqw~j o9 Qeo\j eu0sebh\j o9 dikaiw~n ta\j yuxa\j ta\j a9martwla/j.” tau=ta h9 gunh\ a0kou/ousa/ te kai\ o9rw~sa e0bo/a: “ou0de/pote e0n tai=j h9me/raij th=j zwh=j mou toiau/thn eu0w/dh o0smh\n eu[ron, ou0de\ e0n eu0terpe/si kh/poij kri/nwn kai\ r9o/dwn kai\ kro/kou ou0de\ balsa/mou kai\ na/rdou. ou3twj ga\r au3th h9 kalh\ o0smh\ a0nekth/sato/ me w3ste tw~n po/non pa/ntwn e0pi/lhsi/n

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moi u9pomei=nai kai\ ou0de\n a1llo me/llein ginw/skein e0n th=| kardi/a| mou ei0 mh\ au0to\n ei]nai to\n a0lhqh= Qeo/n, u9pe\r ou[ o9 e0mo\j ui9o\j a0gwni/zetai.” 49. tau=ta a0kou/wn o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j meta\ pa/ntwn tw~n a9gi/wn toiau=ta le/gei pro\j th\n gunai=ka: “maka/rion de/ndron e0n toi=j pisteu/ousin eu9ri/skh|: kai\ ga\r toiou=to/j e0stin o9 i0atro\j o9 th\n sh\n e0pideiknu/menoj u9gi/eian, w3ste mh\ deu/teron tw~n trauma/twn fronti/zein.” o9 de\ a3gioj pai=j Ke/lsioj ei]pen: “a0lhqw~j nu=n a0lhqh= se mhte/ra ginw/skw kai\ ou1te su\ a0pw/lesaj to\n ui9o\n ou1te e0gw\ th\n mhte/ra: met' e0mou= ei] e0pi\ to\ dw~ron tou= Xristou=, u9pe\r ou[ oi9 a3gioi ta\ thlikau=ta u9pome/nousin.” h9 de\ sebasmi/a gunh\ h[stinoj ta\ e0ndo/tata th=j kardi/aj h9 qei/a xa/rij e0fw/tisen, a0pokri/netai tw~| ui9w~| kai\ le/gei: “e0pe/gnwkaj, w} ui9e/ mou, mhde\n protimw~san tou= Qeou= tou/tou o4n su\ a0gapa~|j: dio/per, ei1 ti dh/pote oi]daj sumfe/rein ei0j th\n e0mh\n swthri/an, e0kte/leson.” o9 seba/smoj pai=j a0pokri/netai: “h9 e0k kardi/aj pi/stij gi/netai ei0j dikaiosu/nhn kai\ h9 e0k sto/matoj o9mologi/a pro\j swthri/an. tou=to de\ lei/pei soi i3na ka/qarsin bapti/smatoj de/ch|, di 0 ou[ dunhqh=|j oi0khth/rion tou= a9gi/ou pneu/matoj e0ktelesqh=nai.” h9 gunh\ a0po/kri/netai: “i0dou\ h9ma~j pa/nta ta\ klei=qra sune/xei kai\ h9 fulakh\ tw~n stratiwtw~n periklei/ei, w3ste mh/te e0co/dw| mh/te ei0so/dw| ei]nai a1deian: kai\ pw~j eu3rwmen toiou=ton a1nqrwpon o9poi=o/n moi u9poti/qh|;” o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “e0ntau=qa e1xomen a3gion kai\ a0lhqh= i9ere/a Xristou=, o3stij se kaqari/sei: mo/non e0k kardi/aj a0pa/rnhsai tou\j qeou\j th=j sh=j patri/doj, i3na e0n e9ni\ Qew~| pisteu/sh|j, o4j basileu/ei e0n toi=j ou0ranoi=j, o9 ei[j e0n tri/adi kai\ h9 tria\j e0n e9no/thti, ou[tinoj dia\ th=j basilei/aj basileu/ousin a1rxontej, di 0 ou[ th=j xa/ritoj bebaiou=ntai oi9 h9gemo/nej, tw~| lo/gw| tre/mousi ta\ e1qnh, di 0 ou[ th=j sofi/aj fro/nimoi gi/nontai a1nqrwpoi, ou[tinoj th=| prosta/cei kalu/ptontai oi9 ou0ranoi\ toi=j ne/fesin, ou[tinoj th=| boulh/sei de/xetai h9 gh= u9eto/n, ou[tinoj th=| dwrea~| gi/netai h9 gh= go/nimoj, di 0 ou[ ta\ a0nagkai=a toi=j a0nqrw/poij genna=tai. au0to/j e0stin o9 Qeo\j o9 Xristo\j o9 path\r e0n ui9w~| kai\ a9gi/w| pneu/mati. dia\ th=j au0tou= lamro/thtoj fwti/zontai oi9 tufloi/, ai9 skoti/ai th=j a0pisti/aj fugadeu/ontai: tw~| neu/mati au0tou= pa/nta kuberna=tai: th=| au0tou= boulh/sei pa/nta e0genh/qh.” tau=ta a0kou/ousa h9 gunh\ ei]pen: “o3stij tau=ta ou0 pisteu/ei sidhrou=n e1xei sth=qoj kai\ ou0k a0nqrw/pon ai1sqhsin a0lla\ qremma/twn e1xei.” to/te pa/ntej oi9 a3gioi hu0xari/sthsan tw~| despo/th| tw~| a0ciw/santi a0po\ stoma/twn lu/kwn pro/baton a0polwlo\j sw~sai. pro\j h4n pa/lin o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “ou3twj pisteu/eij w9j h1kousaj e3na ei]nai Qeo\n a0lhqh= to\n o1nta e0n toi=j ou0ranoi=j e0n o9moousi/w| tri/adi;” h9 gunh\ a0pokri/netai: “au0to\n pisteu/w a0lhqh= ei]nai Qeo/n, o4n dia\ tou= sou= e1gnwn khru/gmatoj, o4j bebai/oij o3roij th\n qa/lassan e1phcen, o3stij e1qhken o3rouj ou4j ou0 pare/rxetai, o4j u3ywsen to\n ou0rano\n kai\ tou=ton lamphdo/sin diafo/rwn a0ste/rwn dieko/smhsen, o4j to\n h3lion dihnekei= e0qemeli/wsen fwti\ kai\ a0rxh\n kai\ te/loj selh/nhn kate/sthsen. au0to/j e0stin o9 despo/thj Xristo/j, ei0j o4n pisteu/w, pa/shj kataleifqei/shj mataio/thtoj, e0piqumou=sa tau/thj th=j proskai/rou zwh=j sterhqh=nai, i3na e0kei/nhj th=j ai0wni/aj a0ciwqw~ meq' u9mw~n e0pituxei=n.” 50. tau=ta legoush=j th=j gunaiko&j, su/ntromoj e0ge/neto o9 to/poj e0n w{|

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h}san kai\ fwnh\ h0kou/sqh e0n tw~| a0e/ri le/gousa: “ e0pi/steusa: di 0 o4 e0la/lhsa.”43 tau/thj th=j fwnh=j lexqei/shj, pa/ntej oi9 a3gioi ei]pon: “ a0mh/n.” kai\ to/te o9 maka/rioj 'Antw/nioj o9 presu/teroj e0ba/ptisen th\n gunai=ka: h4n o9 maka/rioj ui9o\j au0th=j Ke/lsioj a0nede/cato, path\r au0th=j gegonw\j e0n tw~| bapti/smati. pa/ntwn de\ xairo/ntwn peri\ th=j swthri/aj au0th=j, h0kou/sqh fwnh\ le/gousa: “ a0ndri/zesqe kai\ krataiou/sqw h9 kardi/a u9mw~n44 e0n kuri/w|.” meta\ tau/thn th\n fwnh\n e1fh o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j pro\j tou\j a9gi/ouj: “ au3th h9 fwnh\ h9 periktuph/sasa ta\j a0koa\j h9mw~n proagge/llei h9mi=n ta\ me/llonta paqh/mata kai\ ta\ ei1dh tw~n basa/nwn a3tina kaq 0 h9mw~n e0nqumei=tai o9 e0xqro/j. di 0 o3per, a3gioi ma/rturej, th=j pi/stewj to\n dro/mon th=j h9mete/raj tw~| Qew~| paraqw/meqa, o4j du/natai th\n pi/stin h9mw~n fula/cai kai\ to\n dro/mon teleiw~sai, i3na to\n a0pokei/menon th=j dikaiosu/nhj ste/fanon a0ciwqw~men labei=n.” 51. gnou\j de\ o9 a0sebh\j Markiano\j th\n gunai=ka au0tou= koinwno\n genome/nhn tw~n martu/rwn kai\ bebaiwqei=san tw~| po/qw| tou= Xristou=, keleu/ei a0xqh=nai tou\j ma/rturaj: kai\ a0teni/saj au0toi=j e1fh pro\j to\n ui9o/n: “ th\n mhte/ra th\n sh\n dia\ tou=to h1|thsaj i3na soi sunaine/sh|. ou0k ei0do/ti de/ moi ta\ nu=n praxqe/nta a0pa/ggeilo/n moi, e0peidh\ gnw~nai e0piqumw~.” o9 pai=j a0pokri/netai: “eu0xaristw~ tw~| despo/th| tw~| to\n karpo\n th=j proaire/sew/j mou teleiw/santi, i3na ei0j to\n ai0w~na kth/swmai th\n mhte/ra, kai\ au0th\ e0me\ kth/setai ui9o/n. a0po\ tau/thj th=j h9me/raj gnw~qi, h9gemw/n, u9pe\r tou= ei0j Xristo\n po/qou katafronei=n h9ma~j tau/thj th=j zwh=j. di 0 o3per ou1te e0gw/ se oi]da pate/ra ou1te au0th\ a1ndra.” to/te o0rgh=j plhrwqei\j o9 h9gemw\n e0ke/leusen th\n gunai=ka susxeqh==nai kai\ ei0j to\n oi]kon a0paxqh=nai. e0ggizo/ntwn de\ pro\j au0th\n tw~n u9phretw~n kai\ qelhsa/ntwn au0th=j a3yasqai, e0ge/nonto tufloi/. tau=ta de\ o9rw~n o9 Markiano\j kai\ tuflwqei\j e0k tou= diabo/lou keleu/ei pa/ntaj ei0j th\n katwta/thn fulakh\n a0pokleisqh=nai. 52. th=| de\ e0pau/rion kaqh/menoj e0pi\ tou= bh/matoj e0ke/leusen tou\j ei1kosi stratiw/taj tou\j a0gwnizome/nouj u9pe\r Xristou= kai\ tou\j e9pta\ a0delfou\j tw~| puri\ paradoqh=nai. e0kei/nwn de\ to\ martu/rion plhrwsa/ntwn e0n ei0rh/nh|, 'Iouliano\n meta\ 'Antwni/ou tou= presbute/rou kai\ th\n mhte/ra kai\ to\n ui9o\n kai\ to\n e0k nekrw~n a0nasta/nta th=| oi0kei/a| kri/sei e0fu/lacen. 53. kai\ kaqesqei\j e0n tw~| fo/rw| keleu/ei to\n maka/rion 'Iouliano\n kai\ tou\j loipou\j a9gi/ouj tou\j lexqe/ntaj parei=nai. kataqeme/nhj de\ th=j ta/cewj tou/touj parei=nai, o9 Markiano\j ou3twj h1rcato: “meta\ sou=, 'Iouliane/, a0na/cion h9gou=mai ei0pei=n.” kai\ prose/qhken: “su\ ei] 'Antw/nioj o4n pa/pan i1dion ou[toi o9mologou=sin; a0pode/deiktai/ se ei]nai tau/thj th=j magikh=j te/xnhj a0rxhgo/n.” o9 maka/rioj 'Antw/nioj o9 presbu/teroj ei]pen: “eu0xaristw~ tw~| despo/th| Xristw~|, o3stij tau/thj th=j xa/ritoj e0me\ to\n a0na/cion e0poi/hsen ei]nai u9phre/thn.” o9 h9gemw\n ei]pen: “su\ ou]n, 0Antw/nie, ei0pe\ ti/j e0stin h9 magei/a h9 u9mete/ra, w3ste xwri/zein suzugi/aj kai\ ui9ou\j a0po\ gone/wn, ta\ u9pa/rxonta kai\ ta\j periousi/aj th=j zwh=j kai\ ta\j e0k moirw~n dedwrhme/naj a0parnei=sqai kai\

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feu/gein pei/qete: di 0 w{n oi9 a0qa/natoi qeoi\ blasfhmou=ntai. ti/j toi/nun au3th e0sti\n h9 u9mete/ra to/lma, ei0pe/ moi, i3na e0k tou= sto/mato/j sou a0kou/saj gnw/swmai pw~j u9mi=n kai\ tai=j magei/aij tai=j u9mete/raij te/loj e0piqh/sw. tosou=ton ga\r i0sxu/sate pro\j to\ a0path=sai to\n dh=mon w3ste megalauxei=n o3ti nekro\n h0gei/rate: kai\ e0delea/sate pollou\j a0naiti/ouj.” pro\j tau=ta o9 maka/rioj presbu/teroj ei]pen: “hu0xo/mhn me\n i3na to\n h9gemo/na tou= a0gw~noj tou/tou tou= h9mete/rou 'Iouliano\n prosekale/sw, i3na a0p 0 au0tou= a0po/krisin e0de/cw: a0ll 0 e0peidh\ ei[j e0stin despo/thj 'Ihsou=j Xristo\j o9 kinw~n ta\ o1rgana th=j kardi/aj h9mw~n, a4 h0rw&thsaj a1kouson nu=n a0p' e0mou=. o9 dida/skaloj kai\ a0rxhgo\j th=j h9mete/raj w9j le/geij magei/aj tau/thn h9mi=n e1dwken th\n paraggeli/an i3na mh\ tou\j polutimh/touj margari/taj toi=j xoi/roij ba/llwmen,45 o4j ei]pen: “ou0k h]lqon ei0rh/nhn pe/myai e0pi\ th\n gh=n a0lla\ ma/xairan: h]lqon ga\r ui9o\n xwri/sai e0k patro/j”46 kai\ ta\ loipa/: kai\ pa/lin e0n a1llw| to/pw| a0kolou/qwj le/gei: “o9 e0mou= protimw~n h2 pate/ra h2 mhte/ra, h2 gunai=ka h2 te/kna, h2 xruso\n h2 a1rguron, h2 oi]kon h2 a0grou\j ou0 du/natai e0mo\j ei]nai maqhth/j”.47 tau/thj th=j fwnh=j a0kou/wn o9 ui9o\j o9 so\j ou0 proeti/mhse/n se to\n swmatiko\n pate/ra tou= Xristou= tou= patro/j. o9moi/wj de\ kai\ h4n le/geij gunai=ka/ sou, gnou=sa au0th\ tou= despo/tou th\n fwnh/n, katefro/nhse/n sou tou= fqartou= kai\ th=j proskai/rou koi/thj, i3na dia\ tou= a0qana/tou Xristou= a0napau/sewj a0ciwqh=|. i0dou/, h9gemw/n, ou0de\n safe/steron du/nh| gnw~nai.” tau=ta a0kou/wn o9 Markiano\j keleu/ei au0tou\j ei0j th\n fulakh\n a0paxqh=nai le/gwn: “ske/yomai timwri/aj di 0 w{n ou{toi a0polou=ntai.” 54. kai\ th=| e9ch=j h9me/ra| kale/saj tou\j i9erei=j tou= naou= ei]pen pro\j au0tou/j: “kosmh/sate to\n seba/smion tou= Dio\j nao/n, o4n e1qoj e0sti\n a3pac tou= e1touj a0noi/gesqai, o3pou ei0si\n ta\ a0ga/lmata tou= Dio\j kai\ th=j 3Hraj kai\ th=j 'Aqhna=j e0k kaqarou= geno/mena h0le/ktrou, oi[j o9 h9du/tatoj 1Erwj ta\j te/ryeij u9pourgei=. kai\ e9toima/sate ta\j sponda\j kai\ ta\ qumia/mata.” a0kou/santej de\ oi9 u9phre/tai h9toi/masin ta\j e0c e1qouj qusi/aj. kai\ th=| e9ch=j h9me/ra|, a0noige/ntoj tou= naou= dia\ to\ tw~n basile/wn gene/qlion, a3pan to/ plh=qoj sunelqo\n e0qau/mazen. toiou=ton ga\r h]n to\ e1rgon th=j kataskeuh=j w3ste ou0 marma/rw| a0ll 0 a0rgu/rw| tou\j toi/xouj a0pola/mpein: xrusw~| de\ kaqarwta/tw| kai\ margari/taij kai\ li/qoij timi/oij e0ce/lampon ai9 a9yi=dej. 55. ei0selqw\n de\ o9 a1rxwn ei0j to\n nao/n, tou\j a9gi/ouj tou= Qeou= keleu/saj a0xqh=nai ei]pen: “i0dou\ nu=n, 'Iouliane\ kai\ 'Antw/nie, kairo\j h]lqen e0n w[| u9mei=j kai\ oi9 su\n u9mi=n swthri/aj a0ciwqh=te. e0gw\ ga\r tou=to e0peleca/mhn u9pe\r th=j u9mete/raj swthri/aj i3na e0n tou/tw| tw~| friktw~| naw~| liba/nouj toi=j qeoi=j toi=j a0qana/toij prosoi=sai. ei0 de\ e0n th=| monotoni/a| u9mw~n a0pomei/nhte a0parnou/menoi tou/touj u9pe\r w[n e3wj nu=n e0feisa/mhn u9mw~n, diafo/rouj basa/nouj ei0j u9ma=j e0kgumna/sw. di 0 o3per, 'Iouliane/, e0peidh\ su\ a0rxhgo\j ei] tou/tou tou= mu/souj, proselqw\n e0cile/wsai sautw~| tou\j qeou\j tou\j a0qana/touj, di 0 w[n a0pokatastaqh/sh| tw~| sw~| ge/nei.” o9 de\ maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j

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a0pekri/nato: “ou0 su/, h9gemw/n, w3risaj mh\ dialexqh=nai met' e0mou=; a0ll 0 e0peidh\ e1gnwn a0lhqh= to\n kairo\n ei0j o4n kai\ h9ma=j h0qe/lhsaj sw~sai kai\ ta\ qei=a/ sou timh=sai, poi/hson pa/ntaj tou\j i9erei=j tw~n qew~n e1sw parei=nai, i3na gnw/swntai poi/an i9erourgi/an prosfe/romen.” kai\ prose/qhken o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j kai\ ei]pen: “xai/roij, ka/lliste h9gemw/n, o9 ou3twj eu0pro/sdekton do/can h9mi=n pare/xwn, o3ti pa/ntwn o9mou= o1ntwn toi=j qeoi=j toi=j u9mete/roij keleu/eij me qu/ein, o3per ou0k o0knh/somen poih=sai. dia\ tou=to ga\r u9pereqe/meqa, i3na e0n tw~| qaumasi/w| naw~| tou/tw| e0piqu/swmen. to/te ga\r xai/rei o9 to\ sumpo/sion eu0trepi/zwn, o3te xai/rousin oi9 sumpo/tai, i3na mhdemi/a eu0wxi/a pare/lqh| tw~n eu0trepisqe/ntwn.” 56. to/te o9 a1rxwn, mh\ noh/saj pw~j tau=ta e1legen, ei]pen: “xai/rw e0f 0 u9ma=j ei0 kai\ brade/wj o3ti ou0k a0poqh/sasqe to\ gluku/taton fw~j to\ pa/ntwn peplhrwme/non tw~n a0gaqw~n e0n tw~| qu/ein toi=j qeoi=j.” to/te o9 dikasth\j keleu/ei a0faireqh=nai pa/ntwn ta\ desma/, le/gwn: “ai0sxro/n e0stin tou/toij toi=j desmoi=j kratei=sqai oi[j oi9 qeoi\ h1rcanto eu0sebei=j gene/sqai.” e0no/mizen ga\r a0lhqh= ei]nai a4 h1kousen. luqe/ntwn de\ tw~n desmw~n oi[j e0de/dento, ei]pen pro\j to\n seba/smion pai=da kai\ th\n mhte/ra au0tou=: “prose/lqete kai\ e0cilew/sasqe u9mi=n tou\j qeou\j oi[j e3wj nu=n e0douleu/sate.” w[|tini h9 sebasmi/a gunh\ ei]pen: “mh\ poih/sh| me o9 a0lhqino\j Qeo\j o4n e1gnwn peraite/rw soi lalh=sai [h2 o4 le/geij a0gnow~n]. e1gnwn ga\r th\n a0lh/qeian a0f 0 h[j ou0de/pote a0naxwrh/sw.” to/te o9 h9gemw\n metastrafei\j pro\j 'Iouliano\n ei]pen: “i0dou\ pa/nta h9toima/sqh. plhrw/sate a4 e0phggei/lasqe.” o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j ei]pen: “loipo\n w3ra e0sti\n e0n h[| pa/ntwn o9rw/ntwn e1ndocoi fanhso/meqa.” o9 h9gemw\n ei]pen: “e1stin, ei0 qe/lete, swthri/aj e0pituxei=n.” o9 de\ maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j ei]pen pro\j tou\j e9tai/rouj au0tou=: “e0ggi/swmen, i3na swthri/aj a0ciwqw~men: kai\ e1stai ei0j gnw~sin tou= ai0w~noj tou= e0some/nou h9 qusi/a h4n poih/somen sh/meron.” prohgou/menoj de\ o9 h9gemw\n e0ke/leusen tou\j a9gi/ouj i0diwtikh=| fulakh=| e0lqei=n, nomi/zwn a0lhqh= ei]nai a4 h1qelen. ei0selqo/ntej de\ oi9 a3gioi e0n tw~| naw~| th=| sfragi=di tou= staurou= to\ me/twpon w3plisan. to/te o9 maka/rioj 'Iouliano\j pro\j to\n a1rxonta ei]pen: “ti/ keleu/sij, a1rxwn; pa=sin prosfe/romen qusi/an;” o9 a1rxwn ei]pen: “ou4j o9ra=|j pa/ntaj qeoi/ ei0sin, i1soi th=| a0reth=|, o3moioi e0n th=| do/ch|: ou0de\ fqonou=sin e9autoi=j e0n tai=j oi0kei/aij timai=j, ma/lista e0n u9mi=n, oi3tinej brade/wj e0pe/gnwte.” 57. tau=ta le/gontoj tou= a1rxontoj, kli/nantej ta\ go/nata o3 te a3gioj 0Antw/nioj o9 presbu/teroj kai\ o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j meta\ tw~n i0di/wn e9tai/rwn ei]pon: “o9 Qeo\j o9 a1narxoj kai\ a1xronoj kai\ ai0w/nion kekthme/noj o1noma, o4j ou0 xeiropoih/toij te/rph|, o4n ou0 xwrei= o9 ko/smoj, o4j a0napau/ei e0n th=| kardi/a| tou= ko/smou, o9 dia\ tou= profh/tou ei0pw/n. pa/ntej oi9 qeoi\ tw~n e0qnw~n daimo/nia,48 su\ de\ mo/noj Qeo\j 0Abraa\m kai\ 'Isaa\k kai\ 'Iakw/b, o9 th=| sh=| sofi/a| poi/hsaj tou\j ou0ranou\j kai\ qemeliw/saj th\n gh=n, sunaqroi/saj th\n qa/lassan kai\ teqhkw\j o3rwn o4n ou0 pareleu/setai,49 o4n ta\ ku/mata th=| oi0kei/a| marmarugh=| e0painou=sin, o4n poiki/lwn o0rne/wn eu1hxoi fwnai\ h9de/wj ai0nou=sai ginw/skousin, o3stij e0n th=| boulh/sei tou= Xristou=

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pa/nta e0poi/hsaj, e0pi/bleyon nu=n e0n th=| katastrofh=| tou= naou= tou/tou: kai\ ta\ tosau=ta tw~n daimo/nwn a0ga/lmata kai\ tw~n tou/toij qrhskeuo/ntwn th\n to/lman kata/klason, i3na ei0j mhde\n perista/ntwn tou/twn e0n oi[j doca/zontai, se\ mo/non e0pignw/swntai: kai\ docasqh/sontai e0n soi\ oi9 pisteu/ontej tw~| o0no/mati/ sou kai\ 'Ihsou= Xristou= tou= ui9ou= sou o4n ginw/skousi sunaiw/nion kai\ sunai5dion e0n e9no/thti pneu/matoj a9gi/ou ei0j tou\j ai0w~naj tw~n ai0w/nwn.” kai\ ei0po/ntwn pa/ntwn tw~n xristianw~n to\ a0mh/n, pa/nta ta\ glupta\ ei0j ou0de\n perie/sth: o9 de\ nao\j ou3twj e0buqi/sqh w3ste mh\ fai/nesqai: kai\ w9sanei\ xi/lioi [a1ndrej] i9erei=j meta\ tou= naou= katebuqi/sqhsan: kai\ polu\ me/roj e9llh/nwn a3ma a0pw/leto: pu=r de\ kaio/menon e0n e0kei/nw| tw~| to/pw| e3wj th=j sh/meron h9me/raj e0sti/n. to/te o9 maka/rioj 0Iouliano\j ei]pen tw~| h9gemo/ni: “pou= ei0sin ai9 xeiropoi/htoi ei0ko/nej tw~n qew~n sou e0n ai[j e0doca/zou; pou= to\ h1lektron kai\ o9 xruso\j kai\ h9 tou= naou= w9raio/thj; pou= oi9 toi=xoi kai\ to\ ste/gasma to\ a0rgurai=on kai\ ta\ poluti/mata me/talla; e0piklhqe/ntoj tou= o0no/matoj tou= 'Ihsou=, ei0j gh=n a0ne/streyan. w3sper ga\r e0kei=na pa/nta h9 koili/a th=j gh=j a0nade/xetai, ou3twj kai\ u9ma=j kai\ tou\j basilei=j u9mw~n kai\ pa/ntaj tou\j qrhskeuta\j tw~n daimo/nwn w3sper u9mei=j e0ste dihnekesta/th a1bussoj, o3pou to\ pu=r to\ a0koi/mhton kai\ o9 skw/lhc o9 katesqi/wn ou0 teleuta~|,50 o3pou to\ sw~ma a0nagenna=tai pro\j timwri/an: ou[toj u9ma=j perime/nei o9 to/poj o9 eu0trepisqei\j tw~| a0rxhgw~| u9mw~n tw~| diabo/lw|.” tau=ta a0kou/wn o9 h9gemw\n ei]pen: “w2 du/namij magei/aj, w2 e0pw|dh\ a0nh/kooj, ou3twj i0sxu/ousa w3ste kai\ tou\j th=j gh=j ko/lpouj a0noi/gein kai\ e0k tw~n o0fqalmw~n a0fairei=sqai ta\ thlikau=ta a0gaqa/. loipo\n ou0k e0leh/sw, loipo\n ou0 fei/somai pri\n h2 tou/touj ci/fei a0pole/sw: e0k th=j tou/twn e9auto\n kore/sw timwri/aj.” kai\ e0ke/leusen au0tou\j e0n th=| e0swte/ra| fulakh=| a0pokleisqh=nai. 58. th=| de\ nukti\ e0kei/nh| eu0xome/nwn au0tw~n peri\ to\ mesonu/ktion, h]lqon plh=qoj a9gi/wn kai\ oi9 ei1kosi stratiw~tai: kai\ oi9 e9pta\ e0kei=noi a)delfoi\ doca/zontej parege/nonto kai\ h9 a9gi/a Basi/lissa meta\ panto\j tou= xorou= tw~n a9gi/wn parqe/nwn. e0k de\ tou= plh/qouj mo/nh h9 fwnh\ to\ a0llhlou/i+a h0kou/eto. to/te h9 a9gi/a Basi/lissa prosfqe/ggetai to\n a3gion 'Iouliano/n: “ta\ basi/leia tw~n ou0ranw~n a0new/|xqh: kai\ tau/thn th\n paragelli/an e0deca/meqa e0k tou= ai0wni/ou basile/wj Xristou=, i3na e0n th=| h9me/ra| e0n h[| se meta\ tw~n sw~n suno/dwn prosde/chtai, pa=j o9 tw~n patriarxw~n kai\ tw~n a0posto/lwn e0pi/docoj a0riqmo\j u9panth/sh|: oi3tinej h9ma=j e0n tw~| a0riqmw~| tw~n a9gi/wn katata/cousin.” kai\ tau=ta legou/shj au0th=j, h0kou/sqh pa/lin to\ a0llhlou/i+a e0k tri/tou kai\ h9 o3rasij e0k tw~n o0fqalmw~n tw~n a9gi/wn a0fh|re/qh. 59. th=| de\ e9ch=j h9me/ra| keleu/ei o9 Markiano\j e0n me/sh| th=| a0gora~| teqh=nai bh=ma kai\ a0xqh=nai tou\\j a9gi/ouj, e0nqumou/menoj o9 a0dikw/tatoj o1fij ne/a kai\ a0nh/kousta ei1dh basa/nwn. keleu/ei de\ toi=j u9phre/taij i3na tou\j o1nuxaj tw~n podw~n kai\ tw~n xeirw~n tw~n a9gi/wn papu/rw| prosdh/santej e0lai/w| bebregme/nh| pu=r u9poqh/sousin. kauqei/shj de\ th=j papu/rou, a1qikton e1meinen tw~n a9gi/wn to\ sw~ma. o9rw~n de\ tou=to o9 e0xqro\j keleu/ei tou= a9gi/ou 'Ioulianou= kai\ tou= sebasmi/ou

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paido\j to\ de/rma th=j kefalh=j a0faireqh=nai. tou= de\ a9gi/ou 0Antwni/ou kai\ 'Anastasi/ou tou= a0nasta/ntoj e0k tw~n nekrw~n o9rw/ntwn kai\ lego/ntwn: “do/ca soi, Xriste/”, e0ke/leusen tou\j o0fqalmou\j au0tw~n o0gki/noij e0coruxqh=nai. th\n de\ a9gi/an Markiani/llan th\n mhte/ra tou= paido/j, h4n h1|dei mh\ du/nasqai u9pomei=nai ta\j timwri/aj, e0ke/leusen geranisqh=nai: prosio/ntej de\ oi9 u9phre/tai pro\j au0th\n e0tuflou=nto. tw~n de\ a9gi/wn au0tou= ou3twj e0fro/ntisen o9 Qeo\j w3ste [o9ra=n] au0tou\j pa=si fai/nesqai mhde\n peponqo/taj. 60. to/te e0kboa=| o9 Markiano/j: “feu= moi, h9ttw/meqa. ti/ a1llo poih/sw; e4n perile/leiptai.” kai\ keleu/ei to\ a0mfiqe/atron eu0trepisqh=nai. kai\ ei0selqw\n e0ke/leusen tou\j a9gi/ouj blhqh=nai kai\ polu\ plh=qoj pantoi/wn qhri/wn e0pipemfqh=nai. e0rxo/mena de\ ta\ qhri/a pro\j to\n a3gion 'Iouliano\n tou\j po/daj au0tou= e1leixon. 61. tau=ta o9rw~n o9 h9gemw/n, sugkalesa/menoj tou\j a1rxontaj th=j po/lewj keleu/ei pa/saj ta\j fulaka\j e0reunhqh=nai kai\ tou\j o1ntaj e0n au0tai=j a0ci/ouj qana/tou e0n tw~| qea/trw| e0mblhqh=nai: kai\ tou\j a9gi/ouj tou= Qeou= a0namixqh=nai kai\ metacu\ tw~n a0ti/mwn kai\ i9erosu/lwn a0nqrw/pwn a0pokefalisqh=nai keleu/ei. to/te o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano\j meta\ tw~n a9gi/wn summartu/rwn au0tou= ei]pen: “do/ca soi, Xriste/, o3stij h9ma=j e3wj tau/thj th=j w3raj h1gagej.” to/te o9 seba/smioj pai=j meta\ th=j a9gi/aj au0tou= mhtro\j pro\j to\n a1rxonta ei]pen: “kata/maqe sautw~| ta\j o1yeij ta\j h9mete/raj, a4j e0n tou/tw| tw~| ai0w~ni dia\ th=j xa/ritoj tou= Xristou= ou3twj o9ra=|j e0nhllagme/naj. h9 ga\r sh\ a0pisti/a kataisxu=nai h9ma=j e0pexei/rhsen, h9 de\ xa/rij kai\ e0lehmosu/nh tou= kuri/ou h9mw~n 'Ihsou= Xristou= e0ne/dusen h9ma=j mega/lhn do/can, i3na e0n e0kei/nh| th=| h9me/ra| gnw/sh| h9ma=j e0n do/ch| kai\ timh=|, o3te su\ e0n toi=j kataxqoni/oij me/lleij kratei=sqai.” 62. tou= de\ w0mota/tou h9gemo/noj keleu/santoj a0namemigme/nouj tou\j a9gi/ouj toi=j katakri/toij a0naireqh=nai, seismo\j e0ge/neto me/gaj, w3ste to\ tri/ton me/roj th=j po/lewj e0k qemeli/wn strafh=nai: ou0de\ e1sth me/roj th=j po/lewj e0n w[| ei1dwlon h]n: a0strapai\ de\ kai\ brontai\ kai\ xa/laza a0fo/rhtoj to\ polu\ me/roj tw~n a0pi/stwn a0na/lwsen. au0to\j de\ o9 h9gemw\n h9miqanh\j e0ce/fugen: kai\ met' o0li/gaj h9me/raj skw/lhkaj a0nabalw\n e0ce/pneusen. 63. th=| de\ nukti\ e0kei/nh| h]lqon oi9 xristianoi\ kai\ oi9 i9erei=j: kai\ e0k tou= plh/qouj tw~| skhnwma/twn mh\ gnwri/zontej ta\ lei/yana, kli/nantej ta\ go/nata kai\ proseuxo/menoi ei]don ta\j yuxa\j tw~n a9gi/wn e0pa/nw tw~n swma/twn e0n sxh/mati parqe/nwn ou1saj: kai\ ou3twj sunele/xqh ta\ lei/yana tw~n a9gi/wn. th=| de\ tou= Qeou= xa/riti ou3twj e1docen w3ste to\ ai[ma tw~n a9gi/wn peri\ to\ i1dion sw~ma pagh=nai, i3na mh\ h9 gh= to\ sto/ma a0noi/ch| pro\j to\ de/casqai to\ a3gion ai[ma, e0peidh\ tw~| ai3mati tw~n musarw~n h]n kekoresme/nh. e1paqon de\ oi9 e0ndoco/tatoi ma/rturej e0n po/lei 'Antinw~n, h3tij e0sti\n mhtro/polij Ai0gu/ptou, 'Iouliano\j kai\ h9 su/nodoj au0tou= pro\ de/ka kalandw~n i0ouli/wn. w[n ta\ a3gia lei/yana e0pa/rantej oi9 i9erei=j e1qayan e0n th=| mega/lh| e0kklhsi/a| u9po\ to\ qusiasth/rion. 64. o3qen h9 tou= Qeou= du/namij a0ne/kleipton phgh\n e0cie/nai e0ke/leusen:

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h[stinoj toi=j u3dasi plhrou=tai baptisth/rion, i3na o9 e0rxo/menoj meta\ pi/stewj eu0qu\j a0ciou=tai u9giei/aj, a0f 0 oi9asdh/pote sune/xetai no/sou. a0nagkai=on de\ kai\ tou=to ei0pein to\ qau=ma o3per o9 despot/hj e0kei= pro\j bebai/wsin tw~n pistw~n e0rga/sasqai kathci/wsen, ei0j o4 ou0dei\j a0mfisbhtei= e3wj th=j sh/meron h9me/raj. de/ka lelwbhme/noi seshpui/aj e1xontej ta\j sa/rkaj proshne/xqhsan e0n th=| h9me/ra| tou= pa/qouj au0tou=, tou=t 0 e1stin th=j 'Epifanei/aj, o3pwj a0ciwqw~si tou= bapti/smatoj. kai\ plhrwqei/shj e0p' au0toi=j th=j eu0xh=j, e0n tw~| bapti/zesqai au0tou\j e0n tai=j basa/noij, e0peidh\ xersi\n ou0k h0du/nanto kratei=sqai, e3kastoj au0tw~n toiau/thj h0ciw/qh u9giei/aj w9j dusxerw~j eu9ri/skesqai ei0j to\ tw~n a0nqrw/pwn ge/noj toiau/thn w9raio/thta sw/matoj. fwnh\ de\ h0kou/sqh: “ 'Ioulianou= tou= e0klektou= mou h9 pi/stij pa/ntwn tou/twn h0ci/wtai kai\ meizo/nwn a0ciwqh/setai.” e0n tw~| au0tw~| ga\r a9gi/w| to/pw| oi9 tufloi\ a0nable/pousin,51 dai/monej fugadeu/ontai: kai\ ou0k e0kei= mo/non, a0ll 0 o9poudh/pote ei0j o1noma tou= despo/tou Xristou= kai\ tou= a9gi/ou 'Ioulianou= e0kklhsi/ai gi/nontai ei0j do/can tou= Qeou=, o3ti xrhsto/j e0stin e0n toi=j lo/goij au0tou= kai\ a3gioj e0n toi=j e1rgoij au0tou=,52 o4j th\n do/can par/exei toi=j a1gi/oij au0tou= ei0j tou\j ai0w~naj tw~n ai0w~nwn, a0mh\n.

Translation The life and martyrdom of Saint Julian. These are the sufferings of the martyrs Julian, Basilissa and the others. 1. The saintly martyrs, bequeathing this eternal gift of their departure to us have bequeathed this, that they transmitted to those who endeavour, the acts of their own sufferings as an unfailing example and became a path to those who wander, eyes for the blind and faith for the weak. Offering entirely the signs of their own virtues to all, they attend to the radiance of the Holy Spirit with diligence. From this treasure of righteousness, nobody can be led astray except he who remains faithless. You, who hear and read these things, believe with us that all things are possible to he who believes. Because of this, without any hesitation, let us pursue the benefit of this inheritance, which the martyrs have left for us to imitate. Therefore, I call on you who are about to read these things so that you may hear with an attentive heart how much glory there is in leaving the secular life, so that through the narrow way of saints, we may be able to be followers of their way of life, so that in reading their acts, you may confess to be true that which the truth proclaims in the gospel: ‘Blessed are those who saw and believed and more blessed are those who have not seen and yet believed.’ Now that we saw with our own eyes the acts of the martyrs, we wrote down. Hence, we believe that a small portion of blessedness shall come to us, and for you, who hear and believe what God is able to manifest fully in his saints, a more necessary glory awaits. So now I will show the passion of the most

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holy martyr Julian and I will not be silent about how he offered himself worthy to God from his childhood. Believe in our words so that by believing, you may learn what is the reward for believers. 2. He, the blessed one, was of a family distinguished in this life. His parents nourished him as the only begotten pledge of their own love and of their own family. They initiated him in all teachings and wisdom of the wise. Therefore, no dialectical or rhetorical elegance was unknown to him. But laying aside worldly wisdom as a good athlete of Christ, he controlled the world in such a way as if he was not using it. For he read from the teacher of all Christians, ‘the fashions of this world would pass by’. And lest he pass by with the world in an unseemly way, he offered himself worthy to God so that he might consider worldly wisdom foolishness. For he was always praying that the world would pass by without his having any memory of it so that he would be with Christ, being a lover of the faith of the holy Church. Not a day passed by without him being watchful, frequenting the doors of the saints. Like a good worker, he placed the treasure in his heart imitating the acts of all the saints and the chosen ones of God and aiming for each one’s virtues, he flourished in the grace of Christ. The perfect desire that casts out fear was placed deep inside him. And so he removed himself from all vices and desires of the flesh and he separated from the world so that, confessing rightly to the Lord, he said, ‘As long as I exist in this world I am a foreigner to God.’ And he who wished to escape the notice of men in order to hasten to become pleasing to Christ, hid his purpose and his sacred desire. 3. His parents, seeing that he spent time with those ascetics of the Christian faith with such an attentive soul, called the honourable young man to them, and they advised him with these words, ‘Our sweetest and honourable son, listen to your parents’ healthy advice, given that we have been taught in the sacred law of Christ with spiritual teachings according to the blessed apostle, the teacher of all Christians. For he says, “bear children, build a home, offer no pretext for the evil one”. For this reason we urge you not so much as to agree with us, but so that you appear faithful to the Lord’s law.’ To these words, the blessed Julian answered his parents, ‘It is not time either in terms of inclination or in age to do those things that you urge me to do.’ To these words his parents replied, ‘You are eighteen years of age. How can you refuse to choose a wife? We do not want you to bring up the “right time” as an excuse but we urge you to become the husband of a woman, so that by yielding offspring and becoming a father you will present the child to God from one consent, while the desires of the body will be pacified and conquered so that with one common purpose you will come together with the united and saving teaching.’ The parents were acting thus in order to resurrect their own seed, which they believed would come to an end unless it were to be renewed by his begetting offspring. Unable to bear the pressure of his parents and barring the advice of his friends, his father and relatives, the blessed one gave this reply to those who advised him: ‘It is not easy for me to marry nor do I have the authority to reject what you urge. For this

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reason I ask for a space of seven days and as God deems worthy to inspire me, you will receive my answer.’ Hearing these things, his parents were worn down by many worries until the appointed day arrived in which they would hear their son’s answer. 4. The honourable child accomplished the interval of days by keeping vigil day and night, and, offering prayers, asked God that he would not pollute his promised virginity under any pretext. And so on the seventh day, as night was falling and his body worn out by fasting, he fell asleep, and the Lord appeared and consoled his faithful servant and He strengthened the determined thought in his mind. He (God) commanded him to carry out these orders and He addressed him with the following advice: ‘Get up, do not be afraid nor fear either the advice of these words or your parents’ choice. For you will have a wife who will not separate you from Me by defiling you, but through you she will remain a virgin and I will receive both you and her in Heaven as virgins. For My sake, chastity will be greatly distinguished through you. Many young men and girls will be shown as citizens of heaven through the lesson of your life. I will be present in you, dwelling in you, in order to destroy all the desires of the body and the war of the flesh. I will convert her (the girl) who is united with you towards desire for Me and I will make her your follower. And there, in the marital bed that has been prepared for both of you, you will see Me with a chorus of angels and countless virgins of each gender, whom though nature made dissimilar, faith in Me makes similar. You will be known as an imitator of them.’ And saying these things the Lord touched him, saying, ‘Act bravely and your heart will be made stronger.’ Strengthened by these virtues, the remarkable child got up and thanked God saying, ‘I thank you, Lord, You Who are an explorer of hearts and minds, You Who have taken worldly appearances and the joys of the world far away from me, so that I will hasten to trust my heart, which, since chastity is helped and strengthened in me, towards that which neither eye has seen nor ear has heard – that which You have prepared for those who follow You with all of their heart, You who have deemed me worthy to be the way. But rather, You be the good path in me, and , with these things, for those who love chastity and embrace the unsulliedness of the soul and the purity of the flesh. You knew, Lord, that from the day I was born until the time You deigned to call me worthy, I preferred nothing other than Your desire. Or rather, I desire only this, that You confirm my words since then I trust myself to begin what I will fulfil.’ 5. When he finished speaking, he cheerfully left his bedroom, removing the gloominess of his parents with the cheerfulness of his countenance. And he said to them, ‘You see, it is as you wish. It was made known to me by divine command that my marriage will not be the cause of sin but of joy. Now I will do what you advise.’ His parents were overjoyed, hoping for future posterity. And why do I speak at length? A woman was sought, one who could be equal to him in wealth and manners and family nobility. Since God’s kindness is provident and He had arranged this gift of this marriage, such a virgin was found, called

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Basilissa, who was exceedingly wealthy and from a family of equally high repute. She was the only daughter of her parents. And following the custom of men, after a discussion of marriage took place, the girl’s parents accepted, asking for a contract. And according to the arrangements for nobility, the time for the marriage was decided. And everything that was customary pertaining to a married couple was confirmed in the registers. Thus, the blessed Julian longed for the day of their marriage like a good athlete, with lust overcome, and he hastened to become agreeable to Heaven. When the appointed day arrived, the neighbouring cities gathered together, bringing with them diverse enjoyments that crowds delight in and through which tender minds might be excited by erotic desire. The squares/colonnaded streets echoed to the beatof instruments and the different melodies of musicians. A crowd of virgin girls, their locks adorned with gold jewellery, sang songs with the sweetest of voices melting even strong men with the pleasure of their profligacy. Feeling wearied among such barbarous people, the athlete of Christ, the blessed Julian, never showed the secrets of his heart save only to the Lord, from Whom he longed for the hope of victory. 6. And when the bride was brought to him from her room, he received her cheerfully and rejoiced in the Lord with her. He pretended to the crowds that he was happy but in his own heart he sang to the Lord, saying: ‘Lord, cauterize my passion and my heart lest the ancient dragon wage war against me.’ When the hour came in which it was necessary to go to the marital bed with the virgin given to him, the revered young man entered the bedroom blithely, fortified by the Lord. After he offered a prayer, the scent of lilies and roses appeared in there so that it seemed that the girl was in such a place where spring flowers gave off different scents. The silence of the night was granted and the girl said to her young husband, ‘I sense a wonderful thing. Do not deny it to me if you sense it too.’ The blessed Julian replied to her, ‘Tell me what you feel with good faith.’ And the girl said, ‘Although it is winter and the earth withholds all the flowers, yet in this, my bedroom, is such a scent of everything (all flowers) that I shiver by taking pleasure in such pleasant scents and I do not wish to have sex (go to bed) at all.’ The blessed Julian said to her, ‘The most beautiful scent that appeared to you is independent of season and time. It is He, Christ the Lord, Who issues grace to each of the seasons, He Who is a lover of chastity, He Who grants eternal life to those who guard the integrity of their body. If you wish, accept His commands with me so that we may love Him with all our strength, so that we may guard our virginity as a granted reward, and we will become, in this lifetime, His chosen vessels in which He will dwell in the future, and we will reign with Him and not be separated from Him.’ To these words the blessed Basilissa replied, ‘And where is the necessary salvation unless it is to safeguard our virginity and succeed in obtaining eternal life? I believe what you say and I pray to agree with you, so that I will obtain Christ my Lord as an eternal reward.’ When she said these things, the blessed Julian, falling onto the ground in obeisance, lay, crying out, ‘Confirm this, Lord, which You work in us.’ And seeing this, the girl did the same as he.

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7. And behold, suddenly, the foundations of the bedroom began to move and an ineffable light shone forth, so that the light in the house was covered by the magnitude of that light. As it has been written, what was said was fulfilled: ‘we have become a vision both to angels and men’. Then a most magnificent spiritual vision appeared in the bedroom. On one side was seated the eternal king, Christ, with countless crowds clad in white and on the other side, a countless crowd of virgins, among whom the first place was held by the glorious virgin Mary. ‘You have won, Julian, you have won’ was cried aloud from the King’s side. From the side of the queen was cried, ‘You are blessed, Basilissa, who consented in this way to the salvific advice, spurning the illusions of this world, preparing yourself for everlasting glory.’ Similarly, from the side of the king was shouted, ‘My soldiers, who defeated the ancient serpent’s pleasure, let them rise from the ground and with an attentive heart read the book of Eternal Life, which is set out on the bed prepared for them.’ When this voice was silent, those seated on either side replied, ‘Amen.’ And two men in white came forward, with gold belts around their chests and one crown each in their hands. They raised them, saying, ‘Get up, because you have won and you have been included among our number. Look and read what has been prepared for you on the couch and know that the Lord is faithful in His words.’ And holding their hands, they united them. A most splendid book lay on , seven times more splendid than silver and inscribed with gold letters. Around the bed, in their hands, four old men held golden bowls filled with perfumes, issuing scents of various perfumes. And one of them answered, saying, ‘Behold. Your perfection is contained in these four bowls. Each day the odour of a scent comes forth from these from the face of God. For this reason blessed are you, who have conquered most of the delights of this lifetime, and hastening to those delights that the eye has not seen, nor the ear heard and that the heart of man has not experienced. Come now, Julian. Read what the one Trinity commands.’ And he came forward with good faith and started reading: ‘O Julian, he who despised having desire of the world for Me, will be enrolled in the number of those who have not polluted themselves with a woman. And Basilissa, who agreed to chastity, having integrity in her heart, will be recognized among the order of virgins, among whom the true virgin mother of our Lord, Mary, holds the first place.’ Saying these things, he rolled up/closed the book. And once more thousands of thousands and ten thousands of ten thousands said, ‘Amen’, rejoicing with one voice. And again he said to them, ‘In this book, as you see, are written the chaste, the sober, the true, the compassionate, the humble, the peaceful, those who have no false love, those who endure sadness, those who endure difficulties and those who preferred nothing more than the love for Christ the Lord – neither father, nor mother, nor wife nor children, nor land nor wealth nor the other things that hinder the soul in this age – those who would not hesitate to give their own life for His name. Among this number you will be deemed worthy to be included.’ 8. And immediately the vision (that they saw) disappeared from their sight. Then, rejoicing in the Lord, the saintly and blessed virgins kept vigil for the rest

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of the night continuing with unceasing hymns and songs. And what more? The day dawned in which the crowd, who had gathered, rejoiced. They longed to see the marriage that they thought had joined these persons. They were ignorant and unaware that the whole marriage had become divine. Bearing fruits in spirit not in flesh, these blessed ones began to hide the mystery of the divine grace, which was established in them, so that it might become known from Christ the Lord and the angels, what was accomplished by them. 9. And since God does not fail those who journey in unsullied love, the gifts of divine grace proceed thus. Thus, shortly after, their parents departed from this life leaving them appropriate inheritance through which they would not be deprived of the heavenly kingdom. They themselves were also most faithful Christians. Then the blessed ones gladly accepted the time that was given to them, receiving (as their due) the prize of their own freedom through which they would be able, through the corruptible substance, to dwell beyond the heavens. Since it is very weary for one to follow their venerable life in detail, we shall narrate a few of their many achievements. 10. The blessed ones agreed not only to be anxious for their own salvation but also to accept the care of many souls. They divided their homes and they set up two lamps high over a lamp stand in which the eternal king granted the oil of grace and through them burnt out the weeds and the thorns of the sinners, pouring out with the flaming word to the unknowing. And from everywhere the mighty voice of the Lord urged through the mouth of saints Julian and Basilissa, ‘Come towards me, all those who are tired and burdened and I will give you rest.’ They therefore established monasteries in which they reaped the harvest of souls from the snare of the thorns of this present time. And no one listening to the word that came from the mouth of saint Julian was hindered by any matter to turn to the Lord. And so men were leaving their wives, children their parents, fiancés their fiancées and also the paternal properties. And offering excessive wealth to the poor because of everlasting life, they followed the narrow path. Not one of them turned his back once he placed his hand on the plough. And the blessed Julian was the father of the holy flock with as many as ten thousand monks. As it has been written, ‘A generation goes and a generation comes’. The more who transferred to the heavenly life, so much the more began to turn aside to the Lord. And nobody can count the number of souls who were perfected through saint Julian and who went to Heaven. Similarly, the blessed Basilissa sent ahead to Heaven the souls of virgins and women who were freed from the pollution of the world. And for Julian, it was a holy trade of men and through saint Basilissa, the victory of chastity shone forth in the virgins and women. And since their revered conduct and their life, which has been clearly described through us with the help of God, have now become known to all, let us now proceed to this time in which they accomplished their martyrdom and we shall show their glorious prizes. 11. In the times of Diocletian and Maximianus, the madness of persecution fell and suspicion of it spread all over the province of Egypt. When the rumour

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was confirmed, the saints discussed it among themselves. Then saint Julian with saint Basilissa poured forth such an invocation in front of God, waiting patiently in fasting and in prayer: ‘Lord, You Who know hidden things, the witness of thoughts, the explorer of hearts and carnal desire, we implore You to enlighten us with a calm face and provide us with a friendly hearing. For You do not sleep or doze, guarding in each of us the struggle for chastity in which You Yourself, Christ, know to rejoice. So do not permit the purity of Your flock to be destroyed. Nor grant the insatiable wolf that is always hostile, power and permission to destroy the wall and the sign of faith that You provided to Your male and female servants through us, Your servants. Christ, take care both of us and of them because Your right hand is mightier in restoring than the tyranny of the persecutor is in smiting. Know and explore the powers of each one of them, and according to the gift of Your foretelling, lead everyone to that chorus of the living where there is no suspicion of death but eternal rule, so that when the day comes You will appear great and awesome, O Lord, so that all Your servants, men and women, whom You made your soldiers through us, will stand in front of You, pure, and we may say joyfully, ‘Behold, , we, together with the children whom You gave us, none of whom has been lost.’ 12. And when they reached the end of the prayer, they retreated to their own homes. And indeed at that time, when the night became silent, the Lord appeared to saint Basilissa in a dream calling her by name: ‘Basilissa, worthy of your name, I undertook to fulfil whatever you wished for, so that all the vessels which I Myself purified through you, you will send to the heavenly kingdom while you are alive. And you will have half the time in which you will be able to gather your crop from every place where you have sown your seed and to secure the harvest of your labour. And you yourself will follow in this way, having received the keys of the storehouse, which is filled with good souls from which everyday a beautiful scent springs forth in front of the angels. As for Julian, he will compete as a good athlete and he will be victorious; for he will never be defeated while chastity reigns. For through him I have been provided with countless numbers of souls. And he must suffer many things for My name. But I will show many virtues and signs in the sight of his enemies. Before he implores me, I will say, “Behold, here I am.”’ 13. On hearing this saint Basilissa lay awake, overjoyed in the shining form of the face of the Lord; for it was like the sun shining forth in its rising. And she narrated these things in detail to Julian. And she gathered together the holy crowd of virgins and addressed them with this cry: ‘All of you, holy virgins, my joy and the crown of my head, let us give prayers to God and let us offer a sacrifice of praise in our shattered and humbled hearts because He has deemed us worthy to reveal to us the hidden mysteries and the way and the time in which, purified in our souls, we may be sealed . An extension has been granted so that each and every one of us may live in exile in this world in the right manner by understanding the depths of her own heart. So let us

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depart towards eternal life, so that those powers that prevent souls from going to heaven shall not find any of their own work within us, and so that on finding nothing in us, the demons may be cautious, seeing the holy help accompanying us and the spirit of chastity rejoicing with us. Comprehend and search out the forbidden of your breast, so that in the time we have left, you may turn your soul away from all weakness, purified of sins by pure water, and by deeds returned to God the Creator. Let us obtain this request from the Lord, that we send ahead everyone undefiled to the kingdom of heaven, where is the bridegroom, the Lord, Christ. For this reason, I send you in advance, holy sisters, so that no leaven of evil may remain in your heart. But all of you give yourself to each other as a reward in case you have harmed one another in some way, so that you will receive a perfect crown of integrity of soul and of body. You will show me as the victorious mother of the salvation of your pure number. Know this, that virginity of the flesh has no power wherever resentment of the heart resides.’ 14. While saint Basilissa was narrating these things, the place in which they were gathered shook. And in front of them appeared a pillar of light on which there was a golden inscription. And a voice came from the pillar with splendour and a beautiful smell. The sign of the cross shone, saying to her, ‘Basilissa, leader according to your name, read what you see written.’ The inscription read as follows: ‘So says the first and the last. All the virgins of whom you have become a leader are purified vessels and pleasing to My eyes. For I have not found anything unsatisfactory in them, whom you have offered as pure gold, purified by righteousness and the testing fire. Come to the kingdom which has been prepared for you.’ And when she read these things, the vision disappeared from their sight. Then they all gave thanks to the Lord God, He Who showed that their souls were holy by the testimony of His own divinity. Rejoicing, the blessed Basilissa said, ‘I give thanks to you, Lord Jesus, that you have won these battles of the flesh.’ And she added, ‘I despise you, Devil, who lost the fruit of your machinations. I despise you, pleasure of serpents, who did not alienate the vessels destined for God by any devices. I despise you, teacher of falsehoods, since not one of the flock entrusted to me will perish with you. I despise you, intoxicating drink that was unable to conquer sober hearts. I despise you, lover of the world, who did not have the strength to summon the souls who stretched forth to the plough towards your own desire. I despise you, Devil, who failed to overcome those who seek perfection by any schemes, plots or snares. You alone experience your own confusion, you alone rejoice in your own punishment. For you see the prey that has been snatched from your hands, rising to the heavenly kingdom from where you fell. Rejoice with me, sisters, for the signs of the virtues reign in us: contempt of the world received the heavenly kingdom; renunciation of the parents brought the company of angels; humility is like the cedar of Lebanon and a cyprus tree on the Mount of Harmon. While pleasure is defeated, chastity is increased; for there is no courage our enemies to prevent the souls going to the Creator. All are shamed because they recognize nothing of their own in us.’

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15. When she said these things with joy, the Lord, the vine, began to guarantee the flourishing dew of righteousness. And divine providence was fulfilled in this way, that all departed to God in the proclaimed time and saint Basilissa was freed from care concerning the harvesting of the fruits. While in prayer at the sixth hour of the day, a great grace seized her. And she saw the whole chorus of holy virgins, about one thousand in number, clothed in splendid stolas and wearing royal girdles, bearing the royal cross. They addressed the blessed Basilissa with one voice: ‘We have accepted this separation so that we may venerate the Lord and king with you. Behold, we await you so that you will offer us to Christ, to Whom you have provided us.’ Rising, the blessed Basilissa rejoiced on her foretold glory and announced these things to saint Julian with joy. God’s kindness was fulfilled in this way, that while they were standing in prayer, saint Basilissa departed to God. The blessed Julian gave her a worthy burial, offering spiritual vigils in her memory by day and night. 16. And he, with the chorus of saints, flourished. They were granted grace so that the one who did not surpass another in virtues was not inferior. For many signs of healing were accomplished through him and his disciples. The sun neither found nor left anyone angry there. And if someone, as happens, became arrogant in speech to anyone, he (Julian) did not accept food but waited in humility and tears, until he gave him love. With such zeal, they laboured so that they offered the fruit of their prayers, a sacrifice of praise, to God. The father rejoiced in this zeal of his children. Then each one said, ‘In this holy gathering, never was the devil able to ensnare.’ These things happened in the city of Antinoopolis, which is a metropolis of Egypt. 17. The force of persecution prevailed. When Markianos arrived as governor in the city of Antinoopolis in Egypt, sacrilegious madness flared up so that there remained no land or village where he did not establish idols. Thus those wishing to buy or to sell, first sacrificed to the idols. The city was forced by the governor’s order , that each person should set up one image to Zeus in his own house. Markianos himself, with his wife and only son, was the leader of destruction. When the governor heard about Julian’s faith and all of those he had with him who were preparing themselves to die so that they did not have to sacrifice to the idols, he was angered. He called for his assessor, ordering him to meet the blessed Julian so that he might sacrifice to the gods with all of his people according to the commands of the gloriously triumphant emperors, so that he might not undergo the hostile punishments together with those who despised . So the assessor, together with the cornicularius and the princeps and the first man of the city, went to the place where saint Julian devoted his time to God, where many crowds of priests and deacons and all the servants of the church had fled, fleeing the fury of the persecution. It was announced to saint Julian that the assessor of the governor together with the cornicularius and the princeps and the leading citizen of the city were before the doors. Then the blessed Julian said to the holy group, ‘Now, brothers, let us pray, since those pursuing us have approached and they are seeking us in order

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to drink us like water. Let us see what answer they give to us.’ Then saint Julian, having armed himself by sealing his forehead and having fortified his chest with the shield of faith, ordered them to come in. And since he was the son of a leading citizen, he was given honour from his own class according to the status of his own family. 18. Then, the assessor of the governor began thus, ‘I believe, Julian, you are well aware of the commands of the most sacred emperors, with which lay-people agree, that there may be one religion concerning the gods among all people. And my master, the governor Markianos, hearing about your nobility and the honourable root of your ancestors and your honourable family, decreed this in accordance with his prudence – that you be treated leniently and with grace in accordance with the laws. I have the edict of the emperors in my hands in order to read to you from the salvific edicts. When it has been read, you will hand yourself over to your family so that you may make use of your possessions and you may be deemed worthy of good cheer and love of the emperor.’ The blessed Julian replied thus to him, ‘I do not believe that your wisdom is unaware that the serpent does not move from its lair if it does not hear real charms from the mouth of the charmer. For just as one who ignores the charms has no power is useless and cannot move the snake, thus neither the decrees of the emperors nor ephemeral philosophy will be able to attract the hearts of the servants of Christ to worship evil spirits.’ The assessor said, ‘So you despise, overlook and believe that it is unworthy to hear the emperors’ orders?’ Julian said, ‘Let the soldiers under him listen to the emperors’ commands. We, however, those who have Christ as king in heaven, do not listen to an earthly emperor.’ The assessor said, ‘Do you say this, meaning to do it?’ Julian said, ‘The lives of this group and of me depend on the judgement of the master. For as much as you see me talking, so much are they all are silent. For there is one master we confess, He is Christ the son of God.’ The assessor said, ‘I will report the things you say to my master the governor.’ Julian said, ‘What you recognize as truth you are bound to hide. We are ready to receive ephemeral death so that we may live forever; for we do not want ephemeral life, lest we be enslaved by eternal chastisement.’ The assessor said, ‘I hear that you have the bishops and all the clergy in agreement with you. Have they also become your disciples?’ Julian said, ‘They are not disciples but fathers. For through them we received the real birth (baptism). Therefore, it is very worthy for the children with their fathers and the fathers with their children to journey to the Kingdom of Heaven.’ 19. Returning to the governor Markianos, the assessor recounted everything that had been done. Armed with the scheme of the devil, the governor ordered Julian alone to be guarded for a private audience. He ordered that a great fire be set around the group of saints in the (same) place where they lived spending their time devoting thanks to God. And so the order of the governor was accomplished. Everybody there was consumed by fire but there was such grace in that place, that to this day it appears to all who pass by: at the regular time

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of the psalmody – the third, sixth and ninth hours and at vespers, at night and at daybreak – they hear a group singing. And if anyone weakened by whatever disease were to approach during these times, he goes away, healthy. 20. It was announced to Markianos that his command had been fulfilled, that the blessed Julian was detained in prison. Then the enemy was inflamed. And the next day he ordered a tribunal to be prepared in the forum and the command of the governor was immediately fulfilled. All ages and all natures gathered from all sides to see the blessed Julian, whom they loved, contend with the devil. Then the governor, with that horrible voice, ordered saint Julian to stand before him. Looking intently at him when he was brought, the governor Markianos said, ‘Are you Julian, he who despises the commands of the masters and of the venerable gods? Are you the one who gathers crowds of guiltless people to yourself by magical skills and changes everyone’s mind?’ To these things the blessed Julian held his peace. Markianos said to him, ‘I see that you are silent, crushed by your guilt.’ Julian said, ‘I have not become a deserter of divine law, which the imperial orders of earth are in agreement, but a listener. For since you have wondered at my silence I am frustrated to talk to you, whom I see confused by the lies of delusion. For how can the law of the emperors be holy when they commit sacrilege?’ Markianos said, ‘I grieve for you, so overpowered by magical arts that you do not know how much power the commands of the emperors have. He who is obedient to them (the commands) is praised and deemed worthy of the love of the emperors. He who is not obedient, as you seem, deserves punishment and receives the inheritance of death. But I hear that you are well known, so I am adjourning the punishment to spare your good name. Because of this, I urge you, as my son, to hasten gladly, offering frankincense to the gods in praise of your family.’ 21. When he heard these things, saint Julian said to the governor, ‘You are not able to recognize praise of my family blinded by your evils. You advise me to offer frankincense to the gods whom you worship, in order to procure love and glory from the emperor. To us you appear to revere many gods and goddesses. We are proved true worshippers through the consubstantial Trinity. Your gods are stone or bronze. If they are bronze, the vessels made from this metal are of better service to the people. And if they are stones, they must be thrown away since the market squares are lain with them in order to avoid filth. With frankincense you appease your gods, who are cast or engraved in whichever metal, believing thus that they will become propitious. We, who revere one God in heaven, you say that we are seized by magical arts. Because of this, you order us who confess the true God, to be tortured. You ought to know a thing which you ignore, that just as there is no mixing together of light with darkness or a safe dwelling for a lamb with a wolf, in the same way our faith cannot submit to your commands.’ Markianos said, ‘Hear what the gloriously triumphant emperors order, so that you may learn from their law what it is fitting for you to do.’

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22. Julian said, ‘I heard what they command. I have fulfilled what I should do by my Saviour’s commands; for it is shameful for the shepherd not to follow when the herd has been sent forth.’ Markianos said, ‘Those men found a worthy death through their deception. But you, sacrifice to the gods so that you may avoid the tortures that have been prepared for those who despise (sacrifice), so that you do what is befitting to your noble birth.’ Julian replied, ‘Do that for yourself and your own , whom the devil has made his inheritance. He Who takes care of me is He who conceived me from the earth.’ Markianos said, ‘I should do to you whatever a doctor does with a weak person suffering after a heart attack until you are restored to health. If I restore you to safety, great honour will be mine from the emperor. For even the masters of state-affairs suffer greatly because of your madness.’ Julian said, ‘It has never been heard that the blind man illuminates him who sees and the sick man takes care of a healthy one and that the one who is lost guides he who walks on the right path.’ Markianos said, ‘So you say now that I am blind, diseased and misled, I who hasten to provide for your safety – and you alone have unfailing health?’ Julian said, ‘All these things have power in you. If you wish to recognize them, our doctor will not flee from you, He through Whom all Christians have true health. It is obvious that the ones who are worshipped by you are demons who are able to destroy those who believe in them, but they cannot free them.’ 23. When he heard these things, Markianos shouted to his public executioners, ‘Expose him to the whips, so that at least in that way his foolishness will be made clearer.’ The blessed Julian said, ‘It is not foolish to know God but glorious. Trapped by ephemeral enticements, you ignore your advantage.’ Markianos the governor said, ‘Stretch him out, bring unyielding rods and fetters and tear all his limbs to pieces.’ When this was being done, one of those beating him lost an eye landing blows on the saint. He was a friend of the governor and known to the emperors. Seeing these things, Markianos roared, ‘Is your magic so strong that you do not feel anything and cut out the eyes of others?’ Julian said, ‘Markianos, do you see that this is what I said earlier? That you are blind, diseased and misled? Nevertheless, leaving aside this very bad thing which you are doing to me, listen to the things that I propose to you.’ Markianos said, ‘If it is on behalf of your salvation, I will listen gladly.’ Julian said, ‘Call together all the priests of your gods whom you have sanctioned. Let them summon their gods concerning the eye that has been removed so that they restore the sight of their worshipper. If they do not manage , by invoking the name of my Christ, I will not only restore the discarded eye but also enlighten the eyes of his heart.’ 24. Then the governor, at a loss before this true reasoning, ordered all the chief priests to attend. And he said to them, ‘… you will see the immortal gods with ceremonial honours, so that they will show their (own) virtue to the apostate Julian by restoring the eye to the man, so that they may also receive him (Julian) to their own virtue.’ When they heard this, the stones (priests) approached the stone idols, fulfilling the commands of the stone (Markianos).

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And they propitiated the demons with very evil worship receiving this answer in the temples, ‘Withdraw from us, because we are cast away in a perpetual furnace. For Julian’s entreaty to God is so strong that from the moment he was detained for torture, our punishment has multiplied sevenfold.’ Receiving this reply, came out and gave a false answer. The blessed Julian, to whom nothing escaped notice, made a prayer and said to the governor, ‘Markianos, hurry quickly into the temple. Your gods are calling you.’ And he entered the temple gate, even though it was not his own choice, and he saw all the idols – crystal, amber and gold and those cast from every sort of metal, more than five hundred – shattered and returned to dust, as if they had never existed. Then Markianos, blinded by the devil, began to shout and said, ‘O the villainy of it all! How strong they are! O demonstration of charms. How did they both conquer the virtue of the gods and turn the much-revered images to dust? But at this point one should marvel at the forbearance of the gods, for how long they bear the hubris that was brought against them until, in bearing these things, they subject their apostate to themselves. Let us watch him whether he will fulfil his prophecy perfectly, whether he will be able to restore the eye removed by the striker’s blow just by calling upon the name of his own God.’ 25. He said these things to the blessed Julian, ‘You marvel that you have defeated the forbearing gods whose piety towards you, you in no way realize. Now fulfil the command, so that in the name of Christ, Whom you revere, you may restore the discarded eye. But so that you may not perform this by magical arts, I order you to be drenched with urine, through which all your evil will be banished.’ Julian said, ‘This thing you do will not be for my hubris but for the praise of my master so that both the eye will be restored to its former health and the stinking urine be turned into a sweet fragrance.’ And thus, as predicted by the saint, the drenching happened in this way, so that it was thought that he had been drenched not with urine but by balsam. 26. Then saint Julian, making the cross of the master above the eye of the blind man and invoking the name of God, immediately restored the eye as if it had never suffered anything. The governor believed these things to have happened not by the virtues of God but by magical arts. But the one who received the eye shouted, ‘Christ is true God. It is necessary to worship only Him.’ When he said this, the governor ordered him to be struck immediately with a sword. No one doubted that he drenched by holy blood should be consecrated as a martyr for Christ. 27. He ordered saint Julian, who had been tortured with various punishments and burdened by iron fetters around all his limbs, to go around the city, with the voice of the herald shouting, ‘This is what happens to those people who despise the gods and the emperors.’ When he went to the place where the governor’s son was studying, the young boy said to his schoolfellows, ‘I see an unheard-of thing.’ When they asked him what kind of thing, he said, ‘Look, I see that Christian whom they are bringing, conversing with a crowd dressed only in white, and a crown made out of precious stones and gold being placed on

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his head. Its lustre of light conquers this light, and three other men, like gold, in the likeness of eagles, attending him with honour. And it seems to me that this is worthy of belief in such a God, He who protects His own men thus and grants them such adornment. For believe me, my brothers, that I gladden myself in this man’s confession and I too desire to undergo such things, if the God of this man wishes to be my God.’ 28. When they heard these things, his schoolfellows and his teacher were troubled. And they wanted to correct him, to avert him from such a decision by flattery; for they were afraid because he was his father’s only child. But the child added, ‘The God of the Christians is truly great. I have resolved to believe in Him, Who does not forsake the ones who have believed in Him. For what is the glory of this life but a wineskin seeming fully inflated (to the eyes) but empty within? In the same way, glory of this time in which we have ephemeral power, we do not recognize the eternal power of God? We wish to rule but we do not seek the true leader in heaven because of an unfaithful heart. How much better than us are the irrational animals who take revenge on their masters with bites and treacheries? For because we are rational we forsake our own creator and we revere stones. It is sufficient for me to have erred until now. I will not err henceforward. I have found an acceptable time to have the benefit of the light without end. I despise the riches that slip away easily and I seek those things eternal. For these hindrances of the world separate us from God, and ephemeral power demands succession and life itself ends in death. I must believe in this true Christ, in Whom I will have no succession. By binding myself to His eternity, I will not fear death. For this is true glory and nobility for the family. I must suffer for Him Whom I will not lose when I am tortured, Whom I will not abandon when I confess.’ 29. Saying these things, the son of the leader threw his books aside and cast off his clothing saying, ‘I must cast off this defiled clothing in order to hasten to God. My mother’s womb brought me naked into this life. I forsake what is of the worldly life to the world.’ And saying these things, he ran through the squares/colonnaded streets of the city until he came to the place where saint Julian was being tortured. For the unjust Markianos had ordered that he would have to submit to many punishments while being led throughout all the squares and quarters of the city. Then, casting himself at saint Julian’s feet, the young man shouted, saying, ‘I recognize you, father of my second birth, whom Christ my master reveals. I deny and despise Markianos my father, the enemy of men and the persecutor of the servants of truth. I pray persistently to you to let me suffer these things on behalf of Christ my Saviour of Whom I was ignorant until today.’ When he said these things, the executors of the punishments and the soldiers were amazed and their words froze. His teachers turned to flight and all the city ran to the spectacle where such a thing was happening. And fear came upon them all, on seeing that the son of the governor was so attached to saint Julian that he kissed his wounds tenderly, shouting thus: ‘Why are you amazed, all you citizens who have gathered? You recognize me; I am the son of the

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leader, who, together with his father, used to tear the holy bodies of the saints to pieces with the arrogance of my father’s power. I did these things, ignorant of God. Knowing Him, or rather, being known by Him, I renounce the gods. I deny my father and mother. I cast aside abundant wealth and I call upon Christ. I follow the blessed Julian. Why are you delaying, servants and soldiers? Go away and report to my parents that I have recognized the true God and I am attached to Julian, whom I acknowledge as a true servant of God.’ 30. This was made known to all the city and the rumour spread around the province. It was announced to his parents, who melted like wax in a fire when they heard this. And when a great crowd gathered, they ordered their son to be separated from Julian and to be brought to them. And so it happened by God’s kindness, through the prayers of the holy martyr, that the hands of the person stretching out to separate the boy entwined with saint Julian, immediately began to putrefy. 31. Thus, he ordered that they be brought to him together. And when they were by his side, looking at the blessed Julian, Markianos said, ‘You have persuaded the fruit of my belly to deny his parents by magical enchantments.’ And while the governor said these things, the boy’s mother approached with a number of the household of either sex, about five hundred, loosening her hair, laying bare her breasts and crying aloud. Seeing these things, the governor tore his cloak to pieces and said to Julian, ‘Cruel Julian, look at the misery of the father and the mother and the lament of this family. Free the guiltless person from the magical arts, so that you will give back our only son to us and, having made atonement to the master with such service, I myself will talk to the governors on your behalf and you will be able to return without punishment.’ But saint Julian said, ‘I do not need your help, neither do I desire to have leniency from your emperors. But I call upon my master Jesus Christ this – that all who believe, together with this lamb saved from the wolves, will receive martyrdom, numbered with those guiltless ones whom you consumed by fire. For behold, he born of you is present. Despising death and sacrifice, he himself will reply to you, he himself will watch his mother’s tears, he himself will suffer for the breasts by which he was nourished.’ 32. The revered child said in addition to these things, ‘Just as the rose is accustomed to be born from thorns but the sweet fragrance of roses is not lost despite the thorny birth and nor do the thorns bring forth roses lose their prickles, so you, as usual, have struck those faithful to the sweet fragrance. They obey your authority and are prepared to die. Those who compete to pass from darkness to light will imitate me. On behalf of Christ my master, I utterly deny you, my parents. You punish your own son because of your own religion for the gods. I will find eternal life through temporary death. For I cannot be dutiful to you and cruel to myself, nor prefer love for you to eternal grace. Why are you prolonging this? Being an unfaithful and cruel father, now take the sword as a true Abraham and offer your son to Christ. If intense suffering overpowers you, send me to the very harsh emperor, so that I too will

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fulfil martyrdom to Christ the lord by punishments; for your groans are in vain and your tears are of no use. Beyond this confession, no other piety will be able to drag . For in this respect, every philosophical term lies idle. May the name of my father and mother be banished from me; I do not prefer them over the name of my Christ.’ 33. Hearing these things Markianos shouted, ‘Shut them up in a private prison and bestow on them necessary provisions.’ The young man said, ‘The things which you order to be prepared, spend them on those who agree with you.’ Hearing this, the governor Markianos roared like a lion but as he was not strong enough to persuade them by flattery and assuming terrify them by punishments, he ordered them to be shut away in the deepest prison where the limbs of the condemned had been wasting away for a very long time, being consumed by swarms of horrible worms and a stench worse than all smells. The blessed martyrs were led there, the grace of the Lord leading the way for them rendering the horrible place agreeable. And they turned the darkness into light, sending forth a sweet fragrance. 34. Seeing these things, about twenty soldiers who had been specifically chosen the prison converted, and said, ‘ If we have an iron heart, is it not be shameful for us if we turn from such light to darkness, from life to death, from such a sweet smell to pouring blood, from such a father to an angry judge, from truth to falsehood, from sobriety to drunkenness and from chastity to licence? It is dishonourable to return to what we were, to neglect the glory that we have found.’ Saying these things, they cast themselves at the feet of saint Julian, praising and confessing the name of Christ. Then the blessed Julian gave thanks to God with the revered child. When he heard this, the governor Markianos brought the cruellest guards to the prison, so that he could apply the punishments that had already been prepared for all. Caring for the salvation of those whom he supplied to Christ, the blessed Julian called upon God so that He might consider how they might obtain baptismal grace. And on this, I will not be silent. 35. Another great gift had been delivered to the same city: before the time of the persecution, the emperors Diocletian and Maximianus loved a certain man who was the first man of the city in a unique way because he was a descendant of the emperor’s family. He died a Christian with his wife, leaving behind his seven Christian sons. Out of love for their parents, the emperors ordered the sons to serve in Christian worship without persecution. They had a priest with them who celebrated the mysteries. They were ordered by a dream from God to go together with the priest to the prison, so that the child and the soldiers would receive the grace of baptism. Arriving there, they saw an angel of the Lord waiting for them, who opened all the locks of the prison by touching the door. Praying together with the blessed Julian, they shouted, ‘Behold, we are here with our own priest Antonios, so that everyone may receive the grace of baptism. We, the mixed ones through you, father Julian, will become true soldiers of Christ through you.’ Hearing these things, the blessed Julian said,

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‘I give thanks to you, good Jesus, He who has deemed my desire worthy to be fulfilled, because these men, who have been supplied to you through me, may be shown to be members of your faith through the grace of baptism. These men, whom the impious piety of the ungodly emperors abandoned as small sheep among so many wolves, You have gathered to the confession of your holy name.’ 36. It was announced to the sacrilegious Markianos what had happened, that the seven brothers had assembled together with saint Julian and prayed to die for Christ. Hearing this, he posted guards, and leading them (the brothers) from the prison, he spoke thus, ‘What has happened to you, children, whom the emperors loved so much that they allowed you to worship according to your own inclination? persecuted, why do you persist, praying to die, you to whom life has been conceded? Even if I have lost my son by evil deeds and the thoughts of the soldiers were changed by evil chants – I do not know how – listen to me and be free from care as you were before.’ To these things, the oldest of the revered brothers replied, saying, ‘Governor, listen to these things which I say to you.’ The governor said, ‘I am listening.’ The boy said, ‘A lump of gold still has its own shine. But with the skill of the craftsman with precious stones, it becomes a royal crown so that those seeing it, marvel at the use of the gold that has glued the pearls together. Thus we were born Christians from a Christian. If our birth is made known to all publically, it cannot be crowned in secret. Unless we follow Julian’s undefiled way, we are not able to be part of the diadem of the eternal king, the Lord Christ. Greatly shunned is the young tree with flourishing leaves that does not bear fruit to its own farmer.’ Hearing these things, the governor ordered them to be led to the prison in which the blessed Julian and everyone else supplicated God on behalf of them, lest false flattery would bend their blameless hearts. The saints received the glad ones about whom there was fear. 37. Then Markianos the governor had recourse to the emperors, saying, ‘provide help to the revered and divine statues that remain. Receive in your presence the magician Julian, who, with magical arts, shattered more than five hundred statues that ornamented the world and removed my only son from me. And, I do not know by what sort of magical art, he turned the minds of the soldiers and the seven brothers, whom your kindness ordered to follow their own legal worship, and by the same magic, he led to himself and made them ungrateful to your kindness. Therefore, determine what you should decree about them.’ When they heard these things, the emperors gave him this power: that if Julian, with his companions, insisted in the same confession, , as an example for the rest, assemble all the province. the crowd were united and watching, have a cauldron full of burning pitch and asphalt and brimstone prepared for each, and put in the cauldrons were heated from underneath. If the enchantment of the magical art had greater power, then he (Markianos) had licence to torment them by whichever punishment. 38. Taking this authority, the governor ordered a tribunal to be set up for him in the Forum. And on the next day, having taken the chair, he ordered

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saint Julian to stand before him with his companions. When they stood there, he let loose this speech: ‘Have you considered nothing concerning your safety in such a long period of time?’ Saint Julian answered, ‘Our decision is the same as it was in the beginning; as it began so it will end. If you have considered any punishment, expose it.’ Markianos said, ‘Whatever I decide, I will fulfil.’ And he added, ‘Have you heard what the unconquerable emperors have determined concerning you?’ The revered child replied, ‘Have you heard the punishment which God has prepared for the Devil and for you, who have become his angels?’ Following on from this saint Julian said, ‘Fulfil what they ordered; for we do not take any pleasure in listening.’ 39. While these things were being said, a dead body was being brought through the square for burial. Then Markianos the governor, blinded in his heart, ordered the body to be brought up and set down in the middle of the company. And he said to Julian, ‘It is said that before he was crucified, Christ, your teacher, could wake the dead. Now you, like your teacher, wake this dead person.’ Saint Julian said, ‘What good is the rising sun to the blind?’ The governor said, ‘Spare us these stories. If you have any power or if your God has a power, as I said before, awaken the dead man.’ The blessed Julian said, ‘If your faithlessness was not worthy but because it is time for our Lord’s virtue to be shown, lest you believe it impossible, I have the firm promise of the Lord that if I am faithful, He will not leave me in the lurch whatever I ask for.’ Then saint Julian fixed his eyes upon the heavens in front of everyone and within an interval of about an hour his appearance changed and he (his colour) became like snow. And he poured out prayer to God in the presence of everyone with these words: ‘Lord Jesus, You, Who are truly the son of God, Who was born in the beginning from the Father without time and for the sake of the world, taking this flesh without seed – from the height of heaven look down at this hour at the shame of our enemies and the strength of the faith of those who have believed in You. And since you have done these things on earth, listen now to these things in heaven. Awaken he who has died so that the living may not die but that the dead may live again.’ And saying these things, he said to the body, ‘In the name of the one who awakened Lazarus after four days, He himself orders you, “Arise”.’ And when he said these things, the dead man rose and shouted in a loud voice, ‘O welcome prayer, O undefiled virginity, O to be deemed worthy of so much. Where was I brought and whence was I brought back?’ 40. Then the blind Markianos said, ‘From where have you returned?’ And then the one who had died said to the governor, ‘Allow me to speak according to my rank.’ The governor mocked him again saying, ‘Speak.’ To these things, that man said, ‘I was led by some gigantic Ethiopians who were terrible in form, their eyes like a fiery furnace, their teeth like those of lions, their arms like big planks and their nails like eagles’ in which there was no mercy. They gladly led me to the underworld. As I was drawing near the abyss, I was at the point where I had to give my body to the earth out of which I was taken. For neither the unjust nor the lying nor the sinful nor the sacrilegious souls are

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handed over to the place where they should go, unless the body is given to the earth out of which it was taken. But when you, governor, ordered that my body be laid down and when the blessed Julian poured out supplication to the Lord of the heavens, all the underworld was thrown into turmoil and the voice of God was heard, saying, ‘He will be returned because of my beloved Julian. Because in no way do I wish to grieve him, in whom the Father and I and the Holy Spirit rejoice.’ When the voice was heard, two men clad in white came, removing me from the power of the impious, and they handed me over to this light, so that through the person who woke me, I would acknowledge after death that One, Whom I had been going around denying utterly.’ Seeing and hearing these things, the governor was thrown into confusion. But so that there would be no dispute among such a crowd, he ordered him to be shut up with the saints in prison and for the locks to be sealed with his ring. The blessed Julian made him participate in the grace of baptism, he, who, together with them, contended in martyrdom. 41. The sacrilegious Markianos ordered the punishment that had been ordered by the emperors to be prepared. On the following day, both men and women ran together and all ages had gathered within sight of the hippodrome. When the leader was seated on the tribunal, thirty-one cauldrons were placed in line. With great fear, the were filled with pitch and asphalt and brimstone and much wood was piled up. The sacrilegious governor ordered the saints to be brought out from the prison. 42. Saint Julian and the child were constrained in one bond; the others were dragged by very heavy chains to the theatre all singing hymns to God with one voice: ‘It is good for me that you have humbled me so that I might learn your righteous acts.’ Everyone marvelled at their beauty and everyone gathered together singing a dirge. And the men shouted, ‘O what an injustice. And we have children as well.’ The women loosening their hair cried, ‘O sigh, more bitter than bile. Why is such youth being burned by fire? O blind authority and power, which neither spares the living nor listens to the dead.’ Then saint Julian, having asked for quiet from the people, said, ‘Do not hinder us from becoming brighter than gold by fire, know this – you will see us, both believers and non-believers, unharmed before and after the fire.’ 43. The governor ordered them to stand and said, ‘Hopeless choices, through which the ornament of our youth hastens to death. I do not know by what enchantments your thoughts have been alienated. Even at this late time, change your mind, and for your own salvation bend your necks to the immortal gods who toil because of you. If you were to wish this, I will obtain this from the emperors – that you will be able to practise your worship without persecution. Only save my only son, lest he be consumed by fire in the very flower of such youth. O the insatiable shame in my breast. Whom should I mourn first? For looking intently at everyone’s handsome bodies, my sweetest son, I am in pain over your form. O Julian, responsible for all my evils, how can you drag so much good with you to death? How can a son utterly deny his father nor recognize his

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mother? Even before you die, my son, I will listen to words from your sweetest mouth. Look, your mother will come and she will find these labours of her own son, which she did not hope for. And behold, the crowd of servants who rejoiced in you as master – they have come to accomplish your burial by mourning.’ 44. The revered young man Kelsios said, ‘Let them mourn you and themselves. For why are they mourning for us, whom they see journeying to the Kingdom Of Heaven? For we will go through this fire and we will appear unharmed to you and to all these people who are waiting for our contest. We despise the demons whom you worship and these emperors of destruction of whom you speak, just as if they were refuse.’ The governor said, ‘Is this your insolent recklessness that does not allow you to live?’ The blessed Kelsios said, ‘In the name of the very foolishness that you worship, with unwavering heart, I ask you under oath to grant completion to my request. The governor said, ‘Ask for what you want.’ The young man said, ‘When you see me unharmed after the fire, let my mother come to me and agree to a delay of three days so that I may plan one thing with her. And if you grant me what I wish, you will destroy neither me nor her.’ Hearing these things, his mother pressed for this to happen. Then, blinded by the Devil, the sacrilegious governor said, ‘If you leave the fire unharmed, which I do not believe will happen, I will do these things that you desire.’ 45. Unable to bear seeing his son on fire, the governor left the advisor who was bound to fulfil the orders of the emperors. Tearing his robes and grieving, he himself said that he would return home with his wife, who was near to death. There was great lamentation and everyone mourned. For the parents mourned their son, and the crowd of servants, their master. And there was no one to comfort them. Fulfilling his duty, the assessor ordered each of the saints to be put into a cauldron. And saint Kelsios, he who had never been separated from the side of saint Julian, giving peace to his father, hastened undaunted to the punishment which had been prepared. The advisor ordered a fire to be placed under the cauldrons with branches and tinder the pitch through the flame was boiling higher than an obelisk. From the midst of the flames resounded a crowd of people singing psalms as if one voice of many waters. When the fire assuaged and calmed down, the saints appeared like gold or silver flashing forth. And they sang hymns with this psalm: ‘We have come through fire and water and you have led us to relief.’ And once again the burning and bright fire lost its power. 46. It was announced to the governor that the saints of God had come to light. When he heard this, the governor cried, ‘Julian, I bind you by the oath of your God, tell me from where you have learnt such power of evil.’ The blessed Julian said, ‘Because you have bound me by an oath to the God Who is the Originator of these wonders, I will declare what anyone who wishes is able to learn … “He who wishes to follow me, will deny himself and take up His cross and follow me”, so that you may prefer nothing to the love of Christ nor desire anything else except that which the master promises so that you may not consider father or mother or children. Those who perceive

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know the rest; especially he who undertakes care of the poor and those who deny need so that others may flourish. For it is a gift that is very acceptable to God when a poor man is sated, when anger is not accomplished and evil is not returned against evil. , when one’s fill of anger is not guarded but by not answering to anger, he who is not forbearing is more than conquered, this man who is not called a saint before the time when he was born, although it could have been said very truly. For many people are called what they are not and they become unconcerned by this one hope, because they are called what they are not, they become too lazy to work because of what is fabricated against them. These men are truly saints and it is not said about them what they are, but full of humbleness and grace, they do not wish what they are to be distinguished from normal men, so that they may receive recompense from Him, He who knows what they are …’. Markianos the leader said, ‘And who is so senseless that he flees from the joy of this life and inclines towards such hubris as you maintain?’ Saint Julian said, ‘God is ready to give His grace to all, but few men show themselves worthy to take what is given.’ The leader said, ‘Let my talk with you come to an end.’ Julian said, ‘I am always praying for this. For what benefit is it for me to pour into a cracked jar? But, nevertheless, it is necessary for me to do business with the talent entrusted to me, so that those who listen to me may be saved.’ 47. Then, the leader said to his own son, ‘Behold, your mother, as you asked. You can have an interval of three days with her. She is ready to everything with you with … lest you, her only son and sweetest child, be destroyed.’ Saint Kelsios said, ‘In these three days in which you concede my mother to me, there will not be anyone to mediate between myself and her.’ The leader said, ‘As you wish, I agree.’ And he ordered them to be shut up in a special prison. The other holy martyrs were locked up in a nearby citizens’ prison. And the saints, coming out to the woman, offered this prayer to God in order that the mother of saint Kelsios might be turned towards the true faith. ‘O Lord God, You Who know in advance those things that will be and those things that will come as if they were present, Who receives true knowledge and does not consider the face of man nor takes delight in the size and beauty of the body but sees into the depths of the heart, Lord, deem it worthy to open the eyes of the heart of this woman and make her acceptable, she from whom You have taken the fruit in whom You rejoice.’ 48. Immediately the place where they were, moved. And a brilliant light appeared, brighter than silver and there was a scent particular to saints, and a singing voice resounded in the air: ‘Truly, God is pious, Who makes sinful souls, righteous.’ Hearing and seeing both these things, the woman shouted, ‘Never in all the days of my life have I found such a sweet fragrance, never in the delightful gardens of lilies or roses or crocuses nor of balsam and spikenard. For the beautiful scent refreshes me in such a way that I forget all worries. I will know no other thing in my heart except the true God, on behalf of Whom my son contends.’

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49. Hearing these things with all the saints, the blessed Julian said these things to the woman: ‘You have found a blessed tree among those who believe. For the healer who takes care of your health is so great that you need not have to care about wounds afterwards.’ Kelsios, the saintly child, said, ‘Now I truly know you as my true mother and you have not lost your son nor I, my mother. With me, you are the gift of Christ for Whom the saints suffer these things.’ The revered woman, whose innermost heart the divine grace enlightened, answered her son and said, ‘You have recognized, my son that I prefer nothing else other than the God Whom you love. And so if you know something that at some point is expedient to my salvation, accomplish it.’ The revered child answered, ‘Faith produced from the heart leads to righteousness and confession from your lips towards salvation. This is missing for you, so now you must receive the purification of baptism through which you will be able to become a dwelling for the Holy Spirit.’ The woman replied, ‘Look, all the locks detain us and the guard of soldiers surrounds us on all sides, so there is no freedom to exit or enter. How can we find such a man of the sort that you suggest to me?’ Saint Julian said, ‘Here we have a saint and true priest of Christ, who will purify you. Only you must, from your heart, deny utterly the gods of your homeland, so that you may believe in one God, He who rules in the Heavens, He who is one in the Trinity and the Trinity in one, through Whose kingdom the governors rule, through the grace of Whom the leaders are confirmed. At His Word the nations quake, through His Wisdom men become understanding, by His Commands the heavens are enveloped by clouds, by His Will the earth accepts heavy showers, by His Gift the earth becomes productive and through Him what he needs is born to man. He is Christ God, the Father in the Son and in the Holy Spirit. The blind are enlightened through his brilliance the darkness of disbelief is banished. All are steered by his sanction. All has come into existence by his wish.’ Hearing these things, the woman said, ‘He who does not believe in these things has an iron breast and does not have the perception of humans but animals.’ Then all the saints gave thanks to the Lord who deemed it worthy to save the lost sheep from the mouths of wolves. Saint Julian said to her again, ‘Do you believe as you heard that there is one true God Who exists in the heavens in the consubstantial Trinity?’ The woman replied, ‘I believe Him to be the true God, Whom I have known through your ­proclamation: He who fixes the sea within firm boundaries, Who sets boundaries that cannot be trespassed, Who elevated the sky and adorned it variously with all our different brilliant stars, Who laid the foundation for the sun with perpetual light and Who established the moon as a beginning and end. This is the Lord Christ, in Whom I believe. I have abandoned all foolishness and I desire to have this ephemeral life taken away so that I might be deemed worthy to attain that eternal life with you.’ 50. When the woman said these things, the ground on which they stood began to quake and in the air, a voice was heard, saying, ‘I believed and therefore I have spoken.’ When the voice had spoken, all the saints said, ‘Amen’.

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And then the priest, the blessed Antonios, baptized the woman and her blessed son Kelsios received her, having become her (god)father in the baptism. When everyone was rejoicing at her salvation, a voice was heard saying, ‘May you become manly and may your heart become strong in the Lord.’ After this voice, saint Julian said to the saints, ‘This voice that sounded around our ears is a forewarning to us about our future sufferings and the forms of the tortures that the enemy forms as a plan against us. Therefore, holy martyrs, let us set before us the race of our faith to God, Who is able to guard our faith and finish the race, so that we may be deemed worthy to receive the reserved crown of righteousness.’ 51. When the sacrilegious Markianos realized that his wife had joined the martyrs and had been strengthened by the longing for Christ, he ordered the martyrs to be led out. And looking intently at them he said to his son, ‘You asked for your mother for this – that she might agree with you. I do not know what has happened now so tell me, because I long to know.’ The child answered, ‘I give thanks to the Lord Who has accomplished the fruit of my resolution, so that I will possess my mother forever, and she will possess me, her son. Know that from this day on, governor, that on account of longing for Christ, we despise this life. Wherefore, neither do I know you as a father nor she as a husband.’ Then, having become full of anger, the governor ordered his wife to be detained and to be led back to the house. Wanting to touch her, the servants approached her but they became blind. Seeing these things, Markianos, blinded by the Devil, ordered them all to be locked up in the deepest prison. 52. On the morrow, having taken his seat on the tribunal, he ordered the twenty soldiers who fought on behalf of Christ, and the seven brothers, to be handed over to the fire and they fulfilled their martyrdom in peace. He guarded Julian, with Antonios the priest, the mother, the son and the resurrected man for his own judgement. 53. And having taken his seat in the Forum, he ordered the blessed Julian and the rest of the saints mentioned to be present. When the orders were carried out for them to be present, Markianos began thus, ‘With you, Julian, I think it is unbefitting to speak.’ And he added, ‘Are you Antonios, whom all these men confess as their own priest? It has been proved that you are the leader of this magical art.’ The blessed priest Antonios said, ‘I give thanks to Christ the Lord, Who showed me, the unworthy to be the servant of this grace.’ The leader said, ‘And so you, Antonios, say what this magic of yours is, so wives separate and sons from their parents, and how you convince them to refuse their fortunes and possessions of life and to escape what has been handed to them by fate. Because of this, the immortal gods are blasphemed. Tell me now, what is this recklessness of yours, so that hearing from your mouth, I will know how I can impose an end to you and your magic. For you are so strong as to beguile the people, boasting that you have raised the dead. And you have enticed many

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guiltless people.’ To these things, the blessed priest said, ‘I have prayed that I might summon the leader of this contest of ours, our Julian, so that you might receive an answer from him. But because there is one Lord, Jesus Christ, He who stirs the organs of our hearts, hear now from me what you have asked. Our teacher and leader of this, as you say, magic, gave us the advice so that we do not throw the precious pearls to the swine: he said, “I have not come to send peace to earth but the sword. For I have come to separate the son from the father” and the rest. And again, in another passage following, he said, “He who prefers father, mother, wife, child, gold, silver, home or fields over me cannot be my disciple.” Hearing this voice, your son did not prefer you, his bodily father to Christ the father. Similarly, the person whom you call your wife, herself recognizing the voice of the Lord, despised you, the mortal, and your corruptible bed, so that she would be deemed worthy of rest through immortal Christ. Behold, leader, you cannot know anything more clearly .’ Hearing these things, Markianos ordered them to be led away to the prison, saying, ‘I will think up punishments through which they will be destroyed.’ 54. On the following day, having called the priests of the temple, he said to them, ‘Adorn the revered temple of Zeus, which is customarily opened once a year, where stand the statues made of purified amber, of Zeus, Hera and Athena, to whom sweet Eros assists enjoyments. Prepare the libations and the incense.’ Hearing this, the servants prepared the customary sacrifices. And on the following day, the temple was opened for the emperors’ birthday and all the crowd gathered and marvelled. For the work of the workmen was such that the walls shone not of marble but silver. The apses shone with purified gold and pearls and precious stones. 55. Ordering the saints of God to be led there, the governor went into the temple and said, ‘behold now, Julian and Antonios, the time has come in which you and those with you will be deemed worthy of salvation. For I chose this for your salvation – that you offer libations to the immortal gods in this awesome temple. If you continue in your obstinacy, totally denying those on behalf of whom until now I have spared you, I will exercise various tortures for you. Wherefore, Julian, because you are the leader of this defilement, come to propitiate the immortal gods, through whom you may be restored to your family.’ The blessed Julian replied, ‘Governor, didn’t you decide not to converse with me? But , make all the priests of the gods be present inside, so that they will know how we carry out the sacred rites because I realize that it is truly the time in which you wish to save us and honour your gods.’ And saint Julian added, ‘Rejoice, good leader, he who thus offered acceptable glory to us because you have ordered me to sacrifice to your gods when everyone is in the same place, which we are not reluctant to do. For because of this we have survived, so that we may sacrifice in this marvellous temple. He who prepares a symposium rejoices when the symposiasts rejoice because no joy of what has been prepared has gone amiss.’ 56. Not understanding how he said these things, the governor then said, ‘Though it has happened slowly, on your behalf I rejoice that you have not

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put away the very sweet light, which is full of all good things, in sacrificing to the gods.’ Then the judge ordered all the fetters to be taken away, saying, ‘It is shameful for them to be constrained in these bonds, (these people) to whom the gods have begun to be pious.’ For he believed those things he heard to be true. Freeing them from the bonds that bound them, he said to the revered child and his mother, ‘Come forward and propitiate the gods to whom until now, you were servants.’ The revered woman said, ‘May the true God Whom I recognized not let me speak further to you; for I have recognized the truth from which I will never be separated.’ Then the governor turned towards Julian and said, ‘Behold, everything has been prepared. Fulfil those things that you have promised.’ Saint Julian said, ‘It is finally the hour in which we will appear to be held in honour, while everyone watches.’ The governor said, ‘If you wish, it is possible to achieve salvation.’ The blessed Julian said to his companions, ‘We will approach, so that we may be deemed worthy of salvation. And the sacrifice we make today will serve in order to know the future life.’ Leading first, the governor ordered the saints to come with a private guard, believing that the things he wished were true. As the saints went into the temple, they armed their forehead with the seal of the cross. Then the blessed Julian said to the governor, ‘What are you ordering, governor? Do we offer sacrifice to all?’ The governor said, ‘Those whom you see are all gods, equal by virtue, similar in glory. They do not begrudge each other their own honours and certainly not from you, you who have recognized them slowly.’ 57. When the governor said these things, kneeling with their companions, saint Antonios the priest and saint Julian said, ‘O God, the One Who has no beginning and the One Who has no time, He Who has acquired the eternal name, He Who does not rejoice in the man-made, for Whom the world is too small, He Who rests in the heart of the world, He Who spoke through the prophets, “All the gods of the nations are demons”, You are the only God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob. He, Who by His wisdom made the heavens and having laid foundations for the earth, gathered together the sea and appointed a limit, which it cannot pass, Whom the waves praise by their own sparkling, Whom the well-sounding voices of the many-coloured birds praising sweetly recognize, He Who has made everything by the wish of Christ, look intently now on the ruin of this temple. Crush down all those statues of the demons and the boldness of those who worship them so that when the things in which they glory are reduced to nothing, they may recognize You alone; those who will believe in Your name and in Your son Jesus Christ, Whom they recognize as eternal and coeternal in the unity of the Holy Spirit forever and ever will be glorified in You.’ And when all the Christians said the ‘Amen’, all the carved images no longer stood. The temple had sunk so that it was no longer visible. And so the thousand priests in the temple had also sunk. And a great portion of pagans was destroyed at the same time. There is a smouldering fire in that place still today. Then the blessed Julian said to the leader, ‘Where are your artificial images of gods in whom you glorified? Where are the amber, the gold and the

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beauty of the temple? Where are the walls, the silver roofing and the precious metals? They were overturned to the earth when the name of Jesus was invoked. As the belly of the earth accepts all these, so will it you and your emperors and all those who worship the demons like you. There is a perpetual abyss where there is sleepless fire and where the consuming worm never ceases, where the body is regenerated for punishment. This place awaits you, the one that has been prepared for your leader, the Devil.’ Hearing these things, the leader said, ‘O powerful magic, O enchantment that does not bear listening to – so strong that the lap of the earth opened and removed such treasures from sight. I will not pity henceforward. Henceforward, I will not spare those until I destroy them by the sword. I will satisfy myself with the punishments of these.’ And he ordered them to be shut up in the deepest prison. 58. That night, while they were praying around midnight, a group of saints and the twenty soldiers came. And those seven brothers were present offering glory and also saint Basilissa , with the whole chorus of saintly virgins. From this group, one voice was heard, “Alleluia”. Then saint Basilissa spoke to saint Julian, ‘The kingdom of the heavens has been opened. And we have received this promise from Christ the eternal king, that on the day in which he receives you with your assembly, you will meet the whole glorious number of the Patriarchs and the Apostles. These men will place us in the number of the saints.’ And when she said these things, the alleluia was heard again three times and the vision disappeared from the sight of the saints. 59. The following day Markianos ordered the tribune to be placed in the middle of the agora and for the saints to be brought out. The unjust serpent was pondering new and unheard of kinds of torture. He ordered the servants to bind the nails of the saints’ feet and hands with papyrus, to saturate with oil and to apply fire. When the papyrus burned, the bodies of the saints remained untouched. Seeing this, the enemy ordered saint Julian and the revered child to be scalped. When saints Antonios and Anastasios, he who had risen from the dead, saw this, they said, ‘Glory to you, Christ’ and he ordered their eyes to be dug out with hooks. He ordered the mother of the revered child, holy Markianilla, to be put on the rack he knew she was unable to withstand the punishments. The servants who approached her were blinded. God so cared for his saints that to everyone they appeared not to suffer. 60. Then Markianos shouted, ‘Alas, we are being defeated. What else can I do? Only one remains.’ And he ordered the amphitheatre to be prepared. And going in, he ordered the saints to be thrown in and for a great number of all sorts of wild beasts to be let loose on them. Going to saint Julian, the wild beasts licked his feet. 61. Seeing this, summoning together the governors of the city, the leader ordered all the prisons to be searched and for all those in them worthy of death to be thrown into the theatre. And the saints of God were mixed . And he ordered them to be beheaded among the dishonoured and sacrilegious. Then saint Julian, with his holy martyrs, said, ‘Glory to you, Christ,

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Who has led us to this hour.’ Then the revered child, with his saintly mother, said to the governor, ‘Observe for yourself our faces, which you see changed in this life through the grace of Christ. For your disbelief attempted to shame us but the grace and mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ has clothed us in great glory, so that on that day when you are about to be held in the underworld, you may recognize us in glory and honour.’ 62. When the savage ruler had ordered the execution of the saints who were mixed with the condemned, a great earthquake occurred so that a third of the city was overturned from its foundations. Nor did stand any portion of the city where any idol was. Lightning, thunder and unbearable hail overwhelmed most of the unfaithful. Half-dead, the leader himself fled, and vomiting worms within a few days, he died. 63. That night the Christians and the priests came. And because they did not recognize the remains from the crowd of corpses, bending their knees they prayed and saw the souls of the saints in the form of virgins above the bodies. And so the remains of the saints were collected. And by the grace of God it appeared that the blood of the saints was congealed to each body lest the earth opened its mouth to receive the saintly blood, because she had already been sated by the blood of the filthy. The glorious martyrs suffered in the city of Antinoopolis, which is a metropolis of Egypt. This happened to Julian and his group on the 10th before the Kalends of July (21st of June). The priests lifted their holy remains and buried them under the altar of the great church. 64. From hence the power of God ordered an endless spring to flow and the waters fill the baptismal font so that he who comes with faith is granted health immediately, no matter what the disease. It is necessary to tell this miracle too that the Lord deemed worthy to perform there to confirm the faithful, which no one has disputed to this day. Ten men with maimed and putrefied bodies were carried there on the day of his suffering, at Epiphany, so that they might be deemed worthy of baptism. And when the prayer had been accomplished for them on their behalf and they had been baptized in terrible agony because they could not be held by hand, each of them was deemed worthy of such health that it was difficult to find such beauty of body in the human race. Then, a voice was heard: ‘The faith of Julian, my chosen one, has been deemed worthy of all these things and it will be deemed worthy of even greater things.’ For in that holy place the blind see again and the demons flee. And not only there but also wherever churches exist, in the name of Christ the Lord and saint Julian for the glory of God, because He is kind in His words and holy in His deeds, He who offers glory to his saints forever and ever, Amen.

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Notes Chapter 1

10–11

11–12 14–15 17–18 19 21–2

25 27–8

oi9 tau=ta a0kou/santej kai\ a)naginw/skontej: The text is meant to be received orally and to be read. See C. A. Bobertz and D. Brakke (eds.), Reading in Christian Communities (University of Notre Dame: Notre Dame, 2002) for a variety of views on how diverse Christian communities interpreted their texts. For implicit and explicit advice to the audience in the VJB, see Chapter 2. pisteu/sate ... tw| pisteu/onti: Wordplay. tou\j tau=ta me/llontaj a)naginw/skein: Again the emphasis on reading and below. i3na e0n tw~| a)naginw/skein: Reading. h( a0lh/qeia marturei=: Use of marturei= as a verb; playing with ma&rturej. h9mei=j e0peidh\ ei1domen … pra/ceij gra/fomen: John 20:29 – the author is echoing Jesus’ rebuke to Thomas. Following on from John’s words, one is even more blessed if one has faith and believes without ‘evidence’. But for those doubting Thomases, the author has seen; he is staking his claim for authenticity by claiming to be an eye witness. See notes for the VGE for chapter 1 for eyewitnesses. o9 Qeo\j plhrou=sqai e0n toi=j a(gi/oij au)tou=: Saints are perceived as a divine channel, mediating between man and God. This is the most essential and common understanding of sainthood. pisteu/ete toi=j h9mete/roij lo/goij: cf. Mark 9:23 – ‘Jesus said unto him (Elias), “all things are possible to him that believeth”’; also John 20:29. The prologue heavily emphasizes belief and thus, faith, rather than wasting time on the topos of humility and producing extravagant claims of unworthiness. This is in direct comparison to, for example, Eutolmios in the VGE. In the latter, we have a named narrator whose outspoken humility is part of his literary persona. See notes for the VGE for chapter 1 (for eyewitnesses) and for bibliography. Conversely, the VJB’s focus is wholly focused on its Christian message and does not indulge in elaborate literary flourishes.

Chapter 2 35

35–6

a)qlhth/j: See also 5:139; 5:148 and 12:330. Gillian Clark outlines the transformation of attitudes towards health and disease in Neoplatonist and early Christian thought and traces the beginnings of the concept of the holy person as ‘athlete’ in ‘The health of the spiritual athlete’ in H. King (ed.), Health in Antiquity (Routledge: London, 2005), 216–29. tw~| ko/smw| ou3twj e0ke/xrhto w(j mh\ xrw/menoj: From 1 Corinthians 7:31. The line comes two verses after, ‘they that have wives be as

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36–7 38 39–40

47–8

51

53–4

though they had none’. The audience is being prepared for a code of behaviour. to\n … dida/skalon tw~n xristianw~n: Paul. i3na mh\... pare/lqh: cf. 1 Corinthians 7:31. The idea is repeated for emphasis. w3ste th\n tou=… logi/zesqai: cf. 1 Corinthians 3:19 – ‘for the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God’. The author is highlighting Julian’s humility with the echo of the biblical verse. As the previous line states, ‘let no one deceive himself. If anyone among you seems to be wise in this age, let him become a fool that he may become wise’. o9 te/leioj … to\n fo/bon: cf. 1 John 4:18 – ‘there is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves torment …’. Once again, the biblical illusion strengthens the divinely sanctioned image of Julian that the author wishes to portray. ceniteu/w: To be estranged. Lampe: solitude or isolation from the world as a religious person. cf. Apophthegmata Patrum: Les Apophtegmes des Pères: collection systématique: introduction, texte critique, traductionet notes, J. C. Guy (Éditions du Cerf: Paris, 1993–2005), three vols (PG 65:109A fu/laxon th\n xenitei/an sou). This is a very specific way of emphasizing Julian’s difference from his family and indeed, his world. ceniteu/w also emphasizes the strength of his spiritual calling and his actions. For an overview of the term, see J. McGuckin, ‘Aliens and citizens of elsewhere: xeniteia in east Christian monastic literature’, in D. Smythe (ed.), Strangers to Themselves (Ashgate: Aldershot, 2000), esp. 27–38. McGuckin agrees with Gould’s notion of xeniteia as monastic withdrawal, with silence as its essence [Gould (1993), 29)] but concludes that the notion is ‘largely rhetorical in its origin’ (31), giving its pursuer the authority to speak. Thus it is the one who hears who should be silent, not the speaker (36). e1krupte … e0piqumi/an: Julian is aware of his parents’ expectations and so conceals his desire, knowing the grief that it will cause. The negative reactions of family and society to celibacy is a key element of the VJB, see Chapter 2.

Chapter 3 60–1 62–3

para\ tou=… didaxai=j: Paul. le/gei ga\r … tw~| ponhrw~|: cf. 1 Timothy 5:14. Interestingly, the passage is a message to young widows. Köstenburger believes that this section was designed to safeguard women from Satan and that the instructions relate back to the Fall. ‘Christian women will be kept safe from Satan if they avoid Eve’s mistake … leaving her proper God-given realm’ (139–40) [A. J. Köstenburger, ‘Ascertaining women’s God-ordained

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roles: an interpretation of 1 Timothy 2:15’, Bulletin for Biblical Research 7 (1997), 104–44. Julian’s parents simply view his refusal as anti-Christian and the end of their family line, especially as he is an only child. dekakaioktw/: Julian’s age and therefore the accepted age to marry but cf. R. Bagnall and B. Frier, The Demography of Roman Egypt (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1994), 116: ‘the earliest attested married male is nineteen … Male marriage before the later teens was therefore probably rare’. e0k mia~j sunaine/sewj: His ‘one common purpose’ is to satisfy his parents, his wife, society’s imperatives and Holy Law. a0rgousw~n kai\ nikwme/nwn … e0piqumiw~n: Julian’s parents are following their understanding that Paul’s teaching indicates that the purpose of sex is procreation. It is legitimate, therefore, to have intercourse within marriage (1 Corinthians 7ff). For a very clear exposition on how Paul’s message has been interpreted and misunderstood, see Demming (2004). A brief summary is in Chapter 3. spe/rma: cf. Matt 22:24 – ‘if a man die having no children, his brother shall marry his wife and raise seed unto his brother’. The biblical allusion is what matters here; the importance of familial regeneration.

Chapter 4 85–6

102–5 106–7

to\ dia/sthma tw~n h9merw~n … e0k tou= Qeou=: cf. St. Cecilia.. This is just one of many parallels between Cecilia and the vita of the VJB as explained in Chapter 1. kai\ e0kei= me\n e0n tw~| koitw~ni … a)perga/zetai: Anticipation of the forthcoming scene in chapter 7. o9 ku/rioj h3yato au0tou=: God touches Julian in a personal gesture, showing His favour to the future saint.

Chapter 5 133–4

134

au)th\ monogenh\j toi=j goneu=sin quga/thr u9ph=rxen: The hagiographer emphasizes Basilissa’s only-child status as he did for Julian. It is notable that all our saints – Galaktion, Episteme, Andronikos and Athanasia – have no siblings. This appears to be a feature of these marriages as a celibate union would leave their families with no alternative of future progeny. w9j e1qoj toi=j a)nqrw/poij: The marriage was arranged. See Treggiari (1991), 83–5; 138–40 and J. Evans Grubbs (1995) for accounts of these marriages. If the author had some knowledge of Egyptian custom and was aiming for authenticity, then this would not be an anomaly since (Egyptian) marriage was not regarded as a religious act. The evidence

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shows that no role was assigned to a priest. Marriage was equivalent in meaning to cohabitation, and procreation was the result. Within the concept of marriage, the actual agreement to marry and the celebration itself were two separate entities as Allam describes in St. Allam, ‘Quelques aspects du marriage dans l’Égypte ancienne’, JEA 67 (1981), 116–35, esp. 116. 136 e0rwtw~ntej to\n lo/gon: Basilissa’s parents ask for Julian’s promise/ word (contract): to\n lo/gon. For further evidence for this ‘promise’, see Treggiari (1991), 136; 140–6 and J. Evans Grubbs, Women and the Law in the Roman Empire: A Sourcebook on Marriage, Divorce and Widowhood (Routledge: London, 2002), 88–9. It is difficult to outline the procedure of betrothal in Egypt, as it is rare to find extant Coptic marriage contracts as L. Macoull notes: ‘Coptic marriage contracts’, Papyrologica Bruxellensia 17 (2) (1979), 116–23, esp. 116. The following three examples are from Oxyrhynchus. Two refer to the lo/goj of the VJB and we find that consequently, there are penalties involved if the marriage does not take place. The first case is a Coptic marriage contract dated to 609 ce. Here, a father promises his daughter to her future husband but if this event does not take place, a penalty (pro/stimon), to the value of three gold solidi has to be paid [E. Balogh and P. E. Kahle, ‘Two Coptic documents relating to marriage’, Aegyptus 33 (1953), 330–40 = text (1)]. The second example is the marriage contract in Ms. Copt. b. 3 [idem 331, text (3)]. The eighth-century papyrus (housed in the Bodleian Library) is from Deir el-Bala’izah and again, is a financial arrangement between the bridegroom (with his mother and his brother) and his prospective bride. It is an agreement of marriage, which includes a settlement of six solidi should the couple divorce. In effect, it is a prenuptial document. The third papyrus concerns dowry transactions and refers to a ‘promise’ [no. 139 of W. E. Crum’s, Catologue of the Coptic Manuscripts in the John Rylands Library (seventh–eighth century) [idem 331, text (2)]. Here, the ‘promise’ is referred to as the do/xon. This particular agreement concerns the transfer of dowry, a deal struck between the bridegroom’s father and the bride’s mother. P. Lon 1711 (ad 566–573) is from Antinoopolis. It is a contract between Fl. Horuonchius, son of Philip, and Scholasticia, daughter of Theodora. It is a specific document (gamiko\n sumbo/laion), outlining the payment for the donatio propter nuptias. It was drawn up after the consummation of the marriage. The papyrus illustrates concerns over dowry and the need for the legitimization of marriage over cohabitation. A second contract was also drawn up especially, for the donatio propter nuptias. In Fl. Horuonchius and Scholasticia’s case the dowry was worth six solidi minus 36 carats. Certain rules applied:

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137–8

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the wife had to ‘obey, love and tend her husband’. The husband had stricter rules concerning his behaviour: he cannot ‘abandon her, nor invite any unsuitable person to the house, take another wife and dine in her presence with anyone except by her consent’. The penalty for breaking any of these conditions for either partner is eighteen solidi (three times the amount of the donatio propter nuptias) [St. Allam, ‘Note sur le mariage par deux contrats dans l’Égypte romaine’ 129 ce (1990), 323–33, esp. 326]. In all three contracts, the date for the actual ceremony is not given. Thus the documents concern financial involvements and we may assume that this is what the author of the VJB also implies. th=| tw~n eu)genw~n ta/cei o9 tw~n ga/mwn kairo\j w(ri/zeto: Arrangements were made according to the couple’s nobility and the time of marriage was decided. These are all customary preparations as Treggiari attests: Treggiari (1991), 146–8. Evidence for Egypt can be found in P. Oxy III 524 (second century), SB V 7745 (second century) and P. Oxy VI 927 (third century) where the time of marriage is settled for the ninth hour (a0po\ w3raj Q), which is about 3 p.m. In P. Oxy XII 1580 (third century), P. Oxy XII 1486 and P. Oxy 1487 the time of marriage is fixed for the eighth hour. Extant wedding invitations reveal that they were sent very late to guests, usually the day before the marriage (P. Oxy III 524; P. Oxy VI 927; P. Oxy III 3; P. Oxy XII 1487 and P. Fouad Univ. VII), and sometimes, even on the day itself (P. Oxy XII 1486). They were usually conveyed by a family servant [F. Perpillou-Thomas, Fêtes d’Égypte ptolémaïque et romaine d’après la documentation papyrologique grecque (Université catholique: Louvain, 1993), 18]. pa/nta bebaiou=ntai ta\ tai=j de/ltoij ei0wqo/ta tw~n zeugnume/nwn perie/xesqai: See Treggiari (1991), 165 and Evans Grubbs (2002), 122–35 for marriage contracts. For Egypt, there is no mention in papyri of these ‘registers’ but they could have been the equivalent of our public records. Hunter makes note of tabulae matrimoniales (written contracts), which he states were an essential part of (Christian) marriage ritual in North Africa [D. Hunter, ‘Augustine and the making of marriage in Roman North Africa’, JECS 11 (1) (2003), 63–85, esp. 73–84]. Augustine made great use of these contracts to define the role of marriage for his congregation since they contained the phrase, ‘for the sake of producing children’. However, he was realistic about the function of sex within marriage: ‘Is there any married man who uses his wife only for the purpose of having children? For this is why she was given: the contracts, which were drawn up in marriage convict you.’ [Ser. 278:9 (PL 38:1272)]. ai9 gei/tonej po/leij sune/rxontai: On the actual wedding day the couple’s families are considered important enough for the inhabitants

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145

of the neighbouring cities to gather in celebration. We know that Julian’s parents are Christian and there is nothing in the text to suggest that Basilissa’s are not. poiki/laj tou= plh/qouj te/ryeij … te/ryei th=j a)swti/aj: A magnificent wedding procession is described, though there is nothing to mark it out as being specifically Christian. Indeed, Julian views the entire proceedings as barbarikw~n e0qnw~n (l. 147). The description given is that of a standard Greco-Roman celebration. The only items not mentioned are the lamps or torches, which were an integral part of the pagan wedding procession: Treggiari (1991), 163. For Egypt, we find P. Oxy XVII 2144 (third century) that details a list of payments among which is ‘the price of lamps for the wedding of Apollonios (40dr)’. For other weddings on a grand scale, see P. Oxy XLVI 3313 where a magnificent floral bower of 1000 roses and 4000 narcissi was sent for the celebration. plh=qoj parqe/nwn … tou\j polka/mouj: Weddings were one of the very few occasions where both sexes could mingle. In antiquity, it was usually the arena for illicit love affairs, a danger that the author implicitly insinuates, strengthened by Julian’s earlier distaste. The scene of overt temptation for young men and women sets up a greater contrast with the forthcoming tableau of celibacy.

Chapter 6 151

prosaxqei=san e0k tou= qala/mou: This is the part of the traditional marriage ceremony where the bride is led from her room to the bridegroom. 154 tou\j nefrou/j: The kidneys were thought to be the seat of sexual desire. 155 o9 a)rxai=oj dra/kwn: The ancient dragon is the Devil, cf. Revelation 12:3; 12:9 – ‘So the great dragon was cast out, that serpent of old, called the Devil and Satan, who deceives the whole world; he was cast to the earth, and his angels were cast out with him’. Revelation 13:7 states, ‘it was given unto him to make war with the saints and to overcome them’. 159–60 o)smh\ kri/nwn te kai\ r(od/ wn e0fa/nh: Lilies symbolize chastity and roses, martyrdom cf. St. Cecilia as shown in Chapter 1. Not only does the VJB place a great deal of prominence on light imagery and plays with metaphors of sight (see notes for chapter 7) but the text also uses the sense of smell to render a situation more vivid. These scents (good and bad) occur at key points in the narrative and usually indicate the divine. One key example occurs as Basilissa and Julian enter the bridal chamber on their wedding night. Along with the general sense of

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162 166–7

168 177

expectancy comes a beautiful smell of lilies and roses. While these symbolize virginity and martyrdom, Julian also explains, ‘the most beautiful scent which appeared to you is independent of season and time. It is He, Christ the Lord, Who issues grace to each of the seasons, He Who is a lover of chastity, He Who grants eternal life to those who keep the integrity of their body’. Most importantly, it is this scent that initiates Basilissa’s desire not to have sex. When the Book of Life is revealed to the couple, they see ‘four old men held in their hands golden bowls filled with perfumes, issuing scents of various perfumes. And one of them answered saying, “Behold. Your perfection is contained in these four bowls. The odour of a scent comes forth from these, each day before the face of God. For this reason blessed be you who have conquered most of the delights of this lifetime, hastening to those delights, which the eye has not seen, nor the ear heard and which the heart of man has not experienced.”’ (VJB 7:215–20). Chapters 12, 14 and 48 give further examples of scent representing the presence of the divine, a technique utilized since antiquity [S. Ashbrook Harvey, ‘St Ephrem on the scent of salvation’, Journal of Theological Studies49 (1998), 109–28, esp. 107; eadem, Scenting Salvation: Ancient Christianity and the Olfactory Imagination (University of California Press: Berkeley, 2006), esp. 162–80; C. Classen et al. (eds.), Aroma: The Cultural History of Smell (Routledge: London, 1994), 52] cf. 2 Cor 2:15 – ‘we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved’. di/dotai h(suxi/a th=j nukto/j: The Latin text (BHL 4529) has datur silentium noctis. See Chapter 5 for the significance of this phrase. kairou= o1ntoj tou= xeimw~noj kai\ th=j gh=j sunexou/shj pa/nta ta\ a!nqh: The scene/marriage appears to be taking place in winter. Most weddings seem to have taken place in the month of Gamelion (January). fri/ttw: ‘I shiver’; also synonymous with ‘terrify’/‘shudder’. See Chapter 4 to see how this links with Basilissa’s experience of sensuality. skeu/h au0tou= e0klekta\: cf. Acts 9:15 concerning Saul – ‘for he is a chosen vessel unto me’. The biblical allusion creates greater resonance once again.

Chapter 7 187–8

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fw~j a)nekdih/ghton e0ce/lamyen: The VJB is a highly visual text. Part of its purpose is to be toi=j tufloi=j o1mma(VJB 1:6–7 ‘to give sight to the eyes’). This sense of sight and light pervades the narration. Through its message, the narrative gives sight metaphorically and informs its audience of its central meaning – Christianity. This is what

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is partially implied in the VGE when Episteme blinds the spectators in the arena as the governor threats to strip her. The author plays on her name and thus the audience is blind to ‘episteme’ (knowledge, that is, of Christianity). Once she takes pity on them and restores their sight, all fifty-three of them convert to Christianity – they can ‘see’ again; episteme allows them to regain sight/light and the Truth. If these metaphors of sight/vision and light are understood, the forms by which Christianity can be revealed are manifold. Conversely, using blindness conceptually to comment upon the darkness that can fall upon a human’s soul is also employed to very good effect. The visual aspect of the text is dramatically brought to our attention in chapter 7 with a celestial vision appearing to Julian and Basilissa on their wedding night, a truly magnificent scene with fw~j a)nekdih/ghton e0ce/laymen w3ste to\ e0n tw~| oi1kw| fw~|j tw~| mege/qei e0kei/nou tou= fwto\j kalufqh=nai97:187ff – ‘an ineffable light shone forth so that the light in the house was covered by the magnitude of that light’). The couple are shown the Book of Life which is described as a bibli/on lampro/teron e9pta/kaij a0rgu/rou xrusoi=j gra/mmasin gegramme/non (7:211ff – ‘a book, seven times more splendid than silver and written with gold letters’). Later, when the couple decide to form two religious communities, du/o lu/xnoi e0pa/ nw luxni/aj u9yhlw~j e0pidu/ontai, oi[j o9 ai0w/nioj basileu\j to\ th=j xa/ritoj e1laion e0pixorhgw~n (10:264ff – ‘ two lamps high over a lamp stand in which the eternal king granted the oil of grace’). The lamps represent themselves, bringing forth light/ Christianity to everyone. Three different forms of light illustrate the power of Christianity. The first is divine and ineffable; the second is ‘natural’. The metaphor is a realistic image such as the brightness of a precious metal for the Book, which shines all the brighter for its content. The third example shows how the author fuses natural and divine light to transmit his message. Basilissa receives three divine visions. The first is of Christ, and she rejoices e0n tw~| tou= despo/tou prosw/pw| xarakth=ri lamprw~|: w9j ga\r h3lioj h]n a)pastra/ptwn e0n th=| a0natolh=| au0tou= (13:336ff – ‘in the splendid depiction of the face of the Lord; for it was like the sun shining forth in its rising’). Her second vision is of a pillar of light: e0fa/nh e0n o1yei au0tw~n stu=loj fwto\j … fwnh\ e0k tou= stu/lou proh=lqen meta\ lampro/thtoj kai\ o0smh=j eu0wdi/aj: kai\ to\ shmei=on tou= straurou= e0ce/lamyen le/gon au0th=| … (14:367ff – ‘a pillar of light appeared in front of them … and a voice came from the pillar with splendour and a beautiful smell. And the sign of the cross shone saying to her …’.). In the last, she sees tw~n a9gi/wn parqe/nwn a0riqmw~| w9sei\ xili/wn lampra\j e0ndedume/naj stola\j kai\ basilikai=j zw/naij h0mfiesme/naj (15:409ff – ‘the whole chorus

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of holy virgins, about one thousand in number, clothed in splendid stolas and wearing royal girdles’). These three descriptions all radiate heavenly light. For an alternative reading of Basilissa’s visions, which relates to her virginal status, see Chapter 4. The trend continues in the next four instances: the crown of martyrdom that Markianos’ son, Kelsios sees handed to Julian, gleams: h9 lamphdw\n tou= fwto\j tou=to nika=| to\ fw~j (27:671–2 – ‘lustre of light which conquers this light’). Christ is referred to as tou= fwto\j a1neu te/louj (28:695 – ‘the light without end’). In chapter 45, as the flames rise ever higher over the cauldrons of brimstone and pitch, the martyrs are unaffected by the searing heat but, rather, fai/nontai oi9 a3gioi w9j xruso\j h2 a1rguroj a0pastra/ptwn (45:1031 – ‘the saints appeared flashing forth like gold or silver’). Finally, when Markianos’ wife confesses her faith, the Truth is revealed to her when the ground shakes and lamphdw\n lamprote/ra a0rgu/ rou e0fa/nh (48:1097–8 – ‘a brilliant light brighter than silver’) appears, accompanied by the odour of sanctity. All these descriptions of lightimagery are not wholly unexpected but they give a taste of how bathed in light, Christian or otherwise, real or divine, this text is. The author is trying to portray Christianity in all its luminous glory. 189–90 kaqw\j ge/graptai … a)nqrw/poij: 1 Corinthians 4:9 – ‘we are made a spectacle unto the world and to angels and to men’. 194 ta\ prwtei=a h( e1ndocoj Mari/a: Mary appears on behalf of Basilissa. Note Jerome, Ep. 22.18 – ‘for me virginity is consecrated in the persons of Mary and Christ’. I am very grateful to an anonymous reader who first drew my attention to the latter reference. 201 th\n a0rxai/an tou= e9rpetou=: ‘The ancient serpent’s pleasure’ connotes Original Sin. 228 e1ptuce to\ bibli/on: The book is rolled up, probably indicating a scroll. However, note that Eusebius, in the introduction to his Canones, uses a0naptu/caj when referring to opening a codex.

Chapter 8 243

243–4

kai\ ti/ plei/w: The author is reminding us that this is a narration. This is also has the effect of drawing the audience into the story, a technique also utilized by the authors of the VAA and VGE. In the former, the author is more similar to the author of the VJB than the creator of the VGE since they both insert little asides). In the VGE, Eutolmios constantly makes allusions to himself and his role in the story (see notes for the VGE for chapter 1). to\ plh=qoj to\ sunelqo\n h0gallia~to: The crowd wait outside, a visual stroke that effectively conveys the weight of societal expectations and

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pressure on the newly-weds. The privacy of marital intercourse is made a public event. 244–5 prosedo/kwn i0dei=n …a)nqrw/pouj e0zeuke/nai: The word used for marriage (to\ sunoike/sion) also bears the connotation of sexual union. The author continues to stress the expectations of the crowd and thus what is deemed to be normative. 247… 8 to\ musth/rion th=j Qei/aj …i9drume/non kru/ptein: Julian and Basilissa kept their continent marriage a secret as they probably anticipated the ensuing uproar once their families realized what had happened. This desire for secrecy and the reason for it, is a common factor for couples who have this type of alliance: see Chapter 3.

Chapter 9 254

katalimpa/nontaj klhrono/mouj: Julian’s father, we later learn, is a leading official in the city (h]n prwteu/ontoj th=j po/lewj ui9o/j)17:460–1. He is very wealthy and we know this not only from the author but also from the description of the marriage preparations and the extravagant wedding procession. The family is also important enough to merit the attendance of the citizens of the neighbouring cities at the nuptials. Thus the inheritance, which both children receive upon the death of their parents, must have been considerable. Basilissa is considered the equal of Julian in terms of wealth and status (5:132–3). With the convenient demise of their parents, the couple can now legally spend the money as they wish and decide to help the poor in order to rid themselves of worldly constraints, thereby gaining ‘the reward of their own freedom … beyond heaven’ (9:257–8). This episode is comparable to the vita of Melania the Younger but that couple had endured much more difficulty than Julian and Basilissa as their parents had not yet died: ‘… But their parents … were wary of people’s reproaches and would not agree to their children’s wishes [to give away their wealth]. Melania and Pinian suffered much pain since they were unable to take up the yoke of Christ freely because of their parents’ compulsion’ [E. Clark (1984), ch 6, p. 30]. Galaktion and Episteme give away everything they own before they enter into a retreat and we hear nothing of their parents’ reactions while Andronikos and Athanasia leave everything in the presumably capable hands of Athanasia’s father, before they journey to Jerusalem. It is unsurprising that more detail is given to Julian and Basilissa’s arrangements since the text contains more day-to-day features than the other vitae concerning the couple’s marital arrangements. As explained in Chapter 5, this is because their marriage is the focus of the narrative.

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Chapter 10 264







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diairou=ntai ta\ oi0khth/ria: The pair separate their dwelling places, presumably into one monastery for men and one for women (the term given is monasth/ria in 271). A double monastery was not a ‘mixed’ single building where men and women cohabited but it was governed by the same hegoumenos [J. Pargoire, ‘Les monastères doubles chez les Byzantins’, Echos d’orient 9 (1906), 21–5, esp. 21]. Basil’s influence on this type of establishment is noted by D. Stramara Jr in ‘Double monasticism in the Greek East, fourth through eighth centuries”, JECS 6 (2) (1998), 269–312. Janin comments that the monastery of Christ Philanthropos and the Theotokos, founded by Alexios I Comnenus and Eirene Ducaina, was not a double monastery because each had its own hegoumenos and there was separate ownership [R. Janin, ‘Le monachisme byzantin au moyen age: commende et typica (Xe–XIVe siècle)’, Revue des études byzantines 22 (1964), 5–44, esp. 44]. Earlier than Janin’s example, from the eighth century, we have the vita of Anthousa of Mantineon, which relates that the eponymous nun was the hegoumene of a large double monastery. The nuns resided on an island and the monks had their monastery by the shores of the lake, which encircled the island [A. -M Talbot (ed.), Byzantine Defenders of Images: Eight saints’ lives in English translation (Dumbarton Oaks: Washington DC, 1998), esp. 13–19 and C. Mango, ‘St. Anthousa of Mantineon and the family of Constantine V’, AB 100 (1982), 401–9]. Julian and Basilissa appear to be responsible strictly for their own flock and so do not have a double monastery though each are physically next to each other. In the Lausiac History, Palladius tells us of convents in Antinoopolis but does not mention double monasteries, ‘In the town of Antinoë are twelve monasteries of women. Here I met Amma Talis … sixty young women lived with her’ (59:1). The double monastery was repeatedly denounced by Justinian I (in 546), the second Council of Nicaea in 787 (canon 20), and by Patriarch Nikephorus I (c.810), presumably as it was assumed that there were grounds for temptation between monks and nuns. What is particularly interesting in Julian and Basilissa’s case is that their monasteries are urbanized; they are established in the city of Antinoopolis, not in the desert. For the latter, see E. Wipszycka, ‘Le monachisme égyptien et les villes’, Travaux et Memoires 12 (1994), 1–44. By the fourth century, Christianity in Egypt was an amalgam of disparate groups, practising, teaching and worshipping, often in fractious circumstances [D. Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1995), 2–4; Krawiec (2002), 121–3; W. Harmless, Desert Christians: An Introduction to the

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271–3 280

Literature of Early Monasticism (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 2004), 15–18.]. Bishop Athanasius of Alexandria (328–73) was charged with uniting these factions. He realized that a crucial element for his success was to embrace the ascetics, both urban and eremitic and as part of his plan, he focused on what Brakke terms, an ‘ascetic programme’ for female virgins, whom he called nu/mfh (a bride of Christ) [Brakke (1995), 20–44]. Athanasius argued that though virginity was a higher state, marriage was still viable but he utterly condemned spiritual cohabitation [Brakke (1995), 30–4; 44–57]. The point is that during this period, just before the VJB was composed, female virgins were exploring, or were given, new avenues to practise their asceticism instead of being confined to their homes as before. Julian and Basilissa’s monasteries represent one of these new developments. Melania and Pinian also construct two large monasteries [Clark (1984), ch. 22]. See also Chapter 2 for how Julian and Basilissa’s monasteries help preserve their marital bond. to\ qe/roj … e0ch/rpazon: An apt metaphor for the harvesting of souls and for gathering them together. Agricultural symbolism is continued in 14:389 where tw~| a)ro/trw| (the plough) represents Christianity. th=j i9era~j a)ge/lhj: Julian is father of a holy flock, cf. The Good Shepherd. w(sanei\ de/ka xilia/dwn monaxw~n: By now vast numbers have flocked to the couple cf. Historia Monachorum in Aegypto 4:6 (concerning Oxyrhynchus) – ‘as far as we could ascertain from the holy bishop of … that place, we would say that he had under his jurisdiction ten thousand monks and twenty thousand nuns’ – and 18.1. Palladius comments, ‘I spent four years in Antinoë in the Thebaid and in that time I gained knowledge of the monasteries there. About twelve hundred men dwell around the city living by the toil of their hands and practising asceticism to a high degree’ [Lausiac History, ch. 96].

Chapter 11 294

e0n toi=j kairoi=j Dioklhtianou= kai\ Macimianou=: The narrator sets the story during Diocletian and Maximian’s joint reign (284–305). 317–18 i0dou\ h9mei=j kai\ oi9 pai=dej … a)pwleto: See Chapter 2 for the concept of the spiritual family, which is described at length throughout the narrative.

Chapter 12

319–20 ei0j tou\j i0di/ouj oi1kouj: The author reiterates that the couple establish separate monasteries (as noted in 10:264 and 10:271).

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326–7 327–8

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As explained above, in Egpyt, by the fourth century, women who wanted to practise asceticism in, for example, Alexandria, lived in the domestic set up of their own homes while Davis (2001), 87, states that the fifth century saw the establishment of large institutional cenobitic foundations. Meanwhile, Athanasius wrote his Letters to virgins to advise Alexandrian virgins on correct codes of social behaviour, many of which Basilissa echoes: De Virg. 106. paragi/netai pro\j th\n a(gi/an Basi/lissan: It is to Basilissa, the woman, that the future is revealed. The visions disclose that she will soon die but Julian will face more trials and tribulations before he gains his crown in Heaven. In all three vitae, it is the women who receive the major visions, which have a direct impact on their lives. See Chapter 4 for a fuller discussion. to\n sito/n … tou= sou= kama/tou and 327–8: below. ta\j klei=j decame/nh th=j a0poqh/khj: The agricultural metaphor of the storehouse ties in with the previous ‘reaping of souls’ (10:271–2), but is now adapted to suit its female recipient. Julian’s personal metaphor in this context focuses on trade, a more manly pursuit (10:288).

Chapter 13

339–40 kai\ sugkalesame/nh th\n a9gi/an … prosfqe/ggetai th=| fwnh=| and 14:380ff: cf. the vita of Melania the Younger, ch. 42 (p. 56), ‘… her whole concern was to teach the sisters in everything about spiritual works and virtues …’. For Basilissa’s authority, see Chapters 2 and 4 358–9 o9 mnh/stwr o9 despo/thj Xristo/j: Christ is bridegroom to the virgins. Importantly, Basilissa never claims Him for herself; Julian replaces Christ as a holy partner. See Chapter 3 for a similar description of Andronikos and Galaktion.

Chapter 14 366–7

367–8

371 389

o9 to/poj …e0sei/sqh: The ground shakes again cf. 7:187 and 50:1152. The signal can now be recognized as indicating a heavenly presence. stu=loj …e0pi/gramma: A pillar of light appears cf. Exodus 13:21–2. Just as the heavenly pillar appeared to Moses as guidance to lead the Jews to the Promised Land, so it appears to Basilissa to help her virgins and herself to depart for their heavenly journey. a)na/gnwqi: Basilissa can read. She is continually portrayed as Julian’s equal. See Chapter 4 for Basilissa’s character. a)ro/trw|: cf. 10:278.

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Chapter 15 406–7

pa/saj metoikh=sai pro\j to\n Qeo/n: As foretold in chapter 14, all Basilissa’s charges die. This releases her from her ordained duty: ‘freed from care concerning the fruit entrusted to her’ (15:407–8). She is now ready to journey to Heaven having proved her worth and performed her duty.

Chapter 16 424

432–3





shmei=a i0a/sewn: Acts of healing confirm Julian’s sanctity and that of his followers. e0n po/lei 0Antinw/, h3tij e0sti\n mhtro/polij Ai0gu/ptou: Barrington Atlas: Map 77, D1. Directory, vol. 2: Hermopolis Magna: 1147–1157 [R. Talbert (ed.), Barrington Atlas of the Greek and Roman World (Princeton University Press: Princeton, 2000)]. Antinoopolis was founded by Hadrian in ad 130, who named the city after his favourite, Antinous, who drowned nearby. Colonists of Greek descent were enlisted from other Greek cities and nomes, such as Ptolemais and the Arsinoite nome. Legally, Antinoopolis held the same rights as other autonomous Greek cities such as Naukratis and Alexandria and was closest in policy to Naukratis. With Hadrian as the city’s patron, its citizens enjoyed special privileges such as the right of conubium with Egyptians and no payment of poll tax (as did Alexandrians and Romans resident in Egypt). The inhabitants were arranged in tribes and demes (as in Alexandria and Naukratis). Overall, Antinoopolis was an autarchic Greek settlement with its own municipal officers (a1rxwn) and council (h9 boulh\ h9 0Antino/ewn Ne/wn 9Ellh/nwn). The ‘New Hellenes’ tag is especially telling, indicating the outlook of the city. In ad 297 Diocletian’s reforms caused the creation of Aegyptus Jovia and Aegyptus Herculia (see notes for chapter 17). The Antinoite nome was eventually added to the Thebaid and became the capital and seat of its praeses. In the mid-fifth century (around the date when the VJB was composed) Antinoopolis’ star was in the ascendant when the upper and lower regions of the Thebaid were created and the city became the seat of the Comes et Dux. This meritorious treatment continued into the Justinianic period when the supreme command of the Dux et Augustalis was located in Antinoopolis [J de M. Johnson, ‘Antinoë and its papyri’, JEA 1 (1914), 171–2]. The earliest excavations by Gayet in 1897 and 1902 reveal a largely desolate site, a mere reflection of what must have been its former splendour. Adriani noted that the city followed the orientation of the Nile [A. Adriani, ‘Scavi della missione dell’istituto papirologico

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Fiorentino ad Antinoë’, ASAE 39 (1939), 660]. Johnson’s report of 1914 mentions a few monumental remains while the later Italian excavations all give the impression of an extensive city with a largely classical backdrop [Adriani (1939), 659–63; S. Donadoni, ‘Rapporto preliminare degli scavi della missione Fiorentina nel tempio di Ramessese II ad Antinoë’, ASAE 39 (1939), 665–85; I. Baldassare, ‘Antinoë – mecropoli meridionale, (i) relazione preliminare’, ASAE 69 (1983), 157–61]. Antinoopolis’ interest for archaeologists seems primarily to have been for its papyri. The author of the passio’s knowledge of Antinoopolis possibly indicates his place of origin or habitation. The bustling quotidien life of its citizens centered on two main colonnaded streets and the buildings situated around them. Julian’s passio refers to several buildings: the theatre (61:1363), the forum (53:1190), the agora (59:1340), the amphitheatre (60:1357), the hippodrome (41:960), two prisons (33:793; 47:1088; 56:1280; 57:1326), a temple of Zeus (54:1229), the ‘great church’ (63:1393) and a baptistery (64:1395) (presumably attached to the church). Of these edifices, the most notable was the circus or hippodrome, as it is called in the VJB. Its remains are located outside the city and Gasiorowski’s discussion of the illustrated fragment of a sixth-century papyrus concerning charioteers found in Antinoopolis makes the case for evidence of a circus and its popularity [S. Gasiorowski, ‘A fragment of a Greek illustrated papyrus from Antinoë’, JEA 17 (1931), 1–9, esp. 6]. Enthusiasm for games was also evident in Alexandria while fragments of receipts from Oxyrhynchus attest to dealings with horses. CXLV (ad 552) and CLII (ad 618), no. 1050 (second/third century ad) and no 519 (second century ad) are accounts for the games. However, I have been unable to trace the two types of prisons, which are mentioned in the text: the froura=| (47:1087) and the (politikh=|) fulakh=| (33:788; 33:793; 47:1088; 56:1280; 57:1326), which is apparently close to the froura/. Moreover, it was very common for towns of this period to have a main church simply referred to as th=| mega/lh| e0kklhsi/a|, as well as the usual cluster of churches dedicated to saints and martyrs [O. Montevecchi, La papirologia (Società editrice internazionale: Turin, 1973), 291–2]. The forum, agora and amphitheatre mentioned in the text are all standard features of a Greek city and so are likely to be present, particularly in a city as hellenized as Antinoopolis, and thus their inclusion does not necessarily indicate any special knowledge of the metropolis. The ambivalence continues when various sources mention many other structures, none of which are noted in the VJB. Papyri reveal the existence of a bath complex near a temple of Dionysus [SB XIV 11978 (ad 178)] and Johnson located cemeteries to the north and

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south [Johnson (1914), 168–81, esp. 169]. The monumental feature of the city discussed most often in archaeological reports is the theatre, located to the south of the city. This is because it is one of the very few architectural features remaining (it is also mentioned with a drawing, in Napoleon’s Description de l’Égypte). To the north was a building supposed to be the tomb of Antinoos. A triumphal arch provided the main entry to the city and thence onto the main cross avenue. For a concise description of Antinoopolis, see R. Bagnall and D. Rathbone, Egypt: From Alexander to the Copts, An Archaeological and Historical Guide (The British Museum Press: London, 2004), 17; 169–72 and R. Alston, The City in Roman and Byzantine Egypt (Routledge: London, 2002), 130–1; 242–4. In the passio the author describes the governor’s son, Kelsios, as running through the platei/aj and r(u/maj of Antinoopolis (29:709; 29:711). The latter in particular indicates the quarters of a city but it is not the exact terminology used in the papyri. Narrower streets cross-sected the main artery of the city at right angles and then joined others to form a network that spread throughout the city to create the residential quarters (gra/mmata). This system was very similar to the arrangement of Alexandria whose quarters were also called gra/mmata. These were further divided into local areas called plinqei=a, which were classed numerically and geographically (bo/reion /no/teion) [Johnson (1914), 179]. Bell observed that both the gra/mma and the plinqei=on indicated the location of a house [H. Bell, ‘Antinoopolis: a Hadrianic foundation in Egypt’, Journal of Roman Studies 30 (1940), 133–47, esp. 135]. As is evident, the details in the VJB do not tally and thus, from this brief survey, it is probable that the hagiographer was not a native of Antinoopolis, but was reasonably familiar with its layout.

Chapter 17 434–5

bi/a diwgmou= e0pekra/thsin … 0Antino/ou th=j Ai0gu/ptou: cf. chapter 11 e0n toi=j kairoi=j Dioklhtianou= kai\ Macimianou= mani/a diwgmou= e0pe/pipten. There is confusion over Maximian’s correct identity. The Bollandists and authors of various dictionaries of saints believe that he is Maximian II [Delaney (1982) and Holweck (1924)]. The man in question was either M. Aurelius Valerius Maximianus (who ruled jointly with Diocletian as Augustus), or Galerius (C. Galerius Valerius Maximianus), the Caesar. The latter ruled over the Oriens diocese from 293 to 296, and with Diocletian from 296 to 299 [T. Barnes, The New Empire of Diocletian and Constantine (Harvard University Press: Cambridge, Mass., 1982), esp. 196ff]. Another candidate is

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Maximinus of the second tetrarchy – Maximin II (Maximin Daia). He ruled first as Caesar, then as Augustus. The persecution referred to in the passage could refer to a renewed outbreak, which occurred when he held sway over the eastern provinces from 305 to 313. The edict of 304 (Eusebius, Martyrs of Palestine 1:4–5) commanded everyone to sacrifice though this seems to have been limited to the East. As Markianos the governor has specifically been sent to Antinoopolis, this indicates a new stage in persecution [S. Corcoran, The Empire of the Tetrarchs: Imperial Pronouncements and Government ad 284–324 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1996), esp. 182ff]. Given that the text refers both to Maximian and Diocletian, the Caesar Galerius seems the most likely candidate as Maximian. 434 Markianou=: Markianos cannot be identified. There is the possibility that when constructing the narrative, the author took the name from one of the demes of Antinoopolis. Antinoopolis was divided into ten tribes of five demes each [Johnson (1914), 168–81, esp. 171; Bell (1940), 133–47, esp. 135]. The deme of Markianos belonged to the Matidian tribe (so named after Hadrian’s mother-in-law Matidi/a). 439–40 ei0ko/na tw~| Dii\ a0nistw~sin: No business transactions can continue until images to Zeus are erected. There are two incidents in Egypt that could correspond to this edict. The first occurred when Diocletian came to power with Maximianus and renewed the cult of Zeus and Herakles. He was represented by Zeus [S. Williams, Diocletian and the Roman Recovery (B. Batsford Ltd: London, 1985), esp. 58ff]. It was from the father of the gods that he received the divine right to rule and so he adopted the name Jovius (ILS 621; 623; 659; 8930). Galerius, Maximianus, Licinius and his son also adopted the epithet [Barnes (1982), 24]. Using the Verona List, a source that lists the provinces of the Empire, we see that Aegyptus Iovia was created in 314/315, hence the reference in the text to images of Zeus. This evidence could locate the persecution during the reigns of Diocletian and Maximianus or at least that the author had some knowledge of these events. Similarly, there could be some experience of the line in the passio that states ‘no one was allowed to buy or sell’. Diocletian is renowned for his regeneration of the economy. His great innovation in Egypt was the new tax system whereby assessment was now based solely on production (idem 205), as opposed to favouring the Greek population over the Egyptian peasantry [Williams (1985), 79ff]. It was known as the edict of Aristus Optatus (P. Cairo. Isid.) and was enforced in 297. To implement these measures a new census had to be prepared. All these new actions may have contributed to the revolt in Egypt in 297–298 by Domitius Domitianus. 440–1 meta\ th=j gameth=j kai\ monogenou=j ui9ou=: Here we have the first mention of Markianos’ family, soon to play a prominent role in the

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story. Note the emphasis on monogenou=j. Now we have a pagan family, who will suffer the consequences when their only child decides to abandon his family ‘duty’. 444–5 to\n e9autou= su/mponon: Lampe: assessor/assistant of amagistrate. 449 kournikoulari/ou: A Latin loan word: cornicularius. Usually translated into Greek as kornikoulari/oj, the wearer of a corniculum (helmet)[A. H. M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire 284–602 (Basil Blackwell: Oxford, 1964), 587–93; John Lydus, de Magistribus Populi Romani 134:21; 136:12, 20; 152:11; 168:12, 19; 170:12]. Du Cange lists the title as one often mentioned in the Imperial Notitia (P. Brit. Mus. (Bell II) 232, ad 346) [Glossarium ad Scriptores Mediae et Infimae Graecitatis (J. Posuel and C. Rigaud: Lugduni, 1688)]. ‘The standard officium of a legate comprised a centurion as princeps officii, six senior non-commissioned officers (three cornicularii and three commentarienses)’: Jones (1964), 563]. The cornicularius was known primarily as a military official but strict distinction was made between service in the army (militia armata) and in the government (militia officialis) but basically a cornicularius was part of the Roman civil service [idem, 565–6]. Cassiodorus and John Lydus provide information on the prefectures (of the praetorian prefects) of Italy and the East in the early sixth century. This office was divided into two: the judicial, and the administrative and financial. The cornicularius was the highest-ranking official of the latter; his immediate junior, the commentariensis ‘was concerned with criminal trials, had custody of prisoners and disposed of a staff of torturers’ [Jones (1964), 586–7]. John Lydus tells us that it took him forty years and four months to become a cornicularius [John Lydus, Mag, II. 18; III. 6, 9–10, 16, 20 cited by Jones (1964), 589]. But by the time of Justinian, the structure had become too unwieldy and the emperor disposed of the posts of both princeps and cornicularius [Jones (1964), 590]. For a cornicularius’ wage, see idem 591. One last point concerns what Jones terms the ‘extreme conservertism of the Roman civil service’ in its preservation of ‘old titles going back to the Principate and even the Republic. Lydus proudly traces back the office of cornicularius, which crowned his own career, to that of commander of the right wing cornu, in the regal army of Rome’ (Lydus, Mag I. 14–15, II. 6, 13, III. 22) [Jones (1964), 601]. See also Valerius Maximus vi 1.111. For the cornicularius’ connection with provincial governors: CIL 3846 and Cod. Theod. 8.15.5.1. tou= prw/tou th=j po/lewj: Lampe: chief magistrate. Mark the Deacon mentions them in his vita of Porphyry, 25, 27 and 95. He refers to prwteu/ontej whom Hill in the commentary assumes to be ‘chief councilors’ [G. Hill (tr.), The Life of Porphyry, Bishop of Gaza by

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Mark the Deacon (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1913)]. Hill uses P. Cairo 67006 to show that these officials governed the villages and were particularly concerned with tax.

Chapter 18 465–6

467–8

475 476 476–8

483–5 498

w3ste mi/an … qrhskei/an: Emphasis is placed on unified worship, reflecting the tightening of the state. ta\ th=j eu)genei/aj … ge/noj: Julian’s nobility is re-emphasized (cf. special treatment of the seven brothers in chapter 35ff). For a discussion on how the status of Julian’s family affects Markianos’ treatment of him, see Chapter 2. ou0 nomi/zw lanqa/nein: Sarcastic echo of 18:463–4– nomi/zw mh\ lanqa/nein se. fwleou=: The lair of a serpent. a0po\ sto/matoj tou= e0pa/|dontoj …a)gnow~n: cf. Epiphanius’ Panarion 37:5 – ‘the animal tamed by some magical incantation or lulled by some other act of the devil to fool them’ (in order to let its worshippers, the Ophites, kiss it). ta\j tw~n basile/wn keleu/seij …ou0k a0kou/omen: Julian paints the contrast between the earthly king and his soldiers, and the Heavenly king (and His soldiers). a0lhqh= ge/nnan: Baptism. Lampe: Basil hom. 13:1 – kairo\j tou= gennhqh=nai.

Chapter 19 512

no/sw| kratou/menoj: Further miracles to prove sanctity and, indirectly, Julian’s sanctity.

Chapter 20 524



magikai=j te/xnaij: Markianos is insistent that Julian is a magician (37:868) and persistently refers to his magical powers (20:524; 20:534–5) to describe how he managed to persuade his followers. 31:746–7; 36:847–8; 37:869 and 37:872 all refer to perceptions of how Julian later converts Markianos’ son (and others). Christ was often referred to as a magician (Origen in contra Celsum 1:6, 28, 38 and 2:9, 14). See also D. E. Aune, ‘Magic in early Christianity’, Austeig und Niedergang der römischen Welt II: 23.2 (Walter de Gruyter: Berlin, 1980), 1507–57, esp. 1525. In the vita of James the Dismembered (BHL 4101), James is asked by his torturers, ‘“Are you a Nazarene?” “Yes”… “Then are you a sorcerer?”’ Acts 3:16;

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16:4 and 16:8 similarly illustrate Jesus’ power but this time for good, for healing and performing exorcisms [Aune (1980), 1545 and Celsus 1:6, 26, 71; 3:55; 8:55. Magic itself was not a new phenomenon in Egypt, the location where several authors based many of their tales of spells and incantations [Plutarch, On Isis and Osiris (p. 361, A–E); Iamblichus, On the mysteries of Egypt, 1:20; 2.1l and Heliodoros’ Aethiopica 6:14–5 to name a tiny proportion]. The figure of the magician was also part of Egyptian imagination, a powerful individual, capable of making the gods submit to him [G. Fowden, The Egyptian Hermes (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1986), esp. 81]. The collection of Greek magical papyri shows that magei/a (magic), magiko/j(magical) and ma=goj(magician) were not feared or invoked with trepidation. Betz concludes that in these papyri there is no distinction between magic and religion [H. D. Betz, ‘Magic and mystery in the Greek magical papyri’ in C. Faraone and D. Obbink (eds.), Magika Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic and Religion (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1991), 244–59, esp. 248]. In the VJB, Markianos naturally concludes that Julian’s miracles are due to a form of magic. What he cannot comprehend is its strength, tosou=ton i1sxusen h9 magei/a h9 sh\ (23:597 – ‘your magic is so strong’). 532 a0pa/thj: delusion/guilt/deceit/treachery. Julian is referring to Markianos’ fall into worldly delusion. 538–40 a)kou/w se ou3twj lampro\n …a)naba/llomai: again the emphasis on Julian’s family. 540 w9j ui9o/n mou: Markianos is banking on their shared nobility. This will later have ironic overtones when his own son becomes a Christian.

Chapter 21 543–4



th=| kaki/a| th=| sh=| tuflwqei\j: This is the first time Markianos’ spiritual blindness is alluded to. In a text that is meant to illuminate its listeners/readers, light – both actual and divine – permeates. By contrast, there are also constant references to blindness, especially pertaining to Markianos [24:631 (tuflwqei\j u9po\ tou= diabo/lou); 39:901–2 (tuflwqei\j th=| kardi/a); 40:930 (o9 tuflo\j Markiano\j) and 44:1013 (tuflwqei\j u9po\ tou= diabo/lou]. Not only is he blind to the light/Truth but worse still, he has chosen not to see it despite the events that unfold, causing him to lose his son, his wife and eventually his life. This theme is continued in various forms. When the martyrs are about being placed into cauldrons full of burning pitch, asphalt and brimstone, the crowd shout ‘w2 tuflh\ e0cousi/a kai\ dunastei/a’

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(42.972–3 – ‘O blind authority and power’). Blindness in the face of Truth, to Christ, is demonstrated physically in chapters 23, 26, 51 and 59. In 23:595ff, as Julian is being beaten, his persecutor loses an eye: e0k tw~n tupto/ntwn ei[j, plhgh\n e0pife/rwn tw~| a9gi/w|, to\n o0fqalmo\n a0pw/lessen (‘one of those beating him, landing blows on the saint, lost an eye’). Julian performs a miracle in 26:655ff by replacing the eye (a0pekate/sthsen to\n o0fqalmo\n w9j mhde\n peponqo/ta – ‘restored the eye as if there had never been any suffering’) and the man converts. It is by healing his sight, that physically and spiritually the blinded man gains vision: he immediately declares ‘a0lhqh\j Qeo\j o9 Xristo/j’. In chapters 51 and 59, the household servants come to take Markianos’ wife, Markianilla, away. But ‘the servants approaching her were blinded’ (51:1180ff – e0ggizo/ntwn de\ pro\j au0th\n tw~n u9phretw~n kai\ qelhsa/ntwn au0th=j a3yasqai, e0ge/nonto tufloi/) and in 59:1352–3 – prosio/ntej de\ oi9 u9phre/tai pro\j au0th\n e0tuflou=nto. It is also interesting that Kelsios is moved to convert, not by Julian’s words but at the sight of him (27:668ff). As the purpose of the VJB is to illuminate and to teach, there are instances of those who do believe Julian and who hasten to imitate him. The martyrs are the carriers of light. When they are locked up in a dank prison where the air reeks of the stench of rotting corpses, their very presence, mete/balon to\ sko/toj (‘turns the darkness to light’). Their conversion is also described in terms of the blind turning to the light. Kelsios denies his parents saying, ‘e0me\ mimh/sontai oi9 a0po\ skotiw~n ei0j fw~j metelqei=n a0gwnizo/menoi …tou\j gonei=j a0parnou=mai932:771ff – ‘those who compete to pass from darkness to light, will imitate me … I utterly deny you, my parents’). When the soldiers guarding the group of martyrs decide to convert in chapter 34, they wonder whether they should disregard such a power, which they see before them: a0po\ toiou/tou fwto\j ei0j sko/toj e0pistre/ywmen (34:801–2 – ‘shall we turn from such light to darkness?’). Julian himself uses the metaphor in 49:1134–5. The culmination of all this occurs in the Great Church where the martyrs’ relics are kept and consequently miracles of healing take place. The author concludes, e0n tw~| au)tw~| ga\r a9gi/w| to/pw| oi9 tufloi\ a)nable/pousin (64:1409 – ‘for in that place, the blind shall see’). 547–8 dia\ tria/doj o9moousi/ou: There are many instances throughout the passio where re-affirmation of the Trinity is proclaimed. See Introduction for how this helps to date the text. Julian tells Markianos during his first interrogation that h9mei=j de\ dia\ tria/doj o9moousi/ ou a0lhqei=j qrhskeutai\ deiknu/meqa (21:547–8 – ‘we are proved good worshippers through the Trinity which has the same substance) cf. 49:1127; 49:1133–4 and 49:1141–3 – ou3twj pisteu/eij w9j

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h1kousaj e3na ei]nai Qeo\n a0lhqh= to\n o1nta e0n toi=j ou0ranoi=j e0n o9moousi/w| tri/adi; (‘do you believe as you heard that there is one true God, the being in the heavens, in the consubstantial Trinity?’). Then there are the more in-depth definitions. Thus, in 39:917–19 Christ is not only the son of God but he was e0n a0rxh=| e0gennh/qhj e0k tou= patro\j a1neu kairou= kai\ e3neka tou= ko/smou tau/thn th\n sa/rka e1labej a1neu spe/rmatoj (‘in the beginning born from the Father without time and for the sake of the world taking this body without seed’) and in 57:1303–4 – o4n ginw/skousi sunaiw/nion kai\ sunai5dion e0n e9no/thti pneu/matoj a9gi/ou ei0j tou\j ai0w~naj tw~n ai0w/nwn (‘He Whom they know eternal and coeternal in the unity of the Holy Spirit forever and ever’). This demonstrates a very clear rejection of Arianism. For the labours of Bishop Athanasius of Alexandria who, in the fourth century, attempted to unite the disparate parities of Egyptian Christians, and for his condemnation of Arius, see Brakke (1995). A Eucharistic prayer dated to between 353 and 360 from St. Sarapion, bishop of Thmuis in the Nile Delta, shows very similar concerns over the relationship between the Trinity [G. Dix, The Shape of the Liturgy (Dacre Press: London, 1945), 162ff]. It also voices the belief that the sacrament is a ‘drug’ or medicine in part of the prayer for communion: it makes all who partake of it receive a medicine (lit. ‘drug’) of life. For Christianity and healing, see notes for chapter 22. 548–9 oi9 u9me/teroi qeoi\ li/qinoi/ ei0sin h2 xalkoi: xalkoi= is listed in Bauer as a type of material for making idols; li/qoi are mentioned in such contexts, negatively, in, for example, Acts 17:29 and Deuteronomy 4:28. 558–9 ou1te a0sfalh\j oi1khsij a0mnw~| meta\ lu/kou: Echoes of Matthew 10:16 and Luke 10:3.

Chapter 22 564–5

572–3

th=j a0ge/lhj propemfqei/shj: Julian’s emotional response regarding the group who were in his keeping and who were burnt to death on Markianos’ orders (in chapter 19) is interesting because it shows a personal response; an anger that has not previously been displayed. More depth is added to his character, which helps to elevate the usual agon present in martyr texts. kardioplh/ktou a0sqenou=j i0atro/j: kardioplh/ktou is a gloss on e0mbro/nthtoj: Sch. Xen. Anabasis 3.4.12 [L. Dindorf (ed.)]. There did not seem to be a word for a heart attack in ancient Greek medical terminology. plh/ktou, meaning seizure, was the closest analogy.

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582–3





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Medical terminology for organs and body parts was also vague, designating kardi/a for both the heart and the mouth of the oesophagus [C. Harris, The Heart and the Vascular System in Ancient Greek Medicine from Alcmaeon to Galen (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1973), esp. 432]. What we call heart failure was probably termed ‘cardiac passion’ (idem 434). See also Caelius Aurelianus (fifth century) in Bk II of De Mortibus Acutis XXX. Soranus divides ‘cardiac passion’ into two categories: ‘common passion’ (cardiomona), which is fatal, and cardiac syncope (kardiw/ssontej), which has more physiological effects such as increased sensory activity of the eyes and ears (idem 439). Galen also uses the term ‘cardiac affection’ (kardiakh\ dia/qesij) [idem 440]. Markianos is merely making the point that Julian is a weak and sick man and needs help. tuflo\j fwti/zei … badi/zonta o9dhgei=: tuflo\j is a symbol of mental and spiritual blindness and has biblical precedent as demonstrated in Matthew 15:14; 23:16 and 23:24. See also notes for chapter 7. o9 i0atro\j: Luke 4:38–44 for an example of Christ as i0atro\j. Christ’s ability to heal was one of his most powerful attractions: he healed the blind, the lame and lepers (Luke 5:12–16); he raised the dead (Eus: HE 4; Justin Apology 1) and performed exorcisms. Luke shows how Jesus saved man both in soul and body: ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance.’ (5:31). Cyril of Jerusalem (c.313–386) also refers to Jesus as ‘the doctor of the body and spirit’ (Catechism 10:13). Christ’s healing was equivalent to a revelation of His infinite capacity of love for mankind [N. Geldenhuys, Commentary on the Gospel of Luke (Marshall, Morgan and Scott Ltd: Edinburgh, 1950), esp. 176]. Throughout this chapter, there is an extended metaphor concerning health; being healed spiritually is tantamount to Christianity itself. Thus in 22:582–4 Julian says to Markianos, ou0k a0pofeu/gei se o9 i0atro\j o9 h9me/teroj, di 0 ou[ pa/ntej oi9 xristianoi\ a0lhqesta/thn e1xousin u9gi/eian (‘our doctor will not flee from you, He through Whom all Christians have very true health’). Markianos asks, kai\ su\ mo/noj a0sfalesta/thn e1xeij u9gi/eian; (22:580–1 – ‘and you alone have unfailing health?’), unable to understand what Julian means. By his inability to comprehend the message Julian is bringing, by using the same metaphor in a literal sense, Markianos displays his spiritual blindness. The metaphor of health gains its greatest physical expression when the martyrs have been killed and their remains are buried in the Great Church in Antinoopolis (chapters 63 and 64). The church becomes a healing shrine, following Christ’s proclamation (to the man sick

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with palsy), He said to him, “Man, your sins are forgiven you … I say to you, arise, take up your bed, and go to your house.” Immediately he rose up before them, took up what he had been lying on, and departed to his own house, glorifying God’ (Luke 5:20–5). Therefore, sickness and sin are synonymous while health is the natural reward of faith. Thus in the church where Julian is buried, o9 e0rxo/menoj meta\ pi/stewj eu0qu\j a0ciou=tai u9giei/aj, a0f 0 oi9asdh/pote sune/xetai no/sou (64:1395–7 – ‘he who comes with faith could be is granted health, no matter what the disease’).

Chapter 23 594–5

to\n o0fqalmo\n a0pw/lesen: See above, chapter 21, for spiritual blindness.

Chapter 25 646

652

ou]ron: Urine was presumed to banish evil spirits. A fragment of a demotic Greek magical papyrus uses urine in a spell for separating a man from a woman [(Papyri Demoticae Magicae xii 76–107) = (Papyri Graecae Magicae XII 453–65)]. Unfortunately, the papyrus is so fragmentary that the instructions for where and how the urine is used have disappeared. PDM xiv 636–69 uses urine in a spell to make a woman love a man and in PDM xiv 956–60 it is utilized as an early pregnancy test (urinate on a plant and you can tell if you are pregnant if the plant is scorched the next morning – if it is, you are not). In the VJB, urine may have been used simply because it gave off such a bad odour and thus was considered a powerful agent to banish ‘evil’. ba/lsamon: Balsam was renowned for its fragrance. See also 48:1101–3. For balsam as a luxury product see Caseau (1994), 265–9 and J. -P Albert, Odeurs et Sainteté: La mythologie Chrétienne des Aromates (éditions de l’école des hautes etudes en science socials: Paris, 1990), 22.

Chapter 26 653

o9 a3gioj 'Iouliano/j: Julian is designated as a saint once he has performed his first miracle.

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Chapter 27 668

673

pra~gma o9rw~ mhde/pote a0kousqe/n: The reference to 1 Corinthians 2:9 here, intensifies the drama of Markianilla’s conversion. a0etw~n: LSJ: ray of light; Lampe: as supernatural envoy as evoked in the Acts of Andrew and Matthew 17. For a figure of angelic power, see Dionysius Areopagus, de caelesti hierarchia 15:8.

Chapter 28 681

698 701

monogenh\j: His only-child status is again emphasized. The hagiographer is driving home the implications of Kelsios’ conversion to his family (and to the audience). diadoxh\n: Refers to a family’s expectations of progeny. sunafqei\j: It is also used for sexual intercourse and plays with diadoxh\n in the initial clause.

Chapter 29 705

714 720–1

th\n e0sqh=ta h4n e0nede/duto a)pe/balen a0f 0 e9autou=: The boy casts off his clothing, painting a very visual picture. He is desperately trying to physically separate himself from the world. se\ ginw/skw pate/ra deute/raj gennh/sewj: See Chapter 2. oi9 de\ dida/skaloi au0tou= ei0j fugh\n e0tre/ponto: Kelsios’ teachers fear that they will be held responsible. Their action also highlights the enormity of what is about to follow and starts to prepare the audience for Markianos’ reaction once he learns that his only son has done the unthinkable and converted to Christianity.

Chapter 30 738

w9j khro\j e0n puri\ kateka/hsan: A very effective simile. Papyri Graecae Magicae IV (2373–440) and IV (3125–71) give instances of how commonly wax was used in spells in order to mould figures. Wax was, therefore, perhaps a metaphor that the audience could easily identify with, given that the magical papyri ‘reflect an amazingly broad religious and cultural pluralism. (They exhibit) a strong influence of Egyptian religion … expressed in Greek, Demotic and Coptic … Most texts are mixtures of Egyptian, Greek and Jewish religion’ [H. Betz, The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation (University of Chicago Press: Chicago, 1986), xlv-xlvi].

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Chapter 31 746

to\n karpo\n th=j e0mh=j gastro\j: Markianos is emphasizing how much Kelsios is a part of him. Manuscript D has e0lpi/doj (hope/ expectation) to express this meaning. 749 w(sanei\ pentakosi/wn: There are five hundred family servants, which indicates the size of the family’s wealth and importance. 749–51 lu/sasa tou\j polka/mouj … ta\ i9ma/tia au0tou=: Kelsios’ mother and father are portrayed in gestures of funeral lament. For them, their son’s conversion to Christianity is tantamount to death; he clings to the opposite belief. 762 su\ a0naiti/ouj tw~| puri\ kathna/lwsaj: Julian is still angry about his followers, killed in chapter 19. This is further evidence to highlight how carefully the narrative has been constructed; earlier events are still dwelt upon and their consequences continue to have impact.

Chapter 33 788

795

e0n i0diwtikh=| fulakh|… ~ parasxeqw~sin: The two different types of prisons that are mentioned in the text: e0n … froura=| (47:1086–7) and the fulakh=| (47:1087–8; 56:1280; 57:1326), close to the froura~ have proved elusive. The only reference to prisons in Antinoopolis comes from P. Cairo. Masp I 67002. It is a complaint registered by Dioscorus of Aphrodite: ‘A group of Aphroditans for no just cause were seized by order of Menas and thrown into a local prison (in Aphrodito). From there they were transferred to a prison in Antinoopolis [ei0j th\n fulakh\n th=j 0Antinai=o] (where they were tortured)’ [L. Macoull, Dioscorus of Aphrodito: His Work and His World (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1988]. skwlh/kwn: The first mention of worms. These creatures are a common feature of hell [R. Bauckham, The Fate of the Dead: Studies on the Jewish and Christian Apocalypses (Brill: Leiden, 1998), esp. 166] and Jewish Gehenna consists of fire, smoke, brimstone and worms [Bauckham (1998), 95ff]. The Apocalypse of Peter portrays murderers tormented by poisonous animals and worms. This negative portrayal of the lowly worm has its roots in Isaiah 66:24 – o9 skw/lhc au0tw~n (in the singular). Here the worms never sleep, causing the corpse to experience constant gnawing. The persecutors and betrayers of Christ’s righteous ones are thus scourged and eaten by unsleeping worms [M. Himmelfarb, Tours of Hell: an Apocalyptical Form in Jewish and Christian Literature (University of Pennsylvania Press: Philadelphia, 1983), esp. 116]. Baukham observes that worms are easily associated with the grave. Markianos is eventually killed by

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worms, a punishment evidently seen as just – he is in hell cf. Julian’s prediction of his death in 57.1315ff.

Chapter 35 816

a1llo de\ dw~ron …: The subplot of the seven brothers and Antony now begins. Antony’s purpose in the narrative is to baptize the initiated, in this case, Kelsios and the soldiers (who have been converted) prior to their ordeals of martyrdom. The author evidently deems it important that an official priest performs the baptism and is in keeping with the general liturgical feel of the text. 817–23 pro\ tou= kairou= tou= diwgmou=… douleu/ein qrhskei/a|: According to this, exceptions allowing Christian worship seem to have been allowed. The sons are permitted to continue to venerate Christ even after the death of their father. 823 ei]xon presbu/teron met' au0tw~n: The martyrs also need a priest for (the eventual) baptism.

Chapter 36 857

e0n tw~| lelhqo/ti ou0 stefanou=tai: Here, Christians who worship in secret are not condoned cf. Martyrdom of Pionius where this is very much the case: chs 12, 13, 14 (15) and 18 (13–14).

Chapter 39 914–5

925

e0nhlla/gh h9 o1yij au0tou=… xiw/n: Whiter than snow: See Psalm 51:7 for a poetic echo. As Julian performs the miracle, his physical appearance changes. He also looks up toward heaven, which may be compared to Mark 7:34 where Jesus looks up to heaven and sighs (e0ste/nacen) prior to healing a deaf and dumb man. The action of looking heavenwards is also a form of prayer. For praying before a miracle, see John 11:41 (also Mark 6:41; Matthew 14:19 and Luke 9:16) for the episode of the fishes and the loaves). However, prayer did not play a major role in Jesus’ wonderworking. It also appears that after the gaze and the prayer, there came the need for command, thus, ‘young man, I say to you, “arise”’ [Luke 7:14] or ‘“Lazarus, come forth!”’ [John 11:43] Here, it is a0na/sthqi (39:926). tetrah/meron La/zaron: Lampe: usual epithet ascribed to Lazarus and thus appropriate in these circumstances.

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Chapter 40 933

934



pro\j tau=ta e0kei=noj ei]pen: The dead man has been resurrected and now gives an account of hell to his astonished audience. He first refers to Ethiopians (for whom, see below) and how they brought him to ta\ kataxqo/nia and th=| a0bu/ssw|. The abyss is a common way to describe hell (Revelation 9:1; 9:2; 17:8; 20:3). 938–9 – to\ a0podoqh=nai to\ sw~ma th=| gh=| e0c h[j e0lh/fqhn refers to the Jewish belief of Creation: 4 Ezra 7:32 (also known as the Ezra apocalypse) states, ‘And the earth shall give back those who sleep in it and the dust those who dwell silently in it and the chambers shall give back the souls which have been committed to them’ [see also Bauckham (1998), 271]. By bringing Athanasios back to life, Julian not only demonstrates his power but gives Athanasios a chance to relate to his living audience what hell is like, thus giving them full warning of the fate that awaits sinners. Ai0qio/pwn: The portrayal of demons as Ethiopians is not new. They featured in the literature of the desert fathers as the demon of pride: Historia Monachorum in Aegypto 7 and in the Apopthegmata Patrum: Arsenius 32 and Arsenius 33. A vivid account is given in Cyril of Scythopolis’ vita of Euthymius 50 (74.15ff): ‘then the saint in a fit of indignation grasped the black cowl and tore it with difficulty from my head. In his hand it took on the appearance of a small Ethiopian darting fire from his eyes’. See also S. Efthymiadis, ‘Living in a city and living in Scetis: the dream of Eustathios the banker (BHG Nov. Auct. 1317d), BF 21 (1995), 11–29, esp. 26–8. Eustathios dreams that ‘I encountered many Ethiopians and they grabbed and formed a circle and placed me in the middle … and then they brought the Ethiopian girls that I had in my house who started kissing me and spitting in my face; and I, wretched man, could not bear their foul smell’ (p. 27). Ethiopians also figure as devils in the West in the works of John Cassian (Collationes Patrum 1:21 – the devil appears as ‘figura Aethiopis tetri’ and again in Coll 2:13; 19:6). Cassian, of course, was heavily influenced by the desert fathers. The association of Ethiopians with devils is still present in the twelfth century in the dream of Gregory of Thrace. Gregory vividly reports on the death of one Theodora who observed, ‘I lay at my last gasp, seeing plainly a crowd of Ethiops standing in a circle around my bed, crowding around, making a row, practising cold deceits and illusions, like dogs and wolves, roaring like a stormy sea, putting their heads together to confuse me, bellowing, moaning, croaking, howling, growling in chorus, making enquiry into my actions, passing papers round in their hands, exchanging mocking looks on their dark and sinister faces, a sight that seemed to me more frightening and more

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bitter than the sight of the Gehenna of fire’ [cited in G. Every, ‘Toll gates on the airway’, Eastern Churches Review 8 (1970), 143]. Quite why and how this characterization evolved is uncertain. Christides observes that it was common for the Byzantines to call everyone from North Africa to the equator, Ai0qi/opej. ‘Following the classical tradition, they believed that the word Ai0qi/wy came from the word ai1qw = kai/w. Thus, Ai0qi/wy means ‘the person whose face has been burnt by the sun’ [V. Christides, ‘The image of the Sudanese in Byzantine sources’, Byzantinoslavica 43 (1982), 8–17, esp. 11]. For an excellent account of the portrayal of Ethiopian demons within the ascetic milieu, see D. Brakke, ‘Ethiopian demons: male sexuality, the black-skinned other and the monastic self ”, Journal of the History of Sexuality 10 (2001), 501–35: ‘Ethiopianess is evoked in specific instances in order to say something about the demonic’ (504). In this instance, the blackness of the Ethiopian contrasts greatly with the blinding light that continually invades the VJB (Brakke, 507–11). In the VJB, the Ethiopians are given animal attributes: teeth like lions and nails like an eagle’s (talons), as well as fiery eyes (40:947–8). Himmelfarb has pointed out that the demons of hell are usually animals such as lions [Himmelfarb (1983), 119]. Here, the author is giving these bestial attributes to his own demons. The description of the Ethiopians is also reminiscent of apocalyptic literature. In Daniel 4:33, Nebuchadnezzar is described thus: ‘his hairs were grown like eagles’ feathers and his nails like birds’ claws’ and in 7:19, the fourth beast is one ‘whose teeth were of iron and his nails of brass’. The Beast in Revelation 13 is composed of several animals. Thus, the features ascribed to the Ethiopians stem from apocalyptic literature. This link to Revelation is further strengthened by the two men clad in white, who arrive to fetch Athanasios from hell (h]lqon du/o leuxeimonou=ntej) cf. Revelation 3:5; 6:9–10; 7:9 and 7:13–14. For the extensive parallels with Revelation throughout the passio, see Chapter 3. 953–4 ta\ klei=qra tw~| daktulidi/w| au0tou= sfragisqh=nai: cf. Daniel 6:17 – ‘Then a stone was brought and laid on the mouth of the den, and the king sealed it with his own signet ring and with the signets of his lords, that the purpose concerning Daniel might not be changed.’ This happened just before Daniel was thrown into the lions’ den. Here, the sealing occurs before the martyrs have their first collective torture in the burning vats of pitch, asphalt and brimstone.

Chapter 41 961–2

le/bhtej … pi/sshj kai\ a0sfa/ltou kai\ qeia/fou: In accordance with the emperors’ order given in 37:876–84. Once again we have parallel

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with Revelation. Revelation 9:17–18 refers to brimstone; Revelation 20:10 dwells on a lake of fire and brimstone.

Chapter 42 973

oude\ nekrw~n a0kou/ei: A reference to the resurrected Athanasios.

Chapter 43 986

w2 a0ko/reste ai0sxu/nh: A great part of Markianos’ distress is his sense of shame that he is powerless despite all his wealth and prestige. He cannot even control his own family, which is his duty as a paterfamilias.

Chapter 44 997

o9 de\ seba/smioj neani/skoj Ke/lsioj: The name of Markianos’ son is finally given. Kelsios now enters the story in his own right. 1011–12 ou)de\ e0me\ ou0de\ au0th\n a0pole/seij: Markianos agrees to this proposal probably thinking that his wife will change her son’s mind. It is notable that Kelsios thinks of converting his mother (the woman) rather than his father. However, his father has proved that he is resistant/blind to change so it would be no use to persuade him and of course, in terms of the story, there would be no eventual martyrdom for anyone if Markianos suddenly became a Christian.

Chapter 45 1016

o9 h9gemw/n, mh\ u9pofe/rwn i0dei=n kaio/menon to\n ui9o/n: Markianos cannot cope with the thought of his son’s death and leaves it to his assessor. The strength of his feeling is part of the pervasive emotiveness of the VJB. 1016–7 to\n sugka/qedron: An advisor to a magistrate. The post is noted in both Palladius: LH 62 and Socrates: HE 7:20–3 – o4j tou= strathgou= 0Ardabouri/ou sugka/qederoj h]n. 1024 a3gioj Ke/lsioj: Kelsios is now elevated to sainthood in anticipation of his martyrdom. 1025 ei0rh/nhn didou\j tw~| patri: The action was usually part of the liturgy. By the fourth century, ei0rh/nh pa=sin connoted the bishop’s greeting in the liturgy. 1027–8 a0neko/xlazen h9 pi/ssa: Extreme heat.

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Chapter 47

1086–7 e0n i0diazou/sh| froura~|: An anomaly. Kelsios asks for a private audience with his mother and they are granted a private prison. Yet, later in the chapter, we are told that the saints ‘come towards her’ and in chapter 49, Julian speaks to Markianilla directly. One manuscript (Athon. Dionysiou 143) omits e0celqo/ntej, which would make more sense but does not explain how all the saints are reunited further on.

Chapter 48

1102–3 kri/nwn kai\ r9o/dwn: As we saw in back in chapter 6 to denote virginity and martyrdom. r9o/dwn (roses) flower very early in Egypt according to Theophrastus, Historia Plantarum 6:8.6 – ‘position and a suitable climate contribute most to the fragrance of roses, giliflowers and other flowers. Thus in Egypt, while all other flowers and sweet herbs are scentless, the myrtles are marvellously fragrant’. balsa/mou: Theophrastus, Historia Plantarum 9:6.1 ff places the balsam of Mecca in his list of a)rw~mata. Its main attribute is its ‘exceedingly great and rich’ fragrance ‘so that that which comes from a small amount is perceived for a wide distance …’. Historia Plantarum 9:6.4 highlights the difficulties of obtaining balsam in large quantities and thus its corresponding preciousness. It has to be cultivated and ‘from the larger park are obtained twelve vessels containing each about three pints … ; the pure gum sells for twice its weight in silver, the mixed sort at a price proportionate to its purity’. na/rdou spikenard: Nardostachys Jatamansi. Theophrastus, Historia Plantarum 9:7.2 again includes it in his a)rw~mata. The list includes ‘cassia, cinnamon, cardamon, spikenard, nairon, balsam of Mecca, crocus, myrrh, kypeiron, ginger-grass, sweet-flag, sweet marjoram, lotos and dill; cf. LXX: Song of Songs 1:12 – ‘While the king sitteth at his table, my spikenard sendeth forth the smell thereof ’. Thus all the plants and flowers that Markianilla senses are renowned for their exceptional fragrance. See also P. Faure: Parfums et Aromates de l’Antiquité (Fayard: Paris, 1987), 296–7; M. Detienne, The Gardens of Adonis: Spices in Greek Mythology (Harvester Press: Sussex, 1977), 48.

Chapter 49

1109–10 o9 i0atro\j …u9gi/eian: See notes for chapter 22. 1110 trauma/twn: Mortal wounds are now noted, in keeping with the medical metaphor. 1148 a)rxh\n kai\ te/loj selh/nhn kate/sthsen: The inclusion of the moon adds to the general background of Egyptian belief, in the same way as

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there are hints of magic. Iamblichus, in de mysteriis VIII 2–3 wrote, ‘Another sovereignty, over the whole of mortal nature, they give to the moon’. Fowden discussed the deep belief held by the Egyptians in the power of the moon as represented by the god Thoth [Fowden (1986), 22]. He quotes an inscription from the temple of Amun at Hibis (Davies, Temple of Hibis, pl. 31): ‘(the moon) ruler of the stars, distinguishes seasons, months and years’. Thus, Thoth and, by affiliation, the moon, becomes the Lord of Time and hence controller of Fate. The localization of Thoth’s cult was at Hermoupolis Magna, which was very near to Antinoopolis and so the city would very probably have picked up influences. Although the author of the passio does not come from Antinoopolis, it is highly likely that he was inspired by the prevailing culture and wished to bequeath his characters with that culture.

Chapter 50 1157

path\r au0th=j gegonw\j e0n tw~| bapti/smati: See Chapter 2

Chapter 51 1176

h(gemw/n: Kelsios calls his father ‘governor’. He refuses to recognize him as his worldly father. 1177–8 di' o3per ou!te e0gw/se oi]da pate/ra ou!te au0th\ a!ndra: See Chapter 2. 1179–80 th\n gunai=ka … a0paxqh=nai: Markianos orders his wife to be taken back to where she belongs: in the home.

Chapter 52 1186

tw~| puri\ paradoqh=nai: The seven brothers and twenty soldiers are burnt. For the potency of the number seven, see Revelation 1:4; 1:11; 1:12 (seven churches; seven spirits before His throne; seven golden candlesticks).

Chapter 53 1193

a0na/cion h9gou=mai ei0pei=n: A sarcastic reminder of their initial confrontation when Julian was silent (20.525ff). There is a continual attempt to create a unified story. 1214–15 ou0k h]lqon ei0rh/nhn … ma/xairan: This echoes Matthew 10:33–7 – ‘But whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before

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245

my Father which is in Heaven. Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword; for I am come to set a man at variance against his father and the daughter against her mother and the daughter-in-law against her.… He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me’. 1216–19 ui9o\n xwri/sai …maqhth/j: Jesus’ words renouncing family ties, reinforcing the message.

Chapter 54 1229

1232

1235

tou= Dio\j nao/n: The temple of Zeus in Antinoopolis has proved difficult to trace. A possible reference point is the temple of Zeus Amoun, in Luxor, which was founded by Alexander. We know that in the early-fourth century the temple could not have been in use since Diocletian’s officers set up camp among its ruins[M. el-Saghir et. al, Le camp romain de Louqsor (IFAO Memoires: Cairo, 1986) noted by R. Alston, The City in Roman and Byzantine Egypt (2002), 272 and 285]. Alston also observes that the general decline of the great Egyptian temples appear to date to the end of the third century. Given that the VJB’s date parameters are 325–525 then the temple cannot literally be that of Zeus Amoun. However, the hagiographer could be alluding to it. See also R. Bagnall and D. Rathbone, Egypt: From Alexander to the Copts, An Archaeological and Historical Guide (The British Museum Press: London, 2004), 188–92 for more on the temple. h)le/ktrou: Statues/idols of amber. As far back as Homer, statues were made of amber: Odyssey 4:73 – xrusou= t 0 h0le/ktrou te kai\ a0rgu/rou h0 d' e0le/fantoj. Telemachos says to Nestor’s son, ‘you see … the flashing of gold, of amber, of silver and of ivory? Of such sort must be the court of Olympian Zeus within.’ Amber has thus long been associated with luxury and wealth. Pliny declares in Naturalis Historia 37:31ff (37.49) that it is so precious that a small statue made from amber costs more than a group of healthy slaves. He also ascribes healing powers to it against ‘fevers and diseases’, which could be another reason for amber’s use as a material for making idols. a0noige/ntoj tou= naou= dia\ to\ tw~n basile/wn gene/qlion: The temple is opened once a year. P. Beatty Panopolos 2.164 shows that Diocletian and Maximian had different birthdays [T. Skeat, Papyri from Panopolis in the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin (Hodges: Dublin, 1964), 145ff]. Maximian’s birthday is commemorated by a panegyric by Mamertinus but Seston argues that it celebrates his dies imperii (when he assumed the title of Herculius) [W. Seston, ‘Jovius et Herculius ou l’éphiphanie des Tétrarques’, Historia 1 (1950), 257–66, esp. 251ff].

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However, Barnes points out that modern editions take the day of celebration (22 December) as Diocletian and Maximian’s joint birthday (geminus natalis) [Barnes (1982), 58, n. 52]. This is complicated by the variants in British Museum Harleianus 2480. It has genuinus or genui nus (two separate words). Wistrand and Skeat both consider that these readings are ‘stemmatically of equal value to the geminus of the other manuscripts and deserves preference on historical grounds’ [E. Wistrand, ‘A note on the “geminus natalis” of the emperor Maximian’, Eranos 62 (1964), 131–45; Skeat (1964)]. Our author refers to a joint celebration.

Chapter 58 1331

h9 a9gi/a Basi/lissa: Basilissa reappears to foretell Julian’s death. See Chapter 1 for evidence that the vision is a later interpolation.

Chapter 59 1350

tou\j o0fqalmou\j …e0coruxqh=nai: Antonios and Athanasios’ eyes are dug out with hooks. e0coruxqh=nai in LSJ means to gouge out cf. Judges 16:21 where the Philistines carve out Samson’s eyes. It is literally a barbaric punishment.

Chapter 61 1364

1365

a0namixqh=nai: The saints are mixed with common criminals and provide a parallel with Christ. a0pokefalisqh=nai: They are all finally beheaded, the usual ending for all saints who have endured (and survived) an impossible number of tortures.

Chapter 62

1380–1 o9 h9gemw\n … e0ce/pneusen: Markianos dies, consumed by worms as Julian prophesied in chapter 57. Other examples of this type of death are the Antiochene priest, who was apostate under the Emperor Julian, who lost his eyes, which were eaten then by worms [Philostorgius, Hist. VII, 13] and the passio of Pistis, Elpis and Agape (post sixth century) in Halkin (1973), ch. 14.

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247

Chapter 63

1384–5 ta\j yuxa\j … ou1saj: An allegorical/metaphorical/visual way of distinguishing the bodies of the saints from the sinners. 1385 e0n sxh/mati parqe/nwn: The saints are emphasized as virgins. 1390–2 e0n po/lei 0Antinw~n …i0ouli/wn: The date and location of the martyrdoms are re-established. See Appendix 1 for confusion on whether Julian’s relics are buried in Antinoopolis or Antioch.

Chapter 64 1398

a0nankai=on de\ kai\ tou=to ei0pein to\ qau=ma: At this point, the author needs and wishes to establish and confirm Julian’s sanctity. 1399 e0kei=: He again emphasizes authenticity. 1399–400 ou0dei\j a0mfisbhtei= e3wj th=j sh/meron h9me/raj: More attempts to prove authenticity. 1402 0Epifanei/aj: See Appendix 1 for the significance of the date. 1405 h0ciw/qh u9giei/aj: In both senses; health is restored. 1410–11 ou0k e0kei= mo/non …e0kklhsi/ai: We have references to other churches of Julian. The Synaxarium often mentions the martyrion of Julian several times as being plhsi/on tou= fo/rou (‘near the Forum’) [Synax 204:14; 232:54; 377:19; 758:6; 762:23 and 800:21]. Janin notes that the foundation of the martyrion was uncertain. It was near to the bronze monument called the perdix. Constantine V tried to burn it down together with the monks inside because they did not conform to his iconoclast views [R. Janin, La géographie écclésiastique de l’empire byzantin: III les églises et les monastères (Institut de français d’études byzantins: Paris, 1969), 260–1]. Notes 1 Mark 9:23. 2 cf. John 20:20. 3 cf. 1 Corinthians 7:31. 4 cf. 1 Corinthians 7:31. 5 cf. 1 Corinthians 3:19. 6 cf. 1 John 4; 18. 7 cf. 1 Timothy 5:14. 8 cf. Matthew 22:24. 9 cf. Psalm 27:14. 10 cf. Psalm 7:9. 11 cf. 1 Corinthians 2:9. 12 cf. Psalm 26:2. 13 cf. Psalm 68:28. 14 1 Corinthians 4:9. 15 cf. Psalm 145:13.

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16 1 Corinthians 2:9. 17 cf. Revelation 14:4. 18 cf. Revelation 5:11. 19 cf. Matthew 19:29; Mark 10:29. 20 Matthew 11:28. 21 cf. Luke 18:29. 22 cf. Matthew 7:14. 23 cf. Luke 9:62. 24 cf. Ecclesiastes 1:4. 25 cf. Revelation 2:23. 26 cf. Psalm 121:3. 27 cf. John 18:9. 28 cf. Acts 9:16. 29 cf. Philippians 4:1. 30 cf. Psalm 51:17. 31 Revelation 2:8. 32 cf. Ecclesiasticus 24:13. 33 cf. Ephesians 4:26. 34 Matthew 16:16. 35 cf. 2 Corinthians 6:14. 36 cf. Matthew 25:41. 37 cf. Matthew 21:22. 38 Psalm 119:71. 39 cf. Revelation 1:15. 40 cf. Psalm 66:12. 41 cf. Matthew 16:24. 42 cf. Matthew 25:15; Luke 19:13. 43 Corinthians 4:14. 44 cf. Psalm 29:24. 45 cf. Matthew 7:6. 46 cf. Matthew 10:34–35. 47 cf. Luke 14:26 and 33. 48 Psalm 96:5. 49 cf. Psalm 104:9. 50 cf. Mark 9:48. 51 cf. Matthew 11:5, Luke 7:22. 52 cf. Psalm 145:17.

The Vita of Andronikos and Athanasia Text f.183

Bi/oj kai\ politei/a tou= o9si/ou patro\j h(mw~n 'Androni/kou kai\ th=j au)tou= sumbi/ou 'Aqanasi/aj

5 10 15 (183v) 20 25 30 (183br) 35 40

1. polla\ me/n e0sti kai\ a1lla kosmou=nta th\n megalo/polin

)Antio/xeian to\ xrhmati/sai te prw~ton e0n au)th=| tou\j maqhta\j xristianou\j, w3j pou fhsi\n o9 qehgo/roj Louka=j, e0n th=| bi/blw| tw~n prace/wn,1 kai\ to\ pasw~n prwteu/ein kai\ prokaqh=sqai tw~n e0n th=| e9w/a| po/lewn, meta\ th\n basili/da kai\ ne/an e0piklhqei=san (Rw/mhn, th\n Kwnstanti/nou fhmi/: e0w~ ga\r le/gein to/ te me/geqoj kai\ to\ ka/lloj au)th=j, sterro/thta/ te teixw~n kai\ laou= poluplh/qeian, w(j o)li/gon h2 kai\ pantelw~j ou)de/n tou/twn pro\j a)reth\n suntelou/ntwn: o4 de\ ple/on au)th\n au)tw~n te kai\ tw~n loipw~n pa/ntwn faidru/nei kai\ ei0j a1kron kosmei=, to\ gene/teiran ei]nai kai\ a1riston trofo/n a)ndrw~n o9mou= kai\ gunaikw~n qeofilw~n e0n te toi=j a)ne/kaqen xro/noij kai\ a1xri tw~n kaq 0 h(ma~j h]j dh\ karpo/j e0stin eu)kleh/j kai\ o9 nu=n h(mi=n proteqei\j ei0j dih/ghsin, o9 qaumasto\j tw~| o1nti| kai\ qei=oj 'Andro/nikoj: o9 kat' a)mfote/rouj tou\j bi/ouj, to\n kosmiko\n dhladh\ kai\ to\n monadiko/n kexarisme/nwj zh/saj qew~|: w3sper dh\ ta\ tou= lo/gou proi+o/nta dhlw/sei safe/steron. 2. ou[toj ge/nei me/n tw~n e0n 'Antioxei/a| e0pifane/statoj: plo/utw| de/ dayile/statoj, kai\ to\ mei=zon a(pa/ntwn, th=| politei/a| qeofile/statoj: a)rguropra/thj tou/tw| to\ e0pith/deuma: kaq' o4 toi=j pa=sin e9auto\n e0dei/knu a)pro/skopon, kai\ th=| yuxh=| to\ ple/on h2 th=| sarki\ ne/monta: ou) ga\r pleoneci/a| prose/keito: to\ ei0rhme/non metiw\n e0pith/deuma, ei0j tou\j a)plh/stouj o4 le/getai pi/qouj a)ntlw~n ei0j penh/twn de\ ma~llon qerapei/an, kai\ monaxw~n peripoi/hsin, ta\ e0k dikai/wn po/rwn au)tw~| kai\ th=j te/xnhj o3j h(me/rai prosgino/mena xrh/mata, a)mfote/raij tai=j xersi\n a)feidw~j h]n e0kkenw~n: sunh=pto de\ au)tw~| kai\ gunh\ no/mw| ga/mou, quga/thr tw~n o9mote/xnwn tino/j 'Iwa/nnhj, tou/tw| 'Aqanasi/a th=| qugatri\ u(ph=rxe to\ o1noma: h3tij bohqo\j e0pi\ kalw~| tw~| a)ndri\ genome/nh, th\n o1ntwj a)qanasi/an ferw|nu/mwj th=j klh/sewj, su\n au)tw~| e0klhrw/sato: ou) ga\r pw~j a2n au)toi=j ta\ tou= plou/tou kai\ th=j periousi/aj e0pidosin la/boi kai\ au1chsin tw~| sunoikou=nti h( 0Aqanasi/a pote\ u(peti/qeto, a)ll ) o3pwj a2n a)fote/roij sumbh/ dia\ th=j tw~n xrhma/twn ma~llon a)pobolh=j eu)aresth=sai Qew~|, pa/nta h]n kai\ poiou=sa kai\ le/gousa trisi\ ga\r moi/raij a)ei\ ta\ proso/nta au)toi=j diarou=ntej, th=| mia=| me/n, ei0j to\n oi]kon a)pexrw~nto kai\ tou\j peri\ to\n oi]kon: th=| deute/ra| de/, ei0j diatrofh\n kai\ peribolh\n tw~n ptwxw~n: kai\ th=| loiph=|, ei0j qerapei/an tw~n e0pidhmou/ntwn th=| 'Anti/oxou, ce/nwn kai\ monaxw~n.

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45 (183bv) 50 55 60 65 70 75 (184v) 80 85

3. h]san de\ pa=si toi=j e0n th=| po/lei sxedo\n oi9 maka/rioi ou[toi,

xa/rin th=j qeare/stou politei/aj au)tw~n, diafero/ntwj stergo/menoi: ti/ktontai de\ au)toi=j te/kna du/o: a1rren me/n to\ prw~ton: o4 dh\ kai\ )Iwa/nnhn e0ka/lesan: qh=lu de\ to\ met' au)to\, Mari/a tau/th| to\ o1noma: to\ a)p' e0kei/nou de/ sunqh/kaj kai\ pi/steij a)sfalei=j a)mfo/teroi| e1qento tou= mhke/ti sunelqei=n a)llh/loij par' o3lhn dh\ th\n zwh/n: ou3twj ou]n th=| sarki\ kai\ pa/saij tai=j sarkikai=j e0piqumi/aij a0potaca/menoi, o3lhn th\n r(oph\n parei=xon tw~| pneu/mati kai\ toi=j e1rgoij tou= pneu/matoj. ta\j ga\r trei=j th=j e9bdoma/doj h(me/raj, Deute/ran fhmi/ kai\ Tetra/da kai\ Paraskeuh/n, o9 qei=oj me\n 'Andro/nikoj, meta\ tw~n o9mote/xnwn kai\ o9motro/pwn o3loj a)phsxolei=to ei0j peripoi/hsin a)ndrw~n, a)naph/rwn te\ kai\ ptwxw~n, loutroi=j te\ douloprepw~j qerapeu/wn au)toi=j to\ sw~ma peponhko/j, kai\ th\n a1llhn pa~san a)pone/mwn a)na/pausin: h( de\ qaumasi/a 'Aqanasi/a, tw~n o9mogenw~n gunaikw~n o3saij e1ndeian ei]xen o9 bi/oj kai\ ti traxu\ kai\ a)nw/malon, e0p' i1shj tw~| a)ndri\ e0poiei=to th\n pro/noian. 4. th=| de\ Kuriakh=| to\ kuriako\n a)mfote/rouj ei]xen au)tou/j e1wqen e3wj e9spe/raj, ta\j eu)xa\j tw~| Kuri/w| prosa/gontaj: h(ni/ka de\ tw~| prw/tw| tw~n pai/dwn e1toj h(biu/eto th=j h(liki/aj dwde/katon kai\ de/katon tw~| deute/rw|, a)sqe/neia/ tij au)toi=j e0capinai/wj prose/pesen. h( de\ mh/thr au)tw~n, ou1pw te/loj e0xou/shj th=j o)rqrinh=j docologi/aj, h]lqe pro\j th\n oi0kia/n e0piske/yasqai ta\ paidi/a au)th=j kai\ eu(ri/skei au)ta\ la/brw| puretw~| sunexo/mena, ou[toj ga\r h]n th=j no/sou to\ ai1tion kai\ ba/rei stenagmw~n sfo/dra katateino/mena: eu)qu\j ou]n strefome/nh| ta\ spla/gxna kai\ th\n kardi/an koptome/nh| deinw~j, a1neisin e0n th=| kli/nh| au)th=j kai\ a)gkalisame/nh| ta\ i1dia te/kna kai\ me/son au)tw~n e9auth\n paramei/rasa, w(j oi[o/n te paremuqei=to to\ pa/qoj: kai\ ga\r ou)de\ a1llw| tini\ forhto\n a2n u(ph=rce, mh/ti ge mhtri/ kai\ tau=ta filo/paidi, to\ ble/pein th=| no/sw| ka/mnontaj a)mfote/rouj tou\j pai=daj: ei0 ga\r kai\ filo/qeoj h]n h9 gunh/, a)lla/ ge spla/gxnoij toi=j mhtrikoi=j e0ka/mpteto kai\ au)tai=j dh/pou tai=j a)na/gkaij th=j fu/sewj. o9 toi/nun 'Andro/nikoj e0pei\ te/loj ei]xen o9 o1rqroj e0n tw~| oi1kw| geno/menoj, w(j pe/ra tou=| metri/ou kaqeu/dousan, h0|tia~to th\n su/zugon e0pei\ de\ par' au)th=j h1kousen w(j ou)x' u3pnou po/qoj, oi]ktoj de\ te/knwn o9mou= nosou/ntwn e1ndon h]n tau/thn parakate/xwn proselqw\n kai\ tw~n pai/dwn a(ya/menoj, krataia\n eu[re th\n a)r)r9wsti/an au)tw~n: i3n' ei1poimi to\ th=j qei/aj Grafh=j, ou0de\n ou]n a)genne\j h2 skuqrwpo\n ei0pw\n h2 paqw/n, tou=to mo/non e0fqe/gcato: to\ qe/lhma tou= Kuri/ou gene/sqw. 5. kai\ parequ\ a1peisn e1cw th=j po/lewj e0n tw~| naw~| tou= a9gi/ou ma/rturoj 'Ioulianou=: e1nqa dh\ kai\ tou\j gonei=j au)tou= teqa/fqai sune/bh: kai\ pare/teinen eu)xo/menoj a1xrij e3kthj w3raj th=j h(me/raj e0kei=se. w(j de\ prosh/ggise th=| oi0ki/a| u(postre/yaj a)po\ th=j proseuxh=j, h1kouse qrh/nwn kai\ o)lolugmw~n: pollou= surreu/santoj o1xlou ei0j to\n oi]kon au)tou=: ei0selqw\n de/, eu[ren a)mfo/tera ta\ paidi/a nekra/ e0n mia~| kai\ th=| au)th=| kli/nh| kei/mena: kai\ th\n

Th e V ita o f A n d r o n i ko s a n d At ha na sia

90 (185) 95 100 105 (185v) 110 115 120 (186) 125 130 (186v) 135

su/zugon, fanerw~j h1dh tw~| pa/qei nenikhme/nhn. paraxrh=ma gou]n ei1seisi to\n eu)kth/|rion oi]kon, o4j h]n e0n tw~| oi1kw| au)tou=, kai\ prhnh\j pesw\n ei0j to\ e1dafoj, a1llo/j tij kaqwra~to 'Iw/b, ta\ e0kei/nou kai\ diapratto/menoj kai\ fqeggo/menoj qermh\n ga\r e0kei= tw~| kuri/w|, th\n eu)xh\n kai\ suxnh\n prosagagw\n th\n prosku/nhsin, eu)xaristw~n e1legen: “o9 ku/rioj e1dwken, o9 ku/rioj a)fei/leto: w(j tw~| kuri/w| e1docen, ou3twj kai\ e0gen/eto: ei1h to\ o1noma kuri/ou eu)loghme/non ei0j tou\j ai0w~naj.”2 e0celqw\n de/, parakalei=n e0peira=to th\n bohqo\n sunapoqanei=n toi=j te/knoij e0fieme/nhn, kai\ mh\ de\ zh=n o3lwj e1ti a)nexome/nhn: “ti/ ga/r me dei= zh=n”, e1lege: peripaqe/j te kai\ goero\n w(j ei0ko\j mhte/ra filo/teknon o)lolu/zousa: “a)mfote/rwn moi tw~n kla/dwn perih|rhme//nwn; pro\j ti/na tou= loipou= ble/yw; e0n ti/ni de\ to\ ze/on katapau/sw tou= pa/qouj· a1paij h( kalli/paij e0cai/fnhj gegenhme/nh;” tau=ta kai\ ta\ tou/twn e0xo/mena th\n 0Aqanasi/an sunei/rousan: meta\ qermh=j th=j tw~n dakru/wn e0pirroh=j, paraklhtikoi=j lo/goij o9 qei=oj e0peira~to a)ne/xein 'Andro/nikoj: “mh\ ou3tw gu/nai” le/gwn: “mh\ kata\ mi/an tw~n a)fro/nwn kai\ a)nasta/sewj e0lpi/da mh\ kekthme/nwn, e0kto\j tou= prosh/kontoj lo/gou a)podu/rou ta\ te/kna h(mw~n: ei0 ga\r kai\ h(mi=n teqnh/kasin, a)lla\ Qew~| pa/ntwj3 zw~sin u(f 0 ou[per a1ra kai\ proselh/fqhsan, sofw~j to\ sumfe/ron h(mi=n te ka)kei/noij oi0konomh/santoj au)ta\ me\n ga\r ta\ te/kna h(mw~n a1mwma prosela/beto pri\n h2 geu/sasqai tw~n tou= bi/ou kakw~n: h(mi=n de\ to\ pro\j yuxh=j swthri/an a0pidei=n e0mnhsteu/sato, mhdeno\j o1ntoj e1ti tou= perispw~ntoj h(ma=j kai\ pro\j e9auto\ e0pistre/fontoj.” 6.tou/toij ta\ ei0ko/ta th\n su/zugon paramuqhsa/menoj, peri\ th\n e0kfora\n tw~n leiya/nwn e0spou/daze. sunh=lqe de\ pa=sa h9 po/lij sxedo/n, kai\ au)to\j o9 Patria/rxhj su\n a1ma tw~| klh/rw| panti/: ou)de\ ga\r e0kei/nw| e0tu/gxanon a1gnwstoi dia\ to\ perio\n w(j oi]mai th=j a)reth=j kai\ ai0de/simon: e0pei\ de\ ta\ nenomisme/na pa/nta tele/santej, tafh=| | tou\j nekrou\j tw~n pai/dwn dedw/kasin e0n tw~| r(hqe/nti naw~| tou= a(gi/ou 'Ioulianou= kataqe/menoi su\n toi=j progo/noij au)tw~n: to\n maka/rion me\n 'Andro/nikon meq' e9autou= o9 Patria/rxhj e1xwn, ei0j to\ e0piskopei=on u(pe/streyen. h( 'Aqanasi/a de/ tw~| ta/fw| tw~n te/knwn pare/meine, deinw~j koptome/nh da/krusi/ te qermoi=j perirreome/nh, kai\ mhde/mian4 o3lwj dexome/nh para/klhsin e3wj au)th\n u(pelqw\n u3pnoj kai\ a1kousan h(suxa/sai pepoi/hken: o9 de\ u3pnoj o1nar ei]xen au)th=| e0pista/nta to\n ma/rtura, kai\ tou= a)nendo/tou qrh/nou kai\ tw~n a)sxe/twn dakru/wn w3sper e0pitimw~nta, kai\ toiau=ta prosfwnou=nta kai\ le/gonta, “ti/noj xa/rin, w} gu/nai, a1kaira/ te kai\ a)parhgo/rhta bou/lei qrhnei=n; ou0k oi]daj w(j qnhth\ ou]sa qnhtou\j pai=daj gege/nnhkaj; ou4j e0pi\ swthri/a| prodh/lwj a1rti qeo\j o9 fila/nqrwpoj proslabe/sqai eu)do/khse: mh\ klai=e toi/nun ta\ te/kna: ou) ga\r au)ta\ e0gerei=j: klai=e de\ ma=llon ta\ e0n bi/w| soi e0ptaisme/na a4 kai\ r(a=|on dunh/sh| a)palei=yai toi=j da/krusi”. th\n de\ tou/twn a)kou/sasan, pareuqu\ o3 te u3pnoj a)nh=ke, kai\ to\ polu\ met' e0kei/nou th=j a)qumi/aj: paraklhqei/shj de\ au0th=| th=j yuxh=j: “ei0 ta\ te/kna mou e0p' a)lhqei/aj zw~sin e0n ou0ranoi=j”,

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h)re/ma kai\ kaq' e9auth\n u(pela/lei, “dia\ poi=on lo/gon toi=j qrh/noij e0kth/komai;” ei]ta th=|de ka)kei=se to\n nao\n peribleyame/nh, a3te to\n e0n u3pnoij au)th=| tou\j paraklhtikou\j lalh/santa lo/gouj i0dei=n glixome/nh: tou= newko/rou e0pu/qeto: o3stij h]n a1ra o9 monaxo/j, o9 to\n nao\n th=j parelqou/shj nukto\j ei0selqw\n kai\ sullalh/saj au)th=|: kai\ ga\r o9 ma/rtuj e0n sxh/mati tau/th| mona/xou= e0fa/nh: o9 de\ newko/roj tw~| parado/cw| th=j e0rwth/sewj e0neo\j gegonw/j: e1gnw ga\r au)th\n qei/an o0ptasi/an e9wrake/nai: “ou)dei\j”, e1fhsen: “w} kuri/a mou, monaxo\j ei0sh=lqen e0ntau=qa: tw~n tou= naou= qurw~n w(j o9ra=n e1xeij, o3lwn h)sfalisme/nwn”. h( de\ e0kplh/cei te\ kai\ | fo/bw| sunexome/nh, to\n i1dion oi]kon katalamba/nei: kai\ tw~| a)ndri\ dihgei=tai ta\ o1nar au)th=| kai\ e9wrame/na kai\ lelalhme/na: meta\ de\ th\n tou/twn dih/ghsin, fhsi\ pro\j au)to/n: “e0moi\ gluku/tate a1ner, kai\ tw~n filta/twn h(mw~n te/knwn tw~| zh=n e1ti paruphrgme/nwn, di' e0fe/sewj h]n a)pota/casqai/ te tw~| ko/smw|, kai\ pro\j to\n h(su/xion bi/on au)tomolh=sai: a)ll ) h( tw~n te/knwn storgh\ bi/w| kai\ toi=j e0n bi/w| parame/nein a)ne/peiqe: nu=n ou]n e0pei/per h(mi=n ou)de/n e0stin e0mpodw/n: ei0 e0moi\ pei/qh|, monasthri/w| gunaikw~n eu0labw~n me a)po/keiron, w(j a2n dia\ th=j a)skh/sewj kai\ prw~ton th=j tou= Qeou= filanqrwpi/aj, to\ ai]sxoj posw~j tw~n e0mw~n plhmmeleiw~n, a)poni/ywmai”. tou/twn e0pei\ o9 maka/rioj 'Andro/nikoj h1kousen “u3page gu/nai”, fhsi\ pro\j au)th/n: “kai\ to\n toiou=ton logismo/n mi/an e9bdoma/da baqute/raj freno\j a(ptome/nh, doki/mason kata\ seauth/n: kai\ ei0 tou/tw| e0pime/noij o9losxerw~j, to\ |tou= Qeou genh/setai qe/lhma”. h( de/, kai\ meta\ th\n paradromh\n th=j tw~n h(merw~n e9bdoma/doj, ta\ au)ta\ toi=j prote/roij kai\ fronou=sa kai\ le/gousa, tw~| a)ndri\ diedei/knuto: eu)qu\j ou]n e0kei=nj metakalei=tai to\n au0tou= penqero/n, kai\ tou/tw| th\n ou)si/an a3pasan e0pitre/yaj: “h(ma~j me\n”, e1fh: “ku/rie/ mou, qermo\j po/qoj ei[len o9mou= tou\j 9Agi/ouj To/pouj i0de/sqai/ te kai\ proskunh=sai: su\ de\ ei1per h(mi=n sumbh=| kata\ tau/thn dh\ th\n a)podhmi/an, to\ xre/oj a)poti/sai th=j fu/sewj, u(po\ Qew~| e0fo/rw| kai\ ma/rturi, kata\ gnw/mhn au)tw~| dia/qou ta\ proso/nta h(mi=n: nosokomei=on te\ deima/menoj e0n tw~| oi1kw| h(mw~n kai\ cenodoxei=on monaxw~n”. tau=ta ei0pw/n, to\ oi0ketiko\n a3pan megaloyu/xwj tou= zugou= th=j doulei/aj a)ni/hsi, kai\ le/gata tou/toij filanqrw/pwj parasxw/n a)polu/ei. 7. nukto\j de\ e0pigenome/nhj, a)po/moiran tw~n e9autou= xrhma/twn mikra\n ei0lhfw/j kai\ tau/thn ei0j dia/dosin tw~n xrei/an e0xo/ntwn du/o te tw~n u(pozugi/wn,| e0ch/|ei th=j po/lewj meta\ mo/nhj th=j gunaiko/j: h3tij e0pistrafei=sa kai\ a)new|gme/naj pa/saj i0dou=sa tou= i0di/ou oi1kou ta\j qu/raj, tou\j o0fqalmou\j ei0j to\n ou)rano\n a)natei/nasa, “o9 Qeo\j”, e1fh su\n da/krusin: “o9 pa/lai ei0pw\n 0Abraa\m tw~| propa/tori: ‘e1celqe e0k th=j gh=j sou'5 kai\ e0k th=j suggenei/aj sou0 di ) o4n kai\ au)toi\ th=j e0negkame/nhj to/ ge nu=n a)llotriou/meqa: au)to\j o9dh/ghson h(ma~j ei0j o9do\n eu)qei=an5 kai\ tw~| fo/bw| sou peritei/xison: i0dou\ ga\r to\n oi]kon h(mw~n, dia\ to\ o1noma/ sou to\ a3gion, a)new|gme/non ei0a/samen qlibome/nw| panti/: toi/nun mh\ de\ au)to\j a)poklei/sh|j fila/nqrwpe de/spota e1mprosqen h(mw~n tw~n sw~n oi0ketw~n th\n qu/ran th=j basilei/aj sou, a)ll ) au)th=j meto/xouj

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a)na/deicon tw~n h(marthme/nwn h(mi=n: o9 mo/noj a)nama/rthtoj pa/ntwn a)mnhmonh/saj”. 8. tau=ta kai\ plei/w tou/twn da/krusi perirreome/nh, h( semnota/th 0Aqanasi/a su\n tw~| a)ndri\ pro\j Qeo\n6 eu)came/nh th\n po/lin e0ce/lipen. e0pei/ de tou\j 9Agi/ouj To/pouj katalabo/ntej, ta\j eu)xa\j a)podedw/kasi tw~| kuri/w| pollou\j qeofilei=j perielqo/ntej pate/raj kai\ ta\ pro\j w)fe/leian yuxh=j e0c )au)tw~n karpwsa/menoi th=| 'Alecandre/wn e0pidhmh=sai die/gnwsan: e0n h[| kai\ geno/menoi e1n te tw~| marturi/w| tou= a(gi/ou Mhna~ th\n oi1khsin qe/menoi, tw~n au)tou= xari/twn a)fqo/nwj a)pe/lausan: kai\ met' o)li/gaj h(me/raj monaxw~| tini\ perituxw\n o9 qei=oj 'Andro/nikoj pro\j th\n Skh=tin o9deu/onti, sunodeu=sai au)tw~| h(|reti/sato. e0pei\ de\ kai\ a)pai/rein e1mellen, h( 0Aqanasi/a e0n sunoxh=| kardi/aj kai\ da/krusin, e0dei=to tou= a)ndro\j meq' e9autou= tau/thn paralabei=n: o9 de\ safw~j ei0dw\j a1baton gunaici\n ei]nai th\n Skh=tin, panta/pasi pro\j tou=to a)nte/teine: diebebaiou=to de\ a1ma tw~| fqa=sai th\n Skh=tin kai\ tou\j e0n au)th=| proskunh=sai pate/raj, u(postre/yai pro\j 'Aleca/ndreian: kai\ ta\ kat' au)th\n diaqe/sqai kalw~j: “to\ de\ nu=n e1xon”, fhsi\: “tw~| naw~| tou= a(gi/ou para/mene ma/rturoj: au)to\n meta\ Qeo\n e1xousa ske/ponta/ se kai\ perie/ponta”. ou3twj ei0pw\n kai\ au)th\n a)spasa/menoj, di' h(merw~n du/o, th\n Skh=tin katalamba/nei, w(j de\ h)khko/ei ta\ kata\ to\n me/gan kai\| a)oi/dimon Danih/l: ou)de\ ga\r o3lwj oi]de kru/ptein to\n e0rga/thn h( a)reth/, o3ti mh\ de\ to\ fw~j tou\j u9p' e0kei/nw| o9deu/ontaj, au0tw~| foith=sai die/gnw: kai\ ta\ tou= skopou= a)naqe/sqai: pro\j de/, kai\ peri\ th=j o9mozu/gou gnwri/sai: e0pei\ de\ ou3twj e0poi/hsen, e0pitre/petai u(po7 tou= ge/rontoj a)gagei=n th\n gunai=ka pro\j e9auto/n: w(j de\ h1xqh, plei=sta kathxh/saj o9 ge/rwn au)th/n kai\ tou= skopou= a1xri te/louj e1xesqai paraine/saj, gra/mmasin au)tou= pro\j th\n Qhbai=da tau/thn e0ce/pemyen ei0j to\ monasth/rion o3per ou3tw tw~n Tabenhsiwtw~n e0pwno/mastai: sumparo/ntoj au)th=| kai\ 'Androni/kou tou= qaumasi/ou o3j tai=j e0kei= monazou/saij e0nta/caj au)th\n kai\ a)pokei/raj, eu)qu\j u(pe/streye pro\j to\n ge/ronta: labw\n de\ tai=j a9gi/aij e0kei/nou xersi/ to\ a3gion kai\ a)ggeliko\n sxh=ma, e1meine par' au)tw~| e1th dw/deka: kat' i1xnoj tou/tw| bai/nwn, kai\ pa=n ei]doj meterxo/menoj kai\ ei1 ti kalo\n u(ph=rxe para\ tw~| didaska/lw|, w(j oi]o/n te a)pomatto/menoj, kai\ e0n e9autw~| oi9onei/ tina qhsauro\n o9 maka/rioj parakatiqe/menoj. 9. meta\ de\ th\n sumplh/rwsin tou= |dwdeka/tou e0niautou=, eu)xh\n ai0th/saj to\n ge/ronta kai\ labw/n, eu)qu\ tw~n 9Agi/wn To/pwn e0ba/dize, suntonw/tata de\ th\n o9doipori/an a)nu/wn: peri\ kairo\n dh/pou to\n meshmbrino/n, e1gnwn mikro/n ti e0pisxei=n th\n porei/an kataflegei\j tw~| kau/swni: kai\ dh\ u(poka/tw de/ndrou tino\j e0kaqe/sqh dianapau/sasqai: kai\ i0dou\, kat' oi0konomi/an Qeou=, h( gunh\ au)tou= e0rxome/nh w(ra/qh au)tw~| e0n a)ndrikw~| tw~| sxh/mati, w(j e0pi\ tou\j 9Agi/ouj de\ To/pouj kai\ au)th\ o9deu/ousa h]n. a3ma de\ tw~| prosagoreu=sai a)llh/louj, h( qei/a me\n 0Aqanasi/a ou)k h)gno/hse to\n maka/rion 'Andro/nikon: au)to\j de\ ou)damw~j e0pe/gnw au)th/n: pw~j ga\r

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a2n kai\ e0pe/gnw: th=j o1yewj au)th=j th=| kakopaqei/a| a)lloiwqei/shj kai\ e0pi\ to\ ai0qiopikw/teron metablhqei/shj; e0pei\ de\ puqome/nh e0ma/qane par' au)tou= pro\j ta\ 9Ieroso/luma tou=ton xwrei=n. h)ci/ou sunodeu=sai au)tw~| tou= de\ kataqeme/nou, th\n o9do\n h1nuon a)mfo/teroi, th=j a)nupeuqu/nou fronti/zontej ei0j du/namin siwph=j. o9deusa/ntwn |de\ au)tw~n dia/sthma i9kano/n, h)rw/ta to\n qespe/sion 0Andro/nikon h( semnota/th gunaikw~n 'Aqanasi/a: “o1ntwj a)delfe\”, le/gousa: “ou) maqhth\j ei] tou= a)bba~ Danih/l;” o9 de\, “nai/”, fhsin: ei]ta pa/lin e0kei/nh: “ou)k 'Andro/nikoj o)noma/zh|;” tou= de\ kai\ tou=to sumfsantoj, au]qij h( 'Aqanasi/a: “ai9 tou= ge/rontoj” e1fh: “eu)xai/ ei1hsan h(mi=n sunodeu/ousai”: e0pefw/nhse de\ o9 qei=oj 0Andro/nikoj, to\ a)mh/n: w(j de\ kate/labon ta\ 9Ieroso/luma, tou\j a9gi/ouj proskunh/santej to/pouj kai\ tou\j e0kei=se pa/nta perielqon/tej pate/raj, ta/ te pro\j w)fe/leian kai\ oi0kodomh\n th=j a)skh/sewj au)tw~n pantaxo/qen sulleca/menoi: au]qij h]lqon ei0j 0Aleca/ndreian kai\ kath/xqhsan ei1j ti kelli/on para\ tw~| 0Oktwkaideka/tw|: 10. tou= makari/ou de\ 'Androni/kou e0peigome/nou a)pelqei=n pro\j to\n ge/ronta w3ste th\n au)tou= komi/sasqai eu)xh/n, le/gei au)tw~| o9 a)bba~j 0Aqana/sioj: “ei1 soi a)resto/n e0stin a)delqe/, u(po/streyon e0ntau=qa to\n ge/ronta a)spasa/menoj: kai\ kaqa/per siwpw~ntej a3ma w(deu/samen th\n pro\j |ta\ 'Ieroso/luma kai\ e0c 9Ierosolu/mwn o9do/n, ou3tw kai\ th\n o9do\n tou= bi/ou meta\ th=j i1shj siwph=j te kai\ h(suxi/aj, e0n toi=j w[|de die/lqwmen a1xrij ou[ katanth/swmen ei0j th\n Xristou= basilei/an, u(p' au)tou= e0kei/nou xeiragwgou/menoi”. sunqeme/nou de\ tou= qaumastou= 0Androni/kou tau=ta poih=sai, to\n me\n eu)qu/mwj a1gan ei0j th\n Skh=tin parape/mpei o9 a)delfo/j: au)to\j de\ prosme/nwn h]n tou=ton e0kei=se. e0pei\ de\ th\n Skh=tin katalabw\n o9 0Andro/nikoj, kai\ to\n me/gan i0dw/n te kai\ a)spasa/menoj Danih/l: tou/tw| e0gnw/risen a3panta ta\ proeirhme/na, kai\ te/loj e0ph/gagen w(j sunteqeime/non e0sti\n au0tw~| te kai\ tw~| sunodeu/santi a)delfw~|, e0n 0Alecandrei/a| diagagei=n to\ loipo\n th=j zwh=j kata\ th\n tou= 0Oktwkaideka/tou monh/n: o9 ge/rwn: “a1pelqe te/knon”, fhsi/: “kai\ mei=non meta\ tou= a)delfou= th\n siwph\n a)gapw~n: i1sqi ga\r tou=ton, di' a1kran a)reth/n toi=j prw/toij tw~n tou= Qeou= dou/lwn sunta/ttesqai”. tau=ta ei1rhken o9 qespe/sioj Danih/l, ou)k a)gnow~n dh/pou ta\ |kata\ th\n makari/an 0Aqanasi/an: pw~j ga/r; e0pei\ mhde\n tw~n kat' e0kei/nhn a)pe/kruyen o9 Qeo\j a)p' au)tou=, a)ll ) a0name/nwn w(j e1oike th\n a0po\ tou= te/louj tw~n pragma/twn, th=j a)lhqei/aj fane/rwsin. suntaca/menoj toi/nun tw~| ge/ronti o9 a0oi/dimoj 0Andro/nikoj, ta/xei pollw| th\n 0Aleca/ndrou katalamba/nei: kai\ to\ a)p ) e0kei/nou, sunh=n tw~| a)delfw~| 0Aqanasi/w|: o9mo/stegoj, o9modi/aitoj, kai\ pantelw~j a)xw/ristoj au0tou= gnwrizo/menoj. e1meinan ou]n a)mfo/teroi su\n a)llh/loij e1tera dw/deka e1th: tou= sw/matoj me/n braxu\n h2 ou)de/na lo/gon poiou/menoi, th=| yuxh=| de\ to\ kat' au)tou= kra/toj nounexw~j e0n pa=si pare/xontej: ou)damw~j me/ntoi gnw/rimon ge/gonen 0Androni/kw| tw~| qaumasi/w|, w(j h( sofh\ tw~| o1nti 0Aqanasi/a gunh\ au)tou= ou]sa e0tu/gxane.

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11. polla/kij ou]n o9 me/gaj Danih/l, ei0j e0pi/skeyin tou/twn e0foi/ta kai\ dialego/menoj au)toi=j ta\ pro\j w)fe/leian, a)phlla/teto: pote\ gou]n a)pelqw\n o9 ge/rwn kai\ prosomilh/saj au)toi=j ta\ qeofilh= kai\ swth/ria kai\ suntaca/|menoj, pri\n h2 th\n po/lin e0celqei=n e0pistrafei/j, to\n a)bba=n ei]den Andro/ 0 nikon, o3lw| to\ tou= lo/gou podi/ tre/xonta pro\j au)to/n, kai\ su\n da/krusin a)pagge/llonta o3ti o9 a)delfo\j pa/ter Aqana/ 0 sioj, pro\j ku/rion u(pa/gei:“xrh\ ou]n se tou=ton e0fodia/sai ka2n tw~| te/lei, tai=j sai=j a(gi/aij eu)xai=j”. u(postre/yaj toi/nun o9 ge/rwn, eu(ri/skei tou=ton a0niarw~j tou= sw/matoj e1xonta: o4n e0pei/per ei]den o9 a)bba=j 0Aqana/sioj, h1rcato klai/ein kai\ pikrw~j a)podu/resqai: pro\j o4n o9 qei=oj e1fhse Danih/l: “ou) dakru/wn ou1te mh\n kopetou= te/knon: o9 parw\n kairo\j soi kaqe/sthken ai1tioj eu)frosu/nhj de\ ma=llon kai\ a)gallia/sewj: pro\j ga\r th\n tw~n pollw~n sou kama/twn a)nti/dosin a1gei se, kai\ to\n th=j dikaiosu/nhj para\ Qeou= ste/fano/n soi mnhsteu/etai”. pro\j o4n o9 me/gaj e1fhsen 'Aqana/sioj, “ou) dia\ tou=to pa/ter to\ klai/ein e0moi/, o3ti ta\ kat' e0me\ h1dh te/loj lamba/nei, dia\ to\n a)delfo/n de\ 0Andro/nikon”. ei]ta, ou)k ei0j e0ph/koon e0kei/nou, tw~| ge/ronti e0netei/lato, “meta\ to\ qa/yai me”, le/gwn: “eu(rh/seij |xa/rthn tina\ e0n tw~| e0mw~| proskefalai/w| w{| ta\ kat' e0me\ a)nage/graptai: tou=ton au)to\j prw~ton a)na/gnwqi: ei]ta tw~| a)delfw~| do\j 'Androni/kw|”. ti/ to\ meta\ tau=ta; eu)xh\n tou= qei/ou poih/santoj ge/rontoj, kai\ tw~| mega/lw |'Aqanasi/w| tw~n a)xra/ntwn kai\ a0qana/twn koinwnh/santoj musthri/wn, e0pei\ to\ shmei=on h1dh th=j pro\j Qeo\n au)tou= a)nalu/sewj h]lqe e0c 0 ou)ranou=, metakalei=tai to\n qei=on 0Andro/nikon: kai\ w9j ou0k ei0j makra\n au)tw~| tou=ton e9po/menon e3cei proagoreu/ei profhtikw/tata, to/n te sune/xonta qrh=non au)tw~| katapau/ei kai\ parainei= ma=llon xai/rein, e0pi\ th=| pro\j Qeo\n au)tou= e0kdhmi/a|: peritto\n le/gwn ei]nai qrhnei=n o4n pro\j braxu\ tou/tou diaireqe/nta, ta/xion a)polh/yetai: tau=ta ei]pe, kai\ e9auto\n sxhmati/saj w(j e1dei kai\ tou\j po/daj e0ca/raj, th\n pro\j Qeo\n a)ph=lqe makari/an porei/an. 12. e0pei\ de\ pro\j tw~| khdeu=sai tou=ton e0ge/nonto, i0dou\, th=| fu/sei eu(re/qh gunh/: tou=to de\ pa/ntaj e0ce/plhcen: ou)deni\ ga\r ou)de/pote ta\ kata\ th\n makari/an tau/thn 0Aqanasi/an | tou e0gnw/sqh, a1xri tou= te/louj au)th=j: a)lla\ mh\n ou)de\ au)tw~| tw~| qaumastw~| 0Androni/kw|, o4j e0kei/nh| dwdekaeth= xro/non sundiaitw/menoj h]n: pe/myaj toi/nun o9 ge/rwn, pa/ntaj metekale/sato tou\j e0n th=| Skh/tei pate/raj: oi4 kai\ to\ ta/xoj a)ph/nthsan, leuka\j peribeblhme/noi stola/j kata\ to\ ei0qisme/non au)toi=j: sune/rreuse de\ kai\ pa=n to\ plh=qoj th=j po/lewj kai\ oi9 kat' au)th\n a)skou/menoi monaxoi/, meta\ tw~n tou= 0Oktwkaideka/tou e0n oi[j dh\ kai\ to\ teleutai=on tou\j a)skhtikou\j a)gw~naj h( makari/a dih/nusen: ou)k o)li/goi, kai\ tw~n oi0kou/ntwn th\n e0swte/ran e1rhmon parege/nonto monaxw~n: e0ce/plhtte ga\r a3pantaj to\ kaino/taton tou= a)kou/smatoj: o3pwj h( gunh\ a)ndrikh\n a)p' a)rxh=j a1xri te/louj th\n a1skhsin e0pedei/cato, kai\ to\ pa/ntwn paradoco/teron, me/son

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a)ndrw~n oi0kou=sa kai\ au)to\n sunoikou=nta to\n su/zugon e1xousa. meta\ kla/dwn ou]n kai\ bai/wn to\ ti/mion th=j mega/lhj 0Aqanasi/aj e0ceko/misan lei/yanon, kai\ e0p' au)tw~| ta\ ei0ko/ta pa/nta tele/santej, th=| | sorw~| katete/qento tw~n pate/rwn. 13. e1meinen ou]n o9 ge/rwn e0kei=se w3ste tele/sai th=| makari/a| ta\ kata\ th\n e0na/thn h(mer/an w(j e1qoj telou/mena ei]ta pro\j th\n Skh=tin me/llwn a)pai/rein, meq' e9autou= labei=n h9|reti/sato kai\ to\n qei=on 0Andro/nikon: o9 de\ ou)k h)ne/sxeto:“e1nqa h( kuri/a mou”, le/gwn: “w] pa/ter, teleuth=sai me\ xrh”. e0pei\ de\ toi=j e0kei=se pa=sin a)delfoi=j suntaca/menoj o9 me/gaj au)tw~n a)phlla/tteto: mh/pw fqa/santa to\n nao\n parelqei=n tou= e0n ma/rtusi megi/stou Mhna=, tw~n monaxw~n tij tou=ton katalamba/nei o9 a)delfo\j, le/gwn “ 0Andro/nikoj a)rrwsti/a| tini\ pa/ter sune/xetai.” eu)qu\j ou]n o9 ge/rwn tou\j e0n th=| Skh/tei pe/myaj pa/lin metakalei=tai, o9 a)bba=j le/gwn 0Andro/nikoj katalamba/nein me/llei to\n a)delfo\n 0Aqana/sion: oi9 de\ tou=to a)kou/santej, o9moqumado\n parege/nonto, po/qou tou= pro\j au)to\n pteroi=j koufizo/menoi: e1ti de\ zw~nta eu(ro/ntej kai\ th=j par' au)tou= eu)logi/aj tuxo/ntej, proe/pemyan au)to\n xara=j e1mple/w pro\j to\n ku/rion: polla\ tou/tw| proqegca/menoi e0co/dia r(h/mata: kai\ pre/|sbin au)to\n qermo/taton e1xein, pro\j to\n despo/thn e0caithsa/menoi: e0pei\ de\ koimhqe/ntoj au)tou= tafh=j oi9 paro/ntej e0me/mnhnto e1rij megi/sth sune/pese: toi=j tou= 0Oktwkaideka/tou kai\ toi=j e0n Skh/tei patra/sin: oi9 me\n ga\r h)ci/oun e0n th=| Skh/tei labei=n to\ au)tou= ti/mion lei/yanon: toi=j de\ tou=to a)ph/reske xrh=n ga\r au)to\n e1legon tw~| a)delqw~| suntafh=nai 0Aqanasi/w|. o4 dh\ kai\ tw~| mega/lw| patri\ Danih\l sunedo/kei: u(i/sxuon de\ oi9 su\n au0tw~| th\n Skh=tin… Des. mut. U

Translation The life and conduct of our saintly father Andronikos and his wife Athanasia 1. There are many and diverse things adorning the great city of Antioch. The fact that the disciples were called Christians first in that city, as the God-inspired Luke says at some point in the Book of Acts and the fact that it was pre-eminent and the first of all the cities in the East, after the Queen City, called New Rome, I mean the city of Constantine (Constantinople). For I will not speak of its greatness or beauty, the strength of its walls or the multitude of its people, as these contribute little or nothing to virtue. But what illuminates and adorns it most highly beyond all other things is being the mother and excellent nourisher to both God-loving men and women in the past and until today. Indeed a famous fruit of this city (Antioch) is the remarkable and holy Andronikos, who is now placed before us as the subject of our narrative. He lived both lives, that is to say, the worldly and the solitary one in a way pleasing to God, as the following narrative will show more clearly.

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2. He came from a most distinguished family in Antioch, he had abundant wealth and, greatest of all, he led a God-loving way of life. He was a banker by profession. He gave no offence to anyone at all in his trade and was concerned more with his soul than his body, for he was not characterized by greed. In pursuing his aforementioned profession, drawing by the bucketful as the saying goes, he gave the honest earnings he accrued daily from his profession freely, with both hands, in order to take care of the poor and provide succour for monks. He married a woman lawfully, the daughter of a fellow banker whose name was John. The name of his daughter was Athanasia who became a helper to her good husband and, with him, was allotted the true immortality after which she was named. For Athanasia did not propose to her husband ways by which they would increase and add to their wealth and fortune, but said and did everything so that both of them would be pleasing to God rather by throwing away their wealth. For they always distributed their income into three parts. The first was sufficient for the household and for those in it, the second for the feeding and clothing of the poor and the rest for the care of those who came to stay in Antioch, visitors and monks. 3. These blessed ones were loved exceptionally by almost everyone in the city, because of their God-pleasing way of life. Two children were born to them. The first was a boy and they called him John; the one after him was a girl and her name was Mary. After this, they both entered into agreement and pledged with unfailing trust to unite no longer with each other for the rest of their lives. Therefore, having bid farewell to the flesh and all carnal desires, they devoted all their effort to the spirit and spiritual works. For three of the days in the week – I mean, Monday, Wednesday and Friday – the holy Andronikos together with his fellow bankers and other like-minded men, were preoccupied with caring for disabled and poor men as if they themselves were servile, and caring for those whose bodies were suffering, with baths, and dispensing every other relief. The remarkable Athanasia, with other women of equal birth, provided exactly the same care as her husband to women whose lives were stricken by poverty or any harsh or difficult situation. 4. On Sundays, they both kept the Lord’s service from dawn until evening, offering prayers to the Lord. At the time when the elder of the children reached twelve, the age of puberty, and the second child was ten, an illness suddenly fell on them. Their mother came to the house to check on her children, though the morning service had not yet finished, and found them afflicted by a violent fever – for this was the cause of their illness – and completely stretched out, crying with deep moans. Immediately, worried in her innermost being and struck violently in her heart, she threw herself on the bed and embraced her own children, placing herself in-between so as to soothe their suffering. This would not have been bearable to anyone to see both her children worn down by disease, especially a mother who loved her children so much. For even though the woman was God-loving, she was nevertheless tortured by maternal love and indeed, by the demands of nature.

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When matins had ended, Andronikos came home and scolded his wife for oversleeping. When he heard her say was not desire for sleep but pity for the children who were both ill, he went in, touched the children and found them very ill. To quote the Holy Scriptures, saying nothing base or gloomy or suffering, he said only this, ‘The will of the Lord be done.’ 5. And so he immediately went out of the city to the church of the Holy Martyr Julian, where his parents happened to be buried, and there he remained praying until the sixth hour of the day. On his return from praying, he heard wailing and lamentation as he drew near to the house. A great crowd streamed to his house. Entering, he found both his children lying dead in one and the same bed and his wife already clearly overcome by grief. So at once he went to the chapel, which was in his house, and fell to the ground face downwards, looking like another Job, doing and uttering the same things. For there, praying feverishly to the Lord and making frequent obeisance, he thanked God, and kept saying, ‘The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away. As it appeared fit to the Lord, thus it has come to pass. Blessed be the name of the Lord to the ages.’ Going out, he attempted to plead with his wife who wanted to die with her children, and who could not bear at all to live any more. For she said, ‘Why should I live?’ She went on crying and wailing as is natural for a mother who loves her children: ‘Both my young shoots have been taken away from me. To whom shall I look from now on, with the help of what shall I extinguish the flame of my grief? I, who had beautiful children, am suddenly childless.’ While Athanasia was saying these and similar words continuously with a hot flood of tears, the holy Andronikos tried to support her with imploring words, saying, ‘Do not be so, wife. Do not lament for our children with ­inappropriate words like this, like one of the foolish ones who have no hope for the Resurrection. For though they are dead to us, at least they live in God by Whom they were received, Who wisely managed this for their and our own good. For He received our children, unblemished, before they had even tasted the evils of life, while He pledged us in marriage to pay attention to the salvation of the soul, now that there is nobody to distract and attract our attention.’ 6. Encouraging his wife appropriately with these words, he took care of the burial of the bodies. Almost the whole city gathered together with all the clergy and the Patriarch himself, for he knew them, I assume, on account of their great virtue and reverence. When they accomplished everything according to custom, they gave the dead bodies of the children for burial in the aforementioned church of saint Julian, to be buried together with their ancestors. The Patriarch, having the blessed Andronikos with him, returned to the episcopate. Athanasia remained by the tomb of her children, suffering terribly, flowing with hot tears, not accepting any consolation until sleep crept over her and made her rest involuntarily. Her sleep brought her a dream: The martyr (Julian) standing before her as if reprimanding her for her unyielding lament and unchecked tears, addressing her and saying, ‘For whose sake, woman, do

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you wish to grieve, untimely and inconsolably? Do you not know that since you are mortal you have given birth to mortal children whom recently, the kind God clearly deemed worthy to receive for salvation? Do not weep now for the children, for you will not raise them. Rather, weep for the mistakes of your life, which you will be able to wipe out easily with your tears.’ Once she heard these things, she immediately woke up, relieved from most of her despondency. She was exhorted by her soul and she calmly whispered to herself, ‘If my children truly live in heaven, for what reason am I wasting myself with lamentation?’ Then she gazed all around the church, longing to see he who had spoken the encouraging words to her in her sleep. She inquired from the sexton of the church who the monk was, namely the one who had come to the church the previous night and talked to her; for the martyr had appeared to her in the robes of a monk. The sexton became speechless in the wonder of her question, for he knew that she had seen a divine vision. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘no monk has entered here. As you can see, the doors of the church were safely locked.’ Overcome by astonishment and fear she returned to her own house and narrated her dream to her husband; what she had seen and what was spoken. After the narrative of these things, she said to him, ‘My sweetest husband, when our beloved children were still alive, it was a desire to renounce worldly life and desert to the peaceful one. But my love for my children in this life persuaded me to remain with them in this life. But now, since nothing impedes us, if you obey me, tonsure me and send me to a convent of women, so that through asceticism, and first of all, because of God’s kindness, I may wash off the shame of my many sins.’ When the blessed Andronikos heard these things, he said to her, ‘Go, wife. Give serious thought on this for a week, and test yourself. And if you remain committed to this, it will be the Will of God.’ After a week had passed, she was clear to her husband, thinking and saying the same things as before. So he immediately called for his father-in-law, entrusted him with all their wealth and said to him, ‘My lord, eager desire has gripped us to see and revere the Holy Places together. If it happens that we die during the course of these travels, with God as the judge and witness, dispose of our property according to His Will. Build a hospital and a lodging-house for monks in our home.’ Saying these things, he magnanimously freed all the servants from the yoke of their slavery and sent them away charitably, providing them with legacies. 7. When night fell, he took a small portion of his money only to divide to those in need, and with two beasts of burden, he left the city with only his wife, who turning back and seeing all the doors of her own house standing open, looked up to Heaven and said with tears, ‘O God, Who said in the past to Abraham, our forefather, “Get thee out of thy country and from thy kindred”, for Whose sake we too now leave our native land, Lead us forth by the right way and protect us by the fear of You. Behold, for the sake of Your holy name we kept our house open to anyone who was in grief. So, kind Master, do not shut the gate of Your kingdom in front of us, Your servants, but make us partakers of it, You, the only sinless One, having forgotten all our sins.’

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8. With these words and many more, the most revered Athanasia prayed to God with flowing tears and left the city with her husband. When they reached the Holy Places, they offered their prayers to the Lord and visited many God-loving Fathers and received from them fruits that were beneficial for the soul. They decided to visit Alexandria. When they arrived there, they stayed in the martyrion of holy Menas and enjoyed his grace abundantly. A few days later, the holy Andronikos met a certain monk who was travelling to Sketis and chose to walk along with him. As he was about to leave, Athanasia, distressed and in tears, begged her husband to take her with him. But knowing well that Sketis was inaccessible to women, he resisted this entirely. He assured her however, that as soon as he arrived at Sketis and venerated the fathers there, he would return to Alexandria and arrange her affairs well. ‘But for now,’ he said, ‘stay at the church of the holy martyr. Consider him, after God, as the one who protects and takes good care of you.’ Then having spoken and embraced her, he reached Sketis two days later. As he heard everything concerning the great and celebrated Daniel (for, in short, virtue does not know at all how to conceal the worker of good, as light does not know how to hide the ones who walk under it), he decided to visit him and reveal everything about his aim and also tell him about his wife. When he did so, he was instructed by the old man to bring his wife to him. When she arrived, the old man instructed her on many things, advised her to remain faithful to her aim and sent her forth to the Thebaid with his letters to the monastery, which is named ‘of the Tabennesiotoi’. The remarkable Andronikos was present with her and, having tonsured her, enrolled her there among the nuns and immediately returned to the old man. He received the holy and angelic habit from his saintly hands and remained with him for twelve years, following his footsteps, adopting every quality , and if anything good came from his teacher, he would imitate it as far as possible and the blessed one stored it up inside himself as if it were some treasure. 9. After the completion of the twelfth year, having asked for and received the revered man’s blessing, he went straightaway to the Holy Places, walking this way in a very short time. About noontime, he decided to have a short stop, as he was suffering from the burning heat, and he sat under a tree to rest for a while. And behold, by God’s dispensation, he saw his wife coming in the garments of a man, as she herself was also travelling to the Holy Land. When they spoke to each other, the holy Athanasia recognized the blessed Andronikos. But he did not know her at all. For how could he know her, as her face had been altered with suffering, and moreover she looked like an Ethiopian? When she questioned him and learnt that he was going to Jerusalem, she asked to accompany him. He consented and they both set out on the journey, concentrating on an irreproachable silence as far as they could. Having travelled a fairly long distance, the most revered of women, Athanasia asked the marvellous Andronikos, ‘Really, brother, are you not a disciple of Father Daniel?’ He

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replied, ‘Yes’. Then she asked again, ‘Are you not called Andronikos?’ Having agreed to this too, Athanasia again said, ‘May the prayers of the revered man accompany us’. To which the holy Andronikos responded, ‘Amen.’ When they reached Jerusalem, they revered the Holy Places and visited all the Fathers there, gathering from every place all that was for the benefit and strengthening of their ascetic life. Then they again went back to Alexandria and entered a cell near the of Oktokaidekaton. 10. When the blessed Andronikos felt the urge to go to the revered man to receive his blessing, Father Athanasios said to him, ‘If it is pleasing to you, brother, then return after you have embraced the revered man. For as we have travelled the road to Jerusalem and back in silence, in the same way let us, with equal silence and peace, follow the road of life until we arrive in the Kingdom of Heaven, led by His hand.’ The remarkable Andronikos agreed to do these things and the brother very cheerfully dispatched him to Sketis, while he himself (Athanasia) waited for him there. When Andronikos reached the retreat, he saw the great Daniel and embraced him. He then informed him of the aforementioned events and he ended by saying that he had agreed with the brother who had accompanied him, to spend the remainder of his life in Alexandria at the monastery of Oktokaidekaton. The revered man said, ‘Go, my child, and remain with the brother, cherishing silence. For know that this one is ranked with the greatest of the servants of God by the highest virtue.’ The divine Daniel said these words knowing the story about the blessed Athanasia – for how could he not, since God hid nothing from him concerning her – but waited, as it seems, the revelation of the truth from the outcome of these things. So the remarkable Andronikos agreed with the revered man and with much speed reached the city of Alexander and from then on he lived with brother Athanasios, living under the same roof, eating together and being known as completely inseparable from him. So, they remained with each other for another twelve years, making little or no account of the body, while providing the soul sensibly in all ways with the service of the spiritual life with all their strength. However, the remarkable Andronikos never realized that the truly wise Athanasia was his wife. 11. So, many times the great Daniel used to visit them, discussing with them what was beneficial for them and then he would leave. On one occasion the old man went there, conversed with them about things pleasing to God and salvation and bid them farewell. Before he left the city, he turned and saw Father Andronikos running towards him ‘as fast as he could’, as they say, and announcing with tears that the brother, Father Athanasios, was departing to God: ‘Therefore, it is necessary that you supply him for the journey with your saintly prayers even now in the end.’ When he went back, the old man found that was in physical pain. When Father Athanasios saw him, he began to weep and to lament bitterly. The saintly Daniel said to him, ‘Do not cry nor beat your chest, child. The present time is ordained for you rather as a cause for happiness and rejoicing. For it leads you towards the

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reward of your many toils, and promises you God’s crown of righteousness.’ The great Athanasios said to him, ‘My weeping is not for this, father, that my life is coming to an end, but for my brother Andronikos.’ Then, so that Andronikos could not hear, she commanded the revered man saying, ‘After you bury me, you will find a document in my pillow in which my story has been written. Read this first yourself, then give it to my brother Andronikos.’ What next? The holy old man then prayed and gave great Athanasios communion of the undefiled and immortal mysteries. Since the sign of her release to God already rose from Heaven, she called for the holy Andronikos, and she foretold in a prophetic way that she would have him not far from following her and stopped his distressed lamentation and advised him rather to rejoice on her passing away to God, saying that it was unnecessary to be grieving for someone from whom he would be separated for only a short time and whom he would shortly reach. Once she said these things, having assumed the appropriate position, she raised her feet and departed on the blessed journey to God. 12. When they came to prepare him for burial, behold, he was found to be a woman by nature. Everyone was astounded by this. For to no one had anything ever been revealed concerning the blessed Athanasia until her death. Not even the remarkable Andronikos , who had lived with her for twelve years. So, the revered man sent calling for all the Fathers in Sketis. They came as quickly as possible, dressed in brilliant white robes in their a­ ccustomed manner. All the population of the city gathered together, as well as the monks who practised monastic life in the city, with those of Oktokaidekaton, among whom the blessed one accomplished, at the final stage, her ascetic struggles. Many monks, also those who lived in the inner desert, were also present. For everyone was astounded by the strangeness of the news; that a woman displayed asceticism as a man from the beginning to the end, and most extraordinary, lived among men and had her husband living with her. They carried out the honoured corpse of the great Athanasia with branches and palm leaves and having performed all the customary rites, they buried her in the cemetery of the Fathers. 13. And so, the old man (Daniel) remained there to perform the rites of the ninth day for the blessed one, as was customary. Then he intended to depart to Sketis and decided to take the holy Andronikos with him. But he (Andronikos) could not bear it, saying, ‘At the place where my lady , O Father, it is necessary for me to die too.’ After the great one bade farewell to all the brothers there, he set off. He had hardly passed by the church of the great martyr Menas, when a certain brother caught up with him, saying, ‘Father Andronikos is afflicted by some illness.’ Immediately, therefore, the old man sent someone to call back those in Sketis, saying that Father Andronikos was about to meet Brother Athanasios. When they heard this, they came together, their feet lightened by the wings

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of their love for him. Finding him still alive and having received his blessing, they sent him to God full of joy, accompanying him with many funerary words for the journey and prayed to have him as a most fervent mediator with the Lord. After he had passed away, those who were present made mention of his burial and a great quarrel broke out between those Fathers of Oktokaidekaton and those of Sketis, for those in Sketis deemed worthy to take his honoured remains into the retreat. This displeased the others who said that he should be buried with brother Athanasios, which seemed right also to the great Father Daniel. Those who were at Sketis with him prevailed …

Notes

Chapter 1

3–4

th\n megalo/polin 0Antio/xeian: lit. ‘large city’. Barrington Atlas: Map 67, C4. Directory, vol. 2: Syria: 1027–1041 [Talbert (2000)]. megalo/polij was the general epithet of great cities such as Herakleia in the vita of Elisabeth the Wonderworker [V. Karras (tr.), in Talbot (1996), 117–36, esp. 122]. Antioch lay on the Orontes in northern Syria. Its prehistory can be traced back to the Selucids who founded the city in 300 bc [R. Wilken, John Chrysostom and the Jews (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1983)]. By the fourth century the span of the city’s administrative and economic powers eventually extended to an area of 2500 square miles (idem 3). Libanius’ effusive oration, ‘In Praise of Antioch’, though panegyrical in the extreme, conveys some of its magnificence. He wrote, ‘it is not possible to describe the extent to which excellence is native to us …’. [G. Downey, ‘Libanius’ oration in praise of Antioch (oration XI)’, Proceedings of the American Philological Society (reprint) 103 (5) (1959), 652–86]. From his descriptions we have an idea of the opulence of the city: ‘the stoas have the appearance of rivers which flow for the greatest distance through the city, while the side streets seem like canals drawn from them … (idem ch. 201). There are as many fountains as there are houses, or rather there are many fountains in each house … (idem ch. 246). The regions outside the city are exactly suited to the tastes of one who admires what is inside, in luxury and baths, and in the products of craftsmanship and in social intercourse’ (idem ch. 231). By the fourth century Antioch had become the residence of the comes orientis as well as of the Roman governor of Syria, the chief military officer of the eastern provinces

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and the magister militum per orientum [Wilken (1983), 2]. For further background see the entry for ‘Antioch’ in Cabrol and Leclercq, Dictionnaire d’archéologie chrétienne et de liturgie I, col. 2359–427. pasw~n prwteu/ein …Kwnstanti/nou fhmi: cf. Ammianus Marcellinus Hist 22:9.14 – orientis apicem pulchrum (‘the fair crown of the Orient’). to\ gene/teiran ei]nai kai\ a1riston trofo/n a)ndrw~n: Lampe: o9 geneth/r is God the father. a)ndrw~n o9mou= kai\ gunaikw~n qeofilw~n: Women are accepted as being equally capable of piety as men, a statement strengthened by o9mou= cf. vita of Mary the Younger: ‘the arena of virtue however, is open to women no less than to men and God the prize-giver generously grants the rewards and victory crowns to both sexes equally’ [ch. 1 in Talbot (1996), 254].

Chapter 2 22

a)rguropra/thj: A silversmith, though LSJ has ‘money-dealer’. Liebeschuetz observes that ‘the forms of banking and moneylending were not highly developed’ and shows that ‘money-lending was a normal activity of landowners’ [W. Liebeschuetz, Antioch: City and Imperial Administration in the Later Roman Empire (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1972), esp. 87, citing Or. i: 275 and lii: 15]. The term was interchangeable with bankers or gold- and silversmiths, variously described as trapezi/thj, a0rguropra/thj, xrusoxo/oj, a0rguroxo/oj and a0rguro/kopoj [C. Roueché, ‘Aurarii in the auditoria’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 105 (1995), 37–50, esp. 40–1]. She dates the flexibile terminology to post 300 [citing J. Andreau, ‘Le lettre *7, documents sur les métiers bancaires’, in Les letters de Saint-Augustin découvertes par Johannes Dirjak (Etudes Augustiniennes: Paris, 1983)]. Previously, argentarius had simply meant ‘banker’. Hendy defines money-changers as trapezitai /collectarii and silversmiths as argyropratai /argentarii [M. Hendy, Studies in the Byzantine Monetary Economy, c.300–1450 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1985), 242]. He concludes that though bankers were considered professionals, they were not considered as highly as lawyers or doctors, noting further ‘argyropratai not trapezitai are represented by lead seals of the sixth–eighth centuries’ (244). According to the ODB, the term argyroprates ‘virtually disappears after the tenth century’ and if this is true, then its appearance in the VAA is anachronistic. It is interesting that Andronikos’ profession lies in banking since usury was an early sin. In Christian tradition, Jesus had openly condemned

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money-changers and from the fourth century onwards, the practice was perceived as unethical and condemned by the Church Fathers (ODB 2146). In hagiography, usurers are condemned as wild beasts [E. Bianchi, ‘Il tema d’usura’, Athenaeum 61 (1983), 321–42, idem, ‘Il tema d’usura: canoni conciliari legislazione imperiale del IV secolo’, Athenaeum 62 (1984), 136–53]. It may be that Andronikos’ conduct supercedes his worldly life and that despite his profession, the fact that his daily conduct is impeccable and that he uses his considerable wealth primarily for the advantage of those less fortunate, provides a good contrast. sunh=pto …ga/mou: The legality of Andronikos and Athanasia’s marriage is stressed using no/mw~|. The specifics of Julian and Basilissa’s marriage are given in much more detail, with the mention of registers (see notes to the VJB for chapter 5), while no information is provided for Galaktion and Episteme. In general, the consent of the parents of the bride and bridegroom (in this case Athanasia’s) was essential for the union. Marriage customs were not significantly different from pagan rituals [Treggiari, 1991); Arjava (1996), 29; K. Stevenson, Nuptial Blessings: A Study of Christian Marriage Rites (Alcuin Club: SPCK, 1982), 11–17; K. Ritzer, Le mariage dans les églises chrétiennes de 1er au Xiè siècle (Paris, 1971); J. Grubbs, ‘“Pagan” and “Christian” marriage: the state of the question”’, JECS 2 (4) (1994), 390; 403–4; eadem, ‘Constantine and imperial legislation on the family” in J. Harries and I. Wood (eds.), The Theodosian Code (Duckworth: London, 1993), 120–42]. What mattered was the legal ceremony, which in turn, ensured licit sexuality and legitimate inheritance. Christian writers of the period lamented the pagan influence. Tertullian discusses the idolatry associated with the marriage ceremony in De Idolatria 16, while Chrysostom is shocked that neither priests nor clerics are present at some ceremonies to bless the couple: ‘Why do you make mockery of the dignified rites of marriage? Priests (should) be summoned to strengthen the harmony of the union with prayers and blessings’ (Hom. 48 in Gen 23:5–6). trisi\ ga\r moi/raij …diarou=ntej: Later hagiography, in particular, laid emphasis on the wife’s regulation of the household, which also included managing the finances [vita of Thomaïs]. The vitae of both Theophano and Thomaïs illustrate the regard in which philanthropy was held and considered a key factor for claiming sanctity. Athanasia’s piety, like Mary the Younger, is expressed through social deeds of charity. See also commentary for ‘Andronikos and Athanasia’ for lines 8–10 in Dahlman (2007). ei0j to\n oi]kon …to\n oi]kon: Athanasia ensures that her own household is secure and prosperous despite her family’s liberal charity cf. the vita of Mary the Younger where her husband Nikephorus remonstrates:

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‘What I complain about is excessive liberality and high-mindedness, for I fear that by ministering to the needs of others so generously we might ourselves come to abject poverty’ [ch 8 in Talbot (1996), 263]. These are objections not only voiced by Mary’s husband but by members of his extended family and are complaints used against Mary. Thus, our author stresses Athanasia’s concern to maintain her own household’s prosperity cf. Chrysostom’s ‘How to choose a wife’: ‘A wife has only one duty, to preserve what we have gathered, to protect our income, to take care of our household …’. (96ff). ei0j qerapei/an …ce/nwn kai\ monaxw~n: Many people travelled to Antioch, regarding it as a holy place. Malamut notes Antioch’s popularity for pilgrims [E. Malamut, Sur la route des saints byzantins (CNRS editions: Paris, 1995), esp. 312]. The city had numerous attractions including a multitude of churches. Most importantly, it was the site of worship for Symeon the Elder and the younger Symeon Stylites whose relics were venerated on Mount Admirable. In this way, Antioch was considered the equal to Jerusalem itself. All pilgrims passed through Antioch to visit at least one of the two sanctuaries. Athanasia’s hospitality is another sign of piety, thus Chrysostom on ‘How to choose a wife’: ‘I am looking for the kind of girl who is so hospitable that she will offer all the service in her power … I wish to forestall the war and strife which might occur if the husband gives away their substance freely … and welcomes strangers while the wife stingily objects and tries to prevent it … Everything good which has happened to us (Abraham and Sarah) came because of hospitality’ [p. 103 when referring to Rebecca].

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sunqh/kaj …tou= pneu/matoj: Sex is portrayed as a hindrance to a truly fulfilling spiritual life but not necessarily as a pollutant cf. Chrysostom’s Homily 19 (on 1 Corinthians 7): ‘it is certainly possible to be married and to pray at the same time but prayer can be intensified by abstinence … He (Paul) does not mean that sexual relations would make the prayer unclean. He simply means that they occupy one’s attention’ (p. 28). See also Chapter 3. Andronikos and Athanasia’s decision to be celibate is followed by a detailed description of their good works, describing what happened as a consequence. Thus, the author illustrates the benefits of abstinence for others and for ‘our’ inner selves. Again, clear guidelines are being laid down for being godly in everyday life. o9mogenw~n gunaikw~n: Athanasia maintains her social position. She mobilizes all the women with whom she is in contact who are o9mogenw~n in direct contrast to Mary the Younger, Melania the

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Younger and Macrina, who associate with women of a lower class to themselves and who even treat slaves on an equal level. Thus, Melania tells the women who flock to her, ‘I myself will properly attend to everything for you, as a servant would’ [Gerontius, The Life of Melania the Younger, Clark (tr.) (1984), ch. 41, pp. 54–5]. Gillian Clark notes the inhibitions expressed by women at being examined by males [G. Clark, Women in Late Antiquity: Pagan and Christian Lifestyles (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1993), 65–6].

Chapter 4 63–4

71–4

th=j o)rqrinh=j docologi/aj: Lampe: o0rqrino=j: of the morning. ODB I: 660 defines ‘doxology’ as a liturgical formula of praise and so Athanasia was attending matins [see also Taft (1986), esp. 9–11; 14–16]. mh/ti ge mhtri/… spla/gxnoij toi=j mhtrikoi=j: The author clearly believes that Athanasia’s grief is due to her innate maternal instincts, which she must have since she is a woman. This instinct is more important, more essential to her than her devotion to God. By contrast we have Mary the Younger’s reaction and her author’s comments when her first child dies unexpectedly at the age of five: ‘she almost conquered nature and, weeping just enough to show that she was a mother, gave thanks to the guardian of our souls …’. [ch. 4 in Talbot (1996), 258–9]. Like Andronikos, Mary is commended for not plunging into the depths of despair and is also compared with Job.

Chapter 5 83–4

85 91

e0n tw~| naw~| tou= a9gi/ou ma/rturoj 'Ioulianou=: This is possibly our Julian of Antinoopolis. For the translation of Julian’s relics from Antinoopolis to Antioch, see Appendix 1. Vivian believes that he might be Julian of Cilicia, see Vivian (2008), 320, n. 114. e3kthj w3raj: About noon. to\n eu)kth/rion oi]kon o4j h]n e0n tw~| oi1kw| au)tou=: Lampe: esp. with respect to oi0ko/j as a house of prayer or chapel. For a chapel in a house: Trullo can. 31:tou\j e0n toi=j eu)kthri/ouj oi1koij, e1ndon oi0ki/aj tugxa/nousi, leitourgou=ntaj klhriko/ouj, u9po\ gnw/mhn tou=to pra/ttein tou= kata\ to\n to/pon e0pisko/pou o9ri/zomen, w3ste ei1 tij klhrikoj mh\ tou=to ou3tw parafula/xh|, kaqairei/sqw. For conditions regulating foundation: Just nov. 120.6. A eu0kth/rion oi]kon was the private chapel of an individual, as mentioned in the text, or of a monastery in contrast to a kaqolikh\ e0kklhsi/a, which

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was a church open to the public [see also G. Dagron, ‘Le christianisme dans la ville byzantine’, DOP 31 (1977), 3–25, esp. 9, n. 31]. 92 'Iw/b: Job also lost his children and the comparison is continued with Andronikos displaying ‘the patience of Job’ throughout the narrative cf. Mary the Younger after Mary’s child dies unexpectedly (see Notes to the VAA for chapter 4). As noted above, like Andronikos, Mary too is compared with Job and both utter the same quotation from the Book of Job: ‘and bringing to mind Job’s troubles, (she) cried out in a calm voice with the greatness of soul, “The Lord gave and the Lord taketh away; as it seemed good to the Lord, so has it come to pass; blessed be the name of the Lord for ever and ever”’. The author adds, ‘in this manner she bore what happened with patience and thanksgiving. And if she could accept with such courage the death of her only son, what other grief would she not bear with ease and equanimity?’ [ch. 4 in Talbot (1996), 258–9]. 101 pro\j ti/na tou= loipou= ble/yw: The depth of Athanasia’s despair is such that not even Andronikos and God are enough. 108–14 ei0 ga\r kai\ h(mi=n …e0pistre/fontoj: cf. Chrysostom’s ‘Sermon on marriage’ where he points out that the desire for children is natural but, ‘now that Resurrection is at our gates … we do not speak of death, but advance toward another life better than the present (and so) the desire for posterity is superfluous … if you desire children, you can get much better children now, a nobler childbirth and better help in your old age, if you give birth by spiritual labour’ (pp. 85–6). Mourning the death of the young was frowned upon in antiquity. Seneca regarded grief as self-indulgent and reserves this right only for intimate friends rather than children of unknown promise (Ep. 91:1–3; 99:2–3, 7–14). Learning to control one’s pain was perceived as a way of self-development [J. McWilliam, ‘Children among the dead: the influence of urban life on the commemoration of children on tombstone inscriptions’ in S. Dixon (ed.), Childhood, Class and Kin in the Roman world (Routledge: London, 2001), 74–98, this part, 78]. However cf. with S. Dixon, The Roman Mother (Routledge: London 1988), 4 who cites various examples of expressions of personal grief, suggesting that despite ‘overt condemnation of the practice by members of the male literary elite’, mourning for children specifically and overt grief was the province of mothers. Andronikos’ stoic response is conditioned more by an innate trust in God’s will. 110 oi0konomh/santoj: Lampe: referring to God’s providence: ‘bring about, affect, bestow’. Bauer: ‘manage, regulate, administer’.

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to\ e0piskopei=on: Lampe: Bishop’s residence: Palladius: LH 63. It is noted as a bishop’s household in Moschos, Spiritual Meadow ch. 108 and also in Daniel of Sketis’ ‘Abba Mark the Fool’ [Dahlman (2007), p. 122, 2:48]. to\n ma/rtura: The martyr of the Church appears. It is unclear which saint Julian is being referred to (however, see above for Notes on chapter 5). Julian reprimands Athanasia and it is interesting to note that his speech effectively echoes Andronikos’ earlier vain attempts to console his wife. This time, it has the desired effect. What could be perceived as Athanasia’s lack of obedience to her husband is a deliberate ploy by the author; her initial resistance is yet another small part of the impulsive, emotional character that the author is creating. Thus, when she transforms into obedience personified by the end of the text, her ‘achievement’ can be all the more praised. See Chapter 2. tou= newko/rou: Lampe: in the sense of a menial official. This was a member of a minor order in church, concerned with unskilled work [Greg. Naz. Or. 24:12 – newko/roj]. In other versions of the text o9 qurwro~j (door-keeper/porter) is used instead cf. the female version (h9 qurwro~j in ‘The woman who pretended to be a drunkard’ [Dahlman (2007), p. 140. 5: 26]. o9 qurwro=j also appears in Mary the Younger [Talbot (1996), 274, n. 112], where Laiou observes that the term is ‘much more common in Ancient than in Byzantine Greek’ [A. Laiou in Talbot (1996), 245], hence Bauer: a temple keeper (Ael. Arist. 47.11). newko/rojis thus a more technical and descriptive word to use, in keeping with the re-elaboration of the vita. For more on this, see Chapter 1. o9 ma/rtuj e0n sxh/mati … e0fa/nh: cf. the story Moschus relates: Eulogius has a vision of Julian at the community of Tougara ‘nine miles outside Alexandria’. He mistakes the martyr for ‘Archdeacon Julian. The chamberlain said neither had he seen anybody nor had anybody come in … the porter asserted with an oath that the archdeacon had neither come in nor gone out … the great Eulogius realized that it was Julian the martyr he had seen, urging him to build his church which had been dilapidated for some time and antiquated, threatening to fall down’ (Moschus, Spiritual Meadow, ch.146). The situation is very similar to the circumstances of Julian’s appearance in this story and it also seems that Julian generally appears in disguise. What is interesting is that in this instance, the saint does not give Athanasia specific instructions on what to do next with her life nor does he reveal the future to her. His purpose appears to be her impetus to lead a monastic life. a)pota/casqai/: In Luke 14:33 –‘whoever of you does not forsake all

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165 167 168–9 170–1 171 173

that he has cannot be My disciple’. The verb indicates absolute renunciation. It can also be used in the context of marriage: Bas. ep. 199, can 18 – a)potacame/nh tw~| ga/mw| (‘… she is a virgin and has renounced marriage and has preferred the life of holiness’). mi/an e9bdoma/da …kata\ seauth/n: During this week Athanasia’s resolve is not strengthened by further favoured divine intervention. Her final decision is entirely her own and indicate the beginnings of her characters’ transformation into the desert monk that she will become. to\n au)tou= penqero/n: cf.gambron in other versions. This version of the narrative probably uses the word for ‘father-in-law’ as it ties in with his earlier personal mention when the couple decide to marry. tou\j 9Agi/ouj To/pouj: At this stage Andronikos gives no indication that he intends to join a retreat. However, we shall see that what transpires will be part of God’s plan. to_ xre/oj a)poti/sai th=j fu/sewj: cf. Mary the Younger [ch. 24 in Talbot (1996), 278]. nosokomei=on … monaxw~n: Lampe: hospital/infirmary (Palladius: LH 68). cenodoxei=on: Bauer: cenodoxe/w ‘to show hospitality’. Lampe: guesthouse or hospice; for travellers, sick and poor (Bas. reg. br. 286; Palladius: LH 7). le/gata: legacies; a Latin loan word. See also Wortley (1996), tale 1 – The three women who were discovered in the time of the emperor Constantine: ‘As soon as they had left I set all my household [slaves/ servants] free, made them gifts and legacies and dismissed them’ [ch 4, p. 65]. Throughout the narrative, documents indicating evidence of legality or solid proof are highlighted. When Athanasia enters the monastery at Tabennesi she carries letters/documents of recommendation with her from Abba Daniel and upon her death, it is the documents that she hides under her pillow, which provide the final incontrovertible evidence that Brother Athanasios is actually Athanasia. She specifically instructs Daniel to reveal the papers after she dies.

Chapter 8 192–4 195

pollou\j qeofilei=j … e0pidhmh=sai die/gnwsan: Jerusalem was on the pilgrimage route from Syria to Egypt [Malamut (1995), 315]. tw~| marturi/w| tou= a(gi/ou Mhna~: The story of Andronikos and Athanasia is set firmly in the context of Egyptian monasticism and particularly the eremitic world of the Desert Fathers. During the couple’s journey to Egypt via Jerusalem, they first break rest at the shrine of St. Menas which, as Moschus wrote, ‘was a popular place for

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pilgrims to visit; an overnight journey with donkeys or mules would bring one here from Alexandria’ [Moschus, Spiritual Meadow, ch. 100]. Menas of Alexandria was commemorated in the Synaxarion on 11 November. The accounts of his early life are unreliable and varied. For the problems, see Drescher who has edited the Coptic martyrdom and encomium, both of which are based on the Greek martyrdom [J. Drescher, ‘Apa Mêna’, AB 3 (1884), 258–70]. Menas was a Roman soldier who was martyred under Diocletian and buried in Alexandria. The legend relates that a camel bearing his corpse was led into the desert. When the animal reached a certain spot it refused to travel further and so Menas was laid to rest there. The burial location was then completely forgotten until a shepherd observed that whenever his sick sheep were miraculously cured when they rolled in the earth and water at that spot. He applied the same remedy to humans with the result that his fame spread, culminating with the leprous daughter of the Emperor of Constantinople (unspecified) seeking the shepherd. Menas had appeared to her in a vision telling her where to find his body. In gratitude for her restoration to health, the Emperor built a church over the remains. Menas was the most popular saint in Egypt until the seventh century [P. Grossman, Abu Mina: A Guide to the Ancient Pilgrimage Centre (Fotiadis: Cairo, 1985); idem, ‘The pilgrimage centre of Abū Mīnā’ in D. Frankfurter (ed.), Pilgrimage and Holy Space in Late Antique Egypt (Brill: Leiden, 1998), 281–302]. Such was the reputation of his healing cult that his fame extended beyond Egypt, as far West as Arles, Cologne and even Rome [M. Murray, ‘St Menas of Alexandria’, Proceedings of the Society of Biblical Archaeology (1907), 25–122, esp. 25]. See also S. Davis for the pairing of Menas with Thekla: The Cult of St. Thekla: A Tradition of Women’s Piety in Late Antiquity (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 2001), 114; 120–36. The saint’s popularity was undoubtedly due to the cures that he effected, not only at his burial site but also from afar (idem 27). During the joint reign of Arcadius and Honorius, the original church was given a face-lift. The improved building was the stopover described in so many pilgrim accounts and saints’ lives of the fifth and sixth centuries (idem 55) and is probably the one described here in the VAA. The Church was the focal point for pilgrims but did not seem to be part of the daily life of the people of Alexandria. The following is a description by an anonymous Arab historian cited by Butler: ‘a huge building embellished with statues and paintings of the greatest beauty. There tapers burn day and night without ceasing. At one end of the building is a vast tomb with two camels in marble and upon them the statue of a man carved in marble, who is standing with one foot upon each camel … The figure is said to represent St. Menas. On the right

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as you enter the church is a great marble column, in which a shrine is carved containing figures of Jesus, John and Zachariah … There is also to be seen the figure of the Virgin Mary covered by two curtains and figures of all the prophets. Outside the church are figures representing all kinds of animals and men of all occupations … among the rest is a slave-merchant …’. [A. Butler, The Arab Conquest of Egypt and the Last Thirty Years of the Roman Domination (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1902), 177, n. 2]. Unfortunately, Butler gives no further information, such as a date, for this Arab historian who is also quoted by Quatremère in Mémoires géographiques et historiques sur l’Égypte (Paris, 1811), two vols. The church of St. Menas, renowned for its wealth and beauty, suffered greatly in its later years. In the eighth century there were increasing tensions between the Melkite and Jacobite parties; opposing factions who demanded to be recognized as the National Church. Menas’ church was strongly fought over, as it was considered a prized jewel in the ecclesiastical crown. The Jacobites won but in the ninth century a man called Eleazar came with orders from the ‘Emperor’ to seize the most beautiful marble columns he could find. The Melkites pointed him towards Menas in revenge for their defeat and the church was plundered [Murray (1907), 56–8]. For the martyr church see P. Grossman, Abu Mina I: Die Gruftkirche and die Gruft (P. von Zabern: Mainz am Rhein, 1989). Also, idem, Abu Mina: a Guide to the Ancient Pilgrimage Center (Fotiasdis: Cairo, 1986); idem, ‘The pilgrimage center of Abû Mînâ’ in D. Frankfurter (ed.), Pilgrimage and Holy Space in Late Antique Egypt (Brill: Leiden, 1998), 281–302; H. Delehaye, Les Légendes grecques des Saints militaries (Picard: Paris, 1909), 6; E. Renaudot, Historia Patriarcharum Alexandrinorum (Paris, 1713), esp. 248]. The Patriarch repaired and restored the church but the power of the Arab forces finally prevailed and the Church of St. Menas was completely destroyed during the Patriachate of Shenoude I (859–869) [idem 311]. For an account of Menas’ miracles, see H. Delehaye, Les recueils antiques de miracles de Saints (Societé des Bollandistes: Brussels, 1925), 46–9; idem, Les légendes hagiographiques (Societé des Bollandistes: Brussels, 1927), 146–8. th\n Skh=tin: Andronikos travels from the Church of St. Menas to Sketis. The text says that the journey took two days. Chitty suggests that Andronikos journeys by the ‘western route by the city of Menas whence they would leave with donkeys in the late afternoon and travel through the night, to reach their destination by eight o’clock in the morning, before the heat of the day’ [Chitty (1995), 147]. This is the preferred route as opposed to travelling through Nitria or Terenuthis. The setting for many a scene in the Apophthegmata Patrum, Sketis

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was founded by Macarius the Egyptian in ad 330. Together with the Fayum region, Sketis was often perceived to be situated outside Egypt [Clugnet (1901), 75]. Andronikos’ second journey across Egypt is described as o9deu/wn kata\ th\n Ai0gupton (374, line 2) while Daniel’s biography claims that he had to travel through the desert of Egypt to reach Sketis: a0ne/rxomai ei0j Ai0gupton (72, line 16). ‘Egypt’ itself was confined to the fringes of the Nile. Comprised of various retreats, which created one vast monastic community, Sketis had a slightly more relaxed rule than Pachomius’ Tabennesi [P. van Cauwenberg, Étude sur les moines d’Égypte (Paris, 1914), 81–8; Harmless (2004), 173–80]. Monks could visit one another for spiritual guidance. Daniel is repeatedly reported as leaving his cell to inspect his spiritual children (see notes for chapter 11). Moreover, there was interaction with the outside world [Chitty (1995), 34]. Sketis’ popularity reached its peak in the late fourth century but the lavra was finally destroyed around 407–408 in a ‘barbarian’ invasion led by Mazices [idem 60–1]. See also Augustine ep. 137. For a succinct account of life in Sketis, see Harmless (2004), 175–80. On daily life in Sketis and other desert sites, see L. Regnault, The Day-to-Day Life of the Desert Fathers in Fourth-Century Egypt (St. Bede’s: Petersham, Mass., 1998) and the brief description in Dahlman (2007), 41 and nt. 2. to\n me/gan kai\ a)oi/dimon Danih/l: For debate concerning Daniel’s identity, see Introduction. The author clearly recognizes Daniel as the sixth-century Daniel of Sketis. According to the story preserved in the Daniel Cycle, the young Sketiote was held prisoner by invading barbarians (though it is doubtful if they would have found anything of value at Sketis) [Dahlman (2007), 63–9]. Daniel was finally rescued by a ship’s captain but captured again by oi9 ba/rbaroi. Fortunately, he escaped after six months [idem 71, lines 4–7). Rather unluckily, he was captured for a third time by the persistent marauders but this time escaped for good by killing his master (idem 71, lines 7–10). An indication of Daniel’s importance is testified by the eminent personages who heard his confession and the outcome of this act of contrition: Timothy, the Patriarch of Alexandria and the Pope, as well as the Patriarchs of Constantinople, Antioch and Jerusalem, all refused to impose a penance upon him (idem 71, lines 11–22). In despair, Daniel admitted his guilt to the governor of Alexandria who also dismissed him. Eventually Daniel took matters into his own hands and made his peace by tending to a crippled man in his cell. The story is concluded in the Coptic and Ethiopic versions with Daniel leaving Sketis and founding a monastery at Tambok after the Council of Chalcedon [L. Goldschmidt and E. Pereira, Vida do Abba Daniel do Mosteiro de Scete. Versâo Ethiopica (Emprensa Nacional: Lisbon, 1897), esp. 55–8; van Cauwenberg (1914), 23].

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With Justinian’s death he returned to Sketis but a barbarian invasion led him back to Tambok, where he died. For more on Daniel see Dahlman (2007); Vivian (2008). 208–10 ou)de\ ga\r …e0kei/nw| o9deu/ontaj: ‘for virtue does not know at all how to conceal the worker of good, because light does not know how to hide the ones who walk under it’ cf. Mary the Younger – ‘Ointment poured forth cannot go unnoticed even if it is very well hidden, for it is proclaimed by its fragrance, nor is it possible for active virtue for it is heralded by its works. Similarly Mary, most revered of women, could not escape notice …’ [ch. 3 in Talbot (1996), 256]. 213–14 plei=sta kathxh/saj: It was not unknown for Daniel to be concerned with women. In the story of ‘Anastasia patrikia’ he hides Anastasia from the Emperor Justinian for twenty-eight years in Sketis [Vivian (2008), The Patrician Lady Anastasia, 71]. 216 to\ monasth/rion …Tabenhsiwtw~n: The great complex of monasteries that made up Tabennesi was founded by Pachomius [Rousseau (1978), 22–4; Brakke (1995); Harmless (2004), 118–24]. Pachomius came upon the deserted village of Tabennesi and heard a voice telling him to found a monastery for he would inspire many. Tabennesi grew into a huge institution largely due to Pachomius who wanted to extend the monastery, over the objections of John, an elder brother who wished to focus on a few brothers in keeping with ascetic practice. ‘As the number of the brothers increased, Pachomius saw that the monastery was overcrowded. He transferred some of them to another deserted village called Phbow (known today as Faou)…’ [Vita Prima Graeca 54]. The community grew when two other existing monasteries were incorporated. ‘After a while the number of brothers also increased in the monastery called Phbow, then came an old ascetic named Ebonh, father of another monastery of ancient brothers. He asked Pachomius to receive his monastery into the brothers’ community … fourthly he (Pachomius) brought the brothers to the monastery called Thmousons … At the requests of the great monks of that monastery he established them according to the rules of the koinonia’ [Vita Prima Graeca 54]. Malamut remarked that unlike Sketis, the ‘monastery (had a) very strict, almost military-like rule, based on labour notably for the monks’ subsistence and of the community’ [Malamut (1995), 21]. Strict segregation enforced the separation of ascetic women and men. An elderly monk called Peter was the link with the men’s community. ‘So a monastery of women was built in the village, a short distance from the brothers. And as they grew in number little by little, she (Pachomius’ sister) became their mother. He appointed a certain Peter, a man very religious and advanced in age, to visit them … Pachomius

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wrote down for them the rules of the brothers and sent them by the old man Peter, that they might govern themselves by keeping them’ [Vita Prima Graeca 32]. A second convent built by the later successor of Tabennesi, Theodore, ‘in the village called Bechne, about a mile from the monastery of Phbow’ [Vita Prima Graeca 134] cf. Palladius: LH 33. There is also an account of what happens when a nun dies: bearing palm leaves and olive branches and singing the psalmody, the dead woman’s body is brought down to the river by the nuns and handed over to the brothers, whence it is conveyed to the other side by boat. See Notes to Chapter 12 for a comparative burial. The vita prima refers to the entire settlement as a koino/bion and Cassian speaks of more than five thousand monks under the rule of a single abbot (‘quorum Thebaide est coenobium, quantum numero populosius cunctis … siquidem in eo plus quam quinque milia fratrum ab uno reguntur abate’) [Cassian, Inst. IV. 1]. Chitty gives a detailed description of the actual layout of the monastic complex [Chitty (1995), 22]. Vivian observes that the term ‘the monastery of the Tabennisiotes’ was probably used generally to designate a cenobitic way of life as contrast to Daniel’s ‘semi-anchoritic communities’ Vivian (2008), 322, n. 125. e0nta/caj au)th\n kai\ a)pokei/raj: cf. Palladius: LH 34: ‘she fastened some rags on her head … all the rest (of the nuns) had the tonsure and wore cowls’.

Chapter 9 230

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kat' oi0konomi/an Qeou=: The phrase is used in all three versions cf. ‘Abba Mark the fool’ [Dahlman (2007), p. 120, 2: 24]. All the unusual events of this story are triggered by God’s Will. e0n a)ndrikw~| tw~| sxh/mati: For a multitude of approaches to understand this phenomenon, see Patlagéan (1976), 597–624; Anson (1974), 1–32, esp. 1–21; Delierneux (1997), 179–243; Davis (2002), 1–36; Constantinou (2005). To see how Athanasia simultaneously manages to conform to, and transgress, their conclusions see Chapter 2. pw~j ga\r …metablhqei/shj: cf. vita of Mary of Egypt: ‘a naked figure whose body was black, as if tanned by the sun’ [M. Kouli (tr.), Life of St. Mary of Egypt, in Talbot (1996), ch. 10, p. 76] and Theoktiste of Lesbos: ‘her face was black’ [A. C. Hero (tr.), Life of St. Theoktiste of Lesbos, in eadem, ch. 17, p. 110]. w(j de\ kate/labon …sulleca/menoi: The couple unwittingly (in Andronikos’ case) duplicate their first trip as a married couple. The author obviously wishes to make the ironic comparison.

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tw~| 'Oktwkaideka/tw|: The monastery was part of a group of communities that were named in terms of their respective distance from Alexandria. Thus e1nnaton was nine miles and o0ktokaide/katon, eighteen miles away from Alexandria. The name ‘Oktokaidekaton’ was a blanket epithet for a conglomeration of convents and hermitages [van Cauwenberg (1914), 65]. Severus of Ushmûnain, cited by Evetts in Histoires des Patriarches, 85, claims that in the time of Patriarch Peter (567–578) there were six hundred monasteries, which seems an exaggeration. The earliest mention of Oktokaidekaton is in the Syriac life of Peter the Iberian [Raabe (1895), 64ff], which relates that ‘the monophysite monks under Longinus were advised to choose a new Patriarch after the death of Emperor Marcian (457). The most important monasteries were represented including monks from Oktokaidekaton’ [S. Timm, Das christlich-koptische ägypten in arabischer Zeit, Teil 4 (M–P) (Dr. Ludwig Reichert: Wiesbaden, 1988), esp. 1791–3]. Oktokaidekaton and Eikosion (ei0kosi/on) seem to have been spaced out on the same route as Ennaton.

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th\n o9do\n …siwph=j: cf. ‘the woman who pretended to be a drunkard’ [Dahlman (2007), p. 140, 5: 15–16]. o9modi/aitoj: Lampe: eating with/sharing the life/being, acting as a friend/living together. It was not unknown for monks to be inseparable and, according to the community to which they belonged, the practice was not frowned upon. Moschus relates the tale of two brothers who swore ‘an oath that they would never be separated from each other, either in life or death.’ When one brother falls prey to fornication and lives a dissolute life, the other stays with him, praying for him [Moschus, Spiritual Meadow, ch. 97]. Thus Andronikos and brother Athanasios’ cohabitation would not be frowned upon.

Chapter 11 283–4 297

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polla/kij …pro\j w)fe/leian: Daniel is time and again portrayed as visiting other cells [Gould (1993),26–87 and Dahlman (2007), ‘The woman who pretended to be a drunkard’, p. 120, 2: 6–7]. ste/fano/n soi mnhsteu/etai: Although the metaphor is common, Daniel’s use of it here is wholly appropriate now that the recognition scene is imminent in which Athanasia will be revealed not only as a woman but as a wife. eu(rh/seij …do\j 'Androni/kw|: Andronikos should know the truth (eventually). All this is part of the dramatic narrative.

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Chapter 12 320–7 331

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pe/myaj …monaxw~n: All the different types of monks are listed cf. the funeral of ‘Mark the fool’ ([Dahlman (2007), p. 122, 2: 58–60]. meta\ kla/dwn ou]n kai\ bai/wn: There is a similar description in the vita of Melania the Elder, describing the events following the death of a nun of Tabennesi: ‘after preparing her body for burial, carry it and set it down on the bank of the river … the brothers … bring her to the other side. They carry little palm leaves and olive branches and sing psalms. They bury her in their own cemetery’ [J. Petersen (tr.), Life of Melania in Handmaids of the Lord: Contemporary Descriptions of Feminine Asceticism in the First Six Christian Centuries (Cistercian Studies: Michigan, 1996), 300]. th=| sorw~| katete/qento tw~n pate/rwn: The brothers acknowledge Athanasia as one of their own cf. ‘Thomaïs the Chaste’ or ‘A holy and chaste young woman ‘ for the heated debate as to whether Thomaïs should be buried in the Fathers’ cemetery: [Dahlman (2007), p. 132: 4a].

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h( kuri/a mou: Andronikos acknowledges Athanasia as his wife indicating that in his mind, they are still married.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Acts 11:26. Job 1:21. corr. ex pa/ntaj U corr. ex. mh\ de/ mi/an U Genesis 12:1. corr. ex. qeou= U corr. ex. pro_j U

The Vita of Galaktion and Episteme Text

Bi/oj kai\ martu&rion tw~n a(gi&wn o9siomartu&rwn Galakti&wnoj kai\ 'Episth&mhj

5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40

1.dih&ghsin ce&nhn kai\ para&docon a)kou&sate sh&meron par’ e0mou=, a)gaphtoi/, h3tij e0sti\ xrh&simoj tai=j u(mete&raij yuxai=j: kai\ ga_r u(pa&rxei li/an w0fe&limoj, e0a&n tij ou) mo&non a)kroath\j ge/nhtai a)lla_ kai\ poihth&j1, w(j o9 a)po&stoloj Pau=loj nouqetw~n diale&getai: ou0 ga_r oi9 a)kroatai\ tou= no&mou di/kaioi para_ tw~| Qew~|, a)ll 0 oi9 poihtai\ tou= no&mou dikaiwqh&sontai.2 kai\ ga_r e0a&n tij u(mi=n e0pidei&ch| qhsauro_n kekrumme&non, mh_ du&nasqe plouth=sai e0k tou= u9podei&gmatoj, ei0 mh&tige ko&pw| pollw~| kai\ mo&xqw| dioru&cantej tou=ton karpw&shsqe: ou)menou=n tou&tou xa&rin parainw~ u9ma~j, pepoqhme&noi mou a)delfoi/, i3na mh_ e0n pare&rgw| de&chsqe h3nper u(mi=n me&llw dihgh&sasqai politei=an kai\ marturi&an, a)lla_ tau&thn e0n tai=j u(mete&raij yuxai=j a)kribw~j i9storh&santej kai\ a)lhqinw~| po&qw| e0ggra&yantej speu&shte tw~| tau&thj zh&lw| poihtai\ gene&sqai kai\ ou)k a)kroatai/.3 ka)gw_ ga_r o9 tapeino_j kai\ e0la&xistoj Eu)to&lmioj, o9 tau&thn u(mi=n th_n yuxwfelh= i9stori/an proqe&menoj, ei0 kai\ au)to&pthj ge&gona kai\ u(phre&thj tw~n tw~n e0mw~n despotw~n a)gwnisma&twn kai\ a)qlhma&twn, a)ll’ ou)k e0zh&lwsa tou&twn to_n a)ggeliko_n kai\ a0swma/ton bi/on, e0mpaqw~j politeusa&menoj kai\ th_n sa&rka ma~llon poqh&saj u(pe\r to pneu=ma. a)lla_ mh_ ge&noito u(ma~j zhlwta_j gene&sqai a)melou=j kai\ r9a|qu&mou kardi/aj: e0moi\ me_n ga_r to_ le&gein ou)k o)knhro&n, u(mi=n de\ to_ a)sfale&j.4 ou) ga_r katakru&ptw to_ ta&lanton, o3per a)naci&wj pisteuqh=nai u(po_ tou= Kuri&ou h)ci/wmai, pro_j perissote&ran a3munan th=j e0mh=j a)kerdei/aj kai\ a)ergi/aj, a)ll 0 u(mi=n au)to_ a)kribw~j parati/qhmi, o)feile&taj poiw~n u(ma=j tou= Qeou= tou= ei0rhko&toj tw~| ponhrota&tw| kat’ e0me_ dou&lw|: dia_ ti/ to\ ta&lanto&n mou ou) pare&qou toi=j trapezi/taij: ka)gw_ e0lqw_n su_n to&kw| a)neilo&mhn au)to&.5 parakalw~ ou)n u(ma=j, a)gaphtoi/, o3pwj mh_ ei0j th_n tou= lo&gou mou ble&yhte bebhlo&thta kai\ eu)te&leian: a)maqh_j ga&r ei0mi\ kai\ ei0ko&twj ou)k i0sxu&sw th_n dih&ghshn u(mi=n e0n pei/ra| poih&sasqai: a)ll' oi]da u(ma=j o3ti ou) pro_j to_ a)kribe\j tou= lo&gou ble&pontej a)naba&llesqe th_n dih&ghsin, a)lla_ pro_j to_ th=j pi/stewj tapeino&n mou a)po/fqegma eu)peiqh&santej to_n par’ e0mou= i9storei=sqai me&llonta a)kou&sete bi&on su_n marturi&w|. 2. h]n tij a)nh_r e0n th=| po&lei 0Emesh| eu)genh_j kai\ e1ndocoj w(j ou)k a1lloj tij h{n katoi=kwn e0n au)th=|, o4j e0ko&ma plou&tw| pollw~| kai\ perifanh_j h[n ei0j ta_j pe&ric po&leij kai\ xw&raj, o)no&mati Kleitofw~n: e0ke/kthto de\ gunai=ka w(raiota&thn, qugate&ra gegonui=an Me&mnonoj tou= topa&rxou, o)no&mati Gleuki&pphn. h}n de\ stei=ra kai\

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ou0k e1tikten, w(j e0k tou&tou megi/sthn lu&phn kai\ a)lghdo&na e!xein. w)neidi/zeto ga_r u(po\ tou= i0di/ou a)ndro_j kaq' h(me&ran. e0ge&neto de\ e0n tai=j h(me/raij e0kei/naij h(gemoneu&ein Sekou=ndo&n tina a!ndra a)phnh= kai\ w)mo&taton kai\ a)ntikei/menon th=| tou= Xristou= poi/mnh|: o3stij tosou=ton tou_j xristianou_j e0lehla&tei plhrw~n ta_j a)mfo&douj h!dh basa&nwn kai\ pantoi/wn kolasthri/wn o0rga&nwn, w3ste, eu)riskome&nwn tinw~n xristianw~n, parauta_ e0k mo&nhj th=j qe&aj kakhnka&kwj a!neu e0rwth&sewj a)nalwqw~sin: e3kastoj toi/nun tw~n eu)sebw~n th\n e9autou= swthri&an e0pragmateu&eto kai\ oi9 me\n tw~| fo&bw| kratou&menoi e!feugon, a!lloi de\ e9autou_j proedi/dosan, e3teroi de\ deilaino&menoi e0kru/ptonto: e0c w}n monaxo/j tij tou!nouma 'Onou&frioj to_ e9autou= sxh=ma mh_ a)poballo&menoj, a)ll 0 e1ndoqen au)to_ h)mfiesme&noj peribe&blhto e1cwqen i9ma&tia palaia_ leuka_ kai\ polu&rrafa: kai\ h[n perierxo&menoj e0k to&pou ei0j to&pon kai\ e0c oi0ki/aj ei0j oi0ki/an di/khn pe&nhtoj ai0tw~n e0lehmosu&nhn: o4j e0k tau&thj th=j politei&aj pe&fqake& pote kai\ e0n tw~| tou= despo&tou mou oi!kw|. h]n de\ tufqei=sa h( kuri/a mou th=| h(me&ra| e0kei/nh| sfodrw~j para_ tou= a)ndro_j au)th=j: pa&nu ga_r e0xqrwdw~j die&keito pro_j au)th_n o9 a)nh_r au)th=j dia_ th_n stei/rwsin au)th=j. e0ggi/saj ou]n o9 monaxo_j tw~| pulw~ni, h!|thsen e0lehmosu&nhn. 3. o0rgisqei=sa de\ h( gunh_ a)pe/steilen mi/an tw~n paidiskw~n au)th=j klei=sai kat' au)tou= th_n pu&lhn. o9 de\ makroqumh&saj mikro\n kai\ w(j e1qoj pe/nhsi pa&lin ai0th&saj, e1kamyen pro_j e0leon th_n th=j kuri/aj mou yuxh&n: kai\ a)postei&lasa ei0sh&gage to\n ge&ronta ei0j th\n oi0ki/an. ou) me&ntoi ge h!|dei, o3ti xristiano_j h}n mona&zwn tw~| sxh&mati: kai\ ga_r kai\ au)th_ kai\ o9 a)nh_r au)th=j u(ph=rxon ei0dwlomanei=j pepoi/qhsin ou) th_n tuxou=san e1xontej ei0j to_ th=j 0Arte/midoj ei!dwlon. w(j ou}n ei0sh/|ei o9 monaxo\j kai\ ta_ pro_j th_n xrei/an th=j ai0th&sewj e0la&mbanen, e0ste&nacen e0k ba&qouj kardi/aj h( kuri/a mou Gleuki/pph. o9 de\ monaxo/j fhsi pro_j au)th&n: “ti/ o)dunhrw~j, kuri/a mou, diakeime&nh ou3twj o)lolu/zeij pikrw~j; o9rw~ ga/r se e!ndon kekthme&nhn qli&yin a)paramu&qhton.” h( de\ pro_j au)to_n w(j qeo&qen kinoume&nh a)nte&fhsen. “a)paidi/aj kai\ steirw&sewj no&sw| kekra&thmai kai\ u(po\ tou= suzu&gou mou& pote me_n kolafi&zomai, pote_ de\ kai\ o)neidi/zomai e0n o)li/goij te kai\ diw&komai: i0atroi=j ga_r kai\ farmakoi=j to_n bi/on mou dia_ tau&thn mou th_n a)paidi/an e0kdapanh&sasa kai\ mhde\n w)felhqei=sa e0pi\ plei=on e0piplh&ttw mou th_n yuxh_n kai\ o)dunhrw~j zw~.” o9 de\ ti/mioj ge/rwn fhsi\ pro_j au)th&n: “kai\ poi/w| qew~| latreu&eij:” h( de\ ei0pen: “th=| megi&sth| qea=| 'Arte&midi.” to&te o9 ge&rwn e1fhse qarsale&wj: “dikai/wj ou)k e1sti soi te&knon: ou0 ga_r pe/poiqaj e0pi\ Qeo_n to_n i0sxu&onta dou=nai/ soi karpo_n koili/aj.” 4. h( de\ pro_j au)to_n pa&lin e1fh: “kai\ poi/w| toi/nun qew~| latreu&sw, i3na moi dw&sei tau&thn th_n xa&rin:” o9 de\ ge&rwn fhsi&n: “Xristw~| tw~| a)lhqinw~| Qew~| kai\ tw~| tou&tou patri\ kai\ tw~| tou&toij sundocazome&nw| a(gi/w| pneu&mati.” h( de/ fhsin pro_j to_n ge&ronta: “mh_ to_n Qeo&n moi le&geij o4n latreu&ousin oi9 Galilai=oi:” o9 de\ ge&rwn fhsi\ pro_j

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au)th&n: “nai/, tou=to/n soi katagge/llw to_n e0ktei/nanta to_n ou0rano_n kai\ qemeliw&santa th_n gh=n, to\n poih&santa to\n a!nqrwpon kai\ pa=san pnoh_n dhmiourgh&santa.” h( de\ Gleuki/pph pro_j to\n ge&ronta ei]pen: “ptoou=mai, a!nqrwpe, to_n a!rxonta Sekou=ndon, mh&pwj gnw~| kai\ su_n th=| a)paidi/a| sterh&sh| me kai\ th=j zwh=j. ou) ga_r du&namai basanisth&ria u9pomei=nai.” o9 de\ ge&rwn fhsi\ pro_j au)th&n: “su_ la&be th_n e0n Xristw~| sfragi=da dia_ tou= a(gi/ou bapti/smatoj kai\ e!so kruptw~j latreu&ousa th_n a(gi/an Tria&da, pra&ttousa ta_j e0ntola_j a$j paradw&sw soi.” h( de\ Gleuki/pph le&gei pro_j au)to&n: “ei0 e0gw&, pa&ter, pisteu&sw kai\ o9 e0mo_j su&zugoj a!pistoj mei&nh|, a)ra& ge ou0 dia_ to_n a!ndra to_n a!piston a!praktoj diamei&nh| h( pi/sthj mou;”6 pa&lin de\ o9 ge&rwn e1fh pro_j au)th&n: “ou)xi/, gu&nai: a)postolikh_n para&dosin e1xousin oi9 toiou=toi e0n tw~| i0di/w| noi6 plhroforei=sqai. su\ de\ e0a_n e0moi\ peisqh=|j, kai\ seauth_n kai\ to_n a!ndra sou sw&seij: o9ra~|j ga_r ka)me\ pw~j dia_ to_n fo&bon tou= h(gemo&noj to_ e9autou= h)lloi/wsa sxh=ma kai\ toi=j pa=sin o9rw~mai w(j kosmiko_j kai\ e0ndeh&j, monaxo_j w@n tw~| sxh&mati kai\ i9ereu&j.” tou&toij kai\ e9te/roij plei/osi lo&goij sthri/caj th_n gunai=ka o9 ge&rwn e0ki/nhsen au)th_n pro_j zh=lon qeopreph=, kai\ le&gei au)tw~| h( gunh&: “pa&ter, du&nasai& moi dou=nai to_ ba&ptisma e0n tw~| kruptw~|:” o9 de/ fhsi pro_j au)th&n: “nai/: kai\ ei0 e1stin u$dwr, i0dou_ h( w3ra”.7 to&te diatacame&nh ta_j paidi/skaj au)th=j e3na tw~n pi&qwn gemi&sai, e0ba&ptisen au)th_n la&qra| o9 monaxo&j, w(j e1qoj e0sti\ xristianoi=j, ei0j to_ o!noma tou= patro_j kai\ tou= ui9ou= kai\ tou= a(gi/ou pneu&matoj. 5. didaxqei=sa de\ u(p’ au)tou= ta_ musth&ria tw~n xristianw~n kai\ a!llaj tina_j e1ntola_j labou=sa u(p’ au)tou=, dou=sa au)tw~| dayilw~j ta_ pro_j e0pisitismo_n au)tou= a)pe/lusen au)to_n h( Gleuki/pph, duswph&sasa au)to_n mh_ e0pilaqe/sqai au)th=j, a)lla_ puknote&rwj e0piske&ptesqai au)th&n: o3qen tou&tou genome&nou, prosepenoh&sato nosei=n h( Gleuki/pph o0ktw_ h(me&raj, le&gousa e0n e9auth=|: mh&pwj molu&nw mou to_n a(giasmo_n e0n tw~| sugkaqeu&dein me tw~| a)ndri/ mou kai\ e1somai w(j perifronou=sa th_n dwrea_n tou= a(gi/ou pneu&matoj. telesqe/ntwn de\ tw~n o0ktw_ h(merw~n, sune&laben h( gunh_ e0n gastri/: kai\ o3te h!rcato e0gkumonei=n, e1xairen sfo&dra o9 a)nh_r au)th=j kai\ le&gei pro_j au)th&n: “nu=n e1gnwn, kuri/a mou, o3ti toi=j qeoi=j eu)hre&sthsaj kai\ e0xari/santo& soi karpo_n koili/aj. poreuqw~men ou}n kai\ qu&swmen au)toi=j.” h( de\ me&ga stena&casa fhsi\ pro_j to_n Kleitofw~nta: “ w} a!ner fi/ltate, Qeo&j moi e0fa&nh kat’ o!nar pro_ th=j e0mh=j sullh&yewj kai\ h}san ai9 pala&mai au)tou= e0pi\ cu&lou e0ktetame&nai kai\ ou{toj moi th_n xa&rin tau&thn e0dwrh&sato. ei0 ou]n qe&leij ku&rie& mou, au)tw~| ma~llon qu&swmen”. o9 de\ a)nh\r au)th=j fhsi\ pro_j au)th&n: “gu&nai, tou=ton o$n kat’ o!nar e0qea&sw Qeo&n, Qeo&j e1sti tw~n Galilai/wn: h!kousa de\ e0k pollw~n peri\ au)tou=, w(j o3ti qaumasta_ te&rata e1oike pra&ttein.” le&gei au0tw~| h9 gunh&: “ku&rie, kai\ ti/ ou) pisteu&omen ei0j au)to&n, ei0 toiou=to&j e0stin i0sxuro&j, o3stij kai\ ta_ th=jsteirw&sew&j mou desma_ die&lusen:” o9 de\ a)nh_r au)th=j a)pokriqei\j e1fh: “ou0k a)kou&eij tou= a!rxontoj to_n

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qumo&n, o$j a)pokte&nein ou0 pau&etai tou_j toiou&touj:” h( de\ pa&lin pro_j au)to_n e1fh: “a)lla_ kruptoi\ e0so&meqa sebo&menoi au)to&n, kai\ e0n tw~| fanerw~| w(j dunato_n h(mi=n, pragmateusw&meqa th_n zwh_n h(mw~n.” o9 de/ fhsi: “kai\ ti/j h(ma=j dida&caj mustagwgh&sei:” to&te h( Gleuki/pph qeasame/nh to_n a!ndra eu)peiqh&santa pro_j th_n pi/stin tou= Xristou=, pi/ptei pro_j tou_j po&daj au)tou= kai\ dihgei=tai au)tw~| pa&nta ta_ sumba&nta au)th=| e0n leptw~| kai\ o3ti xristianh_ ge&gonen. u(podei/casa de\ au)tw~| kai\ to_n ti/mion kai\ eu)labe/staton monaxo&n, kathxqei\j kai\ au)to_j e0bapti/sqh u(p’ au)tou= ei0j to_ o!noma tou= patro_j kai\ tou= ui9ou= kai\ tou= a(gi&ou pneu&matoj. 6. meta_ de\ tau=ta fqa&santoj tou= tekei=n au)th_n kairou=, e1teken h( gunh_ paidi/on a!rsen: kai\ poih&santej ta_ ei0wqo&ta, e0ba&ptise kai\ au)to_ o9 monaxo_j ei0j to_ th=j Zwarxikh=j Tria&doj o!noma kai\ e0pwno&mase to_ o!noma au)tou= Galakti/wna: kai\ proefh&teuse peri\ au)tou= o9 monaxo_j toiau=ta kai\ ei]pen: tou=to to_ paidi/on e0n ou)ranoi=j to_ poli/teuma e3cei, tw~n de\ e0pigei/wn katafronh&sei, mh_ feisa&menon e9autou=. a)ndrunqe&ntoj de\ tou= paidi/ou, pare&dwkan au)to\ oi9 gonei=j pro_j ma&qhsin tw~n i9erw~n gramma&twn: kai\ tosou=ton e0ge&neto o9 ti/mioj kai\ i9ero_j pai=j eu)maqh&j, w3ste eu)xerw~j dielqei=n th_n propai&deian kai\ maqei=n pa~san grammatikh_n kai\ o9mhrikh_n te&xnhn, r(htorikh&n te kai\ filosofikh&n: a)stronomi&an de\ e0pi\ tosou=ton katw&rqwsen, w3ste a)eri/wn ki/nhsin mh_ a)gnoei=n au)to&n. genome&nou de\ au)tou= e0tw~n ei0kosipe&nte, h0boulh&qh o9 path_r au)tou= dou=nai au)tw~| gunai=ka, th=j timi/aj au)tou= mhtro_j Gleuki/pphj makari/w| te&lei xrhsame&nhj: o3qen eu(rw_n ko&rhn tina_ eu)morfota&thn pa&nu, qugate&ra tino_j tw~n megista&nwn, o)no&mati )Episth&mhn, w(rma&sato au)th&n, kai\ poih&santej ta_ mnhsth&ria, a)ph&rxeto o9 maka&rioj Galakti/wn, kaqw_j e1qoj e0sti\ toi=j ne&oij, pro_j th_n e9autou= mnhsth&n: ou) me/ntoi de\ h0spa&zeto au)th_n dia_ to_ mh_ e1xein au)th_n to_ a3gion ba&ptisma. 7. h( de\ 'Episth&mh ei0pen tw~| patri\ auth=j: kai\ o9 path/r fhsi tw~| gambrw~| au)tou=: “ei0pe/, new&tere, ti/noj xa&rin ou)k a)spa&zh| th_n mnhsth&n sou, w(j e1qoj e0sti\ toi=j ne&oij:” o9 de\ Galakti/wn profasisa&menoj ai0dei=sqai, le&gei pro_j th_n 0Episth&mhn mhdeno_j ei0do&toj h2 a)kou&ontoj: “oi}daj, gu&nai, ti/noj xa&rin ou)k a)spa&zomai& se.” h( de\ le&gei au)tw~|: “ou)xi/, ku&rie& mou, kai\ pa&nu lupou=mai peri\ tou&tou.” le&gei au)th=| o9 maka&rioj Galakti&wn: “dio&ti ou)x u(pa&rxeij xristianh&, a)ll' e0a_n la&bh|j to_ a3gion ba&ptisma, to&te kai\ a)spa&zomai/ se kai\ kalw~ se su&zugon.” h( de\ le&gei au)tw~|: “o3te bou&lei, ku&rie& mou, baptisqh&somai: mo&non tu&xw th=j e0piqumi/aj mou:” le&gei au)th=| o9 maka&rioj Galakti/wn: “h( i9erwsu&nh e0ce&lipen e0k tou= ge&nouj tw~n xristianw~n: su_ ou]n prospoi/hsai au!rion tou= lou&sasqai e0n tw~| kh&pw| meta_ o)qoni/ou kai\ ei0seleu&somai e0gw_ metria&zwn kai\ bapti/sw se.” poihsa&shj de\ au)th=j to_ diatetagme&non au)th=| e0ba&ptisen au)th_n o9 maka&rioj Galakti/wn ei0j e4n tw~n u9droxei/wn ei0j to_ o!noma tou= patro_j kai\ tou= ui9ou= kai\ tou= a9gi/ou pneu&matoj. 8. th=| de\ o0gdo&h| h(me&ra| a)polousame&nh le&gei pro_j to_n maka&rion

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Galakti/wna h( a9gi/a )Episth&mh: “oi]daj, ku&rie& mou, ti/ kat’ o1nar o9rw~, a)f’ ou[ to_ a3gion ba&ptisma ei1lhfa:” le&gei au0th=| e0kei=noj: “ei0pe/, kuri/a mou, ti/ o9ra~|j:” le&gei au)tw~|: “o9rw~ pala&tion pa&nu kekosmhme&non kai\ e0n au)tw~| trei=j xorou_j ya&llontaj: kai\ o9 me\n ei[j xoro_j e0xei a!ndraj melanofo&rouj: o9 de\ e3teroj parqe/nouj pa&nu eu0eidei=j: o9 de\ tri/toj a)nqrw&pouj pterwtou_j kai\ purimo&rfouj.” le&gei au)th=| o9 maka&rioj Galakti/wn: “o1ntwj, kuri/a, maka&rioi, ei0 gego&namen kai\ h(mei=j toiou=toi.” le&gei au)tw~| h9 )Episth&mh: “kai\ ei0si, ku&rie, toiou=toi e0n tw~| ko&smw|:” le&gei au)th=| o9 maka&rioj Galakti/wn: “nai/, kuri/a mou, ei0si/n: ou[toi ga/r, ou$j ble/peij e0n tw~| xorw~| tw~| e9ni\ melanoforou=ntaj, kate/lipon to_n ko&smon kai\ to\n plou=ton kai\ ta\j e9autw~n suzu&gouj kai\ h0kolou&qhsan tw~| Xristw~|. ai9 de\ gunai=kej ai9 tou= e9te/rou xorostasi/ou ei0si\n ai9 a0fei/sasai to_n ko&smon, e1ti de\ kai\ tou_j e9autw~n suzu&gouj kai\ a)kolouqh&sasai tw~| Xristw~|. oi9 de\ pterwtoi/ ei0sin a!ggeloi, meq' w{n a)gallw&menoi xoreu&ousin.” le&gei au)tw~| h9 makari/a 0Episth&mh: “kai\ ei0 tou=to poih&somen, ku&rie, kai\ e0c a)llh&lwn xwrisqw~men, dunhso&meqa pa&ntote a)gallia~sqai met' a)llh&lwn :” le&gei au)th=| o9 maka&rioj Galakti/wn: “do&j moi th=| w3ra| tau&th| sunqh&kaj, kuri/a, o3ti a0kolouqei=j moi, kai\ ou0 xwrisqh&somai/ sou ou!te e0n tw~| nu=n ai0w~ni tou&tw~| ou!te e0n tw~| me&llonti,8 tou= kuri/ou mou 'Ihsou= Xristou= poiou=ntoj to_ qe&lhma tw~n foboume&nwn au)to&n.”9 h( de\ makari/a 'Episth&mh w!mosen au)tw~| kata_ tou= kuri/ou 0Ihsou= Xristou= o3ti: “a)kolouqh&sw soi, o3pou a!n poreu&sh|. h9 ga_r qewri/a sou” fhsi/, “paramuqi/an a0paqei/aj moi pare/xei.” to&te o9 maka&rioj Galakti/wn e1fh pro_j au)th&n: “eu)xaristh&swmen, kuri/a, tw~| qew~| h9mw~n, o3ti e1kline to_ ou]j au)tou= e0n h9mi=n10, kai\ e0n h9me/ra| perispasmou= kai\ periasmou= h9 sumfwni/a h9mw~n staqh&setai. 9. tou&twn toi/nun ou3twj lexqe/ntwn, le/gei o9 a3gioj Galakti/wn th=| makari/a| )Episth&mh|: “ i0dou_ e0gw_ poreu&omai e0n tw~| oi1kw| mou: kai\ su\ eu)trepi/sqhti a)pobalome/nh pa&nta kai\ diadou=sa ptwxoi=j, ka)gw_ e1somai ta_ o3moia pra&ttwn, kai\ th=| tri/th| h(me&ra| e9nwqe/ntej poreusw&meqa a)mfo&teroi, labo&ntej meq' h9mw~n kai\ to_n Eu0to&lmion.” h]n ga_r kathxh&saj kai\ bapti/saj me o9 ku&rioj mou Galakti/wn kai\ bebaiwsa&meno/j me, i3na met' au)tou= ge&nwmai monaxo&j: kai\ o9 me_n ku&rio&j mou Galakti/wn th=| e0piou&sh| nukti\ de/dwken pa&nta ta_ u(pa&rxonta au)tw~| ptwxoi=j, o9moi/wj de\ kai\ h9 kuri/a mou )Episth&mh zw&naj du&o, o9rmi/skon e3na, e0nw&tia te&ssara, ye&llia peride/raia kai\ a(plw~j ei0pei=n pa&nta au)th=j to_n stolismo_n die&neimen pe/nhsin: kai\ th=| nukti\ a)pa&rantej e0poreu&qhmen kai\ dia_ de/ka h9merw~n kathnth&samen ei0j to_ o!roj Pou&plion. h0san de\ e0kei= monaxoi\ to_n a)riqmo_n duokai/deka, e1xontej a)po_ mh&koqen au0tw~n a)delfa_j pa&nu grai5daj te/ssaraj ou3stinaj a)nixneu&santej eu3romen kai\ krou&santej kai\ to_n skopo_n h9mw~n ei0rhko&tej au)toi=j, e0de/canto h9ma=j oi9 ti/mioi kai\ a3gioi a!ndrej e0kei=noi meta_ xara~j kai\ a)pe/keiran h(ma~j, th_n de\ kuri/an mou )Episth&mhn a)pe/steilan ei0j to_ a0skhth&rion tw~n a(gi/wn gunaikw~n. h9 de\ katadecame/nh a)ph/|ei eu0xaristou=sa tw~| Qew~|: h9mei=j de\ katelei/fqhmen ei0j to_ tw~n

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monaxw~n katagw&gion. 10. ta_ de\ th=j u9potagh=j kai\ th=j a)skh&sewj tou= kuriou= mou Galakti/wnoj pw~j e0cei/pw: ou0k au)tarkei= ga/r mou h9 glw~ssa h@ ta_ xei/lh dihgh&sasqai tou_j po&nouj kai\ tou_j mo&xqouj ou3sper e0nedei/cato: h!sqien ga_r e0n dusi\n e1tesin a)po_ sabba&tou ei0j sabba&ton, h0gru&pnei de\ tosou=ton, w3ste o9ra=sqai au0to\n e0n ei1dei nekrou=, e1yalle&n te ta_j e0wqina_j au)tou= kai\ nukterina_j eu)xa_j a)dialei/ptwj, prw&thn, tri/thn, e3kthn, e0na&thn kai\ ta_ e9sperina_ au)tou=: kai\ poi=oj a!n e0fi/koito lo&goj tw~n tou&tou a0retw~n kai\ a)gwnisma&twn, tou_j po/nouj au0tou= ti/j e0cixnia&sei, tou_j mo/xqouj au0tou= ti/j e0kmetrh&sei, tou_j o0durmou_j au0tou= ti/j suggra&yetai: tosou=ton de\ ei0j a9gnei/aj h!lasen a0reth&n, w3ste mh_ i0dei=n xarakth=ra gunaiko_j ta_ e4c e1th th=j a0skh&sewj au)tou=: polla&kij ga_r oi9 a3gioi ge&rontej e0kei=noi pareka&loun au)to_n le&gontej: “ e0lqe\ meq' h9mw~n kai\ qe/asai th_n kuri/an th_n dia&konon, o3ti e0nenhkosto_n a!gei e1toj e0n tw~| sxh&mati: w(sau&twj de\ o9ra~|j kai\ th_n a)delfh_n 0Episth&mhn:” kai\ ou0k h0nei/xeto le&gwn o3ti: “ e3wj kairou= a)nagkai/ou ou0k o!yomai au0th&n.” 11. e0ge/neto de\ kata_ tou_j kairou_j e0kei/nouj diwgmo_j me&gaj kata_ tw~n xristianw~n kai\ pa&ntej h)nagka&zonto qu&ein toi=j dai/mosin. a)pelqw_n de/ tij a)ph&ggeile tw~| a!rxonti Ou!rsw| ta_ peri\ tw~n e0n Sina= o1rei kaqezome&nwn monaxw~n, o3ti to_n Xristo_n o9mologou=si kai\ tou_j qeou_j h9mw~n blasfhmou=sin: kai\ eu)qe/wj a)pe/steile fa&lagga stratiwtw~n pro_j to_ sullabei=n pa&ntaj tou_j e0kei=se o1ntaj monaxou_j kai\ e0ne/gkai au0tou_j ei0j to_ krith&rion. th=| ou]n nukti\ e0kei/nh|, e0n h9| sullhfqh=nai e1mellon oi9 a3gioi, o9ra~| h9 makari/a 0Episth&mh o!nar toiou=ton. e0do&kei ga_r e9sta&nai e0n tw~| palati/w| meta_ tou= a0ndro_j au0th=j Galakti/wnoj kai\ met' au)tou= stefanou=sqai u(po_ tou= basile&wj: kai\ th=| e3wqen a0postei/lasa proskalei=tai to_n ge/ronta, o4j h]n h(gou&menoj tou= kuri/ou mou Galakti/wnoj: kai\ e0lqo&nta, dihgei=tai au)tw~| pa&nta, o3sa kat' o!nar e0qea&sato, parakalou=sa au)to_n dou=nai au0th=| kai\ th_n lu&sin th=j o9ra&sewj. o9 de\ ti/mioj kai\ a3gioj ge/rwn e0kei=noj le&gei au)th=|: “te/knon, to_ pala&tio&n e0stin h( basilei&a tw~n ou)ranw~n, oi9 de\ ste/fanoi po&nwn kai\ a)gw&nwn a)moibai/. o9 de\ basileu&j e0stin o9 Xristo_j o9 ui9o_j tou= Qeou=, di' o4n polla_ u9pomenei=te su& te kai\ o9 ku&rij Galakti/wn basanisth&ria u(po_ tou= a)rxontoj Ou!rsou. mh_ ou]n leipotakth&sh|j, te/knon: polla_ ga&r se me&nousin a)gaqa&.” h( de\ to_n xrhsmo_n tou= o0nei/ratoj decame&nh hu)xari/sthse to_n Qeo_n to_n doth=ra tw~n a)gaqw~n. 12. fqasa&ntwn de\ tw~n stratiwtw~n kai\ e0n e0kei/nw| tw~| o!rei, e1nqa h9skou=nto oi9 du&o fwsth=rej oi9 mega&loi Galakti/wn kai\ 0Episth&mh, eu[ron to_n ku&rio&n mou Galakti/wna a)naginw&skonta ta_ tou= qeou= megalei=a. oi9 ga_r loipoi\ tw~n monaxw~n e1fugon pa&ntej. krath&santej de\ to_n o3sion Galakti/wna mo&non, e1suron e0pi\ to_ krith&rion. o9 de\ h0kolou&qei w(j pro&baton e0pi\ sfagh&n.11 h9 de\ makari/a 'Episth&mh e0pa&nw tou= o!rouj h]n kruptome&nh meta_ kai\ e9te/rwn parqe/nwn: kai\ w(j h!kousen, o3ti o9 ku&rioj au)th=j Galakti/wn

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a)pe/rxetai dedeme/noj e0pi\ to_n a!rxonta tou= tufqh=nai, pesou=sa para_ tou_j po&daj th=j diako&nou, le&gei pro_j au)th&n: “eu]cai u(pe\r e0mou= de/spoina& mou: i0dou_ ga_r a)lgei= mou h9 kardi/a pa&nu, o3ti to_n ku&rio&n mou Galakti/wna h]ran oi9 qeoma&xoi pro_j to_n para&nomon kai\ a)sebe&staton a!rxonta. kai\ i0dou\ poreu&omai ka)gw&, i3na su_n au)tw~| teleiwqw~.” le&gei au)th=| h( dia&konoj: “mh&, te&knon mou 0Episth&mh, mh_ a)pe/lqh|j, mh&pwj ou)x u(pomei/nh|j ta_ basanisth&ria kai\ a)rnh&sh| to_n Xristo&n, molu&nh|j de\ kai\ th\n parqeni/an sou.” le&gei h9 a9gi/a pro_j th_n dia&konon: “mh_ ge/noito& moi mei=nai o!pisqen tou= kuri/ou mou Galakti/wnoj w3ran mi/an: di' au)tou= ga_r e1gnwn to_n Xristo_n, Qeo\n o1nta a)lhqino_n kai\ dhmiourgo_n pa&shj pnoh=j: di' au)to_n kate&lipon pa&nta, plou=ton, gonei=j, kth&mata, kai\ pa=sa&n mou th_n periousi/an, pollh_n ou]san sfo&dra, i3na mh_ xwristw~ au)tou= mh&te e0n tw~| nu=n ai0w~ni mh&te e0n tw~| me&llonti.” le&gei au)th=| h9 dia&konoj: “ge&noito& soi, te&knon, h9 o9do\j e0n pa=sin eu)loghth/, kai\ tele&seij to_n dro&mon th=j a)qlh&sew&j sou w(j Qe/kla h9 prwtoma&rtuj. to/te a)spasame/nh pa&saj ta_j a)delfa&j, dromai/a e1fqasen o1pisqen tou= makari/ou Galakti/wnoj kai/ fhsin pro_j au)to&n: “brabeuta_ th=j swthri/aj mou, di' ou[ Qeo_n a)lhqino_n e1gnwn to_n Xristo&n, mh_ e0gkatali&ph|j me th_n tapeinh&n, a)ll' ai1thsai to_n Ku&rion, i3na su&n soi teleiwqw~, kai\ a)xw&ristoi e0so&meqa w(j e0n tw~| nu=n ai0w~ni kai\ e0n tw~| me&llonti.” 13. strafe&ntej de\ oi9 stratiw~tai kai\ qeasa&menoi au)th&n, e1dhsan kai\ au0th_n su_n tw~| a9gi/w~|. peripatou&ntwn de\ au0tw~n, e0di/dasken au0th_n o9 a3gioj Galakti/wn le/gwn: “kuri/a mou kai\ a0delfh&, mh_ fobhqh=|j ta_j timwri/aj kai\ ta_j a0peila_j tou= tura&nnou: a)lla_ mikro_n u9pomei/nwmen, i3na stefanwqw~men ei0j o3louj ai0w~naj12. ble&pe, kuri/a, mh& se a0path&swsin e1n tini tw~n h9de/wn tou= ko&smou tou&tou: pa&nta ga_r tau=ta pro&skaira kai\ fqarta& ei0sin kai\ pare/rxontai di/khn o0nei/rou.” le/gei au)tw~| h9 makari/a 0Episth&mh: “ku&rie, kat' i1xnoj sou poreu&somai: kai\ ei1 ti o9rw~ se pra&ttonta, poih&sw ka)gw&.” fqasa&ntwn de\ au)tw~n pro_j ta_ tou= a!rxontoj proau&lia, h]lqe/ tij tw~n u9peretw~n le&gwn: “thrhqh&twsan ei0j th_n au!rion:” th=| de\ e0pau&rion prokaqi/saj o9 a)sebe/statoj kai\ para&nomoj Ou!rsoj e0ke/leusen ei0saxqh=nai tou_j a9gi/ouj Galakti/wna kai\ 'Episth&mhn. w(j de\ ei0sh&xqhsan, le&gei au0toi=j o9 a!rxwn: “ti/j u9pa&rxei o9 melanofo&roj ou[toj kai\ au3th h9 o9moi/a au)tw~|:” le&gei o9 a3gioj: “monaxoi/ e0smen kai\ xristianoi/.” o9 a!rxwn le&gei: “kai\ ti/j e0stin o9 Xristo&j:” o9 a3gioj le&gei: “o9 poih&saj to_n ou0rano_n kai\ th_n gh=n kai\ th_n qa&lassan.” o9 a!rxwn le/gei: “kai\ oi9 qeoi\ ti&nej ei0si/n:” o9 a3gioj le/gei:“li&qoi kai\ u3lh fqarth&.” to&te xole/saj sfo&dra o9 a!rxwn le&gei: “e0kdu&sate tou=ton to_n bla&sfhmon kai\ sfodrw~j bouneurize/sqw.” tuptome&nou de\ tou= a9gi/ou e0pi\ polu_, e1klaien makari/a 'Episth&mh kai\ e1legen: “w2 a0splagxni/a tura&nnou, w2 a)panqrwpi/a a!rxontoj; a!qlie, pw~j ou)k e0leei=j toiau=ta w(rai=a me/lh katanali/skwn tai=j ma&stizi fei=sai tou= ne&ou, w} miare\ kai\ a)ka&qarte.” 14. tau=ta toi/nun ei0pou=sa h9 a9gi/a, o0rgisqei\j o9 a!rxwn sfo&dra

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e1fh: “gumnw&sate th_n maina/da tau&thn: o9rw~ ga_r au)th=j th_n proai/resin a)naidei/aj memestwme/nhn u(pa&rxousan.” gumnwqei/shj de\ au)th=j me&xrij o0qo/nhj, le&gei tw~| tura&nnw|: “e0pikata&rate kai\ trisa&qlie, e0n tw~| a(gi/w| mou bapti/smati, o4n o9 Qeo_j e0n a(gnei/a| moi sune/zeucen a!ndra, th_n gu&mnwsi/n mou ou0 teqe/atai kai\ su_ e0pitre&peij gumnh&n me parasth=nai e0nw&pio&n sou kai\ panto_j tou= laou= tuflwqh&twsan u9mw~n oi9 o0fqalmoi/, i3na mhd' o3lwj i1dhte mou th_n gu&mnwsin.” kai\ a3ma tw~| lo&gw~| th=j a(gi/aj e0tuflw&qh o9 a!rxwn eu)qu_j kai\ su_n au)tw~| pa&ntej. to&te e1kracan le/gontej: “sw~son h9ma~j, a(gi/a dou&lh tou= Xristou=, a)po/ tou= sko&toujtou&tou kai\ pisteu&somen tw~| Qew~| sou.” h9 de\ a(gi/a splagxnisqei=sa e0p' au)toi=j, e0pekale/sato to_n Qeo&n, kai\ a)ne/bleyan paraxrh=ma pa&ntej kai\ e0pi/steusan e0pi\ to_n ku&rion h9mw~n 'Ihsou=n Xristo_n yuxai\ penthkontatrei=j. o9 de\ a)ka&qaratoj kai\ ponhro_j a!rxwn pa&lin manei\j kat' au)tw~n e1fh: “au3th h( tu&flwsij e0k tw~n megi/stwn qew~n h9mi=n e0do&qh, w(j katadecame&nwn h9mw~n u9brisqh=nai au)tou&j: a)ll 0 o0cu&nate kala&mouj kai\ e0mba&lete ei0j tou_j o1nuxaj au)tw~n.” poihsa&ntwn de\ tw~n u9phretw~n to_ keleusqe\n au)toi=j, e1kamnon oi9 a3gioi sfodrw~j kai\ e0bo&wn le&gontej: “gnw~qi w} tu&ranne, o3ti Xristw~| tw~| ui[w~| tou= Qeou= latreu&omen, tou_j de\ qeou&j sou katapatou=men.” 15. o9 a!rxwn le&gei toi=j u9phre&taij: “ko&yate ta_j xei=raj au)tw~n, i3na mh_ blasfhmw~sin.” koptome&nwn de\ tw~n xeirw~n au)tw~n, e0bo&wn oi9 a3gioi: “a)na&sta ku&rie, boh&qhson h(mi=n, o3ti tw~| sw~| po&qw| trwqe/ntej h)kolouqh&samen soi.” o9 de\ ka&kistoj kai\ deino_j a1rxwn pa&lin dieta&cato koph=nai au0tw~n kai\ tou_j po&daj. koptome/nwn de\ tw~n podw~n au)tw~n, e0bo&wn oi9 a3gioi: “a0naqe/ma toi=j qeoi=j sou, tu&ranne, eu)loghto_j de\ u9pa&rxei o9 ku&rioj h(mw~n 'Ihsou=j Xristo_j ei0j tou_j ai0w~naj.” to/te o9 a!rxwn e1dwken kat' au0tw~n th_n a)po/fasin tou= a0potmhqh=nai au)tou&j. a!rantej de\ tou_j a9gi/ouj ma&rturaj Galakti/wna kai\ 0Episth&mhn kai\ e0cagago/ntej au0tou_j e1cw th=j au)lh=j tou= a!rxontoj, a)pekefa&lisan au)tou_j mhni\ noembri/w| pe/mpth|, e0mou= tou= tapeinou= Eu0tolmi/ou o9rw~ntoj. ei1asan de\ ta_ ti/mia kai\ a3gia au)tw~n lei/yana e0n e0kei/nw| tw~| to&pw|. kai\ labw_n au)ta_ e0gw_ kai\ polla_ dakru&saj e0kh&deusa ei0j do&can tou= mega&lou Qeou= kai\ swth=roj h(mw~n 'Ihsou= Xristou=, w{| h9 do&ca kai\ to_ kra&toj ei0j tou_j ai0w~naj tw~n ai0w&nwn,13 a)mh&n.

Translation The life and martyrdom of the very holy martyrs, Saints Galaktion and Episteme 1. Listen, today, beloved, to a strange and wondrous narrative by me that is useful for your souls. For it is very beneficial for someone if they might become not only one who hears but one who acts; as the apostle Paul preached, admonishing, ‘for it is not those who listen to the law who will be considered just by God, but those who act according to the law who will be deemed righteous’. Even if someone were

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to display hidden treasure to you, you cannot be enriched by this sign, unless you obtain this fruit by digging with much toil and labour. On the contrary, for the sake of this, in order that you do not receive as a secondary work the way of life and testimony that I am about to narrate to you, I advise you, my dearly beloved brothers, to hasten with zeal for this – to become those who act and not those who hear, by recording it accurately and inscribing it with true desire in your souls. For I, Eutolmios, the unworthy and the least, who sets this soul-edifying narrative before you, although an eyewitness and servant of the struggles and contests of my masters, did not imitate their angelic and incorporeal life, having lived subject to passions and desiring the flesh over the spirit. But may you not become eager to imitate a neglectful and lazy heart; for speaking thus is not irksome to me and is security for you. For I do not hide the talent with which I was deemed worthy, unworthily, to have been entrusted by the Lord as greater protection against my unprofitableness and idleness, but I place it before you punctiliously, making you debtors to God, Who said to the most evil servant, like me, ‘Why didn’t you entrust my talent to the bankers? At my coming, I would have collected it with interest’. Therefore, I beg you, beloved, do not look at the coarseness and shabbiness of my language; for I am unlearned and will probably not have the capacity to convey the story easily to you in one attempt. But I know that you will not look at the impreciseness of the language and reject the story but trusting the humble apophthegm of my faith, will listen to the life and martyrdom, which will be narrated by me. 2. There was a certain man in the city of Emesa, of noble birth and of high repute such as no other man who lived in the city enjoyed. He abound in great wealth, was famous in the neighbouring cities and countryside, and he was called Kleitophon. He possessed a very beautiful wife, the daughter of the toparch Memnon, and she was called Gleukippe. But she was barren and could not bear children and so because of this she endured much grief and pain; for she was blamed by her own husband every day. It happened that a certain man called Sekoundos was governor in those days and he was severe and very cruel and opposed to the flock of Christ. So much did he plunder the Christians – now filling the streets with tortures and all possible instruments of punishment – that when any Christians were found, they were immediately killed horribly, from sight alone and without question. Now each one of the pious busied himself for his own safety: overcome by fear, some fled, others surrendered and others, afraid, hid. One of these was a certain monk called Onouphrios, who did not cast away his habit but wore it within himself (inside), and on the outside wore ancient, white and much patched clothes. And he went around from place to place and from house to house, in the guise of a beggar, asking for alms. Living in this way, he came one day to my master’s house. My mistress had been beaten violently that day by her husband; for her husband was disposed to be very hostile to her on account of her sterility. And so the monk approached the door and asked for alms. 3. As she was angry, the woman sent one of her maidservants to shut the door in his face. But the monk was patient for a little while and, as habitual

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for beggars, then asked again for alms and moved the soul of my mistress to pity. And she sent and brought the old man into the house. However, she did not know that he was a Christian and a monk in disguise; for both she and her husband were idolaters. They had an exceptionally strong belief in the idol of Artemis. When the monk entered and took the supplies he had requested, my mistress Gleukippe groaned deeply from the depths of her heart. And the monk said to her, ‘Why are you in such a state of pain and crying so bitterly, my mistress? For I see that you possess inconsolable trouble inside you.’ And she answered him as if divinely moved, ‘I am childless and barren and one time I am slapped by my husband and at other times, I am both scorned and persecuted in small ways. And I have exhausted my life with doctors and medicine because of this childlessness of mine but nothing helps. I am punishing my soul beyond endurance and I am living painfully.’ And the worthy old man said to her, ‘Which god do you worship?’ And she said, ‘The most great goddess Artemis’. Then the old man said confidently, ‘Rightly you do not have a child. For you have not believed in God Who has the power to give you fruit of your womb’. 4. And so she said to him again, ‘Well then, what sort of god should I worship so he will give me this joy?’ And the old man said, ‘Christ the true God and His Father and the Holy Spirit Who is glorified together with Them.’ And she said to the old man, ‘You don’t mean the God whom the Galilaeans worship?’ And the old man said to her, ‘Yes, this very one I proclaim to you, Who stretched out the sky and laid foundations for the earth, and Who made man and Who created every breath.’ And Gleukippe said to the old man, ‘Man, I am terrified of the ruler Sekoundos, in case he finds out and together with my childlessness, deprive me also of life; for I cannot endure torture.’ And the old man said to her, ‘Take the seal in Christ through holy baptism and worship the holy Trinity secretly, fulfilling the commands that I will give to you.’ And Gleukippe said to him, ‘Father, if I believe but my husband remains a non-believer, will my faith remain unsuccessful because my husband is a non-believer?’ And again the old man said to her, ‘No, woman. Such people are able to fully believe the apostolic tradition in their own mind. If you obey me, you will save both yourself and your husband; for you see how I altered my habit through fear of the governor and seem worldly and poor to everyone, although I am a monk and a priest’. With these and many other words the old man strengthened the woman and he moved her towards zeal worthy of God. And the woman said to him, ‘Father, are you able to give me baptism in secret?’ And he said to her, ‘Yes, if there is water, behold the hour.’ Then she arranged for her maidservants to fill one of the jars and the monk baptized her secretly according to the custom of the Christians in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. 5. When he had taught her the mysteries of the Christians and when she had received certain other commands from him, giving him abundantly those things for his provisions, Gleukippe sent him on his way, entreating him not to forget her but to visit her very often. So after this happened Gleukippe

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pretended to be ill for eight days saying to herself, ‘let me not stain my consecration by sleeping with my husband and behave as if despising the gift of the Holy Spirit.’ At the end of the eight days, the woman conceived. When her pregnancy began to show, her husband was greatly overjoyed and said to her, ‘Now I have realized, my lady that you have been well pleasing to the gods and they have graced you with fruit of the womb. Therefore, let us go and sacrifice to them.’ And she, sighing deeply, said to Kleitophon, ‘O dearest husband, before my pregnancy a god appeared to me in a dream and His palms were stretched out on wood. It is He Who gave me this grace. Therefore, my master, if you wish let us sacrifice, rather, to Him.’ And her husband said to her, ‘Woman, this god Whom you have gazed at in a dream is the God of the Galilaeans. I have heard about Him from many people and it seems that He can perform marvellous wonders.’ His wife said to him, ‘Lord, why don’t we believe in Him, if He is so strong, He who loosened the fetters of my sterility?’ And her husband replied, ‘Do you not hear the anger of the governor? He who does not cease to kill such people (Christians)?’ And again she said to him, ‘But we shall be hidden, revering Him and in public we shall arrange for our lives as much as is possible.’ And he said, ‘But who will teach us and initiate us into the mysteries?’ Then Gleukippe, seeing that her husband was persuaded to the faith of Christ, fell at his feet and told him in detail everything that had happened to her, and that she had become a Christian. And she showed him the revered and very pious monk and so he (Kleitophon) was instructed and baptized by him (the monk) in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. 6. After this, when the time came for the bearing of her child, the woman gave birth to a boy. And doing everything customary, the monk baptized him in the name of the Life-Originating Trinity and named him Galaktion and prophesied these things about him, saying, ‘This child will possess his way of life in heaven. He will scorn earthly ways, not sparing himself.’ When the child reached manhood, his parents handed him over to learn the Holy Scriptures. And the revered and holy child became so well educated that he easily went through all his elementary studies and learnt all his grammar as well as Homeric skill, rhetoric and philosophy. He mastered astronomy so successfully that the movement of the heavenly bodies was not unknown to him. When he was twenty-five, his father wanted to give him a wife as his revered mother Gleukippe had died. So he found a girl who was very beautiful, the daughter of one of the high officials, called Episteme, and he (Galaktion) betrothed her and after the betrothal was performed, the blessed Galaktion departed for his betrothed, as is customary for young men. However, he did not yet embrace her because she had not been baptized. 7. So Episteme spoke to her father. And her father said to his son-in-law, ‘Say, young man, why have you not kissed your betrothed, as is customary for young men?’ Galaktion pretended to be shy and said to Episteme with nobody in sight or within earshot, ‘Do you know lady, why I am not kissing you?’ And she said to him, ‘No, my lord and I am very grieved about this.’ The blessed

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Galaktion said to her, ‘Because you are not a Christian, but if you were to receive holy baptism, then I will kiss you and I will call you wife.’ And she said to him, ‘When you wish it, my lord, I will be baptized. As long as I receive what I long for.’ The blessed Galaktion said to her, ‘the priesthood has disappeared from the Christian people. Therefore, tomorrow, pretend to wash in the garden with a linen cloth and I myself will arrive inconspicuously and I will baptize you.’ When she had done what had been arranged for her, the blessed Galaktion baptized her in one of the water basins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. 8. When she was washing on the eighth day, saint Episteme said to the blessed Galaktion, ‘My lord, do you know what I see in my dreams since I received holy baptism?’ He said to her, ‘Tell , my lady, what can you see?’ She said to him, ‘I see a palace adorned very beautifully and in it, three choruses singing. One of the choruses has men clad in black and the other has very beautiful virgins. And the third has winged and fiery-formed humans.’ The blessed Galaktion said to her, ‘Truly, lady, we are blessed if we too become such.’ Episteme said to him, ‘And are there such people in the world, lord?’ And the blessed Galaktion said to her, ‘Yes, my lady, there are. For these people whom you see in the one chorus clad in black, they left the worldly life and their wealth and their wives and followed Christ. The women, those of the other chorus, are those who left the world behind and in addition, their husbands, and followed Christ. The winged ones are angels with whom, rejoicing, they dance.’ The blessed Episteme said to him, ‘If we do this lord, and we separate from one another, will we always be able to rejoice with each other?’ The blessed Galaktion said to her, ‘Give me this hour a promise, lady, that you will follow me, and I will not be separated from you in this world or the next, my Lord Jesus Christ fulfilling the will of those who fear Him. And the blessed Episteme swore to him by the Lord Jesus Christ that, ‘I will follow you wherever you go; for the sight of you,’ she says ‘offers me apatheia as consolation.’ Then the blessed Galaktion said to her, ‘Let us give thanks, lady, to our God, that He deigned to listen to us, and our agreement will withstand a day of distraction and temptation’. 9. After these things had been said, saint Galaktion said to the blessed Episteme, ‘Look, I am going to my house. And you, prepare, reject everything and hand it over to the poor. And I will do the same and on the third day, we will meet and set out together, taking Eutolmios with us as well.’ For my lord Galaktion had instructed and baptized me and confirmed me so that I would become a monk with him. And on the next night my lord Galaktion gave all his possessions to the poor and in the same way my lady Episteme distributed two belts, one necklace, four pairs of earrings, armlets and necklaces, in short, all her adornments to the poor. Having set off that night, we travelled and reached Mount Pouplion after ten days. There were twelve monks there who had, far away, nuns with them, four very old sisters. After searching, we found them. We knocked and told them our aim. The revered and saintly men received us with joy and

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tonsured us and they sent my mistress Episteme to the retreat of the saintly women. And she was received and went away giving thanks to God. We were left behind at the refuge of the monks. 10. How will I give the account of the submission and asceticism of my lord Galaktion? For my tongue and lips are not sufficient to narrate the toils and hardships that he took upon himself. For two years he ate from Sabbath to Sabbath and he kept vigil for so long that to see him, he appeared corpse-like. Without wavering he sang both the morning and evening prayers at the first, third, sixth and ninth hours and his evening ones. And what sort of speech could describe his virtues and his contests, who will detail out his labours, who will measure his toils, who will write down his lamentations? He drove virtue to such a degree of purity that he did not see the face of a woman during the six years of his asceticism. For often those saintly old men called him saying, ‘Come with us and see our lady, the deaconess, who is spending her ninetieth year. And at the same time you can also see sister Episteme.’ But he could not endure this, saying, ‘Until it is the necessary time, I will not see her.’ 11. It came to pass in those times that there was a severe persecution against the Christians and everyone was forced to sacrifice to the gods. Someone came and reported to the governor Oursos about the monks sitting on Mount Sinai that ‘they confess Christ and slander our gods’. Therefore, he immediately sent a phalanx of soldiers to seize all the monks there and to bring them to the tribunal. That night in which the saints were about to be arrested, the blessed Episteme saw such a dream: she seemed to be standing in the palace with her husband Galaktion and was crowned with him by the King. At earliest dawn, she sent someone to call the old man, he who was the hegoumenos of my lord Galaktion. And he came and she told him all that she had seen in the dream, begging him to interpret the dream for her. That revered and saintly old man said to her, ‘Child, the palace is the kingdom of Heaven. The crowns are recompense for your toils and contests. And the king is Christ, the Son of God, for the sake of Whom both you and lord Galaktion will undergo many tortures from the governor Oursos. Do not desert, child, for much good awaits you.’ And she, receiving the interpretation of the dream, gave thanks to God, the dispenser of Good. 12. When the soldiers arrived on that mountain where the two illuminators, the great Galaktion and Episteme, were following the ascetic rule, they found my lord Galaktion reading the great works of God; for all the rest of the monks had fled. Arresting only the very holy Galaktion, they dragged him to the tribunal. And he followed like a lamb to the slaughter. The blessed Episteme was hiding on top of the mountain with the other virgins. When she heard that her lord Galaktion was being taken, bound, to the governor to be beaten, she fell at the feet of the deaconess, saying to her, ‘Pray for me, my mistress. For look, my heart is greatly pained because the god-warring men have taken my lord Galaktion to the cruel and sacrilegious governor. And look, I am setting forth so that I may die with him.’ The deaconess said to her, ‘Don’t, my child

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Episteme, don’t go, lest you cannot bear the tortures and deny Christ and defile your virginity.’ The saint said to the deaconess, ‘May I not live one hour behind my lord Galaktion. For through him I came to know Christ as true God and Creator of all living beings. Because of him I abandoned everything – wealth, parents, property and all my wealth, which was very great, so that I would not be separated from him in the present age or the future one.’ The deaconess said to her, ‘May your road, child, be blessed in everything and you will complete the course of your trials just like Thekla, the protomartyr.’ Then embracing all the sisters, running, came up behind blessed Galaktion and said to him, ‘Awarder of my salvation, on account of whom I came to know Christ as true God, do not forsake me, the humble one, but ask the Lord that I may die with you and we will not be parted in the present age or the future one.’ 13. When the soldiers turned and saw her, they bound her too with the saint. As they were walking, saint Galaktion instructed her, saying, ‘My lady and sister, do not fear the punishments and threats of the tyrant. But let us endure a little so that we may be crowned for all ages. Look, lady, lest they deceive you with any of the sweet things of this world. For all these things are ephemeral and corruptible and pass like a dream.’ The blessed Episteme said to him, ‘Lord, I will travel in your footsteps and if I see you doing something, I will do it too.’ And so they arrived at the vestibule of the governor and one of the servants came, saying, ‘Let them be watched till tomorrow.’ The following day, the sacrilegious and cruel Oursos took the chair and ordered saints Galaktion and Episteme to be brought in. When they were brought in, the governor said to them, ‘who is this man clad in black and who is the woman like him?’ The saint said, ‘We are monks and Christians.’ The governor said, ‘And who is Christ?’ The saint said, ‘He Who made the sky and the earth and the sea.’ The governor said, ‘And the gods, who are they?’ The saint said, ‘Stones and corruptible material.’ Then the governor became very angry and said, ‘Strip this blasphemer and whip him greatly.’ As the saint was being beaten thoroughly, the blessed Episteme cried out and said, ‘O merciless tyrant, O heartless governor. Wretch, how can you not pity such beautiful limbs, which you consume by scourges? Spare the young man, O brutal and foul one.’ 14. When saint Episteme said these things, the governor was very angry and said, ‘Strip this maenad; for I see that her conduct is full of shamelessness.’ Having been stripped down to a linen cloth, she said to the tyrant, ‘yet more accursed (man) and thrice-wretched one, he whom God joined to me as husband in purity in my holy baptism did not see my nakedness but you order that I should appear naked before you and all the people; may your eyes become blind so that you may never see my nakedness.’ And with this speech of the saint, the governor and all those with him immediately became blind. Then they shouted saying, ‘Save us, holy servant of Christ, from this darkness and we will believe in your God.’ And the saint had pity on them and entreated God and everyone immediately regained their sight and fifty-three souls believed in

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our Lord, Jesus Christ. But the foul and evil governor again raged against them saying, ‘This blinding has been brought down on us from the great gods because we allowed them to act insultingly. But sharpen reeds and push them into their nails.’ When the servants had done what he ordered, the saints suffered exceedingly but shouted, ‘Know, O tyrant that we worship Christ the Son of God and we trample on your gods.’ 15. The governor said to the servants, ‘Cut off their hands, so that they do not blaspheme.’ When their hands had been cut off, the saints shouted, ‘Arise, Lord, help us, because we have followed You, wounded by desire for You.’ The evil and terrible governor again ordered their feet to be cut off as well. When their feet had been cut off the saints shouted, ‘Anathema to your gods, tyrant. Our Lord, Jesus Christ is blessed forever.’ Then the governor gave the sentence to behead them. Lifting the saintly martyrs, Galaktion and Episteme, they took them outside the vestibule of the governor and beheaded them on the fifth of November, witnessed by me, the humble Eutolmios. They left their revered and saintly remains in that place. And I, taking them with many tears, buried them to the glory of the great God and our Saviour, Jesus Christ, in Whom are glory and strength, forever and ever, Amen.

Notes Chapter 1

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dih/ghsin: For a discussion of this term in the context of the chosen vitae, see Chapter 5. Rapp gives a comprehensive overview in Rapp (1998), 431–48. 17 Eu)to/lmioj: No other personal details given other than he is a servant of Galaktion’s family (also, 219). Eutolmios’ stance of humility is a topos in hagiographical writings. For detailed analysis, see D. Krueger, Writing and Holiness: The Practice of Authorship in the Early Christian East (University of Pennsylvania Press: Philadelphia, 2004), 95–109: ‘Rather than a rhetoric of false modesty, it might be more accurate to speak of a rhetoric of longed-for humility’ (98). It is possible that the VGE was at least re-written in the ninth century and Efthymiadis points out that authorial digression is common to this period [S. Efthymiadis: ‘The Byzantine hagiographer and his audience in the ninth and tenth centuries’ in C. Høgel (ed.), Metaphrasis: Redactions and Audiences in Middle Byzantine Hagiography (Research Council of Norway: Oslo, 1996), 63]. Eutolmios is a fictional character, yet his constant intrusion into the text mimics his possible counterparts. Other eyewitnesses to martyrdoms include Alexius for Florus and Laurus [AB 51 (1933) and AASS Aug. 3:521]; Anthimus for Philetaerus and Eubiotus [AASS May 4 (1685), 312–28]; and Florentius for

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Cassiodorus and his companions [AB 16 (1897), 301, n. 5 and AB 23 (1904), 36 n. 6]. Delehaye further discusses the role of the eyewitness with examples in Les passions des martyrs et les genres littéraires (Societé des Bollandistes: Brussels, 1966), 182–3. Kleinberg explains how the eyewitness account is as much a personal revelation as a straightforward narrative, using Peter of Dacia’s tale of St. Christina of Stommeln [A. Kleinberg, Prophets in Their Own Country: Living Saints and the Making of Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages (University of Chicago Press: Chicago, 1993), 55ff] but compare with Brubaker, for whom the power of sight increasingly became a means of verifying and confirming religious truth [L. Brubaker, ‘Byzantine art in the ninth century: theory, practice and culture”, BMGS 13 (1989), 23–93, esp. 71–3], citing Photios, Homily 17:5 – ‘Christ came to us in the flesh. This is seen and confirmed and proclaimed in pictures, the teaching made manifest by means of eye witnesses and impelling the spectators to unhesitating assent’ (my emphasis) [C. Mango (tr.), The Homilies of Photius Patriarch of Constantinople (Harvard University Press: Cambridge MA, 1958), 293]. ou) ga_r … tou= Qeou=: cf. vita of John The Almsgiver (seventh century), prologue (p. 208) using Sophronios’ and John Moschus’ version and the vita of Daniel the Stylite (fifth century) [E. Dawes and N. Baynes, Three Byzantine Saints (Blackwell: Oxford, 1948)]: ‘Yet I do not venture to dismiss in silence those narratives about the Saint which I received from my fathers for fear lest the Lord should justly torture me in His great and terrible day for not having given into the bank the talent through His Will entrusted to me for the edification and profit of the many’ (vita of Daniel, ch. 1). su_n to/kw|: The biblical echo is Luke 19:23, lending Eutolmios more authority in his endeavours.

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)Emesh|: Barrington Atlas: Map 68, C4. Directory, vol. 2: Syria: 1042–55 [Talbert (2000)]. Emesa belonged to the province of Phoenicia Libanensis at the crossing of the routes from Palymra to the sea and from Damascus to the north. It is located near the Orontes [R. Garrett, Part I of the Publications of an American Archaeological Expedition to Syria 1899–1900: Topography and Itinerary (The Century Co: New York, 1914), 47] and is the ‘Hemesa’ of Pliny. In the Bible, it was thought to be the kingdom of Zoba (Souba\) [II Samuel 8.3ff and 10.6]. Emesa was considered to be the equal of Tyre, Sidon and Beirut. In 194 ce Alexander Severus divided Syria into Syria Coele and Syria Phoenice for administrative purposes. Emesa was located in Syria

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Phoenice. Caracalla (211–217) then granted Emesa colonial status and other special privileges, thus creating Roman citizens [A. H. M. Jones, Cities of the Eastern Roman Provinces (Hakkert: Amsterdam, 1983), nt. 53]. The Digest, L. XV. 1 § 1 states, ‘one must realize that there are some colonies with ius italicum as in Syria Phoenice, the most splendid colony of the Tyrians … our emperor granted it ius italicum because of its great and conspicious faithfulness toward the Roman state and empire …’. See also L. XV. 1 § 4 and L. XV. 8 § 6 for specific mention of Emesa in connection with ius italicum. In terms of Christian importance, John the Baptist’s head was found at Emesa (BHG 839; BHL 4291–2). See vita of Matrona (AASS Nov 3, 796D) for discovery of his head. eu)genh_j: See P. Magdalino, ‘Byzantine Snobbery’ in M. Angold (ed.), The Byzantine Aristocracy IX to XIII Centuries (BAR International Series 221: Oxford, 1984), 62–5 for an analysis of the term. He notes, ‘an association between good birth and solid citizenship is implied in several ways. In the life of Luke the Stylite, the eugenia of the saint’s parents is linked with their economic and profession status: they are described as ‘well-born … spending their life in modest wealth and sufficiency of necessities …’ (65). For eugenia as a ‘racial and cultural phenomenon’, see 65–6. Kleitofw~n: lit. ‘renowned refrain’. The famous protagonist of Achilles Tatios, The Adventures of Leukippe and Kleitophon. Delehaye noted that the VGE has much in common with other romances represented in the Acts of the Martyrs such as Adrian and Natalie (BHG 27–9) and Cecilia (BHL 1495–8). For discussion of these texts, see Chapter 1 (Cecilia) and Chapter 5 (Adrian and Natalie). He considered the VGE to be of ‘particular interest as the relationship which binds it to the Greek novel is by no means concealed’ [Delehaye (1966), 229]. See Chapter 5 for a fuller discussion on the connection between the VGE and the pagan novels. Me/mnonoj: Memnon cannot be traced in Jones (1992), three vols., or in the Prosopographia Imperii Romani, saec, I, II, III, G. Reaimerum (ed.) (Berlin, 1897–1898). The only Memnon who is noted as a governor of Syria (or possibly a comes orientis or consularis Syriae) is recorded in Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire (Memnonius 1) but he was sent to Antioch and moreover is an Orthodox (antiNestorian) Christian. This strengthens my contention that Gleukippe is not the Leukippe of Achilles Tatios since the latter’s father is named in the ancient novel as Sostratos. The hagiographer has no especial need to deliberately name the father of Gleukippe so this could be a subtle way of creating distance from Tatios. For discussion on how the VGE is not the sequel of The Adventures of Leukippe and Kleitophon, yet is a Christianized novel, see Chapter 1.

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topa/rxou: A toparch, noted by Sophokles as the ‘governor of a country’. Extant evidence comes from Egypt. For details of a toparch’s duties, see J. Lallemand, ‘Administration civile de l’Égypte de l’avènement de Diocletien à la création du diocèse (284–382). Contribution à la fin du IIIe et au IVe siècle’, Académie royale de Belgique mémoires (lettres) 57 [2] (1964), 4–342 and N. Lewis, The Compulsory Public Services of Roman Egypt, R. Pintaudi (ed.), vol. 11 (Edizioni Gonnelli: Florence, 1982). Lewis notes the earliest evidence of compulsory service is dated to 265 ce (P. Flor. 2, from Hermopolis Magna) and the latest date attested for the post is Ptolemaic: 307 ce (SB 5679) [idem 49]. The qualifications for the liturgy/magistracy are: Poros = 2000 dr; age = 45. The area of responsibility is a toparchy and the term of service is one year. The ODB notes that the use of the office is a general one but is elevated to that of king in Malalas 231:9. He refers to a toparches of the Jews. By the eleventh century the office is not itemized in the lists of taktika nor included among the collections of seals that are the main sources for this period [J. -C. Cheynet, ‘Toparque et topotèrètès a la fin du IIe siècle’, Revue des études byzantines 42 (1984), 215–28, esp. 215]. Gleuki/pphn: From Gleu=koj, metaphorically meaning ‘inspiration from the Holy Spirit’ [Gr. Ny. De Spiritu Sancto – PG 46.701A – to gleu\koj tou=to]. h]n de\ stei=ra kai\ ou)k e1tikten: The initial inability of the mother of a future saint or holy person to bear children, which is alleviated by prayer and initiates an immaculate conception, established an early and secure spiritual start in life for the child. Its antecedents lay in the Bible where sterility was legendary. Sarah and Elizabeth are just two examples of infertile women who bear children after divine intervention. Theodoret’s mother had been childless for thirteen years until the prayers of Macedonius had effect [Theodoret, History of the Monks of Syria 13 (PG 82:1407]. For a ninth-century example, see vita of Michael Synkellos 44:26. w)neidi/zeto ga_r u(po\ tou= i0di/ou a)ndro_j: Such behaviour was not unknown in hagiography. A similar example can be found in the vita of Daniel the Stylite whose mother was barren ‘and was reproached for this by her husband (and kinsfolk)’ [vita of Daniel, ch. 2 (p. 8)]. Weinstein and Bell point out that the blame is usually apportioned to the wife: ‘To the neighbours her barrenness appeared to be due to some hidden sin or at least a lack of religious fervour’ [D. Weinstein and R. Bell in Saints and Society: the Two Worlds of Western Christendom 1000–1700 (University of Chicago Press: Chicago, 1982), 23]. h(gemoneu/ein: The prefect was the official known as the h9gemw~n or h9gou=menoj. In papyri a1rxwn was a general term that frequently designated a governor from the fifth century onwards. The office

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was already being employed by the middle of the fourth century [P. Lips. 33]. See Lallemand (1964), 60 and P. Jouguet, La vie municipale dans l’Égypte romaine (Bibliothèque des Écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome: Paris, 1911), 292–314 for the duties and ranking of an a1rxh. Also cited in Kriaras, attesting usage in the Late Byzantine period. Sekou=ndo/n: Sekoundos is untraceable in Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire or Prosopographia Imperii Romani. oi9 me_n tw~| fo/bw|… e0kru/ptonto: Eusebius gives a similar account in Eus: HE 8:3 – ‘many rulers of the church bore up heroically under horrible torments … while countless others, their souls already numbed with cowardice, promptly succumbed to the first onslaught. Of the rest … tortures’. 0Onou/frioj: The vita of an Onophrios is present in PG 73:211–22, 390 and in AASS June 3:24–30. See also F. Halkin, ‘La vie de saint Onuphre par Nicolas le Sinaïte’, Rivista di studi bizantini e neoellenici 24 (1987), 7–27. The vita is dated to c.400 (ODB III, 1527). Eckenstein quotes Nectarius’ epitome of Holy History (1805), 75 where Nectarius claims that Onouphrios was an early hermit of Sinai [L. Eckenstein, A History of Sinai (The Macmillan Co: London and New York, 1921), 95]. The monk’s retreat was still being pointed out to travellers in Baedeker: Lower Egypt (1895), 270. However, there is no evidence whatsoever that this is the Onouphrios in our text. polu/rrafa: Much sewn; much patched. An unusual adjective attested only in early sources, such as Palladius: LH 13:6.

Chapter 3 69–70

pepoi/qhsin ou)… 0Arte/midoj ei!dwlon: Artemis was worshipped by women undergoing childbirth and as a fertility goddess: Acts 19:24 (to\ th=j mega/lhj 0Arte/midoj). As we see in the text, Artemis is referred to as ‘the great’ in literature [Xenophon, Eph. 1:11.5 – th\n mega/lhn 0Efesi/wn 0Artemin and in, for example, an inscription from the aqueduct of Ephesus [Corpus Inscriptionem Graecarum 2963c – thj mega/lhj Qea/j 0Arte/mi]doj. For the negative context of seeing Artemis as pagan ideal, see, for example, vita of Michael Synkellos, ch. 18:9–10.

Chapter 4 91

qemeliw/santa th_n gh=n: This is the profession of faith, often avowed in martyr trials. See also the Acts of Fructuosus 2:4; martyrdom of Pionius 8:3; Acts of Euplus B2:5; Acts of Crispina 1:7 and the Latin

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Acts of Phileas 3:4 as just a few examples – all in H. Musrillo, The Acts of the Christian Martyrs (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1972). 96–7 su_ la/be … a(gi/ou bapti/smatoj: cf. vita of Thekla: mo/non do/j moi e0n Xristw~| sfragi=da [G. Dagron (ed. and tr.), vie et miracles de Sainte Thècle (Societé des Bollandistes: Brussels, 1978)], 14:33]. The ‘seal’ was one of the earliest and commonest Christian ways of referring to baptism. Although the term denoted a mark of ownership and protection (as sheep of the flock, for example), it pointed to another mark, circumcision, which was also called the ‘seal’. This was the mark of God’s covenant with Abraham. The Didascalia Apostolorum (whose author was an anonymous Syrian bishop) indicates that the term grew from the original pre-baptismal practice of having the sign of the cross traced on the candidate’s forehead, very often with oil. The anointing marked the baptized out as a member of God’s new ‘peoples’, just as circumcision had once marked out the member of the ‘people’ (of Israel). Paul, in the letter to the Colossians (2:11), denotes baptism as ‘circumcision made without hands’ (peritomh=| a0xeiropoih/tw|). By the time of the Didascalia, prebaptismal anointing is extended to the whole body. 97 kruptw~j: There is pronounced emphasis on secrecy throughout the narrative. Christians who are discreet in their worship or who do not practise openly are condoned in this text following Christ’s injunction to his disciples: ‘when they persecute you in one town, flee to the next’ (Matthew 10:23). Their behaviour directly contrasts with those who are disparaged in, for example, the martyrdom of Pionius (L. Robert, Le martyre de Pionios, prêtre de Smyrne (Dumbarton Oaks: Washington DC, 1994), 2:4; 4:1. One reason for the differing attitudes in Pionios is because it is a much earlier text and is an actual account. 99–101 ei0 e0gw/… pi/sthj mou: cf. 1 Corinthians 14 – ‘for the unbelieving husband is consecrated through his wife and the unbelieving wife is consecrated through her husband.’ Gleukippe is given biblical assurance. See vita of Melania for the same dilemma [Clark (1984), ch. 5 (p. 29)].

Chapter 5 115

ta_ musth/ria tw~n xristianw~n: Bauer: musth=ria is found only once in the gospels (Mark 4:11), where the disciples ask for an explanation of the parables. Jesus replies, ‘u9mi=n to\ musth/rion de/dotai th=j basilei/aj tou= Qeou=. musth=ria occurs twenty-one times in Pauline literature as a secret or a mystery too profound for human comprehension. The plural form is used to denote Christian teaching, as in this case, by the apostles and teachers as in 1 Corinthians 4:1

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oi0kono/mouj musthri/wn Qeou=. Not all Christians are capable of understanding all the mysteries (see 1 Corinthians 14:2 for reference to speaking in tongues), therefore, the possession of all mysteries is a great joy (1 Corinthians 13:2). The Greek Church now recognizes seven mysteries: ba/ptisma, xri/sma, eu0xaristi/a, i9erwsu/nh, meta/noia, ga/moj, eu0xe/laion. sugkaqeu/dein: Only in LSJ: h9 sugkaqeu/dhsij is sexual intercourse. An explicit connection is made between intercourse and pollution, which prepares the ground for Galaktion and Episteme’s virginal union as explained in Chapter 3. sune/laben: Luke 1:24 (Elizabeth) and Gen 25:21–2 (Rebecca). Hippocr. Aph. 5:46 (mh\ cullamba/nousin e0n gastri\ [Littré (ed.), vol. 4, p. 548]. The use of this term, which is associated with these women who were also previously sterile, highlights Gleukippe’s condition and the enormity of her situation. steirw/sew/j: Luke 1:7 (Elizabeth); Hebrews 11:11 (Sarah). Galaktion’s similarity to Christ is emphasized as both are conceived immaculately. A saint must, of necessity, parallel the life of Christ in various forms.

Chapter 6 154

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a)ndrunqe/ntoj: Only one mention in Greek literature: Historia Alexandri Magni Recensio G. 13.1, an historical romance/epic of uncertain date. The word is used in the same context when describing Alexander. Lampe: in passive: grow to manhood. 156–60 w3ste eu)xerw~j … a)gnoei=n au)to/n: ta\ grammata or ta\ i9era gra/mmata indicate more formal schooling. The phrases can cover a range of educational situations. It is probable that the texts on which reading and writing were based were selections from Scripture and the vitae of martyrs and saints. In the vita of Nicolas the Studite, propaidei/a indicates a higher level of education, which Galaktion seems to have undertaken, given the range of his subjects. filosofikh/n could indicate theology [R. Browning, ‘Literacy in the Byzantine world”, BMGS 4 (1978), 39–54; P. Lemerle, Le premier humanisme byzantin (Presses universitaires de France: Paris, 1971), 99–100; A. Moffatt, ‘Schooling in the iconoclast centuries’ in A. Bryer and J. Herrin (eds.), Iconoclasm (University of Birmingham Press: Birmingham, 1977), 85–92]. See also the vita of Michael Synkellos who also undergoes propaideia and learns ‘grammar, rhetoric and philosophy … not only these subjects did he learn, but what is best of poetry and astronomy as well’ (ch. 2:27–31). It is standard practice for a saint to race through

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161–2

early education confidently and to excel. Cunningham makes the point that this can be traced back to Christ’s conversations with the doctors in the Temple: Luke 2:46–8 [vita of Michael Synkellos, p. 25]. genome/nou de\... au)tw~| gunai=ka: It is Galaktion’s father who is keen for him to marry; Galaktion has shown no inclination to do so, in the same way as Julian. To see how this reluctance fits into a general schema of celibate marriages in hagiography, see Chapter 2 and Chapter 5.

Chapter 7

169–70 kai\ o9 patri\... gambrw~| au)tou=: The problem is dealt with by Galaktion’s father-in-law at Episteme’s instigation, cf. John The Almsgiver, ch. 3 where a similar intercession occurs though this is due to the observation of the father-in-law: ‘Finally his father-in-law noticed what was happening, became very angry and threatened to brand with guilt the purpose of his guiltless son-in-law’. Two points arise. First, in the VGE, Episteme’s role is strengthened and deliberately emphasized as it is she who complains to her father and secondly, in John’s case, he yields to what is termed, ‘the lawful intercourse of married life’. No such pronouncement occurs in our vita, which continually toys between the boundaries of reality and fiction. 172 profasisa/menoj: In Mark 12:40 and Luke 20:47 profa/sei indicates a display of piety to secure confidence in someone. Galaktion is not exactly being pious but he is try to win Episteme’s confidence as he explains why he is not embracing her. 179 h( i9erwsu/nh: Found only twice in the nominative singular in Theodoretus, Interpretatio in XIV epistulas Sancti Pauli (PG 82:36– 877); Sophokles: priesthood, citing Epiphanius, Adversus Haereses II.I – ta\ xari/smata thj i9erwsu/nhj (PG 41:I.868D). 181 e0n tw~| kh/pw|: See Chapter 1 for how this alludes to the ancient novels. o)qoni/ou: A linen garment that appears in Palladius: LH 1:2.

Chapter 8 186

th=| de\ o)gdo/h| h(me/ra| a)polousame/nh: See A. Sharf, ‘The eighth day of the week’, in Kaqhghtria: Essays presented to Joan Hussey (Porphyrogenitus: Surrey, 1988), 27–50. All mention of eight days in the Bible is linked to circumcision and baptism (‘circumcision without hands’) in the Syriac tradition. Luke 1:59 refers to the eight day as the day of circumcision (e0n th=| h9mera th=| o0gdo/h|) as does Acts 7:8 (th=| h9mera| th=| o0gdo/h|). This day is symbolic of the Resurrection

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and Age to come but is also connected with the act of chrismation, when a week later, the final washing of the initiate occurs. This water is then poured out in the garden, as it is too sacred to mingle the common sewage. The processes Gleukippe and Episteme undergo – instruction, taking the seal and purification – echo those described by Gregory of Nazianzus: ‘the entire process of baptism required three stages: one of purification (exorcism and washing), one where that who has been purified was now ‘prepared’ and protected through anointing and sealing; and one in which the new ‘faith’ was written onto the surface thus cleansed and prepared’ [S. Elm, ‘Inscriptions and conversions: Gregory of Nazianzus on baptism (Or. 38–40)’ in K. Mills and A. Grafton (eds.), Conversion in Late Antiquity and The Middle Ages: Seeing and Believing (University of Rochester Press: New York, 2003), 18–19]. sunqh/kaj: This term was also used for a contract of marriage and was present in marriage vows. It is attested in papyri such as P. Oxy 6.903.18 (fourth century)], which concerns an elaborate indictment of a husband by his wife who gives a circumstantial account of the former’s violent/insulting behaviour extending over a considerable period of time. ‘Whereupon a marriage deed was made (kai\ gamiko\n ge/gonen) and after this agreement (sunqh/kaj) and his oaths, he again hid the keys from me’. This couple was originally united by an a0grafoj ga/moj and subsequently by a regular contract. The ‘promise’ that Galaktion asks from Episteme is thus an inversion of a marriage vow. a)paqei/aj: Apatheia was a key element of Symeon the New Theologian’s discourse [H. Alfeyev, St. Symeon the New Theologian and Orthodox Tradition (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 2001), 249–55]. For Symeon, attaining apatheia was a pinnacle of spiritual awareness (idem 253), but he distinguishes between apatheia of the soul, which is a higher state than that of the body (idem 254). Alfeyev traces the evolution of the term from Classical to Christian authors, noting its Stoic origin of ‘indifference’ (249). John Climacus wrote, ‘dispassion possesses the beauty of virtues’ [Ladder 29 (1148B), cited by Alfeyev (250)], neatly encapsulating the ethos behind Episteme’s desire. Earlier writers used apatheia to speak of control over desire. In the Apophthegmata this would often apply to mastering desire for women [idem 251]. Thus Abba Serapion tested himself by going to a prostitute and spent the night reciting the Psalms (Serapion 1). See also T. Špidlík’s definition in The Spirituality of the Christian East, A. P. Gythiel (tr.) (Cistercian Studies: Kalamazoo, 1986), 100: ‘The mind’s freedom from and independence of the fleshly pathos (passion), the victory over sexuality and thence virginity with all its prerogatives.’ Apatheia is thus a very appropriate term to use at this moment.

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Chapter 9

217–18 su_ eu)trepi/sqhti … ta_ o3moia pra/ttwn: Galaktion and Episteme’s disposal of their possessions and abandonment of their everyday lives is discussed in Chapter 4 where Episteme’s donation of her jewellery is read as a commentary on her virginal status. The precedent for renunciation of the worldly life is found, for example, in Matthew 16:24 and was first taken literally by St. Antony [Athanasius, vita Antonii (PG 26, col. 841)]. Once again, Galaktion’s resemblance to the Christ-figure is strengthened and confirms the notion of the saint as icon. 223–5 h( kuri/a mou )Episth/mh …die/neimen pe/nhsin: See Isaiah 3:16–23 where the corruption of mankind and human vice is manifested in the ‘finery of anklets’. Coon discusses this reference briefly, describing how ‘the adorned body of a woman is the physical representation of human sin’ [L. Coon, Sacred Fictions: Holy Women and Hagiography in Late Antiquity (University of Pennsylvania Press: Philadelphia, 1997), 31]. See also discussion in Chapter 5. 227 to_ o!roj Pou/plion: My search for the location of Mount Pouplion, as in the quest for the governors, Sekoundos and Oursos, has been fruitless. However, the narrative later refers to Mount Sinai (255–256) [Barrington Atlas: Map 76, C3. Directory, vol. 2: Sinai: 1140–1146 [Talbert (2000)]. From descriptions of the Sinai region, it appears that the mountain opposite the monastery of Saint Catherine is called Mount Episteme while many speak of Galaktion and Episteme as if they were actual martyrs: Skrobucha writes, ‘among these Christian refugees must certainly be included Galaktion and his wife Episteme who journey from Emesa and settled on a mountain near the Mountain of law … the martyrs’ bodies were brought back to Sinai by Eutolmios, their former slave, and henceforth a hollow in the mountains bore the name of Episteme. These first martyrs from Sinai were followed by many more’ [H. Skrobucha, Sinai (Oxford University Press: London and New York, 1966), 19]. The nineteenth-century Léon de Laborde writes, ‘I shall here, however, content myself with quoting a description, already grown old, of the exterior of the convent (St. Catherine), given by the superior of the Franciscans, in the account of the journey he made in 1722: “the mountain situated to the north east is dedicated to St. Bestin (St. Episteme), the other, to the right, is Mount Horeb; between both is the convent of Sinai”’ [M. Léon de Laborde in Journey through Arabia Petraea to Mount Sinai and the Excavated City of Petra (J. Murray: London, 1836), 229]. Eckenstein relates, ‘the settlement where Episteme dwelt was afterwards allotted to the slaves who were brought into Sinai and appointed to serve the convent by the emperor

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Justinian. The settlement lay on a slope north east of the convent facing the valley and was pointed out to Bishop Pococke in 1734’. She vainly attempts to link Pouplion to the site of the Burning Bush: ‘Pouplios’ (Rubus, the Bush?) [Eckenstein (1921), 97–8]. Bishop Pococke’s eighteenth-century account (1743–1745), mentions that at ‘the south-west corner of Mount Episteme (my emphasis) at the entrance both into the valley of Sheik Salem and into that of the convent from the valley of Rahah, there is a little hill called by the Arabs Araone’ [Bishop Pococke, A Description of the East and Some Other Countries (printed for the author: London, 1743–1745), 147]. See M. -F. Auzépy, Vie de Etienne le jeune (Variorum: Aldershot, 1997), 112:23–113:6 where Mount Auxentios is named also the ‘mountain of God, Choreb, Carmel, Sinai, Tabor, Lebanon or the Holy City’, thus attesting to Sinai’s standing in this period (the eighth century). a0delfa_j … grai%daj te/ssaraj: In the expanded fifth/sixth century Acts of Paul and Thekla, Thekla dwells in a cave for a while and manages to attract a small group of female disciples who eventually practise asceticism [Lipsius and Bonnet (eds.), Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha (Hildesheim, 1959), 271]. S. Davis sees this as a reflection on female monastic practices in fifth-century Egypt in Davis (2001), 55–64; 87–112. Egeria tells of one Marthana, a deaconess at Hagia Thekla, who is specifically mentioned as being in charge of a holy group of virgins [J. Wilkinson (tr.), Egeria’s Travels to the Holy Land (Aris and Phillips: Warminster, 1981), 23.3] In the VGE the analogy is probably meant to remind the audience implicitly of Thekla. See notes for chapter 12. to_ a)skhth/rion: Socrates:HE 4:23 has one note for this term in his chapter on those leading the solitary life. a0skhth/rion there means an ascetic apartment. As a habitation for women, see Justinian, nov.59.4. Centuries later, Psellos utilizes it twice for different purposes: a sacred building and a refuge (for rehabilitating prostitutes): Chronographia 4:31.12; 4:37.14. katagw/gion: In ecclesiastical writings such as those of Chrysostom, the word indicates a sacred refuge. It is also present in Palladius: LH 24:1 and Theodoret Hist. Rel. 3 and specifically noted as a monastery guesthouse in Palladius: LH 19:2. In later literature, for example in Anna Comnena, it means a ‘dwelling place’ or ‘refuge’ with no connotations of sanctity. There is a possibility that the VGE was created or, at least, re-worked in the ninth century. In this period, monasticism was coming to the fore and those who espoused the eremitic life were scorned. Kazhdan observes how, in the tenth century, Mount Athos ‘became an arena of severe struggle between the hermits and the cenobitic organization, incarnated especially in the person of Athanasios of

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Athos’ [A. Kazhdan, ‘Hermitic, cenobitic and secular ideals in ninthcentury hagiography’, Greek Orthodox Theological Review30 (1985), 473–87; this part, 476]. Being a hermit was now the first step before founding a monastery and even if one wished to pursue a solitary life, the endeavour was best undertaken near to a monastery, as happened with Athanasios of Athos and Lazaros Galesiotes (one of the last stylites of the eleventh century). One of the best examples of this type of devotional living is Stephen the Younger who lived both an eremitic and cenobitic life (477). Kazhdan points out (478) that during iconoclasm, Theodore Studies and his followers used the monastic organization to their benefit as an ideal and many contemporary vitae incorporate monastic asceticism. He cites the vita of Evariostos as an example, ‘fasting, sleeping on the ground, vigils, rejection of washing, shedding tears, constant moaning, unceasing singing of psalms and so on up to the cleanness of the soul and the body’ [BHG 2153, Ch. Van de Vorst (ed.) (1923), pp. 311–14] and Irene of Chrysobalanton [BHG 952; AASS 6 July, 611B]. All this has importance for the VGE as it could explain why the couple settles in retreats. The experience is not wholly hermitic as they live in communities. Galaktion has a hegoumenos (11.264–5) and Episteme, a deaconess (12.284; 291). We also have an extended description of Galaktion’s asceticism as detailed above, which might be a topos and part of his training for future sanctity but it is also current in the hagiography as mentioned above. The superiority of monks over hermits [Kazhdan (1985), 479] could also be reflected in the vita in the numerous allusions to monks who are key figures throughout. For this, see Chapter 2.

Chapter 12 276

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285–6 298–9

fwsth=rej: Elm (2003), 16–17: Once one is baptized, a link is created between human and divine through light (‘divine splendour’). ‘Provided the human soul is properly purified, it, too, may be illuminated … The higher the degree of purification the greater that of illumination and the closer the link between man and the divine’. th=j diako/nou: Corpus Inscriptionem Graecarum II. 3037 has dia/konoj to/xh h9 d.; CIG II. 1800 refers to a college of dia/konoi where a female deacon is mentioned. A biblical precedent is Phoebe in Romans 16:1 (ou]san dia/konon th=j e0kklhsi/aj). to_n ku/rio/n mou Galakti/wna: Galaktion and Episteme’s bond still remains despite their separation and ascetic training. This is the main premise to the VGE. Qe/kla h( prwtoma/rtuj: Thekla is given this epithet as her Acts open. For Thekla in general, see Bowersock (1995), 75–6 and Davis (2001).

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Episteme’s deaconess partially alludes to Thekla when cautioning Episteme about losing her virginity, a fate given heavy emphasis throughout the Acts: ‘Blessed are the bodies of the virgins, for they will be well-pleasing to God and will not lose the reward of their purity’ (Acts of Thekla 7). However, the deaconess’ reference to Thekla as an exemplum can be read at another level. The VGE’s hagiographer subtly replicates certain elements of the narrative. For example, the setting of both the Acts of Paul and Thekla and the VGE is Asia Minor: Iconium (Seleucia) for the former and Emesa for latter and the monk who shelters Paul is called Onesiphoros, which is very similar to the Onouphrios who converts Gleukippe. For an extended discussion, see Chapter 1. The parallels outlined in the Chapter cannot be coincidental. Since the VGE has many attributes of a novel and since the Acts are regarded as Christianized versions of such, the vita once again highlights the malleable nature of hagiography.

Chapter 13 317

prokaqi/saj: There is no detail where the trial is taking place. Ou!rsoj: Oursos cannot be traced in Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire or Prosopographia Imperii Romani but his name (‘bear’) clearly indicates his temperament. 319ff le/gei: Bisbee has narrowed down the form of genuine trial/legal minutes to eight elements: ‘(1) extract-phrase (the word for commentarii – u9pomnhmatismw~n)(2) name and usually title of the presiding magistrate (3) date-formula (4) location of the trial (5) a presence-phrase (eg. paro/ntwn e0n sumbouli/wi) (6) a participants-formula (the names of the people involved) (7) a delegation-phrase (to indicate that the case has been ‘delegated’ to a subordinate magistrate or that there is a delegation from a city to a governor (p. 47) and finally (8) an “ellipsisphrase” (when phrases containing meq' e3tera for example, are used)’ [G. Bisbee, Pre-Decian Acts of Martyrs and Commentarii (Fortress Press: Philadelphia, 1988), 36]. In the VGE only element (2) occurs. Furthermore, Oursos makes no attempt to try and change Galaktion’s mind as in many martyr accounts. The entire trial scene does not match with those reckoned as genuine. For a fuller discussion, see Chapter 1. 319–20 ti/j u(pa/rxei o9 melanofo/roj ou{toj … au)tw~|: Galaktion and Episteme are wearing black thus fulfilling Episteme’s prophetic dream in 191. Note also the short and to the point interrogation scene in contrast to the usual epic passion. For the typical pattern of martyr trials, building on suspense, see Delehaye (1966), 256 and L. Grig, Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity (Duckworth: London, 2004), 39–42 for Western martyrs.

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bouneurize/sqw: Lampe: To beat with a whip formed from the tendon of an ox. Du Cange and Sophokles refer to the bou/neuron as a strap of raw ox hide used for beating offenders. It can also be found in the vita of St. George where George is scourged with scourges ‘made of the entrails of oxen’, [Frend (1993), 53]. There is only one late usage of the verb bouneurizein, in Leontius’ seventh-century vita of John the Almsgiver.

Chapter 14

339–40 e0tuflw/qh … pa/ntej: Delehaye notes that the chastisement most frequently inflicted on persecutors is the temporary loss of sight (metaphorical) [Delehaye (1966), 217], for example in the martyrdom of Sts. Victor and Corona [BHL 8559; AASS May 3:267]. The incident mostly ends with a new miracle; by the prayers of the martyr, the blind recover their sight. For a discussion of Episteme’s miracle and how it relates to her virginal status, see Chapter 4. 345 penthkontatrei=j: Throughout the VGE it is curious that the author often specifies quantities of objects and people or gives the age of the characters. A fondness for numbers is evident. Thus Galaktion is 25 when he is betrothed (6:161), Episteme sees 3 choruses of angels (8:190) and she gives away 2 belts, 1 necklace and 4 pairs of earrings (9:224). The couple travel for 10 days (9:226) and when they reach Pouplion, they find 12 monks and 4 nuns (9:228–9). Galaktion trains in asceticism for 6 years (10:247), the deaconess is 90 years old (10:249) and finally 53 people are blinded at the trial (14:345). Evagrius of Pontus (c.354–399) in his prologue to de oratione describes his interest in numbers, which he terms triangular, square, hexagonal [Harmless (2004), 339–41]. These are explained as follows: A triangular number is ‘the sum total of a continuous series of integers, starting with 1’, thus 1+2+3+4+5+6+7=28. A spherical number is ‘a number that when multiplied by itself, appears as the digit or digits of the new number’, thus 25 3 25 = 625.



A square number is the sum of odd numbers, starting with 1 i.e. 1+3=4. For Evagrius, ‘The Triangle symbolizes spiritual knowledge of the Trinity; the Hexagon symbolizes the order of the world created in 6 days … a Square figure express(es) the 4-fold nature of the virtues and also a Spherical number, which represents the time’s circular movement and so represents true knowledge of this age and the world’ [Harmless (2004), 339].

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Using his reasoning, it is possible that the numbers listed above fall into a pattern. Galaktion’s age (25) is a spherical number; the number 3 symbolizes the Trinity; 4 (pairs of earrings) is a square number (1+3); 10 (days traveling) is a triangular number (1+2+3+4); 12 (monks) is a combination of a triangular number (1+2=3) and a square number (1+3+5=9); 4 (nuns) is a square number (1+3); 6 (years of asceticism) is a triangular number (1+2+3); the age of the deaconess – 90 – is a combination of a triangular number (1+2+3+4+5+6+7+8 = 36), a square number (1+3+5+7+9+11+13=49) and a spherical number (5) and finally, the number of spectators – 53 – is the sum of 28 (1+2+3+4+5+6+7=28; triangular) and 25 (spherical). According to Beaujouan, ‘numbers are an allegorical way of sanctifying the hero’s journey. The poems in which the temporal and spatial distance are merely arithmetical generally fail to elaborate on the progression of the story and to portray the hero’s maturation’: G. Beaujouan, ‘Le Symbolisme des nombres à I’époque romance’, Cahiers de Civilisation Médivale 4 (1961), 159–60. Note also P. Johnson and B. Cazelles: Le Vain Siecle Guerpir: a Literary Approach to Sainthood through Old French Hagiography of the Twelfth Century (University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill, 1979), 106, nt 17. 348 kala/mouj: Such a punishment also befalls Metras: Eus: HE 6:41 – pointed reeds are driven into his face and eyes (the trial occurred in Alexandria under Decius). In 8:12 pointed reeds are driven under the nails of both hands of the victim.

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a)pekefa/lisan: In the Acts of the Martyrs of Lyons (Acts of the Christian Martyrs 47), ‘all those who were thought to possess Roman citizenship he had beheaded; the rest he condemned to the criminals’. Decapitation was prescribed for Roman citizens [T. Barnes, ‘Pre-Decian acta martyrorum”, Journal of Theological Studies 19 (1968), 507–31]. This would technically link with the fact that inhabitants of Emesa were seen as Roman citizens after Caracalla’s edict.

Notes 1 James 1:22. 2 Romans 2:13. 3 James 1:22. 4 Philippians 3:1. 5 cf. Luke 19:23.

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6 cf. 1 Corinthians 7:13. 7 cf. Matthew 26:45, John 16:32. 8 Matthew 12:32. 9 Psalm 145:19. 10 Psalm 31:2, 71:2, 86:1. 11 Romans 8:36, Isaiah 53:7, Acts 8:32. 12 cf Revelation 2:10. 13 Revelation 5:13.

Appendix: the Afterlife of the VJB

The Luxeuil Lectionary The transmission history of the VJB is intriguing. In its Latin incarnations, it is possible to track the VJB as it wings its way from the eastern empire – from Antinoopolis to Antioch – over to the West, appearing in Spain, Gaul and, from the evidence of the Regula Magistri, Italy. What is most remarkable is that this epic journey can be traced from just one book, a seventh-century lectionary containing a Latin translation of the VJB. The lectionary was discovered by J. Mabillon in the monastery of Luxeuil in France,1 the home of Columbanus’ first community in Burgundy, established in the 590s.2 Under the firm guidance of the Irish monk, the monastery with its famous scriptorium had a tremendous impact on Merovingian monasticism, emphasizing asceticism and austerity.3 Based on palaeographical evidence, E. A. Lowe demonstrated that the lectionary (Paris B. N. lat 9724)4 was written at Luxeuil in the late seventh or early eighth century.5 Luxeuil’s earliest extant manuscript has been dated to 669.6 Of the nineteen Latin copies of the VJB known to exist, the lectionary is the earliest witness, yet it is not used in the Bollandists’ edition in the Acta Sanctorum7 nor does Traube mention it in Monumenta Germania Poetae Latini aevi Carolini.8 The Luxeuil lectionary is clearly of immense importance since the version in the Acta Sanctorum has many variant readings.9 Furthermore, de Vogüé uses Luxeuil as his source for citations of the VJB in the Regula Magistri, which in turn has consequences for the transmission history and date of the vita. Before we look at the geographical range of the VJB, the lectionary can help settle one of the VJB’s many puzzles: why Julian’s veneration spans various dates in January and in June.

The dates of Julian’s veneration In the Luxeuil lectionary the VJB (vita and passio) is read during Epiphany (fol 33–72r: vita et passio sancti ac beatissimi Iuliani martyris).10 There has been lengthy debate among scholars over why the vita is included as the reading for the night of the vigil, on 5 January,11 since the date of Julian’s martyrdom is commemorated in the Greek Synaxarion12 on 8 January13 and 21 June.14 Jerome’s martyrology also places him on 8 January but the Martyrologium Romanum lists him under 9 January.15 The context to this is that a lectionary constituted a

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collection of readings that were read out on the appropriate day of the Church’s calendar. The Pre-Nicene Calendar celebrated Sundays, the feasts of Easter and Pentecost.16 Saints’ days were added in by the second century and by the fourth century, coinciding with a growing interest in historical awareness of Christianity, the idea of celebrating the saints on their death day and in their locality became ever more popular.17 In this period, the formalization of the liturgical calendar (for example by organizing Lent into a series of festive days) meant that the choice of New Testament passages to illustrate the text of a feast day was more or less fixed. Establishing a definitive text was important for the instruction of catechumens18 though surviving cathecheses reveal that there was flexibility between churches.19 The confusion over Julian’s dates arises from the passio where two dates are given: Julian’s martyrdom happened on 21 June: e1paqon de\ oi9 e0ndoco/tatoi ma/rturej … pro\ de/ka kalandw~n i0ouli/wn,20 which squares with one of the Synaxarion dates. The final miracle reveals one more date: ten lepers are healed in the Church of Julian where his relics are buried and this is said to happen e0n h=| h9me/ra| tou= pa/qouj au0tou=, tou=t' e1stin th=| 'Epifanei/aj.21 Thus Julian’s passion is considered to fall on the feast of Epiphany (6 January), hence his inclusion for that particular day. Given that he is also commemorated on 8 and 9 January, then we might propose that Julian is venerated throughout the octave of Epiphany.

Julian and Basilissa’s celibate marriage The vita also helps to clarify why the text was chosen to illustrate the New Testament passages read on 6 January: John 2:1–12 is the account of the Wedding at Cana. Two other lectionaries use these verses for Epiphany: the Bobbio Missal22 and the Wolfenbüttel Weissenbuch 76,23 indicating that this Gospel passage was a fairly standard text to use to illustrate Epiphany, especially as it describes the first of Jesus’ seven miracles. As we know, Julian and Basilissa’s story falls into two clear sections: the vita of Julian and Basilissa (where she dies of ‘natural’ causes) and the passio of Julian and his companions. What is interesting is that even though the title of the text in the lectionary does not include Basilissa’s name, the story of the couple’s early life together is included. In this section the author describes Julian and Basilissa’s decision to have a celibate marriage. Their commitment to a virginal union is celebrated by a vision of Christ Himself with Mary and tens of thousands of angels and so the unqualified divine approval meeting the couple’s decision, allows this illustration of the true nature of marriage to accompany the account of the Wedding at Cana.

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Julian’s relics Julian and Basilissa’s presence in the lectionary can also help shed light on the question of its ultimate destination. Though it was found at Luxeuil, the identity of the book’s intended church was unknown. One clue, however, is the importance given to the vita and passio within the lectionary: it is the only text to have a whole page devoted to its lavishly illustrated title (fol. 32)24 whose letters sit beneath a colonnaded portico capped by three arches. Three birds are depicted below and five lines of capitals are coloured in yellow, red and green.25 As only Julian’s name appears on the title page, many scholars believe that the lectionary was destined for a church of Julian26 but many saint Julians exist and Julian of Antinoopolis has been confused with Julian the Hospitaler as well as with St. Julien of Brioude and St. Julien le Pauvre. However, the discovery of a saint Julian’s relics in 1648 connects the Luxeuil lectionary with Julian of Antinoopolis. When workmen entered a chapel of Morigny, near Étampes, to repair the main altar, they discovered a lead casket placed in a small vault beneath the altar, the contents of which would clarify this part of the puzzle.27 They ran to fetch the authorities and the casket was opened. Inside lay a partial piece of a skull, an arm bone in three pieces, a vertebrate bone and some powdered bone. An engraved plaque read: Hic iacet caput St. Iuliani martiris, quod Severinus attulit de Antiochia civitate, temporibus Brunegildis Reginae. On the reverse the letters spelt out, De ossibus St. Christophori. Brachium St. Gamalielis. A mysterious Severinus, therefore, bore Julian’s relics from Antioch (not Antinoopolis) to Gaul at some point in time.28 The confusion between Antioch and Antinoopolis as Julian’s place of origin was noted in the Acta Sanctorum.29 Gregory of Tours also believed that Julian originated from Antioch,30 though the Greek vita and passio make it abundantly clear that he lived and died in Antinoopolis. After Julian is martyred on the 21 June,31 his relics are buried under the altar of the ‘Great Church’: ta\ a3gia lei/yana … e1qayan e0n th=| mega/lh| e0kklhsi/a| u9po\ to\ qusiasth/rion.32 As noted in the notes to the VJB, there is no mention of such a church in the papyri of Antinoopolis. The burial could not have taken place immediately given that it was still a time of persecution but if the date of Julian’s passion is considered to fall during Epiphany then the narrative accordingly suggests that the relics could have been transferred from Antinoopolis to Antioch where they were finally buried. Thus, Julian was martyred on 21 June in Antinoopolis and buried in Antioch during Epiphany.33 The inscription found with the relics at Morigny supports my hypothesis that part of Julian’s body was transferred to Antioch.

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Queen Brunhild and the Spanish Connection From the plaque found with the relics, we know that Julian was brought from Syria to Gaul during the reign of Queen Brunhild. She was a Visigothic princess who married King Sigibert of France in the late 560s but was later executed in 613 after a very active political career.34 The inscription suggests that Brunhild donated them to the church of Morigny, a foundation she is said to have established.35 The Chronicle of Morigny (1095–1152) relates that in its earliest years a church of St. Julian was given to Morigny: ecclesiam Sancti Juliani, ubi antea fuerat abbatia sanctimonialum, dedit nobis Emmauricus, Stanpensis oppidanus, vir egregius, filiis suis et (fol 63) uxore concedentibus; quam multi monachi, etiam data multa pecunia, voluerunt nobis subripere, sed, gracia Dei, non potuerunt prevalere.36

We then learn that it was prope turrim Brunchildis sitam.37 Emmauricus is unknown and though Brunhild is not specifically associated with the relics in this narrative, Julian’s church is definitely part of her foundation at Morigny and situated near her tower. Brunhild is also said to have donated part of Julian’s skull to a church of the ‘chanoinesses régulières’ of Saint Basilissa at Paris,38 providing further confirmation of the close association of the two saints. Thus the prominence given to the vita in the lectionary indicates that the book was intended for a church or abbey of Julian. The discovery of the relics means that the church belonging to Morigny was the likely destination of the Luxeuil lectionary.39 Why the lectionary was found at Luxeuil and not Morigny is uncertain. Perhaps it never reached its destination or was returned to Luxeuil before the destruction of the Morigny church. The findings at Morigny also mean that the relics of Saint Julian can be located in a certain area of Merovingian Gaul at a certain time, namely Brunhild’s lifetime.

The Latin version of the VJB The connection with Queen Brunhild and therefore Spain can help plot the journey of Julian’s relics from the eastern to western Byzantine Empire. The lectionary is an extremely important witness for the study of the transmission of the Vulgate as it contains several lessons from the Old and New Testaments. If the various manuscripts of the Vulgate40 are grouped into families and compared with the Luxeuil texts, one result dominates over all the others: a very close relationship between Luxeuil and the group of Spanish manuscripts.41 Such a great affinity does not exist for the Old Testament groups but nevertheless more so than for the other manuscripts.42 If the text of Isaiah is used as a control,43 then from twenty readings of ‘témoins rares’, Luxeuil is found to be similar to the Spanish group no less than ten times. Salmon concluded that

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the ‘biblical text of the Old Testament used by the Luxeuil lectionary is of the Vulgate, apparently of the group of Spanish manuscripts and of a remarkable quality’.44 The same results appear with the New Testament readings; when a study of Acts is undertaken, yet again the Spanish group is seen as closest to Luxeuil.45 The Spanish provenance of the lectionary could be associated with Brunhild. She was a Visigothic princess and according to Gregory of Tours, relations were maintained between Spain and Gaul.46 The fact that when Columbanus, the founder of the Luxeuil monastery, arrived in Gaul in the 590s, his patron was none other than Brunhild’s son, Childebert, shows the close links between Brunhild and the monastery.47 Luxeuil was also one of the most prominent scriptoria of the period. In terms of transmission, I earlier hypothesized that ‘it is very possible that the removal of Julian’s relics from Syria to Gaul during Brunhild’s reign prompted the translation of his vita into Latin’, noting ‘or a copy of an earlier manuscript, which has not survived’.48 The evidence of the RM proves that there was, in fact, an earlier extant version but Luxeuil is more or less an exact copy since citations in the Regula are taken from it. Moreover, the Spanish connection of witnesses raises interesting questions concerning Spain as an important intermediary for the transmission of Eastern texts to the West.49 Queen Brunhild evidently played a very important role in the transmission of the text. Julian’s relics were transferred to Gaul during her reign and eventually re-discovered in one of her churches. Brunhild had close links with Luxeuil and she maintained connections with her homeland of Spain. The Spanish nature of the lectionary indicates that though the liturgical book was composed after her death, the links she had established may well have stimulated the Latin translation of the passio. Above all, the Luxeuil lectionary exemplifies the importance of Western witnesses in the transmission of Eastern texts in the late seventh century, illustrating clearly that the two halves of the Empire cannot be separated when we consider how texts were diffused throughout the Byzantine world. Luxeuil exemplifies an interaction that continues right up to the fifteenth century. Notes This article was first published as ‘The Luxeuil connection: The transmission of the vita of Julian & Basilissa’ in C. Dendrinos et al. (2003) 131–6. I am very grateful to Ashgate for permission to re-publish and revise my earlier findings. 2 Mabillon discovered the lectionary in 1683 and published it in his De Liturgia Gallicana II (Paris, 1719). It is reproduced in PL 74. 3 Jonas, vita Columbani I. 14 (ed.), B. Krusch, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores Rerum Monumentis 4 (Bibliopolii Hahniani: Hannover, 1905). See I. Wood, The Merovingian Kingdoms 450–751 (Longman: London and New York, 1994) 195–6 for confusion in the primary sources for the date of Columbanus’ arrival. 4 For Luxeuil’s impact see P. Riché, ‘Centers of culture in Frankish Gaul between the sixth

1

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and ninth centuries’ in P. Riché (ed.), Instruction et vie religieuse dans le haut moyen age (Variorum Reprints: London, 1981) 230–3; I. Wood (1994) 191–7. For Luxeuil’s importance as a scriptorium see D. Ganz, ‘The Luxeuil prophets and Merovingian missionary strategies”, in Beinecke Studies in Early Manuscripts, The Yale University Library Gazette 66 (1991) 105–17; R. McKitterick, ‘The scriptoria of Merovingian Gaul: a survey of the evidence’, in H. Clarke and M. Brennan (eds), Columbanus and Merovingian Monasticism (BAR: Oxford, 1981) 177–82. For the extent of Columbanus’ authority see J. M. Wallace-Hadrill (tr.), Fredegar, The Fourth Book of the Chronicle of Fredegar (Thomas Nelson and sons: London and New York, 1960), IV: 36. 5 Salmon (1944). 6 E. A. Lowe, C. L. A V (Oxford, 1950) 18–19; idem, ‘The script of Luxeuil: a title vindicated’, RB 102 (1953) 132–42. 7 Manuscript. New York, Pierpoint Morgan M-334. See E. A. Lowe, Codices Latini Antiquiores XI, no. 1659 (Oxford, 1966) 8 9 January, 575ff. 9 III, 1 (1886) 91ff. 10 The same text is also found in Codex Velseri (like Luxeuil, dated to the seventh century). See de Gaiffier (1945) 48–55, esp. 49. See also Bibliothèque Munich, lat. 3514 cf. Catalogus Codicum Latinorum Bibliothecae Regiae Monacensis I. II (Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 1894) 99 and also the notice in AB 29 (1910) 7. 11 Salmon (1944) 27. 12 F. Masai, ‘Pour quelle église fut éxecuté le lectionnaire de Luxeuil?’, Scriptorium 2 (1948) 41; Salmon (1944), lxxiv–lxxv; xcv–xcviii. 13 H. Delehaye (ed.), Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae (Brussels, 1902). 14 a1qlhsij tou= a9gi/ou ma/rturou 'Ioulianou kai\ Basili/sshj kai\ tw~n su\n au0toi=j teleiwqe/ntwn. 15 H. Delehaye et al (eds.), Martyrologium Romanum (Brussels, 1940) a1qlhsij tw~n a9gi/wn martu/rwn 'Ioulianwn tou= e0n Ai0gu/ptw~ kai\ tw~n met' au0tou= teleiwqe/ntwn. Only Diocletian is listed as the persecuting emperor for this date. There is no mention of Maximian. Adding incorrectly that the martyrdom occurred in Antioch. 16 G. Dix, The Shape of the Liturgy (Dacre Press: London, 1945) 341. 17 idem 348. 18 idem361. 19 idem 361. 20 VJB 63:1390–2. 21 VJB 64:1401–2. 22 Paris. B.N. lat. 13246. 23 Salmon (1944), cvi. 24 idem xxviii;Masai (1948) 41. 25 This decoration is very similar to the illustration of the first missal of Easter in the Missale Gothicum. Both designs show an Irish influence: Salmon (1944), xxxviii. 26 Masai (1948) and Morin believed it was destined for Paris. See G. Morin, ‘Le lectionnaire de l’église de Paris au VIIIe siècle’, RB 10 (1893) 438–41; Salmon (1944) thought it was destined for Langres and C. Charlier, for Clermont: C. Charlier, ‘Note sur les origines de l’écriture dite de Luxeuil’, RB 63 (1948) 149–57. 27 Masai (1948) 44; P. Guérin, Les petits Bollandists: vies des saints de l’ancien et du Nouveau Testament du martyrs, des pères, des auteurs sacrés et ecclésiastiques des vénérables et autres personnes mortes en odeur de sainteté (Bloud et Barral: Paris, 1878, 1872–1874). See under 9 January. 28 Severinus was probably a bishop. 29 AASS Jan 1:571. 30 Gregory of Tours notes, ‘the two great cities of Antioch in Egypt and Apamea in Syria were captured by the Persians and their people were led into slavery (572/73 ce). It was then at that time that the Church of Saint Julian, the martyr of Antioch, was burnt down’. L. Thorpe (tr.), Gregory of Tours, The History of the Franks (Penguin: London, 1974), iv. 40. 31 VJB 63:1392.

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32 VJB 63:1392–3. 33 I am very grateful to Charlotte Roueché for this suggestion. 34 Wood (1994) 126–36; J. Nelson, ‘Queens as Jezebels: Brunhild and Balthild in Merovingian history’, in D. Baker, Medieval Women (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1978) 31–77. 35 Dom B. Fleureau, Les antiquitéz de la ville et du duché d’Estampes (Paris, 1683), chs. ix-x, states that Brunhild established ‘une petite abbaye de Religieuses’ nearby, which included a chapel of Saint Julian. 36 L. Mirot, La Chronique de Morigny (1095–1152) (Librairie Alphonse Picard et fils: Paris, 1909), I: 3. 37 Mirot (1909), II: 3, 12; Fleureau (1683), chapter ix. 38 Guérin (1878), Jan 9th. Also P. Piolin, Supplément aux vies des saints et spécialement aux petits Bollandists: d’après les documents hagiographiques les plus authentiques et les plus récents (Blond et Barral: Paris, 1885–1903). The church is not mentioned in the extensive list produced by Beaunier in La France monastique: recueil historique des archevêchés, évêches, abbayes et prieurés de France I: Province ecclésiastique de Paris (Ligugé: Abbaye Saint-Martin, Paris, 1905). 39 Masai (1948) 43ff also linked the relics to the vita in the lectionary. 40 Using Jerome’s edition: A. Gasquet (ed.), Biblia Sacra Iuxta Latinam Vulgatum Versionem ad Codicum Fidem Iussu Pii PP. XI (Typis Polyglottis Vaticanis: Rome, 1926–). 41 Salmon (1944), lvi. 42 idem lvi–lvii. 43 idem lvii. 44 idem lxi. 45 idem lxvii ff. 46 A representative of Brunhild is sent ‘on a mission to Spain to attend to the affairs of Queen Brunhild’ (v. 1): ‘Queen Brunhild had a great salver of incredible size made out of gold and precious gems. This she dispatched to the king in Spain, together with a pair of wooden dishes, commonly called basins, which were decorated with gold and jewels. She entrusted the commission to Ebregisel, for he had often been sent on missions to Spain’ (my emphasis) [Gregory Of Tours, The History of the Franks, ix. 28]. Salmon suggests that the cult of Saint Julian arrived in Gaul through Spain via Brunhild, see Salmon(1944), lxxvi. 47 Nelson (1986) 28. 48 Alwis (2003) 136. 49 J. Herrin, The Formation of Christendom (Basil Blackwell: Oxford, 1987) 232–49, esp. 246, has long recognized the ‘importance of Spain in the transmission of eastern material to Ireland and thence to Northumbria eventually to become an established feature of the English church’.

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Index Achilles Tatios 39–44, 141 Acts of Paul and Thekla 44–5 Acts of Thomas 113–14, 115–16 Amoun of Nitria 63, 113, 115, 116, 118–20 ancient novel 39–44, 62–3, 126–43, 295 Antinoopolis, Egypt 3, 31, 33, 70, 84, 216, 223, 226–8, 229, 235, 238, 244, 245, 309, 311 Antioch (Syria) 4, 37, 117, 123, 263–4, 266, 309, 311 Apocryphal Acts 44–5, 81–2, 112–13, 119, 127–32, 140 Athanasia, St characterization 35–8, 59–60, 103–5 dressing as a man 37–8, 60–2 audience 67–74 Basilissa, St characterization 100–2 creation of 33–4 speeches 68–9 blindness (spiritual) 45, 220–1, 232–3, 235 Consubstantial Trinity 6, 233–4 Daniel of Sketis 4, 7–8, 38, 61, 91, 103–4, 122–3, 125, 269, 270, 273–4, 275, 276 diegesis 122–3, 142, 293 double monasteries 226–7 Emesa (Syria) 5, 9, 39, 40–1, 66, 294–5, 302, 305, 307 Episteme, St 40–3, 105–7 eschatology 81, 83–6 Ethiopians (as demons) 240–1 family 51–7, 67–8, 87, 112–13, 114, 118, 132, spiritual family 54–7 Gregory of Tours 111, 113, 116, 119–21 hagiography 1, 2, 11, 12–16, 64, 71, 90, 123, 124, 125, 126, 142–3, intercourse 1–3

as distraction 86–8 as pollutant 3, 81–3, 266 lieux de mémoire 65–7 light imagery 218, 219–21, 225, 232–3, 237, 241 Luxeuil Lectionary 28–31, 34, 309–15 magic 130, 131, 231–2, 236, 237, 244 Margaret, St 61, 100, 105, 106 marriage 1–3 Andronikos & Athanasia’s 35–8, 58–62, 91–4, 265, 277 as bond 57, 59–60, 90–4, 99–109 celibate marriage 10–12, 42, 55–74, 63–5, 112–22 contracts 215–17 Galaktion & Episteme’s 62–3, 85, 91–4 Julian & Basilissa’s 55–7, 85, 91–4, 112–22, 304 wedding night 3, 32, 63, 93, 102, 111–13, 117, 119, 121, 218, 220 weddings 111, 113, 114, 115, 117, 119, 137, 217, 218 Martin and Maxima 113–20 (in Victor of Vita) medicine and healing 226, 232–3, 234–5 Melania the Younger, St 42, 64, 92, 93–4, 111, 126, 136–7, 138 Menas, St 275–7 Moschus, John 61, 269, 270–1, 276, 294 Nora, Pierre 14, 65 numbers 311–12 Oktokaidekaton 4, 8, 38, 261, 262, 263, 276 Pachomius 279–80 parents 52–7 renunciation 2, 52–7, 67–8 in Buddhism 51 in Hinduism 52

340 I n d e x Revelation, Book of 29, 83–4, 218, 240, 241, 242, 244, 248, 308 secrecy 88–90 Sketis 4, 8, 37, 260, 261, 262, 263, 272–3, 274 spiritually edifying tales 7, 60, 122–3, 124 Tabennesi 4, 260, 270, 273, 274–5, 277 Thekla, St 27, 42, 44–5, 128, 140, 271, 292, 298, 303, 304–5 Theophilos and Maria 113, 117–18, 119, 121–2 (in John of Ephesus) ‘transvestite’ saints 60–2, 104 Anastasia Patrikia, St 7, 61, 274 Euphrosyne, St 61–2, 103, 104 Victor of Vita 111, 114, 115, 120 virginity 11, 15, 32, 40, 55, 56, 62, 63, 69, 83, 85, 89, 93, 99–109, 188, 189, 193, 203, 219, 221, 224, 243, 292, 301, 305,

Vita of Adrian and Natalie 111, 126, 138–40, 295 Vita of Andronikos and Athanasia Daniel Cycle 7–8, 35–8, 125, 273 dating 7–8 Vita of Cecilia 12, 32–4, 57, 68, 89, 92, 94, 105, 111, 113, 115–17, 119–20, 215, 218, 295 Vita of Eustathios 111, 126–7, 132–5, 136, 137, 138, 140 Vita of Galaktion and Episteme dating 8–10 Vita of Julian and Basilissa dating 5–6 origins 27–34 Vita of Pelagia 111, 126, 136–7, 140 Vita of Theoktiste of Lesbos 111, 126, 137–8, 140, 141, 275 Vita of Xanthippe, Polyxena and Rebecca 111, 126–32, 137, 138 Vita of Xenophon 111, 126–7, 132–5, 136, 137, 138, 140