Cultures in Motion: Studies in the Medieval and Early Modern Periods 8323336318, 9788323336310

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgements
Introduction
Section I: NEW CONTEXTS FOR CLASSICAL PAGAN CULTURE
Anna Izdebska (Warsaw), The Attitudes of Medieval Arabic Intellectuals towards Pythagorean Philosophy: different approaches and ways of influence
Klementyna Aura Glińska (Paris), Transcribing ‘Elegiac Comedies’: transformation of Greek and Latin theatrical traditions in twelfth- and thirteenth-century poetry
Elżbieta Chrulska (Toruń), Between Distance and Identifi cation: reception of the ancient tradition in the Protestant religious poetry, the case of Wrocław, Gdańsk and Toruń in the context of Northern Humanism
Section II: NEW CONTEXTS FOR THE CHRISTIAN PAST
Christian Sahner (Princeton), Old Martyrs, New Martyrs and the Coming of Islam: writing hagiography after the conquests
Olga Grinchenko (Oxford), Slavonic Kontakaria and Their Byzantine Counterparts: adapting a liturgical tradition
Lilly Stammler (Oxford-Sofi a), Old Traditions and New Models: travelling monks in the late Byzantine hagiography from the Balkans
Barbara Grondkowska (Lublin), The Authority of the Church Fathers in Sixteenth-Century Polish Sermons: Jakub Wujek, Grzegorz of Żarnowiec and their postils
Section III: INTELLECTUAL INTERMEDIARIES BETWEEN CULTURES
Adam Izdebski (Cracow), Cultural Contacts between the Superpowers of Late Antiquity: the Syriac School of Nisibis and the transmission of Greek educational experience to the Persian Empire
Anna Horeczy (Warsaw), An Italian Intermediary in the Transmission of the Ancient Classical Traditions to Renaissance Poland: Leonardo Bruni and the Humanism in Cracow
Mykhaylo Yakubovych (Ostroh), Jan Latosz (1539–1608) and His Natural Philosophy: reception of Arabic science in early modern Poland
Piotr Chmiel (Warsaw), You Are Christians without a light from Heaven. A Pluriconfessional Encounter: an image of Georgians according to the seventeenth-century Theatine missionaries’ writings
Section IV: INTERCULTURAL CONTACTS AND DOMESTIC AGENDAS
Damian Jasiński (Toruń), Stories from Afar and a Local Star: the Eastern imagery in the Dialogues by Sulpicius Severus and his view on the Church in Gaul
Karolina Mroziewicz (Warsaw), ‛When the Turk Roamed around Belgrade’: the Ottomans’ advent to the Hungarian borderlands in the pre-Mohács Flugschriften

Citation preview

Publikacja finansowana w ramach programu Ministra Nauki i Szkolnictwa Wyższego pod nazwą „Narodowy Program Rozwoju Humanistyki” w latach 2012–2014

Praca recenzowana – patrz Acknowledgements EDITORIAL BOARD Maria Dzielska Maciej Salamon Małgorzata Smorąg-Różycka Michał Stachura Stanisław Turlej LANGUAGE EDITING Dr Jesse Simon COVER DESIGN Anna Siermontowska-Czaja On the cover: illustration from the folio 61r, entitled The thirty, sixty, and hundredfold fruits, manuscript Speculum virginum (shelfmark W. 72). Walters Art Museum

© Copyright by Adam Izdebski, Damian Jasiński & Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego First edition, Kraków 2014 All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, microfilming, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the Author and the Publisher.

ISBN 978-83-233-3631-0 ISSN 1230-4603

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CONTENTS Acknowledgements................................................................................................................. Introduction .............................................................................................................................

7 9

Section I NEW CONTEXTS FOR CLASSICAL PAGAN CULTURE Anna Izdebska (Warsaw), The Attitudes of Medieval Arabic Intellectuals towards Pythagorean Philosophy: different approaches and ways of influence ................... Klementyna Aura Glińska (Paris), Transcribing ‘Elegiac Comedies’: transformation of Greek and Latin theatrical traditions in twelfth- and thirteenth-century poetry ................................................................................................................................. Elżbieta Chrulska (Toruń), Between Distance and Identification: reception of the ancient tradition in the Protestant religious poetry, the case of Wrocław, Gdańsk and Toruń in the context of Northern Humanism ..................

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Section II NEW CONTEXTS FOR THE CHRISTIAN PAST Christian Sahner (Princeton), Old Martyrs, New Martyrs and the Coming of Islam: writing hagiography after the conquests ..................................................................... Olga Grinchenko (Oxford), Slavonic Kontakaria and Their Byzantine Counterparts: adapting a liturgical tradition ........................................................................................ Lilly Stammler (Oxford-Sofia), Old Traditions and New Models: travelling monks in the late Byzantine hagiography from the Balkans ................................................. Barbara Grondkowska (Lublin), The Authority of the Church Fathers in Sixteenth-Century Polish Sermons: Jakub Wujek, Grzegorz of Żarnowiec and their postils ................................................................................................................

89 113 131

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Section III INTELLECTUAL INTERMEDIARIES BETWEEN CULTURES Adam Izdebski (Cracow), Cultural Contacts between the Superpowers of Late Antiquity: the Syriac School of Nisibis and the transmission of Greek educational experience to the Persian Empire ............................................................ Anna Horeczy (Warsaw), An Italian Intermediary in the Transmission of the Ancient Classical Traditions to Renaissance Poland: Leonardo Bruni and the Humanism in Cracow............................................................................................................................ Mykhaylo Yakubovych (Ostroh), Jan Latosz (1539–1608) and His Natural Philosophy: reception of Arabic science in early modern Poland ..................................................

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Piotr Chmiel (Warsaw), You Are Christians without a light from Heaven. A Pluriconfessional Encounter: an image of Georgians according to the seventeenth-century Theatine missionaries’ writings ...................................

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Section IV INTERCULTURAL CONTACTS AND DOMESTIC AGENDAS Damian Jasiński (Toruń), Stories from Afar and a Local Star: the Eastern imagery in the Dialogues by Sulpicius Severus and his view on the Church in Gaul .............. Karolina Mroziewicz (Warsaw), ‛When the Turk Roamed around Belgrade’: the Ottomans’ advent to the Hungarian borderlands in the pre-Mohács Flugschriften ........................................................................................................................

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The authors and editors of this volume would like, first of all, to thank the Ministry of Research and Higher Education of the Republic of Poland and the Council of the National Programme for the Development of Humanities for the trust they placed in us by awarding us the necessary funding within their research scheme. We are also grateful to the anonymous individuals who drafted the rules of Module 2.1 of the Programme – promoting international and cross-disciplinary cooperation among PhD students and early postdocs – which encouraged us to set up the project from which the present volume has taken shape. Throughout the entire project, we received much valuable support from the official research advisor, Prof. Katarzyna Pachniak of the Oriental Faculty of the University of Warsaw. Another scholar who helped us during the course of the project was Dr Tomasz Wiślicz of the Institute of History of the Polish Academy of Sciences, who was a highly critical listener and respondent during the second work-inprogress meeting in January 2013. His insightful comments and challenging questions were essential to this book’s development. We would like to express our immense gratitude to our readers whose help in assuring the quality of the papers included in this book was invaluable: Bartosz Awianowicz (Toruń), Peter Brown (Princeton), Michael Cook (Princeton), Emily Cottrell (Berlin), Markus Friedrich (Erfurt), Mirosława Hanusiewicz-Lavallee (Lublin), James Howard-Johnston (Oxford), Marek Jankowiak (Oxford), David Kolbaia (Warsaw), Markus Koller (Bochum), Dariusz Kołodziejczyk (Warsaw), Petro Kraliuk (Ostroh), Marc Lauxtermann (Oxford), Halina Manikowska (Warsaw), Anissava Miltenova (Sofia), Przemysław Nehring (Toruń), Alexander Nikolov (Sofia), Włodzimierz Olszaniec (Warsaw), Wiesław Pawlak (Lublin), Oleh Petruk (Lviv), Darwin Smith (Paris), Gotthard Strohmaier (Berlin), Elżbieta Szabat (Warsaw), Edward Watts (San Diego), Izabela Winiarska-Górska (Warsaw), Robert Wiśniewski (Warsaw), Ilse De Vos (London), Jan Żelazny (Cracow). Of course, any faults or mistakes are ours. We would also like to thank the speakers and attendees who participated in the international conference on the intercultural transmission of intellectual traditions, which took place in September 2012 at the Institute of History of the Polish Academy of Sciences; the conference was an important step in the development of our team’s research. Apart from the Institute of History of the Polish Academy of Sciences, which hosted both the conference and the second work-in-progress meeting, we would like to express our warmest thanks to the Faculty of Philology of the Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń for hosting the first work-in-progress meeting in March 2012. We must also thank Dr Jesse Simon who, as a native English speaker and a scholar himself, suggested linguistic and stylistic corrections to our papers. Finally, we are grateful to Prof. Maciej Salamon, the editor of the Byzantina et Slavica Cracoviensia, and Dr hab. Sławomir Sprawski, the director of the Institute of History of the Jagiellonian University in Cracow, for agreeing to take our book into this respected series. 7

INTRODUCTION This book presents the results of a research project undertaken by a team of thirteen young scholars from Europe and North America. Our aim was to gather a group of colleagues from diverse disciplinary backgrounds studying similar phenomena in a variety of cultures. From the outset, we wanted to focus our research on the transmission of intellectual traditions between cultures in both the Medieval and early Modern periods (up to the seventeenth century). We defined the scope of our team research very broadly in order to encompass periods and regions which are usually studied separately; thus, we have chosen to begin with Late Antiquity, the final phase of the Graeco-Roman civilisation, as the point of departure for Medieval cultures. At the other end, we decided to study both the Renaissance and its seventeenth-century aftermath in Europe. For our geographical scope – which turned out to be a key determinant of disciplinary boundaries in the scholarship – we aimed to unite such cultural zones as the Middle East (both Christian and Muslim), the Caucasus, the Latin West and, finally, Central Europe, in particular the microcosms of late Medieval and Renaissance Poland, as well as Germany and Hungary. What began as a project on a single phenomenon – that is, intellectual traditions and their movements between cultures – soon revealed itself to be a topic that was much broader and more difficult to define, namely intercultural contact and cultural change in the Medieval and early Modern periods. This expansion of our topic proved to be one of the important results of gathering together students from various academic backgrounds and with a broad spectrum of interests. The transmission of intellectual traditions turned out to be better understood and conceptualised in the context of the entire process of intercultural communication and appropriation of elements from other cultures in the process of transforming one’s own. This also says something about our methodological approach. We do not propose one methodology, or even one point of view; rather, this book is a fusion of different approaches to history, and different techniques of thinking about historical sources and about texts. We hope, therefore, that our contribution to the current debates on intercultural transmission and cultural identity will consist of two elements. Firstly, our aim is to move away from the usual Western perspective of these debates by exploring a range of different cultural and geographical zones, especially those which may be less known to scholars working on the Latin West; our principal areas of investigation include Central Europe, the Byzantine-Slavonic world, and the Middle East. Secondly, from the point of view of our historiographical notions and theories, we wanted to find common ground and simplify communication, so that our papers could engage with each other. For this reason we have largely abstained from complex theoretical discussions; instead we have aimed to remain as close as possible to our evidence and let the sources themselves speak to our readers.

9

Introduction

This book can be read in various ways. One option is suggested by the book’s own organisation: the two initial sections deal with the appropriation of old models in new cultural contexts: the first with Classical pagan culture, the second with the ‘golden age’ of Christianity in Late Antiquity. In order to provide the reader with as wide an overview of this phenomenon as possible, each paper in these sections deals with a different type of reworked cultural material and a different geographical context. Moreover, we decided not to differentiate between transfers from other cultures and reworking of texts or ideas inherited from an earlier phase of the same culture. As a result, the first part of our book focuses on how the past was used to construct new cultures. By differentiating between the pagan and the Christian past, we wanted to highlight an important difference in the challenges faced by later cultural recipients. The effort at reconciling pagan legacies – simultaneously alien and crucial to one’s identity – with one’s professed religion may be found in the twelfth-century Latin West, the late Renaissance Protestant communities of German and Polish cities, as well as in the Medieval Arabic world. The Christian past, by contrast, possessed an authority which had remained relevant over the centuries and, therefore, required much less in the way of selection and reworking. This can be seen equally well in the early Medieval Middle East and in Renaissance Poland. Thanks to the relative ease with which these old models were reused, instances of this phenomenon can shed much light on the dynamic construction of identity within ‘recipient’ cultures. Finally, it is also worth noting that, for individuals and groups dealing with pagan heritage, expressions of reverence towards the adopted past often required the image of the past to be reworked considerably; however, when a Christian community drew from the sources of its Christian past or Christian neighbours – or more precisely, its mother Churches – the process of reception was often much more straightforward. The focus of the third section of the book is, in a sense, much more technical. It presents four case studies of individuals who acted as intermediaries between different cultural milieus. It thus substantiates the two previous sections with very concrete studies of the mechanisms through which intercultural contact took place. These mechanisms are almost never described directly by a single text and, thus, conclusions must be assembled from scattered pieces of information drawn from various types of sources. In this respect, it is interesting to observe how the growing availability of evidence increases the visibility of these mechanisms and facilitates new research on late Medieval and early Modern manuscripts and prints. The last section of the book ventures even further from traditional ways of studying the process of intercultural transmission. It examines how certain cultures were reimagined in order to justify or push a domestic agenda; we find examples of this type of transmission being used in internal controversies within local Churches, and also in political or military programmes. While the individual chapters in this section tend to be focused on one particular culture, they are nonetheless able to inform the reader about the functioning of the other culture within a recipient environment. At this point, it is worth noting that an important factor in many of the papers spread across the first three sections of our book is the role of religion in the process of intercultural transmission. Religion, of course, was a driving force that empowered and motivated individuals and groups to face great difficulties and also, in its own way, challenged the integration of new material into a particular cultural milieu. Both 10

Introduction

Christianity and Islam – the two religions which appear most often in this volume – acquired their final form during the ‘long’ Late Antiquity, a chronological span stretching from the fourth to the ninth century; moreover, these religious traditions were very much shaped by the culture within which they developed. If Late Antiquity represents the final phase of Graeco-Roman development, we may reasonably suggest that Classical heritage was at the very centre of the cultural context in which both Islam and Christianity matured. Consequently, in the later periods, this same Graeco-Roman heritage – quite often in its final, late antique version – provided a resource from which new practices, ideas and identities could be forged. Finally, if we broaden our definition of religious identity to encompass not only the great religious traditions – in this case, Islam and Christianity – but also those philosophical systems which aimed at describing both the human condition and the human relationship to the divine, then the above observation about these religions applies to an even wider selection of papers included in this book, specifically those by Anna Izdebska, Elżbieta Chrulska, Christian Sahner, Olga Grinchenko, Lilly Stammler, Barbara Grondkowska, Adam Izdebski, Mykhaylo Yakubovych, and Piotr Chmiel. A different way of reading this book is to gradually shift one’s focus from intercultural communication to the appropriation of elements from other cultures. Thus, the first aspect deals with the contact between different groups of people, texts, or ideas; the second is centred more directly on a single culture and the transformations it experienced as a result of incorporating – or even becoming familiar with – certain elements from other cultures. Following this approach, this volume may be divided into three groups: two dealing with only one of these aspects, and one consisting of chapters where the body of surviving evidence is great enough to deal with both phenomena. The largest section consists of papers which shed light primarily on the process of appropriation and include the chapters by Anna Izdebska, Klementyna Aura Glińska, Elżbieta Chrulska, Christian Sahner, Olga Grinchenko, Barbara Grondkowska and Damian Jasiński. The three papers whose focus lies on communication are Adam Izdebski’s, Piotr Chmiel’s and Karolina Mroziewicz’s. Finally, thanks to their exceptionally rich source base, three authors were capable of examining both aspects: Lilly Stammler, Anna Horeczy, and Mykhaylo Yakubovych. The first section – which deals with reception of the pagan Classical past – opens with a chapter by Anna Izdebska, who gathers evidence from various medieval Arabic sources which quote, describe or refer to the figure of Pythagoras and to Pythagorean philosophy. It shows how attitudes towards the Pythagorean tradition depended on an author’s sectarian identity within Islam as well as on his dependence on Aristotle (some Arabic intellectuals were heavily influenced by his negative views regarding preSocratic philosophy). Whereas a disregard for Pythagoras and his ideas seems to have been shared by most orthodox Sunni philosophers, certain other Arabic thinkers – in particular those considered to be more heterodox – valued Pythagoras for his role as an ancient sage, as the founder of philosophy in general, or as an authority on arcane sciences. This is followed, in turn, by Klementyna Aura Glińska’s chapter, which focuses on the Medieval reception of Greek and Roman theatrical texts as witnessed by a group of twelfth and thirteen-century poems referred to by modern scholars as ‘elegiac comedies’. The central question of this chapter is whether we can interpret these ‘elegiac comedies’ as the continuation of Classical comedy, not only on a linguistic and 11

Introduction

stylistic level, but also on the level of performance. The author analyses the material, textual and theoretical context of these texts in order to determine how they were used in Medieval and early Modern societies. The final chapter of this section, by Elżbieta Chrulska, considers the ways in which certain features from Classical literature were reworked by Protestant authors based in the cultural centres of Renaissance Germany, Bohemia and Poland. Owing to the new religious context of the Reformation, these ancient literary elements acquired new meanings. The process by which Protestant authors achieved ‘fluency’ in the literary culture of the past can be divided into three main stages: firstly, an explicit identification with ancient authors; secondly, the implementation of technical devices from Classical literature; and, finally, the infusion of new meaning into phrases, topoi and whole stories from the ancient world, making them newly relevant to the early seventeenth-century reformed communities of Poland. The following section, which deals with the Christian past, begins with a chapter by Christian Sahner exploring memories of violence among Christians in the early Islamic Middle East. Many Christians understood their experience through the lens of another period of Christian suffering, that of the early Christian martyrs. The author thus examines the rise of the martyrological literature in the eighth and ninth centuries, and the relationship between Christian martyrs ‘new’ and ‘old’. This is followed by a study by Olga Grinchenko which deals with two types of hymnographic books, namely the Psaltikon and Asmatikon; both were used at cathedral services in Byzantium between the tenth and fourteenth centuries. There are also a few preserved Slavonic manuscripts – known as Kontakaria – with similar contents. However, none of the Slavonic books fully conforms to the Byzantine models. A comparative analysis of a significant number of manuscripts from both Slavonic and Byzantine traditions sheds some light on the transmission of ecclesiastical culture from Byzantium to the Slavs with a view to providing a broader understanding of Slavic cultural history. Next, Lilly Stammler is concerned with the old Christian tradition of travelling monks and its transmission into the Byzantine literature of the fourteenth century. She examines certain lives of saints containing details and descriptions of ascetic wandering in order to trace the appropriation of Byzantine attitudes towards monastic travellers to Medieval Bulgaria; in addition, she demonstrates how these hagiographic models of itinerant saints from Byzantine literature were received within the South Slavonic monastic milieu. It would appear that the image of the wandering ascetic was a vital element of Orthodox spirituality in the final century of Byzantium. Finally, Barbara Grondkowska studies how the writings of the Church Fathers were used in the debates between Catholics and Protestants in sixteenth-century Poland. She presents a case study of the Old Polish sermons composed by two authors from the early Modern period: Jakub Wujek, a Polish Jesuit and the influential translator of the Bible into Polish, and Grzegorz of Żarnowiec, his Protestant opponent. The third section also consists of four studies, each presenting an ‘intercultural intermediary’ from four completely different historical contexts. Adam Izdebski’s chapter focuses on intermediaries who may have transferred the knowledge of how Greek philosophers and rhetoricians taught and organised school life to the communities of Syriac-speaking Christians in Persian Mesopotamia. It therefore studies all possible channels of cultural communication between the School of Nisibis and the late antique Roman East. It turns out that the journeys of certain individuals – in particular 12

Introduction

the future patriarch of the East, Mar Aba – may have provided the background for the striking similarities between these educational environments. Anna Horeczy devotes her study to the reception of the original works and translations by Leonardo Bruni (Aretino) in Cracow in the fifteenth and the first half of the sixteenth century. As a representative of the first generation of Florentine humanists, and one of the most famous translators from Greek into Latin of his time, Bruni’s writings serve as a case study for the intermediary role of the Italians in the transmission of ancient Greek and Roman traditions into the new cultural contexts of the Renaissance. The chapter focuses on the intellectual milieu of Cracow during a fascinating moment of transition between late Medieval culture and Renaissance humanism. It studies the processes of reception of certain of Bruni’s texts in Cracow and investigates the local intellectual traditions which showed particular interest in some of them; it also aims to show the process of transmission from various points of view, examining the chronology and the content of Bruni’s works present in Cracow, as well as the context of transmission, the manuscripts and their owners. Mykhaylo Yakubovych further studies the Central European cultural zone – but this time towards the end of the Renaissance – by focusing on Jan Latosz. This notable Polish scholar is mainly known for his opposition to the calendar reform of Pope Gregory XIII (1582). However, this was only a minor aspect of his intellectual activity; well versed in Arabic and Ottoman traditions, Latosz wrote more than ten scientific treatises devoted to astrology, astronomy, medicine and various areas of Renaissance philosophy. This chapter explores the new interpretations of Arabic science and philosophy which Latosz proposed during his academic activity in Poland and Ukraine. By focusing on the ways in which this Central European scholar had access to the sources of his astrological knowledge, it reveals how a region which might, at first glance, seem to have been at the periphery of late Renaissance Europe, could function as an intellectual crossroads and a locus for new ideas. Finally, Piotr Chmiel takes the reader into the early Modern Caucasian world, as viewed by the Italian missionaries who influenced the ways in which Georgians were perceived in seventeenth-century Italy. The chapter studies the image and perception of Georgian culture as preserved in the writings of missionaries from the Theatine Order who were active during the seventeenth century. It focuses on the complex confessional situation of the Caucasus which, at that time, was wellknown as venue for encounters between Orthodox Christians and Muslims, and which also became a place where Orthodox and Catholics met, largely due to the activity of these Italian clergymen. Damian Jasiński’s chapter opens the final section of the book, which examines how images of other cultures can be used for purely domestic purposes. As is well known, the monastic movement, together with its literary representations, proved to be a powerful cultural bond in late Antiquity, when the divide between Latin West and Greek East was growing more pronounced. This chapter studies the works of Sulpicius Severus – written in Gaul at the turn of the fourth and fifth centuries – and examines how his image of Eastern ascetic piety influenced the way in which he described Western ecclesiastical practice. Two ideals that permeate the works of this Latin author deserve particular attention: one concerns the poverty of the Church, and the other its independence from secular power. The chapter aims to demonstrate how these ideals – presented in the form of edifying tales from the East – shaped Sulpicius’ portrayal of St Martin of Tours and of the Gallic Church. Finally, Karolina Mroziewicz’s chapter studies the pamphlets 13

Introduction

(Flugschriften) that expressed anxiety about the Ottoman approach to the Hungarian frontier. A close reading of three texts widely disseminated by the Flugschriften – an oration of Francesco Chiericati, an oration of Ladislas of Macedonia, and an anonymous dialogue, all printed in 1522 – sheds new light on the cultural, political and social context of the reports on Ottoman-European encounters, as well as on the role of intellectuals, as compared to word-of-mouth communication, in intercultural transmission and exchange. The research on the intercultural transmission and contacts, and on the resulting cultural transformations, have separate histories of scholarship in each of the disciplines represented in this volume. It would not be possible to provide even a brief summary of all of them and, thus, the following overviews are necessarily selective. Their aim is to make the reader aware of the different approaches to the topic that has been studied across a huge range of research fields. Before we proceed to those individual fields, however, we wish to draw the reader’s attention to three books which approach the topic of intercultural contact and transmission. The first one appeared in the 1990s as a Festschrift for David Jacoby and focuses on the Mediterranean.1 The two others appeared in 2012, and differ both in terms of their theoretical approach and their initial geographical focus, the Latin West2 and the Mediterranean3 respectively. These two recent volumes contain useful introductions with detailed accounts of the history of scholarship relating to the topic of ‘intercultural transmission’. In the field of late antique and Byzantine studies, interest in intercultural communication and transmission is both old and recent. Whereas the decades-long study of the development of Syriac, Coptic, and Armenian cultures presupposes an interest in these phenomena, studies presenting this topic as a central subject have only started to appear in recent years. It is worth noting that the approaches of these works are defined not by the tradition of Medieval transmission studies, but by research questions proper to the field of late Antiquity. We thus find a growing number of single- or multi-author books examining intercultural phenomena through the issues of identity,4 language,5 and theological-ecclesiastical agendas which, themselves, are related to the development of the Armenian, Syriac or Coptic Christian cultures.6 When it comes to Byzantium, the approach to the study of ‘interculturality’ is determined by what is often referred to as the ‘Byzantine Commonwealth’, a world created through the expansion of 1

B. Arbell (ed.), Intercultural Contacts in the Medieval Mediterranean, London 1996. R. Wisnovsky, F. Wallis, J. Furno and C. Fraenkel (eds.), Vehicles of Transmission, Translation, and Transformation in Medieval Textual Culture, Turnhout 2012. 3 D.W. Kim and S.L. Hathaway (eds.), Intercultural Transmission in the Medieval Mediterranean, London–New York 2012. 4 For instance, R.W. Mathisen and D. Shanzer (eds.), Romans, Barbarians, and the Transformation of the Roman World: Cultural Interaction and the Creation of Identity in Late Antiquity, Farnham 2011; D. Brakke, D.M. Deliyannis and E.J. Watts (eds.), Shifting Cultural Frontiers in Late Antiquity, Farnham 2012; W. Pohl, C. Gantner and R.E. Payne (eds.), Visions of Community in the Post-Roman World: the West, Byzantium and the Islamic World, 300-1100, Farnham 2012. 5 A. Papaconstantinou (ed.), The Multilingual Experience in Egypt, from the Ptolemies to the Abbasids, Farnham 2010; A. Mullen and P. James (eds.), Multilingualism in the Graeco-Roman Worlds, Cambridge 2012. 6 The classic book: N.G. Garsoïan, T.F. Mathews and R.W. Thomson (eds.), East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period, Washington 1982; two recent examples: C.B. Horn, Asceticism and Christological Controversy in Fifth-Century Palestine: the Career of Peter the Iberian, Oxford 2006; P. Wood, ‘We have no king but Christ’: Christian Political Thought in Greater Syria on the Eve of the Arab Conquest (c. 400–585), Oxford 2010. 2

14

Introduction

the Greek model of Christianity into the local Slavic cultures of the Balkans and Eastern Europe.7 Research is focused primarily on the corpus of translations as the main vehicles for the reception of Byzantine traditions in the realm of Slavic cultures. The number of specific studies on this subject is overwhelming, and most of them establish dating, the number of translations, their Greek originals, or models of their adaptation and transformation; they also examine historical, ideological and literary contexts in which new Slavonic texts were composed.8 During the last few decades, the employment of digital technologies has aided greatly those who study Medieval Slavic manuscripts, enabling preservation and popularization of texts as well as comparative research. Results of the latest research on the transmission of Byzantine intellectual heritage to Medieval Bulgaria and the East Slavs were presented during the Twenty-Second International Congress of Byzantine Studies in Sofia, 22–27 August 2011.9 There is also a growing body of research into the contacts and mutual influences between Byzantium and the Islamic world; these studies have even resulted in major exhibitions, including Byzantium and Islam. Age of Transition which appeared in 2012 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.10 The study of intercultural transmission in the Islamic world is inseparable from the development of Graeco-Arabic studies, that is the study of how Greek traditions were received in Arabic culture. The focus of much initial research was highly textual and philological and, for a time, it was much more important to ‘recover’ lost Greek texts than to study the Arabic intellectual world.11 In the last decades, however, new approaches and perspectives have been adopted, including the social history of the transmission movement12 or the study of textual transmission through the analysis of libraries and text collections of schools and individuals.13 Research into Graeco-Arabic transmission has also included investigations into the role of Arabic intellectuals in the reception of Greek philosophy in the Medieval Latin West.14 D. Obolensky, The Byzantine Commonwealth: Eastern Europe, 500–1453, London 1971. Major recent publications – (1) on South Slavs: L. Taseva, R. Marti (eds.), Mnogokratnite prevodi v južnoslavjanskoto srednovekovie: dokladi ot meždunarodnata konferencija, Sofija, 7.–9. Juli 2005, Sofia 2006; L. Taseva, M. Jovčeva, C. Voss, T. Pentkovskaja (eds.), Prevodite prez XIV stoletie na Balkanite: dokladi ot mezhdunarodnata konferentsia, Sofia, 26–28 iuni 2003 = Übersetzungen des 14. Jahrhunderts im Balkanraum: Beiträge zur internationalen Konferenz, Sofia, 26.–28. Juni 2003, Sofia 2004; (2) on East Slavs: F.J. Thomson, The Reception of Byzantine Culture in Mediaeval Russia, Aldershot–Brookfield 1999; A.A. Pičxadze, Perevodčeskaja dejatel’nost’ v domongol’skoj Rusi. Lingvističeskij aspekt, Moscow 2011. 9 Proceedings of the 22nd International Congress of Byzantine Studies, Sofia, 22–27 August 2011, vol. 2: Abstracts of Round Table Communications, Sofia 2011, pp. 24–31 [RT 4. Slavonic and Oriental translations of Byzantine texts]; papers were published in: Scripta and e-Scripta, vol. 10–11. 10 H.C. Evans and B. Ratliff (eds.), Byzantium and Islam: Age of Transition, 7th–9th century, New York 2012, which contains a comprehensive overview of the recent research. 11 Foundational works: R. Walzer, Greek into Arabic: Essays on Islamic Philosophy, Oxford 1962; F. Rosenthal, Das Fortleben der Antike im Islam, Zürich 1965; A. Badawi, La transmission de la philosophie grecque au monde arabe, Paris 1968. Studies published in the last decade include for instance: G. Strohmaier, Hellas im Islam. Interdisziplinäre Studien zur Ikonographie, Wissenschaft und Religionsgeschichte, Wiesbaden 2003; H. Daiber, Islamic Thought in the Dialogue of Cultures: A Historical and Bibliographical Survey, Leiden 2012. 12 D. Gutas, Greek Thought, Arabic Culture: the Graeco-Arabic Translation Movement in Baghdad and Early ’Abbāsid Society (2nd–4th / 8th–10th centuries), London 1998. 13 C. D’Ancona (ed.), The Libraries of the Neoplatonists, Leiden 2007. 14 For instance, G. Endreß, Der arabische Aristoteles und sein Leser: Physik und Theologie im Weltbild Alberts des Großen, Münster 2004. 7 8

15

Introduction

In order to apprehend the rich history of scholarship on the reception of classical Latin literature in the Middle Ages,15 we must first realize that the study of Medieval Latin actually means studying a thousand years of alterations – both linguistic and cultural – imposed by a continuously changing civilisation. Modified according to new conditions, flourishing and degenerating, confronted with vernacular languages,16 Latin remained the language of power and education in the Medieval period. It was also the language of dialogue in the struggle between moderns (moderni) and an essentially ‘pagan’ past (antiqui).17 The Medieval reader of classical literature was compelled to be selective, and to take on the aesthetic and moral responsibility of his reading and his own literary production. ‘Should I read it? how should I read it? can I write like that? if I imitate this kind of literature, how can I present it to my audience?’ – such tensions, for instance, are reflected in the Medieval reception of Roman theatre, and its continuation in the early Modern period.18 Moving on to the later Medieval period in Central Europe, one notices that the issue of ‘interculturality’ or ‘transmission of culture’ rarely appears as an explicit topic, at least as far as the studies of Polish scholars are concerned. There is, however, an interesting international volume containing studies by both historians and art historians,19 which focuses on the role of the metropolis in supporting rich local cultural life. This book works within the paradigm of ‘Kulturtransfer’, understood not as a unilateral ‘export’ of culture, but rather as a dynamic process of mutual influences between a variety of environments, including court, city, church and university. Another key book for this research approach is Peter Burke’s The European Renaissance: Centres and Peripheries (Oxford, 1998), which presents a model for the reception of culture which is very attractive to the student of Central European cultural history. Burke understood reception as an active process of assimilation and transformation of ideas, and recommended that research should be focused on actual events and the mechanisms by which practices 15 Basic bibliography: R.R. Bolgar, The Classical Heritage and Its Beneficiaries, Cambridge 1954; R. Hexter, Ovid and Medieval Schooling: Studies in Medieval School Commentaries on Ovid’s Ars Amatoria, Epistulae ex Ponto, and Epistulae Heroidum, Munich 1986; P. Godman and O. Murray (eds.), Latin Poetry and the Classical Tradition. Essays in Medieval and Renaissance Literature, Oxford, 1974; G. Highet, The Classical Tradition: Greek and Roman Influences on Western Literature, Oxford 1949; H. Hunger et al., Geschichte der Textüberlieferung der antiken und mittelalterlichen Literatur, 2 vols, Zurich 1961–1964; L.D. Reynolds and N.G. Wilson, Scribes and Scholars: A Guide to the Transmission of Greek and Latin Literature, 3rd ed., Oxford 1991; V. Brown, P.O. Kristeller and F.E. Cranz (eds.), Catalogus translationum et commentariorum: mediaeval and Renaissance Latin translations and commentaries: annotated lists and guides, Washington 1960–; G. Kennedy, Classical Rhetoric and its Christian and Secular Tradition from Ancient to Modern Times, London–Sydney 1980; B. Munk Olsen, I classici nel canone scolastico altomedievale, Spoleto 1991; idem, L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins aux XIe et XIIe siècles, Paris 1982–1987; idem, ‘L’étude des textes littéraires classiques dans les écoles pendant le haut moyen âge’, [in:] O. Pecere (ed.), Itinerari dei testi antichi, Rome 1991, pp. 105–114; R. H. Rouse, ‘Florilegia and Latin Classical authors in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Orléans’, Viator 10 (1979), pp. 131–160. 16 M. Garrison, A.P. Orbán and M. Mostert (eds.), Spoken and Written Language. Relations between Latin and the Vernacular Languages in the Earlier Middle Ages, Turnhout 2013; J.M. Ziolkowski, ‘Cultural diglossia and the nature of Medieval Latin literature’, [in:] J. Harris (ed.), The Ballad and Oral Literature, Harvard 1991, pp. 193– 213. 17 A. Zimmermann (ed.), Antiqui und Moderni. Traditionsbewusstsein und Fortschrittsbewusstsein im späten Mittelalter, Berlin 1974; J. De Ghellinck, ‘Nani et gigantes‘, Archivum Latinitatis Medii Aevi 18 (1945), pp. 25–29. 18 R.F. Hardin, ‘Encountering Plautus in the Renaissance: a humanist debate on comedy’, Renaissance Quarterly 60 (2007), pp. 789–818. 19 A. Langer and G. Michel (eds.), Metropolen und Kulturtransfer im 15./16. Jahrhundert. Prag – Krakau – Danzig – Wien, Stuttgart 2001.

16

Introduction

and texts were transferred; such an approach is ideally suited to the rich body of manuscripts and old prints from Central Europe. Burke’s model also involves a filter: for instance, a Roman, Arabic, Jewish or Italian filter in the reception of Classical culture in Central Europe. However, while the need for the adoption of this model has been acknowledged by Polish historians, it is still employed very rarely.20 When it comes to detailed studies, the most intensively researched topic is certainly the rich and formative relationship between Polish and Italian cultures. Research started with prosopographic analyses of Polish students at Italian universities21 and of Italians who came to Poland in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.22 Closely related to this subject are the books that attempt to reconstruct the mutual images of Italians among Poles23 and Poles among Italians, as well as other foreigners.24 A research problem which has resulted in a much greater number of books and articles is the reception of particular texts of Italian authors,25 notably studies on the adaptation of Cortegiano B. Castiglione’s ideas of court life.26 A different, but equally important topic in the study of the reception of contemporary Renaissance and ancient Classical culture in Renaissance Poland is the transmission of philosophical and legal ideas from Western universities;27 the influence of Roman law on the Polish-Lithuanian legal culture and the role of the University of Bologna in this process has received a great deal of scholarly attention.28 Finally, there is a growing body of research on the Polish-German 20 For instance, H. Manikowska suggests using it for the study of the university milieus’ influence on late medieval piety – H. Manikowska, ‘Wpływ środowiska uniwersyteckiego na kulturę religijną w modelu recepcji kultury’, [in:] H. Manikowska and W. Brojer (eds.), Animarum cultura: studia nad kulturą religijną na ziemiach polskich w średniowieczu, vol. 1: Struktury kościelno-publiczne, Warsaw 2008, pp. 441–458. 21 J. Fijałek, Polonia apud italos scholastica: Munera saecularia Universitatis Cracoviensis. Poloni apud italos litteris studentes et laurea donati inde a Paulo Wladimiri usque ad Johannem Lasocki, Cracow 1900; H. Barycz, Polacy na studiach w Rzymie w epoce odrodzenia (1440–1600), Cracow 1938; S. Windakiewicz, ‘I Polacchi a Padova’, [in:] Omaggio dell’Accademia Polacca di Scienze e Lettere all’Università di Padova nel settimo centenario della sua fondazione, Cracow 1922, pp. 1–34. 22 Cities: J. Ptaśnik, ‘Z dziejów kultury włoskiego Krakowa’, Rocznik Krakowski 9 (1907), pp. 149–176; the royal court: D. Quirini-Popławska, Działalność Włochów w Polsce w I połowie XVI wieku: na dworze królewskim, w dyplomacji i hierarchii, Cracow 1973; a synthetical overview: W. Tygielski, Włosi w Polsce XVI–XVII wieku. Utracona szansa na modernizację, Warsaw 2005. 23 For instance, C. Backvis, ‘Jak w XVI wieku Polacy widzieli Włochy i Włochów’, [in:] idem, Szkice o kulturze staropolskiej, Warsaw 1975, pp. 687–769; M.E. Kowalczyk, Obraz Włoch w polskim piśmiennictwie geograficznym i podróżniczym osiemnastego wieku, Toruń 2005. 24 For instance, S. Kot, Rzeczpospolita Polska w literaturze politycznej Zachodu, Cracow 1919; T. ChyczewskaHennel, Rzeczpospolita XVII wieku w oczach cudzoziemców, Wrocław 1993. 25 It is impossible to give an overview of this field, good examples are N. Contieri, La fortuna del Petrarca in Polonia nei secoli XIV e XV, Naples 1961; K. Żaboklicki, La fortuna del Boccaccio in Polonia, Florence 1978; a useful survey: T. Ulewicz, Iter Romano-Italicum Polonorum, czyli o związkach umysłowo-kulturalnych Polski z Włochami w wiekach średnich i renesansie, Cracow 1999; finally, an exceptional study trying to see the process of the Italian-Polish transmission in a broader perspective: J. Ślaski, ‘Polonia – Italia – Europa. Prospettive europee delle relazioni letterarie italo-polacche all’epoca dell’umanesimo e del rinascimento’, [in:] S. Graciotti (ed.), La nascita dell’Europa. Per una storia delle idee fra Italia e Polonia, Florence 1995, pp. 115–135. 26 A. Gallewicz, Dworzanin polski i jego włoski pierwowzór: studium adaptacji, Warsaw 2006. 27 See especially J. Domański, Scholastyka i początki humanizmu w myśli polskiej XV wieku, Warsaw 2011; H.–J. Bömelburg, Frühneuzeitliche Nationen im östlichen Europa. Das polnische Geschichtsdenken und die Reichweite einer humanistischen Nationalgeschichte (1500–1700), Wiesbaden 2006; J. Axer, ‘Central-Eastern Europe’, [in:] C.W. Kallendorf (ed.), A Companion to the Classical Tradition, Oxford 2007, pp. 132–156. 28 For instance, J. Sondel, ‘L’ambiente giuridico dell’antica Polonia nel raggio di influenza dell’Università di Bologna’, [in:] Commentationes historicae Almae Matri Studiorum Bononensi novem saecula feliciter celebranti

17

Introduction

cities – such as Gdańsk, Wrocław or Toruń – located in the borderlands between cultural zones.29 In the early Modern period, with the creation of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, Central Europe became an even more interesting region in terms of the study of ‘interculturality’. The number of studies on various aspects of this cultural world is huge, and increasing international cooperation has resulted in studies which place the Commonwealth within the broader context of Central and Eastern Europe,30 as well as books that encompass the historiographical perspectives of all modern societies who acknowledge this Commonwealth as part of their historical heritage.31 The plurality of cultures within this region emerged from the plurality of religions and confessions and, thus, the religious history of the Commonwealth constitutes a vast field of study. Much of it focused on the central problem of religious tolerance, its development and degeneration within this political entity.32 All these issues are, to some degree, summarized in two recent volumes: the first, in Polish, presents the chronology of the presence of various cultural and ethnic groups in the Commonwealth, distinguishing ‘indigenous/miejscowi’ (Lithuanians, Byelorussians, Ukrainians), ‘assimilated/ wmieszkani’ (those who came in the Middle Ages: Germans, Jews, Armenians, Tatars, Karaites, Roma) and ‘incomers/przybysze’ of the early modern period (Italians, Scots,

ab Universitate Jagiellonica Cracoviensi oblatae, Cracow 1988, pp. 91–102; I. Malinowska-Kwiatkowska, ‘Sulla presenza della dottrina della scuola bolognese nella cultura giuridica polacca nei secoli XIII–XVII’, [in:] Commentationes historicae Almae Matri Studiorum Bononiensi novem saecula feliciter celebranti ab Universitate Iagellonica Cracoviensi oblatae, Cracow 1988, pp. 103–110. 29 (1) Humanist education in the Polish-German cities (transmission of the German educational systems based on classical models): J. Budzyński, Paideia humanistyczna, czyli wychowanie do kultury: studium z dziejów klasycznej edukacji w gimnazjach XVI–XVIII wieku (na przykładzie Śląska), Częstochowa 2003; L. Mokrzecki, Wokół staropolskiej nauki i oświaty: Gdańsk–Prusy Królewskie–Rzeczpospolita, Gdańsk 2001; B. Awianowicz, ‘Humanizm renesansowy w miastach Prus Królewskich’, [in:] A. Borowski (ed.), Humanizm. Historie pojęcia [= Humanizm. Idee, nurty i paradygmaty humanistyczne w kulturze polskiej. Syntezy 2], Warsaw 2009, pp. 149–197; P. Urbański (ed.), Pietas humanistica. Neo-latin Religious Poetry in Poland in European Context, Frankfurt am Main 2006. (2) Urban autonomy and confessional identity in Gdańsk and Toruń: M. Müller, Zweite Reformation und städtische Autonomie im Königlichen Preussen: Danzig, Elbing und Thorn in der Epoche der Konfessionalisierung (1557– 1660), Berlin 1997; S. Salmonowicz, W staropolskim Toruniu (XVI–XVIII w.): studia i szkice, Toruń 2005. 30 For instance, B. Trencsényi and M. Zászkaliczky (eds.), Whose Love of Which Country? Composite States, National Histories and Patriotic Discourses in Early Modern East Central Europe, Leiden 2010. 31 For instance, A. Sulima-Kamiński, Historia Rzeczypospolitej Wielu Narodów. 1505–1795, Lublin 2000. 32 The classical work on the topic remains: J. Tazbir, Państwo bez stosów. Szkice z dziejów tolerancji w Polsce XVI i XVII w., Warsaw 1967 (English transl. A State Without Stakes: Polish Religious Toleration in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, New York 1973); a recent reassessment: P. Wilczek (ed.), Reformacja w dawnej Rzeczypospolitej i jej europejskie konteksty. Postulaty badawcze, Warsaw 2012. See also W. Czapliński, ‛Parę uwag o tolerancji w Polsce w okresie kontrreformacji’, [in:] idem, O Polsce siedemnastowiecznej. Problemy i sprawy, Warsaw 1966, pp. 101–129. New research includes: U. Augystyniak, ‘Wielokulturowość Wielkiego Księstwa Litewskiego i idea tolerancji a praktyka stosunków międzywyznaniowych w XVI–XVIII w.’, [in:] V.B. Pšibilskis (ed.), Lietuvos Dižiosios kunigaikštijos tradicija ir tautiniai narratyvai, Vilnius 2009, pp. 87–104; eadem, ‘Non de fide, sed de securitate pacis: wiara i polityka w poglądach ewangelików w Rzeczypospolitej w latach 1631–1632’, Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 44 (2000), pp. 71–99; A. Zakrzewski, Niektóre aspekty położenia kulturalnego Tatarów litewskich w XVI–XVIII w., Białystok 1992; T. Kempa, Wobec kontrreformacji: protestanci i prawosławni w obronie swobód wyznaniowych w Rzeczypospolitej w końcu XVI i w pierwszej połowie XVII wieku, Toruń 2007; K. Meller, ‘Wielowyznaniowość jako czynnik wspólnototwórczy w Polsce XVI w.’, [in:] eadem, Słowa jako ziarna. Reformacyjne idee, książki, spory, Poznań 2012, pp. 44–65; A. Naumow, Domus divisa. Studia nad literaturą ruską w I Rzeczypospolitej, Cracow 2002; D. Frick, Meletij Smotryc’kyj, Cambridge (Mass.) 1995.

18

Introduction

Dutch Mennonites).33 The perspective of the second volume – in English – is much more defined by a desire to understand the complex political identities functioning in the Commonwealth throughout the three centuries of its existence, rather than by a focus on cultural history.34 The complex cultural landscape of the early Modern era – essentially the result of encounters between neighboring and distant cultures – has provoked scholarly reflection on the mechanisms behind these processes and their consequences for cultural formation within and outside Europe. Intercultural transmission in early Modernity has gradually become a well-established field of interdisciplinary and collaborative enterprises sensitive to the problems of identity, nations, empires, gender, and so forth. The traditional West-East paradigm and the dichotomy of European and non-European cultures (enforced by such potentially misleading terms as ‘clash of civilizations’) could not ultimately survive in the face of a new methodological consciousness. It was finally overturned by the innovative studies of scholars from both inside and outside the academic tradition of the old continent. The prevalent perspectives in the current academic debate are focused on demonstrating a permeable border between cultures which, themselves, are not monolithic, but rather highly complex and heterogeneous realms. At the same time, the model of culture as radiating from a center to a periphery has been replaced with a model which acknowledges numerous non-linear trajectories and dense communication networks connecting uncountable centers with influential border zones. The latter became an especially compelling and promising subject for new inquiries.35 The reception of classical knowledge in the early Modern world required an active stand on the part of the recipients; this involved a clear response to the classical past which would have taken the form of selection, appropriation, adaptation, interpretation and translation. The ways in which classical Latin, Greek and Arabic heritage reshaped early Modernity – how it was incorporated and how it functioned within the daily reality of courts, civic centers and various intellectual communities – is a vast field, often labeled as ‘reception studies’. Within this field, modes of encounters with classical traditions and their results are taken as valuable markers of cultural dynamics and distinctive features of a particular group of classical recipients. Vast compendia about the reception of classical traditions – primarily Greek and Latin – published since the mid-1950s illustrate the shifts experienced by Classical texts as they are placed in a new context by a new group of readers. The consequences of reception and its importance for the construction of identities within the recipient groups have been placed at the center of the most recent scholarly debate. The ‘identity turn’ goes hand in hand 33

M. Kopczyński and W. Tygielski (eds.), Pod wspólnym niebem. Narody dawnej Rzeczypospolitej, Warsaw

2010. 34 K. Friedrich and B.M. Pendzich (eds.), Citizenship and Identity in a Multinational Commonwealth: Poland– Lithuania in Context, 1550–1772, Leiden 2009. 35 See for instance the four-volume series Cultural Exchange in Early Modern Europe: vol. 1: H. Schilling and I.G. Tóth (eds.), Religion and Cultural Exchange in Europe, 1400–1700, Cambridge 2006 (on sermons, missionary activities, producing and using religious books); vol. 2: D. Calabi and S.T. Christensen (eds.), Cities and Cultural Exchange in Europe, 1400–1700, Cambridge 2007 (on urban structures and networks, their policy of exclusion and inclusion); vol. 3: F. Bethencourt and F. Egmond (eds.), Correspondence and Cultural Exchange in Europe, 1400–1700, Cambridge 2007 (on correspondence and communication networks); vol. 4: H. Roodenburg (ed.), Forging European Indentities, 1400–1700, Cambridge 2007 (on common systems of values and emerging identity models).

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Introduction

with the ‘global turn’ – understood as a non-Eurocentric perspective – as well as the ‘democratic turn’, justifying analyses of materials from different cultural registers.36 One of the first harbingers of the global perspective – which focused on issues of identity in encounters between contemporary cultures – was Implicit Understandings: Observing, Reporting, and Reflecting on the Encounters between Europeans and Other Peoples in the Early Modern Era (ed. by Stuart B. Schwartz, Cambridge 1994), a collaborative project of historians, anthropologists and literary scholars, with a prevailing inclination towards postmodern methodologies.37 The first two sections of the book, ‘European Visions of Others in the Late Middle Ages’ and ‘Europeans in the Vision of Other Peoples’, built a coherent thematic panorama of these problems. On the one hand, the articles devoted to the image of Europeans in the eyes of Mongols, Nahua and dwellers of the southeast Asian archipelago demonstrate the striking and simplistic anachronism of the prevailing Western-centric approach; on a more general level, however, it continues to present the perspective of non-Europeans as that of ‘Others’. In summary, modern attitudes towards the idea of the intercultural encounter in early Modernity is articulated in a language that has become highly conscious of the need for sensitivity to the complexity of cultural units, regardless of whether they are European, Transatlantic, African, or Asian. Postmodern methodologies, and increasingly post-colonial mentalities38 have given a voice to participants of intercultural exchange who had previously been hushed, marginalized or misunderstood. New approaches to the question of identity have moved forward the discussion about the complexity of self-identifications and self-differentiations among peoples living between the fifteenth and eighteenth centuries. The global and democratic perspective has set in motion large collective and interdisciplinary enterprises which have produced numerous volumes and series pushing the discussion further away from the Eurocentric context.39 Nevertheless, studies concerning early Modernity remain a neglected area in discussions regarding contemporary multiculturalism and post-colonial media studies. Furthermore, while Transatlantic, Asian, African and Pacific cultures have all entered the world-wide academic discussion, Central and Eastern Europe and the Caucasus still remain peripheral in the Anglophone debate and have attracted little in the way of collaborative and interdisciplinary attention. This selective survey of scholarly efforts that have tried to understand the complex interactions between various cultures in the Medieval and early Modern periods may also help to explain some of the methodological differences and chronological gaps between the chapters of this volume. Despite significant similarities and connections, the thematic, cultural and temporal scope of the chapters are as varied as the histories L. Hardwick and C. Stray (eds.), A Companion to Classical Receptions, Oxford 2008. There is also a strong cultural focus within the field of ‘global history’: J. Bentley, Old World Encounters: Cross-Cultural Contacts and Exchanges in Pre-Modern Times, Oxford 1993; C. Parker, Global Interactions in the Early Modern Age, Cambridge 2010. 38 For a useful discussion, see the editor’s introduction to G.M. MacLean (ed.), Re-orienting the Renaissance. Cultural Exchanges with the East, New York 2005. 39 See for instance three recent collective volumes all applying innovative methodological approaches: D. Bleichmar and P.C. Mancall (eds.), Collecting Across Cultures: Material Exchanges in the Early Modern Atlantic World, Philadelphia 2011; S. Jobs and G. Mackenthun (eds.), Embodiments of Cultural Encounters, Münster 2011; S. Schülting, S.L. Müller and R. Hertel (eds.), Early Modern Encounters With the Islamic East: Performing Cultures, Farnham 2012. 36 37

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Introduction

of research on the phenomena of intercultural contact and cultural exchange. While such an encounter of traditions – and the resulting plurality of research – may initially seem chaotic or difficult to apprehend, we are convinced that such a broadly inclusive approach has the potential to refresh our understanding of intercultural phenomena and the ways in which we study them. We hope that, through this volume, we have been able to share with our readers what has for ourselves turned out to be a very exciting and inspiring experience.

Section I NEW CONTEXTS FOR CLASSICAL PAGAN CULTURE

Anna Izdebska Warsaw

THE ATTITUDES OF MEDIEVAL ARABIC INTELLECTUALS TOWARDS PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHY: DIFFERENT APPROACHES AND WAYS OF INFLUENCE

Introduction It would be nothing new to write that Arabic translators selected texts which had been left to them by Late Antiquity, in particular by the intellectual circles of Alexandria.1 The contents of this heritage determined both what the Arabic intellectuals knew about the lives and ideas of Greek philosophers. Importantly, it was not only the ‘pure knowledge’ that was translated; to a certain degree, the attitudes displayed by late antique authors towards earlier philosophers were transmitted as well. These attitudes, in turn, had a strong influence on the position and reputation of a given philosopher within Arabic philosophy and philosophical historiography; they could, for instance, determine whether a particular philosopher was to be marginalised or to receive extensive attention. For this reason, Arab attitudes towards Pythagorean philosophy are closely connected with the prominence of Aristotle and his commentators in Late Antiquity. Aristotle himself was rather critical of Pythagoreanism, and his treatment of this philosophical current is always selective and sometimes dismissive. In general, this was his approach towards all of his predecessors.2 He selected the elements he needed in order to present his own theories, but considered the earlier philosophers to be imperfect pioneers who anticipated only some elements of his own philosophy. Therefore, his aim was not to present the ideas of the Presocratic thinkers, nor to affiliate himself with any of the philosophers or philosophical currents he quoted. Moreover, some of 1 For the importance of the late antique Alexandrian intellectual circles for the Arabs, see D. Gutas, ‘Pre-Plotinian philosophy in Arabic (other than Platonism and Aristotelianism): A review of the sources’, [in:] H. Temporini and W. Haase (eds.), Philosophie. Wissenschaften, Technik. Systematische Themen; Indirekte Überlieferungen; Allgemeines; Nachträge [= Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt II 36.7], Berlin 1993, pp. 4939–4973; idem, ‘Greek philosophical works translated into Arabic’, [in:] R. Pasnau (ed.), The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy, Cambridge 2010, pp. 802–814; G. Endreß, ‘Athen–Alexandria–Bagdad–Samarkand. Übersetzung, Überlieferung und Integration der griechischen Philosophie im Islam’, [in:] P. Bruns (ed.), Von Athen nach Bagdad: Zur Rezeption griechischer Philosophie von der Spätantike bis zum Islam [= Hereditas 22], Bonn 2003, pp. 42–62. 2 H. Cherniss, Aristotle’s Criticism of Presocratic Philosophy, Baltimore 1935.

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his predecessors – such as Plato or the Pythagoreans – became objects of his critique, since he developed his own reasoning in opposition to their arguments. In this respect, Aristotle differed substantially from Plato. Although the latter does not mention his predecessors as often as the former, he seems to be respectful towards them. In particular, he treats the Pythagoreans – either directly or through allusions – as important philosophical authorities, whose theories should always be taken seriously (as for example in Phaedo or Timaeus). The late antique commentators on Aristotle and Plato merged these two attitudes and thus toned down Aristotle’s own approach, attributing to Pythagoras much more importance than Aristotle did originally.3 Certainly, the background for this transformation was an increased interest in Pythagoreanism. Since the first century BC, this philosophical tradition secured its position as part of the Platonist-Pythagorean conglomerate, one of the leading philosophical currents of later Antiquity.4 One of the most famous and influential philosophers in this current – both in the late antique Greek and medieval Arabic worlds – was Nicomachus of Gerasa (d. AD 120). He was considered a Pythagorean and his work, Introduction to Arithmetic,5 was commented upon by many Greek and Arabic authors, and it was very often their main source of knowledge about Pythagoreanism. Consequently, the attitudes of late antique authors toward Pythagoras and the philosophy he founded were not simple or homogeneous. One can distinguish at least three dominant motifs which shaped these attitudes: Aristotle’s critical approach; Pythagoras seen as a pagan ‘prophet’, a religious-philosophical authority and the first philosopher; the popular interests in the Pythagoreanism and its development as a lively philosophical current in both the Roman Empire and in Late Antiquity. These motifs are also visible in later Arabic attitudes towards Pythagoras and his philosophy. In this paper, I will present a survey of these attitudes as visible in the extant philosophical and historiographical literature of the Arabic Middle Ages. I will begin by reconstructing the general image of Pythagoras in Arabic histories of philosophy, in particular his reputation in comparison to other Greek philosophers. I will then proceed to an analysis of attitudes held by particular Arabic philosophers or philosophical groups in chronological order, starting with al-Kindī and Thābit ibn Qurra, both of whom appear to have had a favourable opinion of Pythagoras, although the sources are too scarce to allow certainty in this respect. These first Arabic philosophers will be followed by Ikhwān al-Ṣafāʼ, Arabic alchemical writings, and Muḥammad ibn Zakariyāʼ al-Rāzī, all of whom shared a positive view of Pythagoras. In the subsequent section, I will present examples of critical or disrespectful attitudes, with al-Ghazālī as the most 3 For instance, Alexander of Aphrodisias or Syrianus in their commentaries on Aristotle’s Metaphysics. Both commented extensively on very short passages of Aristotle, paying much more attention – and showing much more respect – to Pythagorean ideas. 4 D.J. O’Meara, Pythagoras Revived: Mathematics and Philosophy in Late Antiquity, Oxford 1989; G. Staab, Pythagoras in der Spätantike: Studien zu ‘De Vita Pythagorica’ des Iamblichos von Chalkis [= Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 165], München 2002. 5 R. Hoche (ed.), Nicomachi Geraseni Pythagorei introductionis arithmeticae libri ii, Leipzig 1866; useful overviews of the research on Nicomachus: B. Centrone and G. Freudenthal, ‘Nicomaque de Gérasa’, [in:] R. Goulet (ed.), Dictionnaire des philosophes antiques, vol. 4, Paris 2005, pp. 686–694; regarding his reception in the Arabic world, see S. Brentjes, ‘Untersuchungen zum Nicomachus Arabus’, Centaurus 30 (1987), pp. 212–292; S. Diwald, Arabische Philosophie und Wissenschaft in der Enzyklopädie, vol. 3: Die Lehre von Seele und Intellekte, Wiesbaden 1975, p. 33.

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prominent critic of Pythagoreanism. The present study will conclude with an analysis of the view of Pythagoras in the writings of al-Suhrawardī, who reworked several earlier elements of the Arabic authors’ image and evaluation of Pythagoras to suit his own philosophical system. In the conclusion, I will try to explore and explain some more general mechanisms that seem to influence the approach of particular authors to the figure and philosophy of Pythagoras.

General image of Pythagoras in the Arabic histories of philosophy Already in Late Antiquity, Pythagoras and Pythagoreanism were known primarily through various gnomologies (collections of sayings of philosophers, for instance Stobaeus’s Anthologium and many other collections of gnomai), doxographies (like Pseudo-Plutarch’s Placita philosophorum) and histories of philosophy (such as Diogenes Laertius’s work or Porphyry’s History of philosophy), as well as commentaries on classic philosophical texts. Some of these works, in turn, became a primary source for Arab knowledge of Presocratic philosophy, and they remain one of the principal sources for the study of Pythagoreanism and, in particular, the image of Pythagoras in the medieval Arabic world.6 There are some Arabic histories of philosophy, containing separate chapters on Pythagoras, his life, doctrine and sayings. Such chapters occur in works such as the Ṣiwān al-ḥikma circle of texts (which consists of its various abbreviated versions and an anonymous gnomologium edited by D. Gutas, called the Philosophical Quartet), as well as works by Ibn Durayd, Ibn Hindū, al-Mubashshir ibn-Fātik, Ibn Abī ʽUṣaybīʽa, al-Shahrastānī, and al-Shahrazūrī. These authors situated Pythagoras and his philosophy within a larger context of Greek and Arabic philosophical schools and religious sects, and thus they did not show any special sympathy for this particular figure. It is difficult to claim that these authors had any specific attitude towards philosophers they presented. Neither did they disclose any inclinations towards particular thinkers, nor did they add any personal comments. In most cases their histories of philosophy are compilations of Greek gnomologies translated into Arabic, as well as doxographies (the doxography Placita philosophorum attributed to Plutarch, composed probably by Aetius,7 and Book on the Opinions of the Philosophers attributed to Ammonius, probably based on Hippolytus’s Refutatio omnium haeresium8) and histories of philosophy (among which the chapter on Pythagoras from Porphyry’s History of philosophy was the most influential). Due to their character, gnomologies often attribute the sayings or anecdotes to an incorrect philosopher, as compared to the earlier Greek tradition (which, of course, was not always entirely consistent).9 6 See classification and description of all the existing types of sources on this subject in D. Gutas, ‘PrePlotinian philosophy in Arabic’. 7 See H. Daiber, Aetius Arabus: die Vorsokratiker in arabischer Überlieferung [= Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur Mainz. Veröffentlichungen der Orientalischen Kommission 33], Wiesbaden 1980. 8 See U. Rudolph, Die Doxographie des Pseudo-Ammonios: ein Beitrag zur Neuplatonischen Überlieferung im Islam, Stuttgart 1989. 9 See G. Strohmaier, ‘Ethical sentences and anecdotes of Greek philosophers in Arabic tradition’, [in:] G. Strohmaier (ed.), Von Demokrit bis Dante. Die Bewahrung antiken Erbes in der arabischen Kultur, Hildesheim– Zürich–New York 1996, pp. 44–52; D. Gutas, Greek Wisdom Literature in Arabic Translation: a Study of the GraecoArabic Gnomologia, New Haven 1975.

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In the case of Pythagoras, another key source of knowledge for the Arabs were the Golden Verses;10 the translation of this philosophical poem attributed to Pythagoras is part of chapters on Pythagoras in Arabic histories of philosophy, or sometimes even their only content (for instance, al-Anṣārī’s extract of Nawādir al-falāsifa (Sayings of Philosophers) of Ḥunayn ibn Isḥāq (d. 873) and al-Ḥikma al-khālida (Book of Eternal Wisdom) of Miskawayh (d. 1030)). These verses were also widely used in other literary contexts.11 Their popularity certainly results from the character of the poem, its relatively easy and generally acceptable ethical content, as well as its gnomological form (a master giving advice to his student). It is important to note that this entire group of sources, as well as several other related texts, present Pythagoras as the first Greek philosopher and, indeed, the first who used the word ‘philosophy’. Moreover, some of these texts give a list of the most significant Greek thinkers. In one of its most popular versions, the list includes five figures: Empedocles, Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. The philosopher Abū al-Ḥasan Muḥammad ibn Yūsuf al-‘Āmirī (d. 992) presents them in his treatise Al-Amad ‘alā ʼl-abad (On the Afterlife) as those who transmitted to each other the wisdom of the prophet Luqmān12 and writes that they all ‘were described as wise’.13 He ends his description of Pythagoras by saying: ‘He claimed that he had acquired these sciences from the niche of prophecy’;14 it is an Islamic expression coming from the Qur’an (XXIV 35), which certain later Arabic authors respectfully repeated in their descriptions of Pythagoras. It points at the exceptional, prophetic and quasi divine status of this philosopher in their eyes.15 In ‘Amirī’s view these five key Greek philosophers were essentially in agreement, passing the wisdom from master to student and continuing the predecessor’s thoughts without entering in conflict with his views. Only these Greek philosophers could be called true sages, meaning only they possessed true wisdom – the real knowledge of everything, not merely one specific domain of the universe restricted to one scientific discipline. ‘Amirī makes this point clear in the conclusion of the section which presents the five thinkers: 10 P.C. van der Horst (ed.), Les vers d’or pythagoriciens, Leyde 1932; J.C. Thom, The Pythagorean Golden Verses: with Introduction and Commentary, Leiden 1995. 11 See M. Ullmann, Griechische Spruchdichtung in Arabischen, Tübingen 1959; F. Rosenthal, ‘Some Pythagorean documents transmitted in Arabic’, Orientalia 10 (1941), pp. 104–115; C. Baffioni, ‘“Detti aurei” di Pitagora in trasmissione araba’, [in:] V. Placella and S. Martelli (eds.), I moderni ausili all’ecdotica. Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Studi (Fisciano–Vietri sul Mare–Napoli, 27–31 ottobre 1990) [= Pubblizacioni dell’Università degli studi di Salerno. Sezione atti, convegni, miscellanee 39], Napoli 1994, pp. 107–131; H. Daiber, Neuplatonische Pythagorica in arabischem Gewande: der Kommentar des Iamblichus zu den Carmina aurea; ein verlorener griechischer Text in arabischer Überlieferung, Amsterdam 1995; N. Linley (ed.), Proclus’ commentary on the Pythagorean Golden Verses, Buffalo 1984; A. Izdebska, ‘Spolia i zatarte ślady. Pisma przypisywane Pitagorasowi w tradycji arabskiej’, Studia Antyczne i Mediewistyczne 10 (2012), pp. 139–156. 12 He was a legendary hero and sage of pre-Islamic Arabia and also appeared in the Qur’an. See B. Heller and N.A. Stillmann, ‘Luḳmān’, [in:] P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs (eds.), Encyclopaedia of Islam. Second Edition 2012, Brill Online 2013, http://referenceworks.brillonline.com/ entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/lukman-COM_0586, accessed 8 August 2013. 13 E.K. Rowson, Al’-Amirī on the Afterlife: a Translation with Commentary of His “Al-Amad ‘alā al-abad”, New Haven 1982, p. 88. 14 Ibidem. 15 See E.K. Rowson’s commentary in Al’-Amirī on the Afterlife, p. 232.

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These five were described as Sages. But none of the Greeks who came after them were called Sages. Rather, to every one of them was ascribed an art. Or a way of life – for example, Hippocrates the Physician, Homer the Poet, Archimedes the Geometer, Diogenes the Cynic, and Democritus the Physicist.16

The work of ‘Amirī served as a source for several later texts, including the popular history of Greek and Arabic philosophy Ṣiwān al-ḥikma (The Depository of Wisdom) attributed to philosopher Abū Sulaymān Muḥammad al-Sijistānī al-Manṭiqī (d. 985), which we know from later recensions17 as Muntakhab Ṣiwān al-ḥikma and Mukhtaṣar Ṣiwān al-ḥikma. According to D. Gutas, the fact that the anonymous gnomology which he called the Philosophical Quartet restricts itself to just four philosophers (Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle) is due to Muntakhab’s statement about ‘five true sages’. In his view, the Philosophical Quartet also represents some sort of selection from the original, no-longerextant text of the Ṣiwān al-ḥikma; since the author of the Quartet did not in all probability find the chapter on Empedocles in the version which seems to have been at his disposal, he focused solely on the four sages18. Finally, another author who is clearly dependent on the same original source is Saʽid al-Andalusī (d. 1070) in his Ṭabaqāt al-umām (Book of the categories of nations): The greatest of the Greek philosophers are five: historically the first one is Empedocles, then Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, the son of Nicomachus. There is general agreement that those five are the ones who deserve to be called philosophers of Greece.19

Interestingly, al-Shahrastānī (d. 1153) in his heresiographical treatise Kitāb al-milal wa-l-niḥāl (Book of Religions and Sects) gave a slightly different list of the key Greek philosophers. He mentions seven sages (ḥukamāʼ) who were ‘pillars of wisdom’ (asāṭīn al-ḥikma) in the introductory part of the section on Greek philosophy: Thales, Anaxagoras, Anaximenes, Empedocles, Pythagoras, Socrates and Plato.20 Thus, this is a chronological list of the first Greek philosophers, rather than a selection of the most important ones among them (it does not contain Aristotle who should certainly be on such a list). Neither on this list, nor within the tradition of the five key Greek philosophers which started with ‘Amirī is Pythagoras the first to be named; the philosophers are, instead, presented in chronological sequence. However, the primacy of Pythagoras is a very important motif in the testimony attributed to Plutarchus, cited by Ibn al-Nadīm in Kitāb al-Fihrist (Index)21 and Ibn Abī ʽUṣaybīʽa in ʿUyūn al-anbāʾfī-ṭabaqāt al-aṭibbāʾ (Lives of the Physicians).22 According to them it was Pythagoras who first called philosophy by this name. Also in the Muntakhab version of the Ṣiwān al-ḥikma, the story of the

Rowson, Al’-Amirī on the Afterlife, p. 91. See D. Gutas, ‘The Siwān al-hikma cycle of texts’, Journal of the American Oriental Society 102 (1982), pp. 645–650; and also the introduction to The Muntakhab Ṣiwān al-ḥikmah of Abū Sulaimān as-Sijistānī: Arabic Text, Introduction, and Indices, D.M. Dunlop (ed.), Hague-New York 1979. 18 Gutas, Greek Wisdom Literature in Arabic Translation, pp. 434–435. 19 Ṣāʿid al-Andalusī, Science in the Medieval World: ‘Book of the Categories of Nations’, transl. S.I. Salem, Austin 1991, p. 21. 20 Muḥammad al-Shahrastānī, The Book of Religious and Philosophical Sects, W. Cureton (ed.), London 1846, p. 253. 21 Ibn al-Nadīm, Kitāb al-Fihrist, G. Flügel (ed.), Beirut 1964 (1871), p. 245. 22 Ibn Abī ʽUṣaybīʽa, ‘Uyūn al-anbāʼ fī-ṭabaqāt al-aṭibbāʼ, A. Müller (ed.), Cairo 1882, p. 70. 16 17

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origins of Greek philosophy begins with Thales, but soon recognises the preeminence of Pythagoras: It is also told that philosophy had a different beginning, namely from Pythagoras, son of Mnesarchos, who came from Samos, and he is said to have been the first who called philosophy by its name.23

As one can see from this historiographical material, the figure of Pythagoras is undoubtedly eminent and respected, because of both his precedence and because of his inclusion in the group of the first and most important Greek philosophers or sages. Such an image may have had a positive influence on the attitudes of Arabic authors towards this figure; and it may also have encouraged interest in his life and philosophy, and rendered the task of continuing and assimilating his philosophical tradition genuinely attractive.

The earliest evaluation of Pythagoras by Arabic philosophers Al-Kindī Having completed our survey of Pythagoras as he appears within the Arabic histories of philosophy, it is now time to analyse the attitudes of particular Arabic thinkers. Of course, in dealing with the ‘first Greek philosopher’ one must begin with his Arab counterpart in ‘primacy’, al-Kindī (d. c. 873). Because of his important role in the transmission of Greek philosophy into Arabic, that his general attitude to this heritage was positive. Not only did al-Kindī take much from the Greek philosophical tradition, but he also felt responsible for establishing it within Arabic culture, as well as for persuading his contemporaries of its value.24 However, it is not easy to reconstruct his particular attitude towards Pythagoreanism (if he had any at all). It is possible to identify certain elements of Pythagorean theories in his writings; yet al-Kindī himself may have not been aware of their Pythagorean origins. He made some use of Pythagorean mathematics25 and music theory (which are closely interlinked)26 in his writings, but these theories were most probably taken from Nicomachus of Gerasa’s Introduction to Arithmetic.27 While we have evidence that al-Kindī was familiar with this work28 – and it was generally treated as a source of knowledge about Pythagorean philosophy, both in Late Antiquity and the Arabic Middle Ages – it is difficult to ascertain whether al-Kindī himself treated doctrines taken from Nicomachus as Pythagorean. However, the Pythagorean notion of Al-Sijistānī, The Muntakhab Ṣiwān al-ḥikmah of Abū Sulaimān al-Sijistānī, p. 4. P. Adamson, Al-Kindī, New York 2007, p. 29. 25 See for example C. Baffioni, ‘Platone, Aristotele e il pitagorismo kindiano’, Annali del’Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli. Pubblicazioni 45 (1985), pp. 135–144. 26 See F. Shehadi, Philosophies of Music in Medieval Islam, Leiden 1995; and C. Baffioni, ‘La scala pitagorica in al-Kindi’, [in:] R. Traini (ed.), Studi in onore di Francesco Gabrieli nel suo ottantesimo compleanno, Roma 1984, pp. 35–42. 27 Adamson, Al-Kindī, p. 173. 28 Adamson, Al-Kindī, pp. 27–28; G. Freudenthal and T. Levy, ‘De Gérase à Bagdad: Ibn Bahrīz, al-Kindī, et leur recension arabe de l’Introduction Arithmétique de Nicomaque, d’après la version hebraïque de Qalonymos ben Qalonymos d’Arles’, [in:] R. Morelon and A. Hasnawi (eds.), De Zénon d’Élée à Poincaré. Recueil d’études en hommage à Roshdi Rashed, Louvain 2004, pp. 479–544. 23 24

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the One as the highest principle and the first cause of everything is also strongly present in al-Kindī’s writings.29 At the very beginning of the treatise Fī al-falsafa al-ūlā (On First Philosophy), he wrote that ‘The cause of the existence and continuance of everything is the True One’,30 which sounds very Pythagorean. However, due to the lack of direct references to the Pythagorean tradition, the idea alone cannot serve as proof of al-Kindī’s direct knowledge of Pythagorean doctrine, nor of his attitude towards it. Thus, while several of his statements are undoubtedly very close to the Pythagorean theories – in particular to their late antique versions – it is impossible to determine whether al-Kindī himself associated these views with the Pythagorean tradition as such. In addition, the existence of direct mentions of the name of Pythagoras in al-Kindī’s writings is problematic. There is one passage which might suggest that Pythagoras was a philosophical authority for al-Kindī: it is in his Al-qawl fī ’l-nafs (Discourse on the Soul), where he discusses the opinions of the main Greek philosophers in order to show that they were in agreement concerning immateriality and immortality of the soul.31 These are mainly quotations from Plato and Aristotle, but there is also one long quotation attributed to a Greek philosopher whose name, mentioned at the beginning and the end of the quotation, is difficult to read in the manuscripts.32 According to G. Furlani – who translated and wrote a brief commentary on this text – the name can be read as Epicurus, although he admits that al-Kindī appeared to know nothing about Epicurus but, for some reason, put in this philosopher’s mouth a discourse about the purification of the soul from bodily desires through philosophical knowledge, and about its return to the light of God to which it really belongs; moreover, this discourse also includes statements that the soul lives its worldly life as in illusion, because its true life is its immortality with God in heaven. All of this is, in fact, quite distant from the philosophy of Epicurus, yet it is very close to Pythagoreanism, especially in its late antique version. It also accords with the philosophical vision of the Golden Verses, which use the same images and draw upon the same general philosophical understanding of the world. Furthermore, P. Adamson, in his monograph about al-Kindī, interpreted this name not as ‘Epicurus’, but as ‘Pythagoras’.33 If he is right (and the content of the quotation would confirm this interpretation), one may draw the conclusion that Pythagoras was, just after Plato and Aristotle, one of the most important Greek philosophical authorities, at least with regard to psychology and eschatology. Indeed, these were precisely the parts of Pythagoreanism that would later become most influential among the Arabs. Given the scarcity of the sources that would allow us to reconstruct al-Kindī’s attitudes towards Pythagoras with any certainty, it is worth analysing the information we have about one of his students, Aḥmad ibn al-Ṭayyib al-Sarakhsī (d. 899).34 Although his See introduction in A.L. Ivry, Al-Kindī’s Metaphysics: A Translation of Yaʿqub Ibn Isḥāq Al-Kindī’s Treatise ‘On First Philosophy’ (Fī al-falsafah al-ūlā), Albany 1974, pp. 20–21. 30 Ivry, Al-Kindī’s Metaphysics, p. 55. 31 See G. Furlani, ‘Una risala di al-Kindi sull’anima’, Rivista Trimestrale di Studi Filosofici e Religiosi 3 (1922), pp. 50–63; Adamson, Al-Kindī, pp. 29 and 113. 32 Furlani, ‘Una risala di al-Kindi sull’anima’, pp. 54–56 and 60–61; Adamson, Al-Kindī, p. 113. 33 Adamson, Al-Kindī, p. 113. 34 About him, see: F. Rosenthal, Aḥmad b. aṭ-Ṭayyib as-Sarahsī, New Haven 1943, and P. Adamson, ‘AlSarakhsī, Aḥmad ibn al-Ṭayyib’, [in:] H. Lagerlund (ed.), Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy: Philosophy between 500 and 1500, Dordrecht–New York 2011, pp. 1174–1176. 29

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writings are almost entirely lost (only some fragments have been preserved), lists of his works were transmitted by later authors. These lists may serve as a source of information about attitudes towards Pythagoras in al-Kindī’s circle. While it is impossible to determine the degree to which their contents resembled al-Kindī’s views, al-Sarakhsī was, in the opinion of F. Rosenthal, not a very original author and depended strongly on his master. In his monograph about al-Sarakhsī he wrote that he would rather present himself as a ‘transmitter on the authority of al-Kindī, and only later did he acquire the honor of being considered the author’.35 This observation can be helpful in arguing for a connection between al-Kindī and one of al-Sarakhsī’s writings, mentioned by Ibn Abī ʽUṣaybīʽa36 and Ḥājī Khalīfa (Kâtip Çelebi)37, entitled Kitāb fī waṣāyā Fīṯāghūras (Book on the Exhortations of Pythagoras), a commentary to the Pythagorean Golden Verses. If these two authors are not mistaken,38 the attribution of such a commentary to al-Kindī’s student can indicate that the philosopher himself knew the Golden Verses and showed genuine interest in their philosophical content. This seems highly probable, if we take into account the widespread popularity of this Pythagorean text in the Medieval Arabic world, as well as the fact that it was known to the Arabs since the very beginnings of the translation movement, in which al-Kindī was also involved.

Thābit ibn Qurra Another author closely connected with the translation movement – and probably also interested in Pythagoreanism – was Thābit ibn Qurra (d. 901). He was first of all a translator (from Greek and Syriac) and a mathematician-astronomer, thus his philosophical interests were of secondary importance. He dealt primarily with the philosophy of mathematics, and his attitude to the Greek heritage was in general very positive. Importantly, he was a translator of Greek texts from Ḥarrān, and was thus a member of the Sabean community in which some form of Hellenic religion had survived into the eighth century, and which may have considered Pythagoras to be one of its prophets.39 When one combines this background with his scientific interests in mathematics, the Pythagorean tradition must have been equally as interesting for him as the writings of Euclid, Archimedes or Apollonius of Perge. Thābit ibn Qurra produced the translation of Nicomachus of Gerasa’s Introduction to Arithmetic,40 which was probably the most important text about the Pythagorean philosophy of mathematics and metaphysics of numbers known to the Arabs. Although, once again, it is difficult to identify direct Rosenthal, Aḥmad b. aṭ-Ṭayyib as-Saraẖsī, p. 18. Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʿa, ‘Uyūn al-anbāʼ fī-ṭabaqāt al-aṭibbāʼ, p. 294. 37 Ḥājī Khalīfa, Kashf al-ẓunūn an asāmï al-kutub wa-al-funūn. Lexicon bibliographicum et encyclopaedicum ad codicum Vindobonensium, Parisiensium et Berolinensem, G. Flügel (ed.) 5, Leipzig–London 1850, p. 169. 38 See F. Rosenthal, ‘Fīthāghūras’, [in:] P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs (eds.), Encyclopaedia of Islam. Second Edition, Brill Online 2013, http://referenceworks.brillonline. com/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/fithaghuras-SIM_2388, accessed 8 August 2013. F. Rosenthal wrote that the attribution of this text to al-Sarakhsī can result from mistaking him with ‘Abdallah ibn al-Ṭayyib – the translator of the commentary to the Pythagorean Golden Verses attributed to Proclus. 39 Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad al-Bīrūnī, The Chronology of Ancient Nations: an English Version of the Arabic Text of the Athâr-ul-bâkiya of Albîrûnî, or ‘Vestiges of the Past’, (trans.) E. Sachau, Frankfurt 1969 (1879), p. 187; Masʿūdī, al-Tanbīh wa-al-ishrāf, M.J. de Goeje (ed.) [= Bibliotheca Geographorum Arabicorum 8], Leiden 1894, pp. 161–162. 40 W. Kutsch (ed.), Tābit b. Qurra’s arabische Übersetzung der Arithmetike eisagoge des Nikomachos von Gerasa, Beirut 1959. 35 36

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references to Pythagoras in Thābit ibn Qurra’s writings, the facts mentioned above – together with the presence of the elements from Pythagorean mathematics in his own theories (for instance, the famous Pythagorean theorem41) – clearly indicate his appreciation of this philosophical tradition. It is further confirmed by the Ṣiwān al-ḥikma (in the Muntakhab version) which contains the following anecdote in the chapter on Thābit ibn Qurra: in a conversation which took place in his presence, someone presented in relative detail the Pythagorean philosophy of numbers and asked Thābit ibn Qurra for his opinion on these theories. He is said to have started his answer by paying homage to Pythagoras’s wisdom and spiritual superiority. He continued by saying that, in terms of the theory of numbers, Pythagoras surpassed those who followed him, including Thābit ibn Qurra’s contemporaries, but that, since his writings had been lost, it was no longer possible to learn his theories. In his final statement, he makes clear that he agrees with the Pythagorean idea that numbers and figures are embedded in the reality which we perceive.42 Of course, it is impossible to establish whether this anecdote has anything to do with Thābit’s actual words, or whether it is just an invention of his biographers. However, even if the story was invented, it remains a testament to the respect Thābit was later believed to have shown towards the philosophy of Pythagoras and his successors. Moreover, the passage displays not merely a general esteem for Pythagoras, but rather for a very specific and important element of Pythagorean philosophy, namely the theory of numbers as the principle of the world, to which Thābit is able to refer in quite a detailed way. The very fact that there is a direct question to Thābit, asking for his opinion about the Pythagoreanism, makes this passage a distinctive testament to the attitudes of Arabic intellectuals towards this philosophical tradition.

The Arabic ‘followers’ of Pythagoras Ikhwān al-Ṣafāʼ Thābit’s particularly respectful attitude, combined with the interests in Pythagorean mathematics, philosophy of mathematics and metaphysics of numbers, was also shared by the group of anonymous authors who called themselves Ikhwān al-Ṣafāʼ (Brethren of Purity). They created a collection of fifty two philosophical treatises entitled Rasāʼil (Epistles), which constitute a sort of encyclopaedia of philosophical knowledge.43 Despite the lack of consensus among modern scholars regarding the precise dating of this collection, one can safely treat them as texts produced in the ninth-tenth centuries. The Epistles of Ikhwān al-Safāʼ have been connected explicitly with Pythagoreanism, especially since the publication of the monograph of Y. Marquet.44 His main idea was that Pythagoreanism, made available to the Ikhwān by the Sabeans from Harran, A. Sayili, ‘Thabit ibn Qurra’s generalization of the Pythagorean Theorem’, Isis 51 (1960), pp. 35–37. Al-Sijistānī, The Muntakhab Ṣiwān al-ḥikmah of Abū Sulaimān as-Sijistānī, p. 124; see also R. Rashed, Thabit Ibn Qurra. Science and Philosophy in Ninth–Century Baghdad, Berlin–New York 2009, p. 703. 43 Rasāʾil Ikhwān al-Ṣafāʾ wa-khillān al-wafāʾ, B. Bustānī (ed.), vols. 1–4, Beirut 1957. 44 Y. Marquet, Les ‘Frères de la pureté’ pythagoriciens de l’islam: la marque du pythagorisme dans la rédaction des épîtres des Iḫwan aṣ-Ṣafāʼ, Paris 2006. 41 42

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played a very important role in their philosophical system. Marquet even claims that, in the chronological order of the treatises (as he reconstructs it), one may recognise how the Sabean masters gradually initiated the Ikhwān al-Safāʼ to Pythagorean doctrines. However, D. de Smet has demonstrated the many problems raised by such an interpretation, as well as the vague source base on which it is grounded.45 In his opinion, almost everything that Marquet considers Pythagorean was, in fact, part of the Neoplatonic syncretic system common to both Late Antique and Medieval Arabic philosophy. According to him, it is impossible to distinguish any specifically Pythagorean ideas within this conglomerate. De Smet, in his review of Marquet’s book, also observes that the Ikhwān never presented themselves explicitly as Pythagoreans and that, throughout the entire two thousand pages of the Beirut edition of the Epistles, Pythagoras or Pythagoreans are mentioned by name only fourteen times.46 However, according to C. Baffioni who studied all the Greek quotations in the Epistles, Pythagoras is mentioned fifteen times and Pythagoreans ten times.47 It is worth noting that these are rather high numbers compared with the mentions of other Greek authors; Plato and Aristotle, for instance, appear less frequently than Pythagoras (respectively ten and eight times), while many important Greek philosophers are not mentioned at all.48 Moreover, the number of mentions of Pythagoras or Pythagoreans in the Epistles is also relatively high compared to the frequency with which other Arabic philosophers (or historians of philosophy) mention the names of Greek philosophers, in particular such popular figures as Aristotle or Plato. However, it is not the number of mentions which allow us to determine the attitude of the Ikhwān al-Ṣafāʼ towards Pythagoras, but rather the context and the ways in which these names appear in the text. In at least a few places where the Ikhwān mention the name of Pythagoras they clearly treat him in a special way. In the fifth Epistle, entitled On Music, there appears an element of Pythagorasʼs legend that was characteristic of the Greek tradition. Pythagoras is said to have been given a special nature, different to the one shared by other people, that allowed him to hear the music made by the movements of spheres49: It is said that because of the purity of the substance of his soul and the intelligence of his heart, Pythagoras the sage was able to hear the tones of the movements of the celestial spheres and the heavenly bodies, and through the outstanding quality of his thought was able to derive the basic principles of music and the tones of melodies. He is the first of the sages to have spoken about this science and to have given instruction concerning this secret.50 45 D. de Smet, ‘Yves Marquet, les Iḫwan al-Ṣafāʼ et le pythagorisme’, Journal asiatique 295 (2007), pp. 491–500. 46 De Smet, ‘Yves Marquet, les Iḫwan al-Ṣafāʼ et le pythagorisme’, p. 498. 47 C. Baffioni, ‘Fragments et témoignages d’auteurs anciens dans les Rasāʼil des Ikhwān al-Safāʼ’, [in:] A. Hasnawi, A. Elamrani-Jamal and M. Aouad (eds.), Perspectives arabes et médiévales sur la tradition scientifique et philosophique grecque [= Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 79], Louvain–Paris 1997, pp. 319–329, especially p. 322. 48 These numbers occur in the article by C. Baffioni (‘Fragments et témoignages d’auteurs anciens dans les Rasāʼil des Ikhwān al-Safāʼ’, on p. 322). Whereas they are a little bit different in her book printed three years earlier (Pythagoras 14, Pythagoreans 14, Aristotle 6, Plato 10), still the proportion is roughly the same (C. Baffioni, Frammenti e testimonianze di autori antichi nelle Epistole degli Iḫwān aṣ-Ṣafā’ [= Studi pubblicati dall’Istituto Italiano per la Storia Antica 57], Rome 1994, p. 37). 49 This legend is rooted in Greek biographies of Pythagoras by Porphyry (Vita Pythagorae 30) and Iamblichus (De vita pythagorica, ch. 15). 50 Rasāʾil Ikhwān al-Ṣafāʾ , vol. 1, p. 208 (Risāla V); translation: O. Wright, On Music, An Arabic Critical Edition and English Translation of Epistle 5 [Epistles of the Brethren of Purity], Oxford 2010, p. 121.

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In the same treatise, referring to the same issue, the Ikhwān write that Pythagoras heard the sounds of the harmony of heavens ‘after [the soul of Pythagoras] had been purified of its base physical desires and refined by spiritual thought and arithmetical, geometrical, and musical mathematics’.51 These two quotations alone are enough to demonstrate that Pythagoras was held in high esteem by the Ikhwān; it is further confirmed by the fact that they often added ḥakīm (sage) to his name. In the treatise from which both these quotations are taken, Pythagoras is presented as one of the ḥukamāʼ (which is used to refer to ancient sages, but also imams and prophets52). These sages were believed to have been able to see the supernatural world (through physical perception) and to have possessed superhuman knowledge, through which they acquired their prophet-like status.53 Right after the description of the celestial visions of Hermes Trismegistus (who was also presented as one who physically ascended to heaven) and Pythagoras, there is an apostrophe to the ‘brother’ – that is the reader of the Epistles – encouraging him to free his soul from the ocean of matter and the slavery of his nature, following the way described in the books of the sages. This apostrophe is, without doubt, an encouragement to read carefully the writings of Pythagoras, and to follow his example. The motif of celestial harmony, and of music in general, provides just one of the many contexts in which Pythagoras appears in the Epistles. He is also considered an authority on matters of astrology, magic, and alchemy; the author of the Golden Verses; and, most prominently, an authority on arithmetic, and the ‘first who talked about science of number and its nature’.54 This last context, the famous Pythagorean metaphysics of numbers, is beyond doubt the one in which the name of Pythagoras appears most frequently. The metaphysics of numbers, as attributed to Pythagoras, is laid out in the thirty-second epistle, entitled On the intellectual principles according to the Pythagoreans. This treatise directly precedes the epistle On the intellectual principles according to the Ikhwān al-Safāʼ. The mere fact that the authors of the Epistles devoted a separate treatise to Pythagorean metaphysics – and that this treatise precedes the one in which the Ikhwān’s own metaphysical principles are presented – clearly indicates that, among the many Greek philosophers, Pythagoras was for them a figure of special importance. At the beginning of the epistle on their own metaphysics, they write openly that the Pythagorean teaching that ‘beings exist according to the nature of the numbers’, which they have just discussed, is also ‘the doctrine of our brothers’ (madhhab ikhwāninā).55 The system they present may, of course, be qualified as a Neoplatonist system featuring emanations of subsequent hypostases from the One; this, in itself, is nothing original Rasāʾil Ikhwān al-Ṣafāʾ, vol. 1, p. 226 (Risāla V); translation: Wright, On Music, p. 148. Y. Marquet showed that the Ikhwān al-Safāʼ used the term ‘sage’ (ḥakīm) for ancient philosophers and Muslim prophets and Shī’ite imams as well. See the chapter ‘Sages et philosophes’ in his La philosophie des Iḫwān al-ṣafāʾ [= Etudes musulmanes 19], Alger 1975, pp. 461–476, and Les ‘Frères de la pureté’ pythagoriciens de l’islam, p. 261. 53 See C. Baffioni, ‘Greek ideas and vocabulary in Arabic philosophy: the Rasāʼil by Ikhwān al-Ṣafāʼ’, [in:] A. Harrak (ed.), Contacts between Cultures. Selected Papers from the 33rd International Congress of Asian and North African Studies (Toronto, August 15–25, 1990), Lewiston 1992, pp. 391–398, especially p. 394, where she wrote that ‘when Ikhwān al-Ṣafāʾ allude to Pythagoras’ perception of cellestial sounds, they represent him as a ‘saint’ more explicitly that many other Muslim thinkers’. 54 Rasāʾil Ikhwān al-Ṣafāʾ, vol. 3, p. 178 (Risāla XXXII). 55 Rasāʾil Ikhwān al-Ṣafāʾ, vol. 3, p. 200 (Risāla XXXIII). 51 52

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within Arabic philosophy. Although there are several Pythagorean elements in this system, its widespread popularity in both Late Antiquity and the Arabic Middle Ages makes it difficult to ascertain whether the Ikhwān used any specifically Pythagorean sources in creating their own metaphysics. Nevertheless, what matters is that they considered their system to be Pythagorean, and presented themselves as following and continuing a Pythagorean metaphysics. Thus, while the philosophical knowledge of the Ikhwān – and the corpus of Greek philosophical writings that they used (for instance the Introduction to Arithmetic of Nicomachus of Gerasa, which they quote quite frequently56) – did not in all probability differ substantially from what other Arabic intellectuals of that time had at their disposal, their attitude to Pythagoras was particularly positive, and they clearly attached special importance both to his person and his philosophy.

Alchemical writings and Muhammad ibn Zakariyāʼ al-Rāzī Another group of Arabic texts which shared a positive attitude towards this Greek philosopher, and which attributed to him a very important place within their own thought-world, is the corpus of Arabic alchemical writings. Its principal components are Jābir ibn Ḥayyān’s (d. c. 815) corpus57 and the Turba philosophorum (composed c. 900).58 In these texts, Pythagoras is shown as an ancient sage, not only the first philosopher, but also the first alchemist.59 The Turba philosophorum (preserved only in a Latin translation), has the form of a philosophical dialogue, in which Pythagoras is the central figure, the chair of the discussion who introduces other speakers and sometimes also speaks on alchemical matters, making reference to his own philosophical doctrine. In addition, the entire dialogue takes place during a Pythagorean meeting. At the very beginning, in an introduction which precedes the dialogue, the narrator (Archelaus) says: I testify that my master, Pythagoras, the Italian, master of the wise and chief of the Prophets, had a greater gift of God and of Wisdom than was granted to any one after Hermes. Therefore he had a mind to assemble his disciples, who were now greatly increased, and had been constituted the chief persons throughout all regions for the discussion of this most precious Art, that their words might be a foundation for posterity.60

Within the dialogue itself, one can find both various elements of Pythagorean philosophy and purely alchemical theories told by Pythagoras or his students. This image of Pythagoras as an authority on alchemical matters was nothing new: the philosopher 56 See C. Baffioni, ‘Citazioni di autori antichi nelle Rasāʼil degli Ikhwān al-Safāʾ: il caso di Nicomaco di Gerasa’, [in:] G. Endress and R. Kruk (eds.), The Ancient Tradition in Christian and Islamic Hellenism [= CNWS publications 50], Leiden 1997, pp. 3–27. 57 About this corpus of texts and the reception of the Greek philosophical and scientific literature in it, see: P. Kraus, Jābir Ibn Ḥayyān: contribution à l’histoire des idées scientifiques dans l’islam: Jābir et la science grecque, Paris 1986 (1942). 58 M. Plessner, ‘The place of the Turba Philosophorum in the development of alchemy’, Isis 45 (1954), pp. 331–338. 59 M. Plessner, Vorsokratische Philosophie und griechische Alchemie in arabisch-lateinischer Überlieferung: Studien zu Text und Inhalt der Turba philosophorum, Wiesbaden 1975; U. Rudolph, ‘Christliche Theologie und vorsokratische Lehren in der “Turba Philosophorum”’, Oriens 32 (1990), pp. 97–123. 60 A.E. Waite, The Turba Philosophorum: Or, Assembly of the Sages, Called also the Book of Truth in the Art and the Third Pythagorical Synod, London 1896, pp. 1–2; J. Ruska (ed.), Turba philosophorum: ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Alchemie, Berlin 1931, p. 109, lines 10–15.

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appears in this role in the writings of both Jābir ibn Ḥayyān and the Ikhwān. However, the very fact that the entire dialogue – which was later to enjoy great popularity – was conceived in a Pythagorean setting may reflect the great respect Pythagoras must have enjoyed among Arabic intellectuals interested in alchemy.61 Another author who was linked to alchemical circles and who also appreciated the Pythagorean tradition was Muhammad ibn Zakariyāʼ al-Rāzī (d. 932), a philosopher, but more importantly a physician and an alchemist. According to the later tradition, he showed considerable respect for, and made frequent use of the Greek heritage. In his writings, he often refers to Galen or Plato and, in ethical matters, to Socrates. He composed a commentary on Plato’s Timaeus and was responsible for numerous epitomai (abbreviated versions), including ones of Aristotle’s logical writings, and of the medical treatises attributed to Galen, Hippocrates and Plutarchus.62 As for Pythagoras, it is ʽAlī ibn al-Ḥusain al-Masʽūdī (d. 956) who makes a connection between the two. According to his Kitāb al-tanbīh wa-l-ishrāf (The Book of Notification and Verification), al-Rāzī wrote about Pythagoras in a lost treatise Kitāb Manṣūrī fī ṭibb (The book of Medicine for Mansur).63 More informative, however, is the testimony of Ṣāʽid al-Andalusī, in the Ṭabaqāt al-umām (Book of the Categories of Nations): Several thinkers who came later on wrote books about the doctrines of Pythagoras and his followers in which they defended the old natural philosophy. Among those who wrote on this subject, we have Abū Bakr Muhammad ibn Zakariyāʼ al-Rāzī, who had a great deal of distaste for Aristotle, blaming him for his deviation from the teachings of Plato and other early philosophers. He claimed that Aristotle had corrupted the philosophy and changed many of its basic principles. I belive that al-Rāzī’s distaste for and his criticism of Aristotle are the result of their opposite views, as stated by al-Rāzī in his book Fī al-‘ilm al-ilāhī (On the Science of Theology) and in his book Fī al-ṭibb al-rūḥānī (On Spiritual Medicine) as well as his other works where he demonstrated his preference for the doctrine of dualism in polytheism and for the doctrines of the Brahmans in the repeal of prophecy and the beliefs of the common Sabians in reincarnation.64

In the following part of his argument Ṣāʽid defends Aristotle against al-Rāzī’s critiques and praises him, finishing the entire section with the words: ‘Thus Aristotle became the leader of the philosophers and one who united all the virtues of the scholars’. Ṣāʽid’s testimony to al-Rāzī’s views is particularly important because it points to the fact that some Arabic philosophers were eager to oppose Aristotle and Pythagoras. The former is seen by al-Rāzī (at least according to Ṣāʽid) as the one who contaminated or distorted the philosophy of Plato and his predecessors. On the other hand, in Ṣāʽid’s eyes, Aristotle is undeniably connected with the Muslim orthodoxy. Consequently, he can attribute al-Rāzī’s critique to his heterodox views, including polytheism and reincarnation, which may have had some connection with Pythagoreanism itself.

61 Some more references to Arabic authors mentioning Pythagoreans as alchemical authorities can be found in Diwald, Arabische Philosophie und Wissenschaft, p. 33, and F. Sezgin, Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums, vol. 4: Alchimie–Chemie, Botanik–Agrikultur, Frankfurt 1971, p. 45–46. 62 J. Ruska, ‘Al-Biruni als Quelle für das Leben und die Schriften al-Razi’s’, Isis 5 (1923), pp. 26–50 (p. 43). 63 ʿAlī ibn al-Ḥusain al-Masʿūdī, Kitāb at-Tanbīh wa-’l-išrāf, Beirut 1965, p. 162. 64 Ṣāʿid al-Andalusī, Science in the Medieval World, p. 30.

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The critics of Pythagoras and the Arabic Aristotelian tradition This philosophical topos of opposing Pythagoras with Aristotle leads us to those Arabic philosophers who ignored or disregarded Pythagoras exactly because Aristotle’s own attitude towards him was so unfavourable. These were the intellectuals who identified themselves primarily with the naturalistic, logical Aristotelian tradition. Such an attitude was clearly expressed by Maimonides (d. 1204); although classified today as a Jewish philosopher, he wrote in Arabic and participated in the same philosophical current as many other Medieval Arabic thinkers. Therefore, he can certainly serve as a paradigmatic example of an Arabic naturalistic philosopher’s attitude toward Pythagoras. In a letter to his Hebrew translator Samuel ibn Tibbon he called Pythagoras – as well as other Greek authors such as Empedocles, Hermes and Porphyry – ‛old philosophy’, and wrote that there is no point wasting time reading their books.65 A similar viewpoint is expressed by Ibn Bājja (d. 1138), an Andalusian philosopher and physician, and a commentator of Aristotle. In his paraphrase of the Physics of Aristotle he justifies his omission of the opinions of the Presocratics on the grounds that they were not scientific enough, and that they had already been refuted by Aristotle: The older philosophers held opinions which contradicted observation because of their little experience in logic. (...) Aristotle discussed the opinions of these philosophers and refuted them. (...) He had to do this because in his time these wrong opinions were still held. But for us it is not necessary to discuss these opinions because they are not found any more in our time. 66

Another example of how Aristotle’s attitudes were inherited by later authors can be found in the Kitāb al-Shifāʼ (Book of Healing) by Ibn Sīnā (d. 1037), in the section entitled Al-Ilahiyāt (Metaphysics). In book VII (chapters 2–3) of this treatise, he criticises both Pythagorean and Platonic views of quantities as substances, as well as the understanding held by these ancient philosophers on the nature of numbers and universals.67 His words are clearly inspired by the Metaphysics of Aristotle, and this applies both to the general content of his discussion and to the structure of the argument, as well as to the fact that he criticises Pythagoreans and Platonists, whom Aristotle himself treated as identical in this context.68 In all probability, Ibn Sīnā took his critique from this philosopher, without reflecting on the fact that, in this particular context, Platonists are accompanied by Pythagoreans, whom he does not criticise separately in his other writings. Consequently, one cannot use these two chapters of the Metaphysics as evidence of Ibn Sīnā’s negative attitude towards Pythagoreanism; rather, they are merely an example of how Aristotle’s own attitudes were copied uncritically by his later followers. 65 A quotation from this text can be found in M. Steinschneider, Die hebraeischen Übersetzungen des Mittelalters und die Juden als Dolmetscher, Berlin 1893, p. 42. I owe this example to Gotthard Strohmaier who used it in his article ‘Doxographies, Graeco-Arabic’, [in:] H. Lagerlund (ed.), Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy: Philosophy between 500 and 1500, Dordrecht–New York 2011, pp. 276–279. 66 See P. Lettinck, Aristotle’s Physics and Its Reception in the Arabic World: With an Edition of the Unpublished Parts of Ibn Bājja’s Commentary on the Physics, Leiden 1994, p. 71. 67 See M. Marmura, ‘Avicenna’s critique of Platonists in Book VII, Chapter 2 of the Metaphysics of his Healing’, [in:] J.E. Montgomery (ed.), Arabic Theology, Arabic Philosophy: From the Many to the One: Essays in Celebration of Richard M. Frank, Leuven 2006, pp. 355–369. 68 See A. Bertolacci, The Reception of Aristotle’s Metaphysics in Avicenna’s Kitāb al-Šifāʾ: A Milestone of Western Metaphysical Thought, Leiden 2006.

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Al-Ghazālī Even more directly critical than the attitudes of Maimonides and Ibn Bājja was al-Ghazālī’s (d. 1111) opinion about Pythagoras. He presents his views on Pythagoras in his philosophical authobiography Al-Munqidh min al-Ḍalāl (Deliverance from Error), a part of which is devoted to a critique of the Baṭīniyya (i.e., the Ismailis), in particular of their doctrine of the taʽlīm (which says that Shī’ite imams are endowed by God with special knowledge (ʽilm) that is not accessible to the rest of the faithful; this knowledge is the source of the imams’ authority). However, this is not the only place where al-Ghazālī is critical of Ismailism and its principles. Several of his polemical writings are focused on this very issue, and it appears to have been a very important problem for him.69 In his autobiography, the Ikhwān al-Safāʼ provide him with an example of the philosophers he wants to criticize. He warns his readers that, as a result of referring to such a wide array of authorities, they mixed their orthodox sources – such as the Qurʼan, the hadiths, and the sayings of the mystics – with ‘false statements pronounced by philosophers’; in this clever way, he says, they make the faithful believe in what is false. Later on, his critique centres on Pythagoras himself: A certain number of them claim to know a little of the teaching, which amounts to a few insipid crumbs of Pythagoras’s philosophy. He was one of the early ancient thinkers, and his doctrine is even more weak than that of the philosophers. Aristotle refuted it and revealed the weakness and error of its theories, yet this can be found once again in the book of the Brothers of Purity; it is the refusal of philosophy. It is strange to see these people struggling all their lives in search of knowledge, only to be content with worthless banalities while believing they have reached the highest point of knowledge.70

This passage contains many elements which may have shaped the attitudes of Arabic intellectuals toward Pythagoreanism. In the preceding chapter of the same text, before al-Ghazālī presents his critique of the Baṭīniyya, his argument is focused on proving the errors of the philosophers. In this context it is easy to understand his statement that Pythagoras’s doctrine is even worse than the philosophers’ teaching, which – as he has already proven – is in itself weak and erroneous. Aristotle remains the only (still not entirely) positive figure of a philosopher71 and he is the one who criticises Pythagoreanism. One may wonder, if Aristotle proved the erroneousness of the Pythagorean philosophy so long ago, why the Arabic authors bothered to refer to this philosophy and criticized it several centuries later. In order to answer this question, one has to remember that wherever there is an explicit critique of Pythagoreanism (or the Presocratics in general), the philosophy of Aristotle is often given as a the context for the criSee F. Mitha, Al-Ghazali and the Ismailis: A Debate on Reason and Authority in Medieval Islam [= Ismaili heritage series 5], London 2001. 70 Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad al-Ghazālī, Deliverance from Error and Mystical Union with the Almighty, N. Abdul-Rahim Rifat (ed.), M. Abūlaylah (trans.) [= Cultural heritage and contemporary change 2A: Islam 2], Washington 2001, pp. 88–89. 71 Or, just a ‘rather’ positive figure, since earlier in the same book – despite noting the truthfulness of some elements of his philosophy as well as his merits in criticizing his predecessors – al-Ghazālī attacks him for several other elements of his theories. In the eyes of al-Ghazālī, Aristotle’s philosophy (in the version transmitted by Ibn Ṣinā and al-Fārābī) can be divided into three parts: ‘the first two would be condemned, one for disbelief, the other for innovation or heresy; the third would not be condemned without appeal’ (al-Ghazālī, Deliverance from Error, p. 75). 69

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tique. However, while Aristotle was viewed as a critic of Pythagoras, it was the Ikhwān al-Safāʼ who became known to the later Arabic philosophers as followers and continuators of Pythagoras, and they were thus criticized accordingly. Al-Ghazālī’s attacks against the Ikhwān al-Safāʼ are more frequent than those against their hero; he even goes so far as to call them the ‘dregs of philosophy’ (in an older English translation by W.M. Watt).72 This comment, in addition to many other mockeries, reveal that al-Ghazālī regarded the Pythagorean-Ismaili conglomerate of the Ikhwān al-Safāʼ as a complete antithesis to what he considered orthodox philosophy and theology.

The Arabic mystic and the Greek sage: al-Suhrawardī and Pythagoras There remains one final philosopher who belongs to the group of Arabic intellectuals who held Pythagoras in high esteem – al-Suhrawardī (d. c. 1191). In the introduction to his magisterial treatise Ḥikmat al-Ishrāq (The Philosophy of Illumination) he presents his own vision of the history of philosophy, in particular from the point of view of ‘intuitive philosophy’ and ‘discursive philosophy’. In al-Suhrawardī’s eyes, an ideal philosopher has to harmonise these two philosophies, although historically they had actually competed with each other and were expressed in a variety of versions. As regards the ancient roots of his own philosophy, al-Suhrawardī states that: In all that I have said about the science of lights and that which is and is not based upon it, I have been assisted by those who have traveled the path of God. This science is the very intuition of the inspired and illuminated Plato (…) and of those who came before him from the time of Hermes (…) including such mighty pillars of philosophy as Empedocles, Pythagoras, and others. The words of the Ancients are symbolic and not open to refutation. The criticisms made of the literal sense of their words fail to address their real intentions, for a symbol cannot be refuted.73

For al-Suhrawardī Aristotle is not opposed to these philosophers; in the preceding paragraph he is presented as a representative of a different method of philosophy, which al-Suhrawardī would later call ‘discursive’. Al-Suhrawardī explains that, although he has previously written treatises which continue this peripatetic mode of philosophising, he now presents ‘a shorter path to knowledge’ and writes about himself: ‘I did not first arrive at it through cogitation; rather, it was acquired through something else’.74 What follows is the paragraph quoted above, which presents the pre-Aristotelian philosophers – with Pythagoras among them – as al-Suhrawardī’s predecessors in approaching philosophy in an ‘intuitive’ way. This type of philosophy cannot be subject to critique, because it is written in symbols; and symbols cannot be criticized by attacking particular words or phrases, because they have their own, secret, deeper meaning.75 It is closely connected with the ‘intuitive’, non-dialectic form of this philosophical method.

W.M. Watt, The Faith and Practice of al-Ghāzāli, London 1953, p. 53. Yaḥyā ibn Ḥabash al-Suhrawardī, The Philosophy of Illumination: A New Critical Edition of the Text of ‘Hikmat al-ishraq, J. Walbridge and H. Ziai (ed.), Provo (Utah) 1999, p. 2. 74 Ibidem. 75 It is worth remembering that symbola were a special literary genre in which early Pythagoreans wrote down their doctrine [see Diogenes Laertius VIII 1, 17–18; Porphyry, Vita Pythagorae 41, 7–43, 10; Iamblichus, De vita pythagorica XVIII 82–86; Protrepticus 21, 106–126; and also W. Burkert, Lore and Science in Ancient 72

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The reception of Greek philosophers, including Pythagoras, in al-Suhrawardī’s philosophy has been studied in detail by J. Walbridge, who has argued that al-Suhrawardī was under their influence, and used several elements of their theories in his own philosophy.76 His conclusions were criticised by D. Gutas, who asserted that al-Suhrawardī was not following Plato or ‘Pythagoreanizing Neoplatonism’, since – as Walbridge himself observes – the philosopher did not know much about any of them; anything that one could attribute to him in this respect is too general. In Gutas’s opinion, what al-Suhrawardī actually does is ‘pretend to follow’ his Greek masters.77 However, it is worth noting that al-Suhrawardī probably knew at least the Arabic version of Aetius’ Placita philosophorum, as it was known by his follower al-Shahrazūrī.78 Consequently, al-Suhrawardī’s knowledge of Pythagorean philosophy may not have been so insignificant. Still, from the perspective of this paper, the extent of al-Suhrawardī’s actual knowledge of Greek philosophy is largely unimportant. He is treated here as a representative of a specific attitude toward the Pythagorean tradition. Compared with the authors I have discussed above, al-Suhrawardī is a relatively late philosopher, who could draw on the experience of more than three centuries of Muslim philosophy, as well as the reception of Greek philosophy by Arabic intellectuals. As a result, his philosophy provides strong evidence for identifying certain recurring patterns and divisions which the Arabic authors tended to apply to Greek philosophy. One of these is the juxtaposition of Pythagoras and Aristotle as two antithetical ways of approaching philosophy. Of course, al-Suhrawardī does not simply follow Aristotle’s critique of Pythagoras, Plato and the Presocratics, rather he understands this traditional opposition as a specific case of the general division of philosophy into illuminative and discursive. He needs this division not because of his interests in the history of philosophy, but in order to present his own philosophical system, which shares certain methods and tendencies with the philosophers to whom he refers. Indeed, instead of assembling elements from various philosophers’ doctrines with the view of creating a syncretistic philosophy, his goal is to develop a philosophy of his own. Consequently, he needs Pythagoras and Plato as authorities who can justify his decision to make mysticism the foundation of philosophy. Furthermore, al-Suhrawardī understood himself to be one of the elements within the chain of divine-mystical philosophical knowledge, whose links were not only Pythagoras, Hermes, Empedocles and Plato, but also those Arabic intellectuals whom al-Suhrawardī considered to be Muslim Pythagoreans, namely the Sufis Dhū al-Nūn al-Miṣrī and Sahl al-Tūstarī. It is clear, therefore, that all these authorities were for him representatives of one philosophical tradition which placed an emphasis on mysticism and asceticism. This tradition was also linked to Egypt, gnosis and alchemy through the Pythagoreanism, Cambridge 1972 (1962), pp. 166–192]. They were also, to a certain degree, known to the Arabs (for instance, Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʿa, ‘Uyūn al-anbāʼ fī-ṭabaqāt al-aṭibbāʼ, p. 63). 76 J. Walbridge, The Leaven of the Ancients: Suhrawardi and the Heritage of the Greeks, Albany 2000. 77 D. Gutas, ‘Essay-review: Suhrawardi and Greek philosophy’, Arabic Sciences and Philosophy 13 (2003), pp. 303–309. 78 I owe this argument to Emily Cottrell who worked on al-Shahrazūrī’s knowledge of Greek philosophy. See her works: Les Philosophes grecs dans le Kitāb Nuzhat al-arwāh˙ wa Rawḍat al-Afrāḥ fi Ta’rīkh al-ḥukamā’, École Pratique des Hautes Études (5e section), Paris 1999; ‘Kitāb Nuzhat al-arwāḥ wa Rawḍat al-Afrāḥ de Shams al-Dīn al-Shahrazūrī: composition et sources. Position de thèse’, Annuaire de l’École Pratique des Hautes Études. Section des Sciences Religieuses 113 (2004–2005), pp. 383–387.

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figure of Graeco-Egyptian Hermes Trismegistus as well as Muslim Dhū al-Nūn al-Miṣrī and Sahl al-Tūstarī.79 Al-Suhrawardī’s followers continued his approach to philosophy, and they also inherited his positive attitude toward Pythagoras. A good example is provided by al-Shahrazūrī’s (d. between 1288 and 1304) Kitāb nuzhat al-arwāḥ wa rawḍat al-afrāḥ fī taʼrikh al-ḥukamāʼ (Promenade of Souls and Garden of Rejoicings in the History of the Philosophers), a three-part work on the history of philosophy from Adam to his own times.80 Its second part is devoted to the ancients and contains a longer chapter on Pythagoras, which is a collection of excerpts from various earlier Arabic histories of Greek philosophy and translations from Greek.

Conclusions A few observations can be made on the basis of this survey of Arabic intellectuals’ attitudes towards Pythagoras. First, the positive attitude is often held by members of various heterodox groups, or at least by authors who were on the fringes of orthodoxy; the most obvious example would be the Ikhwān al-Safāʼ. Despite some heterogenic elements, the religious affiliation of the authors of Rasāʼil seems to be one of the branches of Shīʽism, most probably Ismāʽīlism;81 for al-Ghazālī, the Ismāʽīlī heterodoxy is strongly connected to Pythagoras. Similarly, Muhammad ibn Zakariyāʼ al-Rāzī, whom Ṣāʽid al-Andalusī links with Pythagoreanism, was considered by Ṣāʽid to be far from orthodox. His views are said to include dualism, polytheism, reincarnation and disbelief in prophecy. Another ‘follower’ of Pythagoras, Thābit ibn Qurra, was a Sabean from Ḥarrān. Second, there is the issue of Pythagoras’s authority in alchemical writings – including Jābir ibn Ḥayyān’s corpus, the Turba philosophorum, and parts of the Rasāʼil of the Ikhwān al-Safāʼ – which is also connected with the image of Pythagoras in Shīʽite circles. Since Pythagoras was seen as an alchemist, he became an important figure for the early Shīʽite and Ismāʽīlī groups, who displayed a strong interest in alchemy. One can observe this alchemical aspect of Pythagoras’s image in the works of the Ikhwān al-Safāʼ. Of course, Pythagoras was not the only Greek philosopher to appears in these texts; because these texts attempted to persuade their audience of the antiquity and prestige of alchemical theories, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Galen and many other Greeks esteemed by the Arabs are mentioned as well.82 Also of primary importance to these texts was Hermes Trismegistus, the Graeco-Egyptian god central to the so-called hermetic tradition, who produced a huge corpus of philosophical, alchemical, and magical J. Walbridge, The Wisdom of the Mystic East: Suhrawardī and Platonic Orientalism, Albany 2001, pp. 44–46. About the life and the work of al-Shahrazūrī, see: E. Cottrell, ‘al-Shahrazūrī, Muḥammad ibn Maḥmūd Shams al-Dīn’, [in:] H. Lagerlund (ed.), Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy: Philosophy between 500 and 1500, Dordrecht-New York 2011, pp. 1190–1194. 81 Which was proved by many scholars working in this field, for instance H. Corbin, Y. Marquet, C. Baffioni, G. de Callataÿ. For a short description and bibliography of the problem, see: C. Baffioni, ‘Ikhwān al-Safāʾ, Encyclopedia of ’, [in:] H. Lagerlund (ed.), Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy: Philosophy between 500 and 1500, Dordrecht–New York 2011, pp. 536–540. 82 M. Ullmann, ‘al-Kīmiyāʾ’, [in:] P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs (eds.), Encyclopaedia of Islam, second edition 2012, Brill Online 2013, http://referenceworks.brillonline.com/ entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/al-kimiya-SIM_4374, accessed 8 August 2013. 79 80

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writings.83 This tradition was also transmitted and continued within Arabic Medieval culture.84 Interestingly, the name of Hermes quite often appears – together with that of Pythagoras – in contexts other than alchemy, for example in passages from the Rasāʼil of the Ikhwān al-Safāʼ concerning ascension of Hermes and Pythagoras into heaven. Yet, the most important element connecting the Greek Pythagorean tradition with alchemy was esotericism. This fact is attested in an unedited work of Miskawayh, entitled The great treasure (al-Kanz al-kabīr).85 He was one of the philosophers who took part in a debate about the validity of alchemy and argued for its positive valuation. In this work he explains the esoteric nature of alchemy by saying that it ‘must be taught by philosophical symbolism (al-ramz al-falsafī), by which only those experienced in logic, especially in natural science, are guided’86. Afterwards, he writes that it was Pythagoras and his sect (shīʽa) who first used this method, which they called ‘the divine secrets’.87 This Pythagorean esoteric approach to philosophy was already famous in Classical Antiquity, and was certainly one of the reasons that the figure of Pythagoras was important not only to alchemists, but also to any other group committed to esotericism, as for example the Ikhwān al-Safāʼ. However this was not the only aspect of the Pythagorean tradition of interest to these groups of Arabic intellectuals. Certain other features of Greek Pythagoreanism (as viewed through the lens of Late Antiquity) constituted another fertile background for the later reception of this philosophical tradition in the Medieval Arabic world. In addition to the esotericism and elitism mentioned above, there were several other attractive elements, including the transmission of the Pythagorean doctrines through enigmatic symbola, the specifically Pythagorean mysticism and asceticism, the theory of metempsychosis, the famous Pythagorean friendship, the role of arithmetic, astronomy and music, all connected with the theory of harmony, and the very peculiar metaphysics of numbers. Pythagoreanism was also exceptional as compared to other ancient Greek doctrines, in that it outlived its founder and then continued (to varying degrees of intensity) for several centuries. During certain periods it was very popular, and produced a great variety of texts; at other times it was almost invisible. Nonetheless, Pythagorean doctrines continued to evolve, and remained a presence throughout the Mediterranean world, eventually even capturing the interest of Arab intellectuals.88 They were interested in this philosophical current, because they were interested in Greek philosophy in general, and Pythagoreanism was one of the important elements of the Greek tradition. However, there were also certain individuals and groups who showed special respect for Pythagoras and his followers. They considered his teachings to be one of the elements

83 See the introduction in B.P. Copenhaver, Hermetica: the Greek Corpus Hermeticum and the Latin Asclepius in a New English Translation, with Notes and Introduction, Cambridge 1992. 84 See K.T. Van Bladel, The Arabic Hermes: from Pagan Sage to Prophet of Science, Oxford 2009. 85 See in J.L. Kraemer, Philosophy in the Renaissance of Islam: Abū Sulaymān Al-Sijistānī and His Circle, Leiden 1986, p. 209, and Sezgin, Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums, vol. 4, p. 291. 86 Kraemer, Philosophy in the Renaissance of Islam, p. 209. 87 Ibidem. 88 Between the founding period of the sixth–fifth c. BC and the flourishing of Pythagoreanism in Late Antiquity, there was enough interest in this philosophical tradition to produce a large body of texts, often misleadingly called Pseudo-Pythagorean, which most probably date to the Hellenistic period (H. Thesleff, An Introduction to the Pythagorean Writings of the Hellenistic Period, Åbo 1961).

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in the golden chain of ancient divine wisdom, and they saw themselves as successors and continuators of this tradition which, in their eyes, had never died. Given these observations, it is easy to conclude that negative attitudes towards Pythagoras and his philosophy were closely associated with the peripatetic tradition, which sought to distance itself from the Pythagorean (meaning, in this case, preAristotelian) ‘naïve’ thought. The representatives of this current regarded Aristotle as the climax of Greek thought; everything that preceded him was merely preparation, and constituted little more than immature attempts at true philosophy on a grand scale. Consequently, among everything that followed Aristotle, only the commentaries on the philosopher’s ideas were worthy of genuine interest. In the case of al-Ghazālī it was even not Aristotle who really mattered, but the fact that he put himself in the position of defender of the orthodox Sunni theology and connected Pythagoreanism with a complex of heterodox doctrines he opposed. These Aristotelian and anti-heterodox positions may have also been responsible for Pythagoras being largely ignored in the works of many important Arabic intellectuals. Apart from the intellectuals who clearly expressed their attitude toward Pythagoras, or whose attitudes were recorded by other authors, there are also those whose attitudes are impossible to classify as positive or negative. Among them are such famous Arabic philosophers as al-Fārābī (d. 950/51) or Ibn Rushd (d. 1198), but also Ibn Ṣinā, whose critique of the Pythagorean doctrine of numbers has been mentioned above – it is not enough to classify him as negatively disposed towards Pythagoras and his philosophical tradition. We know that these Arabic philosophers were under the strong influence of Aristotle, and one might, therefore, expect that they considered Pythagoreanism unimportant. This would explain the scarcity or the lack of mentions of this tradition in their extant writings. However, this argumentum ex silentio may not be completely true. Al-Fārābī makes frequent references to Plato – in particular to his philosophy of politics – in which Pythagorean doctrines play a very significant role. It is simply possible that he did not know the Pythagorean ideas well enough to make use of them in his own philosophy. Finally, while interpreting the results of the survey presented in this paper, one should bear in mind that the Pythagorean tradition cannot be just compared to those of Plato or Aristotle. First of all, the Pythagorean tradition was much more dispersed. The Arabic intellectuals’ knowledge of this tradition, its reception, and, finally, their attitude towards this philosophy were always determined by what they were able to know about it, in particular by the actual set of texts that were translated and available to them at a given moment. Secondly, a substantial difference between the reception of the philosophies of Plato or Aristotle and that of Pythagoras already existed in Late Antiquity: the first two philosophers were central figures within philosophical education and key philosophical controversies; their disagreement or convergence, both in general and on particular issues, were hotly debated, and accepting the authority of one of them determined one’s philosophical views and allegiances. All these debates and intellectual dependencies continued into the Arabic Middle Ages. On the contrary, the figure of Pythagoras was not so central and did not require every Arabic philosopher with an interest in Greek heritage to take a stand. Thus, we are actually quite fortunate that, among the extant writings of the medieval Arabic authors, there is enough evidence to draw the conclusions presented in this paper. 44

Klementyna Aura Glińska Paris

TRANSCRIBING ‘ELEGIAC COMEDIES’: TRANSFORMATION OF GREEK AND LATIN THEATRICAL TRADITIONS IN TWELFTH- AND THIRTEENTH-CENTURY POETRY

Introduction At the beginning of the nineteenth century – as part of a broader systematisation of knowledge which included the rediscovery and cataloguing of ancient manuscripts –philologists defined a number of Medieval literary and theatrical ‘genres’.1 This was also the very moment when the concept of ‘elegiac comedy’, synonymous with ‘Latin “comedy”’, was born. A modern concept – or even concepts, if we take into account the discrepancies in opinion on the specificity of texts in question – the term of ‘elegiac comedy’ singles out some part of twelfth- and thirteenth-century literary production, with or without respect to the attested use of the notion of comedia in the Middle Ages, and to the medieval theories of writing. As such, this modern construct requires revision. Consequently, in the present paper, the term ‘elegiac comedy’ will be used to designate only a particular class of texts, which remain the invention of modern philologists; it should not, however, be understood to denote any kind of medieval genre, although it does not negate the possibility that these texts could be perceived in the Middle Ages, and still in the Early Modernity, as representing one category of literary composition. The purpose of this article is to reconsider the specificity of texts called ‘elegiac comedies’ with special reference to the question of their theatricality. The notion of theatricality designates here strictly the fact of being an intentional or an actual part of a theatrical performance. In the case of Latin writing it means also: to continue the Greek and Roman theatrical tradition not only on the level of linguistics and stylistics, but also on the level of performance, that is: being performed by persons playing roles, 1 A commentary on the invention of genres, see in particular: P.W.M. Wackers, ‘There are no Genres. Remarks on the classification of literary texts’, [in:] B. Levy and P.W.M. Wackers (eds.), Reinardus, vol. 13, Amsterdam 2000, pp. 237–248. See also: A.P. Tudor, ‘Les fabliaux: encore le problème de la typologie’, Studi Francesi 47 (2003), pp. 599–603; B.J. Levy, ‘Or escoutez une merveille! Parallel paths: Gautier de Coinci and the fabliaux’, [in:] K.M. Krause and A. Stones (eds.), Gautier de Coinci: miracles, music, and manuscripts, Turnhout 2006, pp. 331–343.

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being part of a theatrical spectacle. This is how the performance of plays by Menander, Plautus and Terence was defined, for instance, by John of Salisbury: as the play of histrions, representing action by their voices, gestures and bodies.2 My intention is to avoid the metaphorical use of the term of theatricality,3 so as not to confuse different types of performance, especially those of poetry, rhetoric and theatre, which were indeed scrupulously separated in twelfth- and thirteenth-century commentaries. Aelread of Rievaulx in his Speculum charitatis, cap. 23,4 Allan of Lille in his Summa de arte praedicandi, cap. 1,5 Geoffrey de Vinsauf in his two treatises on the poetry, the Poetria Nova and the Documentum de modo et arte dictandi et versificandi,6 all underline the difference between a poetical and rhetorical performance on the one hand, and a theatrical performance on the other. Moreover, they all try to impose on the writers-performers of Latin prose and poetry rigorous rules limiting their behaviour – their bodies and voices – as opposed to an actor’s play. The motivation of these constraints was both ethical and social. The question is, firstly, whether we can identify any commentaries which discuss ‘elegiac comedies’ in terms of staging; secondly, whether it is possible to consider the manuscripts to be written records of a theatrical text. The second question demands an inquiry into the organisation of texts; specifically (to use the terminology proposed by D. Smith) one must examine their ‘formatting’ (fr. formatage, i.e. the arrangement of the texts, their versification, disposition of the narrative and dialogic parts, etc.) and their ‘formalisation’ (fr. formalisation, i.e. the material form of transcription in a particular manuscript).7 As a consequence, research on the theatricality of ‘elegiac comedies’ and, more generally, on the way their authors used and transformed Greek and Latin literary traditions, will require the examination of their paratexts and peritexts (G. Genette8), as well as of their cotexts as defined by extant manuscripts (C. Duchet9). I will start my argument with a critical presentation of the methodological and historical basis for the constitution and definition of the ‘genre’. I will deconstruct the corpus so as to propose a new hypothesis for the specificity, function and diffusion of ‘elegiac comedies’ in the Middle Ages, an hypothesis which will take into consideration issues of formatting and formalisation in manuscripts dated between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries. I will analyse only those manuscripts classified as theatrical by modern 2 John of Salisbury, Policraticus, 1.46, K.S.B. Keats-Rohan (ed.) [= Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 118], Turnhout 1993, p. 53. 3 Cf. E. Fischer-Lichte, ‘Introduction: Theatricality: a key concept in theatre and cultural studies’, Theatre Research International 20.2 (1995), pp. 85–89 (esp. 85, where the author comments on Zumthor’s conception of theatricality). 4 Aelread of Rievaulx, Liber de Speculo Caritatis, 2.67, C.H. Talbot (ed.), [in:] A. Hoste, C.H. Talbot (eds.), Aelredi Rievallensis Opera omnia [= Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 1], Turnhout 1971, pp. 97–98. 5 Allan of Lille, Summa de arte praedicandi, [in:] J.-P. Migne (ed.), Patrologia Latina, vol. 210, col. 112, B–C. 6 E. Faral, Les arts poétiques du XIIe et du XIIIe siècle, recherches et documents sur la technique littéraire du Moyen Age, Geneva 1982 (facsimile of the Paris 1924 edition [= Bibliothèque de l’École des hautes études. Sciences historiques et philologiques 238]), pp. 195–320. 7 See: T. Kuroiwa, X. Leroux and D. Smith, ‘De l’oral à l’oral: réflexions sur la transmission écrite des textes dramatiques au moyen âge’, Médiévales 59 (2010), pp. 17–39. 8 G. Genette, Seuils, Paris 1987; English translation: Paratexts. Thresholds of interpretation, Cambridge 1997. 9 In the sense of ‘something that works in the same time, that is written in the same time, that evolves in the same time, and that is read in the same time. While not being of the same nature’ and of ‘something that, in the text, opens on an outside of text, on an elsewhere of text, on a domain of references with which the text works’. C. Duchet and P. Maurus, Un cheminement vagabond. Nouveaux entretiens sur la sociocritique, Paris 2011, pp. 43–45 (cited p. 44).

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philologists. Then I will examine the texts in question with reference to twelfth- and thirteenth-century Latin poetical theories and practices, in order to reconstruct the medieval conceptions of comedy, dramatic genre and elegiac poetry. My intention is finally to characterize the sociality (socialité – C. Duchet) of these texts, with a view to defining the possible forms of their performance in the Middle Ages and early Modern period.

The corpus of ‘elegiac comedies’. An attempt at a revision Today the shape of the ‘genre’ is determined by two main editions. The first, La ‘comédie’ latine en France au XIIe siècle, edited by G. Cohen10 and published in 1931, offers fifteen texts. The second, recently orphaned by its editor, the late F. Bertini, Commedie latine del XII e XIII secolo,11 was initiated in 1973 and augmented the corpus to the number of twenty-two compositions. However, the repertoire of ‘elegiac comedies’ was and still is in a state of flux, depending on the various conclusions of researchers and editors.12 The list of texts said to represent the ‘genre’ can be divided into two groups. The first comprises compositions dated to the twelfth century, expressly given the title of comedia in their Medieval manuscripts: Geta (in some manuscripts called Comedia Geta, Comedia Amphitrionis) and the Aulularia (vel Comedia Triperi) by Vital of Blois, Alda (vel Comedia Alde, Comedia Ulfi) by William of Blois, Lidia (alternatively Comedia Lidie) and the Miles gloriosus (entitled also Comedia de glorioso milite), both attributed to Arnulf of Orléans, Milo (or De Afra et Milone, or Comedia Milonis) by Matthew of Vendôme, anonymous Babio (vel Comedia Babionis) and the Libellus de Paulino et Polla by Riccardo da Venosa (Comedia de sponsalibus paulini et polle veteranorum). To this ensemble belongs also an untitled comedia preserved in two redactions, in prose and in hexameters (leonines and trinini salientes), in the Parisiana Poetria (4.416–467)13 written by John of Garland about 1240. The second group contains a number of twelfth- and thirteenth-century compositions which are neither called comedia in extant manuscripts, nor evoke the names of any ancient comedian or comedy as a direct source of inspiration. Modern researchers have failed to identify the authors of these works: Affra et Flavius (once attributed to William of Blois14), Asinarius, Baucis et Traso, the De mercatore, Pamphilus, Gliscerium et Birria, and Rapularius or, more precisely, its first and second redaction, as well as the version that mixes some passages from the first and some from the second redaction. In the same group I am also placing the famous Pamphilus (vel Pamphilus de amore) and four 10

G. Cohen (ed.), La ‘comédie’ latine en France au XIIe siècle, Paris 1931, 2 vols. F. Bertini (ed.), Commedie latine del XII e XIII secolo, Genoa 1976–2000, 8 vols. 12 See the summary made by F. Bertini in his article ‘Il punto sulle commedie elegiache’, Mediaevalia 28.1 (2007), pp. 173–188. Cf. M.M. Sánchez, ‘La receptiόn de Plauto y Terencio en la comedia latina medieval’, [in:] A. Pociña and B. Rabaza (eds.), Estudios sobre Plauto, Madrid 1998, pp. 71–100. 13 T. Lawler (ed.), The ‘Parisiana Poetria’ of John of Garland, New Haven–London 1974, pp. 78–80. The metrical version has been published by B. Hauréau, ‘Notice sur les oeuvres authentiques ou supposées de Jean de Garlande’, [in:] Notices et extraits des manuscrits de la Bibliothèque nationale et autres bibliothèques 27.2 (1878), p. 15. 14 T. Wright (ed.), Versus de Affra et Flavio, [in:] A Selection of Latin stories from manuscripts of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries: a contribution to the history of fiction during the Middle Ages [= Percy Society. Early English poetry, ballads and popular literature of the Middle ages 8], London 1842, pp. 208–214. 11

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pseudo-ovidian texts: the De vetula,15 the De Lumaca et Lombardo, the De nuntio sagaci, vel Ovidius puellarum, composed in leonine hexameters, and the elegiac De tribus puellis. This group includes also an elegiac composition known as the De clericis et rustico, functioning either independently or as the example of res iocosa in Geoffrey de Vinsauf ’s Documentum de arte et modo dictandi et versificandi (2.3.163). Similarly, as a hexametrical example of res iocosa (PN 1887, res comica: PN 1885), the last element of this group, the De tribus sociis, functions in Geoffrey’s Poetria Nova. We know, in addition, two other anonymous redactions of the same story, preserved independently: one in elegiac couplets (in the manuscript Città del Vaticano, Biblioteca apostolica Vaticana, Reg. lat. 344, thirteenth century), the other in hexameter, with a partially modified plot (Wien, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 312, fourteenth century). All in all, the term ‘elegiac comedy’ refers to this group of twelfth- and thirteenth-century Latin texts of different dimensions, represented in numerous manuscript traditions, scattered through the manuscripts of French, Anglo-Norman, German and Italian provenance. Nonetheless, when this Corpus was first identified, there was a general agreement to relate its origins to the scholarly milieu of the Loire Valley, flourishing in the period called aetas Ovidiana by L. Traube. Indeed, one of the criteria effectively fulfilled by all these texts is the predominance of Ovidian similia and reminiscences.16 It allowed critics to include in the corpus texts written in elegiac couplets and hexameter. Some critics also pointed out the importance of erotic plot as a characteristic of the ‘genre’, which is true only for a part of the texts; similarly, one of the criteria proposed by F. Bertini – a misogynistic image of women and the type of serf inspired by the slave from the Roman comedy17 – cannot be applied to such compositions as the Aulularia, the De tribus sociis and Rapularius. A further criterion, and one which is not satisfied only by purely dialogic Babio, is the mode of utterance: a combination of dialogues and narration, interpreted by modern philologists in terms of heterogeneity or even hybridity18 and thus, consciously or not, as a degeneration of the theatrical genre. The nineteenth-century evolutionist approach to literary studies allowed these texts to be treated as a kind of regression or a break in the development of comedy. This presupposition in fact reflects a complex of interrelated fallacies.19 Firstly, there is the ‘classical fallacy’, which assumes the superiority of ancient and seventeenth-century texts, over their medieval counterparts. From this perspective, medieval comedy is viewed as the result of misunderstanding or misinterpreting the Greek and Roman 15 P. Klopsch (ed.), De Vetula (Pseudo-Ovidius) [= Mittellateinische Studien und Texte 2], Leiden–Köln 1967. D.M. Robathan (ed.), The Pseudo-Ovidian ‘De Vetula’, Amsterdam 1968. The Vetula is concerned to be an elegiac comedy by M. Menéndez y Pelayo (La Celestina. Razones para tratar de esta obra dramática en la historia de la novela española, Buenos Aires 1905–1915, vol. 1, p. XCIX, and vol. 3, p. LVII) and by B. Morros, ‘La comedia elegíaca y el Libro de Buen Amor’, Troianalexandrina: Anuario sobre literatura medieval de materia clásica 3 (2003), pp. 77–121. 16 See: M. Goullet, ‘Métamorphose d’Ovide: la représentation du sentiment amoureux dans la comédie élégiaque du XIIe siècle’, Revue des Études Latines 76 (1998), pp. 241–269. 17 F. Bertini, ‘La commedia latina del XII secolo’, [in:] L’eredità classica nel Medioevo: il linguaggio comico. Atti del III Convegno di Studio (Viterbo, 26–28 maggio 1978), Viterbo 1979, pp. 63–80, esp. p. 80. 18 See: E. Lintilhac, Histoire générale du théâtre en France. Vol. 2. La Comédie: Moyen âge et Renaissance, Paris 1905, p. 16. Speaking about heterogeneity, over seventy years later, J. Suchomski expressed opinio commnis (idem, ‘Transformationen des komischen Erbes in der Nova Comedia: Komödie oder Satire?’, [in:] L’eredità classica nel Medioevo, pp. 11–126, esp. p. 111). There exists among the researchers a common and unreflecting practice to call these texts ‘pieces’ or ‘plays’, in inverted commas. 19 Cf. A.G. Rigg, History of Anglo-Latin Literature, 1066–1422, Cambridge 1992, pp. 3–5.

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theatrical tradition. Secondly, there is the ‘fallacy of literary progress’, which encourages the quest for the literary origins: ‘the origins of modern theatre’ or ‘the origins of comical theatre’ in France, as a point of departure in the evolutionistic continuum of either theatrical or narrative tradition.20 Finally, in the discussion of the theatricality of medieval Latin comedy, one finds the ‘fallacy of dialogue’, which equates a theatrical text with dialogue. Before the 1930s, the vast majority of researchers had discounted the possibility of medieval stagings of the texts in question. The terms applied in their commentaries, ‘elegiac comedy’, ‘Latin “comedy”’, ‘epic comedy’, ‘dramatic elegy’ etc., stressed the essential ambiguity of the ‘genre’, while tending to avoid and exclude its association with a comedy sensu stricto. In practice, the latter referred to a theatrical form represented by the comedy of Molière, and by Greek and Roman comedy, both of which were understood to be essentially identical, representing a single continuous theatrical tradition. Theatre was, in this case, defined as a text represented on the stage; and a theatrical text was one divided into roles, organised in acts and scenes, and which, possibly, contained the stage directions. This reasoning justified the interpretation of ‘elegiac comedies’ – characterised by a prevailing or a considerable percentage of dialogues – as proper comedies; this, in turn, led to their presentation in dramatic editions, in which the texts were divided into scenes with limited respect to the shape of their manuscripts.21 Consequently, what disqualified most of these texts from being considered theatrical was the overabundance of narration, a factor perceived as being opposed to stage action. Significantly, this way of defining a theatrical text and of investigating a text’s theatricality in the absence of the extra-textual evidence, remained prevalent in twentieth-century studies on ancient theatre and drama, even after Artaud (1938), Beckett (1956), and Lehmann (1999).22 In early 1930s, while contriving his own vision of comedy’s phylogeny, G. Cohen recognised in the twelfth-century ‘elegiac comedies’ the practical and material reintroduction of archetypical classical theatre onto European stages and, simultaneously, the origin of medieval profane theatre. His observations offered significant encouragement to the ‘theatrical front’ in discussions of the corpus – namely, a new, firm tendency to read comedies as theatrical texts – and, in the absence of extra-textual evidence, to prove their theatrical efficacy or playability. Cohen insisted that medieval comedy existed not merely in the form determined by the grammarians of Late Antiquity, as a poem 20

For instance, Faral interpreted these texts as ‘an organism of transition between ancient Latin comedy and the French fabliau’ [‘je considère (la comédie) comme un organisme de transition entre la comédie des anciens Latins et le fabliau français’. Idem, ‘Le fabliau latin au Moyen Âge’, Romania 50 (1924), pp. 321–385, esp. p. 321]. 21 See e.g. dramatic disposition of the text in: A. Baudouin, Pamphile ou l’art d’être aimé. Comédie latine du Xe siècle, Paris 1874 and J. Suchomski, ‘Delectatio’ und ‘Utilitas’. Ein Beitrag zum Verständnis mittelalterlicher komischer Literatur, Bern–Munich 1975, p. 112. In Bertini’s collection the editors divided some texts by interpolations identifying the participants of subsequent ‘scenes’. 22 See: A. Artaud, Le théâtre et son double, [in:] Œuvres complètes 4: Le théâtre et son double; Le théâtre de Séraphin; Les Cenci, rev. ed., [Paris] 1978, p. 36; Ezra Pound cited by R. Monod, Les textes de théâtre [= Textes et non textes], Paris 1977, p. 12. These three names have been evoked by M. Rousse in 1995, still in the polemical tone (‘Le dialogue dans le développement du théâtre’, [in:] J.-P. Brodier (ed.), Rencontre sur l’ancien théâtre européen. L’économie du dialogue dans l’ancien théâtre européen. Actes de la Première Rencontre sur l’ancien théâtre européen, de 1995 [= Le savoir de Mantice 4], Paris 1999, pp. 21–32, esp. p. 26). H.-T. Lehmann, Postdramatic Theatre, translated and with an introduction by K. Jürs-Munby, London–New York 2006.

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characterised by ‘low’ style and subject23 – a view common among nineteenth-century medievalists – but also as a stage drama modelled directly on the theatrical pieces of Plautus and Terence. He interpreted the texts collected in the anthology24 as being essentially identical with both the ludi and the fourteenth- and fifteenth-century mysteries. Emphasising the peculiarity of these apparently Medieval techniques of theatrical production, both profane and religious, Cohen rejected the preconceptions welded to previous interpretations of twelfth- and thirteenth-century texts.25 It should be noted, however, that Cohen’s ideas about Medieval drama, regardless of changes within the epoch, are at times quite distant from any historical sources. Firstly, Cohen’s hypothesis concerning the use of comedia in the Middle Ages, is built on a flawed premise. According to Cohen, a thirteenth-century chronicle commenting on a ludus profetarum performed in Riga in 1204 and containing the explanatory phrase ‘ludus quem Latini comediam vocant’, is evidence that comedia in the High Middle Ages designated a representation through characters. Yet, the passage in question, associated with the Chronicon Livonie (9.14) – probably composed between 1223 and 1227 by Heinrich von Lettland26 – cannot be interpreted as a medieval gloss. Cohen cited it after W. Creizenach,27 who relied on the Chronicon in the edition by J. D. Gruber, elaborated on the basis of the Codex Oxenstierna (Hannover, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz Bibliothek Niedersächsische Landesbibliothek, XXXIII 1746), dated to 1550–1575.28 In this codex, however, the text has been given a linguistic revision characteristic of the Early Modern period.29 The key passages concerning comedy are, in fact, absent from another manuscript of the chronicle, the Codex Zamoscianus (Warszawa, Biblioteka Ordynacji Zamojskiej, MS 30)30, which was used by Arbusow and Bauer as a basis for their new edition, released in 1955. The unique alleged testimony of a thirteenth-century comedia par personnages should thus be considered an interpolation representing ideas of Renaissance humanism, a fact which has been ignored by historians of Medieval drama influenced by Creizenach or Cohen.31 23 Diomedes Grammaticus, Ars Grammatica, H. Keil (ed.), [in:] Grammatici Latini, Leipzig 1855–1880, vol. 1, p. 488. 24 Geta, the Aulularia, Alda, Milo, the Miles gloriosus and Lidia; Babio, Baucis et Traso, Pamphilus, Gliscerium et Birria, De nucio sagaci, Pamphilus, De tribus puellis, De clericis et rustico, De tribus sociis, De mercatore. 25 G. Cohen (ed.), La ‘comédie’ latine, vol. 1, pp. VII–XVI. 26 See: M. Tamm, L. Kaljundi and C. Selch Jensen (eds.), Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier. A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, Farnham–Burlington 2011, p. XVIII. Edition: L. Arbusow and A. Bauer (eds.), Heinrici Chronicon Livoniae [= Scriptores rerum germanicarum in usum scholarum ex Monumentis Germaniae Historicis separatim editi 31 S. III], Hannover 1955, p. 32 (commentary on the manuscripts: pp. XLIII–XLVIII; on the ancient editions: pp. XLVIII–L). 27 W. Creizenach, Geschichte des neueren Dramas, vol. 1, New York 19652 (1892), pp. 7 and 70. Cf. E.K. Chambers, The Medieval Stage, London 1903, vol. 2, pp. 70 and 210; K. Young, The Drama of the Medieval Church, Oxford 1933, vol. 2, pp. 539–543; G. Frank, The Medieval French Drama, Oxford 1954, pp. 15–16. 28 Gesta Alberti Livoniensis Episcopi, J.D. Gruber (ed.), [in:] Origines Livoniae sacrae et civilis, Frankfurt–Leipzig 1740, p. 34. 29 Heinrici Chronicon Livoniae, p. XLVI. 30 Description of the manuscript: Heinrici Chronicon Livoniae, pp. XLIV–XLV. 31 See: R. Schneider, ‘Straßentheater im Missionseinsatz. Zu Heinrichs von Lettland Bericht über ein großes Spiel in Riga 1205’, [in:] M. Hellmann (ed.), Studien über die Anfänge der Mission in Livland, Sigmaringen 1989, pp. 107–121, esp. pp. 108–109; R. Meyer Evitt enumerates the publications of authors who did not verify the source in the article: ‘Undoing the Dramatic History of the Riga Ludus Prophetarum’, Comparative Drama 25.3 (1991), pp. 242–256.

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Secondly, Cohen’s argument concerning the narrative aspects of Medieval comedy balances on the edge of historical fiction. Already by 1906, in his Histoire de la mise en scène dans le théâtre religieux du Moyen Age, Cohen had introduced ‘le meneur de jeu’ onto the Medieval stage. According to Cohen, le régisseur toujours sur les planches (‘always onstage director’) – a director, stage-manager and actor rolled into one – guided actors and pronounced the narrative parts of a theatrical text, wherever a Medieval text mingled dialogue with narration.32 However, a closer look at the Medieval sources, offered by G. Kipling in his study on the meneur de jeu, demonstrates that the function proposed by Cohen and, more prudently, by some of his predecessors,33 cannot be confirmed by any Medieval document.34 The association of this imaginary personage with the texts from the anthology was automatic, resulting from the impression that the texts are theatrical. Cohen tried to demonstrate their playability (jouabilité) by pointing to the theatrical efficiency of dialogue and narration, and the presence of some surmised traditional jeux de scène (statements à part, changes of voice etc.) and stage directions (concerning props and decors or the movement of personages) allegedly inscribed in the texts. He also proposed several solutions to the technical and moral problems posed by their representation: a coulisse as a way of hiding the obscene, or simultaneous staging as a means of eliminating the question of three classical unities raised by nineteenth-century philologists. Later research on ‘elegiac comedies’ did not offer any revision of Cohen’s method or conclusions; his theories remained authoritative for F. Bertini.35 Generally, the practice exemplified in Cohen’s anthology – the ‘production’ of imaginative spectacles from texts for which there exists no overt evidence of theatrical representation – is still regarded within the field of studies on ancient theatre as an entirely justified method of proving the historical stage destination of a text.36 In reality, the text itself, which contains no explicit information about its performance and which, moreover is separated from its material and social context, cannot offer many answers concerning its theatricality. As theatrical practice shows, every text is fully adaptable for stage, even scientific treatises containing no plot, no dialogue, and no characters.37 Therefore, the intuitive invention of a text’s ‘playability’ or ‘interior vis theatralis’ (Lewański) treated as proof of theatrical practice says more about a researcher’s own taste and imagination than about a text itself. Research into performances of texts, including reading, declamation and staging,

32 G. Cohen, Histoire de la mise en scène dans le théâtre religieux français du Moyen Âge, rev. ed., Paris 1951, pp. 8, 76, 269 and above all 172–174. Cf. idem, Le Jeu d’Adam et Ève, mystère du XIIe siècle, Paris 1936, p. 7, and Le théâtre en France au Moyen Âge. Vol. 1: Le théâtre religieux, par G. Cohen, avec 50 Planches en héliogravure [= Bibliothéque générale illustrée 6], Paris 1928, planche 58. 33 M. Sepet, Le Drame Chrétien au Moyen Age, Paris 1878, pp. 43 and 238; L. Petit de Julleville, Histoire du Théâtre en France: Les Mystères, Paris 1880, vol. 2, p. 145. 34 G. Kipling, ‘Le régisseur toujours sur les planches: Gustave Cohen’s construction of the medieval meneur de jeu’, Medieval English Theatre 28 (2006), pp. 29–130; see also Kipling’s contribution to the twelfth Colloquium of the Société Internationale pour l’étude du Théâtre Médiéval (Lille 2007). 35 F. Bertini, ‘Il punto sulle commedie elegiache’, Mediaevalia 28.1 (2007), pp. 173–188. 36 The objections expressed by M. Rousse in his article concerning Babio, in which, nevertheless, the researcher presents his own projection of staging Babio, are unique as far as the discussion of the corpus is concerned. See: idem, ‘Le Babio, le dialogue et le jeu de théâtre’, [in:] idem, La scène et les tréteaux. Le théâtre de la farce au Moyen Âge, [= Medievalia 50], Orléans 2004, pp. 105–126. 37 Cf. H.-T. Lehmann, Postdramatic Theatre.

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must take into account the material and social conditions under which the text was created and transmitted.

Manuscripts of the ‘elegiac comedies’ We possess no commentary concerning the staging of any of the medieval ‘comedies’.38 As a consequence, the manuscripts constitute our only body of evidence: we must rely only on the written records, including glosses, marginal marks, highlighted initials and decorations, but never accompanied by a musical score or by an illumination relevant to the performative aspects of the text. The corpus unites texts of varying dimensions, ranging from short passages containing merely a few verses, to more complex works, more than seven-hundred verses in length; some of them function independently, while some have been incorporated into poetical treatises. Obviously, we are dealing here not only with numerous compositions, but also with multiple transcriptions, as well as various versions; thus, with three hundred years of textual tradition, we possess hundreds of individual cases among which we may, potentially, find a manuscript or manuscripts attesting theatricality. First of all, it should be noted that the ‘elegiac comedies’ were conceived and created ab ovo as written compositions, imitating a written tradition – in this case, the written record is not the result of transcription from an oral tradition, but rather the first product, the point of departure for a performance or oral delivery. Several possibilities must therefore be taken into consideration as far as their manuscript transmission is concerned. Firstly, different manuscripts can bear witness to different performances and various functions of one particular composition. Secondly, a manuscript destined for personal reading may still contain information about the previous performance through characters. Thirdly, different versions of one text, written in a different meter or with a modified plot, could as well have been conceived for different modes of presentation. In brief, the process of rewriting – of giving a new formalisation to a text – may be simultaneous with the transformation of a text’s performance, with or without preserving the memory of this text’s former destination. The great majority of ‘elegiac comedies’ are transcribed as a continuous unity of dialogue and narration organised in verse. The narrative parts are never interpolations: the narrator comments on the action and introduces the dialogues in the form of direct and oblique speech. The scribes seem to have limited the markers organising the texts to some adorned or merely bolded initials. We can, however, distinguish one group of texts of an exceptional disposition, which is also highlighted by rubrics and glosses in the manuscripts; this group comprises Vital of Blois’s Geta and Aulularia, William of 38 Contrary to some commentators, I am not inclined to read Arnulf of Orléans’s gloss on Ovid’s Remedia amoris 751–756 as the evidence of representation of Pamphilus. Evoking ‘Pamphilus’ as one of theatrical personages, Arnulf refers apparently not to the personage from medieval Pamphilus but to a typical lover from Roman comedy, present in Terence’s Andria and Hecyra. Arnulf comments on nothing but the theatre in Ovid’s times. Cf. S. Rizzo, ‘Due note sulla commedia elegiaca medievale’, Giornale italiano di filologia 31 (1979), p. 102; B. Roy, ‘Arnulf of Orléans and the Latin Comedy’, Speculum 2 (1974), pp. 258–266; T. Hunt, ‘Chrestien and the Comediae’, Medieval Studies 40 (1978), pp. 120–156; P. Dronke, ‘A Note on Pamphilus’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 42 (1979), pp. 225–230; S. Pittaluga, Pamphilus, [in:] F. Bertini (ed.), Commedie latine, vol. 3, Genoa 1980, pp. 17–18.

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Blois’s Alda, and Lidia attributed to Arnulf of Orléans. All these texts are composed of two metapoetic introductory parts (a poet’s manifesto and an argument) and one main part (called comedia or narratio by some scribes). The structure of these introductory sections in the comedies of Vital and William implicitly imitates Terentian prologues, together with Sulpitius Apollinaris’s argumenta.39 Explicitly, Vital refers to Plautus (Aulul. 25), while William refers to Menander and to a Latin transposition of Menander’s comedy (Alda 13–14; 18–19; 22–24). Admittedly, similar introductory sections appear in Lidia, but the model has already been modified – the author refers directly to Geta, and to the classical epic tradition, with Homer, Ovid and Virgil at the forefront (Lidia 1–30). Scholars also used to identify two texts as being deprived of narration: Pamphilus and Babio. The former, which was perceived as inaugurating the ‘genre’, can be treated as a pure dialogue or as a monologue of eponymous character; the latter inspired, formally and stylistically by Ovid40 and, we may suppose, by Vital of Blois’s Geta and by Pamphilus itself,41 is composed only with dialogues. Numerous manuscripts of ‘comedies’ contain commentary, sometimes in the form of graphical markers or ‘nota bene’, but primarily consisting of marginal and interlinear glosses which serve to indicate synonyms, summarise or explain certain episodes, as well as identifying the characters and giving brief information concerning the addressee and the content of an utterance, or characterising the situation as a whole. Certain scholars did not hesitate to define these commentaries as stage directions, related to a concrete theatrical situation intended by the author and known to later receivers of the texts. Consequently, certain texts are frequently defined as theatrical, their manuscripts as attesting to the scribal techniques of clarifying a dramatic text so that it could be represented by actors, in organised space, including decorations and props.42 I will now focus on the texts, paratexts and peritexts, which are perceived in this way, as a part of theatrical tradition.

Babio in the codex Digby 53 The copies of anonymous Babio has been preserved in five codices: • Oxford, Bodleian Library, Digby 53 (olim 1645), ff. 35–43ra,43 twelfth century;

39 See: Vital of Blois, Geta 1–2, cf. Terence, Andria 1–3; Vital of Blois, Geta 18, cf. Terence, Andria 7–11; William of Blois, Alda 18–19, cf. Terence, Eunuchus 7–9. A.K. Bate, ‘Language for school and court: Comedy in Geta, Alda and Babio’, [in:] L’eredità classica nel Medioevo: il linguaggio comico. Atti del III Convegno di Studio (Viterbo, 26–28 maggio 1978), Viterbo 1979, pp. 143–164. 40 See: A. Dessì Fulgheri (ed.), Babio, [in:] F. Bertini (ed.), Commedie latine, vol. 2, Genoa 1980, pp. 163–166 and 178–179. 41 Ibidem, pp. 181–185. 42 See e.g.: T. Gunnell, The Origins of Drama in Scandinavia, Cambridge 1995, pp. 287–329, esp. p. 290. Gunnell cites P. Dronke’s letter concerning the marginal notations in the Ruodlieb, cf. P. Dronke, ‘Narrative and Dialogue in Medieval Secular Drama’, [in:] P. Boitani and A. Torti (eds.), Literature in fourteenth-century England. The J.A.W. Bennett Memorial lectures, Perugia, 1981–1982 [= Tübinger Beiträge zur Anglistik 5], Tübingen– Cambridge 1983, pp. 99–120; see also A. Dessì Fulgheri (ed.), Babio, [in:] F. Bertini (ed.), Commedie latine, vol. 2, Genoa 1980, pp. 212–227. 43 W. Dunn Macray, Catalogi codicum manuscriptorum Bibiothecae Bodleianae pars nona, codices a viro clarissimo Kenelm Digby anno 1634 donatos complectens, Oxford 1883, col. 49.

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•

Berlin, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Phillips 1827 (Cat. Rose 193),44 ff. 55v–60r, thirteenth century; two fragmented copies; • Lincoln, Cathedral Chapter Library, MS 105,45 dated on the last years of the thirteenth century (the first copy on the ff. 89v–90v, the second on the ff. 118r–118v: vv. 1–280 with multiple lacunas, continuing on the f. 108: vv. 280 sq.); • London, British Library, Cotton Titus A XX, ff. 132r–137v, fourteenth century; • Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS 851 (olim 3041), dated on fourteenth or fifteenth century, text written in two columns, ff. 94vb–97va. More or less multiple glosses are present in Digby 53, in the first copy in Lincoln 105 and in Phillips 1827, which applied also the system of majuscules, finally in Cotton Titus A XX. The glosses are absent from the second copy in Lincoln 105 and in Bodley 851, which organises the text only by the majuscule initials. Digby 53, a parchment volume in quarto – which, in the fifteenth century belonged to the priory of Bridlington (ff. 1 and 68), and then to Thomas Allen (1542–1632) – measures 195/200 × 135/140 mm and is composed of 68 folios. It is a miscellaneous poetical anthology, compiled by several additions. The texts are transcribed in one and in two columns, as well as in the margins, by several hands dating from the twelfth century – the two main hands use a twelfth-century, regular Textualis Rotunda.46 The codex begins with Latin verses and Latin as well as French47 proverbs, most of which are attributed to Serlo of Wilton; the whole is accompanied by frequent Latin and vernacular glosses.48 Furthermore, at various points throughout the codex, we can find various Latin anonymous grammatical, rhetorical and moral verses, epigrams, epitaphs, and also English proverbs49 and verses. We come across dispersed verses of Hidebert of Lavardin, some verses attributed to Walter Map, to ‘Magister Golyas’, then a poem on chess (inc. Qui cupit egregium scacorum noscere ludum).50 There are, moreover, two artes versificatoriae by

44 Cf. V. Rose, Verzeichnis des lateinischen Handschriften der königlichen Bibliothek zu Berlin, vol. 1: De Meermann-Handschriften des Sir Th. Phillipps, Berlin 1893, n. 193. 45 See: R.M. Wooley, Catalogue of the Manuscripts of Lincoln Cathedral Chapter Library, London 1927, and Lincoln Cathedral Library. The Mediaeval Manuscript Collection 1200–1600, London 1977; R.M. Thomson, Catalogue of the manuscripts of Lincoln Cathedral Chapter library, Cambridge 1989. 46 On the several hands recognised in the compilation see: Cf. A.G. Rigg, ‘Golias and other pseudonyms’, Studi Medievali 3rd ser. 18 (1977), pp. 65–109, esp. p. 90. See the full description: W.D. Macray (ed.), Catalogi codicum manuscriptorum bibliothecae Bodleianae. Pars 9a, codices a Kenelm Digby, anno 1634 donatos complectens, Oxford 1883, cols. 49–54, with notes by R.W. Hunt and A.G. Watson at pp. 26b–27; P. Meyer described the codex and printed selected poems in: ‘Bibliographie des catalogues des manuscrits de l’Université d’Oxford’, Archives des missions scientifiques et littéraires. Choix des rapports et instructions, Série 2, tome 5, Paris 1868, pp. 172–186. 47 But deformed by an English scribe, see: L. Pannier, ‘Documents manuscrits de l’ancienne littérature de la France conservés dans les bibliothèques de la Grande-Bretagne. Rapports à Mr le ministre de l’Instruction publique, 1e partie: Londres, Durham, Edimbourg, Glasgow, Oxford, par Paul Meyer’, [in:] Bibliothèque de l’école des chartes 1872, vol. 33, pp. 295–301, esp. p. 299. 48 See: T. Wright, Anglo-Latin Satirical Poets and Epigrammatists of the Twelfth Century, London 1872, vol. 2, p. 232; T. Hunt (ed.), Teaching and Learning Latin in Thirteen-Century England, Cambridge 1991, vol. 1, pp. 126–135, cf. A.C. Friend, ‘The Proverbs of Serlo of Wilton’, Mediaeval Studies 16 (1954), pp. 179–218. 49 See: M. Förster, ‘Frühmittelenglische Sprichwörter’, Englische Studien 31 (1900), p. 15; Proverbs, Sentences and Proverbial Phrases from English Writings Mainly before 1500, B. J. Whiting (ed.), Cambridge (Mass.) 1968, p. 167. 50 O. Schumann and B. Bischoff (eds.), Carmina Burana 1, 3: Text, 3: Die Trink und Spielerlieder. Die geistlichen Dramen, Nachträge, Heidelberg 1970, no. 210.

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Marbod (De ornamentis verborum)51 and by Geoffrey de Vinsauf (Colores in rhetorica).52 The miscellanea contain also some medical precepts and a group of strictly ecclesiastical and devotional compositions treating biblical subjects (e.g. De tribus donis Magorum, De X plagis Egypti by Hildebert, De duodecim apostolis versus), the lives and miracles of saints (De tribus viris Anne et tribus filiabus suis53), hymns, but without notation,54 some compositions commenting on the liturgy (de officiis misse) and , finally, a fragment of John the Deacon’s Liber de ecclesia Lateranensi (ca. 1169). The last folium, 69v, contains a musical passage from an office of St Vincent, dated to the tenth or the eleventh century, accompanied by half-diastematic neums.55 The scribes of Digby 53 did not ignore totally the performance of their texts, although the function and the performance of compositions inscribed in this particular codex are limited by the format of the manuscript. It is clearly meant to be a miscellany destined for private reading; in other words, it was to stay on a desk, rather than be to regroup cantors singing the hymns, or to be carried by Cohen’s meneur de jeu. It is, therefore, possible that the manuscript of the theatrical piece inscribed in this codex conserved a proscriptive commentary – stage directions, speaker indications – used previously to instruct actors, to organise the text representation, and to transmit a knowledge of the performance to future recipients. Is it the case of Babio? Its manuscript (ff. 35r–43va) is here followed directly by multiple short and miscellaneous verses, including some epitaphs and proverbs. It is preceded, in turn, by a scurrilous narration about an adulterous monk, with commentary in the margin by a nearly contemporary reader56. This text clearly harmonizes with the register of Babio which, in this particular manuscript, is effectively perceived as the story of a priest. An introductory rubric in the margin declares: Incipit liber de Babione sacerdote et Petula uxore eius57 et de Fodio famulo Babionis et Petule et de Viola filia Petule et de Croceo milite.58

51 R. Leotta (ed.), [in:] Marbodo di Rennes, De ornamentis verborum. Liber decem capitulorum: retorica, mitologia e moralità di un vescovo poeta (secc. XI–XII), C. Crimi (ed.), Firenze 1998. 52 E. Faral (ed.), De coloribus rhetoricis, [in:] Les arts poétiques, pp. 321–327. 53 See: U. Chevalier, Repertorium hymnologicum. Catalogue des chants, hymnes, proses, séquences, tropes en usage dans l’Église latine depuis les origines jusqu’à nos jours 2, Louvain 1897, n. 20553. 54 Respectively: G.M. Dreves, C. Blume and H.M. Bannister (ed.), Analecta Hymnica Medii Aevi, Leipzig 1886–1922, nn. 23725, 23727, 23731. 55 We can identify this composition in R.-J. Hesbert’s Corpus antiphonalium Officii (Rome 1963–1979) as no. 1651. It is preceded (f. 69r) by two antiphons, responsorial and invitatory, respectively: nn. 1927, 4008, 7558, 1148 and 1184 in Hesbert’s Corpus antiphonalium Officii. Cf. S.J.P. Van Dijk, Handlist of the Latin Liturgical Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library Oxford, typescript in 7 vols., Bodleian Library, 1957–1960, 6.53; W.H. Frere, Bibliotheca Musico-Liturgica. A Descriptive Handlist of the Musical and Latin-Liturgical Mss. of the Middle Ages Preserved in the Libraries of Great Britain and Ireland, 4 fascicles in 2 vols., London 1894, 1901, 1930, 1932 (reprint Hildesheim 1967), 39, 1.16. 56 See the transcription: P. Meyer, ‘Bibliographie’, p. 184. 57 The title of the priest attributed to Babio may be justified, indeed, by the fact that he addresses Petula soror, which designates, according to Niemeyer, ‘a woman bound by a vow of continence, esp. the wife of one who has entered religion’ (s.v. soror, in: J.F. Niemeyer, C. Van de Kieft et al., Mediae latinitatis lexicon minus, rev. ed., Leiden–Boston 2002). 58 Transcribing the citations from the manuscripts, I introduce punctuation and the majuscules in the characters’ names. As far as the speaker indications are concerned, I present the full form of personage’s name, even if it is abbreviated in the manuscript cited. The numbers of verses accord with the Italian edition.

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Here begins the book about a priest Babio and his wife Petula, and about his and Petula’s servant Fodius, and about Petula’s daughter, Viola, and about a soldier, Croceus’.

Digby 53 then offers a unique introduction to Babio, written in the first person, with an explicit intention to clarify the work, ‘liber de Babione’, here defined by the notion of versus, which refers only to ranged writing.59 The commentary begins with an explanation of its author’s intention: Ut manifestus intelligatur quid isti versus volunt dicere, quandam notitiam legentibus prepono, in primis ostendendo quid velint agere et de quo et qualiter. So that one can clearly understand what these verses want to say, I offer to the readers a notice displaying firstly what the verses wish to bring forth, and about what question and how.

The issues raised here are grammatical (in the medieval sense of this word) and pragmatic: how the poem is composed, how it ‘works’ and what it means. Consequently, in the succeeding phrases the introduction does not go beyond the reflection over the writing and the plot.60 The commentator explains how the poem has been conceived by its author: Introducit auctor eorum quinque principales personas, queque loquens ad se invicem ut coram videretur sermo haberi tanquam a presentibus et, ne ambiguitas haberetur que persona cui loquitur, sunt nomina quinque personarum haec: s Babio, Petula, Fodius, Viola, Croceus. The author introduces five principal characters, each speaking to one another reciprocally, so that the discourse seems to be delivered openly by the persons supposedly present; and, so that there is no ambiguity which character is speaking to whom, the names of five characters are as follows: Babio, Petula, Fodius, Viola, Croceus.

Then he expands on the question of characters, specifically the relationship binding the priest with Viola’s daughter, and the intentions which lead Croceus to Babio’s home. Fodius habuit rem cum muliere sacerdotis, id est cum Petula, et suus dominus, scilicet Babio, nesciebat, sed tamen habebat eum suspectum. Sed Babio nichil inde curam habebat, quis diligebat magis filiam quam matrem et ita tacite, quod nemini volebat dicere et etiam canibus dabat premia ne dicerent (quasi scirent loqui); nec tamen habuit rem cum ea. Ille vero non audebat dicere, sed tacite dilexit eam. Fodius had an affair with priest’s wife – that is with Petula – and his master, namely Babio, did not know about it, but only had some suspicions. But Babio did not care about it, since he loved the daughter more than the mother and so secretly, that he did not want to tell about it to anybody, and even he rewarded the dogs, lest they should say anything (as if they could speak); however, he did not have an affair with her. Actually, he did not dare to tell her, but loved her secretly.

In the last phrase, the commentator introduces the first verse of Babio. The perspective of this instruction, defining firstly the specificity of narration – focused uniquely on the meaning of text and not on its delivery – accords perfectly with the grammatical tradition arising from Diomedes’ Ars grammatica. This fourth-century grammarian, In case of the passages corrupted, where the errors have no importance in my argumentation, I correct them following the same edition. 59 For the significance of the word versus see: P. Bourgain, ‘Qu’est-ce qu’un vers au Moyen Âge?’, Bibliothèque de l’école des chartes 147 (1989), pp. 231–282. 60 Contrary to the interpretation proposed by C. Symes in her translation of Babio, [in:] Ch.M. Fitzgerald and J.T. Sebastian (eds.), The Broadview Anthology of Medieval Drama, Toronto 2012, p. 11.

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commenting on the modes of utterance, spoke about genus dramaticon as including equally tragedies and comedies, and dialogical bucolics: dramaticon est vel activum in quo personae agunt solae sine ullius poetae interlocutione, ut se habent tragicae et comicae fabulae; quo genere scripta est prima bucolicon et ea cuius initium est quo te, Moeri, pedes.61 the dramatic or active genre is the one in which characters act themselves, without any interlocution of the poet, as it is the case of tragedy and comedy; in this genre the first bucolic is written as well as that which begins with Where are you going, Moeris [i.e. Virg. Ecl. 9]

This classification was authoritative for medieval grammarians. The same definition is repeated by Bede62 and by Rabanus Maurus, but augmented with a Christian example of genus dramaticon, namely the Song of Songs. At the beginning of the thirteenth century, Geoffrey de Vinsauf defined genus dramaticon referring to the texts of Terence, more precisely to the ‘books of Terence’, that is to the written record; in accordance with the grammatical tradition, Geoffrey characterizes only the type of discourse, and does not refer to any kind of performance: Dragmaticum est ubi autor operis nihil loquitur sed tantum persona introducta, ut in libris Therencii.63 The dramatic [genre] is the one in which the author of work tells nothing – only a person introduced, as in the books of Terence.

The substance of Babio is delivered via dialogues, within the continuous form written in elegiac couplets. From the point of view of a twelfth- and thirteen-century reader, this text would have worked as a book, and would have required no completion in a stage action. The difference between Babio and the ‘books of Terence’, lies in the mise en page. Significantly, the manuscript of Babio does not resemble the copies of Roman plays accessible and produced in the Middle Ages;64 although the mise en page of Roman plays would seem to offer the medieval imitators of ancient theatre the perfect solution, as far as the Diomedes, Ars 3, H. Keil (ed.), [in:] Grammatici latini, Leipzig 1857, vol. 1, p. 482. Beda Venerabilis, De arte metrica, H. Keil (ed.), [in:] Grammatici latini, Leipzig 1853, vol. 7, p. 259. For Beda’s sources see: H.A. Kelly, Ideas and forms of tragedy from Aristotle to the Middle Ages, Cambridge 1993, pp. 40–41. 63 T. Lawler (ed.), The ‘Parisiana Poetria’, p. 331. 64 The medieval history of the oldest manuscript of Terence’s comedies, Città del Vaticano, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. Lat. 3226, datable to the fourth to sixth century, is not known, but see its edition with facsimiles by E.M. Coury, Terence. Bembine Phormio: a palaeographic examination, Chicago 1982; cf. Terence’s Comedies in the ninth- and tenth-century MS Paris, BnF lat. 448, where the peritext includes also multiple reader-glosses, in the ninth-century MS Paris, BnF lat. 7899, MS Paris, BnF lat. 7907A from the beginning of the fifteenth century, and, with a different mise en page, MS Paris, BnF lat. 7917 dated to the beginning of the fifteenth century (the manuscripts from the Bibliothèque nationale de France are available online, at Gallica. Bibliothèque Numérique website (gallica.bnf.fr), accessible via the catalogue of manuscripts (archivesetmanuscrits.bnf.fr); see also: the mid-twelfth century MS from St. Albans Abbey, stored in MS. Oxford, Bodleian Library, Auct. F. 2.13 (the digital facsimiles of the complete manuscript are available at the Early Manuscripts at Oxford University website: http://image.ox.ac.uk). The indications embedded into the main text but not distinguished by red ink are also present in the manuscript of Plautus’ comedies attributed to the cathedral scriptorium of Salisbury, dated to the last quarter of the eleventh century or first quarter of the twelfth century, London, British Library, Royal 15 C XI. We find here, beside rubrics with the list of personages speaking, also numerous marginal speaker indications (see for example, ff. 161v–162r, available via the catalogue of illuminated manuscripts: http://www.bl.uk/catalogues/illuminatedmanuscripts). 61 62

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formalization of comical discourse is concerned.65 Babio was copied and glossed in accordance with the medieval tradition of transcribing and commenting on metrical poetry – for example, Horace, Virgil or Ovid – without any intention to form the text on a particular model of classical comedy. We find here neither division into scenes, nor speaker indications embedded in the text itself; no information is given about the circumstances of an ancient representation of the text. The function of the explicatory note is only to direct the reader, to help him understand the relations and interactions between protagonists, and to distinguish the speakers in the absence of inverted commas, markers or speaker indications integrated into the text. The character of this note is descriptive, not proscriptive, and that is also the function of the glosses attached to the text in Digby 53. The text of Babio is written in one column, save the last folium where its last verses are given in the first of two columns. Transcribed neatly, it contains some lacunae within the lines (e.g. v. 277, the scribe left an empty space, where the other manuscripts contain the word patinam). It is organised by a regular punctuation: dot and slash closing syntactic units. The glosses, including speaker indications in the form of names and their abbreviations (e.g. ‘.fo.’, ‘.B.’), are put in the left-hand margin and between the lines, above the text. The speaker indications – not compound with the text, but put next to it – are comparable with the glosses commenting on, for instance, Ovidian Metamorphoses or Virgilian’s bucolics;66 glosses determined by the convenience of reading. The scribes of Babio distinguish and specify characters’ statements irregularly, they do not follow every change of person speaking, and they will occasionally multiply the same piece of information, as in the case of the glosses organising the first 64 verses in Digby 53: ad v. 1. The glosses mark here almost every distich: ‘Babio’, ad v. 3: ‘Babio’, ad v. 5: ‘Babio secum’, ad v. 7: ‘Babio’, ad v. 9: ‘Babio secum’, ad v. 13: ‘Babio’, ad v. 15: ‘Babio cani’, ad v. 19: ‘Babio’, ad v. 21: ‘Babio secum’, ad v. 23: ‘Babio’, ad v. 25: ‘Babio secum’, ad v. 27: ‘Babio secum’, ad v. 29: ‘Babio’, ad v. 31: ‘Babio’, ad v. 33: ‘Babio secum’, ad v. 37: ‘Babio’, ad v. 39: ‘Babio’, ad v. 41: ‘Babio’, ad v. 43: ‘Babio Viole’ (although he decides to go to speak to Viola only in v. 45: ‘Ibo, loquar...’ – ‘I will go, I will speak to her...’, and he starts to speak to her in v. 47), ad v. 47: ‘Babio Viole’, ad v. 51: ‘Babio Viole’, ad v. 55: ‘De Viola’, ad v. 59: ‘Babio de Croceo’, ad v. 63: ‘Babio Viole’. Modern scholars have characterised the glosses included in all manuscripts as un-stagy on the grounds of being ‘redundant’ or ‘insufficient’;67 the editors have tried in some way to reorganise them, with the 65 This is also the medieval practice of organizing dialogs, which is applied e.g. in the early 13th century register of Gregory the Great’s dialogues in Arna-Magnæanus manuscript 677, 4to. The example given by T. Gunnell (The origins of drama in Scandinavia, Woodbridge, Suff 1995, fig. 77), is one of the oldest manuscripts conserved in Iceland, written ca. 1200, for the description see: K. Kålund (ed.), Katalog over Den Arnamagnæanske Håndskriftsamling, Copenhagen, 1888–1894; ed. Didrik Arup Seip, The Arna-Magnæan Manuscript 677, 4to: PseudoCyprian Fragments, Prosper’s Epigrams, Gregory’s Homilies and Dialogues [= Corpus codicum Islandicorum medii aevi 18], Copenhagen 1949. 66 Few examples, the digital facsimiles of which are available online, in the British Library Catalogue of Illuminated Manuscripts: French Harley 2533 (with bucolics at ff. 1r–14v) from the second or third quarter of the 12th century, German manuscript Harley 2668 from the second half of the 12th century, Italian Harley 2701 dated to 1447 (ff. 2r–19v), Italian Harley 3754, dated on second or third quarter of the 14th century containing the bucolics (ff. 1r–4v) and a fragment of Ovid’s Metamorphoses with glosses (ff. 160r–173r), finally 15th century Add 11885 (ff. 42r–64v). 67 Cf. A.K. Bate (ed.), Three Latin Comedies [= Toronto medieval Latin texts 6], Toronto 1976, p. 92: ‘D[igby 53] gives stage directions, but not consistently. Where names are redundant I have omitted them; where they are lacking but desirable for clarity I have added them’.

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intention of creating a clear dramatic composition. This irregularity, however, reflects precisely the process described by the Digby 53 commentator: an attempt to reduce the ambiguities. On the one hand, when the text is clear, there is no need to add any gloss; on the other hand, the monotony of glosses is justified in frames of a long monologue, as the signal of what cannot be seen: ‘he is still talking’. Last but not least, we find among the glosses, attached to v. 97 (‘Ecce venit Croceus; Violam vult ducere nuptam’ – ‘Here comes Croceus; he wants to marry Viola’), a commentary: ‘Fama’. Not introduced by the commentary in the notice, this gloss can be interpreted not as an indication of another character materially present on the stage, but as the identification of a poetical figure, fictio personae,68 analogous to the Fama in Virgil’s Aeneid (4.173–197), in Ovid’s Metamorphoses (12.39–63) and in Vital’s Geta (39– 40 and 59–60): an imaginative figure illustrating the intangible, an atmosphere, a social phenomenon or a state of mind. For the sake of comparison, the same mode of reading can be noticed in the twelfth century accessus to Pamphilus from a Tegernsee manuscript now in Munich (Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 19475, f. 31vb69). The commentator identifies only three characters: ‘Materia huius libri sunt istae tres personae: Pamphilus, Galathea et anus’ (‘The matter of this book constitute these three persons: Pamphilus, Galatea and an old woman’), which enables us to infer that he perceives ‘Venus’, invoked by Pamphilus (Pamph. v. 23–70) and speaking to him (Pamph. v. 71–142), uniquely as a personified abstraction, illustrating the protagonist’s psychomachy and, simultaneously, enlivening his monologue, just as in the case of Dante’s Love. Pamphilus is here perceived analogically as an integrated unity that does not demand fulfilment in any kind of representation – a book, ‘liber’, about human behaviour, habits and morality, belonging to the domain of ethics and thus to the field of philosophy (‘Ethicae subponitur quia de moribus loquitur’ – ‘[it is] subordinated to ethics, because it speaks about habits’). This mode of writing and reading continues Dante in La Vita nuova, when he introduces the figure of Love.70 The introductory commentary in Digby 53, in addition to the second copy from Lincoln 105 and Bodley 851, all confirm the fact that Babio also circulated as a text untouched by glosses and, therefore, unintelligible for some receivers, requiring explanation. This is apparently the function of the introduction and glosses in Digby 53: to make intelligible the elegiac dialogue mocking the unfortunate love of a foolish, lusty priest, in the absence of inverted commas and intratextual divisions. Furthermore, the character of texts transcribed and compiled with Babio, defining its user, is not insignificant. We are dealing with a twelfth/thirteenth-century clericus,71 with a reader-writer who could not remain indifferent to well defined rules limiting the scope of perforSee in the Poetria nova by Geoffrey de Vinsauf, vv. 461–526; 1267–1269; 1411–1415. R.B.C. Huygens (ed.), Accessus ad Auctores. Bernard d’Utrecht, Commentum in Theodulum. Conrad d’Hirsau, Dialogus super auctores, Leiden 1970, p. 53. For the discussion over the dating and provenance of the text, see: S. Pittaluga, [in:] F. Bertini (ed.), Commedie latine, vol. 3, Genoa 1980, pp. 13–18, and on the theatricality of Pamphilus: pp. 32–35. Cf. Ch.E. Ineichen-Eder, Die Schule des Klosters Tegernsee im frühen Mittelalter: im Spiegel der Tegernseer Handschriften, Munich 1972. 70 Dante Alighieri, Vita nova §16, G. Gorni (ed.) [= Nuova raccolta di classici italiani annotati 15], Torino 1996, pp. 146–156. Cf. the examples given by Dante himself: Virgil, Aeneid 1.65–80 and 3.94–99, Lucan, Pharsalia 1.44, Horace, Ars poetica 144 and the very beginning of Ovids’ Remedia amoris. 71 Someone like the future owners of codex, the canons from the Augustinian priory of Bridlington. For the characteristic of type of culture I have in mind, see: B. Stock, The Implications of Literacy: Written Language and Models of Interpretation in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries, Princeton–Guilford 1983, esp. pp. 12–150. 68 69

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mances he could attend and organise – to the ecclesiastical and scholarly discourse, acting against any form of histrionic representation. Digby 53 attests the twelfth/thirteenth-century reading of genus dramaticon, not a project of staging.

Babio, Geta and Pamphilus in Cottonianus Titus A XX A fourteenth-century parchment codex in quarto, Cottonianus Titus A XX,72 stored in the British Library, was created in the London area by eight successive additions. Its close textual relationship with the manuscript Oxford, Bodleian Library, Rawlinson B. 214, written at Waltham Abbey in Essex, led A.G. Rigg to the assumption that the Cottonianus was probably compiled in a comparably large monastery.73 The dimensions of the volume are 230 × 160 mm, but the writing space is limited to the field 165/175 × 100/110 mm. The two scribes recognisable in the codex both write in a fourteenth-century small Anglicana hand with numerous interventions of cursive. The codex constitutes an anthology of poetry. The texts, written in hexameter and elegiac couplet, are organised in verses and, significantly, the only punctuation applied in the whole codex is a punctum pointing the end of a hexameter or pentameter; even still, the use of this sign is extremely rare. A remarkable system of mise en page employs, in turn, alternating blue and red bars to mark the beginning of selected sections or verses in poems. This is, next to few embellished initials, the only decoration in the manuscript, and the application of this system does not appear to have been accidental or for a purely aesthetic purpose. In some poems, the markers separate stanzas; they distinguish, for instance, the statements in dialogues such as the Disputatio inter aquam et vinum and, in the case of Cento Virgilianus by Proba,74 they identify lines of Virgilian origin. The lack of markers at the beginning of some poems in part III of the codex may be interpreted as an accidental omission, comparable with certain lacunae in part IV, where an illuminated initial was supposed to be placed. The same task for an illuminator is signalled by marginal slashes appearing in various places in the codex.75 Part I (ff. 4–51) of the codex contains Nigel de Longchamp’s Speculum stultorum and the Versus de Principis bello in Ispania, a poem about the campaign of Edward the Black Prince in Spain.76 Part II (ff. 52–71) contains poems in the form of debate (e.g. Disputatio inter aquam et vinum,77 Disputatio quedam inter divitem et Lasarum78); the Versus Michaelis 72 For the description of the whole codex, see esp.: A.G. Rigg, ‘Medieval Latin poetic anthologies (I)’, Mediaeval Studies 39 (1977), pp. 281–330 (esp. pp. 285–309); cf. idem, ‘Medieval Latin poetic anthologies (II)’, Mediaeval Studies 40 (1978), pp. 387–405 (on Bodley 851). Cf. MGH Auct. Antiquissimi 5.2, Berlin 1883, pp. 243– 245; then: [J. Planta (ed.)]), A Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Cottonian Library deposited in the British Museum, [London] 1802, p. 516. 73 See: A.G. Rigg, ‘Medieval Latin poetic anthologies (I)’, pp. 292–293 and 324–345. 74 V. Sineri (ed.), Il centone di Proba [= Multa paucis 10], Acireale 2011; Bilingual edition with English translation: E.A. Clark and D.F. Hatch, The Golden Bough, The Oaken Cross: The Virgilian Cento of Faltonia Betitia Proba, Chico (California) 1981. 75 Cf. A.G. Rigg on punctuation, mise en page and decoration in: idem, ‘Medieval Latin poetic anthologies (I)’, pp. 286–287. 76 Th. Wright (ed.), Political Poems and Songs relating to English History, composed during the period from the Accession of Edw. III to that of RIC. III, vol. 1, London 1859, pp. 94–96. 77 Th. Wright (ed.), The Latin Poems commonly attributed to Walter Mapes, London 1846, pp. 87–92. 78 J. Bolte (ed.),‘Dyalogus de divite et Lazaro’, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum 35 (1891), pp. 257–262.

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Cornubiensis contra Henricum Abrincensem... composed in leonine verses and performed (recited or read aloud) during the public contest in the presence of an educated clerical elite;79 songs which, significantly, are without score (for example, a song on Joseph’s exile80 and on the Scottish wars,81 a lai inc. Omnis caro peccaverat...82); finally, a dissuasio against marriage,83 a satirical poem against artistes84 and the De contemptu mundi later attributed to Walter Map.85 Part III contains various poems, including, again, a group of political poems associated with the Scottish battles (with the battle of Crécy and of Neville’s Cross) as well as attesting to the animosity between the English and French (in the form of disputatio).86 We find here also a satirical poem against monks, a misogynist conflation of a poem by Hildebert of Lavardin87 and Bernard of Morlais’s De contemptu mundi88 and, finally, verses against redheads, stereotypically associated with falsehood and lust.89 Another group consists of fragments from theoretical treatises: verses from William de Montibus’ Versarius,90 which is a compilation of mnemonic poems, then

79 A. Hilka (ed.), ‘Eine mittellateinische Dichterfehde. Versus Michaelis Cornubiensis contra Henricum Abrincensem...’, [in:] A. Bömer and J. Kirchner (eds.), Mittelalterliche Handschiften: Paläographische, kunsthistorische, literarische und bibliotheksgeschichtlische Untersuchungen. Festgabe zum 60. Geburtstag von Hermann Degering, Leipzig 1926 [repr. Hildesheim 1973], pp. 123–154. On the performance see: P. Binkley, ‘The date and setting of Michael of Cornwall’s Versus Contra Henricum Abrincensem’, Medium Ævum 60 (1991), pp. 76–84. 80 Inc. In Pharaonis atrio, conserved with the score in a north Italian manuscript now stored in Museo Internazionale e Biblioteca della Musica di Bologna (formerly Civico Museo Bibliografico Musicale, and earlier Liceo Musicale) MS Q.15 no. 249, ff. 280v–281, containing mainly early 15th century polyphonic music, but also some works originated in the 14th century. See: B.W. Cox, The Motets of MS Bologna, Civico Museo Bibliografico Musicale, Q 15. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, North Texas State University (1977), Edition: (2), pp. 469–473; cf. J.E. Cumming, The Motet in the Age of Du Fay, Cambridge 1999 (‘declamation motet’), p. 126 (Table 6.1). 81 Inc. Ludere volentibus ludens paro liram qualified as ritmus and inc. Me cordis augustia cogit mira fari, edited, respectively by Th. Wright, The political songs of England: from the reign of John to that of Edward II, pp. 160–179 and 262–267. 82 The Latin lai on Noah’s Flood has been attributed by Th. Wright to Walter Mapes, after an annotation attached to the text by Cotton’s librarian Richard James (1592–1638). The manuscript BnF fr. 25408 was published without music by M. Sepet, ‘Cantique latin du déluge, publié d’après le manuscrit français 25408 à la Bibliothèque nationale’, Bibliothèque de l’école des chartes 36 (1875), pp. 139–146. For the facsimile and the transcription of the score conserved in another manuscript, see: R.-J. Hesbert, Le Tropaire-prosaire de Dublin, manuscrit Add. 710 de l’Université de Cambridge (vers 1360) [= Monumenta musicae sacrae 4], Rouen 1970, pp. 97–105 and 184–186. The description of notation can be found also in: Cambridge music manuscripts, 900–1700. Published to coincide with an exhibition held at the Fitzwilliam Museum in July and August 1982, I. Fenlon (ed.), Cambridge– London–New York 1982, p. 81. 83 Th. Wright (ed.), The Latin Poems commonly attributed to Walter Mapes, pp. 77–85. 84 K. Strecker (ed.), ‘Quid dant artes nisi luctum’, Studi medievali N.S. 1 (1928), pp. 386–391. 85 Th. Wright (ed.), The Latin Poems commonly attributed to Walter Mapes, pp. 147–148. 86 Poems ed. by Th. Wright in Political Poems and Songs, vol. 1, pp. 26–40, 41–51, 52–53 and 91–93. 87 No. 50 in: A.B. Scott (ed.), Hildeberti cenomannensis episcopi Carmina minora, Leipzig 1969. 88 Th. Wright (ed.), The Anglo-Latin Satirical Poets and Epigrammatists of the Twelfth Century, London 1872, vol. 2, pp. 1–102. 89 Noted by H. Walther as 12022 and 26283 in Proverbia sententiaeque latinitatis medii aevi. Lateinische Sprichwörter und Sentenzen des Mittelalters [= Carmina medii aevi posterioris Latina 2], Göttingen 1963–, and as 9087 and 16421 in Initia carminum ac versuum medii aevi posterioris latinorum. Alphabetisches Verzeichnis der Versanfänge mittellateinischer Dichtungen, unter Benutzung der Vorarbeiten Alfons Hilkas bearbeitet von Hans Walther [= Carmina medii aevi posterioris latina 1], Göttingen 1959. 90 P. Binkley (ed.), ‘Unedited poems from Cotton Titus A XX. with a note on Chaucer’s Sparrowhawk’, Scintilla: A Student Journal for Medievalists, 2–3 (1985–1986), pp. 66–100, esp. pp. 72–77.

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some extracts from the Ars versificatoria by Matthew of Vendôme91 and a passage from Geoffrey de Vinsauf ’s Poetria Nova.92 Part IV (ff. 108–131) offers another collection of poems, among others a satire against monks by Nicholas of Caen,93 a corrupted copy of a poem about a pederast attributed to Claudian,94 advice to a beautiful boy in thirty-four leonine hexameters,95 some poems attributed to Hildebert of Lavardin, and grammatical extracts (from the Graecismus96 and the Doctricale97). Part V (ff. 132–155) incorporates the manuscript of Comedia Babionis98 (ff. 132r–137v), which precedes Geta (ff. 138r–144r), the anonymous Liber Pamphili99 (ff. 144v–154r), a poem inc. Ver erat et blando mordencia frigora sensu (i.e. De rosis nascentibus by pseudo-Virgil100), and finally, a poem inc. Roma duos habuit res est non fabula vana (ff. 154v–155v), which is a hexametric version of Quintilian’s declamation Gemini languentes.101 Part VI (ff. 156–164) contains satirical poems: the Apocalipsis Goliae,102 one more satire against monks and one about the different states,103 two contra mulieres (husband’s complaint and lover’s lament104) and, finally, Petrus Riga’s De Sancta Susanna (in elegiac verses, called simply opus).105 Part VII (ff. 165–175) contains mainly poems attributed to Walter Map: a disputatio between body and soul, a poem on the misery of world, one about a gathering of monks, another one about the Incarnation and a Marian lyric inc. Pone scribentium tot esse milia.106 Moreover 91 F. Munari (ed.), Mathei Vindocinensis opera, vol. 3: Ars versificatoria, Roma 1988 (for details concerning the verses transcribed, see: p. 132). 92 E. Faral (ed.), Les arts poétiques du XIIe et du XIIIe siècle..., 1982, pp. 197–262. Cf. F. Munari (ed.), Mathei Vindocinensis opera, vol. 3: Ars versificatoria, p. 132. 93 Th. Wright (ed.), The Anglo-Latin Satirical Poets and Epigrammatists of the Twelfth Century, vol. 2, pp. 201– 207. 94 Inc. Marcus amans puerum natum mentitur amore, Th. Birt (ed.), MGH Auct. Antiquissimi 10: Claudii Claudiani Carmina, Carminum minorum appendix, Berlin 1892, p. 413. The poem has not been identified by Rigg. 95 Unpublished, conserved in the Rawninson G 107 (Oxford, Bodleian Library), cf. also the MS of the Stadtbibliothek Zürich C 58/275, f. 15r J. Werner (ed.), Beiträge zur Kunde der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters, Hildesheim 1905, p. 54. 96 J. Wrobel (ed.), Eberhardi Bethuniensis Graecismus [= Corpus grammaticorum medii aevi 1], Wrocław 1887. 97 D. Reichling (ed.), Das Doctrinale des Alexander de Villa-Dei [= Monumenta Germaniae Paedagogica 12], Berlin 1893. 98 As stated in the explicit written by the scribe (f. 137v: ‘Explicit comedia Babionis’); the title on the f. 132r, ‘Comedia Babionis’, comes from the second modern owner of the codex, John Bale (died 1563), whose notes, highlights and comments are frequent also in the text of Babio. The first modern owner of the codex was John Leland (1506–1552?). 99 The title comes from the scribe himself. 100 W.V. Clausen (ed.), [in:] Appendix Vergiliana, Oxford 1966, pp. 155–163. 101 Ch. Fierville (ed.), [in:] ‘Notices et extraits des manuscrits de la Bibliothèque de Saint-Omer, nos 115 et 710’, Notices et extraits des manuscrits 31.1 (1884), p. 78; for the authorship, see: E. Faral, ‘Le manuscrit 511 du Hunterian Museum de Glasgow’, Studii medievali N.S. 9 (1936), p. 79. The copy of this poem entitled De gemellis a manuscript stored in Città del Vaticano, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Reg. Christ. 370; in the MS Paris, BnF lat. 6415, this poem follows the Mathematicus by Bernard Silvestris. 102 K. Strecker (ed.), Die Apokalypse des Golias [= Texte zur Kulturgeschichte des Mittelalters, herausgegeben von Fedor Schneider 5], Rome 1928. 103 Th. Wright (ed.), The Latin Poems commonly attributed to Walter Mapes, pp. 187–190 (about the monks) and 229–236 (about the states). 104 See the commentary by Rigg, ‘Medieval Latin poetic anthologies (I)’, pp. 306–307. 105 J.H. Mozley (ed.), ‘Susanna and the Elders: three medieval poems’, Studi Medievali, N.S. 3 (1930), pp. 27–52. 106 Th. Wright (ed.), The Latin Poems commonly attributed to Walter Mapes, pp. 95–106, 149–151, 180–182, 31–36 and 191–207.

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this part contains a satirical poem about the people of Norfolk and its impugnation by John of St Omer.107 In the last part (ff. 176–179) we find only a poem inc. Audi disce modum cenandi si tibi fausto... which is a fragment from a courtesy book called Urbanus magnus, by Daniel of Beccles.108 The repertoire of the codex can be defined as historical and ethical (or political and satirical), poetico-grammatical and religious. The compositions are introduced to the codex without any information concerning their extratextual functioning. Some poems included in the codex functioned in the epoch as songs or melo-declamations, but not one of them is accompanied either by musical notation or by a notice recording the circumstances of its performance. In addition, one cannot surmise the possible performance of a poem either on the basis of diacritic marks, or by an examination of its metrical or rhythmical form109. For instance, the lai on Noah’s Flood has been conserved with the musical score in two other English manuscripts: the thirteenth-century Paris, BnF fr. 25408 (olim Notre-Dame 273 bis) and the fourteenth-century ‘Dublin Troper’ (Cambridge, University Library, Addit. 710). However, the scribe of Cotton Titus A XX had no intention of transcribing the score: he copied the text in tightly compressed lines, leaving no place for any later addition. If Cotton Titus A XX scribes copied manuscripts containing music notation they omitted it, having no interest in the poems’ musical tradition, preferring instead to design their texts for readers. The question arises, whether the disposition of any ‘elegiac comedies’ from Part V, or their peritexts, witness a theatrical tradition. In Cotton Titus A XX, Babio is transcribed recto-verso in one column aligned to the left.110 The text is marked by alternating red and blue bars at the beginning of the verses, by a few interlinear glosses, and by multiple marginal glosses on the right side of text. The red and blue markers are disposed irregularly: they do not accompany every change of speaker, sometimes they do not correspond to the beginning of a statement but to its part and, finally, they are not always synchronised with the interlinear and marginal glosses. For instance v. 27 commented on the right margin: ‘Babio ad seipsum’111 and v. 331 commented: ‘Babio secum’,112 are not marked by any bar. On the contrary, verse 132, ‘Trans Alpes vellem vos modo ferre gradus!’ (‘How I wish you would right now take a walk on the other side of the Alpes’), which does not begin a new statement and is, as it seems, rightly interpreted by the editors as pronounced by Babio to himself,113 Th. Wright (ed.), Early Mysteries and other Latin Poems of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, London 1838, pp. 93–98; R. Howlett, ‘Translations of the Descriptio Norfolciensium and the Norfolchiæ Descriptionis Impugnatio’, Norfolk Antiquarian Miscellany 2 (1883), pp. 364–382 (at pp. 366–372). See: A.G. Rigg, A Glastonbury Miscellany of the Fifteenth Century. A Descriptive Index of Trinity College, Cambridge, MS O.9.38, London 1968, pp. 81–82. 108 F.J. Furnivall (ed.), The Babees Book [= Early English text society 32, 32a], London 1868; J.G. Smyly, Urbanus Magnus Danielis Becclesiensis, Dublin–London 1939. 109 Cf. the classification of metrical and rhythmical verses in the Parisiana Poetria (esp. after 7.467), ed. T. Lawler, The ‘Parisiana Poetria’, p. 156. 110 Cf. A. Dessì Fulgheri (ed.), Babio, pp. 221–225 (on the ‘stage directions related to the characters and to the stage moments’ – p. 224; the editor does not comment on the red and blue decorations). 111 In Digby 53: ‘Babio secum’. For the transcription of a part of the notices, see: appendix to E. Faral, De Babione poème comique du XIIe siècle, Paris 1948, pp. 70–77. 112 The same commentary in Digby 53 and in Lincoln 105. 113 ‘Babio secum’ in Digby 53 ad v. 131 (‘O quantum doleo vos huc tam raro venire’ – ‘O, how sorry I am that you come here so rarely’); the same commentary is attached to v. 132 in the first copy of text in Lincoln 105. 107

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is marked by a red bar but not by a gloss – in contrast to other phrases ad seipsum in this passage. Then, v. 285 is marked by a red bar on the left and commented on in the right margin: ‘Fodius Petule’,114 but v. 287, with the comment ‘Petula Babioni’115 bears no marker; the next bar, a blue one, is put only on v. 297, underlined also by the gloss ‘Babio’.116 The multiple glosses in Cotton Titus A XX are generally limited to formulae such as: ‘Fodius’ (or its abbreviated form), or else ‘Babio Viole’, ‘Viola ad se’, ‘Babio ad socios’ (ad v. 421),117 but we find here also some glosses interpreting or specifying the behaviour and the quality of speech: ‘Babio laudat Petulam’ (‘Babio praises Petula’, ad v. 197118), ‘Babio respondens’ (‘Babio answering’, ad v. 231119), ‘Fodius infirmans’ (‘Fodius disapproving’, ad v. 413120), ‘hic altercatio inter Fodium et Babionem’ (‘here a dispute between Fodius and Babio’, ad v. 443121). Furthermore, some glosses comment on the action; these annotations require a more detailed analysis. The gloss ‘canis transit’ (‘a dog passed’), which is also the first gloss in the manuscript, comments on v. 17 (in the manuscript: ‘Iste canis transit, sed adhuc dolor ille remansit’ – ‘This dog passed, but my grief until now remains’).122 However, the episode with the dog begins earlier, in v. 10, when the sound of a voice interrupts Babio’s monologue. The text does not specify what exactly happens. Babio’s words are misleading: hearing the voice, he expects a man (v. 10: ‘Sonuit vox sua, cerno virum’ – ‘His voice resounded, I can see a man’), disturbed and uneasy, afraid that his secret could be revealed (vv. 11–13 and in fact vv. 1–9), Babio recognises the source of voice in v. 14 and, finally, calms the dog (vv. 15–16), who passes (vv. 17). The gloss identifies the dog at the episode’s end, whereas the moment of the animal’s first appearance is already signalled by Babio’s exclamation (‘Est canis’, v. 14); moreover, the gloss is redundant as it only repeats Babio’s words (‘Iste canis transit’, v. 17), and adds no crucial information as far as the action is concerned. As a stage direction it would not have been very effective. We find also in Cottonianus an annotation analogous to ‘fama’ from Digby 53, suggesting the introduction of a new personage: ‘fama veniens ad Babionem’ (‘the Fame [i.e. rumour] coming to [reaching] Babio’). The verse commented upon (217) may nevertheless be interpreted as the continuation of Babio’s monologue, when Babio, still addressing himself in the second person, refers to the rumours: ‘Plebs, Babio, recitat ‘Babio Petule’ in Lincoln 105. ‘Petula Babioni’ in Digby 53, in Lincoln 105 and in Phillips 1827 (with majuscule), the majuscule in Bodley 851. 116 ‘Babio secum’ in Digby 53, ‘Babio’ in Lincoln 105 and ‘Babio Petule’ in Phillips 1827 (with majuscule). 117 ‘Babio sociis’ in Digby 53, a majuscule in Phillips 1827. 118 ‘Babio secum’ in Digby 53, a majuscule in Bodley 851. 119 No marks in other manuscripts. 120 ‘Fodius palam’ in Digby 53. 121 The lines 443–445 contain a sequence of brief statement: “‘Surge!’ ‘Quis es?’ ‘Babio’ ‘Quis Babio?’ ‘Vir tuus hic es’ | ‘Quid facis hic? Fur es! Perdor! Adesto Fodi!’ | ‘Ecce! Quis hic?’ ‘Fur est’ ‘Babio sum!’ ‘Babio non es...’”. In Digby 53: ad v. 443 ‘Babio Petule’, above ‘Surge’ – Babio, above ‘Quis es’ – Petula, above ‘Babio’ – Babio, above ‘sum. Babio fies’ – Fodius, but the whole passage is crossed out, above ‘Quis Babio’ – Petula, above ‘Vir tuus est’ – Babio; v. 444–445 are added in the margin, with similarly organised speaker indications. Similar interlinear glosses in Lincoln 105, next to ‘Babio’ ad v. 443 in the margin: ‘Petula’ ad ‘Quis es?’, ‘Babio’ ad ‘Babio’, ‘Petula’ ad ‘Quis Babio’, ‘Babio’ ad ‘Vir tuus...’; in Phillips 1827: ‘Babio’ ad v. 443, ‘Petula’ ad ‘Quis es?’, ‘Babio’ ad ‘Babio’, ‘Babio’ ad ‘Quis Babio’; a majuscule in Bodley 851. 122 A majuscule in Phillips 1827, in Digby 53 v. 15 is commented by the gloss ‘Babio cani’, v. 19 by ‘Babio’. The rest of manuscript does not offer any marks or annotations. 114 115

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Fodio Petulam patuisse | Hosque genu quarto connumerasse genus’.123 (‘People are saying, Babio, that Petula gave herself to Fodius and that the species with four knees reckoned them into itself ’).124 Again, taking into account the ensemble of glosses, and viewing them from the perspective of medieval rhetorical and poetical theory and practice, the identification of Fama should be interpreted here, undoubtedly, as fictio personae. The next gloss is associated with v. 223, remarking on the change of Fodius’ fortune which is, presumably, a consequence of Petula’s generosity: ‘Mutatur subito: facie pinguis, pede comptus...’ (‘Suddenly he has been changed, his face is fat, the feet nicely fitted...’).125 The gloss ‘mutatio Fodii’ comments on the event being a part of the intrigue, it is crucial to define the relations between personages, or rather to infer about them and it is strictly textual; it does not indicate the metamorphosis of Fodius as an additional episode. Should we invent a simple theatrical interpretation (for instance, an actor behind Babio’s back demonstrating the process by changing his costume), it would never be more than an imagination. The gloss ad v. 33,126 ‘Descriptio Viole’, resuming Babio’s words, harmonises with the lecture of ars versificatoria, indicating a wellknown locus communis – descriptio puellae. Finally, in the same spirit, we find among the glosses a sign of moral reflection, often reappearing in the whole codex: ‘et quis est femina?’ (ad v. 191127). To conclude, the function of the glosses attached to Babio in Cotton Titus A XX is apparently descriptive. They are developed enough to let us discern a tendency toward not only clarifying the text, but also interpreting it – however, always on the level of its literary meaning and never on the level of its performance. The markers help to organise and understand the text and, just as in the case of glosses, their character cannot be defined as proscriptive, that is suggesting some stage proceeding within a concrete performance by acting persons. The application of glosses and markers in two others elegiac comedies in Cotton Titus A XX is similar. In the text of Geta, directly following Babio, the red and the blue markers initially separate the subsequent parties of the composition: the first, higher-ranking initial – which is also the beginning of argumentum – is blue with red ornamentation (v. 1); the beginning of the prologus is marked in red (v. 11) and the next marker, a blue one, signals the beginning of plot (v. 23); these are then followed by markers of succeeding episodes, sometimes marked by descriptive glosses – as those cited above – which double or summarise the statements present in the text, for instance: ‘Archas Gete sua furta narrat et dolos’ (‘Archas tells Geta about his thefts and frauds’, ad v. 359, where Archas begins the speech, cf. v. 367: ‘Furta dolosque 123 In the manuscript: ‘Blebs, Babio, recitat, Fodio Petulam patuisse | Hosque genu quarto connumerasse genus’. Cf. interpretations of this passage by the editors and translators of Babio: A. Dessì Fulgheri (ed.), Babio, pp. 270–272, H. Laye, [in:] G. Cohen (ed.), La ‘comédie’ latine, vol. 2, p. 40; E. Faral, De Babione poème comique du XIIe siècle, Paris 1948, pp. 29–30; M. M. Brennan, Babio: a twelfth century profane comedy [= The Citadel monograph series 7], South Carolina 1968, p. 70; A. Goddard Elliott, Seven Medieval Latin Comedies [= Garland Library of Medieval Literature, Series B, 20], New York 1984, pp. 86–87; C. Symes, [in:] The Broadview Anthology of Medieval Drama, pp. 10–20 (here p. 15). 124 This passage is attributed as well to the fama in Phillips 1827 manuscript (‘Fama Babioni’ ad v. 215, v. 217 with a majuscule), but in Digby 53 we read: ‘Fodius Babioni’. In Bodley 851 the verse in question begins with a majuscule. There is no marks in two fragmented copies conserved in Lincoln 105. 125 No commentary in the rest of manuscripts. 126 ‘Babio secum’ in Digby 53, a majuscule in Phillips 1827. 127 ‘Babio ad feminam’ in Digby 53, then ad v. 195 ‘Babio de Viola’, ad v. 197 ‘Babio secum’, ad v. 209 ‘Babio de Petula’ and ad v. 215 ‘Babio secum’.

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meos audi’ – ‘Hear about my thefts and frauds’), ‘Amphitrion admonet Getam precingere se gladio et Birria tela cape’ (‘Amphitrion reminds Geta to gird himself with a sword and Birria to take the weapons’128 ad v. 463–464: ‘Adsint arma michi! Gladio precingere, Geta! | Birria, tela cape [...]’ – ‘Give me the weapon! Geta, gird you with a sword, Birria, take the weapons’). The text of Pamphilus, which follows the Geta, bears no commentary; on the contrary, the succeeding utterances of personages are distinguished by alternating blue and red markers. These three texts, Babio, Geta and Pamphilus, are grouped together in the Cottonianus as thematically and stylistically129 similar – that is representing the same type of poetry in the perspective of medieval theory of poetry. In accordance with this tradition – essentially following Diomedes’ Ars Grammatica – the difference between these compositions is analogous to, for instance, the difference between various forms of Virgilian bucolics: those which are purely dialogical and those which include narrations. Their texts are comparable rather with the transcriptions of Ovid; their peritexts represent the irregularity and redundancy of an interpretation suitable for, for instance, the Metamorphoses. As they contain no information about staging, no divisions into scenes and no speaker indications embedded in the text itself, they do not resemble copies of Roman plays. All things considered, there is no reason to treat any of the manuscripts presented above as having been used in a theatrical practice as a directory of stage proceedings; neither do they attest any theatrical tradition of the text. They should be interpreted, therefore, as a record of elegiac poetry, both genus dramaticon and mixtum, not associated with actor’s play, but rather the result of reading as influenced by the school of grammar and poetry.

Aulularia by Vital of Blois in Duacensis 371 Thirteenth-century Duacensis 371130 is the only complete extant medieval copy of Vital’s Aulularia (fol. 46v–60v), itself a reinterpretation of an anonymous late antique Latin text, the Querolus, apparently taken by its author for a text composed by Plautus131 (Aulul. 1 and 20–26).132 The oldest, twelfth-century manuscript of Aulularia, Lambach, Benediktinerabtei, Handschriften-und-Inkunabel Sammlung (since 1932: Berlin, Preussische Staatsbibliothek, today Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz) Cod. Cml C. 100, today considered to be lost, is known only thanks to two

Vital of Blois, Geta, [in:] F. Bertini (ed.), Commedie latine, vol. 3, p. 234. Cf. similia indicated by A. Dessì Fulgheri in the introduction to Babio, [in:] F. Bertini (ed.), Commedie latine, vol. 2, pp. 181–185. 130 C. Dehaisnes, Catalogue général des manuscrits des bibliothèques publiques de France. Départements. Série in-quarto VI. Douai 1–1239, pp. 201–202. 131 For the commentary on the tradition of Plautus’s texts, see: R.J. Tarrant, Plautus, [in:] L.D. Reynolds (ed.), Texts and Transmission: a survey of the Latin classics, Oxford 1983, F. Leo, Plautinische Forschungen: zur Kritik und Geschichte der Komödie, 2nd ed., Berlin 1912, pp. 1–62; G. Pasquali, Storia della tradizione e critica del testo, Florence 1962, pp. 331–354; a short presentation: W.M. Lindsay’s edition of Captivi (London 1900, pp. 1–12). 132 For the commentary on Aulularia’s model, see Aulularia, F. Bertini (ed.), [in:] Commedie latine, vol. 1, Genoa 1976, pp. 35–43. Cf. C. Jacquemard-Le Saos (ed.), Querolus (Aulularia), comédie latine anonyme. Le Grincheux (comédie de la petite marmite), Paris 1994. 128 129

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pre-war editions: by E. Müllenbach133 and, in Cohen’s collection, by M. Girard. Girard interpreted Duacensis 371 manuscript as the bookish transcription of director’s script – of a no longer existing theatrical text facilitating the work of a certain director or a meneur de jeu,134 and the peritext of Aulularia intrigued the commentators as allegedly attesting the theatricality of this text. The Aulularia is here transcribed in one column, organised in verses beginning always with a majuscule letter (every second initial is red), the syntactic units are marked by dot or dot and slash; additionally, the text is organised by initials (red and green) and rubrics, distinguishing firstly, two prologues and the beginning of the comedia (ff. 46r–47r), then some subdivisions within the comedia. This system of embellishing arrangement is applied throughout the entire codex. The Aulularia is the only text in the codex marked with multiple marginal markers in the form of monogram ‘nota’, the stem of which is extended in a way to embrace selected passages, not the utterances of personages, but only interesting locutions. Few glosses placed on the right side of the text are purely grammatical. The manuscript does not possess any indications of separate utterances; however, certain rubric subdivisions, slightly larger than the main text, enumerate the speakers who will appear in a new episode; one of these rubrics gives also some details about action135 in a manner characteristic of copies of Roman comedy. But in the case of Aulularia the rubrics are, firstly, redundant: they repeat what has been already said by the narrator, who precisely describes the characters and the action. Secondly, they do not signal every change of situation: they do not, for example, introduce the first long monologue of Querolus, vv. 29–130; a new episode, in which the action takes place far away from Querolus between his father and his father’s servant, is introduced only by a green higher-ranking initial (v. 185).136 The rubrics seem to imitate the divisions of Roman comedies, but only with regard to their textual function, that is, with no projection of staging, which was inscribed in the records of Roman theatrical texts, where the copies included also the speaker indications embedded in lines and, sometimes, information concerning the circumstances of an actual staging.137 Together with the initials, the rubrics in Duacensis 371 segment the pages and so facilitate orientation within the text, that is, searching for episodes and identifying locutions. They organise the reading, the use of the text – not the work of a non-existent, if we respect our sources, meneur de jeu. E. Müllenbach, Comoediae elegiacae. Vol. 1: Vitalis Aulularia, Bonn 1885, pp. 38–49. E. Müllenbach, Comoediae elegiacae, p. 35 – he repeats the statement after E. Du Méril, Poésies inédites du moyen âge. Précédées d’une histoire de la fable ésopique, Paris 1854, p. 443. M. Girard, ‘Notice to Aulularia’, [in:] G. Cohen (ed.), La ’comédie’ latine, vol. 1, p. 71. Bertini, the next editor of Aulularia, without any commentary, admitted that the rubrics could be ‘dramatic’: in F. Bertini (ed.), Commedie latine, vol. 1, p. 49. 135 Preceding v. 285: ‘Sardana Gnatonem Cliniamque amicos convenit’ (f. 51v) – ‘Sardana convened friends, Gnaton and Clinia’. 136 Usually the scribe leaves the traces of his or his predecessors’ omissions: the rubric marking the passage between two prologues, as if forgotten, is stuck on the right side of the text (vv. 10–11, f. 46v), there are some empty spaces left, where, apparently, the copied manuscript was incomplete (e.g. v. 351, f. 56r), once the scribe signals this fact in the margin (‘hoc deest’, v. 665, f. 58r). 137 About the origins and the functions of peritext in the ancient records of theatrical texts, see: J. Le Andrieu, Dialogue antique, structure et présentation, Paris 1954, and idem, Étude critique sur les sigles de personnages et les rubriques de scène dans les anciennes éditions de Térence [= Collection d’études latines. Série scientifique 19], Paris 1940; see also: V. Lochert, L’écriture du spectacle: les didascalies dans le théâtre européen aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles [Travaux du Grand siècle 3], Geneva 2009, pp. 43–46. 133 134

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The reader The Aulularia is surrounded in Duacensis 371 by sermons, excerpts from writings of Hugo de St Victor, Origen, Hieronymus, then Liber Senece de copia verborum sive de quatuor virtutibus, an apocryphal work attributed to Seneca which is actually a modification of the Formula vitae honestae by Martin de Brega (inc. Quibus prudentiam sequi desideras...).138 It is followed directly by a collection of couplets taken from the Latin beast fable Ysengrimus, written probably by Nivard of Ghent.139 A similar ensemble can be found for instance in the florilegia in the manuscript kept in Staatsbibliothek in Berlin, Diez B Sant 60, containing Ysengrimus, Geta, Pamphilus, Alda, the Orestis tragedia, a number of Ovidiana as well as some classics: Horace, Vergil, Statius etc. In the codex Lambacensis 100, today lost, the Aulularia followed immediately Alda (‘Explicit Comedia Triperi. Incipit Comedia Ulfi’).140 In Lincoln 105, Babio precedes some verses from William of Blois’ Alda. The textual setting of majority of ‘elegiac comedies’ – what is read and used in the same time – can be described in similar terms: they are frequently associated with and interpreted as Ovidiana, grouped with fables, sometimes adjacent to other texts included in the corpus, distinguished not because they are destined for a different kind of performance, but rather characterised by their particular subject and style. Neither textual nor extra-textual tradition of theatrical performance of the text in question exists. No medieval reader or copyist, including Boccaccio (Firenze, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Pluteo 33,31141), appears to have had the intention to structure the manuscripts of ‘elegiac comedies’ in a form comparable with copies of Roman comedy, with the written records of contemporary Hilarius’s ludi, of the Fleury Playbook musical-drama (Orléans, Bibliothèque municipale d’Orléans, 201) or of the jeux by Jean Bodel and Adam de la Halle.142 Rather, he searched for a witty story, with some wise locutions, which he then highlighted or even rewrote, as it is witnessed by integral copies and by florilegia. On the contrary, the extant manuscripts, texts, paratexts and peritexts, as well as medieval discourse concerning Latin poetry place ‘elegiac comedies’ in the domain of ars versificandi. The system of references with which these texts worked in the twelfth and thirteenth century is defined by the contemporary res publica literaria, represented by John of Salisbury, Peter of Blois, Mathew of Vendôme, Geoffey de Vinsauf or John of Garland. 138 For the edition of the text, the classification and the analysis of testimonies, which does not include Duacensis 317, see: J. Fohlen, ‘Un apocryphe de Sénèque mal connu: le De verborum copia’, Mediaeval Studies 42 (1980), pp. 139–211. See also in the edition of authentic and apocryphal works of Seneca by F. Haase, who was the first to identify this text correctly: L. Annaei Senecae opera quae supersunt. Supplementum, Leipzig 1902, pp. 66–73. Cf. G.G. Meersseman, ‘Seneca maestro di spiritualità nei suoi opuscoli apocrifi dal XII al XV secolo’, Italia medioevale e umanistica 16 (1973), pp. 43–125 (esp. pp. 92–93). 139 J. Mann (ed.), Ysengrimus [= Mittellateinische Studien und Texte 12], Leiden–New York–Copenhagen 1987; see also E. Voigt (ed.), Ysengrimus, Halle 1884. 140 See: E. Müllenbach (ed.), Comoediae Elegiacae, pp. 38–49; F. Bertini (ed.), Aulularia, [in:] F. Bertini (ed.), Commedie latine, vol. 1, Genoa 1976, p. 47. 141 Its facsimile is available online in the Teca Digitale (http://teca.bmlonline.it). 142 Cf. the difference of mise en page of a narrative text with dialogues, called roman, and of a jeu, a purely dialogical work conceived by a jongeleur in 13th century manuscript BnF fr. 1569, containing the texts of Roman de la Rose and Jeu de Robin et Marion by Adam de la Halle, where the latter includes speaker indications embedded in the text. Both manuscripts mentioned are available online at the Gallica. Bibliothèque Numérique website.

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In his poetria, John of Garland presents two redactions of a comedia – two versions of a story about Guinehochet, both integrating dialogue and narration, one in prose, the second in verses. The term ‘comedy’ is, in his lecture, associated with stylistic and thematic features: fictional character, happy ending, low (humilis) style and subject, form identical with elegy (4.475–483, 5.365–372143). A composition entirely in dialogue, representing the genus dramaticon (vel dicticon, ‘demonstrative’, imitativum, ‘representing by imitation’, interrogativum, ‘interrogative’), conforming to the grammatical and rhetorical tradition, is not understood as destined to be played in roles but, just as in the Digby 53 introduction, constitutes a type of narration, where the author speaks through the characters (P 5.303–306).144 Geoffrey de Vinsauf, who integrated in his poetical treatises the De tribus sociis and the De clericis et rustico, just before citing a passage from the latter in the Documentum... (2.3.163145), rejected any continuation of the Roman comedy’s theatrical tradition as defined by his predecessor, Horace (‘Sed illa quae condidit de comedia hodie penitus recesserunt ab aula et occiderunt in desuetudinem...’ – ‘But the rules that [Horace] established for the comedy today disappeared from the court completely and in the absence of practice, they died’);146 consequently, he focuses only on the iocosa materia.147 He emphasises a significant shift between the old comedy and the new comical production: he ignores those parts of Horace’s lecture which refer to theatre. Citing the Rhetorica ad Herennium, Geoffrey delineates the rules for the delivery of the new poetry: pronuntiatio – recitation accompanied by gestures and mimic, adapted to the res comica and jokes, and thus sometimes even lascivious, but always subordinated to two general virtues, venustas and moderatio, and, above all, never resembling the acting of a histrion (Doc. 2.3.170–171, cf. Poetria Nova 84–86, 2031–2032, 2045–2068). In Geoffrey’s treatises we can, incidentally, find examples of short purely dialogical verses, similar to the Babio. The same idea of comedia – defined by a specific subject and style, destined to the reader and the listener – is attested in the Ars versificatoria by Matthew of Vendôme (2.4–8148). Matthew also wrote one of the texts included in the corpus, Milo, and was, moreover, a self-styled master of elegiac couplet (cf. Matth. Vind. Epist. Prol. 1.33–34; Epist. Prol. 2.29–38). The letters of Peter of Blois to his brother, the author of Comedia Alda,149 offers, in turn, some insight into the process of the distribution of comediae. Alda, just as tragedia and other poems by William, circulated within the res publica literaria clearly with the T. Lawler (ed.), The ‘Parisiana Poetria’, p. 102; the fragments cited beneath: pp. 79–81. John of Garland, Parisiana Poetria, T. Lawler (ed.), pp. 98–100 (p. 100). Cf. G. Thilo and H. Hagen (eds.), Servii Grammatici qui feruntur in Virgilii carmina commentarii, Hildesheim 1961, 3.1. Cf. Gerhoh of Reichersberg on modi tractandi – Patrologia Latina, J.-P. Migne (ed.), vol. 191, cols. 630–631. 145 Geoffroi de Vinsauf, Documentum de arte versificandi, E. Faral (ed.), [in:] Les arts poétiques du XIIe et du XIIIe siècle, p. 317. 146 And no evidence of such a practice anywhere, even outside the court (cf. A.G. Rigg, History of AngloLatin Literature, p. 112) is extant. 147 Detailed argumentation concerning Geoffrey’s conception see: K.A. Glinska, ‘Ne gestus noster sit gestus histrionis…. Pronuntiatio w wykładzie poetyki Godfryda de Vinsauf ’, [in:] Studia rhetorica, M. Choptiany and W. Ryczek (eds.), Cracow 2011, pp. 41–54. 148 For the commentary concerning the reminiscences of Boethius and Horace, see: F. Munari (ed.), Opera Mathei Vindocinensis, vol. 3: Ars versificatoria, pp. 133–137. 149 Peter of Blois, Ep. 93 (Patrologia Latina, J.-P. Migne (ed.), vol. 207, col. 292D); idem, Ep. 76, col. 235A; idem, Ep. 76, col. 234B and 237B. 143 144

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intention of being read. As such, according to Peter – who was ashamed of his own usually erotic juvenilia – they were already barely tolerable. This kind of poetry was not appropriate, stated Peter, to his brother’s authority and social position. Could William, abbot and almost bishop,150 even as a courtier of Margaret of Navarre, stage his comedy? For that new Menander it would have been physically impossible. The brothers from Blois speak about the new comedy in the categories defined later by Geoffrey, with his Augustinian thinking about language and rhetoric.151 He stressed the irreversible death of the Roman stage tradition and, as a consequence, a huge cultural transformation of Latin poetical and performative production. This change was supported by the medieval authors of antitheatrical manifests, starting from the earliest Fathers of the Church.

Conclusions In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the notion of comedia was not totally deprived of any theatrical connotations, nor had it lost its connection with ‘pagan’ rituals – or, at least, practices endangering the Christian faith – and, inescapably, with lewdness. But for medieval clerics and new Latin authors, the term comedia began to function in its new sense, subordinating it to the trivium with its all ethical considerations. This tradition is continued by the author of the Divina Commedia. The texts comprised in the corpus, comediae and the others, result from the poetical practice described and exemplified in the twelfth and thirteenth-century poetriae, their medieval and early modern reception confirm their functioning as self-sufficient texts intended for oral delivery or silent reading. Often grouped due to historical or stylistic connections, they circulated as witty and instructive entertainment, inspiring poets, including Boccaccio. Contemporary with vernacular jeux and numerous performances never recorded in writing, composed by clerici just as ludi or representations associated with the liturgy, they were conceived for a different kind of performance – non-jongleresque, non-liturgical and non-histrionic. I assume that the twelfth-century reception of Greek and Roman theatrical tradition, continuing in the age of Dante and Boccaccio – the disassociation of comedia with the domain of theatre – is not a question of misunderstanding, but rather a conscious choice, a choice, which defined the identity of a certain community. The texts assembled in the corpus are ‘heterogeneous’, if interpreted through classical, evolutionary and theatrical fallacies. Only by reading them with respect to their historicity, materiality and theoretical context can we discover their ‘alterity’ – the ‘alterity’ of text and performance.

L.T. White Jr., ‘For the Biography of William of Blois’, English Historical Review 50 (1935), pp. 487–490. See: Geoffrey de Vinsauf, Poetria Nova 2045–2047, cf. 2Cor 4:16, Augustine, De Trinitate CXII, and Isidore, Etymologiae 9.1.6; O. Hiltbrunner, ‘Exterior homo’, Vigiliae Christianae 5 (1951), pp. 55–60. 150 151

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BETWEEN DISTANCE AND IDENTIFICATION: RECEPTION OF THE ANCIENT TRADITION IN THE PROTESTANT RELIGIOUS POETRY, THE CASE OF WROCŁAW, GDAŃSK AND TORUŃ IN THE CONTEXT OF NORTHERN HUMANISM

Introduction Whenever one thinks of the Renaissance, one focuses on its early and high phase; we remember, then, such phenomena as Italian humanism and the Reformation. The period immediately following its heyday tends to be overshadowed by the great changes of the epoch or, at most, is considered to be an introduction to a new chapter in the history of literature. In studying this period, it is all too easy to look either backwards to the preceding decades, or – timidly – toward what happened later. If something like this happened in literary reality, however, the intellectual transfer of tradition would be impossible, much as it is impossible to experience one’s life outside of their existential present. Literature cannot be created in isolation from the past and tradition, but also it cannot develop outside the present. Every epoch may be likened to a turbulent sea which mellows with time, but still is made to move by an invigorating wave sustaining its life and consolidating its identity. Such an invigorating wave for the literature of the Renaissance may be found in studies on the traditions of classical antiquity. In this article I would like to focus on one of the last waves of interest in the ancient tradition – just before the advent of the Baroque1 – which expanded to cultural centres in Silesia (Wrocław) and the Royal Prussia (Toruń, Gdańsk), where the German form of studia humanitatis found its distinguished followers.2 The protestant Latin poetry of the period which, according to the model of Erasmus and Johannes Sturm (pietas litterata),

1 On the impact of the reception in German culture see: V. Riedel, Antikerezeption in der deutschen Literatur vom Renaissance-Humanismus bis zur Gegenwart: eine Einführung, Stuttgart 2000. 2 J. Budzyńki, Paideia humanistyczna, czyli wychowanie do kultury: studium z dziejów klasycznej edukacji w gimnazjach XVI–XVIII wieku (na przykładzie Śląska), Częstochowa 2003; B. Nadolski, Rola Gimnazjum Toruńskiego w dziejach kultury umysłowej na Pomorzu Gdańskim w dobie odrodzenia, Toruń 1974; L. Mokrzecki, Wokół staropolskiej nauki i oświaty: Gdańsk–Prusy Królewskie–Rzeczpospolita, Gdańsk 2001; B. Awianowicz, ‘Humanizm renesansowy w miastach Prus Królewskich’, [in:] A. Borowski (ed.), Humanizm. Historie pojęcia [= Humanizm. Idee, nurty i paradygmaty humanistyczne w kulturze polskiej. Syntezy 2], Warsaw 2009, pp. 149–197.

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combined elements of profound piety and classical erudition,3 is part of the natural context of Central and Northern European culture (Northern Renaissance Humanism) outside those divisions which are determined by regional borders; at the same time, it is also an important link in a chain of literary tradition binding together the past and the future. However the transmission of ancient traditions is a far more complex phenomenon, involving not only writing techniques drawn from the principles of classical poetics and rhetoric,4 but also the absorption and processing of specific contents, which were given a different meaning by a new context: ‘The classical world’, as Hans Helander said, ‘was used as an inventory and thesaurus for the interpretation of modern times’.5 Thus, I would like to focus on the ‘presence’ of the ancient world in Protestant religious poetry by discussing selected examples6 from the poems of respected poets (some of them were poetae laureati) representing cultural centres that shared a common model of education. The different realisations regarding the fluency of this transmission will be related to the question of identification and distance; it will be suggested that the search for a continuity, by which contemporisation becomes something more than mere literary convention imitating traditional images, determined the vital force of a particular group of works and influenced their precise poetic form.

The system of education and religious Protestant poetry (pietas litterata) In the protestant education system, one finds an intersection of humanist and religious thought. As Gerhard Ritter states: ‘reformation gave the German humanists the strength to put their newly acquired classical culture once more in the service of Christian ideals’.7 The educational system devised by Philip Melanchthon and Johannes Sturm, and further developed by their disciples and successors,8 aimed at an education according to the principle of pietas litterata. The system in question was, to be sure, more than a mere imitation of Greek and Roman traditions newly enriched with a Christian element. Jan Mylius, headmaster of the Gymnasium in Elbląg at the turn of the sixteenth and seventeenth century, likened pagan wisdom to the leaves of a fig tree and their shadows, compared with the light of true wisdom and the beauty of virtues which 3 See: J. Budzyński, ‘School poetic prayer in Silesian grammar schools (the 16th–17th centuries)’, [in:] P. Urbański (ed.), Pietas humanistica, Neo-latin Religious Poetry in Poland in European Context, Frankfurt am Main 2006. 4 See also: A. Fulińska, Naśladowanie i twórczość: renesansowe teorie imitacji, emulacji i przekładu, Wrocław 2000, p. 16. 5 H. Helander, ‘Neo-Latin studies: significance and prospects’, Symbolae Osloenses 76 (2001), pp. 5–6. 6 I set aside subtle denominational differences (Lutheran, crypto-Calvinism) that do not contribute much to the issue in question. 7 M.P. Fleischer, ‘Melanchthon as praeceptor of late-humanist poetry’, The Sixteenth Century Journal 20 (1989), p. 559. 8 Th. Fuchs, Philipp Melanchthon als neulateinischer Dichter in der Zeit der Reformation, Tübingen 2008; M. Hein, Werk und Rezeption Philipp Melanchthons in Universität und Schule bis ins 18. Jahrhundert, Leipzig 1997, pp. 9–30; B.S. Tinsley, ‘Johann Sturm’s method for humanistic pedagogy’, The Sixteenth Century Journal 20 (1989), pp. 23–24; see also: L.W. Spitz and B.S. Tinsley, Johann Sturm on Education: the Reformation and Humanist Learning, Saint Louis 1995.

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can be found in the Church.9 Christianity, therefore, aspired to heavenly wisdom, which complemented Classical erudition when used as an instrument to shape the minds of the youths.10 The air of intellectualism sought in every Protestant educational centre was not an end unto itself; rather, the aims of the system were subordinated to a particular historical and social reality. Educating citizens from the youngest age so that they could later be useful for a state and a society – as well as shaping their identity – were among the universal aims of the classical model of education,11 although in the context of the epoch’s social changes they became the principal tool in the struggle to maintain religious distinctiveness. A graduate of a Protestant school was to be not only an exemplary citizen, but also a pious member of the Church, who was not simply born a Protestant, but became one in the course of proper formation. A high level of education was a kind of ’bait’ which served to multiply the popularity of the Protestant model until, of course, the competitive offer of the Jesuits first appeared.12 The competition between these schools revealed the true motivations of the warring camps, especially in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth where, at the end of the sixteenth century, the forces of the Counter-Reformation had become predominant, and tolerance became subject of defence13 or, rather, the final argument in the struggle for equal rights of different denominations. A particularly interesting examples of such practices may be found in polemical texts published at the end of the sixteenth century in Toruń and Gdańsk, which respond to the activity of the Counter-Reformation.14 The skilful authors of these texts were able to use their great erudition to draw upon the tools of classical rhetoric, not only in the language of Cicero, but also in their own15. Both the Jesuits and Protestants had similar rhetorical strategies, and sometimes even the same set of arguments. The issue of going back to the roots – that is, to the teachings of the Church Fathers – was especially important to the Protestants. The Reformation was thus associated with a return to ‘the golden age of Christianity’ which, in the course of the intervening centuries, had become impure and degenerated. Among the educated followers of Luther, referring to the authority of antiquity – both in its early Christian and classical forms –became an important factor affecting the final shape of their Protestant identity. Its distinctive feature was the feeling of separateness from other Christians. In practice this meant claiming to have the only true (vera) and pure (pura) religion and manifesting it explicitly both in polemical writings, but also in religious poetry which was never explicitly polemical in its character. There is no doubt, however, that it played a significant role in creating a religious identity. Budzyński, Paideia, p. 323. See also: R.R. Bolgar, The Classical Heritage and Its Beneficiaries, London 1954, pp. 302–316. 11 J. Witte, ‘The civic seminary: sources of modern public education in the Lutheran reformation of Germany’, Journal of Law and Religion 12 (1995–1996), pp. 178–223. 12 M. Wolańczyk, Jezuicka ars educandi: prace ofiarowane Księdzu Profesorowi Ludwikowi Piechnikowi SJ, Cracow 1995, p. 159. 13 S. Tync, ‘Głos z Prus Królewskich z r. 1596 w obronie Zgody Sandomierskiej, Konfederacji Warszawskiej i tolerancji religijnej’, Odrodzenie i reformacja w Polsce 2 (1957), pp. 133–150; J. Tazbir, Państwo bez stosów. Szkice z dziejów tolerancji w Polsce XVI i XVII w., Warsaw 1967, p. 133. 14 See: Podpora konfederacji przeciw wierszom podanym w rozmowie ziemianina z księdzem o jej zniszczeniu, Toruń: Andreas Cotenius, 1595; Respons. w porywczą dany na upominanie do Ewangelików o zburzeniu Zboru Krakowskiego i na przestrogę do katolików od kogoś uczynioną w roku 1592, Toruń: Andreas Cotenius, 1592. 15 See: M. Korolko, Klejnot swobodnego sumienia: polemika wokół konfederacji warszawskiej w latach 1573–1658, Warsaw 1974, pp. 91–109. 9

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This was especially true in such centres as Toruń and Gdańsk, where there was a specific tension arising from the fact that the Protestant majority of the city was at the same time a minority in a predominantly Catholic country. Polemical overtones appearing in this poetry – in addition to the more conventional form of clear allusions to the papacy – also have to do with the situation of the local community. Prayer, a spiritual (and therefore most effective) form of struggle,16 played a special role in times of religious unrest, expressing both individual and collective piety. Much of the poetry in question therefore includes precationes (supplications) thematically related to those Protestant songs written and destined for Holiday prayers. Christmas Day or Pentecost were excellent occasions not only for religious practice, but also to express one’s faith in the form of a lasting testament which also included some educational value. This applies especially to the works which originated in the schools – by both talented students and professors – which would become significant building blocks of community life. More often than not, the poems were conceived as gifts and dedicated to a particular person. Students would read the works of their teachers and tried to imitate (and emulate) their style17 and, in doing so, they acquired certain fixed patterns of verbal piety and forms of expression which has been sought in poetry of Classical authors and patristic writings (especially Augustine).18 They would thus develop both their devotion and their literary skills at this same time; this was the fundamental objective of the Protestant model of education. These poems, then, were read during school performances and used for daily spiritual exercises, in the same way that paraphrases of the Psalms and selected parts of the Holy Scripture were also used.19 This humanistic piety is reflected not only in the model of education, but also its literary products, some of which possess significant artistic value. An excellent example may be found in the literary output of the staff and graduates of the Gymnasium of St. Elizabeth in Wrocław. In this school, the students learned Latin and Greek from poetry; it is for this reason that, in the second half of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth centuries, the Gymnasium was called a ‘school of poets’.20 However, in addition to their obvious aesthetic value, the religious works of these Protestant authors who were writing at the end of sixteenth century also provide the modern reader with an illustration of the changes in spirituality which occurred during that time that time.21 The changes were not simply limited to the increase in doctrinal differences, but also to a change in the prevalent model of piety. The principle of sola 16 In one introduction from the re-edition of Precationes written by Andreas Musculus, a German Lutheran theologian, we can read: ‘Surely, all these disasters and dangers at the time of this ageing world are in full view of all, they are before their very eyes. Is there anyone who does not see the impious and blasphemous teaching of fanatical heretics grow incessantly, obscuring the pure doctrine of faith more and more, shrouding it in darkness? (…) But no one sees the source of these disasters, or I should say no one wants to see. The source in question is the neglect of prayers (precum omissio) as well as the neglect of training on invocations (cultus invocationis neglectio)’. See: Andreas Musculus, Precationes ex veteribus orthodoxis doctoribus, ex Ecclesiae hymnis et canticis, ex Psalmis denique Davidis […], Lipsiae [Leipzig]: Schneider Typis Voegelianis, 1573. 17 Johannes Sturmius, Ioan. Stvrmii Classicarvm Epistolarvm Lib. III. Siue Scholae Argentinenses restitutae, Argentorati [Strasbourg]: Rihelius 1565, pp. 63–64. 18 Budzyński, School Poetic, pp. 273–275. 19 Sturmius, Ioan. Stvrmii, pp. 60–61. 20 Budzyński, Paideia, p. 135. 21 About pietas litterata, see also: Bolgar, The Classical Heritage, pp. 319–369.

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Scriptura had extensive doctrinal consequences which were necessarily reflected in the scholastic religious practices designed to ensure an adequate spiritual formation of the youth.22 Reading scripture on a regular basis – combined with meditation, the singing of psalms and religious songs from hymnals specially arranged for this purpose, and also the students’ own poetic practice – helped to develop piety by engaging the spheres of both heart and intellect.23 The extensive reading of the Bible had a decisive influence on the choice of topics and genres selected by the poets. The literature in question is dominated by various paraphrases, ranging from whole works (e.g. the Psalms) to selected parts of texts, such as prayers (e.g. Magnificat, general intercessions).24 Even those texts written for the occasions of Christmas or Easter were, for the most part, a mosaic of crypto-quotations, in which the Word of God is given a noble literary form with extensive borrowing from the Classical authors.25 Along with hymns modelled on early Christian poetry, there were also poems inspired by ancient epic – for works of paraenesis (exhortation) – and Roman elegy,26 whenever the author wished to emphasize emotion. Idyllic works, in which imitation of Theocritus and Virgil were given the entirely Christian meaning, were especially important in the religious literary output of the Renaissance.27 These examples give a general outline that may serve merely as an introduction to a broader elaboration on the role of humanitas within the literature in question.

Transmission of the tradition – the issue of identification and continuity The influence of intellectual tradition over the meaning, content and form of the poetry is reasonably clear; the matter of providing a thorough description of the issue is far more complex. Notions of imitation and emulation – which refer to the basic principles of poetics in the Renaissance – do not fully reflect the complexity of the creative processes. In the case of religious poetry, one must take into account the tension caused by the clash of Christian and pagan ideas. In the following argument, I do not wish to draw upon the commonly used notions of the christianisation of antiquity or, for that matter the paganisation of Christianity. These approaches are little more than an anachronistic simplification which, while perhaps making it easier for a modern reader to grasp the contents, does not tell us much about the meaning of the literature itself. Indeed, this division is not so obvious when one takes into account the worldview of the Renaissance, which (in the spirit of the aforementioned Neo-Platonism) sought continuity and unity, and did not therefore perceive so great a divide between past and See: J.A. Steiger, Philologia Sacra: zur Exegese der Heiligen Schrift im Protestantismus des 16. bis 18. Jahrhunderts, Neukirchen-Vluyn 2011, pp. 50–51. 23 Budzyński, School Poetic, pp. 275–279. 24 P. Bahr, A. Assmann, Protestantismus und Dichtung, Gütersloh 2008. 25 K.O. Conrady, Lateinische Dichtungstradition und deutsche Lyrik des 17. Jahrhunderts, Bonn 1962, pp. 293– 299. 26 G. Urban-Godziek, Elegia renesansowa: przemiany gatunku w Polsce i w Europie, Cracow 2005. 27 About Virgil and tradition see: T.K. Hubbard, The Pipes of Pan: Intertextuality and Literary Filiation in the Pastoral Tradition from Theocritus to Milton, Michigan 1998; D.S. Wilson-Okamura, Virgil in the Renaissance, Cambridge 2010. 22

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present as we might in the modern day. This model of reception may be broadly defined as fluency.28 When analysing examples of the classical tradition in the Protestant religious poetry of the sixteenth century, one may note three distinct types of literary influence. The first is identification, the second is continuity, and third is contemporisation. I shall focus on the three forms of influence in the following literary examples. If we approach the reception of antiquity without the biases suggested by such terms as christianisation or paganisation, we are presented with new possibilities for interpretation. Contrary to appearances, the fluency of identification with classical authors and their works – as seen in Protestant religious poetry – was experiencing a subtle gradation; it was not always solely dependent on literary convention, in which literary erudition functioned merely as licentia poetica, and the borrowed images acted merely as ornament. It is worth examining examples of identification more thoroughly, both in their extreme forms of distance and moderation. Johannes Meursius (1579–1639), a Dutch classical scholar and author of the famous Historia Danica, also wrote a collection of elegies. Special attention should be paid to Elegy I, which opens the group of the works. Here identification applies to God the Father and Phoebe. Triple invocation is the compositional axis of the entire work. The direct address to the deity (dic, monstra, fave) is accompanied by a personal testimony neutralising tension within seemingly contradictory contents. While reading this prayer, one has no doubt that Phoebe is more than merely an image of the Christian God. The effect of natural fluency of communication is achieved by an attitude of emotional involvement. The name of Apollo becomes another name for God, revealing His special attribute. The poet, by addressing Him as The Father, focuses on the qualities he himself takes after Him, as a son. Addressing Him with the name of Phoebe, he emphasizes that He is God of light (Greek phoibos – shining) and of poets, including Virgil and Horace. Thus, it is not only the prayer’s content which is subject to individualisation, but also its recipient. Similarly, in the tradition of the Old Testament, an epithet is always added to the name of God – God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob – stressing the uniqueness of relationship between man and his Creator. The poet, then, uses identification to further highlight this particular aspect of his personal relationship with God. He does not do it, however, by means of downplaying the role of the ancient world. On the contrary, he elevates it by admitting the ancient poets as prophets, and revealing the truth that they unknowingly conveyed. It is a consequence of the Neo-Platonic model: this worldview was dictated by a view of eternity which, in turn, is the natural space and time of God’s presence; man, in this case, may either draw closer to his creator, or move away from Him.

28 See also the introduction to The Anxiety of Influence (‘A meditation upon Priority’): H. Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry, Oxford 1997, pp. 5–18.

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Ad Phoebum

To Phoebus

Phoebe pater, seu tu gaudebis Apollo vocari, Father Phoebus, or Apollo (if you prefer), pray tell dic, agito insuetum, quis novus aestus agit? to a non-initiated, what is that new flame that burns me? Nescio, quisnam animum grandis mihi spiritus implet, What is that great spirit that fills my soul, labitur aut subitus caeca per ossa calor. and that sudden heat seeping through my bones? Ille ego, qui studiis olim gaudere severis, I am at loss what kind of soldier in your service I am now, nunc tua nescio, qui miles in arma feror. so rejoicing - formerly - in serious undertakings. Nunc iuvat ire ubi mens alto contermina coelo, How delightful it is to go now where the mind is touching the libera subiectam spernere possit humum. lofty skies and where it can freely spurn the subdued earth. Ire iuvat nunc, qua Parnassus in aethera surgit How delightful it is to go where Parnassus juts into the sky, astraque ubi bifido vertice celsa ferit, striking the stars with his forked peak, conspicere et Musas hilares agitare choreas and also, to see the Muses direct cheerful dancers, atque patri laetas ducere festa Iovi. joyfully leading festive celebrations for Jove the Father. Festa ad quae totus descendit Olympus et inter Celebrations attended by all the Olympians, among virgineos fallit tempora lenta choros. the crowds of virgins, breaking the time of Sloth. Hic iuvet, hic annos optem inter gaudia divum Here the mind would rejoice, here I would wish Parca to weave segni devolvat stamine Parca meos, my years with her slothful thread, in the bliss of gods. aut ego virginibus permissus fata laterem Or that I, by permission of eternal virgins, would escape the fate, aeternis neque mors hoc sciat atra caput. nor would the grim death winkle out my head. Neve Deos inter crudeli poscerer Orco Also, I would not, towards gods, offer myself to cruel Orcus. inveniamque inter numina numen ego. I would rather find myself among gods, a god myself. Sic Maro grandiloquus coelo Flaccusque lyrae rex, It is thus that Vergil, the Eloquent, and Horace, the Lyre King, sic potuit vatum tot pia turba frui. rejoiced in the company of so many faithful poets. Phoebe pater, monstra, quae me via ducat euntem, Father Phoebus, show me the way that leads my pace, quaeve sacrum ad montem semita tollat iter, the path that marks the route to the sacred mountain, ne vager incerta dubius regione viarum lest I stray, wavering in the land of unknown ways votaque cogantur sine carere suo. and multiplying unnecessarily prayers. Sic mihi divinam contingat mandere laurum, Let it happen to me that I partake of the divine laurel leaves, sic mihi cum magnis vivere coelitibus. and that I live with the great heaven-dwellers. Scilicet est aliquid vitam non tradere morti, It is indeed fortunate not to succumb to death, est aliquid mensis accubuisse Deum. likewise to lie at the tables of gods. Et fama superare polum et mortalia cuncta So it is, to win the world with fame and, shuffling off linquentem a sera posteritate coli. the mortal coil, be cherished by later generations. Pascitur his animus spondetque haec gaudia nobis: The spirit feeds on these and brings such joys, Illudit vatem mens nisi falsa suum, Unless the untrue thought dupes the poet, sed non illudit neque enim praesagia certe but doesn’t and certainly no premonitions ulla solent vates fallere, Phoebe, tuos. can deceive your poets, o Phoebus. Phoebe, velis operi coepto adspirare secundus, O Phoebus! Let your inspiration help the work I began. Phoebe fave, precor et da mea vota mihi.29 Help me, o Phoebus, I beseech you – and do hear my prayer. 29

In the vertical dimension, this movement was often presented with the metaphor of the ladder tat appeared to Jacob in his sleep.30 From the pages of the Bible, it was incorporated into Protestant religious poetry, where it was used to illustrate a spiritual struggle between God and Satan in which the very human soul is the prize; this was one of the basic theses in Luther’s teaching. The man is in the middle of the ladder; behind him, at the bottom, is hell and Satan, and above him God and heaven the final end of the way of all flesh. This scheme was often applied in cartography, specifically 29 Johannes Meursius, Poemata, Leiden: Andreas Cloucquius, 1602, pp. 107–108; poem and next sequences translated by Damian Jasiński. 30 Another popular poetic image reflecting the ‘functioning of the world’ was machina mundi. See: J. Mittelstrass, ‘Nature and science in the Renaissance’, [in:] R.S. Woolhouse (ed.), Metaphysics and Philosophy of Science in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries. Essays in Honour of Gerd Buchdahl, Dordrecht–Boston–London 1988, pp. 26–33.

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in the geographical space of maps where, instead of the rungs of a ladder, there were circular spheres borrowed from the Classical tradition, with stars and continents on them.31 In the horizontal or temporal dimension, there was presented an history of the world, which the so-called philosophia perennis tried to capture.32 According to this concept, history was divided into three orders: succesio doctrinae (‘succession of doctrines’), mundus senescens (‘world in full decay’) and translatio imperii (‘transfer of rule’); these stages correspond generally to the myth of the ages of mankind which, in the Renaissance, was one of the most frequently employed topics of culture borrowed from the ancient tradition33. Philosophia perennis restored selected wise men and poets of the ancient world – for instance, Virgil and Horace – to the dignity of prophets. This was not merely a method of Christianising antiquity; the prophets – including the Old Testament figure of Moses and a half-mythical Orpheus – were not apostles of Christianity itself but, rather, representatives of the perfect knowledge of divine matters and human nature,34 which had initially (in the golden age of mankind) been accessible to every man. When Johannes Meursius wrote in the preface to his volumes of verse: ‘Only man filled with God is able to write a good poem, and a one worthy of eternity’,35 he may well have been referring to this perfect knowledge and piety. We can also clearly see it in his Elegy, which involved both vertical (Parnassus, Olympus, Orcus) and horizontal (Virgil, Horace as prophets) views on the spiritual order of the world enabling a smooth transmission from the classical tradition to Christianity. This intellectual transfer, however, did not always proceed in such a smooth and continuous way. Many authors were worried by the issue of identification in terms of numerous theological dilemmas. Thus, in a number of poems, one finds an equivocal attitude; on the one hand, the poets referr to the ancient tradition but, on the other hand, they attempt to maintain a distance, sometimes even denying the contents previously invoked. As a result their work became self-contradictory and lost its fluency. This was especially the case when attempts were made to receive the ancient tradition on the level of mere convention. In his study on the Bible and classical tradition in the Latin poetry of the Renaissance, Andrzej Budzisz cites an interesting example of this dissonance, and attempts to differentiate between biblical and mythological similarities. Such is the case with the incarnation (God being born of a mortal woman) in a poem by the first protestant translator of psalms, Eobanus Hessus36. In the first of the his Heroides God the Father says to Mary: Sed neque nubigeno descendam tectus in auro nec mihi mentitus suscipietur odor qualiter imprudens mentitia est cunque vetustas viderit, ingenio nos meliore sumus.37

No, I will not come down clad in cloud-born gold, nor will I be led astray by deceitful scent. Everyone knows that the past is not a skilled liar, we, at the least, are of finer mind.

C.S. Lewis, The Discarded Image, Cambridge 1994, pp. 89–96. W. Schmidt-Biggemann, Philosophia perennis: Historical Outlines of Western Spirituality in Ancient, Medieval and Early Modern Thought, New York 2005. 33 D. Śnieżko, Mit wieku złotego w literaturze polskiego renesansu, Warsaw 1996, p. 12. 34 About prisca theologia and prisca sapientia see: W.W. Quinn, The Only Tradition, New York 1997, pp. 78–79. 35 ‘Nemo enim carmen bonum scribit et aeternitatae dignum, nisi Deo plenus’. Meursius, Poemata, p. 6. 36 A. Budzisz, Biblia i tradycja antyczna. Motywy analogiczne w łacińskiej poezji biblijnej renesansu (Polska, Niemcy, Niderlandy, Wyspy Brytyjskie), Lublin 1995, p. 23. 31 32

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In this short fragment, mythology is discredited completely; only Christianity has the right to proclaim the truth. This critical attitude towards the heritage of antiquity was probably accompanied by scepticism towards the whole model in which mythological stories sought allegories rather than literal content. These suspicions, however, were of a selective nature, as is suggested by the metaphor from the last verse of the fragment cited above, which is an obvious allusion to Ovid’s golden age of mankind.38 On the other hand, this scepticism was also motivated by changes in literary trends. Fridericus Widebramus (1532–1585), in the preface to one of his late volumes of verse, wrote that a religious poet should be a theologian as well.39 This doctrinally oriented outlook on poetry also maintained a tendency to distance itself from the ancient tradition. When describing his own literary experiments, Widebramus strongly emphasized: ‘The cross led the way not to the mythical springs of Pegasus, but to the crystal clear springs of Israel (…)’.40 An interest in the poetic fragments from the books of the Old Testament corresponded to the Protestant principle of sola Scriptura, which had an enormous influence on the process of cleansing religious poetry of itspagan contents and mythological motifs that, when used to excess41 could obscure the Christian character of the literature. There were differing opinions on the matter; some of the poetics of the seventeenth century allowed for the use of mythological images in the context of licentia poetica42 or exemplum.43 The tendency described above sought to set certain limits to poetic activities, but not to completely eliminate any traces of paganism. This inability to escape from the mode of identification is clearly indicated one final example relating to the fluency of transmission. The poet Georgius Fabricius (1516–1571)44 belonged to a group purists who wished to cleanse religious poetry of all pagan content; Fabricius made these views known in the prefaces to his own volumes of verse45 and also in the poetics he wrote himself.46 In his opinion, the aim of poetry was to worship God and ‘teach the true Eobanus Helius Hessus, Dichtung Lateinisch und Deutsch, H. Vredeveld (ed.), Bern 1985, v. 113–116. Ovid., Metamorph. I, 107–108: ‘ver erat aeternum, placidique tepentibus auris / mulcebant zephyri natos sine semine flores’. 39 Fridericus Widebramus, Poematum liber primus continens sacra, Heidelberg: Johannes Lancelot, 1601, p. 4b. 40 ‘Crux (…) non ad fabulosas Pegasi scatebras, sed ad limpidissimos fontes Israelis aduceret’, Widebramus, Poematum, p. 4a. 41 At the same this is an example of one of the tendencies (amongst the authors themselves) of struggling against the imitativeness, being at the same time the driving force behind the transformations in literature. 42 H. Laufhütte, ‘Programmatik und Funktionen der allegorischen Verwendung antiker Mythenmotive bei Sigmund von Birken (1626–1681)’, [in:] H.J. Horn, H. Walther (eds.), Die Allegorese des antiken Mythos, Wiesbaden 1997, p. 291. 43 ‘The most commonly recommended mode of using ancient poetic fictions was as exempla, that is to say as a form of dialectical proof to corroborate a proposition and as a way of adding plenitude to persuasive discourse. This implies a belief in the potential of such exempla fabulosa to convince and to persuade, which would be poor indeed if these fictions had no grain of truth. So, in their function as exempla, what must be used of poetic fictions is the kernel of truth they conceal, truth about historical events, natural phenonomena or the moral law’. A. Moss, ‘Allegory in Rhetorical Mode’, [in:] H.J. Horn, H. Walther (eds.), Die Allegorese des antiken Mythos, Wiesbaden 1997, p. 397. 44 About works of Fabricius you can read: W. Ludwig, Christliche Dichtung des 16. Jahrhunderts: die „Poemata sacra” des Georg Fabricius, Göttingen 2001; Riedel, Antikerezeption, p. 63. 45 Georgius Fabricius, Poematum sacrorum libri XV, Basilea: Johannes Oporinus, 1560. 46 Idem, De Re Poëtica libri septem, Lipsiae: Voegelianus, 1565. 37 38

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faith’ (demonstrare doctrinam), and in his poems one does, indeed, find a dominant tone of prayer. While formally imitating Horace’s Odes, he avoids mythological abuses. The works’ protagonists are biblical figures drawn from both the Old Testament (Abraham, Tobias, Moses) and the New (Martha), who are used as examples in the context of more recent events, perhas most notably the unease associated with the religious struggle against the Ottomans. Despite a clear tendency to purge the Christian poetry of pagan elements, Fabricius remains under the influence of specific literary images. In the poem dedicated to guardian angels (Ode IX), alongside the influence of his more contemporary authors,47 we can find also allusions to the work of Virgil: Muniti ac ferro nequicquam iremus in hostes, aut in manus grassantium votaque deprensi frustra saceremus in alto, nec herba morbos tolleret. Tum seges agricolam fallaci luderet arvo, non uva funderet merum. Nemo suam aspiceret, dulcissima pignora, prolem, matris necatem viscere, (tanta sitis perdendi hominem) nisi Christe fidelem Cunctis dedisses angelum.48 48

It is in vain that we, armed with swords, would attack the enemy advancing in ranks. Once taken captive, our trust in heaven would prove futile, and no remedy would cure our maladies. The seeds sown in treacherous soil would mock the farmer, and the vine would bear no fruit. No one would see their progeny, [their] dearest hostages, for they all die in their mother’s wound (so great is the urge to kill), had it not been for the faithful angel whom you give to all, o Christ.

The contents borrowed from Classical antiquity dominated the author’s thoughts. While the poem is nominally a prayer addressed to God for angelic protection, the world deprived of this protection is presented through images that are the negation of the golden age described by Virgil in his fourth Bucolic. Fabricius refers to this classic work through the accumulation of significant key words (ferro, herba, seges, uva, fallaci, funderet, matris) and images (sitis perdendi, agricola); he also appears to have borrowed his ideas of geographical space directly from the pagan world. As in case of the Meursius elegy quoted above, this demonstrates the vitality of the Neo-Platonic world model, with its division into particular spheres, where ancient names are still applied to both its upper (Olympus, astra, aures) and lower (Tartaros, Styx, Phlegethon, Orcus) parts. The world of nature was inextricably linked to the action of God, as one may discover through insightful reading of the Psalms; at the same time it reflected the spiritual condition of man and his inner liberation from the darkness of sin to the light of salvation due to Christ’s death and resurrection. The expression of unity was identification which, in turn, was accompanied by an attempt – particularly evident in Renaissance epic poetry – to preserve a continuity with the works of great predecessors.49 In Christian literature the form of epic poetry was often imitated, especially in works praising the birth of Jesus and the triumph of His resurrection. Another genre, even more subordinate to the pursuit of continuity, was the Christian idyll, in which action taken from Theocritus and Virgil was combined with the New Testament and the birth of Christ. The Fourth Bucolic – which even in times 47 For example the phrase ‘dulcissima pignora’ cannot be found in works of classical authors, but we can find it in the poem of Pseudo-Ovid, De Vetula (v. 45) from the thirteenth century. 48 Fabricius, Poematum, pp. 32–33, v. 11–20. 49 It is worth to refer to Aeneidos Liber XIII of an Italian poet, Maffeo Vegio, who undertook to continue the work of Virgil (Virgil, Mapheus Vegius: Opera: Bucolica. Georgica. Aeneis. Liber XIII additus XII Aeneidos, Milano: Antonio Zarotto pour Giovanni da Legnano, 1482).

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of early Christianity was read as a prophecy of the coming of Jesus50 – was especially popular in Christmas poetry. The Protestant poets even competed in constructing subtle allusions to the work of Virgil, and imitation was sometimes revealed by the metric arrangement of words.51 On the other hand, some difficulty was caused by the strong influence of Ovid.52 Valentinus Schreckius, a poet from Gdańsk, was not alone in placing the birth of Jesus in the recognizable context of the first book of Metamorphoses: Cum pater omnipotens Zephyros emittit et aura intactam foecundat humam (...). Semen alit, gratosque parit de semine fructus Corpore in humano varius quorum iniget usus. (...) Haec, quia tempus adhuc veniae, et melioribus Sunt voluenda animis, sacras dum flamen ad aras Vota fecit Christique refert natalibus olim muneraque et bona nata simul felicis Olympi.53 53

When the omnipotent father sends the Zephyrs and the breeze brings fertility to the unadulterated soil (…). The seeds sprout and bear delectable fruit, in so many ways beneficial to the human body, These, I say, should the nobler souls consider, at the time of grace, when the priest celebrates an offering at the sacred altar and every Christmas-day brings back gifts and the goods of hallowed Olympus.

The topos of the ‘Golden Age’ played a special role not only in Christmas poetry, but also in other Protestant religious works.54 The advent of Christ – be it in connection to His birth, or in connection to His triumphant resurrection and the second coming – was identified as the return of the golden age of mankind. Although the works in question thus continued the literary tradition, they also perpetuated a particular historiosophical concept of mundus senescens by saying that, in reality, history of the world follows the scenario of mythological story of the degradation of mankind; what follows must, therefore, also have a historical continuity, which does not merely bind the past and present, but allows us to predict the future as well. In the Protestant view of the world – in which the life of Christ described in the Holy Scripture prefigured the life of the Christian community on earth – some apocalyptic tendencies appeared.55 It is possible, however, that waiting for the end was an attempt at saving a coherent whole, as Frank Kermode puts it;56 it may have been a response to the changes occurring in the world, which gradually deprived people of their sense of stability and security. When faith is tested, man seeks support not only in the words of God’s promise, but also in the authority of a past which is able to confirm those words, adding power to their truth.

50 See: R. Jenkyns, The Legacy of Rome: A New Appraisal, Oxford 1992, p. 155; S. MacCormack, The Shadows of Poetry: Vergil in the Mind of Augustine, Los Angeles 1998, pp. 21–31. 51 See: E. Chrulska, ‘Aktualizacja mitu o złotym wieku w poezji bożonarodzeniowej’, Studia Classica et Neolatina (2012), pp. 122–129. 52 It is manifested on the formal level in a special fondness of the Renaissance poets for elegy as a genre. 53 Valentinus Schreckius, In feriis nataliciis Christi carmen (...), Regiomonti Borussiae [Königsberg]: Johannes Daubmann, 1568, v. 13–20. 54 The Bible and works of Classical authors abound in the loci communes, which enabled christianization of the fundamental themes taken from myth. The most recognizable theme is the biblical story of paradise lost by men compared to the fall of mankind from Metamorphoses. Another is consent of conventional harmony between animals of different species with the prophecy Isaiah (Is. 11: 6–9). 55 A. Krzewińska,‘Perspektywy eschatologiczne w poezji polskiego baroku’, [in:] Cz. Hernas and M. Hanusiewicz (eds.), Religijność literatury polskiego baroku, Lublin 1995, pp. 292–293. 56 F. Kermode, The Sense of an Ending: Studies in the Theory of Fiction: With a New Epilogue, Oxford 2000, pp. 17–18.

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The poets made extensive use of analogy in their content plans, which allowed them to build a coherent action through a fluent conversion of images. This ultimately served to reinforce an impression of continuity. A perfect example is provided by a bucolic of Kasparus Pridmannus (1535–1598),57 one of the outstanding representatives of the Silesian school of poetry. The motif enabling two separate stories to be combined is the emergence of a star in the sky – the herald of the birth of Christ.58 This image allows for a shift of action in a plot borrowed from the Classical tradition (especially the works of Theocritus and Virgil, where the main characters were shepherds).

Between distance and identification – contemporisation In this case one deals with a special form of conveying tradition, in which identification is accompanied by continuity, but is used to place contemporary contents into a more ancient literary context. Referring to authority became a part of the literary game played by author and erudite reader, maintaining a close dialogue between tradition and the reality of the present. Pridmann’s work begins with a dialogue of the shepherds, whose conversation from the very first lines is concentrated on the ‘upper sphere’ of the world. Thyrsis points to nature and the signs within it (borealia frigora, nivis amber). These signs, however, are not merely about unfavourable weather; rather, the state of nature corresponds to the spiritual condition of the shepherds. The winter acts as a metaphor for the unease in man’s life, and for helplessness in the face of imminent danger; it is a shadow of impending death, similar to the myth of Demeter and Persephone. In the Christian view, it finds its counterpart in the parable of the sower, who was sowing seeds that had to die in order to begin their real life, in turn an image of Christ’s fate. In another Protestant Christmas work, Christ is described as a mystical fruit that opposes the winter59 and thus a victor over death; the everlasting spring, of course, is one of the principal themes within the myth the golden age.60 Winter, then, is a difficult time, and not only in the spiritual sense. It stands in opposition to spring – that is, to the golden age – and represents the actual moment in the history of mankind. Identifying with the work’s protagonists, and making use of the myth’s continuity, the poet contemporises the content, which, apart from its universal meaning, is given a new one referring to an extra-literary reality.61 Let us have a closer look at Corydon’s answers to the remarks of Thyrsis concerning the winter weather:

57 Kasparus Pridmannus, Carmen Hexametrvm Bvcolicvm in natalem lesu Christi scriptum Ad Magnificum (…) Dominum Stephanum Haubtman, Vienna: Raphael Hoffhaltel, 1560, p. A2. 58 In Schreck’s idyll the shift from the pastoral scene to the one presenting the original sin was made possible by the motif of a tree. Cf. Valentinus Schreckius, Eidyllion de lapsu et restitutione generis humani, Regiomonti Borussiae [Königsberg]: Johannes Daubmann, 1563. 59 Henricus Hoevelius, Sacrorum carminum liber, Steinfurti [Steinfurt]: Caesarius, 1605, p. A3. 60 Cf. Ovid., Metamorph. I, 107–108. 61 About non-literary connotations of Renaissance bucolics see: A. Krzewińska, ‘Arkadia i złoty wiek’, [in:] T. Michałowska (ed.), Słownik literatury staropolskiej, Wrocław 2002, p. 56.

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(...) Puro coelestia sidera candent lumine, vix pecudes indutae vollera corpus frigora tanta ferunt. Carum pecus ergo capellae iungite vos niveis vicini Thyrsidis agnis, iungite, sic iunctis fiet grex omnibus unus. Cuniunctis etiam gregibus metuenda luporum est minus in campis rabies at vulnera saepe dipersi sensere greges hostilia nostri. (v. 9-18)

(...) The heavently stars shine with pure light, the sheep, clad in wool, can barely stand such frost. You, dear goats, merge with the snow-white lambs of Thyrses, our neighbour. Merge with them, let there be one flock that unites all. The wolves ravaging the fields are less fearsome to combined flocks, for our herds, often dispersed, have suffered from the enemy.

In order to decipher the other meaning of the quote above, we must take note of certain key words. Protestant poetry often applied the language of allegory using not only ancient motifs, but also biblical symbolism. The sheepfold is thus a synonym of the Church, while Satan and his servants (including the Popes) were referred to as wolves.62 This may be perceived not only as an image of the shepherd caring about his sheep, but also as a metaphor for the situation of the Protestant community at that time which, rather than yielding to the divisions amongst them, should be striving even more for unity; for this is the only rescue from the growing legions of enemies (lupi).63 Et precor, ut quoniam nos ultima tempora tangunt I pray – as we are nearing the end - that you come turturibus venias anchora sacra tuis. as the holy relief to your turtle doves. Ipse vides, quantis videamur ab hostibus angi, You can see yourself, how terribly we are oppressed by our enemies: Mars furit et cunctis concitat arma locis. (…) Mars is raging, taking up arms in all places. (…) Christe veni finemque malis impone tuorum! Come, o Christ, and put an end to the plight of your people! Sit modus, adventu tristia pelle tuo!64 Let it be over, dispel the gloom with your coming! 64

The desired solution would be the second coming of Christ, and thus the realisation of the prophecies in the Book of Revelation, which – as the restoration of the heavenly order – is also the Christian equivalent of the return of the golden age. However, Christmas poetry could express not only a desire for the symbolic coming of Christ, but also His final triumph over evil. This thought is expressed directly in the Christmas poem of Huldericus Schoberus (1559–1598), a poet and teacher from Toruń: The second coming of Christ is shown to be be tantamount to the day of judgement, in which justice will be given to the followers of the true religion, and punishment to unbelievers.65 An interesting example of such contemporisation of both mythical and biblical stories may be found in the work of Bartholomeus Bilovius (1573–1615), German poeta laureatus from Stendal. In his Christmas poem he clearly paraphrases the Fourth Eclogue of Virgil:

62 It is worth highlighting that the same kind of metaphor can be met in the following divisions: lightdarkness, and heaven-hell. 63 Of conciliatory efforts of the Protestant party on the example of Toruń see W. Sławiński, ‘Spory doktrynalne na toruńskim synodzie generalnym 1595 roku’, Czasy Nowożytne 2 (1997), p. 39. 64 Huldericus Schoberus, In natalem Filii Dei, [in:] Idem, Poematum libri III, hoc est Charisteriorum cum Propempticis autori scriptis, Sacrorum, Genethlicorum, quibus praemissa sunt Elogia Toruniea Borussorum et Senatus Idemdem urbis, Toruń: Andreas Cotenius, 1592, p. D3, v. 88–96. 65 It is worth emphasizing that this was the theme of many Psalms, which were of interest at that time of the Catholic and the Protestant poets alike.

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Elżbieta Chrulska Alma reducetur pax et compagibus arctis claudentur belli portae, totumque per orbem secla renascentur mortalibus aurea rebus. (...) armenta leones non metuent: ultro fugiet lupus ipse capellas (...). Amplius haut fugiet spaciosa per aequora classis, fructibus omnis enim largis feret omnia tellus.66

The life-giving peace shall be restored and the gates of war shall be tightly fastened, and across the globe the golden age will be reborn for all that fades away. (…) The herd shall not be afraid of lions, on the contrary, the wolf will fear the goats (…) The great fleet shall not sail across splendid seas, the whole of the land shall bear abundant fruit.

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In the verse ‘(...) armenta leones / non metuent: ultro fugiet lupus ipse capellas (...)’. Bilovius not only imitates the Fourth Eclogue but, in a subversive way, also refers to the prophecy of Isaiah. The phrase: ‘habitabit lupus cum agno’ (Is. 11:6) is transformed into: ‘ultro fugiet lupus ipse capellas’ and thus the original meaning of its neighbouring quotation from Virgil is changed (Verg., Ecl. IV, 22). It becomes clear that the term ‘metuent’ suggests not only the peaceful coexistence of two species of animals, but also the courageous opposition of the weaker to the stronger. Regardless of how one chooses to interpret this passage, it remains a realisation of the literary myth of the golden age, evoked through allusions to Virgil. It is also worth mentioning that, in Christian anthropology, the lion was also identified with the forces of Satan and persecutors of the reformed religion. It is therefore possible that, for Bilovius, a return to the golden age and peace was identified with the triumph of the persecuted.67 Through contemporisation the Protestant poets transformed both traditional themes and forms, which were subordinated to personal prayer (precatio). The theological contents, combined with an application of contemporary reference, enabled the creation of a separate religious identity,68 based on a strongly emphasized division betwee ‘us’ and ‘you’, and reflected in the allegorical distinctions between sheep and wolves, as well as between the celestial sphere and the sphere of hell. In consequence, it amplified the process of creating the utopia of New Jerusalem which, in the seventeenth century, brought about particular projects not only in literature, but also in the architecture of cities.69

Conclusions: new wine in old wineskins Profound piety was associated with fluency of transmission. In using the authority of the past – by means of identification, the pursuit of continuity and the contemporisation of elements from the classical tradition – Protestant poets contributed to the formation of a closed, religious community. It is worth mentioning that this community was defined not only by model of education and works of arts, but also by religious 66 Bartholomeus Bilovius, Ecloga de Christi Dei et hominis salutifera nativitate (...), Regimonti Borussorum: [s. n.], 1604. 67 Chrulska, ‘Aktualizacja’, p. 127. 68 The same strategy was used for the formation of modern nations, see M. Müller, Zweite Reformation und städtische Autonomie im Königlichen Preussen: Danzig, Elbing und Thorn in der Epoche der Konfessionalisierung (1557– 1660), Berlin 1997 and H. Louthan, G.B. Cohen, F.A.J. Szabo (eds.), Diversity and Dissent: Negotiating Religious Difference in Central Europe, 1500 – 1800, New York 2011. 69 See: C. Bernet, „Gebaute Apokalypse”: die Utopie des Himmlischen Jerusalem in der Frühen Neuzeit, Mainz 2007.

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practices. Many hymnals intended for liturgy were made to meet the needs of Protestant congregations, and the contents of these were dominated by separatist tendencies. Religious poetry, in which the polemic element was generally more subtle in nature, nonetheless contributed to this trend; it treated the classical tradition as an extremely valuable heritage, and willingly referred to the wisdom of the ancients, whose authority could be not only relied on, but also treated as a foundation. Søren Kierkegaard wrote: ’Actuality (historical actuality) stands in a twofold relation to the subject: partly as a gift that refuses to be rejected, partly as a task that wants to be fulfilled’.70 One should perceive the literary tradition in a similar way: its transmission always entailed some risk. Eventually, however, it was its only source of life. It was perfectly understood by Italian Renaissance thinkers, especially Poliziano, who referred to this tenet in one of his letters: Just like one cannot be a good runner if only he wants to tread in the footsteps of others, the same way one cannot be a good writer if he has no courage to go beyond what has already been written.71

The borderline between imitatio and aemulatio seems to have been vague as well.72 Perhaps Harold Bloom was right in describing the first stage of the creative struggle with tradition by using the term clinamen – borrowed from Lucretius – meaning a deviation in the trajectory of atoms that can cause a change in the universe.73 This entails the existence of common ground between two authors, which may act as the starting point for further creative processes. Conveying a tradition entails not only the imitation of literary forms, but also models of conduct. In case of pietas litterata there is a whole system of education based on ancient patterns of teaching. The attitude of trust towards the Classical tradition in the Renaissance was remarkable. Erasmus of Rotterdam was right, however, in pointing out (in his Ciceronianus) the dangers which the blind imitators of Classical antiquity did not want to see. To them, the tradition ceased to be a challenge and a source of life, but rather had frozen in the dead forms of epigonism. The attachment to a living tradition, which demanded that writers should confirm their identity, was something that probably amplified the last waves of humanism. Participation in the historical continuum turned out to be another asset enabling the process by which forms and contents were made contemporary, and also offered a creative approach to the challenge posed by literary heritage to the authors of every epoch. Undoubtedly, the most interesting moment for research on transfer of tradition is the moment of crisis – the time of ending and beginning – when some form of the extant world is about to perish, but some of its elements are to survive, so that a continuity might be maintained. This is how the tradition is purified, and this is how forms change. What is important in literature, though, is that the wineskins remain filled with wine.

70 S. Kierkegaard, The Concept of Irony, with Continual Reference to Socrates. Notes of Schelling’s Berlin Lectures, H.V. Hong and E.H. Hong (transl.), Princeton 2013, p. 276. 71 Prosatori latini del Quattrocento, E. Garin (ed.), Milano 1952, quoted in: Fulińska, Naśladowanie, p. 107. 72 Ibidem, p. 57. 73 Bloom, The Anxiety, p. 44.

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Section II NEW CONTEXTS FOR THE CHRISTIAN PAST

Christian Sahner Princeton

OLD MARTYRS, NEW MARTYRS AND THE COMING OF ISLAM: WRITING HAGIOGRAPHY AFTER THE CONQUESTS

Introduction Around the year 775, a monk known as Joshua the Stylite completed a four-part history of the world in Syriac. The text, surviving in a unique manuscript, is known to scholars today as the Chronicle of Zuqnīn.1 The fourth and final section of the Chronicle details the social and economic hardships facing Christians in the Jazīra (northern Mesopotamia) in the aftermath of the ‘Abbasid revolution (ca. 750–775). It was a time of extreme suffering, when rapacious officials of the new regime taxed, intimidated, and beat the Christian population into submission.2 Through Joshua’s rich descriptions of everyday life, we can witness the kinds of indignities that greased the way for largescale conversions to Islam in the years to come. Two-thirds of the way through Part IV, Joshua describes the punishments inflicted on individuals who disobeyed the ‘Abbasids.3 Officials would strike them with rods and planks, crushing their heads, hands, and flanks. At other times, they would rip away their arms and breasts, forcing them to march naked into the snow. Joshua also mentions a device called the ‘walnut’, which Muslim officials would place over the eyes of their victims, causing them to nearly pop out of their sockets. Joshua’s litany of tortures calls to mind the theatrical punishments inflicted on the martyrs of early Christian times. His allusion was far from accidental. As he wrote: For orientation on the Chronicle of Zuqnīn, especially Part IV, which covers events in the seventh and eighth centuries, see: The Chronicle of Zuqnīn, Parts III and IV, A.D. 488–775, A. Harrak (trans.), Toronto 1999, pp. 1–33; D. Thomas and B. Roggema et al. (eds.), Christian–Muslim Relations: A Bibliographic History. Volume 1 (600– 900), Leiden 2009, pp. 322–326. The only surviving manuscript of the Chronicle, MS Vat – Syr. 162, is thought to be an autograph of Joshua, cf. Harrak, Chronicle, pp. 1–2. The name ‘Joshua the Stylite’ can be found in a colophon of the ninth century inserted into the manuscript. 2 For more on economic and social conditions in the Jazīra at the time of Joshua the Stylite, cf. C.F. Robinson, Empire and Elites after the Muslim Conquest: The Transformation of Northern Mesopotamia, Cambridge 2000; C. Cahen, ‘Fiscalité, propriété, antagonismes sociaux en Haut-Mésopotamie au temps des premiers ‘Abbāsides d’après Denys de Tell-Maḥré’, Arabica 1 (1954), pp. 136–152. 3 Chronicle of Zuqnīn, J.-B. Chabot (ed.) [= Incerti auctoris Chronicon anonymum pseudo-Dionysianum vulgo dictum. Vol. II: Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, Vol. 104 (Scriptores Syri, Vol. 53)], Louvain 1952, pp. 314–316. 1

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Indeed, if only Christians were singled out in this persecution, it would have been incumbent on me to praise the martyrdoms of [these] days [more] than all the martyrdoms of the past, because a quick death by the sword is [better] than constant torments which do not cease.4

The chronicler’s only caveat in comparing the sufferings of the present day to those of the early church was that these persecutions were ‘all mixed up’5 – the ‘Abbasids did not discriminate in their choice of victims. They affected not only Christians, but also ‘pagans, Jews, Samaritans, worshippers of fire and the sun, […] Magians [as well as] Muslims and Manicheans.’6 Everyone was a martyr of the ‘Abbasid tyranny, whether they prayed to the north, south, east or west. Despite Joshua’s warning about the scope of the persecutions, we find in his remarks a striking sense of parallelism between the martyrdoms of the Roman past and the Muslim present. These lift the veil on a much wider change happening among certain Christians in the early Islamic world, who ceased to imagine themselves as heirs of a triumphant Constantinian Christianity. Rather, they came to see themselves as heirs to a more militant tradition of Christian suffering, that of the martyrs of the early church. After a respite of nearly four hundred years, during which Christianity enjoyed status and security as the official religion of the Roman Empire, Christians were watching history repeat itself. Gone were the prefects and packs of lions who had tortured the martyrs long ago. In their place stood what some regarded as a new and pernicious form of paganism, but whose particular form of idolatry was no less threatening. This change in mentality, hitherto unexplored in studies of Christianity in the early Islamic period, was among the most important of its day.7 It not only reflected a new vision of history among Middle Eastern Christians, in which the persecutions of the early church became a touchstone for processing the sufferings of the present. Martyrs also conveyed a message of resistance at a time when Christians faced mounting pressure to abandon their faith and embrace Islam.8 4 Chronicle of Zuqnīn, p. 316; all translations are my own unless otherwise noted. The chronicler repeats the same observation later in the text: ‘Those monks, who had gathered in holy assemblies in the cells of the monasteries gather[ed] in a modest and holy fashion, endured sufferings, torments, and bitter castigations, worse than anyone else, on account of the judges’ tributes. The reader shall know and understand that never on earth has there been seen a persecution which is worse than this year’s. If this persecution were not general, and all the nations were not oppressed and subjugated more than anything before, I would have to praise these martyrdoms of our own day’; ibidem, p. 343. 5 The Syriac reads, ḥbīkā, from the verb, ḥbak (to mix, mingle) implying that the persecution was general, affecting all groups without distinction. 6 Ibidem, p. 316; the passage distinguished between ḥanpe – the traditional Syriac work for pagans, often used for Muslims as well – and mshalmāne – referring to Muslims, specifically; for more on the lexical range of the term ḥanpā, especially its relationship to the Qur’anic term ḥanīf, meaning a pre-Islamic monotheist, see: F. de Blois, ‘Naṣrānī (Ναζωραȋος) and ḥanīf (ἐθνικός) – studies on the religious vocabulary of Christianity’, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 65 (2002), p. 23. De Blois points out that a ḥanpā could refer to a non-Jew or non-Christian who was righteous, much like the Muslim Arabic definition. The passage is as remarkable for its message about martyrdom as its rich inventory of religious groups living in the Jazīra in the mid-eighth century. 7 For a helpful introduction to Christian identity in greater Syria in the post-conquest period: M. Morony, ‘History and identity in the Syrian Churches’, [in:] J. J. van Ginkel, M.L. Murre – Van den Berg, and T.M. van Lint (eds.), Redefining Christian Identity: Cultural Interaction in the Middle East since the Rise of Islam, Leuven 2005, pp. 1–33. 8 On the role of martyrs and other symbols of ‘primordial Christianity’ in the formation of identity in Late Antiquity, cf. R. Markus. The End of Ancient Christianity, Cambridge 1990, pp. 97–106; T. Sizgorich, Violence

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In what follows, I hope to track the emergence of this new martyrological discourse. I am especially interested in how Christians living under Muslim rule redeployed longdormant concepts of history and identity to confront new social realities, and in turn, how these considerations shaped the writing of a new genre of texts, neomartyrologies. Above all, I am concerned with exploring how the intellectual and cultural traditions of Roman late antiquity were revived and altered to face another post-Roman late antiquity, that of Islam.

Reviving martyrology It may come as no surprise that Christians who died under Islam were considered martyrs in the eyes of their communities. In many Middle Eastern cultures, it remains common to refer to the heroic dead, Muslim and Christian alike, as martyrs (shahīd, pl. shuhadā’).9 Furthermore, saints had been an important feature of Christian life in the region long before the coming of Islam. For centuries, Christians had venerated them, grounding a sense of group identity in their heroic suffering.10 In the neomartyrs, we witness one of many ancient traditions that kept on keeping on after the dawn of Islam. That said, we should not underestimate the revolutionary quality of what took place in the post-conquest period: Churches throughout the greater Middle East came to regard their co-religionists who ran afoul of the authorities not as criminals or renegades (as the authorities did), but as martyrs and saints.11 Sanctity is in the eye of the beholder, and no matter the period, there is an important imaginative leap from seeing someone as a murdered Christian to seeing him as a martyred Christian; an executed man dies in punishment for his crimes, but a martyr dies on behalf of a cause. Thus, to call an individual killed by Muslims a ‘martyr’ was to infuse him and his struggle with a sense of divine purpose, to insert him into the slipstream of salvation history by comparing him to heroes past. The texts that emerged from this process during the early Islamic period – known as martyrologies12 – have received limited scholarly attention. Aside from critical editions of several texts, the

and Belief in Late Antiquity, Philadelphia 2009, pp. 46–80; also: D.K. Buell, Why This New Race: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity, New York 2005, chs. 1–2. 9 For an introduction to the term ‘martyr’ in Muslim culture, see: E. Kohlberg, ‘Shahīd’, [in:] H. Gibb et al. (eds.), Encyclopedia of Islam, Second Edition, 13 vols., Leiden 1954–2005, here: vol. 9, pp. 203–207. Ancient Christianity, with informal process of recognizing saints, was generally more discriminating in deciding who counted as a saint, but not by much: in the early period, the consensus of the community, paired with demonstrable miracles could vault a dead Christian into the ranks of the numinous. It opened the title to a far wider array of peoples than would probably pass scrutiny before the church committees who oversee the process of canonization today. On the history and process of canonization in the Roman Catholic Church, cf. P. Delooz, ‘Towards a sociological study of canonized sainthood in the Catholic Church’, [in:] S. Wilson (ed.), Saints and their Cults: Studies in Religious Sociology, Folklore, and History, Cambridge 1985, pp. 189–216. 10 For intelligent comment on this theme, cf. Buell, Why This New Race, p. 52; cited in: Sizgorich, Violence and Belief, p. 57. For interesting parallels in Reformation-era Europe, where Catholics and Protestants used martyrologies to configure new sectarian identities: B. Gregory, Salvation at Stake: Christian Martyrdom in Early Modern Europe, Cambridge (Mass.) 1999. 11 C.C. Sahner, ‘Between persecution and prosecution: Christians and the law of apostasy in early Islamic society’, [in:] A. Nef and V. Prigent (eds.), Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam, Princeton (forthcoming). 12 Or according to their Latin names, vitae (‘lives’) and passiones (‘passions’), which I will use throughout this paper.

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bibliography is still in its infancy.13 In particular, most existing studies have avoided engaging with wider questions of history and identity. There are a relatively large number of these texts from the early Islamic period. We have biographical information for more than two hundred martyrs who died between the seventh and tenth centuries. Some biographies are conventional vitae, some as long as forty pages. Others are potted biographies in longer chronicles, liturgical texts, and sermons. The documents were written in a kaleidoscope of medieval languages, including Greek, Arabic, Latin, Georgian, Armenian, Syriac, and Ethiopic. Most of the corpus was composed inside the caliphate, though certain texts were translated and survive only outside it. Often these were public documents, produced by monks and clergy for recitation in a refectory or in a church – especially on the saint’s feast day. Christian sources furnish nearly all of our direct information about the martyrs, though there are a few corroborating accounts from contemporary Muslim texts.14 What does hagiography tell us about the persecution of Christians in the early Islamic period? First, martyrs died in practically every region of the caliphate with large numbers of Christians – from Spain to North Africa, Egypt, Palestine, Syria, the Jazīra, and Iraq. Second, they belonged to a range of denominations – including the Melkite (Chalcedonian), Jacobite (Miaphysite), and Nestorian churches. Melkites produced the lions’ share of our texts, though it is not clear whether this was because Melkites faced higher levels of persecution, or because of deeper ideological reasons. Indeed, it seems likely that the Melkites – notionally cut off from the Byzantine Church to which they remained loyal after the Arab conquests – had to invent for themselves a new identity based not in their connections to the empire, but to new ideas, such as the perception of persecution and heroic martyrdom. By contrast, their counterparts among the Jacobite and Nestorian churches may not have felt the same pressure to adapt to the new circumstances, given that they had fallen on bad terms with the church of Constantinople long before the coming of Islam and, therefore, had already developed alternative notions of ecclesiology and identity. Third, persecution rarely erupted systematically against large groups or as a result of state-wide edicts. Instead, it tended to occur spontaneously against individuals. In this respect, it never approached the scale of the Roman or Sasanian persecutions, when Christians experienced spasms of violence often at the prompting of government decrees.15 Fourth, there were a few tried and 13 R. Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It, Princeton 1997, pp. 336–386; S.H. Griffith, ‘Christians, Muslims, and Neo-Martyrs: Saints’ Lives and Holy Land history’, [in:] A. Kofsky and G.G. Stroumsa (eds.), Sharing the Sacred: Religious Contacts and Conflicts in the Holy Land, First-Fifteenth Centuries CE, Jerusalem 1998, pp. 163–207; D.H. Vila, ‘Christian martyrs in the first Abbasid century and the development of an apologetic against Islam’, unpublished PhD disst., St. Louis University 1999; C. Foss, ‘Byzantine saints in early Islamic Syria’, Analecta Bollandiana 125 (2007), pp. 93–119; A. Binggeli, ‘Converting the caliph: A legendary motif in Christian hagiography and historiography of the early Islamic Period’, [in:] A. Papaconstantinou, M. Debié and H. Kennedy (eds.), Writing ‘True Stories’: Historians and Hagiographers in the Late Antique and Medieval Near East, Turnhout 2010, pp. 77–103. 14 Among the rare examples is that of Layth b. Maḥaṭṭa, the chief of the Banū Tanūkh and the only male member of the tribe to refuse the order of the caliph al-Mahdī (ca. 780) to convert to Islam. Records of the tribe’s apostasy, as well as the martyrdom of Layth, survive in several Christian and Muslim sources; for discussion, cf. I. Shahîd, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fourth Century, Washington 1984, pp. 400–407, 418–432. 15 Historians now agree that violence against Christians before the mid-third century was unsystematic and usually a result of local pressures in a given area, as opposed to any empire-wide edicts; even the so-called ‘great persecutions’ of the late-third and early-fourth centuries seem to have reflected wider

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true ways of becoming a martyr. Most saints were either: Christians who had converted to Islam then returned to Christianity; Muslims who converted to Christianity; children of mixed marriages who chose Christianity over Islam; prisoners of war and local aristocrats who refused to convert to Islam; or blasphemers who ridiculed the Prophet in public. For these various offenses, Christians could be considered criminals by the Muslim authorities and venerated as saints by their co-religionists. The causes of martyrdom are important to understand, but so is the manner in which martyrdom was depicted. Hagiography is a notoriously formulaic genre, and our early Islamic material is no different.16 Longer texts usually begin with a summary of the saint’s virtues and childhood. They then explain the reason for the saint’s martyrdom – apostasy, blasphemy, etc. – then detail his/her capture and interrogation by Muslim officials. The officials – whether qāḍīs, amīrs, or caliphs – usually offer the individual a chance to repent and go free by renouncing Christianity, but the saint invariably refuses. Thereafter, he/she is subjected to torture and dies. His/her body is typically displayed in public and sometimes destroyed, at which point the faithful recover the remains, bury them, and witness several posthumous miracles. Aside from the particulars of the saints’ biographies, their vitae hew closely in structure to the acts of early Christian martyrs. Indeed, scholars have explored how Christian authors of the early Islamic period sometimes composed new vitae with an eye to older literary models, as is to be expected with such a conservative genre as hagiography.17

conflicts in Roman society about religious obligations and political responsibility, rather than opposition to Christianity per se. 16 Suspicious of the many tropes and pious fictions in medieval hagiography, the medievalist Bruno Krusch referred famously to the genre as kirchliche Schwindelliteratur: B. Krusch, ‘Zur Florian- und Lupuslegende: eine Entgegnung’, Neues Archiv der Gesellschaft für ältere deutsche Geschichtskunde 24 (1899), pp. 533–570, at p. 559; cited in: J. Kreiner, ‘Social functions of Merovingian hagiography’, Ph.D. dissertation, Princeton University 2011, p. 3. On the perils and virtues of using hagiography for social history, cf. É. Patlagean, ‘Ancient Byzantine hagiography and social history’, [in:] S. Wilson (ed.), Saints and their Cults: Studies in Religious Sociology, Folklore, and History, Cambridge 1983, pp. 101–121; on the historical methodology of the Bollandists, founders of the modern study of hagiography: F. van Ommeslaeghe, ‘The Acta Sanctorum and Bollandist methodology’, [in:] S. Hackel (ed.), The Byzantine Saint, San Bernardino (CA) 1983, pp. 155– 163. On the state of the field, more generally: P. Geary, ‘Saints, scholars, and society: the elusive goal’, [in:] P. Geary, Living with the Dead in the Middle Ages, Ithaca (NY) 1994, pp. 9–29; F. Lifshitz, ‘Beyond positivism and genre: Hagiographical texts as historical narrative’, Viator 25 (1994), pp. 95–113; and J. Dubois and J.-L. Lemaître, Sources et méthodes de l’hagiographie medievale, Paris 1993. Also the new and important guide to Byzantine hagiography: S. Efthymiadis (ed.), Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography: Periods and Places, Farnham 2011. 17 Among several specific examples: K. Wolf, Christian Martyrs in Muslim Spain, Cambridge 1988, pp. 77– 107; P. Peeters, ‘La passion de S. Pierre de Capitolias († janvier 715)’, Analecta Bollandiana 57 (1939), p. 313. D. Woods argues that the Latin passio of Maximilian of Tebessa – a Roman soldier who died in North Africa in 295 – was actually written in the eighth or ninth centuries, well after the Muslim conquest. If this is the case, it furnishes further evidence for the recycling of old martyrological topoi. At the same time, Woods’ dating seems dubious, given the lack of literary production in Latin in post-conquest North Africa, not to mention his tenuous identification of Maximilian’s signaculum with the lead seals worn by dhimmīs: D. Woods, ‘St. Maximilian of Tebessa and the Jizya’, [in:] P. Defosse (ed.), Hommages à Carl Deroux, Vol. V – Christianisme et Moyen Âge, néo-latin et survivance de la latinité, Brussels 2003, pp. 266–276.

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The development of the term ‘neomartyr’ Such are the macro-level indicators of a change in mentality among the Christians of the early Islamic period. To understand this process at a deeper level, though, we must delve into the texts themselves. A good place to start is by tracking the evolution of the term ‘neomartyr’, by which many of these saints were known. The term ‘neomartyr’ is deceptively complex. Scholarly studies of the neomartyrs have focused almost exclusively on the Greek Orthodox saints of the Ottoman realms who, like our subjects, were executed for apostasy or blasphemy against Islam.18 Scholars have also noted the veneration of neomartyrs in connection with the Byzantine-Seljuk wars between the eleventh and fourteenth centuries, the sectarian conflicts in the Levant in the mid-nineteenth, and the Communist persecutions in Russia in the twentieth.19 Despite the scholarly consensus, however, the term ‘neomartyr’ is not originally Ottoman. Rather, it comes from the Umayyad and ‘Abbasid periods,20 when Christian authors began using it to refer to individuals killed under Islam. The term is attested 18 None of the studies of the Ottoman neomartyrs indicate awareness of the late-antique or earlymedieval use of the term in the Middle East; for more: H. Delehaye. ‘Greek Neomartyrs’, The Constructive Quarterly 9 (1921), pp. 701–712, which states only that the term ‘neomartyr’ was applied to martyrs who died during Iconoclasm. The most important collection of the lives of the Ottoman neomartyrs was compiled by Nikodemos the Hagiorite (d. 1809), a monk of Mt. Athos: Neon martyrologion: ētoi, martyria tōn neophanōn martyrōn tōn meta tēn halōsin tēs Kōnstantinoupoleōs kata diaphorous kairous kai topous martyrēsantōn, Venice 1794. The neomartyrs of the Ottoman period have been the subject of much scholarship; noteworthy contributions include: T. Krstić, Contested Conversions to Islam: Narratives of Religious Change in the Early Modern Ottoman Balkans, Stanford 2011 pp. 121–164; N.M. Vaporis, Witnesses for Christ: Orthodox Christian Neomartyrs of the Ottoman Period, 1437–1860, Crestwood (NY) 2007; E. Gara, ‘Neomartyr without a message’, Archivum Ottomanicum 23 (2005/2006), pp. 155–176; Ph. Kotzageorgis, ‘„Messiahs” and neomartyrs in Ottoman Thessaly: some thoughts on two entries in a Mühimme Defteri’, Archivum Ottomanicum 23 (2005/2006), pp. 219–231; M. Saryanis, ‘Aspects of “neomartyrdom”: religious contacts, “blasphemy,” and “calumny” in 17th century Istanbul’, Archivum Ottomanicum 23 (2005/2006), pp. 249–262; S. Faroqhi, ‘An Orthodox woman saint in an Ottoman document’, [in:] Syncrétismes et hérésies dans l’Orient seljoukide et ottoman (XIVe–XVIIIe siècles): Actes du colloque du Collège de France, octobre 2001, Paris 2005, pp. 383–394; R. Gradeva, ‘Apostasy in Rumeli in the middle of the sixteenth century’, Arab Historical Review for Ottoman Studies 22 (2000), pp. 29–74; M. Balivet, ‘Chrétiens secrets et martyrs christiques en Islam Turc: quelques cas à travers les textes (XIIIe– XVIIe siècles)’, [in:] M. Balivet (ed.), Byzantins et Ottomans: relations, interaction, succession [collected essays], Istanbul 1999, pp. 231–254 [published original in: Islamochristiana 16 (1990)]; E.M. Walsh, ‘The women martyrs of Nikodemos Hagiorites’ Neon Martyrologion’, Greek Orthodox Theological Review 36/1 (1991), pp. 71–91; D. Constantelos, ‘The “neomartyrs” as evidence for methods and motives leading to conversion and martyrdom in the Ottoman Empire’, Greek Orthodox Theological Review 23 (1978), pp. 216–234. 19 D. Brady and D.J. Melling, ‘New Martyrs’, [in:] K. Parry, D.J. Melling, D. Brady, S.H. Griffith, J.F. Healy (eds.), The Blackwell Dictionary of Eastern Christianity, Oxford 1999, pp. 341–343. 20 The neomartyrs in the Islamic world emerged concurrently with a new group of martyrs inside the Byzantine Empire: the saints of the Iconoclastic controversy. To my knowledge, none were called ‘neomartyrs’ in the same way, though the two phenomena deserve comparison, given their contemporary dates. For an introduction to the sources, see: I. Ševčenko, ‘Hagiography of the Iconoclast Period’, [in:] A. Bryer and J. Herrin (eds.), Iconoclasm: Papers Given at the Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of Birmingham, March 1975, Birmingham 1977, pp. 113–131; A.-M. Talbot (ed.), Byzantine Defenders of Images: Eight Saints’ Lives in English Translation, Washington 1998; L. Brubaker and J. Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era (ca 680–850): The Sources, An Annotated Survey, Aldershot 2001, pp. 199–231. I thank Lilly Stammler for her input here. Occasionally, the genres overlapped, as we see in the life of Romanus, an iconodoule monk from Galatia who was imprisoned in Baghdad and was executed in the Syrian city of Raqqa in 780; his vita, written originally in Greek (or Arabic, but surviving only in Georgian translation) includes many interesting details

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almost exclusively in Greek (neomartus or neos martus), though we have a smaller number of references in Arabic, Georgian, and Syriac.21 In fact, the overall number of saints bearing the title ‘neomartyr’ is rather small. These include the Sixty Martyrs of Jerusalem, members of a Byzantine military delegation who died in Palestine in 725;22 Abo of Tbilisi, a Muslim perfumer originally from Baghdad who converted to Christianity in Georgia and was killed for apostasy in 786;23 Elias, a young farmer and saddle-maker from Heliopolis who was killed for apostasy in Damascus in 779;24 Bacchus-Ḍaḥḥāk, the child of a mixed Muslim-Christian marriage who eventually became a monk and died in 786/7;25 Theophilus, a Byzantine naval commander who died in captivity in the 780s;26 Romanus, a monk from Galatia who died in al-Raqqa in Syria in 780;27 and GeorgeMuzāḥim, the son of a Bedouin father and Coptic mother who was executed for apostasy in 978.28 The earliest attestation of the term comes from the Narrationes of Anastasius of Sinai (d. ca. 700), a Greek-speaking monk who traveled extensively throughout the eastern Mediterranean in the decades after the conquests.29 As such, the Narrationes contains some of our oldest datable accounts of Christian persecution under Islam. In particular, about the Iconoclastic controversy in the Byzantine Empire: P. Peeters, ‘S. Romain le néomartyr († 1 mai 780) d’après un document géorgien’, Analecta Bollandiana 30 (1911), pp. 393–427. 21 The number of Syriac references to the term is small, though the passion of the Sixty Martyrs of Jerusalem (see below), a Greek text containing the term, was probably written first in Syriac. Among the only explicit references in Syriac comes from the thirteenth-century Maronite calendar of Rabban Ṣlība: P. Peeters, ‘Le martyrologe de Rabban Sliba’, Analecta Bollandiana 27 (1908), p. 174, in reference to one ‘Elias of Beth Qūsaynā, which is near Ḥaḥ’. An anonymous Elias also appears in the calendar on December 30; Peeters presumed this was the same as Elias of Heliopolis (see below), but this seems dubious to me: Ḥaḥ is a village 40 miles northeast of Mardin. Beth Qūsyānā is a place in Tur Abdin, but aside from that, no information exists. The modern Turkish name is Alagöz. Needless to say, these are not especially close to Damascus or Heliopolis (Ba‘labakk). For more on this village and its history, cf. Z. Joseph, Beth Qustan. Ein aramäisches Dorf im Wandel der Zeiten, Glane 2010. 22 A. Papadopoulos-Kerameus, ‘Mučeničestvo šestidesjati novych svjatych mučenikov’, Pravoslavnij Palestinskij Sbornik 12, 1 (1892), pp. 1–7, here: p. 1 [hereafter: Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Sixty Martyrs of Jerusalem]. 23 D.M. Lang (trans.), Lives and Legends of the Georgian Saints, London and New York 1956, p. 132; G. Shurgaia, La spiritualità georgiana: Martirio di Abo, santo e beato martire di Cristo di Ioane Sabanisdze, Rome 2003, p. 247. 24 A. Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Sbornik palestinskoj i sirijskoj agiologii / Syllogē Palaistinēs kai Syriakēs Hagiologias, 2 vols. St. Petersburg, 1907–1913, here: vol. 1, pp. 42–59 (reprint, Thessaloniki 2001); references to neomartyrs at: pp. 42, 43, 44, 45, 54, 55 [hereafter: Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Elias of Heliopolis]. 25 F. Combefis (ed.), Christi martyrum lecta trias, Paris 1666, pp. 61–126; here: p. 61 [hereafter: Combefis, Bacchus-Ḍaḥḥāk]. 26 H. Delehaye (ed.), Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae e Codice Sirmondiano [= Acta Sanctorum, vol. 63], Brussels 1902 [hereafter: Delehaye, Synaxarium of Constantinople]; here: January 30, p. 434; note an alternative version of Theophilus’ life, printed immediately below the main recension in Delehaye’s edition, which states that he was a strategos assigned to a frontier theme, and not a naval officer. 27 Peeters, ‘S. Romain le néomartyr’, p. 409. 28 R. Basset, ‘Le synaxaire arabe jacobite’, Patrologia Orientalis, vol. 5, 1923, pp. 578/1120 – 581/1123 [hereafter : Basset, Synaxarium of the Coptic Church, vol. number: the Synaxarium of the Coptic Church appears across five editions of the Patrologia Orientalis, which I number as follows for the purpose of citation: 1907 (vol. 1), 1909 (vol. 2), 1915 (vol. 3), 1922 (vol. 4), 1923 (vol. 5)]. I have not yet consulted the complete vita of George, which exists in a fourteenth-century manuscript: MS Cairo, Coptic Museum – Hist. 469. 29 For orientation on the life of Anastasius, as well as his views of Islam: J. Haldon, ‘The works of Anastasius of Sinai: a key source for the history of seventh-century East Mediterranean society and belief ’, [in:] A. Cameron and L.I. Conrad (eds.), The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East, Vol. 1: Problems in the Literary

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throughout the text, we witness violence arising in the context of captivity, slavery, and other hardships engendered by war. It is worth noting that only one of Anastasius’ Christians actually died as a result of apostasy: a slave from Damascus known as George the Black. Interestingly, Anastasius did not refer to him as a martyr.30 The individual he did identify as a ‘neomartyr’, Euphemia, was an elderly slave owned by a Muslim aristocrat in Damascus.31 According to the Narrationes, this ‘Jezebel’ used to bar Euphemia from going to church, threatening her with two-hundred blows if she caught her taking communion. Despite the threat, Euphemia never missed a Sunday mass. On one occasion, however, someone spotted Euphemia leaving church, and straightaway, her fellow servants caught and beat her ferociously. Euphemia’s mistress ordered them to concentrate their lashes on a single part of her body – thereby increasing the pain. When the tortures ended, several Christian women of the palace took Euphemia to dress her wounds. They were shocked to find her free of injury – proof of God’s love for her. It seems that a local Christian eventually purchased Euphemia, allowing her to live out her days in freedom and in peace. Significantly, although Euphemia was the first to bear the name ‘neomartyr’, in fact, she did not die from her tortures. Technically, she was what churches today would call a confessor, not a martyr. The confusion over what to call her may reflect the ambiguity surrounding the title ‘neomartyr’ at this time, so soon after it was first coined. The use of the term ‘new martyrs’ immediately calls to mind its opposite, namely, ‘old martyrs.’ By labeling Euphemia a ‘new martyr’, Anastasius was a drawing an explicit comparison between the saints of his world and the saints of the early church. The juxtaposition of ‘new’ and ‘old’ gestured toward a perceived revival of ancient Christian piety. Since the time of Constantine, Christianity had enjoyed the protection of the Roman state. Indeed, it was Constantine who brought an end to the sporadic persecutions that had erupted under Nero, Diocletian, and others. While Christians continued to suffer at the hands of pagan kings outside Roman lands (as in the Sasanian Empire),32 Source Material, Princeton 1992, pp. 107–147; B. Flusin, ‘Démons et Sarrasins: l’auteur et le propos des Diègèmata stèriktika d’Anastase le Sinaïte’, Travaux et Mémoires 11 (1991), pp. 381–409. 30 Although Anastasius did not call George a ‘martyr’ or ‘neomartyr,’ he stated that the people of Damascus buried him in a martyrium near the entrance to the city. They also celebrated a memorial feast in his honor – suggesting that they considered him a saint, even if Anastasius did not identify him as such explicitly: A. Binggeli, ‘Anastase le Sinaïte: Récits sur le Sinaï et Récits utiles à l’âme. Édition, traduction et commentaire’, PhD disst., Université Paris IV 2001, p. 252. 31 Ibidem, p. 251; the full passage is as follows: ‘We have seen these things with our own eyes, we have considered them, and our hands have touched them in order to give a faithful account. Nevertheless, not overlooking those who have hope in him, God no longer forgot our holy neomartyr Euphemia’. 32 It bears underlining, however, that persecution of Christians in the Sasanian Empire declined in the sixth century: S. Brock, ‘Christians in the Sasanian Empire. A case of divided loyalties’, Studies in Church History 18 (1982), pp. 1–19. Interestingly, the Islamic-era neomartyrologies are based little, if at all, on the lives of the Persian martyrs (written mostly in Syriac by members of the Church of the East). Perhaps this was a result of linguistic and cultural change: for reasons that are unclear, Syriac-speaking Christians did not write a single stand-alone neomartyrology after the conquests. Other forms of hagiography are represented in Syriac in this period, but not in great numbers. Therefore, the community best positioned to appropriate models and themes from the Sasanian Christian world did instead leave us with a corpus of texts in Arabic, Greek, and Latin that communicate almost exclusively with Greco-Roman traditions from the Mediterranean world, and not from the Persian world. For a guide to the Christian martyrologies of the Sasanian world: S. Brock, The History of the Holy Mar Maʻin with a Guide to the Persian Martyr Acts, Piscataway 2008, pp. 77–95. For

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and interconfessional strife brewed among different Christian denominations33 – especially in North Africa and the Middle East – the age of large-scale state-sponsored violence in the empire was over. The end of the persecutions posed an unintended threat to Christian spirituality. For many years, the church had closely associated militancy and sanctity: to witness for Christ was to sacrifice one’s life on the blood-stained floor of the Roman circus or before the feet of a pagan magistrate.34 The Peace of the Church brought an end to all this, and Christianity was forced to create alternative models of holiness that did not rely on the faithful undergoing violent death. Thus, we witness a transition from what scholars refer to as ‘red martyrdom’ to ‘white martyrdom’.35 Henceforth the heroes of the church would fight the devil in the arena of the heart, instead of pagans in the arena of the town square. In this way, the monk became the heir of the martyr – embracing extreme fasting and prayer, rather than the literal martyrdom of bloodshed. To speak of ‘neomartyrs’ in early Islamic times was thus to return to an older ‘ur-Christianity’. It was to revive a practice that pious Roman emperors had rendered null over the past four-hundred years, but which became active once again thanks to the rule of ‘pagan’ Arabs.

The rhetoric of martyrdom Titles were not the only way hagiographers made saints of dead men. They also nurtured a sense of connection between the past and present through direct allusions to older generations of saints, as well as through use of recognized martyrological topoi. Among the most common strategies was to draw explicit parallels between the sufferings of the neomartyrs and their forerunners. For example, the Muslim aristocrat Anthony-Rawḥ al-Qurashī – who was executed in 799 before Hārūn al-Rashīd after converting to Christianity and refusing to repent – died after receiving a vision of another famous martyr, the soldier-saint Theodore, who exhorted him to leave Islam.36 Likewise, an overview of hagiographical writing in Syriac after the Arab conquests, see: J. Tannous, ‘L’hagiographie syro-occidental à la période islamique’, [in:] A. Binggeli (ed.), L’hagiographie syriaque [= Études Syriaques 9], Paris 2012, pp. 225–245. 33 For an example, see accounts of violence between Chalcedonians and Miaphysites in greater Syria during the reign of Justinian: Chronicle of Zuqnīn, pp. 21–41 [which refers to ‘new martyrs’ (sāhhde ḥate), though not in the same technical sense, p. 33]; or between Catholics and Donatists in North Africa: M. Tilley (trans.), Donatist Martyr Stories: The Church in Conflict in Roman North Africa, Liverpool 1996. 34 The literature on early Christian martyrdom is vast. For several key introductions, see: G.W. Bowersock, Martyrdom and Rome, Cambridge 2002; W.H.C. Frend, Martyrdom and Persecution in the Early Church: A Study of a Conflict from the Maccabees to Donatus, Oxford 1965; C.R. Moss, The Other Christs: Imitating Jesus in Ancient Christian Ideologies of Martyrdom, Oxford 2010. 35 For a general survey of this transformation, E.E. Malone, The Monk and the Martyr: The Monk as the Successor of the Martyr, Washington 1950. 36 I. Dick, ‘La passion arabe de S. Antoine Ruwaḥ néo-martyr de Damas († 25 déc. 799)’, Le Muséon 74 (1961), pp. 109–133, here: p. 122 [henceforth: Dick, Anthony-Rawḥ]; the vita was reprinted recently in: E. Braida and C. Pelisseti, Storia di Rawḥ al-Qurašī. Un discendente di Maometto che scelse di divenire cristiano, Turin 2001, pp. 95–113. Saracen attacks against icons of St. Theodore figure prominently in martyrologies and legends from the period; see also: J.B. Aufhauser (ed.), Miracula S. Georgii, Leipzig 1913, pp. 65–89 (the martyrdom of Pachomius / Joachim-Malmeth), 90–93 (the anonymous Muslim nobleman of Diospolis); A. Binggeli, ‘Anastase le Sinaïte’, pp. 219–220; for discussion: idem, ‘Converting the caliph’, pp. 99–103: A.

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the Sixty Martyrs of Gaza, who died in ca. 639 not long after the Muslim conquest of Palestine, were encouraged by their leader to ‘imitate the Forty Martyrs’ of Sebaste, another group of soldier saints who had died in 320 in northeastern Anatolia.37 The Sixty Martyrs were even interred in a chapel outside the walls of Jerusalem dedicated to St. Stephen the proto-martyr, creating a sense of continuity between the neomartyrs of the Arab conquest and the earliest generation of Christian saints.38 A later group of soldiers who died in Palestine, the Sixty Martyrs of Jerusalem (d. 725), were also said to have followed apostolic models: according to their biographer, ‘they surrendered their souls into the hands of Christ, imitating the saints and the heads of the apostles, Peter and Paul, and those who spill their noble blood on behalf of our Lord Jesus Christ, our true God, and on behalf of the beautiful profession [of faith].’39 Likewise, the Twenty Martyrs of Mar Saba, who died in a Bedouin raid on their monastery in 796/97, were said to resemble John the Baptist and the Maccabees, important Biblical figures who died violent deaths.40 The martyrs of Cordoba – a group of forty-nine Christians who were killed for blasphemy and apostasy during the 850s – were often referred to as heirs of early Christian saints. Indeed, many were associated with a famous group of nineteen martyrs who had been killed in Cordoba centuries before under Diocletian. There are even texts which compare Muslim persecutors of certain neomartyrs to Roman persecutors of early Christian saints: for example, the Chronicle of Theophanes likens the torture of Christians in Emesa (Arabic Ḥimṣ) in 779/80 by the general Ḥasan b. Qaḥṭaba to the torture of Christians by the Roman persecutors Lusias and Agrikolaos, who are thought to have lived under Diocletian.41 Such references established a sense of continuity between martyrs past and present. They reflected the ‘theology of imitation’ at the heart of many medieval saints’ cults – a tendency to depict the saints as manifestations of a single bios angelikos. In constantly alluding to older, established models of Christian piety, hagiographers united the new martyrs to an ancient tradition dating back to the time of Jesus.42 We find this view summed up conPapaconstantinou, ‘Saints and Saracens: on some miracle accounts of the early Arab period’, [in:] D. Sullivan, E. Fisher, and S. Papaioannou (eds.), Byzantine Religious Culture: Studies in Honor of Alice-Mary Talbot, Leiden 2012, pp. 323–338. 37 H. Delehaye, ‘Passio sanctorum sexaginta martyrum’, Analecta Bollandiana 23 (1904), pp. 300–303 [hereafter: Delehaye, Sixty Martyrs of Gaza]; here: p. 301. 38 Ibidem, p. 302; for the martyrdom of St. Stephen, see Acts 6 and 7. The martyr Abo of Tbilisi was imprisoned on December 27th, which the author of his vita identified as the feast of St. Stephen. As the hagiographer wrote: ‘Thus it fittingly befell that the prince of all the martyrs, together with all the martyred host, should intercede for him, that this latest witness for Christ might not be prevented from being numbered among their glorious company’; Lang, Lives and Legends of the Georgian Saints, p. 125. 39 Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Sixty Martyrs of Jerusalem, p. 6. 40 A. Papadopoulos-Kerameus (ed.), Sbornik Palestinskoj i sirijskoj agiologii / Syllogē Palaistinēs kai Syriakēs Hagiologias, 2 vols., St Petersburg, 1907–1913; vol. 1, pp. 1–41 (reprint, Thessaloniki 2001); here: p. 30 [henceforth: Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Twenty Martyrs of Mar Saba]. 41 C. De Boor (ed.), Theophanis chronographia, 2 vols. Leipzig 1883–1885; here: vol. 1, pp. 452; for discussion: C. Mango and R. Scott (trans.), The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor: Byzantine and Near Eastern History, A.D. 284–813, Oxford 1997, p. 626, citing some confusion regarding their exact dates, whether it was the reigns of Diocletian, Trajan, or Licinius. For a pre-Islamic story retold with Islamic-era references, see below, note 101. The identification of the generals as Hasan b. Qaḥṭaba comes from: P. Peeters, ‘Glanures martyrologiques’, Analecta Bollandiana 58 (1940), pp. 104–125, here: pp. 104–109. 42 As Gregory of Tours remarked in the introduction to his Vita patrum, he had set out to write a single life of the holy fathers, not many; in: Gregory of Tours, Liber de vita patrum [= Monumenta Germaniae Historica,

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cisely in the vita of Abo of Tbilisi: ‘But now, beloved, it behooves us all the more to cherish the memory of those first blessed martyrs, that through what we have witnessed of this new martyr, we may believe also in those proto-martyrs […]’.43 Hagiographers drove the point home by deploying familiar literary topoi. As in early Christian hagiography, the coronation of a martyr was an especially popular scene. A good example comes from the vita of Elias of Heliopolis, who described to the qāḍī the following dream, which had come to him as he sat in jail: I saw myself in a bridal chamber, sitting in an illustrious spot. [And I saw] some other chamber, braided with flowers spread about, and crowns hanging around me. And turning around, I saw a black Ethiopian standing beside me, showing me a cross and threatening me with death, swords, fire, and many other fearsome things, which bellowed at me. But I laughed [at the sight of this]. I was rejoicing – as it seemed – sitting and delighting in the crowns of flowers.44

The crown, of course, refers to the Crown of Thorns in the Bible, as well as to the victor’s crowns of ancient Greek and Roman games. Ever since the second century, Christians had deployed this symbol of military and athletic achievement to represent the victory obtained by persevering unto death. In both hagiography and iconography, the crown was the calling card of the martyr. Coronations figure prominently in other texts from the period, too, including the vitae of Anthony-Rawḥ45 and the Twenty Martyrs of Mar Saba.46 In reading the hagiography of the early Islamic period, one senses occasionally that the neomartyrs were greeted with deep skepticism, even hostility by some of their contemporaries. They were regarded sometimes as reckless provocateurs who risked incurring the wrath of the state upon the entire church.47 For these skeptics, it was better to endure subjugation in quiet than to proclaim one’s faith out loud. In response to these charges, hagiographers sometimes went to great lengths to build their subjects into perfect models of Christian piety. Again, the vita of Elias of Heliopolis provides a good example of this defensive posture. In the opening paragraphs, we read:

Scriptores rerum Merovingicarum 1/2], B. Krusch (ed.), Hannover 1885, p. 662 (I thank Jamie Kreiner for this reference); for discussion of these themes, see: P. Cox, Biography in Late Antiquity: A Quest for the Holy Man, Berkeley 1983, pt. 1, pp. 1–65. Again, the hagiographers of the early Islamic period relied on exemplars from Roman antiquity, not on the Persian martyrs of the Sasanian world. For more, see above, note 97. 43 Lang, Lives and Legends of the Georgian Saints, p. 132; Shurgaia, La spiritualità georgiana, p. 247. 44 Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Elias of Heliopolis, p. 50; the presence of an Ethiopian was a common hagiographic motif in late-antique hagiography – it was considered a symbol of the demonic. 45 Dick, Anthony-Rawḥ, pp. 124–125. 46 Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Twenty Martyrs of Mar Saba, pp. 10, 19, 29, 30, 40. 47 Scholars have explored this issue with respect to the Cordoba Martyrs, some of whom provoked their own deaths. In early 852, a group of Spanish bishops convened a council which, under pressure from the Umayyad amīr, ‘Abd al-Raḥman III, anathematized the martyrs (for more on this theme, see below, note 51). We can find traces of the controversy about the martyrs among Christians in other hagiographical works. Indeed, any martyr who provoked his own death invariably faced the skepticism of his own community. In the vita of Peter of Capitolias, for example, the Umayyad authorities gathered everyone in the city to witness the execution – including men, women, children, priests and monks – presumably to teach them what many already felt, that offending the authorities was not worth the steep price of death; Peeters, ‘La passion de S. Pierre de Capitolias’, p. 310. For a much later example of a Christian martyr whose family attempted to dissuade him from seeking death: J. Zaborowski, The Coptic Martyrdom of John of Phanijōit: Assimilation and Conversion to Islam in Thirteenth-Century Egypt, Leiden 2005.

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Then Jesus said to the woman: ‘Your faith has saved you, go in peace’. Therefore, even if the woman was a sinner, as you have heard, benevolent Jesus forgave all of her sins on account of those tears and the anointing with ointment, do you not suppose, therefore, that the sins of those neomartyrs, both big and small, would be forgiven on account of their many afflictions and the spilling of their own blood? You decide – whichever ones [of you] take stock like the Pharisees – whether the transgressions of the neomartyrs are forgiven.48

The writer continued to single out the neomartyrs for their exceptional faith, writing in the voice of Christ: Now these neomartyrs, through their tears and torrents of blood wipe down [Christ’s] feet and his flesh. And kisses of love for one another you have not given me, whereas these [neomartyrs] have laid down their own souls on behalf of the faith. Nor have you anointed my head with oil of benevolence, even out of a sense of mercy for those of common descent, whereas the heads [of the neomartyrs] were cut off by the sword for sake of me.49

Of course, such praise was de rigeur in late-antique hagiography, whether it came to martyrs or confessors. But in the early Islamic period, when Christian authors were struggling to activate a dormant tradition, like that of martyrdom, such praise had a specific apologetic goal: to establish the martyrs as worthy heirs of those who had come before them. This process of negotiation was not always successful. The Spanish churchman Eulogius, for example, who chronicled the lives of the martyrs of Cordoba, wrote numerous tracts in defense of the martyrs – specifically to answer skeptical Christians who looked upon these men and women less as saints than unwelcome rabble-rousers.50 Even for those who accepted the martyrs as genuine, many feared that they were chasing self-glorification rather than the glory of God. We find a curious anecdote along these lines in the potted biography of the martyr George-Muzāḥim in the Synaxarium of the Coptic Church, which notes that as George languished in prison waiting to die like the martyrs of old, his wife had to check his pride: […] His wife fortified him, and instructed him to believe that all he had suffered was because of his own sins, lest the Enemy snatch him away when he felt pride at the prospect of becoming like the martyrs.51

48 Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Elias of Heliopolis, p. 43; alternately, one is tempted to interpret the passage as an exhortation to a complacent audience to imitate the neomartyrs’ militancy in order to ensure the forgiveness of their own sins. 49 Ibidem, p. 44. 50 See, for example, how Eulogius addresses his audience in the Memoriale sanctorum: ‘Even the most prudent readers then have been able to see how deservingly this little work occupies itself in the praises of the blessed, placing barriers against the diffident and the doubtful [CCS: emphasis added] who deny that they ought to be venerated as martyrs’; J. Gil (ed.), Corpus scriptorum Muzarabicorum, 2. vols, Madrid 1973, here: vol. 2, p. 378; translation: E.P. Colbert, ‘The Memoriale Sanctorum of Eulogius of Cordova: a translation with critical introduction’, MA Thesis, Catholic University of America, Washington 1956, p. 45. See also, J. Gil, vol. 2, p. 382: ‘There are however, many of the faithful and (sad to say) even priests, who are unwilling for them to be received into the roll of the saints, fearing to take away the glory of these confessors by chance, and asserting this kind of martyrdom to be unusual and unconsecrated’ (Colbert, p. 51). 51 Basset, Synaxarium of the Coptic Church, vol. 5, p. 581/1123. Compare with the description of Abo of Tbilisi in prison: Lang, Lives and Legends of the Georgian Saints, p. 126.

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It was a stunning admission: about to earn the crown of eternal life, George had to be reminded that he was becoming a martyr by no virtue of his own. He was suffering for offenses he had committed against God, whatever his resemblance to the saints of old.

Anachronisms in the martyrologies Another striking feature of the Islamic-era hagiographies is their occasional and puzzling anachronisms. It is not uncommon to find mentions of pagan priests, temples, sacrifices, and other tokens of a bygone world – one that would have been familiar to ‘old martyrs’, but not to the ‘new martyrs’.52 Take, for instance, the short biography of Peter of Capitolias in the Menologion of Basil II, a liturgical calendar from Constantinople written around the beginning of the eleventh century.53 As we know from a longer vita surviving in Georgian, Peter was a devoted husband-turned-monk, who spent his life in Bayt Rās, today in north-western Jordan near the Syrian border. He was executed in 715 after insulting Islam before local officials, as well as before the caliph, al-Walīd I. According to his entry in the Menologion, however, Peter was born a ‘Hellene’, or pagan. After converting to Christianity with his wife and children, he became a master of Christian learning, serving as the bishop of his home town. There he taught many pagans (again, ‘Hellenes’) and succeeded in converting them to Christianity. His outspokenness earned him the attention of ‘idolaters’, who tortured and presented him to a pagan magistrate. Peter was invited ‘to sacrifice to idols’, but after refusing, he was executed. Aside from the title of the entry in the Menologion, it is impossible to recognize this as Peter of Capitolias. The synaxarist has transformed the Umayyad-era martyr into a rather generic pagan convert to Christianity, killed by a Roman governor after repudiating the pagan idols. Gone are all references to Muslims and Arabs, indeed, any sense that Peter lived in an Islamicate society. Much the same could be said of Theophilus, a Byzantine naval commander who died as a prisoner of war in the 780s after refusing to convert to Islam.54 His biography survives in the Synaxarium of Constantinople, a festal calendar compiled for the emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus in the mid-tenth century. According to his seventeen-line biography, Theophilus had been wallowing in prison for four years when ‘he was forced to perform some foul sacrifice (thusias musaras) for [the Saracens], but not willing to take part, he lost his head.’ The meaning of the phrase is clear – Theophilus was made to worship with his Muslim captors – but the motif is utterly anachronistic. Several of these ‘pregnant’ anachronisms also appear in Byzantine hagiography written in response to Iconoclasm. Perhaps the best example is from the vita of Stephen the Younger (d. 764–65; written ca. 806/7), in which the iconoclast emperor Constantine V is depicted observing pagan rituals, including the festival of Brumalia, during which he prayed to Dionysios and Broumos! For more: M.-F. Auzépy, La Vie d’Étienne le Jeune par Étienne le Diacre. Introduction, édition, et traduction, Aldershot 1999, pp. 262–263, 266; I thank Lilly Stammler for the reference. 53 J.-P. Migne (ed.), Patrologia Graeca, vol. 117, cols. 85–86, C–D; it is worth noting the considerable confusion surrounding the precise identity of Peter of Capitolias, who is often confused with two other ‘Peters’ from later eighth-century Syria – Peter of Maiouma and Peter bishop of Damascus. For discussion, cf. P. Peeters, ‘La passion de S. Pierre’, pp. 316–333; R. Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It, pp. 354–360. 54 Delehaye, Synaxarium of Constantinople, January 30, p. 434. 52

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No rite of conversion to Islam ever included sacrifice. Rather, the synaxarist seems to be appropriating a familiar trope from late antique hagiography – the Christian refusing to sacrifice to pagan idols – and applying it to a neomartyr standing before a new pagan enemy, the Arab Muslim. It is unclear whether the synaxarist did this on purpose, or merely misunderstood the nature of Islamic ritual, but the conflation is telling all the same. Sacrifice is often paired with another anachronistic trope: idolatry. According to a recension of the life of Anthony-Rawḥ that was copied in the seventeenth century, the saint states his eagerness to die as expiation for three grave sins:55 The first [was] when I passed into Byzantine territory and performed a terrible sin by shedding their blood. The second [was] when I went to the house of idols [bayt al-aṣnām]. The third [was] when I slaughtered and sacrificed [naḥartu wa-ḍaḥḥaytu]. [Now] I beg deliverance from these three, and forgiveness by the shedding of my [own] blood.

Interestingly, an older version of the vita – which comes from a tenth-century manuscript – clarifies the meaning of this ‘house of idols’ as well as the ‘sacrifice’ which Rawḥ performed:56 As for the first, it’s that while I was a ḥanīf,57 I prayed in Mecca at the Masjid al-Ḥarām58 many times. In truth, it is as it is called; [i.e.] it is forbidden by God for those who believe in Christ [to enter]. The second is that I sacrificed on the Day of Aḍḥā. The third is that I raided in Byzantine territory, and killed people who believed in my Lord Jesus Christ, the same as me. And after all this, I pray that the Lord erases these from me by my decapitation, and that he baptizes me with my blood.’

The first passage is a corrupted version of the second: The house of idols (bayt al-aṣnām) is the Great Mosque of Mecca, and the sacrifice which Rawḥ performed is the ritual slaughter of the sheep on Ƭd al-Aḍḥā, when Muslims commemorate Abraham’s attempted sacrifice of his son, Isaac.59 All the same, the manner in which the hagiographer conflates the rites of Islam with ancient paganism is telling. At a surface level, they reflect the popular conviction among many Christians that Islam was simply another manifestation of ancient heathenism.60 But at a deeper level, the conflation of Islam with paganism shows how the author has collapsed the vast middle-ground between P. Peeters, ‘S. Antoine le néo-martyr’, Analecta Bollandiana 31 (1912), pp. 410–450; here: p. 450; this later redaction of the vita is also reproduced in: Braida and Pelissetti, Storia di Rawḥ al-Qurašī, pp. 115–127. 56 Dick, Anthony-Rawḥ, p. 126. 57 That is, a Muslim; for more on the etymology of this term, cf. above, note 6. 58 That is, the Great Mosque of Mecca. 59 The mention of ‘Īd in Anthony-Rawḥ’s passio raises the remote possibility that the ‘foul sacrifice’ was none other than the ritual slaughter of a sheep for ‘Īd al-Aḍḥā. That said, it strikes me that the term thusias musaras may be more of a literary anachronism than a technical description of a Muslim ceremony for the reasons stated above. The author of the potted biography of the martyr John, who died with his sons in North Africa between 875 and 886, described his death at the hands of a Muslim amīr using the verb epēxen, which in ancient Greek carries connotations of ‘sacrifice’ or ‘ritual slaughter’: Delehaye, Synaxarium of Constantinople, September 23, p. 73. 60 This is a popular theme in polemical literature of the period; for introductory discussion: D.J. Sahas, ‘Eighth-century Byzantine anti-Islamic literature’, Byzantino-Slavica 57 (1996), pp. 229–238, here: pp. 235– 236; in which Sahas cites a letter from the patriarch of Constantinople Germanus (715–730) to Thomas of Claudiopolis, which denounces Muslims as idol worshippers. Specifically, he states that Muslim pilgrims to Mecca offered worship to a stone. Anastasius of Sinai also describes the rites of pilgrimage to Mecca as involving a pagan sacrifice, though it is unclear what kind of sacrifice he meant, other than the polemical 55

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the Roman and Islamic-era persecutions. Anthony-Rawḥ is meant to resemble a martyr of the second or third centuries, giving his final testimony before a Roman magistrate. We see much the same in the vita of the Sixty Martyrs of Gaza, a Greek text of the seventh or eighth century which survives only in Latin translation in two later medieval manuscripts. In the penultimate section of one Latin version, Florian, the leader of the Sixty Martyrs, is hauled before the ‘temple’ in Jerusalem and made to worship the Saracens’ ‘gods’. Miraculously, the day before his execution, the temple is said to have collapsed and all its idols to have been reduced to dust.61 The preceding anecdotes are part of a wider strategy aimed at discrediting Islam by identifying it as a garden-variety heathenism. Early Islam was itself adamantly monotheistic, its self-image shaped in opposition to the Arab polytheism it had replaced. Indeed, early Muslims went out of their way to ridicule the idolatry of their ancestors.62 Christians happily played into these stereotypes of Arab religion, arguing that the old idols, sacrifices, and temples had survived in a new form with the coming of Islam. One suspects that this polemic was more successful among Christians living outside the caliphate than those inside it who had a deeper knowledge of Muslim beliefs, and therefore might have found the ‘idolatry’ trope somewhat hollow. Indeed, what is striking about each of the preceding examples is that they come from martyrologies that were written relatively late inside Islamic lands (the seventeenth-century recension of the vita of Rawḥ al-Qurashī) or written outside the caliphate altogether (the biographies of Peter of Capitolias, Theophilus, and the Latin translation of the passion of the Sixty Martyrs). Thus, one is tempted to see the grossest anachronisms as a result of the polemical ignorance of outsiders but, by the same token, we do find striking examples of anachronism in texts produced by Christians living under early Muslim rule. Two examples will suffice.63 The first is the vita of Michael of Mar Saba, which was probably written in Greek in the Monastery of Mar Saba around the turn of the ninth century, and which survives in later Georgian, Greek, and Arabic recensions.64 In the Greek and Arabic versions, association between Islam and the paganisms of old; for more: A. Binggeli, ‘Anastase le Sinaïte’, p. 231 (Greek text), p. 546 (French translation). 61 H. Delehaye, ‘Passio sanctorum sexaginta martyrum’, Analecta Bollandiana 23 (1904), pp. 303–307, here: p. 306 [n.b., this comes from the Legend of St. Florian and his Companions, a still later redaction of the Passion of the Sixty Martyrs of Gaza]; for more on the relationship between the two texts, both contained in Delehaye’s 1904 article, cf. E. Pargoire, ‘Les LX soldats martyrs de Gaza’, Échos d’Orient 8 (1905), pp. 40–43; D. Woods, ‘The 60 Martyrs of Gaza and the Martyrdom of Bishop Sophronius of Jerusalem’, ARAM 15 (2003), pp. 129–150. 62 According to a famous anecdote preserved in the Ma‘ārif of Ibn Qutayba, the tribesmen of the Banū Ḥanīfa used to worship an idol made of cured butter and dates – that is, until famine hit and they were forced to eat their god; such anecdotes are typical of how later generations of Muslims viewed the religion of the pagan Arabs; cited in: P. Crone, Meccan Trade and the Rise of Islam, Princeton 1987, p. 238. Hawting argues that discussions of idolatry and paganism in the Qur’ān disguise the fact that early Muslims used such language against those they regarded as ‘soft monotheists’ – not against actual pagans; cf. G. Hawting, The Idea of Idolatry and the Emergence of Islam: From Polemic to History, Cambridge 1999, pp. 45–87; Crone has argued in the same vein recently, contending that the mushrikūn of the Qur’an may have been pagan monotheists, or even Jews: P. Crone, ‘The religion of the qur’ānic pagans: God and the lesser deities’, Arabica 57 (2010), pp. 151–200. 63 See also the highly rhetorical introduction to the vita of Bacchus-Ḍaḥḥāk, which contains references to chariot races, stadia, and Olympic Games: Combefis, Bacchus-Ḍaḥḥāk, pp. 61–65. 64 The transmission and survival of the text is a complicated matter; scholars have long presumed that the text was written in the early ninth century in Greek at Mar Saba monastery. This Greek text was presumed to be lost and to survive only in a medieval Georgian translation (possibly through an Arabic intermediary).

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the caliph ‘Abd al-Malik b. Marwān, who kills Michael, is described as the ‘king of the Persians’ over and over again.65 ‘Abd al-Malik, who reigned from 685 to 705, was no Persian, but an Arab who spent most of his life in Syria. Historians have argued that the title is an anachronism of the ninth century world in which the vita was written, when the center of political power in Islam had moved to the Persian-speaking regions of Iraq and Iran. Given this, one can see how ‘Abd al-Malik might have been regarded as a member of the ‘Abbasid royal family, the latter-day dynasty based in the ‘Persian’ east. That said, there seems to be something greater lurking behind the anachronism. Elsewhere, a recension of the vita surviving in a text known as The Life of Theodore of Edessa speaks of Muslim religious functionaries as archimagoi, using the same term as the Zoroastrian priests of pre-Islamic times.66 Likewise, the caliph is said to come from the city of Babylon,67 the great harlot of the Old Testament, and Michael is offered the chance to become a satrap, or provincial governor under the old Iranian system.68 What is happening here? It seems that the author of the vita has added these anachronisms in order to draw parallels between the suffering of the martyr Michael and the suffering of the Israelites under the Persians in pre-Christian times.69 By reimagining Michael’s Umayyad tormenter as a Persian despot, he successfully inserts the events into an established narrative of salvation history: on the one hand, glorifying Michael’s victory through death, and on the other, demonizing the Muslim enemy by linking them with the pagans of old. We see much the same at work in the Memoriale sanctorum, a lengthy account of the lives and deaths of the martyrs of Cordoba. At one point, the author Eulogius describes how a Muslim eunuch responsible for the death of a martyr suffered the same fate as the heresiarch Arius: ‘burning within in a fiery fever, and (as some say) corrupted by a poisonous potion, before death, when, because of urgent bodily need, he was seeking A Greek version reappeared in a separate work, the vita of Theodore of Edessa, a hagiographical fiction of the ninth or tenth centuries. This also yielded an Arabic translation. It was long supposed that the Greek version of the vita of Michael in the vita of Theodore of Edessa was a translation of the Georgian translation of the Greek original, given the steady flow of monks passing between Georgia and the Byzantine Empire at the time. That said, this scheme seems needlessly complicated: the Georgian and Greek versions (as contained in the vita of Theodore) are remarkably similar, and no linguistic feature of the Greek text would lead one to suppose it came first from Georgian. Therefore, I believe that the text contained in the vita of Theodore is a complete, or near-complete version of the original ninth-century composition, both written at Mar Saba (or a related monastery). For background on the history of the text: S. H. Griffith, ‘Michael, the martyr and monk of Mar Sabas monastery, at the court of the caliph ‘Abd al-Malik. Christian apologetics and martyrology in the early Islamic period’, ARAM 6 (1994), pp. 115–148; idem, ‘The Life of Theodore of Edessa: history, hagiography, and religious apologetics in Mar Saba Monastery in early Abbasid times’, [in:] J. Patrich (ed.), The Sabaite Heritage in the Orthodox Church from the Fifth Century to the Present, Leuven 2001, pp. 147–169. 65 For example, cf. I. Pomjalovskij, Žitie iže vo svjatych otca našego Theodora archiepiskopa Edesskago, St. Petersburg 1892, pp. 1–119 [hereafter: Theodore of Edessa; martyrdom of Michael of Mar Saba at pp. 17–31; sections 23–36], here: pp. 17, 21, 22, 23, 25, int. al.; interestingly, the Georgian version of the text does not identify ‘Abd al-Malik as a Persian; there is only one reference to Persians in this text: M. Blanchard, ‘The Georgian version of the Martyrdom of Saint Michael, monk of Mar Sabas Monastery’, ARAM 6 (1994), pp. 149–163, here: p. 154, in a very different context, which appears to indicate that the author understood the distinction between Arab and Persian Muslims. 66 Pomjalovskij, Theodore of Edessa, p. 93. 67 Ibidem, p. 17; although references to Persia are rare in the Georgian version, Babylon does make an appearance: Blanchard, ‘Martyrdom of Saint Michael’, p. 150. 68 Ibidem, p. 22. 69 Griffith, ‘The Life of Theodore of Edessa’, p. 155.

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the private cubicle for purging his insides, his bowels burst forth’.70 As with the allusions to pagan Persia in the vita of Michael of Mar Saba, this reference both discredits the Muslim foe by associating him with Arius, and celebrates the victory of the saint, who is depicted as the latest in a long line of martyrs stretching back to the victims of heretics in the early church. One might argue that these anachronisms reflect the ignorance of our Christian authors, especially their lack of interest in the actual beliefs of Muslims. This may play a role in some texts, especially those written outside the caliphate, where antiIslamic polemic could be crude and rather simplistic. For the rest, however, the anachronisms had a specific didactic purpose: to instill a sense of timelessness in the lives of the martyrs. As we have seen, Christian authors of the early Islamic period went to great lengths to establish a sense of continuity between martyrs past and present. What better way of accomplishing this than through deliberate ahistoricism? Idolatry, sacrifice, and temples lived on not because Muslims were themselves pagans. Rather, they lived on because the trials of the neomartyrs were seen as encores in a great drama that had begun under the Romans emperors. Put succinctly, the sufferings of Christians under the caliphs were no different than the sufferings of Christians under the Caesars. This was a dream world in which history was folding back upon itself.

New alongside old: manuscripts and liturgical calendars The hagiographers of the early Islamic period were not interested only in new martyrs. We can track the rise of a martyrological discourse also by examining how they mingled the lives of new saints with those of the old, whether in manuscript collections, liturgical calendars, or in the translation and re-writing of old vitae. We tend to read medieval hagiography in isolation from its original context. In the case of the neomartyrs, this means forgetting that our vitae often survive in much longer hagiographical collections, containing information about saints new and old. Take, for instance, the most important manuscript for Greek martyrologies of the early Islamic period: Bibliothèque Nationale de France Coislin 303, a tenth or eleventh-century manuscript, probably from one of the monasteries in or around the Holy Land.71 The manuscript contains the only known copies of the vitae of Elias of Heliopolis and the Twenty Martyrs of Mar Saba, along with a shorter version of the passion of the Sixty Martyrs of Jerusalem.72 Along with these neomartyrologies, the manuscript contains another late text, the life of Stephen of Mar Saba, who died in 794 and was a nephew of Gil, Corpus scriptorum Muzarabicorum, vol. 2, p. 401; translation from: Colbert, ‘The Memoriale Sanctorum of Eulogius’, p. 81. The earliest accounts of Arius’ death come from Athanasius of Alexandria, as well as the historians Rufinus and Socrates. The story circulated widely in Late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages; for more: R. Williams, Arius: Heresy and Tradition, Grand Rapids (MI) 2002, p. 81, 303, n. 250 (I thank Jamie Kreiner for this reference). 71 Information on the contents of Coislin 303 can be found on the website of the Bibliothèque Nationale de France: www.bnf.fr; cf. also: R. Devreesse (ed.), Le fonds Coislin, Paris, 1945, pp. 286–288. 72 Twenty Martyrs of Mar Saba, fols. 99v–135 (preceded by Life of Stephen of Mar Saba; followed by Life of George of Choziba); Sixty Martyrs of Jerusalem, fols. 177–181v (preceded by Life of George of Choziba, followed by Martyrdom of Athanasius of Clysma); Elias of Heliopolis, fols. 238v–249v (preceded by Life of Paul of Elousa, followed by Life of Syncletica). 70

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St. John of Damascus. The manuscript is packed, however, with information about saints of different eras. These include Syncletica, a fourth-century desert mother from Egypt; Arsenius of Scetis, considered among the great desert fathers, who died in 445; and the monk George of Choziba, who died in Palestine in 625. Judging from the contents of the manuscript alone, the compiler did not perceive a major distinction between the neomartyrs and these earlier saints: their vitae were not bound separately, much less filed in different chapters of the same book, and there does not seem to be much logic to their ordering in the manuscript. They appeared together, emphasizing the similarity of their subjects – despite the very different circumstances under which they died. The same can be said of Beirut Bibliothèque Orientale 625, a seventeenth-century Arabic manuscript which contains the life of Anthony-Rawḥ.73 His is the only biography of a neomartyr in the manuscript, though it appears amidst the biographies of older Christian saints. These include the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste (d. 320), along with the martyrs Julian of Emesa (d. 312), Barbara (third century), Sergius and Bacchus (fourth century), Cosmas and Damian (third century), Ananias (first century), Pantaleon (d. ca. 303/5), and George (d. ca. 303). The effect is the same as in Coislin 303: The editors of these works did not seem to perceive a major difference among saints of different generations. The martyrs of the Islamic period were heirs to a tradition dating back to earliest Christian times, so much so that their biographies were inserted seamlessly together.74 The same phenomenon is in evidence in liturgical calendars. The oldest, a Syriac text from the Melkite community of Jerusalem, includes an extensive list of feasts connected to biblical figures, patriarchs of Jerusalem, Palestinian monks, and shrines in the Holy Land. Nearly all these commemorations are connected to events that happened or individuals who died before the Arab conquests.75 That said, the calendar does include references to three neomartyrs: Bacchus-Ḍaḥḥāk, born to a mixed family of Muslims 73 Information on the contents of Bibliothèque Orientale 625 can be found in: L. Cheikho, ‘Catalogue raisonné des manuscrits de la Bibliothèque Orientale. Vol. 5 : Patristique, conciles, écrivains ecclésiastiques anciens, hagiologie’, Mélanges de l’Université Saint-Joseph 11/5 (1926), pp. 280–281/ 374–375; the Life of AnthonyRawḥ is preceded by the Life of Barlaam, an ascetic who lived in the mountains around Antioch and was martyred ca. 304 (fols. 90–98); and followed by the Life of St. Alexis (fols. 104–107). 74 We observe the same phenomenon in other manuscript collections containing the lives of neomartyrs, including: Sinai Arabic 542, with the Life of ‘Abd al-Masīh al-Ghassānī, also containing the martyrdom of the monks of Sinai and Rhaithou. For the manuscript: A. Binggeli, ‘L’Hagiographie du Sinaï en arabe d’après un recueil du IXème siècle’, Parole de l’Orient 32 (2007), pp. 163–180; for the life of ‘Abd al-Masīḥ: S. Griffith, ‘The Arabic account of ‘Abd al-Masīḥ al-Nağrānī al-Ghassānī’, Le Muséon 98/3–4 (1985), pp. 331–374. The Georgian manuscript containing the life of Michael of Mar Saba (Passionary 57, Iviron Monastery, Mt. Athos) also includes translations of the vitae of two other neomartyrs: Anthony-Rawḥ (d. 799) and Romanus (d. 780); cf. O. Wardrop, ‘Georgian manuscripts at the Iberian Monastery on Mount Athos’, Journal of Theological Studies 12 (1911), 603; R.P. Blake, ‘Catalogue des manuscrits géorgiens de la bibliothèque de la laure d’Iviron au mont Athos’, Revue de l’Orient Chrétien Series 3, 8 (1931–32), p. 318. Likewise, a later Georgian translation of the vita of the Twenty Martyrs of Mar Saba is the only neomartyrology in a collection which otherwise contains early Christian martyrologies; these include the vitae of the Ten Martyrs of Crete (d. ca. 250), Eugenia (d. ca. 258), and Marcellus (d. ca. 298), among others: R.P. Blake, ‘Deux lacunes comblées dans la Passio XX monachorum Sabitarum’, Analecta Bollandiana 68 (1950), pp. 27–43, here: pp. 29–31. 75 A. Binggeli, ‘Un ancien calendrier melkite de Jérusalem (Sinaï Syr. M52N)’, [in:] F. Briquel Chatonnet and M. Debié (eds.), Sur les pas des Araméens chrétiens. Mélanges offerts à Alain Desreumaux, Paris 2010, pp. 181–194; for the neomartyrs, pp. 190–192. For an interesting parallel, note the tepid reception of the newly martyred (though not by Muslims) in Merovingian liturgical calendars from the turn of the eighth century: Jamie Kreiner, ‘The social functions of Merovingian hagiography’, p. 231.

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and Christians in Palestine, who died an apostate in 786/87; Christopher, a Muslim who converted to Christianity and became a priest during the reign of al-Mahdī, probably in 77876; and Anthony-Rawḥ (remembered according to his baptismal name). As André Binggeli notes in his study of the text, here we can see new cults in the process of becoming ‘official’. One way of accomplishing this was by incorporating the feasts of neomartyrs alongside those of well-known saints. It created a sense of continuity between traditions past and present. A similar mentality shaped the Synaxarium of Constantinople, which was compiled around the same time in Greek, though outside the caliphate in the Byzantine Empire.77 Among the thousands of entries in the text, we find five martyrs from Islamic lands: Peter of Capitolias (d. 715),78 Bacchus (d. 786/87),79 Theophilus (d. 780s), whom we have met, along with Michael, abbot of the Zōbē monastery in central Anatolia, who died in the 780s after refusing to convert to Islam80; and Andrew, John, Peter and Antoninus, who were killed in North Africa between 875 and 886 (after serving in the bureaucracy of what is probably an Aghlabid amīr) while continuing to practice Christianity in secret.81 From the fourteenth century, we also possess the Synaxarium of the Coptic Church, written in Arabic, but redacting older material composed in Coptic and Greek. The number of neomartyrs in the text is relatively small; they include Thomas, bishop of Damascus, who enraged the amīr of the city after engaging in a theological dispute with him (death date unknown)82; Mīnā, a monk who debated an Arab general at the time of the conquest of Egypt (d. ca. 640s)83; Dioscorus of Alexandria, a Christian who converted to Islam only to repent under the pressure of a disapproving sister (death date unknown)84; the aforementioned George-Muzāḥim (d. 978)85; and Mary the Armenian, The only other reference to Christopher the Persian comes from a brief reference in the vita of the Twenty Martyrs of Mar Saba: Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Twenty Martyrs of Mar Saba, pp. 40–41. 77 On the compilation of the Synaxarium of Constantinople: A. Luzzi, ‘Note sulla recensione del Sinassario di Constantinopoli patrocinata da Constantino VII Porfirogenito’, Rivista di studi bizantini e neoellenici, n.s. 26 (1989), pp. 139–186; P. Odorico, ‘Idéologie politique, production littéraire et patronage au Xème siècle: l’empereur Constantin VII et le synaxariste Évariste’, Medioevo Greco 1 (2001), pp. 199–219; cited in: S. Efthymiadis, ‘Hagiography from the ‘Dark Age’ to the age of Symeon Metaphrastes’, [in:] S. Efthymiadis (ed.), Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography, pp. 129–130. 78 Delehaye, Synaxarium of Constantinople, 4 October, pp. 105–106. 79 Ibidem, 15 December, pp. 310–312. 80 Ibidem, 1 October, p. 98. 81 Ibidem, 23 September, pp. 72–74; it is worth noting that the Synaxarium includes a number of new saints, most of whom were not killed by the Muslims. These include large numbers of Persian martyrs (see below, note 97) and many confessors from the seventh, eighth, and ninth centuries. Among the saints in this category whose vitae feature contact with Muslims: Peter the Venerable (feast: October 9; d. ca. 829–42; who suffered under ‘Ishmaelite’ raids in Anatolia), John bishop of Polybotos (feast: December 4; d. ca. 813–820; who punished Saracens for disturbing his relics), among others; I thank Nick Marinides for his help with these references. We observe much the same in lists of Syriac saints, in which it is difficult to find neomartyrs associated with Muslim rule, but relatively easy to find new non-martyr saints of the post-conquest period; for more, see various entries in: J. M. Fiey, with L. Conrad (ed.), Saints Syriaques, Princeton 2004. 82 Basset, Synaxarium of the Coptic Church, vol. 2, p. 175/251; for general remarks on the neomartyrs in the Synaxarium: Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It, pp. 367–369. 83 Ibidem, vol. 3, pp. 797/831–798/832. 84 Ibidem, vol. 4, pp. 203/845–205/847. 85 Ibidem, vol. 5, pp. 578/1120–581/1123. 76

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the slave of a high-ranking soldier in Cairo who refused her master’s repeated entreaties to become a Muslim (d. 1270).86 Synaxaria are important documents for several reasons: through them, we can witness the creation of saints’ cults in ‘real time’ – the process of transforming a dead Christian into a martyr. More specifically, synaxaria provide a unique vantage-point for understanding how medieval authors perceived the full sweep of salvation history, from the time of Jesus of Nazareth to the present. What emerges in all three calendars is a clear sense that the martyrs of the post-conquest age belonged in the company of recognized saints. They were the latest incarnation of a model of Christian piety that dated back to the foundation of the church, standard-bearers of a tradition left dormant by Constantine and the Christian emperors, but revived under the perceived tyranny of the Arabs.

Translation and rewriting of old texts Neomartyrs are not the only way to track the emergence of a martyrological discourse. I would like to conclude by showing how we can witness the emergence of a new discourse among Christians through the translation and compilation of vitae of saints who lived long before the conquests. Scholars of Coptic have noted that the great flowering of martyrological literature in that language took place after the Islamic conquests, not before.87 Manuscripts containing martyrs’ acts, for example, are exceptionally rare before the seventh century, but abound thereafter. Indeed, most of the martyrological cycles which describe the deeds of the early saints were not written within the century or two after they took place, but in the eighth century and beyond.88 This is not to say that martyrologies were not written in Egypt prior to the conquests – far from it. Rather, it is that the conquests provoked the most intensive period of hagiographical production in the history of Christian Egypt – especially strange since the individuals commemorated in these works were not contemporaries of the authors, or even near contemporaries, but almost entirely victims of persecutions under the Romans. There have been various explanations for this. In his famous 1972 study, Martyr invictus, Theofrid Baumstark contended that the texts manifested what he called the ‘koptischer Konsens,’ a latent spiritual and cultural mentality among the Copts that extended from the present back to pharaonic times.89 This was Baumstark’s way of explaining the striking similarity between themes and motifs in ancient Egyptian and 86 Ibidem, vol. 5, pp. 754/1296–755/1297; for further discussion of martyrdom in Egypt in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries: T. el-Leithy, ‘Coptic culture and conversion in medieval Cairo, 1293–1524 A.D.’, PhD disst., Princeton University 2005, pp. 126–131. 87 For an introduction to Coptic hagiography, with special emphasis on the post-conquest period: A. Papaconstantinou, ‘Hagiography in Coptic’, [in:] S. Efthymiadis (ed.), The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography, pp. 323–343. 88 For the dating of Coptic martyrological cycles to the post-conquest period, see the summaries in: T. Orlandi, ‘Cycle’, [in:] A. Atiya (ed.), Coptic Encyclopedia, New York 1991; here: vol. 3, pp. 666–668; and T. Orlandi, ‘Hagiography’, vol. 4, pp. 1191–1197. 89 T. Baumstark, Martyr invictus: Der Martyrer als Sinnbild der Erlösung in der Legende und im Kult der frühen koptischen Kirche. Zur Kontinuität des ägyptischen Denkens, Münster 1972.

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Coptic literature, especially the dismemberment and reassembling of the martyr’s body which, according to him, recycled elements of the old Osiris myth. Challenging this, Arietta Papaconstantinou has argued that the sudden interest in martyrs reflected a crisis of identity among Copts after the Islamic conquests, when the church was forced to redefine itself as the heir of ‘primitive Christianity’ against the claims of its Chalcedonian rivals.90 In this light, the writing of martyrologies stressed the institutional and cultural continuity between the earliest Christians and the latter-day Copts. Neither of these explanations suffice to explain why the flowering of martyrology took place in the eighth century and not earlier. Indeed, the Coptic Church had fallen on bad terms with the Chalcedonians long before the Arabs arrived. Rather, in my judgment, the sudden focus on martyrdom may reflect wider changes underway among Christian communities elsewhere in the early Islamic world.91 For the first time in centuries, the Copts found themselves facing circumstances that – at least superficially – resembled the ones they had confronted in the first, second, and third centuries, when Christians suffered under the thumb of another pagan state, that of ancient Rome. Furthermore, like the pagan Romans, the Muslims offered Christians relief from their suffering – especially the despised jizya – by conversion to their ‘godless’ faith. Whatever freedoms the Copts enjoyed under the new Muslim power, Egyptian Christians saw in those early saints a version of themselves. It fed into the narrative we have examined above, namely, a desire to comprehend a radical present through the stories of a traditional past, and to encourage resistance to conversion by venerating past heroes who had resisted another ‘pagan’ enemy. While the production of new hagiography was most apparent in Egypt, Christians in other parts of the Islamic world attempted to process their new circumstances using similar strategies. For example, there was a modest but important cluster of martyrologies translated from Greek into Arabic at the time.92 Notable texts include the Martyrdom of the Forty Fathers of Mt. Sinai (d. late fourth century) and Rhaithou (d. ca. 491–518)93 and the Martyrdom of Elian of Philadelphia (d. 290s),94 along with biographies of confessors such as Stephen of Mar Saba (d. 794)95 and Cyriacus (d. 557),96 written originally by Cyril of Scythopolis. It is unclear why these texts were translated and others were not, especially the acta of the earliest, most famous martyrs. Still, we can 90 A. Papaconstantinou, ‘Historiography, hagiography, and the making of the Coptic “Church of the Martyrs” in early Islamic Egypt’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 60 (2006), pp. 65–86. 91 In more recent work, Papaconstantinou has commented on the role of the Islamic milieu in shaping Coptic martyrologies; cf. ‘Hagiography in Coptic’, pp. 334–335, concurring with Orlandi (see above, note 87). 92 For a helpful overview of Arabic hagiography, with special emphasis on its role as a ‘catchment field’ for texts written originally in other languages: M.N. Swanson, ‘Arabic Hagiography’, [in:] S. Efthymiadis (ed.), The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography, pp. 345–367; for translation, specifically: pp. 348–350. 93 Sinai Arabic 542, fols. 7v–15; cf. Binggeli, ‘L’Hagiographie du Sinaï’, pp. 169–170; Griffith, ‘ ‘Abd alMasīḥ’, 341ff; for a description of the Sinai martyr tradition and dating of the martyrdoms: D.F. Caner (ed.), History and Hagiography from the Late Antique Sinai; Including translations of Pseudo-Nilus’ Narrations, Ammonius’ Report on the Slaughter of the Monks of Sinai and Rhaithou, and Anastasius of Sinai’s Tales of the Sinai Fathers, Liverpool 2010, pp. 51–63. 94 G. Garitte, ‘La Passion de S. Élie de Philadelphie (‘Amman)’, Analecta Bollandiana 79 (1961), pp. 412–446. 95 J.C. Lamoreaux (ed. and trans.), The Life of Stephen of Mar Sabas, Louvain 1999; G. Garitte, ‘Le début de la Vie de S. Étienne le Sabaite retrouvé en arabe au Sinaï’, Analecta Bollandiana 77 (1959), pp. 332–369. 96 G. Garitte, ‘La version géorgienne de la Vie de S. Cyriaque par Cyrille de Scythopolis’, Le Muséon 75 (1962), pp. 399–440.

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broach an answer by identifying certain parallels between the circumstances of a saint’s martyrdom and the conditions faced by Christians in the post-conquest period. A good example is the Syriac life of ‘Abd al-Masīḥ of Sinjār, who died in 389, and whose vita is thought to have been written in the eighth century and later translated into Arabic.97 It tells the story of a Jewish boy named Asher in Sasanian Mesopotamia, who every day took his small flock of sheep to a watering hole. There he would meet other young shepherds, some of whom were Christians, others of whom were Zoroastrians. The Christians eventually convinced Asher to convert, taking the name ‘Abd al-Masīḥ (‘servant of Christ’, Syriac ‘Abdā da-Mshīḥā / ‘Abd Mshīḥā; Greek Christodoulos) and pierced his right ear to mark the change.98 Upon returning home, ‘Abd al-Masīḥ converted his mother, but his father discovered the boy’s apostasy (partly by his new earring) and killed him. For an Arabic-speaking Christian in the early Islamic period, the story might have conjured up memories of accounts of conversion from Christianity to Islam. Indeed, it was not uncommon to find families like ‘Abd al-Masīḥ’s whose members were split between two religions.99 What is more, we know that conversions to Islam often involved discarding distinguishing pieces of clothing, such as the zunnār, a belt which marked an individual as a Christian, much as ‘Abd al-Masīḥ had converted by piercing his ear.100 Like the Jews and Christians of ‘Abd al-Masīḥ’s time, violence between Muslims and Christians could erupt in the context of very mundane affairs, such as an 97 The vita of ‘Abd al-Masīḥ is among the only Persian martyr acts that was translated from Syriac into Arabic, according to Brock’s inventory; cf. Holy Mar Maʻin with a Guide to the Persian Martyr Acts, p. 82. For the Syriac original, cf. J. Corluy, ‘Acta sancti Mar Abdu’l Masich aramaice et latine; edidit nunc primum ex cod. Londinensi (Addit. Mss. 12174)’, Analecta Bollandiana 5 (1886), pp. 5–52; also: P. Bedjan (ed.), Acta sanctorum et martyrum, Paris 1890, vol. 1, pp. 173–201. For the Arabic translation, cf. P. Peeters, ‘La passion arabe de S. ‘Abd al-Masiḥ’, Analecta Bollandiana 44 (1926), pp. 270–341; the text comes from a sixteenth-century manuscript, though the dating of the original translation is unclear; a Georgian translation of the same text appeared in 873, and it seems likely that the Arabic translation happened around the same time (Peeters, p. 289). Peeters posits a late-eighth century date for the Syriac original (p. 289), though this dating does not seem to rest on firm ground in my opinion; Peeters does not offer evidence that would rule out a dating to before the coming of Islam. 98 Corluy, ‘Acta sancti Mar Abdu’l Masich’, p. 14: ‘Therefore, one of the children had in his ears two golden earrings. And thus, he said to his companions: ‘You know that Jews do not pierce the ears of men, but if it is acceptable in your eyes, let’s pierce the ear of our little brother ‘Abd al-Masīḥ to make sure he stays a Christian, and he cuts off all his illusion[s] of Judaism, and he becomes famous. So, let us place in his ear one of the earrings which [are in] my ears. And thus, let it be a pledge and an offering, and may he become strong in God. Let him become the one we place our trust in, because he is a Christian’. For the Arabic translation of this passage, see: Peeters, ‘La version arabe’, pp. 302–303. 99 This is certainly the evidence from the lives of the neomartyrs, several of whom came from families split between Christianity and Islam, such as Bacchus-Ḍaḥḥāk, George-Muzāḥim, and several martyrs of Cordoba; for references, see above. For discussion of this theme in the life of ‘Abd al-Masīḥ and other martyrs of the Sasanian Empire, see: J. Walker, The Legend of Mar Qardagh: Narrative and Christian Heroism in Late Antique Iraq, Berkeley 2006, pp. 237–239. 100 Christians would often discard the zunnār (Greek, zōnarion) as a way of indicating their conversion to Islam; see the telling passage in the Chronicle of Zuqnīn, p. 391; for commentary: A. Harrak, ‘Christianity in the eyes of the Muslims of the Jazīrah at the end of the eighth century’, Parole de l’Orient 20 (1995), pp. 337–356, here: pp. 342–343. The unintended removal of the zunnār is precisely what got the martyr Elias of Heliopolis into trouble with the Muslim authorities in Damascus; cf. Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Elias of Heliopolis, p. 46. Related to this, Levy-Rubin has argued recently that the ghiyār code of the early Islamic period, through which the state forced non-Muslims to wear distinguishing dress, was inherited from the practices of the Sasanian Empire. While interesting, this seems to be overstating the fact, as such practices existed in the

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encounter between father and son. One suspects that the translator felt the vita had something useful to say to Christians of his own time, who faced a similar crisis of religious choice, encouraging them to remain steadfast in their faith, even in the face of persecution.101 Whatever the case may be, these examples demonstrate the manner in which martyrological writing remained hugely popular after the Islamic conquests. In particular, old saints could be repurposed for a world that knew the meaning of apostasy, torture, and death much like its forebears in ancient times.

Conclusions We often imagine the early Islamic period as a time of exceptional change – social, political, religious – and indeed it was. Yet in our enthusiasm to find examples of innovation, we may overlook the essential conservatism of the moment, especially the ways in which communities across the Middle East relied on old-fashioned models to configure new understandings of the individual and the group. Nowhere is this more apparent than among the Christian churches of the caliphate, who turned increasingly to martyrdom (as both a practice and literary motif) to make sense of their place in the new cosmos of Islam. Specifically, by lionizing the martyrs, hagiographers endeavored to provide Christians with a model of sanctity rooted in resistance. This was a tradition that stretched back to Roman times, when instead of resisting conversion to Islam, Christians resisted conversion to paganism. It was not about creating new identities per se, but about shoring up existing identities, exalting the courageous Christian who stubbornly rejected the temptations of the world, and condemning the cowardly Christian who succumbed to them. In so doing, hagiographers stigmatized one of the gravest threats facing Christian communities in the seventh, eighth, and ninth centuries – apostasy and the flight to Islam. That Christians would turn to the idea of martyrdom to do this may strike us as perfectly understandable. After all, churches across the centuries have raised up new generations of martyrs during periods of hardship as a way of shoring up their flocks and encouraging them to be steadfast in their faith – whether under Ottoman dominion in the Balkans or in the gulags of Soviet Russia. But to enter the world of Christianity in the post-conquest Middle East was to step into a brave new world facing very old circumstances. For the first time since the reign of the emperor Diocletian, Byzantine world as well; cf. M. Levy-Rubin, Non-Muslims in the Early Islamic Empire: From Surrender to Coexistence, Cambridge 2011, pp. 88–98. 101 A remarkably similar tale appears in the Pratum spirituale of John Moschos (d. 619), who describes a young Jewish boy who would pasture his family’s sheep with the other Christian boys of the village. On one occasion, the boys held a pantomime Eucharist, during which they baptized the Jewish boy. Holy fire came down upon the altar and left the boys in a state of shock for three days. Upon returning to his senses, the Jewish boy explained to his father that he had converted to Christianity. The father flew into a rage, and according to a later retelling of the story – most certainly written after the Islamic conquests – he brought him to ‘the magistrate of the area whom they call the emir.’ Upon encountering the boy and learning of his conversion, the emir became angry and threw him into the furnace of the town bath. Miraculously, the boy was spared any harm. Here we see an example of a pre-Islamic quasi-martyrology that has been re-written with attention to the author’s new Islamic environment: John Moschos, The Spiritual Meadow, J. Wortley (trans. and ed.), Kalamazoo 1992, pp. 205–210; I thank Nick Marinides for this reference.

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many Christians came to imagine themselves as a persecuted minority.102 As such, they turned to resources in their own tradition – long dormant, thanks to the beneficence of four hundred years of Christian rulers – that helped anchor themselves in the ideal of militant suffering. Things could have been different. Christians did not have to turn to martyrdom as a notional anchor in the post-conquest period. Indeed, we see Christian authors of the late seventh and early eighth centuries experimenting with alternative forms of literature to help process their radical shift in fortunes. Among the most important of these were apocalypses, which imagined the arrival of Muslim rule as a portent of the endtimes, a fulfillment of prophecies contained in the Old Testament, especially the Book of Daniel.103 Through these, we can catch that briefest of historical moments, a time of possibility when the looming threat of a final judgment gave a sense of coherence to a community in transition. Of course, for Christians and Muslims alike, that apocalypse never came. Thus, by the middle of the eighth century, precisely when martyrological writing took off in earnest, Christians found themselves searching for new literary and historical models to make sense of their surroundings. Unlike apocalypses, martyrological literature modeled on the acta of the early Christian saints made no promises of eschatological deliverance. But it did lend logic, dignity, and purpose to a period of suffering Christians felt they had not faced on a mass scale since the turn of the fourth century.

See above, note 33 for comment on ‘martyrdom’ arising in the context of intra-Christian violence. The arrival of Islam was thought to mark the death of the fourth and last kingdom in world history, that of Rome, following the scheme laid out in the Book of Daniel. This biblical blueprint is apparent in certain apocalyptic texts of the early Islamic period, such as the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius, written in Syriac around 692, and in modified form in the Gospel of the Twelve Apostles, also composed in Syriac near the city of Edessa. In the later eighth century, by which time apocalyptic expectations had cooled, it became popular to see Muslim suzerainty in the light of Old Testament narratives. According to this scheme, Christians of the Middle East were reliving the trials and tribulations of the people of Israel, a cyclical vision of history that stressed the church’s role as the chosen people of God. This model is also evident in passages in the Chronicle of Zuqnīn. For general remarks on biblical narratives and Christian identity after the conquests, cf. Morony, ‘History and identity’, 1–9ff; for more on the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius: G.J. Reinink, Die syrische Apokalypse des Pseudo-Methodsius, 2 vols., Louvain 1993; for the Gospel of the Twelve Apostles: H.J.W. Drijvers, ‘The Gospel of the Twelve Apostles: a Syriac apocalypse from the early Islamic Period’, [in:] A. Cameron and L. Conrad (eds.), The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East, vol. 1: Problems in the Literary Source Material, Princeton 1992, pp. 189–213; for the Chronicle of Zuqnīn: A. Harrak, ‘“Ah! The Assyrian is the rod of my hand!” Syriac views of history after the advent of Islam’, [in:] J.J. van Ginkel, M.L. Murre – Van den Berg, and T.M. van Lint (eds.), Redefining Christian Identity: Cultural Interaction in the Middle East since the Rise of Islam, Leuven 2005, pp. 45–65. 102 103

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SLAVONIC KONTAKARIA AND THEIR BYZANTINE COUNTERPARTS: ADAPTING A LITURGICAL TRADITION

Introduction Slavonic ecclesiastical culture is a classic example of the cultural transmission between two societies, namely the Byzantine Greeks and the Slavs. This phenomenon was especially pronounced in the early period of Slavonic Christianity after the Slavs had embraced the new religion from Greek missionaries in the ninth century. According to the custom of the Byzantine Rite, the newly baptized Slavs could hold church services in their own native language; as a result, a great many texts essential for daily, weekly and yearly cycles of worship were translated into Church Slavonic and thus transmitted from Byzantium into Slavonic lands.1 Hymnographic texts2 constituted a substantial share in this cultural transmission. The following chapter will examine a particular type of liturgical collection of hymns used in Byzantine and Slavonic rites between the tenth and the fourteenth centuries, which contains a collection of kontakia. However, before discussing kontakia and their collections, it is helpful to provide a short historical introduction to this hymnographic genre and define some technical terms. The kontakion is one of the most important genres of Byzantine hymnography. It began to flourish in the beginning of the sixth century with the work of Romanos the Melode (died after 555).3 Initially, it was an extended hymn, consisting of up to forty stanzas that all were structurally alike and often linked with an acrostic, that is, a word 1 The absolute majority of the early Slavonic translated texts were translated in the Balkans. However, there is a certain number of Eastern Slavonic translations, for example, the Slavonic version of the Stoudite Typikon (A.M. Pentkovskij, Tipikon patriarxa Alekseja Studita v Vizantii i na Rusi, Moscow 2001). Also see: Fr.J. Thomson, The Reception of Byzantine Culture in Mediaeval Russia, Aldershot and Brookfield (USA) 1999; A.A. Pičxadze, Perevodčeskaja dejatel’nost’ v domongol’skoj Rusi. Lingvističeskij aspekt, Moscow 2011. 2 Hymnography is a corpus of non-biblical poetical texts used (mostly sung) in the Christian services. There are a great many hymnographic genres and each of them has a complex history. Apart from the translated hymns, some original Slavonic texts have also come down to us. As of today there are about 140 original Slavonic hymnographic texts, counting kanons for Lent as separate items (K. Stančev, ‘Liturgičeskaia poezija v drevneslavjanskom literaturnom prostranstve: Istorija voprosa i nekotorye problemy izučenija’, [in:] K. Stančev and M. Yovčeva (eds.), La poesia liturgica slava antica, XIII Congresso Internazionale degli Slavisti (Lubiana, 15–21 Agosto 2003), Blocco tematico n. 14. Relazioni, Rome and Sofia 2003, pp. 5–22, especially p. 13. 3 B. Baldwin, ‘Romanos the Melode’, [in:] A. Kazhdan, A.-M. Talbot, A. Cutler, T. Gregory and N. Ševčenko (eds.), Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, vol. 3, Oxford 1991, pp. 1807–1808.

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or phrase formed out of first letters of the poem.4 These kontakia are conventionally called ‘long kontakia’. In the nineteenth century, J.-B. Pitra5 pointed out that these hymns were originally written not in prose, but in a particular rhythm under strict poetic regulations. Some of the long kontakia have been published by N. Tomadakes,6 P. Maas and C. A. Trypanis,7 and J. Grosdidier de Matons.8 The extant sources also attest a different form of kontakion, reduced to a single strophe or to its first prooemium9 and first stanza, called respectively kontakion and oikos. This form of the kontakion is usually referred to as ‘short kontakion’. For a long time it was generally assumed that the reduction of the kontakion took place in the second quarter of the ninth century10 due to the increased popularity of the kanon.11 This traditional view has been rejected by A. Lingas, who has asserted that the long kontakia were kept in cathedral usage after the ninth century for at least a few more centuries. 12 As we will see below, the sources under consideration fit well with this theory. In the Constantinopolitan cathedral service, the kontakia were included in the following interrelated books: non-musical Kontakarion, as well as Psaltikon and Asmatikon, both of which provide special musical notation for their hymns. Very little is known about pre-iconoclastic hymnography. Scholars assume that these collections were formed in the ninth century, shortly after the end of the second phase of Iconoclasm (814–842). Due to the synthesis of the Palestinian monastic tradition and the Constantinopolitan rite, all the previously existing liturgical texts were regrouped in this period and formed into the liturgical books as we know them now (for example Octoechos,13 Heirmologion,14 Menaion,15 etc).16 However, the Byzantine Kontakaria, Psaltika and Asmatika flourished in the post-iconoclastic environment of elaborate cathedral services at the grand churches such as Hagia Sophia in Constantinople. The Slavonic counterpart of these hymnographic collections is also called Kontakarion and is represented by both musical and non-musical collections. Terms such as Kontakarion, Psaltikon and Asmatikon are sometimes treated as wholly 4 P. Maas, ‘Das Kontakion’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift 19 (1910), pp. 285–306, especially p. 285. E. Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music and Hymnography, Oxford 1962, pp. 179–180. 5 J.-B. Pitra, Hymnographie de l’Église grecque, Rome 1867. 6 Romanou tou Melodou. Umnoi ekdidomenoi ek Patmiakon, vols. 1–4, N. Tomadakes (ed.), Athens 1952–1961. 7 Sancti Romani Melodi cantica: cantica genuina, P. Maas and C.A. Trypanis (eds.), Oxford 1963. 8 Romanos le Mélode, Hymnes, J. Grosdidier de Matons (ed.) [= Sources chrétiennes 99, 110, 114, 128], Paris 1964–1967. 9 It is metrically and melodically independent short hymn which stood at the beginning of the kontakion. Sometimes it is also called koukoulion. 10 O. Strunk, Essays on Music in the Byzantine World, New York 1977, p. 157. 11 Kanon is a complex poetical form, which consists of nine odes, modeled on the pattern of the nine Canticles from the Scriptures (Wellesz, History, p. 198). Also see: V.V. Vasilik, Proisxoždenie kanona. Istorija. Bogoslovie. Poetika, St-Petersburg 2006. 12 A. Lingas, ‘The liturgical place of the kontakion in Constantinople’, [in:] C.C. Akentiev (ed.), Liturgy, Architecture, and Art in Byzantine world. Papers of the XVIII International Byzantine Congress (Moscow, 8–15 August 1991) and other essays dedicated to the memory of Fr. John Meyendorff, St-Petersburg 1995, pp. 50–57, especially p. 53. 13 A collection of hymns for daily services sung on eight modes, i.e. different melodic patterns. 14 A collection of heirmoi, i.e. introductory hymns for the Odes of the kanon. 15 A set of twelve books with services for each day of the calendar year. 16 R. Taft, The Byzantine rite: a short history, Collegeville (Minn.) 1992.

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synonymous or interchangeable and, in any case, vague. In the following pages I will use these terms according to the contents of the particular collection and the name which that manuscript collection bears, whenever it is not lost due to lacunae. These are the contents of the discussed collections: • Apart from a large number of kontakia, the Psaltikon (with musical notation) and Kontakarion (text only)17 contain additional hymns and verses, such as Cherubic hymns18 and alleluia hymns written in a florid musical style to be performed by soloists (usually by the protopsaltes). • The Asmatikon (with musical notation) provides a few kontakia, but the main bulk of its repertoire consists of the sets of choral refrains and responses to solo sections of the responsorial chants in the Psaltikon, such as troparia,19 prokeimena,20 hypakoai,21 antiphons,22 koinonika,23 and others. • The Slavonic Kontakarion (can be notated or without musical notation) leans towards the Psaltikon in its contents, although it also contains some important elements of the Asmatika. This will be discussed in greater detail below. Thus, the Byzantine Kontakarion, Psaltikon and Asmatikon were used in cathedral services and, in essence, they complemented one another, even though the two collections differed in terms of their repertoire, style and function. In the following article, I intend to demonstrate in detail how the Byzantine tradition of the Kontakarion, Psaltikon and Asmatikon is reflected in the Slavonic Kontakarion. My primary research interest lies in the way that these Byzantine chant collections were transmitted to the Slavonic lands, and in the process by which the Byzantine rite was adapted by the Slavs. This investigation compares the contents of both Byzantine and Slavonic collections in order to bring to light the similarities and distinctions in their structure, layout and general organisation. However, before proceeding to the comparison, it is necessary to outline the extant manuscript tradition of these liturgical collections.

Manuscript tradition24 A considerable number of Byzantine witnesses25 of Kontakarion, Psaltikon and Asmatikon have come down to us. As of today there are forty seven Greek codices dat17 There are two main differences between the Byzantine Kontakarion and the Psaltikon. The Kontakarion has no musical signs and provides mainly long kontakia (except for Athous Lavra K 182 of the 14th century, which has short kontakia but still no music). The Psaltikon is elaborately notated and has abbreviated version of kontakia. More details as well as examples of manuscripts can be found below in the section on the manuscript tradition and in the list of manuscripts attached at the end of this paper. Further analysis of the differences between these two collections exceeds the scope of this study. 18 A hymn sung as part of the liturgy during the Great Entrance, i.e. the procession during which the clergy enter the altar through the central Holy Doors. 19 A short hymn of one stanza. 20 Α psalm or canticle refrain sung responsorially usually to introduce a scripture reading. 21 A troparion sung at Matins on Great Feasts and Sundays. 22 Responsorial sequence of psalm verses. 23 A refrain sung with excerpts from the Psalms during the distribution of Holy Communion. 24 The lists of both Byzantine and Slavonic manuscripts with the references to the corresponding catalogues and publications can be found at the end of this article. 25 I use the term ‘witness’ as some manuscripts contain only parts of the Kontakarion, Psaltikon or Asmatikon together with hymns from other liturgical books, mostly from Menaion, Heirmologion and Octoechos.

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ing from between the late tenth to the fourteenth centuries,26 including fragments, which contain the repertoires of kontakia, namely seventeen Kontakaria, eighteen Psaltika, six Asmatika and five so-called compound collections27 that combine parts of the Psaltikon and Asmatikon together, often with hymns from other liturgical occasions.28 In addition, there is a fragment Sinaiticus graecus X 314 (fourteenth century), which is too short to be identified with certainty. Thirteen manuscripts of the Kontakarion contain long kontakia,29 whereas the Psaltika of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries offer the short kontakia and oikoi. The majority of the Asmatika from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries omit the oikoi and contain the kontakia exclusively. As of today, only one Byzantine Psaltikon has been published, namely Laurentianus Ashburnhamensis 64 (a. 1289, Biblioteca Laurenziana, Florence),30 due to its elaborate musical notation. The rest of the collection remains hard to access for scholars. A Byzantine Asmatikon has yet to be published. As for the Slavonic tradition, there are only six extant Slavonic Kontakaria dating from the eleventh to the thirteenth centuries, four of which have been published, namely, the Tipografskij Kontakarion K–5349 (late eleventh–early twelfth centuries, Moscow State Tret’jakov Gallery, Moscow),31 the Blagoveščenskij Kontakarion Q.II.I.32 (twelfth–thirteenth centuries, National Library of Russia, St-Petersburg and 1/93 (fragment), Odessa State Science Library, Odessa),32 the Uspenskij Kontakarion, Uspenskoe sobranie 9 (a. 1207, Moscow State Historical Museum, Moscow),33 the Troickij (Lavrskij) Kontakarion 23 (thirteenth century, collection of the Trinity Lavra of St. Sergios, Russian State Library, Moscow).34 It is not surprising that the Byzantine manuscripts considerably exceed the Slavonic ones in number, as the tradition of chanting the kontakia at the Office existed in Byzantium for much longer, was widespread, and – as we shall see later – underwent several modifications in its development. 26 There are a few later manuscripts of the Psaltikon, for example, Sinaiticus graecus 1262 (a. 1437), Sinaiticus graecus 1281 (15th c.), Coislinus 221 (15th c.). The reason for not including manuscripts from beyond the 14th century is that in the 14th century the contents of the Psaltikon and Asmatikon were consolidated and combined with other material to form a new compilation, the Akolouthiai, which represent the next stage in the development of these collections. The earliest extant examples of this process can be found in the South Italian manuscripts of the thirteenth century (G. Stathes, ‘E asmatike diaforopoise opos katagrafetai ston kodika EBE 2458 tou etous 1336’, [in:] Christianike Thessalonike: Palaologeios epoches, Thessaloniki 1989, especially pp. 165–211, especially pp. 169–188). 27 C. Floros (‘Die Entzifferung der Kondakarien-Notation’, Musik des Ostens 3 (1965), pp. 17–24) and G. Myers, (‘The medieval Russian Kondakar and the choirbook from Kastoria: a paleographic study in Byzantine and Slavic relations’, Plainsong and Medieval Music 7 (1998), pp. 21–46) label this group as ‘mixed’ Asmatika. 28 Strunk, Essays, p. 48. 29 Sinaiticus graecus 925, Athous Vatopedi 1041, Sinaiticus graecus 926, Patmiacus 212, Patmiacus 213, Athous Laura Г 27, Taurinensis 189, Athous Laura Г 28, Corsinianus 366, Vindobonensis Supplementum graecum 96, Messanensis 157, Mosquensis Synodi graecus 437 (J. Grosdidier de Matons, Romanos le Mélode et les origines de la poésie religieuse à Byzance, Paris 1977, pp. 70–74). 30 Contacarium Ashburnhamense, C. Høeg (ed.), Copenhagen 1956. 31 Tipografskij Ustav: Ustav s kondakarem konca XI – načala XII veka, B. A. Uspenskij (ed.), vols. 1–3, Moscow 2006. 32 Der altrussische Kondakar: Auf der Grundlage des Blagovescenskij Nizhegorodskij Kondakar, A. Dostál and H. Rothe (eds.), vols. 1–5, Giessen–Köln–Wien 1977–2004. 33 Contacarium palaeoslavicum mosquense, A. Bugge (ed.), Copenhagen 1960. 34 The Lavrsky Troitsky Kondakar, G. Myers (ed.), Sofia 1994.

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A number of manuscripts from both Byzantine and Slavonic traditions have been partially studied from a musicological point of view due to a special type of notation common to them.35 Nevertheless, the vast majority of extant manuscripts remain poorly catalogued and largely understudied. For this paper I have examined all the Slavonic Kontakaria and a larger portion of the Byzantine manuscripts. There remain, however, twelve Byzantine manuscripts36 which I have not been able to examine because of their inaccessibility. Despite the large number of Byzantine codices and the proportionally smaller number of surviving Slavonic manuscripts, none of the Slavonic Kontakaria fully conforms to any extant Byzantine source. In order to understand the process of transmission of these collections from Byzantium to the Slavs, one needs to examine both similarities and distinctions of the extant manuscripts. In the following pages, I will outline the main features of the Slavonic Kontakaria in comparison with the corresponding Byzantine sources before offering some conclusions.

Notation The oldest Byzantine collections of the long kontakia, called Kontakaria, do not have musical notation and it is difficult to deduce how they were performed musically. However, the majority of both Byzantine Psaltika and Asmatika are heavily notated with the Chartres neumes of Palaeo-Byzantine notation.37 This notation does not fix the pitch of a chant melody, but indicates an interval, the general direction and overall melodic rhythm. Musicologists assert that the melodic patterns of the Psaltikon and Asmatikon, both being intricate and elaborate, were nevertheless different in terms of style and embellishment. The texts of the Asmatikon are complicated by additional non-textual syllables and intercalations, called habuvas and hananeikas. Five of the Slavonic Kontakaria (except the OIDR Kontakarion which is not notated) contain a special type of musical notation, which also belongs to the Chartres type of Byzantine neumes.38 The rest of the Slavonic musical manuscripts from the eleventh 35 C. Thodberg, The Tonal System of the Kontakarium: Studies in Byzantine Psaltikon Style, Copenhagen 1960; B. Di Salvo, ‘Asmatikon’, Bollettino della Badia Greca di Grottaferrata 16 (1962), pp. 135–158; K. Levy, ‘The Slavic Kontakia and their Byzantine originals’, [in:] A. Mell (ed.), Queens College Department of Music 25th Anniversary Festschrift, New York 1964, pp. 79–87; Floros, ‘Die Entzifferung der Kondakarien-Notation’; D.E. Conomos, The Late Byzantine and Slavonic Communion Cycle: Liturgy and Music, Washington 1985; G. Myers, ‘The Blagoveshchensky Kondakar: A Russian musical manuscript of the 12th century’, Cyrillomethodianum 11 (1987), pp. 103–127; idem, ‘The legacy of the medieval Russian Kontakar and the transcription of the Kontakarian musical notation’, Muziek & Wetenschap: Dutch Journal for Musicology 5 (1995–1996), pp. 128–161; T.F. Vladyševskaja, ‘Tipografskij Ustav i muzykal’naja kul’tura Drevnej Rusi XI–XII vv.’, [in:] B.A. Uspenskij (ed.), Tipografskij Ustav: Ustav s kondakarem konca XI – načala XII veka, vol. 3, Moscow 2006, pp. 111–201. 36 Namely Patmiacus 221, Cryptensis E. α. XIII, Cryptensis E. β. I., Cryptensis E.α. I, Cryptensis E. β. II, Cryptensis E. β. V, Cryptensis E. β. VII, Verona Capitolare CXX, Ochrid 59, Cryptensis E. β. III, Cryptensis Г. γ. VI, Messanensis graecus 120. I also have not examined the fragments from the new find from Mount Sinai and have to rely on the catalogue description (Ta nea euremata tou Sina, Athens 1998). 37 O. Strunk, ‘The notation of the Chartres Fragment’, Annales Musicologiques 3 (1955), pp. 7–37; K. Levy and C. Troelsgård, ‘Byzantine Chant’, [in:] S. Sadie and J. Tyrell (eds.), The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, vol. 4, London 2001, pp. 734–756. 38 C. Høeg, ‘The oldest Slavonic tradition of Byzantine music’, Proceedings of the British Academy 39 (1953), pp. 37–66.

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century onwards (for example, the Heirmologia, Sticheraria, and others) are notated with the Coislin type of notation – the other family of the Palaeo-Byzantine notation.39 This particular form of musical notation of the Slavonic Kontakaria, which singles out these collections from the rest of the Slavonic heritage, is called Kontakarian notation and still remains undeciphered.40 One may assume that some early Byzantine source served as an archetype for the creation of the Slavonic neumatic tradition, even though such source has not been preserved or has not been found yet. Studies show that, musically, the Slavonic Kontakaria are not directly related to the Psaltikon, but have much in common with the Asmatikon, especially Kastoria 8 (fourteenth century, Kastoria Cathedral library, Kastoria, Greece)41 even though the earliest extant manuscript of the Byzantine Asmatikon is at least half a century younger than the Slavonic codices. Like their Greek counterparts, the Slavonic Kontakaria contain two rows of neumes: a small row of archaic intervallic and rhythmic signs and a row of great hypostases42 positioned above the small signs, which seem to record the entire melodic formulae in a sort of a short hand. The texts of the Slavonic kontakia are also disrupted by habuvas and hananeikas, which draw them together with the Asmatika. Therefore, there is a strong musical connection between the Slavonic Kontakaria and the Byzantine Asmatika. It is clear that the Byzantine musical tradition was borrowed by the Slavs in these collections, at least for certain hymnographic genres such as kontakia. However, despite a great many similarities, the Byzantine and Slavonic musical systems for the kontakia are not exactly the same. This suggests that the Slavs adapted the transmitted tradition to their local custom. It is also possible that the Slavonic Kontakaria represent an earlier stage of the Asmatikon musical tradition, which has not survived in the extant Greek manuscripts: the extant Slavonic manuscripts predate the Byzantine ones. This makes the Slavonic Kontakaria a valuable source not only for the history of the Slavonic ecclesiastical notation, but also for the development of the Byzantine liturgical music.

39 The Russian version of the Coislin notation developed into znamenny notation which from the 14th century through the 17th century became the only musical system of the medieval Slavonic manuscripts. 40 Apart from the Kontakaria this notation can also be found in the following manuscripts: Octoechos (13th c., Sophia’s collection 122, National Library of Russia, St-Petersburg, ff. 72v–73v; F. Keller, ‘Die Leningrader Kondakar’-Blätter’, Slavica Helvetica 16 (1981), pp. 315–323); Miscellaneous collection (13th c., Sophia’s collection 397, National Library of Russia, St-Petersburg, ff. 28–28v); Menaion (12th c., Sinod collection 168, Moscow State Historical Museum, Moscow, f. 1; A. V. Gorskij and K. I. Nevostruev, Opisanie slavjanskix rukopisej Mosckovskoj Sinodal’noj biblioteki, vol. 3.2, Moscow 1869, p. 71). The Kontakarion notation can also be found in the manuscripts with znamenny notation, mostly as highly melismatic melodic formulae in the stichera dedicated to Russian saints (V. M. Metallov, Bogoslužebnoe penie Russkoj Cerkvi v period domongol’skij, Moscow 1912, pp. 202–203, 209, 216, 230–231). 41 Myers, ‘The medieval Russian Kondakar’, pp. 22–23. 42 Great hypostases, also called the great signs, appeared in the Byzantine liturgical manuscripts in the 12th century as a new group of subsidiary signs in red ink (Wellesz, History, p. 249).

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The length of the kontakia As mentioned above, all manuscripts can be divided into two major groups: those composed of long kontakia and those composed of short ones. However, the distribution of either short or long kontakia in the codices is not strictly related to the date of a particular manuscript. For example, the latest extant codex with the long kontakia, Sinaiticus graecus 927, is dated as late as 1285. Furthermore, at least one manuscript of the early twelfth century (Vaticanus graecus 2008) cannot be placed in either group, because its kontakia do not have enough components to be called ‘long’ but have not yet been abbreviated to their short form. This manuscript provides kontakia, which are not simply reduced to their prooemium and first stanza, but are just shorter than the original long ones; in addition, there are 3–4 oikoi after each kontakion. It seems that the kontakia in this manuscript represent a transitional stage in the process of abbreviation. By contrast, all the Slavonic Kontakaria provide only short kontakia, even though some of the Slavonic codices are contemporary to the Byzantine ones with long kontakia. Furthermore, only two Slavonic Kontakaria (the Tipografskij Kontakarion and the OIDR Kontakarion) provide oikoi for their kontakia, whereas all the Byzantine Psaltika supplement their abbreviated kontakia with the corresponding oikoi. The oikoi in the Slavonic manuscripts are never notated, whereas the notated Byzantine sources provide neumes for both kontakia and oikoi.43 Therefore, on the grounds of the contents and dating of the extant manuscripts, it follows that the process of abbreviation of kontakia was not completed by the ninth century, as was asserted by O. Strunk.44 The extant sources suggest that there was a period of time when the two different forms of the kontakion coexisted or at least overlapped, which conforms A. Lingas’s thesis mentioned above. Lingas supports his theory by a few explicit references to full kontakia in the Typika,45 Synaxaria,46 and Kanonaria47 of the cathedral rite during the occasional vigils called pannychis.48 The kontakia in the Byzantine manuscripts, which were examined for this article support this theory. Therefore, it is possible to assume that the Slavonic tradition probably never knew the long kontakia, the performance of which was apparently restricted to cathedral services in Byzantium and continued there up to the fourteenth century.49 If the original Byzantine kontakia were sung during the elaborate services in large cathedral churches such as Hagia Sophia, there could have been no similar occasions in the Slavonic rite. As a result, the Slavs used only short kontakia. Thus, the Slavonic Kontakaria represent the Byzantine tradition of short kontakia, which must have been further adapted to the needs and custom of their local church.

For example, Laurentianus Ashburnhamensis 64, Messanensis graecus 129, Cryptensis Г. γ. V. Strunk, Essays, p. 157. 45 A liturgical book of regulations for services. 46 A liturgical book with hagiographical rubrics for the fixed cycle of the year. 47 A liturgical book with rubrics for the movable cycle of the year dependant on Easter. 48 Such as Patmiacus 266 (9th–10th c.), Dresdensis 104 A (11th c.), Bodleianus Auct. E. 5. 10 (a. 1329). Lingas, ‘The liturgical place’, p. 53. 49 Bodleianus Auct. E. 5. 10 (a. 1329) has a reference to a presumably complete kontakion in the order of service for 1 September. Ibidem, p. 54. 43 44

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The organization of the manuscripts The Byzantine Psaltikon usually consists of three main sections and chiefly encompasses: 1) kontakia for the fixed liturgical year; 2) kontakia for the movable liturgical year or Triodion part of the calendar dependant on Easter; and 3) hymns of other genres intended for various occasions and added at the end of the manuscript. The Asmatikon is structured differently, and the manuscripts offer different sets of hypakoai, koinonika, exaposteilaria,50 prokeimena and a small number of kontakia. The majority of the oldest Kontakaria with the long kontakia51 have fewer hymns of other genres added after the sections with kontakia. Some Kontakaria and Psaltika52 blend the hymns of the fixed and movable cycles. According to M. Momina this is an original place for the Triodion cycle in the Greek Kontakaria.53 All Asmatika provide a significant number of miscellaneous hymns and tend to separate the two calendar cycles. The Slavonic codices have a clear threefold structure similar to that of the Kontakarion and Psaltikon. However, all of the Slavonic Kontakaria reflect a later tradition of separating the Menaion and Triodion cycles. It is also worth noting that only two Slavonic manuscripts (the Blagoveščenskij Kontakarion and the Uspenskij Kontakarion) start their Triodion part with the Sunday of the Publican and Pharisee, whereas the other three (the Tipografskij Kontakarion, the Sinodal’nyj Kontakarion and the OIDR Kontakarion) open their Triodion section with the Sunday of the Prodigal Son.54 It is not just an omission. The First Council of Nicaea (325) established a preparatory week (Tyrophagus) before Lent. In Palestine, this week remained the only week before Lent. The weeks of Apocreos, Prodigal Son, Publican and Pharisee were added to the Triodion cycle later. The early Triodia often contain fewer preparatory weeks before Lent.55 It follows that those Kontakaria, which do not include the Sunday of the Publican and Pharisee, represent the older structure of the Triodion. As for the Byzantine manuscripts, several Psaltika start their Triodion section with the Sunday of The Prodigal Son.56 However, two early Psaltika (Athous Vatopedi 1041 and Messanensis graecus 157) provide hymns for Sunday of the Publican and Pharisee. Perhaps, despite their early date, they reflect a newer version of the calendar. There is also a noticeable chronological change in the contents of the Slavonic Kontakaria, namely the increase of elements from the Asmatika. The more ancient Kontakaria (the Tipografskij Kontakarion, the Blagoveščenskij Kontakarion, as well as the OIDR Kontakarion)57 reflect a shift towards the Psaltika in their contents, for A hymn that follows the kanon at Matins. E.g. Athous Vatopedi 1041, Athous Laura Г 27, Athous Laura Г 28. 52 E.g. Corinianus 366, Laurentianus Ashburnhamensis 64. 53 M.A. Momina, ‘O proisxoždenii grečeskoj Triodi’, Palestinskoj Sbornik 28/91 (1986), pp. 112–120, especially p. 114. 54 The beginning of the Triodion section of the Troickij (Lavrskij) Kontakarion is missing because of the lacuna. 55 Momina, ‘O proisxoždenii’, p. 113. 56 Sinaiticus graecus 925, Siniaticus graecus 926, Athous Laura Г 28, Patmiacus 212, Athous Laura Г 27, Taurinensis 189, Mosquensis Synodi graecus 437. Laurentianus Ashburnhamensis 64 contains even fewer weeks before Lent and its Triodion part starts with the Saturday of Apocreos. 57 Despite its late date (13th c.) the OIDR Kontakarion exhibits some characteristic features of the early manuscripts. More details can be found in the section below dedicated to the OIDR Kontakarion. 50 51

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example, in such elements as exaposteilaria in the Blagoveščenskij Kontakarion and the OIDR Kontakarion; hypakoai for Sunday in the Blagoveščenskij Kontakarion; full Akathistos Hymn in the OIDR; alleluia hymns and theotokia58 in the Typografskij Kontakarion). Other codices (the Sinodal’nyj Kontakarion and the Troickij (Lavrskij) Kontakarion) draw closer to the Asmatika. For example, these manuscripts contain katabasia59 and troparia for the prophecies, antiphons from the liturgy and communion hymns. On top of that, the remaining Uspenskij Kontakarion can be classified as a compound book. It has archaic elements such as theotokia, Sunday hypakoai that are characteristic of the Psaltika, as well as troparia for the prophecies and communion hymns that are distinctive elements of the Asmatika. Therefore, the Slavonic Kontakaria show strong similarities with the Byzantine Kontakaria and Psaltika with regards to their threefold structure. Although both the Slavonic codices and Byzantine Asmatika share a sufficient number of hymns as well as similar musical notation, it does not suffice to link the Slavonic tradition exclusively with the Asmatika. It seems that the Slavonic codices combine the main features of both Byzantine traditions, namely structure and contents from the Psaltika and the type of musical notation from the Asmatika. Perhaps, the Slavonic tradition adapted the existing Byzantine tradition by simplifying it and combining both Psaltika and Asmatika into one type of book, as there was no need to have separate books for the soloist and the choir.

Calendar features The calendar is a very important field for establishing links between various liturgical practices in the manuscripts. The presence of some local commemorations and feasts often helps to shed light on the provenance of the manuscripts. Unfortunately, the problem of distinguishing local feasts and commemorations from common ones is not very well studied. We have to rely on limited information about: 1) the Constantinopolitan tradition according to the Typikon of the Great Church60 and the Constantinopolitan Synaxarion;61 and 2) the Jerusalem tradition preserved in Georgian manuscripts.62 Any commemorations, which are not found in the aforementioned sources, are conventionally considered to be local. For example, St. Agatha (5 February), who was very popular in Sicily and whose presence in the calendar seemingly suggests a Southern Italian origin of the Byzantine sources, is mentioned in many Byzantine manuscripts.63 However, her commemoration cannot be indicative because Byzantine calendars from Hymns dedicated to the Mother of God. A hymn sung at the end of the Ode of the kanon. 60 A. Dmitrievskij, Drevnejšie patriaršie tipikony Svjatogrobskoj Ierusalimskoj i Velikoj Konstantinopol’skoj Cerkvi, Kiev 1907; J. Mateos, Le Typicon de la Grande Église, vols. 1–2, Rome 1962–1963. 61 Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae, H. Delehaye (ed.), Brussels 1902. 62 K. Kekelidze, Ierusalimskij Kanonar’ VII veka: Gruzinskaja versija, Tbilisi 1912; G. Garrite, Le calendrier palestino-géorgien du Sinaiticus 34 (Xe siècle), Brussels 1958; M. Tarchnischvili, Le grand lectionnaire de l’église de Jérusalem (Ve–VIIIe siècle), vols. 1–2, Leuven 1959. 63 For example, Sinaiticus graecus 925, Athous Laura Г 28, Patmiacus 212, Athous Laura Г 27, Taurinensis 189, Corsinianus 366, Messanensis graecus 157, Mosquensis Synodi graecus 437, Vindobonensis Supplementum graecum 96, Vaticanus graecus 2008, Sinaiticus graecus 927. 58 59

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other liturgical sources show that this saint was popular in other parts of the Byzantine Empire as well as beyond the Empire’s borders, like for example in England during the ninth–eleventh centuries.64 Nevertheless, the Byzantine codices mention a few local commemorations: both Constantinopolitan and Jerusalem characteristic calendar features can be found in the codices. As specimens of the cathedral rite of the Great Church, some of the older Kontakaria contain references to Constantinopolitan events such as the foundation of the city of Constantinople65 and a few local saints.66 By contrast, a number of later codices of the Psaltikon seem to be connected with the Southern Italian monasteries and contain, for example, a local commemoration of St. Nilus and Bartholomew of Grottaferrata, as for example Laurentianus Ashburnhamensis 64 and Cryptensis E. b. VII. The Asmatika do not have strong calendrical features and are difficult to link with any particular region on this level. The Slavonic Kontakaria encompass a considerable number of kontakia arranged in the calendrical order. These hymns cover the whole year, starting from September and ending in August, and constitute the largest section of each extant manuscript. The only manuscript that starts from January is the Sinodal’nyj Kontakarion, due to a lacuna. The largest number of commemorations accounts for September (18 commemorations) and January (20 commemorations), whereas February (7 commemorations), March (5 commemorations) and April (4 commemorations) are poorly supplied with hymns, as this is a period of Lent and another liturgical book – the Triodion – is in use. Both Slavonic Kontakaria and their Byzantine counterparts share commemorations of the Old Testament prophets (for instance, Isaiah, 9 May), refer to some Gospel events (like the Nativity of John the Baptist, 24 June), mention apostles (for example, Peter and Paul, 29 June, Bartholomew, 11 June), all major feasts which are not dependent on the Paschal cycle (Christmas, Transfiguration and so forth), as well as a significant number of commemorations of various saints. The Slavonic Kontakaria do not refer to any events or saints from specific areas of the Byzantine Empire, but provide a rather general set of commemorations, mostly from the ninth century. However, five out of six Kontakaria (except for the OIDR Kontakarion) have hymns for Russian saints, namely St. Boris and Gleb (d. 1015; 24 July in all Kontakaria except for the OIDR),67 St. Theodosios the Abbot of Kiev (d. 1074, 3 May in the Uspenskij (f. 83v) and Blagoveščenskij68 (f. 41) Kontakaria), the Removal of the relics of St. Boris and F. Wormald (ed.), English Calendars before AD 1100, London 1934, pp. 3, 17, 31, 45. 11 May, Mosquensis Synodi graecus 437 (12th c.). 66 St. Lucian (3 June): Patmiacus 212, Sinaiticus graecus 926, Sinaiticus graecus 927; St. Ioannicios the Great (4 November): Athous Vatopedi 1041, Patmiacus 212, Mosquensis Synodi graecus 437, Messanensis graecus 157. 67 The Blagoveščenskij (ff. 52–53v), Uspenskij (ff. 99v–102) and Troickij (Lavrskij) (ff. 43–44v) Kontakara present two different kontakia to be sung on this day, which is yet another evidence to the great popularity of the first Russian passion-bearers whose cult quickly spread over the Russian lands after they were murdered by their older brother Svjatopolk in 1015. The commemoration of St. Boris and Gleb was one of the most popular feasts in the Russian liturgical calendars. It simultaneously emerged in the different liturgical books in the late 11th and early 12th centuries: the Menaion (Sinodal’ collection 121, Russian State Archive of Ancient Acts, Moscow, ff. 28v–31), the Tipografskij Kontakarion and the Mstislav Gospel (State Historical Museum, Moscow). 68 There is only the last two lines of the hymn to St. Theodosios preserved in this codex due to lacuna (f. 41). The hymns dedicated to St. Theodosios are also to be found in the Sticheraria from Novgorod of the middle 12th century (years 1156–1163; Sophia’s collection 384, Russian National Library, St-Petersburg; Sinodal’ collection 572, State Historical Museum, Moscow). 64 65

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Gleb (which happened in 1072 and 1115, 2 May in the Sinodal’nyj Kontakarion, ff. 10v–11v) and the All-Merciful Saviour (1 August in the Troickij (Lavrskij) Kontakarion, f. 47)69. Interestingly, the Kontakaria do not mention Yuri’s Day (23 April and 26 November), although it was an essential commemoration of almost every Russian calendar of that time. It is worth noting that the Slavonic Kontakaria do not mention any South Slavonic commemorations, such as St. Cyril and Methodios, although their commemoration is presented by other Russian, Bulgarian and Serbian sources of that time and quite common in the calendars of other contemporary liturgical books, as for example some Gospels.70 The total number of church feasts and commemorations mentioned by the Slavonic Kontakaria is 142. As a whole, the cycle of feasts mentioned in the Slavonic Kontakaria is relatively narrow in comparison with the calendars of Gospels and Epistles of the same period.71 At first glance, this can be explained by the complexity of melody creation, which required a highly-skilled composer. However, early Byzantine Kontakaria provide hymns for almost every day of the calendar, which means that the majority of elaborated melodies had already existed in the early Byzantine tradition. The Slavs most likely did not need elaborate kontakia for every day of the year. This is yet another fact that points in the direction of a local, adapted tradition of the kontakia by the Slavs, who borrowed only the general core of the Byzantine collections and did not include commemorations specific to various parts of the Byzantine Empire. The calendar sections of the Slavonic Kontakaria remain relatively stable throughout the centuries and resemble each other in their contents. The latest event mentioned in the Slavonic Kontakaria (apart from the Russian commemorations) is the Removal of the Icon of the Lord made without hands (the Holy Mandylion in the Byzantine tradition) from Edessa to Constantinople in 944, which is celebrated on 16 August. However, this date is found in the Troickij (Lavrskij) Kontakarion (ff. 51–52). The original Greek text of this kontakion is unknown. The latest commemorations of the saints provided by the other five manuscripts are from the ninth century.72 It seems that the prototype of the Slavonic Kontakaria goes back to the late ninth to the early tenth centuries. This may be evidence that the Psaltika and Asmatika were formed as liturgical books by the end of the ninth century, after Iconoclasm, as was suggested above. It should be noted that the Slavonic manuscripts, despite representing the cathedral tradition of the Great Church,73 contain a number of features from the monastic 69 The heading of the Kontakarion (f. 47) says: ‘[the memory] of St. martyrs Maccabees and our Lord and All-Merciful Saviour’, but the following kontakion is dedicated to the Martyrs and does not mention the Saviour. Therefore, it is evident that this commemoration emerged in the calendar very recently. Probably, the scribe inserted it from memory, before he consulted the text he was copying from (which obviously lacked this commemoration). Perhaps the hymns had not been created yet or were too difficult to recall without the original. 70 O. Loseva, Drevnejšie russkie mesjaceslovy IX–XIV vv., Moscow 2001. 71 For instance, the calendars of the three Gospels dated back to the eleventh century – the Reims Gospel, the Ostromir Gospel and the Archangel Gospel – refer to 325 commemorations; the twelfth-century calendars encompass 278 new feasts, and the calendars of the thirteenth-century manuscripts introduce other 177 commemorations. O. Loseva, ‘Periodizacija drevnerusskix mesjaceslovov XI–XIV vv.’, Drevnjaja Rus’ 4 (2001), pp. 24–45. 72 For instance, the Tipografskij, Blagoveščenskij, Troickij (Lavrskij) and OIDR Kontakaria mention the Third Finding of the Head of St. John the Baptist (May 25, c. 850). 73 For example, according to the calendar of the Great Church, the Tipografskij Kontakarion (f. 72) marks 16 July as a commemoration of the Council of 630 Holy Fathers, even though there are no hymns on this day.

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Stoudite rite which had a growing influence from the ninth century onwards. One of the traces of the Stoudite tradition (apart from the commemorations of the Stoudite saints) is the presence of Eves and Afterfeasts – days which anticipate and follow great liturgical feasts. The Stoudite Typikon developed this special liturgical system of the celebration for major feasts. For instance, the calendars of the Sinodal’nyj (ff. 46v–47) and Uspenskij (ff. 37–38) Kontakaria contain the Afterfeast of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker (7 December). This memory can also be found in the Menaia of the eleventh to thirteenth centuries from the Grottaferrata monastery, and in the Slavonic copies of the Stoudite Typikon.74 This links the Slavonic liturgical practice with the Southern Italian rite, which is not surprising; the Italo-Greek monasteries of Calabria and Messina, just like those of Medieval Rus’, were at the periphery of the Byzantine Empire. They were slow to catch up with the changes taking place in Constantinople.

The OIDR Kontakarion The only non-musical Slavonic Kontakarion OIDR75 dates from the thirteenth century and is often disregarded by scholars precisely because of the absence of musical notation: only one kontakion to St. Euphemia has notation. There are also a few unconnected musical signs above the first line of the kontakion and oikos for the Feast of the Cross (14 September). It also stands out from the other Slavonic codices because of a large number of hymns and commemorations, which are not found in the other Slavonic Kontakaria, but can be found in the early Byzantine Kontakaria with the full kontakia. For example, the commemorations of St. Mammas (2 September) and St. Anthimos (3 September) can be found in Athous Vatopi 1041, Sinaiticus graecus 925, Sinaiticus graecus 926, Sinaiticus graecus 927, Mosquensis Synodi graecus 437; St. Theodora (11 September) in Athous Vatopedi 1041, Sinaiticus graecus 925, Sinaiticus graecus 926; Sinaiticus graecus 927, Mosquensis Synodi graecus 437; St. Autonomos (12 September) in Athous Vatopedi 1041, Sinaiticus graecus 927, Mosquensis Synodi graecus 437. Neither the OIDR nor the early Byzantine Kontakaria are notated. Furthermore, the OIDR as well as the Tipografskij Kontakaria are the only Slavonic collections that provide the oikoi for their kontakia. The choice of oikoi in the OIDR Kontakarion corresponds to those in the Tipografskij Kontakarion. Even though the oikoi of the OIDR and Tipografskij Kontakaria are not notated, they always mention the musical mode and the melodic pattern (prosomoion) on which these texts are usually sung. Therefore, despite having short kontakia, the OIDR leans towards the early Byzantine Kontakaria due to its Later on, the Stoudite Typikon transformed this date into a movable feast celebrated on the first Sunday after the commemoration of St. Euphemia the Great Martyr (451; 11 July). The modern Orthodox calendar does not include the commemoration of this Council at all. 74 Pentkovskij, Tipikon, p. 301. 75 The manuscript is split into two parts. The larger part OIDR 107 is kept in the Russian State Library in Moscow. It contains the kontakia for the fixed and the movable cycles and ends with Wednesday of the Great Kanon (Week 1 of Lent). The other fragment of this manuscript is kept in the National Library of Russia in St-Petersburg, sobranie Pogodina 43 and provides kontakia and oikoi for the rest of Lent and the Pentecost, as well as the Akathistos to the Mother of God (ff. 16–31v). The manuscript also contains the Sunday kontakia and oikoi in the eight modes (ff. 32–38v) and exaposteilaria (followed by the theotokia) and Gospel stichera on ff. 38v–39v (although the text breaks off in the second exaposteilarion and the end is illegible).

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calendrical features, lack of notation and presence of oikoi. Even though the manuscript dates from the thirteenth century, it seems to have preserved a much earlier practice.

Conclusions From the above analysis it follows that the Slavonic Kontakaria represent a mixture of various liturgical practices. While their musical features link the Kontakaria to the Asmatika, the contents of the manuscripts relate them to the Byzantine Kontakaria and Psaltika. The Slavonic sources look like two-in-one collections with hymns for both the soloist and the choir, namely a combination of the Psaltikon and Asmatikon, as there was no need for two separate books in their local services. Despite the strong tendency for musicologists to put the Slavonic codices together with the Asmatika due to the similarities in their musical notation, a careful examination of the contents of the Slavonic Kontakaria reveals important differences. At least three Kontakaria – Tipografskij, Blagoveščenskij and OIDR – contain archaic elements of the classic Psaltika, such as exaposteilaria, hypakoai for Sunday and theotokia (hymns to the Mother of God). For instance, G. Myers draws a hypakoe from the Kontakaria’s repertory as an example for analysis of the melodic fabric and admits that this hymn type has no Asmatik counterpart.76 Thus, further investigation of the Kontakarian material and its correlation with the Byzantine sources should expand beyond musical boundaries and should embrace an exploration of the whole multiple structure of the Kontakaria, rather than merely extracting components of data. Furthermore, the Slavonic Kontakaria seem to represent a local tradition of the use of their kontakia due to the following reasons: 1) they do not attest the long kontakia, even though those can be found in contemporary Byzantine counterparts; 2) they contain only generic feasts and commemorations of saints without any calendrical features characteristic to specific areas of the Byzantine Empire; 3) they provide a range of local Russian commemorations, including newly appeared saints. The Slavonic Kontakaria were perhaps intended to be used during regular, more ordinary services, rather than highly ceremonial services such as may have been held in Hagia Sophia. Furthermore, the Slavonic sources, as we have them, exhibit some local Eastern Slavonic features in their language.77 However, because there are no peculiar calendrical or liturgical characteristics, it is difficult to establish where the archetype of the Slavonic manuscripts came from. It is possible that it came directly from Byzantium, as no trace of South Slavonic influence is discernible. If the South Slavs ever used the Kontakaria at their services, they were likely to be in Greek because of the close relationships between Bulgaria and Byzantium, especially towards the end of the tenth century. It is worth mentioning that when the Slavonic Kontakaria were in use (up to the fourteenth century), Rus’ did not have a notated Octoechos, as Octoechos hymns with musical notation could be found in the Kontakaria, for example various cycles of hymns in eight modes, exaposteilaria, Gospel stichera, antiphones, etc. Notated Octoechos Myers, ‘The medieval Russian Kondakar’, p. 31. B.A. Uspenskij, ‘Drevnerusskie kondakari kak fonetičeskij istočnik’, [in:] B.A. Uspenskij, Izbrannye trudy, vol. 3, Moscow 1997, pp. 209–245. 76 77

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appeared only in the fifteenth century, when the Kontakaria fell out of use due to the change in the liturgical rite in Rus’ from the Stoudite Typikon to the Jerusalem Typikon in the fourteenth century. According to the latter, the kontakia should be read, not sung, which is why the Kontakaria became obsolete and there are no copies from later than the thirteenth century. Another observation can be made with regards to the Slavonic tradition. The Slavonic Kontakaria reflect not only a local version of the mainstream tradition but also a transitional phase. By further abbreviation of the kontakia and a gradual increase in the number of miscellaneous chants, the Slavonic Kontakaria represent a missing chapter in the development of their Byzantine counterparts from monogeneric non-musical collections to compilations of various multi-generic hymns, which continued to be used as Akolouthiai even after the Kontakaria as a type of book became obsolete in the fourteenth century. If these arguments are correct it follows that the Slavs did not simply copy the Byzantine tradition, but adapted it to their local needs. Even though the Byzantine ecclesiastical culture always had an exceptional authority, the functionality of the services prevailed in decisions made by the local clergy.

Appendix: List of the extant Byzantine and Slavonic manuscripts 1. Kontakaria (text only) • • • • • • • • • • •

Sinaiticus graecus 925 (10th c., St. Catherine’s monastery, Mount Sinai)78 Athous Vatopedi 1041 (10th–11th c., Vatopedi monastery, Mount Athos) Sinaiticus graecus 92679 + Sinaiticus graecus M 17 (fragment) (10th–11th c., St. Catherine’s monastery, Mount Sinai)80 Athous Laura Г 27 (11th c., Great Laura, Mount Athos)81 Athous Laura Г 28 (11th c., Great Laura, Mount Athos)82 Patmiacus 212 (11th c., St. John’s monastery, Patmos) Patmiacus 213 (11th c., St. John’s monastery, Patmos) Taurinensis 189 (11th c., Royal library, Turin) Corsinianus 366 (11th c., Biblioteca dell’Academie Nazionale dei Lincei, Rome) Sinaiticus graecus M 49 (11th–12th c., St. Catherine’s monastery, Mount Sinai)83 Sinaiticus graecus M 55 (12th c., St. Catherine’s monastery, Mount Sinai)84

V. Gardthausen, Catalogus codicum graecorum sinaiticorum, Oxford 1886, p. 197. Gardthausen, Catalogus, p. 197. Grosdidier de Matons (Romanos le Mélode, p. 72) dates this manuscript to the eleventh century, whereas the catalogue of the New Sinaitic Finds (Ta nea euremata, p. 163) suggests that it is of the 10th century. 80 C. Manaphes, ‘Kontakarion tou Sina S 926. Ta neoeurethenta fulla’, Epeteris Hetaireias Byzantinon Spoudon 51 (2003), pp. 551–629; Ta nea euremata, p. 163. 81 S. Lavriotes and S. Eustratiades, Catalogue of the Greek Manuscripts in the Library of the Lavra on Mount Athos, Cambridge (Mass) 1925, p. 34. 82 Ibidem. 83 Ta nea euremata, p. 166. The fragments from the so-called New Finds are too short to be securely placed in any group. Due to the absence of the musical notation as well as their early date I have listed them among the other non-musical Psaltika. 84 Ta nea euremata, p. 168. 78 79

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• • • • • •

Messanensis graecus 157 (12th c., St. Salvatore monastery, Sicily) Mosquensis Synodi graecus 437 (12th c., the State Historical Museum, Moscow) Vindobonensis Supplementum graecum 96 (12th c., Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna)85 Vaticanus graecus 2008 (a. 1102, Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome) Sinaiticus graecus 927 (a. 1285, St. Catherine’s monastery, Mount Sinai)86 Athous Laura K 182 (a. 1320, Great Laura, Mount Athos)87

2. Psaltika (with notation) • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Patmiacus 221 (12th c., St. John’s monastery, Patmos)88 Sinaiticus graecus M 110 (12th c., St. Catherine’s monastery, Mount Sinai)89 Sinaiticus graecus 1280 (early 13th c., St. Catherine’s monastery, Mount Sinai)90 Parisianus graecus 397 (12th–13th c., Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris)91 Cryptensis Г. γ. III (a. 1247, St. Mary’s monastery, Grottaferrata)92 Laurentianus Ashburnhamensis 64 (a. 1289, Biblioteca Laurenziana, Florence)93 Cryptensis E. β. I (13th c., St. Mary’s monastery, Grottaferrata)94 Cryptensis E. β. VII (13th c., St. Mary’s monastery, Grottaferrata)95 Sinaiticus graecus X 300 (13th c., St. Catherine’s monastery, Mount Sinai)96 Vaticanus graecus 345 (13th–14th c., Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome)97 Verona Capitolare CXX (13th–14th c., Biblioteca Capitolare, Verona)98 Ochrid 59 (13th–14th c., the National Ohrid Museum, Ohrid)99 Cryptensis E. β. II (13th–14th c., St. Mary’s monastery, Grottaferrata)100 Cryptensis E. β. V (13th–14th c., St. Mary’s monastery, Grottaferrata)101 Cryptensis E. β. III (13th–14th c., St. Mary’s monastery, Grottaferrata)102

85 H. Hunger, Katalog der Griechischen Handschriften der Österreichischen Nationalbibliotek, Supplementum Graecum, Vienna 1957, pp. 66–67. 86 Gardthausen, Catalogus, p. 197. 87 Lavriotes and Eustratiades, Catalogue, p. 253. 88 A. Komines, Pinakes chronologemenon Patmiakon kodikon, Athens 1968, p. 10. 89 Ta nea euremata, p. 175. 90 V.N. Beneševič, Catalogus codicum manuscriptorum graecorum qui in monasterio Sanctae Catharinae in Monte Sina asservantur, vol. 3.1, St-Petersburg 1917, p. 16. 91 A. Gastoué, Catalogue des manuscrits de musique byzantine de la Bibliothèque nationale de Paris et des bibliothèques publiques de France, Paris 1907, p. 85. 92 A. Rocchi, Codices Cryptenses, seu Abbatiae Cryptae Ferratae in Tusculano digesti et illustrati, Rome 1883, p. 434; A. Turyn, Dated Greek Manuscripts of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries in the Libraries of Italy, Urbana 1972, pp. 15–17. 93 Turyn, Dated Manuscripts, pp. 58–60; Contacarium Ashburnhamense. 94 Rocchi, Codices, pp. 418–419. 95 Rocchi, Codices, pp. 421–422. 96 Ta nea euremata, p. 223. 97 R. Devreesse, Codices Vaticani Graeci. Vol. 2: Codices 330–603, Rome 1937, pp. 21–23. 98 Ch. Thodberg, Der byzantinische Alleluiarionzyklus: Studien im kurzen Psaltikonstil, Copenhagen 1966, p. 23. 99 Thodberg, Der byzantinische Alleluiarionzyklus, p. 22. 100 Rocchi, Codices, p. 419. 101 Rocchi, Codices, p. 420. 102 Rocchi, Codices, pp. 419–420.

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• • •

Vaticanus graecus 1562 (a. 1318, Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome)103 Sinaiticus graecus 1314 (14th c., St. Catherine’s monastery, Mount Sinai) Cryptensis E. α. 1 (14th c., St. Mary’s monastery, Grottaferrata)104

3. Asmatika (with notation) • • • • • •

Cryptensis Г. γ. I (13th c., St. Mary’s monastery, Grottaferrata)105 Cryptensis Г. γ. VII (13th c., St. Mary’s monastery, Grottaferrata)106 Cryptensis E. α. XIII (13th c., St. Mary’s monastery, Grottaferrata)107 Athous Laura Г 3 (14th c., Great Lavra, Mount Athos) Kastoria 8 (14th c., Kastoria) Cryptensis Г. γ. VI (14th c., St. Mary’s monastery, Grottaferrata)108

4. Compound collections (parts of the Psaltikon and Asmatikon together with notation) • • • • •

Messanensis graecus 129 (13th c., St. Salvatore monastery, Sicily) Cryptensis Г. γ. V (13th c., St. Mary’s monastery, Grottaferrata)109 Vaticanus graecus 1606 (13th–14th c., Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome)110 Messanensis graecus 120 (13th–14th c., St. Salvatore monastery, Sicily) Borgianus graecus 19 (13th–14th c., Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome)111Sinaiticus graecus X 341 (14th c.; non-musical fragment, St. Catherine’s monastery, Mount Sinai)112

5. Slavonic Kontakaria • • • •

103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113

the Kontakarion of the Tipografskij Ustav K-5349 (late 11th–early 12th c., Moscow State Tret’jakov Gallery, Moscow)113 the Blagoveščenskij Kontakarion Q.II.I.32 (12th–13th c., National Library of Russia, St-Petersburg, and 1/93 (fragment), Odessa State Science Library, Odessa)114 the Synodal’nyj Kontakarion (13th c., State Historical Museum, Moscow, Synodal’noe sobranie 777) the Uspenskij Kontakarion, Uspenskoe sobranie 9 (a. 1207, Moscow State Historical Museum, Moscow)115 C. Gianelli, Codices Vaticani Graeci. Vol. 5: Codices 1485–1683, Rome 1950, pp. 153–154. Rocchi, Codices, p. 413. Rocchi, Codices, p. 432. Rocchi, Codices, p. 437. Rocchi, Codices, p. 418. Rocchi, Codices, p. 436. Rocchi, Codices, pp. 435–436. Giannelli, Codices, pp. 262–264. P. Cavalieri, Codices Graeci Chisiani et Borgiani, Rome 1927, pp. 132–133. Ta nea euremata, p. 236. B.A. Uspenskij (ed.), Tipografskij Ustav: Ustav s kondakarem konca XI – načala XII veka, vols. 1–3, Moscow

2006. 114 115

Der altrussische Kondakar. Contacarium palaeoslavicum mosquense.

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• •

116

the Troickij (Lavrskij) Kontakarion № 23 (13th c., collection of the Trinity Lavra of St. Sergios, Russian State Library, Moscow)116 the Kontakarion of OIDR 107 (13th c., Russian State Library, Moscow, and sobranie Pogodina 43, fragment, National Library of Russia, St-Petersburg)

The Lavrsky Troitsky Kondakar.

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OLD TRADITIONS AND NEW MODELS: TRAVELLING MONKS IN THE LATE BYZANTINE HAGIOGRAPHY FROM THE BALKANS Introduction The Early Christian ascetic John Cassian (ca. 360–435)1 tells the story of Abba Pinuphius as an example of outstanding humility. As a priest of a large coenobium in Egypt, Abba Pinuphius was held in great respect; thus, in order to preserve his humility, he secretly left the monastery, changed his monk’s garb to secular clothes and begged to be admitted to a distant monastery as a novice. He was reluctantly admitted and put to work in the garden. A younger brother was assigned as his superior and the old monk submitted to him, doing not only what was ordered of him but also other hard and humiliating tasks. After three years Abba Pinuphius was recognised by someone who was visiting from Egypt and, to his regret, was taken back to his previous position in his own monastery. After a while Abba Pinuphius fled again to a further province, hoping to conceal his revered name better, but was discovered even sooner and brought back to Egypt.2 Travelling offers loss of identity. The traveller assumes anonymity and, stripped of his social context and standing, steps outside of his familiar tradition. Therefore, in the Medieval world the stranger appears suspicious. According to Christian beliefs, however, he has to be treated with kindness. The Bible is full of accounts of travellers, strangers and refugees, and it asserts that they should be welcomed with hospitality.3 The subject of the present study is the transmission of the old Christian tradition of travelling monks to the Byzantine literature of the fourteenth century, as it is represented in some of the Lives of saints from the cultural milieus of Byzantium and neighbouring Bulgaria. The first part will trace ancient models of ascetic wandering, as witnessed in a variety of sources. The second part will present certain Lives of saints from the Late Byzantine period, particularly rich in details concerning the journeys of holy men. Attention will be paid to the evidence for the transmission of the Byzantine attitudes towards ascetic travellers to Bulgaria. The reception of hagiographic models of itinerant saints from the culture of Greek-speaking Byzantium in the monastic realm 1 There are many works concerning his biography, theology, and monastic rules. For the latest view, see: A.M.C. Casiday, Tradition and Theology of St John Cassian, Oxford 2007. 2 J. Cassian, De institutis coenobiorum, IV 30–31, J.-C. Guy (ed.), Paris 1965, pp. 164–170. 3 For example: Leviticus 19:33–34, Hebrews 13:2, Deuteronomy 10:18–19; Job 31–32; Matthew 25:3, etc.

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of Medieval Bulgaria will be demonstrated by several examples. The study will then examine how the inherited Late Antique tradition is apparent in these Lives of saints, and the ways in which that tradition was refashioned. Finally, some observations will be made concerning the plausible historical evidence for this new paradigm of monastic travel, and the possible aim of the hagiographers. In order to properly present the complexity of the problem under investigation, different types of sources have been employed. However, the core of the inquiry is a corpus of Lives of saints in which a substantial part of the narration is devoted to the travels and wanderings of their heroes. These were written during the second half of the fourteenth century and the early fifteenth century in some of the most important monastic centres of the Byzantine Empire. They present biographies of holy men of the highest standing, possessing powerful religious and political influence; in most cases their authors also enjoyed honours and positions of influence. Out of the larger group of saintly travellers in the Palaiologan period, I have limited the choice to those who in their wanderings crossed the border between Byzantium and Bulgaria. Further study of the subject would include a greater number of texts and could thus broaden and refine the conclusions. In the past few decades, scholars have attempted to throw more light on travelling in the Middle Ages, considering travellers in general,4 as well as the journeys of saints.5 Wandering as an ascetic practice in Late Antiquity has been studied from different points of view and through the evidence of different sets of sources.6 The problem of monastic mobility in the last centuries of the Byzantine Empire has surfaced several times in the context of a variety of subjects,7 but only one article, by D. Nicol, has addressed it.8 It is a short piece that offers a general sketch of some imperial and ecclesiastical documentation addressing travelling monks, briefly lists the names of the places visited by some of the most famous saints of the Late Byzantine period, and surveys the reasons for movement, as reported by the hagiographers.

4 Most substantially: J.P.A. van der Vin, Travellers to Greece and Constantinople. Ancient Monuments and Old Traditions in Medieval Travellers’ Tales, Leiden 1980; R. Macrides (ed.), Travel in the Byzantine World. Papers from the Thirty-Fourth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Birmingham, April 2000, Ashgate 2002. 5 See for example: E.W. McDonnell, ‘Monastic stability: some socioeconomic considerations’, [in:] A. Laiou-Thomadakis (ed.), Charanis Studies. Essays in Honour of Peter Charanis, New Brunswick, NJ 1980, pp. 115– 150; É. Malamut, Sur la route des saints byzantins, Paris 1993. 6 M. Dietz, Wandering Monks, Virgins, and Pilgrims. Ascetic Travel in the Mediterranean World, A.D. 300–800, University Park, PA 2005; D. Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks: Spiritual Authority and the Promotion of Monasticism in Late Antiquity, Berkeley 2002. 7 A. Laiou-Thomadakis, ‘Saints and society in the Late Byzantine Empire’, [in:] A. Laiou-Thomadakis (ed.), Charanis Studies. Essays in Honour of Peter Charanis, New Brunswick, N.J. 1980, pp. 84–114, especially p. 97; K. Ware, ‘St Maximos of Kausokalyvia and Fourteenth-Century Athonite Hesychasm’, [in:] Kathēgētria: Essays Presented to Joan Hussey for Her 80th Birthday, Camberley 1988, pp. 409–430, especially pp. 413–414. 8 D. Nicol, ‘Instabilitas loci: the wanderlust of Late Byzantine monks’, [in:] W.J. Sheils (ed.) Monks, Hermits and the Ascetic Tradition, Oxford 1985, pp. 193–202.

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Traditions of monastic wandering and religiously motivated travel The great mobility of people around the late Roman empire and the inability of the authorities to keep wandering and migration under control are attested, for example, in the Theodosian Code, with its repetitive legislation restricting movement.9 Among the various reasons for displacement presented by the Medieval social and economic conditions, travelling inspired by religious zeal takes a special place. From as early as the fourth century – when the permissible forms of asceticism and monastic life were being shaped – itinerant Christians traversed the Empire in differing modes and with different motivations and purposes. At the one end of the spectrum of this type of travellers stood a number of devotees with means of their own who desired to visit famous Christian sites or shrines of saints, or to meet living holy men in order to receive instruction or blessings. On their way, these ascetics brought gifts, distributed alms, and obtained religious souvenirs, as well as relics of saints. Although some of them did not belong to a specific monastic group, they often became founders of monasteries, as well as hostels for travellers and hospices for the poor. These travellers were often accompanied by friends and servants; they made use of letters of introduction, or sometimes their illustrious family lineage and social ties served as their recommendations.10 Within this group must be singled out those aspiring Christians who, as part of their ascetic pursuits, went to experience and study the monastic traditions of holy men in far-off lands and afterwards embarked on an ecclesiastical career. To exemplify this kind of religiously motivated travel, which so far has merited insufficient attention, we should mention three of the most illustrious early ascetics: Basil of Caesarea (329/30– 379), John Cassian (ca. 360–435), and Palladios of Helenopolis (ca. 364 – ca. 431). Soon after his baptism in 356 or 357, the young Basil undertook a journey to Syria, Palestine, Mesopotamia, and Egypt, where he witnessed local ascetic practices.11 Not long before his travels from Constantinople to Rome in 404, John Cassian had lived as an ascetic in Bethlehem and in Egypt for at least two years.12 Later in their lives both of them wrote 9 Th. Mommsen, P.M. Meyer (eds.), Theodosiani Libri XVI cum Constitutionibus Sirmondianis et Leges novellae ad Theodosianum pertinentes, Berlin 1954. For a discussion of the evidence in the Theodosian Code for social mobility in the Late Roman Empire, see: R. MacMullen, ‘Social mobility and the Theodosian Code’, Journal of Roman Studies 54 (1964), pp. 49–53, cited in Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks, p. 15–16. 10 The most prominent examples are the following: Helena, the mother of Constantine the Great, travelled to the Holy Land (beginning of the fourth century); Egeria, probably a nun from Galicia, wrote a fascinating account of her voyage to the Holy Land, visiting also Palestine, Egypt, Syria, Mesopotamia, and Asia Minor (last quarter of the fourth century); the Roman widow Paula and her daughter Eustochium undertook a journey to the East, described in a eulogy by Jerome (end of the fourth century); Orosius, the one-time letter carrier of Augustine, brought from the Holy Land in 416 the relics of St Stephen the Protomartyr; Melania the Elder, another wealthy widow from Rome, travelled for the better part of her life to Egypt and Palestine and back to Rome. She was eventually joined by her granddaughter, Melania the Younger, who after her grandmother’s death continued her lifestyle of travels (late fourth and early fifth centuries). The literature devoted to these travellers is truly overwhelming; for a study of such itinerant ascetics, see: Dietz, Wandering Monks. 11 The trajectory of the journey is recorded in several of his letters (Ep. 1, Ep. 223.2, Ep. 207.2, Patrologia Graeca, vol. 32, cols. 219–1112). For further reference, see: P. Rousseau, Basil of Caesarea, Berkeley 1994, pp. 72–73. 12 O. Chadwick, John Cassian, 2nd ed., Cambridge 1968, pp. 15–18; see also: P. Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority and the Church in the Age of Jerome and Cassian, Oxford 1978, pp. 169–176.

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instructions for the conduct of monks. Whereas Basil of Caesarea in the Asketikon does not refer to his experience during the voyage to the East,13 John Cassian explains in the Preface of the Institutes that his intentions are to recall from his own experience and memory the life of the holy men of the ancient Egyptian and Palestinian monasteries for the benefit of the brethren of southern Gaul.14 He was using the knowledge he acquired during his travels to the East to influence the practice of monasticism in the West. Before becoming a bishop of Helenopolis in Bithynia and later bishop of Aspuna in Galatia in Asia Minor, Palladios travelled to Egypt and experienced the monastic life there.15 His Lausiac History (BHG 1435-8),16 written ca. 419-420 at the request of Lausos, a chamberlain at the court in Constantinople, aimed to provide examples on ascetic conduct for the edification of the audience in the Imperial capital. At the other end of the spectrum of religiously motivated travellers, we find the wandering monks who took as their model the way of life of Jesus and the Apostles. From probably as early as the third century, certain zealous Christians interpreted the New Testament literally and roamed the Christian world in voluntary poverty, homelessness and destitution. They devoted themselves to constant prayer and hymn-singing, did no work at all and, consequently, begged for their daily needs. They were foreigners and strangers, without privileges and recommendations, except those provided by their own popularity and conduct. In some of the cases the wandering monk was heading for the desert in order to escape from the world, while in others he travelled from town to town. He was often ready to offer his spiritual services and, in some cases, the official leaders of the Church felt that his influence challenged their authority.17 For the purpose of the present study, this brief survey of the different variants of religiously motivated travelling initially developed in Late Antiquity need not be more detailed. A glance at the sources makes it clear that this kind of travel never ceased to be present in the hagiography of Byzantium. In the early fifth century, Alexander Akoimetos (Sleepless) acquired his fame as a wandering ascetic.18 Although he was banished from Constantinople as a heretic, his Life (BHG 47) – probably composed in the late fifth or early sixth century – still survives in a single manuscript from the tenth or eleventh century, testifying to the continuous interest of the Byzantines in itinerant holy men. In the subsequent centuries, we find the tradition of ascetic travelling appearing in accounts of new saints, such as the hagiography of some of the martyrs of Iconoclasm, certain Lives of holy figures from the provinces of the Empire, or of saints– missionaries.19 One cannot fail to notice, however, that the examples are not especially numerous, and found mostly in hagiography from the periphery of the Empire rather than in representative pieces of Constantinopolitan letters. Perhaps this uneven usage A.M. Silvas, The Asketikon of St Basil the Great, Oxford 2005. John Cassian, De institutis, pp. 22–33; C. Stewart, Cassian the Monk, New York 1998, pp. 15–19. 15 D. Hunt, ‘Palladios of Helenopolis: A Party and its Supporters in the Church of the Late Fourth Century’, Journal of Theological Studies, 24 (1973), pp. 456–480. 16 For an edition of the Greek text, see: C. Butler, The Lausiac History of Palladios, Cambridge 1898–1904, vol. 2; English translation in: R.T. Meyer, Palladius: The Lausiac History, London 1965. 17 For a study of the phenomenon of wandering monks in Late Antiquity, see: Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks. 18 Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks, pp. 126–157; English translation of his Life: pp. 249–280; Malamut, Sur la route des saints byzantins, pp. 16–18. 19 Malamut, Sur la route des saints byzantins, pp. 30–51. 13

14

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of the trend is due to the attitude of the Byzantine ecclesiastical authorities towards wandering and instability. Early on, the ecclesiastical authorities of the Byzantine Empire began to concern themselves with the control of ascetic movement. The issue had surfaced already at the Council of Chalcedon (held in 451) which, in its fourth canon, prohibited the monks from roaming in the cities or travelling without the permission of their monastery’s superior.20 These restrictions influenced the shaping of the consecutive legislation on monastic mobility.21 For a better understanding of the problem, however, we should also consider another set of regulations, namely those addressing the conduct of travelling monks and the admittance of guests and strangers to the monasteries. Already in the fourth century, Pachomius in his Rules had strictly regulated the permissibility of travel, as well as the movement and conduct of his community outside of the monastic walls,22 and set the arrangements for the reception of visitors, especially insisting that fellow monks be well treated.23 In the Asketikon of Basil of Caesarea there is a section prescribing what should be observed on leaving the monastery,24 as well as several lengthy passages on the measures of monastic hospitality.25 Similar prescriptions can be found in a number of monastic Typika. For our purposes, a few examples from the Late Byzantine period should suffice: The Founder’s Typikon of the Sabas Monastery near Jerusalem, composed after 1100, stipulated that, with the approval of the superior or the ecclesiarch, monks were allowed to leave the monastery once a month during the week for reasons of their own. Visitors to the monastery were offered hospitality for seven or three days and permitted to join the community in the Great Church.26 The Typikon of Theodora Synadene for the Convent of the Mother of God Bebaia Elpis in Constantinople, composed between 1327 and 1335, allowed and regulated the visits of blood relatives, and made provisions for the travelling of the nuns to their relatives.27 It is clear that commitment to a life of tranquillity and stability was promoted as a necessary requirement for exemplary ascetic conduct. Thus, authors of hagiography were to be cautious when describing the itineraries of their heroes, lest they cast 20 Council of Chalcedon, Canon 4, ed. in: P.-P. Joannou, Discipline générale antique, vol. 1.1: Les canons des conciles oecuméniques (IIe–IXe s.), Grottaferrata 1962, pp. 72–74; mentioned by Nicol, ‘Instabilitas loci’, p. 194; quoted, translated to English and discussed within its context by Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks, pp. 206– 212. 21 Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks, p. 207, note 5. 22 On the Pachomian regulations on travelling monks and relevant references, see: P. Rousseau, Pachomius: the Making of a Community in Fourth-Century Egypt, Berkeley 1999, p. 150. 23 For a discussion of the Pachomian attitude towards visitors to the monastery and references, see: Rousseau, Pachomius, pp. 150–153. 24 Basil the Great, Regulae fusius tractatae, J.-P. Migne (ed.), Patrologia Graeca, vol. 31, cols. 889–1052, ch. 39 (on monastic journeys), ch. 44 (who is permitted to travel). English translation in: M. Wagner, St Basil. Ascetical works, Washington 1962, pp. 312–313 and pp. 320–322. 25 Basil the Great, Regulae fusius tractatae, ch. 20 (rules for serving meals to guests). English translation in: Wagner, St Basil, pp. 277–280. 26 For an English translation of the Typikon and commentary, see: G. Fiaccadori (transl.), ‘Rule, tradition and law of the venerable lavra of St Sabas’, [in:] J. Thomas, A. Constantinides Hero, G. Constable (eds.), Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents. A Complete Translation of the Surviving Founders’ Typika and Testaments, Washington 2000, pp. 1316–1317. 27 For an English translation of the Typikon and commentary, see: A.-M. Talbot (transl.), ‘Bebaia Elpis: Typikon of Theodora Synadene for the Convent of the Mother of God Bebaia Elpis in Constantinople’, [in:] Thomas, Constantinides Hero, Constable, Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents, p. 1545.

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a shadow on their saintliness. However, the sources betray the fact that, rather than being suppressed, monastic mobility was subjected to strict regulation that legitimised those on the road and provided for their welfare, facilitated the movement of travellers and protected their hosts. The repetitive concern about travelling monks testifies how habitual their travel was and how widespread the practice of their appropriate welcoming was. It reveals that in the Byzantine world there was a general leniency towards itinerant ascetics.28 After this very short overview of the historical beginning of Christian ascetic traveling in Late Antiquity, a glance at its reflection in the Byzantine hagiography of the middle Byzantine period, and a brief inquiry into its legitimacy and permissibility, we shall turn our attention to the Palaiologan period. Drawing on the authority of the patristic tradition and early monastic rules and, at the same time, under the influence of ancient ascetic practices, the Late Byzantine authors wrote a number of Lives of wandering saints, which recall the inherited tradition of ascetic traveling; yet they also present us with a new style of hagiography focused on the endless journeys of relentless holy men.

Wandering monks and ascetic travellers according to the fourteenth century Byzantine hagiography St Maximos Kausokalybes29 The hagiographic dossier of St Maximos Kausokalybes (c.1270/80–1365/75)30 is presented here as the first case study of ascetic wandering. Our earliest source about St Maximos is his first Life (BHG 1236z),31 written by Niphon, who claimed to be a close friend and for a time a disciple of the saint, and who later in his turn acquired sanctity.32 Niphon was eager to preserve the memory of the holy man by recording his miracles and prophecies. Concerning the map of St Maximos’ travels, his text presents the following: the saint was born in the town of Lampsakos33 and, in his youth, he became a monk and joined the monastery of the Great Lavra34 on Mount Athos. After some time, St Maximos went on pilgrimage to Constantinople in order to venerate ‘the relics of 28 Brief outline of the understanding of monastic stability in the Orthodox world in comparison to the West in: Ware, ‘St Maximos of Kapsokalyvia’, p. 414. 29 The hagiography, hymnography, and iconography devoted to this saint are presented in: Patapios Monachos Kapsokalyvitis, Osios Maximos o Kapsokalyvis, Thessaloniki 2010. 30 The dates are according to the estimation in: Ware, ‘St Maximos of Kapsokalyvia’, pp. 411–412. 31 F. Halkin, ‘Deux vies de S. Maxime le Kausokalybe. Ermite au Mont Athos (XIVe s.)’, Analecta Bollandiana 54 (1936), pp. 42–65. 32 F. Halkin, ‘La Vie de Saint Niphon, ermite au Mont Athos (XIVe s.)’, Analecta Bollandiana 58 (1940), pp. 5–27; partial translation of the Life into Italian in: A. Rigo, L’amore della quiete (ho tes hesychias eros): L’esicasmo bizantino tra il XIII e il XV secolo, Magnano 1993, pp. 121–124. 33 The town was situated on the Asiatic side of the Hellespont. 34 This is the largest monastery on Mount Athos, situated on the southern side of the peninsula. It was founded in 963 by St Athanasios of Athos. For more details and a bibliography, see: K. Ware, ‘St Athanasios the Athonite: traditionalist or innovator?’, [in:] A. Bryer, M. Cunningham (eds.), Mount Athos and Byzantine Monasticism. Papers from the Twenty-Eighth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Birmingham, March 1994, Aldershot 1996, pp. 3–16; Thomas, Constantinides Hero, Constable, Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents, pp. 205–220.

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Christ’s Passions and the saintly remains’; after this, he retreated back to Mount Athos. Niphon’s account of the wanderings of St Maximos on the Holy Mount is not clear, but it seems that the ascetic devoted himself to solitude in the vicinity of the Great Lavra, going ever deeper into the steep hills of the southern part of the peninsula.35 At that time, he used to build for himself a simple hut. Once the location of the hut became known to supplicants and disciples, St Maximos would set the hut on fire and move elsewhere. Hence, he acquired his nickname ‘Kausokalybes’ (the hut-burner). Nevertheless, St Maximos received in his ever moving dwelling a great number of visits by distinguished dignitaries and clerics, including Emperors John Kantakouzenos and John Palaiologos36 and Patriarch Kallistos I.37 The second biographer of St Maximos was another Athonite monk, Theophanes, who also knew the holy man personally.38 He was the hegoumenos of the Vatopedi monastery and later the Metropolitan of Peritheorion in Thrace.39 Theophanes stood high in the church hierarchy only two decades or so after the decisive Council of Constantinople in 1351, at which the Palamite theology was declared to be fully orthodox. In his Life of St Maximos (BHG 1237) not only did Theophanes make an effort to portray his hero as an outstanding anchorite, but he also tried to strengthen his image as a renowned hesychast, a point already hinted at by Niphon’s account. According to Theophanes, the trajectory of the saint unfolds as follows: born in the town of Lampsakos, at the age of seventeen St Maximos became a novice on Mount Ganos in Thrace. In his early days there, St Maximos was extremely obedient to his spiritual father, which is characteristic of hesychast saints.40 After the death of his teacher, the young ascetic went to Mount Papikion,41 where he associated for the first time with hermits, who lived in the wilderness, away from the walls of the monasteries, wore rags, and were stripped of any possessions. Later on, St Maximos went on a pilgrimage to Constantinople where, in order to conceal his virtuous way of life, he feigned madness, assuming the role of a holy fool. Nevertheless, he was soon welcomed as a holy man and received by Patriarch

35 In the Typikon of Athanasios (10th c.), the founder of the Great Lavra prescribed that at any time not more than five of the Lavriote monks were allowed to withdraw to a secluded place outside of the monastery as solitaries. These ascetics were still part of the brethren, formally under the supervision of the hegoumenos, and could rely on the monastery for their sustenance, see: G. Dennis (transl.), ‘Ath. Typikon: Typikon of Athanasios the Athonite for the Lavra Monastery’, [in:] Thomas, Constantinides Hero, Constable, Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents, p. 260 [ch. 37] and pp. 261–262 [ch.40–45]; for a discussion of these regulations of St Athanasios and their implications, see: Ware, ‘St Athanasios the Athonite’, pp. 12–14. It should be assumed that St Maximos was one of these chosen Lavriote monks. 36 In question are the emperors John IV Kantakouzenos (1347–1354) and John V Palaiologos (1341–1391). 37 Kallistos I, Patriarch of Constantinople (1350–1353; 1354–1363 or 1364). 38 Publication of his Life of St Maximos in: Halkin, ‘Deux vies de S. Maxime le Kausokalybe’, pp. 65–109; partial translation of the Life into Italian in: Rigo, L’amore della quiete, pp. 99–120. 39 On Theophanes’ biography, see: Halkin, ‘Deux vies de S. Maxime le Kausokalybe’, p. 39. 40 On the importance of the spiritual father, see: Ware, ‘St Maximos of Kausokalyvia’, pp. 412–413. 41 Mount Papikion is situated in Thrace on the southern slopes of the Rhodope mountains. About the recent excavations of the monastic centre on Mount Papikion, see: C. Bakirtzis, ‘Byzantine monasteries in Eastern Macedonia and Thrace (Synaxis, Mount Papikion, St John Prodromos Monastery)’, [in:] A. Bryer, M. Cunningham (eds.), Mount Athos and Byzantine Monasticism. Papers from the Twenty-Eighth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Birmingham, March 1994, Aldershot 1996, pp. 47–54.

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Athansios I,42 and also by Emperor Andronikos II Palaiologos.43 Then St Maximos visited the holy shrines of Thessaloniki before joining the Great Lavra on Mount Athos. After spending some time at the monastery, the saint finally retreated to the Athonite wilderness. Coming to the saint’s life as a ‘Kausokalybes’, Theophanes gives a detailed account of the visit that St Gregory of Sinai paid to St Maximos. The champion of the hesychast movement discussed important issues of theology with the anchorite and was interested to hear about his experience of the divine light. Thus, the hesychast practices of St Maximos were acknowledged and sanctioned by the great teacher of the movement. Emperors John Kantakouzenos and John Palaiologos also visited St Maximos, and even Patriarch Kallistos I wished to converse with the hermit. They all honoured St Maximos as a holy man, sought council from him and were granted his prophecies. Towards the end of his life, listening to the advice of St Gregory of Sinai, St Maximos abandoned the hut-burning and went to live in a permanent cabin within the realm of the hermitages of the Great Lavra. Even the briefest comparison with the account of Niphon demonstrates that Theophanes’ narrative is more elaborate and rich in details. It broadens the saint’s trajectory with new places, and situates St Maximos in connection to many of the most important imperial and ecclesiastic figures of his time. The third hagiographic text devoted to St Maximos was written in the fifteenth century by the distinguished scholar and theologian Makarius Makres.44 According to the anonymous author of Makarius’ Life, he was born in Thessaloniki around 1382. At the age of 18, Makarius became a monk at the monastery of Vatopedi on Mount Athos. There he completed his theological and secular education and was eventually ordained as a monk and hieromonk at the same monastery. During negotiations with the Papacy concerning a union of the churches, Makarius took part as a member of the Byzantine delegation in the third of the four embassies sent by Emperor John VIII (1425–1448) to Rome.45 Makarius Makres’ Life of St Maximos Kausokalybes (BHG 1237f) is probably based on the work of Theophanes, which the author quotes towards the end of his writing; perhaps he also had access to other sources concerning the saint. In this text, the wanderings of the saint are rearranged in such a way that their spiritual value becomes apparent, and the seemingly accidental roaming emerges as a gradual ascension on the ladder of virtue. Going to a new place signals the achievement of a new stage in St Maximos’ saintly career.

42 Patriarch Athansios I (1289–1293; 1303–1309), considered to be a forerunner of the Hesychasm; about his biography, see: A.-M. Talbot, ‘The Patriarch Athanasius (1289–1293; 1303–1309) and the Church’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 27 (1973), pp. 11–28. 43 Emperor Andronikos II Palaiologos (1282–1328); he demonstrated his orthodoxy by breaking up the Union with the Pope concluded in Lyons in 1274 by his father; see: A. Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins: The Foreign Policy of Andronicus II, 1282–1328, Harvard 1972. 44 For a recent study of his life with an edition of his works, see: A. Argyriou, Makariou tou Makri, Syngrammata, Thessaloniki 1996, edition of the Life of St Maximos, pp. 141–165; another edition of the same Life of St Maximos in: S. Kapetanaki, An Annotated Critical Edition of Makarios Makres’ Life of St Maximos Kausokalyves, Encomion on the Fathers of the Seven Ecumenical Councils, Consolation to a Sick Person, or Reflections on Endurance, Verses on the Emperor Manuel II Palaiologos, Letter to Hieromonk Symeon, A Supplication on Barren Olive Trees, PhD thesis, University of London 2001, pp. 146–181; an English translation of the Life of St Maximos is to be found in: Kapetanaki, An Annotated Critical Edition of Makarios Makres’ Life of St Maximos Kausokalyves, pp. 258–295. 45 For a brief biography of Makarios Makres, see: Argyriou, Makariou tou Makri, pp. 17–24.

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Concerning St Maximos’ wandering, Makarios Makres keeps his account close to the map drawn by Theophanes. The saint was born in the town of Lampsakos, and was accepted as a novice in a monastery on Mount Ganos. The death of his spiritual father was a sign of the completion of the first level of ascetic training, the role of an obedient disciple in a monastic community. Moving to Mount Papikion, populated by solitary monks, Maximos began his career as a hermit himself. He celebrated his graduation as a solitary by going on pilgrimage. The first stop was Constantinople where, continuing his ascetic endurance under the pretence of being a holy fool, he visited the saintly shrines and admired the holy churches. Nevertheless, his virtues became known to the Patriarch Athanasios I and the Emperor Andronikos II Palaiologos, who wanted to keep him in a monastery in Constantinople as an example of excellence. To avoid that plan, St Maximos fled to Thessaloniki, wishing to see the church of St Demetrios. After venerating the most holy sites in the Byzantine Empire, St Maximos retreated to the most famous place for monastic life, Mount Athos. There he first joined the brethren of the Great Lavra, where he lived, according to his hagiographer, acting as a hermit and a wandering solitary within the walls of a coenobitic monastery. After a while, following a dream revelation of the Holy Mother of God, he assumed the role of a mad man, and went on to live in solitude. He kept setting fire to his simple huts and moving further into the uninhabited parts of the peninsula and higher up the steep hills, excelling so greatly in his virtues, that he received two visions of the Holy Mother of God and was granted the gift of prophecy. In his old age, St Maximos had become so renowned an ascetic that despite his desire to hide away from the world he was visited by the famous hesychast Gregory of Sinai, who inquired into St Maximos’ spiritual prayer and admired his wisdom. He also advised him to abandon the roaming and hut-burning, and to settle at one place as a teacher to his disciples, Thus, the holy man entered the final stage of his ascetic ascent, the role of a healer, a prophet, and a miracle-worker. St Maximos also received in his cell Emperors John IV Kantakouzenos and John V Palaiologos, as well as Patriarch Kallistos I, and foretold their future. The holy man had advanced knowledge of his approaching death. As part of his preparation for leaving this world he warned his disciples not to move or honour his dead body, thus concealing his final resting place from future pilgrims and supplicants. Following the same trajectory of St Maximos as the Life by Theophanes, the work of Makarios Makres altered the narration and thus, modified the image of the itinerant holy man. The author abbreviates the stay of the saint in Constantinople – downplaying his visits to the imperial palace – and summarises in only few paragraphs Theophanes’ prolonged dialogue between St Maximos and St Gregory of Sinai. Hence, Maximos Kausokalybes emerges as an exclusively Athonite saint whose fame attracted a stream of illustrious visitors, supplicants, and disciples to the Holy Mount. There is one more composition inspired by the deeds of St Maximos, and so far it has received only limited scholarly attention.46 It came from the pen of the hieromonk Ioannikios Kochilas, about whom nothing certain is known. With some reservations, he was once identified with a late fourteenth-century learned ascetic from the monastery

46 A short introduction with a brief description of the manuscript tradition of the Life in: Patapios Monachos Kapsokalyvitis, Osios Maximos, pp. 140–152.

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of the Great Lavra.47 In any case, he composed the Life of St Maximos (BHG 1237c) at the end of the fourteenth century or during the fifteenth century – our earliest copy is preserved in a manuscript dated to the fifteenth century.48 From his writing, Kochilas appears as a refined intellectual and a skilled encomiast.49 His Life is yet another variant of the saintly biography of St Maximos, presenting new information and shifting the focus of the audience’s attention. The trajectory of St Maximos’ wanderings follows the same lines of the already-established tradition. The author, however, arranges his narration differently. The childhood years of the saint in his hometown of Lampsakos are described in greater detail, and the retreat of the young ascetic to Mount Ganos is portrayed as a flight from his parents’ persuasions to get married. After the death of his spiritual father, St Maximos moved to Mount Papikion in search of another teacher. The author mentions very briefly the journey of the saint to Constantinople, his introduction to the imperial palace, and his pilgrimage to Thessaloniki. Arriving at Mount Athos, St Maximos is set firmly within the monastic community there. Ioannikios Kochilas lists the names of the monks around the holy man and focuses his attention on their life and conduct. Thus, the lengthy discussion between St Gregory of Sinai and St Maximos appears as an approval of the monastic practices of all the ascetics of the Holy Mount, while the visits of Emperors John IV Kantakouzenos and John V Palaiologos, and the Patriarch Kallistos I honour all the brethren. St Maximos is neither the earliest of the wandering saints of the Palaiologan period nor the most relentless; moreover, he stands outside the limited group of travellers who crossed the border between Byzantium and Bulgaria. Still, there are several reasons to choose him as the initial example. Firstly, although his travelling proves to have been limited – apart from his wandering in solitude on the steep hills of Mount Athos – his distinguishing nickname betrays the fact that, in his case, the act of moving from one place to another was treated by his contemporaries and hagiographers as a virtue in itself. In the Life by Makarios Makres especially, a discussion is devoted to his hut-burning habit as a symbol of his awareness of the ephemeral value of this world in comparison to the next one, and as a sign of his alertness in his vigil.50 Secondly, all of the Lives of St Maximos indicate that, during his lifetime, he was already venerated by the most prominent figures of his era. It seems that his example exerted influence on the society of his day, reaching beyond the borders of Mount Athos, and was held in reverence in the imperial palace of Constantinople, as well as in high ecclesiastical circles. Lastly, only in the case of St Maximos are we fortunate enough to possess four hagiographic pieces, all written by contemporaries or near contemporaries of the saint. Thus, we are 47 M. Gedeon, O Athos, Constantinople 1885, p. 204, cited in: Halkin, ‘Deux vies de S. Maxime le Kausokalybe’, p. 40, n. 2; Prosopographisches Lexikon der Palaiologenzeit, N 13684. 48 The Life is preserved in a number of manuscripts, the oldest ones of which are: Mount Athos, Library of the Monastery of Vatopedi, Ms N 470 (old N 402), 15th c. (A. Eustratides, Catalogue of the Greek Manuscripts in the Library of the Monastery of Vatopedi on Mt. Athos, Cambridge, MA 1924, p. 94); Mount Athos, Library of the Monastery of Xenophon, Ms N 25, 18th c., ff. 1–31v (S.P. Lambros, Catalogue of the Greek Manuscripts on Mt. Athos, vol. 1, Cambridge 1895, p. 63, N 727), see: Halkin, ‘Deux vies de S. Maxime le Kausokalybe’, p. 40; Ware, ‘St Maximos of Kausokalyvia’, p. 410. 49 Edition of the Life: Patapios Monachos Kapsokalivitis, ‘Ieromonachou Ioannikiou Kochila, Vios osiou Maximou Kapsokalyvi (14os e.). Ekdosi tou kimenou apo to archeotero chirographo’, Grigorios o Palamas 819 (2007), pp. 513–577. As part of my doctoral dissertation (History Faculty, University of Oxford), I am preparing a new critical edition of the Life with commentaries. 50 Argyriou, Makariou tou Makri, p. 152 [ch. 22].

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able to observe the changes that the authors of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries would make into an inherited story.

St Gregory of Sinai Perhaps the most renowned of the fourteenth-century saints was St Gregory of Sinai (c.1265–27 November c.1346). He was a great spiritual leader who initiated the hesychast movement, which stirred minds and influenced politics in Palaiologan times, and spread through the Orthodox world, causing irrevocable change to ascetic practices.51 The author of his Life was one of Gregory’s disciples, Kallistos I, the Patriarch of Constantinople (1350–1353; 1355–1363 or 1364).52 The Life was probably composed between 1355 and 1360. It is preserved in many Greek copies, the oldest being from the fifteenth century.53 The Life presents the following trajectory of the saint’s travels: St Gregory was born in the village of Koukoulos.54 When he was young, together with his family, St Gregory was captured by Turkish raiders and taken to Syrian Laodikeia. Ransomed by local Christians, St Gregory went to the island of Cyprus, where he became a novice under the spiritual guidance of one of the local hermits. After staying for a short while there, he travelled to Mount Sinai and was admitted as a monk in the monastery of St Catherine. There he excelled in virtue so greatly that he was admired by all. Driven away by the jealousy of the other monks, St Gregory took a certain Gerasimos as a companion and went on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Afterwards they sailed together to Crete. Settled there in a cave, by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit they came to know a local ascetic, Arsenios, who taught them his views on contemplation and prayer, which would become the principles of hesychast teaching. Suddenly St Gregory decided to leave Crete and went to Mount Athos. He joined the Skete of Magoula, opposite the Monastery of Philotheou, and found some like-minded disciples, who settled in cells near him. On Mount Athos the holy man was held in high regard and won the admiration even of the Protos.55 He enjoyed a stream of disciples, and at the same time was able to retreat to one of his solitary cells whenever he wished to avoid visitors and give himself to contemplation. These isolated dwellings were scattered in the rocky area around

51

About the hesychast movement see: J. Meyendorff, St Grégoire Palamas et la mystique orthodoxe, Paris

1959. 52 Edition of the Greek version of the Life in: Zhitie izhe vo sviatykh ottsa nashego Grigoriia Sinaita, I. Pomialovskii (ed.), Sankt Petersburg 1894 (the Slavonic insertions are published in a footnote to the Greek text on pages 46–47); complete edition of the Slavonic version of the Life in: Zhitie Grigoriia Sinaita, sostavlennoe Konstantinopolskim patriarhom Kallistom, P.A. Syrku (ed.), Sankt Petersburg 1909. English translation of the insertion without a commentary in: D. Balfour, ‘St Gregory of Sinai’s life story and spiritual profile’, Theologia 52 (1981), pp. 30–62, translation: pp. 60–62. 53 A. Delikari, ‘Zur Übersetzung Hesychastischer Viten am Beispiel der Vita des Gregorios Sinaites’, [in:] L. Tasseva, M. Jovčeva, C. Voss, T. Pentkovskaja (eds.), Prevodite prez XIV stoletie na Balkanite: dokladi ot mezhdunarodnata konferentsia, Sofia, 26–28 iuni 2003 = Übersetzungen des 14. Jahrhunderts im Balkanraum: Beiträge zur internationalen Konferenz, Sofia, 26.–28. Juni 2003, Sofia 2004, p. 281. 54 This was a village near Klazomenai in the area of Smyrna in Asia Minor, see: Balfour, ‘St Gregory of Sinai’s life story’, p. 33. 55 The Protos is the head of the monastic community on Mount Athos.

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the Monastery of Simonopetra,56 or in other desolate places in the vicinity. At the time, however, Turkish incursions were so unbearable that he was eventually driven away from Mount Athos. In hopes of returning to Mount Sinai, St Gregory took a few disciples with him and went to Thessaloniki; from there they sailed to the North Aegean islands of Chios and Lesbos (to the port Mytilene), where they were not able to find suitable conditions for contemplation. Thus, St Gregory and his disciples went to Constantinople and spent the winter months in an area called Aetos, ‘hidden there as strangers and foreigners, subjected to calamities and suffering’. Nevertheless, following the advice of his nephew, the monk Athanasius Palaiologos, the Emperor Andronikos II Palaiologos (1282–1328), desiring to meet the holy man, invited them to the palace. St Gregory and his companions, however, declined the invitation and sailed to Sozopolis.57 There they met a monk who brought them to the desolate region called Paroria.58 Satisfied with the stillness and remoteness of the area, St Gregory decided to settle there and built a hermitage consisting of a number of monastic cells scattered on the hills. The monks from the neighbouring monastic settlement became jealous of him and stirred some brigands to attack his establishment. This forced St Gregory to move with his disciples to the nearby mountain called Katakekriomeni.59 The holy men were, nevertheless, captured and tortured by the robbers and, after they had regained their freedom, they fled from Paroria back to Sozopolis and then to Constantinople. In the capital, St Gregory settled in the vicinity of the Church of St Sophia. But he did not stay there long, and returned to the Great Lavra on Mount Athos. Again Turkish incursions made the lives of the hermits impossible and St Gregory, with a few disciples, travelled to Adrianopolis and then back to Paroria. He went to his previous place and remained there for the rest of his life. The Greek version of the Life does not give any information about the year and the circumstances of St Gregory’s death. By necessity, a study of the fourteenth century Byzantine hagiography of travelling saints has to take into consideration the Life of St Gregory of Sinai. Composed by the Patriarch of Constantinople, Kallistos I, and presenting the saintly biography of one of the most prominent spiritual leaders of the Palaiologan era, this is a piece of great importance for Byzantine letters and spirituality. The image of the wandering holy man – which, as we have observed, was present in the Lives of saints from Late Antiquity onwards – here had taken a central place. The deeds of the saint are spread over a map of impressive breadth and are interrelated through a complex network of different journeys, so that traveling becomes part of the ascetic practice of the holy man, although the hagiographer does not explicitly refer to it in the same way that the authors of the Lives of St Maximos Kausokalybes had done. Regardless whether or not St Gregory of Sinai indeed conducted all this wandering in the described order, in

56 The monastery is situated on the southern side of the Holy Mount past the port of Dafni on top of a single rock. It is still standing today. 57 A town situated on the southern Bulgarian Black Sea coast. According to John Kantakouzenos, in 1328 the town was large and populous, see: John Kantakouzenos, Historiarum libri IV, L. Schopen (ed.), CSHB [= Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae], Bonn 1828–32, vol. 1, p. 326. 58 In Greek the name means ‘border’. It is assumed that in question is an area of the Strandza mountain in south-east Bulgaria, on the fourteenth century border with the Byzantine Empire. However, the precise location of the monastery of St Gregory today is not known. 59 Today we do not know where this place was.

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his Life we find a paradigm of saintly roaming that was to be emulated in the hagiography of his disciples.

St Romylos of Vidin St Romylos of Vidin was another relentless traveller from the Palaiologan period; he was a hesychast and a disciple of St Gregory of Sinai. His Life was written originally in Greek by one of his followers, Gregory the Calligrapher, probably soon after 1385 (the assumed year of the saint’s death).60 We do not know anything about the author except that he was a hesychast and for a time a disciple of the saint, as he himself makes clear in the Life. The Life is very long, full of details about the daily routine of Late Byzantine monks, and rich in instructive sermons and edifying anecdotes. The travelling of the saint is described as follows: St Romylos was born in the Bulgarian town of Vidin (Bdin) to a Bulgarian mother and a Greek father. When his parents were making plans for his wedding he fled his home and went to the area Zagora,61 near the capital of Bulgaria, Tǎrnovo. There he entered the monastery of the Mother of God Hodegetria, changing his name to Romanos. Having lived there for some years and distinguished himself in obedience and virtues, St Romylos heard that Gregory of Sinai had moved to Paroria and greatly desired to join him there. Together with a friend named Ilarion, he went to Paroria after obtaining the permission and the blessing of the hegoumenos of the monastery of the Hodegetria. After being admitted by St Gregory, St Romylos participated in the building of the hermitage and, when the work was finished, he was assigned to be the disciple and servant of one infirm old monk. Some time passed and the old man died; St Gregory of Sinai also died. Disturbed by raiding brigands, St Romylos, his friend Ilarion and his spiritual father returned to Zagora and settled one day’s travel distance from Tǎrnovo, in the area called Mogrin. Leaving his companions, St Romylos went to live in solitude far away in the wilderness. Soon enough, Ilarion’s old mentor also died. Then both monks decided to go back to Paroria, having heard that it was under the protection of the Bulgarian Tsar Ivan Alexander. There St Romylos lived away from the monastic community in a secluded cell near the river. A while later, warned by the governor of Skopelos62 about an imminent Turkish attack in the area, St Romylos and Ilarion again travelled to Zagora, finding their old cells in Mogrin. Longing for the quietude of Paroria, St Romylos soon returned there. He settled in a single cell in the inner parts of the mountain and, being deemed worthy to wear the great habit, assumed the name of Romylos. The holy man lived in complete solitude for five years but still belonged to the brethren of the monastery of St Gregory of Sinai. His hagiographer

60 For the Greek version of the text and a discussion of the author and the possible dates of the saint’s Life see: F. Halkin, ‘Un ermite des Balkans au XIV siècle. La vie grecque inédite de saint Romylos’, Byzantion 31 (1961), pp. 111–147; I. Dujcev, ‘Un fragment de la vie de St. Romile’, Byzantinoslavica 7 (1937/38), pp. 124–127. English translation of the Life: M. Bartusis, K. Ben Nasser, A. Laiou, ‘Days and deeds of a hesychast saint: a translation of the Greek life of Saint Romylos’, Byzantine Studies/Études Byzantines 9 (1982), pp. 24–47. 61 Zagora (‘beyond the mountain’), which is in question here, is an area on the northern slopes of the Balkan mountain. 62 This is a Byzantine fortress in Thrace, see: Halkin, ‘Un ermite des Balkans au XIVe siècle’, p. 129.

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notes that St Romylos went to this monastery whenever he needed something.63 However, the Turks, having been driven away for a while, soon resumed their attacks on the area. Finally, the monks were forced to depart from the monastery of St Gregory of Sinai, setting its tower on fire lest it became a stronghold for the Turks or brigands. Again, St Romylos had to return to Zagora. He intended to live in a cell in the wilderness, but the jealousy of his neighbouring ascetics made him travel further to Mount Athos. There, owning to his spreading fame, he was chased by supplicants and aspiring disciples, so he moved from place to place around the Holy Mount before finally settling in an area called Melana64 near the Great Lavra. Soon afterward, St Romylos was forced to leave Mount Athos following the death of the Serbian despot John Uglješa, due to fears of a Turkish incursion into the region.65 The saint went to a place called Avlona,66 where he took on the role of shepherd and a preacher to the local Christians. St Romylos then wished to return to Mt. Athos, but was dissuaded and instead went with his disciples to Ravanica in Serbia,67 where he spent his last days. At first glance it is clear that the Life of the disciple St Romylos follows the same model of ascetic travels as the Life of his teacher St Gregory of Sinai. Although St Romylos’ map is confined to the area of the Balkans and the northern frontier of Byzantium, the Life gives the same impression of endless roaming between different monastic establishments. A further study of Palaiologan Lives of saints would enable us to describe with greater precision the characteristics of this new paradigm of wandering holy men and to define the limits of its popularity. Due to the brevity of the present paper, however, we must be content with these two examples and move on to an inquiry into the influence of this hagiographic model on the neighbouring cultures.

Transmission of the Late Byzantine hagiographic paradigm of monastic travel to the literature of Medieval Bulgaria Receiving Christianity from Byzantium in the ninth century, the Bulgarians also adopted Byzantine traditions of monasticism. In the second part of the Discourse against the Heresy of Bogomil68 (tenth century) by Presbyter Kosmas,69 there are many passages devoted to the conduct of monks, which draw on such Byzantine spiritual authorities as Hence, we can assume that he had a relation to the monastery at Paroria similar to the one of Maximos Kausokalybes to the Great Lavra. Since the Typikon of the monastery of Paroria is not preserved we cannot know how the tradition of dependent hermits might have been practised there. 64 Mount Melana is described in the Life of St Athanasius, founder of the Great Lavra; see: Halkin, ‘Un ermite des Balkans au XIVe siècle’, p. 132. 65 Probably after the battle on the banks of the river Marica in 1371, see: Bartusis, Ben Nasser, Laiou, ‘Days and deeds of a hesychast saint’, p. 44. 66 Identified as Valona on the Adriatic coast, in Albania, by Halkin, ‘Un ermite des Balkans au XIVe siècle’, p. 143; Avlona or Valona (ancient name Aulona) is a seaport in the Gulf of Avlona, which is separated from the Strait of Otranto by Cape Linguetta. 67 This is the Monastery of the Holy Mother of God in Ravanica, founded in 1381 by King Lazar of Serbia. Bartusis, Ben Nasser, Laiou, ‘Days and deeds of a hesychast saint’, p. 45. 68 Edition of the work in: Y. Begunov, Kozma Presviter v slavjanskih literaturah, Sofia 1973, pp. 297–392. 69 About Presbyter Kosmas and his work with bibliography, see: F. Thomson, ‘Cosmas of Bulgaria and his Discourse against the Heresy of Bogomil’, The Slavonic and European Review 2 (1976), pp. 262–269; A. Miltenova (ed.), Istoria na Bǎlgarskata srednovekovna literatura, Sofia 2008, pp. 280–285. 63

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John Chrysostom and Basil of Caesarea, among others. Concerning wandering monks, the Discourse follows the attitudes of the Council of Chalcedon, insisting on monastic stability and disapproving of traveling ascetics.70 Apart from hagiography, the evidence for monastic practices in the Second Bulgarian Kingdom (1180–1396) is meagre. However, we are fortunate to have at least one item of proof that suspicion regarding wandering monks continued to be preserved. It is found in two manuscripts. The first is Mount Athos, Chilandar monastery, MS N 382,71 dated from the end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth century. The orthography locates the MS in the lands of Rashka, but as it contains traces of an older Bulgarian protograph, it has been assumed that the original translation from Greek was made in the tenth century. The second one is Moscow, Hludov, MS N 237,72 dated to 1340–1350, with Middle-Bulgarian orthography. The manuscript contains a new version of the same text drafted after a comparison to a different Greek variant. The text is an Erotapokriseis made up of different excerpts, many of which are still not identified. Among them we find a passage, which translates as follows: About the monks who wander without a place: ... And you have [also] many years but you still are a headstrong person. You go from one monastery to another and everywhere you taste the table. You are looking for the baking for your sorrow, and the aromatic boiled pulses for the body more than working, and the towns with smoking smoke. Therefore, you are not worthy to be welcomed with hospitality by the men of the desert.73

Although the work is preserved only in two copies, the fact that they are both dated to the period in question – as well as the existence of two versions – make it possible for us to assume that the compilation attracted considerable interest. Thus, the phenomenon of travelling monks was not unknown in Bulgaria and there was a debate about the way they should be received. There is no evidence that any of the four Lives of St Maximos Kausokalybes were ever translated into Bulgarian. However, he was a key figure of fourteenth-century spirituality, standing in the middle of the political and ecclesiastical network of his day. The fame of his example was surely brought to Bulgaria, at least by St Gregory of Sinai himself and his disciples on their return from Mount Athos to Paroria. The Life of St Gregory of Sinai, on the other hand, enjoyed popularity in Bulgaria. There are at least 26 extant copies of the Slavonic translation of the Life, the earliest one in a manuscript written between 1371 and 1385, with middle-Bulgarian orthography, typical for Tǎrnovo, (Mount Athos, Zographou monastery, MS N 214).74 Evidently the translation was made soon after the Greek composition appeared. Although the 70 Begunov, Kozma Prezviter, pp. 351–352 and pp. 356–358 (on wandering monks), p. 360 (on monastic stability). 71 D. Bogdanović, Katalog ćirilskih rukopisa manastira Hilendara, Beograd 1978, N 382, pp. 150–151. 72 A. Popov, Opisanie rukopisei i katalog knig cerkovnoi pechati biblioteki A. I Hludova, Moscow 1872, pp. 462–475; K.F. Radchenko,‘Otchet magistranta K.F. Radchenko o zaniatiah rukopisiami v bibliotekah i drugih uchenyh ucherezhdeniyah Moskvy i S.-Peterburga v techenie sentjabrja i oktjabrja 1896g.’, Universitetskie izvestiia 38 (1898), N 4, pp. 67–68. 73 Mount Athos, Chilandar monastery, MS N 382, ff. 12v–13r. I am indebted to Prof. Anissava Miltenova for bringing this passage to my attention and providing me with a transcript of her as yet unpublished edition of this text. 74 B. Raykov, S. Kozhuharov, H. Miklas, H. Kodov, Katalog na slavianskite rǎkopisi v bibliotekata na Zographskiia manastir v Sveta Gora, Sofia 1994, p. 119; see: Delikari, ‘Zur Übersetzung Hesychastischer Viten’, p. 285.

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Bulgarian text followed the original, there are two important episodes that are not found in the work of Patriarch Kallistos I, but are included in all of the copies of the translation. This has led a recent student of the text to suppose that the additions were from the pen of the Bulgarian translator and never existed in the original work of Patriarch Kallistos I.75 The Life of St Romylos was also composed initially in Greek and very soon translated into Slavonic.76 It was probably written on Mount Athos, since the only two copies of the Greek version of the text are preserved in Athonite manuscripts. The Slavonic text also once existed in two manuscripts, but today one of them is lost. The earliest of these copies is from the sixteenth century.77 However, according to K. Ivanova’s estimation, the original was written between 1385 and 1391, while the Slavonic translation was made before 1393 (the fall of Bulgaria under the Ottomans).78 It is assumed that Gregory the Calligrapher did not make the translation of the Life of St Romylos from Greek to Slavonic; it was probably done by an anonymous scribe, perhaps even in collaboration with Gregory the Calligrapher.79 The Slavonic version of the Life is not merely a translation but a reworking of the Greek text. There are numerous insertions into the work, adding details, providing more specific geographic information about the places visited by the saint, and improving the style. The last part of the Life, concerning Romylos’ stay in Valona, is completely altered in the translation. Observing the changes introduced into the Greek Lives by the Slavic translators, it becomes clear that they were not more significant than the alterations that are to be found in the different Greek versions of the Life of St Maximos Kausokalybes. In question was not a process of transformation in accordance with the understanding of a different culture. Rather, these were modifications revealing the liberal attitude of the translator to the inherited text. It appears that, in the fourteenth century, the intellectual community of Bulgaria was drawn so close to the cultural realm of the learned circles of the Byzantine Empire that, in order for the Bulgarians to receive new literary trends, no adaptation was required.

Life of St Theodosius of Tǎrnovo The next example under consideration belongs to the same group of texts illustrating Byzantine-Bulgarian intellectual relations of the fourteenth century. This is the Life of Theodosius of Tǎrnovo, composed by Patriarch Kallistos I of Constantinople.80 Delikari, ‘Zur Übersetzung Hesychastischer Viten’, pp. 284–285. Edition of the Slavonic version: Zhitie prepodobnago Romila po rukopisi XVI veka Imperatorskoi publichnoi biblioteki, sobranija Gilferdinga; s prilozheniem Sluzhby prepodobnomu Romilu po rukopisi XVII veka Belgradskoi narodnoi biblioteki, P.A. Syrku (ed.), Sankt Petersburg 1900; about the relation between the Greek and the Slavic versions, see: P. Devos, ‘La version slave de la vie de St. Romylos’, Byzantion 31 (1961), pp. 148–187. Translation into modern Bulgarian: K. Ivanova, ‘Prostranno zhitie na Romyl Vidinski ot Grigorii Dobropisets’, [in:] eadem (ed.), Stara Bǎlgarska literatura, vol. 4: Zhitiepisni tvorbi, Sofia 1986, pp. 468–493 and 656–661 (notes). 77 Ivanova, ‘Prostranno zhitie’, pp. 656–657 (notes). 78 Ivanova, ‘Prostranno zhitie’, pp. 657–658 (notes). 79 Ivanova, ‘Prostranno zhitie’, p. 656 (notes). 80 Edition of the Life: V. Zlatarski, Zhitieto na sv. Teodosia Tǎrnovski [= Sbornik narodni umotvorenia 2(20).5], Sofia 1904, pp. 1–41; translation into modern Bulgarian by K. Ivanova, [in:] eadem (ed.), Stara Bǎlgarska literatura, pp. 443–468. 75 76

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Theodosius of Tǎrnovo (c.1300–27 November 1362 or 1363) was a distinguished Bulgarian ascetic. Theodosius and the future Patriarch Kallistos I were both, at the same time, disciples of Gregory of Sinai81 at his monastery in Paroria,82 and both of them became influential hesychasts and renowned teachers. Patriarch Kallistos I must have written the Life shortly after the death of his friend, in 1363 or 1364.83 The presumably Greek original is lost; today we only have the Slavonic translation, probably made as early as the fourteenth century and preserved in a codex from the fifteenth century.84 Inevitably, we can never know what portion of Patriarch Kallistos’ text was rewritten by the translator,85 but given the tradition of alterations exemplified by the other Lives we can assume that this is a fairly close variant of the original text. As presented by the hagiographer, the trajectory of St Theodosius’ travels goes as follows: leaving his birth place, the name of which is concealed, the young Theodosius went to the monastery of Archar, dedicated to St Nikolas, in Vidin. Accepted by the hegoumenos Job, he began his monastic life. Distinguishing himself in virtue, Theodosius was soon put in charge of the brethren. Hoping to find another teacher after the death of his spiritual father, Theodosius travelled to the capital of Bulgaria. He entered the monastery of the Holy Mother of God, situated in an area in the vicinity of Tǎrnovo called the Holy Mount. After staying there for a short time, and still in search of higher spiritual guidance, he moved to a place called Cherven. A little later he went further to the mountain near the town of Sliven,86 to the monastery of the Holy Mother of God. There he heard about the hermitage in Paroria and went to join it. St Gregory sent him two times to Tǎrnovo to obtain help from the Bulgarian Tsar Ivan Alexander against the brigands attacking the monastic establishment. During his second visit in the capital, St Theodosius accepted a disciple, Romanos. After the death of St Gregory, St Theodosius was elected by the monks to become the head of the community. Declining the honour, however, he left Paroria and returned to the Sliven mountain. Then he and Romanos went to Mount Athos. The Turkish incursions made their stay impossible, and St Theodosius sent his disciple back to Sliven, while heading for Thessaloniki alone

81 For a comprehensive study of his life and work, see: A. Rigo, ‘Gregorio il Sinaito’, [in:] C.G. Conticello, V. Conticello (eds.), La théologie byzantine et sa tradition. Vol. 2 (XIIIe–XIXe s.), Turnhout 2002, pp. 35–130. 82 It is not known where the monastery at Paroria of Gregory of Sinai was. The general conclusion is that it must have been somewhere in the South-East border area between Byzantium and Bulgaria, near the town of Malko Tǎrnovo. 83 Patriarch Kallistos died in 1364. 84 This is the so-called Panegyric of Rila, it was compiled by the Bulgarian author, Vladislav the Grammarian, in 1479. 85 This state of affairs has brought confusion among the students of Late Byzantine hagiography. St Theodosius’ Life is not studied as part of the Late Byzantine tradition. In a recent publication: S. Efthymiadis (ed.), The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography, vol. 1: Periods and Places, Ashgate 2011, the Life is listed in ch. 13, ‘Slavic hagiography’ (p. 382), without contesting the authorship of the Byzantine writer, the Patriarch of Constantinople Kallistos I. One of Patriarch Kallistos’ other compositions, however, the Life of St Gregory of Sinai, appears in ch. 5, ‘Hagiography in Late Byzantium (1204–1453)’. The Life of St Romylos of Vidin is also part of the same chapter (p. 191), although the text exists in Greek and Slavonic variants. Nowhere in the volume a reference is made to the reworked Slavonic translations of the Life of St Gregory of Sinai and the Life of St Romylos of Vidin, nor to the presumably lost Greek original of the Life of Theodosius. 86 The town of Sliven is situated in South Eastern Bulgaria, and its diocese includes the areas of Yambol and Bourgas.

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in order to meet some of the reverent local ascetics. Then he journeyed to Beroea,87 to visit the Skete of St Anthony the Younger, and sailed to Constantinople, wishing to venerate the holy relics kept in the churches there. Afterwards, St Theodosius returned to Paroria as a pilgrim to the grave of St Gregory of Sinai, and went to the Sliven mountain to find his disciple Romanos; together they travelled to the Emona mountain in the area of Mesembria along the Black Sea. The place seemed appropriate for their needs, away from the Turkish attacks and desolate. So they went again to Tǎrnovo to ask the Tsar for help in the building of a hermitage. Having obtained the grant, St Theodosius and Romanos settled on the mountain of Kefalarevo, ‘a great distance to the capital’.88 There they gathered monks, built cells, and organised their life in contemplation. However, according to the hagiographer, St Theodosius was often called to the capital of Bulgaria, as a revered teacher, renowned for his orthodoxy, and took part in the local church councils against heretics and Jews. The military advances of the Ottoman army in the period facilitated incursions farther into the Bulgarian lands, making the monastery of Kefalarevo unsafe. Again with the help of the Tsar, St Theodosius moved to a better protected cave closer to Tǎrnovo. There the Tsar built a church and monastic cells. In his old age Theodosius was affected by a disease that for more than twenty months exhausted his body. He wrote to his friend and the author of the Life, Kallistos – at that time already a Patriarch at Constantinople – asking leave to visit him. In the first person, the author tells how he ‘joyously received’ the letter as a precious gift and read it to the Holy Synod of Constantinople. According to the wish of the members of the Synod, Theodosius was invited to visit Constantinople. Sensing that his end was near Theodosius took four of his disciples with him and travelled to Constantinople. Upon arrival, he went to the Church of St Sophia ‘because it was his desire to see its greatness and beauty’. Then he was met by the Patriarch and received his blessing. Theodosius was invited by Kallistos to stay with him, so that together they could read and study ‘the Divine rules and regulations’ that were kept in the church of the Patriarchal Palace. After a while, since St Theodosius desired to spend his time in solitude and ‘hesychia’, the Patriarch sent him to his monastery of St Mamas. There, we are informed by Kallistos I, he died on 27 November, on the same date as his teacher St Gregory. The year of the saint’s death is not given, and there is no information about the location of St Theodosius’ grave, nor about possible miracles worked at the site. Patriarch Kallistos was compelled to compose the Life of Theodosius of Tǎrnovo not only in order to preserve the memory of his pious friend, but also because he wanted to set the record straight with Tǎrnovo. He presented an image of the ascetic who excelled in Christian virtues and who, in his understanding of religious matters, surpassed his namesake Theodosius II, the actual Patriarch of Bulgaria.89 Concerning the travels of the saint, Kallistos did not depart from the paradigm of relentless wandering, which he had already employed in the Life of St Gregory of Sinai, written some years previously.

87 Today the town is called Veria, and it is situated in South Macedonia. In the fourteenth century there was a monastic centre. 88 The debate about where Kefalarevo was is still ongoing. From the text of the Life it is not clear whether it is in the Emona mountain or somewhere else. 89 Zlatarski, Zhitieto na sv. Teodosia Tǎrnovski, pp. 20–22 [ch. 15] and pp. 25–27 [ch. 19 and ch. 20] (account of the Church Councils held in Tǎrnovo and Theodosius’ leading role in them).

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Encomium for Patriarch Euthymius The study of intellectual activities in the fourteenth century and of the transmission of texts from the Byzantine Empire to Bulgaria has a long history. There has been a considerable amount of work on the topics of when Greek works were first translated into Slavonic, in how many different translations they existed, which were the exact Greek originals used by the scribes, and what principles of translation were employed.90 Although some names of translators can be found in the manuscripts, the personalities of these South Slavonic men-of-letters remain mysterious; we know very little about their dialects and their schooling, and it can only be guessed where and under whose guidance they were working. The hagiographies of the fourteenth century offer an opportunity to observe the attitude of the translators to non-liturgical texts, as well as how the new styles and trends found in the Greek Lives influenced new original Bulgarian compositions. One example should suffice. The Encomium for Patriarch Euthymius91 was written by Gregory Tsamblak, a contemporary of the saint who knew him personally.92 At the end of the fourteenth and beginning of the fifteenth century, Gregory Tsamblak was a prominent figure in Balkan politics and a prolific author, leaving a great wealth of compositions, some of them still poorly studied. Although it has been proven that Gregory Tsamblak had a strong command of the Greek language and often used Slavonic words with their Greek equivalents in his writing,93 there is no evidence to suggest that the Encomium dedicated to Patriarch Euthymius ever existed in Greek or was intended for a Greek-speaking audience; hence it is a composition belonging to the realm of Medieval Bulgarian intellectual history. This is how the Encomium presents the travels of the saint: the place of Euthymius’ birth is not given, but at a young age he entered the monastery of Kefalarevo under the spiritual guidance of St Theodosius of Tǎrnovo. There he soon excelled in virtue and was entrusted with the governance of the brethren. After some years had passed, St Euthymius and his teacher left the desert because of the plundering of the ‘barbarians’, and went to Constantinople. There Theodosius died and Euthymius buried him.94 In Constantinople, Euthymius, although a ‘poor stranger’, soon acquired fame on account of his pious life and askesis. He first entered the Studious monastery,95 and then moved

The literature concerning these subjects is considerable, starting from the nineteenth century. Perhaps the fullest idea of the recent achievements in the field is given in: A. Miltenova (ed.), Istoria na bǎlgarskata srednovekovna literatura, Sofia 2008; L. Tasseva, M. Jovčeva, C. Voss, T. Pentkovskaja (eds.), Prevodite prez XIV stoletie na Balkanite: dokladi ot mezhdunarodnata konferentsia, Sofia, 26–28 iuni 2003 = Übersetzungen des 14. Jahrhunderts im Balkanraum: Beiträge zur internationalen Konferenz, Sofia, 26.–28. Juni 2003, Sofia 2004. 91 Edition with commentary: V. Kiselkov, Patriarch Eftimii, Sofia 1938, pp. 68–93; a new edition with translation into modern Bulgarian in: P. Roussev, I. Gǎlǎbov, A. Davidov, G. Danchev, Pohvalno slovo za Eftimii ot Grigorii Tzamblak, Sofia 1971, pp. 111–233. 92 About the author: F. Thomson, Gregory Tsamblak – the Man and the Myths, Ghent 1998. 93 Thomson, Gregory Tsamblak, p. 20. 94 The Encomium does not repeat the story about the high esteem in which the guests were held in the Byzantine capital, told in the Life of St Theodosius. Instead the visit is portrayed as a flight from the infidels and a private pilgrimage of a master and his disciple. 95 The monastery of St John the Forerunner at Studios was one of the oldest and most important monasteries of Constantinople. For its history, see: T. Miller (transl.), ‘Theodore Studites: Testament of Theodore the Studite for the Monastery of St John Stoudios in Constantinople’ and ‘Stoudios: Rule of the Monastery 90

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to the Great Lavra on Mount Athos.96 On the Holy Mount he also stayed for a while in a place called ‘the tower Selina’.97 A jealous monk reported falsely that Euthymius was hiding a large quantity of gold in his cell. The Emperor himself98 went to search for it and, finding nothing, he exiled St Euthymius to the island of Lemnos. But on his way back to Constantinople, the Emperor received a divine vision, went back to Euthymius, released him from captivity and asked for his forgiveness.99 St Euthymius, freed from captivity, returned to Tǎrnovo, where he was elected Patriarch of Bulgaria. He remained there until the city was taken by the Ottomans, after which the Patriarch was exiled to a monastery, the name and location of which were concealed. The hagiographer praised the aged Euthymius for his unceasing care for the spiritual salvation of Christians under Ottoman rule and concluded that the end of his Encomium should be, at this point, the end of Euthymius’ life, or ‘more precisely the end of the sufferings and the beginning of his life in Christ’.100 A very short prayer glorifying God concludes the text. Neither the date nor the circumstances of the saint’s death were provided, and no information was given regarding the place of his burial and the fate of his remains.

Conclusions: transforming the inherited tradition At this point in the analysis presented in this paper, there can be no doubt that the late Byzantine and Bulgarian Lives of travelling saints share many common features. Just like St Maximos, the other holy men, when called to the ascetic life, first entered monasteries, all in established places enjoying local prestige. Desiring to further their spiritual training they went on to look for appropriate teachers. They all received ascetic training from highly revered anchorites living in remote, secluded places on the edges of the Empire. Then they began their ascetic careers, devoting themselves to prayer and contemplation. As in the example of St Maximos, they all found special places in the uninhabited wilderness where they lived in isolation. None of them went to the extreme of burning their huts but, as their fame spread, they all relentlessly continued to move, looking for the quietude of the solitary life. Until the very end of their lives, urged by their own restless souls, as well as by other circumstances, they continued their travels and, eventually, every one of them died, having arrived at a new place. What we have to bear in mind is that none of them was inclined to join the monastic community closest to his home, nor to retire to the nearest desert.

of St John Stoudios in Constantinople’, [in:] Thomas, Constantinides Hero, Constable, Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents, pp. 67–83 and pp. 84–119. 96 We cannot be certain of the dates of Euthymius’ stay in the Great Lavra but it is possible that he was there during the time when St Maximos Kausokalybes was attached to the monastery as a dependant ascetic. 97 Assumed to be situated in the vicinity of the monastery of Zographou on Mount Athos, see: Roussev, Gǎlǎbov, Davidov, Danchev, Pohvalno slovo, p. 204. 98 Presumably John V Palaiologos. 99 From a historical point of view the event has little evidence. There are no sources to confirm the visit of Emperor John V paid to Mount Athos after 1363 or 1364 (one of which is the year of St Theodosius’ death). For some speculations on the topic, see E. Kaluzniacki, Aus der panegyrischen Literatur der Südslaven, Vienna 1901, pp. 20–21. 100 Roussev, Gǎlǎbov, Davidov, Danchev, Pohvalno slovo, p. 232.

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Incorporated within this general framework, a great number of commonplaces, referring to the Late Antique depictions of wandering ascetics, may be observed: Search for solitude: The most common motivation for travel, found in all the stories above, is the longing for a solitary life in the wilderness. In his pursuit of isolation and quietude, St Maximos Kausokalybes moved deeper into the uninhabited part of Mount Athos; St Gregory of Sinai chose the remote region of Paroria as the perfect site for his monastery; and St Theodosius preferred to settle on the distant mountain of Kefalarevo. Throughout his life St Romylos continued to travel between the desolate Zagora and Paroria. Already as a novice, St Euthymius was attracted to the remoteness of St Theodosius’ monastery at Kefalarevo. The early example of the withdrawal of the Egyptian desert hermits is clear. Escape from one’s own fame: Perhaps the most venerable ancient reason to wander was the desire to avoid one’s own fame and the reverence of disciples and supplicants, as was the case with Abba Pinuphius in the anecdote at the beginning of this paper. Thus, St Maximos Kausokalybes, according to his Life by Makarios Makres, fled Constantinople in order to escape from the honours that the Patriarch and the Emperor wished to bestow on him, and, according to his Life by Niphon, repeated by Theophanes, began to burn his hut and move further into the wilderness as soon as his dwelling had become known. St Gregory of Sinai also left Constantinople, declining an invitation from the Emperor. St Romylos was forced to move from one place to another on Mount Athos in order to escape from his spreading fame, and St Theodosius left Paroria in order to avoid succeeding St Gregory of Sinai in his elevated position. Strangers: During his visit to Constantinople, St Maximos concealed his virtues by pretending to be a holy fool. St Gregory of Sinai and his companions spent some time in the capital as unknown strangers; St Euthymius also stayed there as a poor foreigner. Nevertheless, they were all soon discovered and invited by the highest dignitaries to offer spiritual council. These episodes betray the pattern of the lifestyle of the apostolic wanderers from Late Antiquity, such as Alexander Akoimetos, who, arriving at a city as destitute foreigners, soon attracted attention with his deeds.101 Pilgrims: Following the path of so many Christian travellers of the past, St Gregory of Sinai was a pilgrim to Jerusalem; St Maximos Kausokalybes went to Constantinople (‘the new Jerusalem’) and Thessaloniki, desiring to see their famous churches and to venerate the saintly relics kept there; St Theodosius and St Euthymius also were pilgrims in the Byzantine capital; and St Theodosius returned to Paroria as a pilgrim to the grave of his teacher St Gregory of Sinai. Teachers: As a special case it should be mentioned that after travels to the East and training in the monastic practices there, St Gregory of Sinai obtained from an old anchorite the knowledge which he then shared through his teachings. In this way he is linked to the group of early writers of rules for monastic conduct, whose authority relied partly on their claim of having acquired their wisdom through the venerable traditions of the East. Refugees: As much as the Lives of travelling saints made use of the ancient models, this new paradigm about holy wanderings is both a departure from the tradition and an innovation. Of course, having been written in a time of continuous Ottoman advances, these narratives reflect the contemporary political situation. The repetitive mention of 101

English translation of his Life: Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks, pp. 250–280.

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Turkish attacks as a cause of the movement and displacement of monks is a motivation exclusive to compositions from this period. As a young boy St Gregory was taken captive by Turkish bandits and, later in his life, Turkish incursions drove him away from Mount Athos. At the end of his travels, when the saint finally settled in Paroria, he had to obtain the patronage of the Bulgarian Tsar in order to secure his monastery against the brigands pillaging the region. St Romylos also had to flee Paroria and Mount Athos due to fear of the Turks. Before abandoning, for the last time, the monastery of St Gregory of Sinai, he and his companions even burned its tower lest the place should fall into the wrong hands. Escape from the envy of the others: There is plenty of evidence documenting the social hostility which time and again met ascetic travellers, from Late Antiquity to Palaiologan times. In the Lives of St Maximos Kausokalybes, St Gregory of Sinai, and St Romylos of Vidin, the theme of holy men being chased away by the jealousy of other monks recurs. Unlike some earlier examples,102 however, the piety and orthodoxy of Late Byzantine travellers are never contested, at least not according to their hagiographic dossiers. All of the Lives considered here were composed after 1351, when hesychasm had already won a decisive victory in the ecclesiastical debate over its orthodoxy. Hence, even if during the lifetimes of St Maximos and St Gregory of Sinai there had been a question about the permissibility of the hesychast teaching, in their Lives there is no trace of it. Some of the hagiographers writing these Lives, as much as we know about their biographies, were also relentless travelers, traversing the same roads they presented as trodden by their heroes. D. Nicol expressed the opinion that, although wandering monks were seen in the landscape of the Eastern Orthodox world before the fourteenth century, the hesychast holy men made travelling from one place to another a way of life.103 I would like to make two comments on this view. First, all of the works presented here were composed after the final triumph of the hesychasts, and all are biographies of saints considered to be hesychasts. Therefore, it is easy to accept Nicol’s conclusion that the unsettledness of the holy men is characteristic of hesychasm. Such an opinion, however, meets with at least two difficulties. On the one hand, no one has yet discovered any connection to travelling or wandering in the hesychasts’ teachings or practices. In fact, the opposite is true in the Lives of St Maximos Kausokalybes, where it was St Gregory of Sinai who advised the ascetic wanderer to abandon his practice of moving from one place to another. On the other hand, ascetic wandering has a long history preceding the hesychasm of the fourteenth century, but of course not all of the holy men of the period were relentlessly travelling. According to his hagiographer, for instance, Niphon, the author of the oldest Life of St Maximos Kausokalybes, spent his time as an anchorite, settled on Mount Athos.104 Thus, in my opinion, the question about the special connection between hesychasm and monastic wandering during last centuries of Byzantium must remain open. Second, monastic travel was a well-established tradition from as early as Late Antiquity. It is hard to believe that, on the dangerous roads of the besieged Empire, travelling became more alluring than it had been during earlier periods which suffered 102 For example, Alexander Akoimetos was accused of heresy, see: Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks, pp. 137–157. 103 Nicol, ‘Instabilitas loci’, pp. 195–196. 104 See: Halkin, ‘La Vie de Saint Niphon’.

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less turmoil. And yet, a recent study of the road system of Macedonia and Thrace has revealed that the Military Road and Via Egnatia were, to some extent, still used in the fourteenth century. And more importantly, besides these main roads, in the region of Chalkidiki, and between Mount Athos and Thessaloniki, there was a dense network of hundreds of local roads for the use of the population.105 This allows us to assume that, despite the threats imposed on the roads by different types of enemies, the fourteenth-century monks had at their disposal the necessary conditions to travel, if they wished to do so. Therefore, it is difficult to establish whether they were on the move more or less than their predecessors. However, rather than believing that the Late Byzantine hagiographers included in their works historical accounts of the wanderings of their heroes, one should investigate the reasons for which, in the fourteenth century, the conservative genre of hagiography prompted the appearance of so many accounts that were particularly rich in details of the wanderings of their heroes. As is known, the political circumstances of the period led to the decline of some of the oldest monastic centres – especially in those regions already under Ottoman rule – and the appearance of new ones, such as Meteora and Paroria. Many of the popular monastic establishments in the fourteenth century – including Mount Athos – were organised as hermitages resembling the ancient model of Eastern monasticism, consisting of a church and perhaps some walled establishment, surrounded by a number of cells inhabited by one or two ascetics.106 In his commentary to the edition of the Life of St Romylos, Fr. Halkin rather romantically remarks that ‘St Romylos just like his illustrious teacher, Gregory of Sinai, frequently moves from one place to another, as if the entire Orthodox world formed a single homeland’.107 I would surmise that, in the condition of constant siege and threat of religious persecution from the Muslim conquerors, the Lives of saints of the Palaiologan period began to refer to the controversial old tradition of wandering ascetics in a more pronounced manner because the hagiographers sought to create a sense of one tightly-knit monastic network. By describing their saints going from one place to another, the authors of that time reinforced the inherited idea about the spiritual value of travelling in order to establish a global Orthodox community, dispersed around the Balkans, and to preserve the memory of it for the benefit of the faithful. In conclusion, the examination of the Lives of travelling saints from the period of the Late Byzantine Empire displays two layers of transmission of intellectual traditions. First, the tradition of wandering monks stretching back to the earliest days of Christian literature appears to have been adopted and altered to serve the needs of the new religious struggle against the imminent Muslim conquest, as well as the new political setting of the Balkans. Second, the translation of the new Greek Lives of travelling monks into Medieval Bulgarian led to the transmission of this intellectual trend to neighbouring Bulgaria. This resulted in the writing of similar compositions in the local context. K. Belke, ‘Roads and travel in Macedonia and Thrace in the Middle and Late Byzantine period’, [in:] R. Macrides (ed.), Travel in the Byzantine World, Aldershot 2002, pp. 73–90. 106 See: S. Popović, ‘The last hesychast safe havens in late fourteenth- and fifteenth-century monasteries in the northern Balkans’, Recueil des travaux de l’Institut d’études byzantines 48 (2011), pp. 217–257, especially p. 220; about the monastic centres in Eastern Macedonia and Thrace, see: Bakirtzis, ‘Byzantine monasteries in Eastern Macedonia and Thrace’. 107 ‘A l’instar de son illustre maître, Grégoire le Sinaïte, il se déplace fréquemment d’un pays à l’autre, comme si le monde orthodoxe tout entier ne formait qu’une seule patrie’, Halkin, ‘Un ermite des Balkans au XIVe siècle’, p. 113. 105

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According to the hagiography analysed in this paper, the Bulgarian ascetics were part of the great Orthodox community and, together with the rest of the Byzantine saints, they traversed the diminishing unconquered territory from one end to another, marking the spiritual lands of monastic zeal and Orthodoxy, and producing an impression of unity of all the brethren, along with a common goal.

Barbara Grondkowska Lublin

THE AUTHORITY OF THE CHURCH FATHERS IN SIXTEENTH-CENTURY POLISH SERMONS: JAKUB WUJEK, GRZEGORZ OF ŻARNOWIEC AND THEIR POSTILS

Introduction In fourth-century Constantinople, the Arians introduced a new custom; they gathered by night and sang anti-Trinitarian hymns in a church. The bishop John Chrysostom decided to beat them at their own game. He took from the Arians the habit of singing hymns which, up to that point, was unknown in the Catholic community. He wrote new lyrics in accordance with the Christian orthodoxy and, in this way, used this heretical form to promote orthodox content. The story was told by the Polish Jesuit Jakub Wujek (who probably had found it in the Golden Legend) in the preface to the third part of his Postilla catholica (Catholic Postil).1 He used this example to build an analogy: according to Wujek, the reform movement was merely a repetition of the early Christian heresies, while the sixteenth-century defenders of Catholicism were the spiritual heirs of the Church Fathers; Jakub Wujek was a successor to John Chrysostom himself, and the postil genre, so popular among Protestants, corresponded to the Arian hymns. This story is only one of many examples of how patristic writings served as an essential point of reference in the sixteenth century. During the Reformation period, the Church Fathers were at the centre of attention, both from Catholics and Protestants. Patristics belonged to the cultural code, common for all educated people. In the era of fierce confessional disputes, they were a polemical tool. Therefore, auctoritas patrum became a strong argument for the post-Tridentine Church, as well as for Protestants. The aim of this paper is to examine how the Church Fathers were received in the sixteenth century, and how they were subsequently used in polemics. I will focus here specifically on the sermon genre due to its popular character and the broad extent of its audience. Sermons and homilies only transmitted the polemical arguments from the works of great sixteenth-century theologians; as an illustration of this process, I am going to offer an analysis of the two collections of sermons composed by the Polish Jesuit Jakub Wujek: Postilla catholica and Postylla mniejsza (Postil Minor). The Protestant reception of these works by Grzegorz of Żarnowiec will also be examined. 1 Postylle katolicznej o świętych część wtóra letnia, w której sie zawierają kazania na święta Panny Maryjej, apostołów, męczenników i innych świętych […], Cracow: Mattheus Siebeneicher, 1584 [PKŚ/2 1584].

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The structure of my text will be based on Jakub Wujek and his works. For this reason, I have chosen to start with a brief biography of Wujek – who remains almost unknown in the English-speaking world2 – as well as a few words on the genesis of his postils. The following section will discuss the presence of patristic reminiscences in Wujek’s sermons and will analyse arguments about the Fathers’ authority in the context of sixteenth-century debates concerning the sources of the faith and the sufficiency of scripture. Since Wujek’s texts are of polemical character, it is also worth examining them from a Protestant perspective; therefore, one section will be devoted to the Calvinist writer Grzegorz of Żarnowiec. Patristic reminiscences are also presented in the context of heresy charges and the Fathers’ disputes with ancient heresiarchs. At the conclusion, there will be an analysis of certain patristic quotations that were employed simultaneously by both Polish polemists.

Jakub Wujek – the first generation of Jesuits in Poland The first Jesuits were called to Poland in 1564 by Stanislaus Hosius, the bishop of Warmia (later a cardinal).3 The first Polish members of the Society of Jesus – including Jakub Wujek, Piotr Skarga, Stanisław Warszewicki and Benedykt Herbest – returned to Poland after their studies in Rome and formed a religious and educational structure which oversaw the foundation of numerous collegia. Their role, however, was not limited to education. They also maintained a broad influence on the structures of the Catholic Church in Poland through preaching, catechism, debating with Protestants, and composing literary works. Many great Polish writers from the sixteenth century were members of the Society of Jesus; one of them was Jakub Wujek, who became famous as ‘semi-Cicero’ and the ‘Polish Jerome’. He is known primarily for translating the Bible into Polish, although the list of his works is much longer. Wujek was born in 1541 in Wągrowiec, near Poznań, into the wealthy family of a member of the town court.4 In his youth, he attended a reformed school in Silesia where he experienced the Protestant evangelization process. These few years resulted not only in a knowledge of German but also, as Wujek himself confirmed, in proLutheran sympathies: ‘When I stayed among heretics (when I was about 18) and I was 2 For brief biographies of Wujek in English, see: D.A. Frick, Polish Sacred Philology in the Reformation and the Counter-Reformation: Chapters in the History of the Controversies (1551–1632), Berkeley 1989; F. Sieg, ‘Jakub Wujek – life and work from a perspective of 400 years’, [in:] idem [et al.], Studies on the Bible: To Commemorate the 400th Anniversary of the Publication of Jakub Wujek’s Translation of the Bible, 1599–1999, Warsaw 2000, pp. 7–15. 3 B. Natoński, ‘Początki i rozwój TJ w Polsce 1564–1580’, [in:] J. Brodrick, Powstanie i rozwój Towarzystwa Jezusowego, vol. 1: Początki Towarzystwa Jezusowego, Cracow 1969, pp. 414–476. 4 The most important sources that allow reconstructing Wujek’s biography are his autobiography [‘Autobiografia ks. Jakuba Wujka (Vocatio P. Iacobi Vągrovicii)’, J. Poplatek (ed.), Polonia Sacra 3.1–2 (1950), pp. 3–6], letters [Korespondencyja ks. Jakuba Wujka z Wągrowca z lat 1569–1596, J. Sygański (ed.), Poznań 1917; ‘Uzupełnienie korespondencji Wujka’, J. Poplatek (ed.), Polonia Sacra 3.1–2 (1950), pp. 66–91] and some Jesuit documents [J. Wielewicki, ‘Dziennik spraw domu zakonnego OO. Jezuitów u ś. Barbary w Krakowie od r. 1579 do r. 1599 (Historici diarii domus professae Societatis Jesu Cracoviensis annos viginti 1579–1599)’, [in:] Scriptores Rerum Polonicarum, vol. 7, Cracow 1881]. See also: J. Sygański, Ks. Jakób Wujek z Wągrowca 1540–1597 w świetle własnej korespondencyi, Cracow 1914; J. Poplatek, ‘Obecny stan badań nad życiem Jakuba Wujka TJ’, Polonia Sacra 3.1–2 (1950), pp. 20–65; D. Kuźmina, Jakub Wujek (1541–1597): Pisarz, tłumacz i misjonarz, Warsaw 2004.

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corrupted myself (oh the pain!) by the reading of their books, I participated in their errors’.5 The intervention of his parents and his reading of Hosius’ Confessio fidei catholicae christiana motivated Wujek to make a definitive return to the Catholic faith. In 1558, he began his studies at the Academy of Cracow. After he had graduated from the Faculty of Artes, he involved himself with the court of the bishop of Kujawy (later the archbishop of Gniezno), Jakub Uchański. Thanks to the patronage of Uchański, Wujek was able to study in Vienna, and received an income from several estates of the Church; nevertheless, he did not choose the life of a church dignitary. On the strength of religious books and several Lenten sermons, he decided to join the Society of Jesus. His novitiate and theological studies took place in Rome. However, it was a time of rapid development within the Polish province, and there was great need for educated teachers. Wujek was recalled from Rome and sent to Pułtusk; he could, therefore, not complete his studies in a standard manner and needed to supplement his education on his own. In Poland, Wujek combined teaching, preaching and administrative tasks with writing. He worked on translations of ascetic and catechetical texts. Eventually, his superiors transferred him to the newly created collegium in Poznań, mainly due to his origin and his knowledge of local realities. Wujek later became the rector of the University in Vilnius and worked in Kolozsvár (Transylvania) where he reorganized the Church structures destroyed by the Reformation. The last fourteen years of his life were dedicated to the translation of the Bible into Polish. He died in Cracow in 1597, one day after finishing his last work, Żywot i nauka Pana naszego Jezu Chrysta (The Life and Teachings of our Lord Jesus Christ). The era in which Wujek lived was both a blessing and a curse for him. His erudition was undoubtedly useful for the teaching, writing and preaching that he was expected to undertake as a member of the Society of Jesus; on the other hand, because he had so many responsibilities, he did not have enough time to complete all his works. B. Natoński sees him as a typical example of the fate of the first Polish Jesuits, who left no works on a European scale because their writing activity was so often disrupted by the administrative tasks necessary for the management of rapidly developing province.6 A similar attitude is reflected in Alphonse de Pisa’s memorial to the Superior General Claudio Acqaviva:7 in this text, the author expresses his regret that so many gifted Jesuits were not given more opportunity to write. He makes a plea for the publication of new books, because ‘one book means more than a thousand sermons and above all in Poland, where the nobility usually resides not in the cities but in the country, where books arrive easier than preachers’.8

5 Wujek, Vocatio, p. 3: ‘Cum inter haereticos manerem, annos circiter 18 natus, quorum legendis libris, etiam ipse, proch dolor, perversus, in eorum errores consenseram’. 6 B. Natoński, Humanizm jezuicki i teologia pozytywno-kontrowersyjna od XVI do XVIII wieku. Nauka i piśmiennictwo, Cracow 2003, p. 52. 7 De excudendis adversus haereticos libris, 1582. Some researchers (e.g. Sygański, Ks. Jakób Wujek, p. 349) claim that Wujek was an author of the memorial. According to B. Natoński (Humanizm jezuicki, p. 52) he could have an influence on it. After J. Sygański and before B. Natoński the memorial was considered to be perished (Poplatek, Obecny stan badań, p. 48). B. Natoński probably found it in the register of letters of Superiors General of the Society of Jesus (his reference is not clear). 8 Qtd. in: Natoński, Humanizm jezuicki, p. 56.

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Jakub Wujek’s postils (Postilla catholica9 and Postylla mniejsza10) fulfilled de Pisa’s demands. This literary genre had certain connotations.11 Firstly, it was a popular, light form; secondly, it was related to biblical exegesis; and thirdly, it was associated with Protestantism. A postil was a collection of homiletic sermons. According to the etymology (post illa verba – ‘after these words’), it expounded the gospel pericopes ‘word for word’ in a simple and accessible way, without any scholastic speculation. In the sixteenth century, the genre went through a significant phase of development, especially in national languages. Postils were used not only as an homiletical tool, but also as a book to read out in small religious communities or in families.12 The genre flourished in the time of the Reformation, but it originated in Paul the Deacon’s Homiliarium (Homiliary) from the eighth century. A classic example of a postil is Nicholas of Lyra’s work Postillae perpetuae in universam Sanctam Scripturam (Lasting Homilies of All Holy Scripture) from the fourteenth century. In the Reformation, however, this medieval genre was fundamentally changed. Thanks to the invention of the printing press – and a renewed emphasis on the preaching of the word of God – sermons, and particularly homilies, gained in popularity. The early Christian distinction between a homily and a thematic sermon returned in the Renaissance with a distinct tendency to favour the former. As a consequence, the difference between a postil and a sermon at that time was limited to the label because both offered interpretations of the Sunday and festive Gospels in the same form.13 Protestant authors of postils quickly surpassed the Catholics. The Protestant authors understood the sermon as having two principal goals: preaching as the main task of the Church, and ministry based on biblical message. In 1521, Martin Luther published Enarrationes epistolarum et evangeliorum, quas postillas vocant (Sermons on the Epistles and Gospels that are called postils) and, twenty-three years later, the famous Hauspostille (House-Postil). In Poland, the first Protestant postils provoked little initial response from 9 Postilla catholica to jest kazania na kożdą niedzielę i na kożde święto przez cały rok […], Cracow: Mattheus Siebeneicher, 1573 [PC 1573]; Postylle katolicznej część trzecia, w której się zamykają kazania na święta Panny Maryjej, apostołów, męczennikow i innych świętych [...], przydana jest i Passyja [...], Cracow: Mattheus Siebeneicher, 1575 [PC 1575]; Postilla catholica to jest kazania na Ewanjelije niedzielne i odświętne przez cały rok […]. Przydane są niektóre nowe kazania i Obrona tej Postylle […], Cracow: Mattheus Siebeneicher, 1584 [PC/1 1584]; Postylle katolicznej na niedziele część wtóra letnia od Trójce Ś aż do adwentu […], Cracow: Mattheus Siebeneicher, 1584 [PC/2 1584]; Postylle katolicznej o świętych część pierwsza ozimia, w której się zamykają kazania na święta Panny Maryjej, apostołów, męczenników i innych świętych […], Cracow: Mattheus Siebeneicher, 1584 [PKŚ/1 1584]; PKŚ/2 1584 (see above). 10 Postylle mniejszej część pierwsza ozimia to jest krótkie kazania albo wykłady Ewanjelijej na każdą niedzielę i na każde święto, Poznań: (Joannes Wolrab, 1579) [PM 1579]; Postylle mniejszej część wtóra letnia, Poznań: (Joannes Wolrab, 1580) [PM 1580]; Postylla katoliczna mniejsza to jest krótkie kazania albo wykłady świętych Ewanjelij na każdą niedzielę i na każde święto, Poznań: [Joannes Wolrab], 1582 [PCM 1582]; Postylla katolicka to jest krótkie kazania abo wykłady świętych Ewanjelij na każdą niedzielę i na każde święto, Cracow: Andreas Petricovius, 1590 [PKM 1590]; Postylla katolicka mniejsza to jest krótkie kazania abo wykłady świętych Ewanjelij na każdą niedzielę i na każde święto, Cracow: Andreas Petricovius, 1596 [PKM 1596]. 11 On a postil genre, see J. M. Frymire, The Primacy of the Postils: Catholics, Protestants, and the Dissemination of Ideas in Early Modern Germany, Leiden 2010. About Polish postils wrote K. Kolbuszewski, Postyllografia polska XVI i XVII wieku, Cracow 1921; J.T. Maciuszko, Ewangelicka postyllografia polska XVI–XVIII wieku. Charakterystyka – analiza porównawcza – recepcja, Warsaw 1987. 12 J. Ziomek, Literatura Odrodzenia, Warsaw 1987, p. 122. 13 Cf. W. Pawlak, Koncept w polskich kazaniach barokowych, Lublin 2005, p. 231; W. Pazera, Kaznodziejstwo w Polsce od początku do końca epoki baroku, Częstochowa 1999, p. 126; K. Panuś, Zarys historii kaznodziejstwa w Kościele katolickim, vol. 2: Kaznodziejstwo w Polsce. Od średniowiecza do baroku, Cracow 2001, p. 204.

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Catholic authors. Before Jakub Wujek, there were four Calvinist and Lutheran postils in Polish, among them the widely read Świętych słów a spraw pańskich postylla (Postil of Sacred Words and Lord’s Affairs) by Mikołaj Rej,14 which would later prove to be a significant influence on Wujek, especially as regards the book size (folio), typeface (the Schwabacher), illustrations (67 woodcuts taken from Rej’s postil in PKM 1590),15 and structure.16 The Roman Catholic sermonisers, failing to properly judge the significance of the printing process, preached rather than published. Eventually, however, the need for written responses to the Protestant postils became increasingly urgent. The provincial synod of Gniezno in 1561 demanded that ‘a book of homilies in Polish should be given to less educated preachers, so that they would be able not only to preach the Gospel throughout the year, but also to explain rites of the holy sacraments in a catechetical form’.17 The matter was especially urgent because the Catholic clergy, lacking appropriate homiletical aids, were forced to use the Protestant books – for example Mikołaj Rej’s popular postil.18 It was in this context that Jakub Wujek began work on his Postilla catholica. The author reveals the genesis of his work in the preface. The edition was published as an antidote to ‘the heretical books’ in a vernacular language; as Wujek writes: ‘there is a great need to give remedy in the Polish language too [...] for, in the Latin language, many respectable and learned people showed the world heretical betrayals, but in our Polish there were just a few of them’.19 Wujek responded to ‘the instigation of the late father Jan Leopolita, doctor and great preacher in Cracow, and many other wise and learned people who after seeing a few sermons written by me, urgently advised me to write the whole postil in that way’.20 The Jesuit pulled out his old sermons delivered in Pułtusk and Poznań and, with great haste, prepared them for editing. The first two parts (in one volume) were published in Cracow in 1573, in the printing shop of Mattheus Siebeneicher (PC 1573). Due to the urgency of publication, the printers did not wait for the completion of the third part about the saints, which was edited two years later (PC See J. T. Maciuszko, Mikołaj Rej. Zapomniany teolog ewangelicki z XVI w., Warsaw 2002, pp. 291–416. See K. Górski, ‘Pochodzenie tekstu’, [in:] M. Rej, Postylla, vol. 1: Opracowanie krytyczne i edytorskie, K. Górski, W. Kuraszkiewicz [et al.] (eds.), Wrocław 1965, p. 10. 16 About relations between both postils, see A. Brückner, Mikołaj Rej. Studium krytyczne, Cracow 1905, pp. 146–147; J. Starnawski, ‘Postylla Wujka wobec Postylli Reja’, [in:] M. Kamińska, E. Małek (eds.), Biblia a kultura Europy, Łódź 1992, pp. 114–142; M. Kuran, ‘Mikołaj Rej w opinii polskiej kontrreformacji (na przykładzie «Postylli katolicznej» Jakuba Wujka)’, [in:] J. Okoń (ed.), Mikołaj Rej – w pięćsetlecie urodzin, Łódź 2005, pp. 109–122; M. Kuran, ‘Polemika Jakuba Wujka z Mikołajem Rejem – spór o «jasne a szczyre słowo Boże»’, [in:] eadem, Retoryka jako narzędzie perswazji w postyllografii polskiej XVI wieku (na przykładzie «Postylli katolicznej» Jakuba Wujka), Łódź 2007, pp. 95–220. 17 Qtd. in: Kuran, Retoryka, p. 78. 18 PC 1573, Przedmowa do Jego Miłości Księdza Biskupa Poznańskiego: ‘Samem sie tego napatrzał, miłościwy Księże, iż nie tylko w mieśckich i ślacheckich domiech, ale i między naszymi kapłany wiele sie postyl kacerskich zawadzało, a niektórzy ich na kazanie swoje już nie tylko po wsiach, ale i po miasteczkach używali, a zwłaszcza Rejowej, która dla dworności a gładkości mowy języka polskiego między innymi górę otrzymała’. Pages in prefaces to Wujek’s postils are not numbered. 19 Ibidem: ‘jest tego wielka potrzeba, aby przeciwne lekarstwo także językiem polskim podane było, […] bo acz w łacińskim języku wiele zacnych i uczonych ludzi zdrady kacerskie światu okazali, ale w naszym polskim jeszcze takich mało’. 20 Ibidem: ‘namowam nieboszczyka księdza Jana Leopolity, doktora i kaznodzieje zacnego krakowskiego, i wiele innych mądrych a uczonych ludzi, którzy ujźrzawszy kilaś kazania przez mię napisane, pilnie mię wiedli do tego, abych tymże sposobem całą postyllę napisał’. 14 15

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1575). In 1584, the same printer published a second edition of the postil entitled Postilla catholica to jest kazania na Ewanjelije niedzielne i odświętne przez cały rok (Postilla Catholica, that is the Sermons for Sunday and Festive Gospels throughout the Year PC/1 1584, PC/2 1584, PKŚ/1 1584, PKŚ/2 1584). Wujek expanded this edition by adding his Apology, simultaneously starting a dispute with the Calvinist Grzegorz of Żarnowiec. Before long, there was a growing demand to have the sermons presented in a more accessible form, in terms of both the size and price of the volumes; thus, in 1579/80, a new volume entitled Postylla mniejsza was issued (PM 1579, PM 1580). For this edition, Wujek used almost entirely new material; as he explains in the preface: ‘I preferred to work more and create a postil that was almost completely new. Thus, I used virtually nothing from the Postil Major, choosing instead to use new material, or to treat older material in a different way’.21 Postylla mniejsza was one of the most popular works of the Polish Renaissance. In the sixteenth century along, four editions (PCM 1582, PKM 1590, PKM 1596, in addition to the one mentioned above) and two translations (Lithuanian and Czech) were published. The fact that Jakub Wujek fulfilled his mission was acknowledged by Jakub Uchański, who wrote about his former secretary that he ‘served priests in his postils so well that there was hardly any pastor or preacher who would not have read them; and he knocked from the hands of all Catholics the heretical postils that had been so popular’.22

Church Fathers’ authority as an argument in confessional debates It is difficult to find any religious text from the sixteenth century that did not refer, in some way, to the Church Fathers.23 With the rise of Italian humanism, came new research into the early Christian writers, along with new editions of their works, among them the editions by Erasmus which would play a major role in sixteenth-century philology.24 These early texts were interesting for their interpretations of the scriptures, but also for their references to classical culture; and for these reasons, humanists were able to use Doctores as a weapon against scholasticism and medieval speculation.25

21 PCM 1582, Przedmowa: ‘Wolałem z więtszą pracą prawie nową postyllę uczynić, barzo mało biorąc z Postylle onej wielkiej, ale abo zgoła inszą materią wnosząc, abo ją już inaczej traktując aniżeli w wielkiej’. 22 A. Klawek, ‘Ks. Jakub Wujek w opinii wieków’, Ruch Biblijny i Liturgiczny 3 (1950), p. 17: ‘który w postyllach tak był dobrze kapłanom naprzód posłużył, że ledwo który pleban abo kaznodzieja był, który by jego postylle nie miał: a katolikom wszystkim, postylle heretyckie, których się byli bardzo jęli, z ręku wytrącił’. 23 The general view on the reception of the Fathers in 16th century one can find in: F. Günther (ed.) Die Patristik in der Frühen Neuzeit: die Relektüre der Kirchenväter in den Wissenschaften des 15. bis 18. Jahrhunderts, Stuttgart–Bad Cannstatt 2006; L. Grane (ed.), Auctoritas Patrum, vol. 1: Zur Rezeption der Kirchenväter im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert, vol. 2: Neue Beiträge zur Rezeption der Kirchenväter im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert, Mainz 1993, 1998. 24 On Erasmus’ editions of Augustine and Jerome, see A. Visser, Reading Augustine in the Reformation: The Flexibility of Intellectual Authority in Europe, 1500–1620, New York 2011; E.F. Rice, Jr., Saint Jerome in the Renaissance, Baltimore–London 1988. 25 L. Grane, ‘Some remarks on the Church Fathers in the first years of the Reformation’, [in:] idem (ed.), Auctoritas Patrum, vol. 1, p. 21; cf. A. Buck, ‘Der Rückgriff des Renaissance-Humanismus auf die Patristik’, [in:] K. Baldinger (ed.), Festschrift Walther von Wartburg: zum 80. Geburtstag, 18. Mai 1968, vol. 1, Tübingen 1968, pp. 153–175.

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Humanistic interest in the Church Fathers also prepared the ground for religious disputes. From the beginning of the Reformation, the works of the Fathers began to appear in a polemical context; both sides recognized their authority and used their texts as arguments. The presence of patristic references in sixteenth-century polemics is evident not only in the works of great theologians, but also in minor writers. Jakub Wujek’s postils demonstrate how quotations from the Fathers functioned in homiletic texts written in a vernacular language, and also how the thesis of auctoritas patrum was proved within them. Wujek’s sermons give an impression of being erudite, containing numerous patristic reminiscences. However, the degree of their precision and faithfulness varies. Marginalia with bibliographic descriptions are relatively rare and, more often, only the name of the writer will appear in the margin. Sometimes, Wujek will not even bother identifying the author of a quote, opting instead for a vague formulation such as ‘some people say’.26 All quotations from the Church Fathers appear only in Polish translation. Apart from these citations and reminiscences, the postils also contain ‘entire sermons translated into Polish word for word’,27 about which the Jesuit Stanisław Warszewicki wrote: ‘it is also pleasing that the sermons of several holy Fathers are elegantly and solemnly translated’.28 Of the 130 sermons in Postilla catholica, thirteen are translations; and eighteen of the 123 sermons in Postylla mniejsza (only in the PKM 1596) are translations of works originally written by Augustine, John Chrysostom, Leo the Great, Cyril of Jerusalem and John Damascene, among others.29 The sermons of the Fathers are distinguished from the others in the postil because they are not homilies. They are strictly thematic sermons devoted to particular periods in the liturgical year and they abide in moral indications. A guide through the maze of Wujek’s inspirations may be found in Rejestr świętych Doktorów starych greckich i łacińskich (Register of Holy Ancient Greek and Latin Doctors) and Rejestr autorów nowych (Register of New Authors). Both catalogues list sixty ancient and fifty-eight medieval and modern sources, including various anthologies, florilegia and compendia, as well as patristic writings, postils, church documents, catechisms and ascetic works. Wujek refers to authors such as the popular German preacher Johann Wild (called ‘Ferus’), the author of Postillae sive conciones in epistolas et Evangelia (Postils or Sermons on Epistles and Gospels); the more polemical Johann Eck who wrote Postilla catholica evangeliorum de tempora totius anni (Catholic Postil of Gospels from All Year round); the Spanish Jesuit Jeronimo Torres and his Confessio augustiniana (Augustinian Confession), a collection of quotations from Augustine’s writings. One may see here the ‘second hand’ at which Wujek cited the Fathers. This practice was not unusual, even for

26 Cf. D. Bieńkowska, ‘Jak Jakub Wujek Pismo Święte na język polski przekładał (O warsztacie tłumacza i technice przez niego stosowanej)’, Bobolanum 9 (1998), p. 34. 27 PC 1573, Przedmowa do czytelnika łaskawego: ‘caluczkie niektóre kazania słowo do słowa przełożyłem na polskie’. 28 Wujek, Korespondencyja, p. 19: ‘Placet etiam illud, ut aliquorum Sanctorum Patrum conciones eleganter et graviter descriptae polonice reddantur’. 29 J. Czerniatowicz, Cz. Mazur, Recepcja antyku chrześcijańskiego w Polsce. Materiały bibliograficzne, vol. 1: XV–XVIII w. Autorzy i teksty, Lublin 1978, pp. 84–86.

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established authors, and the sources of their erudition are found not only in original texts, but also in the collections of quotations, examples, apophthegmata and so forth.30 Wujek wanted to assert his catholicity even through the register, as he writes in Przedmowa do czytelnika łaskawego (The Preface to the Gentle Reader): I have prepared a list of the Doctors, both ancient and modern (but coincident with the ancient), whose texts are quoted in this postil or are used to support my commentary of the scripture. In this way you can see that I am not writing anything new, but that all my writing comes from the Word of God and the doctrine of the Catholic Church.31

Wujek’s orthodoxy was confirmed even by such details as the presence of Dionysius the Areopagite (d. AD 109) in the register. Even 150 years after Lorenzo Valla’s criticism of the authenticity of the corpus of mystical works attributed to Dionysius – maintained by Erasmus and other humanists – Wujek still considered the author of Celestial Hierarchy a disciple of St. Paul. The significance of the author of Corpus Dionysiacum was considerable – especially for defenders of church hierarchy – and the theory of his apostolic origin was still vivid in Catholic circles.32 In Wujek’s postils, one not only finds patristic quotations used as rhetorical loci, but also arguments regarding auctoritas patrum. The Jesuit provides arguments typical of the interconfessional polemics, and presents them in a simplified form characteristic of the popularizing genre of the postil.33 Wujek, as a faithful servant of the Church, does not wish to write anything from himself; rather, he quotes the Fathers so gladly because they have the ecclesiastical placet (‘you should know’ he writes ‘that I am writing here nothing from myself ’). He stresses his own dependence on the teachings of the Fathers in the same way as Johannes Fabri, who underlined: ‘What I affirm is not mine, but that of the holy Fathers’.34 As a starting point, it allows him to situate the Protestants in opposition. Wujek does not hesitate to polarize attitudes towards the Fathers in a way which deviates partially from the truth. Catholics, according to Wujek, do nothing but repeat the words of their venerable predecessors; Protestants, on the other hand, believe only in themselves and esteem no Father. The Jesuit writes that:

30 W. Pawlak, ‘“O pewnym sposobie naszych literatów, że przy niewielkim czytaniu mogą się łatwo wielkiemi erudytami pokazać”. Kompendia jako źródło erudycji humanistycznej’, [in:] I.M. DackaGórzyńska, J. Partyka (eds.), Staropolskie kompendia wiedzy, Warsaw 2009, p. 60. See also N. Reisner, ‘The preacher and profane learning’, [in:] P. McCullough (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of the Early Modern Sermon, Oxford 2011, pp. 72–86. 31 PC 1573, Przedmowa do czytelnika łaskawego: ‘I dla tego zdało mi sie rejestr tych Doktorów tak starych, jako i nowych (którzy sie z onymi starymi zgadzają), którychem w tej postylli cytował albo używał około wykładu Pisma Świętego, położyć ci przed oczy, abyś wiedział, żeć ja tu nic swego nie piszę, jedno com wziął z Słowa Bożego a z nauki Kościoła powszechnego’. 32 R. Keen, ‘The Fathers in Counter-Reformation theology in the pre-Tridentine period’, [in:] I. Backus (ed.), The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West, vol. 2, Leiden 1997, p. 714. 33 On Wujek’s argumentation about the authority of Scripture, see Frick, Polish Sacred Philology, pp. 135– 140. 34 Johannes Fabri’s letter to Jerome Aleander from 16th Mai 1521 edited in: W. Friedensburg (ed.), ‘Beiträge zum Briefwechsel der katholischen Gelehrten Deutschlands im Reformationszeitalter. Aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken’, Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 20 (1900), p. 62: ‘Quod ego adfirmo, non est meum, imo sanctorum patrum’.

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they do not cite any ancient Doctors, but they claim their own speculations and their own interpretations to be the Word of God, the true and clear Holy Writing. Even now they insist that we should learn nothing but the scriptures and that we ought not to believe in the preaching of any Doctors, no matter how ancient, how holy and how long accepted by the Church they are.35

Here we have three arguments popular among Catholic writers, which are set according to a particular schema: antiquity – holiness – approval of the Church. The first argument concerns the antiquity of the Fathers; its significance results from the intellectual attitude of humanism, which proclaimed a return to the sources. In Wujek’s postils, the opposition between old and new will often appear. The Jesuit writes about the ‘ancient, reliable and proven Pastors and Doctors’36 and the ‘new and unreliable masters’,37 about those ‘who were close to apostolic times, and some of them saw the Apostles and learned from them’,38 and those ‘who abandoned [the Apostles] by their teaching and their life’.39 According to Wujek, the Fathers themselves set the example for a return to more ancient texts. In the preface dedicated to the Polish King Sigismund III Vasa, Wujek gives the example of Basil the Great and Gregory of Nazianzus, who interpreted the Bible ‘from letters, tradition, and authority of elders, about whom they knew that they took the rule and the way of understanding from the teaching, tradition and apostolic succession’.40 A second example concerns St. Augustine, who mentions how his predecessors – including St. Ambrose and other bishops – ‘followed what they found in the Church; they taught what they learned; they gave to their descendants what they took from the Fathers’.41 The second criterion is the sanctity of life, which guarantees the orthodoxy of a particular work. This aspect was emphasized by Italian humanists, who looked for the idea of docta pietas.42 Wujek stressed the importance of holiness when he contrasted holy [people], filled with the Holy Spirit, [...] [with] runaway monks and apostates, who had no proper knowledge, who sneaked away from the monasteries, who broke their vows to God, and who – in their hatred – have become the main enemies of the Church.43

Finally, Wujek’s third argument concerns the approval of the Church, which is unquestionable because of its infallibility. The strength of this claim is based on the 35 PC 1573, Przedmowa do czytelnika łaskawego: ‘żadnego starego Doktora wykładu nie przywiodą, ale swój domysł i swej główki widzenie zowią słowem Bożym i szczyrym a jasnym pismem Bożym. Przetoć jeszcze i teraz wołają, iż nie mamy niczego przyjmować, jedno gołe Pismo Święte, a żadnym wykładem Doktorów, choć starych, choć świętych, choć i w Kościele dawno przyjętych wiary dawać nie mamy’. 36 Ibidem: ‘starodawnych, pewnych a doświadczonych pasterzach a Doktorach’. 37 Ibidem: ‘nowych a niepewnych mistrzach’. 38 Ibidem: ‘którzy byli bliskimi czasów apostolskich, a niektórzy z nich i apostoły widzieli, i od nich się uczyli’. 39 Ibidem: ‘którzy i nauką, i żywotem daleko od nich [tj. od apostołów – BG] odstąpili’. 40 PKM 1596: Najaśniejszemu i niezwyciężonemu Panu a Panu Zygmuntowi Trzeciemu: ‘z pisma, z podania i z poważności starszych dobywali, o których wiedzieli, iż oni regułę i sposób rozumienia wzięli byli z nauki, z tradycyjej i suksessyjej apostolskiej’. 41 Ibidem: ‘co naleźli w Kościele, to trzymali; czego się nauczyli, tego też uczyli; co od Ojców wzięli, to synom podali’. 42 Ch. Stinger, ‘Italian Renaissance learning and the Church Fathers’, [in:] I. Backus (ed.), The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West, vol. 2, Leiden 1997, p. 480. 43 PC 1573: Przedmowa do czytelnika łaskawego: ‘świętych, pełnych Ducha świętego […] zbiegłym mnichom albo apostatom, którzy u nas nic nie umieli, którzy się wykradszy z klasztorów, złomiwszy śluby swe Bogu uczynione, z jadu a z nienawiści stali się głównymi nieprzyjaciółmi tegoż Kościoła’.

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principle of medieval canon law and scholastic theology Ecclesia errare non potest (The Church cannot err), and also the assertion of Jesus that he would be left in his Church. Compliance with the Fathers thus guarantees the truth, and is evidence that a particular interpretation of scripture is correct.44 The Jesuit refers to it when he defends a controversial claim with the use of the argument ad absurdum: If that is a mistake, then the Christian Church has always been mistaken all over the world and all the words and promises of the Lord are invalid: Lord’s promises that he would stay with his holy Church until the end of the world, that he would teach the truth through the Holy Spirit, and that no evil should ever conquer the Holy Church, which is the support of the truth.45

After Wujek draws these unacceptable conclusions, contrary to the testimony of Scripture, he defends the infallibility of the Church with the use of the thesis Vera Ecclesia ac religio sunt perpetua (The true Church and religion are eternal): ‘The Word of the Lord cannot possibly change, because it lasts forever’.46 The approval of the Church is based on the principle of consensus patrum (agreement of the Fathers), which allows Catholics to defend the authority of the Fathers, despite their particular errors. Although Ecclesia errare non potest, the Church Fathers are only human, and Wujek raises the issue of their fallibility in Przedmowa do czytelnika łaskawego (PC 1573). He creates a framework for the catholicity of theological statements, the general rule of which refers to the universal consent of the Church. It is worth noting that Wujek nowhere takes up the issue of papal authority, and his arguments are rather conciliarist. The ancient Fathers are a starting point, because they are no longer susceptible to ‘heretical innovations’. If, however, they err – as, for example, in the cases of Cyprian or Origen – through ‘stubbornness or inability’, it should be referred to the ‘old and universal decrees and customs of the catholic Church’.47 The next criterion is, again, the opinion of the Fathers, not taken as individuals, but as gathered from authors who differ geographically or in time. One should try to collect and consult the words of the ancient scholars, who lived and taught in different times and in different places, but remained united with the community of the Catholic Church, and became experienced masters.48

44 H. Smolinsky, ‘Kirchenväter und Exegese in der frühen römisch-katholischen Kontroverstheologie des 16. Jahrhunderts’, [in:] D.C. Steinmetz (ed.), Die Patristik in der Bibelexegese des 16. Jahrhunderts, Wiesbaden 1999, p. 85; E. Mühlenberg, ‘Das Argument: „Die Wahrheit erweist sich in Übereinstimmung mit den Vätern“ – Entstehung und Schlagkraft’, [in:] L. Grane (ed.), Auctoritas Patrum, vol. 2, Mainz 1998, p. 167. 45 PC 1573, Przedmowa do czytelnika łaskawego: ‘Bo jeślić to jest błąd, tedyć zawsze błądził Kościół chrześcijański po wszystkiemi światu i słowa i obietnice Pańskie wspak sie obróciły, którymi obiecował, że on miał być z swymi, to jest z Kościołem swym świętym po wszystkie dni aż do skończenia świata i miał ji nauczać przez Ducha swego Świętego wszelakiej prawdy, i żadne porty piekielne nie miały nigdy przemóc Kościoła Jego świętego, który jest filar i umocnienie prawdy’. Cf. PKŚ/2 1584, p. 546: ‘Bo jeśli to prawda, że dawno Kościół zbłądził, tedy ono już nie będzie prawda, co Pan Chrystus sama prawda mówi […]. I nie byłby Pan Chrystus z swemi (tak jako obiecał) po wszystkie dni aż do końca świata […]. I nie byłby Kościół filarem i podporą prawdy’. 46 PC 1573, Przedmowa do czytelnika łaskawego: ‘Ale iż to być nie może, aby sie Słowo Pańskie zmienić miało, które trwa na wieki’. 47 Ibidem: ‘starych i powszechnych dekretów i zwyczajów Kościoła powszechnego’. 48 Ibidem: ‘Tedy sie postara, aby zebrawszy a złożywszy miedzy sobą starych Doktorów sentencyje, onych sie poradził, którzy chocia różnych czasów byli i na różnych miejscach mieszkali i uczyli, ale jednak trwając w obcowaniu a w społeczności jednego Kościoła powszechnego, stali sie mistrzowie doświadczeni’.

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The final criterion is, therefore, the general consensus of the Church expressed by ‘all together, with one permission, openly and clearly, often and frequently’.49 This is another of Wujek’s oppositions: universality versus individuality. This theme returns in other texts, notably in the preface to PKM 1596, where he states: ‘the Holy Spirit was given and sent not to every man individually, but to the Apostles and their governors and, by them, to the whole Church’.50 Wujek’s argument assumes that the Evangelicals reject entirely the authority of the Fathers. He draws this conclusion on the basis of the Lutheran principle of sola scriptura, which limits the revelation to the Bible. While supporters of the Reformation read the Fathers following the formula ‘scripture alone’, Catholics used the concept of sacred tradition, which is the second source of revelation, after the Bible.51 In Wujek’s sermons there are often comments on the importance of tradition; in the margin of Kazanie na Dzień Zaduszny (Sermon on the Feast of All Souls), he writes: ‘we shall accept not only scripture, but also the tradition, since it is also the word of God’.52 In Apologija he says: ‘the entire word of God is not enclosed in the scriptures’.53 Apart from the scriptures, the Holy Spirit speaks through councils, doctors, pastors, traditions and universal ecclesial customs. The principle of sola scriptura was regarded by the Catholics as a contradiction because, according to the theologians in Rome, the interpretation of scripture by the Church had merely been replaced with an interpretation of scripture by Luther.54 Wujek attempts to argue that Protestants had given up the principle of sola scriptura: ‘they affirm that scripture alone is sufficient (but they do not content themselves with it)’.55 Wujek accuses them of rejecting the writings of the Fathers and accepting their own, including Augsburg Confession, Apology of the Augsburg Confession and Calvin’s Institutes of Christian Religion. Moreover, the attitude of Protestants was viewed as a kind of hidden pride. For Catholics, it was natural that the Bible could not be understood on its own and required interpretation. From their point of view, Protestants had only exchanged the ancient wisdom of the Fathers for the ideas of modern theologians; and in the era of great respect for the ancient auctoritates, this allegation was even more important. Wujek debates the belief that the Bible alone is comprehensive by offering examples (probably after Stanisław Karnkowski56) of Protestant disputes over biblical interpretation: ‘they never can agree about the understanding of these four words: “This is my Ibidem: ‘wszystkich pospołu, jednym zezwoleniem, jawnie a jaśnie, często a gęsto’. PKM 1596, Najaśniejszemu i niezwyciężonemu Panu a Panu Zygmuntowi Trzeciemu: ‘nie każdemu z osobna człowiekowi, ale apostołom i ich namiestnikom, a przez nie wszytkiemu Kościołowi Duch Święty był darowany i zesłany’. 51 Frick, Polish Sacred Philology, p. 3. 52 PKŚ/2 1584, p. 465: ‘Nie tylko Pismo przyjmować mamy, ale i Tradycyje. Bo i toż jest ustne Słowo Boże’. 53 Ibidem, p. 566: ‘nie wszystko Słowo Boże w Piśmie jest zamknione’. 54 G. Tavard, Holy Writ or Holy Church: The Crisis of the Protestant Reformation, London 1959, p. 96; Frick, Polish Sacred Philology, p. 246. 55 PKM 1596, Najaśniejszemu i niezwyciężonemu Panu a Panu Zygmuntowi Trzeciemu: ‘wołają, iż samo Pismo jest w sobie dostateczne (a sami przedsię na nim nie przestają)’. 56 S. Karnkowski, ‘Kazanie o wieczerzy zborów luterskich’, [in:] idem, Kazania o chwalebnej Eucharystyi, A. Chmielowski (ed.), Warsaw 1885, p. 680: ‘że jeden katolik z ich pisma własnego zebrał i na jaśnią wydał, dwieście wykładów różnych, któremi te słówka naciągają według dumy swej, każdy na swą stronę’. 49 50

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body”. For one Catholic gathered two hundred different interpretations of these four words from their writings’.57 The Jesuit tries to find contradiction in sola scriptura: ‘Show me first this rule in scripture’.58 His argument is, however, difficult to maintain because the Protestants could easily identify the biblical verses which forbid the addition of anything to what had already been written. Wujek polemicises with these texts and proposes other interpretations. Moreover, he provides citations which defend the importance of oral transmission. In the Przedmowa do czytelnika łaskawego, written in 1573, Wujek expresses an accusation towards Protestants that ‘they do not use any ancient doctor’; however, in his Apologija of 1584, he could not make such a statement for, two years earlier, the Calvinist Grzegorz of Żarnowiec proved, in a postil of his own, that Protestants willingly quoted the Fathers. Wujek was thus forced to alter his arguments, and tried instead to describe their interest in patristics as selective, hypocritical and inconsistent. His first argument concerns the turning point that, according to Protestants, limits the authority of the Fathers. Wujek cites Melanchthon and Calvin, who thought the first four centuries of Christianity to be the time of orthodoxy, later followed by errors and abuses.59 Wujek wonders about the reason for this ‘certain persuasion and departing from the sound doctrine’,60 arguing that it is difficult to identify criteria that would allow for the rejection of those Fathers who worked after that date. In his second argument, the Jesuit returns to his thesis about the total rejection of the Fathers by Protestants, accusing his opponents of acting contrary to what they proclaim. The Jesuit gives an example of Puritans who ‘say that from the very apostolic times, there were some errors in the Church, and the Fathers themselves and Apostles made serious mistakes’.61 In so far as Puritans claim that this conclusion comes from Calvin’s writings, one might think that Calvin himself rejected the authority of the Fathers, not only the later ones, but also the very first. Finally, Calvinists are claimed to be worse than Puritans, as the latter openly preach these ideas while ‘Calvin and Melanchthon say and teach under cover and [are] not so clear’.62 Finally, the third argument discusses the identity of the doctrines taught by the Fathers and by the sixteenth-century Catholic polemicists; while Protestants accuse the latter of idolatry, they are more comprehensive towards the Fathers. Here, one may observe how Wujek’s opinion of Calvinist patristics had changed. Previously, he accused his opponents of merely ignoring the Fathers, now he writes about their sympathy towards them: then wicked people, not to seem that they condemn all Fathers and Doctors and the first Church (because it is a great shame and obvious insanity), preach Fathers and ancient Doctors and say

57 PC 1573, Przedmowa do czytelnika łaskawego: ‘A przedsię sie w rozumieniu tych czterech słówek – To jest Ciało moje – nigdy zgodzić nie mogą. Abowiem zebrał jeden katolik dwieście wykładów różnych tych to czterech słówek z pisma ich własnego’. 58 PKŚ/2 1584, p. 566: ‘Niechajże mi naprzód pokażą ewanjelikowie w Piśmie tę regułę’. 59 Cf. A.N.S. Lane, John Calvin: Student of Church Fathers, Edinburgh 1999, pp. 40–41. 60 PKŚ/2 1584, p. 544: ‘nakłonienia i odstąpienia niejakiego od zdrowej nauki’. 61 Ibidem, p. 545: ‘powiadają, że od samych czasów apostolskich zawsze były błędy w Kościele i sami Ojcowie, i apostolscy mężowie ciężko pobłądzili’. 62 Ibidem: ‘Kalwin i Melanchton pod pokrywką i nie tak jaśnie mówią i uczą’.

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that they maintained the basis of the true doctrine, although on this foundation they built some uncertain and incorrect doctrines with wood, hay and straw.63

According to Wujek, the Protestants do not reject the Fathers, but in their attempt to avoid creating a bad impression they are guided by perversity and conformism; their interest in patristics is fragmented and concerns only particular views of the Fathers that are defined as the basis. The rest is ‘wood, hay and straw’. Wujek is outraged by the mildness of this metaphor: ‘what they openly call idolatry in our case, in the case of ancient Doctors they do not call it idolatry, but rather hay and straw, that is, small sins and light errors’.64 Wujek emphasises the inconsistency and demands either the condemnation of all supporters of the cult of relics, or a recognition of their arguments. Wujek’s arguments concerning the authority of the Fathers have a polemic character. Although the Jesuit uses positive arguments – for instance, when he reports the criteria of antiquitas, sanctitas vitae, approbatio Ecclesiae – the core of his argument is built around a polemic against sola scriptura. Firstly, Wujek accuses the Protestants of breaking completely with patristic traditions; however, he criticizes only the way they use it. The evolution of his argument between 1573 and 1584 demonstrates how the postil by Grzegorz of Żarnowiec had become an important point of reference for Wujek’s sermons. In the first edition of Postilla catholica, the Jesuit disputed with Calvinists mainly on the basis of a postil by Mikołaj Rej which, while very popular and of a very high literary standard, was theologically quite poor. It was Grzegorz of Żarnowiec who forced Wujek to reformulate his arguments. Therefore, in the edition of Postilla catholica from 1584 the author at last acknowledges the patristic interests of his opponents.

Grzegorz of Żarnowiec and Protestant response to Wujek’s arguments Writers of the Reformation proclaimed the exclusivity of scripture, but they did not reject patristics.65 In the texts of nearly all Protestant theologians from Luther, Melanchthon, Spangenberg and Mörlin, down to minor Czech, Polish and Hungarian authors, there were references to the Fathers of the Church. The study of the Fathers was, to some extent, prompted by the polemical situation of Protestantism, which preached a return to the early Church and was therefore forced to study the patristic literature in search of evidence. Augustine was the early Christian author most often cited, even by those Protestants who rarely referred to patristics. Other popular authors were those whose works were edited by Erasmus, especially Jerome, Cyprian, Hilary, 63 Ibidem: ‘tedy przewrotni ludzie, aby sie nie zdali zgoła wszystkich Ojców i Doktorów dawnych i Kościoła pierwszego potępiać (bo to wielki wstyd a jawne szaleństwo), tedy Ojce i Doktory stare omawiają, powiedając, że trzymali grunt prawdziwej wiary, choć na onym gruncie drzewo, siano i słomę, to jest niektóre nauki niepewne i obłędliwe budowali’. 64 Ibidem: ‘Widzicie, ludzie, widzicie, że co u nas jawnie bałwochwalstwem zową, wywracającym sam fundament wiary, tego u Doktorów starych nie zową bałwochwalstwem wywracającym wiarę, ale sianem a słomą to jest małymi grzeszkami i lekkimi błędami’. 65 The meaning of the Fathers to Protestant writers is analyzed by R. Kolb, ‘Patristic citation as homiletical tool in the vernacular sermon of the German late Reformation’, [in:] Günther (ed.), Die Patristik in der Frühen Neuzeit, pp. 155–179. See also an article about the selective use of the Fathers and the process of deparentification: S.H. Hendrix, ‘Deparentifying the Fathers: the reformers and patristic authority’, [in:] L. Grane (ed.), Auctoritas Patrum, vol. 1, Mainz 1993, pp. 55–68.

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Irenaeus, Ambrose, Chrysostom, Basil and Origen. The frequency of quotations depended on the subject; the highest number of references concerned such topics as dogmatics, the liturgy, and sacramentology.66 The Church Fathers were also a very important group of sources for Polish Protestant writers, including Grzegorz of Żarnowiec (Żarnowczyk; ca 1528–1601). Very little is known about this writer,67 although it seems that he was not a nobleman and all evidence suggests that he studied neither at the Academy of Cracow nor at one of the foreign universities; his writings, however, display a theological education. He took part in many synods where he declared himself in favour of Calvinism. Although he only occupied the post of minister within the Church hierarchy, he gained great popularity thanks to his work Postylla albo wykłady Ewanjelijej niedzielnych i na święta (Postil or Interpretations of Sunday and Festive Gospels) written against Jakub Wujek and his Postilla catholica. The first edition of the postil was published between 1580 and 1582 in Cracow by Matthias Virzbieta;68 a second edition was published in Vilnius in 1597.69 The popularity of the work is demonstrated by the fact that it was translated into both German and Bohemian. The genesis of his sermons is directly related to the postils of Rej and Wujek. The edition of Postylla albo wykłady Ewanjelijej from 1580/82 uses translations of pericopes and illustrations from Świętych słów a spraw pańskich postylla. However, the writer from Żarnowiec outdoes Rej in theology. Grzegorz of Żarnowiec refers also to Jakub Wujek’s postil. His decision to write a Protestant response to the Postilla catholica came relatively late, a fact which did not escape Wujek’s attention: ‘barely last year, the ninth one after the edition of Postil Major, when I no longer expected anything from them, the opponents published their postil (which has been in preparation for so long)’.70 The cause of the delay may have been connected to the genesis of the postil, which was written as a response to the decision of a Protestant synod. Work on the postil was supervised and censored by the synods and seniors, which in turn extended the time between completion of the manuscript and the initial printing.71 Sermons were supposed to represent the Polish Protestant community which had been united by the Sandomierz Confession of 1570. Although Grzegorz of Żarnowiec was a Calvinist minister, in his sermons he attempted to preach also on behalf of other reformed Churches; the preface, therefore, contains a significant Maciuszko, Ewangelicka postyllografia polska, pp. 232, 321–322. For one attempt at a biographical reconstruction, see H. Kowalska, ‘Grzegorz z Żarnowca’, [in:] Polski słownik biograficzny, vol. 9, Wrocław 1960–1961, pp. 91–93. 68 Postylla albo wykłady Ewanjelijej niedzielnych i na święta przez cały rok Kościoła krześcijańskiego powszechniego […]. Pirwsza część postylle od adwentu aż do Świętej Trójce, [Cracow: Matthias Virzbieta, 1580] [P/1 1580]; Postylle część wtóra od Trójce Świętej aż do adwentu […], [Cracow: Matthias Virzbieta, 1581] [P/2 1581]; Trzecia część postylle o świętych przez cały rok idących […], [Cracow: Matthias Virzbieta, 1582] [P/3 1582]. 69 Postilla albo wykłady Ewanjelij niedzielnych i świąt uroczystych przez cały rok Kościoła krześcijańskiego powszechnego […]. Znowu od samego autora z pilnością przejrzana i na wielu miejscach poprawiona i po wtóre wydana, [Vilnius: Joannes Velicensis Cartzanus], 1597 [P 1597]. 70 PKŚ/2 1584, Autor czytelnikowi łaskawemu: ‘Aliści dopiro przeszłego roku, dziewiątego po wydaniu Postylle tej więtszej, gdym sie już od nich czego nie spodziewał, wydali też przeciwnicy postyllę swą (na którą sie tak długo zbierali)’. 71 P/1 1580, Paweł Gilowski, Krzysztof Trecy, Przedmowa do Jegomości Pana Wileńskiego: ‘Której to postylle pracą zleciliśmy jednemu z braciej na imię księdzu Grzegorzowi z Żarnowca. Którą napisawszy, okazał na synodzie piotrkowskim ministrom Słowa Bożego. Tamże oglądana będąc, jest pochwalona i przyjęta od wszystkich, i do drukowania poruczona’. 66

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passage claiming that the postil ‘is neither Lutheran nor Calvinist – the new one and recently invented as opponents usually call it’,72 but rather that it is based on a true and common faith. Nevertheless, there was some resistance on the part of Lutherans and Czech Brethren, who saw a threat for their identity in accepting it.73 The postil was strongly criticized by the Jesuit community, and the second edition of Postilla catholica provided an opportunity to respond to Żarnowczyk. Among the Jesuits, there arose a discussion on how best to answer the Calvinists;74 one of the suggestions was to include refutations of Grzegorz of Żarnowiec in each sermon, which would have resulted in a completely redrafted volume.75 Ultimately, it was decided to reprint the first edition and add the Apologija76 as an appendix, including sermons on the most controversial topics and the list of Protestant errors. This time, the Calvinist response was immediate. In 1586 Grzegorz of Żarnowiec published Obrona postylle ewanjelickiej (Defence of Evangelical Postil), the structure of which was analogous to Wujek’s.77 Żarnowczyk, in his sermons, makes efficient use of patristic argument. He quotes Augustine 138 times – referring to 44 of his writings – and Cyprian 51 times.78 In his polemics against Wujek, he employs the Fathers’ texts and almost completely ignores quotes from the works of contemporary reformed writers; his theological background is, nonetheless, based on the writings of Luther, Calvin and Bullinger. In this way, he is able to refute Wujek’s objection that supporters of the Reformation had wilfully dismissed the authority of the Fathers. The problem of the Fathers’ authority is discussed by Żarnowczyk mainly in the context of the debate about the relationship between scripture and unwritten tradition. His interest in the Fathers, therefore, cannot be separated from the idea of sola scriptura. The Reformation gave scripture to every Christian, and allowed them to read and interpret it in accordance with their own reason; the hierarchical Church thus ceased to be the sole repository of the Revelation. This return to scripture did not, however, mean that the Fathers of the Church were entirely rejected, although their significance did change. The new attitude is summed up in Philipp Melanchthon’s words: ‘I believe the Fathers, because I believe scripture’.79 The authority of early Christian writers was based on their conformity to the Bible, which was the main criterion of truth for all theological statements. 72 P 1597, Przedmowa do Jego X Miłości Pana Wojewody Wileńskiego: ‘nie jest Lutrowa, ani Kalwinowa, nowa jaka niedawno zmyślona jako więc przeciwnicy wołać zwykli’. 73 R. Czyż, Obrona wiary w edycjach postylli Grzegorza z Żarnowca, Warsaw 2008, pp. 34–35; Maciuszko, Ewangelicka postyllografia polska, p. 132. 74 Arguments are presented in Wujek’s memorial to the Polish provincial Giovanni Paolo Campano (Korespondencyja, pp. 138–140). 75 PKŚ/2 1584, Przedmowa. Autor czytelnikowi łaskawemu: ‘Mógłbych ci był wprawdzie przy każdym kazaniu na ich wykręty i potwarze szerzej odpowiedzieć, ale niż mię ich postylla doszła, już był drukarz zaczął tę naszę po wtóre drukować. A też by sie była postylla nasza nazbyt rozciągnęła’. 76 Apologija to jest obrona postylle katolicznej, przeciw sprośnym wykrętom i potwarzam Postylle heretyckiej w Krakowie wydanej Roku Pańskiego 1582 (PKŚ/2 1584, pp. 515–702). 77 Obrona postylle ewanjelickiej. To jest odpowiedź na Apologiją jezuicką w Krakowie niedawno wydaną […], [Cracow: Matthias Virzbieta, 1586] [O 1586]; Obrona postylle ewanjelickiej. To jest odpowiedź na Apologiją jezuicką w Krakowie niedawno wydaną […], Wilno: [Joannes Velicensis Cartzanus], 1591 [O 1591]. 78 Maciuszko, Ewangelicka postyllografia polska, p. 135. 79 Ph. Melanchthon, Opera quae supersunt omnia, C.G. Bretschneider (ed.), vol. 1, Halle an der Salle 1834, p. 115: ‘patribus enim credo, quia scripturae credo’.

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Grzegorz of Żarnowiec advocates the thesis about the exclusivity of scripture. He accuses the Jesuits of blasphemy, and quotes Wujek’s phrase that ‘to believe only scripture is to believe nothing’.80 He refers to patristic tradition as a superstition that weighs down human conscience and leads to neglecting the Bible; as an historical argument, he uses the example of the ancient councils: ‘the first Church fought against heretics in councils not with tradition, but with scripture’.81 Nevertheless, Protestants were forced to confront the texts of the Fathers if they wished to make claims about the validity of the patristic tradition; to this end, they tried to find a definition that would be compatible with sola scriptura. Grzegorz claims that the tradition was merely an addition to the Christian doctrine and did not contribute with anything new. His argument is twofold: on the one hand, the tradition only repeats principles taken from the scriptures, perhaps formulated with other words, as in the Apostles’ Creed; on the other hand, it does not concern matters pertaining to salvation, but deals mostly with minor cases.82 Żarnowczyk presents a list of customs that, according to particular Fathers, belonged to the tradition, but were not preserved in the Church. Tertullian, for example, recommended giving milk and honey to newborn children. Epiphanius wanted only bread with salt to be eaten six days before Easter. Basil the Great claimed that one should not kneel during the liturgy from Easter to Pentecost.83 Grzegorz uses these examples to question Fathers’ authority. This list of outdated traditions allows Grzegorz to accuse Catholics of having no external criterion to determine which ancient recommendations are valuable and which are not. He also presents contradictions among the Fathers; some of them believed, for instance, in Christ’s millennial reign on the earth, while others considered it a heresy. Therefore, Żarnowczyk asks: ‘to whom among them would Jesuits dare ascribe the Holy Spirit?’84, and in another place: ‘Will we verify doctors by doctors? Why would they not describe in whom to believe, and in whom not to believe?’85 Since Grzegorz’s opponents have no such criterion, ‘when they do not have scripture, they will be able to accept everything they want – even a base fabrication – as a necessary article of faith’.86 In many cases Żarnowczyk makes bold use of the Fathers’ authority. This is not unusual, as the Fathers were generally regarded as ancient supporters of the Reform who condemned the kind of abuses that become typical within the later Catholic Church. It was the Lutheran reformer Matthias Flacius who represented such a confessional approach to the Fathers, going so far as to present several hundred quotations which demonstrated that the Church Fathers rejected the contemporary position of the Pope.87 This mode of argument would not have been unfamiliar to Grzegorz of PC 1573, Przedmowa do czytelnika łaskawego: ‘samemu Pismu wierzyć jest niczemu nie wierzyć’. O 1586, p. 59: ‘pierwszy Kościół z heretykami na koncylijach potykał się nie tradycyjami, ale Pismem Świętym’. 82 Ibidem, p. 63. 83 Ibidem, p. 60. 84 Ibidem: ‘którym Ducha Świętego przysądzić, którym go odjąć jezuitowie będą śmieli?’. 85 Ibidem, p. 61: ‘Jeśli Doktormi Doktorów będziemy próbować? A czemuż nam nie opiszą, którym wierzyć, a którym nie wierzyć?’. 86 Ibidem, p. 57: ‘kiedy im Pisma Świętego nie zstanie, cokolwiek jedno będą chcieli i nasprośniejszy wymysł za artykuł wiary potrzebny udać będą mogli’. 87 M. Flacius Illyricus, Catalogus testium veritatis qui ante nostram aetatem reclamarunt papae, Basilea: Johannes Herbst, 1556. 80 81

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Żarnowiec; he would thus have been incensed by Wujek’s claims that: ‘Evangelicals break our fathers’ laws, exceed their bounds, and care not for the customs of antiquity’.88 In response, Grzegorz complains about Jesuits who ‘claim unfairly that we make devils from Apostles and holy doctors when we say that they gave us one doctrine through scripture and in scripture’.89 Żarnowczyk wants to prove that Wujek’s characterisation is entirely false, and often comments that the Fathers themselves would brand confessors of the Roman Catholic Church as heretics: ‘these doctors add no other fundamental traditions apart from Holy Scripture but, indeed, they call such people heretics who resort to some unwritten tradition instead of scripture’.90 The author of the postil criticizes Jesuits directly when writing about the Fathers: ‘Doctors object to Jesuits and their interpretations’91 (the marginale to the quote from Augustine) or ‘He painted our Jesuits and gave them the title of heretics who complain about scripture also at our times such as heretics in the times of Irenaeus’92 (commentary to a quote from Irenaeus). However, one often finds a distrust of the Fathers’ authority, exploited by Catholics. In the Protestant view, it was possible for the Fathers’ to be fallible as a result of abandoning the exegesis Schrift mit Schrift (scripture with scripture). There were certain Lutheran theologians, including Martin Chemnitz, who in their postils did not refer to patristic works.93 In another work by Chemnitz, the Loci theologici, he describes the conditions for reading the Church Fathers: reading the Fathers, he confirms, can be useful and fruitful, however one should do it carefully, briefly and – in opposition to certain Catholic recommendations that promote universality – one should consult only ‘the writings of certain individual fathers’94. Chemnitz proposes a special method that helps distinguish important matters from the dangerous ones; he writes that ‘this kind of comparison will be profitable in order to see the occasions when they spoke somewhat improperly, when something should be eliminated as less than helpful, and how a later age might correct something which had arisen in time of controversy’.95 In Żarnowczyk’s postil, an awareness of these less-than-helpful places is expressed in the context of polemics against Jesuits; when writing about the Fathers, he will occasionally draw attention to their religious affiliation with formulations such as ‘let us listen to their doctors’96 or ‘but if we look at their doctors, they will confess that…’.97 This scepticism regarding the authority of the Fathers is also visible in the preface: 88 O 1586, p. 57: ‘ewanjelicy ustawy ojców naszych gwałcą, granice ich przestępują, na dawność rządną i zwyczaj nie dbają’. 89 Ibidem, p. 59: ‘niesłusznie nas do ludzi podawają, jakobyśmy z apostołów i Doktorów świętych dyjabły czynili, gdy powiadamy, iż nam jednę samę naukę przez Pismo i na piśmie podali’. 90 Ibidem: ‘ci Doktorowie okrom Pisma Świętego inszych tradycyj nie wtrącają fundamentalnych, ale owszem, heretykami takowe nazywają, którzy się od Pisma Świętego do tradycyj jakichś niepisanych uciekają’. 91 Ibidem, p. 62: ‘Doktorowie przeciwni są jezuitom i ich wykładom’. 92 Ibidem, p. 59: ‘Wymalował nasze jezuity i w heretycki je tytuł oblókł, którzy także czasów naszych dzisiejszych właśnie jako heretycy za Ireneusza […] na Pismo sie skarżą’. 93 M. Chemnitz, Postilla oder Außlegung der Euangelien welche auf die Sontage und fürnembste Feste durch gantze Jahr in der Gemeine Gottes abgelesen und erkleret werden, Magdeburg: Johann Francken, 1594. 94 Idem, Loci theologici, J.A.O. Preus (trans.), St. Louis 1989, p. 27. 95 Ibidem. 96 O 1586, p. 62: ‘przysłuchajmy się i tym ich Doktorom’. 97 Ibidem, p. 57: ‘Ale jeśli obrócimy oczy i do ich Doktorów, toż nam zeznają’.

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we cannot take the place of those who always have the Fathers in their mouths and cry ‘Fathers, Fathers’. Because, though their reason has its place among believers, these Fathers and Doctors teach to judge and test their doctrine by Holy Scripture. In their writings and interpretations they do not agree not only with others, but also with themselves; thus, however many Doctors there are is the number of opinions and interpretations you will find.98

Grzegorz of Żarnowiec protests against the authority of the Fathers themselves and, while he does not refuse them a special place in the Church, he subordinates completely them to scripture.

Reviving ancient heresies Jakub Wujek’s postils reflect how patristic authority was used in the context of post-Tridentine controversial theology. References to the Church Fathers in his texts, however, were more than just a series of footnotes supporting his polemical arguments. Wujek interpreted the contemporary world with its disputes and moral problems in terms of ancient reality. In Wujek’s opinion, ancient controversies had been revived in his time, and the sixteenth century became the scene of disputes that had occurred once before. The cycle of history had brought new heresies and apologists, and the writings of the Church Fathers acted as manuals on how to fight heretics. Luther, Calvin and Zwingli were treated as contemporary incarnations of Arius, Berengarius, or Faustus the Manichean. ‘They brought back into the world the damned errors of ancient heretics’ – as Wujek complained.99 Because of the polemical character of his postil, heretics are one of the most important topics. One sermon in Wujek’s Apologija is titled O heretykach, że ewangelikowie dzisiejszy, lutrowie, kalwinistowie i inni są heretykami, własnym sądem potępieni (About heretics, that Evangelicals of today, Lutherans, Calvinists and others are heretics, condemned by their own judgment). Here, Wujek takes advantage of divisions within the Reformation and Luther’s words condemning Calvin and Zwingli in the context of the Eucharist controversy.100 Wujek concludes that if Protestants even call each other heretics, they must be heretics indeed. To this end, it is favourable to Wujek’s argument that Grzegorz of Żarnowiec, who defends Luther in his sermons, was in fact Calvinist minister and, therefore, a heretic according to the reformer from Wittenberg. Grzegorz of Żarnowiec, in turn, accuses Wujek of false and baseless allegations. He notes that, even if Wujek’s analogy could be accepted, it would prove only the hypocrisy of the Roman Church, because the ancient councils treated heretics better than Protestants were presently being treated: ‘they are not convicted, tried and condemned either by the order, or by prophetical and apostolic writing; they are not even 98 O 1586, p. 17: ‘Nie mamy też miejsca dawać i owym, którzy zawżdy w uściech mają Ojce, wołając “Ojcowie, Ojcowie”. Bo acz i tych rozsądek ma miejsce u wiernych, wszakże i ci Ojcowie i Doktorowie nauki swoje Pismem Świętym sądzić i doświadczać nauczają, a ktemu iż w piśmiech i wykładziech swych nie tylko z innymi, ale i sami sie z sobą na wielu miejscach nie zgadzają, tak iż ile Doktorów, tyle opinij i wykładów u nich najdziesz’. 99 PC 1573, Przedmowa do Jego Miłości Księdza Biskupa Poznańskiego: ‘Przeklęte starych heretyków błędy znowu na świat wynieśli’. 100 PKŚ/2 1584, pp. 548–550.

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questioned, which is a custom of good judges’.101 What is more, Christ and the Apostles were called heretics, so the insult is almost honourable. Responding to Wujek, Żarnowczyk refers to the Postilla catholica and, following the Jesuit, he presents an etymology of the word ‘heretic’. Wujek had translated the Greek word with negative connotations to discredit Protestants: A heretic is named in Greek after choosing, like a chooser (because he chooses from different faiths or sects what he likes or what seems to be closer to the truth). […] Therefore, today’s Evangelicals choose heresies condemned long ago, and errors instead of the divine truth.102

On the contrary, Grzegorz underlines the neutral character of the etymology: ‘what the word “heretic” means from Greek, and especially “to choose” – who chooses a view or an opinion, which is not wrong, and especially, when someone chooses something better’.103 He points out that the early Church was called heretical: ‘the first Apostolic Church was called heresis (a choice) because it has chosen faith in Jesus Christ from among the Jewish and pagan sects’.104 In this quotation, the word heresis carries no negative connotations, much as it does not in the text of the Bible used by Żarnowczyk: ‘But this I confess unto thee, that after the way which they call heresy, so worship I the God of my fathers, believing all things which are written in the law and in the prophets’ (Acts 24:14 KJV). Wujek understands heresy as a violation of the unity of the Church, and places the blame for this lack of unity on those who were baptized and ordained in the Catholic faith, but who later left to found a new community. Indeed, he employs the same argument when he writes about the Donatists who left the Church, but believed themselves to be the Church.105 He identifies the followers of Donatus with Protestants, and sees himself as the successor of Augustine who fought them. These comparisons lead him to recognize in heresy a phenomenon that had been occurring repeatedly over the centuries: ‘because with every change of the faith and every leaving the ancient and common Christian Church everything has to be uncovered and showed’.106 However, while Wujek understood the genesis of heresies as a break in the unity of the Church, Grzegorz believed that sects were a side-effect of preaching the orthodox doctrine, and he interprets them as a sign of Satan’s hatred.107 ‘Such sects existed in the times of Irenaeus, Tertullian and other holy Fathers, and they came from the doctrine

O 1586, Przedmowa do łaskawego a chrześcijańskiego czytelnika: ‘ani takim porządkiem, ani pismem prorockim i apostolskim nie rzkąc nie są heretykami przekonani, okazani i potępieni, ale ani przesłuchani jako obyczaj jest dobrych sędziów’. 102 PKŚ/2 1584, p. 551: ‘Heretyk po grecku nazwan jest od obierania, jakoby obieracz (że sobie z różnych wiarek albo sekt obiera to, co mu sie podoba, albo co mu sie zda być bliższego prawdy). […] Tedy ewanjelikowie dzisiejszy one dawno potępione kacerstwa i błędy miasto prawdy Bożej obierają’. 103 O 1586, p. 49: ‘co to słowo heretyk znaczy z greckiego, a zwłaszcza obierać, który sobie jakie zdanie albo opiniją obiera, co przez się rzecz zgoła nie jest zła, a zwłaszcza gdy sobie kto obiera co lepszego’. 104 Ibidem: ‘którym też względem i Kościół on pirwszy apostolski był zwany herezys, to jest obraniem, iż między inszymi sektami żydowskimi i pogańskimi obrał sobie wiarę w Jezusa Krystusa’. 105 PKŚ/2 1584, pp. 537–538. 106 Ibidem, p. 539: ‘Bo przy każdym odmienieniu wiary i w każdym odstępieniu od starego a powszechnego Kościoła chrześcijańskiego, to sie wszystko odkryć i pokazać musi’. 107 Cf. Czyż, Obrona wiary, p. 40. 101

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that they preached and taught’.108 The conviction shared by both polemicists is that the Church has never been free from heresy. Both claim that the Reformation brought new heresies; Wujek, however, terms all of the Protestants heretics, while Grzegorz of Żarnowiec believes it about only some groups, especially the Polish Brethren. The polemicists differ in their opinions concerning the reasons for heresy, which are evaluated negatively by the Jesuit and positively by the Calvinists who writes: ‘where a new doctrine is founded, there must be strange sects and blasphemies’.109 The theme of heresy appears also in the preface to Wujek’s PC 1575, dedicated to Princess Anna Jagiellon, which concerns the cult of saints. Wujek begins by recalling the tradition of the Church from apostolic times. He establishes a contrast between, on the one hand, ‘respectable bishops and preachers, as Basil, Chrysostom, Gregory Nazianzus, Gregory of Nyssa, Augustine, Ambrose and others’,110 spreading the cult of saints and, on the other, ‘Jews, gentiles and apostates (as Julian the Apostate, Faustus the Manichean, Maximus Madaurensis)’,111 who considered the cult of saints to be idolatry. His argument is enriched with a series of quotes from Theodoretus, Basil and Augustine, who repulsed attacks on the cult of the martyrs. This extensive introduction is a starting point for the author’s comments about the contemporary situation. As ‘any attentive Christian can easily see’,112 after more than a thousand years, history had come full circle and, once again, ‘our separated brethren’113 were questioning the intercession of saints, while the Catholic Church in unity with the Apostolic Tradition, celebrated holidays, prayed and asked for help. In the preface dedicated to the bishop Konarski, Wujek compares ‘Luther’s or Calvin’s fabrications’114 with ‘those ancient errors of Arius, Vigilantius, Berengarius, Huss, Wycliffe, and other masters’.115 However, the analogy of old heresies and new errors is drawn most extensively in Przedmowa do czytelnika łaskawego (PC 1573). Here, Wujek discusses six arguments in a dispute between Catholics and Protestants, and in each case he adopts the same structure: a problem, an interpretation of the Church Fathers, an ancient heresy, and a modern heresy (Protestantism). Wujek formulates certain practical guidelines for a Catholic who is confused by sixteenth-century dogmatic debates. The Jesuit does not attempt to push an agenda of blind obedience to the Church but, rather, presents rational arguments in support of its authority. A basic knowledge of the first centuries of Christianity is crucial. Thanks to this ancient history, a reader may easily discover that the Roman Church proclaims what the Fathers defended and that the Protestants were repeating the errors of early Christian heresies. The Calvinist understanding of the Eucharist was merely the 108 O 1586, p. 352: ‘Takoweż sekty i za onych świętych Doktorów Ireneusza, Tertulijana i inszych Ojców świętych były i z tejże nauki, którą przepowiadali i której uczyli, wychodziły’. 109 Ibidem: ‘Gdzie powstawa prawdziwa nauka, […] tamci muszą być dziwne sekty i bluźnierstwa’. 110 PC 1575, Najaśniejszej Pannie Królewnie Jej Miłości Polskiej Annie: ‘zacnych biskupów i kaznodziejów, jako Bazylijus, Chryzostomus, Gregoryjus Nazyjanzenus, Gregoryjus Nyssenus, Augustynus, Ambrozjus i inszy’. 111 Ibidem: ‘żydów, pogan i odszczepieńców (jako Juljanus Apostata, Faustus Manicheus, Maksymus Medaurensis)’. 112 Ibidem: ‘każdy baczny człowiek chrześcijański łacno poznać może’. 113 Ibidem: ‘odpadli braci nasi’. 114 PC 1573, Przedmowa do Jego Miłości Księdza Biskupa Poznańskiego: ‘wymysły Luterowe abo Kalwinowe’. 115 Ibidem: ‘onymi starymi błędami Aeryjuszowymi, Wigilancyjuszowymi, Berengaryjuszowymi, Husowymi, Wicleffowymi i inszych mistrzów’.

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old error of Berengarius; the cult of the saints was questioned not only by Luther, but also by Vigilantius, who was, in turn, opposed by Jerome; the Holy Mass as a sacrifice was already rejected by the Petrobrusians; Jovinian and Arius resigned from fasting and prayer for the deceased, which was recounted by Philastrius, Epiphanius, Jerome and Augustine; the Ebionites, Arians and Donatists were opposed to infant baptism. The sermon O Kościele prawdziwym Pana Chrystusowym (On the true Church of the Lord Christ) contains instruction on how to identify heresy, both ancient and modern.116 The Jesuit lists ten categories that help to define the character of heretics. There are: the leader, the doctrine, the time, the condemnation by ‘bishops, pastors and doctors’ as well as by councils, territorial division between heretics and orthodox, divisions within heretics themselves, a small group of founders, brevity, and finally, ‘the stability of the true Church’. Some of these categories are of neutral character and describe only the phenomenon of divisions within the Church. Others, however, support Wujek’s anti-Protestant argument, and are intended to demonstrate error and schism. Thus, the Jesuit builds an extensive argument by analogy: supporters of the Reformation are heretics because they meet such conditions as having leaders and doctrines, existing in a certain time, being excommunicated, and so forth. Catholic writers tried to Romanize the Fathers of the Church, emphasizing their complete catholicity. Ancient heresies could thus be identified with new religious movements in the sixteenth century. The Catholic apologists wanted to place current theological debates in an ancient context, and to refute the Protestant heresy in the same way that heresies were refuted during the first centuries of Christianity.

Patristic citations as rhetorical tools Both Jakub Wujek and Grzegorz of Żarnowiec refer to the same early Christian writers, and it occurs sometimes that they will comment on their opponent’s quotations to refute their probatory force. They will refer to this method of quotation and interpretation, use the same patristic citations, and comment on their rhetorical devices. In his Kazanie na niedzielę przedzapustną (Sermon on the Second Sunday before Lent),117 Grzegorz defends the authority of scripture as sufficient, and turns against the unwritten tradition. He adds two passages from the works of Irenaeus to a group of biblical quotations, but his decision to add a patristic quote is, in fact, an attempt to convince Catholics who, according to Grzegorz, place greater value on the Fathers than the scripture. The first text of Irenaeus quoted in Postylla albo wykłady Ewanjelijej comes from the third book of Against Heresies (3,1) and refers to the Gospel which was initially preached and later written down: It could be shown by the very ancient Doctor Irenaeus, whom they will sooner believe. He writes at one point that: we have learned the disposition of our salvation from none so much as those by

116 117

PKŚ/2 1584, pp. 528–537. P/1 1580, pp. 92–99.

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whom the Gospel came to us. The Gospel was firstly preached and then it was given us according to God’s will, as the foundation and pillar of our faith. That is Doctor Irenaeus.118

When Wujek responds to the Calvinist, he repeats the quote, but removes the part that concerns ‘the disposition of our salvation’;119 his presentation of Irenaeus includes only the statement about writing down the previously preached Gospel. On the basis of his words, no one can prove that the Apostles wrote down the whole doctrine, or that one should accept nothing apart from scripture. Wujek omits the phrase ‘we have learned the disposition of our salvation from none so much as those by whom the Gospel came to us’,120 which is the basis of Żarnowczyk’s interpretation. While Wujek quotes the Church Father’s words in a shortened version, Grzegorz of Żarnowiec provides a quotation that does not exist or, at least, does not originate in the section cited. Grzegorz employs a phrase allegedly from the 59 chapter of the third book of Against Heresies: And in another place [Irenaeus] writes: To rely on the Holy Scripture, which is reliable and undoubted truth, is to build a house on a solid rock, but to abandon scripture and to rely on any other doctrines is to built on sand, where you have to be afraid of overturning.121

A reference to the biblical parable of the houses built on sand and rock does appear in Irenaeus, but in a different place (Against Heresies 2,27), and context (an interpretation of the parable and unclear passages in scripture). Wujek does not neglect to seize the opportunity, and accuses the Protestants of fabricating the bishop of Lyon’s words: ‘because in Irenaeus, you have nothing of the kind, not only in the place that has been pointed out, but […] in all his books’.122 The situation becomes even more complicated because Wujek (or his printer) did not avoid the mistake and mixed up books in the quotation provided at the margin address (Iren: lib: 2, cap 59 at Wujek’s, while Żarnowczyk refers to the third book). Wujek draws a clear conclusion from Grzegorz’s mistake, specifically that the Fathers’ works do not discuss the exclusivity of scripture but, on the contrary, they advocate the importance of tradition. In order to confirm this position, Wujek presents his own quote from Irenaeus (Against Heresies 3,4): And [Irenaeus] says: And what if the Apostles had not left us writings, so that we do not have to follow the tradition (that is the oral instruction), which they conveyed to the ones to whom they committed the Churches? Many Christian nations assent to such an instruction, having salvation 118 P/1 1580, p. 96: ‘Z jednego sie to starego a barzo dawnego Doktora Ireneusza, któremu rychlej uwierzą, pokazać może, który tak na jednym miejscu pisze: Nie przez insześmy (powieda) sprawy zbawienia naszego poznali, jedno przez ty, przez które Ewanjelija przyszła do nas, którą to Ewanjeliją jako pirwej przepowiadali, tak ją nam potym za wolą Bożą na piśmie za fundament i filar wiary naszej podali. To Ireneus Doktor’. 119 PKŚ/2 1584, p. 566: ‘Co każdy wnet obaczy, wejźrzawszy w te Ireneuszowe słowa: Ewanjeliją, którą nam apostołowie pierwej przepowiadali, tę potym za wolą Bożą na piśmie podali, aby była fundamentem i filarem wiary naszej. Dotąd Ireneusz’. 120 Irenaeus, Libri quinque adversus portentosas haereses Valentini et aliorum, Geneva: Jean Le Preux, 1570, p. 169: ‘Non enim per alios dispositionem salutis nostrae cognovimus’. 121 P/1 1580, p. 96: ‘A na inszym miejscu tenże [Ireneusz] pisze: Na Piśmie Świętym polegać, które pewna i niewątpliwa prawda jest, jest na mocnej opoce dom budować, ale Pismo opuściwszy, na insze sie jakiekolwiek nauki spuszczać, jest sie na piasku, gdzie sie wywrócenia trzeba obawać, budować’. 122 PKŚ/2 1584, p. 567: ‘bo u Ireneusza nie tylko tam na tym miejscu, które naznaczyli, ale […] i w całych księgach jego nic takiego nie masz’.

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written in their hearts by the Holy Spirit, without sheet or ink, and preserving the ancient tradition. So says and thinks Irenaeus about traditions.123

The words in parentheses are added by the Jesuit, who often adds such commentary to the texts he quotes. In his Obrona postylle ewanjelickiej Grzegorz does not comment on his mistake, but he does refer to the passage quoted by Wujek (above) in order to accuse him of falsification and manipulation.124 Wujek’s quote proves that Irenaeus believed that the Apostles provided a tradition that could, if necessary, replace scripture. Grzegorz uses the same passage but, again, in a very different context; he joins it with an argument about the identity of the unwritten tradition within the Apostles’ Creed. He proves that in the tradition there are no elements other than Scripture. He cites the following verses form Irenaeus: Carefully preserving the ancient tradition, they believe in one God, who created heaven and earth, and all things therein, by means of his Son, who united us with God, due to his love of his creation, through his birth (from the Virgin, in the appointed time). He suffered under Pontius Pilate, he rose from the dead and ascended into heaven, in eminence and glory. From there he shall come as the Saviour of those who will be saved and the Judge of those who will be judged etc.125

Grzegorz finds the creed in these words, and concludes that so-called tradition is merely a repetition.126 The passage quoted by Grzegorz is more extensive than the one that appears in Wujek’s text, and the Calvinist accuses the Jesuit of abbreviating Irenaeus in order ‘to deceive’. Żarnowczyk ignores the fact that Wujek quoted it in a completely different context, and therefore did not require the part of the quotation that summarizes the creed. On the other hand, the point where the quotation ended conveyed a polemical meaning, demonstrated in one of the sermons from Wujek’s Postylla mniejsza, titled Pewne opisanie i okazanie Kościoła prawdziwego jako ji poznać mamy i z nauką jego, wyjęte z Ireneusza biskupa i męczennika świętego (Certain Description and Presentation of the True Church how We Should Know, and with Her Doctrine, Taken from Saint Irenaeus, Bishop and Martyr),127 which is a translation of the third and fourth chapter of the third book of Against Heresies. Wujek employs the remaining passage, but he does not preserve the 123 Ibidem: ‘I mówi [Ireneusz] tak: Cóż gdyby nam byli nie zostawili pisma apostołowie, iż abyśmy nie musieli naśladować porządku Tradycyjej (to jest nauki słownej), którą podali tym, którym Kościoły poruczali? Na którym porządku nauki przestawają wiele narodów chrześcijańskich, mając bez karty i czernidła napisane w sercach swych przez Ducha Świętego zbawienie i starą Tradycyją zachowując. Toć tak Ireneusz o tradycyjach mówi i rozumie’. 124 O 1586, p. 63: ‘Wyjeżdżają na harc w Apologijej jezuitowie z onymi słowy Ireneusza Doktora, który tak mówi: Gdyby nam byli apostołowie Pisma Świętego nie podali, izaż by sie było nie godziło naśladować porządku Tradycyj onych, które podali apostołowie tym, którym Kościoły zlecali?’. 125 Ibidem: ‘Dawnego podania i tradycyi pilnie przestrzegając, w jednego Boga wierząc, który stworzył niebo i ziemię, i to, co w nich jest, przez Syna swojego, który dla wielkiej miłości swojej ku stworzeniu swojemu przez urodzenie swoje (czasu naznaczonego z Panny) z Bogiem nas zjednoczył, umęczon pod Ponskim Piłatem, z martwych wstał i w osławieniu a chwale do nieba jest wzięt, skąd przyjdzie zbawicielem tych, którzy będą zbawieni, a sędzią tym, którzy będą sądzeni etc.’. 126 Ibidem: ‘Oto Ireneusz dawny dawa w tych słowiech jaśnie znać, że przez tradycyje rozumie summę wiary krześcijańskiej Kredo. I to słowy niewątpliwymi pokazuje, że ta tradycyja nie jest częścią jaką nauki w Piśmie nieopisanej, ale nauką z Pismem Świętym zgodną i w Piśmie opisaną. Bo i Kredo (i to, co tu przypomina z tych tradycyj Ireneusz) wszytko w Piśmie Świętym jest’. 127 PKM 1596, pp. 597–598.

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words cited by Grzegorz (the text of the creed) and quotes the text about the reaction to heretical doctrine which was not present in Żarnowczyk’s sermon.128 Grzegorz is also guilty of shortening a quotation, but the quotation he abbreviates is taken from Wujek. He repeats the text of Irenaeus used in Postilla catholica, but shortens it by one sentence. Żarnowczyk provides his own translation of the second sentence, that allegedly was not included in Postilla catholica, the meaning of which is closer to the Latin original: but because the Jesuits have cut down to deceive, they should add what the doctor writes then and look at his words, so they will soon discover what Irenaeus means by the tradition, for later he says that: to which traditions many barbarian people assent who have believed in Christ without letters or ink, having salvation written in their hearts. They carefully preserve the ancient tradition.129

The problem is that one can find this sentence in Wujek, albeit with a slightly different syntax. The similarity to the Catholic version becomes further obscured by a different lexis. This may, however, have resulted from the use of different editions of Irenaeus’ works. In the sixteenth-century editions of Irenaeus, there appeared two variants (repeated after the medieval manuscripts):130 sine charta vel atramento and sine charactere vel atramento. The Jesuit uses the version sine charta that can be translated as ‘without sheet or ink’,131 while Żarnowczyk’s translation (‘without letters or ink’132) is based on the Latin sine charactere. The distinction, however, was not of a religious character. The variant chosen by Grzegorz was dominant in Renaissance editions, from Erasmus133 to religious texts, both Protestant134 and Catholic.135 The form sine charta, translated by Wujek, appears as a variant in the Parisian edition published by the Franciscan François Feuardent.136 Nevertheless, the Jesuit was not faithful to one edition of Irenaeus, because in PKM 1596 he used the form sine charactere ‘without letters or ink’.137 Ibidem, p. 598: ‘Na którym podaniu przestawają wiele narodów obcych, tych, którzy w Chrystusa wierzą, bez liter abo czernidła mając napisane przez Ducha Świętego na sercach swych zbawienie i starego podania pilnie przestrzegając, którym gdyby kto powiadał te nauki, które od heretyków są wynalezione, mówiąc do nich własnym ich językiem, natychmiast by, uszy zasłoniwszy, uciekli co nadalej, nie mogąc ani słyszeć bluźnierskiej rozmowy’. 129 O 1586, p. 63: ‘Ale iż ocięli jezuitowie dla oszukania, niechaj dołożą, co dalej pisze ten Doktor i w te słowa jego wejrzą, a wnet obaczą, co przez tę Tradycyję rozumie Ireneusz, bo tak dalej mówi: Na które to tradycyje zezwala też wiele ludzi pogańskich, tych, którzy w Krystusa uwierzyli, bez liter i inkaustu napisane mając w sercach swoich zbawienie. Dawnego podania i tradycyi pilnie przestrzegając’. Cf. Irenaeus, Libri quinque, p. 172: ‘Cui ordinationi assentiunt multae gentes barbarorum eorum qui in Christum credunt, sine charactere vel atramento scriptam habentes per Spiritum in cordibus suis salutem et veterem traditionem diligenter custodientes’. 130 Cf. Irenaeus, Contre les hérésies: livre III, A. Roussaeau, L. Doutreleau (eds.), Paris 1974. 131 PKŚ/2 1584, p. 567: ‘bez karty i czernidła’. 132 O 1586, p. 63: ‘bez liter i inkaustu’. 133 Idem, Opus eruditissimum adversus haereses, Erasmus Roterodamus (ed.), Basilea: Johann Froben, 1534, p. 141. 134 Idem, Libri quinque adversus portentosas haereses, p. 172. 135 Qtd. in: Petrus Canisius, Opus catechisticum sive de summa doctrinae christianae, Colonia: Gervinus Calenius, 1577, p. 43. 136 Irenaeus, Adversus Valentini et similium gnosticorum haereses, F. Feuardent (ed.), Paris: Sebastian Nivelle, 1575, p. 166. 137 PKM 1596, p. 598: ‘bez liter abo czernidła’. 128

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Another case involving different interpretations of the same patristic citations concerns the works of John Chrysostom. At the beginning of Kazanie pirwsze o Piśmie Świętym (First Sermon on the Holy Scripture) Wujek presents a number of quotations from John Chrysostom – as well as from Basil, Epiphanius, and Augustine – on the need for tradition. Grzegorz repeats several of them in Obrona. Żarnowczyk’s strategy, however, is not consistent. First, he tries to discredit the authors by pointing out other – and, in his opinion, more important – Fathers who present a different point of view. Then, he demonstrates that one can find two divergent opinions in works of the same author. Finally, he blames the Jesuits for incorrect interpretations of the citations. Grzegorz of Żarnowiec begins by distinguishing between more and less ancient Fathers: ‘we shall present the ancient and early Fathers opposite their Chrysostom’,138 that is Irenaeus and Tertullian, mentioned in the margins. Next, he makes the even more radical claim: ‘If we understand the words of these minor doctors according to the Jesuits, they will be heretics in the eyes of the earliest [Fathers]’.139 The author of the postil evaluates Christian writers according to their era, and he numbers John Chrysostom and Augustine among the ‘minor Doctors’. Żarnowczyk even changes Calvin’s turning point – the middle of the fifth century – at which the most orthodox tradition of early Christianity was said to commence.140 The core of Żarnowczyk’s criticism concerns John Chrysostom, whom he quoted after Wujek, but in a shortened version.141 He sets Chrysostom against Chrysostom and provides a passage from a homily about the sufficiency of scripture for salvation.142 Żarnowczyk uses the contradiction against the Jesuits: ‘What shall we say? Is this a disagreement among the doctors and with themselves?’143 Despite the appearances, the answer remains no. This apparent disagreement arises from a misreading of the early Christian writers imposed by the Jesuits. If these two quotes had been interpreted in a Calvinist manner, the authority of the Fathers would have been defended. A marginal annotation assigned to the second quote from Chrysostom (Chrisostomus in Matth. Cap. 22. Homil. 41.) implies difficulties with its location. Sixteenth-century editions differed in marking the homily numbers; for example, the Venetian edition from 1503 contains the 41 homily for the last verses of the 21 chapter, not the 22.144 O 1586, p. 62: ‘naprzeciwko ich Chryzostomowi wystawimy ony dawniejsze a pirwsze Ojce’. Ibidem: ‘Jeśli tedy będziemy ty słowa pośledniejszych Doktorów wedle rozumienia jezuickiego rozumieć, będą ci pośledniejszy u onych pirwszych heretykami’. 140 Lane, John Calvin, p. 40. 141 Wujek, PKŚ/2 1584, p. 562: ‘Chryzostom święty tak na to miejsce pisze: Z tych słów Pawła świętego jawno jest, że apostołowie Pana Chrystusowi nie wszystkiego przez list, ale i wiele rzeczy krom pisma podali. A oboje tejże wiary są godne. Tak pisane, jako i te niepisane. Tradycyja jest (nauka podana jest) – nie pytaj sie więcej. To Chryzostom święty’; Grzegorz, O 1586, p. 62: ‘Wystawili naprzód Chryzostoma na czoło tak mówiącego: Z słów, prawi, apostolskich jawno jest, że apostołowie Pana Chrystusowi nie wszytkiego przez list, ale i wiele rzeczy krom pisma podali, a oboje tejże wiary są godny, etc.’. 142 Ibidem: ‘Przeciwko temuż Chryzostomowi wystawujemy jeszcze samegoż Chryzostoma, który indziej przeciwniej zda sie mówić, a niźli mówi w słowiech od jezuitów przywiedzionych: Cokolwiek bywa szukano ku zbawieniu, wszystko to jest napełniono w Piśmie Świętym. Kto nieumiejętnym jest, najdzie tam, czego sie nauczy, kto grzesznym i upornym, najdzie tam kaźnie sądu Bożego, których sie lękać będzie, kto pracuje, najdzie tam chwałę i obietnice żywota przyszłego a wiecznego’. 143 Ibidem: ‘Cóż tedy rzeczemy? I takoważ jest niezgoda między Doktormi i samych między sobą?’. 144 Joannes Chrysostomus, Operum secundum volumen. Homiliae super Mattheum et Joannem, Venetia: Bernardus Stagninus, Gregorius de Gregoriis, 1503, p. 153. 138 139

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Moreover, the text of Chrysostom is not authentic, and the seventeenth-century edition classified the homily as incerto autore.145 Unfortunately, the passage cited by Grzegorz of Żarnowiec appears neither in Chrysostom’s sermon nor in the pseudo-Chrysostom homily; consequently, it indicates that information in the margin is incorrect. The analysis of these passages from patristic works demonstrates that both polemicists could refer to the same authors, the same works, and even the same words, but still differ greatly in their interpretations; nevertheless, they both draw upon a similar repertoire of rhetorical devices, including ignoring their opponent’s arguments, alleging manipulation, using a quotation in another translation, or providing a citation in a shorter or more extensive version. It is difficult to address the problem of incorrect attribution of citations. There is nothing to suggest deliberate action; such instances were, more probably simple mistakes, perhaps resulting from the use of second hand sources. The versions proposed by the sixteenth-century editions reflect the variant of a particular quote in use at that time. Nevertheless, it may be that neither writer used them. The presence of florilegia or anthologies may also have provided the authors with quotations open to dispute. On the subject of Wujek’s Apologija, Grzegorz of Żarnowiec rightly suggested that ‘it is better to call it Polilogy because, as we know from some of their noble and credible comrades [i.e. Jesuits], it contains not the fantasy of one Jesuit, but Italian and Spanish heads have also applied themselves to it and mustered an emaciated subtlety’.146 If Wujek had decided to respond, he would have probably directed the very same allegation towards Żarnowczyk’s sermons, changing only the source of inspiration to German and Swiss. Ultimately, the works of Jakub Wujek and Grzegorz of Żarnowiec were vehicles for the transmission of interconfessional debate to the Polish language; they were, therefore, inspired by the works of European controversialists and did not pay particular interest to the formulation of arguments based on the analysis of patristic texts.

Conclusions During the sixteenth century, there was intense interest in patristic texts from both sides of the religious debate. Protestant polemicists appealed to the Fathers’ authority as often as Catholics, and the same authors, the same works, and sometimes even the same phrases were quoted. However, they differed in interpretation. Some regarded Augustine or John Chrysostom the allies in the Reform, while some considered them to be defenders of the unity of the Roman Church. Despite numerous similarities, the arguments had different foundations. The Fathers’ authority was so important for Catholics because it related to the concept of tradition. It was a controversial point that required an argument based on four criteria: the orthodox doctrine, sanctity of life, antiquity, and the approval of the Church. Otherwise, Protestants rejected tradition as a source of faith; they claimed that the Fathers’ 145 Idem, Operum tomus secundus, ea complectens, quae faciunt ad elucidationem Matthaei, Marci et Lucae, Paris: Robert Pipie, 1687, p. 420. 146 O 1586, Przedmowa do łaskawego a krześcijańskiego czytelnika: ‘radniej by ją zwać Polilogiją, bo jako od niektórych z ich [tj. jezuitów] towarzyszów zacnych i wiary godnych mamy sprawę, nie jednego w niej jezuity fantazyja, ale sie do niej włoskie i hiszpańskie główki przykładały, a na wycieńczoną subtylność zdobywały’.

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authority was not of a supernatural character, but was strongly related to their conformity to scripture. This asymmetry caused the Protestants to be regarded as those who rejected the Fathers’ teaching. However, they strongly protested against such a generalization. The second half of the sixteenth century was a time when new religious identities appeared in Christian Europe and the old authorities needed to be interpreted in a new way. The practice of referring to ancient authors, however, was the same, regardless of denomination. The postils by Jakub Wujek and Grzegorz of Żarnowiec offer similar reflections of how patristic texts functioned in another era and cultural milieu. Both collections of sermons are of a polemical character, and rhetoric plays a key role in their various texts. Rhetoric could influence how patristic citations were employed and could determine more precisely their place in the debate. The words of quoted Fathers comprise different types of arguments and become rhetorical devices aimed at ridiculing an opponent and damaging his credibility. Indeed, many sixteenth-century theologians were so interested in the polemical potential of the Fathers that they demonstrated little understanding of the historical context of their works; moreover, they appeared happy to extract individual passages from the larger text and use them in situations unrelated to their original context – thus, the words of the Fathers could be shortened, lengthened, omitted or selectively edited. However, in the passages marked as quotations they did not allow themselves of loose paraphrases and remained close to the original vocabulary and syntax. On one hand, the Fathers’ words, used as rhetorical loci, were the authority; but on the other, patristic texts played an ancillary role in postils, which might indicate that the patristic texts themselves were a subject of some controversy.

Section III INTELLECTUAL INTERMEDIARIES BETWEEN CULTURES

Adam Izdebski Cracow

CULTURAL CONTACTS BETWEEN THE SUPERPOWERS OF LATE ANTIQUITY: THE SYRIAC SCHOOL OF NISIBIS AND THE TRANSMISSION OF GREEK EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE TO THE PERSIAN EMPIRE Introduction Any scholar of antiquity who reads that most famous of texts created within the late antique East Syriac School of Nisibis – its Statutes, or literally, the Canons – is struck by the similarity of its institutions1 to those of a Graeco-Roman philosophical community. This initially surprising analogy, together with the grand scale of the school’s educational project – providing students with intellectual skills ranging from basic literacy to Aristotelian logic and, finally, enabling them to interpret the Scriptures within the East Syriac exegetical tradition – has led many scholars to call this school the ‘first university of Christianity’, or even simply the ‘first university’.2 Although such seemingly anachronistic qualifications may not do justice to the School’s actual character and wider significance, it remains true that we can demonstrate substantial parallels in a scholarly community’s organisation and self-definition between the School of Nisibis and other educational centres that existed in the Graeco-Roman Mediterranean during the same period. In modern scholarship, there is a long tradition devoted to this fascinating connection. Recently, in the concluding pages of his monograph on the School of Nisibis, Adam Becker suggested that one may consider the parallels between the Nisibis community and the late antique philosophical schools to be of a very general character, and cannot be attributed to any real contact or influence.3 However, as this paper will attempt to demonstrate, there exists sufficient evidence to reconstruct at least some routes of communication through which Greek ideas would have reached late antique Mesopotamia and contributed to the development of the School’s organisation and self-definition. Consequently, this paper will focus on the intellectual centres and intermediaries which may have transferred knowledge of how Greek philosophers and 1 In this text I understand an ‘institution’ as a small-scale social organization characterized by a relatively clear purpose, more or less formalised internal regulations, stability, and, finally, persistence over a longer period of time (at least a few generations). 2 For instance, N.V. Pigulevskaâ, Kul’tura Sirijcev v srednie veka, Moscow 1979. 3 A.H. Becker, Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom: The School of Nisibis and Christian Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia, Philadelphia 2006, pp. 207–209. Becker refers here to Pierre Hadot’s understanding of the ancient philosophy.

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rhetoricians taught and organised school life to communities of Syriac-speaking Christians in Persian Mesopotamia; it will, therefore, examine all the possible channels of cultural communication between the School of Nisibis and the late antique Roman East. It will be demonstrated that the journeys of single individuals – in particular the journey to Alexandria of Mar Aba, future katholikos of the Persian Christians – can provide a solid background by which the striking similarities between these, at first glance, distant educational environments may be explained. For this reason, Mar Aba’s Vita constitutes the central focus of this paper, which also offers the first English translation of several selected passages, namely those describing Mar Aba’s journey to ‘Western’ (which, in Mar Aba’s case, meant East Roman) intellectual centres. Of course, every modern reader of the School’s internal regulations would realise that it was the monastic community which served as the primary model for the School’s organisation. This is not surprising, since its founders lived in a world where monastic and ascetic communities were already well-established within the local churches. These communities provided a readily available model of how a small Christian community could function, and their influence may be recognised, in particular, in the early evidence of the School’s life.4 Moreover, we know about several late antique monasteries which became centres of religious learning. The difference between the aims of the School of Nisibis and those of the monastic communities is that, in these latter institutions, learning was supplementary to the primary mission of attaining ascetic perfection while, at the School, the educational process and intellectual activities were at the very heart of communal life and – as will be demonstrated in this paper – became an increasingly conscious element of the School community’s self-definition. The case of the School of Nisibis is particularly useful for the study of intercultural intellectual contacts at the dawn of the Middle Ages, as there exists relatively reliable documentation on its internal structure and purpose originating from the School itself. The contact of the East Syriac scholarly milieus with Greek culture was – together with the simultaneous process by which Armenian Christian culture came into being – perhaps the first case of the reception of Greek philosophical traditions into a new cultural environment on such a grand scale; the only precedent is, perhaps, the ‘integration’ of the Romans within the Greek cultural world during the Republic. The School of Nisibis embraced the late antique Neoplatonist version of Aristotelian logic in both its educational curriculum and in the texts it produced, which took place in the context of a larger process of Syriac reception – both within and outside the Roman Empire – of Greek intellectual traditions, both pagan (though almost always in a Christianised

4 These similarities also invite a comparison of the School with the two well-known (albeit short-lived) Christian ascetic-intellectual communities, that is, of two great late antique theologians attempting to define a Christian version of the otium, or elite philosophical life: Augustine at Cassiciacum and Basil the Great (together with his friend Gregory of Nazianzus) at Annesoi. These were, however, completely different situations. In the case of Nisibis, there is no great member of the elite who would have had experience and knowledge of the ideal of the otium. In some respect, the creation of the School is similar to the beginnings of the monasticism in its lower- or middle-class social context. Moreover, the ideals of the traditional GraecoRoman aristocracy were not accessible to the founders of the School both because of their social status and because of the fact that the Persian aristocracy’s ethos was completely different. Cf. D.E. Trout, ‘Augustine at Cassiciacum: Otium honestum and the social dimensions of conversion’, Vigiliae Christianae 42 (1988), pp. 132–146; J.A. McGuckin, St. Gregory of Nazianzus: An Intellectual Biography, Crestwood 2001, pp. 94–95.

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version) and Christian.5 For this reason, the School of Nisibis provides a much more promising subject for such a study than other more or less educational communities described in the ancient sources, which seem to have shared similarities with Greek philosophical communities.6 Only in this case do we have the sources, however scarce, which allow us to reconstruct the mechanisms of the intercultural contacts and factors which played a role in these interactions. Nevertheless, these sources are of a very fragmentary nature and, at first glance, appear only to shed light on isolated issues. They can, however, be assembled into a coherent argument thanks to the fact that they all describe various contexts in which the intercultural contacts between ‘Rome’ and ‘Persia’ took place. Another methodological problem faced by this paper is an imbalance of evidence between Alexandria (as well as other late antique Greek educational centres) and Nisibis, to the advantage of the latter. There is no documentation on school life in Alexandria similar to the evidence we have from Nisibis, which makes a comparison of both educational centres very difficult and potentially biased. There are, however, some traces of evidence which hint at the concrete inspirations that contributed to developments in Nisibis. Both of these source problems will, to some extent, determine the structure of this paper, which begins with an analysis of the self-definition of the School as visible in the evidence it produced, and proceeds to discuss various pieces of evidence which shed some light on the contacts between the Nisibis community and the world of the Graeco-Roman education. This method of analysing each issue independently one after another is meant to overcome the problems posed by this paper’s source base.

The development of the School’s self-definition Even though the School itself was founded in Nisibis shortly after 4897, the deep resemblance of the School’s organisation and self-definition to the ideals shared Becker, Fear of God, pp. 126–154; on Aristotle in Syriac, see H. Hugonnard-Roche (ed.), La logique d’Aristote du grec au syriaque: études sur la transmission des textes de l’Organon et leur intérpretation philosophique [= Textes et traditions 9], Paris 2004; on the reception of Greek learning in Syriac in general, see S. Brock, ‘From antagonism to assimilation: Syriac attitudes to Greek learning’, [in:] N.G. Garsoïan, T.F. Mathews, R.W. Thomson (eds.), East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period, Washington 1982, pp. 19–34; H. Hugonnard-Roche, ‘Le mouvement des traditions syriaques: Arrière-plan historique et sociologique’, [in:] P. Derron, R. Goulet, U. Rudolph, C. Riedweg (eds.) Entre Orient et Occident: la philosophie et la science gréco-romaines dans le monde arabe [= Entretiens sur l’antiquité classique 57], Geneva 2011. 6 There exist several studies of such parallels, almost always unable to provide evidence of actual contacts between the community in question and any Greek philosophical community, e.g.: J. Taylor, Pythagoreans and Essenes. Structural Parallels, Paris 2004; A. Izdebski, ‘The School of Nisibis: an ancient religious community?’, Orientalia Christiana Cracoviensia 2 (2010), pp. 67–72; J.S. Kloppenborg and S.G. Wilson, Voluntary Associations in the Graeco-Roman World, London 1996. In this context, it is also interesting to note the organizational (but not intellectual, i.e. relating to the content/type of learning) parallels between the East Syriac schools and the rabbinic academies in Mesopotamia in the sixth century and the early Islamic period – A.H. Becker, ‘The comparative study of “scholasticism” in late antique Mesopotamia: rabbis and East Syrians’, Association for Jewish Studies Review 34 (2010), pp. 91–113. 7 This is not an uncontroversial date. Several older studies would have given an earlier date in this context (e.g. A. Vööbus, History of the School of Nisibis [= Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium. Subsidia 26], Louvain 1965, pp. 33–47). However, Adam Becker’s recent study of the history of the School presents a convincing argument for this later dating of the School’s creation (Fear of God, pp. 70–75). 5

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by the philosophical communities of the late antique Mediterranean8 is only attested a century later, in texts dating from the later sixth century. Among the texts produced by the schoolmen from Nisibis, there are two narrative texts composed by Barhadbeshabba9 – The Ecclesiastical History and The Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, in all probability a speech delivered to new students at the beginning of the school year – which provide the clearest expressions of the School’s self-definition towards the end of the sixth century. These two texts portray the school as a community of students and teachers working together for the purpose of achieving Christian perfection through learning and virtuous life. The unity of learning and moral perfection is emphasised in both texts. Heads of the school are presented as ‘adorned with all things, with true learning and perfect virtue in manner of life’, which clearly recalls the Greek ideal of a well-rounded education.10 This idea was also shared by late antique Christian philosophical circles in Alexandria, as can be seen for instance in the Vita Severi of Zacharias (a biography of a patriarch of Antioch who studied in Alexandria, written by his fellow student in the early sixth century).11 The motif of learning requiring moral perfection (or at least proper conduct) reappears at the very end of the Cause, in the very final exhortation addressed to the school community: ‘labour diligently, according to the aim of our learning, while we adjust our way of life to our didactic reading’.12 Finally, it is worth noting that the author of the Cause included the pagan philosophical ‘schools’ into the chain of scholastic communities – starting with the angels, followed by Adam and other key biblical characters – which preceded the community of Nisibis; the pagan schools are discussed before the Christian schools, which began with ‘Jesus the Master Teacher’. The few paragraphs on the pagan schools treat respectfully not only Plato and Aristotle, but also Epicurus, Democritus, Pythagoras and the natural philosophers, on the one hand presenting the elements of their doctrines perceived to be correct but, on the other, explaining to the reader (or rather the listener) the ways in which Greek philosophers were mistaken.13 Their presence in this text is not surprising given the fact that throughout the fifth and, in particular, sixth centuries, a considerable corpus of Greek gnomologies (collections of sayings of famous philosophers) were translated into Syriac. Interestingly, these collections are usually contained in the same manuscripts (early medieval, thus later than the School of Nisibis) as Church Fathers; therefore, there can be no doubt that they already enjoyed considerable respect among Syriac Christians in Late Antiquity, before they gained great popularity in the medieval Arabic world.14 8 On the organisation of the late antique philosophical schools, see two recent studies, E.J. Watts, City and School in Late Antique Athens and Alexandria [= The Transformation of the Classical Heritage 41], Berkeley 2006; E. Szabat, ‘Teachers in the Eastern Roman Empire. A historical study with a prosopography’, [in:] T. Derda, T. Markiewicz and E. Wipszycka (eds.), Alexandria: Auditoria of Kom el-Dikka and Late Antique Education [= Journal of Juristic Papyrology Supplement Series 8], Warsaw 2007, pp. 177–345. 9 In all probability, Barhadbeshabba ’Arbaya – see A.H. Becker, Sources for the Study of the School of Nisibis [= Translated Texts for Historians 50], Liverpool 2008, pp. 11–16. 10 Rabbula in the Ecclesiastical History (the quotation), see: Becker, Sources for the Study of the School of Nisibis, p. 57 (Nau’s original edition: p. 598); Henana in the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, see: Becker, Sources for the Study of the School of Nisibis, p. 155 (Scher’s original edition: p. 390), see also note 74 on p. 57. 11 Zacharias, Vita Severi, M.-A. Kugener (ed.) [= Patrologia Orientalis II.1], p. 12. 12 Becker, Sources for the Study of the School of Nisibis, pp. 159–160 (Scher: p. 390). 13 Ibidem, pp. 132–133 (Scher: pp. 363–366). 14 S. Brock, ‘Syriac translations of Greek popular philosophy’, [in:] P. Bruns (ed.), Von Athen nach Bagdad. Zur Rezeption griechischer Philosophie von der Spätantike bis zum Islam, Bonn 2003, pp. 9–28; Brock, ‘From antagonism to assimilation’, p. 27.

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However, given the fact that gnomologies contained primarily general moral advice focused on self-containment, it is hardly plausible that the pagan sages and their schools could serve as a real model for the Nisibean community. While reading the literary sources associated with the School of Nisibis, one notices that the first clear expressions of a ‘Greek’ organisational self-definition appears in the late sixth century. This accords with the chronology of the subsequent parts of the Canons of the School of Nisibis, which is the only source shedding light on the School’s self-image both at the end and at the very beginning of the sixth century.15 The text of the Canons, as preserved in the manuscripts, consists of two subsequent collections of short regulations, two ratifications and a proem, composed across the entire century of the School’s floruit. Some statements in the first collection may be interpreted as assuming the existence of an even earlier version; these would either date to the very first days or months of the School’s existence (which seems probable), or perhaps even to regulations already agreed by students and teachers in fifth-century Edessa, where there existed a study circle of East Syriac Christians, headed by Narsai, later the first head of the School of Nisibis.16 The text that we have was most probably assembled in 602, according to the date mentioned in the proem. However, the second collection of canons had been created more than a decade earlier, with the date of the promulgation given in the text as 590. The regulations contained in the two collections are focused in radically different ways. The first – which is roughly a century earlier than the second one and reflects, therefore, the self-definition of the School at its very inception – is concerned with basic organisational matters. It sets forth the School’s key offices, it regulates certain property issues and the daily round of prayers, and it imposes disciplinary measures against common offences committed by members of the community. The contents of the second collection are, of course, the result of the School’s subsequent developments, in particular the growth of its infrastructure and possessions; it contains regulations for instance, on the functioning of a hospice (xenodocheion) which was built in the middle of the sixth century. However, what makes this collection different from the earlier one is primarily its concern with establishing a border between the school community and the city. This is visible even from the very first canons; the second canon obliges students to live in cells on school premises,17 while the third forbids students to go into the city even on the pretext of helping their ill school-brothers.18 It was also forbidden to seek company, eat meals or even participate in commemorations of the deceased in the city.19 Even those brothers who were too weak to work and earn their living during breaks (i.e. during harvest time) were not allowed to go into the town in order to beg for alms.20 Moreover, the brothers had to be distinguishable ‘on the streets of the city’ by their appearance: ‘they shall not shave entirely, also they shall not grow curls like Statutes of the School of Nisibis, A. Vööbus (ed.) [= Papers of the Estonian Theological Society in Exile 12], Stockholm 1961. 16 Cf. Vööbus, History of the School of Nisibis, pp. 90–93, where the author even tries to trace these oldest canons in the extant version. 17 The first canon of the collection was composed when Henana was the head of the School (Vööbus, The Statutes of the School of Nisibis, p. 93). The cells must have been built roughly forty years earlier than the promulgation of this canon. 18 Henana’s canon 3 (pp. 93–94). 19 Henana’s canons 13 and 16 (pp. 97–99). 20 Henana’s canon 14 (p. 98). 15

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the seculars’ and they shall dress in a way which would be ‘far from luxury’.21 All these regulations, which effectively established the school as a separate community within the city, are summarised in the ninth canon: ‘Of the brothers who live together, each of them shall not eat bread by himself, but their life shall be in common as their study’.22 It is important to stress that these rules and the desire to create a distinctive identity applied not only to the students, but also to the teachers; according to one of the canons, longer stays in the city could disqualify a teacher.23 On the other hand, the desire to bind schoolmen to a common life in the school was not aimed at transforming the school into a monastic community: should anyone wish to practice an ascetic life, he had to quit the school and join a monastery.24 Clearly, the later collection of the Canons puts much more emphasis on achieving perfection by living together and learning within a scholastic community. What is striking in this context is the appearance of a distinctive manner of life characteristic of the School – its presence in Barhadbeshabba’s writings has already been discussed above. In the Canons, this idea is expressed through a variety of Syriac terms (some of them coming from Greek) all of which all have the same basic meaning: a specific way of life, directed towards a certain goal. Thus, the canons of Henana (the head of the School in the late sixth century) actually end with a reference to this idea: ‘And he who turns away and neglects [the canons’] observance, is foreign to our community and the manner of life that is among us’25. Another important way of referring to this idea may be found in the sixteenth canon of the same collection, which encourages the brothers to ‘live according to their covenant in the school community’ (specifically, by ‘enduring in their cells’ rather than going to the city).26 The notion of the covenant – which was a pivotal idea in Early Syriac Christianity27 – symbolised one’s special relationship with God associated with a specific, most often ascetic, manner of life. The idea that there was a scholastic mode of life specifically suited to the members of the Nisibean community appears also in the opening part of the proem to the Canons (composed twelve years later than the second collection). It refers to the ‘manner of life’ as something central,28 and it also mentions the covenant established by the members of the school.29 Importantly, this idea does not appear – in any of its lexical forms, including the notion of the covenant – in the earlier collection of the canons, composed at the time of the School’s foundation in the late fifth-early sixth century. It appears rather to have been a later development, reflecting the growing self-definition of the community.

Henana’s canon 17 (pp. 99–100). Henana’s canon 9 (p. 96). 23 Henana’s canon 7 (pp. 95–96). 24 Henana’s canon 4 (p. 94). It is important to bear in mind that in the East Syriac Church there was a very clear institutional divide between schools and monasteries, leading even to anti-school polemic on the part of the monks – Becker, Fear of God, pp. 169–203. 25 Henana’s canons, conclusion (p. 102). 26 Henana’s canon 16 (p. 99). 27 A. Vööbus, ‘The institution of the Benai Qeiama and Benat Qeiama in the ancient Syrian Church’, Church History 30 (1961), pp. 19–27; A. Jaubert, ‘Gottesbund: “Bund” in der syrische Kirche’, Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum, Stuttgart 1981, pp. 933–996. 28 Proem to the Canons, p. 55. 29 Proem to the Canons, p. 53. 21 22

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The Edessene educational landscape at the inception of the School One might reasonably expect that there were at least two different moments at which the Greek model of education and scholarly community was received by the School of Nisibis. The first phase, which consisted in shaping the basic institutions of the future school on the model of Greek elite education in Late Antiquity, has already been dated by Adam Becker to the period of Narsai’s activity in Edessa, before the foundation of the proper School in Nisibis, that is to the second half of the fifth century. According to two sermons written by Narsai – the later first head and founder of the School of Nisibis himself – as well as according to both Barhadbeshabba’s texts, when asked to provide instruction for the community of Persian students in Edessa (i.e. East Syriac Christians coming from the Persian Empire), Narsai demanded that, apart from him, two other teachers should give instructions to the students: the first one should teach basic literacy, while the second should build on this and develop regular reading skills. Thus, Narsai became the teacher of biblical exegesis, the advanced skill which parallels rhetoric. Consequently, his position parallels that of the rhetorician within Graeco-Roman educational institutions.30 Although the evidence is meagre and fragmentary, there are reasons to believe that some form of Greek education was available in Edessa from an early date. It is not surprising, therefore, that a Greek-style curriculum would have already been introduced by Narsai in his student circle in Edessa, and subsequently recreated in Nisibis. The Canons treat the three-level hierarchy of teachers as something so obvious that there was no need to formally introduce it. Its early existence is also indirectly attested by a text written in Constantinople in the 540s referring to information obtained from a former student of the School who was active in the city in 527; this might suggest that he possessed a knowledge of the School structures as they existed in the 510s or early 520s).31 Evidence concerning the educational history of Edessa comes mostly from two separate traditions. The first is associated with the writings and activity of a Christian philosopher living in Edessa in the second century, Bardaisan (probably AD 154–222). Although he wrote in Syriac – the extant fragments of his texts are, in fact, some of the oldest preserved examples of Syriac literature – he was certainly aware of contemporary Greek philosophical schools, such as Middle Platonism, and must have been able to read Greek proficiently. Moreover, his students translated some of his works into Greek and it is in these versions that they were read by Eusebius of Caesarea (in Palestine), the first church historian, who lived roughly a century after Bardaisan. In fact, if one accepts the results of a recent reassessment of the first Syriac philosopher’s significance, which seems to have been comparable with the contemporary intellectual achievements of Origen and Clement of Alexandria,32 then Edessa would count among Becker, Fear of God, pp. 70–72 and 97–89. Junillus Africanus’s Instituta Regularia Divinae Regis: ‘[…] the Syrian School in the city of Nisibis, where the Divine Law is taught in a disciplined and orderly fashion by public teachers in the same way that in a secular education grammar and rhetoric are taught in our cities’, trans. by M. Maas, Exegesis and Empire in the Early Byzantine Mediterranean: Junillus Africanus and the Instituta Regularia Divinae Legis, Tübingen 2003, pp. 119–121; for the identification of Junillus’s source, Paul the Persian, with the Paul the Persian debating with a Manichean Photinus in 527, see Maas’s introduction on p. 16. 32 I. Ramelli, Bardaisan of Edessa: A Reassessment of the Evidence and a New Interpretation, Piscataway 2009. 30

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the most important Christian intellectual centres of the late second century, alongside Rome, Alexandria, or Antioch; of course, this does not mean it would count among the most important intellectual centres of the Roman world. However, given the lack of intermediary sources and, also, of evidence concerning the literary activity of Bardaisan’s disciples, it is difficult to believe that there was a substantial institutional continuity in the Edessene educational landscape between the time of Bardaisan and that of Narsai, and one must not assume the continuous existence of a centre of advanced learning in either Greek or Syriac; the latter, indeed, is even less probable given that, until the fifth century, there were very few (if any) translations of Greek texts into Syriac and, furthermore it was not until the fourth century that the Syriac literary tradition began to develop.33 However, even if one discounts the possibility of an advanced Christian philosophical circle in Edessa during the lifetime of Bardaisan, a standard Greek education must nonetheless have been available in Edessa during the second century; there must, at the very least, have been some teachers of Greek literature, and perhaps even of Greek rhetoric, otherwise the existence of a Greek philosopher with a group of disciples in the city would be highly implausible. Two centuries after Bardaisan, the availability of a standard Greek education in Edessa is suggested in Armenian sources which describe the creation of the Armenian alphabet. The key source for these events, which took place at the beginning of the fifth century, is the Life of Maštoc‘, creator of the Armenian alphabet, written by his pupil Koriwn in the 440s.34 In search of a script suitable to represent the sounds of the Armenian language, Maštoc‘ travelled to Edessa where he was hoping to receive support from the Syriac Christian community.35 However, it was in Samosata that the alphabet was finally created,36 owing to the Greek school of a scribe called Ruphinus (Hropanos in Armenian). In the Life of Maštoc‘, there is no mention of a proper Greek school in Edessa although, for its author, a Greek school seems to have been the type of institution that one would expect to find in a large city in Roman Syria. At first glance, the other Armenian source which describes these events – the History of Armenia by Movsēs Xorenac‘i – offers an even more detailed account; it attests the availability of advanced Greek philosophical education in Edessa, in the person of the sophist Plato (‘a pagan rhetorician and keeper of the archive [of Edessa]’) and his teacher Epiphanius.37 However, the dating of this source to the late fifth century is

33 This is suggested by J.W. Drijvers, ‘The school of Edessa: Greek learning and local culture’, [in:] J.W. Drijvers and A.A. MacDonald (eds.), Centres of Learning: Learning and Location in Pre-Modern Europe and the Near East [= Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 61], Leiden 1995, pp. 49–59; cf. Becker’s arguments against this opinion, Fear of God, p. 42. 34 G. Winkler, Koriwns Biographie des Mesrop Maštoc’: Übersetzung und Kommentar [= Orientalia Christiana Analecta 245], Rome 1994; for the dating of the text, see pp. 80–82. However, although the credibility of this source is relatively high due to its proximity to the events it describes, it is possible that there is some bias towards overemphasising the role of Syriac Christianity in the development of an Armenian Christian culture, since this text was written in the times when Syriac ecclesiastics had strong influence on Armenian church affairs, cf. G. Winkler, ‘An obscure chapter in Armenian Church history (428–439)’, Revue des Études Armeniennes 19 (1985), pp. 85–180. 35 Koriwn, §§43–46. 36 Koriwn §§46; 50–51. 37 Movsēs Xorenac‘i, History of the Armenians, trans. R.W. Thomson [= Harvard Armenian Texts and Studies 4], Cambridge (Mass.) 1978: III 52.

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controversial, and the text is full of literary amplifications.38 Consequently, information about the presence of ‘sophists’ in fourth-century Edessa added by Movsēs to Koriwn’s account seems to be a later addition,39 probably based on an eight-century version of Koriwn’s text (called ‘Koriwn II’), which mentions the name of Epiphanius as the master of Ruphinus; this text does not, however, present Epiphanius as a sophist, neither does it mention Plato.40 Thus, if the Armenian tradition allows for any conclusions, it is possible to suggest that the Edessene educational landscape at the beginning of the fifth century was dominated by Syriac learning, consisting of basic literacy, plus a Christian religious education in Syriac;41 the availability of elementary Greek education (literacy and basic literary skills) can only be speculated.

The key intermediary: Mar Aba and his journey to Alexandria Given that clear expressions of the School’s self-definition and organisation – expressions not dissimilar to those of the Greek philosophical schools – can be dated to the second half of the sixth century, we should expect to find evidence for important contacts between this community and the centres of Greek philosophical learning shortly before ca AD 550; it was during this time that the School experienced its first larger infrastructural developments under the leadership of Abraham of Beth Rabban.42 Indeed, we have evidence of a remarkable journey to the ‘West’ undertaken by a schoolman from Nisibis, Mar Aba, the later katholikos of the Church of the East (540–552), who is also credited with introducing the study of Aristotelian logic into the School of Nisibis and, consequently, into the entire East Syriac Church.43 Fortunately, we know a great deal of detail about his life from his biography, most probably written by a contemporary.44 However, from the point of view of a student of intellectual history, the information in this text is far satisfactory. Despite the fact that Mar Aba did not die a martyr – the text begins with his early Zoroastrian education and his career in the Sassanian fiscal administration, ending with his death as a patriarch – his vita actually belongs to the genre of martyrological literature. In technical terms, the saint would be called a ‘confessor’, that is a Christian who suffered persecution due to his perseverance in believing in Christ, but was not actually put to death for it. Consequently, out of the See R. Thomson’s introduction in Movsēs Xorenac‘i, History of the Armenians, pp. 56–61. Cf. also R. Thomson’s commentary, Movsēs Xorenac‘i, History of the Armenians, p. 320. 40 On ‘Koriwn II’ see G. Winkler’s introduction: Winkler, Koriwns Biographie des Mesrop Maštoc’, pp. 72–74. 41 Cf. also Koriwn §§133–36. 42 Barhadbeshabba, Ecclesiastical History – Becker, Sources for the Study of the School of Nisibis, pp. 77–80 (Nau 622–624). On the accumulation of property by the Church of the East in the Sassanian period, see C.J. Villagomez and M.G. Morony, ‘Ecclesiastical wealth in the East Syrian Church from Late Antiquity to Early Islam’, [in:] G.J. Reinink, A.C. Klugkist and H.J.W. Drijvers (eds.), After Bardaisan: Studies on Continuity and Change in Syriac Christianity in Honor of Professor Han J.W. Drijvers, Leuven 1999, pp. 303–315. 43 Brock, ‘From antagonism to assimilation’, pp. 21–22, 26; Becker, Fear of God, pp. 127–29. 44 The Syriac text: P. Bedjan, Histoire de Mar-Jabalaha, des trois autres patriarches, d’un prêtre et de deux laïques, Nestorianes, Paris 1895, pp. 206–287; a German translation: O. Braun, Ausgewählte Akten persischer Märtyrer: mit einem Anhang: Ostsyrisches Mönchsleben, München 1915, pp. 188–220; the English translation presented beneath – Adam Izdebski. For general introduction to the Persian martyr acts, see: C. Jullien, ‘Les Actes des martyrs perses: transmettre l’histoire’, L’hagiographie syriaque [= Études Syriaques 9], Paris 2012, pp. 127–140; S.P. Brock, The History of the Holy Mar Main with a Guide to the Persian Martyr Acts, Piscataway 2008. 38 39

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work’s 41 chapters (68 pages in the modern edition), only 10 (a mere 18 pages) are focused on Mar Aba’s life before he became the katholikos; the rest of the text describes his activities as patriarch, and is focused primarily on the persecution that Mar Aba suffered under the Zoroastrian magi and, to a certain extent, the Sassanian authorities. Nevertheless, the text remains an important source of information about Mar Aba’s life. It was most probably written by a contemporary who was a native of his patriarchal see, Seleucia-Ctesiphon, and had no connection with the School of Nisibis, which does not feature as an important element in the vita.45 The purpose of the text is to present an exceptional example of Christian endurance in the face of persecutions, and its creation is certainly related to the development of the cult of the saint patriarch-confessor (which is very well illustrated by the description of the funeral). Unfortunately, the author was not as interested in Mar Aba’s intellectual trajectory, and instead wrote a very simplified literary rendering of his hero’s life before he became the katholikos. As a result, the first chapters of the Vita are quite chaotic and – as opposed to the account of his pontificate – full of miraculous stories. Thus it is possible to assume that, although our author witnessed many of the events he described (at least the final months of Mar Aba’s life), he was not a member of his immediate entourage. It is now worth quoting in extenso the description of Mar Aba’s journey to the West, and of the subsequent events, in order to better illustrate this problem. And as soon as he set out and arrived in the city of Nisibis [after his conversion], he entered [p. 217] the holy school which was there. And he loved the contemplation of the Divine Scriptures more than his own life. And he learnt the Psalms in a few days. And he began the study of the Scriptures. This is how he engaged with a gentle man, Mar Maʿni, the bishop of Arzon,46 a man of God and a true teacher, who in his beautiful way of life was surpassing many. And at that time everyone was amazed at his eagerness and his intelligence which surpassed many who had been before him and also those active in the time of Mar Maʿni, the bishop. He [Mar Aba] followed him and walked with him. And it is said that he watered the land of Arzon with teaching and all who were there gained a lot from him. And he turned back many heretics to the true faith. And afterwards he returned to Nisibis. And every day he was becoming better and was indeed growing in the interpretation [of the Scriptures] and spiritual contemplation. Then there occurred an opportunity to depart to the country of the Romans. Firstly, in order to visit and see the beautiful dwellings that are holy [i.e., the Holy Land] [218] and to obtain blessing through praying [there]. Secondly, because of a man called Sergius who shared the views of Arius (involved in impiety/ paganism) – so that he [Mar Aba] would go and dispute with him and [thus] affirm the true faith.

45 In his commentary on this Vita, P. Peeters observed several elements which would support such identification of its author. First, the description of the last months of the saint’s life and of his funeral are as detailed as an eyewitness only would be able to give (p. 101). Second, the fact that the text does not mention the names of the royal medical physicians sent by the shah to Mar Aba may suggest that one of them was the patriarch’s successor, Joseph, who was a physician to the royal court just before becoming the patriarch (552–567) according to the shah’s order; every reader would have known who these doctors were (pp. 109– 110). Third, the titles used to refer to Khosrau I are the same as the ones used in the synodal acts produced by the Church of the East during his reign, which could mean that the Vita was written before Khosrau’s death in 579 (p. 88). P. Peeters, ‘Observations sur la vie syriaque de Mar Aba, catholicos de l’Église perse (540–552)’, [in:] Miscellanea Giovanni Mercati. 5. Storia ecclesiastica [= Studi e testi 125], Città del Vaticano 1946, pp. 69–112. 46 According to Peeters, Mar Aba must have left the diocese of his teacher after he died, since he is not attested in any of the synodal acts composed during Mar Aba’s pontificate (‘Observations sur la vie syriaque de Mar Aba’, p. 76).

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And when he arrived to the city of Edessa, a brother called T’omā – who had been disciple since his youth – joined him. And thus throughout the many years he was with him, he [Mar Aba] surpassed many in the study under the guidance of this blessed one. After he covered [everything] and learnt a lot, to the extent that he was even instructed by him in the Greek language, he descended into the Egyptian desert. He illuminated many of those who were there through his teaching and his way of life. And he went to distant places, in great labours and travelling through difficult roads. And in Alexandria he explained the Divine Scriptures in Greek and he turned back many from among those who had [219] alien [pagan] thinking and he also rebuked those who engaged with oracles/magic. And he had overthrown the heresy by astonishing them with his beautiful way of life (everyone was admiring his voluntary poverty) and with his enlightening teaching. And from there he went to Athens. And he reprimanded the Athenians who had a very good opinion about themselves, as since the beginning they engaged with the alien [pagan] education. And he converted many to the knowledge which is true/sure through signs and miracles which were performed at his hands, also in Corinth. We are now presenting one of them, a double miracle. [220] There was a woman, a head of a monastery, a holy convent of sisters. And she has been sick for an illness of intestines and diarrhoea for a long time. And she was close to being lost from this life. Then there was in this monastery a sister who was a heretic. And this one was haughty against the head of the monastery. And she aggravated her through her reviling. The head of the monastery, however, was a great and eminent woman. And when she heard about his [Mar Aba’s] teaching and his way of life, she believed that if this blessed one sends here blessing from what he was eating, at once she would be healed. And she sent and besought him. And they were macerating chickpeas from which they were eating. And he sent from it [to her], because there was nothing else among them. And once the head of the monastery, who was close to death, consumed these chickpeas, she was healed. And at once ceased the diarrhoea of the stomach, despite the opposite action of chickpeas in such sicknesses. But the custom of the Divine Providence is [exactly] like these deeds – like when it made sweet the bitter water [221] through the bitter wood at the hand of Moses and through salt at the hands of Elisha the prophet. Thus also at the hands of this blessed one it healed [this time]. And the head of the monastery besought God through the prayers of the blessed one regarding the reviling of the woman who was in her monastery. And during the very night she was cured, the other one departed from this life, due to her reviling against God, as well as against the blessed one and against the fact that the head of the monastery was cured through his blessing. And besides, [there were] some sophists [also: wise men] whose minds were alien [pagan]. As soon as they heard his teaching, they drew near to the knowledge which is sure and burned the alien books they had. And the rumour about that went out into the entire land of Achaia. And [everyone] confessed and praised God. And then the heretics who were there were stirred by his teaching with the help of which he was skilfully dismissing their stratagems and was denying their motives. And because of that they wanted to kill him. And God saved him from their hands. And he sat into a boat and went up to the royal city, Constantinople. [222] And there he taught the true faith for one year. And several people were offering him quite a lot of gold as well as garments of great value. And he did not consent to take from it, for he was eating from the work of his hands, obtaining enough through braiding baskets. And they were selling and were living, so that five breads with pale weeds sufficed for him and his disciple in the land of Cilicia for seven months. And what shall I say about these masters of the roads who abandoned their brigandage and returned to cities and villages, and repented on account of the evil they had done, and became peaceful and full of love for the other? For on one of the days when he was passing through a dreadful road towards Thebes, the land which was full of bandits, they met him and said to him: ‘Take off [your clothes] and put [in front of you] everything you have!’. And he took off [everything]. And they saw that he had nothing but a book for teaching. And at once

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the bandits started crying and fell to his feet and besought him to forgive them [223] that they had harassed him. And they demanded him [the following]: ‘Take for yourself our gold and silver, as much as you want!’. And he was not persuaded by them. And they renounced their deeds and distributed what they possessed to the poor. These and more than these was done by him in the West. Thus having heard about his teaching and the excellence of his conduct, also the emperor of the West desired to see him. And as soon as the blessed one learnt about that he departed and went to Antioch. And immediately he returned to Nisibis. And seeing the division between the ecclesiastical authorities he hastened to depart to the desert. And when the bishops of the diocese heard about that, they threatened him with excommunication, so that it would not be allowed that he would depart. And he remained in the teaching office for a long time. And he rejoiced in the spiritual study more than in all the goods of this world. And of the deeds [224] which happened through his hands, I am saying [just] one among many. There was one school-brother. And he was harshly tempted by the daemon. And this blessed one fastened and prayed for the brother saying: ‘I have relied upon God that the bad spirit shall be quickly removed from him’. And it happened as he said. And this spirit departed from this brother after three days. And it did not approach him again. And all those who saw and heard confessed and glorified God. And after all this he was chosen to the great office of the katholikos by the metropolitans and the bishops.

As one can see, this is not a straightforward account of Mar Aba’s journey to the West. On the contrary, problems of interpretation arise from the very first question, namely the saint’s motives for going to the Roman Empire. The Arian Sergius is an especially problematic figure: although many scholars identify him with Sergius of Resh’aina,47 the great translator of Greek philosophical works into Syriac, it seems rather improbable that a relatively young student from the periphery of the Syriac world would be a suitable opponent in a theological dispute with a much older and much more famous scholar48 – his appearance is, most probably, little more than literary fiction. Of course, Sergius was certainly not an Arian; however, this text is not the only East Syriac source which refers to West Syriac theologians – who were possessed of reasonably pronounced miaphysite views – as Arians. At the time this text was written, ‘Arian’ seems to have been a common name for a (detested) heterodox – regardless of the actual theological views of the detested person – in the East Syriac Church (at least outside of the School of Nisibis).49 Therefore, it is hard to believe that a meeting with Sergius of Resh’aina was actually Mar Aba’s aim when he left Nisibis and moved to Edessa. This may even lead one to suppose that the hagiographer – who, in any event, seems to know very little of Mar Aba’s journey – actually had to invent the background for his hero’s great journey, and simply referred to motives which his audience in Seleucia in the 550s–560s would understand.50 First of all, it is said that the saint wished to visit the Holy Land. In addition, according to the hagiographer, this reputable intellectual must certainly have had 47

For instance, J. Labourt, Le christianisme dans l’empire perse sous la dynastie Sassanide (224–632), Paris 1904,

p. 165. This is the opinion of P. Peeters, ‘Observations sur la vie syriaque de Mar Aba’, p. 77. P. Wood, The Chronicle of Seert. Christian Historical Imagination in Late Antique Iraq, Oxford 2013, chapter 5 (‘Roman ecclesiastical history in the Sassanian world: reception, adaptation and reaction’) – I am grateful to the author for sending me his draft. 50 Similarly, Barhadbeshabba in his Ecclesiastical history seems to rely entirely on the Western sources when it comes to the description of the church events which took place in the Roman Empire. This would 48 49

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some intellectual reasons for his travel, and a dispute with an heretical scholar, whose name was vaguely familiar to the hagiographer, could serve as such a reason. Moreover, it would appear that our author did not have at his disposal a single written account of Mar Aba’s journey while composing the vita, as the travels are presented in a distorted order; a visit to the upper part of Egypt, the Thebaid, is mentioned only after the saint had left Alexandria and moved on to Athens. Thus, it seems highly probable that the author knew only the names of a few key places which his former patriarch had visited, and that he fleshed out this information with hagiographical topoi and general images of these remote places; the information on Athens, for example, seems to derive from the Acts of the Apostles. To conclude, there is not much one can infer from the hagiographer’s account except that (1) during his journey, Mar Aba learnt Greek; (2) he visited the main intellectual centres of the sixth-century world: Alexandria, but perhaps also Athens and Constantinople; (3) after his journey, he returned to Nisibis and spent a few years as a teacher at the School. If we had only this account of Mar Aba’s journey, we could not be sure whether the saint actually contacted any of the leading intellectuals living in these three cities. However, there is another testimony of his journey, this one from the scholarly milieu of Alexandria. Kosmas Indikopleustes, the first Christian cosmographer, mentions Mar Aba as one of the sources of his information; in all probability, their meeting took place in Alexandria.51 At the beginning of the second book of his Christian topography, Kosmas declares that he received religious instruction from a certain Patrikios, who had come from ‘the country of the Chaldeans’ accompanied by his disciple Thomas of Edessa. Moreover, this Patrikios is said to have later become the ‘katholikos of the entire Persia’.52 There is no doubt that Kosmas met Mar Aba and that ‘Patrikios’ is just the Greek translation of the traveller’s name. In the context of Kosmas’s meetings and disputes with Mar Aba and his companion Thomas in Alexandria, it is not surprising that a very late Syriac source reports that Mar Aba had contacts with a certain John the Grammarian ‘Tritheita’,53 who could be identified with the great Alexandrian philosopher John Philoponus.54 These two independent sources should thus confirm that, at least in the case of one great East Roman intellectual centre, the East Syriac scholar was in close contact with the leading local philosophical circles. It is, therefore, more than probable that it was in Alexandria55 further confirm the hypothesis that the East Syrians in general knew little about the Church and education context beyond the border. See Becker, Sources for the Study of the School of Nisibis, pp. 45–46. 51 Cosmas Indicopleustès, Topographie chrétienne, W. Wolska (ed.) [= Sources chrétiennes 141; 159; 197], Paris 1968; on the place of the meeting, see VIII 25. W. Wolska convincingly argues for Alexandria as the place of the meeting in W. Wolska, La topographie chrétienne de Cosmas Indicopleustès: théologie et science au VI siècle, Paris 1962, note 3 on p. 66. 52 Cosmas Indicopleustès, Topographie chrétienne II 2. 53 Gregorius Barhebraeus, Chronicon ecclesiasticum II 92. 54 This identificiation was first proposed by H. Kihn in 1880; see Wolska, La topographie chrétienne de Cosmas Indicopleustès, p. 70. Another hint at Mar Aba’s connection to John Philoponos could actually be the mentioning of Sergius in the vita. Sergius of Resh’aina certainly knew John Philoponos and could be associated with him. Perhaps, therefore, the strange mentioning of Sergius in the vita is another unclear reflection of Mar Aba’s contacts with John Philoponus? See Wolska, La topographie chrétienne de Cosmas Indicopleustès, pp. 71–72. 55 Certainly not in Athens, where the pagan philosophical school had a completely different character and was very exclusive.

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where Mar Aba gained a first-hand acquaintance with details of the internal organisation and self-definition of a Greek philosophical school. Later, during his teaching activity in the School of Nisibis in the 530s, Mar Aba most probably transmitted his experience and knowledge of the Alexandrian philosophical schools, contributing decisively to the development of the School of Nisibis’s specific self-definition, as visible in the texts written in the decades which followed his activity at the School.56

Mar Aba’s experience and the importance of the Egyptian examples in the East Syriac Christianity of the sixth century In order to better understand this process of transmission, it is worth investigating what Mar Aba’s educational experience in Alexandria might have been. As has already been mentioned in the introduction, sources about the Alexandrian ‘schools’ are much fewer and much more difficult to interpret than the exceptional collection of texts we have from the School of Nisibis. Although we are aware that, in the 520s, important organisational developments and discussions must have taken place within the pagan-Christian school milieus in Alexandria, we are left with so little evidence that any reconstruction of these events must remain hypothetical.57 For a greater understanding of the situation in Alexandria at the time of Mar Aba’s visit (i.e., the 520s), one must look back to the decade for which our source material is better, albeit still concentrated in just one text, Zachariah’s Life of Severus, the miaphysite patriarch of Antioch in 512– 518, who studied in Alexandria in the 480s. The part of this vita which describes the Alexandrian school life in this decade was probably written as early as the 490s, and is an attempt to discuss the relationship between pagan philosophical education and Christianity.58 While describing conflicts between Christian and pagan students, the text refers several times to the links between some of the Christian students and the Alexandrian philoponoi (‘the arduous’). This was the most popular name for Christian religious confraternities which existed in many Egyptian cities, in particular in Alexandria. Their existence, in a sense, complemented the monastic movement by offering a path towards Christian perfection that did not involve becoming a monk, but which rather allowed one to remain within the structures of their previous socio-economic life and family ties. Consequently, the philoponoi were distinguished by ‘humility of life’ and chastity. Apart from forming one of the organised social groups within a local church (besides clergy and monks) and often offering precious support to a local bishop in conflicts with external powers, they also participated actively as a distinctive group in religious

56 But certainly not through founding the School of Seleucia, as claimed by a much later source, the Chronicle of Seert, (ed.) A. Scher [= Patrologia Orientalis VII.2], Paris 1911, pp. 165–166. The saint spent too little time as a patriarch in the capital to found a school and he certainly was not there before becoming the katholikos. Cf. Peeters, ‘Observations sur la vie syriaque de Mar Aba’, pp. 85–86, 112; Becker, Fear of God, pp. 157–158. 57 See for instance E. Watts’s treatment of this decade – City and School, pp. 237–246. 58 E. Watts, ‘Winning the intracommunal dialogues: Zacharias Scholasticus’ Life of Severus’, Journal of Early Christian Studies 13 (2005), pp. 437–464.

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services and even kept their own prayer meetings. It was, in fact, during the liturgy that this group most clearly manifested its identity and local importance.59 The philoponoi movement in Alexandria, while gathering people from most social strata of the city’s society, seems to have had a scholastic student branch which attracted Christian intellectuals, particularly students; such a group is attested, in the Life of Severus, to have existed in 480s. However, it is unclear whether this group of student-philoponoi formed a separate, independent confraternity, which aimed at gathering most Christian students, or whether these were just individual Christian students involved in a larger organisation. Both options are conceivable.60 We have examples of students who were clearly members of the Alexandrian philoponoi,61 as well as students whose formal membership in the group is not explicitly reported, but who were known to everyone (in particular, to pagan students) for constantly attending prayers held by ‘those who are called philoponoi’ in Alexandrian churches.62 Moreover, the Alexandrian philoponoi undoubtedly supported the Christian students in any conflicts they may have had with their pagan colleagues.63 Apart from this, the Life of Severus informs us about two persons from the scholarly milieu, a student of law (yet not a student in Alexandria, a newcomer) and a teacher of rhetoric (who is later said to have had an exceptionally good philosophical education) who joined one of the monasteries at the Enaton monastic complex near Alexandria. They were taught there the Christian ‘philosophy’ by Salomon, who at that time ‘was the head of those who were doing philosophy at this monastery [i.e., at the Enaton]’.64 Later, one encounters a phrase ‘the monastery of Salomon’,65 which allows speculation that perhaps there was a separate monastery at the Enaton which attracted either monks with links to the Alexandrian scholastic milieu, or simply those who wanted to study the ‘true philosophy’.66 It is precisely this monastery which offers the most important link between the situation in the 480s and in the 520s, when Mar Aba visited Alexandria. There is a considerable body of evidence from different sources suggesting that the Enaton remained a centre of advanced intellectual activity throughout the sixth century. For instance, Solomon’s disciples are said to have formed their own schools there, which would take us into the 510s and 520s, the very time when Mar Aba would have visited Alexandria.67 Moreover, throughout the century, this monastic centre also attracted monks of non-Egyptian origin, in particular Syrians; it was here, for instance, that a new 59 E. Wipszycka, ‘Les confréries dans la vie religieuse de l’Égypte chrétienne’, [in:] E. Wipszycka, Études sur le christianisme dans l’Égypte de l’antiquité tardive [= Studia Ephemeridis Augustinianum 52], Roma 1996, pp. 257–278 (the first version of this paper was published in 1970 in the Proceedings of the Twelfth International Congress of Papyrology). 60 Wipszycka, ‘Les confréries dans la vie religieuse de l’Égypte chrétienne’, p. 266, in particular note 23 on the inaccuracies on pp. 1–51 of F.R. Trombley, Hellenic Religion and Christianization, ca 370–529, vol. 2, Leiden 1994. 61 Zacharias, Vita Severi, p. 12. 62 Ibidem, p. 24. 63 Ibidem, pp. 26 and 31–32. 64 Ibidem, pp. 14–15. 65 Ibidem, pp. 15 and 27. 66 This issue is addressed by Watts, City and School, pp. 213–219. His interpretation that there existed a separate confraternity of Christian students with direct links with the monastery at the Enaton remains very hypothetical. 67 Zacharias, Vita Severi, p. 43.

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translation of the New Testament and the Septuagint into Syriac was prepared in the early seventh century.68 In addition, the Life of Severus allows us to make yet another link – apart from the presence of Syriac monk-intellectuals at the Enaton – between this monastery, the milieu of Christian students of Alexandria, and Mar Aba. The Life mentions a certain person called John who was also a student of Solomon and who later became famous for his knowledge of medicine and pagan philosophy, as well as for his efforts at promoting the ‘true’ (Christian) philosophy.69 There are grounds to suppose that this John is the philosopher known later as John the Philoponus, since there is no other philosopher John who could have been known to Zachariah’s Alexandrian audience either in the 490s or 520s.70 Thus, if Mar Aba indeed had contact with John the Grammarian whom scholars today identify as John the Philoponus, this would be another clue pointing at Mar Aba’s participation in Alexandria’s intellectual and Christian-student life during the 520s. He must, therefore, have had the opportunity to observe how Christian students of pagan philosophy tried to Christianise their educational experience by remaining close to the philoponoi, with their focus on communal prayer and moral perfection in lay life, as well as to the intellectual centres of the Enaton monasteries. Thanks to the recent discoveries of the Polish-Egyptian excavations of the Kom el-Dikka area in modern Alexandria, we now know much more about the infrastructure behind Alexandrian education in the sixth century. In recent years, archaeologists have unearthed a large complex of (presently) twenty auditoria of various sizes – usually large enough to accommodate 20–30 people seated on rows of benches located one above another – which were built throughout the fifth and early sixth century in the centre of Alexandria. The didactic purpose of these buildings is clearly visible in the presence of centrally located platform-seats for the teachers and in the amphitheatrical arrangement.71 The creation of such a large and concentrated space for learning within the late antique city can possibly be linked with the destruction of the Serapeion, the great temple of Serapis in 391, which had served as the pagan place of learning and studies. The new auditoria, which gradually expanded into the large complex we know from the excavations, would have been conceived as a religiously neutral place of learning in the midst of an urban community experiencing violent internal conflicts.72 Finally, Mar Aba must have also observed that the philosophical education in Alexandria resulted in the creation of special personal ties not only among the Christian students who joined the philoponoi, but also among those students and intellectuals who had nothing to do with any Christian confraternity. Living in close com68

J. Gascou, ‘The Enaton’, [in:] A.S. Atiya (ed.), The Coptic Encyclopedia, New York–Toronto 1991, pp. 954–

958. Zacharias, Vita Severi, p. 43. He is first attested to be known with this nickname in 680 – Watts, City and School, p. 252 (note 103). 71 G. Majcherek, ‘The late Roman auditoria of Alexandria: an archaeological overview’, [in:] T. Derda, T. Markiewicz and E. Wipszycka (eds.), Alexandria: Auditoria of Kom el-Dikka and Late Antique Education [= Journal of Juristic Papyrology Supplement Series 8], Warsaw 2007, pp. 11–50; G. Majcherek, ‘The Auditoria on Kom el-Dikka: a glimpse of late antique education in Alexandria’, Proceedings of the Twenty-Fifth International Congress of Papyrology, Ann Arbor 2007 [= American Studies in Papyrology], Ann Arbor 2010, pp. 471–484. 72 C. Haas, ‘Kom el-Dikka in context: the auditoria and the history of late antique Alexandria’, [in:] T. Derda, T. Markiewicz and E. Wipszycka (eds.), Alexandria : Auditoria of Kom el-Dikka and Late Antique Education [= Journal of Juristic Papyrology Supplement Series 8], Warsaw 2007, pp. 85–96. 69 70

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munities with their masters, the most engaged students would have adopted a specific way of life, focusing on moral perfection obtained gradually in the course of advanced philosophical studies, most often revolving around the texts of ancient masters credited with quasi-sacred authority; this phenomenon is clearly attested in late antique Alexandria.73 Thus, Mar Aba must have experienced and observed in Alexandria a very wide variety of forms of scholastic life, in which intellectual activities were closely linked to moral perfection in a communal effort. This was the experience which – along with the Neoplatonist version of the Aristotelian philosophy – he brought back to Nisibis in the early 530s. Apart from Mar Aba, there is no other East Syriac intellectual known to have had direct contact with the philosophical schools of Alexandria, or any other East Roman city, by the end of the sixth century. However, we know of other journeys to the Roman Empire undertaken by East Syriac churchmen. In 527, a ‘Paul the Persian’ is reported to have confronted Photinus, a Manichean, in a debate held in Constantinople.74 In the 540s, a Constantinople-based author, Junillus Africanus, names ‘Paul the Persian’ as the source of inspiration for his introduction to scriptural exegesis; Junillus says he has seen this theologian himself.75 In 531, 547, or 561 (most probably 547)76 a group of East Syriac Churchmen – among them a ‘Paul, bishop of Nisibis’ (d. 571)77 – visited Constantinople to discuss theological matters with Justinian.78 The question of whether these various ‘Pauls from Persia’ are all in fact the same person is still a subject of scholarly debate. Nevertheless, none of them are reported to have gone anywhere other than Constantinople, which makes their journeys completely different from Mar Aba’s. It is, therefore, not surprising that the intellectual’s hagiographer did not fully understand his hero’s aims, and that this literate member of the capital’s clergy was forced, some three decades after Mar Aba’s original journey, to fall back on clichés, topoi and miracles devoid of any local flavour when describing the great intellectual centres of the Roman Empire.79 There is one figure in the history of sixth-century East Syriac Christianity who, in some ways, offers a parallel to Mar Aba. Abraham of Kashkar, the great reformer of East Syriac monasticism, travelled to Egypt in order to learn there the rules of ‘true’ monasticism.80 But whereas the future katholikos returned to his homeland with ‘Western’ ideas 73 P. Hoffmann, ‘Les bibliothèques philosophiques d’après le témoignage de la litérature néoplatonicienne des Ve et VIe siècles’, [in:] C. d’Ancona (ed.), The Libraries of the Neoplatonists [= Philosophia antiqua 107], Leiden 2007, pp. 135–153; E. Watts, ‘Doctrine, anecdote, and action: Reconsidering the social history of the last Platonists (c. 430–c. 550 C.E.)’, Classical Philology 106 (2011), pp. 226–244. 74 Its records are edited in Patrologia Graeca 88. 75 Junillus Africanus, Instituta Regularia Divinae Legis, [in:] Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 468. 76 Marek Jankowiak, a draft chapter of the forthcoming monograph on Monotheletism. 77 A. Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur mit Ausschluß der christlich-palästinensischen Texte, Berlin 1968 (Bonn 1922), pp. 120–121. 78 Chronicle of Seert, pp. 187–188. 79 Interestingly, it was approximately at the time the hagiographer was probably writing that the topos of a journey to Egypt, i.e. to the roots of monasticism, started to develop in the East Syriac literature. Although it later gained great popularity in the monastic hagiographical literature, it remained very poor in any real detail. F. Jullien, ‘Types et topiques de l’Égypte: réinterpréter les modèles aux VIe–VIIe siècles’, [in:] F. Jullien and M.-J. Pierre (eds.), Monachismes d’Orient. Images, échanges, influences [= Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes Études, Sciences Religieuses 148], Leuven 2011, pp. 151–164. 80 S. Chialà, Abramo di Kashkar e la sua comunità: la rinascita del monachesimo siro-orientale, Magnano 2005, pp. 32–36; M. Tamcke, ‘Abraham of Kashkar’s pilgrimage’, ARAM 18–19 (2007), pp. 477–482; F. Jullien, Le monachisme en Perse: la réforme d’Abraham le Grand, père des moines de l’Orient, Louvain 2008, pp. 71–78.

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about school life which (probably) reshaped the organisation and (certainly) changed the self-definition of the Nisibean community, Abraham brought with him ‘Western’ ideas about the organisation of monastic life. In the latter case, the original ideas were more Egyptian than Greek, although still Western; of course, in the sixth century such ideas could be regarded as being common to the entire Eastern Roman world.81 The importance and later consequences of these two journeys to the West for the entire East Syriac Christian community would suggest that, rather than conceiving of such travels as commonplace and widely available to elite members of the Church of the East, leading to a continuous traffic between Mesopotamia and the Roman world,82 we should think of them as exceptional undertakings, possible for only a few highly-motivated individuals. Such a journey certainly would not have been an obvious course for the average East Syriac school- or churchman.83 Finally, it is worth remembering that the fourth canon of Narsai’s collection (from the first years of the School’s existence) forbid the students/ members of the School to go the Roman Empire (‘for the cause of instruction, nor because of a pretence of prayer, also not in order to buy or to sell’) without the consent of the heads of the community. Of course, this canon does not suggest anything about the frequency of such travels; it does, however, suggest that they were a serious matter. The importance of these isolated, exceptional journeys of East Syriac Christians to the Roman Empire is corroborated by the fact that, until the peace treaty of 561, the Roman-Persian frontier seems to have been a real border which was not easy to cross; contact between these two worlds would appear to have been quite limited.84 Almost all of the known journeys undertaken by educated men between the two empires are diplomatic missions, and the travellers were either skilled rhetoricians or theologians.85 In light of these considerations, it seems improbable that the famous journey of the Athenian philosophers had any importance for the development of the School. It took place in the early 530s, when there was not yet any substantial contact between the School of Nisibis and the Sassanian capital, where the philosophers stayed for a few

Chialà, Abramo di Kashkar e la sua comunità; Jullien, Le monachisme en Perse. As argued by J. Walker in: ‘The limits of Late Antiquity: philosophy between Rome and Iran’, Ancient World 33 (2001), pp. 56–67; The Legend of Mar Qardagh: Narrative and Christian Heroism in Late Antique Iraq, Berkeley–Los Angeles–London 2006, pp. 164–204. 83 One more person about whom we know – but only in a very general way – that he received training in the West is Joseph, the successor of Mar Aba as katholikos, who is said to have spent a longer period of his life in the Roman Empire where he learnt medicine (Chronicle of Seert, p. 176). It is important to remember that if it was practical medicine which he learnt – and not the theoretical-philosophical medicine of the Alexandrian schools – it was something completely different to real philosophical-theological education and in all probability did not involve bringing back any experience of ‘higher education’. 84 Cf. Codex Justinianus IV 63.4. 85 Cf. U. Hartmann, ‘Geist im Exil: Römische Philosophen am Hof der Sasaniden’, [in:] M. Schuol, U. Hartmann and A. Luther (eds.), Grenzüberschreitungen: Formen des Kontakts zwischen Orient und Okzident im Altertum, Stuttgart 2002, pp. 123–160. An early example of such philosophers-diplomats comes from the fourth century, when both a philosopher (Eustathios, a disciple of Iamblichus) and a rhetorician (Spektatos, Libanios’s cousin known also from his letters) accompanied the comes Prosper on his mission to Shapur II (Ammianus Marcellinus XVII 5,15; I am grateful to Prof. Paweł Janiszewski for informing me about this). The presence of such well-educated people was necessary in order to reject skillfully the Persian claims to the Roman territory based on the historical arguments derived from Greek historiography of the first (Achaemenid) Persian empire. 81 82

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months.86 Although the question of which route the philosophers took when they returned from Persia is not easily answered (none of various hypotheses seems to prevail),87 no scholar has ever suggested – and there certainly is no ground for such a suggestion – that they stayed for any period of time in Nisibis or had any contacts with the East Syriac schoolmen.

Conclusions This detailed survey of different sources from throughout the Eastern Mediterranean and Persia allows us to draw some important conclusions. It is clear that the developments which took place at the School of Nisibis during the hundred years following its foundation conform with the scattered pieces of information we have about the educational world of the Eastern Roman Empire in Late Antiquity. The idea of organising the educational process in the School on the model of Graeco-Roman education – which had already been put into action in Edessa – is in keeping with the fact that some intermediate classical education must have been available in the city, and certainly the structure of the classical curriculum was known to all those who had experienced any contact with the Greek culture of late antique Syria. On the other hand, it is not surprising that the later, and more complex, self-definition of the School as a Christian scholastic community working towards the intellectual and moral perfection of its members, is not attested in the early sixth century. An advanced Greek rhetorical and philosophical education would, in all probability, have been unavailable in late fifth-century Edessa, and the Greek philosophical texts available to a Syriac reader at this time would certainly have not contained the ideas which later formed the core of the self-definition of the School of Nisibis. However fragmentary the evidence at our disposal may be, we can still reconstruct important elements of Mar Aba’s intellectual experience of the ‘West’ in the 520s. There can be no doubt he had contact with the Alexandrian scholastic milieu. First of all, it seems he had the opportunity to observe how Christian students at Alexandria reconciled their training in pagan philosophy with their Christian religious identity. In addition to joining the city’s Christian confraternities and, in particular, participating in their prayers, they also had frequent contacts with the Enaton monastery which put a special emphasis on developing Christian learning, to the extent of receiving part of their intellectual-spiritual formation from its monks. Mar Aba could also observe the infrastructure which the Alexandrian teachers of philosophy, medicine and rhetoric had at their disposal, as well as the practical philosophical life shared among some of the teachers and students in small communities. It is very probable that Mar 86 The story is related by a sixth-century historian Agathias (II 28–30). The literature on this subject is huge and several important issues are bound together in the research on various aspects of this journey. See: A. Cameron, ‘The last days of the Academy at Athens’, Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 195 (1969), pp. 7–29; R. Thiel, Simplikios und das Ende der neuplatonischen Schule in Athen [= Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur Mainz. Abhandlungen der Geistes- und Sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse 8], Stuttgart 1999; C. Luna, ‘[A review of] Simplikios und das Ende der neuplatonischen Schule in Athen by R. Thiel’, Mnemosyne [= Fourth Series], 54 (2001), pp. 482–504; Walker, ‘The limits of Late Antiquity’, pp. 56–67. 87 E. Watts, ‘Where to live the philosophical life in the sixth century: Damascius, Simplicius, and the return from Persia’, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 45 (2005), pp. 285–315.

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Aba’s Alexandrian experience initiated, precipitated or simply directed the process of transforming the School of Nisibis into a substantially different institution. Both its infrastructural development and, even more, its emphasis on a specific scholarly way of life leading to the Christian perfection occurred after Mar Aba’s return, and has clear parallels to the Alexandrian schools of the sixth century as far as we know them. It follows, therefore, that it was a single individual who made possible the process of communication (or rather, of transmission, since it was unidirectional) without which the School of Nisibis would not have developed into a complex academic-spiritual institution. The example of Mar Aba demonstrates very clearly how intercultural contacts on an advanced intellectual level depend on the writings and activities of individuals who undertake the practical and mental effort of moving between different cultures. What is more, it shows that the common religion, Christianity, and the desire to excel in its philosophical understanding, were the key factors underpinning intercultural contacts between the societies that existed in Rome and Persia, the two great superpowers of Late Antiquity. Without the Eastern Syriac Christians’ interest in improving their exegetical skills with the help of Aristotelian logic and other intellectual tools of sixth-century Alexandrian philosophy, Greek texts in Syriac translations would have not been studied in Mesopotamia, and no community in the Persian realm would have been inspired by the various late antique versions of the Greek vita philosophica.

Anna Horeczy Warsaw

AN ITALIAN INTERMEDIARY IN THE TRANSMISSION OF THE ANCIENT CLASSICAL TRADITIONS TO RENAISSANCE POLAND: LEONARDO BRUNI AND THE HUMANISM IN CRACOW

Introduction This paper focuses on two subjects: the Italian intercultural intermediaries of classical culture (the case of Leonardo Bruni) and their reception outside the Italian peninsula (the case of the Cracow intellectual milieu). Italian humanists1 played a crucial role in the transmission of ancient classical traditions. They made a major contribution to both the rediscovery of many ancient texts and their subsequent dissemination; they also helped to shape a particular vision of ancient classical traditions, and adopted certain rhetorical patterns specific to classical authors. It is thanks to these humanists that knowledge of ancient classical traditions reached the intellectual circles of Northern Europe – for instance, those in Cracow – where direct reception of ancient traditions would have been impossible due to the lack of both Greek learning and original manuscripts. Leonardo Bruni, also called Aretino, (Arezzo ca. 1370–Florence 1444) has been chosen as a case study because he was one the most influential representatives of the first generation of Florentine humanists. Bruni acted as a cultural intermediary by translating the works of the ancient Greeks and also by writing texts in which he tried to emulate both the style of classical writers (mainly Cicero) and classical literary genres. The intellectual formation of Bruni and his attitude toward ancient Greek and Roman literature was strongly influenced by Coluccio Salutati (1331–1406), chancellor of Florence and himself a humanist. Bruni achieved fluency in Greek, a deep knowledge of ancient Greek literature, and a knowledge of translation methods under the Byzantine teacher Manuel Chrysoloras, who had arrived in Florence in 1397.2 Bruni turned out to be a very prolific translator. Among Bruni’s most important translations from Greek into Latin 1 Throughout this paper the term ‘humanist’ will be used as referred to the supporters (of the 15th and 16th century) of the studia humanitatis, i.e. scholars embracing disciplines such as grammar, rhetoric, history, poetry and moral philosophy; cf. P.O. Kristeller, Humanismus und Renaissance, vol. 1: Die antiken und mittelalterlichen Quellen, Munich 1974, p. 17. The term ‘scholasticism’, which relates to a specific way of intellectual education, will be used as the opposite of ‘humanism’, in the same sense as in J. Domański, Scholastyka i początki humanizmu w myśli polskiej XV wieku, Warsaw 2011, pp. 19–22. 2 P. Botley, Latin Translation in the Renaissance, Cambridge 2004, pp. 6–7; C. Vasoli, ‘Leonardo Bruni’, [in:] Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, vol. 14, Rome 1972, pp. 618–633. Throughout the paper the following

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were Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, Politics, and Pseudo-Aristotle’s Economics, several of Plato’s works (including works that had not been translated into Latin before, such as the Letters, Gorgias, and Crito), six of the Lives written by Plutarch, On the Value of Greek Literature by Basil the Great, as well as works by Xenophon, Demosthenes, and Aeschines.3 Bruni’s literary output was closely connected with his public activity: he worked first as a papal secretary (1405–1410 and 1411–1415); and, as Chancellor of Florence (1410–1411 and 1427–1444), he was responsible for the official correspondence between Florence and other states. His letters, which he gathered in the Epistolarium of 1440, served as a model for rhetorical style throughout Europe.4 In other works, such as the educational treatise De studiis et litteris and Dialogi ad Petrum Paulum Histrum, Bruni demonstrated his concept of studia humanitatis. Finally, Bruni also wrote historiographical works such as Commentarii de primo bello punico, Historiae florentini populi, Commentarium rerum graecarum, De temporibus suis, and De bello italico adversus Gothos, as well as biographies of Cicero, Aristotle, Dante, and Petrarch.5 The main reason for choosing Cracow is that, towards the end of the fifteenth century, intellectual life at Cracow University was undergoing a process of deep transformation. It was a time when ideas of humanism were infiltrating the University as well as the chancery of the Polish King. These new intellectual currents coexisted simultaneously with ‘scholastic’ culture. Because of the variety of Bruni’s literary output – which includes numerous translations from Greek into Latin, from the vernacular into Latin, as well as his own works and his great contribution to the revival of Greek and Latin learning in Italy and the dissemination of the studia humanitatis – analysing the reception of Bruni’s works may prove an excellent case study to illustrate the broader phenomenon of the reception of classical and humanistic intellectual traditions in Cracow during the fifteenth and the first half of the sixteenth century. The choice of the Cracow milieu as the subject of this paper was also inspired by the work of Peter Burke, specifically his writings on the cultural centres and peripheries of the European Renaissance.6 This author shows how interesting ‘peripheries’ can be for scholars of such phenomena as cultural transmission, reception, and transformation of culture. Cracow can be considered as a periphery receiving cultural impulses and ideas from other centres – in this case from Italy. However, Cracow’s intellectual background was different from, for instance, the intellectual centres of Italy or France. The Western European centres had a much longer tradition of reading and commenting on classical texts. Cracow University was initially founded in 1364, but declined after a few years, resuming its activity after its second foundation in 1400. There are no specific studies on the dissemination and reception of Bruni’s works in Cracow, although the presabbreviations will be used: DBI – Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani; GW – Gesamtkatalog der Wiegendrucke, PSB – Polski słownik biograficzny. 3 Botley, Latin Translation, pp. 5–61; W. Olszaniec, Od Leonarda Bruniego do Marsilia Ficina. Studium renesansowej teorii i praktyki przekładu, Warsaw 2008, p. 26. 4 L. Gualdo Rosa, ‘La struttura dell’epistolario bruniano e il significato politico’, [in:] P. Viti (ed.), Leonardo Bruni cancelliere della Repubblica di Firenze. Convegno di studi (Firenze, 27–29 ottobre 1987), Florence 1990, pp. 372– 389. 5 For the historiographical works of Bruni, see: G. Ianziti, Writing History in Renaissance Italy. Leonardo Bruni and the Uses of the Past, Cambridge (Mass.) 2012. The titles of Bruni’s works will be written in Latin following idem, Writing History. 6 P. Burke, The European Renaissance: Centres and Peripheries, Oxford 1998.

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ence of Bruni’s works in Cracow manuscripts and printed books is mentioned by Juliusz Domański;7 furthermore, information about copies of Bruni’s letters preserved in Cracow manuscripts can be found in the catalogue edited by Lucia Gualdo Rosa;8 finally, a list of Cracow manuscripts containing works by Bruni is offered in the Repertorium Brunianum edited by James Hankins.9 It must be stressed that neither of these catalogues includes printed books and that they only take note of Bruni’s letters/works that have been preserved in Cracow libraries, thus exluding other works of Bruni that were also circulating in Cracow in the fifteenth and the first half of the sixteenth century.10 Consequently, the sources of this paper consist of manuscripts, incunabula and early printed books connected with Cracow University or the Polish royal chancery (whose collection has been largely preserved in the Jagiellonian Library). The survey of Bruni’s literary presence at Cracow University offered in this paper can, however, give only a limited idea about the reception of Bruni’s texts in Cracow, since it will not attempt an accurate reconstruction of the titles and the actual quantity of Bruni’s texts in Cracow during the period in question. In fact, this task is virtually impossible due to the fact that many codices containing Bruni’s texts have been dispersed and, in many cases, it is not possible to retrace them. For instance, we know very little about the book collection at the Faculty of Law of Cracow University, since the building burnt down together with its library in 1729.11 Even in the case of the codices held in the collection of the Jagiellonian Library it is not always possible to determine precisely when exactly they were brought to Cracow. The incunabula and early printed books without provenance notes are particularly problematic to assess in this respect.12 In order to overcome this problem, we may turn to another important source, namely the Liber diligentiarum facultatis artisticae Universitatis Cracoviensis,13 which provides information on the lectures that took place at the Faculty of Arts of Cracow University from 1487. The Liber Diligentiarum, in many cases, offers only a few remarks confirming

Domański, Scholastyka, pp. 95–98. L. Gualdo Rosa (ed.), Censimento dei codici dell’epistolario di Leonardo Bruni, vol. 1: Manoscritti delle biblioteche non italiane, Rome 1993. 9 J. Hankins, Repertorium Brunianum. A Critical Guide to the Writings of Leonardo Bruni, vol. 1, Rome 1997, p. 83. 10 For instance, MS II 2694 of the Czartoryski Library in Cracow, written in the 15th century, contains Bruni’s translation of speeches from Book IX of Homer’s Iliad (Oratio Ulixis, Responsio Achillis, Oratio Phoenicis) together with Bruni’s preface (pp. 191–207). As M. Kowalczyk found out, the manuscript was written ca 1435, mostly by Jacobus Parcossius de Zorawica (Jakub Parkosz z Żórawicy), professor of Cracow University. It is not possible to determine the later owners of this manuscript, because it has no property marks except the stamp of Princes Czartoryski Library in Puławy which was founded at the turn of the 18th and 19th century in Puławy and only in 1870 moved to Cracow; M. Kowalczyk, ‘Jakub Parkosz z Żórawicy. Przyczynki do życiorysu’, [in:] eadem, Colligite fragmenta ne pereant... : studia z dziejów Uniwersytetu Krakowskiego w średniowieczu (Historia et Monumenta Universitatis Jagellonicae, vol. 1), Cracow 2010, p. 293. For the description of this manuscript, see: P. O. Kristeller, Iter Italicum: A Finding List of Uncatalogued or Incompletely Catalogued Humanistic Manuscripts of the Renaissance in Italian and Other Libraries, vol. 4: Alia Itinera 2, Great Britain to Spain, London 1989, p. 409. 11 M. Hornowska, H. Zdzitowiecka-Jasieńska, Zbiory rękopiśmienne w Polsce średniowiecznej, Warsaw 1947, p. 99. 12 They are listed below. Only printed books with 19th or 20th century accession dates bearing no evidence of connection with Cracow intellectual milieu in the 15th and first half of the 16th century have been omitted. 13 Liber diligentiarum facultatis artisticae Universitatis Cracoviensis, vol. 1: 1487–1568, W. Wisłocki (ed.), Cracow 1886. 7 8

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that texts by Bruni were used in lectures at the University; the way in which those texts were actually used, however, remains unknown. As far as the use of the sources is concerned, manuscripts and printed books will be treated differently. Manuscripts tend to reflect the individual intellectual needs and interests of their commissioners, and it is thus important to ascertain whether manuscripts with Bruni’s texts were copied abroad or in Cracow. In the case of manuscripts, the reception of Bruni’s texts will be investigated with reference to the context in which they appear (for instance, which other texts appear within those manuscripts in which Bruni’s works were circulated). In the case of printed books, the reception of Bruni’s texts in Cracow would have depended on the policies of the printing houses; the fact that Bruni’s texts were printed in Cracow will be of special importance. Even if the number of copies of Cracow editions preserved today in the Jagiellonian Library is limited – or even if some of those copies are now missing – it will be assumed that they were well known and widely disseminated among Cracow intellectuals at that time. The first part of this chapter will deal with material data concerning the number of manuscripts and printed books containing Bruni’s texts in Cracow, and their chronology. An overview of the various works by Bruni that reached Cracow, including the number and dates of manuscripts and printed books, will demonstrate the dynamics of this transmission. The second part will deal with the chronological aspect of this transmission, which largely depended on the topic of Bruni’s writings. Finally, the third part will focus on the context of this transmission, which may be observed from two points of views. The first is the presence of other texts that accompany Bruni’s works in Cracow manuscripts. In studying this, I shall try to observe which texts of Bruni were of the greatest importance for Cracow readers (and in what fields) and also to note ‘rival’ texts written by other Italian humanist writers which were also circulating in the same milieu. The second focuses on the owners of manuscripts and printed books containing Bruni’s texts.

Cracow’s collections of Bruni’s works: a provisional chronology There are 15 extant manuscripts containing texts by Bruni connected with the Cracow intellectual milieu. As far as printed books are concerned, it is more difficult to assess their number with precision because, for many of the volumes preserved in the Jagiellonian Library that contain texts by Bruni, we have no information about when they were brought to Cracow; however, there are certainly over 20 printed books containing Bruni’s works which were brought to Cracow during the period dealt with in this paper. The earliest of Bruni’s texts to become known in Cracow were: his Dialogus ad Petrum Paulum Iustinopolitanum (1401); a translation of two orations by Demosthenes – On the Crown (De Corona, known also as Pro Ctesiphonte) (1407) and Pro Diopithe (1406) – each preceded with a preface by Bruni; nine of Bruni’s letters; and the preface to Plato’s Phaedo (1404/1405),14 dedicated to pope Innocent VII. All these texts are contained 14 The chronology of Bruni’s works generally follows that offered by H. Baron, Leonardo Bruni Aretino, Humanistisch-Philosophische Schriften, Leipzig–Berlin 1928, pp. 159–164; otherwise it is indicated.

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in the oldest Cracow manuscript containing Bruni’s translations and letters: Kraków, Biblioteka Jagiellońska, 519,15 written partly in 1414, partly in 1420. As this manuscript was copied for some Pole studying in Italy, it is probable that it was brought to Cracow in the 1420s or in the 1430s at the latest.16 The arrival of individual letters from Bruni may be dated to the 1450s and 1460s: the letter to Giovanni Marrasio (‘Fons quidam...’), in MS BJ 42; the letter to Ognibene Scola (‘Solent qui erranti...’), in MS BJ 1961 and BJ 1956. The entire collection of Bruni’s letters arrived in Cracow no earlier than the end of the fifteenth century, nearly fifty years after Bruni edited his Epistolarium. None of the Cracow manuscripts contain all eight books of Bruni’s Epistolarium. A collection of forty six of Bruni’s letters is found in MS BJ 2499, which dates to the end of the fifteenth century.17 In addition, a printed edition of Bruni’s Epistolario was brought to Cracow at the end of the fifteenth century, issued in 1495 in Venice, and held in the collection of Cracow professor Joannes Sommerfeld Aesticampianus the Elder (Jan Sommerfeld Aesticampianus Starszy), who died in 1501.18 A polemical text against the vices of monks, Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas (written in 1417), is found in Cracow relatively early; this text was copied in Cracow between the 1440s and the end of the fifteenth century,19 and its initial appearance in Cracow coincided with the end of the Council of Basel. Its popularity may be explained by the fact that the conciliarist tradition was very prominent among Cracow intellectuals of the fifteenth century. During the sixteenth century the text was no longer copied in Cracow manuscripts, most probably due to the development of printing; however, it was not printed in Cracow, although the manuscripts in which it appeared may have still been in use. This text was not used for teaching at the university, but it must have been of interest to some of the Cracow intellectuals. Another relatively early example of Bruni’s reception in Cracow is his translation of the treatise by Basil the Great On the Value of Greek Literature, initially carried out in 1403 and preserved in manuscripts under various titles: De studiis secolaribus, De legendis librum gentilium, or De studio poetarum oratorumque. The circulation of this text in Cracow began in the 1440s and continued, in printed editions, during the first half of the sixteenth century. The earliest evidence for the presence of this text seems to be the oration by Joannes de Ludzisko (Jan z Ludziska) in praise of eloquence delivered at Cracow University in June 1440.20 Additionally, there are two extant manuscripts containing the text of On the Value of Greek Literature copied in the middle of the fifteenth century. The version found in MS BJ 518 was probably copied in Cracow between the years 1450 and 1463 from an unidentified exemplar. The other manuscript, BJ 516, was copied in Cracow around the year 1459, presumably from MS BJ 518. A third manuscript, BJ 3245, Kraków, Biblioteka Jagiellońska will be referred to as BJ. On the other hand, the fact that the manuscript was bound in Cracow as late as ca 1450 could indicate that the texts contained in this manuscript could have been read by other Cracow intellectuals only after this latter date. For the description of MS BJ 519 see Catalogus codicum manuscriptorum medii aevi Latinorum, qui in Bibliotheca Jagellonica Cracoviae asservantur, vol. 3, M. Kowalczyk, A. Kozłowska, M. Markowski, S. Włodek, G. Zathey, M. Zwiercan (eds.), Wrocław 1984, p. 241. 17 Gualdo Rosa, Censimento, pp. 172–177. 18 M. Zwiercan, ‘Jan Sommerfeld Aesticampianus Starszy’, [in:] PSB, vol. 40, Cracow 2000, pp. 469–470. 19 See the appendix below. 20 I. Zarębski, ‘Problemy wczesnego humanizmu’, [in:] K. Lepszy (ed.), Dzieje Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego w latach 1364–1764, vol. 1, Cracow 1964, p. 179. 15 16

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was copied between the 1430s and 1480.21 It contains a different set of texts than BJ 518 and BJ 516, thus it was most probably copied from another exemplar. The reception of this text in Cracow continued during the second half of the fifteenth century and into the sixteenth, and can be observed in extant incunabula (especially those printed in Leipzig) and early printed books (among them, the 1534 Cracow edition). There is also evidence from the Liber Diligentiarum to suggest that Jacobus de Gostynin (Jakub z Gostynina, 1454–1506)22 employed this text in his lectures at the Collegium Minus in 1488.23 In contrast to the translation of On the Value of Greek Literature, Bruni’s own treatise De studiis et litteris (written between 1422 and 1425 and dedicated to Battista Malatesta, the daughter of count Antonio II da Montefeltro) is represented in Cracow by only one extant incunabulum printed in Padua in 1483 (BJ Inc. 20).24 The reception in Cracow of Bruni’s translation, from vernacular into Latin, of novella IV.1 of Bocaccio’s Decameron – which describes the tragic fate of Sigismunda, daughter of Tancredi, prince of Salerno, and the page Guiscardo – can be dated to the 1470s/1480s as witnessed by MS BJ 2038;25 in this manuscript, the text appears as an original work by Bruni (‘Hystoria pulchra Leonardi Architini De Tancredi’), with no mention of Boccaccio’s name, as was also the case of another novella of the Decameron, disseminated in a Latin translation by Petrarch with the title De insigni obedientia et fide uxoria.26 Bruni’s translation appeared in Cracow about forty years after its initial completion (1438); before that, only the last novel of the Decameron was known in Cracow, that is the one translated by Petrarch mentioned above. It is thus thanks to Bruni that Cracow intellectuals were able to read another novel from the Decameron. There is no evidence to suggest that the whole text of the Decameron was circulated in Cracow during this period. As opposed to France and Germany, where the Decameron was translated into the vernacular languages as early as the fifteenth century, the first complete translation into Polish was published as late as the 19th century.27 The reception of Bruni’s translation of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, Politics, and the Pseudo-Aristotelian Economics began in Cracow around the year 1470 by means of printed editions, and continued throughout the sixteenth century. There is no evidence for any Cracow manuscript containing these three Aristotelian works in Bruni’s translation copied in the fifteenth century.28 The manuscript of an Anthology29 composed in 1505 by Bernardus Lublinensis (Bernard or Biernat z Lublina),30 a humanist writer loosely connected with the Cracow intellectual milieu, contains excerpts of Bruni’s 21 If one shares the opinion of Władysław Wisłocki that the manuscript was owned by Joannes Długosz; cf. W. Wisłocki, Katalog rękopisów Biblijoteki Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, vol. 2, Cracow 1881, pp. 712–713. 22 W. Seńko, ‘Jakub z Gostynina’, [in:] PSB, vol. 10, Wrocław–Warsaw–Gdańsk 1962–1963, p. 352. 23 ‘Jacobus de Gustinin in Poesi Basilium’, Liber diligentiarum, p. 6. 24 Leonardo Aretino, De studiis et litteris seu de studendi modo in humanitatis studiis (Padua: Matthaeus Cerdonis, 1483); cf. W. Wisłocki, Incunabula typographica Bibliothecae Jagellonicae Cracoviensis, Cracow 1900, p. 35. 25 Wisłocki, Katalog rękopisów, pp. 495–496. 26 Cf. G. Franczak, Vix imitabilis: la Griselda polacca fra letteratura e cultura popolare, Udine–Cracow 2006. 27 J. Krzyżanowski, ‘Z dziejów ‘Dekameronu’ w Polsce’, [in:] Prace polonistyczne ofiarowane Janowi Łosiowi, Warsaw 1927, pp. 238–239; L. Sozzi, Boccaccio in Francia nel Cinquecento, Geneva 1971, pp. 70–72. 28 P. Czartoryski, Wczesna recepcja Polityki Arystotelesa na Uniwersytecie Krakowskim, Wrocław 1963, p. 9. 29 Kraków, Biblioteka Polskiej Akademii Umiejętności i Polskiej Akademii Nauk, Dział Rękopisów, MS 1717. 30 For the current state of research and bibliography on Bernardus Lublinensis, see: ‘Bernard z Lublina’, in: T. Michałowska, Literatura polskiego średniowiecza, Warsaw 2011, pp. 129–131.

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translation of the Economics, but these were copied from printed edition.31 These excerpts offer an interesting example of texts from printed books being transmitted back into manuscripts during the period under examination. As for the printed books, there is a difference between the reception of Bruni’s translation of the Nicomachean Ethics (1416/1417) and Politics (1438), and that of the Economics (1419/20). The chronology of the Economics in Cracow, as far as the medium of transmission is concerned, may be divided in two phases. In the first phase, which lasts up to the year 1512, printed books were brought to Cracow from abroad. The second phase started with Ungler’s edition of the Economics, printed in Cracow in 1512. This latter was due to the teaching needs at Cracow University, where Bruni’s translation of the Economics was a subject of lectures and commentaries. The popularity of this text was due in part to the attitude of Cracow intellectuals, who were much more interested in ethical and social issues (which they could find in the Nicomachean Ethics and the Economics), than in political theories.32 Ungler’s edition was followed by another one prepared by Scharffenberg in 1537.33 It is worth noting that there is no evidence for printed editions of either the Nicomachean Ethics or the Politics in Cracow. Closely connected with Bruni’s translation of the Nicomachean Ethics, Politics, and the Economics is Bruni’s own Isagogicon moralis disciplinae (1421/1424). The arrival of this text in Cracow took place relatively late, appearing with printed editions of Aristotle’s Opera omnia, to which the Isagogicon was appended. However, very soon thereafter it must have entered into the didactic activity of Cracow University, together with the commentary written by Joannes de Stobnica (Jan ze Stobnicy) which was published twice by Joannes Haller in Cracow, in 1511 and in 1517. Moreover, it was also published in Vienna in 1515.34 This fact indicates that Joannes de Stobnica’s commentary was probably used in the didactic activity at the University of Vienna during the same period. The Vienna edition constitutes an interesting example of the reception, elaboration, and further re-transmission of Bruni’s Isagogicon moralis disciplinae. A final case of late reception is the Comedia Poliscena, erroneously attributed to Bruni.35 In three manuscripts owned by Cracow intellectuals in the fifteenth century (BJ 1954, Czart. 1315, and Warszawa, Biblioteka Narodowa, BOZ 5036) this text was not attributed to him. The colophon of MS BJ 1954 (f. 199v) indicates Leonardo della Serrata,

According to J. Gruchała, Bernardus copied fragments of Bruni’s translation of the Economics from Aristotle’s Opera omnia published in Venice by Gregorio de’ Gregoriis in 1496; cf. J. Gruchała, ‘Biernata z Lublina antologia filozoficzna z początku XVI w. (Hermes Trismegistos – Platon – Arystoteles)’, Biuletyn Biblioteki Jagiellońskiej 38 (1988), p. 74. Exemplars of this edition are preserved in the Jagiellonian Library (see Appendix). 32 J. Rebeta, Komentarz Pawła z Worczyna do „Etyki nikomachejskiej” Arystotelesa z 1424 roku: zarys problematyki społecznej, Wrocław 1970, pp. 34–36. 33 Cf. K. Estreicher, Bibliografia polska, vol. 12, Cracow 1891, p. 214. 34 In moralem disciplinam introductio Ioannis de Stobnica commentario explanata (Cracow: Joannes Haller, 1511); In moralem disciplinam introductio Ioannis de Stobnica commentario explanata (Vienna: Joannes Singrenius, 1515); In moralem disciplinam introductio Ioannis de Stobnica commentario explanata (Cracow: Joannes Haller, 1517); cf. K. Estreicher, Bibliografia polska, vol. 13, Cracow 1894, p. 376. 35 G. Nonni, ‘Contributi allo studio della commedia umanistica: la Poliscena’, Atti e Memorie dell’Arcadia, s. III, 6 (1975–1976), pp. 393–451; J.R. Jones, ‘Comedia Poliscena. Introduction and bibliographical notes, text and translation’, Celestinesca 9.2 (1985), pp. 85–94. 36 Nowadays preserved in Warszawa, Biblioteka Narodowa, Dział Rękopisów, MS BOZ 50. 31

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a humanist from Vercelli, as the author of this text.37 It is only with the printed editions that this text began to be disseminated in Cracow as a work of Bruni. It was printed by Joannes Haller in 1509 and in 1519.38 Both these editions attribute this text to Leonardo Bruni, suggesting that Joannes Haller may have based his editions on one of the German printed editions39 which made the same error of attribution. The editor did not make use of the copies of Comedia Poliscena available in Cracow manuscripts and it would seem that he was not particularly familiar with the work of Bruni, who is referred to, at the end of the book, as ‘Leonhardus Arentinus poeta comicus’.40 The reception of Comedia Poliscena continued in the first half of the sixteenth century. The latest extant evidence for the circulation of this text is the edition by Singrenius from 1535. This chronological overview demonstrates the variety of Bruni’s texts available in manuscripts and printed books from Cracow. The reception of such texts as the Dialogus ad Petrum Paulum Iustinopolitanum, the translations of Demosthenes, and the preface to the Phaedo (contained in MS BJ 519) occurred relatively early, but did not continue for very long. There were texts whose reception was limited only to manuscripts, such as the Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas, several letters, and his translation of a novella from Boccaccio’s Decameron. The reception of Bruni’s translation of On the Value of Greek Literature, which began in the 1440s and continued in the first half of the sixteenth century, can be seen as an example of continuity in transmission by means of both manuscripts and printed books. There are also some texts of Bruni that appear in Cracow only in printed books: De studiis et litteris (one incunabulum); Bruni’s translations of the Nicomachean Ethics, the Politics, and the Economics; the Isagogicon moralis disciplinae, and also the Comedia Poliscena, which was present in Cracow manuscripts in the fifteenth century, but was attributed to Bruni only in printed editions.

Cracow’s collections of Bruni’s works: explaining the chronology by content The overview, in the previous section, of the extant codices shows that the reception of Bruni in Cracow began with his rhetorical works: letters, polemical writings (Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas), and translations of speeches by Demosthenes. However, in most of the Cracow manuscripts the number of Bruni’s rhetorical texts is rather limited. 37 ‘finis huius nove comedie que Polliscena intitulatur et fugit composita apostat Leonardum de la Sernata de Noisell[?] in ciuitate tuniarum anno domini 1433 novembri videt in castro turris rotunde’, as cited in W. Szelińska, ‘Dramat humanistyczny Poliscena w nauczaniu uniwersyteckim w Krakowie i Pradze. Z dziejów nauki i kultury europejskiej w XV–XVI wieku’, [in:] J. Szocki, K. Woźniakowski (eds.), Literatura, prasa, biblioteka. Studia i szkice ofiarowane Jerzemu Jarowieckiemu w 65-lecie urodzin i 40-lecie pracy naukowej, Cracow 1997, p. 365; Szelińska considers this colophon strange as she does not doubt of Bruni’s authorship. For Leonardo della Serrata, see: G. Nonni, ‘Leonardo della Serrata’, [in:] DBI, vol. 37, Rome 1989, pp. 468–470. 38 Of these two, only the 1509 edition is mentioned in Estreicher, Bibliografia polska, vol. 13, pp. 375–376. Both editions are mentioned in W. Korotaj (ed.), Dramat staropolski. Od początków do powstania sceny narodowej. Bibliografia, vol. 1: Teksty dramatyczne drukiem wydane do r. 1765, Wrocław 1965, p. 92. 39 Gracchus et Poliscena comoedia (Schussenried Abbey, 1478); Gracchus et Poliscena comoedia (Leipzig: Melchior Lotter, 1500); cf. GW 05610 and 05611. 40 ‘Comedia Poliscene Leonhardi Arentini poete comici explicit feliciter’, Comedia Poliscena (Cracow: Joannes Haller, 1509).

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Apart from nine letters that appear in MS BJ 519, it is Bruni’s letter to Ognibene Scola (‘Solent qui erranti...’) that is found most often in other Cracow manuscripts from the 1440s and 1450s. The popularity of this letter, which appears in MS BJ 1961 with no mention of Bruni as its author, was due to its content. It is an elaborate apology for the delay in correspondence, which proved to be very useful as a model of epistolary style. The fact that the reception of some of Bruni’s letters is limited to the fifteenth century may be explained by the fact that they were copied in manuscripts containing collections of various texts (this point is discussed at greater length below). In the sixteenth century, printed editions replaced manuscripts. Moreover, the main manual for letter-writing in use at Cracow University in the first half of the sixteenth century was the Modus epistolandi by Francesco Negri.41 The Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas could have been copied as a rhetorical model, but it seems more probable that it was copied for its ideological content; this point is emphasised by an accompanying letter written in Constance by Poggio in relation to the trial of Jerome of Prague, a Czech theologian who was one of the closest followers of John Hus and who was burnt for heresy in Constance in 1416. The Invectiva may have been of interest for those Cracow professors who participated in the debate on Church reform, and who were in favour of conciliarism during the period of the Council of Basel (1431–1449) and afterwards.42 The reception of Bruni’s translation of On the Value of Greek Literature by Basil the Great together with Bruni’s Preface was favoured in the Cracow intellectual milieu for the same reasons which made this text so popular elsewhere, first in Florence and then in other cultural centres (the case of Leipzig at the end of the fifteenth century deserved a separate study).43 On the Value of Greek Literature provided a very useful demonstration of how studying pagan ancient Greek and Roman authors was not incompatible with the Christian faith; the authority of Basil gave a strong argument to the supporters of studia humanitatis.44 Bruni’s translation of On the Value of Greek Literature was used at German universities as an argument by the humanists who wanted to include rhetoric, history, literature, and moral philosophy within the curriculum of the Faculty of Arts.45 The first efforts to introduce humanist teaching at Cracow University were made by Gregorius Sanocensis (Grzegorz z Sanoka) in his lectures on Virgil’s Bucolics, delivered

A. Wyczański, ‘Uniwersytet Krakowski w czasach Złotego Wieku’, [in:] Dzieje Uniwersytetu, vol. 1, p. 229. For the attitude of Cracow University toward the Council of Constance and the Council of Basel, see: K. Pieradzka, ‘Uniwersytet krakowski w służbie państwa i wobec soborów w Konstancji i Bazylei’, [in:] Dzieje Uniwersytetu, vol. 1, pp. 91–138; T. Wünsch, Konziliarismus und Polen: Personen, Politik und Programme aus Polen zur Verfassungsfrage der Kirche in der Zeit der mittelalterlichen Reformkonzilien, Paderborn 1998. 43 R. Toepfer, ‘Humanistische Lektüre an der Universität Leipzig. Zur Funktionalisierung von Basilius Magnus Ad adolescentes in der Auseinandersetzung um die studia humanitatis’, [in:] E. Bünz (ed.), Der Humanismus an der Universität Leipzig: Akten des in Zusammenarbeit mit dem Lehrstuhl für Sächsische Landesgeschichte an der Universität Leipzig, der Universitätsbibliothek Leipzig und dem Leipziger Geschichtsverein am 9./10. November 2007 in Leipzig veranstalteten Symposiums, Leipzig 2008, pp. 105–107. 44 Botley, Latin Translation, pp. 7–8; L. Schucan, Das Nachleben von Basilius Magnus ‘Ad adolescentes’: ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des christlichen Humanismus, Geneva 1973, pp. 66–75; P. Viti, ‘Leonardo Bruni e le polemiche antiumanistiche’, [in:] C. Leonardi (ed.), Gli umanesimi medievali. Atti del II Congresso dell’Internationales Mittellateinerkomitee (Firenze, Certosa del Galluzzo, 11–15 September 1993), Florence 1998, p. 800. 45 Toepfer, ‘Humanistische Lektüre’, pp. 109–110. 41

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in the 1430s,46 even though the position of humanists at the university in the 1440s and 1450s was still not very solid. Bruni’s argument, as elaborated in the Preface to the On the Value of Greek Literature, was (as Ignacy Zarębski pointed out) used by Joannes de Ludzisko, a Cracow professor, in an oration in praise of eloquence delivered at Cracow University in June 1440.47 The dissemination of Bruni’s translation of the On the Value of Greek Literature could certainly be connected with the infiltration of humanist ideas in Cracow. Marginal notes found in MS BJ 516, which in most cases consist of some terms or phrases taken from the main text, show that the person who made them was interested in the arguments in favour of studia humanitatis; this may, for instance, be inferred from the annotation on f. 165r ‘cum studia humanitatis vituperant’, which refers to the section of Bruni’s Preface against the opponents of studia humanitatis.48 This text, however, was later used at Cracow University during lectures, although it is not known when the text was introduced into the curriculum. The Cracow printed edition – which was published relatively late, in 1534 – resulted from the need to make it available for teaching. Thus, there are no obvious parallels to the situation at the university of Leipzig, where as many as 22 printed editions of this text were published between 1489 and 1521, reflecting the controversy between supporters of the studia humanitatis and their opponents.49 The fact that On the Value of Greek Literature was printed in Cracow, while the other educational treatises which accompanied it in the Cracow manuscripts were not included in the printed edition, demonstrates that Bruni’s translation was one of the most important treatises on the studia humanitatis in Cracow. In this context, however, it is important to note that there were other works or translations by Italian humanists that enjoyed similar popularity to Bruni’s translation of On the Value of Greek Literature. For instance, De ingenuis moribus by Pier Paolo Vergerio is contained in six extant Cracow manuscripts from this period (BJ 516, 518, 519, 693, 1952, and 3245), but it was not printed in Cracow; Guarini’s translation of De liberis educandis by Plutarch was, on the other hand, printed twice in Cracow: in 1528 and in 1536.50 It should be noted that Bruni’s own educational treatise, De studiis et litteris, seems to have had only little influence among Cracow intellectuals, since it is known from only one extant Cracow incunabulum. There are no traces of its dissemination in manuscript form in Cracow, and it was not included in the programme of lectures mentioned by the Liber Diligentiarum. Two Cracow manuscripts demonstrate that Bruni was also believed to be the author of another treatise, De nobilitate generis, which, according to modern scholarship, was actually written by Buonaccorso da Monte Magno, a Florentine humanist famous 46 There is a discussion concerning the year in which he started this lectures: 1434 or 1439. Cf. I. Zarębski, ‘Problemy wczesnego humanizmu’, [in:] Dzieje Uniwersytetu, vol. 1, pp. 163–171. 47 The corresponding sections of Joannes de Ludzisko’s oration and Bruni’s Preface are quoted by I. Zarębski: cf. idem, ‘Problemy wczesnego humanizmu’, p. 170, footnote 27. 48 The section of Bruni’s Preface corresponding to the marginal annotation is: ‘[...] ignaviam ac perseveritatem eorum cupiebamus refringere, qui studia humanitatis vituperant atque ab his ommino abhorrendum censent.’ 49 Toepfer, ‘Humanistische Lektüre’, pp. 105–107. 50 Plutarchi Cheronensis de liberorum educatione libellus (Cracow: Hieronymus Vietor, 1528); Plutarchi Cheronei libellus de liberis educandis plane aureus. Guarino Veron. Interprete (Cracow: Matthias Scharffenberg, 1536); cf. K. Estreicher, Bibliografia polska, vol. 24, Cracow 1912, p. 373.

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for his public orations.51 Joannes de Kamieniec (Jan z Kamieńca) in his list of contents for MS BJ 516 erroneously attributed the De nobilitate generis to Leonardo Bruni. In the title preceding the text of the manuscript, however, Buonaccorso is mentioned as the author of this work.52 This false attribution was repeated in another Cracow manuscript (BJ 2392) written after 1475.53 It reflects a general tendency in the fifteenth century to attribute the De nobilitate generis to Leonardo Bruni.54 Bruni’s translation of Aristotle’s moral works (Nicomachean Ethics, Politics, and the Pseudo-Aristotelian Economics) did not appear in Cracow until relatively late. This is contrary to the general tendency – especially noticeable in Italy and Spain – where translations of Aristotle’s moral works were the most popular of all Bruni’s translations from Greek into Latin.55 As Paweł Czartoryski has stated, Bruni’s translation of these works were popular neither in Cracow, nor more generally in central Europe during the fifteenth century.56 This fact may be explained by the peculiarity of the Cracow Aristotelian school, which developed its own commentaries to the moral works of Aristotle. As Anna Słomczyńska has shown, in the manuscript era, teaching on the Nicomachean Ethics was based mostly on the commentary by Paulus de Worczyn (Paweł z Worczyna), Quaestiones in libros Ethicae Nicomacheae Aristotelis.57 It may be assumed that Cracow professors teaching Aristotle used the same manuscripts for many years and thus did not need to acquire a manuscript with Bruni’s translation. There are no extant Cracow manuscripts from the fifteenth century containing Bruni’s translation of Aristotle’s moral works. Nevertheless, one may presume that Cracow intellectuals were aware of it. Some traces of interest in the controversy concerning Bruni’s translation of the Nicomachean Ethics are discernible in the manuscript BJ 3245, which contains polemical writings by Alfonso de Cartagena, bishop of Burgos, on the nature of language and on the applicability of ‘eloquence’ to the translation of philosophical texts.58 However, Bruni’s translation, which was the subject of this controversy, is missing in this manuscript. The last case to be considered, the reception of Bruni’s Isagogicon moralis disciplinae, reflects the specific nature of Cracow philosophical thought. This treatise was widely disseminated in Italy (later also in printed editions) because it was considered to be a commentary to Aristotle’s Ethics or a translation of his Eudemian Ethics.59 Lectures on the Isagogicon moralis disciplinae formed a part of the course on moral philosophy at Cracow University and were based on the commentary by professor Joannes Baron, Leonardo Bruni, p. 180. ‘Tractatus de nobilitate generis nuper editus per eloquentissimum Bonacursum de Monte Magno’, BJ 516, f. 153r. 53 BJ 2392, p. 445. 54 Baron, Leonardo Bruni, p. 180. 55 J. Hankins, ‘Notes on Leonardo Bruni’s translation of the Nicomachean Ethics and its reception in the fifteenth century’, [in:] J. Hamesse (ed.), Les traducteurs au travail. Leurs manuscrits et leurs méthodes. Actes du colloque international organisé par le ‘Ettore Majorana Centre for Scientific Culture’ (Erice, 30 septembre – 6 octobre 1999), Turnhout 2001, p. 427. 56 Czartoryski, Wczesna recepcja, pp. 15–16. 57 A. Słomczyńska, Krakowskie komentarze z XV wieku do „Ekonomiki” Arystotelesa, Wrocław 1978, p. 6. 58 Hankins, ‘Notes on Leonardo Bruni’s translation’, p. 427; Olszaniec, Od Leonarda Bruniego, pp. 53–84. 59 Baron, Leonardo Bruni, p. 174; D. Gromska, ‘Lionarda Aretina Isagogicon disciplinae moralis a Etyka eudemejska’, [in:] T. Kotarbiński (ed.), Rozprawy logiczne. Księga pamiątkowa ku czci Kazimierza Ajdukiewicza, Warsaw 1964, pp. 55–71. 51

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de Stobnica written in 1510 or 1511. The author explained the purpose of this commentary in his letter of dedication to Adamus de Bochyn (Adam z Bochynia), rector of Cracow University and a Platonic philosopher and physician.60 According to this letter, it was undertaken at the request of Joannes de Stobnica’s students – who were used to scholastic commentaries – in order to make Bruni’s work more comprehensible. For this reason, he wrote a commentary to the humanist work in a scholastic mode, and changed the light and polished style of Bruni into a fairly dry description of philosophical distinctions and definitions. This stylistic change was due to a different, scholastic method of philosophy, which was highly focused on precision.61 The printed edition consists of Joannes’ letter of dedication and a preface containing the divisions of philosophy and definitions of its various branches. It was then followed by Bruni’s Isagogicon moralis disciplinae, accompanied by the commentary of Joannes de Stobnica’s (each section of Bruni’s text is followed by commentary). It is worth noting that, in some printed editions, the interlinear and marginal notes with explanations of Latin phrases or words were added mostly to the fragments of Bruni’s text and not to Joannes de Stobnica’s commentary.62 On one hand, Joannes must have been familiar, to some extent, with humanist ideas, given that he used Bruni’s work in his teaching. On the other hand, it is evident from his commentary that, even though the humanistic thought was present at Cracow University in teaching rhetoric (it can be seen in the use of the speech On the Value of Greek Literature), the method used to teach Aristotle in the early sixteenth century was essentially the same as that used by the previous generations of scholastic teachers.

The context of the transmission: manuscripts and their owners Bruni’s works were often transmitted as part of larger collections containing various texts by classical and humanist authors. In many Cracow manuscripts this aspect of transmission is clearly visible, especially in those containing the Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas. In all manuscripts owned by Cracow intellectuals (BJ 126, 173, and 2232; Wrocław, Biblioteka Zakładu Narodowego im. Ossolińskich63, 601; Kraków, Biblioteka Książąt Czartoryskich, II 124264), the Invectiva is inserted after four letters written by Poggio Bracciolini in Constance (the last of which is the letter describing the trial of Jerome of Prague, ‘Cum pluribus diebus...’). In four manuscripts (BJ 126, 173, 2232, and Oss. 601) the Invectiva is followed by Petrarch’s translation of the last novella of Boccaccio’s Decameron, entitled De insigni obedientia. In MS Czart. II 1242, De insigni obedientia does not follow the Invectiva, but is inserted in another part of the manuscript. Lucia Gualdo Rosa, on the basis of a larger number of manuscripts, has proposed that these three texts – the letter on the trial of Jerome of Prague, the Invectiva contra versutos H. Barycz, ‘Adam z Bochynia’, [in:] PSB, vol. 1, Cracow 1935, pp. 20–21. Domański, Scholastyka, p. 97. D. Gromska has shown that there were passages in which Stobnica was actually wiriting the commentary to the Nicomachean Ethics, moving away from Bruni’s text; cf. eadem, ‘Lionarda Aretina’, p. 70. 62 As, for instance, in BJ Cim. 4318, Czart. Cim. 1736 II, and Czart. Cim. 1832 II. 63 Wrocław, Biblioteka Zakładu Narodowego im. Ossolińskich will be referred to as Oss. throughout the paper. 64 Kraków, Biblioteka Książąt Czartoryskich will be referred to as Czart. throughout the paper. 60 61

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ypocritas, and the De insigni obedientia – were commonly disseminated together.65 In all extant Cracow manuscripts, the Invectiva is accompanied by Poggio’s letter ‘Cum pluribus diebus...’ and usually, but not always, by De insigni obedientia. In MSS BJ 173 and BJ 2232, the Invectiva is separated from the De insigni obedientia by the insertion of the Oratio pro sponsalibus (‘Neminem vestrum ignorare arbitror, viri spectabiles...’), which was a popular text in Padua.66 In MS Czart II 1242 the De insigni obedientia is inserted in the preceeding part of the manuscript between an anonymous history of Rome and set of orations from the region of Padua and Venice. The reception of Bruni’s Invectiva in this context was linked with the letter describing the trial of Jerome of Prague. Both texts dealing with improper conduct of monastic clergy seem to have been interesting for those Cracow professors who strongly supported conciliarist positions. The De insigni obedientia was in some way connected with these texts as it presented Griselda as the ideal Christian wife and, more generally, as the ideal of Christian life. It seems that these texts were treated as a whole: once combined together, they were copied together. In the Cracow manuscripts (for instance BJ 516 and BJ 518), the translation of On the Value of Greek Literature by Bruni was also transmitted in a typical context. It was always accompanied by other educational treatises such as the De ingenuis moribus et liberalibus studiis adolescentiae by Pier Paolo Vergerio (1370–1444), the De nobilitate generis by Buonaccorso da Monte Magno (ca. 1391–1429), and also the medieval work De vita scolastica (De discipulorum preceptorumque moribus, or Scolastica moralis) by Bonvesin de la Riva (thirteenth/fourteenth century). In MS BJ 3245 the complementary works to Bruni’s On the Value of Greek Literature are Guarino’s translation of the De liberis educandis by Plutarch and Pier Paolo Vergerio’s De ingenuis moribus. This combination was adopted by the compilers of manuscripts BJ 516 and BJ 518. Schucan discovered that there are more than fifty manuscripts containing the De ingenuis moribus inserted next to the On the Value of Greek Literature.67 In accordance with this general tendency, the Cracow manuscripts feature On the Value of Greek Literature accompanied by Cicero’s works on moral philosophy such as the Cato maior, Laelius de amicitia (BJ 516, BJ 518, and BJ 3245), and Paradoxa Stoicorum (BJ 516 and BJ 518).68 In MSS BJ 516 and 518 rhetorical works by Cicero, such as the De inventione libri II and pseudo-Cicero’s Rhetorica ad Herennium, were also included. This combination was less popular than the previous.69 Among other works that often appear together with On the Value of Greek Literature, one might also mention De tyranno by Xenophon – yet another text on education (on how a tyrant can become a good sovereign)70 – which appears only in MS 3245. The overview of the texts accompanying On the Value of Greek Literature in Cracow manuscripts shows that these texts were transmitted together because of their content, which suited a programme of education on moral philosophy. It is evident that the date of composition of these

L. Gualdo Rosa, ‘Introduzione’, [in:] eadem (ed.), Censimento, p. XV. See BJ 173, ff. 222r–223r; BJ 2232, ff. 200r–202r; cf. Catalogus codicum, vol. 1, p. 178; for the Oratio, see A.F. D’Elia, The Renaissance of Marriage in Fifteenth Century Italy [= Harvard Historical Studies 146], Cambridge (Mass.) 2004, pp. 149–150. 67 Schucan, Das Nachleben, p. 81. 68 BJ 3245: De somnio Scipionis (ff. 28r–33r), Laelius de amicitia (ff. 107r–132r), Cato Maior (ff. 132v–155r); cf. Schucan, Das Nachleben, p. 85. 69 Ibidem, p. 85. 70 Ibidem, p. 79. 65 66

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texts was not important for the commissioners of the manuscripts71: ancient texts, such as the works of Cicero, were put together with humanist works and also with works by mediaeval authors, for instance the treatise by Bonvesin de la Riva. The letters of Bruni preserved in the Cracow manuscripts are mostly included in larger collection of letters, which served as rhetorical models. In most cases they are bound together with letters by Gasparino Barzizza, Poggio Bracciolini, or with letters by authors from the region of Padua and Venice. In the manuscripts discussed here, the number of Barzizza’s letters is far greater than the number of Bruni’s; in MS BJ 519, for example, there are nine letters by Bruni and over two hundred ninety letters by Barzizza. Most of the Cracow manuscripts contain only one of Bruni’s letters. In these manuscripts, the number of letters by Poggio Bracciolini72 also exceeds the number of Bruni’s. In all of the Cracow manuscripts containing the Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas, this text is preceded by four letters by Poggio. The largest collection of Bruni’s letters in Cracow – a total of forty six – appears in MS BJ 2499, as a complement to the large collection of letters by Poggio Bracciolini. Thus, one may infer that Bruni’s letters did not constitute the most important model of epistolary style for Cracow intellectuals, but only a complementary model. The strong presence of letters by Gasparino Barzizza may be explained by the fact that Polish scholars often went to study in Padua or Bologna in the fifteenth century,73 where they became acquainted with the new rhetoric. Thus, the reception of Florentine epistolary models (Bruni, Poggio) by Cracow intellectuals may have depended on the presence of these models in the region of Padua and Bologna. From the overview presented above it is evident that Bruni’s texts appeared in manuscripts in conjunction with texts by other authors, usually selected according to their topic, which could be used as rhetorical models or for a curriculum of studia humanitatis. The reception of Bruni may thus be understood as an example of how texts by Italian humanists were rarely grouped together as the work of a single author, but rather were transmitted in conjunction with similar texts on a similar theme. Having analysed the contents of the Cracow manuscripts containing Bruni’s texts, it is worth examining the information we have about the owners of these manuscripts; this will allow us to more fully understand the connection between Bruni’s texts and the interests of Cracow intellectuals. The earliest known74 proponent of Bruni’s ideas, professor Joannes de Ludzisko, lived in the first half of the fifteenth century (ca. 1400– ca. 1460). He seems to have owned a manuscript (sadly, no longer extant) containing Bruni’s translation of On the Value of Greek Literature, for he used arguments from Bruni’s Preface to On the Value of Greek Literature in his oration of 1440. Joannes de Ludzisko This characteristic of the 15th century manuscripts is emphasised in Domański, Scholastyka, pp. 95–98. For the reception of Poggio Bracciolini in Cracow in the 15th century, see: I. Zarębski, ‘Długosz a Poggio Bracciolini. (W sporze o Długosza argument)’, Rocznik Naukowo-Dydaktyczny Wyższej Szkoły Pedagogicznej w Krakowie. Prace Historyczne, 14 (1962), pp. 29–43. 73 A survey of Polish students in Padua and Bologna, yet not exhaustive, is given in J. Fijałek, Polonia apud italos scholastica saeculum XV, Fasc. 1: Poloni apud italos litteris studentes et laurea donati inde a Paulo Wladimiri usque ad Johannem Lasocki collecti et illustrati, Cracow 1900; cf. S. Windakiewicz, ‘I Polacchi a Padova’, [in:] idem (ed.), Omaggio dell’Accademia Polacca di Scienze e Lettere all’Università di Padova nel settimo centenario della sua fondazione, Cracow 1922, pp. 1–34. 74 The earliest known Cracow manuscript containing Bruni’s texts, BJ 519, copied in 1414–1420, belonged to an unidentified Cracow scholar who studied in Italy. Cf. Catalogus codicum, vol. 3, p. 241. 71 72

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studied medicine in Padua in 1430–1433, and it may be supposed that he studied rhetoric there as well. He brought from Padua a manuscript with letters, orations and other works by Italian humanists.75 Another known owner of a manuscript containing the On the Value of Greek Literature belonged to the next generation of Cracow scholars. It was professor Joannes de Ilkusch the Elder (Jan z Olkusza Starszy) (ca. 1425–ca. 1464), who certainly owned a manuscript with Bruni’s translation of this work (BJ 518). He taught at the Faculty of Arts from 1450 and studied medicine. In 1459, he became a bachelor of medicine and started studying theology.76 It is very likely that Joannes, who copied On the Value of Greek Literature himself,77 used this text during his teaching at the Faculty of Arts. Thus, in the case of both Cracow professors described above, the interest in On the Value of Greek Literature was connected with a general interest in Italian humanism. Both professors were pioneers of humanism at Cracow University. Another well-known fifteenth-century owner of a large collection of Bruni’s works – in this case his letters – was also a representative of the early Cracow humanists. As a Master of Arts, Professor Joannes de Iunivladislavia (Jan z Inowrocławia) (d. 1465) was teaching mathematics as well as the philosophical and physical works of Aristotle at the Faculty of Arts. At the same time he was interested in classical literature, and he wrote introductions to Lucan’s Pharsalia and Statius’ Achilleis;78 he was also interested in humanism, and bought a manuscript (copied in Poland in 1465) with letters and orations by Italian humanists.79 In the later generation of Cracow professors, another owner of works by Bruni and other Italian humanists was Michael Falkener de Vratislavia (Michał Falkener z Wrocławia) (ca. 1460–1534), who lectured at the Faculty of Arts from 1488 until 1511 and, later, at the Faculty of Theology. Michael Falkener lectured mostly on astronomy, physics, and logic. He also gave lectures on Cicero’s Rhetoric in 1498, in which he used MS BJ 516, and lectures on the Modus epistolandi by Francesco Negri in 1505. The fact that Michael Falkener glossed not only Cicero’s Rhetoric in MS BJ 516, but also left annotations to On the Value of Greek Literature, indicates that he probably lectured on it. He may have given lectures about On the Value of Greek Literature outside the Faculty of Arts, for instance in students’ boarding houses or in private houses, for there are mentions of his extracurricular activity and, in this case, no information has been preserved in the Liber Diligentiarum.80 The final case concerns a Cracow professor and admirer of Duns Scotus who lived in the time when the printing press had already started to transform university life. Joannes de Stobnica (ca. 1470–ca. 1518) probably owned a printed edition of Aristotle’s 75 S. Bojarski, ‘Jan z Ludziska i przypisywane mu mowy uniwersyteckie’, Studia Mediewistyczne 14 (1973), p. 38; B. Nadolski, ‘Jan z Ludziska’, [in:] PSB, vol. 10, pp. 461–462. 76 A. Birkenmajer, ‘Jan z Olkusza Starszy’, [in:] PSB, vol. 10, pp. 465–466. 77 Catalogus codicum manuscriptorum, vol. 3, p. 193. 78 See BJ 525, ff. 1r–1v and 11v; cf. Catalogus codicum, vol. 3, pp. 254–259. As W. Szelińska pointed out, he probably gave lectures on Lucan and Statius; eadem, Biblioteki profesorów Uniwersytetu Krakowskiego w XV i początkach XVI wieku, Wrocław–Warsaw–Cracow 1968, p. 91. 79 W. Szelińska, ‘Jan z Inowrocławia’, [in:] PSB, vol. 10, p. 454. 80 R. Palacz, ‘Michał Falkener z Wrocławia. Stan badań’, Materiały i Studia Zakładu Historii Filozofii Starożytnej i Średniowiecznej, vol. 6 series A: Materiały do historii filozofii średniowiecznej w Polsce, pars 4, Wrocław– Warsaw–Cracow 1966, pp. 35–91.

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Opera omnia with Bruni’s Isagogicon moralis disciplinae. He taught logic, ethics, and natural philosophy at Cracow University in 1498–1514, and commented on most of Aristotle’s works.81 Joannes de Stobnica is considered the most important representative of Cracow professors, whose intellectual life was nurtured by both scholastic and humanist traditions. On the one hand, he used works by humanists, such as Bruni’s Isagogicon moralis disciplinae, and used Aristotle’s works in the new translation by Joannes Argyropoulos. On the other hand, his commentaries were written in the ‘scholastic way’, with many definitions and complicated terminology.82 This would have set him apart from the three fifteenth-century professors discussed above, suggesting that his interest in Bruni’s text might be explained by his philosophical rather than humanistic learning.

Conclusions As this paper has illustrated, one aspect of Bruni’s reception in Cracow is connected with Renaissance rhetoric. Bruni’s rhetorical texts – letters, polemical writings (Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas) – were the first of his works received in Cracow; however, when compared with the number of letters by Gasparino Barzizza or Poggio Bracciolini contained in the manuscripts discussed above, Bruni’s corpus appears to play a less important role as a rhetorical model. Moreover, apart from his translations of two orations by Demosthenes contained in MS BJ 519, Bruni was not held in a very high esteem among Cracow intellectuals as a model for composing orations, especially in contrast to Poggio Bracciolini. The Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas, which was widely disseminated in Cracow manuscripts, does not seem to have constituted a rhetorical model, and was copied mostly because of its ideological content; it would also appear that the text may have been transmitted largely due to the fact that it was included in a collection of texts dealing with similar topics (which included Poggio’s letters from Constance). The reception of the Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas in Cracow is limited to manuscripts from the period between ca. 1440s and ca. 1480s/1490s. Bruni appears in Cracow, above all, as a proponent of the studia humanitatis with his translation of On the Value of Greek Literature by Basil the Great. The reception of this text in Cracow was continuous due to the fact that it was a subject of lectures at the Faculty of Arts. However, Bruni’s own works concerning the studia humanitatis, such as the De studiis et litteris and the Dialogus ad Petrum Paulum Iustinopolitanum, had little impact in Cracow. These texts were not as popular as his translation of On the Value of Greek Literature, which was famous for its author rather than its translator; they were also not easily accessible for Cracow professors. The fact that there is only one Cracow manuscript with Dialogus ad Petrum Paulum Iustinopolitanum is not necessarily a sign of little popularity of this text in Cracow, especially if one considers the dissemination of this text throughout Europe. Eleven of the known manuscripts containing the Dialogus ad Petrum Paulum Iustinopolitanum83 – roughly a quarter of the total number – come from

I. Tarnowska, ‘Jan ze Stobnicy’, [in:] PSB, vol. 10, pp. 480–481. Domański, Scholastyka, pp. 164–168. 83 S.U. Baldassarri, ‘Introduzione’, [in:] Leonardo Bruni, Dialogi ad Petrum Paulum Histrum, idem (ed.), Florence 1994, p. 15. 81

82

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An Italian Intermediary in the Transmission of the Ancient Classical Traditions to Renaissance Poland...

the region around Padua. This text was not printed in the fifteenth century.84 The fact that De studiis et litteris was less popular in Cracow than in the rest of Europe (there were four editions of it in the fifteenth century) is hard to explain; perhaps it was due to the fact that this text was addressed to a woman, or that other treatises on studia humanitatis were sufficient for the needs of Cracow intellectuals. Another important aspect of Bruni’s reception in Cracow is his translations of the moral works of Aristotle (above all, of Pseudo-Aristotle’s Economics). This fact may be explained by considering the teaching needs of Cracow University. Bruni’s translations of Plato seem to have left few traces in Cracow.85 This could be due to the fact that Bruni’s translations of Plato were replaced by the translations of Marsilio Ficino.86 Considering the great contribution of Bruni as an historian, the small impact of his historiographical works (including his translations of Plutarch’s Lives) in Cracow during the period covered in this study is striking. It is significant for the reception of Italian humanism in Cracow, given that the medieval programme of teaching at the Faculty of Arts did not include history as a separate subject. Historiographical works were lectured during courses on rhetoric and it was only humanism that transformed history into a discipline on its own right.87 One of Bruni’s historical works that was probably known by Cracow intellectuals was De bello italico adversus Gothos. There are no extant codices containing this text in the Jagiellonian Library, but Leszek Hajdukiewicz has pointed out that Matthias de Miechow (Maciej Miechowita) (1457–1523), a Polish Renaissance historian and professor at Cracow University, must have known this work and used it while describing the genesis of the Slavs.88 The case of Bruni’s reception offers an opportunity to observe the main routes by which the texts of Italian humanists reached Cracow. They came first in manuscripts brought by Polish scholars who had studied in Padua and Bologna; one manuscript in this survey comes from Constance. Printed editions of Bruni’s texts that were disseminated in Cracow came from various places, but the impact of Leipzig printed books is especially worth noting in this respect. The process of transmission, especially in the case of manuscripts, has many dimensions, some of which have been demonstrated in this study. Firstly, it has been noted that certain texts are transmitted because of their content; secondly, the texts contained in manuscripts were very often connected and copied as a whole. Finally, the intellectual background of Cracow owners of Bruni’s texts played a decisive role in the process of transmission. On the one hand, the appearance of Bruni’s texts reflect a tendency that can be found in other European countries, especially concerning the reception of Bruni’s translation of On the Value of Greek Literature or the Economics. On the other hand, the reception of Bruni’s works in Cracow is unique in that it reflects the particular interests of Cracow intellectuals; this is especially notable in the cases of the Cf. GW, sub voce Brunus Aretinus Leonardus. A manuscript written by the Florentine scribe Antonio Sinibaldi and containing Plato’s letters translated by Bruni is held in the Princes Czartoryski Library at Cracow with the shelfmark 2388 II. This manuscript was originally preserved in the Prince Czartoryski Library in Puławy and there is no evidence of a former connection between this manuscript and Cracow. For the description of this manuscript, see Kristeller, Iter Italicum, vol. 4, p. 409. For Bruni’s translations of Plato’s letters, see W. Olszaniec, ‘La traduzione latina delle Lettere Platoniche di Leonardo Bruni Aretino’, Eos 89 (2002), pp. 117–129. 86 Cf. J. Hankins, Plato in the Italian Renaissance, 3rd ed., Leiden 1994, p. 320. 87 Domański, Scholastyka, pp. 173–175. 88 L. Hajdukiewicz, Biblioteka Macieja z Miechowa, Wrocław 1960, p. 141. 84 85

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Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas or the Isagogicon moralis disciplinae with a commentary by Joannes de Stobnica, both of which enjoyed popularity of Cracow. The presence in Cracow of certain works from Bruni – and, indeed, the absence of others, notably his historiographical writings – may be seen to reflect, on the one hand, the accessibility and availability89 of Bruni’s texts and, on the other, the specific interests and needs of Cracow intellectuals.

89 Not all texts by Bruni were popular and easily available. For instance, his treatise on translation, De interpretatione recta, is preserved in only nine manuscripts dating from the 15th century and was not printed until the 20th century. Cf. Botley, Latin Translation, p. 42, footnote 173; Olszaniec, Od Leonarda Bruniego, p. 46.

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Appendices Abbreviations used in the Appendix. BJ = Biblioteka Jagiellońska (Jagiellonian Library) Czart. = Biblioteka Książąt Czartoryskich w Krakowie (Princes Czartoryski Library in Cracow) Oss. = Biblioteka Zakładu Narodowego im. Ossolińskich we Wrocławiu (Library of the Ossoliński National Institute in Wrocław) 1. List of the manuscripts copied in 1400-1550 containing Bruni’s texts now kept in Cracow libraries Shelfmark BJ 519

Content 1. Ciceronis Rhetorica sub compendio [ff. 1r–9v], 2. Edict by Cracow bishop Wojciech Jastrzębiec [1415] [f. 10v] 3. Letters and orations [mainly connected with Bologna], models of letters [ff. 11r–36r] 4. Dialogus Leonardi Aretini ad Petrum Paulum Iustinopolitanum [ff. 37r–45r] – ‘Dialogus Leonardi Aretini ad Petrum Paulum Iustinopolitanum, in quo De modernis quibusdam scriptoribus in comparacionem ad antiquos disputatur’ 5. Bruni’s translation of Oratio pro Ctesiphonte by Demosthenes [ff. 45r–61r]: Bruni’s letter of dedication destined to Francesco Pizolpasso: ‘Oracio Demosthenis pro ethesiphonte [!] contra Hestinem versa in Latinas litteras e Grecis per Leonardum Aretinum ad episcopum Cremonensem’; Translation of Oratio pro Ctesiphonte 6. Various letters and orations [ff. 66r–93r]: among other orations delivered at the university of Padua [ff. 77v–78r], letters by Gasparino Barzizza, anonymous letters, Bruni’s letter to Ognibene Scola ‘Solent qui errati… errare perseverant’ [1414] [ff. 85r–v] 7. Seneca, Ad Helviam matrem de consolatione [fragm.] [ff. 93r–v] 8. Collection of various orations and letters: Bruni’s letter to Niccolò Nicoli [f. 93v] Bruni’s preface to Xenophon’s De Tyranno [fragm.] [f. 96r] Letters by Gasparino Barzizza, letters of Isidore of Seville [ff. 96r–116v] Bruni, Prologus ad Innocentium papam VII in Platonis Phaedonem [ff. 116v–117r] Coluccio Salutati’s letter praising Leonardo Bruni to pope Innocent VII [6 VIII 1405] [ff. 117r–v] Bruni’s letters to Coluccio Salutati [1405] [ff. 117v–118r], [ff. 118r–v], [ff. 118v–119r], Bruni’s letter to Niccolò Niccoli [1406] [ff. 119r–v] Bruni’s letter to Piero Sermini [ff. 120v] 9. Bruni’s Preface dedicated to Niccolò Niccoli and translation of Demosthenes’ Pro Diopithe [ff. 120r–124r] 10. Various letters [ff. 124r–170r], big collection of letters by Gasparino Barzizza [ff. 130r–170r]

Date and place of copying 1414, 1420

Bound in Cracow ca. 1450

Scribe

Ownership

Copied in Italy by an anonymous Pole who studied in Padua or in Bologna

—

commentary by Dominicus de Bayardiis de Firmo written in Constance in 1414 [ff. 1r–9v]

BJ 126

BJ 2232

Orations delivered at the University of Padua in 1413–1432 [ff. 2r–33v]; Carmina Bernardi de Messaltis [ff. 34r–v]; Epigrams by Antonio Baratella [f. 35r]; Ovid’s Letter of Sappho [ff. 35r–36r]; Letters [ff. 36r–38v]: Gasparino Barzizza to Andrea Giuliano [1432], two Poggio’s letters to Guarino [Constance 1417], Poggio to Niccolò [1416]; Poggio to Leonardo Bruni from Constance ‘Cum pluribus diebus...’ [1416]; Leonardo Bruni, Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas Leonardi Aretini [ff. 38v–40r] Letter of dedication by Petrarch to De insigni oboedientia and De insigni oboedientia [ff. 40r–42v]; Pseudo-Alexander the Great, Letter to Aristotle [f. 42v]; Lamentacio de obitu Domini Iacobi doctoris legum [f. 42v]; Pseudoepigraphic Mardocheus’s letter to Alexander the Great [ff. 42v–43v]; Pseudoepigraphic correspondence between Alexander the Great and Dindimus [ff. 43v–45v]; ‘Expositurus vobis pater Hugo versiculos...’ [ff. 45r–v]; Fragment of Latin dictionary [ff. 48r–49r]; Epigrams [ff. 50r–v]; Polish orations [ff. 51r–78v]: 8 orations by Joannes of Ludzisko and one anonymous oration; orations by Piotr Gaszowiec [1470–72]; orations by sons of the king Kazimierz Jagiellończyk; oration by Cracow scholasticus Zbigniew [1472]; oration by Stanisław Biel [1509]

40-s of 15th

Orations by Joannes Elgot and orations delivered at the Faculty of Law of the Cracow University; copies of papal bulls, letters, orations and works by Italian humanists among other: letter by Gasparino Barzizza to Andrea Giuliano [f. 189r]; two letters by Poggio to Guarino [Constance 1417], [ff. 189r–190v]; Poggio to Niccolo ‘Poggius plurimam salutem dicit Nicolao suo’ [17 December 1416], [ff. 190v–193r]; Poggio to Leonardo Bruni ‘Cum pluribus diebus...’ [Constance, 30 May 1416], [ff. 193r–196r]; Leonardo Bruni, Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas [ff. 196r–200r]; Oratio pro sponsalibus [ff. 200r–202r]; Letter of dedication by Petrarch to De insigni oboedientia and De insigni oboedientia [ff. 202r–208v]

Before 1450

Unknown scribe

1. Petrus de Silesia (Piotr Gaszowiec) 2. Petrus de Zembrzyce (Piotr Świętopełk z Zambrzecza)

—

Uknown Polish student of decrees studying under Thomas de Strzempino (Tomasz Strzempiński) and Joannes Elgot (Jan Elgot)

70-s of 15th [ff. 73v–78r] 1509 [f. 78v]

BJ 42

Carmina Bernardi de Messaltis [ff. 1r–2r]; Epigrams by Antonio Baratella [ff. 2r–3r]; Ovid’s Letter of Sappho [ff. 3r–4r]; Lamentacio de obitu Domini Iacobi doctoris legum [ff. 4v]; Various letters, orations by Italian humanists and Polish documents and letters [ff. 5r–22r]: by Gasparino Barzizza, Poggio, Guarino; Letter of dedication by Petrarch to De insigni oboedientia and De insigni oboedientia [ff. 22r–25v]; Works and documents connected with the council of Basel [ff. 26r–28v]; Epistolary form with many letters by Mikołaj Lasocki and Guarino [ff. 29r–41r]; Polish epistolary form [ff. 41r–46v]; Orations and letters by Poggio Bracciolini [ff. 47r–66v]; Various letters and orations Polish, pseudoepigraphic [ff. 66v–74r]; Epistolar form for the use of the Polish chancery [ff. 74r–214r]; Letter by Leonardo Bruni to Giovanni Marrasio [‘Fons quidam...’] [1429] [ff. 79r–v]

1450–1460 in Cracow

Several scribes: among other Martinus de Vladislavia (Marcin z Włocławka); Albertus de Korczyn (Wojciech z Korczyna)

Oss. 601

Persius, Satirae I, II, III i IV [ff. 1r–13v]; Correspondence of Joannes Lasocki [ff. 14r–21r]; De Galla, Symmachi consulis ac patricii filia [f. 21]; Various orations: Oratio praepositi Posnaniensis facta coram Martino V [ff. 21v–22v]; Orations by Joannes Lasocki (Jan Lasocki) [ff. 22v–24v], Oration by Enea Silvio Piccolomini [ff. 24v–26]; Letters, bull by Pius II [ff. 26r–28r]; Excerpts from various antique Roman authors and others [ff. 28v–33, 33v–34, 39–39, 43–47, 54, 56v–61v]; Letters to universities in Paris, Bologna, Padua and other universities, letters by Sbigneus Oleśnicki (Zbigniew Oleśnicki) [ff. 34–36]; De eloquentia [ff. 39v–40v]; King Jagiełło’s letters, letters by Cracow University [ff. 47r–50r]; Orations by Polish princes Władysław, Kazimierz and Aleksander [ff. 50r–50v]; Anonymous letters; Cicero: excerpts from De amicitia and from Paradoxa [600v]; Aristotle: anonymous commentary on Aristotle’s Ethics [ff. 80–109v]; Tractatulus de virtutibus moralibus Aristotelis [ff. 110r–120r]; Works, orations and letters by Enea Silvio Piccolomini – De miseria curialium; Polish letters; pseudoepigraphic works – Epistola Pontii Pilati ad Claudium [f. 229]; Orations and letters by Italian humanists: orations by Poggio [ff. 233–242], orations delivered at the university; letters by Guarino; letter by Gasparino Barzizza to Andrea Giuliano [f. 600r], two letters by Poggio to Guarino [Constance 1417], [ff. 300r–301v]; Poggio to Niccolo ‘Poggius plurimam salutem dicit Nicolao suo’ [17 December 1416], [ff. 301v–304v]; Poggio to Leonardo Bruni [Constance, 30 May 1416], [ff. 304v–307r]; Leonardo Bruni, Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas [f. 307r–311r]; Letter of dedication by Petrarch to De insigni oboedientia and De insigni oboedientia [ff. 311r–318r]; Lamentacio de obitu Domini Iacobi doctoris legum [ff. 318r–v]; Pseudoepigraphic Mardocheus’s letter to Alexander the Great [ff. 318v–320v]; Pseudoepigraphic correspondence between Alexander the Great and Dindimus [ff. 321r–323v]; Polish correspondence and other documents [ff. 335r–379v]

15th century

—

1. Joannes de Latoszyn (Jan Latoszyński) [† 1494] 2. Cracow Cathedral Chapter

BJ 518

BJ 516

‘Cicero’: Cicero, De inventione libri II [ff. 1r–60v], Pseudo-Cicero De ratione dicendi ad C. Herennium libri IV [ff. 61r–116v], Introductio in M. Tulii Ciceronis De officis libro [f. 120v], Cicero, De Officiis Libri III [ff. 121r–161r], Carmina duodecim sapientium. De titulo M. Tulii Ciceronis [f. 161r–v], Cicero, Cato Maior de senectute liber ad T. Pomponium Atticum [ff. 167r–178r], Cicero, Laelius de amicitia liber ad T. Pomponium Atticum [ff. 178v–190r]; Pier Paolo Vergerio, De ingenuis moribus et liberalibus studiis libri II [ff. 191r–204r]; Guarino, translation [paraphrase] from Plutarch, De assentatoris et amici differentia liber [ff. 204r–205r]; De nobilitate generis by Buonaccorso da Monte Magno [‘Tractatus de nobilitate generis nuper editus per eloquentissimum Bonacursum de Monte Magno’] [ff. 209r–216v]; Septem sapientium sententiae; Bonvesin de la Riva, De vita scolastica [‘Hic rudium primo vivendi forma docetur’] [f. 217r–222v]; Bruni’s translation of On the Value of Greek Literature with Preface: ‘Leonardi Aretini facundissimi libellus Basilii Magni ad suos nepotes de moribus e Greco in Latinum ad Coluccium virum clarum’ [f. 223r–228r]; Sententiae de mala et bona societate [f. 228r]

ca. 1451 [ff. 1r–60v]

‘Cicero’: [ff. 2v–152v]: Introductio in M. Tulii Ciceronis Paradoxa [f. 2v], Cicero, Paradoxa Stoicorum [ff. 3r–10r], Cicero, De officis libri III [ff. 11r–70r]; Carmina duodecim sapientium. De titulo M. Tulii Ciceronis [ff. 70v–71v]; Epitaphium M. Tulii Ciceronis [f. 71v]; Cicero, Laelius de amicitia liber ad T. Pomponium Atticum [ff. 73r–96v]; Pseudo-Cicero, De ratione dicendi ad C. Herennium libri IV [ff. 97r–152v]; Buonaccorso da Monte Magno, De nobilitate generis [‘Tractatus de nobilitate generis nuper editus per eloquentissimum Bonacursum de Monte Magno’] [ff. 153r–164r]; Bruni’s translation of On the Value of Greek Literature with Preface: ‘Leonardi Aretini facundissimi libellus Basilii Magni ad suos nepotes de moribus e Grego [!] in Latinum ad Coluccium virum clarum’ [ff. 164v–173r]; Bonvesin de la Riva, De vita scolastica ‘Hic rudium primo vivendi forma docetur’ [text not complete, without end] [ff. 173r–180r]; Pier Paolo Vergerio, De ingenuis moribus et liberalibus studiis libri II [ff. 181r–201v]; Cicero, Cato Maior de senectute liber ad T. Pomponium Atticum [ff. 201v–204v]

ca. 1459

1450–1463 [ff. 117r–228r] Bound in Cracow after 1460

1. Maternus (Materna) in the monastery in Koprzywnica [ff. 1r–60v]

Joannes de Ilkusch the Elder (Jan z Olkusza Starszy) [† 1463]

2. Unknown Italian scribe [ff. 61r–116v] – part brought by Maternus from Italy 3. Joannes de Ilkusch [† 1463] [ff. 117r–228r]

[part copied by Joannes de Kamieniec] in Cracow

Joannes de Kamieniec (Jan z Kamieńca) [ff. 3r–10r, 11r–71v, 97r–201v] Two anonymous scribes [ff. 70r, 152v, 201v, 73r–96v, 201v–204v]

1. Joannes de Kamieniec 2. Michael Falkener de Vratislavia 3. 1534. Collegium Maius of the Cracow University

BJ 3245

Bruni’s translation of On the Value of Greek Literature with Preface: Bruni’s Preface: ‘Sequitur Liber Basilij. Leonardi Aretini Prefacio in libros Basily Magni Greci incipit feliciter...’; Bruni’s translation of On the Value of Greek Literature: ‘Incipit Basilius e Greco in Latinum traductus per dissertissimum Leonardum Aretinum, De studys liberalibus’ [ff. 1r–13r] Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s De Tyranno: Bruni’s Preface to Niccolò Niccoli ‘Leonardi Aretini ad Nicolaum Summum Prefacio in Xenophontem incipit feliciter’ [ff. 13r–14r]; Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s De Tyranno ‘Tyrannus Xenophontis incipit feliciter’ [ff. 14v–27r] Cicero, De somnio Scipionis [ff. 28–33] Guarino’s preface and translation [paraphrase] from Pseudo-Plutarch, De liberis educandis [ff. 34v–53r]; Pier Paolo Vergerio, De ingenuis moribus et liberalibus studiis libri II [ff. 53r–86r] Polemical treatise by Alfonso de Cartagena against Bruni’s translation of Nicomachean Ethics ‘Sequitur liber Alfonsi, epi Burgensis’ [ff. 86r–106r] Cicero: Laelius de amicitia liber ad T. Pomponium Atticum [ff. 107r–132r], Cato Maior de senectute liber ad T. Pomponium Atticum [ff. 132v–155r] Seneca: De providentia divina liber I–II [ff. 155v–182r], De brevitate vitae [ff. 182v–216r], De vita beata liber I [ff. 216v–243r], De tranquillitate animi [ff. 243v–266r], De clementia [ff. 266v–280r], De copia verborum [ff. 280v–305r] Various excerpts [ff. 305v–316r] – orations, letters; Index [ff. 316r–321r]

15th century

2 scribes

[Probably it could be owned by Joannes Długosz (Jan Długosz) as it contains his coat of arms ‘Wieniawa’ at f. 1]

BJ 1956

Valerii Maximi Dictorum factorumque libri [pp. 1–745]; Forme Exordium per Antonium Luxoritam [pp. 889–924]; Collection of various letters and orations [pp. 925–1040]: Petrarch; Gasparino Barzizza; Guarino; Giovanni Lamola; Poggio Bracciolini; letters by pope Martin V; Leonardo Bruni, Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas [fragment] [p. 972]; Letter to Ognibene Scola ‘Solent hi qui erranti...’ [28 November 1407,] [f. 487 v]; Cicero: Paradoxa [pp. 1045–1058] and De amicitia [pp. 1069–96]; Summa magistri Guidonis [pp. 1097–99, 2000–2018]

1467

Joannes de Borzykow (Jan z Borzykowa)

1. Bartholomaeus de Zneyna (Bartłomiej ze Żnina) 2. Collegium Minus

BJ 1961

Medical prescription [pp. 1–2], Jacobus Parcossius de Zorawica, De ortographia Polonica libellus [pp. 3–16]; Various letters and works, among other – letters from Cracow, Jerome’s letter, De colloqucione mortis et Policarpi (Master Policarpus’ conversation with Death) [pp. 16–144]; Poggio’s letters [pp. 121–144]; De corpore canonum decretalium [pp. 145–187]; Rhetorica [pp. 195–218]; Poggio’s letters [pp. 221– 265]; Collection of letters Polish and Italian [pp. 269–342]: letter by Joannes Długosz [p. 278]; Bruni’s letter to Ognibene Scola ‘Solent hi qui erranti..’ [incomplete, without mentioning author of the letter] [p. 322]; letter by Pio II [p. 340]; Excerpts ‘Summa auctoritatum Iconomice Aristotelis’ [pp. 343–365]; Seneca, De moribus [p. 344]; Various excepts and letters, mainly Polish letters [pp. 382–477]; Formae processum, Polish letters and documents [pp. 481–604]; Rhetorica ‘Ex quo presens declaracio debet esse’ [pp. 606–744]; Various excerpts [pp. 749–822]; Treatise De plantacione arborum fructiferarum [p. 759]; Demosthenes Pro Athenis [p. 769]; ‘Interrogatoria venerabilis domini Iohannis’ [p. 773]; De processu iudiciario [p. 775]

1460–1470

Several scribes 1. Borzykowski [pp. 3–16] Part copied by Polish student studying in Italy

Petrus de Ilkusch (Piotr z Olkusza) (since 1486)

BJ 2038

Epitaphs [pp. 1–2, 21–24]; Treatise by anonymous author [pp. 3–21]; Various orations [pp. 25–53]; Letters, orations and other works with big collection of letters by Gasparino Barzizza [pp. 53–86]: Bruni’s Latin translation of Decamerone [IV,1] – ‘Hystoria pulchra Leonardi Architini De Tancredo’ [pp. 63r–72]; Ovid’s Letter of Sappho [p. 84]; Horace [pp. 87–120]: Liber Epodorum, Carmen Saeculare; Letters by Poggio and Guarino [ff. 121–406]; Orations by Poggio [pp. 407–486]; Stephanus Fliscus de Soncino Synonima [pp. 511–575]

15th century, before 1478

Several scribes

Valentinus de Pilzno (Walenty z Pilzna)

BJ 173

Orations delivered at the Cracow University, mainly at the Faculty of Law [ff. 1r–200r]; Orations and letters by humanists [ff. 200r–203r]; Collection of the correspondence connected with council and modus epistolandi [ff. 203r–206r]; Orations and letters by Italian humanists [ff. 206r–232v]: letter by Gasparino Barzizza to Andrea Giuliano [ff. 215r–v], two letters by Poggio to Guarino [Constance 1417], [ff. 215v–216r]; Poggio to Niccolo ‘Poggius plurimam salutem dicit Nicolao suo’ [17 December 1416], [ff. 216r–217v]; Poggio to Leonardo Bruni [Constance, 30 May 1416], [ff. 217v–219r]; Leonardo Bruni, Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas [ff. 219r–221v]; Oratio pro sponsalibus [ff. 22r–223r]; Letter of dedication by Petrarch to De insigni oboedientia and De insigni oboedientia [ff. 223r–227r]

Third quarter of the 15th century

—

1. Jacobus de Szadek (Jakub z Szadka) 2. Martinus de Cracovia (Marcin z Krakowa) 3. Faculty of Theology of the Cracow University

Czart. II 1242

Latin dictionary of law terms [pp. 1–79]; Letter by Andrea de Pallatio [pp. 169–179]; Demosthenes’ letter to Alexander the Great [pp. 202–203]; Anonymous history of Rome [pp. 220–272]; Letter of dedication by Petrarch to De insigni oboedientia and De insigni oboedientia [pp. 295–308]; Orations [connected with Padua and Venice]; Letter by Gasparino Barzizza to Andrea Giuliano [pp. 383–384]; two letters by Poggio to Guarina Constance 1417 [pp. 384–391]; Poggio to Leonardo Bruni from Constance [pp. 391–397]; Leonardo Bruni, Invectiva contra versutos ypocritas [pp. 397–408]; Various orations – Gasparino Barzizza, anonymous [pp. 408–426]; Tractatus de virtutibus antiquiorum [pp. 437–474]; Pier Paolo Vergerio, De ingenuis moribus [fr.] [pp. 474–504]

ca. 1435

Mostly by Jacobus Parcossius de Zorawica

—

BJ 2499

Epigramma Octaviani Augusti; Epigramma Publii Scipioni Africani [f.1]; Poggio’s orations and letters [ff. 2r–181r]; Ornatissima oratio in laudes novi rectoris [f. 183r]; 46 Bruni’s letters from the first 6 books of Bruni’s Epistolario, in different order than in Epistolario mixed with letters by Georg of Trebizond [ff. 190v–234]

End of the 15th cent.

Johannes Leczevitani

Joannes de Iunivladislavia (Jan z Inowrocławia)

PAU 1717

Ex Mercurio Trismegisto de divina voluntate sentenciae [ff. 1r–11v]; Ex Mercurio de potestate et sapientia Dei [ff. 11v–30]; Ex libris divi Platonis praeciuarum sentenciarum collectiones foeliciter incipiunt [ff. 36r–157r]; Ex libris ethicorum Aristotelis peripateticorum principis sentenciae [ff. 157r–179v]; Ex libro de moribus Leonardi Aretini Isagogicon moralis disciplinae [ff. 179v–180v]; Ex Politicorum libro primo [secundo, tertio, etc.] sentenciae foeliciter incipiunt [ff. 181–199v] Economicorum liber primus et secundus [in Bruni’s translation] [ff. 199v–202v]; Phisicorum primi [secundi, tertii etc.] [ff. 202v–209v] Metaphisicae libri primi [secundi, tertii etc.] [ff. 210–218], De coelo libri primi [secundi, tertii etc.] [ff. 218–219 v]; De anima libri primi [secundi, tertii etc.] [ff. 219v–222v]

1505

Bernardus Lublinensis (Biernat z Lublina)

Bernardus Lublinensis (Biernat z Lublina)

2. List of the prints from 1400-1550 containing Bruni’s texts now kept in Cracow libraries Title

Place

Printer

Date

Ownership

Shelfmark

Bruni’s translation of On the Value of Greek Literature by Basil the Great De studio poetarum et oratorum quo pacto qualiterve legi debeant, Leonardo Aretino interprete, cum mgri Pauli Niavis commendatione

Leipzig

Conrad Kachelofen

1490–1494

1. ‘Magister Bromirskij’ (Bartholomeus de Bromirz) 1. Nicolaus (Mikołaj) Dumpkowski 2. ‘Orzyczki’ 3. Stanislaus (Stanisław) Temberski

BJ Inc. 225

De studio poetarum et oratorum quo pacto qualiterve legi debeant, Leonardo Aretino interprete, cum mgri Pauli Niavis commendatione

Leipzig

Conrad Kachelofen

[1490–1494]

Collegium Maius (without date of accession)

BJ Inc. 2409

Censorinus, De die natali, Tabula Cebetis (per Lodovicum Odaxium a graeco conversa), Dialogus (de virtute) Luciani, Enchridion Epicteti (e graeco interpretatum), Basilius (De liberalibus studiis et ingenuis moribus, liber per Leonardum Aretinum e graeco in latino conversus, et ejusdem s. Basilii Oratio de invidia, e graeco in latinum conversa per Nicolaum Perotum), Plutarchus de invidia et odio

Bologna

Benedictus Hectoris

12 V 1497

Collegium Maius (without date of accession)

BJ Inc. 2228

De poetarum, oratorum historicorumque ac philosophorum legendis libris cum commentariolo Johannes Honorij Cubitensis

Leipzig

Jacob Thanner

1508

—

BJ Cim. 5263

Magnus Basilius de Poetarum Oratorum Historicorumque ac philosophorum legendis libris

Leipzig

Jacob Thanner

1512

Divi Basilii magni, viri sanctissimi iuxta ac eloquentssimi, de evolvendis libris scriptorum gentilium libellus sane aureus et incomparabilis. Eiusdem praeterea argumenti. Epistola eruditissimi divi Hieronymi ad magnum Oratorem. Praefatio L. Vallae in quartum librum elegantiarum praelectio in topica Ciceronis Matthiae Valeriani Praedicatorii

Cracow

Hieronymus Vietor

1534

At the front page annotation written by hand ‘Anno Domini 1538’ – date of accession? ‘Mathias Valerianus sacrarum litterarum baccalaureus clarissimo adolescenti Michaeli Semilitio Lithuano’ – letter sent from the Holy Trinity Monastery in Cracow on 18 February 1534 [ff. 1–3]

BJ Neolat. 1027

St-Petersburg, National Library of Russia, Lat. F XV 38

Bruni’s translation of Politics Politica… a Leonardo Arethino e Greco in latinum traducta: cum brevi admodum et compendioso commentariolo inter capitula inserto materiam eorundem dilucide et breviter explicans

Leipzig

Martin Landsberg (Herbipolensis)

1516

At the front page annotation by hand ‘Lecta est hec lectura per me Mattheus anno 1533 hora XIX in Lectorio Minoris’

BJ Inc. 3246

Bruni’s translation of Economics Economicorum Libri duo sub gemina translatione

Cracow

Florianus Ungler

1512

—

BJ Cim. 4002

Oeconomicorum Aristotelis libri Graecis and Latinis annotationibus suis locis illustrate

Cracow

Mathias Scharffenberg

1537

—

BJ Cim. 4378

Oeconomicorum Aristotelis libri Graecis and Latinis annotationibus suis locis illustrate

Cracow

Mathias Scharffenberg

1537

—

BJ Cim. 4883

Bruni’s translation of Ethics, Politics and Economics with Isagogicon moralis disciplinae Aristotle, Ethica, Politica et Oeconomica, Leonardo Aretino interprete

Strasburg

Johannes Mentelin

ca. 1470

—

BJ Inc. 577

Aristotle, Opera omnia cum commento Averrois et L. Bruni Aretino (Ethica Nicomachea translated by John Argyropoulos; Leonardo Bruni, Isagogicon moralis disciplinae, Politica, Oeconomica translated by Leonardo Bruni)

Venice

Johannes and Gregorius de Gregoriis

13 VII 1496

Aristotle, Opera omnia cum commento Averrois et L. Bruni Aretino (Ethica Nicomachea translated by John Argyropoulos; Leonardo Bruni, Isagogicon moralis disciplinae, Politica, Oeconomica translated by Leonardo Bruni)

BJ Inc. 666

Venice

Johannes and Gregorius de Gregoriis

13 VII 1496

—

BJ Inc. 614

Aristotle, Opera omnia cum commento Averrois et L. Bruni Aretino (Ethica Nicomachea translated by John Argyropoulos; Leonardo Bruni, Isagogicon moralis disciplinae, Politica, Oeconomica translated by Leonardo Bruni)

Venice

Johannes and Gregorius de Gregoriis

13 VII 1496

—

BJ Inc. 2340

Aristotle, Opera omnia cum commentatione Averrois, translated by John Argyropoulos and Leonardo Bruni

Venice

Paganini Paganino Giovanni and Gregorio de Gregori

1501

—

BJ Inc. 602

Aristotle, Decem librorum moralium, tres conversiones: Prima Argyropili, secunda Leonardi Aretini, tertia vero antiqua, per capita et numeros conciliate: communi familiarique commentario (Iacobi Fabri Stapulensis) ad Argyropilum adiecto

Paris

Heinricus Stephanus

1510

—

BJ Greka 3404

Aristotle, Ethicorum libri X cum Politicorum libri VIII, Economicorum libri II, Leonardo Aretino interprete

Lyon

Jacques Myt

1530

1. Michael 2. Collegium Minus

BJ St. Dr. 930078 I

Aristotle, Ethicorum libri X cum Politicorum libri VIII, Economicorum libri II, Leonardo Aretino interprete

Lyon

Jacques Myt

1530

According to the note on the front page donated by some Nicolaus to the Library of the Faculty of Arts of the Cracow University in 1630

BJ Philol. Gr. 279 (a)

—

Aristotle, Decem Libri Ethicorvm Aristotelis Ad Nicomachum ex traductione Ioannis Argyropyli Bizantij communi familiarique Iacobi Fabri Stapulensis commentario elucidati et singulorum capitum argumentis praenotati. Adiectvs Leonardi Aretini de moribus Dialogus ad Galeotum, Dialogo paruorum moralium Aristotelis ad Eudemium fere respondens

Paris

Simon Colinaeus

1530

1. Joannes Bodzanta (Jan Bodzanta), Cracow canon 2. Camaldolese Monastery in Bielany in Cracow (donated by Joannes Bodzanta in 1678 according to the handmade notation on the front page)

Commentary by Joannes de Stobnica to Isagogicon moralis disciplinae by Leonardo Bruni In moralem disciplinam introductio Ioannis de Stobnica Cracow Joannes Haller 1511 — commentario explanata

BJ Cam. L. III. 30

BJ Cim. 4318,

In moralem disciplinam introductio Ioannis de Stobnica commentario explanata In moralem disciplinam introductio Ioannis de Stobnica commentario explanata

Cracow

Joannes Haller

1511

—

BJ Cim. 4319

Cracow

Joannes Haller

1511

Czart. Cim. 1832 II

In moralem disciplinam introductio Ioannis de Stobnica commentario explanata

Vienna

Joannes Singrenius

1515

Exemplar connected with Cracow. At the front page written by hand 1.’Ex Cathalogo Librorum Stanisl[cancelled] A. D. 1632’ 2.’ex Libris M. custorij Krzeszowski S. Th. D. Clepardiensis S. Floriani Prepositi’ —

In moralem disciplinam introductio Ioannis de Stobnica commentario explanata

Vienna

Joannes Singrenius

1515

On the front page notes by hand in Polish.

BJ Cim. 4719 Czart. Cim. 1736 II

De studiis et litteris

Padua

Epistolarum familiarum libri VIII

Venice

Comedia Poliscenae per Leonhardu. Aretinu. congesta

Cracow

Comedia Poliscene

Leipzig

Comedia Poliscene

Vienna

De studiis et litteris Matthaeus Cerdonis

2 III 1483

Stanislaus Biel

BJ Inc. 20

15 VI 1495

Joannes Sommerfeld Aesticampianus the Elder

BJ Inc. 951

Joannes Haller

1509

—

BJ Cim. 4093

Martinus Herbipolensis Joannes Singrenius

1510

—

BJ Neolat. 1024

1535

—

BJ Cim. 4772

Epistolarum familiarum libri VIII Petrus de Quarengiis, Damianus de Gorgonzola Comedia Poliscena

3. Cracow editions of Bruni’s works or connected with Bruni On the Value of Greek Literature 1. Divi Basilii magni, viri sanctissimi iuxta ac eloquentissimi, de evolvendis libris scriptorum gentilium libellus sane aureus et incomparabilis. Eiusdem praeterea argumenti. Epistola eruditissimi divi Hieronymi ad magnum Oratorem Praefatio L. Vallae in quartum librum elegantiarum praelectio in topica Ciceronis Matthiae Valeriani Praedicatorii (Cracow, Hieronymus Vietor, 1534) Translation of Economics 1. Oeconomicorum libri duo sub gemina translatione, [translated by Leonardo Bruni] (Cracow, Florianus Ungler, 1512) 2. Oeconomicorum Aristotelis libri Graecis et Latinis annotationibus suis locis illustrati, [translated by Leonardo Bruni], (Cracow, Matthias Scharffenberg, 3 III 1537) Comedia Poliscena attributed to Bruni 1. Comedia Poliscenae p. Leonhardu. Aretinu. congesta (Cracow, Joannes Haller, 1509) 2. Comedia Poliscene p. Leonhardu. Aretinu. congesta (Cracow, Joannes Haller, X 1519) Joannes de Stobnica, Commentary to the Isagogicon moralis disciplinae 1. In moralem disciplinam introductio Ioannis de Stobnica commentario explanata (Cracow, Joannes Haller, 1511) 2. In moralem disciplinam introductio Ioannis de Stobnica commentario explanata (Cracow, Joannes Haller, 1517)

Mykhaylo Yakubovych Ostroh

JAN LATOSZ (1539–1608) AND HIS NATURAL PHILOSOPHY: RECEPTION OF ARABIC SCIENCE IN EARLY MODERN POLAND

Introduction It is commonly known that the revival of natural sciences in the early modern period spread as far as Eastern Europe and, in particular, Poland. In the field of astronomy, for example, there is no need to further elaborate on the legacy of Nicolaus Wodka (1442–1494), Georgius Drohobich de Rus (1450–1494), Johannes Muller (1436– 1476), Nicolaus Copernicus (1473–1543) or Johannes Hevelius (1611–1687). This background provides an opportunity to investigate the framework of intercultural enrichment and also to examine the state of Polish sciences at this time in the context of East and West. The Eastern borders of early modern Poland would have had contact with both other Slavic cultures (e.g. Ruthenian) as well with the Ottomans; one may acknowledge real traces of Eastern Orthodox and even Islamic cultures in pre-modern Poland. In addition, one may detect a broader context of intercultural influences related to more distant civilizations, such as the Arabic world. This last point is important for, as some recent studies have stated, the influence of Arabic sciences.1 It did not cease during the late Middle Ages, but rather continued to have influence Europe in the late fifteenth and the sixteenth centuries, during the so-called ‘post-classical period of Islamic philosophy’.2 In many historical sources, we can see that such traces were not viewed as ‘foreign sciences’, but had a distinctive value. This is echoed in the sentence of Ibn Khaldūn (1332–1406), an eminent Arabic philosopher who wrote that, unlike the religious sciences, the ‘sciences of philosophy’ may be freely shared between people of different religions.3 Not every trace of these influences is obvious: many of them are hidden in 1 Including works by Jewish and Persian scholars, who wrote in Arabic and were active in Arabic centres of learning (e.g. Mā shā’ Allah ibn Atharī (740 – 815) and some other astronomers cited in this work). 2 See for example: V. Roberts, ‘The solar and lunar theory of Ibn al-Shātir: a pre-Copernican Copernican model’, Isis 48 (1957), pp. 428–432; D. Rutkin, ‘The use and abuse of Ptolemy’s Tetrabiblos in Renaissance and Early Modern Europe’, [in:] A. Jones (ed.), Ptolemy, Perspective: Use and Criticism of his Work from Antiquity to the Nineteenth Century, Dordrecht and New York 2010, pp. 135–147; G. Saliba, ‘Arabic science in sixteenthcentury Europe: Guillaume Postel (1510–1581) and Arabic astronomy’, Suhayl 7 (2007), pp. 115–164; G. Saliba, Islamic Science and the Making of European Renaissance, Cambridge 2007; S. Tekeli, ‘Taqi al-Din’, [in:] H. Selin (ed.), Encyclopaedia of the History of Science, Technology, and Medicine in Non-Western Cultures, Dordrecht 1997, pp. 2080–2081. 3 Ibn Khaldūn, Muqaddimah, ‘A. al-Shaddādī (ed.), Al-Dār Al-Bayḍā’ 2005, vol. 5, p. 224.

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theories, which have been considered as original for a long time. Two mathematical theorems by Copernicus (known as Ṭūsī Couple and ‘Urdhī Lemma) that were not found in the classical Greek astronomical corpus can be seen as examples of this phenomenon. As George Saliba has noted, the same theorems were extensively documented in Arabic astronomical works three centuries before Copernicus.4 Interestingly, neither of these Arabic authors (Naṣīr al-Dīn al-Ṭūsī, 1204–1274, Ibn al-Shāṭir,5 1304–1375) had been translated into Latin. As a result, the question of how Copernicus came to know these works remains open. It is has been suggested that Copernicus may have owed his knowledge to someone more fluent in Arabic who informed him about these important astronomical discoveries.6 Therefore, traces of Arabic or Middle Eastern knowledge may be discovered not only through the meticulous study of primary sources, but also by studying the biographies of their authors. This may result in a better understanding of scholarly life in early modern Poland, where an awareness of Arabic achievements in philosophy and the natural sciences was undoubtedly present. Jan Walenty Latosz was one of the most important Polish scholars in this field, but his significant scholarly heritage – around fourteen Polish and Latin manuscripts and old prints are known – has been hitherto neglected by modern historians of science. The present article will begin with a brief biography of Latosz and a few words on the background of his scholarly career, before moving onto an analysis of his interpretation of Arabic sciences. The primary aim of my research is an analysis of the sources that Latosz used in his Polish and Latin works; specifically, I will be attempting to reconstruct those sources related to Arabic philosophy and natural science, traces of which may be found in Latosz’s works. The second aim is to determine whether Latosz used primary sources or if the legacy of Arabic scholars was known to him only through intermediary works. Thirdly, I would like to study the new interpretations of Arabic science and philosophy which Latosz proposed, relating to astronomy, astrology, medicine and natural philosophy in general. Finally, I hope to show the scientific value of the works of Latosz in the context of the European Renaissance and its particular features in Poland.

Natural philosophy in motion: the context of Polish Renaissance The first encounter with Arabic natural philosophy in the Latin West took place in the early eleventh century by means of direct and indirect (via Hebrew) translations from Arabic into Latin. Several waves of translation occurred in Italy and Spain between the end of the eleventh and the beginning of the fourteenth centuries. Already in the twelfth century, some Latin authors (thanks to the work of such translators as William of Conches, 1090–after 1154, Adelard of Bath, c. 1080–c. 1152, Herman of Carinthia, c. 1100–c. 1160 and Bernardus Silvestris, c. 1085‒c. 1178)7 could refer to Eastern

G. Saliba, ‘Arabic science in sixteenth-century Europe’, pp. 115–164. V. Roberts, ‘The solar and lunar theory’, pp. 428–432. 6 G. Saliba, ‘Arabic science in sixteenth-century Europe’, p. 120. 7 C. Burnett, ‘The Arabic Hermes in the works of Adelard of Bath’, [in:] P. Lucentini, I. Parri, and V. Compagni (eds.), Hermetism from Late Antiquity to Humanism: La Tradizione Ermetica dal mondo tardo-antico all’umanesimo, Turnhout 2003, pp. 369–384. 4 5

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Jan Latosz (1539–1608) and His Natural Philosophy: reception of Arabic science in early modern Poland

interpretations of the theory of Four Elements, the sublunary and heavenly universes, the movement of the heavenly spheres and other concepts.8 It has been argued in some modern studies that the first translation of a scientific text from Arabic into Latin was written in Spain in the second half of the tenth century, and that the text in question was a treatise on astronomy entitled De utilitatibus astrolabii.9 At that time, natural philosophy was considered to be a part of the general intellectual background for the science.10 Arabic astronomy and astrology (generally considered to be the same discipline) received considerable attention among Western scholars. As a result, even in modern astronomical tables, more than a half of the listed stars have Arabic names. The transfer of knowledge was taking place not only in Spain (which was under Arab rule for more than eight centuries), but also in Italy. Two Italians in particular should be mentioned: Bartholomew of Messina (twelfth century), one of the first translators of Arabic philosophical literature, and Burgundio of Pisa (d. 1193), who worked with both Latin and Greek texts. Many Arabic texts concerning logic and natural philosophy were introduced into the West through the efforts of Michael Scotus (1175–c. 1232), who traveled across the Western Mediterranean, settling eventually in Toledo.11 In many cases, European translators adopted the core concepts from the Arabic originals to their own vision of Christianity; however, many of them perceived natural philosophy – for example, the mystical and semi-rational branches of alchemy and astrology – as an ancient tradition which could not be attributed easily to either Christian or ‘Saracen’ cultures. Not surprisingly, all branches of Arabic knowledge previously integrated with Aristotelian tradition began to flourish in the times of Renaissance, when optimistic scholars proposed a correlation between the human essence and the harmony of nature. In view of this, astrology (still integrated into astronomy) and other natural sciences continued to preserve their universality, despite the appearance of real inculturation. However, astrological beliefs and the astronomical sciences, which preserved many traces of the past, sometimes played a role within the development of knowledge. These Arabic influences, transmitted to the European scholarship in Latin translations, reached the Eastern parts of Europe as well. One of the oldest European universities, Cracow Academy (founded in 1364), inherited much from this transmitted knowledge. J. Korolec in his study of this issue dated the first encounters of Polish scholars with Arabic philosophy to the early thirteenth century, in the works by Witelo (1230-after 1280).12 Documents from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries show that Cracow scholars were greatly interested in Latin translations of Arabic astronomical/astrological works by Hali Abenragel (Ibn al-Rijāl) and Albumazar (Abu Ma’shar), Thābit ibn Qurrah. Also some philosophical works by al-Ghazzāli, al-Rāzī, Ibn Sīnā and Ibn Rushd were widely used. B. Lang in his recent study identified a significant number 8 Hermann of Carinthia, C. Burnett (tr.), De Essentiis: A Critical Edition with Translations Commentary, Leiden 1982, pp. 1–2. 9 M. Rius, ‘Science in Western Islam. Circulation of knowledge in the Mediterranean’, Contributions to Science 2 (2009), pp. 141–146. 10 E. Grant, The Nature of Natural Philosophy in the Late Middle Ages, New York 2010. 11 S. Ackermann, Sternstunden am Kaiserhof: Michael Scotus und sein „Buch von den Bildern und Zeichen des Himmels”, Frankfurt a. M. 2009. 12 J. Korolec, ‘La première reception de la philosophie islamique à l’Université de Cracovie’, [in:] C. Butterworth, B. Kessel (eds.), The Introduction of Arabic philosophy into Europe, Leiden 1994, p. 113.

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of manuscripts and old prints from Cracow, related to the translations of the works by Thābit ibn Qurrah and al-Baṭṭānī13. It should be noted that, at that time, the Cracow Academy was the only university in central Europe with a chair of astrology/astronomy. This chair, together with a chair in mathematics, was established in 1452, and its first holder was Martin Król of Żurawica (1422–before 1460)14. In the fifteenth century, the Cracow Academy gathered many notable scholars of astronomy/astrology and mathematics. Their most important representatives were: Marcin Bylica of Olkusz (1433–1493) who became the astrologer at the court of king Matthias Corvinus in Buda, Marcin Biem (circa 1470–1540), Jan of Głogów (1445–1507) and, finally, Georgius Drohobich de Rus (1450–1494)15. All of them were interested in some Arabic sources, mostly astrological and mathematical treatises.16 Georgius Drohobich de Rus, for example, used many translations of Albumasar (Flores astrologiae and De magnis conjunctionibus)17. The case of Copernicus was similar: he explicitly referred to the works by al-Baṭṭānī, al-Biṭrūjī, al-Zarqālī, Ibn Rushd, Thābit ibn Qurra and other Arabic scholars.18 In these context, Arabic science was no longer perceived as something ‘foreign’; rather, it was a part of the scholarly curriculum and tended to represent a humanistic philosophia perennis within the framework of intercultural universality and a vision of ‘eternal values’. Jan Latosz, who received his education in the same intellectual milieu, seems to have been the last representative of Renaissance astrology in Poland. However, the influence of Eastern traditions continued into the seventeenth century: another significant Polish scholar, Johannes Hevelius (1611–1687), who worked during the era of telescopic astronomy, remained interested in certain Arabic sources, including the Latin translation of Ulugbek’s (1394‒1449) catalogue of stars.19

13 B. Lang, Unlocked Books: Manuscripts of Learned Magic in the Medieval Libraries of Central Europe, Pennsylvania 2010, pp. 62–63. 14 D. Hayton, ‘Martin Bylica at the court of Matthias Corvinus: astrology and politics in Renaissance Hungary’, Centauris 49 (2007), pp. 185–198. See also the detailed study of a great Polish historian of science: M. Markowski, ‘Die mathematischen und Naturwissenschaften an der Krakauer Universität im XV. Jahrhundert’, Mediaevalia Philosophica Polonorum 18 (1973), pp. 121–131. 15 K. Bączek, B. Wszołek, ‘The Jagiellonians and the stars’, [in:] G. Ivashchenko, A. Golovin (eds.), Young Scientists Conference. Proceedings of Contributed Papers, Kiev 2007, pp. 15–17. 16 J. Korolec, ‘La première reception’, pp. 121–124. 17 I. Isaievych, ‘George Drohobych’s astronomical treatises and their Arabic sources’, [in:] C. Butterworth, B. Kessel (eds.), The Introduction of Arabic philosophy into Europe, Leiden 1994, pp. 58–65. 18 F. Ragep, ‘Copernicus and his Islamic predecessors: some historical remarks’, History of Science 45 (2007), pp. 65–81. See also on this topic: G. Saliba, ‘Objections to Greek astronomy in Islamic times and their relationship to the work of Copernicus’, History of Physics Newsletter, 3 (2000), pp. 7–8; M. Di Bono, ‘Copernicus, Amico, Fracastoro and Tusi’s Device: observations on the use and transmission of a model’, Journal for the History of Astronomy 26 (1995), pp. 133–154; F. Ragep, ‘Ali Qushji and Regiomontanus: eccentric transformations and Copernican revolutions’, Journal for the History of Astronomy 36 (2005), pp. 359–371. 19 M. Feingold, ‘Decline and fall: Arabic science in seventeenth-century England’ [in:] F. Ragep and S. Ragep (eds.), Tradition, Transmission, Transformation, Leiden 1996, pp. 441–469.

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Jan Latosz, his times and his life20 Jan Walenty Latosz21 was born around 1539 near Cracow, Poland. Although we have no information about his family or his early years, it is possible that his surname was related to a small village in Southern Poland called Latoszyn, situated in an ethnically mixed region inhabited mostly by Poles and Ukrainians.22 Latosz graduated from Cracow Academy in 1563 with a diploma in philosophy. Interestingly, as J. Bartoszewicz notes, some of his later opponents described him as a poor student who had many problems with language.23 Soon after, in 1565, Jan Latosz began teaching at the same university. Around 1570 he wrote one of his first treatises, a chart of values describing the positions of astronomical objects in the sky at given times; the manuscript of this book has been preserved. It would seem that Latosz became interested in astronomical/astrological issues very early in his career.24 Since his early years, Latosz had searched for support from the nobles of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. His first published work was dedicated to Mikołaj Krzysztof Radziwiłł (1549–1626), Grand Duke of Lithuania who, himself had received a thorough education, graduating from Strasbourg and Tübingen.25 The book in question contained so-called ‘prognostications’. These astrological works, which were widely circulated in Europe until the nineteenth century, marked the beginnings of seasons by observation of the sky. It noted the movement of the Sun across the Zodiac, especially the equinoxes (Aries and Libra) and the solstices (Cancer and Capricorn). On the basis of those celestial figures, astrologers made prognostications mainly on the weather, and on the best moments of the year for the administration of medicines and for blood-letting. Sometimes four other figures, those of the conjunctions of the Sun and Moon, were

The first biographical mention of Jan Latosz’ is to be found in Szymon Starowolski’s, Scriptorum Polonicorum Hekatontas; Seu Centum Illustrium Poloniae Scriptorum Elogia et Vitae, Francoforti: Jacobus de Zetter, 1625, p. 90. Later sources by I. Sołtykowicz (O stanie Akademii Krakowskiey, od załoźenia w Roku 1547, aź do teraźnieyszego czasu, krotki wyklad historyczny, podany przed I. Sołtykowicz, Cracow 1810, pp. 267–269), F. Bentkowski (Historia literatury polskiey wystawiona w spisie dzieł drukiem ogłoszonych przes Felixa Bentkowskiego, Warsaw − Vilnius 1814, vol. 2, pp. 311–312), J. Bartoszewicz (Juliana Bartoszewicza historja literatury polskiej, Warsaw 1861, pp. 191–195) and F. Siarczyński (Obraz wieku panowania Zygmunta III, Lviv 1928, vol. 1, pp. 267–268) add some important details. Finally, this data was summarized by L. Hajdukiewicz in his article, written for the fundamental Polish Biographical Dictionary (Polski Słownik Biograficzny), Wrocław 1990, vol. XVI, pp. 569–572. Some accounts (including documents, preserved in Ukrainian archives) also appear in articles of Ukrainian scholars: I. Myc’ko (Ostroz’ka slov’jano-greko-latyns’ka akademija, Kiev 1990, p. 100) and R. Shpizel’ (‘Latos, Jan’, [in:] P. Kraliuk, I. Pasichnyk (eds.), Ostroz’ka akademija 16th–17th centuries, Ostroh 2010, pp. 210–213). Among the special monographs, just two books exist: L. Wachholz, Karty z źycia dwóch profesorów medycyny Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego w wieku XVI i XVII, Cracow 1934, and our P. Kraliuk, M. Yakubovych, Jan Latos: Renesansna filosofija ta nauka na ukrains’kyh zemljah, Ostroh 2011. 21 For the Latin variants of his surname, we have Latos, Latosinio and Lathosinius. 22 P. Kraliuk, M. Yakubovych, Jan Latos, p. 71. 23 Juliana Bartoszewicza historja literatury polskiej, p. 192. 24 Broadly speaking, both disciplines were seen as one during the Renaissance. B. Bobrick, The Fated Sky: Astrology in History, New York 2006. 25 On his life and cultural acrtivities in: T. Kempa, Mikołaj Krzysztof Radziwiłł Sierotka (1549–1616), Warsaw 2000. 20

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added to these to make predictions for the year.26 The yearly prognostications were called Almanacs (from Spanish Arabic al-manakh) and became very popular in the West during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.27 Some prognostications referred also to future political events. This part of astrology may be called ‘historical’ and referred to inventions of the Arabic-Persian scholar Abu Ma’shar al-Balkhī (787–886).28 The work by Jan Latosz for Radziwiłł adopted a similar approach, and contained predictions for events that would occur between 1572 and 1589. In 1575 Jan Latosz entered the faculty of medicine at the University of Padua (Italy). He reportedly graduated from there in 1577 and obtained a doctoral degree in medicine.29 By 1578, Latosz was living in Cracow with his wife, Anna Ożogowska, who owned a house in the quarter around St. Thomas Street.30 In 1583 Latosz became Dean of the medical department at Cracow Academy. Some documents attest that in the same year Latosz donated a significant sum for some charitable medical project (fundusz).31 During this time, Latosz was at the peak of his popularity. In 1578, four years before the calendar reform (the bulla of Gregory XIII), Latosz published a work entitled Nowa poprawa kalendarza (A New Correction of the Calendar) which contained a detailed critique of this new proposal. In general, his arguments against the new calendar may be summarized in three statements. Firstly, in the new calendar, the date of the Christian feast of Easter would sometimes coincide with the date of the Jewish Passover. In one of his later works, Latosz counted all such dates until the year 2911. Such a practice would go against the canons of the First Council of Nicaea (325).32 Secondly, if the calendar was to be changed correctly, it should be adjusted not by full 10 days, but by nine days, nine hours and 45 minutes.33 Thirdly, as Barbara Beńkowska has noted, Latosz tried to prove that, in contrast to the early Christian tradition, not every feast of Easter corresponded to the first Sunday after the first full moon in the spring (which begins with the vernal equinox).34 Unfortunatelly, further reconstruction of his arguments concerning the calendar reform cannot be recovered due to the loss of another work by Latosz, entitled Minucij, which was fully dedicated to this issue. Despite the best efforts of Latosz, the calendar reform of Aloysius Lilius (1510–1576) and Christophorus Clavius (1573–1612) was partially accepted in Poland in 1582. Only 26 T. Lanuza-Navarro, ‘Astrological literature in Seventeenth-Century Spain’, The Colorado Review of Hispanic Studies 7 (2009), p. 121. 27 L. Lisboa, ‘Popular knowledge in the 18th century almanacs’, History of European Ideas 11 (1989), pp. 509–513. 28 K. Yamamoto, C. Burnett, Abu Ma’sar on Historical Astrology: The Book of Religions and Dynasties (On Great Conjunctions), Leiden 2000. 29 R. Shpizel’, ‘Latos, Jan’, pp. 210–213. 30 A. Chmiel, Domy Krakowskie, Cracow 1924, p. 141. 31 J. Oettinger, ‘Rys dawnych dziejów Wydziału Lekarskiego Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego od założenia tegoż w r. 1364 aż do reformy dokonanéj przez Komisyję edukacyjną w 1780’, Rozprawy Wydziału Filologicznego, Cracow 1878, vol. VI, p. 306. 32 See about this issue in Church documents: P. L’Huillier, The Church of the Ancient Councils: The Disciplinary Work of the First Four Ecumenical Councils, Crestwood 2000, p. 25. 33 Proba Minuciy Latosowych z obrona kalendarza poprawionego. Przez Sczęsnego Zebrowskiego, Krakow: [n. p.], 1598, pp. 22–23. 34 B. Beńkowska, Kopernik i heliocentryzm w polskiej kulturze umysłowej do końca XVIII wieku, Wrocław 1971, p. 96.

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the eastern Orthodox parts of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth (Belarus, Ukraine) continued to use the earlier calendar, struggling against the innovations. Some foreign astronomers of Protestant background also claimed loyalty to the previous calendar: one of the best examples is Michael Maestlin (1550–1631) from Tübingen, who started his attacks on the new calendar in 1586.35 As a result of his criticisms, the Latosz’ position at Cracow Academy became precarious and he started to look for support from foreign courts. His Latin Prognosticon of 1594 was dedicated to Rudolf II, the Holy Roman Emperor (1576–1612) and a well-known patron of occult sciences.36 Other works were dedicated to the powerful Orthodox noble Konstanty Wasyl Ostrogski (1526–1608), and his sons Janusz (1554– 1620) and Aleksander (1571–1603). After the publication of Minucij, a new work against Gregorian calendar (Vilnius, mid-1590s), Latosz was persecuted by Jesuits. His new book gained popularity not only in Belarus and Ukraine, but also in Moscow.37 Latosz claimed that Jesuits, who strongly supported the calendar reform, even intended to kill him.38 Seeking support from the Pope himself, Jan Latosz gave his calculations against the new calendar to Cardinal Alberto Bolognetti. But on his way to Rome, Cardinal Bolognetti died39 (in 1585)40. It is not certain whether Latosz attempted any further appeals to the Pope. In early 1598, the Jesuit scholar Martinus Lascius published a pamphlet in Cracow entitled Proba Minuciy Latosowych (‘The Examination of Latosz Minucije’).41 This book, signed with Lascius’ penname ‘Szczęsny Żebrowski’, was directed at the bishop of Cracow, Bernard Maciejowski (1548–1608). The pamphlet may have caused the Jesuits to start pressuring the authorities of Cracow Academy into ousting Latosz.42 Later in 1598, Jan Latosz moved to Ostroh (today Rivnens’ka oblast’, Ukraine), the domain of the Ostrogski family. The first paper he wrote there is an introduction to predictions for the following year, finished on 1 October 1598. It is reported, in some archival documents, that Konstanty Wasyl Ostrogski gave Latosz ‘25 peasants’ and a house near his castle, where he lived with his wife Anna and their two daughters.43 It seems that Latosz was also associated with Ostroh Academy, the first higher school in Ukraine, founded in 1576 and modelled on Western institutions (the educational curriculum included liberal arts and philosophy). It is probable that Latosz remained there until his death in 1608: a Jesuit, Wojciech Rościszewski (1556–1619), wrote in 1604 that Latosz stayed in Ostroh and did not wish to visit Cracow or other cities to argue his ideas. Rościszewski even compared Latosz to Martin Luther, who also found protection from 35 R. Westman, The Copernican Question: Prognostication, Skepticism, and Celestial Order, Berkeley–Los Angeles 2011, pp. 259–261. 36 See the concise study about astronomy/astrology at his court: P. Marshall, The Magic Circle of Rudolf II: Alchemy and Astrology in Renaissance Prague, New York 2006. 37 Proba Minuciy Latosowych z obrona kalendarza poprawionego. Przez Sczęsnego Zebrowskiego, Cracow: [n. p.]. 1598, p. 4. 38 Latosie cielę albo dialog o kalendarzu Latosowym. Interlocutores Simon Kramarz z X. Plebanem, Poznań: [n. p.], 1604, p. 7. 39 Przestroga, 1601, 7. 40 G. De, ’Bolognetti, Alberto’, [in:] Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, Roma 1969, vol. XI, pp. 313–316. 41 Proba, p. 4. 42 P. Kraliuk, M. Yakubovych, Jan Latos, p. 78. 43 W. Atamanenko, ‘Akt podilu wolodin’ kn. W.-K. Ostroz’kogo miz yogo synamy Januszem i Oleksandrom 1603 r.’, [in:] P. Kraliuk, I. Pasichnyk (eds.), Ostroz’ka akademija 16th–17th centuries, pp. 10–11.

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a powerful magnate.44 The last known work by Latosz (1602) was also written in Ostroh. He died there in 1608 and was buried in the Catholic cemetery. His tomb remained in Ostroh until the 1960s, when the cemetery was destroyed by Soviet authorities.

Works by Jan Latosz The majority of Latosz’ treatises have been preserved. The only lost works are Nowa Poprava Kalendarza (Cracow, 1578), Prognosticon (1593) and Minucij (Vilnius, around 1595); some fragments of the latter, however, have been preserved in the polemical treatise by Martinus Lascius (Proba latosowych minucij, Cracow, 1598). Other works are available in various libraries of Ukraine, Poland and other countries. The list of preserved manuscripts and published works of Jan Latosz may be presented as follows (in chronological order): 1) Ephemerides coelestium constellationum ad annum Domini millesimum quingentesimum septuagesimum primum communem (Ephemerides of the Heavenly Constellations for 1571). Work in Latin, signed by ‘Ioanne Lathosinio’. The manuscript contains 26 pages and is preserved in the Jagellonian Library.45 2) Obwieszczenie przypadków, z znaków niebieskich, od roku pańskiegо 1572, aż do roku przyszłego 1589 (A Notice about the Events, on the Basis of Heavenly Signs, from 1572 up to 1589). Work in Polish. Published in Cracow by 1572. Preserved in the National Museum in Cracow.46 3) Prognosticon de regnorum ac imperiorum mutationibus ex orbium coeli syderumque motu and lumine vario, in haec tempora incedentibus (A Prognosticon on the changes in kingdoms and empires, on the basis of the movements and light of celestial bodies, which take place in our times). This work, written in Latin and dedicated to Rudolph II, was published in Cracow by 1594. At least four copies are known.47 The only work by Latosz edited in original Latin and translated into Ukrainian.48 4) Przestroga przyszłego znacznego na świecie odmienienia, à to z znaków i skutków nieba dziewiątego (The notification about great changes in the world, on the basics of signs from the ninth heaven). Cracow, 1595. Mentioned by K. Estreicher as an extant work, dedicated to Konstanty Wasyl Ostrogsky.49 Location is still unknown. 5) Κοmeta z podziwieniem, która się ukazała Roku Bożego 1596, dni miesiąca Lipca, pod znakiem niebieskim Hélices albo Niedźwiadka większego (An Impressive Comet that appeared in 1596 AD, in the month of July, under the sign of Helices of Ursa Major). Cracow, 1596, dedicated to Janusz Ostrogski (1554–1620). Mentioned by K. Estreicher, seems to be lost.50 Latosie cielę albo dialog o kalendarzu Latosowym, p. 7. T. Ẑebrawski, Bibliografija pismiennictwa polskiego z dzialu matematyki i fizyki oraz ich zastósowań, Kraków 1873, p. 201. 46 Biblioteka Książąt Czartoryskich, Sygn. 714 I Cim. 47 Lviv National Scientific Library, St. № 79664, Biblioteka Narodowa, SD XVI.Qu.7138, Muzeum Narodowe w Krakowie. Biblioteka Książąt Czartoryskich. Polonica XVI w., 1876 I Cim, 2114 I Cim. 48 Prognosticon, [in:] P. Kraliuk, M. Yakubovych, Jan Latos, 107–142. 49 K. Estreicher, Bibliografia Polska, vol. XXI, p. 117. 50 K. Estreicher, Bibliografia Polska, vol. XXI, p. 116. 44

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6) Strażnik opowiada przypadki rozmaite które za sobą pociągnie złączenie obydwu niefortun Saturnusa i Marsza (The Warning which tells about various events resulting from the conjunction of two disasters, these of Saturn and Mars). Cracow, 1597. Dedicated to Mikołaj Zebrzydowski (1553–1620). Location is still unknown. 7) Srogiego i straszliwego zaćmienia słonecznego także dwojga miesiącowego, na Rok Pański 1598 przypadającego, krótkie skutków opisanie (A brief description of the effects of a terrible solar eclipse, as well as the lunar eclipse, which falls on 1598 AD). Cracow, 1597. At least one copy is preserved (in Lviv National Scientific Library).51 Contains some Przestroga on astrology in general, probably a new printing of what was first published in 1594.52 8) Przestroga rozmaitych przypadków, z nauki gwiazd y obrotów niebieskich na rok pański 1599 (The notification about various events, on the basis of science of stars and celestial movements, on 1599 AD). Cracow (?), 1598. Written in Cracow and finished in Ostroh by October 1, 1598. At least one copy has been preserved (in the Jagellonian Library).53 9) Przestroga rozmaitych przypadków, z nauki gwiazd y obrotów niebieskich na rok pański 1602 (The notification about various events, on the basis of science of stars and celestial movements, on 1602 AD). Cracow (?), 1601. Written in Ostroh. At least one copy has been preserved (in the Jagiellonian Library).54 This list clearly shows that Jan Latosz was primarily interested in astronomy/astrology and their philosophical ramifications. This is also demonstrated in the works of his contemporaries. For example, the Orthodox polemicist Zachariasz Kopysteński (d. 1627), described Latosz in Palinodija or the Book of Defence as follows: ‘Great mathematicians and notable astrologers were found [in Ostroh]; among them a mastered mathematician, philosopher and astrologer Jan Latosz; it was he who blamed the new calendar and showed by his pen through print that he fell in error’.55 The text which most clearly demonstrates the presence of an Arabic influence is the Latin Prognosticon (1594) which contained ‘global predictions’ (concerning all 7000 years of human history)56, as well as the mostly theoretical Polish Przestroga (1594, 1597), attached to his description of the solar eclipse.57 Some philosophical views of Latosz may be gleaned from his introduction to Przestroga (1598)58. Also many features of Latosz method may be found in his later Przestroga (1601).

Lviv National Scientific Library, St. № 94122. K. Estreicher, Bibliografia Polska, vol. XXI, p. 116. 53 Biblioteka Jagellońska. Oddział Starych Druków, Cim. O. 1079. 54 Biblioteka Jagellońska. Oddział Starych Druków, Cim. O. 1080. 55 Zakharija Kopystens’kyi, ‘Palinodija (fragmenty)’, [in:] V. I. Krekoten’ (ed.), Ukrais’ka literatura XVII stolittia, Kiev 1987, p. 103. 56 Prognosticon de regnorum ac imperiorum mutationibus ex orbium coeli syderumque motu & lumine vario, in haec tempora incedentibus. A Ioanne Latosinio, Medico Phisico & Mathematico, diligentissime conscriptum, & publicæ editum, Cracoviae 1594; ‘Prognosticon’, [in:] P. Kraliuk, M. Yakubovych, Jan Latos, pp. 107–142. 57 Srogiego i straszliwego zaćmienia słonecznego także dwojga miesiącowego, na Rok Pański 1598 przypadającego, krótkie skutków opisanie. Przes Jana Latosa, Dottora w Lekarstwiech z pilnośia uczynione, Cracow: [n. p.], 1597, pp. 8–24. 58 Przestroga rozmaitych przypadków, z nauki gwiazd y obrotów niebieskich na rok pański 1599. Trzeci po przestepnym. A od Stworzenia Swiata 5561. Przez Iana Latosa Latosa Dottora w Lekarstwiech pilnie napisana, [Cracow (?)]: [n. p.], 1598, pp. 1–9. 51 52

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Works by Jan Latosz in the light of their Latin and Arabic sources It has already been stated that Jan Latosz worked within a large framework of astronomical/astrological/philosophical texts, popular in his time. From the concise study of Jerzy B. Korolec, we know that some lecturers at Cracow Academy were interested in Arabic science, especially astronomy/astrology (Abu Ma’shar, Ibn Qurrah), philosophy, and medicine (Ibn Rushd, Ibn Sīnā).59 One of the best examples is a corpus of works by Georgius de Rus (1450–1494), who refered to Abu Ma’shar as his main authority on the issues of conjunctions.60 In many ways Jan Latosz was a follower of Georgius de Rus’ method, and introduced his philosophy at Ostroh Academy.61 As a result, Latosz not only inherited the same basic sources, but also made them more comprehensive. One of the authors most often quoted in Latosz’ works is Copernicus; for example, Latosz relied on De libris revolutionum as a source for his own Prognosticon (1594).62 Barbara Beńkowska has stated that the polemics between Latosz and Lascius on the issue of calendar reform was an early example of Copernicus’ tables of star movements gaining widespread use.63 Given that Copernicus made much use of the Arabic astronomical heritage, his work would have offered Latosz one of his first encounters with the eastern sciences (albeit indirectly, as in the case of Drohobich). Another source used by Latosz is the Prutenicae Tabulae (‘Prussian Tables’) by Erasmus Reinhold (1511–1553), a German astronomer and mathematician. Reinhold was considered, after Copernicus, to be ‘the most influential astronomical pedagogue of his generation’ (as Owen Gingerich has noted64). Latosz mentions Prutenicae Tabulae in his introduction to Przestroga (1601), when trying to refute the ‘false’ claims of Clavius, the author of the new calendar.65 Interestingly, Reinhold himself admitted that in preparation of these astronomical tables he had also used certain calculations from ‘Arabic’ scholars (notably Alhazen (Ibn al-Haytham) 965–1040)66. In another part of the same Przestroga (1601) Latosz cited astronomical tables authored by a certain Maginus.67 This must refer to Giovanni Antonio Magini (1555– 1617), an Italian astronomer, astrologer, cartographer, and mathematician, whose Ephemerides was first published in 1582.68 In addition to pure astronomy, Magini was also very active in the field of astrology.69 J. Korolec, ‘La première reception’, pp. 112–131. I. Isaievych, ‘George Drohobych’s astronomical treatises’, pp. 58–65. 61 Probably it was Jan Latosz who brought to Ostroh some writings of Georgius de Rus’. See: I. Paslavs’kyi, ‘Naukovi znannia v konteksti ukrains’koi kul’tury drogoi polovyny 16th – pershoi polovyny 17th stolit’, [in:] Zapysky Naukovogo tovarystva imeni Shevchenka 230 (1996), pp. 17–43. 62 ‘Prognosticon’, p. 131. 63 B. Beńkowska, Kopernik i heliocentryzm, Wrocław 1971, p. 96. 64 O. Gingerich, R. Westman, The Wittich Connection: Conflict and Priority in Late Sixteenth-Century Cosmology, Philadelphia 1988, p. 29. 65 Przestroga rozmaitych przypadków, z nauki gwiazd y obrotów niebieskich na rok pański 1602. Przez Iana Latosa Latosa Dottora w Lekarstwiech pilnie napisana, [Cracow (?)]: [n. p.], 1601, p. 8. 66 Prutenicae Tabulae Coelestium Motuum, autore Erasmo Reinholdo, Tubingae: Ulrichum Morhardum, 1562, p. 7. 67 Przestroga, 1601, p. 39. 68 Antonii Magini Patavini Novæ ephemerides cœlestium motuum annorum 40. incipientes Anno Domini 1581, usq[ue] ad annum 1620, Venetiae: Zenarius, 1582. 69 A. Clarke, Giovanni Antonio Magini (1555–1617) and Late Renaissance Astrology, unpublished PhD dissertation, London 1985. 59 60

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Unsurprisingly, the author referred to most often in the works of Latosz is Ptolemy (90 – 168). During the Renaissance, Ptolemy’s Quadripartium (Greek Tetrabiblos, Arabic al-Kutūb al-Arba’) served as a textbook for many European universities,70 and was enough of a standard reference that it is mentioned by Latosz in all of his works. However, as will be shown later, Latosz also applied his own interpretations to Ptolemy, and added his own calculations. The presence of these Latin sources demonstrate an indirect influence from Arabic science. The reception of Copernicus and other astronomers in Latosz’ works resulted in the application of certain ideas from Arabic astronomers, which had already been incorporated by European scholars. From this perspective, Latosz worked within a very similar context to other scholars of his time. However, there may also have been direct influences on the works of Latosz. In one of his works, Latosz claims acquaintance with the works of ‘Chaldean, Arabic and Jewish’ astrologers, and accuses many of them of superstition, an unacceptable characteristic for a scientific approach.71 In the same work about solar eclipse, Latosz mentions a Trismeistus who claimed that ‘many events must appear in the world when both lights of the Sun and of the Moon are eclipsed in the same year’.72 The only source of this statement is the Centiloquium of Hermes Trismegistus; this work (ascribed to a legendary Hermes) is known to have been translated into Latin from Arabic sources by Stephen of Messina, who addressed his text to Manfred, the king of Sicily between 1258 to 1266.73 One of the early manuscripts of Centiloquium is preserved in the Jagellonian Library.74 From this text, Latosz was able to quote the fifty-third aphorism: ‘In the world many evils will happen, when in one month there shall happen an eclipse of both luminaries; chiefly in those places subject to the sign in which they happen’.75 The Influence of this mystical tradition – developed in Arabic cultural context – may be observed in other texts by Latosz. Another important Arabic author known to Latosz through Latin translation is Abu Ma’shar al-Balkhī (Albumazar, 787–886). Latin translations of his works – including Kitāb al-Milāl wa al-Duwal (‘Book on religions and dynasties’), Kitāb taḥawīl sinā almawālād (‘Book of the revolutions of the years of nativities’) and others – started the era of so-called ‘historical astrology’ in Europe. It was Abu Ma’shar who, in the context of his astrological ideas, developed a system of relationships between the conjunctions of planets and the future political events predicted by these conjunctions; one of Abu Ma’shar’s works had appeared in a Latin translation as early as 1488.76 The same is true of Muhammad al-Baṭṭānī (858–929) and Abu Isḥāq al-Zarqālī (1029–1087) whose works were widely circulated throughout Europe in Latin translations.77 There is also some 70 D. Rutkin, ‘The use and abuse of Ptolemy’s Tetrabiblos in Renaissance and Early Modern Europe’, pp. 135–147. 71 Srogiego, 1597, p. 12. 72 Srogiego, 1597, p. 12. 73 J. Holden, Five Medieval Astrologers, Tempe 2008, pp. 91–92. 74 B. Lang, Unlocked Books: Manuscripts of Learned Magic in the Medieval Libraries of Central Europe, Pennsylvania 2010, p. 85. 75 Centiloquium Hermesis, [Leipzig]: [n. p.], [1494], p. 7. 76 Albumasar, Flores astrologiae, Augsburg: Erhard Ratdolt, 1488. 77 N. Guessoum, ‘Copernicus and Ibn Al-Shatir: does the Copernican revolution have Islamic roots?’, The Observatory 128 (2008), pp. 231–239.

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evidence to suggest that Latosz was acquainted with the works of ‘Ali ibn Abu al-Rijāl (Latinized Abenragel or Albohazen, 965–1037). His opus magnum, Kitāb al-Bāri’ fi ‘ilm aḥkām al-nujūm wa l- ṭawāli’ (A Book of the Master in the Science of Rules of the Stars and of the Horoscopes) appeared in a Latin translation in 1485.78 Finally, some works by Latosz contain traces of influence from the works of Ibn Sina (980–1037), whose books on philosophy and medicine were one of the most important sources of knowledge in the Latin West until the seventeenth century. Although we cannot say with certainty if Latosz possessed a knowledge of Arabic, the widespread availability of Latin translations in Italy and Poland would have made it possible for him to be influenced by these texts.

Jan Latosz on the essence of astrology A general outline of Latosz’s views on nature – and the ways in which astrological sciences may help us to understand it – can be found in his introduction to Przestroga (1598).79 As noted above, this work is addressed to Aleksander Ostrogski (1570–1603), the son of the powerful Orthodox magnate Konstanty Wasyl Ostrogski (1526–1608). Latosz begins his treatise with a statement concerning the position of astrology among other sciences. He writes: ‘there are two highest divine sciences in the world: theology and astrology’; yet, Latosz complains, as is the fate of the greatest things, they had been persecuted and distorted by many haereses et opiniones. In astrology could be found ideas from Stoicism, whose followers, as Latosz claims, believed in fatum and, consequently, in the ‘inevitability of celestial decrees’. According to this view, nothing could change the decrees of the stars. For Latosz, this idea seemed as heretical, as it ‘contradicts the doctrine of the Catholic church’. However, in his apology for the astrological sciences, Latosz refers to the old Arabic idea of stars as merely ‘signs’ of God’s will (Arabic: dalālāt, Latin: inclinatio). Latosz includes the Latin statement ‘astra enim non sunt causae integrae actionum, nec prima causa sed secundae Fata mouere Deus’, which may be translated as follows: ‘A star is neither an independent cause nor the first cause, because the only true cause is God. Therefore, we say that the fate of all things may be determined by God alone. The stars are only signifiers and not determiners’. These words are similar to the discussions of Arabic astrologers (munajimun) who tried to prove that the only mu’aththir (‘determinant’) is God, and that a star is nothing more than a dalālāh (‘a sign’).80 Latosz referred to the opposing approach with the ambiguous term Theologia Idololatria (‘Idolatrous Theology’), which corresponds to the Arabic concept of shirk (‘idolatry’). In this case, Latosz followed the Islamic separation between astrology as the knowledge of one God, and astrology as ‘ibādah al-nujūm’, the prohibited ‘star-worshipping’. Finally, Latosz asked that if God had given birds and other animals the natural disposition to know the weather, why would He deprive humans of this ability? Interestingly, these comparisons between God-given natural dispositions in animals and the abilities of the human mind were widely used in Arabic Aristotelianism and

78 79 80

Liber de iudiciis astrorum, Venedig: Erhardus Ratdolt, 1485. Przestroga, 1598, p. 1–9. See on this: Ibn Ṭāwūs, Farj al-Mahmum fi Tārīkh ‘ulamā’ al-Nujūm, Qum 1363[/1943], pp. 60–85.

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Neoplatonism, as attested by Ibn Khaldūn (1332–1406) in his references to discussions concerning the existence of a royal authority between bees.81 Another point which clearly demonstrates the influence of the Arabic scientific tradition, is Latosz’s idea of the goals of astrology. According to him, astrology is not merely a means of achieving human happiness in the lower world, but an opportunity to ‘perceive the existence of one God, who created and determined all this’. Moreover, astrology provides an opportunity to perceive God’s qualities which, in turn offers a reason to serve God (reuerentia) for His perfect knowledge and generous love. Interestingly, these words were written by Latosz in Latin, not in Polish; this may reveal that the statements were quoted from other sources. This source, as the comparison shows, could be Kitāb al-Bāri’ (A Book of the Master) by ‘Ali ibn Abu al-Rijāl (mentioned above), who wrote that God ‘may be perceived’ through everything (i.e. the ‘creatures’ in general) and that stars serve as ‘signs of His sovereignty’ and ‘proofs of His oneness’82. Latosz continued his introduction with the statement that astrology allows one to comprehend the human natural disposition (komplecia y przyrodzenia swego postanowienie) and, consequently, to manage personal skills (‘thus you may know which science is for you and how to learn it’).83 The importance of personal natura (ṭabīa’) was emphasized by Ibn Sina in his Kitāb al-Siyāsah, also known in the Latin West.84 From the above statements it is evident that Latosz perceived astrology not merely as an instrument for predictions, but as a part of natural philosophy in general. His ideas must be considered in the general context of the Renaissance, as well as in the context of pantheism and of world harmony: the science of stars served a very important purpose for those who wished to make sense of the natural world. In expressing his own worldview Latosz followed the Arabic philosophers: in the introduction to his Przestroga (1598) one may detect an obvious trace of the apology for astrological science as an instrument for dalālāt ’alā tawḥīd (‘the proofs of monotheism’), borrowed entirely from Arabic sources. To some extent, these influences provided references to a different cultural outlook.

Jan Latosz’s astrological method and the heritage of Abu Ma’shar al-Balkhi Abu Ma’shar al-Balkhī (787–886), an Arabic scholar of Persian origin, was one of the most well-known figures of the Islamic world in the West. In a series of books – most notably his Kitāb al-Milāl wa al-Duwal (A Book of the Religions and Dynasties) – Abu Ma’shar proposed his special approach to predict the future on the basis of planetary conjunctions (iqtiranāt) and their relation to the constellations (burūj). Works by Abu Ma’shar were popular among many Europeans, including Albertus Magnus, Roger Bacon, Pico

Ibn Khaldūn, Muqaddimah, vol. V, pp. 69–70. Ibn Abu al-Rijāl, Kitāb al-Bāri’ fī ‘ilm aḥkām al-nujūm wa al-ṭawāli’, King Saud University Library, Ms. No. 4799, f. 2. 83 Astrorum judices, Alkindus, Gaphar, de pluviis imbribus et ventis, ac aeris mutatione, Venetiis: Ex Officina Petri Liechtenshtein, pp. 2–3. 84 Ibn Sīnā, Kitāb as-Siyāsah, Luis Sheikho (ed.), Maqalāt falsafiyah li-Mashahīrī l-Muslimūn wa l-Naṣārā, alQāhirah [Cairo]: Dār al-‘Arab, 1985, p. 15. 81 82

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della Mirandola.85 A Latin translation of Kitāb al- Milāl wa al-Duwal was known in Europe under the title De Magnis Coniunctionibus, published in Venice in 1515.86 Latosz was also interested in these works. Many elements from his own astrological method have obvious parallels in the works of Abu Ma’shar, examples of which may be found in his work on the forthcoming solar eclipse, published in 1597. 87 First of all, Latosz termed astrology a ‘divine science’ and divided it into four parts: predictions regarding the states and their rulers, predictions of the weather, predictions of human actions, and predictions of fortunate and unfortunate days. The first part is not dissimilar to the historical astrology proposed by Abu Ma’shar. Calculations of the Polish scholar were based on the apsides of planets, conjunctions, changes in eccentricities and the movement of eight celestial spheres. It should be noted, that the concept of eight celestial spheres was associated in Arabic Neoplatonism with the universal cosmic influence. The concept may also be found in the early Renaissance, for instance in the Divina Commedia (Paradiso, canto 2) of Dante Alighieri. In this passage, the eighth sphere is claimed to be the place of astrological ‘signs’: The eighth sphere displays Numberless lights, the which in kind and size May be remark’d of different aspects; If rare or dense of that were cause alone, One single virtue then would be in all, Alike distributed, or more, or less.88

The second part of astrological science, according to Latosz, offers guidance to ‘farmers’ and ‘physicians’, who may be interested in the changes of climate and weather. Latosz ascribed this part of astrology to Galen and Hippocrates. However, in the Arabic tradition, one finds an emphasis not merely on the medical side of Galen and Hippocrates, but on the philosophical side as well. For example, al-Shahrastānī mentions Hippocrates’ claims (Abiqrāṭ) to the governance of sages (ḥukamā’)89. The same is true of the Arabic image of Galen, transferred to the West through Latin translations.90 Latosz’s other statements were mainly concerned with historical astrology, which was his main interest. Sometimes this part of the astrological science played a great political role: for example, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, many scholars (including Latosz himself, as demonstrated in his Prognosticon of 1594) tried to predict the fate of Europe in its numerous wars with the Ottoman Empire.91 Latosz’s method repeated the concepts of Abu Ma’shar that related to the conjunctions of planets in certain constellations. Every planet was a kind of dalīl (Latin significatum), used in the prediction of future events. Although this type of science essentially consisted 85 K. Yamamoto, ‘Abū Ma’shar Ja’far ibn Muḥammad ibn ’Umar al-Balkhī’, [in:] T. Hockey (ed.), The Biographical Encyclopedia of Astronomers, New York 2007, p. 11. 86 See a special study as well as translation into English: K. Yamamoto, C. Burnett, Abu Ma’shar on Historical Astrology: The Book of Religions and Dynasties (On Great Conjunctions), Leiden 2000. 87 Srogiego, p. 13. 88 The Divine Comedy of Dante, translated by H.F. Cary, Hazleton 1998, p. 252. 89 Ash-Shahrastānī, Kitāb al-Milāl wa al-Niḥal, A. Muḥammad (ed.), Beirūt 1413/1992, vol. II, p. 432. 90 P. Starr, ‘Arab sources on the life of Galen’, Çankaya University Journal of Arts and Sciences 9 (2008), pp. 89–98. 91 D. Hayton, ‘Astrology as political propaganda: humanist responses to the Turkish threat in earlysixteenth-century Vienna’, American History Yearbook 38 (2007), pp. 61–91.

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of mystical beliefs, it nonetheless played a great scholarly role in the development of astronomy, for the exact dating of certain conjunctions required considerable mathematical calculations. Thus, the system combined mystical knowledge with observations based on pure reason. Let us examine a few examples of Latosz’s method, based on the predictions of Abu Ma’shar. In his Przestroga, the scholar supposes that conjunctions of Mars and Jupiter leads to ‘turbulent changes in kingdoms, states, sects and habits’. Abu Ma’shar, according to the Arabic text of Kitāb Iqtirānāt al- Kawākib (A Book of the Conjunctions), explains the same conjunction as follows: ‘thus, wars between kings and nations begin, and the state of religion and teaching becomes corrupted’.92 Latosz obviously worked with the Latin translations, widely popular in Europe (and also in Cracow) since 1515.93 Other statements made by Latosz concern the relationship between celestial movements and the history of Christianity. When Saturn and Jupiter coincide in the ‘water’ sign of Cancer, this means ‘the purification of the world through the water, the Deluge’.94 Here the opinion of Latosz seems to be original because, for Abu Ma’shar, this phenomenon is associated with ‘decrease in rainfall’.95 Other elements of Latosz’s system follow the concepts of Abu Ma’shar more strictly. His views on the conjunction of Saturn and Mercury correspond to those of Abu Ma’shar who writes that this conjunction leads to the appearance of various sorcerers; Latosz offers the related claim that ‘those who are in error rise to disrupt the order’.96 In his prediction for the year of 1603 (included in the same Przestroga), Latosz states that the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter in the constellation of Sagittarius will lead to ‘global changes’. The same relationship between this conjunction and all the ‘climates’ (aqālīm) is mentioned by Abu Ma’shar.97 The work of Abu Ma’shar used most frequently by Latosz would appear to be the Latin Flores astrologiae, based on a translation of the Arabic work Aḥkām taḥawīl sinī almawālīd. Interestingly, Latosz used this text in his search for the proper sign of Christianity, that is, the Jupiter who receives a good position in Sagittarius.98 In the Latin text of Abu Ma’shar, printed in Augsburg in 1495, one may find the same idea: Jupiter is associated with the appearance of God-given religions and good deeds in general.99 Latosz also employs a geoastrological approach, whereby a relationship is established between constellations and certain parts parts of the earth. In general, this method can be dated back to the Tetrabiblos of Ptolemy, and its subsequent Arabic commentaries. The most interesting region for Latosz was Hungary, because of the wars between the Ottomans and the Holy Roman Empire. Latosz finished his Przestroga – attached to his book on eclipse (1597) – with traditional thoughts concerning free will. In course of aforementioned section, he speaks that stars are nothing but signs, and elsewhenre he confesses that he ‘did not wish to write anything against the teachings of Catho92

Kitāb Iqtirānāt al-Kawākib li-Abu-Mash’ar al-Balkhī, Al-Maktabah al-Azhariyyah (Cairo), Mss. 36/41644,

f. 13. See about reception of Abu Ma’shar in the works of Latosz’ forerunners from Cracovian Academy: J. Korolec, ‘La première reception’, pp. 121–124. 94 Srogiego, p. 13. 95 Kitāb Iqtirānāt, f. 13. 96 Kitab Iqtirānāt, f. 13, Srogiego, p. 15. 97 Kitab Iqtirānāt, f. 9. 98 Srogiego, 15. 99 Albumazar, Flores Astrologiae, Augsburg: Erhard Ratdolt, 1495, p. 20. 93

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lic Church’. Unfortunately, the only known copy of this work finishes exactly on this page.100

‘The global history’ in Prognosticon (1594) and its Arabic roots The book of Prognosticon, written by Latosz and printed in 1594, has many outstanding features. Firstly, it is the only extant work of Latosz to have been composed in Latin. Secondly, it is dedicated to the Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II (1576–1612), perhaps as an attempt to gain some protection. Thirdly – and most importantly – the book addresses certain ‘global’ issues, not merely predictions for the following year in a single territory. The chronological span of the Prognosticon covers all 7000 years of human history and offers many predictions for Europe and the Middle East. The goal of Latosz of this important work may be determined from its subtitle, maxime vero de Christianorum contra Turcos succesu (‘in particular about the Success of Christians against the Turks’); indeed, much of the Prognosticon contains predictions regarding the relations between the Holy Roman Empire, Persia and the Ottoman Empire. Like many other astrologers of his time, Latosz predicted a positive fate for Christendom (and of Europe in general) and a close victory over the ‘infidels’. Interestingly, more than two centuries later, an Austrian orientalist, J. von Hammer, included the Prognosticon in his catalogue of books dedicated to the history of the Ottoman Empire.101 But in contrast to another Polish intellectual of the sixteenth century, Stanislaus Orzechowski (1513– 1566), who wrote De bello adversus Turcas (1543), the author of Prognosticon used a purely astrological, rather than political method. The essence of this approach may be described as follows: Latosz built his system on the basis of precession of the equinoxes; this is the movement of the rotational axis of an astronomical body, whereby the axis slowly forms a cone. In the case of Earth, this type of precession is also known as the precession of the equinoxes, lunisolar precession, or precession of the equator. The earliest known astronomer to recognize and assess the precession of the equinoxes was Hipparchus (190–120 BC). During the Middle Ages, further calculations were made by Thābit ibn Qurrah (826–901), Naṣīr alDīn al-Ṭūsī (1201–1274) and, finally, Copernicus.102 This explains why Copernicus is the first author mentioned by Latosz at the beginning of his book.103 Using the parameters of eccentric anomaly and conjunctions, Latosz describes the main events of human history between 3964 BC and 3036 AD; the same date for the day of creation was previously used only by the Protestant reformer Philipp Melanchthon (1497–1560).104 All of human history, according to Latosz, may be divided into seven periods corresponding to the domination of planets in the geocentric system. Thus we have periods of Saturn (from the creation until God’s call to Abraham, vocatio Abrahae), Srogiego, p. 22. J. von Hammmer, Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches, grossentheils aus bisher unbenützen. Handschriften und Archiven, Pest 1835, p. 156. 102 W. Rufus, ‘The influence of Islamic astronomy in Europe and the Far East’, Popular Astronomy 47 (1939), pp. 233–238. 103 ‘Prognosticon’, p. 113. 104 F. Jones, The Chronology of the Old Testament, Green Forest 2004, p. 26. 100 101

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Jupiter (from vocatio Abrahae until the rule of Alexander the Great), Mars (the period between Alexander and the birth of Jesus), the Sun (from Christ to Muhammad), Venus (from the rise of Muhammad up to his ‘predicted’ date of the decline of Islam around 1700), Mercury (1700–2511), and, finally, the Moon (2511–3036). The religious background of this system is clear: Jupiter, the sign of religion, ‘dominated’ during the era of the Old Testament; the Sun, the central sign, ‘dominated’ for eight centuries after Christ; and Venus, a sign of physical love, ‘dominates’ in the period of Islamic expansion. In addition to this, one may find many statements about the relationships between constellations, planets and certain countries (most often, Austria and Hungary). There are also detailed description of the forthcoming solar eclipse (probably 20 May 1594). All the calculations, proposed by Latosz, are given in accordance with the coordinates of Cracow and Constantinople 105. Was the ‘global history’ contained in Latosz’ Prognosticon completely original or, as in other cases, was it influenced by Arabic sources? A possible answer may be given in light of two issues. One of the first innovators in historical astrology was Mā shā’ Allah ibn Atharī (740–815), a Jewish astrologer from Basra. His system, as E. Kennedy has pointed out, was based on a special vision of Middle Eastern sacred history and it combined many elements of Hellenistic, Persian and Mesopotamian thought. Referring to certain conjunctions, Mā shā’ Allah takes as a starting point the flood, the nativity of Christ, the nativity of Muhammad and, in his own times, several rulers of the Caliphate.106 Works by Mā shā’ Allah were widely spread throughout Europe: one of his most popular works in the Middle Ages was De scientia motus orbis, translated by Gerhardus of Cremona (1114–1187).107 The work’s most important concept was the notion of a unity at the beginnings of the Hebrew, Christian and Islamic faiths, due to the Islamic position on the Bible prophets as the preachers of God’s oneness. However, in Latosz’s writings it was converted into a means of expressing Christian supremacy. The same vision was adopted by another Jewish astrologer and philosopher, Abraham ibn Ezra (1089–1164), who also worked within the framework of Arabic astrology. In one of his writings, Ibn Ezra explores the theory of Mā shā’ Allah as follows: ‘Mā shā’ Allah said that great events occur on account of the conjunction of the outer planets because they are slow-moving... A great conjunction is an indication of the rising prophets and seers...’.108 Abraham ibn Ezra was a popular author, not only among European philosophers, but astrologers as well.109 Similar variants of astrological chronology may be seen in the writings of Abu Ma’shar, whose theory of great conjunctions (see above) was one of the most recognized in Latin astrology during these times; one of the first to adopt these teachings was Roger Bacon (1214–1294).110 Nevertheless, it should be noted that a mystical kind of knowledge, admired by Latosz and other astrologers, was also supported by many mathematical calculations. ‘Prognosticon’, p. 120–122. E.S. Kennedy, The Astrological History of Masha’allah, Harvard 1971, p. vi–vii. 107 W. Durant, The Age of Faith: A History of Medieval Civilization, Christian, Islamic, and Judaic – from Constantine to Dante A.D. 325–1300, New York 1950, p. 403. 108 B. Goldstein, ‘Astronomy and astrology in the works of Abraham ibn Ezra’, Arabic Sciences and Philosophy 6 (1996), pp. 9–21. 109 See: R. Smithuis, ‘Abraham ibn Ezra’s astrological works in Hebrew and Latin: new discoveries and exhaustive listing’, Aleph: Historical Studies in Science and Judaism 6 (2006), pp. 239–338. 110 J. North, Stars, Mind & Fate: Essays in Ancient and Mediaeval Cosmology, New York 2003, pp. 68–90. 105 106

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As has been noted, Latosz used not only the concept of conjunctions (although his theory of significations usually repeated the ideas of Arabic authors), but also the precession of the equinoxes, called Anomalia; this is most probably due to the influence of Copernicus. As in the works of his famous forerunner, Latosz came close to the ideas of the Maragheh astronomical school in Persia, the so-called ‘Tusi Couple’ (first proposed by Naṣīr al-Dīn al-Ṭūsī). This theorem, as George Saliba has noted, offered a general solution to the problem of generating linear motion from a combination of circular motions. It was expressed in terms of the motion of two spheres, usually called in the Arabic astronomical literature that followed al-kabīrah wa al-ṣagīrah (the large and the small). One of the spheres was taken to be twice the size of the other, and in the initial setting the spheres were taken to be internally tangent at one point. With the motion of the larger sphere at any speed, and the motion of the smaller sphere at twice that speed, but in the opposite direction, the point of tangency was then found to oscillate along the diameter of the larger sphere, thus producing the required linear motion. In 1260/61, after supplying the formal mathematical proof for this theorem, al-Ṭūsī went on to use it in the lunar model and then in the model for the upper planets, as we have already seen.111 In his Prognosticon, Latosz declared the same astronomical model: Octaue Spherae variationibus, Apogei and Eccentricitatis Solis, inaequalitare praecessionis aequinoctiorum.112 But how did Copernicus, and later Latosz, become familiar with this theorem? George Saliba, discussing Copernicus, says that ‘he also used a theorem that had been invented by al-Ṭūsī about 300 years earlier and supplied a proof that was very similar to the one supplied by al-Ṭūsī, with a slight modification in protocol, but still adhered to the same geometric points that were used by al-Ṭūsī in the original proof ’.113 Saliba went even further and suggested that, in case of Copernicus, the influence may have been due to the proximity of Poland to the Ottoman Empire, where Naṣīr al-Dīn al-Ṭūsī (unknown in the Latin West) was one of the most cited authors.114 In case of Latosz, the additional proof may be his detailed calculations on the Constantinople meridian. The exact times of the forthcoming solar eclipse of 20 May 1594 as well as the time of the ascent of the planets were noted in the same Prognosticon.115 Interestingly, in other works, Latosz gave exact calculations only for the two cities where he made his observations: Cracow, where he spent most of his life, and Ostroh, where he lived for his final ten years (1598–1608). Does this mean that Latosz used Ottoman sources, originating, for example, in the observatory in Istanbul by Taqī al-Dīn Muḥammad bin Ma’rūf (1526–1585)?116 While more than 160 late-Ottoman manuscripts are found today in Polish libraries,117 this channel of influence remains a hypothetical one. The possible

G. Saliba, Islamic Science and the Making of European Renaissance, Cambridge 2007, p. 198. Concerning the possible influences of al-Ṭūsī in Copernicus’ works, see I. Veselovsky, ‘Copernicus and Nasir al-Din alTusi’, Journal for the History of Astronomy 4 (1973), pp. 128–130. 112 ‘Prognosticon’, p. 113. 113 G. Saliba, Islamic Science and the Making of European Renaissance, p. 201. 114 Ibidem. 115 Prognosticon, pp. 120–121. 116 See about his activities in: S. Tekeli, ‘Taqi al-Din’, pp. 934–935. 117 H. Yakar, ‘Polonya Kütüphanelerinde Bulunan Türkçe El Yazmaları’, Gaziantep Üniversitesi Sosyal Bilimler Dergisi 8 (2009), pp. 257–273. 111

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Jan Latosz (1539–1608) and His Natural Philosophy: reception of Arabic science in early modern Poland

impact of the Turkish scientific tradition (and natural philosophy in general) on early modern Eastern Europe remains an open question and requires further study.

Conclusions The scholarly heritage of Jan Latosz provides many opportunities for new studies in the field of the Polish Renaissance. This scholar, apart from being a graduate of Cracow Academy and the University of Padua, competed with other leading scientists of his time. The last decade of his life, spent in the court of Ostrogski family, was also a great step in the transmission of astronomical knowledge from the Latin West to the Orthodox East. Latosz brought to Ostroh his library and was associated with the Slavic, Greek and Latin Academy in Ostroh, the first higher educational establishment in the Ukraine. The fame of Latosz reached its peak in the turbulent times of the calendar reform. It would appear that many works of Latosz were useful for Ostrogski, who used the critique of the new calendar as part of an apology of Orthodox loyalty. By 1587, Herasym Smotryc’kyj (d. 1594), the rector of Ostroh Academy, published a pamphlet ‘The New Roman Calendar’, blaming Jesuits for this ‘unjust violence’.118 Small Polish ‘prognostications’ (like those of 1598 and 1601), addressed to wide audience in Poland, Ukraine, Belarus and Lithuania, contained many anti-calendar arguments. As Ibn Khaldūn once noted in his Muqaddimah, the art of astrology and its predictions ‘led many enemies and rebels, who waited for the collapse of the state, to make trouble and revolution’.119 This was completely true in regard to Latosz and his Orthodox supporters, whose academic work placed them in the context of Orthodox-Catholic controversy. Interestingly, in one treatise Latosz even hinted at his ‘Ruthenian’ (Rus)120 origin, although all other books attest his ‘sincere adherence’ to the Catholic church. As a Renaissance scholar, Latosz’s vision of the world was one of natural philosophy, the combination of Aristotelian and Neoplatonic systems placing the highest value on the human essence. Both mystical (astrology) and rational (astronomy) aspects of Latosz’s theories were the result of reflection on earlier Arabic sources available in Latin translations: Abu Ma’shar al-Balkhi, Ibn Abu ar-Rijāl, Thābit ibn Qurrah, Abu Isḥāq al-Kindī, ibn Sīnā as well as their Jewish counterparts, Mā shā’ Allah and Abraham ibn Ezrah. Apart from some minor details, Latosz adopted many elements of a specific Islamic worldview, notably the relationship between prophecy and history. The pattern of his thought goes back to Arabic apologies for astrology as providing only ‘signs’ of future events; these signs, in turn, demonstrate the ‘omnipotence’ (al-qudrah) and ‘knowledge’ (al-‘ilm) of God. The reception of these ideas was founded on the concept of philosophia perennis, independent from religion, culture and politics. It is an irony that some Latin scholars borrowed certain astrological concepts from their Arabic forerunners, and used them to make claims for the imminent ‘decline’ of Islam and the ‘triumph’ of Christianity.

118 Herasym Smotryc’kyj, Klucz Tsarstva Nebesnogo, [in:] V. Mykytas’ (ed.), Ukrains’ka literatura XIV–XVI st., Kiev 1988, pp. 226–235. 119 Ibn Khaldūn, Muqaddimah, vol. 5, p. 267. 120 Srogiego, p. 42.

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In reality, the true winner (at least in Europe) was the secular science, which by the eighteenth century had already resulted in the marginalization of astrological studies. Interestingly, the same processes of complete division between the mystical and rational science started in the Arabic world; the first of the greatest philosophers, who criticised astrology not only from a religious, but also from a logical point of view, was Ibn Khaldūn.121 The scientists of later centuries, following the pattern of rational thinking (taḥqīq, the ‘verification’), in contrast to their predecessors, devoted their attention to astronomy, separating it from the idolatry (shirk) of astrology. This is why the relationship between the works of the Islamic post-classical scientists (i.e. from the fourteenth century onwards) and the ideas of European scholars of the early modern period is so important: it demonstrates the vitality of intercultural transmission not only during the Middle Ages and Renaissance, but also into modernity.

121 Some rational arguments against astrology were popular between Islamic traditionalists (in addition to the arguments from the Qur’an and Sunnah) already in the 11th century. See, for example, the comprehensive book agaist astrology by Al-Khaṭīb al-Baghdādī (1002–1071), Al-Qawl fī ‘Ilm at-Tanjīm, Y. AsSa’īr (ed.), Al-Riyāḍ 1420/1999.

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YOU ARE CHRISTIANS WITHOUT A LIGHT FROM HEAVEN. A PLURICONFESSIONAL ENCOUNTER: AN IMAGE OF GEORGIANS ACCORDING TO THE SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY THEATINE MISSIONARIES’ WRITINGS

Introduction The aim of this article is to describe an encounter between the Georgians and the Theatine missionaries working in the Caucasus in the seventeenth century, as presented in sources produced by the clergymen themselves. More specifically, the article will attempt to reconstruct how the missionaries depicted Georgians and also – where possible – how the missionaries themselves were perceived by the princes, the clergy, and the local population. The letters exchanged between the Theatines and their supervisors in Rome – as well as with correspondents in the Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith (Sacra Congregatio de Propaganda Fide), other clergymen and Pietro Della Valle – constitute an extensive list of sources relevant for the study of Georgian history in the Early Modern period. These sources also provide us with information on Christian-Muslim relations in the Caucasus at that time. Above all, the letters remain unique for both a study of the image of the Georgians as depicted by Italian clergymen, and also the presumed representation of Western newcomers by the local population. Moreover, they are useful for a study on the role of missionaries as cultural intermediators between the Latin Christendom and Georgia during this period. This paper will present an analysis of these two areas of interest. The letters are preserved primarily in the Propaganda Fide Historical Archives and in the General Archives of the Theatines, and they remain partly unpublished.1 Some materials are dispersed in other archives: this is the case of an entire set of letters exchanged between Pietro Della Valle and some Theatines, stored in the Vatican

1 List of abbreviations used in the article: AGT – Rome, General Archive of the Theatines; APF – Rome, Propaganda Fide Historical Archives; Alonso (with number of the year) – sources published by C. Alonso, cf. note 7; LiciniCart – cf. note 4; LiciniMiss – cf. note 5. I would like to use this opportunity to express my gratitude for Father Bartoloemo Mas CR, responsible for the General Archives of the Theatines, for his assistance during my research in these archives.

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Secret Archives and published by F. Andreu.2 Some works of Ft. Cristoforo Castelli, including a large number of his drawings, are preserved in the Municipal Library of Palermo and have been partly edited with commentary by B. Majorana and S. Pedone,3 while P. Licini unveiled other important works by Castelli, including one hundred and forty two of his letters4 and several memoirs.5 P. Licini also edited a report on the social and confessional situation in Mingrelia (Western Georgia) written by another Theatine, Giuseppe Giudice.6 Recently, in the journal ‘Regnum Dei’ C. Alonso published two hundred and fifty six letters by different missionaries and their correspondents of the Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith and some pertinent documents of the congregation.7 There are also Georgian editions of the sources concerned.8 Taking into account the characteristics of the analyzed writings – specifically, that they were produced by missionaries interested mainly in the confessional problems – I intend in this article to raise three questions: how did the missionaries define local faith and religious practices? Were confessional differences relevant for the contacts between the newcomers and the Georgian princes, bishops and ordinary people? Finally, what was the missionaries’ perception of the relations between the local Christians and Muslims?

History of the encounter The development of strong confessional identities in post-Tridentine times contributed to the development of the idea of establishing Catholic missions, both in Europe as beyond it. At the same time, the intellectuals and diplomats of the states bordering the Ottoman empire – including Venice, Papal and Habsburg states and, to a certain extent, the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth ‒ did not abandon projects of alliances directed against the Ottoman empire, whose expansion continued to be perceived as a threat. One such projects was created by Pietro Della Valle, a Roman nobleman and traveler who inspired Pope Urban VIII to undertake missionary activities in the Caucasus. Della F. Andreu, ‘Carteggio inedito di Pietro Della Valle col P. Avitabile e i Missionari Teatini della Georgia’, Regnum Dei 6 (1950), pp. 57–99; 7 (1951) pp. 19–50 and 118–138. 3 B. Majorana, La gloriosa impresa. Storia e immagini di un viaggio secentesco, Palermo 1990 (includes the descriptions accompanying the pictures of Castelli contained in four volumes of manuscripts preserved in the Municipal Library of Palermo: 3QqE93–95 and 3QqE98); S. Pedone (in his Cristoforo Castelli da Palermo alla Georgia, Palermo 1987) edited the descriptions of the drawings contained in manuscript 3QqE92. 4 P. Licini, Carteggio inedito di D. Cristoforo Castelli chierico regolare, missionario in Georgia e Mingrelia, Milan 1980. 5 P. Licini, ‘Cristoforo Castelli e la sua missione della Georgia’, Regnum Dei 41 (1985), pp. 1–226, with a vast introduction to the writings (pp. 1–18). 6 P. Licini, ‘Breve relatione della Mengrelia redatta nel 1644 dal teatino Giuseppe Giudice’, Orientalia Christiana Periodica 50 (1984), pp. 126–162 and 407–436. 7 C. Alonso, ‘Documentación inédita sobre las misiones de los Teatinos en Georgia’, Regnum Dei 52 (1996) pp. 25–116; 53 (1997), pp. 119–209; 54 (1998), pp. 269–372; 55 (1999), pp. 3–90; 56 (2000), pp. 109–184; 57 (2001), pp. 285–356 and 65 (2009), pp. 37–61. It should be noted that Alonso edited some letters exchanged between the king of Kartli-Kakheti Teimuraz I and the Pope Urban VIII and between the Patriarch of Georgia and the Pope (see items numbers: 71–74, 105 and 107, [in:] Alonso 1997, pp. 121–128 and 171–173. 8 B. Giorgadze, don kristoforo kastelli, cnobebi da albomi sakartvelos šesaxeb, Tbilisi 1976; B. Giorgadze, don pietro avitabile, cnobebi sakartveloze, Tbilisi 1977. For the Georgian bibliography see also: N. Gabašvili, La Georgia e Roma. Duemila anni di dialogo fra cristiani, Vatican 2003, pp. 166–168. 2

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Valle was born in 1586; in the wake of an unhappy romance he undertook a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, influenced in part by the expedition against the pirates on Tunisian shores in which he had participated. In 1614, he commenced his long journey, passing by Morea, Greek Islands, Constantinople, and Egypt. Thereafter, he traveled towards Persia where he stayed for six years. He became acquainted with the Georgian diaspora residing in Isfahan, and even met a Georgian woman whom he later married. Della Valle continued towards India;9 in 1626, he returned to Rome and tried to introduce the Pope to his idea of an alliance between Catholic powers, Eastern Christians, Cossacks and the shah, directed against the sultan. He observed that the Persian shah was favourable towards the Christian princes since he intended to combat the Ottoman Empire.10 Della Valle therefore studied the possibilites of future cooperation between Persians and Georgians, as well as between Georgians, Cossacks and Poles. In the traveler’s view, the confessional situation of Georgia, a land of ancient Christianity, would allow for the development of a Catholic mission and the creation of a future alliance.11 The Catholic orders had been present in Georgia as early as the thirteenth century: the Minorites settled there around 1230, followed by the Dominicans.12 In 1328 or 1329, a Latin diocese was founded in Tbilisi and its first bishop was a Florentine named Giovanni.13 The diocese existed until the first decade of the sixteenth century. A Catholic bishop had also served in Sebastopolis (present-day Sukhumi) since 1318. However this was not the only link between Georgians and Latin Christians. Georgian rulers also tried to establish contacts with the Latin Christian monarchs as they faced the peril of the Ottoman expansion. Among other sources, these attempts can be traced in a letter of 1495 from the king of Kartli Konstantine, to the Catholic Kings of Spain14 who had already defeated the Muslim rulers of Grenade and celebrated the victory of Christians over Muslims. Indeed, the victory was perceived in that manner even by Konstantine whose principality was situated at the very edge of the Christian world.15 On the life of Pietro della Valle cf. the introduction to: F. Gaeta, L. Lockhart (eds.), I viaggi di Pietro della Valle, vol. I, Lettere dalla Persia, Rome 1972, pp. XXII–XXVI. 10 Ibidem, p. 196. 11 J. Vateishvili (ed.), ‘Informazione della Georgia data alla Santità di nostro Signore Papa Urbano VIII da Pietro Della Valle, il Pellegrino l’anno MDCXXVI’, Regnum Dei 56 (2000), p. 107. 12 M. Tarchnischvili, Geschichte der kirchlichen georgischen Literatur, Vatican 1955, p. 48. 13 Ibidem (for 1328). The date 1329 is given by Gabašvili, La Georgia…, p. 66. Out of the Catholic missions in Caucasus only the Armenian-Catholic missions in Naxičevan survived the political instabilities of the late Middle Ages, cf. A. Ferrari, In cerca di un regno. Profezia, nobiltà e monarchia in Armenia tra Settecento e Ottocento, Milan-Udine 2011, p. 93 n. 8. 14 As reported by E. Khintibidze, ‘Negotiations between the Georgian and Spanish kings at the end of the fifteenth century’, [in:] A. Meyuhas Ginio (ed.), Jews, Christians and Muslims in the Mediterranean World after 1492, London 2002, pp. 79–81. Cf. the Khintibidze’s discussion on other letters exchanged between the Georgian and Spanish rulers and their relations in that period (pp. 78–85). 15 Some attempts to consider Georgia as a potential anti-Ottoman ally may be found in numerous reports of the Venetian ambassadors presented to the Senate of Most Serene Republic and their dispatches addressed to the dodges. However, most of the mentions on Georgia do not provide any substantial information apart from the fact that the Georgian principalities were in the zone of the Ottoman and Persian empires’ influence and that the Georgians, suffering from the Muslim oppression, were of the ‘Greek rite’. Just for an example, see the report of Lorenzo Bernardo (1590) in: M.P. Pedani-Fabris (ed.), Relazioni di ambasciatori veneti al Senato, vol. XIV, Costantinopoli. Relazioni inedite (1512–1789), Padua 1996, p. 362. Much more extensive is the description of the land and the attitudes of its rulers during the Ottoman-Persian war of 1578–1590 by Gio[vanni] Tommaso Minadoi, Historia della guerra fra Turchi, et Persiani, Venezia: Andrea Mucchio and Barezzo Barezzi, 1594, pp. 50–61. 9

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In the first decades of the seventeenth century, the mutual interest in establishing new relations with Georgia began to intensify. However, several travelers and clergymen (mainly the Jesuits and Dominicans) returned from Georgia with unpromising reports. Acording to one Jesuit, Louis Granger, the country was not worth a Catholic mission. A Dominican, Pietro Maria da Faenza, confirmed that all Georgians were of the ‘Greek rite’ but, at the same time, he underlined their respect for Pope and their willingness to host the Latin missionaries.16 However, this opinion was not followed by any particular papal action. However, attitudes had started to change by the time Pietro Della Valle presented his vast report on the situation in Georgia before the pope in 1626.17 He described the geography of the land, its confessional situaton, and its political division into several principalities, dependent on Persian (in the case of Kartli and Kakheti, united at that time by Teimuraz I) or Ottoman rulers (as in the case of Mingrelia, Imereti, and Guria). The report appears to have piqued the Pope’s interest: on 4 May 1626, a Papal decree was issued establishing a mission in Georgia. The mission was assigned to the Theatines – also known as the Clerks Regular of the Divine Providence – probably due to the friendship between their representatives and Pietro Della Valle. The order, founded in 1524 by Gaetano di Thiene as a first congregation of regular clerks, was directed to revive the ideal of a simple life in an apostolic community among priests who did not intend to become monks. They were particularly commited to sharing these ideals with external world. Many of them were active as scholars, authors of ecclesiastical reforms, Papal diplomats, and ‒ from 1626 ‒ missionaries.18 It was an acquaintance of Della Valle, Pietro Avitabile, who was appointed prefect of the Theatines’ mission in Georgia. Avitabile was born in Naples in 1590 and entered the order in 1608, after which he worked for the order in Messina. His meeting with the traveler altered his life. In December 1626 the prefect, along with other missionaries, set off to Georgia. The journey was difficult and, at a certain point, they were forced to return to Italy. It was not until the end of 1628 that the Theatines finally arrived at Gori, a town located in Eastern Georgia where they established the first missionary house. 16 For the attempts of contacts in the Early Modern times cf. M. Tamarati, L’église géorgienne des origines jusqu’à nos jours, Rome 1910, pp. 494–496. A copy of the printed relation of Paolo Maria da Faenza who arrived in Georgia in 1616 is preserved in the Propaganda Fide Historical Archives (Paolo Maria da Faenza, Sincera Relatione de’ Regni della Giorgia del R. P. Maestro F. Paolo Maria Cittadini [sic!] de’ Faenza dell’Ordine de’ Predicatori, Vicario Generale in tutti li Regni della Persia, & l’una & l’altra Armenia, Napoli: Gio[vanni] Domenico Roncagliolo, 1625 ‒ APF, SOCG 209, ff. 476r–479r; the above mentioned passages on ff. 478v–479r). 17 The report, preserved in the Vatican Secret Archives (set Della Valle‒Del Bufalo), has been published several times. For a recent edition of the Italian original cf. Vateishvili (ed.), Informazione… Also a Polish translation of this text exists: D. Kolbaia (ed.), ‘Informacja o Gruzji, Przygotowana w 1627 roku, dla Jego Świątobliwości Urbana VIII przez Piotra Della Vale, pielgrzyma’, Pro Georgia 12 (2005), pp. 129–151. 18 F. Andreu, ‘I teatini dal 1524 al 1974. Sintesi storica’, Regnum Dei 30 (1974), pp. 8–54. Other orders performed missions in the 17th-century Georgia as well, e. g. the Augustinians and (from 1661) Capuchins. Pietro Della Valle mentions the Carmelitans, too: Vateishvili (ed.), Informazione…, p. 107. It was a Capuchin Bernardo Maria da Napoli, present in Georgia between 1670 and 1680, who left an interesting description of this land [edited in French translation by M. Brosset in Journal Asiatique 10 (1832), pp. 193–218] and several theological works in Georgian, found in the monasterial complex of Torre del Greco near Naples in 1935 and still remaining unpublished. On Bernardo Maria da Napoli, see: C. Beridze, Bernardo Maria da Napoli. Notice biobibliographique, suivie d’une bibliographie italienne de la Georgie, Pompei 1937 (containing a summary of the main work of the monk – the dialogue gasamartleba rdjulisa pranguebisa, pp. 17–21); a brief mention in Gabašvili, La Georgia…, p. 100.

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Avitabile remained in Georgia for ten years, returning to Rome only once; during his stay in Rome he presented a report on Georgia to the Pope (1632).19 In 1638, Avitabile undertook a journey to India where he founded a Theatine mission in Goa; he would never return to Georgia. In the meantime, numerous Theatines began to arrive at the mission in Gori. An oldprint20 preserved in the General Archive of the order lists 38 missionaries21 who had arrived in Georgia up to 1691 (the mission was abandoned shortly thereafter). One of them was Cristoforo Castelli from Palermo, born in 1600. In 1630, he decided to devote his life to missionary service. Initially, he was lured by an idea to depart for the Eastern lands ‘where the Benevolent Creator of the universe was not yet known’;22 however, he was persuaded by Avitabile to think ‘not about India or Japan, but about Georgia’.23 In 1631, Castelli was sent to Georgia. He was one of the most active Theatines in that country and left an important corpus of documents, including his memoirs, letters and drawings. Castelli spent 23 years in Georgia and co-founded missions in Mingrelia (1633), Guria (1634) and Imereti (1646).24 In 1654, he set off on his long return journey to Italy which he completed the following year. Many of his manuscripts perished in a storm during the sea journey from Naples to Palermo. Nonetheless, Castelli reconstructed his notes and these reconstructed works have been preserved. He died in Palermo in 1659.25 The writings produced by Avitabile and Castelli constititute the majority of sources relating to the Theatine mission in Georgia. Other members of the order are less known, even though some of them left interesting descriptions of the countries in which they served (as, for instance, Arcangelo Lamberti).26 19 Relatio de ecclesiastico Georgiae statu ad Urbanum VIII preserved in the Vatican Secret Archives, Fondo Borghese, I, 469–474, ff. 12r–17r. 20 Cf. Appendix. 21 There were 41 missionaries sent to Geogia, according to Andreu, I teatini…, p. 31. 22 C. Castelli, ‘Principio’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 166. All translations in English are mine [P. Ch.]. The question of the motivations of the missionaries active at post-Tridentine epoch remains highly interesting, however, it will not be analyzed in the present article; cf. G.C. Roscioni, Il desiderio delle Indie. Storie, sogni e fughe di giovani gesuiti italiani, Turin 2001, passim. The problem is raised sometimes by the Theatines themselves who explained their decisions either by longing for a martyr’s death (as Castelli; ibidem) or with a desire to liberate the Georgians from the errors in faith (as Giacomo di Stefano quoted by Arcangelo Lamberti in the latter’s letter to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 12.02.1633, [in:] Alonso 1998, p. 284, item 128). According to the letter of the Pope Urban VIII, dated on 4.07.1626 and quoted in a French translation by Tamarati, L’église…, pp. 500–501: ‘in fact, it is not because of searching money or the power that they [the missionaries – P. Ch.] left Europe for Asia, but the salvation of the provinces and the glory of the princes are the unique reasons of their mission’. 23 Castelli, ‘Principio’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 169. 24 The missionary territory was extendend several times by the instructions of the Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith. Cf. e.g. a fragment from its acts, [in:] Alonso 2001, p. 290, item 214 (extension by Erevan and Abkhasia). 25 For the chronology of life and activity of Castelli, see: LiciniMiss, pp. 25–28. 26 Cf. A. Lamberti, Relatione della Colchide hoggi detta Mengrelia, nella quale si tratta dell’origini, costumi e cose naturali di quei paesi, Napoli: Camillo Cavalli, 1654. In order to show how much the letters produced by Avitabile and Castelli are important for the study of the Georgian mission, it will be useful to consider the number of letters of respective missionaries published until now by the scholars. Taking in account only the letters sent by the Theatines from Georgia (and from the way towards Georgia, if they regard mainly the conditions of the mission or the country, such as some notes of Avitabile written from Aleppo, Erzurum or Constantinople), we get the number of 143 published letters of Cristoforo Castelli, 19 of Pietro Avitabile, 5 of Giuseppe Giudice, 4 of Arcangelo Lamberti, 3 of Giacomo di Stefano and 2 of Giusto Prato. The above statistics

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Who are real Christians? It is obvious that the confessional definition of the local population was crucial for the missionaries, as it was compulsory in the appropriate formulation of their goals. In fact, the local population – with the exception of certain inhabitants of the more remote zones – was Christian and identified themselves as Christians. However, this was not as obvious to the missionaries, who questioned the validity of the Georgian baptism. The main obstacle was the lack of a genuine baptism prayer. According to the missionaries, the Georgian priests pronounced a number of long prayers that were not related to the act of baptism and devoid of the respective formula.27 The Latin newcomers also held Georgian baptism to be invalid due to the disjunction of roles of two priests who performed the act (one prayed, while the other performed the anointment with water) and also to some particularities encountered in several cases (such as the use of wine instead of water). As a consequence, they deemed the baptism of Georgians invalid, except those performed by bishops28 or Greek priests. By judging the locals’ baptism invalid, the missionaries treated Georgians as if they were non-Christians from a doctrinal point of view.29 The missionaries tried to administer the ‘proper’ baptism in a secret way. Father Giuseppe Giudice30 recorded that the Theatines convinced people in the remote zones of Mingrelia that the holy water was actually a medicine. During the anointment, the missionaries pronounced a baptism formula in their head; however, they were occasionally requested to give the ‘medicine’ twice to the same child, and their refusal caused a negative reaction among the locals. In such cases, the anointment was repeated, but the bapism formula was ommited. These faults in the performance of religious pratices also affected other acts and sacraments. The fact that Georgians would confess only prior to death was considered erroneous by the missionaries yet, according to Avitabile, only the bishops were permitted to confess.31 A testimony left by Giudice suggests that this reluctance to confess could be explained by certain local traditions or rituals. The missionary noted that the inhabitants of Mingrelia considered incense as an effective mean of cleansing sins; they would incense sinner’s head and consider it an effective religious ritual.32 Moreover, the disregards the longer works of Castelli, the report of Giudice and numerous drawings and their descriptions left by Castelli. Therefore, it should not surprise us that it is Castelli who remains the main source for this paper, even though the corpus studied here has been enriched by a number of unpublished letters (2 others by Pietro Avitabile, 4 by Giuseppe Zampi, 1 by Giuseppe Torricella and 1 by Andrea Borromeo). 27 As informed Giudice (Licini, ‘Breve relatione…’, p. 157) the Mingrelian priests ‘do not utter an appropriate form of necessary words’. He also observed that the baptism was strictly associated with a big feast, difficult to organize by poor people, who prefered to renounce from the ceremony. 28 Giusto Prato to Tommaso Giaconia, Gori, 29.04.1636, [in:] Alonso 1999, p. 55, item 173: ‘The bishops, however, tell that the priest does it [administer the baptism – P. Ch.] badly and they do not do it in such a manner’. 29 This attitude may be confirmed by an observation of Castelli who concluded a passage on invalidity of the baptism asserting that Georgians were ‘neither Turks, nor Christians, but a third sort’: C. Castelli, ‘Missione per molti paesi d’infedeli’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 88. 30 Licini, ‘Breve relatione…’, pp. 150–151. 31 Giusto Prato adds in this regard that the ordinary priests were prohibited from confessing since they were married (Giusto Prato to Tommaso Giaconia, Gori, 29.04.1636, [in:] Alonso 1999, p. 55, item 173). 32 Licini, ‘Breve relatione…’, p. 407.

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locals did not attend masses, which did not appear to take place very frequently. Giusto Prato reported that corruption had spread among the bishops: they would not celebrate a mass unless paid.33 Infrequent celebration of masses was also confirmed by Giudice34. Lamberti and Giudice noted in a report: ‘[the Georgians] do not celebrate any feasts, they do not take part in masses. Therefore, they only hold the name of Christians’.35 The missionaries held certain rites drawn from the pagan tradition to be bizarre, and Giuseppe Giudice lists many such rituals and superstitions.36 However, it seems that the main concern for the newcomers was not the eclectic mix of pagan and Christian traditions itself, but rather a popular tendency to attribute too much importance to presumed miracles. Certain religious practices of the local populations were considered unethical by the missionaries; for example, Giudice was disappointed by the fact the Mingrelians ‘divorce easily and marry a new wife while the first one is still alive’.37 They also noted far greater sins, such as burying alive unwanted children (widely practiced in Mingrelia38), or the practice of selling children as slaves or for the devşirme. This latter custom, especially, drew attention: it was strongly criticised by the missionaries, both because it reduced the number of the local Christians, and because it caused the apostasy of those persons enslaved. Giudice opened his report on the mission’s activities in Mingrelia in 1640 with a long description of this practice.39 He admitted that the mission had become a haven for young refugees, previously devoted to the service of the sultan. However, assessments of the devşirme differed between the locals and the newcomers; this is reflected in the case of Mikheili Scivili, who was raised and converted to Catholicism by the missionaries and then appointed by the prince of Guria to serve sultan. This act caused a strong resistence on the part of Castelli who, at a certain point, remained with the young boy in a closed church and did not allow anyone to enter. He risked his life, as Prince Vakhtang intended to punish severly the missionary who disobeyed his will.40 The question of the factual obedience of Christianity returned during certain meetings with the Orthodox clergy. As reported by Castelli, during an Easter reception hosted by the Mingrelian Prince, one of the Greek priests tried to provoke the missionary by introducing a discourse on the Filioque issue and Papal primacy. Responding to his Orthodox interlocutor, the Theatine presented the Catholic point of view adding certain debatable arguments (for example, that it was Greek enmity which had caused the split in the Church; or that it would have been better for the Greeks to remain under Giusto Prato to Tommaso Giaconia, Gori, 29.04.1636, [in:] Alonso 1999, p. 55, item 173. Licini, ‘Breve relatione’, p. 158. Andrea Borromeo, Giovanni Battistia Monti and Giuseppe Zampi also recall the practice of sacrificing animals on the Easter Monday, celebrated as the day of the dead. Cf. their letter to the Father General of the Theatines, Mingrelia, 16.09.1655 in AGT 665 ‒ Missioni: Georgia, f. [5]. 35 Giuseppe Giudice and Arcangelo Lamberti to the Bishop Francesco Ingoli, Odisci, 4.01.1634, [in:] Alonso 1998, p. 333, item 139. In the same letter (p. 338) both missionaries observed that in those lands ‘there are many who have the name of Christians, but they are neither baptized [sic! – P. Ch.] nor they live [in a Christian way – P. Ch.] nor have another sign of Christians’. 36 Licini, ‘Breve relatione…’, pp. 161 and 407–408. 37 Licini, ‘Breve relatione…’, p. 411. 38 It is testified by Castelli in his letter to the Father General of the Theatines, Mingrelia, 16.10.1647 in: LiciniCart, p. 100. 39 ‘Original report of Father Giuseppe Giudice on the mission of Georgia, directed by him to the Father General, Odisci, 20.09.1649’, [in:] Alonso 2000, pp. 148–149, item 209. 40 Castelli, ‘Missione…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, pp. 99–103. 33 34

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the Pope’s authority because, since the schism, they had been gradually moving backwards only to become slaves of the Turk). He also observed that, for the Orthodox, belief in the Resurrection was insufficient: they searched for a miraculous light from heaven present in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem on Easter morning. They considered it a sign from God confirming the truth of the Orthodox confession. Castelli argued that this light from heaven had been produced artificially by the Turks and the Greek clergy when the church was closed at night. The arguments in the discussion became increasingly more heated until, at certain point, the prince brought it to an end by saying to the missionary: ‘you are Christians, but without a light from heaven’.41 Apart from this interesting confessional definition of the newcomers, the passage shows that Castelli portrayed the Greek clergy as a group of traitors cooperating with the Turks. Moreover, the Orthodox were perceived as being particularly inclined to search for miracles everywhere, contrary to the Catholic faith which ‘does not need extrinsic demonstrations or miraculous acts’.42 It is interesting that the missionaries portrayed Georgians as doctrinally misled by the Greeks and, therefore, as committing the so-called ‘Greek error’.43 As Giusto Prato explained, the Georgians ‘say enormous lies about our law [religion] and conform to that what the Greeks say, since [the Georgians] themselves do not hold any particular error’.44 Indeed, in many cases, it was the sole presence of the Greek clergy that created a great problem for the newcomers. According to Lamberti, it was easier to spread the Catholic faith in areas devoid of Greeks, as for example in Abkhasia.45 Simultaneously, Avitabile complained that in Guria there was ‘almost an infinite number of Greeks’.46

A confessional vocabulary of the missionaries It may be useful to focus on the expressions used by the missionaries to describe the Eastern Christians of Georgia. They (and their clergy) are usually referred to as ‘heretics’, ‘schismatics’ or even ‘schismatic heretics’;47 nonetheless the category of heretics may be applied to other non-Catholic confessions as well. A broad definition is employed to describe the Christian Orient, which is referred to as ‘that Christendom’.48

Castelli, ‘Missioni…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 69. Cf. the description of the Easter reception, pp. 63–72. Castelli, ‘Missioni…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 64. However, it is Pietro Avitabile who uses a similar, ‘Orthodoxlike’, type of reasoning while reporting on the destruction of Armenian and Georgian churches after the Persian occupation of Gori. At that time one of the temples was transformed into a mosque while the other became a stable. Only the Catholic church remained unharmed and still served as such, ‘as if the God wanted to show that these people and their rites are for him abominable except for that one of the Holy Catholic Church’: cf. Pietro Avitabile to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 1.10.1633, [in:] Alonso 1998, pp. 313–314, item 134. 43 Giusto Prato to Tommaso Giaconia, Gori, 29.04.1636, [in:] Alonso 1999, p. 54, item 173. 44 Giusto Prato to Tommaso Giaconia, Gori 29.04.1636, [in:] Alonso 1999, p. 55, item 134. 45 Arcangelo Lamberto to Francesco Bolvito, Odisci, 20.06.1634, [in:] Alonso 1998, p. 358, item 143. 46 Pietro Avitabile to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 2.02.1634 in AGT 123 – Carte relative alle missioni, f. 278r. 47 For examples cf. Castelli, ‘Missioni…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, pp. 42 and 59. 48 Castelli, ‘Missioni…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 87; Cristoforo Castelli to Clemente Galano, Mingrelia, 16.03.1647, [in:] LiciniCart, p. 87. 41 42

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Several times Castelli lists the ‘Christian nations’ of the East.49 The confession of Georgians is generally called ‘Greek rite’,50 as opposed to the ‘Latin rite’ confessed by the ‘Francs’ or ‘Franc Romans’.51 In the writings there also appears a category of renegades and apostates, including those who renounced the Christian faith and converted to Islam. This last category includes Muslims, defined mainly in a descriptive way – for instance, ‘those who profess the false Prophet’, ‘Mahomettan sect’, ‘their sect’ and ‘their law’52 – but also sometimes simply as ‘infidels’ or ‘Turks’.53 Certain references in the texts suggest that any difference between Georgians and the Italian newcomers disappeared once juxtaposed with Muslims.54 When ordering different the confessional categories, we may recall five stories from the memoirs of Castelli where he describes particular conversions. His stories refer to the individuals concerned as a ‘heretic sinner’ (the story refers to a young Russian man), a ‘heretic calvinist’ (a French warrior and merchant), a ‘heretic parish priest’ (an Italian converted to Orthodoxy while serving for many years in Georgia), a ‘renegade’ (a Georgian who converted to Islam) and finally an ‘apostate’ (a prisoner of war who was Catholic before his convertion to Islam).

Relations with rulers, clergy and local population The missionaries had to maintain close relationships with the princes who hosted them55 and, in most cases, the mutual relations were good. However, it seems that the princes sometimes perceived the newcomers not as missionaries in the proper sense of this word, but rather as Papal envoys who would help to maintain permanent relations between Georgia and the Christian West. Such conclusion may at least be drawn by examining Teimuraz’s letters to Pope Urban VIII.56 Moreover, the missionaries sometimes used their diplomatic skills in order to mediate between the Georgian princes, 49 Castelli, ‘Missioni…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 65: ‘Now the Eastern Greeks, the Armenians, the Abyssinians, the Georgians and the other’; ibidem: ‘different sorts of Eastern Christians that is: schismatics, Armenians, Mingrelians, etc.’; p. 69: ‘where come from all the Eastern Christians, schismatics, Abyssinians, Georgians, Armenians, Mingrelians, Greeks’, in this case all of them are also defined generally as ‘nations of Christians’; Cristoforo Castelli to Bishop Francesco Ingoli, Mingrelia, 20.03.1642, [in:] Alonso 2001, p. 303, item 226: ‘Armenians, Georgians, Greeks schismatics’. It its interesting that ‘schismatics’ are listed among the ‘Christian nations’ as a separate category, as if the Abyssinians, Georgians, Armenians etc. were not schismatics or as if the term ‘schismatics’ applied only to the Greeks (cf. the last quotation). However, this interpretation may be erroneous due to the fact the in many other loci the term of ‘schismatics’ is used in reference to the Georgians and we do not have any similar passages in other letters. 50 Rarely as ‘Greek faith’; cf. the description attributed by Castelli to one of his drawings: ‘The princesses of Georgia and Mingrelia are proud of the Greek faith they have’: Pedone, Cristoforo Castelli…, p. 43v. 51 For example, Castelli, ‘Missioni…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 79. 52 For example, Castelli, ‘Missioni…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, pp. 42 and 154. 53 Castelli, ‘Missioni…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 51. 54 For example, Castelli uses an expression ‘among Christians’, when he hopes that the princess Elene will remain in Georgia, under the care of the Italian newcomers: ‘that she would stay among Christians in our hands’, Castelli, ‘Missioni…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 53. 55 As Pietro Avitabile reported: ‘where the Lord does not touch the heart of the princes and prelates, it seems that one works hard in vain’, Pietro Avitabile to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 2.02.1634 in AGT 123 ‒ Carte relative alle missioni, f. 281v. 56 Teimuraz I, king of Kartli, to the Propaganda Fide, Gori, 8.01.1629, [in:] Alonso 1997, p. 124, item 72.

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or to encourage them to maintain more peaceful relations with their neighbours, as Castelli did with Levan II Dadiani, the prince of Mingrelia.57 The Theatines were useful due to their particular abilities. Teimuraz had, in fact, asked the Pope for doctors and painters ‒ and for this reason it was Castelli who was determined to be an appropriate person for the Georgian mission.58 In one passage in his memoirs, the Palermitan missionary admits that he was a doctor, and that his presence in particular principalities was in the patriarch’s and all the bishops’ great interest. According to Giudice, Levan II Dadiani understood the newcomers to be doctors in his first encounter with them.59 The same missionary also mentions a young woman who came to the missionaries in order to become a ‘Frank’ because – according to her ‒ the ‘Franks’ did not die. Reports of these different images and beliefs allow us to retrace perceptions of the newcomers.60 Such perceptions are confirmed directly by Avitabile who admits that ‘since our Ft. Giacomo [de Stefano] has left a name of a great doctor, this people have such idea of other fathers, too’.61 Apart from the practical abilities of the missionaries, the princes treated them as private advisors and frequently asked for their opinion. Teimuraz I, who is thought to have been a great poet and intellectual of his time, as well as Malakhias, the prince and patriarch of Guria, used to discuss theological matters with the missionaries. However, certain monarchs were less open towards the newcomers: among them Vakhtang, the successor of Malakhias, and Levan II Dadiani, the prince of Mingrelia. Facing difficult relations with a prince, the clergymen usually moved to another prinicpality or reduced their community in order to establish a new missionary centre in another state. The princes and their courts usually took part in the solemnities celebrated by the newcomers, and also appreciated their sermons. Some members of the court even converted to Catholicism, as was the case of the son of Alexander III, prince of Imereti. Friendly attitudes toward the missionaries on the part of the princes’ family members are attested in several reports. Giudice informed his supervisor that an aunt of prince Levan II Dadiani once told the Orthodox priests that the Latins were real servants of God, while the Orthodox clergy was corrupted and immoral.62 Her attitude was not unique among the women of the Georgian court: another princess did not trust an Orthodox priest who tried to convince her to ask the Gurian prince Malakhias not to receive the missionaries.63

Castelli, ‘Missioni…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, pp. 58–59. LiciniMiss, p. 12. Cf. also the letter of the Patriarch of Georgia to the Propaganda Fide,15.01.1629, [in:] Alonso 1997, p. 127, item 74 and the letter of Teimuraz I, king of Kartli, to the Propaganda Fide, Gori, 8.01.1629, [in:] Alonso 1997, p. 124, item 72. 59 Licini, ‘Breve relatione…’, p. 414. 60 Ibidem. 61 Pietro Avitabile to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 2.02.1634 in AGT 123 ‒ Carte relative alle missioni, f. 282r. The missionaries devoted much place in their reports to healing people, since this activity could be perceived by the Theatines themselves as a kind of grace coming from God (e.g. Andrea Borromeo, Giovanni Battista Monti and Giuseppe Zampi, Mingrelia, 16.09.1655 in AGT 665 ‒ Missioni: Georgia, f. [8]: ‘we did not deserve a grace of God [to heal a person called Gandele – P. Ch.]’), expected from a small Christian community which was inspired by the activity of the Apostles. 62 Licini, ‘Breve relatione…’, p. 153. 63 Pietro Avitabile to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 2.02.1634 in AGT 123 ‒ Carte relative alle missioni, f. 278r. 57

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The newcomers’ relations with the local clergy were more problematic since the latter showed distrust towards the missionaries. The two exceptions were Malakhias, the prince and patriarch of Guria, and a Gurian bishop, Sciammocmedeli, who even allowed Castelli to celebrate the Catholic mass in his cathedral. However, any friendly gestures of the part of the authorities of the Georgian church were met with the distrust of other bishops or the lower clergy. In the case of Sciammocmedeli, he was forced to withdraw his proposal following a conversation with Alaverdeli, another Gurian bishop. Alaverdeli was, in fact, the greatest enemy of the Theatine mission in Georgia – according to the reports of Castelli – since he tried to frustrate the newcomers in their every endeavour.64 However, at the end of Castelli’s mission in Guria, he reconciled with the Theatine and expressed the will to receive the collection of Catholic and Greek saints which had been painted for Malakhias and donated to him by Castelli as an ecumenical gift.65 The third group encountered by the newcomers was the local population from the lower classes. The missionaries frequently managed to win the respect of the Georgian people because of their particular abilities as doctors66 or mediators.67 This is explicitly confirmed by Giudice, who adds that the population saw the newcomers as ‘men of holy and apostolic life’, even if they were considered heretics according to the teachings of the Greeks.68 Relations with the general population did not cause many problems, but revealed certain cultural differences. One of the most interesting issues was the celibacy of the Theatines. The Georgian princes offered the newcomers a company of ladies and treated it as a sign of hospitality. Sometimes there were women who offered their company, hoping to improve their social or economic situation. At this point, the mutual perception of newcomers’ needs was completely different: Castelli accounted that one of the women whose company was not accepted by the missionaries, Leluca, spread a rumour that the Theatines were castrated and that they treated their servants in the same way. Since one of the Georgians working at the Theatines’ house was, in fact, impotent, the case reached the prince who investigated it and discovered that the accusations of Leluca were not true. However, the gossip could not have been combatted efficiently and one of the missionaries, in order to remove any doubts ‘convened some members of the court in a secret place and then he showed them modestly that he did 64 The same is also stated by Avitabile who admited, however, that the said bishop ‘likes us much, but for the virtues’ (Pietro Avitabile to the Father General of the Theatines, Constantinople, 10.09.1638, [in:] Alonso 2000, p. 133, item 200). Another bishop who stroke up good contacts with the missionaries was Scallingicheli of Mingrelia; he became their ‘best friend and beloved benefactor’ and used to talk frequently with the missionaries, since he was very curious of ‘princes of Europe, their greatness and customs and in particular of the Supreme Pontiff and the issues related to the Roman court’ (Andrea Borromeo, Giovanni Battista Monti and Giuseppe Zampi to the Father General of the Theatines, Mingrelia, 16.09.1655 in AGT 665 ‒ Missioni: Georgia, f. [10]). 65 Castelli, ‘Missione…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 97. 66 Cristoforo Castelli to Agostino Doni, Mingrelia, 28.09.1648, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 123: ‘Here we are loved and desired by these people and their princes’. 67 According to Castelli, the missionaries residing in Gori gained an esteem of the locals thanks to his clever action performed during the Persian occupation of the town. At that time Castelli delivered to the Persian general some drawings of the town’s fortress. As a consequence, the city would have been treated better by the occupants. Cf. the letter of Cristoforo Castelli to an unknown addressee, Mingrelia, 20.09.1648, [in:] LiciniCart, p. 113. 68 Licini, ‘Breve relatione…’, p. 152.

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not lack anything’.69 Moreover, the celibacy of the newcomers was odd for the Persians, too: Avitabile reported that during the occupation of Gori some Persians came to the Theatines’ house and asked them where their harem was.70 Contacts with the local population were sometimes problematic due to the fact that the missionary residence was a target of frequent theft. Castelli underlined that the mission in Mingrelia was particularly difficult, ‘since one has to fight whole days and nights with the Greeks as well as with thieves’.71 The mission’s residence also suffered several fires: the same missionary supposed that one of them was set by locals.72 The Theatines were also succesful in converting members of the local population. Castelli and other missionaries reported hundreds of people baptized each year,73 but this number may have also included the secret baptisms described above.

Christian-Muslim relations The Theatines in Georgia served in a country inhabited by an Orthodox majority, but politically dependent on two Islamic empires. A group of Georgian princes and noblemen had converted to Islam, but the missionaries working among lower ranks of the society would have also encountered Muslims. The Persian language was diffused among the elites:74 according to Avitabile, Teimuraz wrote letters to the Pope in Persian.75 Giudice reports that a daughter of Levan Dadiani had a Persian name ‒ Gul (correctly translated by him as ‘Rosa’).76 The Georgian kings used also the Persian royal titles, for example Teimuraz Khan.77 All these phenomena had not been expected by the missionaries who found themselves in the presumed lands of the ‘Christian rulers’ that were far from confessional purity. The newcomers criticized adoption of the Muslim faith, especially with regard to the Georgian elite. In some cases, the missionaries reported different confessional behaviour demonstrated by the rulers in reaction to a particular situation. Avitabile wrote about Teimuraz: ‘The prince does not know who he is: he does not go to the church, he does not fast, he does not make any

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184. Castelli, ‘Missione…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 57. Castelli, ‘Missione…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, pp. 40–46. 73 Cristoforo Castelli to the Father General of the Theatines, Mingrelia, 15.10.1647, [in:] LiciniCart, p. 98‒115 baptized persons; the former to Clemente Galano, Gori, 12.07.1648, [in:] LiciniCart, p. 106 – more than 500 baptized persons; the former to the Father General of the Theatines, Mingrelia, 20.09.1648, [in:] LiciniCart, p. 115–830 baptized persons in 1648; Andrea Borromeo, Giovanni Battistia Monti and Giuseppe Zampi to the Father General of the Theatines, Mingrelia, 16.09.1655 in AGT 665 ‒ Missioni: Georgia, f. [3] – ca. 300 baptized persons in 1654. 74 It was also Teimuraz I to create poetry in Georgian, strongly influenced by the Persian motives and characteristics of this language. Cf. D. Rayfield, The Literature of Georgia. A History, Oxford 1994, p. 110. 75 Pietro Avitabile to Pietro Della Valle, Gori, 12.03.1629, [in:] Andreu, Carteggio inedito…, p. 97. 76 Licini, ‘Breve relatione…’, p. 143. 77 The same title could be attributed to the nobleman, as shows the case of the missionary Andrea Giardina, called by the Georgians ‘son of Kan, since he was born from a rich father’ (letter of Pietro Avitabile to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 2.02.1634 in AGT 123 ‒ Carte relative alle missioni, f. 282r). 71

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difference among the days. Among the Moors he says to be a Moor, in presence of his wife he makes a sign of the cross’.78 The Theatines evaluated Muslims in accordance with the latter’s attitude towards Christianity and the missionaries themselves. Avitabile reported that Daud Khan, the Muslim prince of Ganja, was favourably disposed to Christianity and, at a certain point, even secretly converted.79 In this context It should be added that, in the seventeenth and early eighteenth century, a secret baptism of the Persian shah was a returning theme in several travelers’ accounts. It was presumed that a converted king of Persia could serve better in an anti-Ottoman alliance.80 According to the missionaries, a possible conversion of the shah could be facilitated by Georgian (or Christian in general) influences at the Persian court, since the Georgians in Persia constituted a faction with the power to enthrone new shahs.81 Taking into account the image of Persia in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Italy,82 it should not be surprising that the missionaries seemed to reflect quite seriously on the possible conversion of the Persians. The Theatines consider the subjects of the shah different from the Turks, who usually did not accept any discussion about their religion. On the contrary, according to the missionaries, the Persians were ‘gentle by nature’, ‘not arrogant’ and wanted to win the Christians’ trust. During the Persian occupation of Gori, four mullahs discussed issues related to the Christian faith with the missionaries ‘without any anger’.83 If there was indeed the possibility of converting Persians, the role of the missionaries would have been to ensure that these potential converts ‘would not find themselves in Greek hands and would not become Georgians’ from a confessional point of view. This quotation expresses an interesting insight into the goals of the missionaries, and their perception of the various groups of Eastern Christians. The perception of Georgians as martyrs suffering at the hands of Muslims is an element linking the former, in the eyes of the missionaries, to the Christian community as a whole. A recurring theme is the devastation and abandonment of churches, which Pietro Avitabile to the Father General of the Theatines, Aleppo, 24.11.1635, [in:] Alonso 1999, p. 38, item 167. 79 Arcangelo Lamberti to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 12.02.1633, [in:] Alonso 1998, p. 279, item 128; Pietro Avitabile to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 1.10.1633, [in:] Alonso 1998, p. 302, item 134. Giudice also informed that a Persian governor of Gori, called by the missionary Eminbascì, was ‘a great friend’ of the Theatines, cf. ‘Original report…’, [in:] Alonso 2000, p. 161, item 209. 80 For example see the account by an Armenian merchant, Sefer Muratowicz ([in:] A. Walaszek (ed.), Trzy relacje z polskich podróży na Wschód muzułmański w pierwszej połowie XVII wieku (Three reports from Polish journeys to the Muslim East in the first half of the 17th century), Cracow 1980, pp. 43–44) who visited Isfahan in his capacity as a diplomatic envoy of the Polish king Sigismund III at the beginnings of the 17th century. Another example is the account by Taduesz Krusiński, a Polish missionary in Persia in the early 18th century, quoted in: S. Brzeziński, Misjonarze i dyplomaci polscy w Persji w XVII i XVIII wieku (Polish missionaries and diplomats in Persia in the 17th and 18th centuries), Warsaw 1935, pp. 5–6. 81 Pietro Avitabile to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 1.10.1633, [in:] Alonso 1998, p. 311, item 134. Giusto Prato in a letter to the Father General of the Theatines (Gori, 16.10.1633, [in:] Alonso 2009, p. 54, item 135) admited: ‘Today the whole Persia is full of Georgians renegades and the major offices are in their hands’. 82 G. Rota, Under Two Lions. On the Knowledge of Persia in the Republic of Venice (ca. 1490–1797), Wien 2009, pp. 26–45; M. Meserve, Empires of Islam in Renaissance Historical Thought, London 2008, pp. 231–237. 83 Pietro Avitabile to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 1.10.1633, [in:] Alonso 1998, p. 311, item 134. On the occupation of Gori: Giusto Prato to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 16.10.1633, [in:] Alonso 2009, p. 57, item 135. 78

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occurred frequently in the Muslim world. Related passages may be found in Castelli who draws the readers’ attention to the ruins he found in South-Western Georgia, probably in Samtskhe-Javakheti or Tao-Klarjeti.84 Lamberti noted that, apart from the cathedral of Alaverdi, there was no other church that had not been damaged by the Muslims.85 The missionaries provide some mentions of renegades or apostates. Probably the most spectacular is the case of Nicolo de Coggevich, a mercenary born in Siena (although, his name suggests Southern Slavic origins86). Captured by the Turks in Hungary, he converted to Islam and changed his name into Feridun.87 After more than twenty years in Constantinople – probably serving as a doctor – he learned that the prince of Mingrelia was searching for a doctor and he set off to this land. When the Latin missionaries arrived, initially he treated them as rivals; the Theatines were ‘dissimilar in faith and life but similar in nation [i.e. Italian]’. During many discussions with the missionaries he defended the Muslim faith ‘with anger’. However, after several years of observing the simple and quiet life of the newcomers, he reconverted to Catholicism, abandoning his two wives. He began to live in poverty and penitence and stopped selling the young as slaves. He reconciled with his enemies, who were numerous, as ‘being really a Turk, he was of an arrogant nature’. Nicolo even asked the missionaries to be permitted to enter their order, but died before he could be admitted.88 This case, described by several missionaries, could serve as a successful example of their work. However, it presents Nicolo/Feridun as a typically imagined Turk: an irritable and immoral follower of a false doctrine who tried to persecute the Christian clergymen. One may wonder whether the missionaries’ perception of him would have been different if he had been an ex-Catholic renegade in the service of the shah. Another story relating to Christian-Muslim relations in seventeenth-century Georgia is reported by Castelli. He mentions Elene Artabaghi, a Georgian noblewoman destined to become a wife of the Persian shah.89 The missionary who converted her became her spiritual father. The conversion, as well as numerous encounters with the future queen of Persia, took place in Guria where the Theatines were hosted by the prince in his palace. Certainly, marriages between Georgian women and Persian monarchs were not rare, as they strengthened bilateral relations and aimed to ensure a peaceful coexistence in the shadow of a potent Persian king. Castelli even informs us of a peculiar contest between the Georgian princes, since the project of sending Elene as a spouse of a Muslim ruler had been undertaken by two monarchs who wished to gain the favour of the shah and the sultan respectively. According to the account of Castelli, Elene did not want to leave for Persia and renounce the Christian faith. The Theatine even composed a prayer for the princess reminding her of the peril of being persuaded by the shah and Castelli, ‘Missione…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, p. 115. Arcangelo Lamberti to Francesco Bolvito, Cippiria, 19.10.1634, [in:] Alonso 1998, p. 369, item 144. 86 As Giudice reported (cf. below, note 88), Nicolo also spoke a ‘Slavic’ language. 87 ‘Ferindon’, as reported by Giudice, ibidem. 88 ‘Original report…’, [in:] Alonso 2000, p. 171–173, item 209. The case is described in different passages, e. g. Pietro Avitabile to the Father General of the Theatines, Gori, 10.09.1638, [in:] Alonso 2000, p. 131, item 200. 89 The history is described by Castelli several times, cf. ‘Missione…’, [in:] LiciniMiss, pp. 46–57, Cristoforo Castelli to Clemente Galano, 28.06.1647, [in:] LiciniCart, p. 89; the former to the latter, Mingrelia, 9.09.1647, [in:] LiciniCart, p. 96; the former to the latter, Mingrelia, 12.07.1648, [in:] LiciniCart, p. 106; Cristoforo Castelli to Bishop Francesco Ingoli, Mingrelia, 30.10.1642, [in:] Alonso 2001, p. 300, item 226. 84 85

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of abandoning her religion.90 After her departure, Elene wrote a number of letters to the missionary complaining about the necessity of conversion to Islam. Castelli found her to be a renegade, since she could also have chosen a crown of martyrdom. At the same time, the missionary considered her a martyr as she had to fulfill her role in the diplomatic game of marriages and therefore ‒ according to the Theatine ‒ profess her faith in secret. Moreover, taking into account Elene’s new role as a ‘great sultana of Persia’, Castelli recognised a promising possibility for spreading Catholicism in that area. In fact, in his numerous letters addressed to Rome, he invoked the great respect in which he was held by the Persian queen and asked to be sent in Isfahan.91 A special envoy of the shah reportedly came to Georgia in order to invite Castelli to Isfahan, however permission from Rome was not granted; it was, perhaps, one of the greatest disappointments in the career of the aging missionary.

Conclusions: an unusal encounter The history of Elene demonstrates how difficult it was for the missionaries to assess the religious identity of Georgia and its inhabitants. The latter were not strangers to be converted, they were already Christians, even if they had not been baptized in a valid manner. They were, at the same time, friends of the Roman church and of the ‘Moors’. They were schismatics, but without a Greek ‘original sin’. They were defenders of the faith, even if islamicised. From many points of view, they were like Elene – a Georgian Orthodox noblewoman, converted to Catholicism,92 a Muslim queen who many times asked for an arrival of a Catholic missionary, and the Pope’s envoy, because she appreciated his medical and diplomatic skills. In fact, the writings of the Theatines show clearly that the encounter of the Italian newcomers and the local population was unusual for both parties. The missionaries discovered that a land of ancient Christianity was, from a doctrinal and confessional point of view, nowhere as pure as they had expected it to be. They cannot have labeled the Georgians with a unique name, since the latter were perceived as Christians, heretics or pagans, according to the particular situation. The mixed Christian-Muslim character of the land created another barrier to easy classification of the locals. On the other hand, to the Georgians, the missionaries were doctors, Papal diplomats and advisors able to mediate in local conflicts. Perhaps the religious character of the Theatine mission was clearly perceived only by the local clergy and – unexpectedly – by the renegade whose case was described in the letters. However, it would not be true to conclude that the Theatine mission in Georgia failed due to the different perception of hosts and guests’ roles respectively. The mission allowed the Italian correspondents of the Theatines the possibility to discover the complex confessional and political nature of the land. This, in turn, contributed to a more detailed image of Georgia and the Georgians in the Italian ecclesiastical context; it also, finally, provided an opportunity for a non-ephemeral encounter between Reported in Pedone, Cristoforo Castelli…, p. 70r. For example: Cristoforo Castello to the Pope Urban VIII, Mingrelia, 30.10.1642, [in:] Alonso 2001, p. 296, item 223. 92 M. Tamarati (L’église…, p. 534) defined her as ‘a fervent Catholic’. 90 91

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Georgia and the Latin Christian world, an encounter which had been desired by both parties for the possibility of creating an anti-Ottoman alliance. It is this last point, especially, that deserves further study.93

Appendix: List of Theatine missionaries in Georgia94 Nota De PP. Chierici Regolari Apostolici Missionarj nella Giorgia, Mingrellia, Circassia, Akbassia,95 &c. [left column] V. P. D. Pietro Avitabile: Fu ricevuto nella Religione, e fece la Professione nella Casa di S. Nicolò di Bitonto, Città di Provincia di Bari del Regno di Napoli. Mosso da Dio fu Promotore, e Conduttiere, e primo Prefetto de’ Chierici Regolari Apostolici Missionari all’Infideli; fino che visse dirigè tutte le Missioni per vent’anni; Cosi li dieci anni nella Georgia, come l’altri diece nell’India, e Giorgia, senza il primo viaggio da Italia in Costantinopoli, e ritorno in Italia, sette volte fè li tremendi viaggi delli Deserti dell’Asia; oltre lo scorrrere tanti Regni della Giorgia, Circassia del Monte Caucaso, e de Regni dell’India. V. P. D. Giacomo di Stefano de Baroni d’Acdia del Regno di Napoli chiamato l’Apostolo d’Iberia. P. D. Giovanni Filomia anco della Casa di Bitonto. Questi trè ricevuto il comando del Papa, e fatto il voto di predicar all’infedeli, etiamdio con spargere il sangue, come fanno tutti gl’altri Missionanti Apostolici; verso il primo di Decembre 1626 principiano da Messina la Navigazione. Arrivano a Constantinopoli a’ 4. di Marzo 1627. Discacciati, ritornano in Messina. Ripigliano la Navigazione il Decembre per la Soria, senza il P. Filomia, ma con Fratello Claudio Maltese. Arrivano in Gori di Giorgia 14 Decemb. 1628. vi fondano Chiesa, e Casa; e da colà s’inviano per li altr’ Paesi infedeli, e così gl’altri che seguirono. V. P. D. Giuseppe Giudici Milanese. Questo pigliò l’Ospizio in Constantinopoli. P. D. Arcangelo Lamberti Napolitano. Per Aleppo, per Arzerum arrivano in Giorgia 1631. Ritrovarono il V. P. Avitabile in Malta di ritorno inviato dal Rè Taimuraz. *V. P. D. Vincenzo Carafa Napolitano. *P. D. Cristofaro Castelli Palermitano. 93 Apart from the Western attempts to contract an alliance with the Caucasian Christians, conceived e. g. by Pietro Della Valle, it remains to be studied whether a similar idea was present among the Georgian intellectuals of that time. An example of a comparable research in the case of Armenian culture has been conducted by Ferrari, In cerca…, passim. 94 An oldprint preserved in AGT 123 ‒ Carte relative alle missioni. It is difficult to retrace the date of the document. The original ortography, including puncutation, is conserved. The note is divided in two columns: left and right. 95 Sic!

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*V. P. D. Antonio Giardina Palermitano. *V. P. D. Giusto Prato Leccese. *V. Fratel. Gaetano Corlitto. *Fratello Matteo Floreno. *Per la via d’Aleppo, e d’Arzerum, arrivano in Giorgia 20. Luglio 1632. col V. P. Avitabile, quale nel 1635. si porta in Aleppo, per condurre Missionarj d’Italia. P. D. Francesco Maria Maggio Palermitano. V. P. D. Clemente Galano Sorrentino. Fratello Francesco Florino. Fratello Francesco Arena. Nel 1636. in Giorgia. [right column] P. D. Vincenzo Giliberti Lucano. P. D. Angelo Maria Verricelli Napolitano. P. D. Antonio Correro Veneziano. Fratello Bonaventura Bobio. Fratello Francesco Pistoia. Novembre 1636. in Aleppo, e per Arzerum l’istesso Anno in Giorgia col P. Avitabile. P. D. Francesco Marini Veneziano. 1640. in Constantinopoli. Nel 1646. ritorna in Costantinopoli96 il V. P. Giudici, & arrivano li seguenti. P. D. Giovanni Battista Monti Milanese. P. D. Giacomo Antonio Marzi Cremonese. Tutti tre carcerati con catene, tra le quali muore il P. Giudici; gl’altri due posti in Galera da’ Turchi.97 P. Gaetano Alessandri Bergamasco. Liberati quelli due, arrivano tutti trè in Giorgia 1647. P. D. Gaetano de Luca di Molfetta. In Giorgia 1647. Prefetto, ritrovò in Gori li P. P. Lamberti, Castelli, Alessandri, Monti, e Marzi. P. D. Francesco Mellica Torinese. In Constantinopoli 1649. per passar in Giorgia. P. D. Andrea Borromeo Milanese. P. D. Giuseppe Zampi Mantovano. 1652. In Giorgia furono uno appresso l’altro, Prefetto. P. D. Pietro Girgenti Palermitano. P. D. Andrea Nesta di Molfetta. In Giorgia 1662. Fratello Carlo Giuliani. P. D. Giacomo de Vicariis Salernitano. In Mingrellia 1668. ò 1669. P. D. Giuseppe Maria Torricella Palermitano.

Sic! According to Castelli it was the Polish king John Casimir who contributed to release the imprisoned missionaries proposing to the sultan an exchange of prisoners. Cf. Pedone, Cristoforo Castelli…, p. 70r. 96 97

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Fratello Francesco Goffredo. 1669 in Mingrelia col ritorno del Padre Zampi. P. D. Honorato Drago Nizzardo. P. D. Francesco Bezzi Ravvennate.98 1679. In Mingrellia. P. D. Gaetano Turco Veronese. P. D. Gaetano Rasponi Ravennate. 1681. 14 Decembre in Mingrellia. P. D. Gaetano Gavazza Ferrarese. 1691. in Mingrellia. [handwritten] Per le guerre tra quelli genti non si è mandato Missionario alcuno.

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Section IV INTERCULTURAL CONTACTS AND DOMESTIC AGENDAS

Damian Jasiński Toruń

STORIES FROM AFAR AND A LOCAL STAR: THE EASTERN IMAGERY IN THE DIALOGUES BY SULPICIUS SEVERUS AND HIS VIEW ON THE CHURCH IN GAUL

Introduction The ascetic movement originated in the late third century in the East, especially in Egypt, and its emergence is attributed to such figures as Antony the Hermit – hero of the first Christian biography (Vita Antonii by Athanasius of Alexandria) – and Pachomius, the founder of a number of large monasteries in Upper Egypt. Tales of Eastern ascetics reached Western parts of the Mediterranean where Eastern models of asceticism were soon adopted, a fact which has attracted much attention from scholars. Indeed, there is a sizeable array of sources that permit one to observe the transmission of ideas across the Roman empire which, at that time, was struggling to keep its waning political unity and was also suffering from ever deepening cultural divides. The Christian monastic movement and the related traffic of ideas, however, constituted a crucial link between the diverging worlds of the Latin West and the Greek East.1 The present paper will focus on a particular example of cultural transmission (or, rather, of using foreign cultural models for domestic agendas) that can be seen in the writings of Sulpicius Severus. We will be primarily examining the Dialogues – although with some recourse to the Chronicle and Vita Martini – for comparisons of East and West, in order to learn how the author viewed the bishops and clergy of Gaul against the background of Eastern ascetic saints.2 It would appear that he ventured to compare the incomparable, the saintly ascetics of Egypt with the worldly priests of Gaul, in order to enhance his literary portrayal of his favourite saint: Martin, bishop of Tours. The 1 C. Rapp, ‘Hagiography and monastic literature between Greek East and Latin West in Late Antiquity’, [in:] Cristianità d’Occidente e Cristianità d’Oriente (secoli VI – XI): Settimane di Studio del Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo 51 (2004), pp. 1221–1280. 2 This article at its inception was greatly inspired by studies of J. Gribomont [esp. ‘L’influence de l’Orient sur les débuts du monachisme latin’, [in:] Saint Martin et son temps: Memorial du XVIe centenaire des débuts du monachisme en Gaule, 361–1961, Rome 1961, pp. 137–149; ‘Panorama des influences orientales sur l’hagiographie latine’, Augustinianum 24 (1984), pp. 7–20, and ‘Le traduzioni. Girolamo e Rufino’, [in:] Patrologia, vol. III: Dal Concilio di Nicea (325) al Concilio di Calcedonia (451). I Padri latini, A. di Berardino (ed.), Genua–Milan 2002, pp. 187–240] and A. de Vogüé [Histoire littéraire du mouvement monastique dans l’antiquité, vol. 4: Sulpice Sévère et Paulin de Nole (393–409); Jérôme, homéliste et traducteur des ‘Pachomiana’, Paris 1997, esp. pp. 93–156].

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following paper will thus be divided into three parts: the first will deal with the issue of poverty, the second with the question of ‘heresy’ or ascetic practice (referring to the Priscillianist and the Origenist controversies) and the final part will present instances of the explicit juxtaposition of Martin with Eastern saints. Suplicius Severus, a Gallic aristocrat, was the first Latin author to have written a fullfledged biography of a holy man who lived in the West. The saint in question was Martin, bishop of Tours, who was still alive when Suplicius published his Vita Martini most probably in 396;3 Martin had been famous for his miracles, and also for being the founder of monastic institutions. The account of his death, in 397, and of several post-mortem miracles was given in three letters, penned soon after, which complement the Vita. With this, however, the literary output of Sulpicius did not end. He is also known as the author of two other, slightly later works. One is the historiographical Chronicorum libri duo (ca. 403),4 while the other – entitled Gallus, or The Dialogues on the life and virtues of Saint Martin, written ca. 403/4045 – takes the literary form of a dialogue, and continues in the hagiographical vein on the virtues of St Martin. If we are to believe its author, over the span of only a few years, the fame of Martin’s life spread so widely across the Mediterranean that another work was envisaged to promote further the accomplishments of the saint and also to confound those who tried to discredit his memory. The Dialogues were written with this in mind, with a special emphasis on the view of the hagiographer, that no Eastern saint is greater than Martin.6 The scenery for the Dialogues is set in Sulpicius’ villa, where three main characters engage in a lively, edifying conversation over the course of two days. Sulpicius appears as the main narrator, relating the stories told by two other interlocutors (both disciples of Martin): Postumianus, just returned from his journey in the East, and Gallus. After some introductory courteous exchanges between the participants, Sulpicius asks Postumianus for his account on his travels, thus setting the agenda and providing a key for understanding the dialogue: How flourishing is the Christian religion in the East? How far are the faithful left in peace? What of the monks and their ways? What sort of wonders and miracles does Christ work through his servants? For quite certainly in this country the conditions of life are such as to make life itself a burden to us. It would be very pleasant to hear from you that in the desert, at any rate, life is possible for Christians.7

These are, in fact, the general themes of Sulpicius’ writing. There is also a sort of wistful hankering for the ‘desert’, which appears as the only place where Christian religion Sulpice Sévère, Vie de Saint Martin, J. Fontaine (ed.) [Sources Chrétiennes 133–135], Paris 1967–1969 [VM]. Sulpice Sévère, Chroniques, G. de Senneville-Grave (ed.) [Sources Chrétiennes 441], Paris 1999 [Chron.]. 5 Sulpice Sévère, Gallus: Dialogues sur les ‘Vertus’ de Saint Martin, J. Fontaine (ed.) [Sources Chrétiennes 510], Paris 2006 [Dial.]. 6 C. Stancliffe, St. Martin and His Hagiographer: History and Miracle in Sulpicius Severus, Oxford 1983. On the literary agenda of the Dialogues, see: esp. pp. 80–85. On the development of St Martin’s cult, see: A. Scott McKinley, ‘The first two centuries of saint Martin of Tours’, Early Medieval Europe 14 (2006), pp. 173–200; R. Van Dam, Saints and Their Miracles in Late Antique Gaul, Princeton 1993, pp. 13–28. 7 Dial. 1, 2, 2: qualiter in Oriente fides Christi floreat, quae sit ibi sanctorum quies, quae instituta monachorum, quantisque signis ac virtutibus in servis suis Christus operetur. Nam certe quia in his regionibus, inter ista quae vivimus, ipsa nobis vita fastidio est. Libenter ex te audiemus, si vel in eremo vivere Christianis licet. The English translation in this article is mostly taken from F. R. Hoare, at times with only slight modifications by DJ (Sulpicius Severus et al., The Western Fathers, New York 1954). 3 4

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may flourish, as opposed to the ‘world’ (including his native Gaul), where supposedly it was so hard to live a proper Christian life. It is also worthwhile to note Postumianus’ carefully-worded question: ‘May I first hear from you whether all the bishops who were here when I left are still as we knew them before I set off?’ Sulpicius’ reluctant answer is an evident expression of his disappointment with the local Church leaders and also sets the tone for what is to follow in the dialogue.

Poverty It is significant that the comparison of the West with the East begins by looking at the clergy and their attitude towards property. The fact that such a topic was chosen for the beginning of Postumianus’ account implies the importance of this particular issue. Postumianus recounts that on his sea route to Alexandria, as the sailors were struggling against the unfavourable wind, the ship was anchored near the desert coast of Cyrenaica. The conditions of living there were very hard because of the arid climate, but the land was still inhabited. He made a short trip a bit further inland and found a hut in which an old man lived, who was extremely happy to learn that his visitor was also a Christian, and offered him and his companions a frugal meal. They stayed with this hermit for a week, and were stunned to hear that he was also a priest: The next day some of the population began to assemble, to get a look at us, and we discovered that our host was a priest, a fact that he had most carefully concealed from us. Thereupon we set off with him to the church, which was about two miles away (…). It was made of interwoven branches of the commonest kind and was hardly more ambitious than our host’s hut, in which it was impossible to stand up. We made inquiries about the ways of the people and noted one particular fact, that they neither buy nor sell anything. Nor do they know the meaning of fraud and theft. As for gold and silver, to which the ordinary mortal gives pride of place, they neither possess them nor want to possess them. In fact, when I offered the priest ten gold pieces, he shrank back from them, protesting, with a deeper wisdom than mine, that gold could break a Church sooner than build it.8

The hermit’s reticence to disclose his priestly status must have been surprising for Postumianus; it has to be said, however, that in the literary accounts, it served as a standard way to manifest one’s humility. His church, made of twigs or some similar material, also greatly surprised his guests. There is also a note on the way of life of the locals, specifically the fact that they did not engage in trade and had no respect for worldly riches. This somewhat idyllic view was, later in the Dialogues, confronted with the day-to-day reality of the Gallic Church as Sulpicius saw it. The first entirely unveiled comment on the life of the Gallic clergy appears after a long sequence of edifying tales told by Postumianus, which present the interlocutors with some vignettes of pious Christian life in the desert. It seems as if the story-teller could not hold his indignation at the way in which the Gallic priests behaved, and the passage in question is certainly one of several places where Martin’s hagiographer is at the peak of his ability to give vitriolic comments on the clearly un-exemplary life of

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Dial. 1, 5: (…) refugit, altiore consilio protestatus; Ecclesiam auro non instrui, sed potius destrui.

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contemporary clergy. Regarding the composition of the whole work, it can be found in the part concerning two particular vices, namely pride and vanity: But let him only become one of the clergy, and then he will not wait to be eminent for either good works or virtue, before he broadens his fringes, takes delight in being saluted, swells with pride at all his visitors, and himself goes visiting everywhere. Whereas formerly he would go about on foot or on a donkey, now he rides grandly on foaming horses. Before this he was content with a filthy little cell; now he builds lofty panelled ceilings and constructs numerous reception-rooms, with carved doors and painted cabinets. He will have no coarse clothing but wants the softest garments and demands as tribute from his dear friends among the widows and from his intimates among the virgins that one weaves him a good stiff cape and hood and another a flowing cloak. But let us leave this to be described more bitingly by that good man Jerome…9

All this ranting and raving about the customs of the clergy ends with a remark uttered by Gallus that there is nothing left for Jerome, the monk of Bethlehem famous for his quick-tempered language, to comment upon in a more biting manner.10 Another story which offers a grim vision of the clergy is found at the beginning of the second book of the Dialogues, where Gallus becomes the main speaker.11 Gallus, who was a disciple of Martin, begins his account of Martin’s miracles with a story concerning poverty and riches – just as Postumianus had in the previous book. The fact that Sulpicius makes both speakers begin their testimonies in this way is certainly not a coincidence and must have been significant to his readers. This is the story that Gallus tells: it happened once, that a half-naked beggar, trembling with winter cold, asked Martin – already the bishop of Tours – for some clothing. The bishop ordered his archdeacon to help the poor man immediately and went to the sacristy. The order, however, was not carried out and the beggar complained to the bishop who, without delay, removed his own tunic, gave it to him and told him to go away. A little later the archdeacon came and asked Martin to go out and celebrate the mass, but the bishop objected saying that ‘the beggar (meaning himself) must first be clothed’. The deacon replied that there was no beggar waiting for help (he could not see that Martin had nothing beneath the liturgical vestments), but his superior insisted that the clothes be brought, for surely there would be someone in need. The senior cleric obeyed, although ‘seething with rage’, fetched a shaggy and cheap piece of clothing and threw it angrily at the bishop’s feet. Martin, who again made sure that nobody saw him, put it on and went to the church to celebrate the Eucharist. Even though this passage was primarily intended to glorify Martin’s charity towards the poor, it is also rich in scathing allusions to the life of the clergy. The clerics, in fact, are portrayed as being impervious to empathy and concentrated only with their own benefit. When Martin – as related in the passage described above – goes to pray in solitude, the priests sit in another sacristy, ‘either spending their leisure in exchanging Dial. 1, 21, 3–5: Caeterum cum neque opere neque virtute conspicuus sit, si quis clericus fuerit effectus, dilatat continuo fimbrias suas, gaudet salutationibus, inflatur occursionibus, ipse etiam ubique discurrit; et qui ante pedibus aut asello ire consueverat, spumante equo superbus invehitur. Parva prius ac vili cellula contentus habitare, erigit celsa laquearia, construit multa conclavia, sculpit ostia, pinguit armaria, vestem respuit grossiorem, indumentum molle desiderat, atque haec charis viduis ac familiaribus mandat tributa virginibus; illa ut byrrhum rigentem, haec ut fluentem texat lacernam. Verum haec describenda mordacius beato viro Hieronymo relinquamus. 10 R. Goodrich, ‘Vir Maxime Catholicus: Sulpicius Severus’ use and abuse of Jerome in the Dialogi’, The Journal of Ecclesiastical History 58 (2007), pp. 189–210. 11 Dial. 2, 1. 9

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greetings or busy with handling their business affairs’.12 It is also in this passage, where we can sense another allusion, even though it is more subdued, to the extravagance of some ecclesiastical dignitaries, who were puffed up to such extent, that they used in the church an actual throne to sit, whereas Martin was content to use a simple rustic stool. There are two other stories in Gallus which demonstrate Martin’s approach to the virtue of poverty. Towards the end of the Dialogues, there is an account of the healing of the household of the former dignitary Lycontius who, in return for the grace obtained through Martin’s intercession, sent to him one hundred pounds of silver. This generous gift caused some ambivalence on Martin’s part, for he ‘neither spurned, nor accepted’ the sum in question. Before it even reached the threshold of the monastery, the bishop ordered it to be spent on redeeming the captives. To the objections of some of his brothers, (‘the food was scarce for all, and clothes needed for many’) he curtly replied: ‘Let the Church give us both food and clothing, as long as we do not appear to seek anything for our own purposes’.13 Another example of his attitude to receiving gifts may be found in a passage describing Martin’s relationship with the secular authorities: the emperor [Valentinian] ‘several times invited him to come and talk or to dine with him; and when eventually Martin was going away he made him many presents. All of these, however, the blessed man refused, ever careful to preserve his poverty’.14 This time, there was no question of even tentatively accepting the gift for the benefit of the poor or for redeeming the captives – receiving money from the emperor by the bishop was unacceptable for the hagiographer. Although neither of these stories refers directly to Eastern practices, given that almsgiving was the hallmark of early Christianity throughout the Roman empire, it is interesting to view these passages in the light of the story of the hermit-priest of Cyrenaica. The mysterious self-sufficiency of the local community and their disengagement from commerce is certainly idealistic, but it must have sounded familiar to the readers of The Life of Martin, who might recall the description of the monastery at Marmoutier, just on the outskirts of Tours, Martin’s episcopal see. Sulpicius also discusses the work performed there by the monks.15 The life of poverty and the practice of almsgiving appealed to him more than the supposedly un-exemplary life of the clergy, whom he slurred especially on account of their approach to property. Not only were they rich enough to afford an extravagant display of their wealth, but they were also too stingy to distribute alms to the poor. Unlike the unnamed hermit in Cyrenaica, the Gallic priests had no qualms about flaunting their dignity by excessive display of wealth and status. The former, on the contrary, preferred to keep his priesthood in secret. It is worth noting, however, that we do not hear anything else in Sulpicius’ work on any other examples of non-monastic clergy. It appears as if the author wished to impose Eastern monastic standards of life as a blueprint for the clergy in general; it is there, he seems to say, in the East, among the monks in the deserts of Egypt, that the priests and deacons of the Church in Gaul should look for their models of Christian life. But it is Dial. 2, 1, 2: vel salutationibus vacantes, vel audiendis negotiis occupati. Dial. 3, 14, 6: Nos, inquit, Ecclesia et pascat et vestiat, dummodo nihil nostris usibus quaesisse videamur. 14 Dial. 2, 5, 10: quae vir beatus, ut semper, paupertatis suae custos, cuncta reiecit. 15 VM 10, 6: Nemo ibi quicquam proprium habebat, omnia in medium conferebantur. Non emere aut vendere, ut plerisque monachis moris est, quicquam licebat. 12 13

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significant that Sulpicius does not point the attention of his readers toward the priests or the bishops of the East. Is this a mark of his attitude toward the leaders of the contemporary Church, that they could be divided into those who embraced the ascetic way of life and others who had a more reserved attitude toward asceticism?

Priscillianism and Origenism The very next stage of Postumianus’ monastic journey is his stay at Alexandria, where he witnesses a culmination of recent controversies concerning the works of Origen, the famous theologian, who died ca. 254, but whose voluminous writings were still hotly debated long after his death. What Postumianus claims to have witnessed was a ‘most unpleasant feud going on between the bishops and the monks’16 which occurred as a result of the synods where bishops forbade reading Origen’s works or even owning volumes which contained his writings.17 When these and similar assertions were put in evidence by the bishops, the passions of the rival parties led to rioting. When the authority of the bishops failed to suppress this, a sinister precedent was set by calling in the civil governor to enforce discipline in the Church. The terror that he inspired dispersed the brethren. The monks were forced to flee in all directions; in fact, under the edicts that were published, they were not allowed to settle anywhere.18

Sulpicius had a nuanced approach to Origenist writings and gave a brief but informative account of his views on this matter.19 On the one hand, Origen for him was a true genius, equal to the Apostles in guarding the orthodox faith, but on the other, ‘concerning the issues for which he is rightly censured, no one has been convicted of more shocking errors’.20 In Sulpicius’ opinion, the most deplorable result of Origenist controversy was not the theological uproar which it eventually caused, but the spirit of dissension within the Christian communities and the lamentable decision of the bishops to reach out to the secular power to intervene in Church affairs. It is worth paying attention to the words Sulpicius ascribes to Postumianus: Whether Origen’s opinion was, as I myself think, only a mistake or whether it is a heresy, as it is supposed to be, not only was it not such as could be suppressed by any number of episcopal censures, but it could never have spread so widely without the stimulus of controversy. Such then were the disturbances that were agitating Alexandria when I arrived there. For my part, I was given a very kind reception by the bishop of the city, in fact a better one than I was expecting. He even tried to get me to stop on there with him. But I was not at all inclined to settle in Dial. 1, 6, 1: foeda inter episcopos atque monachos certamina. Stancliffe, St. Martin, pp. 307–311. 18 Dial. 1, 7, 2: Cum haec atque alia istius modi ab episcopis proderentur, ex studiis partium orta seditio. Quae cum reprimi sacerdotum auctoritate non posset, scaevo exemplo ad regendam ecclesiae disciplinam praefectus adsumitur. Cuius terrore dispersi fratres ac per diversas oras monachi sunt fugati, ita ut propositis edictis in nulla consistere sede sinerentur. 19 There is a substantial corpus of sources for the study of the controversy, see esp. the study by E.A. Clark, The Origenist Controversy: the Cultural Construction of an Early Christian Debate, Princeton 1992. 20 Dial. 1, 6, 5: in ea vero, qua iure reprehenditur, nemo deformius doceatur errasse. On Sulpicius’ approach to the Origenist controversy, see: G. Van Andel, ‘Sulpicius Severus and Origenism’, Vigiliae Christianae 34 (1980), pp. 278–287 and Stancliffe, St. Martin, pp. 265–296. 16 17

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a place seething with bitterness after the calamities so recently inflicted on the brethren. For even though it can perhaps be said that they ought to have obeyed the bishops, that was not a sufficient reason for the infliction of such hardships, particularly by bishops, on such a host of men living under the banner of Christ.21

It is curious that Postumianus is portrayed as if he expected less of a warm welcome from the bishop; indeed, it might seem to the reader of the Dialogues, that there is nothing good to be expected from a bishop, unless the bishop in question is Martin of Tours. There are only two positive remarks on other Gallic bishops in Martinian writings;22 furthermore, the bishops are especially to be blamed for persecuting their fellow Christians with the hands of secular power. Their hot-headed reaction to theological speculation only exacerbated the tensions already present within the Church. The authority of bishops suffered greatly in Sulpicius’ eyes, which may have been the reason for using the highly reserved tone when describing the need to obey their decisions (‘etsi fortasse videantur…’). Were there similarities between this issue and the situation in Gaul? Here the evidence in Sulpicius’ writing is even more telling than in the case of the approach to property. To some extent, the account of the Origenist controversy in Postumianus’ story may well be a straightforward relation of the events in Egypt, and a simple tale of the East in its own right. But this tale must also have had a special meaning to the readers in Gaul. For Sulpicius, including this incident in his account (in addition to being an attempt to cleanse himself of suspicions of heresy and to secure his standing in the first league of Christian intellectuals writing in Latin) must have been prompted by the desire to make further comments on the state of the churches in Gaul. In order to better understand the use of the Eastern stories in Sulpicius’ writing, it is necessary to be aware of the context in which the Dialogues were written. At the time when Sulpicius was writing his Dialogues, the Christian communities in Gaul – and especially their bishops – were at odds over an issue that had culminated almost twenty years earlier and had brought about a painful rupture in the unity of the Church. The issue in question was the sequence of events related to the emergence and proliferation of the Priscillianist movement which, despite the trial and execution of its leader, Priscillian of Avila – which occurred at Trier in 385 at the behest of the emperor Maximus and was, reportedly, the first state-run execution of a ‘heretic’ in the Latin West – had not died out. Details concerning the teachings of Priscillian and the spread of his ideas can be found elsewhere,23 but here it is important to note that, as it would later happen in Alexandria (see the literary account of Postumianus, above), the involvement 21 Dial. 1, 7, 4–6: Sed tamen sive ille error est, ut ego sentio, sive haeresis, ut putatur, non solum reprimi non potuit multis animadversionibus sacerdotum, sed nequaquam tam late se potuisset effundere, nisi contentione crevisset. Istius modi ergo turbatione, cum veni, Alexandria fluctuabat. Me quidem episcopus illius civitatis benigne admodum, et melius quam opinabar, excepit et secum tenere temptavit. Sed non fuit animus ibi consistere ubi recens fraternae cladis fervebat invidia. Nam etsi fortasse videantur parere episcopis debuisse, non ob hanc tamen causam multitudinem tantam, sub Christi confessione viventem, praesertim ab episcopis oportuisset adfligi. 22 Apart from Martin’s mentor, Hilary of Poitiers (VM 5–7), the other two are Victricius of Rouen, Martin’s friend in episcopacy, together with the bishop of Chartres, Valentinus (Dial. 3, 2, 4). There is also a reference to some saintly Egyptian bishops (episcopi sanctissimi) who come to visit a hermit in the desert (Dial. 1, 20, 3). 23 See esp. the introduction (with exhaustive bibliography) to the recent English translation of Priscillian’s writings: Priscillian of Avila: The Complete Works, M. Conti (ed.), Oxford 2010, pp. 1–5.

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of the secular power in judging the issue resulted in bitter divisions among the bishops on the grounds of their political allegiances. The main source for these events is another work by Sulpicius Severus. In the second book of his Chronicle, which he may have been writing at the same time as the Dialogues, he inserted an extensive account of this ecclesiastical movement, which seems to have started in the early 370s. Priscillian, who came from the Spanish nobility, was very rich, well educated and exceptionally outspoken; he gathered an impressive number of followers by means of his example and teaching.24 In comparison to the scanty account of Priscillian’s views on theological debates of the time, the issue of ascetic practice preached by the Spanish aristocrat appears to have been of more importance to Sulpicius. The hagiographer of Martin of Tours, in his historiographical work, was clearly ambiguous on the matter (even if we bear in mind his favourable attitude towards monasticism), but he evidently disapproved of the way in which it had been dealt with by the Church officials, working in pitiable conjunction with secular authorities. It is notable that Sulpicius remarks, in his vignette of Priscillian, that he could ‘keep long vigils, persevere through hunger and thirst, he was very little intent on property, and frugal in using what he owned’. These are the most obvious traits of Christian asceticism, and it seems that the author of the Chronicle would have called him a legitimate follower of Christ, had it not been for his ‘vanity and being puffed up more than acceptable because of his secular knowledge’.25 His preaching, however, was successful in terms of the number of his followers, from both aristocratic circles and popular masses, even if his humility was false. He also earned a wide reputation among some ‘depraved’ Spanish bishops; it was at this point when other ecclesiastical leaders tried to prevent the spread of this ‘disease’ but, from the outset, Sulpicius describes their efforts as extremely clumsy. The first attempt at banning Priscillian was made (in his absence) at the council of Zaragoza in 380. He was excommunicated, but two sympathising bishops ordained him bishop of Avila. Their opponents took action and brought the case to the emperor Gratian, who ordered the ‘heretics’ banished from his realm. Priscillian, with his supporters, then sought recourse in Italy, trying to win such figures as the pope Damasus and Ambrose of Milan – who, according to Sulpicius had ‘the greatest authority [among bishops] at the time’ – to his cause, but to no avail. Through connections in the imperial chancery, however, Priscillian and his party managed to get the sentence of banishment revoked and returned to their churches in Spain. Meanwhile, power in Gaul had been taken over by Maximus and, in 384, the issue was reconsidered at the council in Bordeaux; Priscillian was unwilling to undergo interrogation by other bishops and appealed to the emperor. For Sulpicius this was itself unseemly, but the compliant attitude of the bishops (nostrorum inconstantia) in accepting this request seemed even more outrageous to him. The chronicler was particularly annoyed by the leniency of bishop Ithacius, the main adversary of the then bishop of Avila. He includes a passage on Itha-

Chron. 2, 46–51. Chron. 2, 46, 3–5: familia nobilis, praedives opibus, acer, inquies, facundus, multa lectione eruditus, disserendi ac disputandi promptissimus, felix profecto, si non pravo studio corrupisset optimum ingenium; prorsus multa in eo animi et corporis bona cerneres. Vigilare multum, famem ac sitim ferre poterat, habendi minime cupidus, utendi parcissimus sed idem vanissimus et plus iusto inflatior profanarum rerum scientia. 24 25

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cius, which is all the more scathing because the bishop in question had been trying to charge Martin of Tours with heresy. Thus, then, all whom the process embraced were brought before the king. The bishops Hydacius and Ithacius followed as accusers; and I would by no means blame their zeal in overthrowing heretics, if they had not contended for victory with greater keenness than was fitting. And my feeling indeed is, that the accusers were as distasteful to me as the accused. I certainly hold that Ithacius had no worth or holiness about him. For he was a bold, loquacious, impudent, and extravagant man; excessively devoted to the pleasures of sensuality. He proceeded even to such a pitch of folly as to charge all those men, however holy, who either took delight in reading, or made it their object to vie with each other in the practice of fasting, with being friends or disciples of Priscillian. The miserable wretch even ventured publicly to bring forward a disgraceful charge of heresy against Martin, who was at that time a bishop, and a man clearly worthy of being compared to the Apostles.26

This description of Ithacius as a clearly ‘unholy’ Church leader explicitly states that he was no ‘monk-bishop’. Sulpicius’ portrayal of Priscillian, however, is fairly favourable, especially when compared to that of Ithacius. With this, the catalogue of episcopal vices did not end. Having described the circumstances of Priscillian’s trial, the capital judgment on the charge of sorcery and his subsequent execution, Sulpicius proceeds to offer more general comments on ecclesiastical affairs in the wake of this controversy. Ithacius was deposed, Priscillian was executed (although his body, as that of a martyr, was transported to Spain and buried with much veneration), but the dissension continued. Here is what the chronicler had to say on the matter, which are in fact the last words of what has been preserved of his historical work: And that conflict, after being sustained for fifteen years with horrible dissension, could not by any means be set at rest. And now all things were seen to be disturbed and confused by the discord, especially of the bishops, while everything was corrupted by them through their hatred, partiality, fear, faithlessness, envy, factiousness, lust, avarice, pride, sleepiness, and inactivity. In a word, a large number were striving with insane plans and obstinate inclinations against a few giving wise counsel: while, in the meantime, the people of God, and all the excellent of the earth were exposed to mockery and insult. 27

The historical work of Sulpicius thus ends on a grim note. Two negative features deserve particular attention (in reference to the passages previously commented upon): inconstantia, which is the reverse of Martin’s principal trait, duly underlined by his hagiographer, and factio, which may be rendered as ‘skewed solidarity’ or ‘a spirit of partisanship’ and constituted for Sulpicius an extremely disgraceful charge.28 In the Chron. 2, 50, 1–4: (…) ausus etiam miser est ea tempestate Martino episcopo, viro plane Apostolis conferendo, palam obiectare haeresis infamiam. While referring to the Chronicles, I quote the translation by A. Roberts ([in:] A select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, second series, vol. 11, Michigan 1978, pp. 71–122). 27 Chron. 2, 51, 8–11: At inter nostros perpetuum discordiarum bellum exarserat, quod iam per quindecim annos foedis dissensionibus agitatum nullo modo sopiri poterat. Et nunc, cum maxime discordiis episcoporum omnia turbari ac misceri cernerentur cunctaque per eos odio aut gratia, metu, inconstantia, invidia, factione, libidine, avaritia, arrogantia, somno, desidia depravata, postremo plures adversum paucos bene consulentes insanis consiliis et pertinacibus studiis certabant; inter haec plebs Dei et optimus unus quisque probro atque ludibrio habebatur. 28 Cf. Chron. 2, 37, 7, where, while discussing the Arian controversy, Sulpicius left a remark on some dissenting bishops (coacti metu et factione in studia partium concesserant). 26

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local Gallic context these allusions were undoubtedly aimed at some very recent dissensions among ecclesiastical leaders. A considerable part of the Dialogues is devoted to Martin’s entanglement in the Priscillianist controversy. The relevant chapters (Dial. 3, 11-13) recount the events which followed the execution of the recalcitrant preacher (and bishop of Avila). The bishops gathered around Ithacius, the instigator of the opposition against Priscillian, and lingered for some time in Trier under imperial protection. Following their advice, emperor Maximus sent his tribunes to Spain so that they could search for heretics and, when found, deprive them of life and wealth. The hagiographer disapproved of this imperial order, because it would affect certain monastic communities, with no consideration for their faith. He emphasized that it was hard to distinguish a Priscillianist from a monk of unsuspected orthodoxy, especially as, in the administrative routines of the day, decisions were made on the basis of how pale one was or what clothes one used to wear. This policy was clearly not to Martin’s liking and the plotting bishops were well aware of that. They were terrified to learn that the bishop of Tours was about to arrive to Trier with some petitions to Maximus, and they tried to prevent him from entering the city unless he declared that he was in communion with them. They were anxious that many would follow their adversary on account of his ‘firm stand’ – his constantia. Martin circumvented this appeal and managed to get to the court and meet the emperor. Among other requests, he forcefully insisted that the tribunes should not be sent to Spain with the right to impose capital punishment, to which Sulpicius offers the interesting comment: ‘for in his kindly anxiety he wished to save not only Christians, some of whom would be molested if this plan were carried out, but the heretics as well.’29 A bishop defending people accused of heresy would have been exceptional indeed, and this fact was pointed out by other ecclesiastical leaders of the so-called Ithacian party. While appealing to Maximus they insisted that Martin was no longer a defender of the heretics but their avenger, and that the death of Priscillian would be of no use if the bishop of Tours took revenge.30 Sulpicius again adds a remarkable comment: ‘indeed Maximus came very near to being persuaded to condemn Martin to share the fate of the heretics’.31 From the point of view of the bishops – and perhaps of Maximus as well – Martin’s stance on the matter was verging on heresy, and in Sulpicius’s account it was only his reputation for sanctity that saved him from harsher measures. The emperor tried to talk him into communion with the Ithacians, but when this initiative foundered, Maximus was enraged – he declined all Martin’s petitions and sent executioners to those for whom the bishop had interceded. In these circumstances, Martin relented and acquiesced to join in communion with the bishops, although he was at least able to abstain from confirming this with his signature. It coincided with the day of the episcopal ordination of Felix to the bishopric of Trier, and Martin was clearly present for the event. The day after, he ‘abruptly left the city’ but, on his way back to Tours, he was caught by remorse. He sat down and ‘went over and over in his mind the causes of his pain and of actions he had taken, ruminating his thoughts which alternately accused or defended him’. Sulpicius resorts to introduce an angelic vision instead of commenting on the 29 Dial. 3, 11, 9: Pia enim erat sollicitudo Martino, ut non solum Christianos, qui sub illa erant occasione vexandi, sed ipsos etiam haereticos liberaret. 30 Dial. 3, 12, 1: nihil actum morte Priscilliani si Martinus exerceat illius ultionem. 31 Dial. 3, 12, 2: nec multum aberat, quin cogeretur imperator Martinum cum haereticorum sorte miscere.

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matter more explicitly. The words uttered by the angel emphasize the risk that Martin had taken: ‘Martin, you have reason to feel compunction, but you had no other way out of your predicament. Rebuild your courage, get back your equanimity; or you will be soon imperiling not only your renown but your salvation’.32 As a result of his momentary communion with the Ithacians, he saw his power of working miracles considerably diminished. He exorcised with more effort and ‘grace flowed less lavishly’33 which, as he explained with tears to his disciples, was a consequence of his being too lenient with subservient bishops. For Sulpicius, no excuses for that one-day communion were satisfactory; he consistently defines Martin’s decision as ‘evil’ or ‘pernicious’. In the opinion of the hagiographer, the usually unswerving ‘firm stand’ of the saint suffered considerably in this affair. But it must be pointed out that nowhere in his account does Sulpicius imply that Martin’s failing was his penchant for Priscillianism; this, in itself, caused no anxiety to the hagiographer. In his description, the greatest shortcoming of Martin in that particular situation was to condescend, even for a short while, to the political involvement of the bishops groveling at the imperial court. If Sulpicius were to have condemned any party, he would have been more favourable to the followers of Priscillian, with whom he shared the enthusiasm for ascetic life, than to the opposing bishops who teamed up with Ithacius and blemished their reputation by appealing to the secular power to judge in ecclesiastical matters. Although his description of the controversies in Egypt is not as detailed as his report on the Priscillianist affair, it appears that for Sulpicius there was a striking similarity between Origenist and Priscillianist polemics. In both cases, the controversy pitted bishops against leaders of ascetically oriented Christian communities and, in both cases, secular power had become involved to judge the issue. Sulpicius acknowledges that bishops are to be obeyed – he does not even dare to suggest otherwise – but he also points out that bishops did occasionally take excessive measures against monks; this disruption of unity in the Church, together with the involvement of the secular power, must have been especially deplorable for him.

Explicit comparison Apart from the themes of poverty and the liberty of the Church from secular interventions, there is one further way – perhaps the most obvious of all – in which Sulpicius used images of Eastern piety to emphasize the figure of Martin of Tours. The author was confident enough to declare openly, as the main speaking character of the Dialogues, that no Eastern saint was greater than Martin: I could not help noticing that whereas each of your Egyptians performed one kind of miracle, this one man of ours did more than all they did. You certainly told us some very remarkable things

32 Dial. 3, 13, 4: Merito, inquit, Martine, compungeris; sed aliter exire nequisti; repara virtutem, resume constantiam, ne iam non periculum gloria, sed salutis incurreris. 33 Ibidem: tardius quam solebat et gratia minore curaret.

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but – if I may say so without offence to these holy men – there was absolutely nothing that I heard from you in which Martin was not their equal.34

The main reason for Martin’s superiority was the fact that he had to profess his Christian faith under circumstances considerably less favourable than those faced by the hermits of Egypt. Not only did Martin’s episcopal role involve dealing with broader society – something an ascetic living in isolation would experience only rarely, if at all – but the attitudes of this society to him were, in many cases, antagonistic. What is more, in Sulpicius’ view, it was the bishops and other clergy – that is, his colleagues – who made his life harder. For this reason, Martin’s efforts to persevere in his ‘firm stand’, and his various miracles, must be appreciated more than the accomplishments of Egyptian monks. Sulpicius viewed these holy men as venerable spiritual masters but, at the same time, as specialists in their own restricted fields; Martin, on the other hand, encompassed many virtues in his life and surpassed all Eastern saints: For when they perform those undoubtedly marvellous feats we hear of, they are free from all entanglements and have only heaven and the angels looking on. Martin, on the other hand, moved among crowds and in the haunts of men, amidst quarrelling clergy and raging bishops, and harassed by almost daily scandals on every side.35

The hagiographer takes an image from military life to illustrate his comparison: if an army wins a battle, ‘the glory of it cannot be the same for all’, because not all fought on equal terms; the same can be said for the bishop of Tours who, in the view of his biographer, fought ‘on unfavourable ground and yet came out victorious’. Sulpicius’ reasoning culminates in the terse conclusion that ‘no one can be compared with Martin’. A similar argument, although based more on the local Gallic context, is put into the mouth of Postumianus, who mitigated his enthusiasm for Eastern saints at the mere mention of Martin’s virtues. Neither the monks, nor the bishops and the clergy, who had been portrayed as notorious for their misdemeanours could be compared with the bishop of Tours: As long as I live and think at all I shall speak with admiration of the monks of Egypt, sing the praises of the anchorites, marvel at the hermits; but I shall always put Martin in a class by himself. There is no monk I would dare to compare with him and certainly no bishop!36

And yet, it appears striking even for that monastic traveller that, despite being such an eminent saint, Martin was so despised by the Gallic episcopate. With the passage below, the author of the Dialogues seems to be inviting his readers, most notably the Gallic bishops, to view themselves in the mirror of the virtues of Martin of Tours. There seems to be no more need of Eastern examples, when it comes to the saint who was near at hand and yet misunderstood and persecuted, not unlike a prophet in his own land:

Dial. 1, 24, 1–3: omnia illa quae singuli diversa fecissent, per unum istum facile completa. Nam cum excelsa retuleris (quod mihi dixisse liceat pace sanctorum), nihil a te penitus audivi in quo Martinus esset inferior. 35 Ibidem: (…) iste in medio coetu et conversatione populorum, inter clericos dissidentes, inter episcopos saevientes, cum fere cotidianis scandalis hinc atque inde premeretur (…). 36 Dial. 1, 26, 1: Ego vero quoad vivam et sapiam, Aegypti monachos praedicabo, laudabo anachoretas, mirabor eremitas, Martinum semper excipiam: non illi ego quemquam audebo monachorum, certe non episcoporum quempiam comparare. 34

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All the more pitiable is this land of ours, which has had so great a man within its borders and has been so unworthy of him that it has not known it. In this accusation I do not include the people; it is only the clergy, only the bishops, who are so ignorant; and they in their envy had good reason to ignore him, for they had only to know of his virtues to discover their own vices (…). But those unhappy men, unworthy men, men half-asleep! What they cannot do themselves puts them to shame when it is done by Martin, and they prefer denying his spiritual powers to acknowledging their own inertness.37

With these sorrowful remarks the narrative passes to the voice of the other storyteller, Gallus, and the rest of the Dialogues is filled mostly with his discourse. The final word of the work belongs to Sulpicius and they are addressed to Postumianus, who is keen to return to the East, where he would spread ‘the name and the fame of Martin’ across the Mediterranean. He is urged to take there Sulpicius’ admonishment that ‘although Egypt can be proud of the numbers and of the miracles of its saints, it must submit to being told that Europe will not take second place to it, nor to Asia, for the sufficient reason that Europe possesses Martin’.38

Conclusions While analyzing Sulpicius’ literary output, we have examined three aspects in which Eastern ascetic masters are compared with the leaders of the Gallic Church; the towering figure of Martin of Tours emerges as the only righteous and truly ‘apostolic’ bishop.39 The author appears to compare the incomparable, juxtaposing the desert Christians of Egypt and Cyrenaica to the clergy of Gaul, who are characterised as being too attached to worldly riches. Furthermore, the comparisons of East and West are inextricably linked with stringent criticism of Gallic bishops and priests. It is evident that the author was not much concerned to provide his readers with an accurate portrait of the Eastern ascetics, because he did not wish to draw too much attention to them. The main objective of the Dialogues was to praise Martin’s virtues and, to this end, he used an image of the Eastern ‘Desert Fathers’ that best suited his propaganda. At the time when Sulpicius was writing the Dialogues, the fame of Egyptian ascetics was already well known in Gaul. The first figure we know of, who may have brought to the West stories of Antony the Hermit and other saintly heroes from the desert, was Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria, who stayed in exile in Trier in 335–337. It is from there, about fifty years later, that word of this bishop’s Life of Antony reached Augustine of Hippo, as recounted in a famous episode of his Confessions.40 Pilgrims who travelled to the East, like Egeria in the 380s, brought back with them news of the monastic way of life that they saw with their own eyes. The bishops exiled to the East in the wake of the Arian controversy, including Hilary of Poitiers – the mentor of Martin of Tours, 37 Dial. 1, 26, 3: quo miserior est regio ista nostra, quae tantum virum, cum in proximo habuerit, nosse non meruit. Nec tamen huic crimini miscebo populares: soli illum clerici, soli nesciunt sacerdotes. Nec immerito nosse illum invidi noluerunt: quia si virtutes eius nossent, sua vitia cognovissent. (…) Sed infelices, degeneres, somnolenti, quae ipsi facere non possunt, facta ab illo erubescunt, et malunt illius negare virtutes quam suam inertiam confiteri. 38 Dial. 3, 17, 7. 39 See esp. VM 20, 1. 40 Augustine, Confessiones VIII, 6, 14–15.

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according to Sulpicius – almost certainly served as another channel of communication. Literary profusion on this topic in the first decade of the fifth century could also be seen in the ascetic literature being translated from Greek into Latin by such eminent Church writers as Rufinus of Aquileia and Jerome, both of whom embraced some sort of ascetic life.41 Their correspondent and a refined Latin poet, Paulinus of Nola, through his letters (the addressee of about a quarter of his extant letters was no other than Sulpicius Severus42) and through hospitality at his estate in Campania also contributed to the spread and reworking of monastic ideas in the Latin West.43 Clearly, the fame of Egyptian masters was already widespread, and Sulpicius could hardly have passed it over in silence. Martin’s hagiographer, as far as we can guess, never visited Egypt. The traffic of monastic ideas, however, was so heavy that his writings are ultimately a product of this cultural transmission. The Dialogues are different from other similar contemporary works in Latin; they were not written to publicize the figures of Eastern monks in the West, but rather to use the images of the East in the domestic agenda, to criticize the clergy more severely, and to exalt the memory of Martin of Tours.

Among other works, Rufinus translated into Latin an anonymous Greek text called Historia Monachorum in Aegypto (in 403) and Asketikon by Basil the Great, while Jerome translated a collection of Pachomian writings. 42 D. Trout, Paulinus of Nola: Life, Letters, and Poems, Berkeley 1999, p. 212. 43 Ibidem, pp. 239–243. 41

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‘WHEN THE TURK ROAMED AROUND BELGRADE’: THE OTTOMANS’ ADVENT TO THE HUNGARIAN BORDERLANDS IN THE PRE-MOHÁCS FLUGSCHRIFTEN

Introduction Pitocles of Samos once related that Pericles, the famous Athenian orator, had such a great gift of eloquence and such a power of arousing emotions that – as related in the ancient comedies – it was believed that he did not talk nor have a voice, but rather caused lightning and thunder. He exercised this special gift not only to create a sense of awe about what he had to say, but he also practised it each time new obligations caused him to voice his concerns in public. This great orator, who by the brilliance of speech penetrated peoples’ minds, bid them to fear the consequences of his oration.1 This erudite episode, told in elegant, humanistic Latin, opens an oration by Francesco Chiericati (1480-1539)2, who sought to produce a similar effect on the delegates present at the Diet of Nuremberg on 19 November 1522. The thunderous tone of Chiericati’s oration, given at the Diet shortly after the fall of Belgrade (1521) and fall of Rhodes (1522), was characteristic for the spokesman of Pope Hadrian VI (1522-1523) and, at the same time, of Hungarian king Louis II (1516-1526), whose kingdom was believed to be the next target of the Ottoman army. Chiericati’s speech, warning about the approach of the ‘the Turk’3 and Luther’s schism, was disseminated in the form of a brochure in at least four

Francesco Chiericati, Oratio habita Nurimbergae in senatu Principum Germaniae.xiii. Cal. Decembris, M.D.XXII, [Augsburg: Sigmund Grimm and Marx Wirsung, 1522], A3v. 2 The years given in parentheses provide the dates for the reigns of popes, emperors, sultans and kings; in all other cases only the date of birth and death of the particular person is provided. 3 ‘The Turk’ (lat. Turci, Turcae), is a term used in early modern written sources to describe the elites of the Ottoman Empire and its subjects, as well as numerous varied Turkic peoples. In most usages, the term reflects a rather monolithic image of the Ottoman Empire, called Turcia or Turckey, and its inhabitants. In today’s scholarly literature the use of the term could interfere with drawing a complex image of the Empire, which was an organism encompassing different ethnic, religious and linguistic groups, as well as people of highly varied social status. The early modern authors, however, held the opinion that the Turks were a unified group, sharing the same origins. When referring to this conception, I will therefore use the term ‘the Turk’ and, in drawing the historical background, I will apply the term ‘Ottomans’ (which is how the ruling group of the Empire identified itself) and ‘Ottoman Empire’. 1

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editions and two language versions shortly after it was delivered in Nuremberg.4 This ‘flying writing’ quickly reached the hands of both the most prominent intellectuals – including Erasmus (ca 1466-1536) – and also of the anonymous burghers of the Holy Roman Empire, imprinting on them a particular interpretation and articulation of the Ottoman issue. An attempt to answer the question of how such broad circulation was possible and what the significance of the Flugschrift in the information traffic at the time would have been, is the main objective of this paper. The following study approaches the role of Flugschriften within the communication process, and examines the consequences of the production and consumption of these ‘flying writings’. It offers a closer look at the processes, their main agents (authors, translators, printers, readers etc.) and the resulting media (such as original texts, translations, prints etc.). What follows is then a literary and historical investigation that attempts to understand who participated in this cultural transfer, but also how and why: who produced images of Ottomans, what were these images about, in which circumstances could they have been constructed, and for what reasons? Who popularized them in the urban centres of the early modern Holy Roman Empire and what purposes did they serve? Which channels of communication did the producers use, and what role did oral sources play in creating an up-to-date vision of the ‘enemies of Christendom’? The question of how these Flugschriften were produced and used in the ‘Turkish debate’ will in turn allow for reflections on their reception among different groups of readers. The selected source-base encompasses three texts widely disseminated by the Flugschriften printed around 1522: an oration of Francesco Chiericati, an oration of Ladislaus de Macedonia (ca 1479–1536), and an anonymous fictive dialogue between a Turk, a Gypsy, a German hermit and a Hungarian5; all three offer rich sources for the present study. On the one hand, they show the means used to construct the image of ‘the Turk’ and, on the other, the circumstances in which this cultural representation was voiced (in the Imperial Diets) and manufactured (in the urban centers of the Holy Roman Empire and the Swiss Confederacy). These texts also provide an insight into the civic landscape of the German-speaking territories in the first quarter of the sixteenth century, a period characterised by the outbreak of debates on social and cultural reformations, on the Reformation propagated by Martin Luther (1483–1546), on the ‘Turkish threat’ and on news about the ‘New World’. Much has already been said in current scholarship about the representations of the Ottomans and of Islam in Medieval and Early Modern Europe. It has been convincingly demonstrated that their imagery was culturally and chronologically specific, and that it depended on a complex net of social, religious and geo-political factors as well as cultural fashions and literary traditions.6 It moved between the two poles of open 4 For the description of editions and variants see: Verzeichnis der im deutschen Sprachbereich erschienenen Drucke des 16. Jahrhunderts, hrsg. von der Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek in München in Verbindung mit der Herzog August Bibliothek in Wolfenbüttel (quoted lates as VD 16), I. Bezzel (ed.), 22 vols, Stuttgart 1983–1995, entries: C 2235–2241. 5 Francesco Chiericati, Oratio habita Nurimbergae…; Ladislaus de Macedonia, Oratio habita Norimbergae coram Senatu Principum et omnium Ordinum Sacri Ro. Imperii, pro expeditione in Turcos suscipienda, iii.Ca[l].Decembr. M.D.XXII, [Nuremberg: Friedrich Peypus, 1522], (VD16 M 19–20; VD16 ZV 10219); Turcken puechlein. Ein Nutzlich Gesprech oder vnderrede etlicher personen zu besserung Christlicher ordenung vnd lebens gedichtet. In die schweren leüff dieser vnser zeyt dienstlich..., [Basel: Valentin Curio, 1522], (VD16 T 2233–2238, VD16 ZV 28152). 6 Among them were such contemporary phenomena as prophetic and eschatological thinking (see for example: U. Adnermann, ‘Geschichtsdeutung und Prophetie. Krisenerfahrung und Bewältigung am Beispiel

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admiration and fierce hostility, with all possible modalities in between. The rich academic production on this subject includes numerous nuanced and perceptive interpretations of the images of the Ottomans in the Hungarian and German-speaking areas, which demonstrate that the notion of ‘the Turk’ could be easily multiplied and transformed according to domestic agendas and also, thanks to the print medium, effectively disseminated.7 The Flugschriften actively contributed to this promulgation. Dozens of Flugschriften concerning the Ottomans were printed in the German-speaking regions during the first quarter of the sixteenth century.8 Turning attention towards the ‘pamphlet moment’ – marked by the peak of their production between 1522 and 15259 – one sees a wide range of social tensions and a network of actors involved in der osmanischen Expansion im Spätmittelalter und in der Reformationszeit‘, [in:] B. Guthmüller, W. Kühlmann (eds.), Europa und die Türken in der Renaissance, Tübingen 2000, pp. 29–54; Y. Miyamoto, ‘The influence of medieval prophecies on views of the Turks. Islam and apocalyptism in the sixteenth century’, Journal of Turkish Studies 27 (1993), pp. 125–145), crusade ideology (N. Housley, ‘A necessary evil? Erasmus, the crusade, and war against the Turks’, [in:] J. France, W.G. Zajac (eds.), The Crusades and their Sources: Essays Presented to Bernard Hamilton, Aldershot 1998, pp. 259–279), the struggle for ‘common reformation and right order’ as it was called on the pages of Turcken puechlein… (fol. C3v; analysis of this tendency is well presented by: G. Strauss, ‘Ideas of reformatio and renovatio from the Middle Ages to the Reformation’, [in:] T.A. Brady, H.A. Oberman, J.D. Tracy (eds.), Handbook of European History 1400–1600: Late Middle Ages, Renaissance and Reformation, vol. 2, Leiden, New York and Cologne 1995, pp. 1–30, with comprehensive bibliographical references to the earlier scholarship), theological polemics (M. Brecht, ‘Luther und die Türken’, [in:] B. Guthmüller, W. Kühlnann (eds.), Europa und die Türken in der Rennaissance, Tübingen 2000, pp. 9–27; M. Iyigun, ‘Luther and Suleyman’, Quarterly Journal of Economics 123/4 (2008), pp. 1465–1494; J. Kritzl, ”Adversus turcas et turcarum deum”. Beurteilungskriterien des Türkenkrieges und des Islam in den Werken Martin Luthers, Bonn 2008), the background of Habsburg-Ottoman rivalry (See: G. Ágoston, ‘Information, ideology, and limits of imperial policy: Ottoman grand strategy in the context of Ottoman-Habsburg rivalry’, [in:] V.H. Aksan, D. Goffman (eds.), The Early Modern Ottomans: Remapping the Empire, Cambridge 2007, pp. 75–103, esp. 97–98; 100–103; idem, ‘Ideologie, Propaganda und politischer Pragmatismus: Die Auseinandersetzung der osmanischen und habsburgischen Grossmächte und die mitteleuropäische Konfrontation’, [in:] M. Fuchs, T. Oborni, G. Újvári (eds.), Kaiser Ferdinand I: Ein mitteleuropäischer Herrscher, Münster 2005, pp. 207–233; J. Elliott, ‘Ottoman-Habsburg rivalry: the European perspective’, [in:] H. İnalcık, C. Kafadar (eds.), Süleymân the Second and his Time, İstanbul 1993, pp. 165–174), and the reflection of travelers’, spies’, and captives’ knowledge about the Ottomans (see for instance: A. Höfert, Den Feind Beschreiben. “Türkengefahr” und europäisches Wissen über das Osmanische Reich 1450–1600, Frankfurt am Main 2004). 7 Among more recent English- and German-language works concerning image of the Ottomans in Hungary are: P. Fodor, ‘The view of the Turk in Hungary: the apocalyptic tradition and the red apple in Ottoman-Hungarian context’, [in:] idem (ed.), In Quest of the Golden Apple: Imperial Ideology, Politics, and Military Administration in the Ottoman Empire, Istanbul 2000, pp. 71–103, esp. 76–81, A. Forgó, ‘Überlegungen zum Wandel des Osmanenbildes im Königreich Ungarn der Frühen Neuzeit’, [in:] G. Haug-Moritz, L. Pelizaeus (eds.), Repräsentationen der islamischen Welt im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit, Münster 2010, pp. 75–95; J. Jankovics, ‘The image of the Turks in Hungarian renaissance literature’, [in:] B. Guthmüller, W. Kühlnann (eds.), Europa und die Türken in der Rennaissance, Tübingen 2000, pp. 268–273. There are numerous studies on the representations of Ottomans in the German-speaking territories, here suffice to mention only the newest ones that touch upon Flugschriften such as: S.R. Falkner, ‘Perverted spaces: boundary negotiations in early-modern Turcica’, [in:] J.R. Hodkinson, J. Morrison (eds.), Encounters with Islam in German Literature and Culture, Rochester 2009, pp. 55–72; A. Höfert, ‘Alteritätsdiskurse: Analyseparameter historischer Antagonismusnarrative und ihre historiographischen Folgen’, [in:] G. Haug-Moritz, L. Pelizaeus (eds.), Repräsentationen der islamischen Welt im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit, Münster 2010, pp. 21–40; T. Kaufmann, “Türckenbüchlein”: zur christlichen Wahrnehmung “türkischer Religion” in Spätmittelalter und Reformation, Göttingen 2008. Each of these contributions contains references to the earlier sholarship. 8 Cf. C. Göllner, Die europäischen Türkendrucke des 16. Jahrhunderts, 1501–1550, Bucharest 1961, pp. 19–130. 9 ‘Pamphlet moment’ is an expression taken from: A. Pettegree, Reformation and the Culture of Persuasion, Cambridge 2005, p. 165; cf. with the graph in J. Schwitalla, Flugschrift, Tübingen 1999, p. 55.

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the a wide debate concerning the bonum commune, ways of achieving prosperity in the whole empire and in civic communities. Among them, brochures reporting on the approach of the Ottoman army toward the Hungarian Kingdom hold an important place. These Flugschriften, on the one hand, spread the information that functioned on the highest level of politics, and that involved the Pope, the Habsburgs and the Hungarian king; on the other, they transmitted to German-speaking burghers accounts of the Sultan’s army based on reports from inhabitants of the border-zones. They refer to different informers and the sources of information they use, and give a prominent place to the first-hand accounts. The military encounter between the armies of Süleyman I the Magnificent (1520– 1566) and the defenders of Belgrade, umb Kriechischen Weissenburg, as the German-language sources report, is echoed in all three texts from the selected source corpus. The siege of the city, quite apart from its military significance, signaled important changes within the cultural and political map of Europe. Belgrade was considered the key to the Hungarian kingdom, and its fall opened a new chapter in Ottoman-Hungarian relations, which concluded with the battle of Mohács (1526) and the establishment of the Ottoman rule in 1541.10 On the level of intercultural history, this new phase may be characterized by shifts in Ottoman imagery and by the importance of the role of the intermediary. In both, Hungarian witnesses played an important function; as the main participants in the event, its victims and its corroborators, the Hungarians intermediated in the transfer of information about the Ottoman advent both within the German-speaking areas and, more broadly, to the citizens of the international Respublica litteraria. This role brought the fifteenth-century concept of ‘bulwark of Christendom’11 back to the foreground, and introduced a debate that consolidated a particular type of cultural and political identity which distinguished Hungarian elites from the mid-fifteenth century up to the modern era.

Turkish booklets The short verse, placed on the title page of the popular fictive dialogue between a Turk, a German hermit, a Gipsy and a Hungarian, printed in 1522, explains the function of the pamphlet: 10 G. Pálffy, ‘The Habsburg defense system in Hungary against the Ottomans in the sixteenth century: a catalyst of military development in Central Europe’, [in:] B.L. Davies (ed.), Warfare in Eastern Europe, 1500–1800, Leiden 2012, p. 36; F. Szakály, ‘Nándorfehérvár 1521. The beginning of the end of the medieval Hungarian kingdom’, [in:] G. Dávid, P. Fodor (eds.), Hungarian–Ottoman Military and Diplomatic Relations in the Age of Suleyman the Magnificent, Budapest 1994, pp. 47–76. 11 The concept functioned in numerous contact-zones (such as Croatia, Georgia, Serbia, PolishLithuanian Commonwealth) from the early fifteenth century onwards. In the Hungarian Kingdom of the sixteenth-century, the idea was articulated by different names, such as propugnaculum Christianitatis, scutum atque murus Christianae fidei, antemurale Christianitatis, murus et clipeus fidelium. For the overview of the problem see: L. Hopp, Az “antemurale” és a “conformitas” humanista eszméje a magyar-lengyel hagyományban [The humanist notions of antemurale and conformitas in the Hungarian-Polish tradition], Budapest 1992, esp. pp. 44–62; I. Mihály, ‘Der ungarische Türkenkrieg als rhetorisches Thema in der Frühen Neuzeit‘, [in:] W. Kühlmann, A. Schindling (eds.), Deutschland und Ungarn in ihren Bildungs- und Wissenschaftsbeziehungen während der Renaissance, Stuttgart 2004, pp. 93–107; J.J. Varga, ‘Europa und “Die Vormauer des Christentums”. Die Entwicklungsgeschichte eines geflügelten Wortes‘, [in:] B. Guthmüller, W. Kühlman (eds.), Europa und die Türken in der Renaissance, Tübingen 2000, pp. 55–63.

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A Turkish booklet I am called And desire to be to Christians known, To make them turn to the better And thus the Turks repel.12

The word Püchlin, mentioned in the lines above – or, in the more standard version, Büchlein (literally small book or booklet) – was used in sixteenth century to denote what today is called Flugschrift (pl. Flugschriften), often rendered from German as a brochure, a pamphlet print or, more literally, a ‘flying writing’.13 Such prints were produced almost exclusively in the quarto format and contained a modest number of pages, generally not exceeding sixty. As the predecessor of the modern booklet, it was used to transmit different types of texts such as orations, letters, fictive dialogues and various dispatches on current political and social matters. Relatively cheap, quick to produce, and easy to disseminate, they functioned – in a manner not dissimilar to today’s brochures – as a convenient medium for polemics, agitation and publicity. It is for this reason that the Flugschrift has become an especially attractive subject within recent studies on the communication process, transfers of knowledge and public opinion in pre-modern Europe. Most of the Flugschriften were anonymous; however, the level of anonymity can be varied. In the cases of the orations of Ladislaus de Macedonia and Francesco Chiericati, the name and distinction of the author are specified in detail. The author of Turcken puechlein, on the other hand, hides himself under the popular and meaningful pseudonym: ‘Philalethes’, the friend of the truth.14 The printer’s identity, as well as the name and location of the printing press, are not provided in most of the Flugschriften. It is estimated that no more than a third of the published pamphlets indicated the printer along with the date and place in which they were printed.15 This estimate is reflected in the group of three pamphlets under discussion, out of which only the German translation of Ladislaus’ oration informs the reader about the printer and place of publication. Whereas the lack of such information gave the printer a chance to avoid the consequences of censorship and copyright law (known at the time as the ‘printing privilege’, the exclusive right to publish a work for a certain period within a particular territory16), their inclusion could serve as an advertisement technique. Production of Flugschriften was a lucrative business in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, especially between 1522–1526, when they became the preferred medium of printed public communication in the German speaking territories. Texts from this period report on theological controversies, on the debate surrounding social issues, as 12 Das Türcken püchlin bin ich genant / Und beger den Cristen werden bekant / Domit Sy sich zu besserung keren / Und dester das des Tuercken erweren: Turcken puechlein… A1r. 13 Cf. J. Schwitalla, Flugschrift, pp. 2–7. 14 This pseudonym was used inter alia by such influential contemporary figures as humanists Jakob Sobius (ca 1493–ca 1528), bishop of Vienna Friedrich Nausea (ca 1496–1552) and Dominican adversary of Luther, Jacob van Hoogstraten (1460–1527). Cf. A.F. Balogh, Eine Unterredung gegen die Türken: zweisprachige kommentierte Edition der deutschen Flugschrift VD 16:T2239, Budapest 2003, pp. 34–35. 15 J. Schwitalla, Flugschrift, p. 25. 16 J. Feather, ‘Copyright and the creation of literary property’, [in:] S. Eliot, J. Rose (eds.), A Companion to the History of the Book, Oxford 2007, pp. 522–523.

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well as on matters of local and supra-local interests. During these years, as J. Schwitalla observes, Flugschriften not only provide a commentary on what was happening, but are also creators of history themselves.17 It was not so much the Flugschriften as a medium, but rather the Flugschriften as collaborative projects that shaped the perception of contemporary events. The authors, printers and readers of the disseminated texts determined the selection and reporting of events. Between 1522 and 1526, all three groups were eager to pick up accounts on the Ottomans’ progress in the Balkans and the approach of their army toward German-speaking areas.

Accounts on the Ottoman-European encounters before Mohács Information concerning the Ottomans became especially sought after as the Ottoman troops drew closer to the Hungarian borders and became a potential danger for the Habsburg domains; during this time, all possible channels of communication such as printed ballads, laments, pamphlets, military reports, official letters, and apocryphal writings came into use. At this time, the information traffic from the Hungarian contact-zones also began to increase. Louis II and archduke of Austria Ferdinand I (1521–1564, Holy Roman Emperor 1558–1564) sent official letters to Charles V pleading for military and financial help to overcome the ‘Turkish threat’. Hungarian delegates crossed their kingdom and went also to German Diets, supported by the papal nuncios, in order to warn the Habsburgian rulers about the scale of the danger; all of this activity is reflected in the printed pages of Flugschriften around 1522–1526. Yet, there are numerous earlier signals of anxiety about ‘the Turks’, the earliest of which is perhaps the alleged letter of Byzantine Emperor Alexios I Komnenos (1081– 1118) to Robert II, count of Flanders (ca 1065–1111) dated to 1088.18 The unprecedented intensification of accounts regarding the ‘Turkish threat’, however, was a reaction to the fall of Constantinople to the forces of Mehmed II (1444–1446, 1451–1481), which had already been recorded in the first fully preserved European print known as the Turkish Calendar of 1454, attributed to the group of Gutenberg’s prints.19 The actions of his successors – Bayezid II (1447–1512) and Selim I (1470–1520) were also noticed in the Flugschriften.20 However, it was the military achievements of Süleyman I the Magnificent (1520–1566) in Europe – whom shortly after his succession, as we learn from the letter by the papal secretary to King Sigismund I of Poland (1506–1548), ‘many used to regard J. Schwitalla, Flugschrift, p. 1. ‘The Supposed Letter from Alexius Comnenus to Robert, Count of Flanders’, [in:] Robert of Reims, Robert the Monk’s History of the First Crusade: Historia Iherosolimitana, transl. C. Sweetenham, Aldershot 2005, pp. 215–222. 19 See: Der Türkenkalender: “Eyn manung der Cristenheit widder die Durken”; Mainz 1454; das älteste vollständig erhaltene gedruckte Buch, Rar. 1 der Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek, with commentary by F. Geldner, Wiesbaden 1975; E. Simon, The Türkenkalender (1454) attributed to Gutenberg and the Strasbourg Lunation Tracts, Cambridge (Mass.), 1988. 20 To mention only the printed version of Bayezid’s letter: Das ist die abgeschrifft von dem brief den der Türckisch Keyser dem kunig von Franckreich geschickt hat von wegen hertzogen von Mailand den er wider wil haben eingesetzt in sein furstenthumb Mailand oder er wil dem kunig vom Franckreich mit heres krafft in sein land ziehen, [Nuremberg: Hieronymus Höltzel, 1501]; and reflection of Selim’s conflict with the Shah of Persia: Der krieg zwischenn dem großmechtigen propheten Sophi T[ue]rcken vnd dem Soldan alle die ding die do geschehen seind in auffgang der Sonnen [et]c. Hat kundt gethan ein Christen Kauffman wonend zu Alexandria vnserm aller heyligisten vater dem Babst Im Jar M.CCCCC.vnd.Xvii printed at least in three editions in 1518. 17 18

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as unwarlike and peace-loving’21 – that were reflected most strongly in printed brochures from the first quarter of the sixteenth century. Süleyman’s political line – against the expectations of the papal Curia – followed the court party seeking for conquests in Europe, of which the successful siege of Belgrade (1521) was a spectacular beginning. The fall of this bulwark, the last major fortress guarding the way to Hungary, followed by the fall of several other strongholds between 1523 and 1525, left the Hungarian Kingdom unprotected.22 At the same time, the successful siege of the island of Rhodes (1522) opened the eastern Mediterranean basin for Süleyman’s campaigns. The Sultan’s victories over Belgrade and Rhodes, two Christian strongholds, were deeply imprinted in the imagination of the populace, and soon were mentioned together in one line in the contemporary sources. Almost four years later, the battle at Mohács was added to the list of miserable defeats of Christendom. The defeat of the Hungarian army and death of Louis II shook the European monarchs and their subjects, and strenghtened the negative image of Ottomans as reflected in the Flugschriften. The battle at Mohács opened a new chapter in the perception and representation of Ottomans in the German-speaking territories; however, as it was motivated by different political factors, it is a part of a different story.23 The battle of Mohács was preceded by a series of diplomatic missions and official meetings intensified by the fall of Belgrade and by a growing awareness of the Ottomans’ plans concerning the conquest of Hungary. Hungarian legates presented their pleas for support in Venice, at the Vatican, at the Imperial Diet in Worms (1521), the second Diet in Nuremberg (1522–1523), and the Diet in Speyer (1526). Apart from financial help from Hadrian VI and much belated military help from the Holy Roman Empire acquired after the Diet in Speyr, they met with little success. Diets in Nuremberg were convened to discuss the legal and institutional reform of the Empire, to address the Lutheran issue and to establish monopolies and taxation for the war against the Ottomans. The last two matters were of the highest interest for the Vatican legate Francesco Chiericati,24 and the last one was also of great importance for the embassy of Louis II, which involved Ladislaus de Macedonia.25

Orations of Ladislaus de Macedonia and Francesco Chiericati ‘Until nowadays, Hungary has been a shield and a wall for Germany’26, says a passage from the speech by Ladislaus de Macedonia who, as a legate elected by the Hungarian Diet to deliver on 19 November 1522 an oration pleading for military and financial K.M. Setton, The Papacy and the Levant, 1204–1571, Philadelphia 1976, vol. 3, p. 198. P. Engel, Realm of St Stephen: A History of Medieval Hungary, 895–1526, London 2001, pp. 367–368. The immediate aftermath of the siege of Belgrade is also mentioned in: Francesco Chiericati, Oratio habita Nurimbergae… and Ladislaus de Macedonia, Oratio habita Norimbergae… 23 Cf. C. Göllner, ‘Betrachtungen zur öffentlichen Meinung über die Schlacht von Mohács (1526)’, Revue Roumaine d‘Histoire 6/1 (1967), pp. 67–76. 24 See: A. Wrede (ed.), Deutsche Reichstagsakten unter Kaiser Karl V, Gotha 1901, vol. 3, pp. 383–452. The acts of the proceedings show the ways in which perception of Luther’s teaching depended on the context of the Ottoman advances in Europe. 25 Ibidem, pp. 319–383. 26 In Latin version: Qualis clipeus, qualis murus fuerit hactenus Hungaria Germaniae: Ladislaus de Macedonia, Oratio habita Norimbergae…, B4r. 21 22

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help against the Ottoman army, tried to show it as a common task for the whole of Christendom. The printed version of his speech was dedicated to Palatine of Hungary István Báthory (died 1530) and János Zápolyai (1487–1540) and was published both in Latin and in a German translation most probably in the same year. Ladislaus was a Hungarian humanist and the bishop of Várad. He was born perhaps in the village of Perjámos, to the noble family de Macedonia (from the name of the villages belonging to the family) residing in the Temes region.27 Not much is known about his studies or the early stages of his career; he most probably attended the university in Vienna, as was a habit of Hungarian young noblemen at the time, and then received promotion to archdeacon of Baranya and canonic of Pécs.28 In Pécs, Ladislaus became a part of the humanistic retinue of György Szatmári (ca 1457–1524), in whose circle he was able to tighten his connections with his relative István Báthory. The Palatine increased the speed of Ladislaus’ political career. He sent him to Poland in 1520 to mediate in the marriage negotiations with the family of Mazovian princess Zofia (ca 1497–1543) and afterwards recommended Ladislaus to the Hungarian king Louis II. In the 1520s Ladislaus was at the peak of his career, having been appointed bishop of Szerém. Ladislaus’ intellectual background and his personal network is reflected in the oration. In the opening sentences of the dedication, following the humanistic habit, the author writes that it was not his own initiative to have the speech printed, but that of his colleagues and fellows from the delegation: Steward of the Royal Household Péter Korlátkövi (ca 1480–1526), influential jurist and politician István Werbőczy (ca 1465– 1541), János Gethei, Zsigmond Pogány and Mihály Kenderesi, who forced him to do so.29 Then, he turns to Báthory and Zápolya and praises their merits and virtues in the fights against the Ottomans both for the benefits of the whole Christiandom and for the sake of the Hungarian kingdom. From the beginning of his oration, when calling for military help for the endangered kingdom, Ladislaus mixes an appeal for the common crusade with calls for the defence of Hungary. By referring to the idea of a crusade, he also alludes to the ambitions of the Habsburg Emperor to be seen as head of all Christendom. In this context, Ladislaus presents Hungary, on the one hand, as a bulwark of Christendom which for a hundred and fifty years has guarded and defended the entire Christian community and, on the other, as a faithtful ally of Charles’ V domains: ‘We are Christians, allies and friends of the Holy Roman Empire’.30 Although Ladislaus’ oration is heavy from the thick layer of anti-Turkish propaganda, in a fashion characteristic of the Hungarian court, it is also rich in information about the progress of Ottoman military campaigns in Asia and Europe. Several passages from Ladislaus’ oration resemble a military report providing details from the war zone, and Ladislaus presents the Ottoman intrusions into Hungary as the Sultan’s preparation for invading the Habsburg lands. The orator gives the following information: after the fall of Belgrade, the Ottoman army entered the Hungarian territories. It crossed the Danube and Sava, which posed a great risk of further I.K. Horvath, K.E. Obermayer, De Vita operibusque Ladislai de Macedonia, Szeged 1958, p. 11. Ibidem, p. 12. 29 Ladislaus de Macedonia, Oratio habita Norimbergae…, A3v. Apart from them, also János Gosztonyi, bishop of Győr and János Drágffy, were among the members of the Hungarian delegation: Deutsche Reichstagsakten…, p. 323, note 1. 30 Christani quippe sumus, socii et amici huius Sacri Romani imperii: Ladislaus de Macedonia, Oratio habita Norimbergae…, B2v. 27 28

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penetration of the Sultan’s soldiers into the Habsburg Empire. If they also took the Tisza and Drava rivers, there would be no other navigable river left until the Rhine, and the enemy would be able to access the German borders. The situation – continues Ladislaus – was not better on the other frontiers of Christendom. The Ottoman army held Lesser Armenia and Lesser Asia from the Euphrates to the Hellespont and Marmara seacoast; it occupied the whole of Greece with Epirus, Macedonia, Thesalia and Thracia, as well as Dalmatia and Illiria.31 These strategic considerations add an informative value to Ladislaus‘ oration which may have been intended to resemble a trustworthy report about the Ottoman progress in Hungary. Ladislaus fashions himself as a reliable and first-hand witness of the Hungarian-Ottoman encounter. The picture that he draws, as he says, is what he truly knows.32 Similarly, the oration by Francesco Chiericati, also delivered on 19 November, contributed to the transmission of information on the campaigns of the Sultan’s army. Chiericati however, does not position himself as an eye-witness to the Ottoman advance toward Europe, pointing instead to his Hungarian sources. These sources are the letters as well as the legates of the Hungarian King Louis II, who, according to Francesco, are well informed about Ottoman progress in the Hungarian borders.33 Many of these letters and orations were published34, but none of them could compete with the popularity of Chiericati’s speech, as the number of its editions suggests. Francesco Chiericati was born to a noble family of Vicenza, who maintained a close connections with the Gonzagas, and worked as a papal diplomat; he was an efficient politician with something of a humanistic background.35 He studied in Padua, Bologna and Siena, where he completed his studies of civil and ecclesiastical law. First in Siena, then in Rome, he was a protégé of various influential figures, including the archbishop of Salerno, Federico Fregoso (ca 1480–1541), Cardinal Sigismondo Gonzaga (1469–1525), Cardinal Matthäus Schiner (ca 1465–1522), Cardinal Adriano Castellesi (ca 1460–ca 1521) and Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici (1478–1534; from 1523 Pope Clement VII). His personal network included the most interesting figures of the time, including Egidio da Viterbo (1469–1532), Paolo Giòvio (1483–1552) and Erasmus. Chiericati participated in numerous diplomatic missions to England, Spain and Portugal, among other places. His most important political task was, however, connected to his participation in the Diet of Nuremberg, where he was sent to express the Pope’s concerns about the ‘Turkish threat’ and the danger of the heresies spread by Luther. Ibidem, B4r, C1r–C1v. When writing about the danger of the Ottoman approach to the navigable rivers and the German borders, he adds: Quod equidem sciam: ibidem, B3v. 33 Ibidem, B2r. 34 Apart from the oration by Ladislaus de Macedonia see inter alia: Girolamo Balbi, Oratio habita in Imperiali Conuentu Vuormacien Die tertia Aprilis. M.D.XXI.Per inclyti regis Hungariae et Bohemię oratores. [Augsburg: Silvan Otmar, 1521]; idem, Oratio in Imperiali Conuentu Bormaciensi Coram diuo Carolo Caesare, ac principibus totius Imperii, die Tertia Aprilis. 1521… [Vienna: Johann Singriener d.Ä, 1521]; Louis II, Des Künigs von Hungern sendprieff an Kayserlich Statthalter vnd Regiment Zugesagter hilff gegen Türkischer Tyrannei merung [et]c. betreffende, [Augsburg: Sigmund Grimm], (1523). 35 For the most detailed biography of Chiericati see: A. Foa, ‘Chiericati, Francesco’, [in:] Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, vol. 24, Roma 1980, pp. 674–681. This entry serves as the main source for the passages on Chiericati’s life in this paper. 31 32

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The printed version of his Oratio opens with a dedication to Hungarian king Louis II and with a preface justifying the publication of his speech. In the dedicatory paragraphs Chiericati explains that the main aim of having his oration printed was so that those who had not listened to the speech presented at the Diet would have a chance to understand, through frequent reading of his work, what they needed to do in the current struggles of Christendom.36 Then, addressing his words to Louis II, he says that the oration was given in order to help the Hungarian Kingdom, which is steadfastly defending itself against the wicked enemy.37 The proper oration, which opens with the anecdote about Pericles, revolves around the concerns of the Pope about the condition of the Christian community and the alarming situation of the Hungarian Kingdom facing Ottoman aggression. The conflicts between monarchs could hamper fighting off the common threats: divisions within the universal Church and the Sultan’s advances, claims the orator. The Pope has heard, says Chiericati, that Süleyman was so confident in his power and in the extent of his empire that he became unsatisfied with the dominion that had earlier belonged to his father – Asia, Greece, Illyria, Syria and Egypt – and had recently dared to invade the Hungarian Kingdom with its bulwark, Belgrade, and many other strongholds and towns.38 Also in need were the island of Rhodes, which had recently come under siege by the Ottoman fleet, and the Illyrian town Senj which, for the sake of its own defense, needed military and food supplies. It was the highest necessity of the situation that, as Chiericati claims, forced him to present his oration and to agree to its publication;39 it was the peril and ruin threatening the whole of Christendom40 that required funds to be raised for the Hungarian Kingdom. The oration consists of a few similar key phrases stressing the need of solidarity and pan-Christian action, which are repeated several times throughout the speech. The repetition of the crucial points, in the same or slightly changed form, is a feature characteristic for the pragmatics of successful communication and it was preserved in the printed version of the speech.41

Dialogue between a Turk, a Gypsy, a German hermit and a Hungarian The dialogic form, on the other hand, was chosen by the author of the Turcken puechlein, a critical account of German foreign and inner affairs that interweaves The original Latin passage reads: [Q]uo illi qui me orantem non audiuissent, possent ipsius saltem orationis frequenti lectione intelligere ea, quae sibi in praesenti Christianae reipublicae necessitate praestanda essent: Francesco Chiericati, Francisci Chaeregati… A2r: Whereas in the German translation the stress is put on the common aspect of overcoming threat against Christendom is even more clear [underlined by KM]: auff das die so much mundelich nit gehort mochten durche embsig lesen des selben vernemen was zusammen in gagenwerertiger gemains nutz der christenhayt not zu thyn sey: Francesco Chiericati, Des pabstlichen rhedners potschaft…, A2r. 37 Francesco Chiericati, Oratio habita Nurimbergae…, A2r–A2v. 38 Ibidem, B1r–B1v. 39 Ibidem, A3v. 40 Ibidem, B2r. 41 The features characteristic of oral communication are clearly reflected in the text by Chiericati: calling for the listeners’ attention and addressing arguments in the second person plural. They point to the communication situation, that of listening to a monologue. 36

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imperial politics with the realities of daily life in order to criticize the vices of current Christian society. The criticism is straightforwardly expressed by the protagonists, in the marginalia and in the opening verses. ‘The Christians are worse than the Turks’, indicates, for instance, the marginal note referring to the comparison of the Sultan’s reign and the political system of his Empire with the Christian kingdoms, given by the Muslim protagonist of the Turcken puechlein.42 The author of the dialogue, who uses the pseudonym Philalethes43, takes advantage of the mimetic features of the genre. The protagonists exchange opinions on the Christian and Muslim empires in the conversation, and they refer to news they have heard from particular informers. The statements expressed by the main characters of the text reveal the author’s good understanding of the situation on the borderland of Hungary, where the fictive conversation takes place. The dialogue starts with a short description of the circumstances of the meeting of a German hermit, a Hungarian, a Turk and a Gipsy: When the Turk roamed around Belgrade in the company of a Gypsy, he explored the neighbouring land of the Christians because the emperor of Constantinople wanted to invade them shortly using courageous forces with skillfulness and audacity.44

The Turk and the Gypsy are spying together at the Hungarian borders shortly after the siege of Belgrade, and while wandering around they meet the Hungarian and the German hermit. The protagonists are typified figures defined by a cluster of stereotypes. The hermit and the Hungarian are presented in a very positive light – they are brave and loyal to their countries. The Turk and Gipsy are characterized as cunning, untrustworthy and cruel. The graphic description of the protagonists fits well into the persuasive goals of the dialogue and the domestic agenda behind it. Similarly, the use of the vernacular, which possesses a larger mimetic potential than Latin, makes the text easily understandable. The context of the dialogue sheds further light on the pragmatic course of its message: the capacious slogan of a universal reformation and improvement of the ordinances. All the information given by the author of the pamphlet on Ottomans is subordinated to the call for the religious and social renewal. Despite the strong pro-Reformation content, this Flugschrift is a treasury of the popular knowledge about the Ottoman Empire and about the habits of the Sultans’ subjects. It is embedded in the long-standing tradition of the ethnographic descriptions of origins, social traditions and customs (origo, mos, consuetudo). Much attention is devoted to the discipline of ‘the Turks’, their religious conduct and social hierarchy. It is shown that Ottomans follow strict religious rules and are entirely dependent on the Sultan’s decision and orders. The reader learns about the Ottomans’ austere life style – sitting on the floor, moderate eating, abstention from alcohol – through comparison with the sumptuous habits of the Christians. Turcken puechlein…, B2r. On the discussion on the authorship see: Balogh, Eine Unterredung…, pp. 34–36. 44 Als der Turck umb Kriechischen Weissenburg hin und her weberte mit einem Zigeuner gelegenheit der anstossenden Christen land weiter zu erfaren damit sein Keiser von Constantinopel durch geeres krefften ynn kurtz mit geschicklickeit vnd dapfferen ernst weiter darein sich dringen möchte: Turcken puechlein…, A3r. 42

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Descriptions of Muslim social structures, customs and habits seek to answer the question: why did the Ottomans have an advantage over Christians? What should be improved in order to push the Ottoman army out of Europe? Detailed characteristics of the social structures, customs and internal problems of Germans, Hungarians, Venetians, Frenchmen, Englishmen, Greeks and other nations provide the reader with several answers. None of the social layers, the author suggests, are without responsibility for the current state of affairs. The protagonists demonstrate proof of the failings of the Pope and the other influential clerics, the emperor, the kings, governments, nobles, soldiers etc. Interestingly, one of the subjects discussed by the Hungarian and the hermit regards which media would most effectively agitate people’s hearts and minds in order to change the current, miserable state of affairs. The German discusses the usefulness of sermons and prints, and provides the reader with a list of beneficial titles, helpful authors and genres that should be read, all of which give hints about the corpus of influential texts on the Ottomans that were widely known in German-speaking territories during the pre-Mohács period. The text mentions the book on the good king by Sebastian Brant (1457–1521), the oration by Louis Hélian (fl. ca 1510), and two further speeches delivered at the Diet of Augsburg in 1518, one by papal legate Thomas Cajetan (1469–1534) and a second by Erasmus Vitellius (1474–1522), known as Ciołek, bishop of Płock. Afterwards, the text mentions Ulrich von Hutten’s (1488–1523) Admonition to the German Princes (Ermahnung an die deutschen Fürsten) – which was a response to two previous orations – along with the speech given by the Hungarian embassy at the Diet of Worms in 1521 and the poem by Jacob Locher Philomusus (1471–1528) published in 1521. The author concludes with ‘many other books written to oppress the Turks’45 leaving the list, in fact, open. The short overview of the titles shows the variety of genres that employed the ‘Turkish threat’ for polemical purposes, and the role of German diets in addressing these matters and bringing them into the public discussion. The first book mentioned in the list is the text by Sebastian Brant, which is an exhortation to the fight against the Ottomans and to recapture the Holy Land, addressed to Emperor Maximilian I (1493– 1519). Louis Hélian’s De bello suscipiendo aduersus Venetianos et Turcas Oratio (Oration on Waging the War against the Venetians and Turks ) is also addressed to Maximilian, who convened the Diet at Augsburg in 1510, at which this anti-Ottoman and anti-Venetian oration was presented in order to appeal to the German and French interests. Thomas Cajetan was advocating the Pope’s plans for a crusade and asking for German support for this idea; Erasmus Vitellius’s anti-Turkish oration was motivated by the interests of Polish king Sigismund I. Later on, the name of Ulrich von Hutten appears, who, apart from an exhortation against the Ottomans presented in a tone corresponding to the German interests of the time, was also one of the leading authors of the Reformationsdialogen.

45 Doctor Sebastians Brant buch von den guten Königen, aus herr Ludwig Helian von Vertzel Oration (…) auch aus herrn Thomas Cardinaln zu Caiet und herrn Erasmus Vitelli Bischoffen zu Plocen Oration und herrn Ulrichen von Hutten Declamation alle drey ynn dem funffzehenhunderten und XVIII iar zu Augspurg gedruckt. Der gleichen aus der Hungarischen Botschafft zirlichen rede gegen dem Römischen Reiche zu Wormbs iüngst geübet und herrn Iacobs Lochers Philomuse Poetischen geticht ynn den funffzehenhunderten und xxi iar ausgangen auch viel andern büchern so die Turcken zuuerfolgen geschrieben sind: ibidem, G2v. Balogh identifies most of the titles: Balogh, Eine Unterredung…, pp. 101–102.

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The list closes with the only lyrical work mentioned (most probably Exhortatio heroica)46 by Jacob Locher, and the oration of the Hungarian legates warning the delegates present at the Diet in Worms in 1521 about the urgency of defending against the Ottoman army.

Hungarian legates at the imperial diets The majority of titles mentioned in the anonymous dialogue refer to orations presented at the Imperial Diets in Augsburg or Worms, and show the importance of this assembly for the transfer of news on ‘the Turkish’ matter.47 The diets were a platform for the spokesmen of different political agents to spread information on the Sultan’s advances and to negotiate their anti-Ottoman policy. The diets brought together an audience of the powerful who could potentially act against the Ottomans, as well as orators equipped with rhetorical skills, interested in evoking their response, as was the case in the proceedings of 19 November 1522. The schedule of the November proceedings was focused exclusively on the Ottoman issue; they included the analyzed speech of the papal legate, followed by the oration of the Hungarian spokesman, and then orations from the Bohemian and Polish representatives, which were not preserved in printed form.48 The discussion about what action should be undertaken against the Ottoman army was continued with the arrival of archduke Ferdinand on 2 December, when the Hungarian as well as the Croatian and Bosnian legates were asked numerous questions concerning the current state of affairs.49 The next day, the Diet issued its rather restrained response to the Hungarian pleas, which was followed by a similar one three days later.50 Military promises of a more concrete nature were given on 9 December, however the range of offered help was disappointing to Ladislaus de Macedonia and his colleagues.51 Chiericati’s speech, given on 15 December, did not improve the situation and the new decisions presented 15 and 19 December also failed to meet Hungarian expectations.52 One week later the delegates left Nuremberg, dismayed by the final answer from the Diet’s representatives.53 It seems that shortly after the presentation of a speech it appeared in printed form. It is hard to say when exactly and by whom Chiericati’s and Ladislaus’ orations were first issued, but it is known that, as early as 28 November, Chiericati had already sent his printed Oratio to Italy.54 It is possible that Ladislaus de Macedonia followed his example

Balogh, Eine Unterredung…, p. 102, note 80. The media and functions of ‘the Turkish orations’ presented at the Diet of Augsburg are discussed by: L. Rüger, ‘Der Augsburger Reichstag von 1518 – ein Höhepunkt politischer Oratorik?’, [in:] J. Feuchter, J. Helmrath (eds.), Politische Redekultur in der Vormoderne: die Oratorik europäischer Parlamente in Spätmittelalter und Früher Neuzeit, Frankfurt am Main 2008, pp. 65–84. 48 Deutsche Reichstagsakten…, vol. 3, pp. 319–320. 49 Ibidem, pp. 320, 329–330. 50 Ibidem, pp. 331–333, 225–337. 51 Ibidem, pp. 337–338. 52 Ibidem, pp. 338–354. 53 Ibidem, p. 320. 54 The letter was addressed to his patron and friend, marchioness of Mantua Isabella d’Este (1474–1539): ibidem, p. 321, note 2. 46

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and handed the text of his talk directly to one of the German printers before his return to Hungary, but this remains mere conjecture. Such quick publication was possible due to the fact that the foreign legates brought with them to the diets well-composed written accounts, which were aimed to be read out in the presence of lay and clerical authorities: electors, princes and representatives of the estates. The presented speeches were written and refined in advance.55 Initially, the transfer of information took part between the orators and the audience present at the diet. Thanks to the printers, the issues discussed in the diets – that is, the political centers of the Empire – were subsequently made public and received attention in the cultural and economical centers of the Empire, that is the towns. The diets, therefore, constituted the first environment in which the Ottoman issues were raised as important political matters, but it was Flugschriften that actively participated in spreading the message and broadening the audience.

Communication channels The broadening of the audience involved a change of the medium and, in some cases, also change of language. The orations by Ladislaus de Macedonia and Francesco Chiericati, and the other speeches to which the author of Turcken puechlein alludes, were originally delivered in Latin, a language of diplomacy which was justified by its prestige, its cultural connotations and a ubiquitous comprehension among the elites of the time.56 The texts of orations were then simultaneously disseminated in both Latin- and German-language versions by the Flugschriften. Thanks to a wide circulation, the lack of real involvement from the diets’ participants did not stop the transmission of the orators’ message to the German-speaking audience. The validity of the witnesses’ accounts of the Ottoman advance to the Hungarian borders was recognized by the local readership. The proof of the trust put in this Hungarian first-hand experience may be seen in Turcken puechlein. Throughout the dialogue, Hungarians and Croatians are shown as informers about the organization of the Ottoman Empire. It is the Hungarian protagonist, who, to prove the trustworthiness of his statements about the Ottomans, says: ‘This I heard from those of ours who had been held captive in Turkey’.57 In the fictive conversation, Croats are also presented as a trustworthy source of information. The German hermit, when deliberating about the Ottoman Empire, adds ‘as I learnt from a Croat, who was by you Turks long kept imprisoned’.58 The information from the Hungarian legates was spread in German-speaking cities, which were the focal points of all communication channels – supra-regional and local,

55 T. Haye, ‘Die lateinische Sprache als Medium mündlicher Diplomatie’, [in:] R.C. Schwinges, K. Wriedt (eds.), Gesandtschafts- und Botenwesen im spätmittelalterlichen Europa, Thorbecke 2003, pp. 22–24. 56 Ibidem, pp. 19–22. 57 Hunger: ‘Denn ich von den unsern so ynn der Turckey etwan gefangen gewest… gehört’: Turcken puechlein…, C3v. 58 Einsidel: ‘als ich von einem Crabaten der lang bey euch Turcken gefenglich enthalten gewest vernommen hab’: ibidem, B2r. In turn, Christian fugitives are presented as the informers of the Sultan.

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oral and written, learned and common.59 These were the cities that provided the environment in which Flugschriften, and texts they contained, were manufactured and read. The colophon of the Flugschrift with the German translation of Ladislaus’ oration, which reads: ‘printed in the imperial town of Augsburg by doctor Sigmund Grymm’,60 contains a lot of information: it denotes the town in which the booklet was printed, its free imperial city status, as well as the name of the printer along with his social distinction. Such detailed information was not provided by the other Flugschriften discussed here. However, typographical and historical research enables one to attribute most of them to printers working in and for vibrant urban centers of the Holy Roman Empire such as Augsburg, Erfurt, Nuremberg and Strasbourg; or in Basel, the civic center of the Swiss Confederacy.61 The status of free city or that of an important academic center guaranteed favorable conditions not only for the printing business but also for intellectual activity. Anthony Grafton has portrayed the role of this connection in the life of the early modern intellectual elites – men of letters – and points out that an efficient printing market ‘gave men and women of letters their only power – publicity’62, which also assured a favorable economic and intellectual background for those printers with humanistic pretensions such as Sigmund Grimm (died ca 1532) or Valentin Curio (ca 1500–ca 1532).63 The biographies of those involved in the production of Flugschriten informing about the Ottomans suggest that printing was among the activities which civic intellectuals found suitable to their aspirations and academic education. The printers mentioned above were interested in disseminating Flugschriften reporting on the Ottomans’ 59 T.A. Brandy Jr., ‘The reformation of the common man, 1521–1524’, [in:] C.S. Dixon (ed.), The German Reformation, Oxford 1999, pp. 95–96. 60 Gedruckt in der khaiserlichen stat Augspurg: Ladislaus de Macedonia, Die hungerisch botschaft…, C3v. 61 According to VD 16 the Flugschriften under consideration could be attributed to the Augsburg printers: Sigmund Grimm working alone or with the company of Marx Wirsung (died after 1522), Jörg Nadler (fl. 1508– 1525) and the heirs of Erhard Oeglin (working ca 1522). Some of the discussed Flugschriften were identified as the products of the Basel printing houses of Valentin Curio (ca 1500–ca 1532) and Adam Petri (1454–1527), the Erfurt printing house of Matthes Maler (died 1536), the one in Nuremberg of Friedrich Peypus (ca 1485– 1535) and finally the one of the Strasbourg printer Johann Prüß the younger (fl. 1511–1546). Among these towns, only Erfurt was not granted the privilege of a free imperial city (Basel has this status before joining the Swiss Confederacy in 1501) but, as an important academic center, it had great intellectual and cultural resources at its disposal. 62 A. Grafton, Worlds Made by Words: Scholarship and Community in the Modern West, Cambridge (Mass.) 2009, p. 19. 63 Sigmund Grimm, before starting the printing business (ca 1517–1527), was a town physician and owner of a pharmacy (1507–1516). He studied in Freiburg in Breisgau and received the title of doctor of medicine. Around a year after establishing his printing house in 1518, he started a four-year collaboration with a rich merchant, Marx Wirsung, who sympathised with the teachings of Luther. His printing house was famous for publishing elegant books and musical prints as well as numerous reformation prints. Grimm’s intellectual aspirations led him to alchemy as well as to attempts to publish the works of Petrarch and Cicero: J. Benzing, Die Buchdrucker des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts im deutschen Sprachgebiet, Wiesbaden 1982, p. 16; E. Kelchner,‘Grimm, Siegmund’, [in:] Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie, vol. 9, Leipzig 1879, p. 690. The biography of Valentin Curio provides another example of a local intellectual devoted to the printing enterprise. He studied in Basel and then between 1521 and 1532 worked there as a printer. His printing house published numerous Latin- and Greek-language texts belonging to the corpus of the Artes Liberales. Among authors whose works he published were the contemporary humanists such as Jakob Ceporin (1499–1525), reformers like Luther and Philipp Melanchthon (1497–1560) as well as classical authorities such as Strabo, Lucian, Horace: V. Feller-Vest, ‘Curio, Valentin’, [in:] Historisches Lexikon der Schweiz, online version [access 03.12.2012], http://www.hls-dhs-dss.ch/textes/d/D29171.php.

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advance to the Hungarian frontier, in addition to respectable classical literature. They manufactured pamphlets corresponding to the needs of the time, along with humanistic literature that should always be of intellectual and moral value.64 The simultaneous publication in different urban centers of the same text regarding the Ottomans suggests, on the one hand, a general interest in information about the Sultan’s subjects and, on the other, the local scale of production of these pamphlets.65 Moreover, the local language variants traceable in the different editions and variants of Flugschriften indicate dissimilarities in linguistic specificity and expectations of the readership in a particular region, which the printers attempted to meet.

Latin original and vernacular translations Providing the reader with vernacular versions of Latin texts was one of the ways in which printers met the expectations of their varied target groups. Two out of the three texts analyzed in this paper were originally given in Latin and, soon after they had been printed, were translated into German. The speech of Ladislaus de Macedonia was written in the Ciceronian fashion, and the elegant Latin of Chiericati was additionally embellished with erudite comparisons and humanistic topoi. Most of the German-speaking elites, who were the addressee mentioned in the apostrophes of these orations, were fluent in Latin and were able to appreciate the refinement of the speeches. The fact that both language versions were functioning at the same time suggests that the printers had a ‘composite audience’ in mind or addressed them, to use the term by Maximilian Lanzinner, to different segments of public opinion: courts, estates and governments; the Church and theologians; towns and burghers; universities and intellectuals.66 Further clues about the target groups may be provided by evidence such as the marginalia. The printed editions of German translations of Francesco Chiericati’s speech and the editions of Turcken puechlein help the reader follow the content and quickly find the relevant passages of the texts when needed. Similarly the editions of Turcken puechlein have a useful system of guiding the reader, indicating the most important points of the text.67 The German edition of Ladislaus’ oration, although more complicated, also

64 Although scholars have repeated such suppositions (Cf. Schwitalla, Flugschrift, p. 25), the printers of the Flugschriften did not necessarily specialise exclusively in this type of publications. Similarly, they did not limit themselves to printing works either in vernacular or in the (neo)classical languages. On the contrary, many of them wished to offer their works to the widest possible cultural spectrum. 65 The second point might be explained by the high shipping costs and the copyright policies which did not yet function well at the time. 66 M. Lanzinner, ‘Kommunikationsraum Region und Reich’, [in:] J. Burkhardt, Ch. Werkstetter (eds.), Kommunikation und Medien in der Frühen Neuzeit, Munich 2005, p. 232. 67 On the outer margin of Des pabstlichen Rhedners Potschaft Francisci Cheregati one can find such keywords for understanding the context of the oration as: Rhodis, Ungarisch potschafft, Hungern von theutschen zu rhetten, Pabstlich gewerb hungern zu rhetten etc. Also Turcken puechlein follows this pattern. The reader of the text was guided by the following marginalia: Des Bapst untrew, Christen böser denn Turcken, Man solt nicht wein trincken etc. The reading was also facilitated by the use of a language register which was close to the daily habits of quotidian communication. The author of Turcken puechlein appropriated popular phrases and colloquial sayings and used the German version of proper names.

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suggests a the pragmatic character of his text.68 Whereas marginalia in the German-language editions guided readers through the texts, the Latin-language versions, which signaled the names of rhetorical figures used by the authors and the structural parts of the speeches in the margins, draw attention to the exemplary composition of the speech. The latter are not pragmatic annotations which help one to understand the content of the oration, but rather indicators of the eloquence and rhetoric skills of the author. Serving different target groups, the Latin- and German- language versions of the texts performed different functions. Latin was an indispensable means of displaying and advancing one’s status within a circle of first-class intellectuals. Nonetheless, it is unknown in which language Erasmus of Rotterdam read the oration by Chiericati, ‘which’ – as he writes in his letter to the papal legate – ‘has reached us here in print’69. If Erasmus had the Oratio in his hand, many other recognized Basel intellectuals most probably had had the chance to read it as well. While we have a letter from Erasmus confirming his appreciation of Chiericati’s speech, we presumably lack dozens of other letters and word-of-mouth accounts praising his work and the opportunity to become familiar with its Ottoman content, spread by these wide intellectual networks. Flugschriften took advantage of the spoken word.70 They bound together features characteristic of oral communication (such as dialogical forms, traces of the performative aspect of the oration, and emotive expressions) with those typical for written utterance (such as, for instance, lengthy dedications, lemma etc.). They were designed in a way that facilitated the oral transmission of their message. As the predecessor of modern mass media, they made use of habitual communication channels such as wordof-mouth. To repeat after A. Pettegree: Even if one could not read or understand the messages they contained, the Flugschriften represented a means of sharing a public excitement that one had first become aware of through the pulpit preaching, or the gossip on the street. But purchase might also be the first step in a process of personal involvement that led eventually to commitment.71

The commitment and participation in sharing the responsibility for the common fate is stressed in all the analyzed prints in order to increase communal solidarity. In the very local civic landscape, it could be understood as an attempt to consolidate the local communities. The ‘Turkish threat’ had proven itself well in this role.

68 The Latin versions of Ladislaus’ speech indicate the lines which open particular rethorical parts of his speech by printing on the outer margins such technical terms as: proemium, narratio, divisio, confirmatio, contrarium exemplum, epilogus primus, exclamatio, conduplicatio etc. (See appendix no 3.) The marginalia in the German version selectively indicate the rhetorical structure of the speech and point to quotes from the Bible and from Ceasar’s De bello Gallico (which were obvious for the erudite readers). Additionally they give the key terms referring to the content of the particular paragraphs. The German version of Ladislaus’ oration was not preceded by the lemma entitled Aquila ad viatorem (as was the case in both Latin-language editions) nor by the coat of arms (as in the elegant Nuremberg edition). 69 Desiderius Erasmus, The Correspondence of Erasmus, R.A.B. Mynors, D.F.S. Thomson (trans.), W.K. Ferguson (annot.), Toronto–London 1974–, vol. 9, p. 278. 70 Cf. B.-M. Schuster, Die Verständlichkeit von frühreformatorischen Flugschriften. Eine Studie zu kommunikationswirksamen Faktoren der Textgestaltung, Hildesheim 2001, pp. 17–22, 265–272. 71 A. Pettegree, Reformation and the Culture of Persuasion, p. 170. Cf. R.W. Scribner, Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany, London 1987, pp. 50–51.

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Conclusions The Ottomans’ advance to the Hungarian borderlands was an important subject of information traffic in the pre-Mohács period, which was, itself, a significant ‘Flugschrift moment’. Pamphlets were produced in hundreds of copies and they reached the widest readership one could have imagined in the sixteenth century. By virtue of the Flugschriften, news of Süleyman’s advances reached the hands of both the most erudite and less-educated readers, causing a political, social and/or religious resonance. The context in which the image of the Ottomans was drawn – a summons to a common crusade (Ladislaus de Macedonia, Francesco Chiericati), an anti-Lutheran discussion (Francesco Chiericati) and an exhortation for social and religious reformations (Philalethes) – reshaped that image among the broad readership. The representation of the Ottomans constructed by Ladislaus de Macedonia, Francesco Chiericati and Philalethes – even if presented with a certain approval, as in the case of the last author – was unambiguous and aimed to provoke a similarly unambiguous response. The dissemination of an image presenting a common military, religious and social foe also had consequences for the formation of an identity among the Hungarian- and German-speaking subjects of the Holy Roman Emperor. Information traffic about the Ottomans’ advance established a clear differentiation of roles. Turcken buechlein, with its distinctively portrayed protagonists, is both a product and a further disseminator of fixed models. The orations by the papal and royal legates, in turn, offer an insight into the political and social space in which the new self-identification of nobles, burghers, intellectuals etc. were being negotiated. All three Flugschriften demonstrate the way in which intercultural communication could foster processes leading to a consolidation of the identity models of its participants. Most of the participants within the communication processes concerning the Ottomans were members of the imperiled communities, shaken by the military campaign of the Sultan (Hungarian subjects, Vatican See), or by radical social and religious changes (Holy Roman Empire, the Swiss Confederation, Vatican See). They were eagerly using the Flugschriften as an effective channel for disseminating their concerns and proposing concrete military solutions. The trustworthiness of this information channel was of great importance. It was established by the authority of the author, and by the references to the sources of information: an eyewitness account, official letters, or the mention of unprofessional informers such as former Ottoman captives. Oral communication seems to have had a privileged place among the sources, and first-hand accounts from the border-zone were of the greatest credibility. Therefore, the transfer of information regarding the Ottoman advance is characterised by a complex interplay between the oral message (word-of-mouth of the witnesses from the contact-zones, oration delivered in the Diet), the written text (letters, drafts of the orations) and the printed word (texts fixed in the form of Flugschriften). Apart from listing different media, the selection of the Flugschriften examined here enables one to reflect on the agents involved: authors (and their patrons), translators, printers and their customers (commissioners and/or readers). The first were well educated and informed intellectuals, who often were appointed spokesmen by important political figures of the time. The second are unknown by name but, by rendering the orations of Ladislaus de Macedonia and Francesco Chiericati into the vernacular, they 306

‘When the Turk Roamed around Belgrade’: the Ottomans’ advent to the Hungarian borderlands...

contributed to the broadening of the readership. The last participants in the process – printers and their customers – were closely interrelated as the Flugschriften were manufactured according to the expectations and habits of the clients. Similarly both printers and their customers participated in the further dissemination of the prints. The ‘flying prints’ on the Ottomans’ advance to the Hungarian border were designed in such a way that was possible for them to circulate as up-to-date accounts among members of the international political arena and the res publica litteraria, as well as among German-speaking burghers. Educated and sophisticated audiences appreciated good literature, and admired the style of the authors, the crafty construction of their argumentation and the flow of their language; the more pragmatically-minded burghers, on the other hand, received insight into the imperial politics on which the prosperity of their home town depended and which guaranteed the very existence of the urban areas. The numerous re-editions and variants of the discussed prints suggest that there was a great demand for such pamphlets on the part of the readers and on the part of the commissioners, who recognized the propaganda potential of the medium. Flugschriften were therefore a profitable business, but also enabled printers to take part in discussions on the matters important to their communities. Similarly, the authors of the texts were fulfilling a public mission, promoting themselves and, at the same time, strengthening their position on the intellectual scene. The brochures recording accounts of the Sultan’s armies’ march to the Hungarian borderlands were beneficial for many agents – for those who fought the Ottomans with the sword on the battlefields, or fought for a common reformation with words, but also for those writing for the sake of their own diplomatic or literary career.

Appendices 1. Selection of sources My selection of pre-Mohács Flugschriften is based on three main criteria: 1) they were printed in different civic centers of the German-speaking areas; 2) they offered an insight into the Hungarian context of the ‘Turkish threat’ after the fall of Belgrade; 3) they were widely known prints, whose popularity could be justified by the number of translations, editions and variants. Choice of the materials did not therefore include several important and influential prints such as letters by Louis II (Des Künigs von Hungern sendprieff an Kayserlich Statthalter vnd Regiment Zugesagter hilff gegen Türkischer Tyrannei merung [et]c. betreffende. [Augsburg: Sigmund Grimm], (1523); Oration of Bernardinus de Frangepanibus (Oratio pro Croatia, Nürenbergae in Senatu Principum Germaniae habita XIIj. Cal. Decemb. An. Ch. M. D.XXij, printed in Nuremberg in 1522 by Friedrich Peypus); or letters by Adrian VI (Eym Bapstlich breue oder sendbrieff des Bapsts Adriani…, [Straßburg: Johann Knoblech d.Ä. 1523]). Quotations from the original works are based on the editions that: 1) could be considered to be editio princeps; 2) disseminated an accurate version of the text; 3) were available, in their original form, to the author of this paper. Following these three criteria, I decided to use the Nuremberg edition of Ladislaus’ oration (VD16 M 20) and (the only) Augsburg edition of the translation of his work (VD16 ZV 10219). For Francesco 307

Karolina Mroziewicz

Chiericati’s oration, I refer to the Augsburg edition of the original (VD16 C 2235) and the Augsburg edition of the translation (VD16 C 2239). Finally, from numerous editions of Turcken puechlein, I quote the Basel edition of the dialogue (VD16 T 2235). If there is no striking difference between the original version of the text and its translation, only excerpts from the original language-version are provided. As I am interested in the original (and material) forms in which the analyzed texts functioned in the first quarter of the sixteenth century, I am not quoting the textual versions available in the contemporary editions of Ladislaus’ oration (Ladislaus of Macedonia, Orationes, I.K. Horváth (eds.), Szeged 1964) and the German-Hungarian edition of Turcken puchlein (which based on the edition of 1527: A.F. Balogh, Eine Unterredung gegen die Türken: zweisprachige kommentierte Edition der deutschen Flugschrift VD 16:T2239, Budapest 2003).

2. List of printers and printing houses (attributions given after VD 16) Augsburg : Sigmund Grimm Augsburg: Sigmund Grimm and Marx Wirsung Augsburg: Jörg Nadler Augsburg: Erhard Oeglin (heirs) Basel: Valentin Curio Basel: Adam Petri Erfurt: Matthes Maler Nuremberg: Friedrich Peypus Strasbourg: Johann Prüß the younger

3. Comparision of marginalia in the three editions of the Oratio by Ladislaus de Macedonia Nuremberg Latin version (VD16 M 20)

Phrase

Augsburg Latin version (VD16 M 19)

Phrase

Augsburg German version Phrase (VD16 ZV 10219)

f. B1r

Proemium

f. B1v

Proemium

_

_

f. B1v

Narratio

f. B2r

Narratio

_

_

f. B1v

Divisio

f. B2v

Divisio

f. A4v

Thailung

f. B1v

Confirmatio i

f. B2v

Confirmatio 1

f. A4v

Beuestigung

f. B2v

Contrarium exemplum

f. B3v

Contrarium exemplum

f. B2r

Widerwartig gleichnus

f. B2v

Epilogus i

f. B4r

Epilogus primus

f. B2r

Beschlus rhed 1.

f. B3r

Confirmatio ii

f. B4r

Confirmatio 2

f. B2r

Befestigung 2

_

_

_

_

f. B2v

Mar. 8

_

_

_

_

f. B2v

1. Pe. 4.

_

_

_

_

f. B2v

Mat. 25

_

_

_

_

f. C1r

1. Cor. 6.

_

_

_

_

f. C1r

con.ces.li 3

308

‘When the Turk Roamed around Belgrade’: the Ottomans’ advent to the Hungarian borderlands...

f. B3v

Exclamatio

f. B4v

Exclamatio

f. C1r

Ausschreibung

f. B4r

Epilogus 2

f. C1v

Epilogus 2

f. C1v

Beschlus rhed 2

f. B4r

Transitio

f. C1v

Transitio

_

_

f. B4r

Confirmatio iii

f. C1v

Confirmatio iii

f. C1v

Befestigung 3

f. B4r

Articulus

f. C1v

Articulus

_

_

_

_

_

_

f. C2r

Rom. 8.

f. B4r

Repetitio et dissolutum

f. C1v

Repetitio et dissolutum

_

_

f. B4v

Confutatio i

f. C2r

Confutatio 1

f. C2r

Verwerffung i

f. B4v

Conduplicatio

f. C2r

Conduplicatio

f. B4v

Ii

f. C2v

ii

f. C2v

2

f. B4v

Iii

f. C2v

iii

f. C3r

3

f. C1r

Iiii

f. C2v

iiii

f. C3r

4

f. C1r

Epilogus

f. C3r

Epilogus

f. C3r

Beschlus rhed 3

_

_

_

_

f. C3r

li. 2. 5. 29

f. C1r

Antiteton et dissolutum

f. C3r

Antiteton et dissolutum

_

_

f. C1r

Conclusio

f. C3r

Conclusio

f. C3v

Beschlus

f. C1r

Metalepsis

f. C3r

Metalepsis

_

_