After Ovid: Aspects of the Reception of Ovid in Literature and Iconography (Giornale Italiano Di Filologia - Bibliotheca, 28) (English and Italian Edition) [Bilingual ed.] 9782503592503, 2503592503

Table of contents :
FRONT MATTER
STEFANIA FILOSINI. OVIDIAN PRESENCES IN PRUDENTIUS’ PSYCHOMACHIA
MARIA-PACE PIERI. OVID IN REPOSIANUS AND THE COMPLEXITY OF RECEPTION
DONATO DE GIANNI. ALLUSIONS TO AND QUOTATIONS FROM OVID IN THE WRITINGS OF ISIDORE OF SEVILLE
FRANCESCO MARZELLA. GEOFFREY’S MUSA IOCOSA: THE VITA MERLINI AS AN ‘OVIDIAN’ POE
LUCIO CECCARELLI. IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO
LUISA CORONA. MOVING THROUGH THE METAMORPHOSES. THE LINGUISTIC ENCODING OF MOTION IN OVID AND HIS TRANSLATORS
GIUSEPPA Z. ZANICHELLI. THE RECEPTION OF OVIDIUS MORALIZATUS IN NORTHERN ITALY IN THE LATE MIDDLE AGES
MICHELE MACCHERINI. THE MYTH OF NARCISSUS IN PAINTING AND SCULPTURE IN THE SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTH CENTURIES: SOME REFLECTIONS
COSTANZA BARBIERI. OVID AND THE AERIAL METAMORPHOSES PAINTED BY SEBASTIANO DEL PIOMBO IN THE LOGGIA DI GALATEA
GIUSEPPE CAPRIOTTI. THE FORTUNES AND MISFORTUNES OF VULGARIZED EDITIONS OF OVID’S METAMORPHOSES IN ITALY AND SPAIN
FABIOLA BARTOLUCCI. FOLENGO AND OVID: THE TEMPEST IN THE CANTO DI GIUBERTO
FRANCA ELA CONSOLINO. MARK ALEXANDER BOYD AND OVID’S HEROIDES. LAVINIA’S EPISTLE TO TURNUS
ENRICO BOTTA. OVID IN THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW: THE METAMORPHOSES AS INTERPRETED BY GEORGE SANDYS
VALERIA MEROLA. “ORRENDO A UN TEMPO E INNOCENTE AMORE”: THE OVIDIAN MYRRHA IN ITALIAN LITERATURE

Citation preview

GIORNALE ITALIANODI FILOLOGIA

BIBLIOTHECA 28

EDITOR IN CHIEF Carlo Santini (Perugia) EDITORIAL BOARD Giorgio Bonamente (Perugia) Paolo Fedeli (Bari) Giovanni Polara (Napoli) Aldo Setaioli (Perugia) INTERNATIONAL SCIENTIFIC COMMITTEE Maria Grazia Bonanno (Roma) Carmen Codoñer (Salamanca) Roberto Cristofoli (Perugia) Emanuele Dettori (Roma) Hans-Christian Günther (Freiburg i.B.) David Konstan (New York) Julián Méndez Dosuna (Salamanca) Aires Nascimento (Lisboa) Heinz-Günter Nesselrath (Heidelberg) François Paschoud (Genève) Carlo Pulsoni (Perugia) Johann Ramminger (München) Fabio Stok (Roma) SUBMISSIONS SHOULD BE SENT TO Carlo Santini [email protected] Dipartimento di Lettere Università degli Studi di Perugia Piazza Morlacchi, 11 I-06123 Perugia, Italy

After Ovid Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography

Edited by Franca Ela Consolino

This volume was published with the support of the “Dipartimento di eccellenza 2018/2022” programme – Università degli Studi dell’Aquila – Dipartimento di Scienze Umane.

© 2022, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher.

D/2022/0095/13 ISBN 978-2-503-59250-3 E-ISBN 978-2-503-59269-5 DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.121869 ISSN 2565-8204 E-ISSN 2565-9537 Printed in the EU on acid-free paper.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface

7

Stefania Filosini Ovidian Presences in Prudentius’ Psychomachia

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Maria-Pace Pieri Ovid in Reposianus and the Complexity of  Reception 39 Donato De Gianni Allusions to and Q uotations from Ovid in the Writings of  Isidore of  Seville 61 Francesco Marzella Geoffrey’s musa iocosa: the Vita Merlini as an ‘Ovidian’ Poem 89 Lucio Ceccarelli Il distico della commedia elegiaca latina. L’eredità di Ovidio 117 Luisa Corona Moving through the Metamorphoses. The Linguistic Encoding of  Motion in Ovid and his Translators 157 Giuseppa Z. Zanichelli The Reception of   Ovidius moralizatus in Northern Italy in the Late Middle Ages 189 Michele Maccherini The Myth of  Narcissus in Painting and Sculpture in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries: Some Reflections 213 Costanza Barbieri Ovid and the Aerial Metamorphoses Painted by Sebastiano del Piombo in the Loggia di Galatea 229 5

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Giuseppe Capriotti The Fortunes and Misfortunes of   Vulgarized Editions of   Ovid’s Metamorphoses in Italy and Spain

261

Fabiola Bartolucci Folengo and Ovid: the Tempest in the Canto di Giuberto

285

Franca Ela Consolino Mark Alexander Boyd and Ovid’s Heroides. Lavinia’s Epistle to Turnus 303 Enrico Botta Ovid in the Old World and the New: the Metamorphoses as Interpreted by George Sandys 335 Valeria Merola “Orrendo a un tempo e innocente amore”: the Ovidian Myrrha in Italian Literature 353

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In 2017 and 2018, the bimillenary of   the death of   Ovid was marked by a wave of   conferences and publications dedicated to his œuvre and its fortunes over the centuries. It is hoped that this volume will pick up where these initiatives left off, so to speak. It presents the proceedings of  the conference Dopo Ovidio. Aspetti della ricezione ovidiana fra letteratura e iconografia (“After Ovid. Aspects of   the reception of   Ovid in literature and iconography”) organised by the Dipartimento di Scienze Umane (Department of   Human Studies) at the University of   L’Aquila, with which about half of   the contributors were connected in one form or another. Both the conference and this volume have been produced as part of   the Department of   Human Studies’ Progetto di Eccellenza programme Arti, linguaggi e media: tradurre e transco­ di­fi­care (“Art, language and media: translation and transcodification”), delivered with state funding awarded to the country’s 180 leading university departments. The conference took a  diachronic and cross-disciplinary approach to various aspects of   Ovid’s influence and popularity. Indeed, the contributions cover a  period of   around fourteen hundred years, from late antiquity to the end of   the eighteenth century, and deal with an equally broad range of   subject areas, from Late Latin and Medieval literature, humanist writers and early-modern publications in English and Italian to linguistics and the visual arts. For the most part, the material studied is Italian, but the scope of   enquiry extends well into Western Europe and even to the New World, in the case of  George Sandys and his translation of  the Metamorphoses. 7

PREFACE

What emerges from all these strands is the importance of  Ovid as a  model, one that can be seen to interact with other literary models, and whose influence is discernible in the linguistic choices made by later poets and even, on some occasions, in the selection of  narrative techniques. The common thread in the majority of  the contributions is mythology, and particularly as it is represented in the Metamorphoses, which, over the centuries, has provided the germ for new additions to, and developments, (re)interpretations and representations of, the source material, either as stand-alone examples or as part of   an iconographic scheme. Another common subject is the ‘moralised Ovid’, whose lasting influence is felt and represented particularly in the visual arts, even up into the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Lastly, particular attention is also reserved for vulgarisations of  Ovid, which lend themselves in particular to comparisons with the Latin text that are interesting both from literary and linguistic standpoints, and in terms of  the iconography associated with them. All of  the contributors to the conference are Italian. We have taken the decision to publish the majority of  this volume in English in the hope that it will both provide greater visibility to the subject and contribute to raising the profile of   Italian research more broadly. However, Lucio Ceccarelli’s text – which makes a significant contribution to the metrical analysis of   elegiac comedy – has been left in Italian, the language in which it was presented. As the time comes to sign off on the manuscript, I  offer my sincere thanks to Carlo Santini, who has graciously agreed to include this volume in the “Bibliotheca del Giornale Italiano di Filologia” series he edits with Brepols. My thanks also to Giorgio Bonamente, for encouraging me to publish with Brepols, and to Tim Denecker, who has assisted with customary care and skill in every phase of  the volume’s development.

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OVIDIAN PRESENCES IN PRUDENTIUS’ PSYCHOMACHIA

Around the end of   the fourth century and the first years of   the fifth, Prudentius – along with Paulinus of   Nola – expanded the horizons of   Christian Latin poetry, succeeding not only in synthesising the existing tendencies of   the tradition but also in acquiring for it a  sort of   dual independence from both Biblical and liturgical poetry.1 This liberation rested on the assimilation of   poetic creation to an “exercise in personal spirituality”,2 but did not preclude an ongoing exchange with the existing literary tradition. While the academic literature has insisted on the primacy of   Virgilian and Horatian influences in Prudentius’ writing,3 it is evident that he also drew on Ovid.4 All the same, despite the increased attention given in recent years to Ovid’s legacy in Late-Antique literature,5 the most recent contribution 1  As asserted by Fontaine 1981, 157, in the context of   an interesting comparison of  the poetry of  Paulinus and Prudentius (pp. 143-160). 2   Again, Fontaine 1981, 157. 3  For the most recent example, see Lühken 2002, which will direct the reader to earlier research. 4  In addition to the index imitationum in Bergman 1926, 455-469 and the parallels drawn in various commentaries, contributions focusing specifically on the influence of   Ovid in Prudentius include: Ewald 1942, which is dedicated entirely to the Contra Symmachum, and which – like Hanley 1959 – draws a number of  debatable comparisons; Salvatore 1959, which credits Ovid’s “rationalist, parodistic attitude towards mythology” for his reclamation by Christian authors; and Evenepoel 1982, for whom Ovid’s subalternity to Virgil is due to the fact that the former better typifies the pagan spirit than the latter. More recently, though solely in relation to the 13th hymn of  the Peristephanon, we have Kamptner 1994/1995. 5   To mention just a few authors: Dewar 2002; Fielding 2014 and 2017; Consolino 2018.

After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127590 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 9-37

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of   any scope to regard the imitation of   Ovid in Prudentius dates to 1982 when Willy Evenepoel observed that the Ovidian presence in the latter’s poetry consists more in subtle echoes than in clear, and immediately recognisable, borrowings, specifying that the stylistic originality with which Prudentius adapted his model made verbatim citations of  more than two words near impossible and that, in any case, Ovidian echoes of   this kind are never fully separate from his imitation of  Virgil.6 My intention here is to clarify the different modes by which the text of  the Psychomachia is informed by the example of  Ovid, the levels at which this process operates, and the poem’s frequently inextricable interactions with a number of   other intertexts. The aim is to shine a  light on Prudentius’ compositional technique, which is more complex than it might appear at first, and consider the extent to which the potential effects of   the Ovidian presences rely on the understanding and participation of   the reader. My analysis will also make it possible to assess to what extent Evenepoel’s conclusions can be applied to the Psychomachia, a work he afforded marginal space, with just a reference to a brief article from 1936.7 In 915 lines of  hexameter – introduced by a praefatio of  68 iambic trimeters 8 – the Psychomachia recounts the fierce battle between “two forces of   variegated female entities – one side monstrous, the other marked by a regal dignity – which the author himself designates as Vitia and Virtutes: the destabilising impulses that assail the harmony of  the human soul […] and the correct behav6  Evenepoel 1982, particularly the conclusions on p. 176. It would be amiss not to mention a more recent contribution, Coomans – Desy 2019, which draws a comparison – though not a convincing one in my mind (see notes 15 and 69 below) – between Prudentius’ poem and Book 12, 64-535 of   the Metamorpho­ ses (the episode with Cycnus and the Centauromachia). Specifically, the authors maintain that the appearance, actions and words of   the human characters in the pagan poem feed into Prudentius’ characterisation of  the Christian Virtues, while the Vices are equivalent to the Ovidian centaurs. 7  Alexander 1936, which addressed a single passage from the poem (vv. 351406), in regard to which see below, 20-26. 8   For a systematic analysis of  the praefatio and its meaning, see Charlet 2003. Amiott 2010, meanwhile, focuses on Prudentius’ resemanticisation of   the traditional virtues of  the epic hero in a spiritual, Christian key, starting with an examination of  the figure of  Abraham.

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iours that preserve such harmony”.9 The invocation of   Christ (vv.  1-20) that opens the poem proper, and that finds a  sort of   counterpart in the closing offering of   thanks (vv.  888-915), serves effectively as a prelude to the μάχη itself, which is measured out in seven duels.10 Through these, which play out on the basis of  a sort of   Wiedervergeltung, and generate a Steigerung 11 in terms of  the overall structure, the author effects an allegorical transfiguration of  the schemata and narrative structures of  the traditional epic, with each duel marking a step towards the conquest of  peace and the construction, in the soul, of   an allegorical temple modelled on that of  Solomon (vv. 726-887). A superficial reading may fail to convey the depth and complexity of   a poem that invites analysis from multiple perspectives (e.g. allegorical and typological content, relationship with the historical context, genesis of   the personifications, the relationship between theological reasoning and literary tradition) and that has generated a richer kaleidoscope of  interpretations and critical positions over the centuries than it would be possible to convey exhaustively in this setting.12 What we can take as read, however, is that underlying the text is a dual substrate of   biblical-patristic ideology and pagan literary tradition. The latter is best exemplified by the Aeneid, which remains the foremost of   Prudentius’ 9   Franchi 2012, p. 341 (“due schiere di variopinte entità femminili, mostruose le une, di regale dignità le altre, che l’autore stesso designa come Vitia e Virtu­ tes: gli impulsi destabilizzanti che attentano all’armonia dell’animo umano […] e gli atteggiamenti corretti che questa armonia preservano”). 10  The first duel sees Fides face off against Veterum cultura deorum (vv. 2139); it is followed by clashes between Pudicitia and Libido (vv. 40-108). Patientia and Ira (vv. 109-177), Mens humilis and Superbia (vv. 178-308), and Sobrietas and Luxuria (vv. 309-453), before Ratio and then Operatio combat Avaritia (vv. 454628); the conflict ends with Concordia against Discordia (vv. 629-725). For a deft summarisation of  the Psychomachia, see Mazzoli 2007, 52-56. 11  As set out by Gnilka 1963, 51-81. 12   Any expectation of   exhaustiveness would need to contend with the sheer breadth of   the bibliography. As I am dealing here with a  specific aspect of   the poem that has thus far received marginal attention, I will limit myself to referencing contributions that I have actually drawn on. Among these, a prominent role is reserved for the commentaries: alongside the admirable – albeit partial (praefatio and first four duels) – Franchi 2013, I direct the reader to the rewarding volume by Magnus Frisch 2020 and the decidedly slimmer, but no less worthwhile, commentary by Pelttari 2019. For quotations from the poem itself, I rely on Cunningham’s 1966 critical edition.

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poetic exemplars. However, grafted to this – surprisingly ductile – Virgilian model are multiple other vestiges originating in a variety of  authors that operate at different levels in the process of  the poem’s composition.13 The influence of   Ovid appears especially pronounced in the fifth duel (vv. 310-453), which pits Luxuria against Sobrietas.14 The narrative opens with a description of  the Vice, which embodies the temptations of   sensual indulgence, libido, love of   luxury, gluttony and ostentation. Luxuria, still inebriated from her nocturnal festivities, enters the battle with arms of   perfume and flowers.15 Making her way through the enemy lines on a chariot that sparkles with gemstones, she seduces the souls of   her opponents, leaving them weak and stupefied.16 13  It is no coincidence that Heinz 2007 identifies this “mehrfache Intertextualität” as the defining trait of  Prudentius’ poem, which not only draws on both the Christian and classical traditions, but “setzt seinen Text durch sprachliche Andeutungen (Zitate, Reminiszenzen) zu gleich mehreren Subtexten in Beziehung […] So entsteht ein intertextuelles System, in dem jeder der beteiligtenTexte durch die jeweils anderen in einem besonderen Licht erscheint” (p. 12). 14 For precedents to these personifications, see Petrone 2012 and Frisch 2020, 282-283. A more global analysis of   the duel is provided by Gosserez 2002, which ponders whether Sobrietas and Luxuria are intended as embodiments, respectively, of   the asceticism and unbridled sensuality of   a Rome that, albeit officially converted, was actually still in thrall to sin. 15  Psych. 316-320 Ac tunc pervigilem ructabat marcida cenam,  / sub lucem quia forte iacens ad fercula raucos / audierat lituos atque inde tepentia linquens / pocula lapsanti per vina et balsama gressu / ebria calcatis ad bellum floribus ibat. This passage offers an opportune moment to consider the suggestion made by Coomans  – Desy 2019, 197-198, that this description of   Luxuria echoes the episode of  Aphidas, who – having fallen asleep at the table at a party – is killed in his sleep by Phorbas (Ov., Met. 12,316-326). To my mind the differences are more significant than the similarities: Aphidas cannot be woken, while Luxuria is roused by the sound of   litui; the centaur, who is still holding a cup of   mixed wine, makes no attempt to defend himself when attacked and meets his death; in contrast, not only does Luxuria relinquish her cup, but she is quickly on her way to battle, and indeed has the better of  her foes in the early stages of  the conflict. The difference of  context undermines the importance of  the lexical similarities, which to my mind are more a question of   langue poetique than a deliberate attempt to transpose the qualities of  Ovid’s centaur to the figure of  Luxuria. 16 Cf. Psych. 328-333 Inde eblanditis virtutibus halitus inlex / inspirat tenerum labefacta per ossa venenum / et male dulcis odor domat ora et pectora et arma / fer­ ratosque toros obliso robore mulcet. / Deiciunt animos ceu victi et spicula ponunt / turpiter heu dextris languentibus obstupefacti,  / dum currum …  / mirantur. Nugent 1985, 44 interprets the spectacle of  Luxuria on her chariot as a parody of  the Roman triumphal procession.

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The chariot is described in minute detail in vv. 333-339:             obstupefacti, dum currum varia gemmarum luce micantem mirantur, dum bratteolis crepitantia lora et solido ex auro pretiosi ponderis axem defixis inhiant obtutibus et radiorum argento albentem seriem quam summa rotarum flexura electri pallentis continent orbe.

With its list of  the parts of  the chariot and the materials of  which they are made, the ἔκφρασις here appears inspired by the description of  the chariot of  the Sun in Ov., Met. 2,107-110: 17 Aureus axis erat, temo aureus, aurea summae curvatura rotae, radiorum argenteus ordo; per iuga chrysolithi positaeque ex ordine gemmae clara repercusso reddebant lumina Phoebo.

While Prudentius adds the description of  the reins and omits the reference to the chariot pole, the mention in both texts of   the same parts (axle, spokes, tyres) is striking, particularly as the language used to describe the spokes (radiorum argento albentem seriem in Psych. 337-338 ~ radiorum argenteus ordo in Met. 2,108) and metal tyres (summa rotarum flexura in Psych. 338-339 ~ sum­ mae curvature rotae in Met. 2,107-108) is so similar; 18 furthermore, Ovid’s image of  the gem-encrusted yolk may have inspired the varia gemmarum luce micantem (v. 334) that begins Prudentius’ description, while the latter’s reference to the pale electrum of  the tyres (v. 339) may derive from Stat., Theb. 4,270 (gorytos … / electro pallens), part of   a longer passage describing the splendour of  the armour of  Parthenopeus. In both the Metamorphoses and the Psychomachia, the description of   the chariot serves a  narrative purpose – indeed, in both cases, the instrument of   triumph will be the means of   its rider’s demise – but with a number of   significant differences. In Ovid’s 17  Schwind 2005, 324 n.  9, suggests that Prudentius’ ἔκφρασις was guided by Ovid’s description, claiming to be the first to draw the comparison; however, a link between the two descriptions – reasserted recently in Roberts 2018, 285286 – had already been suggested by Gosserez 2002, 71 and n. 44. 18  Cf. Roberts 2018, 285.

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ἔκφρασις, the emphasis on the quality and splendour of  the vehicle – effected rhetorically by the deliberate repetition of  the adjective aureus in a  double chiasmus (v.  107), and by the phonic effects of   the closing golden line (v. 110) – serves to heighten the sense of  Phoebus’ power. In the Psychomachia, however, the gleam and value of   the materials offer a  visual translation of   the qualities of   the Vice  19 – appreciation of   luxury and attraction to material pleasure – that lead away from virtuous behaviour. It is not by chance that Prudentius emphasises the onlookers’ stupor and disorientation – expressed by the adjective obstupefacti (v. 333), of  which this is the first known example in poetry,20 by the verbal form mirantur (v. 335), which the enjambement places conspicuously at the start of  the line, and by the ablative defixis … obtutibus (v. 337), which is notable not only for the choice of   a noun that is used rarely in poetry,21 but also as an echo of   the expressions used by Virgil to qualify the reactions of   Aeneas at the portal to the temple of  Juno (Aen. 1,495 dum stupet obtutuque haeret defixus in uno) and of   Latinus to the words of   Ilioneus (Aen. 7,249-250 defixa … / obtutu tenet ora). The emphasis in Prudentius’ verses on the effects produced by the charms of  luxury, and the consequent incapacity of  moral judgement, allow him to effect an inversion of  perspective, a sort of   retractatio, with respect to the Ovidian precedent: wealth and luxury are not acclaimed as a  sign of   power but devalued in moral and spiritual terms through the motif of   sight bedazzled by precious objects.22 Michael Roberts 2018, 286 observes 19  On the importance of   ἐνάργεια in Late Latin poetry, and on the techniques used to achieve it, see Roberts 1989, 38-65 in particular. 20  Prudentius was the first to use this adjective in poetry, adopting it in Perist. 3,173 to describe the reaction of  the praetor to the dove that flew out of  the mouth of  the martyred Eulalia. The only other example in poetry is in Paul. Petr., Mart. 5,794. 21  For all that obtutus has known a certain level of   use in prose, particularly among late and Christian texts, its appearances in verse are limited. Prudentius, with seven examples, used it more than any other poet. 22  Although Luxuria seduces all of   the senses, in this passage the emphasis is on the sight (varia luce micantem, mirantur, obtutibus, albentem seriem, elec­ tri pallentis). Hearing is referenced only through the tinkling of  the golden reins, which is accented by the phonic effects of  an hexameter (mirantur, dum bratteolis crepitantia lora) that has been compared by commentators to Verg. Aen. 6,209 (sic leni crepitabat brattea vento), which refers to the leaves of   the golden bough that Aeneas must rip free before he can enter the underworld.

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that Seneca had done something similar in one of   the Letters to Lucilius where he quotes Ovid’s description of   the palace and chariot of   the Sun (Epist. 115,13) to support his suggestion that the poets, in antithesis of   Stoical precepts, adfectibus nostris facem subdant, quibus divitiae velut unicum vitae decus ornamen­ tumque laudantur (Epist. 115,12), whereas multa obstrigillant et aciem nostram splendore nimio repercutiunt (Epist. 115,6). This observation, and the undeniable consonance between various passages in the Psychomachia and the reflections of   Seneca (see below), lead to the hypothesis that, for his description, Prudentius took his cue from Seneca, and that his appropriation of  Ovid was therefore in some sense mediated by the philosopher. If this is so, we can discern two different planes of   operation in the ἔκφρασις, one concerned with the concept and subject at hand, the other with poetic form. The link between them is Ovid’s description of   the chariot of   the Sun, which – having been retrieved on a thematic level via Seneca – provides the most direct, although not exclusive, route to the plane of  poetry, where Ovid joins other poetic models such as the ever-present Virgil and, most likely, Statius. This hypothesis appears all the more valid in light of   an analogous interaction between poetic intertexts and the example of  Seneca, which we find in the description of  Ira (vv. 113-115): Hanc procul Ira tumens, spumanti fervida rictu, sanguinea intorquens suffuso lumina felle, ut belli exsortem teloque et voce lacessit.

Expressively, these verses recall both Ovid’s representations of  two beasts with blood-smeared jaws (Met. 11,366-368 belua vasta, lupus, ulvisque palustribus exit  / oblitus et s p u m i s et crasso sanguine r i c t u s   / fulmineus, rubra s u f f u s u s l u m i n a flamma and Met. 4,97 caede leaena boum s p u m a n t e s o b l i t a r i c t u s) 23 and Virgil’s description of  two furentes (Aen. 7,399 the sanguineam torquens aciem of  Amata overcome by the Bac23   As Franchi 2013, 132-133 observes, with regard to these Ovidian echoes, added to the lexical similarities are metrical parallels: with the use of   the bucolic diaeresis and the similarity of   the clausulae pattern (trisyllable +  rictu* in the first verse and lumina + disyllable in the second), the verses 113-114 of   Prudentius find precedent in Met. 11,366-367, while the spumans – trisyllable – rictus scheme following the penthemimeral caesura is the same as in Met. 4, 97.

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chic furor, and Aen. 4,643 the sanguineam volvens aciem of  the furibunda – and suicidal – Dido); however – as suggested by Paola Franchi  – the choice of  poetic models is almost certainly suggested by Sen. Ira 2,35 quales sunt hostium vel f e r a r u m c a e d e m a d e n t i u m … adspectus, qualia poetae i n f e r n a m o n s t r a finxerunt ..., talem nobis iram figuremus,24 not least given the philosopher’s influence on the characterisation of  Ira and Patien­ tia.25 As with the description of  Luxuria’s chariot, then, as far as the subject matter is concerned, Prudentius ultimately takes his cue from Seneca, which is to say a prompt that is distinct from the poetic models from which he then draws, and which he then adapts to his moral lesson. Ovid’s ‘contribution’ to the duel between Luxuria and So­ brietas extends well beyond the ἔκφρασις of   the chariot. As her army breaks up around her, beguiled by the temptations of  Luxu­ ria (see above, 12), Sobrietas responds with a cohortatio (vv. 351406), the longest single discourse in the Psychomachia.26 It is bracketed by two powerfully symbolic gestures: before addressing her comrades, the Virtue plants the vexillum sublime crucis in the earth; 27 at the end of   her speech, she brandishes it at the chariot horses,28 which – in their flight – cause the Vice’s death.29 The introductory hexameter (v.  350 exstimulans animos n u n c p r o b r i s , n u n c p r e c e mixta) makes clear the two sections of   the discourse to come, the probra (vv. 351-380) and the prex (vv.  381-406).30 Sobrietas delivers the admonishments of   the 24  To support this hypothesis, Franchi 2013, 133 notes that in Seneca’s dialogue the reference to the inferna mostra is followed by the description of  the Furies, which is significant if we consider that in Virgil’s text, the figure of  Amata is, in a sense, the mirror of  Alecto. 25  See Nugent 1985, 34 and Franchi 2013, particularly 123; 128-134. 26  Zarini 2005 analyses the speeches in the Psychomachia and their incorporation in the narrative; Bureau 2003, also offers a number of   interesting observations, focusing in particular on the Biblical references that are woven into the speeches and their role in the wider fabric of  the poem. 27  Psych. 347-349 Vexillum sublime crucis, quod in agmine primo / dux bona praetulerat, defixa cuspide sistit / instauratque levem dictis mordacibus alam. 28   Psych. 407-409 Sic effata crucem domini ferventibus offert / obvia quadriiu­ gis lignum venerabile in ipsos / intentans frenos. 29  See below, 26-28. 30  There is an echo, here, of   Aen. 10,368 n u n c p r e c e , n u n c d i c t i s vir­ tutem accendit a m a r i s , which precedes the words with which Pallas seeks to

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former in a succession of   questions, which, brief and urgent in the initial verses (vv. 351-352 Q uis furor insanas agitat caligine mentes? / Q uo ruitis? Cui colla datis?), acquire greater syntactic complexity and density of   meaning as she continues. In  an appeal to her comrades’ warrior spirit (cf. armigeris in v. 353 and adsuetas bello … palmas of   v. 356), she scolds their waywardness and sets the transitory temptations of  Luxuria against the power of  choices rooted in commitment to the militia Christi.31 Dissolution, represented by the troops’ seduction by flowers and perfume, is challenged by the warrior spirit; 32 the effeminacy of  the headdress and the nard in which it  is soaked are contrasted by the eternal, regal oil of   the baptismal unction; 33 the lilting gait and frilly clothing are opposed by the immortal tunic of   faith received at baptism; 34 the excesses of   night-time festivities and excess of   wine  35 can do little to quench man’s spiritual craving, which was satisfied in the desert by the water released from the rock by the staff of   Moses 36 and the manna sent down by God rekindle the courage of  the Arcadians. On the Virgilian influences – the speeches of   Pallas (Aen. 10,368-379) and Tarchon (Aen. 11,732-740) in particular – see Lühken 2002, 63-64. 31  The contrast is also conveyed by the grammatical forms, with the Christian choices qualified by the perfect and the behaviours induced by the temptations of  Luxuria qualified by the present, as if to underline their impermanence. 32  Psych. 352-357, quoted on p. 24. 33  Psych. 358-361 ut mitra caesariem cohibens aurata virilem  / conbibat in­ fusum croceo religamine nardum  / post inscripta oleo frontis signacula per quae  / unguentum regale datum est et chrisma perenne. On the practice of   marking the forehead with oil in the sign of   the cross in the baptism ceremony, see Pelttari 2019, 148. 34   Psych. 362-366 ut tener incessus vestigia syrmate verrat / sericaque infractis fluitent ut pallia membris / post immortalem tunicam quam pollice docto / texuit alma Fides dans inpenetrabile tegmen / pectoribus lotis, dederat quibus ipsa renasci. Cf. Rom 13,14 induite Dominum Iesum Christum and Gal 3,27 quicumque enim in Christo baptizati estis, Christum induitis. 35  Psych. 367-370 inde ad nocturnas epulas ubi cantharus ingens / despuit effusi spumantia damna Falerni / in mensam cyathis stillantibus, uda ubi multo / fulcra mero veterique toreumata rore rigantur? Shackleton Bailey 1952, 321 sees, here, an allusion to Prop. 2,33,39-40 (largius effuso madeat tibi mensa Falerno, / spumet et aurato mollius in calice). 36  Psych. 371-373 Excidit ergo animis eremi sitis, excidit ille  / fons patribus de rupe datus quem mystica virga  / elicuit scissi salientem vertice saxi? There are two Old Testament passages to which these verses may be alluding: in the first (Ex 17,1-7), at God’s command, following the crossing of   the Red Sea, Moses strikes the rock at Horeb so that his people might drink; in the second (Num

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from heaven.37 Prudentius himself tells us that the Old Testament episodes are be interpreted in typological terms (Angelicusne cibus … quem nunc … vespertinus edit populus de corpore Christi): the true rock from which the water flows and the true bread of  life are Christ, from whom the believer draws nourishment in the sacrament of  the Eucharist.38 Essentially, by anchoring her discourse in scripture, and in particular the writings of   St Paul,39 Sobrietas identifies the sacraments – the Eucharist, but also baptism, which she mentions moments earlier – as the means by which to stand up to temptation and remain true to God’s plan to save us through Christ’s death and resurrection. The reference to Old Testament events, therefore, serves to convey the theological conception of  history that underlies the entire Psychomachia, by which Christ is understood, in his person, to have fulfilled the Law and inaugurated a  new age that will come into fullness in the Heavenly Jerusalem. The Virtue concludes the first section of  her speech rebuking those who, despite partaking of  such divine nourishment, 20,1-13), in the Desert of  Zin and again on God’s instruction, Moses brings forth water from the rock by striking it twice with his staff. Prudentius alludes to the same events in Cath. 5,89-92, on the biblical sources of  which, see Charlet 1983, 52-56. 37  Psych. 374-376 Angelicusne cibus prima in tentoria vestris / fluxit avis, quem nunc sero felicior aevo  / vespertinus edit populus de corpora Christi? The episode is narrated in both Ex 16,14-15 and Num 11,9, and is referenced by Prudentius again in Cath. 5,97-104 and Ditt. 11. Significantly, the two events (water brought forth from the rock and manna sent down from heaven) are associated in Ps 77,1525, which retraces the history of   the ancient alliance between God and Israel. 38   Cf. respectively, Ioh 4,13 qui bibit ex aqua hac sitiet iterum; qui autem bi­ berit ex aqua quam ego dabo, ei non sitiet in aeternum and 6,51-59 ego sum panis vivus qui de caelo descendi; si quis manducaverit ex hoc pane vivet in aeternum et panis quem ego dabo caro mea est pro mundi vita […] caro enim mea vere est cibus et sanguis meus vere est potus […] hic est panis qui de caelo descendit non sicut man­ ducaverunt patres vestri manna et mortui sunt; qui manducat hunc panem vivet in aeternum. 39  Paul not only references the same events from the history of   the Israelites as Sobrietas [1  Cor 10,3-4 et omnes eandem escam spiritalem manducaverunt; et  omnes eundem potum spiritalem biberunt (bibebant autem de spiritali conse­ quenti eos petra; petra autem erat Christus)], but also writes explicitly in terms of   τύποι to serve in warning to future Christians (1 Cor 10,11 haec autem omnia in figura contigebant illis; scripta sunt autem ad correptionem nostram in quos fines saeculorum devenerunt). Similarly – following Paul’s example – the two episodes foreshadow the blood and body of   Christ on numerous occasions in the exegeses of   the Church Fathers: see e.g. Tert. Baptis. 9; Orig. in Ex. 5,1,5-8; Aug. in Num. 35; Ambr. Myst. 47-48.

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and managing to stand against idols and the fury of   Wrath, have been conquered by an inebriated dancer.40 The second, paraenesis section – which is set out in a sequence of   imperatives and exhortatory subjunctives – reinforces the message of   Christ’s soteriological importance. It opens with an appeal to the soldiers not to forget that they belong to the tribe of   Judah, from which Christ himself was descended by his incarnation through Mary.41 The exhortation to return to their duties is rooted in the celebration of  a number of  Old Testament exempla: David, another descendent of  Judah – and a traditional figura Christi – for his courage in war; 42 Samuel for prohibiting the taking of   spoils from his enemies and for having their king, Agag, killed whereas Saul had let him live; 43 and – finally – Jonathan, who having disobeyed his father’s orders, proves that repentance is a  sure path to obtain pardon,44 thus exemplifying the mercy 40  Psych. 377-380 His vos inbutos dapibus iam crapula turpis / Luxuriae ad madidum rapit inportuna lupanar, / quosque viros non Ira fremens non idola bello / cedere conpulerant saltatrix ebria flexit! 41  Psych. 381-385 State, precor, vestri memores, memores quoque Christi.  /  uae sit vestra tribus, quae gloria, quis deus et rex, / quis dominus meminisse decet. Q Vos nobile Iudae / germen ad usque dei genetricem qua deus ipse / esset homo, pro­ cerum venistis sanguine longo. In contrast to the Gospel genealogies (Luc 3,23-38 and Matth 1,1-16), which refer to Joseph as a  member of   the Tribe of   Judah, Prudentius ascribes this ancestry to Mary. In this, he extends the theological reflection on the Incarnation he had developed in the earlier speech by Pudicitia (see Bureau 2003, 122 n. 47), finding agreement in the Church Fathers. On the figure of  Mary in Prudentius, see Camilloni 2002. 42  Psych. 386-387 Excitet egregias mentes celeberrima David / gloria continuis bellorum exercita curis. The reference, here, may be less to the victory over Goliath, which is explicitly evoked as a precedent to the duel between Mens humilis and Superbia (vv.  291-304) than to the military achievements of   David following his anointment as King of   Israel. On the Christological interpretation of   David, as explicated in Prud. Ditt. 20, see Meloni 1988. 43  Psych. 388-393 Excitet et Samuel, spolium qui divite ab hoste  / attrectare vetat nec victum vivere regem / incircumcisum patitur, ne praeda superstes / victorem placidum recidiva in proelia poscat. / Parcere iam capto crimen putat ille tyranno, / at vobis contra vinci et subcumbere votum est. The episode is narrated in 1Reg 15. 44  Psych. 394-402 Paeniteat per siqua movet reverentia summi / numinis hoc tam dulce malum voluisse nefanda / proditione sequi; si paenitet, haud nocet error. / Paenituit Ionatham ieiunia sobria dulci / conviolasse favo sceptri mellisque sapore / heu male gustato, regni dum blanda voluptas  / oblectat iuvenem iurataque sacra resolvit. / Sed quia paenituit nec sors lacrimabilis illa est / nec tinguit patrias sententia saeva secures. Neither Jonathan’s penitence or his desire to be king is suggested in the Biblical account (1 Reg 14,27-45), and it is despite his father, Saul’s, intention to put him to death that he is saved by his men, who recognise that he had

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that awaits the followers of  Sobrietas should they rejoin the battle. As such, we see again the events and figures of  the Old Testament used to admonish God’s new people to renew their battle in the name of   Christ, and to lend weight to the argument set out by the Virtue, which concludes: En ego Sobrietas, si conspirare para­ tis, / pando viam cunctis virtutibus, ut malesuada / Luxuries multo stipata satellite poenas / cum legione sua Christo sub iudice pendat (vv. 403-406). Needless to say that grafted on to this weave of   scriptural and patristic citations are a plurality of  other references (motifs, imagery, expressions): in addition to the Aeneid, which remains the principal poetic model, a  significant role is reserved for Ovid, and specifically the words with which Pentheus harangues his subjects to induce them to reject the cult of   Bacchus (Met. 3,531-563). The association between the two speeches was first proposed in 1936 by Ferdinand Alexander, who – starting by identifying certain parallels in their content, including occasional similarities of   expression  – sought to highlight the originality of   Prudentius with respect to the earlier text. Johannes Schwind’s more recent contribution offers a  broader assessment of  the comparability of  the contexts and structures of  the speeches, recognising Ovid as the primary model, the slightness of   the formal similarities notwithstanding.45 A systematic, parallel reading of   the two discourses, starting with the analogous features already mentioned, allows us not only to clarify and integrate the observations of  previous studies; it also reveals how, in structural terms, the discourses are more congruous than these other authors have indicated, and how, by contributing to the construction of   meaning in the Prudentian passage, Ovid’s influence extends beyond questions of   style and expressive choice. We can say with some certainty that the

acted with God’s blessing. Lavarenne 19632, 198-199 hypothesises that the variations from the Biblical narrative may indicate that Prudentius had confused the episode with that of  Absalom, which he references in Ham. 563 ff. In relation to these variations, see below, 25-26. 45  Schwind cites neither Alexander 1936, nor James 1999, which – in an exploration of   the skill with which Prudentius evokes the pagan arena as a  space of   public punishment – notes the parallels between the two discourses and their protagonists.

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resemblance between Pentheus’ allocutio to his subjects, and that of   Sobrietas to her troops, is heightened by the similarity of   the circumstances in which they are delivered: 46 just as the arrival of   Bacchus exerts a powerful attraction on the Thebans,47 to the point that the king is moved to intervene to contain the spread of   the new rites, Luxuria’s passage through the enemy lines has unwelcome effects 48 that Sobrietas must seek to dispel. Both speeches are formed of   two parts, with a  section of   admonishments comprising a  sequence of   questions (Psych. 351-380  ~ Met. 3,531-542) leading into a paraenetic passage rich in imperative and exhortatory forms (Psych. 381-406 ~ Met. 3,543-563). The openings of   these two sections, a question and an exhortation respectively, offer the most conspicuous indication of   the speeches’ structural similarity: Prudentius’ Q  u i s f u r o r insanas agitat caligine m e n t e s ? (v. 351) echoes Ovid’s Q  u i s f u r o r , anguigenae, proles Mavortia, vestras / attonuit m e n t e s ? (v. 531), while S t a t e , p r e c o r , vestri m e m o r e s , memores quoque Christi (Psych. 381) with some variation mirrors E s t e , p r e c o r , m e m o r e s , qua sitis stripe creati (Met. 3,543).49 Not only this, there are a number of   similarities in the content of   the speeches, and even in the lines of   argument used by So­brietas and Pentheus: the contrast developed by Sobrietas between the current waywardness induced in her forces by Luxuria and the behaviours underpinned by the Christian sacraments is not unlike the contrast voiced by Pentheus between the Thebans’ traditional martial values and the dissoluteness of   the Bacchic rites.50 Similarly, Sobrietas’ admonishment of   her followers – for46  Cf. Alexander 1936, 168 and Schwind 2005, 324-325. A schematic illustration of  the parallels set out in this article is presented in the annexed table. 47  Ov. Met. 3,528-530. 48  Psych. 328-331, quoted in n. 16. 49  These same echoes are noted in Alexander 1936, 168 and 169 and in Schwind 2005, 325 and 327. Both authors also remark how Prudentius borrows individual words from Ovid, whether in the same precise form or with some modification. However, I  am not entirely convinced of   certain of   the parallels they draw, for instance the conclusion – based on the use by both poets of  fons – that Ovid’s pro f o n t i b u s ille lacuque  / interiit (Met. 3,545) inspired Pru­dentius’ exicidit ille f o n s patribus (Psych. 371-372). 50  Ov. Met. 3,531-537. Alexander 1936, 169 and Schwind 2005, 326 also see a stylistic similarity between Ovid’s q u o s n o n bellicus ensis, / n o n tuba ter­ ruerit, n o n strictis agmina telis,  / f e m i n e a e voces et mota insania v i n o   /

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getful of   the Eucharist prefigured in the Old Testament by the gushing of   the water from the rock and the gift of   manna from heaven – can, to my mind, be considered a counterpart to Pentheus’ reproval of   his subjects – who have turned away from the valour of   the past, prefigured by the sea journey faced by their ancestors in their flight from Tyre as they sought a new home for their Penates.51 In the second section of   both speeches, in their attempts to compel the listeners to correct their respective paths, the speakers appeal to the origins and history of   a pertinent lineage: So­brietas implores her followers, as members of   the lineage of   Christ, to find inspiration in the feats of   David and Samuel; in similar fashion, Pentheus exhorts the Thebans to revive the glory of   the serpent from which they are descended, and prevent Thebes from falling into the hands of   an unwarlike god.52 Both speakers conclude with the resolute decision to intervene personally to reverse the situation, Sobrietas with an appeal to the purpose that unites her forces in the name of  Christ, Pentheus by evoking the example of   Acrisius, who had obstructed Bacchus’ entrance to Argos.53 I am not inclined to agree with Schwind’s observation that Prudentius’ Old Testament references – to David, Samuel and Jonathan – find no point of   contact in the speech in Ovid.54 Not  only does Prudentius substitute the serpent from which the Theban lineage originated with Christ, the conqueror of   the serpent-demon,55 but he also replaces the rather lean exhortation of   Pentheus to his people (Met. 3,544-545 illiusque animos, qui multos perdidit unus, / sumite serpentis!) – which rests on the evocation of   the feats of   their serpent ancestor (Met. 3,545-548 Pro fontibus ille lacuque / interiit: at vos pro fama vincite vestra! / Ille dedit leto fortes, vos pellite molles / et patrium retinete decus!) –  with the appeal by Sobrietas to take inspiration from the exobscenique greges et inania tympana v i n c a n t ? (Met. 3,534-537) and Prudentius’ q u o s que viros n o n Ira fremens n o n idola bello / cedere conpulerant s a l t a t r i x e b r i a flexit! (vv. 379-380). 51  Psych. 371-376 ~ Ov. Met. 3,538-542. 52   Psych. 386-393 ~ Ov. Met. 3,543-556. 53  Psych. 403-406 ~ Ov. Met. 3,557-563. 54  Schwind 2005, 328. 55  As maintained by Schwind 2005, 327.

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empla of   David and Samuel.56 The martial achievements of   the Old Testament kings – a concrete manifestation of   the past glories of   the Christian lineage, according to the text’s theological reading of  history – are placed, in functional terms, on the same level as the feats of   the serpent evoked by Pentheus, an interpretation supported by the use of   similar stylistic devices (Psych. 386-393 e x c i t e t … mentes celeberrima David gloria … excitet et Samuel … a t v o b i s c o n t r a vinci ~ Met. 3,545-548 ille ... interiit; a t v o s … I l l e dedit leto … vos …). In the same way, Jonathan, whose repentance earned his pardon, and Acrisius, who had previously opposed the cult of   Bacchus, are presented as exempla worthy of   emulation. As such, where Ovid references mythical precedent to strengthen his speaker’s case, Prudentius turns to biblical examples, but the function of   such references in the argument is the same: to leverage an heroic past to overcome the dissoluteness and waywardness of   the present. All the same, we should not overlook a significant difference, which hinges on the poems’ relative conceptions of   history: making no concession to the future, Pentheus expresses a vision that is solidly rooted in the past, which present is charged with perpetuating in the name of  fama and decus; the vision of  Sobrietas, meanwhile, is anchored in Christ, who – by his incarnation – marks a point of  no return in the history of   humanity, fulfilling the past of   the patriarchs and calling the Christian people, in his name, to pick up arms once more and fight for the final victory.57 The sense of   structural and argumentative similarity is reinforced by echoes in the content, whereby Prudentius’ Luxuria may be considered a  counterpart to Ovid’s Bacchus, and the Thebans – in their attraction to the god – can therefore be considered analogous to the Christians seduced by the Vice: 58 the traits by which the figure of  Bacchus is described (Met. 3,553-556 56   I am not convinced by the suggestion that vv. 382-383 ( q u a e s i t vestra tribus, quae gloria, quis deus et rex, / quis dominus meminisse decet) is the counterpart of   Met. 3,544-545 (illiusque animos … / sumite serpentis!), as maintained by Schwind 2005, 327. To my mind, it is, instead, an amplificatio – entirely in line with Prudentius’ style – of  the preceding memores quoque Christi (v. 381), which corresponds to memores q u a s i t i s stirpe creati in Ovid (Met. 3,543). 57  See above, 18. 58  The parallel has been noted by both Alexander 1936 and Schwind 2005.

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at nunc a  puero Thebae capientur inermi,  / […] madidus murra crinis mollesque coronae  / purpuraque et pictis intextum vestibus aurum) are of  the same general character as those that qualify the descriptions of   Luxuria – who fights without weapons (Psych. 323-325 O  nova pugnandi species! Non ales harundo  / nervum pulsa fugit nec stridula lancea torto / emicat amento frameam nec dextra minatur) – and her followers, with their nard-soaked hair (Psych. 358-359 ut mitra caesariem cohibens aurata virilem / con­ bibat infusum croceo religamine nardum), and sumptuous clothing (Psych. 363 sericaque infractis fluitent ut pallia membris); the Christians, who would give over their battled-tested hands and arms to garlands of   flowers – Psych. 353-357 (pro pudor) armi­ge­ ris amor est perferre lacertis, / lilia luteolis interlucentia sertis / et ferrugineo vernantes flore coronas? / His placet adsuetas bello iam tradere palmas / nexibus, his rigidas nodis innectier ulnas – mirror the attitudes of   the young Thebans who would rather wield the thyrsus than a weapon, or prefer a crown to a helmet (Met. 3,541542 o  iuvenes, propiorque meae, quos arma tenere,  / non thyrsos, galeaque tegi, non fronde decebat?); in short, just as the Thebans are prepared sine Marte capi (Met. 3,540), the Christian force is happy, initially, sine caede perire (Psych. 346). The contrasting outcomes of   the speeches reveal the extent to which Prudentius departs from his model. For all that Pentheus and Sobrietas have been given an analogous function in confronting their peoples, the two figures are ultimately antithetical – the former contemptor superum (Met. 3,514), the latter fortissima vir­ tus and dux bona (Psych. 344 and 348) – and as events unfold, their interventions produce antithetical results: the failure and σπαραγμός of   the Theban king (Met. 3,708-733) are in striking contrast to the triumph of   Sobrietas, who – by destroying her enemy – re-establishes the victory of  Christ (Psych. 407-453).59 The implications of   this divergence are more significant than Schwind would appear to acknowledge. If, in the passage from the Metamorphoses, Thebes is an implicit analogue of   Rome, and the qualities advocated by Pentheus (descent from Mars, militarism, anti-orientalism, loyalty to one’s ancestors) are proxies for

  Schwind 2005, 329.

59

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the foundational values of  the Roman identity,60 Pentheus’ failure and the consequent affirmation of  the cult of  Bacchus set a seal on the defeat of   those values. As such, Pentheus – at first glance, the pagan analogue of  Sobrietas – ends up in the same role as Luxuria, who likewise meets an entirely different fate to her initial, pagan counterpart Bacchus. In other words, Prudentius effects an inversion of  the Ovidian precedent, giving tangible sense, with the victory of  Sobrietas, of  the power of  faith in Christ, who can ensure victory where traditional Roman values have failed. This inversion of  perspective is secured by the Christian content with which Prudentius fills out the argumentative framework supplied by Ovid. Indeed, he effectively turns against the pagan tradition the same forms of   reasoning that had been used, without success, to prevent the penetration of   a foreign cult viewed as a source of   corruption. In  this way, Prudentius both celebrates the superiority of  Christian over pagan values and – in his very treatment of  the Ovidian hypotext – demonstrates that the Christian culture does not reject traditional culture, but rather metabolises it, adapting it to new meanings. If this is the case, the stylistic and lexical echoes smuggled in by Prudentius serve less to embellish the poetry of  the text than to invoke the classical precedent; the subtextual presence of   Pentheus’ speech, by implicitly encouraging the comparison of   Roman values and Christian spirituality, introduces a surplus of   content that can be accessed by the well-versed reader who knows how to decode the interplay of   similarities between the two texts. The same strategy plays out on a smaller scale in the episode of   Jonathan, in which the variations relative to the biblical account, above all the identification of  the axe as the instrument of   punishment, evoke – for the learned reader – the Roman exempla of   Manlius Torquatus and Brutus and their treatment of   their sons.61 The contrast in the outcomes of   the biblical and   See Barchiesi 2007, 218.   Bureau 2003, 109-110 writes of   the exemplum of   Saul and Jonathan as a substitution of   the Roman exemplum of   the consul Manlius and his son (see also Zarini 2005, 286), and interprets Prudentius’ ‘bending’ of  the biblical narrative (see n. 44 above) as an attempt to suggest that Saul had even less cause than Manlius show mercy, and that therefore the biblical model was even more worthy. The same observation is even more apt for the case of  Brutus: the model for v. 402 60 61

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historical episodes, in turn, implicitly illustrates how the bond between God and man has raised the morality of   the bible over that of  tradition.62 Mechanisms of  this type, and the active involvement requested of   the reader, were by no means out of   place in late-antique literature, in which the use of  classical allusions commonly required “an appreciative engagement in the processes of  interpretation”.63 Although the final blow is struck by a  stone thrown by So­ brietas, a  major part in the death of   Luxuria is reserved for the very chariot that, in the early verses of  the scene, appeared to underline the Vice’s triumph, almost as if to show that sin contains within itself the source of  its own defeat (vv. 407-416). Sic effata crucem domini ferventibus offert obvia quadriiugis lignum venerabile in ipsos intentans frenos. Q uod ut expavere feroces cornibus oppansis et summa fronte coruscum vertunt praecipitem caeca formidine fusi per praerupta fugam. Fertur resupina reductis nequiquam loris auriga comamque madentem pulvere foedatur, tunc et vertigo rotarum inplicat excussam dominam; nam prona sub axem labitur et lacero tardat sufflamine currum.

Violent death in battle is a characteristic motif of   the epic narrative, and a  number of   Virgilian models have been proposed for this passage, for instance the deaths of   Troilus (Aen. 1,476478 F e r t u r equis curruque haeret r e s u p i n u s inani,  / l o r a nec tinguit patrias sententia s a e v a s e c u r e s is Aen. 6,819 consulis imperium hic primus s a e v a s que s e c u r i s (see Pelttari 2019, 153), part of   a wider passage concerning Brutus’s execution of   his son, who was guilty of   conspiring to restore the monarchy (Aen. 6,819-823). The superiority of  Saul as exemplum is tied to the fact that, in the Christian context, the love of  the temporal patria that motivates the pagan protagonists – which cannot be separated from their desire for laus – is superseded by the love of  God, a love intent on heavenly reward, and the source of  mercy. 62  The examples of   Brutus and Manlius are referenced with analogous purpose in Aug. Civ. 5,18,1-2 and, in verse, in Drac. Laud. dei 3,324-343 and 362396. 63  Pelttari 2014, 115. Pelttari demonstrates this fundamental principle through the analysis of   the foremost authors of   the fourth century (Claudian, Ausonius, Prudentius), writing of   the Psychomachia, “the poem is continually open to the intervention of  its reader” (p. 92).

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t e n e n s tamen; huic cervixque c o m a e q u e t r a h u n t u r   / p e r t e r r a m et versa p u l v i s inscribitur hasta) and Murranus (Aen. 12,531-534 p r a e c i ­p i ­t e m scopulo atque ingentis turbine saxi / e x c u t i t effunditque solo; hunc l o r a et iuga subter / p r o v o l ­ v e r e r o t a e , crebro super ungula pulsu / incita nec domini memo­ rum proculcat equorum), but also – for the detail of  the hair defiled in the dust – the death imagined by Turnus for his foe as he prepares to fight Aeneas (Aen. 12,99-100 f o e d a r e i n p u l v e r e crinis / vibratos calido ferro murraque m a d e n t i s ).64 All the same, given the multiple intertextuality of   Prudentius’ poetry, I would not rule out the influence of  Ovid, and in particular the account of  the death of  Hippolytus (Met. 15,515-526):             cum colla feroces ad freta convertunt adrectisque auribus horrent quadripedes monstrique metu turbantur et altis praecipitant currum scopulis, ego ducere vana frena manu spumis albentibus oblita luctor et retro lentas tendo resupinus habenas. Nec vires tamen has rabies superasset equorum, ni rota, perpetuum quae circumvertitur axem, stipitis occursu fracta ac disiecta fuisset. Excutior curru, lorisque tenentibus artus viscera viva trahi, nervos in stipe teneri, membra rapi partim, partim reprensa relinqui.

Notwithstanding the obvious disparateness of   the figures of  Luxu­ria and Hippolytus, and the situations in which they die, the similarity of  the dynamics by which their deaths come about, and the analogous series of   snapshot images with which they are portrayed, are striking: the chariot horses are startled – in one case by a supernatural apparition in the sea, in the other by the wood of   the cross (Psych. 408-410 ~ Met. 15,516-517) – and, in their fright, flee in a panic (Psych. 411-412 ~ Met. 15,517-518); vainly, the respective drivers strain at the reins (Psych. 412-413 ~ Met. 15,520) but they are thrown from their chariots (Psych. 414-415 ~ Met. 15,524), and their bodies fatally mangled (Psych. 415-416  ~ Met. 15,525-526). A  number of   lexical similarities catch the eye (Psych. 411-412 vertunt praecipitem … fugam  ~   On the parallels with Virgil, see Lühken 2002, 56 n. 48.

64

27

S. FILOSINI

Met. 15,517-518 praecipitant currum; Psych. 415 excussam domi­ nam  ~ Met. 15,524 excutior curru; Psych. 412-413 reductis … loris ~ Met. 15,524 lorisque tenentibus), as does the condensation of  Ovid’s rota, perpetuum quae circumvertitur axem (v. 522) to the suggestive vertigo rotarum (v. 414), with axem recovered at the end of   the following hexameter. Most striking, however, is the deployment of   the terms feroces and resupinus, which Prudentius even sets in the same metrical position. The – albeit inexplicit – verbal echoes and the analogous framing of  the scene are thus suggestive of  a possible intertextual link. On this point, there is another element that merits attention: in the verses dedicated to the death of   Hippolytus in Phaedra – with which Prudentius was familiar 65 – Seneca establishes a parallel between the death of  the son of  Theseus and that of Phaeton, who also falls victim to his father’s chariot.66 If the chariot of   Luxuria is, in fact, inspired by the chariot of   the Sun in Ovid – as mediated by Seneca – and, like it, causes the death of  its driver (see above, 13-15), it is not improbable that Seneca’s association of   Hippolytus and Phaeton may have suggested to Prudentius to allude to the death of   Hippolytus in his account of   Luxuria’s destruction.67 If this be so, through a process no unlike the one at work in the description of   the chariot, the text that provided Prudentius with his initial cue (i.e. Seneca) has effectively been supplanted – at the level of  the narrative and verbal formulae – by the Ovidian narration of  the same episode, such that we might say that, at the moment of   its introduction and again at its destruction, the chariot is somehow both Senecan and Ovidian. Ultimately, as far as the duel between Sobrietas and Luxuria is concerned, the influence of   Ovid – the verbal and stylistic 65   It is generally accepted that the martyrdom of  Hippolytus in the 11th hymn of   the Peristephanon takes its inspiration from the fate of   the mythological Hippolytus, and particularly as it is described in Phaedra: see, most recently, Río Sanz 2018, which in its comparison of  the two texts surveys the existing bibliography. 66 Sen. Phaed. 1085-1092 Praeceps in ora fusus inplicuit cadens / laqueo tenaci corpus … / Sensere pecudes facinus – et curru levi, / dominante nullo, qua timor iussit ruunt. / Talis per auras non suum agnoscens onus / Solique falso creditum indignans diem / Phaethonta currus devium excussit polo. 67  Nugent 1985, 41-42 notes simply, “The charioteer, Luxuria, is carried along and entangled in her own reins, à la Hippolytus”. Less convincing, to my mind, is the association of   Hippolytus and Discordia proposed by Malamud 1989, 93-101.

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echoes of   whom are less immediately obvious than those of  Virgil – is far from insignificant. Not only is the Ovidian model discernible in the descriptions, narrative sequences and dialogues, but in certain moments it also informs the very meaning of  Prudentius’ verses. Within the broader structure of   the poem, the Ovidian example is also brought to bear at the most minute level – the single hexameter – revealing itself in a single word, a phrase, the cadence of   a verse, all modified in original fashion and encased in a complex web of   echoes and allusions. Of the many possible examples, there is a  passage in the long speech made by Pudici­ tia to the defeated Libido (vv. 58-63) that manages to condense a variety of   modes of   interaction with Ovid in just a few verses. The Virtue cites the Old Testament episode of   Judith’s execution of  Holofernes, which typologically foreshadows the outcome of  her duel with the Vice: Tene, o vexatrix hominum, potuisse resumptis viribus extincti capitis recalescere flatu, Assyrium postquam thalamum cervix Olofernis caesa cupidineo madefactum sanguine lavit gemmantem torum moechi ducis aspera Iudith sprevit et incestos conpescuit ense furores.

Here, the biblical source has been filtered through the Ambrosian interpretation of   the character, which casts Judith as an exemplum of   chastity.68 However, the importance of   this biblical-patristic substrate in the content and meaning of   the text does not rule out debts to the poetic tradition. Commentators are in agreement on the presence of   multiple Virgilian echoes: aspera Iudith, which prominently follows the bucolic diaeresis, evokes the aspera virgo with which Camilla is addressed in Aen. 11,664; conpescuit ense furores has been associated with Georg. 3,468 culpam ferro conpesce; the image of   the laving blood, or blood-drenched earth, is reminiscent of   Georg. 3,221 (lavit ater corpora sanguis) and Aen. 5,330 (fusus humum viridisque super madefecerat herbas). However, to my mind, the passage – and vv. 60-61 in particular (thalamum cervix Olofernis / caesa cupidi­   See Franchi 2013, 94-95.

68

29

S. FILOSINI

neo m a d e f a c t u m s a n g u i n e lavit) – has even closer echoes of   Propertius and Ovid. To view the allusion to Prop. 4,10,3738 desecta Tolumni  / cervix Romanos sanguine lavit equos in terms of   merely verbal echoes would be reductive; the similarity of   the imagery – the decapitated head of   the enemy king – and expressions – the pairing sanguine lavit – is reinforced by the analogousness of   the circumstances: just as Judith’s beheading of  Holofernes marks the liberation of  her people from their enemy, the decapitation of   Tolumnius by the consul Cossus signals the release of   Rome from its long conflict with Veii. If we accept the ἀπὸ κοινοῦ construction of  the ablative sanguine, it is also possible to discern an echo of   Ovid: indeed, the only other poetical use of  the expression madefact* sanguine is in Ovid, who deploys it in the same metrical position on four occasions (Met. 4,126; 4,481; 6,529; 12,301); the closest reference would appear to be Met. 4,481 (Nec mora, Tisiphone m a d e f a c t a m s a n g u i n e sumit / inportuna f a c e m ), not only for the fact that sanguine is followed by a  disyllable verb and for the enjambement-straddling hyperbaton of   the participle and the respective noun, but also because the subject is one of   the Furies, and both Holofernes and the Vice that he embodies are, on more than one occasion, likened to the Furies.69 It is also worth noting the poetic adjective cupidineus, which, even if we cannot be entirely certain, may have been suggested by Ovid. Before Prudentius, it had appeared in poetry on four occasions: once in Culex 409 (igne Cupidineo), once in Mart. 7,87,9 (Cupidinei cur non amet ora Labyrtae …?) and twice in Ovid (Rem.  157 Cupidineas … sagittas and Trist. 4,10,65 cupidineis … telis). But where these authors use it in the sense of  ‘belonging to Cupid’ or, in Martial, ‘as winsome as Cupid’, the meaning assigned to the term by Prudentius of   ‘libidinous’ is a first, and one that would only resurface, later, in Ennod. opusc. 6,8 (dira cupidinei detester mella veneni). In  other words, Pruden69  The similarity in the characterisation of   Prudentius’ Vices and that of   the Furies, particularly in the Aeneid, has been demonstrated by Cutino 2010. This, alongside the syntactic and stylistic similarities, suggests that Met. 4,481 is a better candidate as the precedent to Prudentius’ verses than Met. 12,301 (Rhoetus et ipse suo madefactus sanguine fugit), which is proposed in Coomans – Desy 2019, 198 (regarding which, see above, nn. 6 and 15).

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tius distances himself from the adjective’s former, positive associations, resemanticising it with a negative connotation. In v. 59, meanwhile, we have the verb recalescere, which Prudentius used on two other occasions (Cath. 10,95 and c. Symm. 2,269), and whose only prior use in verse can be found in Ov. Rem. 629 quid iuvat admonitu tepidam recalescere mentem. The similarity of   the metrical structure of   the two hexameters (dddd, with the same caesuras, a  scheme largely avoided in the classical hexameter, and likewise in late-Latin poetry) 70 strengthens the case for an Ovidian echo, though it should not escape us that in Prudentius the verb is charged with a religious meaning (‘return to life’, ‘revive’), with which he would use it again in Cath. 10,95 (nec post obitum recalescens / compago fatiscere novit). Finally, in v. 63, sprevit et emulates an hexameter incipit that is only otherwise found in Ov., Met. 4,469. This allusion is joined by another, to Met. 2,313 (expulit et saevis conpescuit ignibus ignes), which is the only poetic precedent for the use of   the perfect conpescuit, what is more in the same metrical position and as part of  a similar syntactic construction. The skill with which Prudentius draws on the classical repertoire to fashion a  Christian narrative derived from the bible and guided by the interpretation of   Ambrose underlines the complexity of   his creative process, specifically his use of   multiple models, the influence of   which is felt, in some cases, at the level of   subject matter and conceptual development, and in others in his expressive and stylistic choices. To conclude, then, the Ovidian presences in the Psychomachia are many and diverse: in the microcosm of  individual verses, these allusions are rarely obvious, having been disguised through a process of   careful textual intarsia. However, they speak to the great literariness of   Prudentius’ writing, and the pleasure he seems to take in selecting, from the great and varied storehouse of   poetic tradition, the most appropriate tesserae to enhance the mosaic of   his text. At a  less minute level, Ovid is often referenced in imagery or descriptions the impetus for which can be traced to another source, at times becoming – as with the speech made by   See Ceccarelli 2008, 67-68; 155-156.

70

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Sobrietas – the primary hypotext, which, retrieved and reinterpreted through the prism of   Christian spirituality, assists the author in making his point. As such, Evenepoel’s conclusions about the presence of   Ovid in the writing of   Prudentius are found also to be valid for the Psychomachia. Indeed, if anything, Ovid emerges from an analysis of   the poem as an even more important influence: while, in the general scheme, the Aeneid remains the more pervasive presence, and is therefore easier for the reader to recognise, Ovid also has an important role and operates even at a  basic, structural level, as we see in the duel between Luxuria and Sobrietas. In this sense, his treatment by Prudentius is not dissimilar to that reserved for Virgil.

Bibliography Alexander 1936 = F. Alexander, Beziehungen des Prudentius zu Ovid, WS 1936, 166-173. Amiott 2010 = J. R. Amiott, Interpretatio christiana del epos clásico en la Praefatio  de la Psychomachia de Prudencio, Athenaeum 98, 2010, 193-204. Barchiesi 2007 = A. Barchiesi – G. Rosati (eds.), Ovidio, Metamorfosi. Volume II. Libri III-IV, Milano 2007. Bergman 1926 = J. Bergman (ed.), Aurelii Prudentii Clementis Car­ mina (CSEL 61), Wien-Leipzig 1926. Bureau 2003  = B.  Bureau, L’utilisation de la Bible dans la Psycho­ machie de Prudence, Vita Latina 168, 2003, 94-124. Camilloni 2002  = M.  T. Camilloni, Prudenzio e  la Vergine madre, Roma 2002. Ceccarelli 2008 = L. Ceccarelli, Contributi per la storia dell’esametro latino, Roma 2008. Charlet 1983 = J.-L. Charlet, Prudence e la Bible (Recherches augustiniennes et patristiques 18), 1983, 3-149. Charlet 2003 = J.-L. Charlet, Signification de la préface à la Psychomachia de Prudence, REL 81, 2003, 232-251. Consolino 2018  = F.  E. Consolino (ed.), Ovid in Late Antiquity, Turnhout 2018. Coomans – Desy 2019 = D. Coomans – P. Desy, Prudence et les Cen­ taures (Prud. psych. et Ov. met. 12, 64-535), WS 132, 2019, 195204. 32

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Cunningham 1966 = M. P. Cunningham (ed.), Aurelii Prudentii Cle­ mentis Carmina (CC SL 126), Turnhout 1966. Cutino 2010 = M. Cutino, Les phases du combat spirituel dans la Psychomachia de Prudence, REA 112 (1), 2010, 37-53. Dewar 2002 = M. Dewar, Siquid habent veri vatum praesagia: Ovid in the 1st-5th centuries a.d., in B. W. Boyd (ed.), Brill’s Companion to Ovid, Leiden-Boston 2002, 383-412. Evenepoel 1982 = W. Evenepoel, La présence d’Ovide dans l’œuvre de Prudence, in R. Chevallier, Colloque Présence d’Ovide, Tours 26-28 septembre 1980 (Caesarodunum 17 bis), Paris 1982, 165-176. Ewald 1942 = M. L. Ewald, Ovid in the Contra orationem Symmachi of  Prudentius, Washington 1942. Fielding 2014 = I. Fielding, A Poet between two Worlds: Ovid in Late Antiquity, in J. F. Miller – C. E. Newlands (eds.), A Handbook to the Reception of  Ovid, Chichester 2014, 100-113. Fielding 2017 = I. Fielding, Transformations of  Ovid in Late Antiquity, Cambridge 2017. Fontaine 1981  = J.  Fontaine, Naissance de la poésie dans l’Occident chrétien. Esquisse d’une histoire de la poésie latine chrétienne du iiie au vie siècle, Paris 1981. Franchi 2012  = P.  Franchi, Comminus portenta notare. Pretesa di realtà e  crogiolo d’immaginari: il laboratorio allegorico della Psychomachia, in G.  Moretti – A.  Bonandini (eds.), Persona ficta. La  personificazione allegorica nella cultura antica fra letteratura, retorica e iconografia, Trento 2012, 341-353. Franchi 2013 = P. Franchi, La battaglia interiore. Prova di commento alla Psychomachia di Prudenzio (diss.), Wien 2013. Frisch 2020 = M. Frisch (ed.), Prudentius, Psychomachia. Einleitung, Text, Übersetzung und Kommentar, Berlin-Boston 2020. Gnilka 1963 = Ch. Gnilka, Studien zur Psychomachie des Prudentius, Wiesbaden 1963. Gosserez 2002 = L. Gosserez, Le combat de Sobrietas contre Luxuria, miroir de la Psychomachie (Psy, 310 à 453), Vita Latina 167, 2002, 66-79. Hanley 1959 = M. E. Hanley, Classical sources of   Prudentius, Cornell University 1959. Heinz 2007  = C.  Heinz, Mehrfache Intertextualität bei Prudentius, Frankfurt am Main 2007. James 1999  = P.  James, Prudentius’ Psychomachia: the Christian Arena and the Politics of   Display, in R.  Miles (ed.), Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity, London 1999, 70-94. 33

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Kamptner 1994/1995  = M.  Kamptner, Die ‘Metamorphose’, des hl. Cyprian bei Prudentius (Peristephanon 13), WS 107-108, 19941995, 533-540. Lavarenne 19632 = M. Lavarenne (ed.), Prudence. Œuvres. Tome III. Psychomachie. Contre Symmaque, Paris 1963. Lühken 2002  = M.  Lühken, Christianorum Maro et Flaccus. Zur Vergil- und Horazrezeption des Prudentius, Göttingen 2002. Malamud 1989 = M. A. Malamud, A Poetics of   Transformation: Pru­ dentius and Classical Mythology, Ithaca 1989. Mazzoli 2007  = G.  Mazzoli, Prudenzio e  Draconzio tra vizi e  virtù, in L.  Cristante – V.  Veronesi (a cura di), Il calamo della memo­ ria VII. Raccolta delle relazioni discusse nell’incontro internazionale di Trieste, Biblioteca Statale, 29-30 settembre 2016, Trieste 2017, 51-66. Meloni 1988  = P.  Meloni, Davide figura di Cristo nei Padri della Chiesa, Bessarione 6, 1988, 43-49. Nugent 1985  = G.  Nugent, Allegory and Poetics. The Structure and Imagery of  Prudentius’ Psychomachia, Frankfurt am Main 1985. Pelttari 2014  = A.  Pelttari, The Space that remains. Reading Latin Poetry in Late Antiquity, Ithaca-London 2014. Pelttari 2019  = A.  Pelttari, The Psychomachia of   Prudentius. Text, Commentary, and Glossary, Norman 2019. Petrone 2012  = G.  Petrone, Personificazioni e  insiemi allegorici nelle commedie di Plauto, in G.  Moretti – A.  Bonandini (a cura di), Persona ficta. La personificazione allegorica nella cultura antica fra letteratura, retorica e iconografia, Trento 2012, 123-138. Río Sanz 2018 = E. Río Sanz, Séneca, (San) Hipólito y Prudencio: una recapitulación, Cuadernos de Filología Clásica. Estudios Latinos 38 (2), 2018, 193-213. Roberts 1989  = M.  Roberts, The jeweled Style. Poetry and Poetics in Late Antiquity, Ithaca-London 1989. Roberts 2018 = M. Roberts, The Influence of  Ovid’s Metamorphoses in Late Antiquity: Phaethon and the Palace of  the Sun, in F.  E. Consolino (ed.), Ovid in Late Antiquity, Turnhout 2018, 267-292. Salvatore 1959 = A. Salvatore, Echi ovidiani nella poesia di Prudenzio, in AA.  VV., Atti del convegno internazionale ovidiano, Sulmona, maggio 1958, Roma 1959, 257-272. Shackleton Bailey 1952 = D. R. Shackleton Bailey, Echoes of   Proper­ tius, Mnemosyne 5, 1952, 307-333. Schwind 2005 = J. Schwind, Sobrietas und König Pentheus. Kreative Ovid-Rezeption in Prudentius’ Psychomachia, in S.  Harwardt  – 34

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J.  Schwind (hrsg.), Corona Coronaria. Festschrift für Hans-Otto Kröner zum 75. Geburtstag, Hildesheim-Zürich-New York 2005, 321-331. Zarini 2005 = V. Zarini, Les discours dans la Psychomachie de Prudence: quelques données et réflexions, in Y.  Lehmann – G.  Freyburger  – J. S. Hirstein (éd.), Antiquité tardive et humanisme: de Tertullien à Beatus Rhenanus. Mélanges offerts à François Heim à l’occasion de son 70 e anniversaire, Turnhout 2005, 275-294.

Abstract Ovidian presences in the Psychomachia are many and diverse in nature: in the microcosm of   individual verses, these borrowings (single words and phrases, the cadence of   a verse, each modified in original fashion and encased in a  web of   echoes and allusions) speak to the great literariness of   Prudentius’ writing. At a larger scale, Ovid’s influence – generally marked by less pronounced verbal and stylistic resonances than is the case with Virgil – is felt particularly in the duel between Luxuria and Sobrietas (vv. 310-453), in which (mediated by Seneca at a  conceptual level) he emerges as the primary reference in both the ἔκφρασις of  Luxuria’s chariot (Psych. 333-339 ~ Met. 2,107110) and the account of   the Vice’s destruction (Psych. 406-416 ~ Met. 15,515-526). The allocutio made by Sobrietas to her troops (vv. 351-406) similarly draws on Ovid, particularly Pentheus’ address to his subjects (Met. 3,531-563). Here, however, the Christian content filling out the Ovidian argumentative framework and the opposite outcomes of   the speeches effect an inversion of   the model, which – retrieved and reinterpreted through Christian eyes – itself becomes a means for Prudentius to make his point by implicitly drawing the comparison of  Roman values and Christian spirituality.

35

SPEECH

EVENTS LEADING TO SPEECH

36

probra (series of questions)

conclusion: an inebriated dancer has bested warriors that neither war nor Wrath nor idols could make retreat (vv. 377-380)

The Bacchic rites of the present contrasted with the military tradition of Thebes o the musical paraphernalia of the thiasus, magical tricks and the effeminacy of the Bacchic rites (vv. 533-534; 536-537) vs. the warrior spirit of his people, which is prefigured by the foundation of Thebes following a long journey by sea from Tyre (vv. 534535; 538-539) o crowns and thyrsi (vv. 541-542) vs. weapons (vv. 541-542)

Present behaviours inspired by Luxuria are contrasted with those bolstered by the power of the Christian sacraments o seduction by flowers and perfumes (vv. 352359) vs. unguentum regale of the baptismal unction (vv. 360-361) o tener incessus e serica pallia (vv. 362-363) vs. the immortal tunic of faith put on at baptism (vv. 364-366) o participation in late-night festivities (vv. 367370) vs. the quenching of spiritual thirst by the Eucharist, which is prefigured by water bursting from the rock and the manna from heaven (vv. 371-376) probra (series of questions)

1st Section (vv. 531-542)

Bacchus arrives in Thebes (v. 528) The attraction of the god extends over the people of Thebes, making no distinction for sex, age or social status (vv. 529-530) Pentheus intervenes in his role as king, addressing his subjects to prevent the spread of the new cult (v. 532)

Luxuria passes through the enemy forces (vv. 321-327; 333-339) Christian forces are seduced. Beguiled by Luxuria, they abandon the battle (vv. 328-333; 340-343) Sobrietas, as a worthy leader, addresses her forces to negate the influence of Luxuria (vv. 344-350)

1st Section (vv. 351-380)

OVID Speech by Pentheus (Met. 3, 531-563)

PRUDENTIUS Speech by Sobrietas (Psych. 351-406)

S. FILOSINI

OUTCOME

SPEECH

37

Decision of Sobrietas to intervene personally (vv. 403-406)

Exhortation to the forces to repent and mend their ways (vv. 394-396) o exemplum of Jonathan who, having repented for disobeying his father, was spared from execution (vv. 397-402)

Victory of Sobrietas: Luxuria is destroyed and her followers scattered (vv. 407-453).

Prex (imperative and exhortatory forms)

2nd Section (vv. 381-406)

Appeal to the origin and history of the lineage of Christ in attempt to persuade the troops to correct their path (vv. 381-385) o the glory of David continuis bellorum exercita curis (vv. 386-387) o Samuel, who forbid the taking of spoils from the wealthy enemy and killed the king Agag, whom Saul had left alive (vv. 388-392)

Pentheus’ decision to intervene personally (vv. 557558; 562-563) o exemplum of Acrisius, who closed the gates of Argos to Bacchus (vv. 559-561)

Exhortation to fight (vv. 548-552) lest Thebes be taken by an unwarlike youth (vv. 553-556)

Failure and consequent σπαραγμός of Pentheus and the spread of the Bacchic cult (vv. 701-733).

Prex (imperative forms)

2nd Section (vv. 543-563)

Appeal to the origin and history of the Theban lineage in attempt to persuade the populace to correct its path (v. 543) o serpent from which the Theban line is descended, destroyer of many in defence of its spring and pool (vv. 544-548)

OVIDIAN PRESENCES IN PRUDENTIUS’ PSYCHOMACHIA

MARIA-PACE PIERI

OVID IN REPOSIANUS AND THE COMPLEXITY OF  RECEPTION

The Concubitus Martis et Veneris by Reposianus (AL 253 R.2 = 247 Sh.  B.) – which we will define rather loosely as a  song or poem, since its 182 hexameters do not admit inclusion in a single, particular literary genre, nor do they fit “the ‘convenient’ (but probably erroneous) definition of   epyllion” 1 – is preserved in the ms. Parisinus Latinus 10318, ff. 128-134. This codex – known as the Codex Salmasianus after Claude Saumaise, who took possession of   it in 1615 – was written in central Italy in the eighth or ninth century and is a copy of   a collection of   texts compiled in Africa some time around 534 ad.2 Although the first half is missing, it remains the largest poetic compilation to have reached us from antiquity. The surviving section largely comprises a  varied collection of   African poets of   the late Vandal period, although there are also more ancient works such as the Medea of  Hosidius Geta and the celebrated Pervigilium Veneris. As for the author of  the composition treating the amour between Mars and Venus, about whom nothing is known beyond the name mentioned in the codex, current thinking is that he was contemporary to Dracontius or slightly later.3 1  Monda 2000, 228 “la ‘comoda’ (ma probabilmente errata) definizione di epillio”. 2  On the origin, provenance and antigraph of  the Codex Salmasianus, cf. Zurli 2010, 220-221 and 285-288. 3   A late dating of  the fourth or fifth century was advanced by Baehrens 1876, 605-608, Morelli 1912, 82-93 and, more recently – following a number of   revisions and attempts to turn up evidence for a  second or third-century dating  – by both Tandoi 1984, 200 and Cristante 1999, 9 and 15, in the latter case with

After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127591 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 39-60

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As far as Reposianus’ auctores are concerned, alongside Virgil both Catullus and Lucretius occupy prominent positions. However, the poem is also noteworthy in its relationship to Ovid, who is unique among the Augustan poets in his frequent references to Mars and the extensive narration of   the affair with Venus.4 While Reposianus is not above contributing his own developments of   the myth, in referencing the two versions by Ovid he demonstrates a familiarity with his precursor’s entire output that is evident beyond the occasional instance of   formal imitation. I offer just two examples in which a careful consideration of   the modes by which the model is received can provide an aid in both a textual-critical and exegetic sense. The famous myth of  the affair between Mars and Venus enjoyed great popularity in the ancient world, above all in Latin literature, and was commonly retold – in every link in the chain from Homer (Od. 8,266-366) onwards – in an instructive, didactic spirit, even when evoked in brief allusions, as we shall see. Even in Reposianus’ more complex, multi-stranded reconstruction, the intention to derive some moral lesson from the tale is immediately discernible in the opening, admonitory verse (Discite securos non umquam credere amores), which might serve as the title for a section that is itself considered a proem for the rest of   composition (vv. 1-32). The poet is quick to apply this maxim too to the characters of  the story, with even Venus – well known as the mistress of  deceits and a ready warden of  the subterfuges of  lovers – unable to find herself a secure place in which to lurk (vv. 2-5). What follows is a confounding of   expected form. To discover the central events of  the myth, which offer a clear confirmation of  the opening axiom (namely Vulcan’s discovery of  the adultery – tipped off by Phoebus – and his revenge on Venus, who is forced to wear the chains forged by her furious husband), we are made to wait

shrewd observations on questions of  language, style, compositional technique and a lexicon that is evocative of   Dracontius’ Romulea. On the handling of   the hexameter and the similarities, in this respect, with Dracontius, cf. Ceccarelli 2008, 142, 148, 154 and the last tables in the second volume. 4  Cf.  Ars 2,561-591; Met. 4,171-189; alluded to in Am. 1,9,39-40 (which – as we will see – did not escape Reposianus’ attention), and in both Her. 4,5360 and Fast. 3,499. For a list of   textual and iconographic references to the myth, see Cristante 1999, 4-9.

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until vv. 23-27, in which in any case we are given only a summary of  the more extensive account that begins shortly afterwards with v. 33. Indeed, with the opening namque ferunt, which “represents the placing of   the traditional material at arm’s length”,5 the poet gives the impression that he is loath to invest fully in this first, summary account. This suspicion is confirmed in the verses framing the body of   the narrative. Those preceding it open with an apostrophe to Cupid (vv.  6-16). Through verbal echoes, isolated allusions and the general tone, we are led back to the tradition of   the erotic elegy: the influence of   Ovid – which is perhaps more pervasive than has been ascertained to date – is particularly evident in the treatment of   the characteristic thematic and metaphorical plexuses that underpin the expressive coding of   the Latin elegy. For instance, the description of   Cupid’s imposing triumphal procession, where Reposianus illustrates the god’s irresistible power through the traditional image of  lovers following the conqueror’s chariot in chains, is immediately evocative of   the motif of  the servitium amoris,6 although in this version there is a departure from the elegiac notion of  degradation: the Mars captivus has been made to yield his fera colla (v. 13), but he remains a fearsome figure of   war (vv. 11-12). This implication that, in becoming servus amoris, Mars is not deprived of   his warrior identity is even more apparent in the verses that follow (vv. 14-16 post vul­ nus, post bella potens Gradivus anhelat / in castris modo tiro tuis, semperque timendus / te timet et sequitur qua ducunt vincla marita) and will return in later sections.7 Reposianus seems to enjoy playing with this idea of   Mars’s anxiety to be recruited on the side of  Cupid provided he does not have to give up on truly martial activities, and is careful to distance the warrior god from the all-consuming propensity for inertia, for ignominia and nequitia, from the acceptance of   humiliation that characterises Tibullus 5   Cristante 1999, 10-11 “rappresenta una presa di distanza dalla materia della tradizione”. 6  Cf. Copley 1947, 289 f.; Lyne 1979, 117-130. 7  After v.  14, in which vulnus is most likely intended to imply the wound of   love, as it had done in Lucr. 1,34 aeterno devinctus volnere amoris (Cristante 1999, 46), cf. vv. 77-78 ecce furens post bella deus, post proelia victor / victus amore venit; v. 86 and vv. 92-95.

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and Propertius’ development of   this important metaphorical interplay.8 A militia – in the true sense of  the word – that coexists without contradiction with this transposed meaning could only have been suggested by Ovid, who was alone among the Augustan elegists in revisiting the subject repeatedly while, at the same time, subjecting it to this very form of   inventive reformulation.9 Indeed, Ovid had raised the possibility that a figure who had hitherto been dedicated to acts of   war might turn to more erotic enterprises in the verses of   the Ars amandi that introduce the episode of  Mars and Venus surprised by the snares of  Vulcan (Ars 2,563-564 Mars pater insano Veneris turbatus amore  / de duce terribili factus amator erat). However, the clearest expression of  such an inversion of  tradition is offered by a famous elegy from the Amores (1,9,31-32 ergo desidiam quicumque vocabat amorem, / desinat; ingenii est experientis amor), in which Reposianus could find illustrious examples including – alongside great heroes (Achilles, Hector and Agamemnon) – Mars himself (vv. 39-40 Mars quoque deprensus fabrilia vincula sensit; / notior in caelo fabula nulla fuit): a couplet imitated perhaps by Reposianus elsewhere in the poem (vv. 176-177 Stat Mavors lumine torvo / atque indignatur, quod sit deprensus adulter). Following the description of   the triumphus Cupidinis is a delayed invocation of   the Muses (vv. 17-22); in the invitation to sing the vincla Vulcani in such a manner that they bind Mars but do not harm the delicate arms of  Venus, which inter delicias roseo prope livida serto (v. 22),10 there is doubtless an allusion that arises more than once in the Concubitus to the delicacy of   the divine body (vv.  98-99 and 109-111); whatever the case, the image implies an act of   partiality that is not found in the traditional rendering. There is also a variation to the more familiar account 8   See, for instance, Prop. 1,6,25-26 e  29-30 non ego sum laudi, non natus idoneus armis / hanc me militiam fata subire volunt; 4,1,137; Tibull. 1,1,1-6, etc.: cf. Spies 1930. 9  Cf. Labate 1984, 92-97. 10  Here, the adjective livida – first associated with the theme of    love by Ovid (Am. 1,8,98; Her. 20,84) – is to be understood in the sense of   laesa, non sana. The image of   arms injured by excessive ardour would itself persist as late as Claudian (carm. min. 25,131) and beyond.

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in the closing verses of   the proem, after the summary of   the fabula; following a quick-fire series of   rhetorical questions that express open disapproval of   Vulcan’s conduct, the poet invites the god to swap the chains for garlands of  roses, and even advises him to leave it to Cupid to bind the goddess’s arms.11 What is clear is that these two paragraphs bring us into a space of   transgression with respect to the traditional story, framing it and insinuating into the mind of   the reader the suspicion that, for reasons known to himself, the poet desires – and proposes to Vulcan – a different outcome to the episode. We have Cristante to thank for a link to a passage from the Ars amandi (2,589-592), which he cites in his commentary to vv.  27-32.12 This insight merits a  fuller exploration of   a wider section of   Ovid’s text, which features one of  his two versions of  the affair between Mars and Venus, and in which more generally the mythological exem­ plum is used to demonstrate the validity of   a particular precept. The lesson imparted by the magister amoris, he admits, is not an easy one. To the lover, he advises tolerance of   his rivals (v. 539 rivalem patienter habe), to pretend not to see and to put up with the infidelities of  the object of  his affections (vv. 543-546) to the point of  letting another man have her (vv. 553-554 doctior ille, / quo veniunt alii conciliante viro), handling whatever illicit affair may arise with good taste and self-control and keeping well clear of  the role traditionally assigned to the husband. Reposianus revisits the complex, multifaceted lesson of   Ovid in simplified form, restricting himself to a  few slight allusions: for obvious reasons, the distinction made by Ovid between the behaviour of   the accommodating husband and that of   the tolerant lover is not one of   his objectives.13 All the same, despite this trimming down, the precepts of   tolerance and accommodation in Ovid’s lesson are still largely discernible. They go some way to explaining, for instance, the invitations to Vulcan to discard his mythological persona and change the rather intransigent be11   Cur nodos Veneris Cyclopia flamma paravit? / de roseis conecte manus, Vul­ cane, catenis!  / Nec tu deinde liges, sed blandus vincla Cupido,  / ne palmas duro cum nodus vulnere laedat (vv. 29-32). 12  Cristante 1999, 48 and 52-53. 13  For a  more in-depth commentary on this whole passage in the Ars, see Labate 1984, 103-107.

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haviour traditionally assigned him. Similarly, from a conciliatory perspective, the returning motif of   rose garlands – to replace the chains – is no longer an embellishing detail but becomes a  metaphor imbued with an unmistakeable element of   moral instruction. However, while the desired alternative to the mythological story is inspired by the counsels of  the Ars, Reposianus reasons on the merits of   such teachings and the need for Vulcan to observe them in quite different terms from those put forward by Ovid. The suggestion to leave it to Cupid to bind the hands of   Venus with roses (vv.  31-32) is a  blunt acknowledgement of   the great power of   the triumphant god, by whom we are made to accept the unhindered realisation of   amorous sentiment.14 Interpreted in this way, these verses set up an immediate connection with the preceding allusion to triumph.15 Not only this, in justifying the crimen by the impossibility of   resisting Cupid’s authority they also mark out the space of   autonomy that Reposianus makes for himself with respect to his model. Ovid had imparted an important, final piece of   advice to his enamoured scholar: in discovery, the adulterous woman is induced to lie, and in lying becomes shameless. Her love for the rival will only grow and together the two of   them will persist in their misdeeds.16 So important is this warning that Ovid repeats it immediately after recounting the tale of   the two discovered lovers, who are exposed to the mockery of   the gods. This time, however, he makes the key point even more explicit, using it to make clear what is at risk if the precepts he has laid out are not observed: addressing Vulcan, the poet informs him that infidelity, once discovered, does not lead to repentance, and that not only do the lovers persist in their affair but they now do openly that which shame once induced them to hide: hoc tibi perfecto, Vul­ 14   Zuccarelli 1972, 110 writes, perceptively, of   the “licitness” of   the amorous sentiment, and Cristante 1999, 52 of   the necessity of   not opposing the union of  Mars and Venus insofar as it derives from the will of  Cupid. 15  Cf. Cristante 1999, 53. 16 Cf. Ars 2,555-560 Sed melius nescisse fuit; sine furta tegantur, / ne fugiat ficto fassus ab ore pudor. / Q uo magis, o iuvenes, deprendere parcite vestras; / peccent, peccantes verba dedisse putent. / Crescit amor prensis; ubi par fortuna duorum est, / in causa damni perstat uterque sui. A more summary version of   this counsel had appeared in Am. 3,4,11 Desine, crede mihi, vitia inritare vetando.

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cane, quod ante tegebant,  / liberius faciunt et pudor omnis abest (vv. 589-592). A trace of  this last warning from Ovid is preserved in Reposianus’ text (vv. 176-182): 17         Stat Mavors lumine torvo atque indignatur, quod sit deprensus adulter at Paphie conversa dolet non crimina facti sed quae sit vindicta sibi dum singula volvens cogitat − et poenam sentit, si Phoebus amaret −. Iamque dolo‹s› properans decorabat cornua tauri, Pasiphaae crimen mixtique cupidinis iram.

Here, the focus is on the immediate reaction of   the two lovers who find themselves chained up by an enraged husband: Mars looks on, sullen; Venus, meanwhile, begins to plot her revenge. These verses are crowed with formal borrowings from Ovid, some from examples that relate to the theme of   capture; 18 however, a careful reading also reveals an allusion to the Ars, in v. 178. I believe Cristante points the way to the correct exegesis of   this problematic verse. Building on the interpretation proposed by Wernsdorf – which has the merit of   not attempting a correction of   the text as it appears in the manuscript 19 – and recognising an anastrophic placement of   non, Cristante translates it as follows: “la Pafia però non si duole che la colpa del suo agire gli si ritorca contro”. To my mind, however, the verse does not indicate that Venus, in denial of  the evidence, refuses to acknowledge her guilt in her adultery, as Cristante proposes in the commentary note in his edition.20 Rather, it appears more likely and logical that the poet wished to express that the goddess felt no shame for her now discovered crimen and that she most likely intended to persist in her actions. As we have seen, it is this that Ovid warned   Excerpts from the text are from the version in Cristante 1999, 38.  Cf. v. 174 sed retinebat amor and Ov., Trist. 1,3,491; v. 176 lumine torvo and Ov., Met. 9,27, but also, earlier, and with the same metrical placement, Verg., Aen. 3,677; v. 177 deprensus adulter and Ov., Am. 1,9, 39 Mars quoque deprensus fabrilia vincula sensit; Met. 4,184; in Ars 2,593-594 deprensa is used for Venus. 19  Cf. Wernsdorf 1785, 344: “At Paphie quidem non ob hoc dolet, crimina facti sui conversa esse, h.e. tam male vertisse et infaustum exitum habuisse”, quoted in Cristante 1999, 97. 20   Cristante 1999, 97: “non … collegato a crimina, suggerisce anche la negazione da parte di Venere della colpa dell’adulterio”. 17 18

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of   in the Ars amandi, in the first instance appealing to the tolerant lover and subsequently to Vulcan, having told the story, evidently, as warning that a scandal will never benefit the husband. This important lesson, on which Ovid was so insistent, is not easily recognisable here in the confines of  a single verse. All the same, its placement in this specific location in the narrative would not be lost on the ‘ideal reader’, who is able enough to recognise the text’s various literary echoes and allusions; it allows Reposianus to reassemble the structure of   his model in which the fabula notissima caelo is framed by two didactic sections, the second of  which is used to make manifest the consequences of   not abiding by the sage counsels of  the magister amoris. Reposianus’ Venus is therefore not repentant and may well persist in her misdeeds. What is certain, and the final verses of  the Concubitus (vv.  179-182) leave no doubt, is that she is plotting revenge. At this point the narrative abandons the version of   the Ars, in which the account of   this particular story ends, as it does in Homer, with the lovers fleeing – Mars to Thracia, Venus to Paphos – having been freed through the intercession of  Neptune (Ars 2,587-588). However, in the reference to Venus’ punishment of   Phoebus – inflicted via his offspring – there is an apparent departure, too, from the story as told in the Metamorphoses. There, the ire of   the goddess falls squarely on the sun god himself, whose betrayal had exposed her to the mockery of   the other gods (4,190-192 exigit indicii memorem Cythereia poenam, / inque vices illum, tectos qui laesit amores, / laedit amore pari), a necessary conclusion given that the nymph Leuconoe narrates the liaison between Mars and Venus as a prelude to explain, albeit at some remove, the unhappy love of   the sun god for Leucothoe and the latter’s tragic end, again having been informed against (vv. 234-237). For his account of   Venus’ persecution of   the descendants of   Phoebus, whom she condemns to suffer misfortune in love – in monstrous fashion in the case of   the Sun’s daughter Pasiphae  – Reposianus may have drawn on ancient mythographies (for instance Hygin., Fab. 148,3). He certainly had available a number of  literary attestations 21 that either take Venus’ resentment as given or refer briefly to its source. To these we can add  Cf. Verg., Aen. 6,24-25 hic crudelis amor tauri suppostaque furto / Pasiphae;

21

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another example from Ovid, the fourth epistle of   the Heroides, in which Phaedra seeks to explain her passion for Hippolytus as part of   the ongoing price exacted by Venus on the whole lineage of  the Sun.22 Whatever the source or sources drawn upon by the author, this should be considered just one of   a number of   interacting models in this passage, especially given a  rather substantial clue that also leads us to the story in the Metamorphoses. There, Ovid describes the punishment inflicted by Venus memorem … poenam (v. 190): this expression creates the impression that the goddess is not intent on immediate redress, but that she is waiting for the right moment so that she can enjoy a  revenge in which the punishment fits the crime, something that comes about when Phoebus falls for Leucothoe (vv.  192-270). It is difficult not to see the imprint of   Ovid’s Venus here in Reposianus’ depiction, in which we are presented with a  meditative goddess, absorbed in plotting revenge for the sun god’s betrayal (vv. 179-180). If we follow this lead, it is apparent enough that this revenge may very well involve multiple targets spread, for the most part, over a long span of   time. First, she sifts through the individual opportunities (v.  179 dum singula volvens) considering which is most fitting (vv. 179-180 sed quae sit vindicta sibi … / cogitat); inevitably, the last and most savoured target is Phoebus himself, as suggested in the rather blunt second hemistich of   v. 180. However, before striking, she will have to wait for the god to fall in love, and thus become truly vulnerable. Since this has yet to happen, Venus passes her time by setting her other machinations in motion and slaking her thirst for revenge with one of   Phoebus’ children.23 Sen., Phaedr. 124-127 stirpem perosa Solis invisi Venus / per nos catenas vindicat Martis sui / suasque, probris omne Phoebeum genus / onerat nefandis. 22  Her. 4,53-60: forsitan hunc generis fato reddamus amorem / et Venus ex tota gente tributa petat. / Iuppiter Europen (prima est ea gentis origo) / dilexit, tauro dissimulante deum; / Pasiphae mater, decepto subdita tauro, / enixa est utero cri­ men onusque suo; / perfidus Aegides, ducentia fila secutus, / curva meae fugit tecta sororis ope. 23  With minor variance, I  subscribe to the exegesis put forward by Monda 2000, 229, which – the validity of   the manuscript version acknowledged  – remains the most convincing: “se amasse, Febo proverebbe la vendetta di Venere; poiché non ama, la sua colpa ricade su Pasifae”. Other opinions, particularly in relation to the interpunction of   the text, are listed in Roncoroni 1969, 303; see also Cristante 1999, 97-98.

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It is likely that Reposianus derived this opportunity to recover and link together the two separate versions of   the myth (the direct revenge on the sun god, and that on his lineage) that are found in Ovid’s text. Taking the longer time frame implied by the patient Venus of   the Metamorphoses (patient insofar as she is prepared to wait for Phoebus to fall in love with Leucothoe), Reposianus turns it to his own purposes to include the goddess’s revenge on Pasiphae. Among the many freedoms taken by Reposianus in respect to the traditional narrative, perhaps the most conspicuous is the decision to locate the lovers’ rendezvous and the discovery of  the adultery not in Vulcan’s home, but in a verdant grove. In this new setting, stereotypical aspects of   the locus amoenus become interwoven with both the elegiac theme of   the erotic, which can be traced back to Petronius 131,8 (the hemistich dignus amore in v. 6 is repurposed by Reposianus in v. 44, dignus amore locus cui tot sint munera rerum!) and an epithalamic theme typical of   late antique poetry as late as Claudian and Dracontius. In Reposianus’ grove, we can thus appreciate – besides the beguiling sensibility of   the various depictions of   this or that natural spectacle – an evolution from locus amoris to locus Veneris that is found on multiple occasions in works in the Anthologia Latina, including a number of   wry epigrams that allude to the affair between Mars and Venus.24 In the construction of   a setting that is all nature – that rejects even divine artifice – alongside the significant presence of  linguistic elements from Virgil, Reposianus includes direct quotations from Ovid. Scattered around this section, and here and there in the rest of   the poem, these underscore the poet’s familiarity with the descriptions of   locus amoenus in the Meta­ morphoses.25 However, looking beyond such straightforward for24  AL 202 R.2 = 193 Sh. B.; 272 R.2 = 266 Sh. B., see also Cristante 1999, 12 and 55. 25 Cf. v. 19 dumque intermixti captatur spiritus oris from Met. 7,820 spiritus iste tuus semper captatur ab ore (Cephalus’ appeal to the breeze to cool him after the exertions of   his hunt); v.  38 pingunt purpureos candentia lilia flores – constructed by reassembling the model of   Met. 12,410-411 modo se violave rosave / implicet, interdum candentia lilia gestet (the precocious loves of   Hylonome and Cyllarus), on which is overlaid the final clause from Ars 2,115 nec violae sem­ per nec hiantia lilia florent; v. 63 ne diffusa ferat per frondes lumina Titan from Met. 1,10 nullus adhuc mundo praebebat lumina Titan.

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mal borrowings, if we want to better define Reposianus’ imitation of  Ovid, in technical terms, it is instructive to examine the verses that introduce the description of  the grove (vv. 33-38): Lucus erat Marti gratus, post vulnera Adonis pictus amore deae, si Phoebi lumina desint tutus adulterio, dignus quem Cypris amaret, quem Byblos coleret, dignus quem Gratia servet. Vilia non illo surgebant gramina luco: pingunt purpureos candentia lilia flores.

Beyond the incipit – a variation on an ekphrastic formula introduced to Latin poetry by Ennius (Ann. 20 Sk. est locus Hesperiam quam mortales perhibebant) and a  solid presence in the poetry of   Ovid, who in turn devised further variations – the passage raises a number of  important exegetic questions. These have been resolved masterfully by Timpanaro, who demonstrated in a short, but much-cited article, that there is no need to correct the text as present in the manuscript.26 Let us focus, for a  moment, on the word pictus (v. 34). Timpanaro rejects a number of   emendations as inappropriate (diligently listed in Roncoroni 1969, 294), turning to various examples that attest to the use of  the verb pin­ gere in the language of   Latin poetry in reference to flower-filled meadows, from Lucretius (5,1395-1396 anni / tempora pingebant viridantis floribus herbas) and Ovid (Fast. 4,430 pictaque dissimili flore nitebat humus) to Claudian (rapt. 2,95 dulci violas ferrugine pingit), Pentadius (AL 235,11 R.2 floribus innumeris pingit sola flatus Eoi) and others besides.27 26 The cruces recently ventured by Shackleton Bailey 1982, 180 in relation to servet (servit, which – like colerit for coleret in the same verse 36 and in analogous fashion in numerous other passages – is a  typical error that also appears elsewhere in the codex; cf. Cristante 1999, 19) are unnecessary: the verb, which refers to lucus, is to be understood – extending the common expression domum ser­vare – in the intermediary, poetic sense as lying somewhere between ‘inhabit’ and ‘guard’, a task that the Grace can be seen to undertake later on in v. 51 and v.  89 (Timpanaro 1978, 596). Equally unnecessary is the earlier correction of  Byblos to Byblis in Riese 18942, 203. 27  Timpanaro 1978, 595. Other comparisons in Roncoroni 1969, 294 and in Zuccarelli 1972,113 f., all of   which serve to make our point except for the internal comparison with v. 38 of   the Concubitus, in which pingere indicates, instead, the effect produced by the presence in the wood of   differently coloured flowers, specifically white lilies alongside red anemones (cf.  Timpanaro 1978, 595).

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If we accept the text as written in the Codex – which is necessary, if we are to evoke the transformation of   Adonis into a flower 28 – the now established exegesis is again that proposed by Timpanaro, for whom, “amor deae è l’oggetto dell’amore della dea (Venere), cioè Adone, e in questo caso il fiore in cui Adone sopravvive”; he goes on to clarify further, stating that, “il fiore nato dal sangue di Adone è l’unica testimonianza vivente di lui, perciò è oggetto dell’amore di Venere”.29 Although all due care has been taken in its formulation, such an interpretation might appear a  little ambiguous, and we risk implying that, in Reposianus’ version, Mars was in no way put out by the setting of   a wooded grove whose primary characteristic was the ubiquitous presence, albeit in another guise, of   the man with whom Venus – while she was carrying on her amorous affair with the god of   war – was very much still in love.30 There is a clear sense, in other words, that something is not quite right. It is not unlike the reservations as to whether the post vulnera Adonis of   v.  33 is to be linked to the phrase that precedes it. If that were the case, the verse would have it that, in rather poor taste in the circumstances, the grove was dear to Mars ‘because’ of  the death of   Adonis, which he himself had caused in his jealousy of   the love between the youth and Venus.31 With the timely insertion of   the comma after gratus, it is worth checking whether we can find some assistance in clarifying the phrase as a  whole – post vulnera Adonis / pictus amore deae – in Ovid’s detailed retelling of   the love between Venus and the son of   Cinyras in the Meta­ morphoses (10,503-739). In the long passage that also includes the story of  Hippomenes and Atalanta, adopting the poem’s characteristic technique of    The same periphrasis appears in Ausonius (Cup.  cruc. 11 murice pictus Adonis) on which cf. Consolino 2018, 97. 29  Timpanaro 1978, 595 n. 3; Roncoroni 1969, 294; Zuccarelli 1972, 113. 30  The paraphrase included in the commentary in Cristante 1999, 55 should suffice: “amor deae è Adone […] che sopravvive nel fiore in cui è stato trasformato dalla dea in modo da continuare così ad amarlo nei fiori che adornano il bosco”. 31   According to one variant of   the myth, Mars had seen personally to eliminating his rival, transforming himself into the boar (Serv., ad Buc. 10,18,19-21 quem quia Venus adamavit, Mars in aprum transfiguratus occidit, quem multi miseratione Veneris in rosam conversum dicunt). On other versions, cf.  Bömer 1969-1986, 227. 28

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framing narratives,32 it is the verses dealing with the final part of   the myth that are of   interest to us here. As she is making her way to Cyprus in her swan-drawn chariot, Venus is alerted by the groans of   Adonis, who had been mortally wounded by the tusks of   the boar. Making straight for him, she leaps down to the ground where, inveighing against the fates, she institutes the Adonia in eternal remembrance of   her lover. Finally, still unsatisfied, she transforms the blood of   the youth into a flower (Met. 10,724-739): Q uestaque cum fatis “at non tamen omnia vestri Iuris erunt” dixit “luctus monimenta manebunt Semper, Adoni, mei, repetita mortis imago Annua plangoris peragent simulamina nostri. At cruor in florem mutabitur. An tibi quondam Femineos artus in olentes vertere mentas, Persephone, licuit, nobis Cinyreius heros Invidiae mutatus erit?”. Sic fata, cruorem nectare odorato sparsit, qui tactus ab illo intumuit sic, ut pluvio perlucida caeno surgere bulla solet. Nec plena longior hora facta mora est, cum flos de sanguine concolor ortus, qualemquae lento celant sub cortice granum, punica ferre solent. Brevis est tamen usus in illo; namque malem haerentem et nimia levitate caducum excutiunt idem, qui praestant nomina, venti.

The metamorphosis is described in the last nine lines. Venus, Ovid tells us, pours nectar on to the blood, which bubbles up and, in less than an hour, a blood-coloured flower akin to that of   the pomegranate emerges. So light and fragile is it, it takes its name from the very winds that despoil it. First, it is worth noting that, before Ovid, accounts of   Adonis’ transformation into a  flower are few and far between, nor are the versions consistent with one another.33 According to Nicander, the anemone flower burst forth from the blood: ἀνεμώνα: τὴν ἀνεμώνην Νίκανδρός φησι ἐκ τοῦ ᾈδώνιδος αἵματος φυῆναι (fr.  65 Schneider, cf.  schol. ad   Rosati 1981, 297-298.   Cf. the entry for Adonis in Roscher I,1, 1886, 69-72; RE I,1, 1893, 390394 (Dümmler); Neue Pauly, 1, 1996, 120-122 (G. Bandy) is invaluable on more recent scholarship. 32 33

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Theocr. 5,92).34 A more complex version with a double metamorphosis (roses from the blood of   Adonis and anemones from the tears of   Venus) is offered by Bion: δάκρυον ἁ Παφία τόσσον χέει, ὅσσον Ἄδωνις / αἷμα χέει, τὰ δὲ πάντα ποτὶ χθονὶ γίνεται ἄνθη / αἷμα ῥόδον τίκτει, τὰ δὲ δάκρυα τὰν ἀνεμώναν (Adonidis Epitaphium 64-66).35 Ovid keeps with the Nicander version and, to relate the name of   the flower, uses an etymological periphrasis based on the similarity of   the noun anemone with the Greek word ἄνεμος (vv.  38-39).36 His narrative, in any case, includes two pieces of   information that are not found in any other version, though here they are essential to the origin of   the anemones: the detail of  the nectar and the role of  Aphrodite as the author of  the metamorphosis (vv.  731-737). Indeed, the entire process begins the moment the goddess brings the fragrant substance into contact with the blood. It is as though the nectar was a chemical reagent, the origin and driver of   a process that Ovid helps the reader to picture by evoking the example of  iridescent bubbles and reporting the length of   time involved (vv.  734-735). In  other words, the miracle leading to the birth of   the flower is the product of  a gesture of  love by Venus, who provides the essential component for it to come about. It is a gift, therefore, an act of  pietas dictated by the desire to keep Adonis’ memory alive among the superi (vv.  728-731). As a  fitting counterpart to the periodic appearance of   the flower she has created to ensure the memory of   her departed lover, Venus’ strategy of   commemoration includes the institution of   the Adonia (vv.  725-727), the annual re-enactment of   the funeral rites for the son of   Cinyras and, in this sense, a  testimony to her undying grief. This dual requirement fits with a mode of   thinking that found common expression in literary epicedia and funereal epigraphs, and is not out of   place in a  context that echoes with the motifs and themes of   burial poetry and in which there is a not unsubtle allusion to a mourn34  Later examples are only found in Servius Danielis, ad Aen. 5, 72 and Tzetzes, ad Lycophronem 831: cf. Gow – Scholfield 1979, 68 n. 208. 35  Also found in Philostratus (Epist. 1) and in Servius Danielis (ad Ecl. 10,18): cf. Fantuzzi, 1985, 103-104. 36  There are no known examples of   the Latin noun anemone in verse, and very few in prose (Q uint., Inst. 8,3,8; Plin., Nat. 21,64-65).

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ing lament, specifically the suggestion –  expressed in a  manner that finds thematic parallels with Bion’s text – of   gestures of   suffering, as Venus tears at her hair and clothing and beats her breast (vv. 720-723 Utque aethere vidit ab alto / exanimem inque suo iactantem sanguine corpus, / desiluit pariterque sinum pariter­ que capillos / rupit et indignis percussit pectora palmis).37 In the broad selection of   metamorphoses into flowers, often featuring handsome, young males (Narcissus, Hyacinth,  etc.), the transformation of   the blood of   Adonis into the anemone finds no parallel, nor are there any clear affinities in passages describing the application of   unguents to the body.38 It begins to look like the goddess’s offering of   the nectar is an unprecedented addition, a creation of   Ovid’s fancy that he indulges at length and with a wealth of  detail. It is one that he uses again only once, in relation to the metamorphosis of  Leucothoe into a resinous bush, an episode recounted, not coincidentally, after the tale of   the liaison between Mars and Venus, indeed with the latter serving as an explanatory prelude to the nymph’s tragic story.39 In this case, although it is set out in more summary fashion, the course of   the metamorphosis does not vary from that of   Adonis: the ingredient is identical, and is referred to with the same words and in the same metrical position, so too the process of   transformation (to make it so, the poet adds that, having come into contact with the nectar, the body of   the nymph suddenly dissolves). Indeed, the purpose of  the offering is the same. We return at last to Reposianus: while there are no specific verbal borrowings to demonstrate the hypothesis that the author of   the Concubitus had this passage from Ovid in mind, he does   Cf. Bömer 1969-1986, 230; De Martino 1980, 217-220.   Bion’s verses have no relation to Ovid’s nectar (77-79 ῥαῖνε δέ νιν Συρίοισιν ἀλείφασι, ῥαῖνε μύροισιν/ ὀλλύσθω μύρα πάντα. Τὸ σὸν μύρον ὤλετʼ Ἄδωνις./ κέκλιται ἁβρὸς Ἄδωνις ἐν εἴμασι πορφυρέοισιν): here, the oil and perfumed ointments allude to the lustratio, the ritual that preceded the prothesis and served to preserve the body for the obsequies. Nor can the other passages in the Metamorphoses that describe the application of   unguents to reanimate a body be likened to this one (for the lengthy list, see Reed-Charini 2013, 300). 39  Met. 4,249-255 sed quoniam tantis fatum conatibus obstat, / nectare odorato sparsit corpusque locumque / multaque praequestus: “Tanges tamen aethera” dixit. / Protinus imbutum caelesti nectare corpus / delicuit terramque suo madefecit odore, / virgaque per glaebas sensim radicibus actis / turea surrexit, tumulumque cacumine rupit. 37 38

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reveal his cards with a  rather substantial clue. Shortly after the pictus amore deae, which presupposes the prior metamorphosis of   Adonis into the flower, Reposianus makes it known that the lucus was worthy of   the love of   Venus, of   the observances of   Byblos (vv.  35-36 dignus quem Cypris amaret  / quem Byblos coleret).40 With this reference to the Phoenician city, which  is the site of  the grove where – by tradition – Adonis met his death and where his birth and death are marked with the celebrated festival of   the Adonia,41 Reposianus reunites the commemorative pairing of   Ovid’s text, leaving the reader in no doubt about which well-known passage he is evoking. All the same, he adjusts his model to his own context, inverting the order with first the flower, then the festival, which he chooses not to reference in the form of   auspice, a proposal to be enacted in the future. For him, the Ovidian text is a prius, whose effects can be seen to play out over time, and in the context of  another, later amorous adventure, which he evidently favours. In light of   the Ovidian passage, whose celebratory agenda we can see is shared by Reposianus, the suspicion arises that in pictus amore deae, the noun amor is used in the specific sense of  ‘act of   love’, and that the poet is really saying, ‘There was a grove dear to Mars, painted – following the wounding of   Adonis – with anemones, which burst forth from an act of   love by the goddess’. There is a  sizeable difference, at least from the point of   view of   the jealous Mars, if we compare this interpretation to, ‘There was a grove dear to Mars, painted with anemones, which burst forth from the blood of   Adonis, who was the object of   the goddess’s love’.42 Essentially, the focus has shifted on to what it 40   I would opt for the text as is in the manuscript, over the Byblis which Riese 18942, 203 proposes to establish a parallel with the other two female, mythical figures Cypris and Gratia, which are mentioned in the clauses immediately prior to and following it. As noted in Timpanaro 1978, 594 n. 1, however, the legend of  Byblis is set in Caria and Lycia. 41  This essentially justifies the presence of   the Byblians in the grove, where they are the perfect hosts, in v.  66 entertaining Venus and sharing in her pastimes, and in v. 90 assisting the newly arrived Mars to remove his armour. On the connection of  Byblos to Adonis, cf. Roscher I, 71,61-68; Soyez 1977, 28 and 48; on the popularity of  the observance in Rome, see also Ovid (Ars 1,75). 42  To find the use of   the noun amor in the sense of   the object of   desire in Reposianus, we might took to v. 102 cum nec tota latet nec totum nudat amorem

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was that moved Venus to act, at the untimely end of   her affair with Adonis. Casting a  veil over any profound feelings of   love, given the frankly awkward context, Reposianus emphasises only the nostalgia-infused commemoration that was the culmination, in the ancient world, of   the complex rituals celebrated throughout the period of   mourning. Re-emerging here, much as we saw with v. 178, is Reposianus’ propensity for boiling down his source to its essence and, trusting in the knowledge of  the expert reader, evoking it without recourse to conspicuous formal signposting but rather by providing minimal allusions to details that had clearly caught his own imagination. In this sense, in terms of   the reception of   the Ovidian model, we can say confidently that this was an approach that the author of   Concubitus found very much to his liking. As we approach our own conclusion, there remains something to be said about the mechanism by which the lovers are captured (vv.  163-171). The two accounts in Ovid are faithful to the Homeric archetype in this detail. To reveal the adultery, Vulcan fashions a magical, invisible net that – perfectly camouflaged – will ensnare the two lovers at the appropriate moment without him having to catch them in the act himself.43 In the corresponding passage in the Concubitus, the capture is achieved in a much less sophisticated manner: Vulcan makes a set of   much more run-of-the-mill chains and sneaks into the grove where he personally binds the arms of   the two lovers as they sleep. Here, Reposianus paints a lively little scene in keeping with a favourite device that he turns to throughout the composition, whereby we meet the characters with some activity or action already in progress: the pastimes of   Venus and her entourage (vv.  51-60), the goddess’s dance (vv. 64-73), the arrival of   Mars in the midst of  the Byblians who rush to free him of  his arms (vv. 86-95), the appearance of   Cupid who takes immediate possession of   Mars’s sword, then hides in his helmet when Vulcan arrives (vv. 126-130 (‘she does not reveal herself entirely, nor lay bare the entirety of   the object of  desire’). 43 Hom., Od. 8,278-299; Ov., Met. 4,176-184; the more summary narrative in the Ars amandi (2,577-580) refers merely to snares and to opus that lumina fallit, but there is a nod too to the feigned departure with which Vulcan hopes to facilitate the deception, a development that harks back to the Odyssey.

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and 175-176). Even with the couple’s erotic adventures, of  which the details are dutifully recounted drawing on the elegiac lexicon (vv. 96-126),44 when paralleled for instance with the rather static, if pathos-rich depiction offered by Lucretius (vv. 109-117) – who was probably Reposianus’ source for the position assumed by the embracing lovers  – it is as though we were moving from a  still photograph to a  short film.45 The pronounced tendency in the Concubitus to express emotion through gesture has encouraged some writers to propose that, in the development of   his narrative, Reposianus was influenced by theatrical representations.46 If we add to this the way he lingers over details of   an explicitly sensual nature, it is not unreasonable to suppose that what he had in mind was the broad outline, or canovaccio, of   the ancient pantomime.47 Support for this can be found in – among others – Ovid, who in summarising the plots typical of   the coarsely humorous mimes (obscaena iocantes) suggests that they are guilty of  depictions of   forbidden love, most likely featuring a smooth lover and a cunning wife getting the better of  her dullard husband (Trist. 2,497-500). Writing in defence of  the mimic art, meanwhile, Lucian provides a long list of  myths that might be depicted in the scene (Salt. 38-41), including the unhappy amorous tale 44   For examples, particularly from Propertius and Ovid, see Zuccarelli 1972, 125-129 and Cristante 1999, 75-83; to cite one specimen from Ovid: in v. 110 laedant pondera = Ov., Her. 9,88; v. 115 pectore cessit = Ov., Ars 3,56; v. 116 trahit … suspiria somno = Ov., Am. 2,19,55, also Prop. 3,8,27, etc. 45  I subscribe to the interpretation in Monda 2000, 233 according to whom the scene in Reposianus is inspired by Lucretius (1,31-40), in which Mars is clearly positioned supine in Venus’s lap. His reconstruction reads as follows: “sia la mano destra che sinistra sono di Venere; la dea con la sinistra cinge il collo di Marte supino, mentre poggia la destra sul petto del dio: è Marte colui che pone gigli e rose sotto la sinistra di Venere per non gravargli col suo peso”. 46  Burckhardt 1957 [1880], 158-159; according to Zuccarelli 1972, 74 and 75 n.  9 the whole narrative is “quasi come una rappresentazione teatrale, nella quale è possibile stabilire una specie di suddivisione in scene”; Langlois 1973, 312; Pieri 1979, 213-218; Tandoi 1984, 200. 47   There are rather surprising similarities to Apuleius’ description of  the pantomime about the judgement of   Paris (Met. 10,30-34), which is one of   the most detailed accounts to have come down to us from Africa. To mention just a few of   the parallels: the initial meadow landscape with an actor made up as Paris absorbed in the task of   pasturing his flock (which might in part explain the change of   setting in Reposianus); scenes for numerous players that tend towards the spectacular; the arrival of  a scantily dressed Venus, who proceeds in a provocative dance accompanied by amorini, Graces, Hours.

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of   Mars and Venus, which he marks out as a  successful performance. Incidentally, he also takes the opportunity to suggest the same, less common chains version that appears in the Concubitus, which he credits as a handy, if not customary, variant for use in theatrical adaptations of  the fabula (Salt. 63).48 In this process of  overlaying the literary narrative with theatrical allusions, it is plausible that the author of  the Concubitus found an authoritative precedent in Ovid, who – having placed Mars in a number of   erotic episodes (and thus giving Reposianus licence to have him act the elegiac lover) – in at least one case made the warrior god the protagonist of   a mime in which he was held up to ridicule.49 All the same, it is more plausible that Reposianus was encouraged to adapt his mythical subject matter to a  more theatrical form by writers closer to his own time. Particularly interesting from this perspective is the work by Drancontius in which he attests to the mode for mime and pantomime in the Africa of  the fifth century, by which time the process of   adapting the Vandal court to the modus vivendi of   the Roman aristocracy had taken its course. In  the Romulea, the context of   Classical mythology is revisited through the experience of  school and studies in rhetoric, but the tradition of  mimic performance is no less important, particularly that of  the ‘hydromimes’. Two compositions feature situations that do not appear even in the rich literary tradition and that might be explained in terms of   the practicalities of   a theatrical adaptation,50 the same practicalities that might explain some of   the thematic divergences in Reposianus in relation to Ovid’s plotting of   the myth. To give just one example: the amorous affair between Mars and Venus is mentioned on numerous occasions by Dracontius, 48   Other than this, the traditional version of   the myth is followed (Gall. 3; Astr. 22; Dial. deor. 17). 49  In the episode from Fast. 3,675-696, in which Mars – who is in love with Minerva – asks for the help of   Anna Perenna, who having made false promises to aid him, fools him by attending the planned liaison herself wearing a  veil. For allusions to mime in the Fasti and exhaustive analysis, cf. Merli 2000, 59-65. 50  Rom. 2,94-130 (the reduction of   the story of   Hylas to the moment of   his abduction); 10,36-44 (Jason, who swims to Colchis); 86-101 (Cupid emerging from the sea). Indeed, in Romulea 10, Dracontius declares explicitly that he was inspired by an aquatic mime (vv.  16-19 nos illa canemus  / quae solet in lepido Polyhymnia docta theatro / muta loqui).

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and with the implication of   a pantomime setting on at least one (Rom. 6,17-18 Mars saltat amores  / et Venerem placare cupit).51 If,  as  is likely, the allusion here is to the irritation of   Venus for her lover’s tardiness, the similarity with Reposianus (vv.  80-85) leads to the sup­po­sition that this aspect is a fixture in a canovaccio outline of   the story, and that clearly its presence in the scene is significant. Nor can we rule out a sensibility on the part of  Reposianus for the fashions of   his own environment. Relative to the regions of   western Europe, where the popularity of   such performances petered out more rapidly, Africa and the Byzantine East remained a haven for the saltationes.52 Recognising in pantomimic performance an important source of   inspiration for Reposianus is a significant clue that, converging with others, confirms the late chronology of   the poem and thus helps to form a more certain picture of  the time frame of  the huge popularity enjoyed by Ovid in Vandal Africa, which towards the end of   the fifth century was still an active centre of   literary and rhetorical scholarship.

Bibliography Baehrens 1876 = E. Baehrens, Zur lateinischen Anthologie, RhM 31, 1876, 602-613. Bömer 1969-1986  = F.  Bömer, P.  Ovidius Naso, Metamorphosen, Kommentar von F. Bömer I-XV, Heidelberg 1969-1986. Burckhardt 1957 [1880] = J. Burckhardt, L’età di Costantino il Grande (trad. it.), Firenze 1957 [= Die Zeit Constantins der Grossen, 1880]. Ceccarelli 2008 = L. Ceccarelli, Contributi per la storia dell’esametro latino, (Studi e testi Tardo Antichi 8), voll. 2, Roma 2008. Consolino 2018  = F.  E. Consolino, Flowers and Heroines: some remarks on Ovid’s presence in the Cupido cruciatus, in F. E. Consolino (ed.), Ovid in Late Antiquity, Turnhout 2018, 89-117. Copley 1947  = F.  O. Copley, Servitium amoris in Roman Elegists, TAPhA 78, 1947, 280-295. 51  Saltare amores can only mean “narrare danzando, in un pantomimo” (Gualandri 1974, 881 n. 31). 52  Cf. the entry for Pantomimus in RE XVIII, 3-4 (1949), 833-869; Courtois 1955, 228-229; Gianotti 1996, 267-292.

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Courtois 1955 = Ch. Courtois, Les Vandales et l’Afrique, Paris 1955. Cristante 1999 = L. Cristante, Reposiani Concubitus Martis et Veneris (Suppl. 19 al Bollettino dei classici) Roma, Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei 1999. De Martino 1980 = F. De Martino, Morte e pianto rituale. Dal lamento funebre antico al pianto di Maria, Torino 1980. Fantuzzi 1985 = M. Fantuzzi, Bionis Smyrnaei Adonidis Epitaphium, testo critico e  commento di M.  Fantuzzi, ARCA 18, Liverpool 1985. Gianotti 1996  = G.  F. Gianotti, Forme di consumo teatrale: mimo e spettacoli affini, in O. Pecere – A. Stramaglia (eds.), La letteratura di consumo nel mondo greco-latino, Cassino 1996, 267-292. Gow – Scholfield 1979 = A. S. F. Gow – A. F. Scholfield (eds.), Nicander, The Poems and poetical fragments, with a Translation and Notes, New York 1979. Gualandri 1974 = I. Gualandri, Problemi draconziani, RIL 108, 1974, 872-890. Labate 1984  = M.  Labate, L’arte di farsi amare. Modelli culturali e progetto didascalico nell’elegia ovidiana, Pisa 1984. Langlois 1973  = P.  Langlois, review of   Zuccarelli 1972, RPh, 1973, 308-312. Lyne 1979 = R. O. A. M. Lyne, Servitium amoris, CQ  29, 1979, 117128. Merli 2000 = E. Merli, Arma canant alii. Materia epica e narrazione elegiaca nei fasti di Ovidio, Firenze 2000. Monda 2000 = S. Monda, review of  Cristante 1999, RFIC, 128, 2000, 227-235. Morelli 1912 = C. Morelli, Studia in seros latinos poetas, SIFC 1912, 82-93. Pieri 1979 = M.-P. Pieri, L’incontro d’amore di Marte e Venere secondo Reposiano, SIFC 51, 1979, 200-220. Reed – Chiarini 2013 = J. D. Reed – G. Chiarini, Ovidio. Metamor­ fosi, V (libri X-XII), Milano 2013. Riese 18942 = A. Riese, Anthologia Latina sive poesis Latinae supple­ mentum, ed. F. Bücheler – A. Riese, I. Carmina in codicibus scripta, recensuit A.  Riese, fasc. I  Libri Salmasiani aliorumque carmina, Lipsiae 18942, 202-209 Roncoroni 1969  = Roncoroni, Note a  Reposiano («Anth.Lat.» c. 253 R.), Aevum 43, 1969, 291-303. 59

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Rosati 1981 = G. Rosati, Il racconto dentro il racconto. Funzioni meta­ narrative nelle «Metamorfosi» di Ovidio, in Letterature classiche e  narratologia. Atti del convegno internazionale Selva di Fasano (Brindisi) 6-8 ottobre 1980, 297-309, Perugia 1981. Shackleton Bailey 1982 = D. R. Shackleton Bailey, Anthologia Lati­ na I. Carmina in codicibus scripta, fasc. I 1. Libri Salmasiani alio­ rumque carmina, Stutgardiae 1982, 177-186. Soyez 1977 = B. Soyez, Byblos et la fète des Adonies, Leiden 1977. Spies 1930 = A. Spies, Militat omnis amans. Ein Beitrag zur Bilder­ sprache der Antiken, Diss. Tübingen (rist. an. New York-London 1978), 1930. Tandoi 1984 = V. Tandoi, Anthologia Latina, in EV I, Roma 1984, 198-205. Timpanaro 1978  = S.  Timpanaro, Problemi critico testuali e  lingui­ stici nell ’Anthologia Latina II, in Contributi di filologia e  di sto­ ria della lingua latina, Bologna 1978, 594-597 (= Maia 15, 1963, 286-294). Wernsdorf 1785 = Ioh. Ch. Wernsdorf, Poetae Latini minores, IV 2, curavit Ioh. Ch. Wernsdorf, Altenburgi 1785, 319-345. Zuccarelli 1972 = U. Zuccarelli (ed.), Reposiano. Concubitus Martis et Veneris, Napoli 1972. Zurli 2010 = L. Zurli, La tradizione ms. delle anthologiae Salmasiana e Vossiana (e il loro stemma), ALRiv. 1, 2010, 205-292.

Abstract In this article, we focus on the prologue and the description of   the lucus in which Reposianus sets the mythical tale of   the affair between Mars and Venus. By carefully examining the modes of   reception of  Ovid’s œuvre – which is particularly evident in these two sections  – we are better able, on the one hand, to identify some of   the complex mechanisms of   reception in Reposianus’ writing, and on the other, to confirm the great importance of   the Ovidian hypotext as an aid in both textual criticism and exegesis.

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ALLUSIONS TO AND Q UOTATIONS FROM OVID IN THE WRITINGS OF  ISIDORE OF  SEVILLE

1. Introduction Si Maro si Flaccus si Naso et Persius horret Lucanus si te Papiniusque tedet, pareat eximio dulcis Prudentius ore carminibus variis nobilis ille satis (carm. 11,1-4).

At the beginning of   Isidore’s celebrated titulus,1 the ancient poets listed are contrasted, negatively, with the Christians 2 mentioned immediately afterwards (vv. 3-10), who are held up both as dependable stylistic models and as a  source of   spiritual edification. The reference to the classical authors does not mean that their writings were actually present in Isidore’s library in Seville; indeed, the very choice of   examples, which includes some of   the best-known names in Latin poetry, is based more on poetic considerations than the availability of   the material.3 All the same, *  Unfortunately, this paper had already been submitted for publication when Jacques Elfassi’s article,  Ovide chez Isidore de Séville, in R.  Poignault – H.  Vial (eds.),  Présences ovidiennes, Clermont-Ferrand 2020, pp.  305-323 was itself published, and it has therefore not been possible to respond to it to any degree. Certainly, in regard to a number of   methodological and exegetic developments, both contributions appear to be on the same path, although in the present text, the primary focus is on the different ways in which Isidore drew on Ovid’s work, and the relationships between the Ovidian material and the prose sources (pagan and Christian) that he turned to. 1 Isidore’s authorship of    this epigram appears to have been accepted; cf. Sánchez Martín 2000, 24-27. 2  Juvencus, Prudentius, Sedulius and Avitus. 3  Notably, Isidore’s list leaves out a number of   the auctores he drew on extensively, including Martial and Paulinus of   Nola. The epigram largely expresses After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127592 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 61-88

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if borrowed as an epigraph to the present article, it does provide a  suggestive point of   departure. Isidore is an indispensable source in the study of   the Ovidian Fortleben, given both the erudite and compilatory character of   his own vast literary output and the period – so-called Late Antiquity – in which he lived.4 Here, within a wider framework of  textual categories, our inquiry turns to a significant 5 selection of   his writings 6 that it is hoped will facilitate a better assessment of  the function and ‘importance’ – in the sense of   their size and meaning – of   specific references to Ovid, considering in particular where they are drawn from and the context in which they are reused. The discussion focuses on the poetic content that is either quoted directly in Isidore’s prose works or incorporated as a sort of   intertextual component within the fabric of   his own verse. It is perhaps predictable that Isidore draws from almost all of   Ovid’s poetic output, but that he does not do so uniformly. There is an evident predilection for the Metamorphoses, with eleven examples in the Etymologiae – the majority of   the quotations  – and one in the Sententiae. These are sourced from quite a  varied selection of   the poem’s books, although references to the extensive passage recounting the myth of   Proserpine in book V and the passage on Pythagoras and the meaning of   metamorphosis in nature and in history in book XV are discernibly more frequent. In terms of   the number of   references, is the Fasti next in line, with three irrefutable examples, followed by the Ars, the Heroides and the Remedia, all with one, while there is also one ‘borrowing’ that can be traced with equal the same opinion formulated more than a century earlier by the author of  the socalled Epigramma Paulini (vv. 74-77, ed. Schenkl, 506 iam quod perpetuis discursi­ bus omnia lustrant, / quod pascunt, quod multa gerent, quod multa locuntur, / non vitium nostrum est? Paulo et Solomone relicto / aut Maro cantatur Phoenissa aut Naso Corinna); on these and other late-antique references to Ovid, see Dolveck 2018, 17-46, esp. 32-33. 4  From the vast selection of    works dealing with the reception of   Ovid in different periods, I  will restrict myself to mentioning, among the most recent, Clark 2011; Mack – North 2013; Fielding 2017; Consolino 2018. 5   Though by no means exhaustive. 6  Etymologiae, Sententiae, Synonyma and poems. This selection is clearly the result of   a necessary narrowing down, and is explained in any case by the fact that it is in these works, which are characterised by a diversity of   methods and content, that the Ovidian material is present in the greatest quantity and clearly demarcated.

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probability to the Fasti and to the Epistulae ex Ponto. Finally, there are various intertextual allusions to other works by Ovid (the Amores and Tristia) that cannot be identified with complete certainty.7 It seems reasonable to assume that this predilection for the Metamorphoses and the Fasti 8 is due to the aetiological erudition of  two works that serve as a reservoir of  myths and traditions that, themselves, are associated with the cultural heritage of   the Roman world. The greatest concentration of   Ovidian references in the Etymologiae is to be found in Book  XI, which discusses humankind, portents and transformations, and in Book  XII, on animals.9 All this leaves Ovid as one of   the poets cited most by Isidore, after Virgil, Lucan,10 Lucretius and Martial.

2. Direct Q uotations in the Etymologiae In Isidore’s encyclopedia – as has been underlined on more than one occasion by authors working on the various categories of  quotation in Isidore’s writing and his relationship with classical culture and pagan poetry – the practice of   using original verse in the form of   direct quotations takes on a dual function of   re-evocation and illustration.11 Dedicated research on the role of   Ovid is lacking, except perhaps for a  short and now dated article by José Madoz,12 which is more concerned with the poet’s fortunes among the Spanish Church Fathers. In regard to Isidore, Madoz maintains that use of   Ovid in the Etymologiae is, in all cases, mediated and second hand, although he does not offer anything further in the way of   critical examination of   the sources. However, as we shall attempt to clarify in the following pages, when 7  This is explored more fully in the section below about poetic intertextuality in Isidore’s own poems. For possible echoes of   the Amores and Tristia in Isidore’s De natura rerum, cf.  Gasparotto 1966-1967, 45-46 and 52; however, the few comparisons that the scholar proposes are very vague. 8 At Orig. 6,8,8, Isidore provides a false etymology for the title of   Ovid’s work (Fastorum libri sunt in quibus reges vel consules scribuntur, a fascibus dicti, id est potestatibus. Vnde et Ovidii libri Fastorum dicuntur, quia de regibus et consulibus editi sunt). See Rodríguez-Pantoja 2007, 152. 9   The data are collected and summarised in the lists in the appendices. 10  On the presence of  Lucan in Isidore’s works, see Venuti 2017. 11  Fontaine 1983; Messina 1980; Rodríguez-Pantoja 2007; Venuti 2017. 12  Madoz 1949, 233-238, esp. 236.

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it comes to revisiting ancient texts, the criteria of   Isidore’s selections and the channels by which they are used appear, in contrast, to be far more varied and complex than Madoz’s assessment would suggest. Indeed, there are particular examples that appear to me to be especially illustrative of   his varying approach to his selected material. In Orig. 11,1,5, in the long anthropological section on anatomy and human physiology, the representational topos of   the human figure’s erect posture and the consequent terminological discussion draw, in a  rather wholesale manner, on a  passage in Lactantius (Inst. 2,1,14), which is here also contaminated with allusions to the well-known proem to Sallust’s De coniuratione Catilinae: Isid., Orig. 11,1,5 De homine (ed. Gasti 2010) Graeci autem hominem antropum appellaverunt, eo quod sursum spectet sublevatus ab humo ad contemplationem artificis sui. Q uod Ovidius poeta designat, cum dicit: Pronaque cum spec­ tant animalia cetera terram, / os homini sublime dedit caelumqe videre / iussit, et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus. Q ui ideo erectus caelum aspicit, ut Deum quaerat, non ut terram intendat veluti pecora, quae natura prona et ventri oboedientia finxit.

Lact., Inst. 2,1,15-16 Parens enim noster ille unus et solus cum fingeret hominem id est animal intellegens et rationis capax, eum vero ex humo sublevatum ad contemplationem sui artificis erexit. Q uod optime ingeniosus poeta signavit: Pro­ naque cum spectent animalia ce­ tera terram,  / os homini sublime dedit caelumque videre  / iussit et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus. Hinc utique ἄνθρωπον Graeci appellaverunt, quod sursum spectet. Sall. Cat. 1,1 veluti pecora, quae natura prona  atque  ventri oboedientia finxit

From Lactantius’ text, Isidore also reproduces the poetic quotation included in support the argument, which is to say the three hexameters of   Met. 1,84-86; while Lactantius introduces these with the periphrasis ingeniosus poeta signavit, Isidore refers to Ovid directly without such attribute, although he does retain the apposition with poeta. There is another stylistic aspect to Isidore’s 64

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writing that can be noted here, which is to say the additional use of  lexical and syntactic elements from the cited poetic text in the formulation of   the entry’s concluding commentary. In  the case in question, where Lactantius’ text is clearly the model in the theological interpretation of  humankind’s upright posture – that it serves the contemplation of   God – there are also clear echoes, albeit with minor alterations, of   the phrasal repertoire of   the Ovidian intertext, for instance in the comparison between the expression erectus caelum aspicit and vv. 85-86 caelumque videre / … erectos. With Isidore, underlying the Lactantian stamp of   the quotation is a solid sense of   alignment with the philosophy and theology of   the earlier prosaist, in whom – albeit with different objectives – he found the ideal point of   reference for his own anthropological analysis.13 While, in this case, Isidore clearly makes use of   the classical verses in an indirect fashion, reproducing them along with the patristic passage providing the foundation of   his own text, the opposite can be said of  Orig. 1,36,21 (on rhetorical schemata). For the section on antithesis, Isidore draws his definition from Augustine’s De civitate Dei: Isid., Orig. 1,36,21 De schematibus (ed. Lindsay 1911) Antitheton, ubi contraria contrariis opponuntur et sententiae pulchritudinem reddunt, ut illud: Frigida pugnabant calidis, humentia siccis:/ mollia cum du­ ris: sine pondere habentia pondus (Ov., Met. 1,19-20).

Aug., Civ. 11,18 His antithetis et Paulus apostolus in secunda ad Corinthios epistula (2 Cor 6,7-10) illum locum suaviter explicat, ubi dicit: per arma iustitiae dextra et sinistra: per gloriam et ignobilitatem, per infamiam et bonam famam; ut seductores et veraces, ut qui ignoramur et cognoscimur; quasi morientes, et ecce vivimus, ut coherciti et non mortificati; ut tristes, semper

13  On the presence of    Lactantius in Book  XI of   the Etymologiae, I  refer the reader to Gasti 1998, 23-24, 44-48, 107-110, which – citing Viarre 1966, 135-136 – further observes that all medieval treatments of   the subject show an awareness of  Isidore’s contribution.

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autem gaudentes, sicut egeni, multos autem ditantes, tamquam nihil habentes et omnia possidentes. Sicut ergo ista contraria contrariis opposita sermonis pulchritudinem reddunt: ita quadam non verborum, sed rerum eloquentia contrariorum oppositione saeculi pulchritudo componitur. Apertissime hoc positum est in libro Ecclesiastico (Eccli 33,15) isto modo: Contra malum bonum est et contra mortem vita; sic contra pium peccator.

In the Augustinian text, the rhetorical-grammatical explanation and the simile of  opposites as the basis of  the ornatus of  discourse serve what we might describe as an aesthetic justification of   evil, which is to say, the idea that God reconciles sin with the harmonious order of   the universe by using it in service of   a greater, overall beauty. In  contrast to Augustine, who includes two passages of   scripture among his examples of   this figure (2 Cor 6,7-10 and Eccli 33,15), Isidore presents a  pagan example, specifically Ov., Met. 1,19-20.14 The lexical peculiarity of  these two verses, formed around oppositional pairings characterised by homeoteleuton and polyptoton, may have contributed to their diffusion in scholarly circles through grammar and rhetoric textbooks, although to the best of  my knowledge there we have no indirect references to them prior to Isidore.15 Given the popularity and the potential 14  This entry in the Etymologiae would later be reproduced, unaltered, in Hugh of   Saint Victor’s De grammatica (19, 150, ed. Baron 1966). 15  To my mind, Orig. 11,3,38 (porro Minotaurum nomen sumpsisse ex tauro et homine, qualem bestiam dicunt fabulose in Labyrintho inclusam fuisse) in the entry de portentis presents a different sort of  process: in his representation of  the Minotaur, Isidore most likely turns again to Augustine (Civ. 18,13 de Mino­ tauro, quod bestia fuerit inclusa Labyrintho, quo cum intrassent homines, inex­ tricabili errore inde exire non poterant) for the terms in which he describes the fantastical creature (cf.  Gasti 2010, 157), but here he supplements his source with Ov., Ars. 2,24 semibouemque uirum semiuirumque bouem. The same verse is also included, together with Am. 2,11,10, in Sen., Contr. 2,2,12 rogatus ali­ quando ab amicis suis, ut tolleret tres versus, invicem petit, ut ipse tres exciperet, in

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ideological significance of   the section of   Ovid’s text from which the verses are taken, which is to say the cosmogonic section of  the first book of  the Metamorphoses – which, incidentally, as we have seen, had already been entirely reinterpreted in a Christian light by the Church Fathers – it is not unreasonable to presume that Isidore had encountered this locus directly, and not necessarily through the intermediary of  school texts.16 Another instance in which Isidore introduces a  quotation from Ovid ex novo relative to his model can be found in the section on amphidoxa, or “double-edged statements” in Orig. 2,21,26 (in the entry for De figuris verborum et sententiarum). Isidore formulates his explanation in same terms used by the fourth-century rhetor Sulpicius Victor:

quos nihil illis liceret. Aequa lex visa est: scripserunt illi quos tolli vellent secreto, hic quos tutos esse vellet. In utrisque codicillis idem versus erant, ex quibus primum fuisse narrabat Albinovanus Pedo, qui inter arbitros fuit: semibovemque virum semivirumque bovem; secundum: et gelidum Borean egelidumque Notum. Here, the context is a summary portrait of  Ovid and his stylistic virtuosity, presented by Seneca as part of   a critique of   the Asianism of   the master declaimer Fuscus (cf. Peirano Garrison 2019, 66-70). There is no indication of   such preoccupations in Isidore’s text that might suggest that he had necessarily come to the same verse in Ovid via Seneca. All the same, that it is quoted by Seneca does suggest that this verse – which is exemplary in its incisiveness – had long been in circulation in rhetorical circles. I  would not therefore discount that Isidore may have drawn either directly from Seneca or from an academic work on rhetoric. 16  Isidore speaks about antithesis also in Book II of   the same work. In this case he reproduces the biblical quotation (Eccli 33,15) included in Augustine’s text, but adds a pagan example too, namely Cic., Catil. 2,25, one of   the longest quotations in the whole encyclopedia (Orig. 2,21,5 Antitheta, quae Latine contraposita appellantur: quae, dum ex adverso ponuntur, sententiae pulchritudinem faciunt, et in ornamento locutionis decentissima existunt, ut Cicero: Ex hac parte pudor pugnat, illinc petulantia; hinc pudicitia, illinc stuprum; hinc fides, illinc fraudatio; hinc pietas, illinc scelus; hinc constantia, illinc furor; hinc honestas, illinc turpitudo; hinc continentia, illinc libido; hinc denique aequitas, temperantia, fortitudo, prudentia, virtutes omnes certant cum iniquitate, luxuria, ignavia, temeritate, cum vitiis omnibus; postremo copia cum egestate; bona ratio cum perdita; mens sana cum amentia; bona denique spes cum omnium rerum desperatione confligit. In huiusmodi certamine ac proelio, huiusmodi locutionis ornamento liber Ecclesiasticus usus est, dicens: Contra malum bonum, et contra mortem vita; sic contra pium peccator [...]). It is a clear indication that Isidore was also capable of   working independently of  his guide text (Augustine’s in this case), not least with his own selection of   examples.

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Isid., Orig. 2,21,26 De figuris verborum et sententiarum (ed. Marshall 1983) Sunt et amphidoxae, quarum pars honesta est, pars inhonesta, ut: Non est tua tuta voluntas: / magna petis, Phaeton.

Sulp. Vict., Rhet. 8, p. 317‚7 Halm Amphidoxos est anceps causa, ex parte honesta et ex parte inhonesta.

The use, as illustration, of   Met. 2,53b-254a is entirely new, however. It is also somewhat out of   place relative to its context, nor is it even a good fit for the definition of  the figure itself, an inconsistency – as Jacques Fontaine rightly highlights 17 – that makes it hard to imagine that Isidore had found it in a  collection of  scholia.18 It seems likely, instead, that it is very much his own contribution and drawn from his personal reading, a hypothesis that is all the more persuasive if we consider the popularity of  the episode of   Phaeton in the Late Antique period, as evidenced by the numerous literary imitations.19 There are a number of   examples from Book XII – where the chapters on snakes and birds are practically an Ovidian bestiary in miniature – in regard to which I believe we can talk in terms of   a sort of   intermediate form of   citation, somewhere between a reference that can be traced back through the filter of  scholasticgrammatical reading and an entirely personal supplementation on the part of   Isidore. The discussion of   the nature of   snakes in Orig. 12,4,48 (ed. André 1986) 20 – where we learn that a snake is formed from the spinal cord of   a dead person 21 – quotes Met. 15,389-390 directly. Ovid sets these verses within a  wider   Fontaine 1983, 317, n. 4.   This quotation in Isidore is the only indirect ancient reference to this Ovidian verse that we know of. On the grammatical reception of   Ovid and ancient and medieval scholasticism, see Gatti 2014. 19  For a detailed examination of   the Fortleben of   this episode from Ovid, see Roberts 2018, 267-292. 20  Pythagoras dicit de medulla hominis mortui, quae in spina est, serpentem creari; quod etiam Ovidius in Metamorphoseorum libris commemorat dicens: Sunt qui cum clauso putrefacta est spina sepulchro / mutari credant humanas angue medullas. 21  The quote from Ovid joins numerous other ancient attestations to this ‘fact’; cf., among others, Plin., Nat. 10, 188 anguem ex medulla hominis spinae gigni accepimus a multis and other examples listed in Page 1981, 23. 17 18

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Pythagorean discourse on the permanent transformation of   natural elements as a cosmic principle. This association was already present in Isidore’s Vorlage, in this case Servius’ commentary on Aen. 5,95,22 which the Etymologiae entry reproduces in large part. What is noteworthy is Isidore’s inclusion of   the quotation itself; it does not appear in Servius’ commentary, where there is merely a generic reference to the poetic precedent supporting the text’s rather singular assertion. We find an analogous compositional process shortly afterwards at 12,7,39,23 where the section on the owl is also embellished with a quote from Ovid, this time Met. 5,549-550. The last section of   the Etymologiae entry finds lexical and thematic parallels in the so-called Servius Danielis text (SD),24 which alludes in a  rather vague and implicit manner to its potential verse hypotext by mentioning the myth of  Proserpine and the metamorphosis of   Ascalaphus.25 Ovid’s text – together with Lucan. 5,396 – is mentioned only en passant in Servius as further evidence of   the masculine gender of   the term bubo, although the quotation (p. 547,22 Thilo item Ovidius infan­ dus bubo), which is limited to the incipit of   verse 550, includes

 Serv., ad Aen. 5,95, p.  604,12-15 Thilo aut certe secundum Pythagoram dicit, qui primus deprehendit, de medulla hominis, quae est in spina, anguem creari; quod etiam Ovidius in quinto decimo metamorphoseon dicit loquente Pythagora. 23  Bubo a sono vocis conpositum nomen habet, avis feralis, onusta quidem plu­ mis, sed gravi semper detenta pigritia: in sepulcris die noctu que versatur, et sem­ per commorans in cavernis. De qua Ovidius: Foedaque fit volucris venturi nuntia luctus,  / ignavus bubo dirum mortalibus omen. Denique apud augures malum portendere fertur: nam cum in urbe visa fuerit, solitudinem significare dicunt. 24  Serv. auct., ad Aen. 4,462, p.  547,9-10 and 12-13 Thilo ubi enim sederit et cecinerit solitudinem significat … bubo si cuius aedes insederit et vocem miserit, mortem significare dicitur. Isidore’s relationship with scholastic writings on Virgil has been a  subject of   academic attention going back to Thilo 1881-1902 and Lindsay 1911, and was explored most notably in Homeyer 1913. His relationship with, and possible reliance on, the SD text remains to be established with any certainty; cf. Scarcia 2008, 216-223, which proposes that the Etymologiae might be considered another example of  SD; a more cautious hypothesis is that the texts drew on common material. 25   Serv. auct., ad Aen. 4,462, p. 547,16-17 Thilo in hanc autem avem conver­ sus est Ascalaphus Acherontis, vel ut quidam volunt Stygis filius, ira Cereris, cum Proserpinam prodidisset malum granatum de pomario Ditis gustavisse: quod plenius in primo georgicorum dictum est; here, the SD text alludes to Servius’ commentary on georg. 1,39, which covers the myth in more detail; see also Serv., ad Aen. 10,470 and the observations in Guillaumin 2019, 391. 22

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a clear divergence 26 from the ignavus bubo of   the standard Meta­ morphoses text. In any case, while Servius’ commentary may have been the prompt for Isidore’s referral to Ovid, the latter’s introduction of   the whole quotation – whose first line is reproduced correctly – is entirely his own, and indeed, the sentence preceding it (gravi semper detenta pigritia) reads almost as a  gloss on the Ovidian adjective (ignavus) erroneously quoted by Servius. It is not uncommon that the text as quoted by Isidore is not the same as has emerged from the manuscript tradition of   the author in question. In the longest chapter of   Book XIII-chapter 21, on the origin and naming of   rivers – Isidore annotates the close of  section 23, on the Meander, a river known for its twisting course, with a quote from Met. 2,246: Isid., Orig. 13,21,23 De fluminibus (ed. Gasparotto 2004) Maeander amnis Asiae flexuosus qui, recurrentibus ripis inter Cariam et Ioniam, praecipitatur in sinum qui Miletum dividit et Prienam; Maeander autem vocatus quod sit flexuosus et numquam currat rectus. De quo Ovidius: Curvis ludit Maeander in undis.

Ov., Met. 2,246 recurvatis ludit Maeandrus in undis.

In general terms, the reference to Ovid’s verse makes complete sense given its situation in the original poetic text as part of  a list of   rivers – presumably drawn from the papers of   Agrippa  – in which we find many of   the names mentioned, and discussed, by Isidore. What is interesting, however, is the partial discrepancy between the citation in Isidore and the Ovidian locus as it has come down to us from manuscript tradition.27 Starting with the name of   the river, we might hypothesise that Isidore adopted, unaltered, the reading he found in an available copy of   the text 26  A confusion perhaps due to an association with the imagery of  Met. 10,453 funereus bubo letali carmine fecit. 27  Isidore’s reference is noted in an editorial comment in Anderson 1982, 34.

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of   the Metamorphoses, or else that he simply remembered it wrongly.28 If this were the case, such a  trick of   the memory, of  a sort that beset the learned writer frequently enough, might be ascribed to the frequency in Latin literature of   the -ander form, the common transliteration – with a few and occasionally wellknown exceptions (Evandrus in Virgil)  – of   Greek names ending in -ανδρος.29 It is also possible that the error in the quotation was due, in no small part, to Isidore’s confusion of   the Ovid text with a thematically and verbally similar passage in Seneca, Herc. f.  683-684 qualis incertis vagus  / Maeander undis ludit, behind which incidentally, as other commentators have ascertained, the Ovidian model is unmistakable.30 Additionally, the name of   the river is cited in the same form in earlier encyclopedic sources

28   Similar divergences, on Isidore’s part, from the traditionally transmitted version of  Ovid’s text – again, potentially a misremembering of  it – can be found in at least three other cases. At Orig. 2,21,25, quoting Met. 1,523 ei mihi, quod nullis amor est sanabilis herbis, Isidore replaces nullis with the “unmetrical nul­ lus” (Marshall 1983, 86). In similar fashion, at 18,12,3, he quotes Fast. 3,377-378 idque ancile vocat, quod ab omni parte recisum est, / quaque notes oculis angulus omnis abest using the plural vocant rather than vocat; in both cases, the varia lectio can only be attributed to an error of   memory. A more interesting case is offered by Orig. 11,4,3, where the manifestation of   scorpions from the rotted flesh of  crabs is illustrated with an example from Ovid (concava litorei si demas brachia cancri, / scorpio exibit, caudaque minabitur unca); the source is Met. 15,369-371 concava litoreo si demas bracchia cancro, / cetera supponas terrae, de parte sepulta / scorpius exibit caudaque minabitur unca, but Isidore presents the first verse in a different form that has strong echoes of   Met. 10,127 concava litorei fervebant bracchia Cancri – which makes reference to the constellation of   Cancer – and omits the whole of  v. 370. Even if the shortening of  the text in this case may be intentional, with Isidore seeking to cut it to suit his explanatory purposes without compromising its logical or syntactical consistency, the variation from the established text in the initial verse might instead be the result of  a confused memory, his recollection of   the passage merging with that of   the verse from Book X. On this passage, see Gasti 2010, 159. 29  See Bömer 1977, 61. 30  Cf., on this, the notes in Jakobi 1988, 10-11, and in Billerbeck 1999, 430431. Ovid revisits and expands on the subject in Met. 8,162-166 non secus ac liquidis Phrygius Maeandrus in undis / ludit et ambiguo lapsu refluitque fluitque / occurrensque sibi venturas adspicit undas / et nunc ad fontes, nunc ad mare versus apertum / incertas exercet aquas. According to Seneca no less, the twisting course of   the river had become quite a widespread literary motif and a subject of   academic exercises (Epist. 104,15 Maeander, poetarum omnium exercitatio et ludus); it is not implausible to suggest that its use in educational settings informed Isidore’s choice of  quotation.

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such as Pliny 31 and, most pertinently, Solinus, whose digression on the Meander matches, almost entirely ad verbum, the entry in the Etymologiae.32 Finally, however, it is not entirely implausible that we are dealing with an intentional modification on Isidore’s part, motivated by a desire to ‘standardise’ the reading he encountered in the manuscript by adapting it to the more common form, which – given the instructive and lexicographical function of   the work as a whole and the catalogue of  rivers in particular – he considered more appropriate for wider dissemination. Such a “mannerism” 33 or, again, a  misremembering, might also explain the use of  curvis 34 where Ovid’s text has recurvatis. Again in this case, the purely statistical consideration, so to speak, that the combination curv- und- 35 was more common in poetry in a variety of   metrical positions than recurvatis … undis, which we only find in verse in Ovid, may have influenced the author, although the construction with the participle form of   the simple verb is not uncommon in Latin texts.36

3. Q uotations and Allusions in the Other Prose Works The two examples of   Ovidian quotation in the Sententiae (ed. Cazier 1998) 37 are different in both sense and purpose.  Plin., Nat. 5,108-114.   Cf. Solin. 40,28 ex arce … Maeander amnis caput tollit, qui, recurrentibus ripis, flexuosus inter Cariam et Ioniam praecipitat in sinum qui Miletum dividit et Prienam and the note ad loc. in Gasparotto 2004, 152. 33  “Manierismo” in Gasparotto 2004, 152, n. 294. 34  Reading as transmitted in the manuscripts of   Isidore’s Etymologies, with the exception of   B (= Bernensis 101, saec. IX), which reads curvus, and D (= Basileensis F. III. 15, saec. IX), which has currit. Relative to the metrical schema of   Ovid’s hexameter, the form proposed by Isidore is clearly contra metrum; this makes it hard to believe that he found the verse in this form in a  copy of   the Metamorphoses and failed to spot the error and correct it. 35  For instance, in Aetna 95 extremique maris curvis incingitur undis, Stat., Theb. 2,381 curva Palaemonio secluditur unda Lechaeo and Mart. 9,90,3 curva calculus excitatur unda. 36 Cf. Verg., Georg. 4,361 curvata in montis faciem circumstetit unda (which is reproduced in its entirety in Cypr. Gall., Exod. 486) and Sil. 15,155 Isthmon curvata sublime superiacit unda; in the plural, again in Sil. 1,472 curvatis pavidas tramittit Cycladas undis. 37  In terms of   the number of    quotations present in the Sententiae, which incorporates content from predominantly biblical and patristic prose models 31 32

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In  2,29,28 (De sermone), Isidore considers the resentment felt by those who have suffered an injustice, describing the intensification of   the pain that is hidden in the heart and repressed in silence: Q ui dolorem iniuriae clauso pectore tegit, quanto amplius silentio linguam premit, tanto acriorem intrinsecus nutrit. Vnde et vere quidam poetarum gentilium dixit: Q uoque magis tegitur, tectus magis aestuat ignis (Ov., Met. 4,64). Caecus enim languor vehemens est ac nimius, quia tacitum vivit sub pectore vulnus (Verg., Aen. 4,67).

The first thing to note is that, of   the two verse quotations here, only the Ovid is presented with the standardised formula quidam poetarum gentilium dixit; this is done less for the reason that the reader would be able recognise the Virgil 38 easily enough, without it being signaled, and more because the author wished to place emphasis on the quote from Ovid.39 Indeed, it is on this verse from the Metamorphoses that Isidore models his own phrasing, at least at a formal level, taking from it – with a slight revision – the verbal voice tegit and the prompt for his own two comparative phrases, and going on not only to reproduce the poetic extract but, with the adverb vere, to recognise its moral truth. What we are presented with in both cases is a  generalising transposition of  formulae that, in their original setting, refer solely to erotic passion; it is a free association of  ideas that can be traced to Isidore’s own psychological reality and an anti-erotic prejudice that, as we shall see, would also prompt his next recourse to Ovid. Effectively, in the protreptic context of   Book II, which deals with the (Cicero being the notable exception), Ovid is in second place, behind Virgil (three) and ahead of   Terence and Horace (one apiece); cf. the Index fontium in Cazier 1998, 352-360. 38  Although this excerpt from the Aeneid was widely known, in part for the whole or partial quotations included by Late Antique authors including Jerome (Epist. 125,7 matrem ita vide, ne per illam alias videre cogaris, quarum vultus cordi tuo haereant et tacitum vivat sub pectore vulnus) and Macrobius (Sat. 6,6,17). In any case, it has been shown more than once how Isidore turned his quotations to his own compositional needs, in some cases adapting the text – depending on the example and the communicational purposes in question – to the syntactic structure of  the destination text. 39  Thus, not simply as a mere stylistic variatio or for the purposes of   better organising his material.

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conscience and the classification of   sins, the reference to the two famous love stories – Pyramus and Thisbe in the one case, Dido and Aeneas in the other – reflects a  rather censorious outlook in regard to eros and its less desirable effects. I believe it is likely, given their thematic affinity, that these two poetic loci had been included in an anthology for use in school settings; 40 furthermore, in addition to the “bekanntes Motiv”,41 the verse from the Metamorphoses offers stylistic points of   interest – including the distinctive ἀναδίπλωσις 42 and the adverbial anaphora – that might also suggest its use educationally. Let us consider, for a moment, 3,5,7 (De temptationibus dia­ boli): Diabolus non est inmissor, sed incentor potius vitiorum. Neque enim alibi concupiscentiae fomenta succendit, nisi ubi prius pravae cogitationis delectationes aspexerit; quas si a  nobis spernimus, sine dubio ille confusus abscedit, statimque franguntur iacula concupiscentiae eius contemptaeque iacent et sine luce faces illius (Ov., Rem. 140).

Here, the description of   the nature of   the Devil – who is held to be, rather than the originator of   sin, an instigator and provo­ cateur – reads like a  miniature compendium of   demonology formed from patristic building blocks that, as far as I can ascertain, have still to be fully identified. Indeed, we find an analogous clarification, in terms of   both content and terminology, in a passage from Jerome’s commentary to Matthew 15,19 (de corde enim exeunt cogitationes malae): Diabolus adiutor esse et incentor malarum cogitationum potest, auctor esse non potest; sin autem semper in insidiis positus levem cogitationum nostrarum scintillam suis fomitibus inflammarit, non debemus opinari eum cordis quoque occulta rimari sed ex corporis habitu et gestibus aestimare

40   Which is not to say that Isidore was quoting at second hand, and that he did not, himself, appreciate the closeness of   the content of   the two loci and combine them in a new setting for the purposes of  his own argumentation. 41  See the comment ad loc. in Bömer 1976, 41. 42  A figure that Ovid makes great use of  in the Metamorphoses (cf. 1,33. 402; 4,316; 8,474. 650; 9,74. 196. 525; 12,391; 13,345).

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quid versemus intrinsecus, verbi gratia si pulchram mulierem nos crebro viderit respicere, intellegit cor amoris iaculo vul­ neratum (ed. D. Hurst – M. Adriaen, CC SL 77,131-132).

Jerome takes the biblical verse in support of   the idea that the facility to direct the passions of  the spirit resides in the heart and not in the brain (as the Platonic doctrine would have it), countering those who would instead attribute the origin of   wicked impulses to the evil one, and not to human desire. His thesis is styled in large part on the assertion made in the first Johannine epistle (2,16) quoniam omne quod est in mundo, concupiscentia carnis est, et concupiscentia oculorum, et superbia vitae: quae non est ex Patre, sed ex mundo est. Jerome concludes his note offering examples of   erotic passion, of   the desire for an attractive woman as manifested in physical comportment and of  the vulnus of  amorous love, all are easy prey for diabolical attractions. Condensed in this emotional physiology are a mix of  traditional classical and indirectly Christian images and literary metaphors regarding eros (fire, arrows, wounds,  etc.). As emerges from a  synoptic comparison, Isidore draws heavily on the ideas and phrasal repertoire of   the patristic fons, making use of  key concepts in a characteristic mode of   synonymic variation and morphosyntactic adaptation. We might note: the use of   immissor, a rare deverbal noun that, prior to Isidore, is used only by Eucherius of   Lyon,43 and that is here an evident response to Jerome’s use of   immitti; the genitive vitiorum – dependent on incentor – in place of   malarum cogi­ tationum; or, again, the echoing of   fomitibus in fomenta, which shares the same root. In the Sententiae, we find a subtle evocation of   the same Johannine hypotext on which Jerome had rested his argument in the repetition of   concupiscentia, a term that is conceptually central to the entire chapter.44 It is from this thematic 43 Eucher., Instr. 1,2 angelum satanae appellat Paulus (2 Cor. 12,7) illum quo quasi immissore tanta illa pateretur (cf. ThLL VII, 466,65-68). 44  Isidore’s indebtedness to this passage from Jerome allows us, to some extent, to rectify the suggestion in Cazier 1998, LVII that, “on peut être étonné – surtout quand on connaît le souci d’Isidore pour l’exégèse biblique – de la maigre part de l’œuvre de Jérôme parmi les sources des Sentences”; digging deeper in the rest of   Isidore’s text, it is likely that we would reveal further significant examples of  Jeromian inspiration.

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backdrop that Isidore plucks the brief quotation from Ovid’s Remedia. At lines 135-140,45 the poet recommends real work as an antidote to love and focuses on the term otium: 46 Ergo ubi visus eris nostrae medicabilis arti,   fac monitis fugias otia prima meis. Haec ut ames faciunt; haec, ut fecere, tuentur;   haec sunt iucundi causa cibusque mali. Otia si tollas, periere Cupidinis arcus   contemptaeque iacent et sine luce faces.

Like Ovid, Isidore ensconces the cure in a conditional sentence, taking care to excise the pagan divinity in Ovid (v. 139 Cupidi­ nis arcus) and – more in keeping with the Christian context and his biblical-patristic sources – replace him with the figure of   the demon and his weapons of   seduction (iacula con­cu­pi­scen­ tiae eius).47 For a  more natural syntax, at the end of   the direct 45  On the structure of   the Remedia, see the commentary in Pinotti 1988, 23-24. 46  See Jones 1997, 72 and Sadlek 2004, 52. 47  The same combination of  elements can be found in Rufinus’ Latin translation of   Origen’s homilies on Genesis (Rufin., Orig. in gen. 10,4 potest enim fieri, ut habeat quis in corpore virginitatem et cognoscens istum virum pessimum diabo­ lum atque ab eo concupiscentiae iacula in corde suscipiens animae perdiderit casti­ tatem). Central to the context of   Origen’s assertion is the idea that physical and spiritual chastity are distinct, and that the Christian needs to preserve both by protecting themselves from demonic temptations. From the similarity of  wording (albeit this is limited to a single expression) and the conceptual affinity we might conclude that Isidore was drawing on this other patristic source, though under the more pervasive influence, so to speak, of  the Jeromian hypotext. In this likely fusion of   patristic models, the Johannine concept of   concupiscentia serves as an ideological supposition, an underlying archetype for the later literary redefinitions. It is worth identifying some of   the other elements woven from patristic sources into the dense compositional fabric of   Isidore’s text: the locution concu­ piscentiae fomenta succendit leads us to similar formulations in Cypr., Hab. virg. 9 si tu […] concupiscendi libidinem nutrias, sperandi fomenta succendas […] excusari non potes quasi mente casta sis et pudica and Zacch. 1,30 alii concupiscentiae faces praeferunt et luxuriae fomenta succendunt; the pairing cogitationis delectationes, meanwhile, is probably derived from Augustine (cf., for instance, Aug., Q uaest. hept. 1,69). These patristic tesserae, all of  which relate to a common theme of  restraint in regard to sex and temptation, thus appear to have been integrated into a more solid structural schema provided by the aforementioned passage in Jerome. The same Isidorian maxim is incorporated – along with others by the same auctor – in the Liber scintillarum by Defensor of   Ligugé (late seventh-/ early eighth-century), though this time without the last two cola and thus minus the Ovid quote (78,25, ed. H. M. Rochais, CC SL, 117,224; paragraphs 24 and

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quote he then adds the pronoun illius, which refers back to the eius of   the preceding phrase. In  general terms, the inclusion of   the Ovidian verse – prompted by a  shared anti-erotic sentiment, albeit the ideological and cultural specifics are unique to each case – leverages the subtle affinity between the theological and moral-parenetic summarisation of   Isidore’s compilatory text and the didactic-therapeutic quality of   Ovid’s poem, which itself runs contrary to the preceding elegiac ideology. In compositional terms, this overlap and fusing of   intertexts from heterogeneous literary genres and cultural backgrounds within a  syntactically organic pastiche is quite in keeping with the stylistic processes of  the Sententiae. There is a  peculiar example of   quotation in a  passage from the Synonyma, which are distinguished from Isidore’s other works by the lack of   explicit quotations, for all that he makes abundant use of   existing literary models.48 The treatise is split into two books, the first – organised around a dialogistic exchange between homo and ratio – followed by a  second, in which are gathered, as though in a  sort of   ethical handbook, precepts for following the path of  virtue as imparted to humankind by reason. 1,24,215219 reads: Noli singularem conditionem tuam intendere, non est a  te sola tua pensanda acerbitas, non est sola tua a te consideranda 26 are also modelled on the same section of   the Sententiae). It is difficult to say whether the excision of  the classical verse in this case was intentional, in the sense that the medieval compiler, recognising the quotation despite the lack of  explicit external indicators, deliberately omitted it from the Liber scintillarum, which was intended to include only patristic material, or whether the edit – which includes part of  Isidore’s own material (statimque franguntur iacula concupiscentiae eius) – was informed entirely by considerations of   how best to organise the quoted material, or rather by a desire for conciseness, with elements perceived as superfluous to the general comprehension of   the maxim discarded. If the former is true, that the author of   the Liber scintillarum recognised and removed the Ovidian verse, it provides a  tantalising, if indirect, indication of   a familiarity with the text of   the Remedia – in their entirety or in some form of   anthology – in the scholarly and monastic settings of   the early Middle Ages. The same portion of   Isidore’s text quoted in the Liber is also found in the De altera vita of   Lucas de Túy (1,21, ed. E. Falque Rey, CC CM, 74A,83). 48  Including, among the pagan models, Cicero with the Tusculanae Disputa­ tiones, and among the Christians, Lactantius, Ambrose, Jerome, Augustine and Gregory the Great; cf. Elfassi 2009, XVI-XXII.

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calamitas. Respice similes aliorum casus, intende miserias eorum quibus acerbe aliquid accidit. Dum tibi aliena pericula memoras, mitius tua portas. Aliorum enim exempla dolorem relevant, alienis malis facilius consolatur homo (ed. Elfassi 2009).

In this section of   the dialogue, which focuses on human mortality, ratio incites her interlocutor, setting out an argument that follows that made by Virbus-Hippolytus in Book  XV of   the Metamorphoses: “Siste modum” dixit, “neque enim fortuna querenda sola tua est; similes aliorum respice casus: mitius ista feres; utinamque exempla dolentem non mea te possent relevare, sed et mea possunt” (vv. 493-496).

In this Anrede to the nymph Egeria, who is mourning her hus­ band Numa, Hippolytus employs some of   the thematic conventions of   consolatio, such as the invitation to modus, which is to say the limiting of   the externalisation of   pain, and a  consideration of   the universality of   suffering, which is illustrated following an established consolatory schema with the use of   exempla. The examples he gives, however, are perceived by Egeria merely as aliena … damna (vv.  547-548), given that the experiences of   Hippolytus, who was brought back to life as a  divinity, have little in common with those of  the nymph, whose husband will not enjoy such an apotheosis.49 In ratio’s argumentative scheme, the extract from Ovid, having been uncoupled from the contextual contingencies of   its original setting, is adopted purely for its gnomic impact and in this sense is entirely in keeping with the preceptial nature of   Isidore’s composition. Here, the remodelling of   the material is itself informed by the admission of  the sapiential and moral validity of  earlier pagan literature in areas otherwise reserved for Christian authorities. In morphological terms, Isidore has only made minor alterations to the intertext, which – although blended coherently into the wider fabric of   his prose – is still easily recognisable from the line 494b, which is reproduced almost word for word save a  minor inver  Cf. Hardie 2015, 551.

49

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sion of   the ordo verborum. The uncoupling of   the passive periphrastic of   vv. 493-494 into two clauses is effected through the substitution of   near synonyms: the pairing acerbitas/calamitas for vox media fortuna; the verbal voices pensanda/consideranda for the more incisive querenda; and, with a shift from the future to the present tense, portare for ferre. In this way, Isidore adapts the source material to the general tone of   his own text, whose stylistic unity is achieved through just such a succession of   synonymic phrases, which he organises in analogous syntactic structures, and frequently through the similarity of   their constituent parts (parallelismus membrorum). It is not difficult to imagine the idea for the quotation being prompted by the inclusion of  the Ovidian locus in a  school textbook or anthology of   some sort, which is itself plausible given the sapiential-parenetic tenor of  the text. In any case, it seems quite possible that Isidore was familiar with the whole episode of   Hippolytus’ metamorphosis, a suggestion supported by the conspicuous echo of   the aliena … damna combination of   the aforementioned vv.  547-548 – therefore at some distance from the quoted verses – in the synonymic pairing aliena pericula / aliorum … exempla / aliena mala.

4. Poetic Intertextuality Among the literary fontes of   Isidore’s versus,50 Ovid’s is a muted voice, certainly in comparison to other classical and Christian poets. Foremost among these is Martial, although given the geographical connection – Martial was a native of  Bilbilis in Roman Hispania –, their work in the same epigrammatic genre and the frequently moralising quality of   Martial’s verse, it could hardly have been otherwise. All the same, Isidore’s poems are not devoid of  Ovidian traces, the most evident of  which is to be found in the fourth poem: Ille ego Origenes, doctor verissimus olim,   quem primum fidei Graecia clara dedit. Celsus eram meritis et clarus copia fandi;   praeruptus subito lingua nocente rui.   Edited by Sánchez Martín 2000. I made some changes to the punctuation.

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Condere, si credis, studui tot millia libros   quot legio missos ducit in arma viros. Nulla meos umquam tetigit blasphemia sensus,   sed vigil et prudens, tutus ab hoste fui. Sola mihi casum Periarchon dicta dederunt;   his me coniectum impia tela premunt.

5

10

In vv. 7 and 8 – nulla meos umquam tetigit blasphemia sensus, / sed vigil et prudens, tutus ab hoste fui – Origen (for it is he speaking) offers a  reaffirmation of   his orthodoxy, insofar as he has not submitted to his enemy. The couplet extends the warlike imagery of   v.  6, in which the works of   the Alexandrian exegete are compared to the soldiers of  a legion at war, and anticipates the metaphor of   v. 10, in which – with a distinct sense of   apologia – he describes the condemnation levelled at his controversial Περὶ ἀρχῶν as impia tela. The second hemiepes of   v.  8 covers similar textual ground to Ov., Her. 11,45-46 – A! nimium vivax admo­ tis restitit infans  / artibus et tecto tutus ab hoste fuit – in which Canace uses a  military metaphor to describe how the foetus in her womb has resisted the attempts to abort it, and Fast. 3,423424  –  Di  veteris Troiae, dignissima praeda ferenti,  / qua gravis Aeneas tutus ab hoste fuit – which refers to Aeneas and how he was saved from the Greeks by his piety and the divine protection of   the penates.51 In the former example, the term vigil, which takes on its own military flavour in the context, seems to be echoing in phonic terms the adjectival form vivax of   v. 45, with which Ovid indicates the vital tenacity of   the unborn child. On a  thematic level, the allusion to the sacred in Origen’s representation of   himself as a  figure impervious to blasphemy creates a  solid link with the background to the second, Ovidian locus – specifically the pietas of  Aeneas – almost as though Isidore has sensed an analogy of   sorts in the respective ethics and comportment of   the epic hero and the exegete of   Alexandria. Even so, I believe that, for the author, this pairing was little more than a compositional device, and that it was not expected to convey a  more definite allusion that might be decoded in full by the reader. In any case, Isidore can be seen here to adapt the Ovidian hypotext in what we might describe as a ‘spiritualising’ key,   See Heyworth 2019, 166.

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imbuing the term hostis with the specifically Christian sense of  the ‘devil’, a usage that recurs frequently in the work of  ecclesiastical authors, particularly in veiled reference to those who uphold heretical doctrines and, indeed, their own theological adversaries. The presence of  this Ovidian allusion in the epigram might imply the influence of  same auctor in the ille ego of  the initial line, an incipitary formula found no less than twenty times in Ovid’s writing, including a number of   self-referential examples (e.g. Trist. 4,10,1 and Am. 2,1,2); the possibility should certainly be kept in mind, although the same tournure appears relatively frequently – and often paired with a  form of   the verb esse and a proper noun, at times followed by a relative clause – in Latin poetry, particularly of   the Augustan period, and in metrical funerary inscriptions. Less certain, though not entirely implausible, are the parallels with Ovid suggested by Sánchez Martín 52 in a  note on the final sequence of   two other verses from Isidore’s compilation. In poem 14,53 a brief eulogy to the literary and scholarly merits of   Isidore’s brother and vates 54 Leander, Sánchez Martín identifies, in the clausular nexus of   v. 2 hoc tua dicta docent, a particular similarly with CLE 1842,1-2 sanctorum veneranda cohors sedet ordine longo  / divinae legis mystica dicta docens, which is to say the verses that introduce the subsequent reference to the magisterium of   Pope Agapetus I, to whom the text is dedicated. For all that it might be a simple coincidence, it is also possible that, in some way, this epigraph remained with Isidore, who decided in due course to imitate it in what was, in a sense, a similar setting (a biographical sketch) and for a  comparable purpose.55 In any   Sánchez Martín 2000, 70.   Non satis antiquis doctoribus impar haberis, / Leander vates: hoc tua dicta docent. 54  Here in the sense of    both poet and bishop, following an established Christian convention: on this, see Gnilka 2009, 79-83. 55   At the behest of   Cassiodorus, Pope Agapetus established a  library on the Caelian Hill that would subsequently be incorporated into the monastery erected on the same site by Gregory the Great. It is quite possible that the suggestion in Marrou 1931, 124-169, that the library held texts by pagan writers alongside works by Christian authors, is accurate. Indeed, it may be that the definition sanctorum veneranda cohors of   the first line is a reference to the latter group, provided at least that it is not a reference to the prophets and patriarchs, as was recently suggested in Inowlocki 2011, 211. However, the fact that 52 53

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case, the hemistich carries the discernible imprint of   Ov.  Trist. 1,9,36 Ei mihi, quam paucos haec mea dicta movent, from which Isidore borrows the key term dicta – related in Ovid’s text to the exiled poet’s unanswered pleas to be repatriated – with slight grammatical reconfigurations of   the two other similar elements. To  me, this appears a  wholly unconscious reference, though it is worth mentioning that the Isidore text emulates the Ovidian verse in the use of  dicta as the subject, in contrast to the epigraphical model where it serves as the object. A similar mode of imitation is likely at work in poem 25 (titulus scriptorii),56 a single couplet that hinges entirely on the martial metaphor of   the struggle between scribe and parchment. In  Isidore’s exhortation to take to the field and initiate the battle (v. 2 si placet, huc veniat, hic sua bella gerat), it is possible to detect an echo of   Ovid’s scornful repudiation of   figures of   power in Am. 3,8,57-58 omnia possi­ deant: illis Campusque Forumque  / serviat, hi pacem crudaque bella gerant; with the shift of   circumstances in Isidore’s text, the function of   the scriptorium in relation to the scribe is the same as that of   the Campus Martius and the Forum for the gravis iudex and the severus eques.57 the epigraph places Agapetus within this saintly company (v. 3 hos inter residens Agapetus iure sacerdos) does imply that the allusion is to the Church Fathers rather than figures from the Bible; what is more, according to this second poem, it is the mystica dicta – which is to say, the sacred books, including those of   the prophets  – that provide the subject matter of   the teachings entrusted to the “company of   saints”, in this sense to a  separate group of   figures in whom the magisterium is embodied. The theory set out in Gamble 1995, 164-165 – that the inscription refers to a  fresco that ran along the wall above the bookcases, in a  Christian appropriation of   a classical decorative practice  – is plausible. At this point, if we consider that Agapetus’ library was inevitably well known in the ecclesiastical circles of   the Late Antique and early medieval periods, not least because it was subsequently incorporated into the Gregorian monastery, and that the paintings and epigraphic poems that decorated its spaces would undoubtedly have drawn the attention of   visitors, it is a possibility that Isidore was familiar with the composition in question, even if only in the form of   a transcription of   the text. This idea is all the more tantalising if we consider that this possible epigraphical quotation occurs in a eulogistic epigram destined for a place in Isidore’s own library, much like the presumptive model was to be found in the library in Rome. 56  Q ui calamo certare novit cum mortua pelle, / si placet, huc veniat, hic sua bella gerat. 57  Nor can we say there is not something polemical in Isidore’s imitatio, which may have sought implicity – precisely with this echo of   Ovid’s model – to elevate the work of   the scribe by comparing it to other, more remunerative

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It should be in no way surprising that Ovid is only present here in the form of   his elegiac works, considering both the metrical structure of   Isidore’s versus and the success of   the Ovidian metric model in the elegiac couplets of  the Late Antique period.58 Taken as whole, the examples examined here demonstrate, admittedly solely in regard to Ovid, a mode of   imitation that is based mostly (though not entirely) on formal borrowings dictated by metrical requirements and the free association of   ideas rather than on conscious, deliberate and targeted allusions. This is not to say, however, that the imitator dispenses with the meaning, tone and purpose of   the imitated material: in the selectiveness of   his recollection, he cannot avoid some element of   evaluation of   its logical and semantic purpose, which –  given it represents a  quite different Weltanschauung – he compares with his own, if not quite polemically, then in a  spirit of   opposition. It is the forma mentis, itself, therefore that informs the deviation from the meaning of  the borrowed text.

5. Conclusions To close, a  few provisory observations. In  Isidore, the function and extent of   the repurposed Ovidian material are especially varied, as are the contexts from which it is taken and in which it is reused. In some cases, it is borrowed indirectly, which is to say that it is mediated by another source that can often be identified precisely; in other instances, the distance in the source text between the locations of   the quoted elements – particularly the structurally organic micro-units of   verse and narrative such as the lines from Book V and, above all, Book XV of   the Meta­ morphoses – and the way they are distributed across a  thematically varied range of  works or parts of  works, suggest that Isidore was aware of   their original setting, in the sense that he was at positions in society. As far as the reference to the verse from the eighth elegy of   the third book of   the Amores is concerned, we would do well to bear in mind that the imitated passage appears in a  section (vv.  53-58) whose verses equate to fully-fledged maxims in their own right, an aspect that would have aided the memorisation of  the text and, consequently, prompted its reuse. 58  Cf.  Ceccarelli 2018a, 445-473 and, more generally, Ceccarelli 2018b, passim.

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least familiar with the whole of   the relevant sections of   Ovid’s verse, if not the entire books. Regardless of   the mode of   quotation or allusion, Ovid’s literary authority is recognised in its fullness, on a par with that of   the Christian sources; indeed, recast according to the principles of   the faith and recontextualised, he is even granted a new, moral dignity. This fusion of   exempla, a  distinctive trait of   Isidore’s philological and antiquarian output, is informed by an integrationist vision of   classical-pagan and Christian thinking that was well suited to the task of  (re)defining a specific cultural identity in an era of   transformation such as the seventh century.

Bibliography Anderson 1982 = W. S. Anderson (ed.), Publius Ovidius Naso. Meta­ morphoses, Berolini 1982. André 1986 = J. André (ed.), Isidore de Séville, Étymologies, Livre XII: Des animaux, Paris 1986. Billerbeck 1999 = M. Billerbeck (ed.), Seneca. Hercules Furens. Einleitung, Text, Übersetzung und Kommentar, Leiden 1999. Bömer 1976  = F.  Bömer (ed.), P.  Ovidius Naso. Metamorphosen. Buch IV-V, Heidelberg 1976. Bömer 1977  = F.  Bömer (ed.), P.  Ovidius Naso. Metamorphosen. Buch VIII-IX, Heidelberg 1977. Cazier 1998 = P. Cazier (ed.), Isidorus Hispalensis. Sententiae, Turnhout 1998. Ceccarelli 2018a  = L.  Ceccarelli, The Metrical Forms of   the Elegiac Distich in Late Antiquity. Ovid in Venantius Fortunatus, in Consolino 2018, 445-473. Ceccarelli 2018b = L. Ceccarelli, Contributions to the History of  Latin Elegiac Distich, Turnhout 2018. Clark 2011 = J. G. Clark, Ovid in the Middle Ages, Cambridge 2011. Consolino 2018  = F.  E. Consolino (ed.), Ovid in Late Antiquity, Turnhout 2018. Dolveck 2018 = F. Dolveck, Q ue dit-on (ou ne dit-on pas) d’Ovide dans l’Antiquité tardive?, in Consolino 2018, 17-46. Elfassi 2009  = J.  Elfassi (ed.), Isidori Hispalensis episcopi Synonyma, Turnhout 2009. Fielding 2017 = I. Fielding, Transformations of   Ovid in Late Antiq­ uity, Cambridge 2017. 84

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Fontaine 1983  = J.  Fontaine, Isidore de Séville et la culture classique dans l’Espagne wisigothique, Paris 1983. Gamble 1995 = H. Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of  Early Christian Texts, New Haven 1995. Gasparotto 1966-1967 = G. Gasparotto, Isidoro e Lucrezio. III. Le fonti dei capitoli De nubibus del De natura rerum (XXXII), e De aere et nube, delle Origines (XIII 7); and Isidoro e Lucrezio. IV. La peste. Le fonti dei capitoli De Pestilentia del De natura rerum (XXXIX) e  De acutis morbis delle Origines (IV 6, 17-19), Memorie del­ l’Accademia Palatina di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti. Classe di Scienze morali, Lettere ed Arti, 79, 1966-1967, 39-58 and 101-130. Gasparotto 2004 = G. Gasparotto (ed.), Isidoro di Siviglia, Etimolo­ gie. Libro XIII. De mundo et partibus. Edizione, traduzione e commento, Paris 2004. Gasti 1998 = F. Gasti, L’antropologia di Isidoro. Le fonti del libro XI delle Etimologie, Como 1998. Gasti 2010 = F. Gasti (ed.), Isidoro di Siviglia, Etimologie. Libro XI. De homine et portentis. Edizione, traduzione e commento, Paris 2010. Gatti 2014 = P. L. Gatti, Ovid in Antike und Mittelalter. Geschichte der philologischen Rezeption, Stuttgart 2014. Gnilka 2009 = Ch. Gnilka, Zum Grabepigramm auf Ennodius, zu den ambrosianischen Tituli und zu vates gleich episcopus, ZPE 169, 2009, 79-83. Guillaumin 2019 = J.-Y. Guillaumin, Commentaire sur l’Énéide de Vir­ gile. Livre IV, Paris 2019. Hardie 2015 = Ph. Hardie (ed.), Ovidio. Metamorfosi. Libri XIII-XV. Traduzione di G. Chiarini, Milano 2015. Heyworth 2019 = S. J. Heyworth (ed.), Ovid, Fasti. Book III, Cambridge 2019. Homeyer 1913 = G. Homeyer, De scholiis Vergilianis Isidori fontibus. Dissertatio philogogica, Ienae 1913. Inowlocki 2011 = S. Inowlocki, Eusebius’ Construction of   a Christian Culture in an Apologetic Context: Reading The Praeparatio Evan­ge­ lica as a Library, in S. Inowlocki – C. Zamagni (eds.), Reconsidering Eusebius: Collected Papers on Literary, Historical, and theological issues, Leiden-Boston 2011, 199-224. Jakobi 1988 = R. Jakobi, Der Einfluss Ovids auf den Tragiker Seneca, Berlin-New York 1988. Jones 1997 = D. A. Jones, Enjoinder and Argument in Ovid’s Remedia Amoris, Stuttgart 1997. 85

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Lindsay 1911 = W. M. Lindsay, Isidori Hispaliensis Episcopi Etymolo­ giarum sive Originum libri XX, Oxonii 1911. Mack – North 2013  = P.  Mack – J.  A. North (eds.), The afterlife of  Ovid, London 2013. Madoz 1949 = J. Madoz, Ovidio en los santos padres españoles, Estudios eclesiásticos 23, 1949, 233-238. Marrou 1931 = H.-L. Marrou, Autour de la bibliothèque du pape Agapit, MEFRA 48, 1931, 124-169. Marshall 1983 = P. K. Marshall (ed.), Isidore of   Seville, Etymologies. Book II, Paris 1983. Messina 1980  = N.  Messina, Le citazioni classiche nelle Etymologiae di Isidoro di Siviglia, Archivos Leoneses 68, 1980, 205-262. Page 1981 = D. L. Page, Further Greek Epigrams, Cambridge 1981. Peirano Garrison 2019  = I.  Peirano Garrison, Persuasion, Rhetoric and Roman Poetry, Cambridge 2019. Pinotti 1988  = P.  Pinotti (ed.), Publio Ovidio Nasone. Remedia amoris, Bologna 1988. Roberts 2018 = M. Roberts, The Influence of   Ovid’s Metamorphoses in Late Antiquity: Phaethon and the Palace of   the Sun, in Con­so­ lino 2018, 267-292. Rodríguez-Pantoja 2007 = M. Rodríguez-Pantoja, Las Etimologías de San Isidoro de Sevilla, puente de la poesía clásica, Myrtia 22, 2007, 139-164. Sadlek 2004 = G. M. Sadlek, Idleness Working: The Discourse of  Love’s Labor from Ovid Through Chaucer and Gower, Washington 2004. Sánchez Martín 2000  = J.  M. Sánchez Martín, Isidori Hispalensis Versus, (CC SL, 113 A), Turnhout 2000. Scarcia 2008  = R.  Scarcia, Working Hypotheses on the Connection between Servius and Isidore of   Seville, in S. Casali – F. Stok (eds.), Servio: stratificazioni esegetiche e  modelli culturali  / Servius. Exe­ getical Stratifications and Cultural Models, Brussels 2008. Thilo 1881-1902 = G. Thilo, Servii Grammatici qui feruntur in Vergilii carmina commentarii, Lipsiae 1881-1902 (repr. Hildesheim 1986). Venuti 2017 = M. Venuti, Lucano nelle Etymologiae di Isidoro: esempi e riflessioni, in L. Cristante – V. Veronesi (eds.), Il Calamo della memoria VII. Raccolta delle relazioni discusse nell’incontro internazionale di Trieste, 29-30 settembre 2016, Trieste 2017, 245-270. Viarre 1966 = S. Viarre, La survie d’Ovide dans la littérature scienti­ fique des xiie et xiiie siècles, Poitiers 1966. 86

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Appendices 1. Distribution of  Q uotes and Other Possible Borrowings (in Italics) from Ovid in Isidore’s Writings Works by Isidore

Etymologiae

Works by Ovid

 

I. DE GRAMMATICA De schematibus 36,21

Met. 1,19-20

II. DE RHETORICA ET DIALECTICA De figuris verborum et sententiarum 21,25 21,26

Her. 5,149 Met. 2,53b-54a

VIII. DE ECCLESIA ET SECTIS De diis gentium 11,68

Fast. 6,291-292

XI. DE HOMINE ET PORTENTIS De homine et partibus eius 1,5 De aetatibus hominum 2,25 De portentis 3,38 De transformatis 4,3

Met. 1,84-86 Met. 12,464 Ars 2,24 Met. 15,369-371

XII. DE ANIMALIBUS De serpentibus 4,38 4,48 De avibus 7,39

Met. 5,460b-461 Met. 15,389-390 Met. 5,549-550

XIII. DE MUNDO ET PARTIBUS De fluminibus 21,23

Met. 2,246

XVII. DE REBUS RUSTICIS De frumentis 3,1 De propriis nominibus arborum 7,39

Met. 5,341-342 Met. 10,93

XVIII. DE BELLO ET LUDIS De clypeis 12,3

Fast. 3,377-378

Sententiae

Met. 4,64 II 29,28 DE SERMONE III 5,7 DE TEMPTATIONIBUS DIABOLI Rem. 140

Synonyma

1, 24

Met. 15,493-496

Versus

4,1

cf.  Am. 2,1,2; Ars 2,451; Pont. 1,2,35 Fast. 3,424 and Her. 11,44 cf. Trist. 1,9,36 Am. 2,8,58

4,8 14,2 25,2

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2. Location in Ovidian Source Texts of  Q uoted Material and Other Possible References Works by Ovid

Metamorphoses Fasti Heroides Amores Ars Remedia Tristia Epistulae ex Ponto

 

1,19-20; 84-86. 2,53b-54a; 246. 4,64. 5,341-342; 460b-461; 549-550. 10,93. 12,464. 15,369-371; 389-390; 493-496. 3,377-378; 424. 6,291-292. 5,149. 11,44. 2,1,2; 8,58. 2,24; 451. 140. 1,9,36. 4,2,35.

Abstract In Isidore, the function and extent of   the repurposed Ovidian material are especially varied, as are the contexts from which it is taken and in which it is reused. In some cases, their use is indirect, i.e. mediated by another source, often identifiable with precision; in other cases, it is direct, the result of   memories and the author’s personal reading. Regardless of   the mode of   quotation or allusion, Ovid’s literary authority is recognised in its fullness on a par with that of   the Christian sources; indeed, recast according to the principles of   the faith and recontextualised, it even acquires a  moral weight and dignity. The result is a  fusion of   pagan and Christian exempla that was well suited to the task of   (re)defining a specific cultural identity in an era of  transformation such as the seventh century.

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GEOFFREY’S MUSA IOCOSA: THE VITA MERLINI AS AN ‘OVIDIAN’ POEM

While little doubt can remain as to Ovid’s influence on the literature of   the twelfth century 1 – which Ludwig Traube so memorably dubbed the aetas Ovidiana – it is interesting to attempt to gauge his importance for fictional literature, whose emergence as an independent literary genre can be ascribed to the same century. One work that merits consideration in this respect is Geoffrey of   Monmouth’s Vita Merlini, a  poem in hexameter verse composed some time around 1150, an enigmatic text – with an extraordinary protagonist in the form of   Merlin – bearing witness of  an age of  literary experimentation. The question of   Ovid’s influence on this work is closely interwoven with wider considerations regarding its overall scope and core message. On this occasion, however, we shall restrict our survey to a selection of  key passages that should, despite this limited scope, provide sufficient illustration of   the importance of   Ovid’s model, not only on a formal level but also in interpreting the Vita Merlini as a whole.2   See, with particular reference to lyric love poetry, Verbaal 2014.   For a summary of  the plot, see for example Echard 1998, 215-216 or Santi 2003, 1347-1151. On the manuscript tradition, see Marzella 2020. A new critical edition, complete with an English translation and notes is currently in preparation as part of   the project Latin Arthurian Literature and the Rise of   Fiction (University of   Cambridge), which is supported by the Leverhulme Trust. Q uotations from the Latin text are all from the draft of   my own edition. To date, the importance of   Latin models for the Vita Merlini, as compared with Welsh sources, has been underappreciated with a few notable exceptions (e.g. Faral 1929 and Santi 2003). For instance, in Curley 1994, 122: “Apart from such occasional allusions, and the poem’s language and meter, however the VM does not rely heavily on classical literature”. 1 2

After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127593 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 89-115

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Madness and the musa iocosa We begin our analysis with the poem’s own proemial section, which is dense with allusions to and borrowings from Ovid. Fatidici uatis rabiem musamque iocosam Merlini cantare paro. Tu corrige carmen, gloria pontificum, calamos moderando, Roberte. Scimus enim quia te perfudit nectare sacro Philosophia suo, fecitque per omnia doctum, vt documenta dares, dux et preceptor in orbe. Ergo meis ceptis faueas, uatemque tueri auspicio meliore uelis quam fecerit alter, cui modo succedis merito promotus honori. Sic etenim mores, sic uita probata, genusque vtilitasque loci, clerus, populusque petebant, vnde modo felix Lincolnia fertur ad astra. Ergo te cuperem complecti carmine digno: set non sufficio, licet Orpheus et Camerinus et Macer et Marius magnique Rabirius oris ore meo canerent, musis comitantibus omnes. At uos, consuete mecum cantare Camene, propositum tractemus opus cytharamque sonate.

5

10

15

Indeed, the poem opens with an Ovidian expression that identifies the main character as a fatidicus uates. With this, Geoffrey places Merlin, whose name only appears at the start of  the second line, at the level of   Tiresias, one of   the ancient world’s prophets par excellence, who is given the very same designation in the third book of  the Metamorphoses: Narcissumque uocat. De quo consultus, an esset tempora maturae uisurus longa senectae, fatidicus uates “si se non nouerit” inquit. (Met. 3,346-348)

Raped by Cephisus, the personification of   the river of   the same name, the nymph Liriope consults the prophet Tiresias as to whether her son will enjoy a long life. Here, fatidicus uates appears, albeit in the nominative rather than the genitive, in the same metrical position as it does in Geoffrey’s text, as though the later author was specifically seeking to set up the comparison between his uates and one of   the most celebrated prophets of   classical 90

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mythology.3 The same expression (though with the order of   the words reversed) makes another, certainly significant appearance in Aen. 8,340, where the genitive vatis fatidicae is used for Carmenta, the mother of   Evander and one of   the Camenae, who – being blessed with the gift of   prophecy – has foretold her son of   Aeneas’ arrival. However, it is worth noting that Geoffrey’s model is most likely Ovid, in part because of   the more exact similarity of  form, but also because the allusion to Tiresias seems much more pertinent, and ultimately – as we shall see 4 – because the impression one develops when studying the Vita Merlini is that when something can be explained with Ovid, there is no need for additional comparisons, even where the auctoritas of  Virgil is in contention.5 The subjects of   the poet’s song are rabies and the musa iocosa. The first is a reference to the madness of   Merlin, which has been caused by the death of   those dear to him in war, and which has reduced him to living in the woods, though it also seems to be the source of  his powers.6 In vv. 1162-1167, having been returned to his senses, Merlin describes his former madness saying that he had somehow been carried away from himself and, quasi spiri­ tus (v. 1162), had had access to the secrets of   the past and future and the life of  all the world’s living things. He goes on to emphasise the devastating effect of   such a weight of   knowledge: id me uexabat, naturalemque negabat  / humane menti districta lege quietem (vv.  1166-1167). Later, vv.  1522-1523 – in which the 3   Tiresias is also described as fatidicus uates in Stat., Theb. 10,616 (stabat fati­ dici prope saeua altaria uatis). 4  For examples of    Geoffrey following Ovid’s example rather than Virgil’s, see below, 106 and 110. 5   In the opinion of  Francesco Santi, in contrast, Geoffrey is citing both Ovid and Virgil in the first verse “placing the master of   traditional poetry and the master of  the modern – the serious and the playful – on the same level”. See Santi 2003, 1356. 6  Although Geoffrey does not make this point clear; in v. 22, for instance he presents Merlin, saying that, even well before his madness, ducisque futura canebat. Such an inconsistency may be partially explained by the difficulty Geoffrey faced in making this new story consistent with the text of   the De gestis Britonum, in which Merlin is depicted as already having prophetical powers. In De gestis Brito­ num, Merlin’s prophecies are equated to those of   the Sibyl (et de prophetiis aqui­ lae quae Seftoniae prophetauit et de carminibus Sibillae ac Merlini, § 206, p. 281 in the Reeve edition).

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transfer of   Merlin’s prophetic powers to his sister Ganieda is revealed – appear to make clear that this trance-like state is the work of   a spiritus: Te ne soror uoluit res precantare futuras / spi­ ritus, os que meum compescuit atque libellum. If rabies is to be understood as a sort of   frenzy, a derangement or loss of   reason, it is possible that Geoffrey is seeking to play on the dual meaning of  the term, which can also indicate a sort of  possession.7 The second subject of   the song is the musa iocosa  / Merlini. Again, we are dealing with an Ovidian expression, and one that the Augustan poet uses on different occasions. In Remedia Amo­ ris 387, for instance, the adjective iocosa is positioned following Musa, but grammatically refers to the materia that it is hoped the Muse will favour. Si mea materiae respondet Musa iocosae, Vicimus, et falsi criminis acta rea est.

Ovid is replying to certain criticisms by explaining that for every subject there is an appropriate style or metre. Epics require a Maeonian metre, in other words hexameters, for indignation there is tragedy, iambs are suited to invective, elegy sings of   love, the metres of   Callimachus are ill-suited to sing of   Achilles and Cydippe is not appropriate for Homer. Ovid prefers to sing of  Thais, the courtesan supreme: v. 385 Thais in arte mea est; lasci­ via libera nostra est. Essentially, he is defending his work from his detractors, asserting his right to make a lighter, more playful poetry. And again, it is this lighter sort of  poetry that he defends using a handy distinction in Trist. 2,353-356: crede mihi, distant mores a carmine nostri: vita verencunda est, Musa iocosa mea; magnaque pars operum mendax et ficta meorum plus sibi permisit compositore suo.

7  It should suffice to mention, here, the use of   rabies in connection with the gift of  prophesy in Aen. 6,48-49: non comptae mansere comae; sed pectus anhelum, / et rabie fera corda tument; maiorque videri. These verses precede the prophecy of   the Sibyl, who seems almost to battle the god that is making use of   her body to reveal the future to Aeneas. The term rabies is also used to characterise the possession experienced by the priestess Phemonoe in Lucan. 5,190-193.

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The poet’s playful inspiration (his Musa iocosa) is separate from his vita. It would be unjust to judge him for his verses rather than for his conduct. He, himself, does not violate the marriage vow, the frivolities of   his verse notwithstanding, nor – as he points out in the preceding verses (vv.  351-352) – is there any husband who must wonder if his children are his own on Ovid’s account.8 Finally, the musa iocosa reappears in Trist. 3,2,6, although not in all of  the manuscripts (the alternative reading is iocata): nec mihi, quod lusi uero sine crimine, prodest, quodque magis vita Musa iocosa mea est, plurima sed pelago terraque pericula passum ustus ab adsiduo frigore Pontus habet.

Again, Ovid is defending himself: it appears not to have mattered that his life is less frivolous than his verse; regardless, he has been made to suffer exile. As E. R. Curtius explains, it was common practice among the “hedonistically-minded poets of   the twelfth century” to invoke the musa iocosa.9 This is the usual interpretation for Geoffrey’s use of   Ovid’s phrase, which he probably took from Trist. 2,354: the poet is forewarning the reader of   the playful character of   what is to come. It has also informed the two best known English translations of   the poem. Parry translates musam iocosam / Merlini as “a humorous poem on Merlin”,10 while Clarke offers a slight variation with “an entertaining tale of  Merlin”.11 8   On the same subject, compare Catul. 16,5-6 (nam castum esse decet pium poetam / ipsum, versiculos nihil necesse est), and Mart. 1,4,8 (lasciva est nobis pa­ gina, vita proba). 9  Curtius 1990, 232. Although, in truth, a  correction is required, since we have examples of  this trend from as early as the Carolingian period and Theodulf of   Orléans: Nostra quibus lusit Musa iocosa parum (Carm. 72,68; MGH Poetae I, 565), and a  little later with Ermoldus Nigellus: Q uae modo nostra libens Musa iocosa canit (Ad Pippinum regem, 4; MGH Poetae II, 86). 10  Parry 1925, 31. 11   Similarly, academic readings have often followed this interpretation, for instance, Tatlock 1943, 277-279 and Echard 1998, 217-218 among others (only in the final part of   the chapter does Echard consider the poem as a combination of   parody and serious reflection). It is worth noting that, on page 217, Echard translates the sentence as, “I prepare myself to sing the madness of   Merlin, the prophetic bard, and the jocose muse”, thus not linking the genitive Merlini to musam iocosam.

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However, there are a  number of   points worth considering before we accept that Geoffrey wishes to present his poem as a mere divertissement. Certainly, one thing that lends the work a iocosus character is the recurring motif of   smiling and laughter, frequently prior to one of   Merlin’s revelations. Merlin is able to grasp the reality behind appearances,12 and this often brings out a  smile that serves to underline the discrepancy between what everybody else sees and what is really there: Merlin laughs when his sister Ganieda’s husband, Rodarchus, tenderly removes a leaf from her hair unaware that it is evidence of   her affair (vv. 286293); he laughs again when he sees a  man begging for money ignorant of   the treasure buried beneath him (vv.  490-494; the discovery of   the treasure in vv.  508-514), and again at a  man who has just bought new shoes, unaware that he is soon to die (vv.  495-498; the prophesy of   the man’s death in vv.  515-522). A  counterpoint to the laughter of   Merlin is the mirth of   those who let themselves be taken in by appearances, Ganieda for instance, who defends herself against the charge of  adultery – vultu ridente (v. 297) – by testing Merlin’s powers of   prophecy in the presence of   her husband Rodarchus and attempting to catch out her deranged brother by asking him to predict the future of   the same young man whom she presents three times in three different guises. Ganieda duly laughs when Merlin prophesies the first death (sub hec ridens, v. 312), unaware that he is mistaken about nothing: indeed, he will go on to predict a different death each time the young man is brought before him, but the actual outcome some time later – a three-stage death (Sicque ruit, mer­sus­ que fuit, lignoque pependit, v. 414) – only confirms Merlin’s infallibility. When Merlin prophesies the third death, even Rodarchus laughs (movitque sua racione cachinnum / regi Rodarco, vv. 339340), unaware that these revelations of   his brother-in-law’s are an indirect confirmation of   his wife’s infidelity. In other words, the other characters laugh in the false belief that they can both know and govern reality. Another is Guendoloena’s second husband, who laughs at the sight of   Merlin arriving astride a  stag

12  On Merlin “and the uncovering of   duplicity” see Santi 2003, 1347 and passim.

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(mirans equitem risumque movebat, v.  465), unaware that he is shortly to be killed by the antlers of  Merlin’s unusual mount. This raises the possibility that Geoffrey has deviated from the custom among his contemporaries, at least in part, by using the expression musa iocosa in direct reference to Merlin’s hilarity at the moment of   his most significant revelations (meaning that Merlini is to be read as a subjective genitive). If this is the case, the poem’s two subjects, rabies and the musa iocosa, are the two basic (and opposite, if complementary) aspects of   Merlin’s prophetical powers and his madness. The borrowed Ovidian phrase, for all that it is clear and easily recognisable, has also been separated from the purpose and context of  its use by Ovid. However, let us suspend judgement for the moment before drawing any conclusions.13 The proem moves on to the dedicatio (vv.  2-12) to Robert, the new Bishop of   Lincoln and successor to Geoffrey’s former patron, Alexander, who is mentioned in rather polemical tones in vv.  7-8.14 Geoffrey celebrates Robert’s wisdom, describing a Boethian personification of  Philosophia pouring her sacred nectar over the Bishop. The image of   Philosophy leaning over her protégé with an almost motherly care (it is hard not to think of   the nutrix mea of   Consolatio 1,3) had already been used by Geoffrey in the dedications in De gestis Britonum. Of Robert of  Gloucester, he writes that philosophia liberalibus artibus erudivit (Prologus l.  21; ed. Reeve p.  5), while in another version of   the prologue, in the dedication to Waleran, he writes te etenim […] mater phy­ losophia in gremio suo excepit scientiarumque suarum subtilitatem edocuit.15 The expression te perfudit nectare sacro can be compared with Met. 3,318: 16 forte Iovem memorant diffusum nectare curas seposuisse graves …   For other nuances of  meaning attributed to musa iocosa, see below, 112.   Geoffrey had dedicated the Prophetiae Merlini to Alexander; the source of  his disappointment with the former bishop is not clear. See Clarke 1973, 157. 15  See the notes on p. 5 of   the Reeve edition. On the different versions of   the dedication, see ix-x. 16   But see also Stat., Silu. 4,2,54: … sacro diffuso nectare vultus. 13

14

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It is interesting to note, in passing, that Walter of  Châtillon uses the same image in his Alexandreis, describing Alexander steeped in the holy nectar of   Aristotle’s wisdom in the first verse of   the first book: Primus Aristotelis imbutum nectare sacro

Alongside the similarity of   the image, Walter – writing years later – uses the same clausula as Geoffrey, nectare sacro, which might indicate a familiarity with the Vita Merlini. It is certainly an interesting suggestion given that Geoffrey’s poem is often described as having enjoyed little popularity, particularly on the basis of   the limited availability of   manuscripts, and especially in comparison with the two hundred and seventeen known manuscripts of  De gestis Britonum.17 Returning to our analysis, it is possible that the ut documenta dares that opens v. 6 was influenced by the opening of Met. 1,415, et documenta damus. Even more apparent is the Ovidian allusion in v.  7: ergo meis ceptis faveas vatemque tueri. Ceptis appears in the same metrical position in the celebrated incipit of   the Meta­ morphoses, in which Ovid invokes the inspiration of   the gods to complete his composition (Met. 1,1-6): 18 In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas corpora: di, coeptis (nam vos mutastis et illa) adspirate meis primaque ab origine mundi ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen. Ante mare et terras et quod tegit omnia caelum unus erat toto naturae vultus in orbe …

There are other similarities between these verses and those of  the dedicatio in the Vita Merlini. In  Geoffrey’s text, v.  2 ends with the word carmen, the same as v. 4 of   the Metamorphoses, while in both texts, the penultimate word of   the fifth verse is omnia, and the sixth verse ends with in orbe. In v. 12 of   the Vita Merlini, Geoffrey writes that the city of  Lincoln – of   which his dedicatee, Robert, has become bishop –   See, esp., Santi 2003, 1345-1346.   Less convincing is the comparison with Virgil’s address to his patron Maecenas in Georg. 1,40 (da facilem cursum atque audacibus adnue coeptis) in which coeptis appears at the end of  the line. 17 18

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fertur ad astra.19 The expression is taken from Fast. 4,328, in which it occupies a different position in the metre. index laetitiae fertur ad astra sonus

While the metrical positions are different, the relative contexts certainly bear comparison: in both cases, we are presented with a  manifestation of   joy, which in Ovid’s text is in response to the achievements of   Claudia Q uinta, the Roman matron of   the third century bc who successfully invoked the Great Mother to free the ship carrying the simulacrum of   the goddess from Pessinus to Rome, which had run aground in the mud of   the Tiber. The proem of  the Vita Merlini ends with a recusatio, in which Geoffrey deploys the topos of   modesty, here again with one eye on Ovid, though this time the Ovid of   exile. Geoffrey voices his doubts as to his ability to celebrate Robert with a  composition worthy of   him, even if Orpheus, Camerinus, Macer or Marius were to sing with his voice. For this rather curious list of   poets, Geoffrey draws entirely on Pont. 4,16. There, Rabirius and Macer are mentioned in vv. 5-6: cumque foret Marsus magnique Rabirius oris Iliacusque Macer sidereusque Pedo

Camerinus appears in v. 19: quique canit domito Camerinus ab Hectore Troiam

And Marius in v. 24: et Marius scripsit dexter in omne genus

These are all authors about whom we know relatively little, other than they were exponents of   epic verse and were known to Geoffrey solely through Ovid. It is unthinkable that Robert (or any other educated reader) would read such a list of   obscure Augustan poets and not catch the reference to the classical text.

19  But see also the clausulae in Aen. 3,40 and 93 – fertura ad aures – and the tollamus ad astra of  Ecl. 5,51.

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Ovid, in this sense, is thus involved in a game of   citations that is suggestive of   an affinity that was present between the poet and dedicatee, at least at the level of  their scholarship.20 The proem closes with the exhortation to the Muses – or rather to the Camenae 21 – whom Geoffrey asks not to inspire the poem, but simply to accompany the propositum … opus (v. 18) with song and sound. Here, the propositum tractemus 22 opus may allude to the propositum repetemus opus that opens Met. 3,151. All this leaves the proem – with its selection of   easily recognisable and less explicit borrowings and quotations – as a thoroughly Ovidian creation, one that is entirely appropriate for a poem that, even on an initial examination, appears profoundly indebted to the Augustan poet’s verse. It will therefore come as no surprise that the narrative itself begins with a  glaringly Ovidian allusion in the presentation of   the protagonist. Merlin is introduced as rex and vates (v.  21), and as the former, his responsibilities include the administration of   justice and providing the people with laws – iura dabat populis (v. 22) – much like Cincinnatus in Fast. 1, 207 iura dabat populis posito modo praetor aratro, when he is asked to assume both the role of   dictator and governance of  the state. It is not long before war throws Merlin’s life into turmoil; consumed by grief for the deaths of   a number of   dear comrades, he flees to the Caledonian Forest. Counterpoint to the destabilising grief of  Merlin is the pain experienced by those who lose him to  it, particularly that of   his wife Guendoloena. And with such a  figure, a  wife abandoned by her husband, Geoffrey could not help but turn to the elegies of  Ovid.

20   Santi 2003, 1360 also suggests that the allusion to the exiled Ovid had a special meaning for Geoffrey, who “cites the Ovid of  the Epistolae ex Ponto; letters from exile, since, like Ovid, Geoffrey had suffered an exile of   sorts (at the behest of   his august Alexander, who – not fully understanding his intentions, his loyalty – had marginalised him for his ambiguous writings)”. 21  It has been suggested (Santi 2003, 1357) that the mention of   the Camenae derives from Met. 15,482. 22  Tractemus is the reading in the most authoritative codex, York XVI Q  14. Everywhere else in the manuscript tradition, the reading is cantemus.

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The Grief of  Guendoloena Merlin has taken to the woods, still in the grip of   his madness and set on a  life of   solitude, literary immersed in nature and in harmony with it. One day, a passing traveller hears him, but cannot get close to him. Shortly afterwards, the same man meets one of   the messengers sent by the court to the woods at the request of   queen Ganieda, who is upset at her brother’s state and actions. Alerted to Merlin’s presence, the messenger finds the crazed prophet and, having listened to his lament about the harshness of   winter, attempts to sooth him with the sound of   his cithara; running his fingers over the querulas … cordas (v.  168), he intones – dimissa voce (v.  169) – a  lament about the unfortunate Guendoloena, whom Merlin has abandoned (verses that are described in v. 203 as an elegos). More than a  eulogy, this passage, which a  marginal annotation in the York manuscript describes as laus guendoloene,23 is closer in nature to an elegy. It centres on the description of   the anguish of   Guendoloena, a  heroine destined to suffer for the madness of  her husband. O diros gemitus lugubris Guendoloene! O miseras lacrimas lacrimantis Guendoloene! Me miseret misere morientis Guendoloene! Non erat in Waliis mulier formosior illa. Vincebat candore deas foliumque ligustri, vernantesque rosas et olentia lilia prati. Gloria vernalis sola radiabat in illa, sidereumque decus geminis gestabat ocellis, insignesque comas auri fulgore micantes. Hoc totum periit, periit decus omnis in illa, et color et facies, nivee quoque gloria carnis. Non est quod fuerat, multis meroribus acta. Nescit enim quo dux abiit, vitane fruatur an sit defunctus: languet miserabilis inde, totaque deperiit, longo liquefacta dolore. Collacrimatur ei paribus Ganyeda querelis, amissumque dolet sine consolamine fratrem. Hec fratrem flet et illa virum, communiter ambe

170

175

180

185

23  In the left margin of   f.  112v (· laus guendo  / loene ·), a  later addition by someone other than the main scribe.

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fletibus incumbunt et tristia tempora ducunt. Non cibus ullus eas, non sompnus nocte vagantes sub virgulta fovet, tantus dolor arcet utramque. Non secus indoluit Sidonia Dido, solutis classibus Enee tunc cum properaret abire. Cum non Demophoon per tempora pacta rediret, taliter ingemuit flevitque miserrima Phillis. Briseis absentem sic deploravit Achillem. Sic soror et coniunx collamentantur, et ardent funditus internis cruciatibus usque dolendo’.

190

195

Albeit the repetition of   Guendoloena’s name in the first three verses carries a  clear echo of   the invocation of   Eurydice by the severed head of   Orpheus in Georg. 4,524-526 – an impression also supported by the wordplay of   miseras  / miseret  / misere in vv. 171-172 of   Geoffrey’s text, which seems to be influenced by Virgil’s a! miseram Euridicen (Georg. 4,526) – the messenger’s song has a decidedly Ovidian flavour. Verse 173 ends in a clau­ sula that was also used by Ovid in Met. 7,730, which describes the pain of   Procis as she awaits the return of   her husband Cephalus, who has been abducted by Aurora. As such, the line in Geoffrey’s poem and his classical model exhibit similarities of   form and content (with Guendoloena and Procis both grieving the loss of   a loved one), yet also quite contrary perspectives. The words of   Geoffrey’s messenger celebrate the beauty that Guendoloena used to have, which has now been irreversibly wasted by her suffering; Cephalus, on the other hand, describes the incomparable charm of   Procris, which is not only entirely undiminished by her sadness but actually enhanced by it (Met. 7,730-732): tristis erat (sed nulla tamen formosior illa, esse potest tristi) desiderioque dolebat coniugis abrepti.

The messenger’s description continues, embellished with another recognisable borrowing from Ovid. The radiance (candore) of  Guendoloena, he claims, surpasses that of   the goddesses and of   the petal of   the privet flower. Such imagery would inevitably remind the reader (or the well-versed listener) of   a celebrated verse in Ovid, which is to say the opening, in Met. 13,789, of  the 100

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lament of   the love-struck Polyphemus, in which he describes the beauty of  his impossible love, the nymph Galatea. “Candidior folio nivei, Galatea, ligustri …

In this case, with his near word-for-word citation of  the first line of   Polyphemus’ song, Geoffrey’s intent in evoking the literary precedent is at its most evident. The description of   Guendoloena goes on. Only in her is the beauty of  spring resplendent: sola radiabat in illa (v. 176), which may bear the imprint of   the sola suspirat in illa of   Fast. 1,415, which recounts the irrepressible desire of   Priapus for the nymph Lotis. Guendoloena’s eyes shine like the stars (v. 177: sidereum­ que decus geminis gestabat ocellis), as do the beloved eyes described in Am. 3,3,9 (radiant ut sidus ocelli). Her blonde tresses, meanwhile, shine like gold: insignesque comas auri fulgore micantes (v.  178), in which we find a  clausula (fulgore micantes) used by Ovid in the second book of   the Ars (v. 723), albeit in that case in reference to the oculi of  the wooed woman. Verse 179 marks an abrupt shift in the messenger’s song, from the description of  the former graciousness of  Merlin’s wife to the drama of   her current anguish. Guendoloena’s beauty has perished, not a trace remains: periit decus omnis in illa! Like the heroes and heroines of  Ovid, she has undergone a metamorphosis, though in this case it is one that carries the mark of   the erosive, consuming pain that has gradually eaten away at her youth and beauty. What has faded, in other words, is her resplendence and fine looks: et color et facies (v.  180), a  hemiepes taken directly from the passage in the Metamorphoses in which Harmonia expresses her shock at the metamorphosis of  Cadmus into a serpent (Met. 4,591-592), moments before her own transformation. Cadme, quid hoc? Ubi pes, ubi sunt humerique manusque et color et facies et, dum loquor, omnia?

Guoendoloena’s metamorphosis has overwhelmed her; such is her pain that she is no longer the same person: non est quod fuerat, as the messenger concludes. In this phrase there is more than an echo of   the non sum ego quod fueram that opens v. 25 of  Trist. 3,11, in which it is Ovid – in exile in a barbara … tel­ 101

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lus (v. 7) – that is no longer himself (indeed, he has become an inanis umbra). Guendoloena’s despair is nourished by her uncertainty about the fate of   her husband following his flight. She does not know where he is, or even if he is still alive. Nescit enim quo dux abiit, vitane fruatur / an sit defunctus. (vv. 182-183). These unanswered doubts, which give the young woman no peace, are formulated in the same terms as Ovid uses in Met. 1,583-587 to describe the uncertainty of   Inachus, who is unaware of   the fate of   his daughter Io (unknown to him, his daughter, the object of   Jupiter’s desires, has been transformed into a  heifer to subvert the jealousy of  Juno): Inachus unus abest imoque reconditus antro fletibus auget aquas natamque miserrimus Io luget ut amissam: nescit, vitane fruatur an sit apud manes; sed quam non invenit usquam, esse putat nusquam atque animo peiora veretur.

Merlin’s wife is joined in her anguish by Ganieda, who is just as distraught at her brother’s disappearance.24 Communiter (v. 187), the two women weep helplessly, not touching food or finding rest, so great is the pain that unites them: a  tantus dolor that might be inspired by another line from Ovid, (Met. 4,278) where the same expression appears in the same metrical position: tan­ tus dolor urit amantes. The episode in question is the metamorphosis of   Daphnis, who, out of   jealousy, is turned to stone by the nymph Nomia. In  Ovid, the expression is used in relating the sort of   excesses that the pain of   unrequited love can inspire. The context is different in this regard, but we are still in the realms of  strong feelings and the suffering that can result.25

24  Tolhurst 2012, 118-123 goes as far as suggesting that the bond between Merlin, Guendoloena and Ganieda constitutes “an unusual love triangle”. The feminist reading of   the Vita Merlini proposed by her essay, however, does not appear to me to be sufficiently supported by textual evidence. 25  Tantus dolor appears in the same metrical position, too, in Aen. 2,594 (nate, quis indomitas tantus dolor excitat iras?; these being the words addressed by Venus to the furious Aeneas, who is moved to seek out and murder Helen). The Ovidian passage is more likely to be Geoffrey’s source also on account of   the conceptual combination of  love and pain.

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What of   the joys of   love, in contrast? For them, there is no space, even in the rest of   Geoffrey’s poem. Such is his purpose,26 Geoffrey is interested only in exploring the darker tones of  love, the pain that divides and consumes, that drives those who love to lose themselves entirely and abandon their identities. Geoffrey’s aid in this exploration is Ovid, the master of   love – whether in elegiac mode, or the Ovid of   the Metamorphoses – who offers both references to the impossible or tragically ill-fated loves of  classical myth (Procis and Cephalus, Polyphemus and Galatea, Cadmus and Harmonia,  etc.) and a  palette of   images and expressions with which to paint the suffering of  love in all its many nuances and shades. And while, thus far in the messenger’s song, the presence of   the Ovidian model has been obvious one moment, implicit the next, the allusion is unmistakable in the final lines (191197): the pain experienced by the two women is comparable to that of   Dido, Phyllis and Briseis, three of   the most celebrated protagonists of   the Heroides (2, Phyllis; 3, Briseis; 7, Dido). What Guendoloena and Ganieda are experiencing is no less acute than the suffering of   these celebrated if unhappy heroines. Indeed, it is just this suffering that the messenger sings of, in a game of   borrowings and comparisons that involves not only the content of  his song, but also – albeit only implicitly – the very authors who have given such pain a voice: Geoffrey finds himself on a  level with his model, Ovid. That the two women despairing over Merlin are analogous to the unhappy protagonists of  Ovid’s verses is even carefully reinforced, with each comparison, through the use of   adverbs: non secus (v.  191), taliter (v.  194), sic (v. 195). All three allusions to the Heroides reference the relative love stories, although only briefly using single elements suggested in loose strokes that leave it to the reader to bring the full story to mind: in the case of   Dido, the hurried departure of   Aeneas; with Phyllis, the failure of   Demophoon to return at the agreed time; for Briseis, the simple absence of   Achilles (absentem … Achillem, v. 195). Undoubtedly, the verses about Phyllis are the most interesting in this respect: Geoffrey seems to take pleasure   See below, 104-107.

26

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in an almost Alexandrine allusiveness, referencing – with per tempora pacta (v. 193) – the promissum tempus of   the incipit of   Heroides 2 (Hospita, Demophoon, tua te Rhodopeia Phyllis / ultra promissum tempus abesse queror; Her. 2,1-2), which refers to two lovers’ agreement about when Demophoon was to return. In weaving this web of   connections with the Heroides Geoffrey draws on another Ovidian source, the hemiepes non secus indolouit (v. 191, Dido being the subject) from Fast. 4, 609 (non secus indoluit, quam si modo rapta fuisset), in which we learn of   the reaction of   Ceres to the news relayed to her by Mercury that Proserpine has eaten three pomegranate seeds and is thus condemned to remain in the kingdom of  Dis.27 Although already Vergilian (Aen. 1,47), another possible Ovidian quotation is soror et coniunx  (line 196): in  Met. 3, 266 (Et soror et coniunx, certe soror. At, puto, furto est) Juno, Jupiter’s sister and wife, is at the same time soror et coniunx. There is no peace for these women; as we have already noted, there is not a tale of  love anywhere in the Vita Merlini that ends well.28 Indeed, one of   the themes of   the work as a whole is the need for a gradual estrangement from the passions. It is not love that is celebrated but chastity, as we can see from various examples. For instance, early on in his woodland isolation, the freezing Merlin is faced for the first time with the harshness of   the winter climate and the lack of   food with which to sustain himself. Alone in the woods, he raises a lament that concludes with a wistful longing for the mildness of  spring and the heat of  summer. For Merlin, spring (the true season of   love in lyric poetry) is both the time of   nature’s reawakening – the renewal of   life, the flowers opening, the earth breathing forth new odours – and the season in which the songs of   the birds again fill the air, with 27  Less significant is the placement of   dolendo at the end of   the line (v. 197), which is similar to Her. 19 (Hero to Leander), 117 (quodsi quam sciero, moriar, mihi crede, dolendo: if her beloved were to be detained by another woman, Hero would die from the pain), but also to Stat., Theb. 5,632 (Eurydicen, quamquam haud illi mea cura dolendo). 28  Ganieda is cheating on Rodarchus; Merlin abandons his wife and kills her new husband; Maeldinus (a character who appears in the last section of  the poem) is inadvertently poisoned by a woman whom Merlin had once been involved with and later spurned, and goes mad as a result.

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prominent mentions for that of   the nightingale, which consoles sad hearts, and of   the turtle dove, a classic symbol of   chastity 29 (vv. 155-158): O utinam non esset hiemps, aut cana pruina! Ver foret, aut estas, cuculusque canendo rediret et Philomena,30 pio que tristia pectora cantu mitigat, et turtur conservans federa casta.

A foretaste of  this association of  love and pain, a constant theme of  the messenger’s song, is offered by the reference to the myth of  Philomela, which Ovid recounts in the Metamorphoses (6,412674). Here too, Geoffrey evokes the entire episode with a brief allusion: it is the reader’s job to remember why it is specifically the nightingale that consoles the unhappy pio … cantu by bringing to mind a  story that illustrates the horrific consequences of  cruel, unbridled passion. The nightingale’s song comforts hearts burdened by sadness, and though it is not made explicit in the text, given the affinities with the story of   Philomela,31 it is reasonable to assume this means sadness caused by love. Positioned as the counterpart to the nightingale, which evokes dark tales of   infidelity, is none other than the turtle dove, which is remarked in this case purely for the loyalty of  the bond between the male and female bird (conservans federa casta, v.  158). The spring longed for by Merlin, even as he reaches the winter of  his own life – for he is an old man 32 – does not mean a return to love. On the contrary, what he envisions is a  rebirth guided by detachment from his passions and the pursuit of   a new, interior peace. Merlin’s voluntary distancing of   himself from his emotions and feelings, which threaten to destabilise him and bring him to ruin, is expressed unequivocally and irreversibly when he confirms 29   See, for example, Ambr., Ex. 5, 19, 63: Turtur non uritur flore iuventutis, non temptatur occasionis inlecebra; turtur nescit primam fidem inritam facere, quia novit castimoniam reservare prima conubii sorte promissam. 30  The spelling from the manuscripts has been retained. 31  We can hypothesise that the nightingale’s song is pius because the bird is capable of  compassion towards those who are afflicted by variously unhappy loves. 32   Towards the end of   the poem, Merlin declares (vv. 1280-1281): Ergo diu vixi, mea me gravitate senectus / detinuit dudum, rursus regnare recuso.

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to his sister, Ganieda – after the latest of  many attempts to detain him at court – that he intends to return to the woods indefinitely and renounce his marriage to Guendoloena forever. When Ganieda asks if Guendoloena is to follow him or find another husband, Merlin responds (vv. 369-374): Nolo soror pecudem, patulo que fontis hiatu diffundit latices ut virginis urna sub estus. Nec curam mutabo meam uelud Orpheus olim quando suos thalamos 33 pueris commisit habendos, Euridice postquam 34 Stigias transnavit arenas Mundus ab alterutro veneris sine labe manebo.

Again, Geoffrey evokes ancient myth. Having assimilated Guendoloena in rather pointed and disrespectful terms to a  useless animal,35 Merlin states that he will not leave his wife only to follow the example of   Orpheus and share his bed with young men. Instead, he will live free from both types of   passion, that for women and that for men: ueneris sine labe manebo. It is significant that the myth of   Orpheus is evoked here as recounted by Ovid, rather than the more celebrated Vergilian version: it is in the Metamorphoses (10,78-85) and not in the Georgics that we learn of   Orpheus’s decision never to love another woman after his final loss of   Eurydice, preferring from that moment to turn his attention in teneros … mares: Tertius aequoreis inclusum Piscibus annum finierat Titan, omnemque refugerat Orpheus femineam Venerem, seu quod male cesserat illi, sive fidem dederat; multas tamen ardor habebat iungere se vati, multae doluere repulsae. Ille etiam Thracum populis fuit auctor amorem in teneros transferre mares citraque iuventam aetatis breve ver et primos carpere flores.

  The manuscripts read calathos. Thalamos is conjectured in Hall 1980, 910-

33

911.

34  The manuscripts read plusquam (Y) and plus quam (C). Postquam is conjectured in Hall 1980, 910. 35  Lines 369-370 present a number of   problems of   interpretation that I will have better opportunity to explore in the commentary to the critical edition.

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Returning to Geoffrey’s text, we should note that no distinction is made between love and damning passion. Merlin’s wife is viewed exclusively as some sort of   burden, an avoidable obstacle on the solitary path to virtue, a journey on which purity is indispensable.

The Wondrous Handiwork of  the Creator The second section of   the poem (v. 732-1525) opens with a dialogue between Merlin and a  certain Telgesinus. Of the latter character, who is inspired by the Welsh bard Taliesin,36 Geoffrey says little. The key thing we learn is that he has recently returned from Brittany, where he will have had the opportunity to hear the teaching of   Gildas the Wise, the saintly monk who lived in Britain and Brittany in the sixth century and the author of  De excidio et conquestu Britanniae, one of  the accepted sources for Geoffrey’s De gestis Britonum.37 In the course of   his own metamorphosis – the passage from the illusionary nature of   the world to the truth of   a life in God – Merlin extracts himself from the dominion of   the passions and must acquire a new wisdom and a new knowledge. He must re-learn everything from its beginning, re-discover nature as the work of  the Creator. Merlin asks his sister Ganieda explicitly to tell Telgesinus to join him in the forest, as he has many things he wishes to talk about (namque loqui desidero plurima secum, v.  687). The first part of   the dialogue – in which it is Telgesinus speaking, qui discere missus ab illo [scil. Merlin]  / quid ventus nimbusve foret (vv.  734-735) – is primarily concerned with the origin of   the world, its division into five parts, its various climatic subdivisions and atmospheric phenomena, the different entities that populate it, the seas and sea creatures, and – finally – the islands. The survey ends with the description of  the Insula pomorum, que Fortunata vocatur (v. 909), to which Arthur – mortally wounded in the battle of  Camlan – was brought so that he could be healed by Morgen (v.  931  ff.), who thus makes her first appearance in literature.   See Clarke 1973, 4 and passim.  See ibid., 185.

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This brief overview of  the origin of  the world is a glorification of  the work of  God, the Conditor orbis, in the clausula of  the first verse of   Telgesinus’ discourse (v.  738). As an account of   creation, it thus draws deeply on not only the geographical and encyclopedic treatises of   the ancient and medieval world – the lists of   creatures and islands, like much of   the detailed information in the second half of   the poem, coming from Isidore of   Seville’s Etymologiae – but also on the Metamorphoses of   Ovid. Indeed, as has been pointed out before,38 the very first lines of  Telgesinus’ description (vv. 738-764) are profoundly indebted to Met. 1,21-66. This latter passage follows the proem section of   the Metamorphoses, and illustrates how, through the organising intervention of   a deus and a  melior … natura (v.  21), the cosmos passed from the unformed mass of   Chaos – characterised by constant conflict between its element parts – to the world and the universe’s current form. By the actions of   this demiurge, the elements found their rightful place and were shaped to form the world as we know it today. The common aspects of   the two texts are clear in a  side-byside comparison: Vita Merlini

Metamorphoses

Quatuor ex nichilo produxit Conditor orbis, vt fierent rebus precedens causa creandis materiesque simul concordi pace iugata.     740 Celum, quod stellis depinxit et altius extat et quasi testa nucem circumdans omnia claudit.

Hanc deus et melior litem natura diremit. nam caelo terras et terris abscidit undas et liquidum spisso secrevit ab aere caelum. quae postquam evolvit caecoque exemit acervo, dissociata locis concordi pace ligavit:      25 ignea convexi vis et sine pondere caeli emicuit summaque locum sibi fecit in arce; proximus est aer illi levitate locoque; densior his tellus elementaque grandia traxit et pressa est gravitate sua; circumfluus umor    30 ultima possedit solidumque coercuit orbem. Sic ubi dispositam quisquis fuit ille deorum congeriem secuit sectamque in membra coegit, principio terram, ne non aequalis ab omni parte foret, magni speciem glomeravit in orbis.    35 tum freta diffundi rapidisque tumescere ventis iussit et ambitae circumdare litora terrae; addidit et fontes et stagna inmensa lacusque fluminaque obliquis cinxit declivia ripis, quae, diversa locis, partim sorbentur ab ipsa,    40

 

Aera deinde dedit formandis vocibus aptum, quo mediante dies et noctes sidera prestant. Et mare, quod terras cingit refluoque recursu   745 quatuor anfractus faciens, sic aera pulsat. Vt generet ventos, qui quatuor esse feruntur. Vique sua stantem nec se leuitate moventem supposuit terram partes in quinque resectam. Q uarum que media est, non est habitanda calore, 750 extremeque due pre frigore diffugiuntur. Temperiem reliquis permisit habere duabus: has homines habitant volucresque gregesque ferarum.

  See Faral 1929, 2, 378 and Wright 1999, 77-79.

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Vita Merlini

Metamorphoses

Vtque daret subitos pluvias quoque crescere fructus arboris et terre facerent apergine miti,       755 adiecit celo nubes, que sole ministro sicut utres fluuiis occulta lege replentur. Inde per excelsum scandentes ethera, summos diffundunt latices ventorum viribus acte. Hinc fiunt imbres, hinc nix, hinc grando rotunda  760 cum gelidus madidusue mouet sua flamina ventus, qui nubes penetrans quales facit egerit amnes. Naturamque suam zonarum proximitate ventorum sibi quisque trahit dum nascitur illuc.

in mare perveniunt partim campoque recepta liberioris aquae pro ripis litora pulsant. iussit et extendi campos, subsidere valles, fronde tegi silvas, lapidosos surgere montes, utque duae dextra caelum totidemque sinistra    45 parte secant zonae, quinta est ardentior illis, sic onus inclusum numero distinxit eodem cura dei, totidemque plagae tellure premuntur. quarum quae media est, non est habitabilis aestu; nix tegit alta duas; totidem inter utramque locavit  50 temperiemque dedit mixta cum frigore flamma. Inminet his aer, qui, quanto est pondere terrae pondus aquae levius, tanto est onerosior igni. illic et nebulas, illic consistere nubes iussit et humanas motura tonitrua mentes      55 et cum fulminibus facientes fulgura ventos. His quoque non passim mundi fabricator habendum aera permisit; vix nunc obsistitur illis, cum sua quisque regat diverso flamina tractu, quin lanient mundum; tanta est discordia fratrum.  60 Eurus ad Auroram Nabataeaque regna recessit Persidaque et radiis iuga subdita matutinis; vesper et occiduo quae litora sole tepescunt, proxima sunt Zephyro; Scythiam septemque Triones horrifer invasit Boreas; contraria tellus      65 nubibus adsiduis pluviaque madescit ab Austro.

Writing almost a century ago, Faral 39 identified the Ovidian influences running through this passage right from the initial reference to the elements, with Ovid’s ignea … vis … caeli (v. 26), aer (v. 28), tellus (v. 29) and umor (v. 30) finding counterparts in the Vita Merlini with celum (v. 741), aera (v. 743), terram (v. 749) and mare (v.  745). The universe arises from the union of   the elements. In  both versions, these are combined concordi pace (VM v.  740; Met. 1,25), although there is an important dif­ fer­ence  40 insofar as, in the Christian conception of   Geoffrey’s texts, we are dealing with a  creation ex nichilo (v.  738) by the hand of   the Conditor orbis, while in the Metamorphoses, the birth of   the cosmos is presented as the imposition of  order on primordial chaos. The division of   the earth into five parts according to their climates is another debt to Ovid, with v. 1 of  Met. 1 making   See previous note.   Pointed out in Santi 2003, 1363, n. 26.

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an interesting comparison with v. 749 of   the Vita Merlini, while the following line in Geoffrey’s text, v.  750, matches Met. 1,49 almost exactly. Such obvious emulation serves as an open declaration of   Geoffrey’s source and offers the reader definitive license to make the comparison. And if there were any need for further confirmation of   this mechanism of   allusion and imitation, v. 752 of  the Vita Merlini opens with temperiem, the same as v. 51 of  the Metamorphoses.41 In the same verses, Geoffrey also adopts a number of   Ovidian iuncturae and other stylistic traits. The aera pulsat, with which he concludes verse 746, is an expression that Ovid uses, in the same metrical position, in Ars 1,82 (Appias expressis aera pulsat aquis) and Trist. 5,2,26 (Q uot tenerum pennis aera pulsat avis). The esse feruntur of   v.  747, meanwhile, appears at the end of   Met. 10,331 (Invida iura negant. gentes tamen esse feruntur 42). Finally, viribus acte (v. 759) may derive from the viribus acta that Ovid uses as a clausula in Met. 14,183. Two other things to bear in mind in regard to this passage: with the descriptions of  the different climatic subdivisions, if not elsewhere, Geoffrey could have sought inspiration in another model, specifically the Virgil of  Georg. 1, 231-258, and it is significant that he opts for Ovid, who thus cements his place as Geoffrey’s primary point of  reference. It is also interesting to note that the emulation of   Ovid is no longer applicable when it comes to describing the inhabitants of   the heavens, of   which Geoffrey mentions the angels, but also the benign spirits that help convey the prayers of   humanity to God (vv. 772-779) and malign spirits that lead men into temptation and, on occasion, even have sex with mortal women.43 In a sense, Geoffrey has attempted to recast Ovid as the poet of   a Christian conception of   creation. Or rather, he has cast himself as the new Ovid, free to draw heavily from the work of  41   Santi 2003, 1363, n. 26 suggests another comparison, between Met. 9, 220 and Vita Merlini vv. 759-760 (here 760-761). 42  See also Lucr. 6,716 (Anni tempore eo qui etesiae esse feruntur). 43  Which, incidentally, is how Merlin himself was conceived, as Geoffrey recounts in De gestis Britonum 107,145 (p. 139 in the Reeve edition), evoking the auctoritas of  Apuleius’ De deo Socratis.

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his model and give a somewhat altered form to his ideas, expressions or entire verses. However, this process of  appropriation and reformulation has its limits: clearly, Geoffrey cannot have Ovid say things that he did not say. He cannot produce Ovidian poetry about the angels; such a contrivance would present a number of  difficulties.44 He has gone quite far, however, helping himself to the introduction of  one of  the most original collections of  mythical stories to have been passed down from antiquity to today (and indeed, passed down to the Middle Ages, for all it was kept at arm’s length for a period), and insinuating himself into the spaces left by the ambiguities (or rather, generalities) of  Ovid’s formulation of  creation – which allowed for the hand of  a deus and a melior natura, neither of   which is entirely incompatible with Geoffrey’s Condi­ tor orbis – and giving it a new, Christian aspect.45

The Seal The poem ends with the passing of   a torch. Merlin, Telgesinus and a  third individual, Maeldinus, take up permanent residence in the woods, establishing an ascetic community of   sorts. There, they are joined by a repentant Ganieda, who – and it is an important point – has decided to live a  life of   chastity following the death of   her husband, Rodarchus: ducebat uitam regis [scil. Rhydderch] post fata pudicam (v.  1467). As Geoffrey explains, it is only now that she has joined her brother that she is elevated by the spirit to know the events of  the future: Hanc etiam quandoque suis rapiebat ad alta spiritus, ut caneret de regno sepe futura. 44  We might flag up a correspondence in the verses that describe the angels and the spirits – the clausula of  v. 778 (voce referre) also appears in Trist. 3,12,43 – but it has nothing to do with the substantive content of   Geoffrey’s text, and as such seems of  little importance. 45  Neil Wright suggests that there may be a  further purpose to this use of  Ovid. By re-attributing the wisdom of  Ovid and Isidore to the Britons, to Gildas, Taliesin and Merlin, Geoffrey is elevating the greatness of   Britain: “It suited his purpose to claim part of   Ovid’s lore as British property” (see Wright 1999, 79). Personally, I believe that Geoffrey was more inclined to present Ovid as his own property than as part of  the wider, national property.

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Following a final prophecy from the mouth of  Ganieda (vv. 14751518), it is Merlin himself who confirms that the spiritus has now chosen to speak through his sister’s mouth. Te ne soror voluit res precantare futuras Spiritus, osque meum compescuit atque libellum. Ergo tibi labor iste datur. Leteris in illo auspiciisque meis devote singula dicas.

With Merlin’s blessing (auspiciisque meis), Ganieda will predict the future in place of   her brother, whose mouth and libellum have been ‘closed’ by the spirit. With this, the veil that separates the fictitious narrative from the real world is sundered and the figure of   Merlin overlaps with that of   the author, Geoffrey, who could just as easily say: osque meum compescuit atque libellum. The song of   Geoffrey and of   Merlin has reached its end. This last confirmation of   the blurring of   the two figures casts new light on the proem, in which uates is used in v. 1 in regard to Merlin, and in v. 7 in reference to Geoffrey. The evocation of   the musa iocosa might therefore be taken as a  reference to the prophetic laughter of  Merlin, a characteristic aspect of  his madness, but also – the two readings are not mutually exclusive – as a  message to Geoffrey’s dedicatee and to his audience: in the words of  Ovid, vita verecunda est, Musa iocosa mea. Which is to say, Geoffrey has applied himself to subjects that are not generally considered fit for serious contemplation, and he has suffered critically and professionally. Now, however – having reached the apex of   his ecclesiastical career (or close enough) 46 – he is able to take leave of   his readers with a poem he has conceived as the conclusion to his œuvre and whose main protagonist, Merlin, is the very one with which he began his activity as a writer. Not only this, but he has even found a way to deal with more lofty, serious questions, for all that they are framed in a fantastical romance.

46  Geoffrey was consecrated as Bishop of    St  Asaph in 1152 but had been bishop elect for at least a  year beforehand. I  find it an interesting hypothesis – one that certainly bears further verification and exploration – that the choice of   subjects in the Vita Merlini was influenced by what was happening not only in England, with the civil war approaching its conclusion, but also in Geoffrey’s own life.

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In the final verses, Geoffrey announces that his poem is ending and reminds the reader of   his name and the success of   his work in prose. This is the sphagris (vv. 1526-1530), the seal, a tradition that is attested as early as the poets of   Archaic Greece, and that was revived by the Latin poets of  the Augustan age (Georg. 4, 559566 being one celebrated example): Duximus ad metam carmen vos ergo Britanni Laurea serta date Gaufrido de Monumeta. Est etenim uester nam quondam prelia vestra vestrorumque ducum cecinit scripsitque libellum, quem nunc Gesta vocant Britonum celebrata per orbem.

In thematic terms, it might be compared with Horace’s Exegi monumentum …, but equally, the Duximus ad metam might be an echo of   Rem. 413: at simul ad metas venit finita voluptas. Lau­ rea … date, meanwhile, may have been inspired by one of  the final lines of  the Remedia amoris, v. 811: hoc opus exegi: fessae date serta carinae, in which Ovid employs the metaphor of   a ship docking at port to announce the conclusion of  his work. Finally, even the last verse of   the poem closes with a  quotation from Ovid: cele­ brata per orbem is the same ending as that of  v. 499 of  the second book of  the Ars (est ubi diversum fama celebrata per orbem).

Conclusions Geoffrey’s use of   Ovid, in and of   itself, is not remarkable. What is interesting, however, is the consistency and timeliness with which he turns to his model, and the different ways in which it is manifested in his text, whether as indirect allusions or as obvious quotations and evocations, and in contexts that are either similar or entirely different to those from which he borrows. All this is indicative of   a range of   different perspectives on Ovid’s work, which is viewed variously as a repertoire of   curiosities, ideas and expressions, but also as an inescapable literary point of  reference in terms of   both the content and the means with which it is depicted. In the cited examples, we have dealt with the Metamorphoses frequently enough, but we have also encountered the Remedia, the Tristia and the Fasti. The Ars amandi, instead, has made a 113

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solitary appearance. Curiously enough, Ovid – the twelfth century’s undisputed master of   love – is used by Geoffrey to survey the full emotional spectrum of   the human soul. Admittedly, the emphasis is on the darker shades, for the barely concealed purpose of   demonstrating how burdensome the passions can be and inviting the reader to lay down their load and turn away from the vanity of   the world. However, Geoffrey enjoys an experiment, and also uses Ovid to present a  celebration of   the work of   the Creator, and to give new voice to the wisdom of   Gildas in the words of   Telgesinus.47 Geoffrey’s freehand approach to using material from a  figure considered, in the early medieval period, one of   the more problematic ancient poets, combined with his bold reworking of   Welsh traditions, is not only testament to the possibilities afforded by such an innovative, ‘experimental’ poem as the Vita Merlini – one that, for these very qualities, is difficult to place in a  particular genre, something that may have led to its rather lacklustre circulation – but also to the dynamism of   a century like the twelfth, which was itself marked by a  number of  significant social and cultural ‘metamorphoses’.

Bibliography Clarke 1973  = B.  Clarke (ed. and transl.), Life of   Merlin  / Geoffrey of  Monmouth - Vita Merlini, Cardiff 1973. Curley 1994 = M. J. Curley, Geoffrey of   Monmouth, New York 1994. Curtius 1990  = E.  R. Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, Princeton 1990 (orig. ed. 1948). Echard 1998 = S. Echard, Arthurian Narrative in the Latin Tradition, Cambridge 1998. Faral 1929  = E.  Faral, La légende arthurienne. Études et documents, Paris 1929. Hall 1980 = J. B. Hall, Critical Notes on Three Medieval Latin Texts: “Vita Gundulfi”, “Carmen de Hastingae proelio”, “Vita Merlini”, SM 3a serie 21, 1980, 899-916.

  It is worth noting that in the pseudo-Ovidian De vetula, which was written in the following century, Ovid himself gives up on love after a  particular relationship ends badly and becomes a Christian. 47

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Marzella 2020  = F.  Marzella, Towards a  New Edition of   Geoffrey of  Monmouth’s Vita Merlini, FilMed 27 (2020), 225-256. Parry 1925 = The Vita Merlini, ed. and trans. J. J. Parry, Urbana 1925. Reeve 2007 = M. D. Reeve (ed.) – N. Wright (trans.), The History of  the Kings of  Britain: an Edition and Translation of  De gestis Britonum [Historia regum Britanniae] / Geoffrey of  Monmouth, Woodbridge 2007. Santi 2003 = F. Santi, La teologia del romanzo applicata al vates improbus della Vita Merlini di Goffredo di Monmouth, SM 3a serie 44, 2003, 1139-1175. Tatlock 1943 = J. S. P. Tatlock, Geoffrey of   Monmouth’s  Vita Merlini, Speculum 18 n. 3, 1943, 265-287. Tolhurst 2012 = F. Tolhurst, Geoffrey of  Monmouth and the Feminist Origins of  the Arthurian Legend, New York 2012. Verbaal 2014 = W. Verbaal, How the West was Won by Fiction, True Lies Worldwide – Fictionality in Global Context, ed. A. Cullhed – L. Rydholm, Berlin 2014, 189-200. Wright 1999  = N.  Wright, Creation and Recreation: Medieval Re­ sponses to Metamorphoses 1.5-88, in Ovidian Transformations  / Essays on Ovid’s Metamorphoses and its Reception, ed. P. Hardie – A. Barchiesi – S. Hinds, Cambridge 1999.

Abstract Geoffrey of   Monmouth’s Vita Merlini, a  work in hexameter verse composed between 1149 and 1151 has been studied primarily as a possible record of   Celtic traditions regarding the figure of   Merlin. With this contribution, I  seek to highlight the importance of   the classical models from which Geoffrey drew inspiration. In  particular, through a  brief survey of   significant passages, it illustrates the importance of   the Ovidian model, which is instantly apparent as an essential point of   reference for both an appreciation of   the literary quality of   Geoffrey’s verse and a  more accurate general reading of   a work that, in its originality and uniqueness, is difficult to assign to the traditional genres of  medieval Latin literature.

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IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

1.  I testi convenzionalmente definiti commedie elegiache latine 1 presentano dal punto di vista metrico vari motivi di interesse. In  questa occasione intendo concentrarmi su un aspetto particolare: dal momento che l’imitazione di un modello non comporta automaticamente la ripresa del suo stile metrico,2 vorrei verifi­care in quale misura si possa riconoscere nella costruzione del distico di queste commedie una ripresa delle forme metriche caratteristiche del distico ovidiano. Q uesto aspetto mi sembra non abbia ottenuto finora tutta l’attenzione che può meritare.3 Prenderò in considerazione a questo scopo i testi in distici compresi nella serie Commedie latine del XII e del XIII secolo, edita ad 1  Si tratta di un gruppo di opere in distici elegiaci che risalgono al XII e al XIII secolo. La denominazione è convenzionale; per alcuni di questi testi è stata negata l’appropriatezza della definizione di commedia. Q uesto aspetto della questione non è rilevante per il nostro discorso. 2   È questo un punto che vale la pena di sottolineare. Limitandoci alla commedia elegiaca, possiamo a titolo di esempio prendere il caso della De tribus puellis, nella quale, come è stato osservato, l’imitazione è particolarmente pronunciata (vd.  in particolare Pittaluga 1976b), al punto che la si può definire quasi un “centone” ovidiano (così Pittaluga 1976a, 299; vd.  anche Bretzigheimer 2011, 371-372, con rimandi bibliografici a n. 3); come le analisi che sto per presentare credo dimostrino, il suo stile metrico non sembra particolarmente influenzato da quello di Ovidio. Per l’influsso ovidiano sulla commedia elegiaca in generale rimandi bibliografici in Bisanti 2019, 84 n. 104 (saggio dedicato specificamente all’Alda), ai quali si aggiunga almeno Goullet 1998. 3  In generale, per quanto riguarda l’influsso della tecnica metrica di Ovidio, D’Angelo 1993, 126-127 sottolinea come l’imitazione dell’ “outer metric” di Ovidio possa rappresentare un aspetto della fortuna di Ovidio nell’età ovidiana. (le osservazioni di Blumenthal 1976, 244-246 mi sembrano basarsi in più punti su una valutazione non sufficientemente approfondita del funzionamento della metrica ovidiana).

After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127594 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 117-156

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opera di un gruppo di studiosi coordinati da Ferruccio Bertini tra il 1976 e il 1998; 4 ho escluso il De clericis et rustico, il De Lom­ bardo et lumaca, il De tribus sociis 5 e  il De mercatore, che per le loro ridotte dimensioni offrono un materiale senz’altro insufficiente per l’analisi.6 La raccolta di dati più completa sulla metrica di queste commedie è rappresentata da un articolo di Leotta (1992); Orlandi (1985), occupandosi del problema dell’attribuzione del Miles glo­ riosus allo stesso autore della Lidia,7 ha preso in esame la metrica di queste due commedie,8 con l’aggiunta, per gli opportuni confronti, del Geta e dell’Aulularia di Vitale di Blois, del Milo e di una sezione dell’Ars versificatoria di Matteo di Vendôme, del­ l’Alda di Guglielmo di Blois; diversi studi offrono poi discussioni e materiali relativi a singole commedie.9 4   Si tratta dei numeri 48, 61, 68, 79, 95 e 176 della collana che è stata dell’Istituto di Filologia Classica e Medievale dell’Università di Genova (Ist.Fil.Cl.Med.) per i primi cinque numeri ed è poi passata al Dipartimento di Archeologia, Filo­ logia classica e loro Tradizioni (D.AR.FI.CL.ET) dello stesso ateneo. I dati su cui si basano le mie analisi sono stati raccolti manualmente – naturalmente ho confrontato i miei dati con quelli disponibili nella bibliografia. Non posso evidentemente garantire l’assenza di sviste ed errori; confido comunque che non siano in misura tale da influenzare le discussioni. 5   Di quest’opera esistono una versione in distici e  due in esametri; la lunghezza della prima non supera i dieci distici. 6  In pratica ho escluso i testi di lunghezza inferiore ai cento distici. Del resto, il problema delle dimensioni limitate si pone anche per alcune delle commedie che saranno prese in esame; nel caso di fenomeni non frequenti, la valutazione richiederà una prudenza particolare: l’assenza di un tratto raro o  vietato in un testo di dimensioni ristrette può essere casuale e  non garantisce da sola che sia evitato; ancora, variazioni molto ridotte nella frequenza assoluta di un fenomeno raro possono comportare spostamenti percentualmente sensibili, non sempre facili da valutare (lo spazio a mia disposizione non mi consente in questa sede una discussione più approfondita, basata sul ricorso a test statistici). 7  Gualandri – Orlandi 1990, 200-206; 1998, 113-115 (con discussione della bibliografia precedente) si pronunciano a  favore della attribuzione della Lidia ad Arnolfo di Orléans, che in conclusione viene dichiatata sufficientemente probabile, anche se non assolutamente certa. 8   Orlandi conclude qui che la metrica non offre argomenti risolutivi e  che in ogni caso l’ipotesi dell’attribuzione dellle due commedie allo stesso autore pone più problemi di quanti ne possa risolvere; vd. anche Orlandi 1988, 157 s. (= 2008, 350) e, ancora più decisamente contro l’identificazione, Gualandri – Orlandi 1998, 152-156. 9  In particolare ricordo Leotta 1978, 344-345 (per l’Aulularia), 1986, 319-20 (per il Babio); Schmidt 1975, 42-47 (per il Geta di Vitale di Blois); Orlandi 1980, 252-254 (per la Baucis et Traso); Gualandri – Orlandi 1998, 191-194 (per la Lidia; come viene precisato a p. 204, la responsabilità dell’introduzione, e quindi

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L’analisi che ho intenzione di condurre richiede che vengano selezionati i tratti caratterizzanti da prendere in considerazione, intendendo ovviamente con ‘caratterizzanti’ i  tratti distintivi dal punto di vista dello stile metrico. Q uesti tratti possono essere esclusivi dell’autore in esame; la ripresa è allora, evidentemente, in genere sufficiente per provare il suo influsso. Ma lo stile metrico di un autore può presentare tratti che lo caratterizzano con chiarezza, senza però, appunto, costituire una sua esclusiva; se la presenza di questi tratti in un autore successivo non prova da sola che ci si trovi in presenza di una ripresa, l’assenza può d’altra parte essere significativa in senso negativo.10 In alcuni casi un tratto caratterizzante può essere tradotto in una norma; un caso tipico è rappresentato dalla clausola del pentametro in Ovidio, per la quale si può formulare senz’altro una norma che suoni: “il pentametro deve essere chiuso da una parola bisillabica”, ciò che hanno fatto senz’altro i teorici medievali che proibiscono o  sconsigliano clausole non bisillabiche.11 Q uesti tratti presentano un particolare interesse quando non sono espressamente codificati: in primo luogo il poeta posteriore deve riconoscere il tratto; quindi deve decidere se riprenderlo, sempre, naturalmente, che abbia le capacità tecniche per farlo. Q uando ritroviamo un tratto metrico non esplicitamente contemplato dalla teoria possiamo quindi riconoscere senz’altro la ripresa del modello. L’assenza può essere interpretata in diversi modi: è possibile che la particolarità di trattamento non sia stata riconosciuta, che l’epigono non sia interessato a  riprenderla  o, infine, che non possegga le necessarie capacità tecniche. Prendiamo il caso delle incisioni dell’esametro di Ovidio. Per la terza sede non si pongono particolari problemi: versi privi del paragrafo dedicato alla metrica, è da ascrivere prevalentemente a  Orlandi); Munari 1982, 37-39 (per il Milo, nel quadro di un esame della tecnica di Matteo di Vendôme in generale); D’Angelo 2007/8, 102-106 (per l’Alda, nell’ambito di uno studio dedicato a Guglielmo di Blois); per materiali relativi al Babio vd. Dessì Fulgheri 1980, 204-211 (ma sono presenti errori non veniali; vd. anche Braun 1981, 655). 10  Per esempio, la tendenza a non ammettere nell’esametro le clausole non canoniche non è esclusiva di Ovidio; ma l’ammissione di queste clausole indica un distacco dal modello ovidiano. 11   Così Matteo di Vendôme, Ars 4,39: pentameter semper in dissillabis, nisi causa obstiterit impulsiva, debet terminari; per Eberardo di Brema, Gervasio di Melkley e Giovanni di Garlandia vd. Klopsch 1980, 139-140, 143-144, 154.

119

L. CECCARELLI

di un’incisione in questa sede sono in Ovidio eccezionali; anche qui la sua pratica può essere tradotta in una prescrizione: “ogni esametro deve presentare una semiquinaria o  una incisione del terzo trocheo”; la presenza non occasionale di versi senza incisione in questa sede esclude una ripresa, per questo caso specifico, della tecnica ovidiana. Le cose diventano più complicate nel caso delle incisioni del quarto piede. Per l’esametro greco si può formulare una norma che prescriva di evitare o almeno limitare rigidamente nel quarto piede l’incisione trocaica e la dieresi dopo parola o  fine di parola spondaica, norma non valida per l’esametro latino in generale e  per quello di Ovidio in particolare. Ovidio si distingue in questo caso non per il rifiuto di una delle possibili soluzioni (semisettenaria, dieresi dopo fine di parola dattilica o  spondaica, incisione del quarto trocheo, assenza di incisione) ma per le sue preferenze; 12 se un autore in un caso come questo sia influenzato da Ovidio può essere deciso solo dopo una valutazione, non sempre agevole, del suo uso e della distanza di quest’ultimo da quello di Ovidio. Infine, una volta accertata la somiglianza, ci si può porre il problema se ci si trovi di fronte a  una imitazione deliberata o all’interiorizzazione, diciamo così, di un modello.13 Q uest’ultimo punto è per noi di importanza relativa: in entrambi i  casi l’influenza dell’autore modello rimane accertata, anche se dal punto di vista della valutazione della personalità dell’epigono le due possibilità non sono naturalmente da porre sullo stesso piano. Ciò premesso possiamo passare all’analisi.14 Un esame completo degli aspetti che potrebbero essere pertinenti non è natu12   Sulle quali vd. la discussione qui sotto, § 7. A complicare le cose, in questo caso l’esametro stichico di Ovidio sembra comportarsi in maniera in qualche misura differente dall’elegiaco; su questo punto torneremo. 13  Su questo punto cfr. Donnini 1995, 263 (= 2013, 661); vd. anche Leonhardt 1996, 315-318. 14  I dati alla base delle mie analisi sono raccolti a partire dalle seguenti edizioni: Bertini 1976 (Aulularia), 1980 (Geta), 1998a (Alda), 1998b (De uxore cer­ donis); Dessì Fulgheri 1980 (Babio); Gatti 1986 (Rapularius), 1998b (De more medicorum); Gualandri – Orlandi 1998 (Lidia); Munari 1982 (Milo); Orlandi 1980 (Baucis et Traso); Pareto 1983 (Miles gloriosus); Pittaluga 1976a (De tribus puellis), 1980 (Pamphilus), 1986 (De Paulino et Polla); Rizzardi 1983 (Asinarius); Savi 1976 (Pamphilus Gliscerium et Birria [d’ora in poi PGB]); del Rapularius ho preso in esame la prima delle due versioni; l’esame della seconda versione pre-

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IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

ralmente possibile in questa sede; sarà quindi necessaria una selezione. In  questo contributo prenderò in esame il trattamento della clausola del pentametro e  dell’esametro, il rapporto tra dattili e  spondei, il trattamento delle incisioni nel terzo e  nel quarto piede: tutti punti per i quali la tecnica di Ovidio è chiaramente riconoscibile; 15 vi aggiungerò l’esame della clausola del primo emistichio del pentametro, il cui trattamento richiede un discorso in qualche misura diverso rispetto agli altri presi in esame, ma che presenta alcuni aspetti interessanti.16 2.  Prima di iniziare la discussione sarà il caso di precisare che i  testi presi in esame si distaccano dalla tecnica metrica classica in generale e  ovidiana in particolare per la libertà con la quale viene accettata la rea­lizzazione di un longum prima della semiquinaria dell’esametro o  della dieresi del pentametro mediante una sillaba breve 17 e  il rifiuto completo o  quasi completo della supporrebbe un confronto con la prima che non può essere condotto in questa sede (mi riservo comunque di fare riferimento alla seconda versione in alcuni casi particolari); per il testo seguo Gatti 1998a. Non mi sarà possibile discutere i casi in cui mi è sembrato opportuno adottare un testo diverso da quello delle edizioni di riferimento. I  criteri di scansione e  classificazione dei dati sono naturalmente gli stessi adottati nei miei studi precedenti sulla metrica esametrica ed elegiaca, in particolare Ceccarelli 2008, 2012 e 2018, dai quali ho tratto, con qualche integrazione, i dati relativi ad Ovidio e agli autori classici e tardoantichi (comprendendo senz’altro tra questi ultimi anche Aratore e Venanzio Fortunato); ricordo che non ho considerato autonome le forme dell’indefinito quis. I  versi che presentano una corruzione localizzata sono stati esclusi dalle valutazioni relative al rapporto tra dattili e spondei; negli altri casi sono stati presi in esame per la parte sana. Q uesto comporta qualche oscillazione nei totali delle varie tabelle. 15   La selezione qui proposta coincide in larga parte, ma non completamente, con quella adottata da Orlandi 1985. 16  I limiti di spazio a mia disposizione mi impediscono di trattare altri aspetti che in sé meriterebbero un’analisi approfondita, come in particolare la rea­ lizzazione dello schema metrico dell’esametro (per il pentametro dovrò limitarmi ad alcune considerazioni essenziali); non mi sarà neanche possibile una discussione della bibliografia (che non aspira in alcun modo all’esaustività). 17  Sugli allungamenti in questa posizione cfr., tra gli altri, Klopsch 1967, 126127, 1972, 74-76; Orlandi 1988, 158-159 (= 2008, 351 s.): 2002, 246 (= 2008, 379) e per i dati statistici sulle commedie elegiache Leotta 1992, 112. Q ui sarà il caso di ricordare che la tipologia dell’allungamento in arsi nei classici è diversa e che la frequenza del fenomeno rimane decisamente più bassa rispetto a quella che si riscontra nei medievali che l’adottano (per un catalogo delle ricorrenze vd. Vollmer 1917) – le differenze di frequenza che si possono riscontrare tra le varie commedie elegiache non sono rilevanti per il nostro discorso.

121

L. CECCARELLI

sinalefe,18 con l’eccezione per quanto riguarda quest’ultimo delle due commedie di Vitale di Blois 19 e  dell’Alda di Guglielmo di Blois.20 Per l’incisione dopo il quinto longum, un altro tratto estraneo alla tecnica classica, la questione è più complessa; su questo punto ritorneremo. 3.  Ciò premesso, cominciamo l’analisi, partendo dalla rea­liz­za­ zione della clausola del pentametro (Tab. 1). Come è ben noto, Ovidio esclude (in tutta la prima fase della sua carriera) o  evita le clausole non bisillabiche, portando all’estremo una pronunciata tendenza tibulliana, ignota a Catullo e al primo Properzio.21   Sulla teoria e sulla pratica medievali vd in particolare Klopsch 1972, pp. 7987 e poi anche Munari 1955, 47-48 (1970, LXIX-LXX); Klopsch 1967, 127-130; Ruiz Arzalluz 1991, 68-150 (per la teoria tardoantica e medievale vd. le pp. 68-85); Orlandi 2002, 248, con dati statistici a p. 257 (= 2008, 381 e 389). Sull’identi­ ficazione di prodelisione e sinalefe vd. sotto n. 20. 19  Non mi è possibile qui entrare nei particolari e discutere la pratica di queste commedie in rapporto all’uso ovidiano; mi limiterò ad osservare che l’Aulularia è più tollerante della sinalefe rispetto al Geta – sul punto vd. anche Orlandi 1985, 11-12 (= 2008, 340) –, come anche rispetto all’Alda. 20   Per quanto riguarda l’identificazione di prodelisione e sinalefe nella teoria e nella pratica medievali, vd. Leonhardt 1988, con la bibliografia precedente, e 1996, 314-315. Il punto non può essere discusso qui; ad ogni modo, per quanto riguarda la nostra indagine, potrebbe avere rilevanza per l’identificazione e  la classificazione delle clausole non canoniche nell’esametro, non bisillabiche nel pentametro e giambiche nel primo emistichio del pentametro. Si tratta comunque di pochi casi: nel­l’esametro mi risultano i casi di Aul. 221 (necesse est), 461 (nostrum est), 507 (magna est), 649 (plenum est), 787 (probata est), PGB 129 (iustum est), 187 (redempta est), Lidia 21 (in uno est): 8 casi in tutto, 5 dei quali nell’Aulularia); per la clausola del pentametro abbiamo Aul. 24 (mea est), Pamph. 32 (difficile est), Lidia 148 (bonum est); per quanto riguarda invece la clausola del primo emistichio del pentametro abbiamo i casi di Geta 158 (mora est) 240 (mihi est), 440 (diu est) e Alda 400 (suo est). Come si vede, si tratta di casi isolati, in maggioranza in Vitale di Blois; una decisione in un senso o nell’altro avrebbe scarsa o nessuna influenza sulle discussioni che sto per presentare – non discuto qui la possibilità di eliminare qualcuno di questi casi per congettura; vd. Pittaluga 1980, 41 e nota in apparato ad loc. per Pamph. 32 (vd. comunque sotto, n. 33); Gualandri – Orlandi 1998, 194 per i casi della Lidia –. Tuttavia, poiché trattare la prodelisione come una forma di sinalefe porterebbe a  considerare come non ovidiane clausole che per Ovidio erano del tutto regolari, ho preferito mantenere per la prodelisione il trattamento classico. 21  Sarà il caso di ricordare che Catullo rimane praticamente sconosciuto al medioevo (prudente e nel complesso giustamente scettico sulla possibilità di riconoscere una presenza di Catullo nel De tribus puellis Arcaz Pozo 2005) e che la conoscenza di Tibullo e Properzio è anch’essa molto limitata; né l’uno né l’altro possono entrare in concorrenza con Ovidio come possibili modelli per i nostri autori. 18

122

283

278

183

395

264

Alda

Lidia

Miles

Aulul.

Geta

123

126

216

447

210

100

232

161

135

146

307

3806

Milo

Rapul.

Ovid. Pont. IV

Ux. cerd.

PGB

Babio

More med.

Trib. puell.

Baucis

Pamph.

TOT. Comm. eleg.

T

67

31

0

9

9

8

1

6

1

0

1

0

5

1

1

0

0

0

0

0

Q

80

51

14

4

2

2

3

2

16

0

1

1

47

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

M

10

1

2

0

1

0

0

0

0

5

0

1

3

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

3963

390

162

148

173

242

104

218

464

221

128

202

10896

265

396

183

278

283

570

442

TOT.

TOT. Comm. eleg.

Pamph.

Baucis

Trib. puell.

More med.

Babio

PGB

Ux. cerd.

Ovid. Pont. IV

Rapul.

Milo

Asin.

Ovid. eleg. TOT.

Geta

Aulul.

Miles

Lidia

Alda

Paul. Pol.

Ovid. Fast. III

B = clausole bisillabiche   T = clausola trisillabiche   Q = clausole di quattro o più sillabe   M = clausole monosillabiche

200

Asin.

10841

570

Paul. Pol.

Ovid. eleg. TOT.

442

B

Ovid. Fast. III

Tab. 1. La clausola del pentametro %B

96,04

78,72

90,12

91,22

93,06

95,87

96,15

96,33

96,34

97,74

98,44

99,01

99,50

99,62

99,75

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

1,69

7,95

0,00

6,08

5,20

3,31

0,96

2,75

0,22

0,00

0,78

0,00

0,05

0,38

0,25

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

%T

2,02

13,08

8,64

2,70

1,16

0,83

2,88

0,92

3,45

0,00

0,78

0,50

0,43

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

%Q

0,25

0,26

1,23

0,00

0,58

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

2,26

0,00

0,50

0,03

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

%M

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

TOT. IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

L. CECCARELLI

Ovidio qui è preceduto appunto dagli ultimi due libri di Properzio, che escludono anch’essi quasi completamente le clausole non bisillabiche. Un punto da sottolineare a  proposito della pratica ovidiana è che dalle poche eccezioni che Ovidio si concede sono escluse quasi completamente, oltre alle clausole monosillabiche, le trisillabiche.22 Dopo Ovidio, il rifiuto delle clausole non bisillabiche incontra una fortuna variabile; in particolare, in epoca tardoan­ tica è completamente ignorato da alcuni poeti (tra i quali Ausonio, Pao­lino di Nola e Prudenzio),23 ma è accolto, con più o meno rigore, da diversi altri; in particolare in Aviano le clausole bisillabiche raggiungono il 100%, in Venanzio Fortunato il 98%, in Rutilio Namaziano e Massimiano il 95%; Venanzio non mostra d’altra parte nessuna tendenza a  discriminare ulteriormente le clausole monosillabiche e trisillabiche.24 Data questa situazione, la tendenza ad escludere o limitare le clausole non bisillabiche può derivare dall’imitazione della pratica ovidiana, o, semplicemente, dall’applicazione di una regola che nasce da quest’ultima, ma che a un certo punto vive, diciamo così, di vita propria e viene seguita con maggiore o minore rigidità, indipendentemente da una specifica intenzione di imitare Ovidio; in questo senso potrebbe andare il disinteresse verso l’esclusione delle clausole trisillabiche.25 Esaminiamo adesso il quadro della situazione.26

22  Delle 55 violazioni in Ovidio 3 sono rappresentate da monosillabi, 5 da trisillabi (6 su 56 se si vuol tenere conto del fr. 4 Blänsdorf). 23   In Ausonio mi risultano 478 clausole bisillabiche su 879 pentametri, per il 54,38%; Paolino di Nola e  Prudenzio presentano una frequenza ancora inferiore: Prudenzio, in particolare, si ferma al 47,73%, con 63 clausole bisillabiche su 132. Per maggiori particolari rimando a  Ceccarelli 2018, 90-97, 191-195 e  tab. 18, p. 289 e 45, p. 342. 24   Sarà il caso di ricordare che Venanzio, Massimiano e Aviano sono letti in epoca medievale. 25  Salvo che nel caso del Rapularius, nel quale le cinque clausole non bisillabiche sono rappresentate da monosillabi, le commedie elegiache escludono le clausole monosillabiche o le ammettono solo occasionalmente. 26  Per ogni tabella al valore medio dell’Ovidio elegiaco (e per l’esametro anche dell’Ovidio esametrico), aggiungo, dove opportuno, il valore minimo e massimo dei singoli libri. I dati relativi ai libri esametrici, in assenza di specificazioni, derivano da indagini personali inedite.

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IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

È subito evidente che il Pamphilus viola senza problemi la norma; i suoi 390 pentametri presentano 51 clausole di quattro o  più sillabe,27 31 trisillabiche, 1 monosillabica; se è vero che la frequenza di clausole non bisillabiche non scende ai livelli che si riscontrano in diversi tardoantichi,28 è evidente che il Pamphilus non conosce la norma o non è interessato a rispettarla.29 Per le altre commedie si pone il problema di decidere se le clau­sole non bisillabiche debbano essere interpretate come violazioni occasionali di una norma altrimenti rispettata o come possibilità non frequenti ma legittime. Una valutazione precisa non è però agevole: i casi di clausola non bisillabica non sono molti in numeri assoluti; ricordo una volta per tutte che in questi casi anche piccole variazioni possono comportare variazioni percentuali sensibili. Ad ogni modo credo che siano possibili pochi dubbi oltre che, ovviamente, per Matteo di Vendôme,30 anche per Vitale di Blois, per l’Alda, la De Paulino et Polla, la Lidia, il Miles e l’Asinarius,31 che eliminano totalmente o quasi totalmente le clausole non bisillabiche. Le altre commedie si collocano in uno spazio compreso tra il 90,12% di clausole bisillabiche della Baucis et Traso (146 su 162 pentametri) e  il 97,74% del Rapularius (216 su 221) 32 – la frequenza più bassa tra i libri di Ovidio è rappresentata da Pont. IV, con il 96,34% (447 su 464); la De more medicorum, la De tribus puellis e la Baucis et Traso sembrano collocarsi comunque percepibilmente al di sotto di questo limite minimo. D’altra parte solo la Baucis et Traso, che pure, con l’eccezione del Pamphilus, è la 27  Considerando tra queste clausole anche quella del v. 32 (difficile est); vd. sopra n. 20. 28  Cfr. sopra n. 23. 29   Una frequenza molto alta di clausole non bisillabiche caratterizza i  26 distici del De Lombardo et lumaca: abbiamo 6 clausole trisillabiche e 3 quadrisillabiche. 30  Che, come abbiamo ricordato (vd.  sopra n.  11), teorizza espressamente questa limitazione nella sua Ars versificatoria. 31  Considero l’interiezione hi ha al v. 66 dell’Asinarius come una parola bisillabica. In ogni caso l’Asinarius presenta altrimenti solo due casi di clausola non bisillabica. 32  Il Rapularius II è anche più restrittivo del Rapularius I presentando solo una clausola non bisillabica su 194 pentametri.

125

L. CECCARELLI

commedia qui più lontana da Ovidio, mostra una tendenza a favorire tra le clausole non bisillabiche le clausole di quattro o più sillabe – 14 su 16, nessuna trisillabica. Le  altre commedie, con l’eccezione della PGB 33 preferiscono come alternativa alle bisillabiche le clausole trisillabiche. 4.  Legata in un certo senso alla costruzione della clausola è un’altra caratteristica del pentametro ovidiano, che evita la collocazione di una sillaba aperta con vocale breve (d’ora in poi per semplicità sillaba aperta breve) nell’ultimo elemento (Tab. 2). Q ui la valutazione richiede una prudenza particolare. Da una parte, questa limitazione, data l’indifferenza dell’ultimo elemento, può avere ragioni esclusivamente stilistiche, difficilmente percepibili per chi, come i medievali, ha perso la sensibilità per le quantità; dall’altra, l’esclusione (o la forte limitazione) delle clausole non bisillabiche rende in sé più difficile la chiusura del pentametro con una sillaba aperta breve: in linea di principio, la rarità delle sillabe aperte brevi in questa posizione potrebbe essere influen­ zata dalla effettiva rarità in latino di bisillabi pirrichi.34 Resta però il fatto che tra le varie commedie si riscontrano differenze sensibili, che provano comunque che negli autori più rigorosi è presente una tendenza a  restringere la frequenza del fenomeno al di là dei limiti, certamente non ampi, che sarebbero naturali. Sillabe brevi aperte in chiusura di pentametro mancano nel Miles e  si presentano isolatamente nel Pamphilus,35 nel Geta di Vitale di Blois, nel Milo di Matteo di Vendôme, nell’Asinarius 33  La PGB su quattro violazioni presenta una clausola trisillabica e nessuna monosillabica contro tre quadrisillabiche, ma i 104 pentametri di questa commedia sono troppo pochi per una valutazione affidabile. Per il Rapularius vd. sopra n. 25. Possiamo notare di passaggio che nel Pamphilus le clausole quadrisillabiche sono più numerose delle trisillabiche, che comunque non sono in alcun modo evitate (le ricorrenze sono rispettivamente 51 e 31); le monosillabiche sono invece rappresentate da un’unica ricorrenza. Di questo aspetto della questione si dovrà tenere conto a proposito della proposta di correzione della clausola del v. 32 (vd. sopra n. 20). 34  Platnauer 1951, 66 sembra appunto suggerire che la rarità delle sillabe aperte con vocale breve nell’ultimo elemento del pentametro di Ovidio possa essere influenzata dal ridotto numero di parole pirrichie a disposizione del poeta. 35  Il dato relativo al Pamphilus appare particolarmente interessante, dal momento che, come abbiamo visto, è il testo che si allontana maggiormente da Ovidio nell’ammissione di clausole non bisillabiche.

126

IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

Tab. 2. Sillabe aperte con vocale breve nell’ultimo elemento Esametro B

Pentametro Versi

%

B

Lidia

62

279

22,22

Ux. cerd.

Ux. cerd.

47

218

21,56

Geta

54

265

20,38

Trib. puell.

29

147

Paul. Pol.

Versi

%

18

218

8,26

More med.

8

173

4,62

Babio

9

242

3,72

19,73

Baucis

6

162

3,70

109

570

19,12

Trib. puell.

4

148

2,70

Rapul.

39

221

17,65

Lidia

7

278

2,52

Babio

41

242

16,94

Paul. Pol.

14

570

2,46

Baucis

27

162

16,67

Ovid. Trist. I

8

365

2,19

More med.

28

173

16,18

Alda

6

283

2,12

Alda

44

283

15,55

Rapul.

4

221

1,81

Aulul.

54

396

13,64

Aulul.

6

396

1,52

PGB

13

104

12,50

TOT. Ovid.

141

10904

1,29

Pamph.

46

390

11,79

PGB

1

104

0,96

Asin.

23

202

11,39

Milo

1

128

0,78

Ovid. Trist. III

43

394

10,91

Asin.

1

202

0,50

Ovid. Met. XII

61

626

9,74

Ovid. Ars III

2

405

0,49

Ovid. TOT. Met.

1055

11883

8,88

Geta

1

265

0,38

TOT. Ovid. eleg.

831

10903

7,62

Pamph.

1

390

0,26

59

785

7,52

Miles

0

183

0,00

8

128

6,25

TOT. Comm. eleg.

87

3963

2,20

Ovid. Met. XI Milo Ovid. Fast. III Miles TOT. Comm. eleg.

21

442

4,75

3

183

1,64

627

15,82

3963

e  nella PGB. Nello spazio delimitato da Ovidio troviamo poi l’Aulu­laria di Vitale di Blois, il Rapularius 36 e l’Alda. All’estremo opposto troviamo la De uxore cerdonis, con 18 ricorrenze su 218 pentametri, per l’8,26%, un valore che supera largamente il valore massimo che si riscontra in Ovidio, rappresentato dal 2,19% di Trist. I (8 su 365 pentametri); l’indifferenza della De uxore cer­ donis nei confronti delle sillabe brevi in chiusura di pentametro 36  Anche qui il Rapularius II è ancora più rigido del Rapularius I, con un’unica ricorrenza su 194 pentametri contro 4 su 221.

127

L. CECCARELLI

dovrebbe essere evidente.37 Per le commedie che si collocano nello spazio tra la De uxore cerdonis e Trist. I le ristrette dimensioni del materiale non mi sembrano permettere una valutazione che dia garanzie. Torniamo adesso alle commedie che sembrano evitare la rea­ lizzazione dell’ultimo elemento mediante una sillaba breve aperta. Ci troviamo di nuovo di fronte a  un fenomeno raro; in questo caso particolare però ulteriori elementi di giudizio possono venire dall’esame della rea­lizzazione dell’ultimo elemento dell’esametro. Una tendenza a limitare la presenza delle sillabe brevi aperte in questa posizione sembra presente anche nell’esametro classico e tardoantico; 38 tuttavia in questo caso Ovidio non appare particolarmente rigoroso. Il suo margine di oscillazione, qui piuttosto ampio, si estende dal 4,75% di Fast. III (21 su 442) al 10,91% di Trist. III (43 su 394). Il valore medio per l’esametro elegiaco ovidiano è pari al 7,62% (831 su 10903 esametri); un poco più alto quello delle Metamorfosi, che raggiunge l’8,88% (1055 su 11883). Se consideriamo che il valore per l’Eneide è pari al 6,86% (673 su 9807) e per la Tebaide al 6,11% (593 su 9712), vediamo appunto che in questo caso la pratica di Ovidio non presenta particolarità che la distinguano. Ai nostri fini può essere interessante notare come la scarsa simpatia del Miles per le sillabe brevi aperte nell’ultimo elemento del pentametro possa essere confermata dalla rarità del fenomeno nel suo esametro: le ricorrenze sono 3, per l’1,64%, chiaramente al di sotto del limite inferiore di Ovidio, rappresentato appunto dal 4,75% di Fast. III; in altri termini, il Miles sembra estendere all’esametro questa particolarità del pentametro. Possiamo osservare che l’escursione nell’ambito delle commedie elegiache è molto forte: il livello massimo è raggiunto dalla Lidia, con il 22,22% (62 su 279 esametri); 39 ma al di sopra del   Vd. anche la discussione del fenomeno in Orlandi 1988, 164 (= 2008, 355).   Su questo fenomeno rimando per l’esametro stichico a  Ceccarelli 2014 (al quale rinvio anche per la bibliografia precedente); per i dati sull’esametro elegiaco cfr. Ceccarelli 2018, tab. 10 (p. 276) e 38 (p. 326). 39  Osservo di passaggio che la forte differenza nei confronti del Miles potrebbe costituire un ulteriore argomento contro l’attribuzione di queste due commedie allo stesso autore; come notato da Orlandi 1985, 10-11 (= 2008, 339) nel caso dell’ultima sillaba del pentametro, si riscontra una chiara differenza tra le due opere. 37 38

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IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

20% troviamo anche la De uxore cerdonis (21,56%, 47 su 218 esametri) e il Geta di Vitale di Blois (20,38%, 54 su 265); 40 immediatamente al di sotto del 20% troviamo la De tribus puellis (29 su 147, per il 19,73%) e la De Paulino et Polla (109 su 570, per il 19,12%). Dall’altra parte della graduatoria incontriamo, oltre al Miles, il Milo di Matteo di Vendôme, l’unica commedia che si trovi all’interno dello spazio ovidiano, fermandosi al 6,25%, con 8 ricorrenze su 128 esametri; qui però bisogna osservare che da una parte 128 esametri non sono molti, dall’altra che altre opere in distici di Matteo mostrano una frequenza senz’altro più alta del fenomeno.41 5. Passiamo adesso alla clausola dell’esametro. Il  trattamento di Ovidio non è traducibile in una norma rigida come quella che regola il pentametro; è comunque possibile formulare una norma che suoni: “sono evitate le clausole che non rientrino nei tipi condere gentem, conde sepulcro e gente tot annos”.42 Uno dei tratti caratteristici dell’esametro medievale, a partire dal IX secolo, è l’ammissione, largamente diffusa, anche se non generale, di una parola quadrisillabica in posizione finale, preceduta da una parola polisillabica o da un monosillabo, e dell’inci­ sione in generale dopo il quinto longum.43 Ovidio elimina appunto completamente i  tipi di genuerunt, medium secat agmen, facilis quod aquarum, magni Phryges et quam ed evita decisamente l’incisione nel quinto longum dopo parola polisillabica.44 Se prescindiamo dagli esametri spondiaci 40 L’Aulularia presenta una frequenza sensibilmente più bassa: il 13,64% (dato da 54 casi su 396 esametri). 41   In particolare negli 87 esametri del Piramus e Tisbe la frequenza è intorno al 20%. 42  Non mi è possibile discutere qui le differenze di trattamento tra le clausole canoniche, in particolare naturalmente tra condere gentem e  conde sepulcro; per quanto riguarda l’uso ovidiano in particolare, devo rimandare a Ceccarelli 2012, 63-64 e 2018, 119-121. 43 Q ueste clausole con incisione dopo il quinto longum, evitate dalla prima generazione carolingia, cominciano a diffondersi nel corso del IX secolo, anche se con forti differenze tra i vari poeti. Discussione e dati statistici in Klopsch 1967, 119-126 e  1972, 71-74; vd.  anche Orlandi 1988, 156-158 e  168-169 (= 2008, 347-351 e 358-359). 44  Q uesto ci permette di evitare di distinguere i vari tipi con fine di parola polisillabica nel quinto longum dal tipo Idaeis cyparissis, semplificando l’analisi.

129

L. CECCARELLI

con trisillabo finale dei quali non abbiamo esempi nelle commedie elegiache, in Ovidio mi risultano in tutto 15 esempi di incisione dopo il quinto longum, 8 nelle Metamorfosi e  7 nell’insieme dell’opera elegiaca, quasi tutti rappresentati da un termine greco; 45 la frequenza in termini percentuali è minima (siamo allo 0,07%).46 La presenza di questa incisione costituisce quindi un tratto, diciamo così, discriminante. Ora, è subito evidente come la maggior parte delle commedie in esame segua il trattamento medievale, anche se in misura molto diversa (Tab.  3).47 Così la Baucis et Traso rimane isolata in cima alla graduatoria; un verso su cinque in questa commedia presenta un’incisione dopo una parola polisillabica in questa posizione. La  De tribus puellis, l’Asi­narius, il Babio si mantengono comunque intorno al 10%; il Rapularius a sua volta non evita (17 casi, per il 7,69%) questa incisione. D’altra parte Matteo di Vendôme 48 e il Miles l’eliminano del tutto.49 Nella PGB e  nella De uxore cerdonis troviamo una sola ricorrenza per ciascuna: di nuovo, date le ridotte dimensioni di queste commedie, non si può dire se ci troviamo di fronte a  un’eccezione isolata o  a  un uso raro ma tollerato; per quanto riguarda la PGB il fatto che non si abbiano ricorrenze del tipo di genuerunt potrebbe costituire un elemento a  favore della prima possibilità; il contrario varrebbe per la De uxore cer­ donis, che ne presenta quattro esempi.50 Sempre per quanto riguarda il tipo di genuerunt possiamo osservare che è assente solo dalla PGB, come già notato, dal Miles, dal Milo di Matteo di Per statistiche sulla frequenza nelle commedie elegiache delle parola pirrichie in quinta sede vd. Leotta 1996, 188 e 191. 45  Se aggiungiamo gli esametri spondiaci del tipo con trisillabo finale (Darda­ nio Anchisae) arriviamo a 20 ricorrenze nelle Metamorfosi e 11 nelle opere elegiache. 46  In questo caso quindi si potrebbe formulare, a parziale correzione di quanto appena notato, una norma che vieti l’incisione dopo il quinto longum. 47   La tabella è ordinata per frequenza decrescente delle incisioni polisillabiche dopo il quinto longum. 48  Per le altre opere di Matteo il quadro è però in qualche misura diverso, dal momento che questa incisione è ammessa occasionalmente nel Piramus, nelle Epistulae, e nelle composizioni in distici dell’Ars versificatoria; meno occasionale la presenza nel Tobias, che la presenta in 48 dei suoi 1123 esametri (più del 4%); cfr. anche Orlandi 1988, 158 (= 2008, 350). 49  Per un esame di questo aspetto della tecnica del Miles, a confronto con la Lidia, vd. Orlandi 1985, 7-8 (= 2008, 336-337). 50 Q uanti cioè in tutta l’Eneide.

130

131

77

56

92

184

174

119

186

128

38

86

Rapul.

More med.

Alda

Paul. Pol.

Pamph.

Lidia

Aulul.

Geta

PGB

Ux. cerd.

100

47

99

150

117

170

237

140

64

88

94

48

75

94

8

9

211

3

7

800

916

10

14

11

22

12

14

27

20

15

14

15

10

GA

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

4

12

XS

169

0

0

7

8

1

1

3

6

5

10

15

11

7

17

22

21

17

33

X

86

0

0

0

0

4

0

1

1

3

4

28

5

9

5

8

6

4

8

MQ

328

2

2

145

120

17

4

23

31

23

18

79

15

22

20

26

8

14

24

A

3963

128

183

10899

11862

218

104

265

396

279

390

570

283

173

221

242

202

147

162

TOT.

TOT. Comm. eleg.

Milo

Miles

Ovid. eleg.

Ovid. Met.

Ux. cerd.

PGB

Geta

Aulul.

Lidia

Pamph.

Paul. Pol.

Alda

More med.

Rapul.

Babio

Asin.

Trib. puell.

Baucis

% CG

% CS

4,15

5,56

4,30

3,59

4,74

7,07

8,67

6,33

6,20

4,95

5,44

5,56

% GA

37,52 42,44

37,50 58,59

43,72 51,37

44,76 46,47

51,15 39,95

39,45 45,87

5,32

2,34

3,83

7,34

7,72

4,59

36,54 45,19 13,46

48,30 37,36

46,97 37,88

42,65 41,94

44,62 43,59

32,28 41,58

32,51 49,47

32,37 36,99

34,84 39,82

31,82 38,84

33,17 44,55

23,13 47,62

25,31 29,01

%X

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,04

0,10

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

4,26

0,00

0,00

0,06

0,07

0,46

0,96

1,13

1,52

1,79

2,56

2,63

3,89

4,05

7,69

9,09

0,00 10,40

0,00 11,56

0,00 20,37

% XS

A

3,96

9,52

9,05 5,30

2,17

0,00

0,00

0,00

0,00

1,83

0,00

0,38

0,25

1,08

1,03

8,28

1,56

1,09

1,33

1,01

7,80

3,85

8,68

7,83

8,24

4,62

4,91 13,86

1,77

5,20 12,72

2,26

3,31 10,74

2,97

2,72

4,94 14,81

% MQ

TOT.

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

CG: Condere gentem   GA: gente tot annos   CS: conde sepulcro   X: Idaeis cyparissis, medium secat agmen, facilis quod aquarum, magni Phryges et quam   MQ: di genuerunt XS: Dardanio Anchisae   A: Altre

1487 1682

Milo

TOT. Comm. eleg.

80

Miles

4878 5065

77

Babio

90

70

6067 4739

67

Asin.

Ovid. eleg.

34

Trib. puell.

47

CS

Ovid. Met.

41

CG

Baucis

Tab. 3. La clausola dell'esametro

IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

L. CECCARELLI

Vendôme 51 e si presenta isolatamente in ciascuna delle due commedie di Vitale di Blois. Vitale di Blois può appunto meritare qualche parola in particolare: in 661 esametri, tra l’Aulularia e  il Geta, le ricorrenze della clausola polisillabica dopo il quinto longum sono in tutto 9, meno dell’1,5%; la frequenza è certamente molto bassa, ma meno eccezionale, diciamo così, di quella ovidiana. È possibile che Vitale (e il discorso potrebbe estendersi almeno alla Lidia) abbia l’intenzione di limitare la presenza di un tratto comunque non frequente nei classici e nei tardoantichi, senza tuttavia escluderlo completamente. Si tratta adesso di andare a  vedere come si comportino rispetto agli altri casi di clausola non canonica le commedie che limitano o  rifiutano le clausole appena esaminate.52 In generale Ovidio è più rigido di Virgilio (ma non di Stazio) nell’esclusione in generale delle clausole non canoniche. Il primo punto da notare è che Vitale di Blois ne presenta in generale una frequenza incompatibile con la pratica di Ovidio. Se escludiamo i tipi con fine di parola nel quinto longum, in Ovidio le clausole non canoniche nel complesso rimangono al di sotto del 1,5%; per Vitale siamo tra l’8% e il 9%. Ancora più in alto, tra il 10% e il 15% troviamo la Baucis et Traso, la De Paulino et Polla, la De more medicorum e  il Babio; tra il 5% e  il 10% abbiamo la De tribus puellis, il Rapularius, la Lidia, la De uxore cerdonis e l’Alda, oltre alle due commedie di Vitale. Frequenze più basse (tra il 3,85% della PGB e il 4,62% del Pamphilus) ma comunque alte se messe a  confronto con quella di Ovidio, incontriamo nel Pamphilus, nella PGB e nell’Asinarius. Il Miles e Matteo di Vendôme invece si avvicinano ad Ovidio anche da questo punto di vista: il ricorso alle clausole non canoniche rimane occasionale in entrambi: 2 su 183 versi nel primo (1,09%), altrettante (su 128 versi, per l’1,56%) nel secondo. 6.  Prendiamo ora in esame le incisioni del terzo piede (Tab. 4). Come già accennato, l’esametro di Ovidio, l’elegiaco come lo sti51  Sulle differenze da questo punto di vista rispetto alle altre opere di Matteo, vd. qui sopra, n. 48. 52  Non mi è possibile qui una analisi differenziata delle diverse tipologie di clausola non canonica.

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IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

Tab. 4. Incisioni del terzo piede SQ

Babio

238

TT

O

4

TOT.

0

242

Babio

% SQ

% TT

98,35

1,65

%O

0,00

TOT.

100,00

Ovid. Ibis

315

6

0

321

Ovid. Ibis

98,13

1,87

0,00

100,00

Ux. cerd.

213

5

0

218

Ux. cerd.

97,71

2,29

0,00

100,00

Pamph.

381

9

0

390

Pamph.

97,69

2,31

0,00

100,00

Asin.

197

4

1

202

Asin.

97,52

1,98

0,50

100,00

More med.

167

6

0

173

More med.

96,53

3,47

0,00

100,00

Rapul.

212

8

1

221

Rapul.

95,93

3,62

0,45

100,00

PGB

PGB

95,19

4,81

0,00

100,00

Ovid. TOT. eleg.

93,38

6,57

0,05

100,00

99

5

0

104

10177

716

5

10898

Baucis

151

10

1

162

Baucis

93,21

6,17

0,62

100,00

Trib. puell.

136

8

3

147

Trib. puell.

92,52

5,44

2,04

100,00

Ovid. TOT. eleg.

Alda

259

20

4

283

Alda

91,52

7,07

1,41

100,00

Lidia

254

25

0

279

Lidia

91,04

8,96

0,00

100,00

Ovid. Met. II

789

80

0

869

Ovid. Met. II

90,79

9,21

0,00

100,00

10586

1280

7

11873

494

67

9

570

Ovid. Met. Paul. Pol.

Ovid. Met.

89,16 10,78

0,06

100,00

Paul. Pol.

86,67 11,75

1,58

100,00

Aulul.

343

45

8

396

Aulul.

86,62 11,36

2,02

100,00

Ovid. Met. XV

756

116

1

873

Ovid. Met. XV

86,60 13,29

0,11

100,00

Ovid. Ars II

319

51

0

370

Ovid. Ars II

86,22 13,78

0,00

100,00

Miles

157

26

0

183

Miles

85,79 14,21

0,00

100,00

Geta

226

36

3

265

Geta

85,28 13,58

1,13

100,00

Milo TOT. Comm. eleg.

108

18

2

128

3635

296

32

3963

Milo

84,38 14,06

1,56

100,00

TOT. Comm. eleg.

91,72

0,81

100,00

7,47

SQ: semiquinaria   TT: incisione del terzo trocheo   O: assenza di incisione

chico, si caratterizza per l’esclusione quasi completa degli esametri privi di una incisione nel terzo piede: me ne risultano 5 casi nell’insieme delle opere elegiache e  7 in tutte le Metamorfosi. Virgilio si distingue in direzione opposta: l’Eneide ne presenta 373 casi su 9834 esametri, per il 3,79%, uno dei valori più alti per l’esa­metro classico.53 Un punto da sottolineare: Ovidio non è isolato nella quasi completa esclusione degli esametri non incisi   Meno tolleranti le Bucoliche, con 12 ricorrenze su 830 esametri (1,45%); le Georgiche si fermano al 2,83% (62 su 2187). Orazio a sua volta ammette un ponte nel terzo piede nel 3% circa dei suoi esametri. Una frequenza più alta di quella dell’Eneide nell’esametro classico si incontra solo in Cicerone e  Lucre­zio; Giovenale (come Silio Italico) si colloca praticamente allo stesso livello del­l’Eneide. 53

133

L. CECCARELLI

nel terzo piede: per esempio Marziale tra gli autori classici si limita a 8 casi su 3304 esametri; nel tardoantico Venanzio nei distici si mantiene al di sotto dell’1% (27 ricorrenze su 3606): gli esametri elegiaci di Claudiano, Draconzio, Aviano e Lussorio non ne presentano esempi. L’uso di Ovidio è caratterizzato anche dalla tendenza, crescente nel tempo, a  ridurre le incisioni del terzo trocheo. Come è noto, la frequenza di questa incisione è uno dei tratti che caratterizzano l’esametro latino nei confronti del greco; mentre in quest’ultimo è, con poche eccezioni, l’incisione preferita, nell’esametro latino la semiquinaria è assolutamente prevalente.54 Nell’Ovidio delle Metamorfosi la frequenza dell’incisione del terzo trocheo si colloca su livelli normali per l’esametro stichico latino. Per l’esametro del distico la questione è più complessa. All’inizio della sua carriera elegiaca Ovidio ammette l’incisione del terzo trocheo con una frequenza non lontana da quella che si riscontra nelle Metamorfosi; in seguito sviluppa una tendenza a  limitarla fortemente, scendendo a  valori molto bassi anche dal punto di vista latino. L’Ovidio più tardo dunque tende a  costruire l’esametro con una incisione fissa alla semiquinaria, senza, ripeto, che questa tendenza diventi una regola. L’opera di Ovidio viene quindi ad essere caratterizzata da un’escur­sione molto forte: la frequenza dell’incisione del terzo trocheo passa dal 13,78% di Ars III (51 su 370) all’1,87% del­ l’Ibis (6 su 321). È chiaro come in questa situazione non si possa identificare un uso ovidiano; dobbiamo limitarci a  notare che anche la commedia elegiaca è caratterizzata da una forte oscillazione: dal 14,21% del Miles (26 su 183) e  dal 14,06% del Milo (18 su 128) all’1,65% del Babio (4 su 242). Per quanto riguarda invece gli esametri privi di incisioni nel terzo piede, la valutazione deve affrontare, una volta di più, i problemi posti da un fenomeno raro in testi di dimensioni limitate. Si può comunque notare da una parte che esametri di questo tipo 54  Una frequenza relativamente alta di incisioni del terzo trocheo si incontra in Tibullo e  poi in Lucano e  nei Flavi (la frequenza più alta, quella dell’Achil­ leide di Stazio si ferma comunque al 25% circa, molto lontano dai valori dell’esa­ metro greco). Nel tardoantico abbiamo il caso particolare di Aratore (che supera il 40%) e, in minor misura, dei Romulea di Draconzio (35% circa) e di Sedulio (30% circa).

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IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

non mi risultano nel Babio, nella Lidia, nella PGB, nella De more medicorum, nel Pamphilus, nella De uxore cerdonis e nel Miles,55 dall’altra che nessuna delle commedie tende ad aumentarne il numero in misura anomala; le due commedie più tolleranti si fermano al 2%, con 8 ricorrenze su 396 esametri per l’Aulularia, 3 su 147 per la De tribus puellis; la De Paulino et Polla e l’Alda, si fermano un poco al di sotto, tra il’1% e il 2%. La relativa tolleranza di Vitale di Blois è confermata dal Geta, con 3 ricorrenze su 265 esametri. Q uanto al Milo ne presenta due esempi (su 128 esametri): neanche qui è possibile determinare se si tratti del­l’ac­ cettazione occasionale di un tratto non gradito o di un segno di maggiore tolleranza nei confronti del ponte nel terzo piede.56 7.  Il discorso che riguarda le incisioni del quarto piede (Tab. 5) può essere interessante da più di un punto di vista (nella tabella sono stati aggiunti i  libri di Ovidio che nelle opere elegiache e nelle Metamorfosi presentano la più alta e la più bassa frequenza di incisioni semisettenarie). Il trattamento latino di queste incisioni 57 non limita la libertà del poeta, che può scegliere tra tutte le soluzioni possibili: l’incisione semisettenaria, la dieresi, sia dopo spondeo, sia dopo dattilo, l’incisione del quarto trocheo, il ponte; la prossimità con la pratica di un autore precedente potrebbe essere quindi conseguenza solo di una ripresa, deliberata o, diciamo così, istintiva. L’uso di Ovidio si distingue, rispetto a quello di Virgilio e Stazio, per la riduzione del peso dell’incisione semisettenaria, diminuzione più forte nelle Metamorfosi che nell’esametro elegiaco.58 Nell’esametro stichico di Ovidio la semisettenaria si ferma al 65% (7680 ricorrenze su 11872 esametri, per il 64,69%) contro il 70% dell’elegiaco (7733 su 10897, per il 70,96%). Ancora, l’esametro elegiaco ovidiano presenta un ampio ambito di escur55  Il Miles si distingue, come abbiamo visto, per la frequenza relativamente molto alta dell’incisione del terzo trocheo. 56  Tra le altre opere di Matteo il Tobias presenta una frequenza piuttosto alta di versi privi di incisione nel terzo piede (superiore al 6%). 57  Per l’uso greco, decisamente meno libero del latino, in particolare nell’esa­ metro postomerico, vd. il quadro presentato da Martinelli 1995, 66-67, 69, 74. 58   Il ruolo di questa incisione è ancora minore, rispetto all’Ovidio delle Me­ tamorfosi, in Orazio e Giovenale, oltre che in Lucrezio e, soprattutto, in Catullo.

135

136

125

641

96

209

7680

254

103

135

491

160

169

333

74

222

110

116

51

85

Babio

Miles

Ovid. Met. XIII

Trib. puell.

Ovid. Ibis

Ovid. TOT. Met.

Aulul.

Baucis

Ux. cerd.

Ovid. Met. IV

Geta

Alda

Paul. Pol.

Milo

Pamph.

Asin.

Rapul.

PGB

More med.

14

25

421

19

15

31

19

58

16

45

32

32

90

18

13

50

1223

33

22

86

7

30

931

D

46

31

729

60

25

36

37

73

27

146

39

33

128

51

24

52

1775

50

18

136

38

24

1416

S

7

16

268

6

5

25

23

30

5

23

24

36

59

6

15

27

807

24

9

60

13

14

636

T

2

6

135

3

8

13

13

7

6

23

19

4

33

8

6

13

387

5

2

33

0

8

181

O

3962

173

104

221

202

390

128

570

283

265

801

218

161

396

11872

321

147

956

183

242

10897

279

339

TOT.

TOT. Comm. eleg.

More med.

PGB

Rapul.

Asin.

Pamph.

Milo

Paul. Pol.

Alda

Geta

Ovid. Met. IV

Ux. cerd.

Baucis

Aulul.

Ovid. TOT. Met.

Ovid. Ibis

Trib. puell.

Ovid. Met. XIII

Miles

Babio

Ovid. TOT. eleg.

Lidia

Ovid. Trist. IV

60,80

49,13

49,04

52,49

54,46

56,92

57,81

58,42

59,72

60,38

61,30

61,93

63,98

64,14

64,69

65,11

65,31

67,05

68,31

68,60

70,96

75,27

76,99

%X

X: semisettenaria   D : dieresi dattilica   S: dieresi spondaica   T: incisione del quarto trocheo   O: assenza di incisioni

2409

166

Ovid. TOT. eleg.

TOT. Comm. eleg.

210

7733

Lidia

261

X

Ovid. Trist. IV

Tab. 5. Incisioni del q uarto piede

10,63

10,98

14,42

14,03

9,41

14,87

12,50

7,89

11,31

12,08

11,24

8,26

8,07

12,63

10,30

10,28

14,97

9,00

3,83

12,40

8,54

5,02

7,37

%D

18,40

34,68

24,04

16,29

18,32

18,72

21,09

25,61

13,78

12,45

15,98

23,39

14,91

13,13

14,95

15,58

12,24

14,23

20,77

9,92

12,99

16,49

9,14

%S

6,76

3,47

4,81

11,31

11,39

7,69

3,91

4,04

8,48

13,58

7,37

2,75

9,32

6,82

6,80

7,48

6,12

6,28

7,10

5,79

5,84

2,51

4,72

%T

3,41

1,73

7,69

5,88

6,44

1,79

4,69

4,04

6,71

1,51

4,12

3,67

3,73

3,28

3,26

1,56

1,36

3,45

0,00

3,31

1,66

0,72

1,77

%O

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

TOT.

L. CECCARELLI

IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

sione: andiamo dal 76,99% di Trist. IV (261 su 339) al 65,11% del­l’Ibis (209 su 321). Ora, per quanto sia ampio lo spazio coperto dal­l’Ovidio elegiaco, la maggior parte delle commedie elegiache ne resta al di fuori; solo la Lidia (210 ricorrenze su 279 esametri, per il 75,27%), il Babio (166 su 242, per il 68,60%), il Miles (125 su 183, per il 68,31%), la De tribus puellis (96 su 147, per il 65,31%) vi rientrano. È un gruppo certamente non numeroso; e ancora, il Babio e la De tribus puellis si staccano da Ovidio per il maggior peso riservato alla dieresi bucolica dattilica rispetto alla spondaica.59 Il Miles si allontana anch’esso da Ovidio nel trattamento della bucolica, ma in senso opposto, privilegiando la spondaica in misura decisamente più forte di quanto faccia Ovidio.60 La situazione non cambia molto se si prende come base l’esametro delle Metamorfosi: qui il margine di oscillazione è più ridotto: andiamo dal 67,05% (641 ricorrenze su 956 esametri) del XIII libro al 61,30% del IV (491 su 801).61 Ora, in questo ambito troviamo solo, oltre alla De tribus puellis, l’Aulularia di Vitale di Blois (il Geta sta immediatamente al di sotto del limite minimo ovidiano di oscillazione), la Baucis et Traso e la De uxore cerdonis. Di nuovo interessante il caso di Vitale di Blois: nel complesso qui il suo trattamento appare vicino a quello delle Metamorfosi; vale la pena di notare che il Geta si distingue per la presenza molto forte della incisione del quarto trocheo.62 Possiamo aggiungere che il   In queste commedie il rapporto tra bucolica dattilica e bucolica spondaica non si differenzia comunque in maniera significativa da quello atteso in base alla ripartizione tra rea­lizzazioni dattiliche e  rea­lizzazioni spondaiche della quarta sede. Ovidio privilegia la dieresi spondaica sia in termini di frequenza assoluta, sia in rapporto alle rea­lizzazioni spondaiche della quarta sede. 60  In termini assoluti il rapporto tra bucoliche spondaiche e  dattiliche nel Miles è di 5,4 a 1, in Ovidio, sia elegiaco sia dattilico, intorno a 1,5 a 1). La preferenza del Miles per la bucolica spondaica è molto forte anche se il rapporto viene calcolato sulla base delle rea­lizzazioni dattiliche e spondaiche della quarta sede: da questo punto di vista ci aspetteremmo 25 (25,08) bucoliche spondaiche contro 20 (19,92) dattiliche; il rapporto effettivo è 38 a 7: lo scarto è tale da non richiedere commenti. 61  Gli ambiti di oscillazione dell’Ovidio elegiaco e  dello stichico si sovrappongono parzialmente, ma lo spazio in comune è ridotto (tra il 67.05% del XIII delle Metamorfosi e il 65.11% dell’Ibis). 62   Abbiamo 36 ricorrenze per 265 esametri (13,58%); una frequenza così alta è senza riscontri nella poesia latina classica e tardoantica. Tra le commedie 59

137

L. CECCARELLI

gruppo di commedie che rimane al di sotto del limite minimo di Ovidio è folto, comprendendo, oltre al Geta, l’Alda, la De Paulino et Polla, il Milo, il Rapularius, il Pamphilus, l’Asinarius, la PGB e la De  more medicorum (con un’escursione tra il 60,38% del Geta e il 49,13% della De more medicorum).63 8.  Dal punto di vista della scelta tra rea­lizzazioni dattiliche e rea­ lizzazioni spondaiche nelle singole sedi sia l’esametro sia il pen­ tametro di Ovidio si caratterizzano con chiarezza. L’esametro di Ovidio si distingue per più di un aspetto da quello degli altri autori latini classici. In primo luogo è fortemente dattilico, almeno dal punto di vista latino; in età classica, la frequenza totale delle rea­lizzazioni dattiliche ovidiane nell’esametro stichico è superata solo da Calpurnio Siculo e dalla Laus Pisonis e  tra i  tardoantichi da Venanzio Fortunato e  Aratore, avvicinata da Valerio Flacco e poi dall’Orestis tragoedia di Draconzio. Nell’esametro elegiaco Ovidio è superato da questo punto di vista solo, di nuovo, da Venanzio Fortunato. In particolare, Ovidio si distingue per l’incremento delle rea­ lizzazioni dattiliche in prima sede e  per una distribuzione delle rea­lizzazioni dattiliche che prevede una quarta sede più dattilica della terza (e in alcuni libri anche della seconda). La prevalenza delle rea­lizzazioni dattiliche sulle spondaiche è quasi generale in prima sede dopo l’esametro arcaico, anche se di regola in misura decisamente minore che in Ovidio; per l’esa­ metro stichico solo Valerio Flacco lo supera e l’Orestis tragoedia gli si avvicina; per l’elegiaco Ovidio rimane senza confronti. Per quanto riguarda la distribuzione dei dattili nel corpo del­ l’esametro latino, la disposizione normale è quella in cui i dattili decrescono dalla prima alla quarta sede; in Stazio e Valerio Flacco i  dattili risalgono in terza sede rispetto alla seconda per scendere di nuovo in quarta. La disposizione tipica di Ovidio non ha molta fortuna: tra gli elegiaci è ripresa (oltre che dalla Consolatio ad Liviam) da Marziale e, tra i  tardoantichi, da Ausonio, Rutielegiache l’Asinarius e il Rapularius superano a loro volta il 10% (23 su 202, per l’11,39%, per l’Asinarius; 25 su 221, per l’11,31%, per il Rapularius). 63  Una analisi delle preferenze delle singole commedie darebbe probabilmente risultati interessanti.

138

IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

lio Namaziano e Venanzio Fortunato. Nell’esametro stichico la fortuna di questa proposta ovidiana è ancora minore: abbiamo il caso di Petronio per l’esametro classico, Avieno e, una volta di più, Venanzio Fortunato per il tardoantico. Possiamo sottolineare subito che la rivalutazione della quarta sede sulla terza che, come abbiamo appena notato, ha scarsa fortuna in epoca classica e tardoantica, incontra invece successo nella commedia elegiaca (Tab. 6; la tabella è ordinata secondo il valore decrescente del rapporto tra le rea­lizzazioni dattiliche in quarta e terza sede): la troviamo in Vitale di Blois (con maggiore forza nel Geta che nell’Aulularia: fatto pari a 1 il valore della terza sede, per la quarta abbiamo rispettivamente 1,19 e  1,04),64 nel Pam­ philus (1,29), nella De tribus puellis (1,22), nella PGB (1,20), nella Baucis et Traso (1,18), nell’Asinarius (1,17), nel Rapularius (1,11); 65 in misura inferiore al valore medio delle Metamorfosi,66 ma comunque con un rapporto superiore all’unità 67 troviamo la De uxore cerdonis (1,06) e l’Alda (1,03); nel Miles quarta e terza sede sono in parità (81 contro 80). Come si vede, la maggioranza delle commedie elegiache condivide la rivalutazione della quarta sede tipica di Ovidio; fanno ecezione il Babio (0,93), la De more medicorum, la Lidia, il Milo (concentrate queste nello spazio tra 0,85 e 0,82) e, soprattutto, la De Paulino et Polla (0,65). Ora, per quanto riguarda le rea­lizzazioni dattiliche totali, il margine di oscillazione di Ovidio (tenendo conto sia delle opere elegiache sia delle Metamorfosi) si estende dal 56,88% delle Heroi­ des singole (2710 su 4764) al 51,13% di Pont. IV (947 su 1852). Sul Babio, che supera largamente il limite massimo di Ovidio, torneremo tra poco. Tra le altre commedie che riprendono la preferenza ovidiana della quarta sede sulla terza, la Baucis et Traso 64  Nel Geta le rea­lizzazioni dattiliche della quarta sede sono decisamente superiori (140 contro 118), anche a quelle della seconda sede). 65 Q ui può essere interessante notare che in questo il Rapularius II differisce decisamente dalla prima versione: le rea­lizzazioni dattiliche vi si dispongono in scala discendente dalla prima alla quarta. 66  1,09; il valore medio dell’Ovidio elegiaco è 1,21. 67   Il valore minimo per Ovidio è rappresentato da 1,02, in Met. V (278 dattili in quarta, 272 in terza), per l’esametro stichico; per l’esametro elegiaco, i primi due libri dell’Ars presentano in terza sede una frequenza di rea­lizzazioni dattiliche leggermente superiore alla quarta.

139

166

9677

144

297

198

146

202

114

207

77

374

2848

Ux. cerd.

Aulul.

Alda

Miles

Babio

More med.

Lidia

Milo

Paul. Pol.

TOT. Comm. eleg.

132

Asin.

Ovid. Met.

94

Baucis

Rapul.

225

Geta

9241

Ovid. eleg.

69

109

Trib. puell.

PGB

294

Pamph.

I

140

2096

274

73

150

79

173

109

136

233

116

6127

99

111

79

119

49

5158

77

219

II

1631

243

55

120

62

132

80

120

166

71

4840

88

69

56

118

35

4149

59

157

III

317

873

TOT.

147

390

Versi

451

393

295

602

195

221

201

160

265

104

1632

158

45

100

53

123

81

123

172

75

8207

1049

250

577

308

630

416

577

868

406

3960

570

128

279

173

242

183

283

396

218

5253 25897 11863

98

81

66

140

42

5008 23556 10888

72

203

IV

1,00

0,65

0,82

0,83

0,85

0,93

1,01

1,03

1,04

1,06

1,09

1,11

1,17

1,18

1,19

1,20

1,21

1,22

1,29

IV/III

TOT. Comm. eleg.

Paul. Pol.

Milo

Lidia

More med.

Babio

Miles

Alda

Aulul.

Ux. cerd.

Ovid. Met.

Rapul.

Asin.

Baucis

Geta

PGB

Ovid. eleg.

Trib. puell.

Pamph.

Tab. 6. Distribuzione dei dattili nell’esametro

71,92

65,61

60,16

74,19

65,90

83,47

79,78

69,96

75,00

66,06

81,57

75,11

65,67

58,75

84,91

66,35

84,87

74,15

75,38

%I

52,93

48,07

57,03

53,76

45,66

71,49

59,56

48,06

58,84

53,21

51,65

44,80

55,22

49,38

44,91

47,12

47,37

52,38

56,15

% II

41,19

42,63

42,97

43,01

35,84

54,55

43,72

42,40

41,92

32,57

40,80

39,82

34,33

35,00

44,53

33,65

38,11

40,14

40,26

% III

41,21

27,72

35,16

35,84

30,64

50,83

44,26

43,46

43,43

34,40

44,28

44,34

40,30

41,25

52,83

40,38

46,00

48,98

52,05

% IV

51,81

46,01

48,83

51,70

44,51

65,08

56,83

50,97

54,80

46,56

54,58

51,02

48,88

46,09

56,79

46,88

54,09

53,91

55,96

% TOT.

L. CECCARELLI

202 83,47

146 79,78

560 78,43

313 76,53

294 75,38

166 75,11

297 75,00

207 74,19

109 74,15

198 69,96

69 66,35

144 66,06

114 65,90

132 65,67

374 65,61

77 60,16

94 58,75

Miles

Ovid. Met. VI

Ovid. Am. III

Pamph.

Rapul.

Aulul.

Lidia

Trib. puell.

Alda

PGB

Ux. cerd.

More med.

Asin.

Paul. Pol.

Milo

Baucis

713 84,68

Ovid. Met. XIV

9677 81,57

9241 84,87

Ovid. eleg. TOT.

Ovid. Met. TOT.

225 84,91

Babio

332 90,96

Geta

%

Ovid. Fast. V

I

141

Geta

Ovid. Fast. V

Rapul.

More med.

PGB

Ovid. eleg. TOT.

Alda

Paul. Pol.

Ovid. Met. I

Baucis

Ovid. Met. TOT.

Trib. puell.

Ux. cerd.

Ovid. Am. III

Lidia

Ovid. Met. II

Asin.

Pamph.

119 44,91

163 44,66

99 44,80

79 45,66

49 47,12

5158 47,37

136 48,06

274 48,07

374 48,26

79 49,38

6127 51,65

77 52,38

116 53,21

218 53,30

150 53,76

386 54,38

111 55,22

219 56,15

73 57,03

233 58,84

Aulul.

Milo

109 59,56

173 71,49

%

Miles

Babio

II

Ovid. Pont. IV

Ux. cerd.

PGB

Asin.

Baucis

More med.

Ovid. Met. II

Ovid. eleg. TOT.

Rapul.

Trib. puell.

Pamph.

Ovid. Met. TOT.

Aulul.

Alda

Paul. Pol.

Milo

Lidia

Miles

Geta

Ovid. Met. X

Ovid. Ars II

Babio

%

147 31,75

71 32,57

35 33,65

69 34,33

56 35,00

62 35,84

323 37,21

4149 38,11

88 39,82

59 40,14

157 40,26

4840 40,80

166 41,92

120 42,40

243 42,63

55 42,97

120 43,01

80 43,72

118 44,53

327 44,73

174 47,03

132 54,55

III

Paul. Pol.

More med.

Ux. cerd.

Milo

Lidia

Asin.

PGB

Ovid. Met. II

Baucis

Ovid. Pont. IV

Aulul.

Alda

Miles

Ovid. Met. TOT.

Rapul.

Ovid. eleg. TOT.

Ovid. Met. IX

Trib. puell.

Babio

Pamph.

Geta

Ovid. Her. I-XV

158 27,72

53 30,64

75 34,40

45 35,16

100 35,84

81 40,30

42 40,38

353 40,67

66 41,25

193 41,68

172 43,43

123 43,46

81 44,26

5253 44,28

98 44,34

5008 46,00

387 46,87

72 48,98

123 50,83

203 52,05

140 52,83

638 53,57

IV

More med.

Paul. Pol.

Baucis

Ux. cerd.

PGB

Milo

Asin.

Alda

Rapul.

Ovid. Pont. IV

Lidia

Ovid. Met. II

Trib. puell.

Ovid. eleg. TOT.

Ovid. Met. TOT.

Aulul.

Pamph.

Ovid. Met. X

Geta

Miles

Ovid. Her. I-XV

Babio

%

308 44,51

1049 46,01

295 46,09

406 46,56

195 46,88

250 48,83

393 48,88

577 50,97

451 51,02

947 51,13

577 51,70

1841 53,02

317 53,91

23556 54,09

25897 54,58

868 54,80

873 55,96

1655 56,60

602 56,79

416 56,83

2710 56,88

630 65,08

TOT.

IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

L. CECCARELLI

(46,09%), la PGB (46,88%), la De uxore cerdonis (46,56%), l’Asi­ narius (48,88%) si pongono senz’altro al di fuori dello spazio ovidiano per difetto; l’Alda (50,97%) e il Rapularius (51,02%) si collocano praticamente all’altezza del limite minimo di Ovidio. Se prendiamo adesso in considerazione la prima sede, nello spazio coperto da Ovidio (che va dal 90,96% di Fast. V (332 dattili su 365 esametri), al 76,53% di Am. III (313 su 409) troviamo solo ancora Vitale di Blois (con il Geta, ma non con l’Aulularia) e il Miles, ai quali si aggiunge il Babio. Il Babio è la commedia che incrementa con più decisione le rea­lizzazioni dattiliche. La  frequenza totale (65,08%) non trova riscontro nell’esametro classico e tardoantico; vale anche la pena di notare l’altissima frequenza delle rea­lizzazioni dattiliche in seconda sede (superiore al 70%).68 Il suo modo di costruire l’esa­ metro dipenderà quindi dallo sforzo di aumentare al massimo i dattili piuttosto che dall’intenzione di riprendere le forme ovidiane. Nelle analisi presentate in questo paragrafo non abbiamo incontrato tra le commedie vicine all’uso ovidiano Matteo di Vendôme. Il  suo esametro non appare appunto in questo caso particolarmente influenzato da Ovidio: la frequenza delle rea­ lizzazioni dattiliche è relativamente bassa, fermandosi al di sotto del 50%, valore inferiore al valore minimo di Ovidio, dal quale Matteo rimane lontano anche per il valore delle rea­lizzazioni dattiliche in prima e  in quarta sede; 69 ancora, egli adotta, come abbiamo visto, la disposizione a  scalare dei dattili che caratterizza in generale l’esa­metro latino in contrapposizione a  quello ovidiano. In conclusione, solo per il Miles e per Vitale di Blois sembra di poter riconoscere una vicinanza complessiva con Ovidio per 68  Il carattere particolare del Babio si riflette nella forte presenza dello schema olodattilico: abbiamo 39 ricorrenze su 242 esametri, per il 16,12%, (compreso il v. 411, dove non accolgo la poco felice congettura hinc eamus, di Dessì Folgheri 1980; cfr. Leotta 1980, 320, Braun 1981, 656) senza riscontri nell’esametro latino classico e  tardoantico, appena al di sotto di DDDS (43 ricorrenze per il 17,77%; di nuovo senza esempi, dal punto di vista sia della frequenza, sia della collocazione in prima posizione) e DDSD (42 ricorrenze). 69 Il Milo ha in prima sede 77 dattili su 128 versi per il 60,16%, in quarta 45 per il 35,16%, in entrambi i  casi chiaramente al di sotto dei valori minimi di Ovidio.

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IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

quanto riguarda il rapporto tra rea­lizzazioni dattiliche e  spon­ daiche nelle varie sedi. 9.  Il  quadro offerto dal pentametro appare anche più sfavorevole. Il pentametro di Ovidio è caratterizzato da uno squilibrio tra un primo piede fortemente dattilico e  un secondo piede in cui i  dattili decrescono decisamente; 70 nell’insieme dell’opera elegiaca di Ovidio il rapporto è pari a 2,04 (8508 contro 4167). Se si prescinde da Tibullo, il rapporto nei classici va da 1,95 in Properzio a  1,53 in Marziale; tra i  tardoantichi il rapporto più alto si riscontra in Prudenzio, con l’1,82; in Rutilio Namaziano scende sotto la parità (0,97). Massimiano e Venanzio Fortunato si fermano non molto più in alto: rispettivamente a 1,20 e 1,17. Ora, come vedremo meglio tra poco, nessuna tra le commedie elegiache si avvicina qui ad Ovidio (Tab. 7). Il primo elemento che caratterizza il pentametro ovidiano è la forte dattilicità del primo piede: nell’insieme i dattili arrivano quasi all’80%,71 con una punta massima dell’82,66% in Ars  II (305 dattili su 369 pentametri) e minima del 70,84% in Pont. III (260 su 367). Nel secondo piede, in evidente contrasto, le rea­ lizzazioni dattiliche si fermano al di sotto del 40%,72 con un massimo che non supera il 46,21% di Ars I (177 su 383) e un minimo pari al 30,54% in Fast. VI (124 su 406). Ora, è chiaro come la commedia elegiaca qui resti indifferente di fronte al modello ovidiano. In prima sede le commedie che rientrano nell’ambito di escursione di Ovidio si limitano al Miles, una volta di più, e poi al Geta di Vitale di Blois e alla Lidia; il Pamphilus, il Babio e l’Aulu­laria si trovano in prossimità del limite minimo ovidiano.73 Tutte queste commedie presentano d’altra parte in seconda sede una frequenza di rea­lizzazioni dattiliche nettamente superiore a 70  Q ui Ovidio riprende, attenuandolo, un tratto tipico dello stile metrico tibulliano. 71  8508 su 10891 pentametri, per il 78,12%. 72  Per la precisione, nel complesso dell’opera di Ovidio mi risultano in seconda sede 4167 rea­lizzazioni dattiliche su 10891 pentametri, per il 38,26%. 73   In ogni caso, ancora una volta si nota una sensibile differenza tra l’Aulu­ laria e il Geta; il Geta raggiunge quasi l’80% di rea­lizzazioni dattiliche, l’Aulu­ laria rimane al di sotto del 70%.

143

260

275

170

270

357

91

74

125

114

Ovid. Pont. III

Pamph.

Babio

Aulul.

Paul. Pol.

Trib. puell.

144

Milo

Ux. cerd.

Asin.

104

3964

151

83

49

2530

Alda

Baucis

PGB

162

283

221

Rapul.

173

96

119

More med.

202

218

128

149

570

396

242

390

367

278

198

Lidia

265

211

8508 10891

183

Ovid. TOT.

147

Miles

369

Versi

Geta

305

Ovid. Ars II

I

63,82

47,12

51,23

53,36

53,85

55,49

56,44

57,34

57,81

61,07

62,63

68,18

70,25

70,51

70,84

71,22

78,12

79,62

80,33

82,66

%

TOT. Comm. eleg.

Ovid. Fast. VI

Ux. cerd.

Ovid. TOT.

Rapul.

Asin.

PGB

Ovid. Ars I

Paul. Pol.

Baucis

Alda

Milo

More med.

Lidia

Aulul.

Geta

221

202

104

383

570

162

283

128

173

278

396

265

183

149

390

242

Versi

2066

124

82

3964

406

218

4167 10891

90

89

48

177

266

79

141

67

92

148

217

146

88 103

Miles

240

170

Trib. puell.

Pamph.

Babio

II

52,12

30,54

37,61

38,26

40,72

44,06

46,15

46,21

46,67

48,77

49,82

52,34

53,18

53,24

54,80

55,09

56,28

59,06

61,54

70,25

%

TOT. Comm. eleg.

PGB

Rapul.

Ux. cerd.

Baucis

Asin.

Alda

Ovid. Pont. III

More med.

Paul. Pol.

Milo

Ovid. TOT.

Trib. puell.

Aulul.

Lidia

Ovid. Ars I

Pamph.

Geta

Miles

Babio

Tab. 7. Distribuzione dei dattili nel pentametro

298

792

556

764

780

530

366

484

SEDI

4596

97

209

207

162

203

292

389

188

623

141

7928

208

442

436

324

404

566

734

346

1140

256

12675 21782

179

487

346

490

515

357

250

340

TOT.

57,97

46,63

47,29

47,48

50,00

50,25

51,59

53,00

54,34

54,65

55,08

58,19

60,07

61,49

62,23

64,14

66,03

67,36

68,31

70,25

%

TOT. Comm. eleg.

Babio

PGB

Trib. puell.

More med.

Baucis

Alda

Milo

Pamph.

Aulul.

Asin.

Rapul.

Lidia

Paul. Pol.

Miles

Geta

Ux. cerd.

Ovid. Trist. I

Ovid. TOT.

Ovid. Fast. VI

1,22

1,00

1,02

1,03

1,04

1,05

1,07

1,10

1,15

1,24

1,28

1,32

1,34

1,34

1,43

1,45

1,52

1,70

2,04

2,60

I/II

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IL DISTICO DELLA COMMEDIA ELEGIACA LATINA. L’EREDITÀ DI OVIDIO

quella di Ovidio: la Lidia, la meno dattilica in seconda sede di questo gruppo, supera senza problemi il 50%, con il 53,24% (dato da 148 dattili su 278 pentametri), chiaramente al di sopra del limite massimo di Ovidio di Ars I (46,21%, come abbiamo appena visto). In altri termini, l’alta frequenza dei dattili nel primo piede non dipende da una ripresa del trattamento di Ovidio, ma dalla ricerca di un pentametro più decisamente dattilico. Il margine inferiore ovidiano in seconda sede è, ripetiamo, rappresentato dal 30,54% di Fast. VI. Nell’ambito di oscillazione ovidiano troviamo solo la De uxore cerdonis con il 37,61% (82 su 218), il Rapularius con il 40,72% (90 su 221), l’Asinarius con il 44,06% (89 su 202), la PGB, con il 46,15% (48 su 104); la De Paulino et Polla (266 su 570, per il 46,67) si colloca appena al di sopra del limite superiore ovidiano (il 46,21% di Ars I). Come si vede, siamo distanti dal limite minimo di Ovidio e solo la De uxore cerdonis rimane al di sotto, di stretta misura, del valore medio di Ovidio (38,26%, con 4167 dattili su 10891). Nel primo piede le commedie di questo gruppo sono molto lontane da Ovidio: quella con la frequenza dattilica più alta, la De Pau­ lino et Polla si ferma al 62,63% (357 dattili su 570), distante da Pont. III (che, come abbiamo appena visto, rappresenta il limite minimo di Ovidio, con il 70.84%). Vale quindi, a termini invertiti, il discorso già fatto: la prossimità con Ovidio è in questo caso dovuta a  una tendenza a  ridurre, almeno relativamente, il peso dei dattili nel verso. In altri termini: le non molte commedie che si avvicinano ad Ovidio in una delle due sedi se ne staccano nell’altra. Nei singoli libri di Ovidio il rapporto tra i dattili nelle prime due sedi oscilla tra il 2,60 di Fast. VI e l’1,70 di Trist. I; il valore più alto nelle commedie medievali è quello della De uxore cerdonis, che si ferma a  1,52; una buona parte (Milo, Baucis et Traso, Alda, De tribus puellis, De more medicorum, PGB e Babio) presenta un valore pari a 1,10 o inferiore. 10.  Neanche per il pentametro mi sarà possibile presentare un’a­ na­lisi dettagliata del trattamento degli schemi. Dovrò limitarmi ad osservare che in Ovidio abbiamo una chiara prevalenza di DS, che da solo copre la metà dei pentametri, seguito da DD, con poco più di un quarto delle ricorrenze; i pentametri che restano si dividono in maniera quasi paritaria tra SD e SS (Tab. 8). 145

146

99

Lidia

52

158

115

1253

More med.

Pamph.

Babio

TOT. Comm. eleg.

114

40

Baucis

Geta

35

Milo

46

23

PGB

140

70

Alda

Aulul.

68

Miles

Trib. puell.

48

153

Paul. Pol.

49

Asin.

43

Ux. cerd.

3021

Rapul.

Ovid. TOT.

DD

1277

55

117

44

97

130

45

99

43

39

26

81

79

204

66

76

76

5487

DS

813

55

82

40

32

77

42

49

39

32

25

71

35

113

41

33

47

1146

SD

621

17

33

37

22

49

16

31

40

22

30

61

1

100

47

60

55

1237

SS

3964

242

390

173

265

396

149

278

162

128

104

283

183

570

202

218

221

10891  

TOT.

TOT. Comm. eleg.

Babio

Pamph.

More med.

Geta

Aulul.

Trib. puell.

Lidia

Baucis

Milo

PGB

Alda

Miles

Paul. Pol.

Asin.

Ux. cerd.

Rapul.

Ovid. TOT.

Tab. 8. Schemi del pentametro

31,61

47,52

40,51

30,06

43,02

35,35

30,87

35,61

24,69

27,34

22,12

24,73

37,16

26,84

23,76

22,48

19,46

27,74

% DD

32,21

22,73

30,00

25,43

36,60

32,83

30,20

35,61

26,54

30,47

25,00

28,62

43,17

35,79

32,67

34,86

34,39

50,38

% DS

20,51

22,73

21,03

23,12

12,08

19,44

28,19

17,63

24,07

25,00

24,04

25,09

19,13

19,82

20,30

15,14

21,27

10,52

% SD

15,67

7,02

8,46

21,39

8,30

12,37

10,74

11,15

24,69

17,19

28,85

21,55

0,55

17,54

23,27

27,52

24,89

11,36

% SS

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

100,00

TOT.

1,02

0,48

0,74

0,85

0,85

0,93

0,98

1,00

1,08

1,11

1,13

1,16

1,16

1,33

1,38

1,55

1,77

1,82

DS/DD

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Q uesta distribuzione trova poco riscontro, come del resto fa­ cil­mente prevedibile, date le differenze tra il trattamento delle due sedi evidenziate nel paragrafo precedente; 74 la commedia che sembra avvicinarsi di più è il Miles, che tuttavia da una parte presenta un rapporto molto più equilibrato tra DS e  DD,75 dal­l’al­tra si stacca da Ovidio (e da tutte le altre commedie) anche per l’idio­ sincratica antipatia verso lo schema SS, che è presente solo una volta.76 L’ordine di preferenza DS/DD si incontra ancora nella De Pau­lino et Polla e nel Milo; 77 anch’esse si staccano da Ovidio sia per la frequenza di DS sia per il rapporto tra i due schemi più frequenti.78 Possiamo aggiungere che lo schema DD nel pentametro classico e tardoantico è il più frequente solo in Venanzio Fortunato e, di stretta misura, in Draconzio. Tra le nostre commedie è lo schema chiaramente più frequente nel Babio (nel quale quasi metà dei pentametri lo presenta); è preferito agli altri anche da Vitale di Blois (nel Geta più decisamente che nell’Aulularia), dal Pamphilus, dalla De more medicorum; nella Lidia e nella De tribus puellis si colloca allo stesso livello di DS. 11.  Un ultimo punto che vorrei prendere in esame è quello rappresentato dalla collocazione di parole giambiche in chiusura del primo emistichio (Tab. 9).79 Ovidio tende ad evitare questa collo74  In questa sede non mi è naturalmente possibile presentare una analisi statistica del rapporto tra le rea­lizzazioni osservate del pentametro e  le rea­ lizzazioni attese in base alla distribuzione dei dattili e degli spondei nelle due sedi. Dal punto di vista della nostra indagine, il punto importante è comunque la differenza, chiaramente percepibile, tra l’uso ovidiano e quello delle commedie elegiache. 75  79  DS (43,17%) contro 68  DD (37,16%), con un rapporto di 1,16 a  1; in Ovidio abbiamo 5487 DS (50,38%) contro 3021 DD (27,24%) con un rapporto di 1,82 a 1. 76   Per quanto riguarda l’esametro, il Miles non presenta esempi di SSSS, come non ne presenta di SSDD e SSSD. 77 Nell’Asinarius DS e  SS si trovano praticamente sullo stesso piano; nella Baucis et Traso le differenze tra i quattro schemi sono minime. 78  La frequenza di DS è pari al 35,79% (204 su 570) per la De Paulino et Polla, al 30,47% (39 su 128) per il Milo, con una frequenza in entrambi i casi decisamente inferiore a  quella di Ovidio. Il  rapporto tra DS e  DD è rispettivamente 1,33 e 1,11. 79   Vietata nell’esametro e nel pentametro ellenistico dalla cosiddetta seconda norma di Meyer (Meyer 1884, 980-983; vd. Martinelli 1985, 70).

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Tab. 9. Clausola giambica nel primo emistichio del pentametro | ˘ ˉ ||

Pamph.

Versi

| ˘ ˉ ||

%

132

390

33,85

Pamph.

Trib. puell.

42

149

28,19

Babio

56

242

23,14

Geta

54

265

Miles

35

Milo

23

2

˘˘

%

132

240

55,00

Trib. puell.

42

88

47,73

Ux. cerd.

38

82

46,34

20,38

Geta

54

146

36,99

183

19,13

Milo

23

67

34,33

128

17,97

Miles

35

103

33,98

Ux. cerd.

38

218

17,43

Babio

56

170

32,94

More med.

26

173

15,03

Alda

42

141

29,79

Alda

42

283

14,84

More med.

26

92

28,26

Baucis

21

162

12,96

Asin.

24

89

26,97

Aulul.

48

396

12,12

Baucis

21

79

26,58

Asin.

24

202

11,88

PGB

12

48

25,00

PGB

12

104

11,54

Fast. I

33

144

22,92

Lidia

32

278

11,51

Rapul.

20

90

22,22

Paul. Pol.

59

570

10,35

Paul. Pol.

59

266

22,18

Fast. I

33

362

9,12

Aulul.

48

217

22,12

Rapul.

20

221

9,05

Lidia

32

148

21,62

450 10891

450

4167

10,80

9

132

6,82

664

2066

32,14

Ovid. TOT. Pont. I TOT. Comm. eleg.

4,13

Ovid. TOT.

9

379

2,37

Pont. I

664

3964

16,75

TOT. Comm. eleg.

cazione, senza arrivare ad escluderla completamente; 80 chi intendesse scrivere pentametri nello stile di Ovidio dovrebbe prima di tutto notare questa particolarità. Dobbiamo anche tenere presente che ovviamente una clausola di questo tipo presuppone una seconda sede del pentametro dattilica. Ora, abbiamo visto che nelle commedie elegiache la seconda sede è quasi sempre più dattilica che in Ovidio; non si può escludere dunque che una frequenza più alta possa essere dovuta a (o anche semplicemente   Anche qui Ovidio riprende, attenuandola, una particolarità dello stile di Tibullo, che appunto solo molto raramente chiude il primo emistichio del pentametro con una parola giambica. Un punto che può essere interessante notare riguarda le forti differenze che si riscontrano nel distico tardoantico: Aviano e Orienzio seguono Ovidio, mentre in Draconzio quasi un terzo e in Venanzio un quinto dei pentametri presenta una parola giambica in questa posizione (vd. Ceccarelli 2018, 196-197). 80

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influenzata da) una maggiore frequenza di rea­lizzazioni dattiliche della seconda sede. In ogni caso, un’alta frequenza esclude naturalmente la conoscenza della norma o l’intenzione di rispettarla; non permette però di decidere, senza un esame specifico, se siamo in presenza di una semplice conseguenza dell’alto numero di dattili in seconda sede o  di ragioni stilistiche. Un altro punto che può complicare l’analisi è l’oscillazione piuttosto forte nell’uso di Ovidio. Se consideriamo la frequenza totale, il valore massimo è dato dal 9,12% di Fast. I 81 (33 su 362), il più basso è il 2,37% di Pont. I (9 su 379); il valore ovidiano medio si ferma al 4,13%; tutto sommato, penso che si possa concludere che la rarità delle parole giambiche in chiusura del primo emistichio potesse essere notata da un lettore attento. L’oscillazione è forte anche se calcoliamo la frequenza sulla base delle sole rea­lizzazioni dattiliche, che si estende dal 6,82% di Pont. I (9 su 132) al 22,92% di Fast. I (33 su 144). Ora, nessuna commedia elegiaca sembra mostrarsi interessata ad evitare le parole giambiche in questa posizione. Se consideriamo i valori assoluti, il Rapularius, la più restrittiva (con 20 ricorrenze su 221 pentametri, per il 9,05%) si mantiene al livello del limite massimo di Ovidio (9,12% come abbiamo visto); tutte le altre commedie sono al di sopra di questo limite. Se consideriamo la frequenza sulle rea­lizzazioni dattiliche, vale lo stesso discorso: le commedie più restrittive (il Rapularius, la De Pau­ lino et Polla, l’Aulularia di Vitale di Blois 82 e  la Lidia) si concentrano tra il 21,62% della Lidia e  il 22,22% del Rapularius ma rimangono tutte comunque vicine al limite massimo di Ovidio (22,92%) e molto al di sopra del valore medio di quest’ultimo (10,80). Non si può parlare quindi in generale di una ripresa di Ovidio per questo tratto; ma si può comunque osservare che tra le commedie elegiache appaiono differenze molto forti di frequenza.83 81   La media dei Fasti è molto più bassa: abbiamo 99 ricorrenze su 2482 pentametri, per il 3,99%. 82 Il Geta si colloca molto più in alto. 83  Così il Pamphilus chiude il primo emistichio dei suoi pentametri con una parola giambica una volta su tre e  più di una volta su due se la seconda sede è dattilica; per il Rapularius la frequenza è di una volta su dieci nel totale e meno di una volta su quattro sul totale dei dattili.

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Q ui mi devo limitare a segnalare questo aspetto; in un’altra occasione potrebbe valere la pena di indagare più nei particolari le ragioni di questa differenza. 12.  Tentiamo adesso un bilancio sulla base dei risultati fin qui emersi. Un primo punto che mi sembra risulti con chiarezza dalle analisi presentate è che l’influenza dello stile metrico di Ovidio ha dei limiti precisi. L’aspetto che appare incontrare minor successo è il rapporto tra rea­lizzazioni dattiliche e spondaiche: per quanto riguarda il pentametro, nessuna delle commedie prese in esame mostra l’intenzione di costruirlo in maniera ovidiana. Le  cose vanno meglio per quanto riguarda l’esametro; tuttavia anche qui un trattamento che riprenda entrambi gli elementi più caratteristici dell’esametro ovidiano (la forte dattilicità del verso e in particolare della prima sede, il particolare rapporto tra terza e quarta sede) si può riscontrare solo nel Miles e  in Vitale di Blois. Il tratto ovidiano più fortunato è senz’altro l’esclusione delle clausole non bisillabiche nel pentametro: l’unica commedia che si mostra sicuramente non interessata a limitare, se non a eliminare, queste clausole è il Pamphilus. D’altra parte, come abbiamo avuto occasione di notare, non ha molta fortuna la tendenza ovidiana ad escludere quasi completamente le clausole trisillabiche. Ancora, un tratto ovidiano che risulta senz’altro meno evidente, la limitazione delle parole giambiche in chiusura del primo emi­ stichio, trova evidentemente poco riscontro. Il trattamento della clausola dell’esametro è in generale uno degli aspetti per i quali le commedie elegiache si staccano maggiormente nel complesso da Ovidio: quasi tutte le commedie mantengono la possibilità, del tutto estranea all’uso ovidiano, di avere una fine di parola (monosillabica o polisillabica) nel quinto longum; le eccezioni si limitano al Miles, al Milo di Matteo di Vendôme e, forse, a Vitale di Blois e alla PGB. Ancora, di nuovo solo il Miles e il Milo mostrano interesse verso una limitazione delle clausole non canoniche in misura paragonabile a quella ovidiana. Per quanto riguarda poi il trattamento delle incisioni dell’esa­ metro, per il terzo piede la discussione presentata sopra credo abbia mostrato la difficoltà di trarre conclusioni certe rispetto a una ripresa dell’uso ovidiano; per il quarto piede il rapporto tra 150

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semisettenaria, bucolica spondaica e dattilica, incisione del quarto trocheo che caratterizza l’esametro di Ovidio può essere avvicinato di nuovo, solo, dalla Lidia, da Vitale di Blois, dal Miles (ma quest’ultimo con la riserva di un peculiare trattamento della dieresi) e, forse, dalla De uxore cerdonis. Consideriamo adesso velocemente un poco più da vicino le commedie che, secondo le analisi condotte sopra, nel complesso si mostrano più vicine ad Ovidio: l’Aulularia e il Geta di Vitale di Blois, il Milo di Matteo di Vendôme e  il Miles. Il  Miles è sicuramente molto attento al trattamento della clausola del pentametro e la sua costruzione dell’esametro appare non lontana da quella di Ovidio, come del resto non se ne stacca molto il trattamento delle incisioni e della clausola. Credo degna di nota anche l’esclusione delle sillabe aperte con vocale breve dall’ultimo elemento del pentametro (e dell’esametro). D’altra parte mantiene alcuni tratti medievali, come il rifiuto della sinalefe, si mostra libero nella costruzione del pentametro, non dimostra nessun interesse per la clausola del primo emistichio del pentametro. In conclusione, il Miles sembra certamente tenere presente il distico ovidiano, ma senza privarsi di non trascurabili margini di libertà. Anche Vitale di Blois costruisce liberamente il suo pentametro; d’altra parte ammette con relativa larghezza la sinalefe; rispetta la limitazione delle clausole del pentametro; concorda con il Miles nell’esclusione o nella limitazione delle sillabe brevi aperte dall’ultimo elemento del pentametro (ma a differenza del Miles non sembra interessato ad estendere questa limitazione all’esa­ metro); limita anche l’incisione dopo il quinto longum, anche se non con la rigidità del Miles (ma non si mostra interessato a limitare le altre clausole non canoniche) e il suo esametro è vicino a quello di Ovidio sia per il rapporto tra dattili e spondei sia nel trattamento delle incisioni. Il caso di Matteo di Vendôme è particolarmente interessante per il suo ruolo di teorico, che sembra riflettersi nel suo trattamento del distico: Matteo sembra infatti riprendere da Ovidio alcuni tratti che possono essere tradotti in una norma esplicita, seguendolo fedelmente nella costruzione della clausola del pentametro, non solo per la limitazione delle clausole alle bisillabiche, ma anche per l’esclusione delle sillabe brevi aperte dall’ultimo elemento; lo stesso si può dire per le clausole non canoniche del­ 151

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l’esa­metro. Per quanto riguarda altri tratti, Matteo si allontana da Ovidio, in particolare per quanto riguarda il rapporto tra dattili e spondei, nell’esametro come nel pentametro. Ancora, l’esclusione pressoché totale della sinalefe stacca il suo uso da quello ovidiano. In altri termini, Matteo di Vendôme sembra certamente interessato a  rispettare le norme, diciamo così, esterne che regolano il verso di Ovidio (naturalmente quando le riconosce: non è questo il caso della limitazione della presenza delle parole giambiche in chiusura del primo emistichio); il Miles e Vitale di Blois sembrano avvertire l’influenza di Ovidio anche nella costruzione ritmica dell’esametro (ma non del pentametro). In conclusione, alla luce delle analisi fin qui condotte da una parte l’influenza di Ovidio è senz’altro percepibile, ma con precise limitazioni e non in tutte le commedie prese in esame; dal­ l’altra, i risultati lasciano pensare che potrebbe valere la pena di dedicare una indagine più approfondita alla tecnica metrica delle commedie elegiache.

Bibliografia Arcaz Pozo 2005 = J. L. Arcaz Pozo, La poesía latina en el contexto amoroso de la comedia elegíaca medieval: Catulo y Ovidio en el De tribus puellis, CFC (L) 25, 2005, 101-110. Bertini 1976  = F.  Bertini (a cura di), Vitale di Blois, Aulularia, in Commedie latine del XII e  XIII secolo, I  (pubbl. Ist.Fil.Cl.Med. Univ. Genova, 48), Sassari 1976, 16-137. Bertini 1980 = F. Bertini (a cura di), Vitale di Blois, Geta, in Com­ medie latine del XII e XIII secolo, III (pubbl. Ist.Fil.Cl.Med. Univ. Genova, 68), Genova 1980, 139-242. Bertini 1998a  = F.  Bertini (a cura di), Guglielmo di Blois, Alda, in Commedie latine del XII e XIII secolo, VI (pubbl. D.AR.FI.CL.ET Univ. Genova, 176), Genova 1998, 11-109. Bertini 1998b = F. Bertini (a cura di), Iacopo da Benevento, De uxore cerdonis, in Commedie latine del XII e XIII secolo, VI (pubbl. D.AR. FI.CL.ET Univ. Genova, 176), Genova 1998, 429-526. Bisanti 2019 = A. Bisanti, Fonti, suggestioni e intersezioni classiche, tar­ doantiche e medievali nell’Alda di Guglielmo di Blois, BStudLat 49, 2019, 61-139. Blumenthal 1976  = W.  Blumenthal, Untersuchungen zur Komödie “Pamphilus”. MLatJb 11, 1976, 224-311. 152

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Bretzigheimer 2011 = G. Bretzigheimer, Das Pseudo-Ovidianum “De tribus puellis”. Imitation und Innovation eines tenerorum lusor amorum. MLJ 46, 2011, 372-396. Braun 1981 = L. Braun, rec. a Commedie latine del XII e XII secolo, 2; [Antonii Cornazani] Fraudiphila, Gnomon 53, 1981, 654-660. Ceccarelli 2008 = L. Ceccarelli, Contributi per la storia dell’esametro latino, Roma 2008. Ceccarelli 2012 = L. Ceccarelli, L’evoluzione del distico elegiaco fra Ca­ tullo e Ovidio, in R. Cristofoli – C. Santini – F. Santucci (a cura di), Properzio fra tradizione e innovazione. Atti del convegno internazionale (Assisi-Spello, 21-23 maggio 2010), Assisi 2012, 47-97. Ceccarelli 2014 = L. Ceccarelli, La rea­lizzazione dell’ultimo elemento dell’esametro latino, Vichiana 51, 2014, 27-65. Ceccarelli 2018  = L.  Ceccarelli, Contributions to the History of   the Latin Elegiac Distich, Turnhout 2018. D’Angelo 1993 = E. D’Angelo, The Outer Metric in Joseph of  Exeter’s Ylias and Odo of   Magdeburg’s Ernestus, The Journal of   Medieval Latin 1993, 113-134. D’Angelo 2007/8  = E.  D’Angelo, Guglielmo di Blois: una messa a punto bio-bibliografica, Annali Università degli Studi Suor Orsola Benincasa 2007/8, 95-106. Dessì Fulgheri 1980 = A. Dessì Fulgheri, Babio, in Commedie latine del XII e XIII secolo, II (pubbl. Ist.Fil.Cl.Med. Univ. Genova, 61), Sassari 1980, 129-301. Donnini 1995 = M. Donnini, Versificazione: le tecniche, in Lo spazio letterario del Medioevo. 1. Il Medioevo latino. Vol. III. La ricezione del testo, Roma 1995, 251-270 (= Donini 2013, 649-669). Donnini 2013 = M. Donnini, Humanae ac divinae litterae. Scritti di cultura medievale e umanistica, Spoleto 2013. Gatti 1986 = P. Gatti (a cura di), Rapularius, in Commedie latine del XII e XIII secolo, V (pubbl. Ist.Fil.Cl.Med. Univ. Genova, 95), Genova 1986, 11-79. Gatti 1998a = P. Gatti (a cura di), Rapularius II, in Commedie latine del XII e  XIII secolo, VI (pubbl. D.AR.FI.CL.ET. Univ. Genova 176), Genova 1998, 219-378. Gatti 1998b  = P.  Gatti (a cura di), De more medicorum in Comme­ die latine del XII e XIII secolo, VI (pubbl. D.AR.FI.CL.ET. Univ. Genova 176), Genova 1998, 379-427. Goullet 1998 = Métamorphose d’Ovide: la représentation du sentiment amoureux dans la “comédie élégiaque” du XII e siècle, REL 76, 1998, 241-269. 153

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Gualandri – Orlandi 1990  = I.  Gualandri – G.  Orlandi, Contributi sulla commedia elegiaca Lidia. Q uestioni letterarie e testuali. Scritti in onore di A. Grilli, Paideia 45, 1990, 199-238. Gualandri – Orlandi 1998 = I. Gualandri – G. Orlandi, ‹Arnolfo di Orléans›, Lidia, in Commedie latine del XII e XIII secolo, VI (pubbl. D.AR.FI.CL.ET. Univ. Genova 176), Genova 1998, 111-318. Klopsch 1967 = P. Klopsch, Pseudo-Ovidius de Vetula. Untersuchungen und Text, Leiden – Köln 1967. Klopsch 1972 = P. Klopsch, Einführung in die mittellateinische Vers­ lehre, Darmstadt 1972. Klopsch 1980 = P.  Klopsch, Einführung in die Dichtungslehren des lateinischen Mittelalters, Darmstadt 1980. Leonhardt 1988 = J. Leonhardt, Die Aphärese bei est in der Geschichte der lateinische Metrik, Glotta 66, 1988, 244-252. Leonhardt 1996 = J. Leonhardt, Classical metrics in medieval and Re­ naissance poetry: some practical considerations, C&M 47, 1996, 305323. Leotta 1978 = R. Leotta, Rec. a Commedie latine del XII e XIII secolo, I, GIF 30, 1978, 342-352. Leotta 1980 = R. Leotta, nota in Enzo Cecchini, Sul teatro latino me­ dievale, RIF 32, 1980, 318-320. Leotta 1992  = R.  Leotta, Materiali per un’analisi metrica delle com­ medie elegiache, Maia 44, 1992, 92-113. Leotta 1996 = R. Leotta, Sull’uso delle parole pirrichie nelle commedie elegiache, in C. Santini – L. Zurli, Ars narrandi. Scritti di narrativa antica in memoria di Luigi Pepe, Napoli 1996, 185-192. Martinelli 1995 = M. C. Martinelli, Gli strumenti del poeta. Elementi di metrica greca, Bologna 1995. Meyer 1884  = W.  Meyer, Zur Geschichte des griechischen und des lateinischen Hexameters, SBAW 1884, 979-1089. Munari 1955 = F. Munari, Marci Valeri Bucolica, Firenze (19702). Munari 1982 = F. Mathei Vindocinensis opera ed. F. M, II. Piramus et Tisbe – Milo – Epistule – Tobias, Roma 1982. Orlandi 1980 = G. Orlandi, Baucis et Traso, in Commedie latine del XII e  XIII secolo, III (pubbl. Ist.Fil.Cl.Med.  Univ. Genova, 68), Genova 1980, 243-303. Orlandi, 1985 = G. Orlandi, Metrica’ medievale’ e metrica ‘antichiz­ zante’ nella commedia elegiaca: la tecnica versificatoria del Miles gloriosus e della Lidia, in R. Cardini – E. Garin – L. Cesarini Mar154

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tinelli – G. Pascucci (edd.), Tradizione classica e letteratura uma­ nistica. Per Alessandro Perosa, Roma 1985, 1-16 (= Orlandi 2008, 331-344). Orlandi 1988  = G.  Orlandi, Caratteri della versificazione dattilica, in C.  Leonardi – E.  Menestò (edd.), Retorica e  poetica tra i  se­ coli XII e XIV, Perugia-Firenze 1988, 151-169 (= Orlandi 2008, 345-359). Orlandi 2002 = G. Orlandi, The Hexameter in the “Aetas Horatiana”, in M. W. Herren – C. J. McDonough – R. G. Arthur (edd.), Latin Culture in the Eleventh Century. Proceedings of   the Third International Conference on Medieval Latin Studies (Cambridge, September 9-12, 1998), Turnhout 2002, II, 240-257 (= Orlandi 2008, 373-389). Orlandi 2008 = Scritti di filologia mediolatina, raccolti da P. Chiesa, A. M. Fagnoni, R. E. Guglielmetti, G. P. Maggioni, Firenze 2008. Pareto 1983 = S. Pareto, ‹Arnolfo di Orléans›, Miles Gloriosus, in Com­ medie latine del XII e XIII secolo, IV (pubbl. Ist.Fil.Cl.Med. Univ. Genova, 79), Genova 1983, 10-93. Pittaluga 1976a  = S.  Pittaluga, De tribus puellis, in Commedie latine del XII e XIII secolo, I (pubbl. Ist.Fil.Cl.Med. Univ. Genova, 61), Sassari 1976, 279-333. Pittaluga 1976b  = S.  Pittaluga, Le De tribus puellis, “comédie Ovi­ dienne”, VL 62, 1976, 2-14. Pittaluga 1980  = S.  Pittaluga (a cura di), Pamphilus, in Commedie latine del XII e  XIII secolo, III (pubbl. Ist.Fil.Cl.Med.  Univ. Genova, 68), Genova 1980, 11-137. Pittaluga 1986 = S. Pittaluga (a cura di), Riccardo da Venosa, De Pau­ lino et Polla, in Commedie latine del XII e XIII secolo, V (pubbl. Ist. Fil.Cl.Med. Univ. Genova, 95), Genova 1986, 81-227. Platnauer 1951  = M.  Platnauer, Latin Elegiac Verse. A  Study of   the Metrical Usages of  Tibullus, Propertius and Ovid, Cambridge 1951. Rizzardi 1983 = S. Rizzardi, Asinarius, in Commedie latine del XII e XIII secolo, IV (pubbl. Ist.Fil.Cl.Med. Univ. Genova, 79), Genova 1983, 137-251. Ruiz Arzalluz 1991 = I. Ruiz Arzalluz, El hexámetro de Petrarca (Q uaderni petrarcheschi 8 - Anejos de “Veleia”, series minor, 4), FirenzeVitoria 1991. Savi 1976  = A.  Savi, Pamphilus, Gliscerium et Birria, in Commedie latine del XII e  XIII secolo, I (pubbl. Ist.Fil.Cl.Med.  Univ. Genova, 48), Sassari 1976, 197-277. 155

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Schmidt 1975 = W. Schmidt, Untersuchungen zum “Geta” des Vitalis Blesensis, Ratingen-Kastellaun-Düsseldorf 1975. Vollmer 1917 = F. Vollmer, Zur Geschichte des lateinischen Hexameters. Kurze Endsilbe in arsi, SBAW 1917, 3. Anhandlung.

Riassunto L’articolo prende in esame dal punto di vista della tecnica metrica il distico della commedia elegiaca latina, confrontandolo con quello di Ovidio. L’indagine mostra che l’influenza di Ovidio è sotto questo aspetto limitata, anche nei testi che risultano meno lontani sotto questo profilo dal modello ovidiano.

Abstract The article examines the distich of   Latin elegiac comedy from the perspective of   metric technique, comparing this last with Ovid’s. The enquiry demonstrates that Ovid’s influence is, under this regard, limited, also in texts that from this standpoint result less distant from the Ovidian model.

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MOVING THROUGH THE METAMORPHOSES

THE LINGUISTIC ENCODING OF  MOTION IN OVID AND HIS TRANSLATORS

1. Introduction Ovid’s Metamorphoses provides an invaluable and, in many respects, indispensable resource for the study of  the motion encoding in the passage from Latin to the Romance languages. As we attempt to demonstrate here, the great importance of  Ovid’s contribution with his poem is the product both of   aspects that are inherent to the work itself and of   its huge popularity over the centuries. The Metamorphoses provides a  rich reserve of   motion events that vary widely in terms of  both morphosyntactic expression and the complexity of   the notions used in their conceptualization. Not only this, but – with an eye to a diachronic perspective on motion encoding – the existence of   so many translations of   the poem from different periods in the history of  the Italian language effectively provides a reference corpus that the linguist can only rarely hope to find. Building on Leonard Talmy’s influential work, which has enjoyed much popularity over the last decades, two crosslinguis*  I wish to thank Luisa Brucale, Claudio Iacobini, Anna M. Thornton and James Stuart for helpful and insightful comments on a previous version of   this contribution. In this paper, interlinear glosses and English translations are provided for examples drawn from languages other than English, Italian and Latin. When discussing the encoding of   motion events in one of   these languages, the example is always accompanied by a description of   the phenomena that it serves to illustrate,  since a  simple English translation might not suitably illustrate the specific encoding under discussion. A list of  abbreviations used in the glosses and examples is provided before the bibliography. After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127595 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 157-187

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tic lexical types have been proposed that are defined specifically by the way in which motion events are encoded: satellite-framing, which would apply to Latin, and verb-framing, which would apply to Italian and the other Romance languages. However, from our perspective, the only route to observing how exactly Classical Latin might fit within a typological classification, and confirming the existence of   a change in type in the passage to Italian, is through an in-depth examination of  the various components of   motion and how they are expressed linguistically. It is essential that such an analysis take into account the interaction between the grammatical and lexical components and resources provided by the system and employed in actual usage, and the way that the notion of   Path – so pivotal in the expression of  motion – is conceptualized. Only in this way is it possible to grasp and discuss the dynamics at work in the various factors of   variation or typological change. However, the approach outlined above, in which each language is placed in one of  two macrocategories, presents a  number of   limits and points of   weakness which we can investigate and even attempt to overcome through a detailed analysis of  the languages in question. Below, in section 2, we outline and discuss the typology proposed by Talmy. In  section 3, we attempt to demonstrate how, with the right methods, the limits and weaknesses of   this model can be overcome, and describe the compilation of   a diachronic, target-variant corpus using translations and vulgarizations 1 of  the Metamorphoses. Last of   all, in section 4, we outline the principal strategies of   motion encoding in Classical Latin and offer a few preliminary considerations on the passage to Italian, comparing data from the five different time periods that provide the basis for our corpus.

  As pointed out by Van Peteghem 2020, there are several terms that can be used to refer to Medieval translations of   Classical texts, such as vulgarization, vernacularization and the more generic term version. Given the specific meaning that vernacularization has increasingly taken on in the sociolinguistics literature, I have opted here for vulgarization. Cf., among others, Coupland 2014. 1

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2. The Encoding of  Motion Events: Cognitive Factors and Crosslinguistic Expression Over the last twenty years, the linguistic encoding of   motion and spatial relationships has attracted a  great deal of   attention. As Caroline Imbert explains so adroitly, in the challenging search for a tertium comparationis that might enable the comparison of  widely variable linguistic systems, space – a core aspect of human cognition – seems to be the conceptual domain that best lends itself to crosslinguistic analysis on a  large scale, especially on questions of   cognitive semantics or lexical typology. Indeed, not only are human beings equipped to perceive spatial relationships through their senses, they themselves are constantly in motion through space, and the study of   how languages express motion events has given rise, over the years, to a rich and far-ranging research tradition.2 The undisputed founding father of  research into the linguistic encoding of   motion events is Leonard Talmy. Over almost fifty years, he has laid the terminological and conceptual foundations on which the majority of  work in this area rests. In his best-known and most cited publication, Towards a cognitive semantics, Talmy identifies the principal semantic components implicated in the conceptualization of  motion events.3 According to Talmy, the salient semantic components of   a motion event, at least one that involves a change of  location, are the Figure that is moving, the Path it takes, the Manner in which it moves and the Ground in relation to which the motion takes place. With this last term, Ground, Talmy indicates the reference-point function of   three spatial entities, the Path’s Source, its Goal, and a given point intermediate to these two Grounds, the Median. The image in Fig. 1 is intended as a visual representation of  the semantic components in a motion event. Of these, the most important concept – in both cognitive and linguistic terms – is Path, which describes the spatial relationships between the various entities involved. Path is a  minimum requirement in any instance of   relocation; in contrast to notions   Cf. Imbert 2012, 236.   Talmy 2000.

2 3

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Fig. 1. Principal semantic components of  a motion event.

as Manner and Ground, which may be under-specified, omitted or entirely absent, if an event is to be considered a “motion event” there must be some expression of  Path. Following Talmy’s classifications,4 languages can be classified specifically in regard to which syntactic “locus” the Path is expressed in. Indeed, as Table 1 illustrates, the resulting crosslinguistic classification proposed by Talmy rests on the study of   the two principal syntactic components, the verb root and the satellite, and the most diagnostic semantic component for the purposes of  typological categorization, the Path. Table 1. Proposed typology of  motion events in Talmy 2000, 117.

  Cf., among others, Talmy 1991; 2000.

4

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As is clear from Table 1 (above, 160), Talmy identifies two macroclasses of  language: – Verb-framed languages (hereafter VF), which are languages that lexicalize the Path within the main verb, as we find in the Romance languages (which show lexical pairs of   directional opposites such as Italian’s salire/scendere, andare/venire and entrare/uscire), the Semitic languages, modern Greek, Turkish, Japanese, Tamil (a Dravidian language), the majority of  Bantu languages, Nez Percé/Nimipuutímt (a Sahaptian language spoken in the western United States) and Caddo (language of   the Caddo people spoken primarily in North Dakota and Oklahoma); – Satellite-framed languages (hereafter SF), languages in which the Path is lexicalized in elements – called satellites – that are associated with the main verb, while the verb root encodes the manner in which the motion takes place. The Indo-European languages – apart from the Romance branch – fall into this class, thus, in addition to Latin and Greek, the German and Slavic languages; so too do the Finno-Ugric languages, Mandarin Chinese, Atsugewi (a Native American language from California) and Warlpiri (a Pama-Nyungan language spoken in Australia). The notion of  the satellite,5 a cornerstone of  this typology, has been explored widely in a range of   contributions that have attempted to use, redefine and expand on Talmyan crosslinguistic theories of   the lexical encoding of   motion. Talmy himself identifies as a satellite “any constituent other than a  noun-phrase or prepositional-phrase complement that is in a sister relation” to the main verb.6 His definition actually encompasses a  range of   elements from different grammatical categories and even from different levels of   analysis, for instance verb prefixes (in the case of   German, Latin and Russian), adverbs and (from English) verb particles. The label “satellite”, thus holds a category of   forms that is distinguishable according to a certain typological-functional criterion: 5  Although Talmy does not mention it explicitly, the earliest use of   the term satellite in linguistics can be traced to an article by Pittman 1948. 6  Talmy 2000, 102.

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first and foremost, satellites are elements of   languages by which Path is encoded.7 To better demonstrate what we mean by satellite, and how encoding differs between the two linguistic types, I will turn to one of   the classic examples from Talmy’s work on the encoding of   motion events. Over the almost fifty years in which he has worked on this subject, Talmy has adapted his approach in notable ways. However, from his earliest, largely generativist considerations to his most recent, cognitivist work,8 the examples he has used to describe and compare the encoding respectively of  SF and VF languages – English representing the former, Spanish the latter – have not changed. (1) a. eng. The bottle floated out Manner Path

of   the cave

b. sp. La botella salió de la cueva (flotando) Path (Manner)

In this contrastive example we see that, where in English Path is encoded in a satellite to the verb (out), with the verb (to float) encoding the Manner, in Spanish the verb root salir encodes the Path, with the Manner encoded in an adjunct. Indeed, in VF languages, Manner is typically encoded in various forms of   converb or adverbial (prepositional phrases, adverbs modifying the predicate or whole phrase or sentence). Here are two more examples, one from Polish,9 an SF language, the other from Turkish,10 a VF language. (2) pol. chłopiec boy.nom

wy-biegł out-run

z from

morza na plażę sea.gen to beach.acc

‘the young man ran out of  the sea on to the beach’ 7   Imbert et al. 2011 suggests a number of   linguistic parameters according to which an element might be assigned to the satellite category. There are syntactic criteria: satellites are elements that depend, syntactically, on a predicate head, typically a  verb; they do not constitute an argument of   the verb nor can they, themselves, be the head of   a phrase. Then there are semantic criteria: satellites complete the directional meaning of   the verb; removing or replacing a  satellite can change the semantics of   the event entirely. There is also a  lexical criterion: generally speaking, the satellite is an element of  lexical origin “qui a été graduellement grammaticalisé”. 8  Talmy 1972; 1985; 1991; 2000; 2018. 9  I have borrowed this example from Fortis – Vittrant 2011. 10  This example is from the novel Çividen Mürekkebe by Fuat Cenk Onat.

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(3) tur. (ayakları-nın feet-poss

uçları-na basarak) odasın-dan tip-dat walking his.room-abl

çık-tı exit-pst

‘he tiptoed out of  his room (lit. walking on tiptoe, he exited his room)’

Based on this classification, from as early as Talmy 2000, Latin and Italian have been treated as belonging to different language types: Latin, with its plentiful inventory of  prefixes, is considered an SF language; Italian, like the other Romance languages, is classified as a VF language. However, this classification rests essentially on the study of  certain sequences of  verbs, such as the following from Schøsler.11 lat. it. fr. sp. rom. eng. dan.

in-eo, in-gredior entrare entrer entrar a intra to go in gå ind

ex-eo uscire sortir salir a ieşi to go out gå ud

e-scendo salire monter subir a sui to go up gå op

de-scendo scendere descendre bajar a corborî to go down gå ned

Furthermore, in the studies that have taken up the proposed typology, the choice of   examples of   SF encoding tends to rely on exempla ficta, or on examples specifically sought out in the corpora, according to expected patterns.12 In this chapter, we set out to describe all of  the patterns of  morphosyntactic expression of   motion that are found the Metamor­ phoses, and – to measure their variation in the passage to Italian – in five different translations of  the poem (section 3). In doing so, we demonstrate the principal flaws inherent to the typology of  motion events introduced by Talmy and adopted in various studies built around the theoretical framework he proposed. A  number of   contributions have already questioned Talmy’s model over the years. Indeed, a rich vein of   research has emerged that – drawing on the analysis of   an ever-broader base of   language samples and more meaningful databases – seeks to revise and extend the two-way typology he proposes.13 To summarize the main adaptations made to Talmy’s typology in successive attempts to revise it, three parameters have been   Schøsler 2008.   Cf., among others, Acedo-Matellán 2010; Acedo-Matellán – Mateu 2013. 13  Cf., among others, Croft et al. 2010; Verkerk 2014; Ibarretxe-Antuñano 2015. 11 12

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identified that correlate with the assignation of  a language to one type or the other: the complexity of   the Path; the salience of   the Manner; the importance of  boundary crossing. Moreover, a number of   contributions 14 have highlighted the distinctly synchronic character of   studies focusing on the encoding of   motion, and the need to introduce more diachronically oriented ideas in the development of  linguistic classifications, particularly when it comes to research dealing with such genetically interrelated languages as Latin and the Romance languages, or ancient and modern Greek (for which an analogous passage from satellite-framing to verb-framing has been suggested). In this contribution, we demonstrate how languages can only be satisfactorily classified typologically if the relative analysis takes into consideration a  range of   correlated factors, and relies on a diachronic corpus of  reference texts.

3. The Encoding of  Motion in the Metamorphoses and Translations of  it: Towards the Compilation of  a Diachronic Corpus As mentioned in the previous section, in Talmy’s typology – or typologies derived from it – Latin and Italian are typically classified as different types, the SF type and VF type respectively. This allocation has been based on rather cursory, non-systematic surveys of   archaic Latin and somewhat more systematic surveys of   late Latin, interest in which arises particularly from its status as an intermediary stage in the passage from one lexical type to another.15 As far as Italian is concerned, thus far the literature has only referenced modern Italian.

  Cf., among others, Iacobini – Fagard 2011; Iacobini – Corona 2016.   Work in this area has yielded interesting and helpful insights, not least in the case of   various studies that not only approach their subject in non-typological terms, but are also concerned less with the encoding of   motion per se as they are with related phenomena, for instance the progressive attribution of   actional meaning to what were originally spatial prefixes and the consequent reorganization of   the prefix system in late Latin, or the loss of   differentiation between stative and directional meaning in prepositional phrases, a change driven by the loss of  any functional opposition between cases. 14 15

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What I primarily hope to do with this contribution is present both a method of   analysis and a corpus of   texts with which, leveraging the great popularity of  the Metamorphoses over the centuries, it is possible to measure the crosslinguistic variation between Latin and Italian in an effective and meaningful way.16 Starting with work by Slobin, followed by studies by Wälchli and Verkerk among others,17 the practice of   measuring crosslinguistic variation in the encoding of   motion using parallel corpora – which is to say, databases containing translations of   the same text in a vast range of   languages – has become widespread. As Slobin observes: [T]ranslators strive to maintain or enhance the force and vividness of  the source text. Thus the use of  translations provides a particularly stringent test of  each language’s capacities (within the limits, of  course, of  the skills of  individual translators). The translation task gives us a window into the maximum possibilities of   a language, as it strives to adapt to the demands of  a source language (Slobin 2005, 128).

However, to properly examine the strategies of   motion encoding that were employed in the passage from Latin to Italian, the corpus needs to meet a number of   quite particular criteria. First and foremost, it has to be a diachronic corpus, in the sense that it features translations from different chronological phases in the evolution of   Italian. Next, it should also be a target-variant corpus, to use the terminology adopted by Borin,18 which is to say, a corpus made up of   “different translations into the same target language of  the same original text”.

16  A research fellowship dedicated to this very process of    building a  diachronic corpus based on translations of   the Metamorphoses has been set up at the Department of   Human Sciences at the University of   L’Aquila, and forms part of   the much wider project Arti, linguaggi e media: tradurre e transcodificare [literally “Arts, languages and media: translating and transcoding”]. 17   Slobin 2005, for instance, features a comparison of  translations of  a chapter from J. R. R. Tolkein’s The Hobbit in a sizeable set of  languages, while Wälchli 2001 looks at parallel translations of   the Gospel of   Mark in 40 languages; for Verkerk 2014, meanwhile, a  parallel corpus was created using translations in 20 languages of   three texts: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll, and Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist. 18  Borin 2002.

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In regard to the passage from Classical Latin to the various chronological stages in the evolution of   Italian, a  corpus that exhibits these two qualities cannot help but be a  “noisy” one (again, following the terminology set out by Borin), which is to say, a  “collection of   translationally related texts, but with gaps, i.e. there are source or target language segments missing”. Indeed, translation itself is subject to a  variety of   complexities that we would need to problematize, especially when adopting a  diachronic approach to the material: vulgarizations, rifacimenti, translations based on alternative versions of   the original text, belles infidèles and other such phenomena are a particularly common occurrence in translations of   Classical Latin texts and can indeed be representative of  specific synchronic stages. Our first task in this article, from a theoretical and methodological standpoint, is to address these issues and come up with a method of  comparison that accounts for them.19 We have identified five versions of   Ovid’s Metamorphoses (variously vulgarizations from the original, rifacimenti of  existing translations and translations in the true sense of   the word), each of  which corresponds to one of   the five phases of   the development of  the Italian language proposed by Paolo D’Achille with the MIDIA corpus.20 Rather than relying on a century-by-century breakdown, which is a  feature of   many diachronically inclined studies, the proposed phases are bracketed by significant dates in the history of  the Italian language, as outlined in Table 2. Table 3, meanwhile, lists the versions of   the Metamorphoses included in our five-phase diachronic corpus. Naturally, given the way this corpus is structured, when it comes to comparing the encoding of  motion events in these texts, working on the basis of   the individual morphosyntactic patterns via which the various key semantic components of  a motion event are expressed – as is the practice when using parallel synchronic corpora – is not an option. Indeed, we find that the texts in question rely on a great variety of   means and strategies of   expression. There are both verse and prose translations, many of   which are   For an initial, theoretical foray along these lines, see Buoniconto 2019.   Cf. D’Achille – Grossmann 2017.

19 20

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Table 2. Phases in the history of  the Italian Language Phase

Dates

Chronological Reference Points

I

1211-1375

II

1376-1525 / 32 -

Pietro Bembo’s Prose  / 3rd edition of  Orlando furioso

III

1533-1691

-

3rd edition of  the Vocabolario degli Accademici della Crusca

IV

1692-1840

-

2nd edition of  Manzoni’s Pro­ messi sposi (The Betrothed)

V

1842-1947

-

Birth of   the Italian Republic, promulgation of   the Consti­ tution

Earliest vernacular Death of  Boccaccio text -

Table 3. Vulgarizations and translations of  the Metamorphoses from 5 significant phases in the history of  the Italian language Phase

Vulgarisations and translations

I

I primi V libri delle Metamorfosi d’Ovidio volgarizzate da ser Arrigo Simintendi da Prato, vol. I, a cura di C. Basi e C. Guasti, Prato, per Ranieri Guasti, 1846. Cinque altri libri delle Metamorfosi d’Ovidio volgarizzate da ser Arrigo Simintendi da Prato, vol. II, a cura di C. Basi e C. Guasti, Prato, per Ranieri Guasti, 1848. Gli ultimi cinque libri delle Metamorfosi d’Ovidio volgarizzate da ser Arrigo Simintendi da Prato, vol. III a cura di C. Basi e C. Guasti, Prato, per Ranieri Guasti, 1850.

II

Tutti gli libri de Ouidio Metamorphoseos tradutti dal litteral in uerso uulgar con le sue allegorie in prosa da Nicolò de Agostini, In Venetia, per Iacomo da Leco ad instantia de Nicolo Zoppino & Vincentio di Pollo suo compagno, 1522 a giorni sette di magio.

III

Le metamorfosi di Ovidio, da Gio. Andrea dell’Anguillara ridotte in ot­ tava rima. Con l’annotationi di M. Gioseppe Horologgi, et con gli argo­ menti nel principio di ciascun libro, di M. Francesco Turchi, in Venetia; appresso Gio. Antonio Giuliani, 1625.

IV

Le Metamorfosi di P. Ovidio Nasone recate in altrettanti versi italiani da Giuseppe Solari Genovese, Milano, per Giovanni Silvestri, 1828.

V

Le Metamorfosi, P. Ovidio Nasone. Traduzione di Luigi Cunsolo, Frosinone, Cooperativa Tipografica Frusinate, 1931.

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liberally reworked by the translator, who might condense, omit or –  in some cases – even explicate or delve deeper into Ovid’s original text. What is needed, therefore, is to identify, in Ovid’s text, translation units – modules of  narrative, a myth or a scene, for instance – that feature motion events, and observe how these were translated or reformulated by the various translators over the centuries, appreciating – in doing so – the potential of   such reworkings of   an original text to reveal the linguistic practices of   a particular synchronic stage, and understanding the process of  translation itself as an interesting form of  transcoding. To ensure the maximal comparability of  the data, the translation units identified are labelled using MODEG (an acronym for motion decoding grid), a notation system developed by Iacobini et al. specifically for analysing the encoding of   motion in different languages.21 The MODEG system is designed to allow the intercomparison of   data from different languages, and the measurement of  crosslinguistic and intralinguistic variation in parallel corpora. A schematic list of  the labels used in the MODEG annotation process is appended below (in Appendix 1). In the following sections, we first apply this type of  analysis to the comparison of  motion encoding in both Ovid’s Latin text and the Phase I vulgarization, which – as we shall see – offers a precise and rather faithful translation of   the original text. Then, to demonstrate the potential of  this approach, we provide an example analysis of   the transcoding of   motion in the five translations selected to make up our diachronic corpus.

4. Moving through the Metamorphoses: Consistency and Variation in Patterns of  Motion Encoding For anyone familiar with Classical Latin texts, it will be immediately obvious that the identification of   Latin as a SF language is based on a  rather loose assessment of   the linguistic strategies offered by the linguistic system that we find represented in Latin grammars.

  Iacobini et al. 2020.

21

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However, there are, in fact, a great number of   glaring exceptions that run counter to this classification. First, Classical Latin provides numerous and frequent cases of  VF encoding, such as the three below: (4) venit et ad ripas […] Inachidas [Ov., Met. 1,639-640] (5) linquit Iapygiam laevisque Amphrisia remis / saxa fugit [Ov., Met. 15,703-704] (6) iussit […] lapidosos surgere montes [Ov., Met. 1,44]

In the above examples, (4) – (6), the motion events are expressed using constructions in which the main verb lexicalizes the Path in the root. In (4), venio is a Goal-oriented, directional, telic verb; the development of   the venitive sense is actually a romance innovation (cf. Ricca 1993).22 Linquo, in contrast, is a Source-oriented verb. As it is transitive, the Ground is encoded in the simple accusative case of   the direct object (Iapygiam). In  (6), meanwhile, we have the verb surgo. In this case, the opacification of  the directional prefix results in a synthetic – rather than analytical – form that expresses the upper extremity of  upward orientation in space (surgo < surrigo < *sub-rego). Next, if we focus on two of   the three parameters that determine the classification of   a language as one or other of   Talmy’s types, specifically the complexity of  the Path and the salience of  the Manner, we can see that even in motion events that, at first examination, are encoded using SF patterns, Classical Latin anticipates characteristics of  VF languages. 4.1. The Complexity of  Path in Classical Latin As Colette Grinevald has demonstrated,23 the term Path does not denote a  monolithic notion. To use one definition, Path is a 22  Analysing the use of   the verbs ire/venire in the comedies of   Plautus and Terence, Ricca 1993, 117-121 shows that the deictic opposition of  the two terms emerges quite late in their evolution between Archaic Latin and the Romance languages. The functional opposition between the two verbs is not linked to a parameter signalling nearness or distance from the speaker, but rather to their Aktion­ start, and the reaching of   the Goal. Where eo serves as a generic movement verb for non-telic events, venio is wholly perfective. 23  Cf. Grinevald 2011.

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continuous line that extends into space, and can be broken down into three different subcomponents: spatial orientation, deict­ ing anchoring (direction relative to the speaker/observer) and – if we consider a Ground as a spatial entity of  reference that may or may not have boundaries – boundary crossing. Fig. 2, below, reproduces the original schema used by Grinevald to illustrate the notion of  Path.

Fig. 2. Representation of  Path in Grinevald 2011, 57.

As asserted previously in Corona 24 and in Iacobini et al.,25 the term complex Path is employed in the literature on motion events to denote both Paths that can be broken down into different semantic subcomponents and those that lead through more than one Ground. I  suggest that we maintain a  distinction between these two levels of   analysis, which are concerned, respectively, with theoretical conceptualization and linguistic expression. I prefer to use the term strongly conceptualized Path for a  Path that encodes multiple semantic components within the same event, and complex Path for a Path that passes through more than one linguistically expressed Ground. To exemplify this distinction, I  offer the following examples from a  range of   languages that encode motion using these sorts of   pattern: Ancient Greek (notably, the Homeric corpus includes various instances of   multiple preverb construction), Jakaltek Popti’ (a Mayan language that features a complex system of  directional satellites that are used compositionally), English and Russian.26

  Cf. Corona 2020.   Cf. Iacobini et al. 2020. 26   The Greek example is taken from Imbert 2010, the Jakaltek Popti’ example from Grinevald 2006, the English example from Slobin 2005, and the Russian example from Hasko 2010. 24 25

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Strongly Conceptualized Path (7) anc. gr. xíphos arguróe:lon kouleô:i en-kát-épe:x’ [Od. 11,98] sword.acc silver_studded.acc sheath.dat in-down-thrust ‘I thrust my silver-studded sword down into the sheath’ (8) jak. p. sirnih-ay-toj sb’a naj sat threw-down-away refl he in_front ‘He threw himself over the cliff into the gully’

pahaw b’et wichen cliff into gully

Complex Path (9) eng.  he ran out of   the house, across the field, into the forest (10) russ.

iz aereoporta my po-ekhali domoi from airport we pfv-drive home ‘We drove home from the airport’

It has been noted that, where SF languages tend to encode strongly conceptualized and complex Paths, languages in the VF category are more likely to encode what we might define as weakly concep­ tualized and single Paths. Analysis of   this sort makes it possible to observe a number of  interesting characteristics relating to the way Path is encoded in Classical Latin. The most frequent type of   construction is that featuring weakly conceptualized and single Paths. Indeed, when it comes to motion events, in Latin there is what Borillo (1998) defines as a semantic congruence between the preverb and preposition: the direction expressed by the satellite is reinforced in the adnominal locus by a preposition that encodes the same portion of   Path. To illustrate this, examples from Classical Latin authors are set out below. The preposition and preverb can be entirely congruent, as in examples (11) and (12), or there might be at least a semantic form of   congruence in the portion of   Path that they express, as in examples (13) and (14). In (15), the Path is only encoded in the preverb, which governs the case of   the adnominal encoding the Ground; in (16), the satellite locus does not encode spatial values the way the con- of   the verb convenio does; in (17), an initial, spatially expressive function is performed by the prefix re-, although rather than encoding a complex Path, it encodes a  single Path that is oriented toward a reference starting point from which the Figure is understood to have moved at an earlier moment in time.27   Cf. Brucale 2019.

27

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(11) ad nostros adequitare [Caes., Gall. 1,46,1] (12) Catilina […] in confertissumos hostis incurrit [Sall., Catil. 60,7] (13) suos clam ex agris deducere [Caes., Gall. 4,30,3] (14) de finibus suis cum omnibus copiis exirent [Caes., Gall. 1,2,1] (15) proximam domum non invitati adeunt [Tac., Germ. 21] (16) hi postquam in una moenia convenere [Sall., Catil. 6,2] (17) redire in patriam voluit cursu pelagio [Phaedr., Fab. 4,23,7]

4.2. The Salience of  Manner in Classical Latin The second parameter implicated in the classification of   a language as SF is the salience of  Manner. In the wake of   a long and, in crosslinguistic terms, revealing line of  investigation carried forward over the years by Slobin and a  number of   collaborators,28 the categorization of   a language as one or other of   Talmy’s types came to be correlated with the degree of  expression of  Manner. S-languages will have a  larger and more diverse lexicon of  manner verbs, in comparison with V-languages, Cf.  Slobin, 1997, 458. If manner is easily accessible, it will be encoded more frequently and, over time, speakers will tend to elaborate the domain in terms of  semantic specificity […]. Manner is easily accessible in a language when there exists an accessible slot for manner in the language. Cf. Slobin, 2004, 250-252.

We can consider Manner as easily accessible in SF languages insofar as there is a  lexical locus reserved specifically for the expression of  this semantic component. As such, in SF languages, verbs of  Manner will be quantitatively more significant in terms of  both type and token frequency; in VF languages, however, given that Manner is generally expressed in an additional element, or either under-specified or omitted – where it is easily inferable from the context – we can expect to find a more limited inventory of  verbs of  Manner.

  Slobin 1997; 2004; 2006.

28

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MOVING THROUGH THE METAMORPHOSES

In another study,29 Slobin argues convincingly that, for the most part, VF languages feature so-called low manner verbs, which is to say, verbs that describe common, everyday actions such as walking or running. SF languages, however, offer additional lexical resources (verb roots) to articulate more expressive and less commonplace varieties of   Manner.30 With this parameter, we find that, again, Latin does not exhibit the typical qualities of   an SF language; in Latin, verbs of   Manner are infrequent in terms of   both type and token frequency, and are largely low manner verbs. Not only this, in prefixed Latin verbs, the Manner component is weakened or even entirely absent. In the following examples, it is worth noting the behaviour of  gradior, a denominal verb derived from gradus (‘step’) that specifically denotes the act of  walking as compared with other forms of   movement, as the Oxford Latin Dictionary points out, and as underlined in example (18), in which different animals reach their food variously on foot, flying or swimming. In contexts in which the verb is prefixed, however – see examples (19) and (20) – it is clear that this dimension of   Manner has been lost, given that in these cases we are speaking about the movement, respectively, of  mounted soldiers and the launching of  a ship into the sea. (18) alia animalia gradiendo, alia serpendo, alia volando, alia nando ad pastum accedunt [Cic., Nat. deor. 2,122] (19) equitesque in ulteriorem portum progredi […] iussit [Caes., Gall. 4,23,1] (20) tanta atque ita instructa nave hoc mare ingressus [Q uint., Inst. 12, prooem. 4]

In certain contexts, the Manner component is not lost entirely but weakened. In the Gallic Wars, for instance, Caesar constructs motion events using the prefixed verbs advolo, evolo and provolo   Slobin 2006.   Regarding this observation – which is ultimately supported by surveying a generous data set – Slobin 2006 offers an initial, and rather suggestive illustration in the form of   a sign from the San Diego Zoo that reads, “DO NOT TREAD, MOSEY, HOP, TRAMPLE, STEP, PLOT, TIPTOE, TROT, TRAIPSE, MEANDER, CREEP, PRANCE, AMBLE, JOB, TRUDGE, MARCH, STOMP, TODDLE, JUMP, STUMBLE, TROD, SPRING, OR WALK ON THE PLANTS”, commenting, “Why, for example, is the following sign quite normal (albeit amusing) in the San Diego Zoo, whereas it would be inconceivable in Le Parc Zoologique de Paris?” (Slobin 2006, 56-60). 29 30

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where the Figure is not a  host of   winged creatures but soldiers, and referring not to flight but to a military attack. Undoubtedly in these cases the verb has retained traces of  Manner, insofar as it denotes an intentional, rapid movement, but the meaning seems to have shifted away from the true sense of  a high manner verb to one more easily classifiable as low manner. (21) [hostes] ex omnibus partibus ad pabulatores advolaverunt [Caes., Gall. 5,17,2] (22) [hostes] subito ex omnibus partibus silvae evolaverunt [Caes., Gall. 3,28,3] (23) [hostes] omnibus copiis provolaverunt [Caes., Gall. 2,19,6]

4.3. Nihil est in lingua quod prius non fuerit in Ovidio To underline the importance of  discourse in the analysis of  linguistic phenomena, Émile Benveniste 31 reworked Thomas Aquinas’ Peripatetic Axiom,32 asserting that there is nothing in language that was not first to be found in discourse (Nihil est in lingua quod prius non fuerit in oratione). In similar fashion, when it comes to motion encoding, we might well maintain that there is nothing – among the possibilities afforded by a given linguistic system – that does not occur, at some point, in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. It is for this reason that, in the Introduction section, we described the Metamorphoses as an indispensable resource for the study of   motion encoding in Latin. Ovid also exhibits a notable predilection for encoding motion in weakly conceptualized and single Paths. This notwithstanding, however, the rare examples that Latin does offer of   strongly conceptualized and complex Paths are found in the Metamorphoses. Not only this, we find that Ovid is also hugely significant when we consider the encoding of   Manner, due in no small part to the subject matter of  the Metamorphoses and the literary genre to which it belongs, with the Figures (humans, mythical figures, animals, rivers) in the text being required variously to take flight, flow, run, slither, fall and so on. Indeed, it would be difficult to address the question of  how Manner is encoded in Latin without a precise and careful reading of  this work.   Benveniste 1964.   Nihil est in intellectu quod non sit prius in sensu [De veritate, q. 2 a. 3 arg. 19].

31 32

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Below are a number of   examples from the text that illustrate these very points. Complex Path (24) ab arce desilit in terras [Ov., Met. 1,673-674] (25) corpora devolvunt in humun [Ov., Met. 7,574]

Strongly Conceptualized Path (26) “Q uisquis es, huc exi!” [Ov., Met. 3,452]

Complex and Strongly Conceptualized Path (27) illa dato subvecta per aera curru / devenit in Scythiam [Ov., Met. 8,796-797] (28) numerusque ex agmine maior / subvolat et remos plausis circumvolat alis [Ov., Met. 14,506-507]

The Metamorphoses offers some prime examples of   SF encoding, with the verb root expressing the Manner and satellites describing paths that are both complex and strongly conceptualized, for instance (26), in which we find the simultaneous expression of   boundary crossing and deicting anchoring subcomponents: “Whoever you are, come out here!”. In example (27), meanwhile, we find encoded in the same sentence first a strongly conceptual­ ized Path, and then a complex Path. In (28), the use of  the verb subvolo – “rise up in flight” – is particularly interesting. The prefix sub- encodes a  spatial orientation that takes the lowest vertical extremity as its starting point, while the verb encodes a  Manner of   motion whose orientation is the directional opposite, an observation that will undoubtedly be of   interest to anyone working on questions of   Manner. An analysis model developed over the course of   several papers by Levin and Rappaort Hovav 33 has given rise to the hypothesis that there is some sort of  semantic constraint at work in the expression of  Manner and Result, with both of  these components of  meaning required to be present in complementary distribution in the lexical verb root. According to these two authors, the complementarity of   these two concepts arises from a  semantic constraint that results in their mutual exclusivity. The Result encodes   Cf., among others, Levin – Rappaport Hovav 2013.

33

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a scalar change of   state, while the Manner encodes a non-scalar change of  state. Now, it is true that, in qualitative terms, the Metamorphoses provides more specific and detailed description of   Manner than other texts. However, in quantitative terms, it is also true that Manner verbs only account for a very small part of  the verbs used. As with VF languages, Manner is not expressed in Latin when it is easily inferable from the context, as we see in examples (29) and (30). (29) si per vim navibus flumen transire conentur [Caes., Gall. 3,11,2] (30) flumina iam lactis, iam flumina nectaris ibant [Ov., Met. 1,111]

Furthermore, even though, from a qualitative perspective, we find excellent examples of  “pure” encoding using SF patterns, in quan­ titative terms, there is a greater incidence of   weakly conceptu­al­ ized and single Paths. Thanks to this sort of   analysis, it has been possible to reframe the question and understand that it is less profitable to focus on the strategies that a  language’s grammar might provide to a community of   users, as it is to consider the real and effective use that is made of  the available resources. While it is true, on the one hand, that Latin offers the typical grammatical and morphosyntactic resources of   an SF language, one the other, it is also the case that it exhibits semantic qualities that, in one way or another, move it much closer to the category of  VF language. 4.4. Consistency and Variation in the Comparison with Old Italian Taking this methodology of  data analysis forward, we propose an initial comparison between Ovid’s original text of   the Metamor­ phoses and a vulgarization from Phase I of   the history of   the Italian language, as set out in Table 1. This latter work by the notary Arrigo Simintendi of   Prato was reproduced in print towards the end of   the nineteenth century in three volumes edited by Casi­ miro Basi and Cesare Guasti, having been transmitted primarily in the Codice Panciatichi 63. It constitutes a  rather direct ver176

MOVING THROUGH THE METAMORPHOSES

nacular translation of  the Latin text and, based on a relative chronology, can be dated with certainty to before 1333 (as it is cited in Andrea Lancia’s commentary on the Commedia). Below, I  outline some of   the most prominent phenomena that can be identified through the careful examination of   this vulgarized text. First, it is worth noting – indeed as Mariafrancesca Giuliani has done 34 – that the linguistic tools offered by Old Italian, and by the language used by thirteenth and fourteenth-century vernacular translators more generally, are in some respects consistent with the satellite-framing model. Looking specifically at the encoding of   up-down orientation as outlined in Fig. 3, for instance, we find prefixes and pre- and postverbal particles, which can be said to constitute satellites to the principal verb. Of course, we need to proceed carefully with this approach: this type of  text, being the product of   a long manuscript tradition, is susceptible to a range of  possible variations that make it difficult to retain the distinction between preverbal particles and prefixes. However, it turns out that, as satellites of   the verb, prefixes and preverbal particles can be considered equivalent to one another in a  typological-functional sense. For clarity, then, when it comes to classifying these elements, I shall be referring to the cited edition of  the text, as included in the DiVo corpus.

Fig. 3. Linguistic resources for expressing spatial orientation in Simintendi, taken from Corona 2020, 172.

  Giuliani 2014.

34

177

L. CORONA

Examples of  the use of  these resources include: (31) lo dio soprastava altamente deus eminet alte [Ov., Met. 15,697] (32) si avea lo dosso acconcio a sedervi suso sic tergum sessile [Ov., Met. 12,401] (33) e sanza essere costretti da alcuna cosa, vanno in suso nulloque premente / alta petunt [Ov., Met. 15,242/43] (34) finalmente l’acqua sottentroe nelle vote vene, in luogo di vivo sangue denique pro vivo vitiatas sanguine venas / lympha subit [Ov., Met. 5,436-435] (35) io medesimo, quando sono sotto entrato nelle caverne della terra, e ho sotto posti a quelle gli miei dossi idem ego cum subii convexa foramina terrae / supposuique ferox imis mea terga cavernis [Ov., Met. 6, 697] (36) [lo ferro] tuffato giuso sufola nella tiepida onda demittit lacubus; at illud / stridet [Ov., Met. 12,278-279]

In these examples, the uppermost extent of   the vertical orientation is indicated with sopra- both in the form of   a prefix – for instance, in the verb soprastare, which Simintendi uses to translate emineo – and as a preposition. As for postverbal particles, we have suso, in this case in the complex form in suso. The opposite vertical orientation is encoded with sotto(-), which we find both as a  prefix in sottoentrare – used to translate the Latin sub-eo, “go down” – and as a preverbal particle in sotto entrare and sotto porre, which are used respectively to translate the Latin verbs sub-eo and suppono < sub-pono “set under”. In  this last case, Simintendi uses an analytical pattern to convey what is, in the Latin, a partially synthetic verb (with the prefix opacified as it is assimilated to the verb root). With giuso, meanwhile, we have a postverbal particle used with the same meaning. As Masini 35 and Giuliani 36 have both noted, a number of  the earliest syntagmatic constructions in Old Italian actually reproduce a  restructured version of   semantic content that, in Latin, is conveyed using prefixed verb constructions, supporting the theory that the new repertoire might have helped to fill the gap created in the system by the characteristic opacification of  prefixal   Masini 2006.   Giuliani 2014.

35 36

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derivatives in Latin. As again demonstrated by Giuliani, whose results are supported by our analyses of   Simintendi’s Metamor­ fosi, the propensity for prefixal construction was just as vigorous as the parallel trend for syntagmatic composition. The Old Italian verbal inventory shows the emergence of  a great variety of  forms: these are in part the result of   the evolution of   processes that had already begun in Latin itself, but also of   the interaction between Italo-Romance literary traditions and the Latin models that were circulating in certain cultural environments. As Tullio De Mauro explicated so skilfully in his essay on the “socio-linguistic stratifications of   the Latin legacy”,37 in the period in question, Latin was understood as a sort of   linguistic repertoire, a resource that could feed directly into the Romance lexicon, functioning in some cases as a reservoir of  sophisticated borrowings, but also, in others as a direct model for loan translations that made productive use of  the inherited material.38 The translation solutions identified by ‘vulgarizers’ offer a prime example of  the creativity that characterizes this phase. We find, then, that the variety and extreme complexity of  the constructions employed by Ovid in the Metamorphoses are echoed in Simintendi’s text: indeed, in the motion events the latter builds around verbs such as entrare sotto, or sottoentrare, we can identify the expression of  a complex Path that simultaneously encodes spatial orientation and boundary crossing components. From a cursory foray into the TLIO corpus we learn that the directional opposite of   entrare sotto, which is to say uscire sopra, appears in Gio­vanni Boccaccio’s Esposizioni cf. (37). Furthermore, in texts from the same period, but belonging to different regional linguistic variants, it is possible to find – albeit rare – complex Path expressions, one example being (38) 39 in which Hercules jumps down into the cave. (37) ma come egli fu in esso [nel tempio d’Apollo], gli uscì sopra Parìs con certi compagni [Boccaccio, Esposizioni, 1373-1374, c.V(i), par. 124] (38) Hercules si gittau iusu intru la gructa [Angelo di Capua, 1316/37 (mess.), L. 8, pag. 150,6]

  De Mauro 2000.   Cf. Giuliani 2014, 28-29. 39  This particular example is drawn from Amenta 2018. 37 38

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Although little use was made of   it, both Old Italian and Classical Latin offered the possibility of   simultaneously encoding multiple sub-components of   Path, distributing these across different elements of  a single utterance. In modern Italian, this rarely used capacity of   the system runs up against a  genuine semantic constraint in the formation of   phrasal verbs: the verb and the spatial particle can only encode one (and the same) sub-component of  the Path (e.g. salire sopra / su, uscire fuori, entrare dentro). To my mind, the primary finding from the comparison of  the two versions of  the Metamorphoses is best summed up by the following observation. From a  morphosyntactic perspective, the strategies available to Classical Latin and Old Italian in the expression of   motion events are largely similar (in typological and functional terms), despite the variation in the specific resources they can call upon. From a  semantic perspective, we find significant elements of  semantic continuity in the encoding of   Path in Classical Latin and Old Italian, although these are not carried forward into modern Italian; both languages offer the possibility of   encoding complex Paths, albeit this is done only rarely. This line of   continuity between Latin and Old Italian and the variance with respect to modern Italian may have contributed in some way to the shift to a largely VF type of  encoding.

5. Towards an Analysis of  the Transcoding of  Motion in Translations of  the Metamorphoses The hugely successful translations and vulgarizations of   Ovid that have been included in the diachronic corpus described in section 2 promise to serve as an invaluable test bed for this hypothesis. In this last section, I hope to give an idea of  the type of  analysis that such a corpus makes possible. As anticipated in section 2, the range of   text types included in the corpus makes it impossible to carry out the same sort of  line-for-line comparison that we managed with Simintendi’s text. As such, it was necessary to identify broader translation units. This entailed the isolation of   scenes in Ovid’s text that, from a theoretical perspective, constituted motion events. 180

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The labels generated using the MODEG grid, which can be deciphered using the annotation guide in the appended List of abbreviations, are listed in Table 4 below. Table 4. Example of  motion encoding in Ovid and translations of  Ovid as analysed using MODEG MODEG

 

 

Ov., Met. 14,504507 [maniera + direzione]

hunc Lycus, hunc Idas et cum Rhexenore I. S1sVMA2s Nycteus, / hunc miratur Abas, et dum mi­ II. S V A M 1m M 1m 2 rantur, eandem / accipiunt faciem, nume­ rusque I. ex agmine maior / subvolat et II. remos plausis circumvolat alis

I

II

Linco, Idas, e Mereo con Tenore, e Abas I. VMA3s raguardano costui; e  maravigliandosi, II. V A M M 3m 2 ricevettono quella medesima faccia: e  ’l numero I. vola dalla magiore schiera, II. e vola dintorno a’ remi con liete alie. _  

III

E ’ntanto Ida e  Nitreo vien anche au- I. VPsM2 gello.  / Si cangia poi Rethenore, e Abante.  / In somma ogn’un de’ miei che fu conforme  / d’opinione a  quel primo arrogante / vidi I. andarsene a vol sott’altre forme.

IV

Lui Lico ammira, Ida, Nitéo, Reténo,  / I. VM M2VMS3m L’ammira Abante: ecco in lor nasce intanto / L’aspetto onde stupían: mio ruol più grande / I. Svolazza, e a’ remi erra sonante intorno.

V

Lico lo guarda esterrefatto, esterrefatti I. VPsM2 lo guardano Ida e  Nicteo e  Ressènore e II. V S M M 3m 2 Abante, e  mentre lo guardano assumono lo stesso aspetto. E  quasi tutta la ciurma I. si leva in volo e  II. si mette a  volteggiare intorno ai remi sbattendo le ali.

FASI

When analysing motion events diachronically, in this way, a number of  interesting phenomena become apparent. We first note a progressive preference for patterns of   motion encoding that express direction in the principal verb, with the Manner expressed in additional elements in a  fashion akin to modern Romance languages. 181

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Above all, however, we note the use of   oriented verbs of  Manner. In the Metamorphoses text from phase IV in particular, we find the verb svolazzare – formed through a process of  prefixation and evaluative alteration – which encodes the idea of  “flying here and there without a specific direction”. In this case, then, we find that both Manner and Direction are encoded in the same verb root. The use of   morphology – and evaluative morphology in particular – in the formation of  verbs of  Manner in Italian has barely been investigated at all; by way of   comparison, we do find some work in in this direction relative to French, but still, very little is known so far about the use of   derivative processes in the ex­ pression of  components relating to motion. It is only through the detailed study of   the semantic components and morphosyntactic patterns expressed in a  corpus of  texts that produces comparable data that we can hope to arrive at a greater understanding of   what we actually mean by the linguistic encoding of   motion in diachrony, and in two genetically interdependent linguistic systems. Rather than seeking to assign a language unequivocally to one lexical type, signaling such exceptions that might arise or changes that might be required in the theoretical model, we would do well to identify a methodology that takes into account the strategies employed in language to express motion and how frequently they are used. Indeed, the most natural state for a  language is one in which we find a mix of   encoding types: 40 where we can expect to find variation is in the frequency with which a particular linguistic strategy is used in the expression of  particular semantic schemata. For diachronically-inclined linguists who are interested in measuring the variation in encoding between Latin and Italian, Ovid’s popularity over the centuries has produced an invaluable, indeed, irresistible resource.

  Cf. on this Fortis – Vittrant 2011, 83-86.

40

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List of  abbreviations anc.gr. Ancient Greek dan. Danish eng. English fr. French it. Italian jak.p. Jakaltek Popti’ lat. Latin pol. Polish rom. Romanian russ. Russian

sp. Spanish tur. Turkish acc accusative dat dative gen genitive nom nominative pfv perfective poss possessive pst past

Bibliography Acedo-Matellán 2010 = V. Acedo-Matellán, Argument structure and the syntax-morphology interface. A  case study in Latin and other languages, Ph.D. thesis, Universitat de Barcelona 2010. Acedo-Matellán – Mateu 2013 = V. Acedo-Matellán – J. Mateu, Sat­ ellite-framed Latin vs. verb-framed Romance: A syntactic approach, Probus 25 (2), 2013, 227-265. Amenta 2018 = L. Amenta, I verbi con particella in siciliano antico, in P. Greco – C. Vecchia – R. Sorrnicola (eds., with the collaboration of   G. Abete – E. D’Argenio – V. Ferrari), Strutture e di­ namismi della variazione e  del cambiamento linguistico. Atti del Convegno DIA III, Napoli, 24-27 novembre 2014, Napoli 2018, 125-141. Benveniste 1964 = É. Benveniste, Les niveaux de l’analyse linguistique, in H.  G. Lunt (ed.), Proceedings of   the 9th International congress of   linguists (Cambridge Mass., August 27-31, 1962), Paris 1964, 266-275. Borillo 1998 = A. Borillo, L’espace et son expression en français, Paris 1998. Borin 2002 = L. Borin, … and never the twain shall meet?, in L. Borin (ed.), Parallel corpora, parallel worlds. Selected papers from a sym­ posium on parallel and comparable corpora at Uppsala University, Amsterdam-New York 2002, 1-43. Brucale 2019  = L.  Brucale, Reversive constructions in Latin: the case of   re- (and dis-), in E.  Mocciaro – W.  M. Short (eds.), Toward 183

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a Cognitive Classical Linguistics. The Embodied Basis of   Construc­ tions in Greek and Latin, Berlin-New York 2019, 93-125. Buoniconto 2019  = A.  Buoniconto, “Going through the motions”. Motion events encoding and analysis parameters. A test study on the Romance family, Ph.D. thesis, Università degli studi di Salerno 2019. Corona 2020 = L. Corona, Gli eventi di moto in diacronia. Variazione e  continuità nel passaggio dal latino all’italiano, Bologna-Cesena 2020. Coupland 2014  = N.  Coupland, Sociolinguistic change, vernaculari­ zation and broadcast British media, in J.  Androutsopoulos (ed.), Mediatization and sociolinguistic change, Berlin 2014, 67-96. Croft et al. 2010 = W. Croft – J. Barðdal – W. B. Hollmann – V. Sotirova – C. Taoka, Revising Talmy’s typological classification of com­ plex event constructions, in H. C. Boas (ed.), Constrastive Studies in Construction Grammar, Amsterdam-Philadelphia 2010, 201-235. De Mauro 2000  = T.  De Mauro, Stratificazioni sociolinguistiche del­l’eredità latina e  dei suoi tramiti in italiano, in P.  Cipriano  – R.  d’Avi­no – P.  Di Giovine (eds.) Linguistica storica e  sociolin­ guistica, Roma 2000, 163-188. D’Achille – Grossmann 2017 = P. D’Achille – M. Grossmann (eds.), Per la storia della formazione delle parole in italiano. Un nuovo corpus in rete (MIDIA) e  nuove prospettive di studio, Firenze 2017. Fortis – Vittrant 2011 = J. M. Fortis – A. Vittrant, L’organisation syn­ taxique de l’expression de la trajectoire: Vers une typologie des con­ structions, Faits de Langues. Les cahiers 3, 2011, 71-98. Giuliani 2014  = M.  Giuliani, Verbi e  modificatori nei testi italoro­ manzi antichi, Studi e saggi linguistici 52 (1), 2014, 19-60. Grinevald 2006 = C. Grinevald, The expression of   static location in a typological perspective, in M. Hickmann – S. Robert (eds.), Space in languages: Linguistic systems and cognitive categories, AmsterdamPhiladelphia 2006, 29-58. Grinevald 2011  = C.  Grinevald, On constructing a  working typology of   the expression of   path, Faits de Langues. Les cahiers 3, 2011, 43-70. Hasko 2010  = V.  Hasko, Semantic composition of   motion verbs in Russian and English. The case of   intra-typological variability, in V. Hasko – R. Perelmutter (eds.), New Approaches to Slavic Verbs of  Motion, Amsterdam-Philadelphia 2010, 197-223. 184

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Iacobini – Corona 2016 = C. Iacobini – L. Corona, Romanes eunt domus. Where you can go with Latin morphology, in J. Audring – F. Masini – W. Sandler (eds.), Q uo vadis morphology? MMM10 on-line proceedings: Haifa, Israel, 7-10 September 2015, University of   Leiden-University of   Bologna-University of   Haifa 2016, 159168. Iacobini et  al. 2020  = C.  Iacobini – L.  Corona – A.  Buoniconto, MODEG. A grid for decoding motion encoding, in Special Issue of  Testi e Linguaggi 14, 2020, 21-59. Iacobini – Fagard 2011  = C.  Iacobini – B.  Fagard, A  diachronic ap­ proach to variation and change in the typology of   motion event ex­ pression. A  case study: From Latin to Romance. Faits de Langues. Les cahiers 3, 2011, 151-171. Ibarretxe-Antuñano 2015 = I. Ibarretxe-Antuñano, Going beyond mo­ tion events typology: The case of   Basque as a verb-framed language, Folia Lingvistica 49 (2), 2015, 307-352. Imbert 2010  = C.  Imbert, Multiple preverbation in Homeric Greek: A typological insight, CogniText 4, 2010, http://cognitextes.revues. org/387. Imbert 2012 = C. Imbert, Path: Ways typology has walked through it, Language and Linguistics Compass 6 (4), 2012, 236-258. Imbert et al. 2011 = C. Imbert – C. Grinevald – A. Sörés, Pour une catégorie de “satellite” de Trajectoire dans une approche fonctionnelletypologique, Faits de Langues. Les cahiers 3, 2011, 99-171. Levin – Rappaport Hovav 2013 = B. Levin – M. Rappaport Hovav, Lexicalized Meaning and Manner/Result Complementarity, in B. Arsenijević – B. Gehrke – R. Marín (eds.), Subatomic Semantics of  Event Predicates, Dordrecht 2013, 49-70. Masini 2006 = F. Masini, Diacronia dei verbi sintagmatici in italiano, Archivio Glottologico Italiano XCI (1), 2006, 67-105. Pittman 1948  = R.  Pittman, Nuclear Structures in Linguistics, Language 24 (3), 1948, 287-292. Schøsler 2008 = L. Schøsler, L’expression des traits manière et direction des verbes de mouvement. Perspectives diachroniques et typologiques, in E. Stark – R. Schmidt-Riese – E. Stoll (eds.), Romanische Syntax im Wandel, Tübingen 2008, 113-132. Slobin 1997  = D.  I. Slobin, Mind, code, and text, in J.  Bybee – J. Haiman – S. A. Thompson (eds.), Essays on language function and language type: Dedicated to T.  Givón, Amsterdam/Philadelphia 1997, 437-467. 185

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Slobin 2004 = D. I. Slobin, The many ways to search for a frog: Linguis­ tic typology and the expression of   motion events, in S. Strömqvist – L. Verhoeven (eds.), Relating events in narrative: vol. 2. Typological and contextual perspectives, Mahwah 2004, 219-257. Slobin 2005 = D. I. Slobin, Relating Narrative Events in Translation, in D.  Ravid – H.  Bat-Zeev Shyldkrot (eds.), Perspectives on lan­ guage and language development: Essays in honor of   Ruth  A. Ber­ man, Dordrecht 2005, 115-129. Slobin 2006 = D. I. Slobin, What makes manner of   motion salient? Explorations in linguistic typology, discourse, and cognition, in M.  Hickmann – S.  Robert (eds.), Space in Languages: Linguistic Systems and Cognitive Categories, Amsterdam-Philadelphia 2006, 59-81. Talmy 1972 = L. Talmy, Semantic Structures in English and Atsugewi. PhD thesis, University of  California, Berkeley 1972. Talmy 1985 = L. Talmy, Lexicalization patterns: semantic structure in lexical forms, in T.  Shopen (ed.), Language typology and syntactic description, vol.  3: Grammatical categories and the lexicon, I  ed., Cambridge, MA 1985, 57-149. Talmy 1991 = L. Talmy, Path to realization: A typology of   event con­ flation, Proceedings of   the Seventeenth Annual Meeting of   the Berkeley Linguistics Society, 1991, 480-519. Talmy 2000  = L.  Talmy, Toward a  cognitive semantics: typology and process in concept structuring, vol. 2., Cambridge MA 2000. Talmy 2018 = L. Talmy, Ten Lectures on Cognitive Semantics. BostonLeiden 2018. Van Peteghem 2020 = J. Van Peteghem, Italian Readers of   Ovid from the Origins to Petrarch. Responding to a  Versatile Muse, Leiden 2020. Verkerk 2014  = A.  Verkerk, Diachronic change in Indo-European motion event encoding, Journal of   Historical Linguistics 4  (1), 2014, 40-83.

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Appendix. Brief  Guide to the MODEG Annotation System V [Verb]

N [Noun]

Vb: generic motion; Vm: manner; Vc: caused motion; Vg: no-motion; Vp: directional; [sub-values: s: Source; m: Median; g: Goal]; Vd: deictic [sub-values: a: andative; v: venitive]; CV: verb construction

A1: noun [±case]; N1: idioms; S1: affixes; A2: SP [+case]; N2: support S2: particles; verb con- S3: adverbial elements A3: SP [-case]; structions; A4: internal localization noun N3:  nomina actionis

S [adverbial satellites] A [Adnominal]

Ground Semantic subcomponents of  Manner specified for [in loci other than the princi- Path pal verb] S and A [expressed over the whole encoded event] M1: non-finite verbal adjuncts; s: Source; SO: Spatial Orientation; m: Median; M2: non-verbal adjuncts BC: Border Crossing; g: Goal DA: Deictic Anchoring

Abstract In this contribution, we show how the Metamorphoses and translations of  Ovid’s original text from a broad diachronic arc in the history of   the Italian language together offer an invaluable resource for the study of  motion encoding in the passage from Latin to Italian. Taking Talmy 2000 as a starting point, we note a typological shift from a  satellite-framed form of   motion encoding (Latin) to a  verbframed form (with Italian). However, the fact remains that, from our contemporary perspective, it is only through a detailed analysis of   the morphosyntactic strategies and semantic components involved in motion encoding that it will be possible to classify languages in any meaningful way. Not only this, in order to observe phenomena of  variation and continuity between Latin and Italian, a  comparable form of   data is required. With this in mind, a  diachronic, target-variant corpus based on translations of   the Metamorphoses is currently being compiled, and we set out the advantages it offers and prospects for analysis going forward.

187

GIUSEPPA Z. ZANICHELLI

THE RECEPTION OF  OVIDIUS MORALIZATUS IN NORTHERN ITALY IN THE LATE MIDDLE AGES

The beginning of   the ovidiana aetas led to the appearance of   a limited number of   images associated with Ovid’s masterpiece,1 in particular with regard to the actual theme of   metamorphosis, a subject held to be unacceptable by the Fathers of   the Church, being too closely connected with pagan conceptions, in particular that of   humans turning into animals. The Christian concept of   creation is clearly opposed to such transformations, as it is opposed to the concept of   primordial Chaos. But something changed in the first half of  the eleventh century, with the re-emergence from the mists of   Celtic culture of   the werewolf. A man mysteriously turned into a  wolf, having an ambiguous, never fully defined status, threatening as the night in which it was concealed, the result of  a magic spell.2 A short time after, a codex of  the Metamor­ phoses was illuminated for the first time; it was written in a Bene­ dictine monastery in Bari, in a  ‘Bari Type’ Beneventan script, but exemplified by a Norman archetype and illustrated with fresh sensitivity. The illuminator is devoid of   any moralistic intent, rather he is fascinated by the fantastic and wondrous, which he recreates with an infinite rhythm, in an attempt to visualise the metamorphoses in progress, as happens when he depicts Lycian countrymen being turned into frogs for treating the goddess Latona with contempt (Met. 6, 379-381).3 This was an isolated 1  See for example the Vézelay capital in Forsyth 1976. For a  discussion of  Ovid’s readership in the Middle Ages cf. Clark 2011. 2   Zanichelli 2014b. 3  Naples, Vittorio Emanuele  III National Library, ms.  S. IV. F. 3: Orofino 1993 and Orofino 1995. The early dating proposed by Vandi 2019 is unfounded.

After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127596 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 189-211

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episode however,4 and more than a  century later Ovid’s function, as described in the introductory page to Liber ad Honorem Augusti,5 written by Peter of   Eboli in honour of   the Emperor Henry VI, remained that established by tradition: together with Virgil and Lucan, the exiled poet appears as an example of  the great classic poets, a role that had remained unaltered in the Medieval school, which had also deemed the poet essential for the learning of  grammar.6 In the fourteenth century, as is well known, among the many Ovids identified by the exegesis of   single works, resulting in a total of   104 comments during the Middle Ages, the Ovid of   the Metamorphoses gained prominence, moralised in a number of  versions, mainly marked by flamboyant allegorism. This made the work interesting to different intellectual milieux at that time, by using the topos of   the usefulness of   the fable to convey truth.7 One of   the most popular commentaries was undoubtedly the Ovidius moralizatus, a moralisation of  the ancient text that developed separately from the original, and as part of   a more extensive work, the Reductorium morale, of   which it was the fifteenth volume. The author is generally held to be Pierre Bersuire, a Benedictine monk and scholar. The commentary, that survived in 82 codices, often separate from the Reductorium, was illustrated with extensive decorations in just seven cases. My contribution focuses on the fact that three of  these manuscripts were produced in close conjunction, in terms of   both setting and timeline, thus for patrons who had common cultural roots. While we cannot talk in any way about a  common archetype for the three cycles of  illumination, they do share one characteristic, namely an almost complete lack of   interest in moral commentary, while focusing on the narrative line of   mythological events. This was in keeping 4  The two codices usually connected with this one, Cesena, Malatestiana Library, ms. S.I. 5 from the first half of   the twelfth century, and Vatican Apostolic Library ms. Lat. 1596, 1200 circa, have a reduced number of  miniatures compared with the Neapolitan codex: cf. Mattia 1990-1991, p. 63 n. 2; Lord 2011, 259-261; Toniolo 2018. 5  Petrus de Ebulo 1994, f. 1r. The two verses paired with the single authors are relevant: for Ovid there are Met. 1,1 In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas [corpora] and Ars 3,653: Munera, crede mihi, capiunt hominesque deosque. 6   Alton – Wermell 1960-1961. 7  Fumo 2014.

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with their belonging to the cultural setting of   the time, where “moderately ancient” studies 8 were predominant. The geographic area was in fact that of   Lombardy, Emilia and Veneto,9 where the two universities of   Bologna and Padua were located, the period was the second half of  the fourteenth century. The codices are ms. Gotha Landesbibliothek I 98,Treviso, Municipal Library, ms.  344, and Bergamo, Angelo Mai Library, ms.  Cassaf. 3 04, to whose iconographic features Carla Lord has already drawn attention.10 All three codices contain the two drafts of   version A of   the text, written in Avignon by Bersuire, who probably made the first draft (A) between 1337 and 1340, present in Gotha, and a second draft (A2) by no later than 1342, present in the Treviso and Bergamo manuscripts.11 During those years spent in the ‘city of   the Popes’, the author met Petrarch and Dominican theologian Thomas Waleys, who has often been put forward as the author of   the work. The preaching monk shared with Bersuire the highs and lows of   a ‘Curial’ career, spent between Avignon and Paris, with similar results. His name appears above all in connection to the codices associated with the Dominican order.12 The Ovidius moralizatus is marked by the intention not to seek justification for Ovid through the Bible, but rather to gloss the Bible through Ovid,13 using allegories to strike a balance between human frailty and the eternity of   the divine, a relationship that encourages a range of   interpretations: moral, historical, spiritual and political. If we wish to understand the three Italian codices we must take into consideration the major changes happening in the production of  illuminated manuscripts in Italy in the Late Middle Ages:   See for this definition the essays edited by Pagliara – Romano 2014.   It should be noted that for much of   the fourteenth century this area had close cultural and political ties with Milan, due to the expansion of   the Visconti influence, and with Avignon, with Bologna being the second most important city in the Church state. 10   Lord 1995, with the purpose to pinpoint the iconographic coincidences between the three cycles of   illumination. See also Venturini 2013-2014 and McLaughin 2017. 11  Fumo 2014, 120. 12  Engels 1971. 13   Exeter 1989. 8 9

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firstly, in the late thirteenth century, with troubadour poetry, there had been a major revolution in the use of   media in illuminated codices. As Marcello Ciccuto has suggested, the central role of   language that characterized Stil Novo love poetry gave way to a more prominent use of  imagery.14 Thus the two long-established visualisation traditions, namely illustration/narration through images and theophanic vision, were supplemented by a third way, the expression of   human feelings where images represent an extension of   poetry, as revealed by Canzoniere N from the Morgan Library, ms. 819, in which the “coerenza significante del Testo appare più incisiva, sostenuta e, anzi, incrementata dall’addizione figurata”.15 It is not by chance that around the year 1300 the N codex was found in the Padua region, where a  few years later, while Giotto was seeing to the frescoes of   the Scrovegni chapel, Francesco da Barberino was creating his Offiziolo,16 marking the start of  a dual design involving both words and images that would go on to triumph shortly after with Documenti d’Amore,17 and at the same time a dual, multimedia form of   reading. This complex interaction between the written word and images was stimulated by new works written in vernacular, of   which a  prime example is the Divine Comedy, which makes use of   more complex cycles of   illumination in those parts where the text is glossed.18 With no previous illustrative-narrative tradition, Ovid adopts a system that uses, as Amanda Gerber has indicated,19 the narrative framework to re-define communication strategies and make the exempla accessible to a wider audience, in both the moral and political spheres, since relations between men and gods always end up with the victory of  the traditionally dominant hierarchies. In order to illustrate such variable and complex materials, choices had to be made that required a  specific knowledge of   the text, which in turn required an advisor or concepteur. This might have

  Ciccuto 1996-1997, 77-87.   Ciccuto 1996-1997, 82. 16   Mariani Canova 2016. 17  Goldin 1980. 18  Zanichelli 2006. 19  Gerber 2015, 5-6: this consideration is directed at all Ovidian moralisations, and not just to the three codices under review. 14 15

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been the commissioning party himself,20 and a  set of   relations were established that would lead to a radical change in the structure of  medieval book production. The oldest of   the three Italian illuminated manuscripts of   the Ovidius moralizatus, ms. Gotha I 98, mentioned by Panofsky in his essential analysis of  medieval renascences,21 has been the subject of   numerous and innovative contributions only in recent years. In  2011 Gude SucKale Redlefsen pointed to Bruzio Visconti as being the likely first possessor of   the precious manuscript. Bruzio, the illegitimate son of   Luchino, the lord of   Milan from 1340 to 1349, had been assigned the governance of   Lodi and Tortona under his father’s guidance. After a  short period spent in Bologna, however, his life ended in 1357, during his exile in Veneto, while his uncle Giovanni Visconti held power in Lombardy.22 A tyrannical and violent leader, Bruzio was brought up in the international and erudite city of   Milan, where he received an education focused on a love for the arts and ancient culture, that was later expressed through his poetry and in his library. Pietro Alzario, who knew him during his stay in Bologna, stated: “similis Neronis ipsam civitatem pertractabat”, but “morales librosque undique aquirebat, bona et rationalia principia habendo et male concludendo”.23 Some volumes remain of  what must have been his sumptuous library,24 offering a  possible context of   the presence of   Gotha’s Ovidius moralizatus. An example is the lavish codex of   Apuleio’s Metamorphoses, kept at the Vatican Library 25 and transcribed by the writer and poet Bartolomeo de’ Bartoli. Framed by Visconti coats of   arms, the first page is all about the relationship between power and virtue, while in the illuminated

  Hindman 1985.   Panofsky 1960, 100 n. 82. Brief notes also in Lord 1995; Lord 2011. 22  Suckale-Redelfsen, 2011; Meier 2012; Blume 2014a; Blume 2014b; McLaughlin 2017, 31-49; Venturini 2018. 23  Liber Gestorum, 44. The reporter’s negative view is repeated for other members of   the Visconti family, including Giovanni himself, as demonstrated by Cadili 2014, 53. 24  Part of  the codices can definitely be identified, as they were collected in the Visconti library in Pavia, cf.  Pellegrin 1969, 27; Albertini Ottolenghi 1991, 57 no. 156 and 130 no. 765. 25   Vatican City, Vatican Apostolic Library, ms. Vat. Lat. 2194. 20 21

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initials the first scene of   each book is depicted in rich detail.26 The miniaturist who illustrated this volume in 1345 has been identified as the so-called Master of   1346. His workshop was a hive of  industry and the most important centre of  book production in Bologna mid-way through the century, when there was a  change of   direction, from the frantic narration of   the Illuminator, the anonymous miniaturist who had introduced the ideas of   Giottism to production in the first half of   the century, to the refined originality of  Nicolò di Giacomo, who fused the currents of  Bolo­ gna culture into a  coherent language in the second half of   the century.27 In the following year, the same two miniaturists prepared the dedication miniature of   the Compendium moralis phi­ losophie composed by Dominican monk Luca Manelli 28 in 1344 in Bologna, of   which we can now see the splendid copy with a ‘political’ frontispiece, showing the dominion over the cities ruled by the Visconti family, depicted by conventional urban portraits in the scrolling foliage of   the borders, while Bruzio is depicted receiving the volume and, in the bas de page, dominating over sins. On the sides are the jurists and patron saints of   Bologna, St Petronius, St  Proclus and St  Dominic, whose remains lay in the church of   the same name in the city, the mother house of   the Order.29 What is depicted therefore is not universitas civum, as put forward by Marsilius of   Padua (1324), but rather political absolutism, surviving notwithstanding civil law and canon law, the two branches of   law taught in the Alma Mater Studiorum. The use of  morals for political ends, reflected clearly in the verses written by Bruzio, as can be seen in the song Mal d’amor parla chi d’amor non sente, with biblical, classical and vernacular ref­ er­ences,30 also appears in the frontispiece of   another work dedicated to him, the Canzoniere delle Virtù e delle Scienze, now kept at the Musée Condé of   Chantilly, ms.  599.31 It was composed and written by Bartolomeo de’ Bartoli and illustrated by his     28   29  30  31  26 27

Stok 1996. Medica 2004; Medica 2012, 113; Medica 2018. Cinelli 2007. The fourth patron saint, St Francis, is not depicted. D. Piccini 2004; Visconti 2007. De Laude 1996; De Laude 2017.

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brother Andrea, a  painter and miniaturist, who often collaborated with codices transcribed by him. With regard to codices in Bruzio’s library, Bartolomeo appears to have played a key role in their design and consequent drafting, perhaps that of   advisor.32 The initial miniature in the frontispiece shows important characters depicted next to Bruzio, namely, according to Massimo Medica, Taddeo Pepoli and Luchino Visconti, who in 1347 entered into a fragile alliance.33 Two other codices, produced in Bologna and apparently belonging to this private library, which had originally been bound to the Canzoniere, contain three didascalic-allegorical operettas and the Historia Troianorum.34 The only work differing from the characteristics indicated above is St  Augustine’s De civitate Dei, which presents in the frontispiece a traditional image of   the Saint, sitting at a desk, with zoomorphic elements in the shape of  the body of  the letter and thorny acanthus scrolls, suggesting its execution in Lombardy, either in Pavia or Milan.35 In this complex cultural setting, in close contact with Bologna university and in constant dialogue with Avignon, at the behest of   a cruel yet learned tyrant, the most lavish and rich copy of   the Ovidius moralizatus was created: the codex contains 77 complete, 26 partially coloured and 3 simply drawn miniatures. Both the initial and final parts have empty spaces, so it has been estimated that the original plans were for 248 miniatures. Judging by the succession of   different coats of   arms, it is supposed that, after its stay in Bruzio’s library, the codex was moved to that of   cardinal Schiner and the noble Beccaria family.36 The original plans for the work were however so demanding both intellectually and materially that it appears no one had the culture or the means to complete the job. The manuscript begins with a plain but interesting frontispiece (Fig.  1). In  keeping with the heading, which states “Incipiunt moralitates magistri Thome de Anglia super   Medica 2018, 566.   Medica 2006, 53; Medica 2018, 566. 34  These codes were identified thanks to D’Urso 2014. 35  For the characteristics of    the Milanese fourteenth century miniature cf. Avril 1990. 36  Ventirini 2013-2014, pp. 50-53; Venturini 2018, p. 103; McLaughin 2017, pp. 34-36 has identified the coats of   arms as Fieschi and Serravalle respectively. 32 33

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Fig. 1. Gotha, Forschungs- und Landesbibliothek, ms. I 98, f. 1r: Ovidius moralizatus, Portrait of  the author.

Metamorphoseos”, the work is attributed to Dominican monk Thomas Waleys. This indicates a  likely mediation of   the text through the Order of  Preachers, a hypothesis which is confirmed by the extraordinary structure of  the work, in particular the unusual position of   the two angels, who appear to be holding up the desk top, adopting a  position that had characterized the Parisian reliquaries of   the final two decades of   the thirteenth century. Not surprisingly, there is a  reliquary of   this type, an extraordinarily refined version compared with surviving copies, that is still kept in San Domenico church in Bologna, bearing a strong similarity in terms of   the supple form of   the angels and their hairstyles.37 This revival is a  new ante quem for the reliquary’s arrival in the city of   Bologna, and offers a clearer picture of   the route travelled by the early text before it got to Bruzio. The Preacher monks were indeed the most logical readers of  this moralisation, which offered infinite exempla for preaching in learned cities such as Bologna.38 Their activity is well represented   For this reliquiary cf. Gaborit-Chopin 1988.   Wenzel 2011; Fumo 2014, 120.

37 38

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in the first miniature, with two monks standing opposite the author in the process of  writing, with their backs to the observer, looking at the magister as they transcribe his words. The iconography appears to adapt the usual depiction of   David among the players, who help him to put music to the psalms, and the scribes writing down the texts. This iconography had been common in northern Italy ever since the early Middle Ages.39 We have more difficulty identifying the figure to the right of   Thomas, seen in profile, talking intensely to the author: it might be Bersuire or Petrarch, who both undoubtedly knew Thomas from their time in Avignon. But it might also be Bruzio, who was certainly not averse to appearing in the frontispieces of   his codices. From his clothes and position he is likely to be the advisor or patron of  the work. Finally, the three figures that appear partially hidden by the tent, spectators of   this creative moment, are perhaps the poets that Bruzio liked to surround himself with. One of   them might certainly be Bartolomeo de’ Bartoli. This ability to create communicating spaces is one of   the features of   the work’s main miniaturist, a  creator from the post-Giottesque tradition, open to naturalistic forays and to eloquent narration. Inspired by the tradition begun by Gherarduccio and continued by Master of   1346 and the young Nicolò di Giacomo,40 he shows himself to be aware of   the innovations coming from Assisi and Avignon. Recently, scholars have also proposed the name of   Andrea de’  Bar­toli,41 whose activity is known not only in the mother church of   the Franciscan Order, in Gonzaga’s Mantua and Visconti’s Pavia, but also in Avignon, where he may have travelled. The broad experience of   this author can be traced in the most dramatic images of  the codex, such as the expression of  terror on the face of   Actaeon, who is turning into a deer at f. 18r, against the backdrop of   woodland worthy of   a Taccuinum sanitatis (Fig. 2). The authorship of   other miniatures is more difficult to ascertain, including the Apotheosis of  Io at f. 12r (Fig. 3), one of  the few theophanic scenes manifested through light rather than the 39   Steger 1961, p. 38 and fig. 18-19; for the presence of  the scribes cf. in particular Zanichelli 2014a, 827. 40  Medica 1990, 97-99. 41  Medica 2018, 569-570.

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Fig. 2. Gotha, Forschungs- und Landesbibliothek, ms. I 98, f. 18r: Ovidius moralizatus, Acteon punished.

Fig. 3. Gotha, Forschungs- und Landesbibliothek, ms. I 98, f. 12r: Ovidius moralizatus, Apotheosis of  Io.

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Fig. 4. Gotha, Forschungs- und Landesbibliothek, ms. I 98, f. 11v: Ovidius moralizatus, Hera entrusts Io to Argus; Hermes kills Argus and frees Io.

movement of   abbreviated bodies (Fig.  4), as fast as lightning, a prerogative of   the gods and a sign that they are not bound by moral constraints. The image of   the maiden positioned among the stars reveals a familiarity with international Gothic Lombard models.42 These miniatures highlight the constant debate between the creators and the advisor, since the imagery relates not just to   The same author may be responsible for the first panel dedicated to Coronis (f.  15r), depicted as a  young blonde maiden, while the god Apollo appears in a sun halo. 42

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the text but to other sources too. This is demonstrated by Atlas’ depiction, namely a frowning giant and not the wise philosopher, a  prefiguration of   Christ reaching throughout the heavens and the earth, as presented in the text.43 The same goes for Coronis’ punishment, at f. 15r: the lover, elegantly and fashionably attired, at the time of   leaving, unaware of   the loved one’s fate (a fact not mentioned in the text), lends extreme drama to the scene, centering on the arrow just shot. The sight-illumination of  Christian tradition becomes an awareness of   prohibited knowledge for maidens chased by gods.44 There is no actual view of   the divine, merely narration. This can be seen in the Banquet of   the gods (Fig. 5), with Zeus dressed up as a university professor, in a scene

Fig. 5. Gotha, Forschungs- und Landesbibliothek, ms. I 98, f. 10v: Ovidius moralizatus, The banquet of  the Gods.   McLaughlin 2017, 46.   McLaughin 2017, 46-47.

43 44

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reminiscent of  the frontispieces of  the juridical codices. The richness of   the visual glosses of   the Gotha Ovidius was not equaled in any of   the three illustrated codices of   Metamorphoses, illuminated in Bologna by Stefano degli Azzi in the second half of   the fourteenth century, which have come down to us.45 The second codex differs from the other two as it appears without a back story. It is not known how nor when it came into the possession of  the Angelo Mai Library of  Bergamo, and it does not contain notes as to ownership or use that can help with its identification. The parchment however is partially palimpsest, and reveals in the scriptio inferior small traces of  Paduan administrative documents from the Thirties of   the fourteenth century.46 It is not a lavish codex, and its small size suggests that it was for the personal use of   a careful reader, capable of   planning the presence of  suitable spaces in the text and executing the panels or personally checking their execution. A  total of   209 watercoloured drawings survive. Much of   the first book and the final sheets of   the codex are missing. The narration is unsophisticated and direct, but the artist is not unaware of   the Giottesque tradition, which he melts with other models. There is a  clear difference between the figure of  Mercury and those of  Cupid and Pan, suggesting a  more confident hand, a  sign that the author was able to draw on a  precise example for the latter creations. Of even greater interest are the architectural structures, as can be seen by comparing the conventional images of   the castle and modern Gothic architecture, which appears to be based on buildings in Padua, and forms the backdrop for a scene with Jason who, leaving behind the usual tunic, is wearing fourteenth century clothing and a fashionable fabric-coated hat (Fig. 6). Different models are again seen, while in the war or battle scenes inspiration is undoubtedly drawn from novels based on the stories of   knights, an integral part of  Franco-Venetian literature and popular in the libraries of  the time.47

45   SLUB Dresden, Mscr. Dresd. Dc. 144, identified and under study by Brianda Otero, must now be added to the two known ones (Cesena, Biblioteca Malate­ stiana, ms. S XXV 6; Venezia, Biblioteca Marciana, ms. Z. 499). 46  Spiriti 1989; Venturini 2018, 103. 47  McLaughin 2017, 69-84.

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Fig. 6. Bergamo, Biblioteca Civica Angelo Mai, ms. Cassaf. 3 04, f. 75r: Ovidius moralizatus, Jason enters the Temple of  the Golden Fleece; Jason with the Golden Fleece and Pelias.

Such a  codex might certainly have served for the education of  novices, since the images, drawn by a patient master, are definitely educational, facilitating the memorisation of   single episodes to be cited when preaching.48 The presence of   these clearly courtly and profane models however points to an alternative. Thinking about the culture of   the Paduan notaries, based on the studies of   Luciano Gargan, and remembering their love for collecting both classical and vernacular works, alongside their fascination 48   McLaughin 2017, 72-73 considers the use of   palimpsests to suggest monastic execution.

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with luxurious aristocratic libraries, it might not be so far-fetched to imagine a  notary – well used to holding a  pen and drawing a  signum tabellionis as part of   his work, as documented also by the infinite images that regularly appear in the notarial minutes of   this period – busily copying the text, re-using the parchment of   old documents no longer in use and gradually illustrating the text with images that were familiar to him, taken from the collective imagery of   late-fourteenth century Northern Italian culture, filled with shapes and colours, insignias and symbols. In the first two codices the illustration of   the first book, the De  formis figurisque deorum, is missing either completely or partially,49 while in a  precise choice this is the only illustrated part of  ms. 344 of   the Civic Library of   Treviso,50 a large volume with clear layout and certainly intended as a luxury codex, even though devoid of   gold adornments: the images of   the gods are executed in ink and diluted tempera, a technique widely used in the Veneto region. A  comparison with works executed by the Master of   the Parousia and the Master of   the Novella leads one to think that the Ovidius moralizatus might have been illustrated in the workshop active in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth century, covering the areas of   Padua and Venice.51 The story of   the codex can be documented from 1420, when Venetian notary Giovanni Burghi left it to the convent of   Santa Maria dei Carmelitani, before it was passed on to the library of   the noble Scotti family of  Piacenza, as shown by the coat of  arms and word­ ing “Jacomo Scotti de Vigoleno”, by the side of  the drawing. The thorough studies of   Lino Lazzarini,52 Giuseppe Billa­no­ vich 53 and Luciano Gargan 54 have revealed the intricate stories behind the development of   profane libraries in fourteenth century Veneto, against the backdrop of   the proto-humanist movement stimulated by Petrarch, among others. It is believed that the great poet was responsible for the diffusion of   Bersuire’s works 49  The ms. Gotha I 98 has the first booklet missing, while ms. Cassaf. 3 04 begins with the description of  Venus. 50  Faggiani 2004. 51   G. Mariani Canova 1992, 396-397; Franco 1999. 52  Lazzarini 1930, 114, 139-140. 53  Billanovich 1952; Billanovich 1996. 54  Gargan 1971; Gargan 1978; Gargan 1992.

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in this area. In  particular Francesco  I da Carrara requested the Ovidius moralizatus from Petrarch in 1368-1369.55 Based on everything that has emerged in these studies on the refined culture and surprising libraries of   the fourteenth century notaries, it has been put forward that Giovanni Burghi was the original com­ missioning party.56 However, the notary in question was not Oli­ viero For­zetta, and in all likelihood did not belong to the small number of erudite collectors. He may have been the second owner of   the work, however it is more likely to have gone to a  more courtly home, perhaps even the Carrara library, which was dissolved in 1388 and again in 1405.57 The aristocratic vocation of   the manuscript is revealed in time: after its stay in the hands of   the Scotti family, it came into the possession of   the Brescia family, before finally arriving at the Civic Library of  Treviso. In this case too, the drafting of   the text and the figurative conceptual framework form part of   a rigorous design, as shown by the fact that the images are placed not in the introduction to the section dedicated to single divinities, but after the initial description. The culture of   the learned advisor/patron emerges from the citation in the imagery of   the figurative cycles executed in the Veneto area, such as Petrarch’s Trionfi and De viris illustribus,58 coupled with inferences from sacred figurativeness, as with the image of   Juno, echoing a Marian iconography. Of greater significance was the decision, unique as far as can be surmised from surviving documents, to have represented in three groups of   three the minor divinities accompanying Pluto, and to give full visibility to the Furies, Fates and Harpies, ff.  6v-7r (Fig. 7). The implicit misogynism appears to be confirmed by the final text of  the first book, which does not derive from Berchorius or Fulgentius, but still commences from the original draft, with the depiction of   Vanity. It is this link that binds together the allegorical and moralising aspects of   the text with the cycle of  images that reveal an undeniable fascination for days long gone. While perceived as part of   the past, this attempt at moralisation seeks to create a fleeting space for it in the contemporary culture.     57  58   55 56

McLaughlin 2017, 51-52. Venturini 2018, 104. McLaughin 2017, 51. Trapp 1996; Armstrong 2016, 85-90.

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Fig. 7. Treviso, Biblioteca Comunale, ms. 344, ff. 6v-7r: Ovidius moralizatus, Pan; Pluton and Persephone; Furies; Fates, Harpies.

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Bibliography Albertini Ottolenghi 1991 = M. G. Albertini Ottolenghi, La biblio­ teca dei Visconti e  degli Sforza: gli inventari del 1488 e  del 1490, Studi Petrarcheschi 8, 1991, 1-435. Alton – Wermell 1960-1961 = E. H. Alton – D. E. W. Wermell, Ovid in the Medieval Schoolroom, Hermathena 94-95, 1960-1961, 21-38 and 67-82. Armstrong 2016 = L. Armstrong, Petrarch’s Famous Men in the Early Renaissance. The illuminated Copies of   Felice Feliciano’s Edition, London 2016. Avril 1990 = F. Avril, Mediolani illuminatus: Pétrarque et l’enlumi­ nure milanaise, in M.  T. Balboni Brizza (ed.), Q uaderno di studi sull’arte lombarda dai Visconti agli Sforza. Per gli ottanta anni di Alberto Dell’Acqua, Milano 1990, 7-16. Billanovich 1952 = G. Billanovich, I primi umanisti e le tradizioni dei classici latini, Friburgo 1952. Billanovich 1996  = G.  Billanovich, Petrarca e  il primo Umanesimo, Padova 1996. Blume 2014a = D. Blume, Bild-Lektüren der Metamorphosen Ovids im Italien des 14. Jahrhunderts, in C. Cipollaro – M. Theisen (eds.), Res gestae - Res pictae. Epen-Illustrationen des 13. bis 15. Jahrhunderts. Tagungsband zum gleichnamigen internationalen Kolloquium, Kunsthistorisches Institut der Universität Wien, 27. Februar  1 März 2013, Purckesdorf 2014 (Codices Manuscripti & Impressi/ Supplementum 9), 52-64. Blume 2014b = D. Blume, Visualizing Metamorphosis: Picturing the Metamorphoses of   Ovid in Fourteenth-Century Italy, Troianalexandrina 14, 2014, 183-212. Cadili 2014  = A.  Cadili, Giovanni Visconti committente: un quadro documentario, in P.  N. Pagliara – S.  Romano (eds.), Moderata­ mente antichi. Modelli, identità, tradizione nella Lombardia del Tre e Q uattrocento, Roma 2014, 45-72. Ciccuto 1996-1997 = M. Ciccuto, Guinizzelli e Guittone, Barberino e Petrarca: le origini del libro volgare illustrato, in M. Ceccanti (ed.), Il codice miniato laico: rapporto tra testo e  immagine. Atti del IV Congresso di Storia della Miniatura, Cortona 12-14 novembre 1992, Rivista di Storia della Miniatura 1-2, 1996-1997, 77-87. Cinelli 2007 = L. Cinelli, Manelli, Luca, in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani 69, Roma 2007, 81-84. 206

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Clark 2011 = J. G. Clark, Introduction, in J. G. Clark – F. T. Coulson – K. L. McKinley (edited by), Ovid in the Middle Ages, Cambridge 2011, 1-25. De Laude 1996 = S. De Laude, La «Spola» di Bartolomeo de’ Bartoli. L’esperimento metrico di una canzone illustrata nel Trecento, Anticomoderno 2, 1996, 201-217. De Laude 2017 = S. De Laude, La curiosità di Carlo Magno. Le Virtù, le loro parti e il loro albero, per un copista-scrittore bolognese del Trecento, La Rivista di Engramma 150, 2017, http://www.engramma. it/eOS/index.php?id_articolo=3252. D’Urso 2014 = T. D’Urso, Schede 6-7, in T. D’Urso – P. L. Mulas, La passion du Prince pour les belles occupations de l’esprit. Enlumi­ nures italiennes dans la collection du duc d’Aumale. Catalogue de l’exposition, Chantilly, Musée Condé, 6 septembre - 9 décembre 2014, Chantilly 2014, 58-65. Engels 1971 = J. Engels, L’édition critique de l’Ovidius moralizatus de Bersuire, Vivarium 9, 1971, 19-24. Exeter 1989 = R. Exeter, The Allegari de Pierre Bersuire: Interpretation and the Reductorium Morale, Allegorica 10, 1989, 51-84. Faggiani 2004  = R.  Faggiani, Le miniature del De formis figurisque deorum di Treviso, Biblioteca civica, ms. 344, in I seminari del­l’Uma­ nesimo latino 2002-2003, 2, Treviso 2004, 1-113. Forsyth 1976 = I. H. Forsyth, The Ganymede Capital at Vézelay, Gesta 15, 1976, 241-246. Franco 1999 = T. Franco, Schede n. 70-71, in G. Mariani Canova (ed.), La miniatura a Padova dal Medioevo al Settecento. Catalogo della mostra, Padova, Palazzo della Ragione, 21 marzo - 27 giugno 1999, Modena 1999, 197-199. Fumo 2014 = J. C. Fumo, Commentary and Collaboration in the Medieval Allegorical Tradition, in J. F. Miller – C. E. Newlands (eds.), A Handbook to the Reception of  Ovid, Oxford 2014, 114-128. Gaborit-Chopin 1988 = D. Gaborit-Chopin, Scheda 122, in L’art au temps des rois maudits. Philippe le Bel et ses fils. Catalogue de l’exposition, Paris, Galeries nationales du Gran Palais, 17 mars - 29 juin 1998, Paris 1998, 198-199. Gargan 1971 = L Gargan, Oliviero Forzetta e la diffusione dei testi clas­ sici nel Veneto al tempo del Petrarca, in R. R. Bolgar (ed.), Classi­ cal Influences in European Culture a.d. 500-1500. Proceedings of   an Internationsl Conference Held at King’s College, April 1969, Cambridge 1971, 73-80. 207

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Gargan 1978 = L. Gargan, Cultura e arte nel Veneto al tempo del Petrarca, Padova 1978. Gargan 1992 = L. Gargan, Oliviero Forzetta e la nascita del collezionismo nel Veneto, in La pittura in Veneto. Il Trecento, Milano 1992, 503-515. Gerber 2015  = A.  J. Gerber, Medieval Ovid. Frame Narrative and Political Allegory, New York 2015. Goldin 1980 = D. Goldin, Testo e immagine nei ‘ Documenti d’Amore’ di Francesco da Barberino, Q uaderni d’Italianistica 1, 1980, 125-138. Hindman 1985 = S. L. Hindman, The Role of  Author and Artist in the Procedure of  Illustrating Late Medieval Texts, in D. W. Burchamore (edited by), Text and Image. Acta X, Binghamton 1985, 27-63. Lazzarini 1930 = L. Lazzarini, Paolo di Bernardo e i primordi del­l’uma­ nesimo a Venezia, Genève 1930. Liber Gestorum = Petri Azarii Liber Gestorum in Lombardia, in Rerum Italicarum Scriptores, XVI/3-4, Bologna 1925-1939. Lord 1995 = C. Lord, Illustrated Manuscripts of   Berchorius Before the Age of   Printing, in H. Walter – H.-J. Horn (eds.), Die Rezeption der Metamorphosen des Ovid in der Neuzeit: der Antike Mythos in Text und Bild. Internationales Symposion, Bad Homburg v.d.H., 22. bis 25. April 1991, Berlin 1995, 1-11. Lord 2011 = C. Lord. A Survey of  Imagery in Medieval Manuscripts of  Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Related Commentaries, in J. G. Clark – F.  T. Coulson – K.  L. Mckinley (eds.), Ovid in the Middle Ages, Cambdridge 2011, 257-283. Mariani Canova 1992 = G. Mariani Canova, La miniatura veneta del Trecento tra Padova e Venezia, in La pittura in Veneto. Il Trecento, Milano 1992, 383-408. Mariani Canova 2016 = G. Mariani Canova, L’ ‘Officiolo’ di Francesco da Barberino e  le sue figure: libro di devozione, diario dell’anima, palestra di stile, in Officiolum di Francesco da Barberino. Commentario all’edizione in facsimile, Roma 2016, 63-104. Mattia 1990-1991  = E.  Mattia, Due Ovidio illustrati di scuola bolo­ gnese, Rivista di Storia della Miniatura 3/4, 1990-1991, 63-72. McLaughin 2017  = A.  McLaughlin, The Illuminated Manuscripts of  Pierre Bersuire’s Ovidius Moralizatus: A Comparative Study, Ph.D in Combined Historical Studies, The Warburg Institute, University of  London, London 2017. Medica 1990 = M. Medica, «Miniatori-pittori»: il «Maestro del Ghe­ rarduccio», Lando di Antonio, il «Maestro del 1328» ed altri. Alcu208

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ne considerazioni sulla produzione miniatoria bolognese del 13201330, in R. D’Amico – R. Grandi – M. Medica (eds.), Francesco da Rimini e  gli esordi del gotico bolognese. Catalogo della mostra, Bologna, Museo Civico Medievale, 6 ottobre 25 - novembre 1990, Bologna 1990, 97-123. Medica 2004  = M.  Medica, Maestro del 1346, in M.  Bollati (ed.), Dizionario dei Miniatori Italiani, Milano 2004, 475-476. Medica 2006 = M. Medica, Il cardinale Albornoz e l’arte bolognese del Trecento, in J. L. Colmer – A. Serra Desfilis (eds.), España y Bolonia. Siete siglos de relaciones artísticas y culturales, Madrid 2006, 49-64. Medica 2012  = M.  Medica, Tra Università e  Corti: i  miniatori bolo­ gnesi del Trecento in Italia settentrionale, in S. Romano – D. Cerutti (eds.), L’artista girovago. Forestieri, avventurieri, emigranti e missio­ nari nell’arte del Trecento in Italia del Nord, Roma 2012, 101-134. Medica 2018 = M. Medica, Lo Hieronyminus del Collegio di Spagna e la miniatura a Bologna tra il 1340 e il 1350, in M. Parada Lopez de Corselas (ed.), Domus Hispanica. El Real Colegio de España e  el cardenal Gil de Albornoz en la Historia del Arte, Madrid 2018, 559-574. Meier 2012 = Ch. Meier, Metamorphosen und Theophanien. Zur Ovid Illustration des späteren Mittelalters, Frühmittalalterliche Studien 46, 2012, 321-341. Orofino 1993  = G.  Orofino, L’illustrazione delle Metamorphoses di Ovidio nel ms. IV. F. 3 della Biblioteca Nazionale di Napoli, Ricerche di storia dell’arte 93, 1993, 5-18. Orofino 1995 = G. Orofino Ovidio nel Medioevo, in I. Gallo – L. Nicastri (eds.), Aetates Ovidianae. Lettori di Ovidio dall’Anticità al Rinascimento. Atti del Convegno di studi, Salerno-Fisciano, 25-27 gennaio 1993, Napoli 1995, 189-209. Pagliara – Romano 2014 = P. N. Pagliara – S. Romano (eds.), Mode­ ratamente antichi. Modelli, identità, tradizione nella Lombardia del Tre e Q uattrocento, Roma, 2014. Panofsky 1960 = E. Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences in Western Art, Stockholm 1960, trad. it. Milano, 1971. Pellegrin 1969 = E. Pellegrin, La bibliothèque des Visconti et des Sforza Ducs de Milan. Supplément, Florence - Paris 1969. Petrus de Ebulo 1994 = Petrus de Ebulo, Liber ad Honorem Augusti sive de Rebus Siculis, Codex 120 II der Burgerbibliothek Bern: eine Bilderchronik der Stauferzeit, herausgegeben von T.  Kölzer – M. Stähli, Sigmaringen 1994. 209

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Piccini 2004 = D. Piccini, La canzone «Mal d’amore parla» di Bruzio Visconti, Studi di Filologia Italiana 62, 2004, 96-120. Spiriti 1989 = A. Spiriti, Scheda 122, in Codici e incunaboli della Bi­ blioteca Civica di Bergamo, Cinisello Balsamo 1989, 286-310. Steger 1961 = H. Steger, David Rex et Propheta. König David als vor­ bildliche Verkörperung des Herrschers und Dichters im Mittelalter, nach Bilddarstellungen des achten bis zwölften Jahrhunderts, Nürnberg 1961. Stok 1996 = F. Stok, Scheda 51, in M. Buonocore (ed.), Vedere i clas­ sici. L’illustrazione libraria dei testi antichi dall’età romana al tardo medioevo. Catalogo della mostra, Città del Vaticano, Musei Vaticani, 9 ottobre 1996 - 1919 aprile 1997, Roma 1996, 267-268. Suckale Redfelsen 2011 = G. Suckale-Redelfsen, Der Gothaer Ovidius: ein Handschrift für Bruzio Visconti? Gotha, Landesbibliothek, Per­ gam. I 98, Codices Manuscripti. Zeitschrift für Handschriftenkunde 32, 78-79, 2011, 41-52. Toniolo 2018  = F.  Toniolo, Immagini in trasformazione. Le  Metamorphoses illustrate dai manoscritti ai libri a  stampa, in F.  Ghedini (ed.), Ovidio. Amori, miti e altre storie. Catalogo della mostra, Roma, Scuderie del Q uirinale, 27 ottobre 2018 - 2020 gennaio 2019, Napoli - Roma 2018, 95-101. Trapp 1996 = J. B. Trapp, The Iconography of   Petrarch in the Age of  Humanism, Q uaderni Petrarcheschi 9-10, 1996, 11-73. Vandi 2019 = L. Vandi, Ovid at the Crossroads. Illustration of  the Metamorphoses in Apulia Before 1071, in B. Kitzinger – J. O’Driscoll (edited by), After the Carolingians. Re-defining Manuscript Illumina­ tion in the 10th and 11th Centuries, Berlin - Boston 2019, pp. 302-335. Venturini 2013-2014 = C. Venturini, Figurare dei e  miti.Codici miniati dell’Ovidius moralizatus, Ph. D.Padua University 2013-2014. Venturini 2018  = C.  Venturini, La fortuna iconografica delle Meta­ morphoses di Ovidio nei codici miniati dell’Ovidius moralizatus e dell’Ovide moralisé en vers français, in F.  Ghedini (ed.), Ovidio. Amori, miti e  altre storie. Catalogo della mostra, Roma, Scuderie del Q uirinale, 27 ottobre 2018 - 2020 gennaio 2019, Napoli Roma 2018, 103-105. Visconti 2007 = B. Visconti, Le rime, Edizione critica a cura di D. Piccini, Firenze, 2007 (Q uaderno degli Studi di Filologia Italiana 16). Wenzel 2011  = S.  Wenzel, Ovid from the Pulpit, in J.  G. Clark – F. T. Coulson – K. L. McKinley (eds.), Ovid in the Middle Ages, Cambridge 2011, 160-176. 210

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Zanichelli 2006  = G.  Z. Zanichelli, L’immagine come glossa. Consi­ derazioni su alcuni frontespizi miniati della ‘Commedia’, in Dante e le arti visive, (Gerione: incroci danteschi, 1), Milano, 2006 109148. Zanichelli 2014a = G. Z. Zanichelli, Dalla corte all’altare: trame mi­ niate in età carolingia, in M. Gianandrea – F. Gangemi – C. Costantini (eds.), Il potere dell’arte nel Medioevo. Studi in onore di M. D’Onofrio, Roma 2014, 825-233. Zanichelli 2014b  = G.  Z. Zanichelli, The Wolf: Between Oral and Written Culture in the Twelfth Century, Source 33, 3-4, 2014, 44-48.

Abstract Bereft of  an ancient figurative tradition, Ovid’s works were brilliantly brought to life in terms of   visualisation thanks to fourtenth century moralisations. This included Pierre Bersuire’s Ovidius moralizatus, of  which around eighty copies have survived. Here we should mention, due to their rich illuminated cycles and coherent underlying agency, the manuscripts Gotha I 98, Bergamo Cassaf. 3 04 and Treviso 344, produced in northern Italy in the second half of   the fourteenth century or shortly thereafter. All three cycles of  images only provide a very marginal moral interpretation of   the myths, and in no case does the imagery tap into the classical repertoire. The gods are dressed in vaguely contemporary garb, while the architecture on display is gothic in style. So whereas the narration of   the myths reveals a sense of   cultural continuity between the past and the present, its function appears to be different: in the codices commissioned by the aristocracy (Gotha I 98), there is a  clear political intent to demonstrate i) the ability of   the gods to only bend to their own will, thus being released from the constraints encountered by humanity, and ii) a revival of  ancient treasures (Treviso 344). In the codex intended for a small private library (Ber­ gamo, Cassaf. 3 04), on the other hand, there appears to be more of  a mnemonic-didascalic interest. But in all cases the illuminated system becomes a  gloss for the text, bearing witness to subtle revisions and interpretations on the part of  the commissioning party and/or advisor, who superimposes his own cultural imagery on the narrative.

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THE MYTH OF  NARCISSUS IN PAINTING AND SCULPTURE IN THE SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTH CENTURIES: SOME REFLECTIONS

Ovid’s contribution to iconography, through the Metamorpho­ ses, is almost incalculable, although perhaps accidental (it would be worth reflecting on whether such a contribution by an author who seems to think in images can really be unintentional).1 The dominance of  this text in figurative art has been constant over the centuries and, even when Ludovico Ariosto and Torquato Tasso appeared on the scene in the sixteenth century with their epic poems Orlando Furioso and La Gerusalemme Liberata, this situation did not change much. The new fables – Angelica and Medoro, Clorinda and Tancredi – took their place alongside, but did not replace, the almost universally unhappy love stories of  men, gods and demigods.2 A few years ago I wrote a piece on the Narcis­ sus in the Palazzo Barberini (Fig. 1). The attribution of  this work to Caravaggio, which today seems to have gained momentum, is by no means clear-cut.3 I did not want to get into attributional discussions here, but specifically by reflecting on the image and on the meaning of   Narcissus, I think I can add something to the evaluation of  this issue, which I consider to be crucial to any work of   art – changing the author and date of   a work also changes its meaning and context. Regardless of   who created it, the Narcissus   Baldo 2012, 43.   Whereas there was no such dominance in the ancient world, in modern times it is undisputed: Ghedini 2018, 219. Ovid’s expectation of   his own fame was very strong – see Am. 1,15 8 in toto semper ut orbe canar and other passages in both Metamorphoses and Tristia, and it cannot be said that it did not come true: I owe this quotation to my reading of  Graverini 2019, 27. 3   Maccherini, in Strinati – Santi 2005, 414-415. 1 2

After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127597 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 213-227

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Fig. 1. Michelangelo Merisi detto il Caravaggio o Giovanni Antonio Galli, detto lo Spadarino, Narciso, Roma, Palazzo Barberini.

in the Palazzo Barberini is an image that we must nonetheless deal with in studying how Ovid was received, because of   the extraordinary iconic power through which it stands out from other paintings inspired by the poet’s narrative. As has already been said, we would be inclined to think it is a  work by Caravaggio, despite the many arguments to the contrary, in part because of  its uniqueness, given that we know how Caravaggio was an innovator just as much in iconographic terms as he was technically and stylistically.4 I will return to the Palazzo Barberini Narcissus, but first, specifically to explore the extent to which this picture really is a one-off, I will attempt to provide a brief presentation of   other interpretations of   this theme in the period before and after Caravaggio’s brief career. 4   For the two positions, see: Papi 2018, 216-232 (this is the republication of  the piece written for the artist’s monograph, Papi 2003, 155-160), and Vodret 2009, 242-247. More recently, C.  Ricasoli in Swoboda – Weppelmann 2019, 98-99, and Schütze 2019.

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If it were necessary, as further justification for my choice of  the theme of   Narcissus for a  discussion of   the artistic reception of  Ovid’s poem, we should remember that the founder of   modern thinking on art, the first modern theorist Leon Battista Alberti, in perhaps his most successful text, the De Pictura, puts Narcissus at the heart of   painting: 5 “I say among my friends that Narcissus who was changed into a flower, according to the poets, was the inventor of  painting. Since painting is already the flower of  every art, the story of  Narcissus is most to the point. What else can you call painting but a similar embracing with art of  what is presented on the surface of   the water in the fountain? Q uintilian said that the ancient painters used to trace a line round a shadow thrown in the sunlight, and from this our art has grown.”.6 For the sake of  completeness, I will also quote the Latin version: “Q uae cum ita sint, consuevi inter familiares dicere picturae inventorem fuisse, poetarum sententia, Narcissum illum qui sit in florem versus, nam cum sit omnium artium flos pictura, tum de Narcisso omnis fabula pulchre ad rem ipsam perapta erit. Q uid est enim aliud pingere quam arte superficiem illam fontis amplecti? Censebat Q uinti­ lia­nus priscos pictores solitos umbras ad solem circumscribere, demum additamentis artem excrevisse.”. It is not clear which poets’ maxims Alberti is referring to, to the extent that the scholars who have grappled with the question have more often considered the philosophers. This is because, while it is well known that the literary legacy of  Narcissus in Tuscan circles is substantial – he is mentioned in several passages by Dante, both in the Inferno and in the Paradiso, by Petrarch in the Can­ zo­niere, in the Novellino, and by Boccaccio not only in the Deca­ meron but also in the Rime, and obviously in the Genealogia deo­ rum gentilium –, none of  these addresses or mentions this theme.7 5   On Alberti’s statement, see Barbieri 2000, 145-159, and on this point see also Ordine 2003, 170-181. 6  De Pictura, 2,26 “Però usai di dire tra i miei amici, secondo la sentenza de’ poeti, quel Narcisso convertito in fiore essere della pittura stato inventore; ché già ove sia la pittura fiore d’ogni arte, ivi tutta la storia di Narcisso viene a proposito. Che dirai tu essere dipignere altra cosa che simile abracciare con arte quella ivi superficie del fonte? Diceva Q uintiliano ch’e’ pittori antichi soleano circonscrivere l’ombre al sole, e così indi poi si trovò questa arte cresciuta.”. Cf. Q uint., Inst. 10,2,7. 7  On the possible identities of  the ‘poets’, see Barbieri 2000, Chapters 6 and 7.

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Without venturing into psychoanalysis, we can see that the suggestion of  Narcissus is very strong at all levels, so much so that it influenced the choice for the cover of   a recent version of   the poem, although, for reasons unknown to me, this cover uses a well-known work by Michelangelo to play on the theme of   duality and reflection.8 To return to figurative art and with a  view to exploring the possible presence of   ekphrasis in Ovid’s text, I  felt it was right to start from the text itself and, rereading the entire passage on Narcissus, I was struck in particular by a sentence referring, albeit generically, to sculpture (Met. 3,418-424): Adstupet ipse sibi vultuque inmotus eodem haeret, ut e Pario formatum marmore signum; spectat humi positus geminum, sua lumina, sidus 420 et dignos Baccho, dignos et Apolline crines inpubesque genas et eburnea colla decusque oris et in niveo mixtum candore ruborem, cunctaque miratur, quibus est mirabilis ipse. “He is astonished by himself, and hangs there motionless, with a fixed expression, like a statue carved from Parian marble. Flat on the ground, he contemplates two stars, his eyes, and his hair, fit for Bacchus, fit for Apollo, his youthful cheeks and ivory neck, the beauty of  his face, the rose-flush mingled in the whiteness of  snow, admiring everything for which he is himself admired.”

In particular vv. 418-419: Adstupet ipse sibi vultuque inmotus eodem haeret, ut e Pario formatum marmore signum “He is astonished by himself, and hangs there motionless, with a fixed expression, like a statue carved from Parian marble.”

I will also provide the translation from Giovanni Andrea del­l’An­ guillara in the 1584 edition (Libro  III, p.  41) that, with its numerous reprints between the 1550s and 1638, is the text that the artists probably read.9 8  Sermonti, 2014. I do not know who is responsible for the choice of   Buo­ nar­roti’s Testa ideale kept in the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford for the play of  mirroring, complete with tremulous reflection. 9  Capriotti 2001 and Capriotti 2007. On similar themes, see Posèq 1991.

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Come statua di marmo immobil guata Il bel volto nell’onde ripercosso E loda nella guancia delicata Il bel misto color candido, e rosso Gli par ch’al sol la chiama abbia levata Et à Venere il viso, a Marte il dosso E loda, essalta, et ammira in colui Tutto quel bel, che fa mirabil lui. “Like a statue of  motionless marble he stares The beautiful face in the waves retraced And exalts in the delicate cheek The beautiful white mingled with red As if to the sun the call has risen And to Venus the face, to Mars the back And praises, exalts, and admires in him All that is beautiful, which makes him wondrous.”

I therefore wondered whether it might not be productive to examine the legacy of   the myth in statuary first, precisely because of   this juxtaposition, and so I have selected a number of   works, albeit within a  limited Tuscan context. However, for an exploration of   Ovid and ekphrasis, attested to in several passages of   the poem (the embossed krater made by Alcon that Ovid (Met. 13,681-701) had Anius give to Aeneas; the splendid images of   the tapestries woven by Athena and Arachne (Met. 6,70128), and the doors of   the Palace of   the Sun (Met. 2,1-19)), it is worthwhile looking first at ancient art, where an image of   the mythical youth created by a follower of   Praxiteles is believed to have existed. A derived form of  this piece is known, demonstrated for example by a  small bronze statue found in 1862 at Pompei (although some have identified this as Dionysus), and a  similar work, a specimen of  which is known to be in the Prado. However, this latter piece has recently been interpreted instead as a young man holding an apple (Paris, I would think).10 While the appearance of   Narcissus in ancient times is therefore not clear, the only feature that refers to the Ovidian theme of   these statues is the head tilted downwards, and so it seems to me that the problem of   how much Ovid creates or takes from art for the description   Ghedini et al. 2018, passim.

10

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of   Narcissus remains absolutely unresolved.11 In the modern age, however, there are many sculptural specimens, all linked to the theme of   the garden. This link is present both in the botanic and floral nature of   the theme, with the figure of   Narcissus often accompanied – based on another Ovidian theme – by Hyacinthus, and in the way in which this space, the garden, is being defined in the Renaissance, with its transformation into a sort of  open-air museum, rich in suggestion and inference.12 Among these garden-themed pieces, it is worth mentioning three very beautiful and interesting specimens – the Narcissus by Cellini, currently in the Bargello National Museum (Fig. 2), the Narcissus by Valerio Cioli in the Victoria and Albert Museum (Fig.  3), and the work by Pietro Francavilla, a  copy of   which is in the Boboli Gardens while the original has been recreated in the Palazzo Pitti. One aspect of   these Ovid-themed outdoor statues, which applies both for the Narcissus by Benvenuto Cellini and for the version by Valerio Cioli, is the fact that they are restorations of   antique pieces, restorations as archaeological restoration was understood at the time, namely integration and reinvention. Cellini’s Narcissus turns to look at himself in a pool of   water, to which the small bowl at the base alludes, and indeed the statue, mentioned in several letters to Cosimo I, who commissioned it, and in the artist’s autobiography, was later placed by Francesco I de’ Medici in the Pratolino Gardens, as an engraving by Stefano della Bella also shows.13 The subject, not easily identifiable today, was once clarified by a  garland of   flowers placed on the chest to hide the visible break caused not only by the way in which it was put together by Cellini but also by a fall that occurred in the artist’s workshop during the flooding of   1557.14 While the current museum display decontextualises the statue to the point of  obscuring its meaning, removing the body of  water that would clarify its identity, the other aspect is still visible, the non-moral   Even in the case of   painting, for which examples are most common, I do not think we can be sure of   the relationship between the literary text and the figurative examples, Colpo 2006. 12  On the garden in the sixteenth century as an exhibition space, see Pegaz­ zano 1999. 13  For the work by Cellini and its history, see Pegazzano 2005, 132-139. 14   Ibidem. 11

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Fig. 2. Benvenuto Cellini, Narciso, Firenze, Museo nazionale del Bargello.

Fig. 3. Valerio Cioli, Narciso, London, Victoria and Albert Museum.

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aspect of   the work, namely the celebration of   the extraordinary beauty of   the youth and especially his hair. Also designed for a garden, and in fact taken from the Gardens at Gualfonda (even though it subsequently passed through the Orti Oricellari), is the sculpture restored, or, more correctly, according to the hypothesis of Sir John Pope-Hennessy, reinvented by Vale­rio Cioli in the sixteenth century and with a left arm restored by Emilio San­ta­ relli in the ninteenth century,15 a Narcissus crouched and gazing at himself in an artificial pool. This is more in keeping with the image we have of   Narcissus, but not so much with the text that describes him on the ground, although that is perhaps not a suitable posture for a statue. The last garden statue I wish to review is even further removed from Ovid’s narrative. This one was created for Boboli by Giambologna’s best collaborator, Pietro Franca­villa. The work, which is currently displayed in the atrium of   the Florentine Soprintendenza following a  disastrous collapse in 1940, uses a  bouquet of   flowers to establish his identity, in addition to his sumptuous hair. The water is recalled by the dolphin that once splashed in the pool below, but the youth is not turned towards it, instead keeping his gaze firmly fixed ahead, evidently aware of   his own beauty without even the need for a reflection. One might say: a true Narcissus.16 Narcissus in sculpture is therefore an isolated figure, although sometimes, as we have already noted, he was usually depicted in a group with Apollo and Hyacinthus. Indeed the intangible nature of   transformed Echo would have made it difficult to render her and, after all, the theme of   Narcissus found in art and elsewhere was not that of   rejection, of   disdain for love, but that of  self-love.   Pope-Hennessy 1964, 451-455, Fig. 477.   For the work of   Francavilla, see Montigiani in Medri 2003, 192-193. The upright pose is a legacy of  Michelangelo’s David and partly of  Cellini’s Perseus. We can rule out the possibility that the youth once held something other than flowers because of   the engravings, for example see Pegazzano in Capecchi et al., 2013, 102 + 178-179. The beauty of  Narcissus is wittily mocked in the poem that opens the book by Giartosio 2019: “Narrano che Narciso  / non fosse bello af­ fat­to / e che accettasse il fatto. / Ma il fatto che il suo viso / nella fonte riflesso / fosse brutto lo stesso –  / questo sì l’abbia ucciso” (“They say that Narcissus  / was not handsome at all / and that he accepted the fact / But the fact that his face / In the fountain’s reflection / Was ugly all the same – / Was what killed him.”. 15 16

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All the statues presented were surrounded by greenery, and even for the paintings the theme of   nature was almost always central, or at least very present. See, for example, the charming Narcissus from the Milanese Leonardesque milieu once attributed directly to Giovanni Antonio Boltraffio and now attributed instead to the workshop. Two versions of   this work exist, a more complete one in the National Gallery in London and another in the Uffizi.17 Here the landscape has a clearly defined role, but the water, perhaps to keep the character from bending over, is positioned in a kind of   terrace, almost a raised basin, which reflects only part of   the figure, in a  way that is allusory and not fully realised. The focus is on the face of   Narcissus and not on his reflection, on the beauty of   the youth, not on his self-love. Similarly, in almost all other representations Narcissus is depicted in the act of  gazing at his reflection, but his reflected image does not appear. This contrasts with representations in ancient art, as testified by the Narcissus at the Spring from the House of   Marcus Lucretius Fronto in Pompeii, and in a few printed representations, including the woodcut from an amended edition from 1505 also discussed by Giuseppe Capriotti.18 As already mentioned, the theme of  nature plays an important role, almost to the point of   overpowering the story itself in the Narcissus at the Spring by Domenichino in the Palazzo Farnese.19 This was a  decoration based on mythological figures related to flowers for the Casino della Morte in the gardens of  Palazzo Farnese, where he is in fact flanked by Apollo and Hyacinthus and the death of   Adonis. Here Narcissus is almost lost, becoming little more than a pretext for the typical classicist landscape, which Domenichino’s ‘maestro’, Annibale Car­racci, was creating at that time. Other images include the work by the Florentine Curradi, today in the Palatine Gallery of  the Palazzo Pitti in Florence and commissioned for the Casino di San Marco by Cardinal Carlo de’ Medici,20 and the learned, conceptual works by Poussin. In Poussin’s painting in the Louvre, Narcissus appears beautiful and is     19  20  17 18

Fiorio 2000, 164-166. Habebis 1505, see the contribution from G. Capriotti in this volume. Capriotti 2007. Chiarini in Chiarini – Padovani 2003, 137.

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Fig. 4. Nicolas Poussin, Eco e Narciso, Paris, Musée du Louvre.

watched over in his sleep by Echo (Fig. 4), while he appears with other deities in The Empire of   Flora, currently in the Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister in Dresden (Fig. 5). In that work, he gazes at his reflection not in the nearby pond, which is also animated by reflections, but in a deep vase borne by the unfortunate nymph. As in the case of   Curradi, the face reproduced in that vase is merely the vaguest of  suggestions.21 The extraordinary characteristic of   the Narcissus in the Palazzo Barberini is therefore represented, in fact, by this refracted image that expands the idea already present in Boltraffio’s Narcis­ sus and is reminiscent of   Giorgione’s daring experiments. In the wake of  various reflections on comparisons of  the arts, Giorgione espoused the superiority of   painting over sculpture, stripping it of its final weapon, the multiplicity of  vision.22 In the seventeenth century, this debate did indeed appear to be an old piece of   sixteenth-century rhetoric, but looking at Narcissus  I cannot help but be reminded of   Vasari’s words in the Prologue of   the entire   For the two paintings by Poussin, see: Rosemberg 1994, 193-194, 203-204.   On paragone see Collareta 1988.

21 22

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Fig. 5. Nicolas Poussin, Il regno di Flora, Dresden, Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister (Die Staatlichen Kunstsammlungen).

work: “Whereas the sculptors make two or three figures together at most from a single block of  marble, they [painters] make many of   them in one single panel, with those very many and varied views that they [sculptors] say that a single statue has, [painters] compensating with the variety of  their poses, foreshortening, and attitudes, for the ability to see the works of   sculptors from all around. Even as Giorgione da Castelfranco has already done in one of   his pictures, which had a  figure turning the shoulders, and having two mirrors, one on each side, and a pool of   water at the feet, showing the figure’s back in the painting, the front in the pool, and the sides in the mirrors – a  thing that sculpture has never been able to do.”.23 And while Giorgione’s work has 23  Vasari 1568, 233 “Soggiungono ancora, che dove gli scultori fanno insieme due o tre figure al più d’un marmo solo, essi ne fanno molte in una tavola sola, con quelle tante e sì varie vedute che coloro dicono che ha una statua sola, ricompensando con la varietà delle positure, scorci et attitudini loro il potersi vedere intorno intorno quelle degli scultori; come già fece Giorgione da Castelfranco in una sua pittura: la quale, voltando le spalle et avendo due specchi, uno da ciascun lato, et una fonte d’acqua a’ piedi, mostra nel dipinto il dietro, nella fonte il dinanzi e negli specchi gli lati: cosa che non ha mai potuto far la scultura.”.

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been lost, a very famous portrait now in the Louvre by Giovanni Girolamo Savoldo, once identified as that of   Gaston de la Foix, shows us the success of   the theme of   reflection and mirroring.24 Perhaps the Narcissus in the Palazzo Barberini is the son of  Alberti, and should be understood as an allegory of   painting? Perhaps is it a last vestige of   the desire of   painters to show more than one point of  view? Although this is not a different point of  view here, but it is the reflected image, which sculpture could not have done. The figure is in fact projected in time, considering that the image, which the pool of   water reflects, carries the years and the future, as a projection of   the life that could have been and did not come to pass. It is as if the pool of   water has become an instrument of   the gods and shows, in an impossible future, that excessive beauty was eliminated or at least diminished. A sort of  ‘with time’ of  Giorgionesque memory? Few figures are as fascinating as this one of   Narcissus, selfrepresentative, self-interpretative, self-cognitive. But if the figure of   Narcissus is, by its very nature, a self-portrait, it is difficult to accept that it is by Caravaggio, who not only practised self-portraiture extensively in his early works – such as the Young Sick Bacchus in the Borghese Gallery –, but continually revisited it in his mature works as well, for example in the Martyrdom of  St Matthew in the Contarelli Chapel of  the Church of  the French Congregation in San Luigi dei Francesi, or in the Taking of   Christ for the Mattei Family, not as a form of   promotion or authenticity, a  substitute for the signature, but as testimony to the truth of  painting. It is very difficult to believe, then, that Caravaggio would have refrained from portraying himself in a painting of  Narcissus at the spring, whereas here the features of  Narcissus in no way compare to those of   the artist. On the contrary, it must mean something that the character ‘Narcissus’ returns over and over again in the paintings of   the most likely author of   the work from the Palazzo Barberini, namely Giovanni Antonio Galli, known as Spadarino, who long disputed the painting’s attribution to Caravaggio.

  Ragni in Savoldo 1990, 164-167.

24

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Bibliography Baldo 2012  = G.  Baldo, Non aliter vidi. Visività del codice epico ovi­ diano, in F. Ghedini – I. Colpo, Il gran poema delle passioni e delle meraviglie. Ovidio e  il repertorio letterario e  figurativo fra antico e riscoperta dell’antico. Atti del convegno (Padova, 15-17 settembre 2011), Padova 2012, 43-52. Barbieri 2000 = G. Barbieri, L’inventore della Pittura. Leon Battista Alberti e il mito di Narciso, Vicenza 2000. Capecchi et al. 2013 = G. Capecchi – D. Pegazzano – S. Faralli, Visi­ tare Boboli all’epoca dei Lumi. Il giardino e le sue sculture nelle incisioni delle ‘Statue di Firenze’, Library of   the ‘Archivum Romanicum’. Serie  I: Storia, Letteratura, Paleografia, Vol.  409, Firenze 2013. Capriotti 2001 = G. Capriotti, L’enigma d’un emblema: il Narciso di Caravaggio, AFLM 34, 2001, 595-637. Capriotti 2007 = G. Capriotti, Tre gigli per il cardinale. Una lettura iconografica del ciclo di Domenichino nel ‘Casino della Morte’ di Palazzo Farnese, AFLM 38, 2007, 97-128. Chiarini – Padovani 2003  = M.  Chiarini – S.  Padovani, La Galle­ ria Palatina e gli appartamenti reali di Palazzo Pitti. Catalogo dei Dipinti, Firenze 2003. Collareta 1988 = M. Collareta, Le ‘arti sorelle’ teoria e pratica del ‘para­ gone’, in G. Briganti (ed.), La pittura in Italia. Il Cinquecento, II, Roma 1988, 569-580. Colpo 2006 = I. Colpo, Q uod non alter et alter eras. Dinamiche figura­ tive nel repertorio di Narciso in area vesuviana, Antenor. Miscellanea di studi di archeologia 5, 2006, 51-85. Fiorio 2000 = M. T. Fiorio, Giovanni Antonio Boltraffio, un pittore milanese nel lume di Leonardo, Roma 2000. Habebis 1505  = Habebis candide lector P.  Ouidii Nasonis Metamor­ phosin castigatissimam cum Raphaelis Regii commentariis emenda­ tissimis, & capitulis figuratis decenter appositis, Impressum Parmae: expensis & labore Francisci Mazalis calcographi dilligentissimi, 1505. Ghedini 2018 = F. Ghedini, Il poeta del Mito. Ovidio e il suo tempo, Roma 2018. Ghedini et  al. 2018  = F.  Ghedini con V.  Farinella – G.  Salvo  – F. Toniolo – F. Zalabra (eds.), Ovidio amori, miti e altre storie, catalogue for the exhibition in Rome (17 October 2018 - 20 January 2019), Napoli 2018. 225

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Giartosio 2019 = T. Giartosio Come sarei felice. Storia con padre, Torino 2019. Graverini 2019 = L. Graverini, Ovidio a Pompei, in Lettori latini e ita­ liani di Ovidio, Atti del convegno di Torino 9-10 novembre 2017, Eds. F. Bessone and S. Stroppa, Pisa-Roma 2019, 27-40. Medri 2003 = L. M. Medri (ed.), Il giardino di Boboli, Milano 2003. Ordine 2003 = N. Ordine, La soglia dell’ombra. Letteratura, filosofia e pittura in Giordano Bruno, Venezia 2003 (20042). Papi 2003 = G. Papi, Spadarino, Soncino (CR) 2003, 155-160. Papi 2018 = G. Papi, Il Narciso Berberini: da Caravaggio a Spadarino, in Idem, Senza più attendere a studio e insegnamenti. Scritti su Ca­ ravaggio e l’ambiente caravaggesco, Napoli 2018, 216-232. Pegazzano 1999 = D. Pegazzano, Il giardino Bracci a Rovezzano: pre­ cisazioni e  aggiunte alle sculture di Pietro Francavilla, Paragone. Arte 595, 1999, 63-94. Pegazzano 2005 = D. Pegazzano, Benvenuto Cellini, Roma 2005. Pope-Hennessy 1964 = J. Pope-Hennessy, Catalogue of   Italian sculp­ ture in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London 1964. Posèq 1991  = A.  W.  G. Posèq, The Allegorical Content of   Caravag­ gio’s ‘Narcissus’, Source: Notes in the History of   Art 10 (3, Spring 1991), 21-31. Rosemberg 1994 = P. Rosemberg – L.-A. Prat, Nicolas Poussin 15941665, catalogue from the exhibition in Paris (27 September 1994 2 January 1995), Paris 1994. Savoldo 1990 = Giovanni Girolamo Savoldo tra Foppa Giorgione e Ca­ra­ vag­gio, catalogue from the exhibition in Brescia (3 March 1990 31 May 1990), Milano 1990. Schütze 2019 = S. Schütze, Narcissus and the Pathopoeia in the Early Modern Age, in Swoboda – Weppelmann 2019, 46-55. Sermonti 2014 = V. Sermonti (ed.), Le Metamorfosi di Ovidio, Milano 2014. Strinati – Santi 2005 = C. Strinati – B. Santi, (eds.), Siena & Roma. Raffaello, Caravaggio e i protagonisti di un legame antico, catalogue from the exhibition in Siena (24 November 2005 - 5 March 2006), Colle di Val d’Elsa (SI), 2005. Swoboda – Weppelmann 2019 = G. Swoboda – S. Weppelmann (eds.), Caravaggio Bernini, Early Baroque in Rome, catalogue from the exhibition in Vienna (15 October 2019-19 January 2020) and Amsterdam (14 February 2020 - 13 September 2020), MünchenLondon-New York 2019. 226

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Vasari 1568  = G.  Vasari, Le Vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori, et architettori, … riviste et ampliate, 3 voll., in Fiorenza, appresso i Giunti, 1568; ed. in Id., Le Vite … nelle redazioni del 1550 e 1568, testo a cura di R. Bettarini, commento secolare a cura di P. Barocchi, 6 voll. di testo e 2 di commento, Firenze 1966-1987. Vodret 2009 = R. Vodret, Caravaggio, Milan 2009.

Abstract This contribution is a  reflection on how the figure of   Narcissus was interpreted in painting and sculpture between the sixteenth and sev­ en­teenth centuries. In  particular, the work focuses on the Narcissus in the Palazzo Barberini, variously attributed to Caravaggio and Spadarino, and on how the theme has been addressed in sculpture.

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OVID AND THE AERIAL METAMORPHOSES PAINTED BY SEBASTIANO DEL PIOMBO IN THE LOGGIA DI GALATEA Denique quas Ovidi versus pinxere, repinxit Pictor, et aequavit Pelignos arte colores Blosius Palladius, Suburbanum Augustini Chisii 1

For the historian of   Renaissance art, Ovid’s Metamorphoses is a second Bible, a vast reserve of  fabulae that the scholar can turn to when decoding the imagery of   the period. The repertoire of   the original Latin text is  enriched by the variations, additions and vulgarisations that emerged over time, finding popularity with publishers in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Indeed, the variety of  potential material grows even further if we consider the countless additional variables that might determine the content of  a work of  visual art, not least the desiderata of  the patron. With so many strands to unravel, it can be difficult to establish the purpose attributed to Ovidian material in a particular work of   art. Ovid’s narrative was seen not as something fixed, carved in stone, but as a living, mouldable material that was susceptible to taking on new meanings in relation to the context. A prime example is offered by the lunettes in the Loggia of  Galatea in the Villa Farnesina, Agostino Chigi’s residence in the Roman district of   Trastevere (Fig. 1).2 An iconographic unicum, this cycle of   frescoes by Sebastiano del Piombo presents episodes from the Metamorphoses that share a  common theme of   ‘air’. What has not been fully acknowledged, to date, is that the lunettes constitute both a careful and meticulous depiction of  Ovid’s text – based on the version penned by Raffaele Regio, the most knowledgeable Ovidian philologist and scholar of  the late fifteenth cen  Palladius 1512. For a modern edition cf. Q uinlan-McGrath 1990, 119.   This text builds on two of   my previous studies and provides unpublished elements: Barbieri 2015a and Barbieri 2015b. 1 2

After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127598 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 229-259

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Fig. 1. Scheme of  the vault painting in the Loggia della Galatea, Villa Farnesina, Rome. Reproduced from Fritz Saxl, La fede astrologica di Agostino Chigi, Rome 1934, p. 98, with amendments by the present author.

tury – and a hitherto unknown system of  signs that the artist has imbued with a new symbolic value. Here, Ovid’s stories are to be interpreted as meta-mythologies. Plays within a play, the episodes operate not only in their own right as re-enactments of   ancient fabulae; they also function in relation to the zodiacal and extrazodiacal constellations depicted in the vault (Fig. 2). In this context, more than ever, Ovid’s narrative takes on a  semantic versatility that is the product of   over a  thousand years of   semiotic evolution: alongside the classical, literal meaning and the moral sense attributed to it by Christian tradition, it is imbued with symbolic and biographical connotations that have been specially conceived to reflect and magnify, as in an interplay of   mirrors, the persona of   the protagonist at the centre of   the entire decorative scheme, the patron, Agostino Chigi. The subjects of   the eight lunettes are all taken from Ovid’s masterpiece: armed with a spear, the Thracian king Tereus chases his wife Procne and his sister-in-law Philomela, whom he has raped, but before the episode can end in bloodshed, the three are transformed respectively into a  hoopoe, a  swallow and a  nightingale (Fig. 3); Pandrosus and Herse, the daughters of  King Cecrops, betray the trust of  Minerva, who has ordered them to watch over the box where she has placed Erichthonius – born from the spilt seed of   Vulcan – but never to look inside it; they are depicted 230

Fig. 2. Baldassarre Peruzzi, The Vault painting in the Loggia di Galatea, Villa Farnesina, Roma.

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together with the crow that reported them to the goddess, and the raven that informed Apollo of  Coronis’ infidelity (Fig. 4); the disobedient Icarus falls from the sky, losing his wax-fixed feathers while a powerless Daedalus watches the tragedy unfold (Fig. 5); Juno flies through the skies on a  chariot drawn by peacocks (Fig.  6); Scylla cuts Nisus’ purple lock of   hair, condemning her father to death and the fatherland to defeat (Fig. 7); falling from the hill of  the Acropolis, having been pushed off by Daedalus, Perdix – and not Phaethon, as he is commonly identified – is saved by Athena who turns him into a partridge (Fig. 8); 3 Boreas, the cold, north wind, abducts the long-coveted Orithyia (Fig.  9). The final scene depicts Apollo and the Cumaean Sibyl, not Zephyrus and Flora, whose story, or transformations, do not feature anywhere in the Metamorphoses (Fig. 10). The ninth lunette with the unfinished grisaille head, whose authorship is contested,4 does not concern us for now; instead, what follows is an examination of  the eight mythographic subjects outlined above. More specifically, building on previously published research 5 and a number of  paradigmatic examples, which we find ensconced within a previously unknown, but perfectly coherent and functional system of   signs, we consider what Sebastiano’s cycle can teach us about hermeneutics and the use of  metalanguages, both in Ovid’s writing and during the Renaissance. Of all the monumental structures of  the Italian Renaissance, few communicate such love and enthusiasm for Ovid as the villa constructed, starting in 1506, by the Pope’s wealthy banker Ago­ stino Chigi.6 Even the exterior of   the building – frescoed in its entirety – bore witness to the cultish fascination with Ovid, and further Ovidian episodes were depicted inside, in the so-called 3  The identification of   Perdix – more convincing than the Phaeton hypothesis – was proposed as early as Von Salis 1947, 193-197. Cf. Frommel 2003, for an iconographic analysis of  the decorations of  the various rooms and an extensive bibliography; in particular I, 91. For an update on the iconography of  the Loggia di Galatea see Barbieri 2015a. 4  Lucco 1980, 99 attributes the image to Sebastiano; Hirst 1980, 33 and Frommel 2003, I, 93 considered it the work of   Peruzzi; it was reattributed to Sebastiano by Finocchi Ghersi 2010, and Pierguidi 2017. 5   Barbieri 2015a and 2015b. 6  Cf. Cugnoni’s biography 1878.

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‘Hall of  the Frieze’ 7 and ‘Hall of  Perspectives’, the ‘Alexander and Roxana’ bedroom, and, of   course, the ‘Psyche’ and the ‘Galatea’ loggias.8 The Loggia of   Galatea was frescoed by several artists over a short span of   time – likely between late 1510 and 1512 – with Baldassarre Peruzzi, Raphael and Sebastiano del Piombo all contributing elements of   the decoration.9 Writing in 1880, Richard Förster identified the unifying principle of  the pictorial scheme 10 in the desire to reflect the order of   the cosmos in the depiction of  the four primary constituent elements of  the universe, fire, air, earth and water. According to Förster, fire was represented by the stars and planets in the vault, the Metamorphoses-inspired lunettes by Sebastiano referenced the theme of   air, and the main register – centred on the myth of   Polyphemus and Galatea and embellished with country and maritime scenes – depicted the elements earth and water.11 In later decades, Warburg and Saxl helped to develop the interpretation of   the vault painted by Baldassarre Peruzzi: more than a  simple depiction of   mythological divinities, it was to be read, above all, as a  celebration of   Agostino Chigi’s horoscope, with each planetary figure in its respective house and the juxtaposition of   Sagittarius and Apollo indicating that the Sun was in the constellation of  Sagittarius (Fig. 6, right).12 This theme was taken forward by Mary Q uinlan-McGrath, who identified the ascendent at the time of   Chigi’s conception – a  crucial consideration in sixteenth century astrology – which is encoded in the non-­ zodiacal constellations in the severies of  the vault.13 As for what inspired the choice of   the story of   Galatea and Polyphemus, Christof   Thoenes links this to Chigi’s plans for marriage between 1510 and 1512, when he sought to woo Mar­   For Agostino Chigi’s self-aggrandising identification with the figure of  Hercules, cf. Cappelletti 1995. 8   Frommel 2003, I, 81-133. 9  Förster 1880; Hermanin 1927; Saxl 1934; Q uinlan-McGrath 1984; Eadem 1995; Bartalini 1996; Thoenes 2002. 10  Förster 1880, 44-48. 11  Förster 1880, 46. 12  Saxl 1934, 22-33. 13  Q uinlan-McGrath 1984, 91-105; Eadem 1995, 53-71. 7

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ghe­rita, the illegitimate daughter of   Marquis Francesco Gon­ zaga.14 That his schemes did not come to fruition may explain the sudden change in direction for the artistic scheme.15 In any case, by the end of  1512, much of  the decoration had been completed, from the vault with the patron’s horoscope to the lunettes with stories from the Metamorphoses and the main register depicting Galatea and Polyphemus probably begun.16 Over the years, the specialist literature on the Loggia has struggled to settle on a unified understanding of  the significance of  the Ovidian material painted by Sebastiano relative to the rest of  the decoration. For instance, Frommel argues that “the lunettes must have been a puzzlement to his peers […] being depicted so inaccurately that only a true expert of  Ovid’s works would have been able to identify them”.17 Such loose handling of  the source material could come across as a  betrayal of   Ovid’s text, a  judgement echoed in subsequent studies: Sebastiano “made a very approximate use of   sources […] rarely did he mirror classical models […] what is revealed is essentially a Venetian hedonism of  colour and forms”.18 The real puzzle, however, is the connection between the tragic stories from the Metamorphoses and the celebratory vault decorations of   the patron’s natal chart. How might we reconcile such apparently distant themes? Blosius Palladius, a scholar in Chigi’s service, took the opposite position on Sebastiano’s treatment of   the source material, as he sets out in the Suburbanum Augustini Chisii of  1512. Here, following the standard topos of   comparing a  contemporary artist to the ancients, he praises Sebastiano for having masterfully brought poetry to life in images, in the age-old struggle between pen and brush: 19 Dii superi rus quale fuit, que praedia vidi: Gaudia que exhausi! Numquam foelicius ullum Indulsi mihi parca diem. Iam villa Vopisci

40

  Thoenes 2002, 215-244; Luzio 1886.   Thoenes 2002, 219. 16  Ibidem, 218-220. Idem 1977. 17  Frommel 2002, 91-92. 18   See the description in Strinati – Lindemann 2008, 130-132. 19   Vv. 38-72. Latin text and translation in Q uinlan-McGrath 1990, 119-121. 14 15

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Excidit, et placidi scopulosa palatia Polli. Haec quoque si vates nactus foret ille: fuissent Illius haec et opus: fors praeposuisset et illis. Eloquar audacter: nec me mea secula fallent: Hic artes veterumque manus, nec prisca vetustas Aut tumeat fabris: aut iam sibi plaudat Apelle. Nam que porticibus, et cuncta per atria fulgent: Aut vivas pinxisse, aut pictas animasse figuras Creditur eximius pictor: Q ui pene loquentes Spirantesque dedit natura obstante colores. Q uod nova si subeat formandi cura Prometheum, Mollius has possit flammis animare figuras; Nec mereat penas tam pulchro ex munere: nec si Mille ferat, renuat tam pulchro ex munere penas. Has et Pygmalion nuptae praeferret eburnae. His Narcisse etiam (neque enim tu pulchrior istis) Errature minus, malles tabere figuris. Tantus honos succis: talis data gratia picto est. Cedat opus merito veterum: Cnydiaeque tabellae, Et Rhodus, et multa que ducta est linea cura. At miratus opus, volo iam mirere, sub illo Q uod latet, et tecto premitur que fabula sensu. Heic Iuno ut veris vehitur Pavonibus: Extat Heic Venus orta mari, et concha sub sydera fertur. Heic Boreas raptam ferus avehit Orithyiam. Heic Pandioniae reserant arcana sorores. Denique quas Ovidi versus pinxere, repinxit Pictor, et aequavit Pelignos arte colores. Tam foelix pictor vate, ut pictore Poeta. His tu exornasses tumidum si stamen Arachne: Forsan et his cultam vicisses Pallada, certe Aequasses: nec nunc turpares omnia taelis.

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“Oh ye gods above, what a country it was, what estates I saw, what joys I (40) drained! Never did fate grant any day more felicitously to me! Now the villa of   Vopiscus is forgotten, and the craggy palaces of   gentle Pollius. If that illustrious poet had found these wonders too, they might also have been a  work of   his, perhaps he would even have preferred these to (45) those. I will speak boldly, and my age will not lead me astray; here are the hand and skills of   the ancients. Nor let the ancient age either swell because of   its craftsmen, or now praise itself because of  Apelles. For as to the things that gleam through the porticoes, and through all the rooms; the excep235

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tional painter is thought either to have painted living things, or to have animated painted figures; for he gave nearly speaking (50) and breathing colors, though nature stood in his way. But if the desire of  creating should come anew to Prometheus, he would be able more gently to animate these figures with flames; neither would he merit punishment for such a beautiful gift; nor if he bore a thousand punishments, would he refuse them because of  such a beautiful gift. (55) And Pygmalion would prefer these to his ivory bride. You also, Narcissus, would be destined to err less (for you were not more beautiful than these), and you would prefer to waste away by gazing at these figures. Such great charm has been given to the spirits, such grace has been given to that pictured. Let the work of   the ancients cede (60) rightly: the Cnidian painting, and Rhodes, and the line which was drawn with great care. But having admired the work, now I desire that you marvel at that which lies hidden under it, and the story which is weighted with a hidden sense. Here Juno is born aloft as though by real Peacocks; Venus stands out here, risen from the sea, and is carried on (65) her shell up under the stars. Here wild Boreas carries off raped Orithyia. Here the Athenian sisters unseal the secrets. Then these whom the verses of   Ovid painted, the painter repainted, and he equalled in skill the Ovidian colors. So fortunate the painter is by the poet, as the (70) Poet by the painter. If you had ornamented your proud warp with these, Arachne, perhaps even by these you would have conquered the refined Pallas, and certainly you would have equalled her […].”

Blosius’ verses suggest that our perception of   the lunettes has changed greatly since those times, perhaps encumbered by misunderstandings, as evidenced by the phrase: Tam foelix pictor vate, ut pictore Poeta. Sebastiano was seen by his patron and his entou­ rage, according to the well-known Horatian canon, as a  new Apelles, and his painted version of   the Metamorphoses stood in competition with the original text: Denique quas Ovidi versus pinxere, repinxit / Pictor, et aequavit Pelignos arte colores. The distance between our modern understanding of  the stories narrated in the lunettes and the way they would be interpreted by sixteenth century frequenters of   the Loggia is essentially the same as that which separates our contemporary take on Ovid’s writing from the moralised Ovid of   Sebastiano’s age. Without 236

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reference to the latter, and an understanding of   how Ovid was interpreted at the time, it is impossible, today, to appreciate fully the meaning of  the frescoes. As Bodo Guthmüller puts it, “Renaissance Ovid may be very different from modern-day Ovid, not only as regards the portrayal of individual myths, but also in the way myth itself is presented”.20 As a summus doctor and veritable compendium of  Classical myth, the Ovidius fabularum was rightfully considered as an encyclopedia of   sorts, and was therefore subject to additions, alterations, allegorisations and moralisations. By virtue, or fault, of   this uni­ versal nature, the allegorism of   the Middle Ages would be preserved, to some extent or in one form or another, in the text printed in numerous Renaissance editions of   the Metamorphoses. Certainly, the allegorical nature of  the Metamorphoses was still keenly felt in the sixteenth century. As it happens, while Raffaele Regio’s commentary to the Metamorphoses may have constituted the cutting edge of   humanistic criticism at the time,21 it is very likely that, in order to achieve a wider range of   edifying content and symbolism, other sources were consulted when developing the complex iconographic scheme adopted for the Loggia. The two other leading texts, tropological counterparts to Regio, are undoubtedly the 1509 Metamorphosis ovidiana moraliter explanata 22 by Petrus Berchorius – though erroneously attributed to Thomas Waleys – which fell squarely in the tradition of   the Ovide moralisé,23 but also the more modern Tropologicae enarrationes by the Dominican monk Petrus Lavinius, the first of   numerous printings of   which dates to 1509, though it was also combined with Regio’s commentaries and the argumenta of  Lanctantius in a single edition.24 Lavinius took a modern stance, conforming fully – notwithstanding a  propensity for allegory and moralisation – to the humanistic tradition. As Anne Moss has explained, unlike Berchorius, Lavinius did not bend the text   Guthmüller 1997, 40. Idem 1981 and 1986; Moss 1982.   I personally had access to the volume held by the Biblioteca dell’Istituto di Archeologia e  Storia dell’arte at the Palazzo Venezia in Rome, hereafter cited as Ovidius/Regio/Lavinius. 22  See Berchorius 1962. Cf. Guthmüller 1997, 47. 23   De Boer 1966-1968. 24  Moss 1982, 28-29, 31-36. Cf. Guthmüller 1997, 49. 20 21

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to demonstrate an ever-present allegorical-Christian symbolism but acknowledged that Ovid’s fables often lacked a  typological dimension, and that they did not necessarily reveal a higher spiritual truth, but merely contained a  moral message,25 something that will prove essential in grasping the meaning of   Sebastiano’s lunettes. Of all the commentaries in the vernacular and in Latin, the Lyons edition entitled P. Ovidi Nasonis Metamorphoseos libri moralizati – first published in 1510 with notes by Raffaele Regio and addenda by Lavinius and Lactantius, and accompanied by a  selection of   beautiful woodcuts 26 – is one of   the most likely references for the Loggia scheme. We can now move on to the figures in the lunettes and compare their depiction with the text sources. Starting from the west-facing wall, and proceeding clockwise, the first lunette shows Tereus, the King of   Thrace, abusing his sister-in-law Philomela (Fig.  3). Tereus removes Philomela’s tongue to silence her and locks her in a stable. After she escapes, Philomela and her sister – the queen, Procne –, exact a terrible revenge, following which the three protagonists are turned into birds, specifically a hoopoe, a swallow and a robin (Met. 6,412674). Seba­stiano keeps very close to the Ovidian text, as can be seen, for example, in the gesture of  Philomela, who is swaying like a maenad and – in a visual translation of   Ovid’s pro voce manus fuit (which Regio clarifies as “Pro verbo manu: id significabat quod voce indicare non poterat”) 27 – imitating the action of   scissors in allusion to the severing of   her tongue. In Regio’s interpretation, the lust of  Tereus, which Ovid emphasises as a characteristic vice of  the inhabitants of  Thrace, is cast as the dominant motive, a symbol of   dissoluteness: “Effreno amore: ab effectu, quia effrenatos ac dissolutos homines reddat”.28 In this way, through a process of   personification, via the Ovidian episode, the first lunette represents the vice of  lust.

  Moss 1982, 31-36.   For the Lyon edition of   1510, see Moss 1982, 68, n. 54. Cf. Guthmüller 1997, 63. 27   Ovidius/Regio/Lavinius 1535, c. 78r (v. 609). 28   Ibidem, cc. 77v and 78r. 25 26

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Fig. 3. Sebastiano del Piombo, Tereus, Philomela and Procne changed into a hoopoe, a nightingale, a swallow. Top: Baldassarre Peruzzi, The Constellation of the Swan. Roma, Villa Farnesina, Loggia della Galatea.

Fig. 4. Sebastiano del Piombo, Pandione’s Daughters, Pandrosos and Herse, keep watch over the basket, with the Crow and the Raven. Top: Baldassarre Peruzzi, The Constellation of the Dolphin. Roma, Villa Farnesina, Loggia della Galatea.

In the second lunette, Pandrosus and Herse keep watch over the basket containing Erichthonius, together with a  raven and a crow (Met. 2,531-632); these last two protagonists had been entirely forgotten in previous iconographical treatments (Fig. 4). The Metamorphoses tells of   two figures named Coronis who suf239

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fer misfortune in love; the first was loved by Apollo but betrayed him with a mortal lover. Informed of   her infidelity by his faithful servant, the raven, Apollo murders her, only to realise that she was pregnant with his son, Aesculapius. For its unhappy message, the god punishes the raven, transforming its plumage from white to jet-black and rejecting it as a companion.29 In the image, the crow begs the raven – which is depicted still with its white plumage – not to play the spy; it too has paid the price for an excess of   diligence, having brought unwelcome news to its mistress Athena only to lose her trust and be replaced by her more familiar companion, the owl. The crow’s warning is not heeded, however, and the dutiful raven will likewise suffer the wrath of   its divine master. In this sense, the raven and the crow can be seen to play a central role in the iconography of  the lunette; indeed, it centres on the conversation between the two birds. Regio comments that it is the raven’s loose tongue that makes the punishment deserved: “Corve loquax: apostrophe ad corvum, qua significat poeta illum suae loquacitatis merito poenas dedisse”.30

In medieval sources, the two birds represent a warning about the dangers of   gossiping, particularly as explained by Berchorius in the 1510 edition of  the Metamorphoses: “Unde Ovidius. Lingua fuit damno: lingua faciente loquaci. Q ui color albus erat nunc est contrarius albo  […] Recte tales corvi sunt adulatores e  verborum relatores  […] Sed quandoque fit quod tales relatores poenam portant: unde praemium reportare crediderant […] Q uod mala lingua nocet laudemque tacendo meretur. Et ut dicit commune proverbium in Aesopo. Displicet imprudens unde placere putat.” 31

Following the line of  Berchorius and Regio, and harnessing Ovid’s visual and mythographic imagery, the second lunette thus stigmatises flattery and gossip, the latter being emblematic of   the vice of  calumny. 29  Ibidem, c.  34v (2, 531-632). Regarding the transformation of   the raven from white to black, see also Apollodorus, Bibliotheca, III, 10, 3; Hyginus, Fab. 202 and Astr. 2, 40: Q uod cum viderit corvus, Apollini nuntiasse; qui cum fuerit antea candidus, Apollinem pro incommodo nuntio eum nigrum fecisse. 30  Ovidius/Regio/Lavinius, c. 34v. 31   Berchorius 1962, liber XV, II, Fab. 16.

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The third lunette sees Icarus losing his wax-fixed feathers and plummeting earthwards as a  powerless Daedalus watches on (Met. 8,183-235) (Fig. 5). The story is well known and requires no further comment. The moral that Regio draws from it, however, is interesting. He criticizes Icarus for his pride, a sin, and for not observing the instructions of   his father: “Icarus vero patris mandatorum neglector cum altius q. pater evolare gauderet, resolutis calore pennis, in mare cecidit, quod ab eo Icarium ex sententia Ovidii fuit cognominatum”.32 The theme is taken from Berchorius’s Ovidius Moralizatus: “Dic exemplariter contra filios inobedientes & praesumptuosos qui patrem suum vel praelatum vel sapientes viros sequi nolunt vel eorum mandatis obedire: immo se ipsos fatue præponunt & ardua opera ultra vires facere vel attemptare praesumunt quae ad finem deducere non possunt”.33 The sin of   pride and fatuous presumption is therefore embodied by Icarus and his tragic fall. We can pass over the fourth lunette with Juno, who flies through the air on a peacock-drawn chariot – not a transforma-

Fig. 5. Sebastiano del Piombo, Daedalus and Icarus. Top: Baldassarre Peruzzi, The Constellation of the Arrow. Roma, Villa Farnesina, Loggia della Galatea.   Ovidius/Regio/Lavinius, c. 94r.   Berchorius 1962, 128.

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tion, but a  tribute to the aerial deity par excellence, the queen of   the winds (Fig. 6) – and focus on the fifth, with Scylla, who is depicted cutting off the lock of   purple hair from the head of   her father, Nisus (Met. 8,6-151) (Fig. 7). With the city under siege, the young princess observes the enemy leader, Minos, from the battlements and falls in love with him. She decides to cut off her father’s magical lock of   hair, which makes him invincible, thus condemning him to his death and the city to defeat. Scylla’s

Fig. 6. Sebastiano del Piombo, Juno in her Peacock-Drawn Chariot. Top: Baldassarre Peruzzi, The Constellation of the Lyre. Roma, Villa Farnesina, Loggia della Galatea.

Fig. 7. Sebastiano del Piombo, Scylla and Nisus, the Lark and the Falcon. Top: Baldassarre Peruzzi, The Constellation of the Altar. Roma, Villa Farnesina, Loggia della Galatea.

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betrayal, however, fails to win her the love of   Minos, who – following an easy victory – rejects her, judging her unworthy and leaving her trailing his ships in the sea. In their mercy, the gods decide to preserve both Nisus and Scylla, transforming the former into a falcon and the latter into the ideal prey for him, a lark. Thus is Scylla condemned to be pursued by her father in eternal punishment for her actions. In the lunette, the birds dart around the upper left of   the scene, while in the central section we see Scylla, absorbed in cutting away her father’s lock of  hair. The symbolic implications of   the story are clarified by Berchorius, who traces the eternal enmity between the falcon and the lark to the myth recounted by Ovid. It is the final judgement on Scylla’s depravity, a mutatio moralis born of   Nisus’ outrage and his condemnation of   her evil actions.34 The lesson Regio draws from this episode focuses on the concept of   wickedness, as embodied by Scylla who, blinded by love, becomes a monster, a thing against nature: “Tantum monstrum: quae contra natura fiunt monstra vocantur. Patrem autem prodi a filia maxime contra naturam esse videtur”.35 The sixth lunette features Perdix or Talos (Met. 8,236-259), and not Phaeton – as the figure continues to be erroneously identified – falling from the heights of   the Acropolis of   Athens moments before he is transformed into a  partridge by Minerva (Fig.  8). The goddess, protector of   crafts, trades and ingenious inventions, wished to ensure that the young artisan – victim of  his uncle Daedalus’ envy – would never be forgotten. Daedalus was guilty of   a heinous crime: envious of   the youth’s inventions, such as the saw, compasses and the potter’s wheel, he pushed his nephew out into the void, then fled to Crete for fear of   punishment. Regio indicates the reason behind the crime: “Nam Daedalus Athenesis Eupalmi filius cum Talum sororis filium opti  Ibidem, c. 123.   Ovidius/Regio/Lavinius, c.  92v: “Utilitatem Minois et salutem procurat Scylla paternae pietatis oblita […] adeo impia est Scylla et Amore caeca, ut deos esse neget […] heu facinus exclamatio cum quodam poetae dolore in Scyllae impietatem: quia sustinuerit patrem illo crine purpureo fraudare in quo regni Fatum continebatur”. 34 35

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Fig. 8. Sebastiano del Piombo, Perdix and the Partridges. Top: Baldassarre Peruzzi, The Constellation of the Northern Crown. Roma, Villa Farnesina, Loggia della Galatea.

mae indolis iuvenem per invidiam, quod et serram, et circinum invenisset, interemisse diceretur, iudicii eventum timens in Cretam aufugit”.36 In this respect, the subject of  the lunette is clearly another of  the vices and passions that assail humanity, envy. The seventh lunette depicts the abduction of  Orithyia by Boreas, the cold north wind (Met., 6,675-720) (Fig.  9). In  the Ovidian narrative, Boreas woos Orithyia, daughter of   the Athenian king Erectheus, but frustrated by the king’s repeated refusals, decides to take the object of   his desire by force, enveloping her in his tawny wings and trailing a  cloak of   dust behind him (vv.  686713). In  Sebastiano’s image, Orithyia is wrapped in the windgod’s cloak as he carries her away. Regio comments on the fearsome wrath of  the god of  the north wind, who stirs up earthquakes and storms and whose weapons are violence, sudden passion and wrath (“Boreas […] Horridus ira: terribilis indignatione. Boreae autem naturam describit: est enim ventus valde impetuosus et violentus” 37), tendencies that are to be kept in check, and to which figures of   high rank are especially   Ovidius/Regio/Lavinius, c. 94r and 94v.   Ibidem, c. 79r.

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Fig. 9. Sebastiano del Piombo, Boreas and Orithyia. Top: Baldassarre Peruzzi, The Constellation of the Crater. Roma, Villa Farnesina, Loggia della Galatea.

susceptible, as Berchorius explains: “homines alatos, id est personas varias volatiles et superbas […]. Vel dic quod Aquilo – sive Boreas – significat tribulationem quae homines altos generat”.38 The final scene, in the eighth lunette, depicts the episode of  Apollo and the Cumaean Sibyl narrated in the Metamorphoses (Met. 14,101-153) (Fig. 10), and not, as has been erroneously asserted in the past, the story Zephyr and Flora.39 Sebastiano depicts Apollo as an oracular presence, the flatus vocis that manifests in the Sibyl –  rendering this as a  disembodied face with hints of   a goldenyellow colour befitting the solar deity – while the fleshy matron inspired by the Michelangelesque sibyls of   the period is immediately recognisable as the Sibyl of  Cumae. As the well-known story goes, the besotted god promises her whatever she might wish for, so she asks to live for as many years as the grains of  sand that can fit in her hand. However, she forgets to ask that she retain her youthfulness, and is left to endure a  long and decrepit old age. The theme of  being left as nothing more than a voice, only hinted at in Ovid (vv.  152-153 usque adeo mutata ferar nullique vi  Berchorius 1962, c. 107.   Barbieri 2015, 143-145.

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Fig. 10. Sebastiano del Piombo, Apollo and the Cumaean Sibyl. Top: Baldassarre Peruzzi, The Constellation of the Hydra and the Crow. Roma, Villa Farnesina, Loggia della Galatea.

denda, / voce tamen noscar; vocem mihi fata relinquent), is developed further in Regio’s commentary: Sibylla in vocem […]. Nam Sibylla dum esset virgo ab Apolline amata, cum ab eo ut quicquid vellet peteret hortante impretasset, ut tot annos viveret, quot in manu harenas tenebat, oblita esse adiicere voto, ne unquam senesceret. Q uare cum Phoebo morem gerere noluerit, ad tantum decrepitatis pervenit, ut a corpore derelicta tota in vocem fuerit commutata […]. Igitur, praestata fide ad tempora, senectute dilapso corpore relicta est vox, quae Sibyllam indicaret.40 “The Sibyl turned into a  voice  […]. The Sibyl was a virgin loved by Apollo, who asked her to name whatever she wanted, to which she replied: to live as many years as the grains of  sand I am holding but forgot also to ask not to grow old and because she then spurned Apollo, she went on to reach such an old age that, after her body had withered away, all that was left was a voice […]. So, with the passing of  time, her body consumed by old age, all that remained of  the Sibyl was her voice”.

Sebastiano arrives at a  unique solution in the form of   the two clouds, aerial emissions of   the flatus vocis that unite the divine   Ovidius/Regio/Lavinius, c. 150r.

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voice of   Apollo with the human voice of   the Sibyl to create the voice of  the oracle, an act that can also be read as a transformation that takes place within the realm of   the air. A moral judgement, however, hangs over the Sibyl’s choice and her desire for an almost immortal life. Her greed is punished since, as Berchorius warns, it is difficult to preserve one’s virtues over a very long life: “Istud potest allegari contra quosdam qui longam vitam desiderant et tamen de praecavenda virtutum consumptione per crementa non advertunt […]. Non debet igitur vita longa appeti, nisi etiam possit virtualis quantitas conservari et meritorum consumptio evitari”.41 The Sibyl withers away, and all that remains of   her is the flatus vocis, a fitting punishment indeed. If, as we have seen, the scenes in the lunettes are effectively em­ bodiments of   various vices, how do they relate to the horoscope of   Agostino Chigi in the vault? How can this series of   crimes and vices be a good omen for the newborn? It is an apparent con­ tra­diction that has given rise to uncertainties and reservations among authors on the Loggia. What we are dealing with, however, is an impeccable symbolic mechanism. The harmonious world of   the celestial spheres and the planets is contrasted by the sublunar world, subject to the scourge of  passions, which like opposing winds blow on the Earth and upset the lives of  men. In Ovid, too, the winds are associated with contrasting forces that tear the world apart (Met. 1,57-68),42 while medieval commentators compared them to evil spirits.43 Generated by the light and the starry sky,44 hurled from the heavens to the depths of   the Earth as punishment for their pride, the winds become symbols of   all of   mankind’s vice and dissolution. Regio continues in this perspective of   moral allegorisation with a passage that is crucial for the interpretation of   Sebastiano’s lunettes and the iconographic scheme of  the Loggia:   Berchorius, 1962, c. 172.   Ovidius/Regio/Lavinius, cc. 2v-4v. 43  Idem, c. 5v. 44   On the birth of  the stars and winds from Astraeus and Eos cf. Graves 1955, vol. I, 162 and 170, which refers to the Theogony of   Hesiod, Homer and Apollodorus. 41 42

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Q uibus malignis spiritibus; ut sub ventorum velamine scribit Ovidius. Multi sunt sicut ventos […] qui per mala consilia et colloquia non cessant alijs aliquid mali suggerere, et sufflare, et per adulationem et suggestionem aliquid sibilare […]. Sed proh dolor nimium vera de infelicissima nostrorum temporum conditione Ovidius intulit. Vix nunc resistitur illis, quibus daemonibus omnes mundi status non iam impugnantibus, immo verius expugnatibus. Ubique enim ambitio, ubique avaritia, ubique veneree voluptates, ubique bella, ubique discordantia et (ut paucis multa comprehendam) totus mundus in maligno positus est. Sensu tropologico Eolus prudentem virum […] significat: qui ventos suos regit in carcere clausos frenat. Passiones scilicet per ventos denotatas appetitus sensibilis, et illecebras carnis motus in rationem insurgentes, quos vir prudens freno liberi arbitrii prudentia et ratione moderatur et regit. Sed vix resistutur illis: omnis enim carnis desideria spretio rationis regimine sequuntur.45 “Evil spirits, of  which Ovid writes, using the metaphor of  the winds. Many are like the winds […] who through poor advice and idle talk are constantly prompting others to negative actions, breathing and hissing things through flattery and suggestion […]. Alas, Ovid has made an all too true representation of   the very unhappy condition of   our time. It is now difficult to stand up to those demons that not only attack, but are all-conquering  […]. Ambition, avarice, voluptuousness, war and discord are indeed everywhere, and – to put it bluntly – the whole world is dominated by evil. In a tropological sense, Aeolus may be seen as the prudent man: he who dominates his winds and keeps them locked up in prison. That is to say, the passions denoted by the winds signify lusty appetites, and the enticements of   the flesh, actions opposed to all reason, things that a wise man with a prudent mind can control and refrain from through reason and the restraint of   free will. But they are hard to resist, for they all follow the desires of  the flesh, hating to be ruled by reason”.

The choice of   themes in these lunettes appears to reflect this moral-allegorical understanding, which was widespread in the literary culture and mysticism of   the time from Petrarch to Jean Gerson: “With the sin of   the first man […] as the poetical image   Ovidius/Regio/Lavinius, c. 5v.

45

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suggests, as soon as the cave of  Aeolus, the god of  the winds, was opened, the winds of   passions began to blow and, ‘like an army’ approaching from opposite sides, troubled our sea with a  great storm […]. Hence the fears, the longings, the pains, the joys, as the great poet says [scil. Virgil].” 46 Let us consider, then, how the individual scenes of   crime and passion might relate to the higher heavenly order, to the benign stars that, by opposing a regression to a lower state of   existence (a symbolic representation of  sin), might offer effective antidotes to the mutatio moralis of   the tragic protagonists whose misadventures are narrated in the lunettes. In the Proem to the Tetrabiblos,47 Claudius Ptolemy sets out the foundations of   astrological influence. It is a  system structured in terms of   the countless metamorphoses engendered by astrological conjunctions and mirrored in the sublunary world. In  introducing the topic, Ptolemy discusses the possibilities of  astrological knowledge and its limits: That a certain power, derived from the ethereal nature, is diffused over and pervades the whole atmosphere of   the Earth, is clearly evident to all men. Fire and air, the first of   the sublunary elements, are encompassed and altered by the motions of   the ether. These elements in their turn encompass all inferior matter, and vary it as they themselves are varied; acting on earth and water, on plants and animals.48

These forces, resulting from astronomical movements, govern life on Earth and the characters of  living beings, which are influenced by a  given astral configuration that is either in harmony with a certain temperament, or in disagreement with another.49 The Sun and the Moon, moreover, together with the transits of   other celestial bodies in the particular aspects that form be46   Gerson 1992, 173. The two quotes from Virgil:“like an army” in relation to the winds, Aen. 1,82; on the subject of   passions, Aen. 6,733. See also F. Petrarca, De otio religioso. 47  Claudi Ptolemaei Inerrantium stellarum significationes per Nicolaum Leo­ nicum e  greco translate. XII Romanorum menses in veteribus monumentis Rome reperti. Sex priorum mensium digesto ex sex Ouidii fastorum libris excerpta. Publii Ouidii Nasonis fastorum libri VI. Tristium libri V.  De Ponto libri IIII. In  Ibin. Ad Liuiam. Venetiis, in Aedibus Bernardini Stagnini, 1531. 48  Tolomeo 1985, 11. 49   Ibidem, 15.

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tween them, “cause numerous and complex metamorphoses, since in one way or another their effects meet and combine”.50 The term “metamorphoses” used by Ptolemy, in Greek meta­ bolas, suggests an important point of   contact with Ovid’s Meta­ morphoses, an association that the creators of  the pictorial scheme might have considered when choosing to link the transformations that take place in the realm of   the air in Ovid to the astrological map of  the vault. The logic is one of   poison and antidote: the tragic Ovidian themes are contrasted and juxtaposed with the extra-zodiacal constellations represented in the severies. All of  the stars depicted by Peruzzi in the severies, each suspended over the corresponding lunette, are classified by Ptolemy in distinctly positive terms.51 Their effects are outlined in the Astronomica of  Marcus Manilius, courtesy of  which we are thus able to arrive at a clearer idea of  the underlying intentions of   Chigi’s iconographer. Mary Q uinlanMcGrath has identified the extra-zodiac constellations that are part of   Agostino Chigi’s birth chart,52 and whose positive influences on the newborn can be derived from Manilius.53 As with the Metamorphoses, however, here we need to let ourselves be guided by thematic assonances from the literal to the allegorical meaning, which is to say, from the astrological data to the evocative resonance that these figurative myths assume in the imagination of   Renaissance humanism. As Blosius Palladius argues, addressing an imagined visitor who has come to discover the villa’s decorations, merely observing the work is not enough; the real wonder and genius lies in the hidden meaning.54 The inherent meaning of  the extra-zodiacal constellations themselves, as set out by Manilius, has to be integrated with symbolic and mythological meanings, which interact directly with the Ovidian lunettes creating a  web of   new thematic correspondences. As clarified by Saxl,55 the severy above the tragic scene of   Tereus, Philomela   Ibidem, 13.   Ibidem, 47-51. 52  Q uinlan-McGrath 1984. 53  I explore this question in Barbieri 2015 b. See Manil. 5, 364-388. 54 M. Q uinlan-McGrath, Blosius Palladius, 1990, 119, 61-62 at miratus opus, volo iam mirere, sub illo / Q uod latet, et tecto premitur que fabula sensu. 55  Saxl 1934, 26. 50 51

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and Procne depicts the constellation Cygnus (Fig.  3) through the image of   Nemesis/Fortuna. According to Vincenzo Cartari’s Le imagini de gli dei de gli antichi, the nymph Nemesis, with whom Zeus had sexual congress while in the form of  a swan, is she who re-establishes the order of   things.56 She is identified with Fortuna – the winged daughter of   Justice – though this is not the capricious deity who holds the fate of   man in her hands; rather she is a terrifying goddess who punishes injustices, indeed “some believed her to be Justice herself  […] the avenger of   all things”.57 The heavenly figure of   Justice and a symbol of   Equity, Nemesis counters the uncontrolled libido of   Tereus and the infanticidal madness of   Procne with her beneficial influences,58 restoring harmony and balance to the newborn child. Next, we have a putto riding a dolphin, a recognised symbol of  prudence (Fig. 4): in the Peruzzi fresco, the winged infant – indicating the constellation of  Delphinus – turns his head backwards, as if to curb impetuosity; in the imprint of   the Aldine Press, accompanied by the Augustan motto Festina Lente, a  dolphin is wrapped around an anchor, representing, as Piero Valeriano explains in the Hieroglyphica, rapid execution juxtaposed with a corresponding level of  contemplation when considering the action to be taken.59 Prudence is therefore the antidote to the gossip of  the raven and the crow, and to the excessive curiosity of  the daughters of  Cecrops, who open the basket to find out what is inside instead of  simply keeping watch over it as ordered by Athena. According to Ptolemy, the influence of  the Delphinus stars is comparable to that of   Saturn,60 a  planet whose stately progression would help offset the rapidity of  the dolphin, as the Chigi family’s astrologers may have concluded. In short, prudence and contemplation are an antidote to rash choices, such as the disobedience of   Cecrops’ daughters to Athena, or the spying of  the raven and the crow.   Cartari 1608, 414.   Cartari 1608, 421. Warburg 1996, 232-246, describes the three types of  Fortuna encountered in the Renaissance, Luck with the wheel, Luck with the sail, Luck with the tuft. 58  Tolomeo 1985, 49. 59 P. Valeriano, Hieroglyphica, seu De sacris Ægyptiorum aliarumque gentium literis commentarij, Lugduni: sumptibus Pauli Frellon, 1610, p. 276, chap. “De Maturitate”. 60  Tolomeo 1985, 49. 56 57

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The stars of   the constellation Sagitta, depicted as Cupid firing an arrow, are located above the scene of   Daedalus witnessing Icarus’s fall, the tragic conclusion to the presumptuous youth’s sinful disobedience (Fig. 5). In his Ovidius Moralizatus, Berchorius considers the story an exemplary “contra filios inobedientes & praesumptuosos qui patrem suum vel praelatum vel sapientes viros sequi nolunt vel eorum mandatis obedire: immo se ipsos fatue præponunt & ardua opera ultra vires facere vel attemptare praesumunt quae ad finem deducere non possunt”.61 The Sagitta constellation juxtaposed with Icarus’ failed flight embodies the opposite principle: this Cupid, who has removed his blindfold, symbolises platonic love for the gods. As Panofsky explains, and as illustrated by the splendid Cupid removing the blindfold by Lucas Cranach the elder (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Museum of  Art), an unblindfolded Eros with his bow and arrow personifies a  visionary love capable of   ascending to higher spheres without fear of  a ruinous fall, an image that stands in stark antithesis to the fate of  Icarus.62 In contrast to the other severy constellations, the representation of   Lyra – personified by Orpheus playing the lira da brac­ cio – is not in opposition with the character of   the scene in the lunette below it (Fig.  6). Rather, it magnifies it. A  symbol of  Apollo and metaphor of   cosmic harmony, the iconography is entirely befitting of  Juno, the Lady of  the heavens and the winds and a propitiator of   weddings. Represented as Iuno pronuba, flying through the sky in a  chariot drawn by iridescent peacocks, she is positioned directly above the fresco of   the Triumph of  Galatea, contributing to a celebration of   chaste love that had more than a little to do with Chigi’s marriage ambitions.63 Dominator of  air and passion, and protector of  marriages, Juno plays a unique role in the Loggia, constituting a link between the three registers: as an Olympic deity, she is connected to the theme of   progeneration; as Lady of   the air she is linked to the Ovidian lunettes; and as pronuba, she evokes the marriage-based allegory of   the Triumph of   Galatea.64 It is essential that this key, connecting     63  64   61 62

Berchorius 1962, 128. Panofsky 1975. Thoenes 2002, 220. Barbieri 2015 a, 145-146.

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role be guided by the principles of   cosmic harmony, as dictated by the benign stars of  the Lyra constellation.65 The constellation of   Ara hangs over the story of   Scylla removing her father’s lock of   purple hair (Fig.  7): that the constellation celebrating pietas should be used to counteract unsurpassable wickedness of   Scylla’s twin betrayal of   the father and her homeland, makes perfect sense.66 A cloaked old man with a long white beard, reminiscent of   Numa Pompilius or a devoted priest of   classical antiquity, kneels before a Greek altar formed from alternating pilasters and miniature columns surmounted by carved garlands. On top of  the altar burns the flame of  sacrifice. The message is clear: the good stars of   Ara will watch over the newborn in pre-emptive protection against betrayals and sacrilege. The image of   Ariadne and Dionysus, the former wearing a royal crown, the latter the customary garland of   vine leaves, is an allusion to the constellation of   the Corona Borealis (Fig. 8), the crown placed in the heavens by Bacchus to immortalise his bride. The couple exchange tender glances and a  warm embrace: good luck has rewarded the maiden abandoned by Theseus at Naxus, elevating her to the rank of  heavenly deity. The theme of  elevation is in stark contrast to the unhappy fate of   Perdix in the lunette below, who is hurled from the highest point of   the Acropolis by the envious Daedalus. In the former image, a god who exalts a  mortal by elevating her to heaven; in the other, an egocentric uncle who kills his nephew – and unwitting rival – by casting him into the void. And so, in Agostino’s painted horoscope, the ruinous effects of   envy among mortals are neutralised, conceptually, by the benign stars of   the Corona, a heavenly symbol of  the rewards of  virtue. The Crater constellation is represented by a  pot-bellied vase held by a young woman (Fig. 9). Used in the Greek symposium to mix wine with water to make it less alcoholic, the crater serves as an explicit symbol of  temperance, and is associated by Manilius with Bacchus, the god of   drinking; 67 the mixing of   water with wine thus becomes a  metaphor for moderation, and as such an appropriate counterbalance to the anger of   passionate Boreas   Tolomeo 1985, I, p. 49.   Ibidem, I, p. 51. 67   Manil. 5,235-250. 65 66

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who, in a fit of   rage, has abducted the princess Orithyia. Those born under this sign – which, similarly to the benign influence of  the planets Venus and Mercury, is able to mitigate more nefarious forces  – will be able to temper their impulses and uncontrolled passions.68 The series concludes with the constellations of   Hydra and Corvus (Fig.  10) represented above the scene of   the Cumaean Sibyl and Apollo. The link between the Corvus and Hydra constellations is not as apparent as with the previous examples. They are painted on a shield held by a young girl in the severy above the lunette in which the Sibyl asks Apollo for a long life, a metaphor for greed according to the moralised Metamorpho­ ses.69 In Manilius, the heavenly Corvus is associated with the sun god by virtue of   a particular episode in the mythical history of   Rome, a  possible reference to the raven (actually Apollo in disguise) who intervenes in battle to help the hero Valerius Corvinus defend the Pons  Sublicius against the invaders, in other words, an act of  generosity by the raven in favour of  Rome, performed under the aegis of   Apollo, of   whom the raven is a faithful companion.70 As it happens, the Sibyl’s avarice is mitigated by not one, but two symbols of   the sun and emblems of   generosity, for the Hydra/Snake can also be traced back to the Phoebus Apollo. The snake is depicted wrapped around a  tree, and probably alludes to the Python, the dragon killed by the child Apollo when he came to Delphi to take possession of  his sanctuary, whence the name of  the Pythia.71 One of  Apollo’s most emblematic attributes, the image is linked to his oracular role and visually associated with the famous bronze tripod in the form of  a serpentine column dedicated as a votive offering to the Delphi sanctuary after the victory over the Persians in the Battle of   Plataea in 479 bc.72

  Ibidem.   Barbieri 2015, 143-145. 70  Manilius, 1,427. 71  Kerényi 1984, I, 127 describes, “the python dragon, son of  Gea … wrapped around a laurel”, a tree sacred to Apollo. This myth appears to fit the image depicted by Peruzzi in the Hydra and Corvus severy. 72  Herodotus, 9, 80. 68 69

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Fig. 11. Sebastiano del Piombo (?), A male Head (Aeolus?). Top: Baldassarre Peruzzi, The Constellation of the Dog. Roma, Villa Farnesina, Loggia della Galatea.

Above the unfinished head – attributed variously to Peruzzi or Sebastiano – is a representation of  the constellation Canis Major: given the uncompleted state of   the lunette painting, it is perhaps best that we refrain from speculating about the relationship between it and the severy image above it (Fig. 11). We shall also pass over the remaining severies on the side of  the loggia that once opened to the exterior.73 It is likely that, having no connection to the Ovidian stories, the remaining extra-zodiacal constellations of  Chigi’s horoscope were depicted in sequential order. This hypothesis, that there is a relationship between the Ovidian lunettes and the extra-zodiacal constellations in the severies, allows us to add another piece to the symbolic and astrological puzzle of   the horoscope: Lavinius, one of   the most respected moralising commentators on Ovid’s Metamorphoses,74 advises that, on the difficult path to virtue, the prudent man should curb his appetites. In  Agostino Chigi’s journey, he is assisted by the favourable influences of   his stars, which protect him against the worst of   vices. Not only this, but the promise of   virtue’s rewards is also present in the Loggia: while the lunettes look towards an   I set out the hypothesis that this figure is Aeolus in Barbieri 2015 a, 146-147.   Guthmüller 1997, 37.

73 74

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‘outside’– the realm of   passions that are neutralised by the extrazodiacal constellations and kept from the space of   the Loggia – the ‘inside’ is dominated by the vault panels highlighting the triumph of   Perseus and Cynosura, who are rewarded for their heroic deeds: the brave son of   Danaë, equipped with his invincible arms, is pictured killing the deadly Gorgon, surrounded by its petrified victims, while the floating Fama turns her long, curved horn towards the Chigi coat of   arms.75 Cynosura guides the Lesser Wain, the constellation into which she was turned as a reward for aiding the infant Jupiter, nursing him at her breast while he hid from Kronos’ wrath. In formulating the decorative programme, the Chigi family’s iconographer 76 went far beyond a  merely descriptive treatment of   the theme of   birth, invoking all the forces of   the heavens to favour his “Magnificent” patron. The constellations follow a precise order, while the fabulae could be chosen with greater freedom. The main criteria followed were to preserve the realm of   the air as the context of   transformation, selecting crimes and stories that served as examples of   what not to do. Of course, the evils of   the world cannot be wished away. The authors of   the iconographic scheme sought to mitigate them, however, showcasing the positive signs of   fate that help to strengthen one’s innate character, providing antidotes to the vices and sheltering Agostino, specifically, from the evils of   lust, arrogance, cruelty, envy, anger, greed and looseness of   tongue, as symbolised by Ovid’s fabulae. Thus, in the Loggia, the ‘good stars’ watch over Agostino Chigi to counter and/or curb the vices and dangerous passions that afflict all men, and once again, Ovid offers substance and symbolic content – mediated by an age-old tradition – with which to give form and aspect to the Chigi utopia.

75 Q uinlan-McGrath 1995, 63-65. Important clarifications, but not accepted by Frommel 2003, I, 85. 76  Bartalini 1996, 53-56, identifies the iconographer as Cornelio Benigno.

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Bibliography Barbieri 2015 a = C. Barbieri, Tam foelix pictor vate, ut pictore Poeta: The Iconography of   Sebastiano del Piombo’s Lunettes in the Loggia della Galatea, in Artibus & Historiae, 72, 2015, 127-152. Barbieri 2015 b  = C.  Barbieri, “Voglio ora che vi lasciate sorprendere dal senso nascosto”: l’oroscopo di Peruzzi e le “fabule” di Sebastiano nella Loggia della Galatea, in Venezia Cinquecento, 25, 50, 2015, 37-74. Bartalini 1996 = R. Bartalini, Le occasioni del Sodoma. Dalla Milano di Leonardo alla Roma di Raffaello, Roma 1996, 39-86. Berchorius 1962  = P.  Berchorius, Reductorium morale, Liber  XV, cap. ii-xv. “Ovidius Moralizatus” (from the Parisian edition, 1509), ed. by J. Engels, Utrecht 1962. Cappelletti 1995 = F. Cappelletti, L’uso delle Metamorphoses di Ovidio nella decorazione ad affresco della prima metà del Cinquecento: il caso della Farnesina, in H. Walter – H. J. Horn (eds.), Die Rezep­ tion der ‘Metamorphosen’ des Ovid in der Neuzeit: der antike Mythos in Text und Bild, Berlin 1995, 115-128. Cartari 1608  = V.  Cartari, Imagini de gli dei de gli antichi, Padova 1608. Cugnoni 1878 = G. Cugnoni, Agostino Chigi, il Magnifico, Roma 1878. De Boer 1966-1968  = L’Ovide moralisé, ed.  by C.  De Boer, 2  vols, Wiesbaden 1966-1968. Finocchi Ghersi 2010 = L. Finocchi Ghersi, Sebastiano del Piombo nella villa di Agostino Chigi alla Lungara, in F. Cantatore – M. Chiabò – P. Farenga (eds.), Metafore di un pontificato: Giulio II (1503-1513), Roma 2010, 403-419. Förster 1880  = R.  Förster, Farnesina Studien. Ein Beitrag zur Frage nach dem Verhaltnis der Renaissance zur Antike, Rostock 1880. Frommel 2003 = C. L. Frommel, La Villa Farnesina a Roma, 2 vols, Modena 2003. Gerson 1992 = J. Gerson, Teologia mistica, ed. by M. Vannini, Roma 1992. Graves 1955 = R. Graves, The Greek myths, London 1955. Guthmüller 1981  = B. Guthmüller, Ovidio metamorphoseos vulgare: Formen und Funktionen der volkssprachlichen Wiedergabe klassischer Dichtung in der italienischen Renaissance, Boppard am Rhein 1981. Guthmüller 1986 = B. Guthmüller, Studien zur antiken Mythologie in der italienischen Renaissance, Weinheim 1986. 257

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Guthmüller 1997 = B. Guthmüller, Mito Poesia Arte. Saggi sulla tra­ dizione ovidiana nel Rinascimento, Roma 1997. Hermanin 1927 = F. Hermanin, La Farnesina, Bergamo, 1927. Hirst 1980 = M. Hirst, Sebastiano del Piombo, Oxford, 1980. Kerényi 1984  = K.  Kerényi, Gli Dei e  gli Eroi della Grecia, 2  vols, Milano 1984. Lucco 1980 = M. Lucco, Sebastiano del Piombo, Milano, 1980. Luzio 1886 = A. Luzio, Federico Gonzaga, ostaggio alla corte di Giu­ lio II, in “Archivio della R. Società Romana di Storia Patria”, Roma, 9, 3/4, 1886, 509-582. Moss 1982 = A. Moss, Ovid in Renaissance France: a survey of  the Latin editions of   Ovid and commentaries printed in France before 1600, London, 1982. Ovidius/Regio/Lavinius 1534  = P.  Ouidii Nasonis poetae ingeniosis­ simi Metamorphoseos libri XV, summa cura nuper emendati cum Raphaelis Regii luculentissimis in eosdem libris enarrationibus. Necnon & Lactantii, & Petri Lauini commentariis … tum additi sunt duo indices (Venetiis: in aedibus Ioannis Tacuini de Tridino, 1534 die VII Septemb.). Palladius 1512 = Suburbanum Agustini Chisii. Per Blosium Palladium. Impræssum Romæ: per Iacobum Mazochium Romanae academiae bibliopolam, 1512 die xxvii Ianuarii. Panofsky 1975 = E. Panofsky, Cupido cieco, in E. Panofsky, Studi di ico­ nologia. I temi umanistici nell’arte del Rinascimento, trad. it. Torino 1975, 135-183. Pierguidi 2017  = S.  Pierguidi, La testa colossale non di chiaroscuro: Sebastiano del Piombo “teorico” alla Farnesina, Bollettino d’arte, 7. Serie, 102, 35-36, 2017, 259-268.  uinlan-McGrath 1984 = M. Q uinlan-McGrath, The astrological vault Q of   the Villa Farnesina, Agostino Chigi’s rising sign, Journal of   the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 47, 1984, 91-105. Q uinlan-McGrath 1990  = M.  Q uinlan-McGrath, Blosius Palladius, Suburbanum Augustini Chisii. Introduction, Latin text and English Translation, Humanistica Lovaniensia 39, 1990, 93-156.  uinlan-McGrath 1995 = M. Q uinlan-McGrath, The villa Farnesina, Q time-telling conventions and Renaissance astrological practice, Journal of  the Warburg and Courtauld Istitutes 58, 1995, 53-71. Saxl 1934 = F. Saxl, La fede astrologica di Agostino Chigi: interpreta­ zione dei dipinti di Baldassare Peruzzi nella Sala di Galatea della Farnesina, a cura di A. Beer, Roma, 1934. 258

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Strinati – Lindemann 2008 = C. Strinati – B. W. Lindemann (eds.), Sebastiano del Piombo 1485-1547, Milano 2008. Tolomeo 1985 = Claudio Tolomeo, Le previsioni astrologiche (Tetra­ biblos) ed. by S. Feraboli, Milano 1985. Thoenes 1977 = C. Thoenes, Zu Raffaels Galatea, in L. Grisebach – K. Renger (eds.), Festschrift für Otto von Simson zum 65. Geburtstag, Frankfurt a. M. 1977, 220-272 (repr. in Thoenes 2002, 51-116). Thoenes 2002  = C.  Thoenes, Galatea, tentativi di avvicinamento, in C. Thoenes, Opus incertum. Italienische Studien aus drei Jahrzehnten, München-Berlin 2002, 215-244. Von Salis 1947 = A. Von Salis, Antike und Renaissance, Erlenbach, 1947. Warburg 1966 = A. Warburg, La rinascita del paganesimo antico. Contributi alla storia della cultura raccolti di Gertrud Bing, It. transl. Firenze 1966 [Leipzig-Berlin 1932].

Abstract The cycle of  frescoes painted by Sebastiano del Piombo in the Galatea loggia in Agostino Chigi’s Villa Farnesina presents a selection of   episodes from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, all of   which share a  common theme of   ‘air’. What has not yet been appreciated, however, is that the cycle constitutes – in the first instance – an accurate and meticulous depiction of  Ovid’s text in the version put forward by the fifteenth century’s most respected philologist and Ovid scholar, Raffaele Regio, and – in the second – a  hitherto unknown system of   signs imbued with a new symbolic value. Ovid’s stories should be interpreted here as meta-mythologies: plays within a  play, the episodes of   metamorphosis from the Greek myths operate not only in their own right as re-enactments of  ancient fabulae; they also function in relation to the zodiacal and extra-zodiacal constellations that are depicted in the vault to create a  representation of   the horoscope of   the patron, Agostino Chigi, with the ‘good’ stars watching over him. In this context, more than ever Ovid’s narrative takes on a  semantic versatility that is the product of   over a thousand years of   semiotic evolution: alongside the classical, literal meaning and the moral sense attributed to it by Christian tradition, it is imbued with symbolic and biographical connotations that have been specially conceived to reflect and magnify, as in an interplay of   mirrors, the persona of   the protagonist at the centre of  the entire decorative scheme.

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GIUSEPPE CAPRIOTTI

THE FORTUNES AND MISFORTUNES OF  VULGARIZED EDITIONS OF  OVID’S METAMORPHOSES IN ITALY AND SPAIN

1. The Impact of  Vulgarized, Illustrated Editions of  the Metamorphoses on Italian Art Bodo Guthmüller has given ample proof  of  the importance of  the vulgarized, illustrated editions of   Ovid’s Metamorphoses, appearing in Italy’s book market between the end of   the fifteenth and first half of   the sixteenth century, for Italian literary and artistic culture in the early modern age.1 Painters and sculptors of  the time normally received their training and humanistic education in the workshop. They often did not know Latin, and when they were called upon to represent mythological subjects, they preferred to read vernacular editions rather than editions in the original language.2 The reader would not be able to understand the reasons for the extraordinary success of   these editions without looking briefly at how Ovid’s text had been transmitted and received in fourteenth century Italy. Giovanni Del Virgilio compiled the Allegoriae Ovi­ dianae between 1322 and 1323 following a course of   university lectures given on the Metamorphoses by the same author in Bolo­ gna. They are clearly educational, as can be seen, for example, *  This study is partly the result of  research carried out during my stay as Visiting Professor at the UNED of   Madrid in 2019. I wish to thank Borja Franco Llopis, Antonio Urquízar Herrera and Fátima Díez-Platas, for discussing with me the issues raised by the two editions of   Lodovico Dolce’s Trasformationi kept in Madrid. I would also like to thank Francesca Casamassima for rereading the text and for the suggestions made. 1  Guthmüller 1997; Guthmüller 2008; Guthmüller 2009. 2  Guthmüller 1996. After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127599 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 261-283

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from the separation of   explanatory paraphrases from allegorical commentary, which probably came at a later time.3 The intention of   Giovanni del Virgilio was to make the Latin poem clear to his students, in the explanatory paraphrase, by illustrating in detail all the myths mentioned, including those to which Ovid only makes brief allusions. His paraphrase is therefore much richer in myths than the original Latin. As for his allegorical commentary, Giovanni del Virgilio favoured historical, natural or philosophicalmoral interpretations.4 When Giovanni Bonsignori, a humanist from Città di Ca­stello in Umbria, began to translate the Metamorphoses, completing his work between 1375 and 1377, he clearly found himself in dif­fi­ culty.5 After having attempted to translate the first book directly from Ovid’s Latin version, from the second book onwards he decided to turn Giovanni del Virgilio’s texts into prose, evidently considering them simpler and clearer. They were undoubtedly more useful in producing a more understandable translation for his audience. No longer following the original text, Bon­si­gnori placed the paraphrase and allegorical commentary of   each episode one after the other, thus clearly explaining all the allusions present in Ovid’s text. Therefore, his translation, centring only on the poem’s content, includes myths not actually present in the Metamorphoses, making it a veritable manual of   mythology in the vernacular, intended for an audience that would not have been able to fully comprehend the original poem. After having enjoyed extraordinary success in the manuscript version, especially in Florence, which remained until the fifteenth century the city where the text was most popular,6 Giovanni 3  Giovanni del Virgilio’s text is divided into two parts, paraphrase and commentary. Cf. Marchesi 1909 (who even suggested the two parts belonged to two different authors on the basis of   a different time and way of   compilation); Ghi­ salberti 1933; Huber-Rebenich 1997; Huber-Rebenich 1998; Huber-Rebenich 2009. 4  The author bases his hypothesis on the exegesis of  Arnulf of  Orléans, a grammarian and poet who had taught courses on Ovid in the twelfth century, and on John of   Garland’s Integumenta Ovidii, an allegorical commentary from the thirteenth century on the Metamorphoses. Regarding these texts cf. Ghisalberti 1932 and Giovanni Di Garlandia 1933. 5   Guthmüller 2008, 62-86. 6   Guthmüller 2008, 176-184 and 291-298. For the nine surviving witnesses cf. also Bonsignori 2001, XXV-XXXV.

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Bon­signori’s Ovidio Metamorphoseos Vulgare was published in a printed version in editio princeps in Venice in 1497 by Venetian printer Giovanni Rosso, commissioned by Florentine publisher Lucantonio Giunta.7 This was a  very important edition that marked a switch in Ovid’s fortunes, moving from Florence to Venice, and showed the interest of  the wealthy and mercantile class in elegant volumes composed of   three elements: the prose account of   Ovidian stories, an allegorical commentary of   them and woodcut illustrations of  numerous episodes. While the chapters with the Ovidian stories basically match those present in the manuscripts, the texts of   the allegories are expanded, reworked, and in some cases replaced by the publisher. In these new allegories the Ovidian myths are interpreted in a typological key, in the same way, according to theological exegesis, as the Old Testament was read, namely by references to the new faith in Christ.8 Despite the efforts made to bring the Ovidian world into line with Christianity, the patriarch of   Venice Tommaso Donà, by decree of   February 21, 1497, threatened to excommunicate the publisher and printer if they placed on the market volumes that contained woodcuts considered indecent due to the presence of  male and female nudity. The text could be accepted, therefore, but not the images.9 The series of   woodcuts for the volume were designed by Paduan miniaturist Benedetto Bordon (perhaps assisted by the Second Master of   Grifo’s Canzoniere), while the wood-based illustrations were made by at least three different craftsmen: Jacopo da Strasburgo, signing 17 prints with the initials ia (Iacobus Argentoratensis); Master N, signing 5 prints; and an anonymous Florentine master, identifiable only on the basis of  style.10 Numerous details present in the images make it clear that in order to perform his work the creator of   the series did not use the original Ovidian text, but preferred Bonsignori’s vulgarization, surely finding it easier to read.11 The patriarch was 7   The text was republished numerous times (1501, 1508, 1517, 1519, 1520, 1522), also by other publishers, until 1522. Cf. Guthmüller 2008, 188. 8  Ardissino 1993, 110 and Guthmüller 2008, 199. 9  This episode of  censorship was studied by Guthmüller 1997, 237-250. 10   Pesavento 2018. For an analysis of   the images of   1497, and a comparison with those of   Mainz of   1545, cf.  Blattner 1998. For a  more in-depth analysis of  the success of  the same prints, cf. Huber-Rebenich et al. 2014, 32-94. 11   Cf. Hubert-Rebenich 1992.

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particularly embarrassed by the explicit eroticism of   Priapus and Lotis, whose mythical story is only mentioned by Ovid,12 but told in detail by Bonsignori, translating Giovanni del Virgilio’s rich paraphrase.13 The illustrator follows Bonsignori’s tale: on the left Priapus, with a clearly visible erection, disturbs the sleeping Lotis, raising her underskirt in an attempt to rape her. A farmer’s donkey, in the centre of   the image, begins to bray so strongly that it wakes up Lotis. As she flees, she is turned into a tree, while the still excited Priapus continues to chase her. The patriarch forced the publisher to modify the woodcuts in those copies that had already been printed, covering the genitals with a brown tint.14 Notwithstanding this censorship, the series was reused in subsequent editions of  the same work, directly modifying the wooden blocks in the parts considered scandalous.15 In 1505 the series was also used to decorate a  prestigious Latin edition by Raffaele Regio.16 The books containing this woodcut series continued to be viewed suspiciously by private readers: the images of  some copies have been covered and defaced with marks and ink stains, or commented upon, sometimes using obscene expressions.17 The woodcut series of   1497 was extraordinarily successful for a  parallel industry: pottery, as evidenced by the Este-Gonzaga ceramic service, commissioned by Isabella D’Este and made by Nicolò da Urbino.18 An equally singular case concerns the use of  Bonsignori’s text, demonstrating the extent to which sixteenth century artists used vulgarized editions and how important they  Ov., Met. 9,347.   Bonsignori 1497, cc. LXXVIIIv.-LXXVIIIr. 14  Lamberto Donati was the first scholar to notice that the woodcuts of   the copy kept in the Casanatense Library in Rome had been modified to cover up the figures with a dark brown colour. This was however easy to remove with an eraser (Donati 1959, 112). 15   Guthmüller 1997, 237-250. 16  In the Latin edition edited by Raffaele Regio (1505) seven prints were added: The creation of   the world (replacing the original), The sending of   Cadmus, Narcissus, The miniads, Perseus and Phineus, Arachne, Phrixus and Helle. Cf. Essling 1907, 228-229 and Mortimer 1974, 485-486. Cf. Díez-Platas 2015 and Pesavento 2019 for the unusual story of  a second ‘pirate’ edition in 1505 of  the same work. 17  On this subject cf. Capriotti 2021a. 18  Chambers – Martineau 1981, 175-178. Cf. Radanelli Guidotti 1995 and Andreoli 2012. 12 13

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are today in correctly interpreting the mythological images of  the modern age. In the early twentieth century, a plaque of  Guglielmo della Porta, now in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, alongside other plaques with stories taken from the Metamor­ phoses, had been identified simply as “scenes of   satyrs” (Fig. 1).19 However, the image depicts the story of   Priapus and Lotis, an episode not narrated in the original text of   the Metamorphoses, but present, as we have already mentioned, in Bonsignori’s vulgarization.20 Della Porta’s plaque thus has no connection with the Latin Metamorphoses, being found only in the vulgarization, the only one that allows us to correctly identify the subject represented.21

Fig. 1. Guglielmo della Porta, Priapus and Lotis, Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KHM-Museumsverband.

  Casanova Uccella – Cannata 1982, 72-76.   Extermann forthcoming, description sheet no. 6.4. I thank Grégoire Extermann, who told me about this interesting case and provided me with the description sheet of   the work that will be published in his forthcoming monograph on Guglielmo della Porta. 21   Another equally interesting case, in this regard, is the Michelangelo Anselmi’s Apollo and Marsyas, today kept at the National Gallery of   Art in Washington. As in the illustration of   1497, in the painting, in addition to the flaying scene, Minerva is playing in front of  a lake and the temple in which Apollo hangs Marsyas’s hide. In both cases Marsyas is not a satyr, but an ordinary man or rather, as Bonsignori calls him, a “common peasant”. Cf. Wyss 1996, 85-86. 19 20

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The next vernacularisation of   Ovid’s work appeared in 1522, published by Niccolò Zoppino and drafted by Venetian Niccolò degli Agostini. While the author claims he has referred to the original Latin, written by an Ovid unknowingly inspired by God, the text is nothing more than a version in octaves, based on the model of  chivalric romances and epic poems and on Bonsignori’s prose vulgarization.22 Ever since its first edition the work was endowed with a new set of  woodcuts.23 As Guthmüller has shown, this is probably the edition used by Giulio Romano to compose the Fall of   the Giants at Palazzo Tè in Mantua between 1531 and 1536.24 Narrating the episode, Ovid describes the defeat of   monstrous snake-legged beings with a hundred arms, from whose blood a violent lineage of   humanlike beings originates.25 Giulio Romano represents the giants as huge and muscular human beings, in the midst of   which some monkeys are recognisable. This oddity can also be found in the verses of  Niccolò degli Agostini, the edition that is closest in time to the work of   Giulio Romano, in which the author does not describe the exact features of   the giants, but that they were overwhelmed by the mountains and killed by the arrows of   Jupiter, saying explicitly that “il sangue lor in scimie si converse” (“their blood turned into monkeys”).26 Niccolò degli Agostini had in fact merely turned Bonsignori’s prose into verse. The latter indeed did not describe the giants as snake-legged beings with a hundred arms, and stated that “le simie se inzenerarono e  nacquero del sangue loro” (“the monkeys were generated and born out of  their own blood”).27 Going back in time, this misunderstanding derives from Giovanni del Virgilio, who had paraphrased Ovid by say22  Agostini 1522. Subsequent editions were published in the 1533, 1537, 1538, 1547 and 1548. Cf.  Guthmüller 2008, 204-252 and Guthmüller 1997, 97-123. 23  The prints were identical in the subsequent prints of   1533, 1537, 1547. Cf. Essling 1907, 233, no. 234. In the editions of   1538 and 1548 Agostini’s text was illustrated with a different woodcut series, which had been used for the first time in 1513 to decorate a Latin edition edited by Regio. Cf. Guthmüller 2008, 309. Regarding the 1513 edition, cf. also Essling 1907, 230-231, no. 229. 24   Guthmüller 1997, 291-307. 25  Ovid simply says in faciem vertisse hominum: Ov., Met. 1,160. 26  Agostini 1522, f. A4r. 27  Bonsignori 1497, IIIv.

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ing: “Perfusus est sanguinis eorum quem assunsit terra et gravida facta genuit quedam animalia que faciem hominis habent, scilicet simias”.28 It was this textual flow that justifies the iconographic invention of   the monkeys in the Sala dei giganti in Palazzo Tè, which would otherwise be inexplicable following Ovid’s Latin text as a source.29

2. The Reception of  Lodovico Dolce and Giovanni Antonio Rusconi’s Trasformationi in Italy Monkeys are also on view in the print with the Fall of  the Giants adorning Lodovico Dolce’s Traformationi, a  vulgarization of  Ovid’s Metamorphoses first published in May 1553 from the presses of  Gabriel Giolito De’ Ferrari (Fig. 2).30 More than 1,800 copies sold out in just four months. The edition was republished a second time by the printer in the same year.31 Under Dolce’s direction, the work was reprinted in the years 1555, 1557, 1558 and 1561, and then, after Dolce’s death and the expiry of   copyrights, with other publishers in 1568 and 1570.32 The extraordinary success of   this rewrite of   Ovid’s Metamorphoses in Ariostan octaves, spread out over 30 canti along the lines of  Orlando Furioso,33 was probably also due to the presence of   innovative 28 Q uoted directly from Guthmüller 1997, 297-298. Cf. also Bonsignori 2001, 139, n. 71. 29  Niccolò degli Agostini’s illustrated Vulgar Latin edition was used to conceive the iconographic scheme of  the vault of  the Metamorphoses Hall (Sala delle Metamorfosi) of   Palazzo del Principe in Genoa, the residence of   Andrea Doria. Perino del Vaga, in charge of   the decorative scheme (probably painted by Luca Penni), dedicates the Lunettes to the myth of   Arachne (book VI), giving ample space to Zeus’s seductions that the maiden had depicted on her cloth. Among these is the Abduction of  Ganymede, a myth that Ovid does not mention in this setting, but that is told by Giovanni Bonsignori and taken up in Agostini’s vulgarization. This represents the closest text to these paintings in terms of  dating, some time between 1528 and 1533. Cf. Casamassima 2009. 30  Dolce 15531. 31  The number of   copies sold is recalled by Gabriel Giolito in the letter To the noble and sincere readers following the text of   the second edition of  1553. Cf. Dolce 15532, page not numbered in the final paratext. 32  Cf. Bongi 2006, 395-401 for the history of  the text’s editions. 33   Regarding the strength of  Ariosto’s model in the Trasformationi cf. Javitch 1981; Bucchi 2011, 88-99; Andrea Torre’s notes in Bolzoni – Girotto 2013, 5254; Trebaiocchi 2016; Torre 2017.

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Fig. 2. Giovanni Antonio Rusconi, Fall of  the Giants, from Le Trasformationi by Lodovico Dolce, private collection.

woodcuts, designed by architect Giovanni Antonio Rusconi, who had transposed numerous Ovidian episodes into images.34 Dolce and Rusconi were close colleagues in one of  the most prestigious Venetian printing houses of   the time, however they had two very different points of  view on the same subject. Lodovico Dolce and Giovanni Antonio Rusconi were working concurrently: 35 Dolce began translating in 1552, starting out from Ovid’s Latin text, but using in many places previous vulgarizations, in particular that of  Niccolò degli Agostini. As he did not yet have Dolce’s translation to hand, Rusconi took as the main references for his work the earlier vulgarizations of   Giovanni Bonsignori and Niccolò degli Agostini. The frequent discrepancies between text and image present in the Giolito volume, such as 34  The identification of  Giovanni Antonio Rusconi as the author of  the woodcuts for Trasformationi was the result of  studies by Guthmüller 1983; Guthmüller 1986, 134-137. Ilaria Andreoli has doubted that Rusconi could be the direct engraver of   this iconographic series, which has many similarities with other contemporary sets, and tends to consider the architect as simply the designer, or rather the coordinator of  a very busy workshop. Cf. Andreoli 2006, 186-190. 35  Guthmüller 1997, 251-274.

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the aforementioned case of  the monkeys, present in the Fall of   the Giants but not mentioned by Dolce, are therefore due to Rusconi’s use of   vulgarizations which, as we have already observed, had progressively corrupted the original Latin poem. Although Rusconi mainly uses the two previous vernacularizations, he sometimes shows an ability to boldly interpret the Latin original.36 In other cases, he is very much influenced by the iconographic solutions chosen by illustrators that had decorated the previous editions of  the Metamorphoses in the vernacular and in Latin, with special reference to the series of   1497 and 1522 (as well as that of   1513), some of   which kept in the printing house of   Giovanni Antonio’s father, Giorgio Rusconi, a  Milan publisher operating in Venice between 1500 and 1522.37

Fig. 3. Giovanni Antonio Rusconi, Apollo and Cyparissus, from Le Trasformationi by Lodovico Dolce, private collection.

36  Callegari 2014 makes this timely observation. One such case may be, for example, the image of   the Curetes springing from the rain. Cf. Capriotti 2013, 66-67. 37  Capriotti 2013, 31-33 and 43-60. These three iconographic sets move from one book to another, from one edition to another and from one printing house to another with extraordinary ease.

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Fig. 4. Apollo and Cyparissus. Pesaro, Civic Museum. Courtesy of  the Municipality of  Pesaro Servizio Beni e Attività Culturali.

Just like the 1497 series, Rusconi’s was extremely successful in terms of   pottery production, for example, a ceramic set was made for duke Albrecht  V of   Bavaria in 1576 in the Faenza-based workshop of   Leonardo Ascanio Bettusi, known as Don Pino,38 the flask with the Europa’s abduction made in the Fontana workshop is now kept at the Bargello National Museum, Florence,39 and the plate with Apollo and Cyparissus is preserved at the Civic Museum of   Pesaro (Figs 3 and 4).40 These literal citations of   Rusconi’s iconographic models bear witness to the enormous appeal that the woodcut series enjoyed in Italy, also among fellow artists and artisans. This iconographic series suffered too from censorship. In  many editions I have consulted in several Italian libraries, the print with Salmacis and Hermaphroditus, the only truly erotic print of   the entire cycle, depicting actual heterosexual intercourse, was covered with a ferrous ink stain that in some cases ended up damaging the volume, making a hole.41 This hap  Szczepanek 2004.   Cf. Alessandro Alinari’s description sheet in Marini 2012, 218-219. 40  Cf. Mancini della Chiara, 1979, 61. 41   Regarding the lack of  success of  this print cf. Capriotti-Casamassima 2020. 38 39

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Fig. 5. Giovanni Antonio Rusconi, Salmacis and Hermaphroditus, from Le Trasformationi by Lodovico Dolce, private collection.

pened with a first edition kept in the university library of  Genoa 42 and with an edition of   1561 in the Palatina Library of   Parma.43 In the same Parma library another edition, again from 1561, is preserved, in which the same print suffered from an attempt to cover it with a  dark stain,44 which can also be seen in the copy of   1561 preserved at the National Central Library of   Rome.45 In a second edition of  1553, now in a private collection, the same print was damaged, probably with the use of   a cutter, scratching the contour lines of   the two figures and transforming an erotic image into a landscape (Fig. 5).46 All these cases are examples of  private censorship, probably perpetrated by the individual owners of  the volume.

42   Dolce 15531, 90 (University Library of  Genoa, location 3 L III 60). I thank Francesca Casamassima for informing me about this copy. 43  Dolce 1561, 94 (Palatina Library of  Parma, location BB IV 26706). 44  Dolce 1561, 94 (Palatina Library of  Parma, location Conv. Ben. 3847). 45   Dolce 1561, 94 (Central National Library of  Rome, location 6.17.D. 19). Cf. Stefano Benedetti’s description sheet in Cieri Via 1996, 290-291. 46  Dolce 15532, 92 (private collection).

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3. Two Editions of  the Trasformationi in Madrid More or less successful attempts at censorship such as these, limited to a  single woodcut, were made on several prints in a  first edition of   1553, kept at the Complutense Library in Madrid.47 In this copy many woodcuts were censored, not limited to the one with Salmacis and Hermaphroditus. The first example of  censorship in this case refers to the image of   Deucalion and Pyrrha: even though the first human beings born from the stones thrown by Deucalion and Pyrrha after the flood are behaving demurely, covering their breast and genitals, their nudity has been covered with black ink. Censorship is the likely cause of   damage to the image of   one of   the Nymphs bathing, in the print with the myth of   Kallisto and Arcas. In the woodcut recounting the myth of   Actaeon, the genitals of   Diana’s bathing nymphs were covered by a band of   black ink. In the print depicting Salmacis and Hermaphroditus, the bodies of   the two protagonists were completely covered by a stain of   black ink, showing only the raised hands of   the two youngsters. In  the woodcut representing Alcmene’s labour, a  delivery made difficult by Juno’s envy, the action of   the midwife, who puts her hands under Alcmene’s underskirt to help her with the delivery, is covered by black ink (Fig. 6). This is a case of  censoring not an erotic episode or nudity, but rather a situation considered unseemly, something that should not be seen.48 The final two cases of   censorship refer to the same illustration, used twice within the edition, namely the woodcut with Priapus and Lotis: the first print is placed next to the short quote that Dolce, translating Ovid’s original text, provides of  the myth, comparing it to that of  Dryope (Fig. 7). The second is used without any connection to the text, to illustrate typologically Myrrha fleeing from her father.49 Although in this print Rusconi mirrors the model of   the woodcut of   the same subject from the 1497 series, or the one that had troubled the patriarch Donà, 47   Dolce 15531, 13, 44, 63, 90, 197, 198, 218 (Complutense Library of   Madrid, location BH FLL 28284). 48  The same drawing is covered by an ink-drawn sapling in an edition of   the Metamorphoses decorated with the 1497 series. Cf. Capriotti 2020. 49  With regard to the positioning of  images with respect to the text in the first and second editions of  the Trasformationi cf. Capriotti 2021b.

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Fig. 6. Giovanni Antonio Rusconi, Alcmene’s labour, from Le Trasformationi by Lodovico Dolce, Biblioteca Histórica de la Universidad Complutense de Madrid [BH FLL 28284].

Fig. 7. Giovanni Antonio Rusconi, Priapus and Lotis, from Le Trasformationi by Lodovico Dolce, Biblioteca Histórica de la Universidad Complutense de Madrid [BH FLL 28284].

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he does not represent Priapus’s erect phallus, but simply the god attempting to put his hands under the underskirt of   the sleeping nymph Lotis, with the obvious intention of  abusing her.50 Again, the attempt at censorship is a reaction to an image that is more embarrassing than actually obscene. But who is the censor? The title page of   the volume contains some letters that are difficult to interpret, to the right and left of   Jupiter: “Arma” or “lea”. Before the dedication the name of  Antonino Groeni appears, probably a private owner, and not part of   a specific group.51 It is difficult to establish whether this individual is Spanish or Italian, and whether he was the one responsible for covering up the images. It is certain that, in 1564, Andres de Grado of   Valladolid glossed a 1555 edition of  Dolce’s Trasformationi, now kept in the National Library of   Madrid, in which there are no censored or tampered images.52 His name in full appears only on the penultimate blank page of   the book, while throughout the volume the initials of  his name appear: “a.d.g.”, along with the date 1564 and his city of   origin, shortened to “ball.d.”. The abbreviation “d.a.c.” also appears frequently, and, as we will see, it refers perhaps to the name of  a woman. On one page, female names are also cited, such as “Casandra”, “Cristina”, “Caterina”.53 I promise to investigate this character further in the future.54 For the time being, I shall confine myself to just a few of  his notes. In the first part of   the book the reader adds glosses in Spanish around the edges of   the octaves, marking the beginning of   a mythical tale or the content of  the octave, like a bookmark. In the blank spaces at the end of   the canti the reader also transcribes some mottoes in Spanish. Here are just a few examples. At the end of   the eighth canto, the reader notes “mas firmeza que bentura”   Regarding the use of  this model cf. Capriotti 2013, 49.   Arrigoni 2001-2002, 542, 544. The author reads both writings as notes of  possession: the first as “Aroma Leo”, the second as “Antonino Gioeni”. 52  Dolce 1555 (National Library of  Madrid, location 3/38067, Salon general). I thank Borja Franco Llopis for helping me read the writings in the volume. 53  Dolce 1555, 39. 54  I thank Antonio Urquízar Herrera for pointing me to some documents concerning Andres de Grado, kept at the Archivo de la Real Chancillería de Valladolid, which I intend to investigate in future research. 50 51

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(“more firmness than happiness”).55 At the end of  the ninth canto we have “antes sin agua el mar de ber se tiene q falte en mi fe, ni ser podria fe hasta la muerte” (“before I lose my faith I should see the sea remain without water, nor could I lose faith until my death”).56 At the end of   the 12th canto: “Sienpre fe me crecera ai fortuna desbaratadora de […] descontentos” (“my faith will always grow, fortune dismantling […] dissatisfaction”).57 At the end of  the 14th canto there is: “crez a la firmeza y fe” (“firmness and faith grow”).58 In the lower section of  the volume, between pages 186 and 187, he writes: “Casandra fin a la mort” (“Cassandra till death”). In one of   the final pages, the one with the “Register”, the reader draws a flaming heart and adds the words “Por un solo contento es mi dolor A.d.g 1564 d.a.c.” (my pain is only for one satisfaction). On the penultimate page, where he finally writes his name in full, he adds the motto “en ausencia mas presente” (“in your absence you are more present”). On the final page, next to the publisher’s name is the motto “ni por sperancia ni miedo” (“neither for hope or fear”), which is easily recognisable as a Spanish translation of  a Latin motto by Isabella D’Este, later adopted by Philip II, namely “NEC SPE NEC METU”.59 Future research will surely shed some light on the personality of  this Spanish reader of  Dolce’s Trasfor­ mationi, who used the empty spaces of  a book full of  inauspicious loves to leave heartfelt testimonies of   his unbending faith (and perhaps his love for a woman). More generally speaking, apart from these two specific copies, the reception of   Dolce’s Trasformationi in Spain merits more investigation, not only because a copy of   the volume was present in the library of   Diego Velásquez,60 but mainly because the work is dedicated to King Charles  V, through a  letter to monsignor   Sweet 1555, 91.   Dolce 1555, 100. 57  Dolce 1555, 132. 58   Dolce 1555, 153. 59  López Poza 2017, with bibliography. I thank Fátima Díez-Platas for pointing out to me that the inscription is the Spanish translation of   the Latin motto of  a device. 60  Sánchez Canton 1925, 404. Regarding the success of   Lodovico Dolce’s works in Spain see the excellent work by Arroyo Esteban 2010. Cf. also Arroyo Esteban 2009 and Arroyo Esteban 2011. 55 56

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Antonio Perinotto (Antoine Perrenot de Granvaille), bishop of  Arras and advisor to Charles  V.61 Thanks to Perrenot, the publisher Giolito was granted the prestigious imperial privilege for the book, published together with the others in the first pages of   the volume.62 Not only was Perrenot in constant touch with Giolito and other Italian publishers,63 his role and his artistic and literary interests led him to have epistolary exchanges with many Venetian artists and writers, such as Titian and Pietro Aretino.64 The latter was the author of   the sonnet “A Cesare”, dedicated to Charles  V, and published in the first edition of   the Trasforma­ tioni, while Titian is mentioned by Dolce as “our modern Apelles” in the dedicatory epistle to Perrenot.65 All of   these efforts served to get to Charles V: assimilating into the tradition that interprets the ancient myths as fables with morals, Dolce, in the epistle to Perrenot, and without committing an act of   imprudence, dedicated a book of  loves to the emperor, since he who does not look superficially at this matter, “vedrà sotto la scorza di tali piacevoli fingimenti contenersi tutto il sugo della morale e  divina Filo­ sofia” (“will see beneath the bark of  these pleasant tales all the sap of   the moral and divine Philosophy”).66 More specifically, Dolce explains that the “vain and reckless battles of  the Giants” (“le vane e  temerarie battaglie de’ Giganti”) represent “what are often no less reckless actions moving the world against the power of   Caesar [i.e. Charles V], who is an image and an example on Earth of  that of  God” (“quelle che spesse volte con non minor temerarietà move il mondo contra la potenza di Cesare; la quale è imagine e esempio in terra di quella di Dio”), and that “Jason’s retrieval of   the golden fleece (whereby after many adventures the glorious 61  Regarding this character cf. in general Bertomeu Masiá 2006; on his family cf. Brunet – Toscano 1996. 62  Nuovo – Coppens 2005, 236-243. 63   For his relations with Giolito cf. Grata 2014, 116-117 e 140-141; D’Amico 1996, 208-209. 64  Letters 1977, 15-42; Reibel – Mucciarelli-Réginier 2017, 20; Landoni 1875, 389-390; D’Amico 1996, 198-206. On Perrenot’s artistic interests cf. also Cupperi 2016. 65  Dolce 1553, unnumbered page of   the initial paratext. Cf. Capriotti 2013, 26-27. 66   Dolce 1553, unnumbered page of  the initial paratext.

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insignia of   the Knights of   the Golden Fleece was seized))” (“per lo acquisto fatto da Giasone del vello dell’oro (onde per aventura fu presa la gloriosa insegna de’ Cavalieri del Tosone))” should be understood to mean “triumphant victories, reserved by the Fates to the indomitable and fortunate hands of   the great Charles” (“le trionfali vittorie, che si serbano dai fati alla invittissima e felicissima mano del gran Carlo”).67 The Ovidian myths contained in his Trasformationi are therefore, in many cases, a foreshadowing of  the deeds of  Charles V himself. Despite this dedication, Charles  V showed no appreciation for this publishing initiative. In  1561 Girolamo Ruscelli even wrote a letter to Charles V’s successor, Philip II, saying that due to his poor health and closeness to death, his father had forgotten to remunerate Dolce, and so it was up to him, the heir of  Charles V (whose memory was honoured by Dolce even with the Life of   the indomitable and glorious emperor Charles V, published in 1561 again by Giolito 68), to remedy his father’s forgetfulness.69 This letter, of  course, would also remain unanswered.

Bibliography Agostini 1522  = N. degli Agostini, Tutti gli libri de Ovidio Meta­ morphoseos …, Venezia 1522. Andreoli 2006 = I. Andreoli, Ex officina erasmiana. Vincenzo Valgrisi e l’illustrazione del libro tra Venezia e Lione alla metà del ’500, Tesi di dottorato, Università Ca’ Foscari Venezia-Université Lumière Lyon 2, 2006. Andreoli 2012  = I.  Andreoli, “Fabulae artificialiter pictae”: illustra­ zione del libro e decorazione ceramica nel Rinascimento, in M. Marini (ed.), Fabulae pictae: miti e storie nelle maioliche del Rinascimento, Firenze-Milano 2012, 110-125. Ardissino 1993  = E.  Ardissino, Saggio per l’edizione critica dell’Ovi­ dio Metamorphoseos vulgare di Giovanni di Bonsignori: il “Proemio” e l’ “Essordio”, Traditio 48, 1993, 107-171.

67   Dolce 1553, unnumbered page of   the initial paratext. References to King Charles V are also scattered in other places in the text. Cf. Bucchi 2011, 98. 68 Dolce 1561b. 69  Ruscelli 1570, 221r.

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Arrigoni 2001-2002 = E. Arrigoni, Catalogo delle cinquecentine vene­ ziane conservate presso la Facoltà di Filologia dell’Università Com­ plutense di Madrid, Tesi di laurea sotto la direzione di Neil Harris, Università degli Studi di Udine, 2001-2002. Arroyo Esteban 2009 = S. Arroyo Esteban, Hacia el Dialogo della Pittura. Lodovico Dolce y sus Lettere di diversi (1554-1555), Anales de Historia del Arte 19, 2009, 157-180. Arroyo Esteban 2010 = S. Arroyo Esteban, ‘Memoria’ de Lodovico Dolce en la Biblioteca Histórica Marqués de Valdecilla, Pecia Complutense 7, 12, 2010, 108-134. Arroyo Esteban 2011 = S. Arroyo Esteban, “Tenendo pratica di Poeti, e d’huomini dotti”. Sobre Lodovico Dolce y Tiziano, Anales de Historia del Arte, Volumen Extraordinario, 2011, 41-56. Bertomeu Masiá 2006 = M. J. Bertomeu Masiá, Cartas de un espía de Carlos V. La correspondencia de Jerónimo Bucchia con Antonio Per­ renot de Granvela, Universitat de València, València 2006. Blattner 1998 = E. Blattner, Holzschnittfolgen zu den Metamorphosen des Ovid: Venedig 1497 und Mainz 1545, München 1998. Bolzoni – Girotto 2013 = L. Bolzoni, – C. A. Girotto (eds.), Donne cavalieri incanti follia. Viaggio attraverso le immagini dell’Orlando furioso, Lucca 2013. Bongi 2006 = S. Bongi, Annali di Gabriel Giolito de’ Ferrari da Trino di Monferrato, stampatore in Venezia, Mansfield 2006. Bonsignori 1497 = G. Bonsignori, Ovidio Metamorphoseos vulgare, Venezia 1497. Bonsignori 2001  = G.  Bonsignori, Ovidio Metamorphoseos vulgare, ed. by E. Ardissino, Bologna 2001. Brunet – Toscano 1996 = J. Brunet – G. Toscano (eds), Les Granvelle et l’Italie au XVI siècle: le mécénat d’une famille (Actes du colloque international organisé par la Section d’Italien de l’Université de Franche-Comté, Besançon, 2-4 octobre 1992), Besançon 1996. Bucchi 2011 = G. Bucchi, «Meraviglioso diletto». La traduzione poe­ tica del Cinquecento e le Metamorfosi d’Ovidio di Giovanni Andrea dell’Anguillara, Pisa 2011. Callegari 2014 = C. Callegari, Le Trasformationi di Lodovico Dolce, Nuova informazione bibliografica 11 (2), 2014, 383-387. Capriotti – Casamassima 2020 = G. Capriotti – F. Casamassima, Her­ maphroditus and Iphis: Texts and Images from two Ovidian Myths to Visualize Sexual Ambiguity in the Early Modern Age, Ikon. Journal of  Iconographic Studies, 13, 2020, 199-212. 278

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Capriotti 2013 = G. Capriotti, Le Trasformationi di Lodovico Dolce. Il  Rinascimento ovidiano di Giovanni Antonio Rusconi. Ristampa ana­statica della prima edizione delle Trasformationi, Ancona 2013. Capriotti 2020 = G. Capriotti, Ovid’s Hercules in 1497: A Greek hero in the translation of  the Metamorphoses by Giovanni Bonsignori and in his woodcuts, in A. Allan – E. Anagnostou-Laoutides – E. Stafford (eds.), Herakles Inside and Outside the Church: from the First Apologists to the End of  the Q uattrocento, Leiden 2020, 271-290. Capriotti 2021a = G. Capriotti, Eroticism Under a Watchful Eye. Cen­ sorship and Alteration of  Woodcuts in Ovid’s Metamorphoses Between the Fifteenth and the Sixteenth Centuries, in G.  Jurkowlaniec – M.  Herman (eds.), The Reception of   the Printed Image in the Fif­ teenth and Sixteenth Centuries. Multiplied and Modified, New York 2021, 117-133. Capriotti 2021b = G. Capriotti, The Trasformationi by Lo­do­vico Dolce and Giovanni Antonio Rusconi: the placement of   the images and their relation to the text, in M. Balzi – G. Pellissa Prades (eds.), Ovid Across Europe: Vernacular Translations of  the Metamorphoses in the Middle Ages & Renaissance, Oxford 2021, 209-221. Casamassima 2019 = F. Casamassima, La tela di Aracne con gli amori di Giove: il ruolo dei volgarizzamenti illustrati d’Ovidio nel pro­ gramma iconografico della Sala delle Metamorfosi nel Palazzo del Principe, in M. Lecco (ed.), “Ore legar populi”. Le Metamorfosi di Ovidio e la loro disseminazione iconografica, Genova 2019, 57-96. Casanova Uccella – Cannata 1982 = M. L. Casanova Uccella – P. Cannata, Rilievi e placchette dal XV al XVIII secolo, Roma 1982. Chambers – Martineau 1981  = D.  Chambers – J.  Martineau (ed.), Splendours of   the Gonzaga: catalogue (exhibition 4 November 1981-1931 January 1982, Victoria & Albert Museum), London 1981. Cieri Via 1996 = C. Cieri Via (ed.), Immagini degli dei. Mitologia e collezionismo tra ’500 e ’600, Venice 1996. Cupperi 2016  = W.  Cupperi, “Per la delettatione che delle memorie antiche generosamente suol prendere”: le antichità di Antoine Perre­ not de Granvelle, il Bacco D’Aspra-Guisa ed un’ipotesi sul Dioniso di Versailles, Römisches Jahrbuch der Bibliotheca Hertziana 40, 2016, 49-80. D’Amico 1996 = G. D’Amico, Arts, lettres et pouvoir: correspondance du cardinal de Granvelle avec les écrivains, les artistes et les impri­ meurs italiens, in J.  Brunet – G.  Toscano (eds.), Les Granvelle et l’Italie au xvi siècle: le mécénat d’une famille (Actes du colloque 279

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international organisé par la Section d’Italien de l’Université de Franche-Comté, Besançon, 2-4 octobre 1992), Besançon 1996, 191-224. Díez-Platas, 2015  = F.  Díez-Platas, Et Per Omnia Saecula Imagine Vivam: The Completion of   a Figurative Corpus for Ovid’s Meta­ morphoses in Fifteenth and Sixteenth Century Book Illustrations, in P. Mack – J. North (eds.), The Afterlife of  Ovid, London 2015, 115135. Dolce 15531 = L. Dolce, Le Trasformationi, Venice 15531. Dolce 15532 = L. Dolce, Le Trasformationi, Venice 15532. Dolce 1555 = L. Dolce, Le Trasformationi, Venice 1555. Dolce 1561a = L. Dolce, Le Trasformazioni, Venice 1561. Dolce 1561b = L. Dolce, Vita dell’invittissimo e gloriosissimo imperador Carlo Q uinto, Venezia 1561. Donati 1959  = L.  Donati, Edizioni quattrocentesche non pervenuteci delle Metamorfosi, in Atti del Convegno internazionale ovidiano, I, Roma 1959, 111-124. Essling 1907 = Prince d’Essling, Les livres à figures vénitiens de la fin du xve siècle et du Commencement du xvie, I,1, Firenze 1907. Extermann forthcoming = G. Extermann, Guglielmo della porta, sculp­ tor, founder, restorer in the Farnese Rome, forthcoming. Ghisalberti 1932 = F. Ghisalberti, Alfonso d’Orléans, un cultore di Ovi­ dio nel XII secolo, Memorie del R. Istituto Lombardo di Scienze e Lettere 24, 1932, 157-234. Ghisalberti 1933 = F. Ghisalberti, Giovanni del Virgilio espositore delle Metamorfosi, Il Giornale dantesco 34, 1933, 1-110. Giovanni di Garlandia 1933  = Giovanni di Garlandia, Integumenta Ovidii. Poemetto inedito del secolo XIII, edited by F.  Ghisalberti, Messina-Milano 1933. Grata 2014 = G. Grata, Des lettres pour gouverner. Antoine Perrenot de Granvelle et l’Italia de Charls-Q uint dans le Manuscrits Trumbull de Besancon, Besançon 2014. Guthmüller 1983 = B. Guthmüller, Nota su Giovanni Antonio Rusconi illustratore delle Trasformationi del Dolce, in Miscellanea di studi in onore di Vittore Branca, III/2, Umanesimo e Rinascimento a Firenze e Venezia, Firenze 1983, 771-779. Guthmüller 1986 = B. Guthmüller, Studien zur antiken Mythologie in der italienischen Renaissance, Weinheim 1986. Guthmüller 1996  = B.  Guthmüller, Il mito e  la tradizione testuale 280

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(le Metamorfosi di Ovidio), in C. Cieri Via (ed.), Immagini degli dei. Mitologia e collezionismo tra ’500 e ’600, Milano 1996, 22-28. Guthmüller 1997 = B. Guthmüller, Mito, poesia, Arte. Saggi sulla tradizione ovidiana nel Rinascimento, Roma 1997. Guthmüller 2008 = B. Guthmüller, Ovidio Metamorphoseos Vulgare. Forme e funzioni della trasposizione in volgare della poesia classica nel Rinascimento italiano, Fiesole 2008. Guthmüller 2009 = B. Guthmüller, Mito e metamorfosi nella lettera­ tura italiana. Da Dante al Rinascimento, Rome 2009. Huber-Rebenich et al. 2014 = G. Huber-Rebenich – S. Lütkemeyer – H.  Walter (eds.), Ikonographisches Repertorium zu den Metamor­ phosen des Ovid: die textbegleitende Druckgraphik. Band I.1: Narra­ tive Darstellungen, Berlin 2014. Huber-Rebenich 1992 = G. Huber-Rebenich, L’iconografia della mitologia antica tra Q uattro e  Cinquecento. Edizioni illustrate delle Metamorfosi di Ovidio, Studi umanistici piceni 12, 1992, 123-133. Huber-Rebenich 1997  = G.  Huber-Rebenich, Der MetamorphosenKommentar des Giovanni del Virgilio, in F. Cappelletti – G. HuberRebenich (eds.), Der antike Mythos und Europa. Texte und Bilder von der Antike bis ins XX. Jahrhundert, Berlin 1997, 20-33. Huber-Rebenich 1998  = G.  Huber-Rebenich, Die MetamorphosenParaphrase des Giovanni del Virgilio, in C.  Leonardi (ed.), Gli umanesimi medievali (Atti del II Congresso dell’Internationales Mittellateinerkomitee, Firenze, Certosa del Galluzzo, 11-15 September 1993), Firenze 1998, 215-229. Huber-Rebenich 2009 = G. Huber-Rebenich, A Lecture with Conse­ quences. Tracing a Trecento Commentary on the “Metamorphoses”, in R. Duits – F. Q uiviger (eds.), Images of   the Pagan Gods. Papers of   a Conference in Memory of   Jean Seznec, London 2009, 177-198. Javitch 1981 = D. Javitch, The Influence of  the Orlando Furioso on Ovid’s Metamorphoses in Italian, The Journal of  Medieval and Renaissance Studies 11, 1981, 1-21. Landoni 1875 = T. Landoni, Lettere scritte a Pietro Aretino, II,2, Bologna 1875. Lettere 1977 = Lettere di artisti italiani ad Antonio Perrenot di Gran­ velle, Madrid 1977. López Poza 2017  = S.  López Poza, “NEC SPE NEC METU”, in Symbola: divisas o  empresas históricas – BIDISO (Biblioteca Di­ gital Siglo de Oro), A  Coruña (España) [on line]. Publicación: 02-09-2017. Actualización: 26-12-2017. ‹https://www.bidiso.es/ Symbola/divisa/173› [Consultato: 24-06-2020]. 281

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Mancini della Chiara 1979 = M. Mancini della Chiara (ed.), Maioliche del Museo Civico di Pesaro: catalogo, Pesaro 1979. Marchesi 1909  = C.  Marchesi, Le allegorie ovidiane di Giovanni del Virgilio, Studi romanzi 6, 1909, 86-135. Marini 2012 = M. Marini (ed.), Fabulae pictae: miti e storie nelle maio­ liche del Rinascimento, Florence 2012, 218-219. Mortimer 1974 = R. Mortimer, Harvard College Library Department of   Printing and Graphic Arts Catalogue of   Books and Manuscripts. II-2. Italian 16th Century books, Cambridge (Mass.) 1974. Nuovo – Coppens 2005  = A.  Nuovo – C.  Coppens, I  Giolito e  la stampa nell’Italia del XVI secolo, Genève 2005. Pesavento 2018 = G. Pesavento, Alle origini dell’illustrazione xilogra­ fica delle Metamorfosi: l’Ovidio Metamorphoseos vulgare (Venezia 1497), in F. Ghedini (ed.), Ovidio. Amori, miti e altre storie, Napoli 2018, 107-111. Pesavento 2019 = G. Pesavento, Artefici, matrici, iconografie: tre pro­ spettive di studio sulle silografie dell’Ovidio Metamorphoseos vulgare (Venezia 1497), L’illustrazione III, 2019, 5-28. Ravanelli Guidotti 1995 = C. Ravanelli Guidotti, Le Metamorfosi “vul­ gari” d’Ovidio sulla maiolica italiana, in H. Walter – H.-J. Horn (eds.), Die Rezeption der ‘Metamorphosen’ des Ovid in der Neuzeit: der antike Mythos in Text und Bild, Berlin 1995, 85-97. Reibel – Mucciarelli-Réginier 2017  = L.  Reibel – L.  MucciarelliRéginier (eds.), Antoine de Granvelle l’Eminence pourpre. Image d’un homme de pouvoir de la Renaissance, Cinisello Balsamo 2017. Ruscelli 1570 = G. Ruscelli, Lettere di principi, le quali ò si scrivono da principi, ò à principi, ò ragionan di principi, I, Venezia 1570. Sánchez Cantón 1925 = F. J. Sánchez Cantón, La librería de Veláz­ quez, in Homenaje ofrecido a Menéndez Pidal. Miscelánea de estu­ dios linguísticos, literarios e históricos, III, Madrid 1925, 379-406. Szczepanek 2004 = G. Szczepanek, Die “Metamorphosen”-Szenen aus dem Majolikaservice Herzog Albrechts V. von Bayern: Bildtradierung und Ikonographie, in S.  Glaser (ed.), Italienische Fayencen der Renaissance: ihre Spuren in internationalen Museumssammlungen, Nürnberg 2004, 265-273. Torre 2017 = A. Torre, Ovidio dopo Ariosto. Doppiaggi iconografici e testuali in edizioni illustrate del Cinquecento, in L.  Bolzoni (ed.), Galassia Ariosto. Il modello editoriale dell’Orlando furioso dal libro illustrato al web, Roma, 2017, 283-308. Trebaiocchi 2016  = C.  Trebaiocchi, «Il letterato buono a  tutto». Lodovico Dolce traduttore delle Metamorfosi, in P. Marini – P. Pro282

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caccioli (eds.), Per Lodovico Dolce. Miscellanea di studi. I. Passioni e competenze del letterato, Manziana 2016, 271-316. Wyss 1996 = E. Wyss, The myth of  Apollo and Marsyas in the art of  the Italian Renaissance. An inquiry into the meaning of  images, NewarkLondon 1996.

Abstract This essay analyses the success of   the vernacular, illustrated editions of   Ovid’s Metamorphoses published in Italy in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century, starting with Giovanni Bonsignori’s Ovidio Metamorphoseos Vulgare, written between 1375 and 1377 but published in Venice in 1497, and continuing with the translation drafted by Niccolò degli Agostini, published in 1522, again in Venice. For both of   these editions, we analyse the impact of   the text and images on artists, who would generally read the Metamorphoses in the vulgarizations and not in Latin. The second part of   the essay focuses on the success in Italy and Spain of   Lodovico Dolce’s Trasformationi, published in 1553 in Venice by Gabriel Giolito de’ Ferrari, analysing in particular the censuring of   some images and an edition containing unusual annotations.

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FOLENGO AND OVID: THE TEMPEST IN THE CANTO DI GIUBERTO

Help with the study of  how Ovid’s œuvres were received in the sixteenth century may come from an analysis of  a passage in humanistic Latin from book XIII of   Teofilo Folengo’s Baldus (poem in macaronic language) known as Il Canto di Giuberto (Giuberto’s Song), which appeared for the first time in the Cipadense edition.1 The Canto is composed of   a series of   verses that are present not only in the macaronic poem but also in two other works published by Folengo in 1533 (Janus 2 and Varium Poema,3 which we will refer to from now on as J and VP, also written in humanistic 1  The Cipadense edition (from now on C), preceded by the Paganini (1517) and Toscolana (1521) editions, comes out undated and with a poor typographical note – Cipadae apud magistrum Aquarium Lodolam – with the title of  Maca­ ronicum poema, divided into Baldus, Zanitonella, Moschea, Epigrammata. Luzio (1911) dated C between 1539 and 1540, but it is more likely to have been done in the years 1534-1536. Mario Chiesa addresses the problem of  dating C, placing the substantial revision of   the work before 1530, due to its poetic homogeneity compared with the works of   those years (Chiesa 1993, 459-469). The Canto di Giuberto would undergo cuts in the Vigaso Cocaio edition (from now on VC), published posthumously in Venice in 1552 by Pietro Ravani. For the text of   C I used the anastatic copy of  Macaronicum poema, 1993. 2  Out of  a total of  556 verses of  J 85 are the same as in C, spread over a number of   passages in Baldus. In addition to the verses present in the Canto di Giu­ berto we have: inserts 96-111 and 208-222, appearing one after the other in book XVIII after the verse corresponding to verse 349 of  VC, inserting the verses 22, 93, 54 and 55 of  J after verse 100; verses 137-174 appear in book XIV after verse 155 of  the VC numbering. Cf. Goffis 1985, 39. 3  The remainder of   the verses that make up this canto come from the book VIII of   VP (with the title of   Metaphora de iis, quos ad magistratum se contulisse poenitet, 116). C also contains other verses from VP, namely those of  the compositions VI, XVII, XLI, LXV. Cf. Goffis 1995, 75.

After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127600 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 285-301

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Latin). The poem has a  number of   classical references, among which Ovidian inspiration is particularly important. The Canto, which centres around the theme of   the ‘tempest’, is set at the end of   the episode narrating the encounter with the fairy Manto on an island where Baldus’s company was shipwrecked following a gale triggered by Aeolus. Of no less importance is the fact that during Baldus’s journey – at the start and close of  a key sequence in the poem’s architecture 4 – two tempests are recounted: the first,5 entirely macaronic, is based on a Virgilian model, the second (in humanistic Latin) takes Ovid for inspiration. The author of   the Canto is taken to be Giuberto, a young musician, such a skilled singer that he could enchant the stones and the trees, so much so as to be compared with Orpheus and Arion,6 whom Baldus asks to uplift the sailors’ spirit and erase the fatigue of   the long journey.7 In this sense, Giuberto’s role may be seen as similar to that performed by Orpheus during the Argonauts’ sea journey.8 The song ostensibly serves to lighten the labours of   the adventures recently concluded, and to instil courage among the heroes for the struggle awaiting them. We might note here that the presence of  a singer is a recurrent device in the 4  The key alchemical episode of   Manto’s cavern lies beyond the scope of   this work. For further details see Signorini 1993. 5   The macaronic tempest extends from the end of   book XII to part of  book XIII. 6 Cf. C. 357-359: qui voce lyraque / Orpheus in sylvis, Inter delphinas Arion, / saxorum ad sese nemorumque tirabat orecchias. 7 Cf. C. 367-368: hunc rogat, ut tanta voiat recreare brigatam / voceque dul­ ciloqua longum nihilare caminum. 8   Cf. Botley 2010, 109-110. We may reasonably assume that Folengo knew, even though not first-hand, the content of   Apollonius’ poem, which was well known in the Renaissance: Niccolò Niccoli already owned a  manuscript copy purchased from Giovanni Aurispa in 1424. Even in the final years of  the fifteenth century there was a  great interest in the Argonautics: we know that Francesco Filelfo had with him in Venice a Greek manuscript from the thirteenth century. The poem had also been copied repeatedly within the circle of  cardinal Bessarion, who owned two copies. In Mantua, Vittorino Da Feltre kept a manuscript of   it until his death, and we know that one of  his students, Basinio da Parma, worked on a Latin version of   the poem. The first printed edition was published in Florence by Lascaris in 1496, but in 1521 an Aldine edition was also published. It may reasonably be assumed, however, that Folengo also had in mind Valerius Flaccus’s Argonautica, especially verses 277-293, dedicated to the song of   Orpheus before his departure, in which the story of  Phrixus and Helle is narrated.

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epic, but the role played by Orpheus in Valerius Flaccus is very different from that played by Giuberto, functioning only to keep the tempo of   the rowers (Arg. 1,470-473: nec vero Odrysius transtris impenditur Orpheus / aut pontum remo subigit, sed carmine ton­ sas / ire docet summo passim ne gurgite pugnent).9 In addition, Giu­ berto’s tempest is unlike the macaronic one, in that the former is experienced directly by the heroes of  Cipada, and they are the protagonists, whereas the second is part of  a literary fiction in which our heroes are the listeners. So we have the heroes of   Folengo who have personally experienced a shipwreck following a tempest (in macaronic), who then listen to the song of   a musician on the same subject. This recalls the episode in which Odysseus, at the court of   the Phaeacians, hears the song of   the aoidos, telling the tale of  his own feats during the siege of  Troy.10 Below is the text of   the Canto, as it appears in C, with references to the verses present (with small variations of   no relevance to our discourse) in VP, 8,1-23 and in J, 450-463, 473-474.11 380    

Subdolus arridet saepe imprudentibus aequor, VP, 8,1-7 mentiturque leves zephyros aquilone parato. Hinc veniunt homines cupidi, quos plura videndi

9   The same reason is also recalled by Statius in a  passage from the Thebaid (Theb. 5,344-345), in which it is said that singing relieves the fatigue of  the rowers (intersonat Orpheus / remigiis tantosque iubet nescire labores). 10  It is likely that Folengo knew the Odyssey, even though not first-hand. The Homeric poems were the first texts that really prompted Italian scholars to copy their manuscripts in the fourteenth century; the editio princeps of   the Odyssey was printed in Florence in 1488. Petrarch had already presented the Greek codex of   the Iliad in Milan in 1354, and Leontius Pilate, Petrarch’s tutor, after having translated the Iliad – as suggested by Boccaccio – then got to work on the Latin version of   the Odyssey. Pilate’s versions were not considered particularly good, because of   their poor ‘Latinity’, staying too close to the Greek, but they were widely used for educational purposes. The interest in Homer was rekindled by Coluccio Salutati in 1390, prompting Antonio Loschi to rewrite Pilate’s literal translation in hexameter. In 1427 Guarino Veronese proposed a new version, now lost, of   parts of   the Iliad and the Odyssey. We know that Vittorino da Feltre, who studied Greek with Theodore Gaza in Mantua between 1443 and 1446, possessed a  copy of   Homer with commentary and a  Greek dictionary. In 1427 Filelfo, returning from Greece, brought to Florence a Homeric manuscript. Between 1429 and 1434 he produced a verse translation of   both poems (cf. Botley 2010, 80-84). 11  Just as they are reproduced in the anastatic reprint of   the work in 2011, together with the Pomiliones, curated by the “Friends of  Merlin Cocai”.

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    385         390         395         400         405         410         415      

cura subit, seu forte deas in gurgite nantes, sive tridentiferi verrentes caerula currus. Verum ubi subducto ventum est qua littora circum misceri aspiciunt coelum aequore, et aequora coelo, Protinus aethereas fracto cum murmure sedes circuitu mugire tremiscereque aequora fundo J, 450-463; accipiunt, deus ipse tonat, deus ipse iacentes 473-474 extemplo horribili iaculatur fulmine terras. Dumque fugit cum Sole dies, dumque aera densas contrahit in nebulas, subigit dumque aethera vastum in mare terribiles picea caligine vultus apparent volitantque atra sub nocte vapores. Iamque noti erumpunt, crebro polus igne sonantem Dat tonitrum fractaeque ruunt in flumina nubes. Magnus at Oceanus tantarum pressus iniquis desuper agminibus pluviarum deque tumenti ad latera excipiens torrentum gurgite spumas praecipites, miris paulatim exaestuat undis, donec aquae et coelum lato curvamine sese componunt dextrisque datis sua foedera iungunt. at miseri avulso singultant viscere proni VP, 8,8-17 hinc atque hinc nautae, nigraque urgente vomuntur bile dapes, foedatque acidus Nereidas humor, unde indignantes venti tam audacter amicas commaculare suas genus hoc mortale, caducum atque procax, ne sic evadat crimen inulte concurrunt, sonituque ingenti obnixa profundo tergora subiiciunt pelago, totumque revellunt. Sedibus aula deum natat imis deque quadrigis attonitae saliunt nymphae perque atria curvi delphines phocaeque ruunt et grandia caete. Heu stulti, quos nulla monet iactura priorum! Tunc ea tempestas, ea tunc asperrima rerum debuerat facies animo spectarier ante, quam nauta insultans fortunae solveret audax; mox frustra insani vellent contingere portus.

This re-proposes a  topos, that of   a sea journey, which is often (but not always) associated with that of   the hybris of   sailors: fuelled by the greed of   acquiring wealth and by curiosity, they are attracted to the sea, with her gentle breezes, tempting them to explore unknown worlds, yet always ready to attack with its tempests. Even Valerius Flaccus in the Argonautica dwelt on the 288

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perilousness of   the journey, on the ungodliness of   discovering that sea travel is a  fresh way of   dying.12 This theme, connected with the voyage of   the ship called Argo, is used extensively in classic poetry, so much so that it became a template.13 The tempest is therefore considered as a  natural punishment for violating the natural order of   things. Let us compare the inspirations of  the two passages from Baldus mentioned above: the macaronic tempest is based on a Virgilian model; the classic tempest, sung about by Giuberto, is based on Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The former is unleashed by Aeolus; the attempt at parody is evident in the caricaturist description of  this character, expressing the irony already contained in Virgil’s depiction of   it.14 Aeolus is shown as a second-rate god, forced to live in a bleak, inhospitable lair, acting as jailer to the winds. Verses C. 12,297-298 (haec serat obscurum vastis sub rupibus antrum, / in quo chiavantur tanquam in carcere venti) together with C. 12,314 (talis in obscuro ventos rex Aeolus antro) immediately bring to mind Aen. 1,52-54 (Hic vasto rex Aeolus antro / luctantes ventos tempestatesque sonoras / imperio pre­ mit ac vinclis et carcere frenat). Similarly, C. 12,281 (Aeolus interea, ventorum duca tyrannus) recalls very closely Aen. 1,141 (Aeolus et clauso ventorum carcere regnet), also by the way the words are placed in the verse. The model is clearly Virgilian, with the recovery 12   Cf. Galli 2007, ad vers. 1,654: the tempest, during which the heroes have experienced the terror of   death at sea, is punishment for having challenged the sea with a vessel. 13  The same theme is also present in Hor., Carm. 1,3 (verses 9-11: illi robur et aes triplex / circa pectus erat, qui fragilem truci / conmisit pelago ratem / primus and verses 23-24: si tamen inpiae  / non tangenda rates transiliunt vada), where the sea voyage is condemned for going against the natural order, for which the first ungodly navigator is held responsible. The condemnation of  navigation is also present in the elegy: reiterated in Propertius (3,7) and Ovid (Am. 2,11,35), where the Argonauts’ saga is used as a  mythological exemplum to curse navigation, as the beloved Corinna is about to face a journey by sea (Ov., Am. 2,11,1-4, prima malas docuit mirantibus aequoris undis  / Peliaco pinus vertice caesa vias,  / quae concurrentes inter temeraria cautes / conspicuam fulvo vellere vexit ovem). 14   Aeolus in the first book of   the Aeneid shows he is, at least within his own kingdom, an absolute authority, a  rex living in a  palace (Aen. 1,56: celsa arce), and retains a supreme power over the winds. This power is realised in Virgil as both a  repressive and stabilising action: vinclis et carcere frenat (Aen. 1,54) and above all from the connection imperio premit (Aen. 1,64). Virgil, however, shows explicit irony in his depiction of   the god (servile towards Juno, subordinate to Neptune, who calms the tempest unleashed by him).

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of   hemistiches and clauses from the Aeneid scattered throughout the episode. In C. 12,397 we have the characterisation of  the Mistral wind (qui fractos reparat marinaros, cuncta serenat), the last part of   which recalls Aen. 1,255 (voltu, quo caelum tem­ pestatesque serenat). Other echoes of   Virgilian phrases are found in verses C. 12,470-471 (quae bagnare solent supremi sydera coeli), which recall Aen. 1,259 (Moenia sublimemque feres ad sidera caeli) 15 and, in the next verse, presenting another Virgilian image with the paradoxical – castronesque maris vadunt pascendo per undas (Aen. 1,119: Arma virum tabulaeque et Troia gaza per undas). The tempest in the Giuberto’s Song, on the other hand, seems to be built essentially on books I and XI of   the Metamorphoses (the universal flood of   Deucalion and Pyrrha as well as the shipwreck of   Ceyx) that follow a similar track, keeping the Canto on an even keel: these two books of   the Metamorphoses are present above all in the construction of   the sequences in which the tempest is described. The rhetoric of   the tempest employed by Ovid had an already codified structure derived from those who came before him, a fact which is especially apparent in its epic aspects, but the poet added to it a new allegorical level by narrating a real hurricane, a  symbol of   punishment and misfortune.16 It is easy to see too that the narrative structure of   the Canto di Giuberto does not use the Ovidian template simply as a textual reference deriving from Folengo’s poetic memory, which often comes from decontextualized sources quite unrelated to the topic of   the poem. Here we have a range of   more significant reference points, which we might call structural. The tempest begins when the sailors are already out at sea, indeed as far from the port of  departure as from the port of  destination, and have not noticed any harbinger of  a tempest: in C. 385-386 (Verum ubi subducto ventum est qua littora circum  / misceri aspiciunt coelum aequore, et aequora coelo) 17 just as in Met. 11,478-479 (aut minus, aut certe medium 15   While in this context the verse of  Aen. 1,259 probably serves as a reference, we should however note that sidera caeli is also found twice in Georg. (2,1 and 4,58), only once in Ovid (Met. 7,580) and twice in Manilius (Astr. 1,488 and 3,101). 16  For the topicality of   the tempest within the epos cf. Labate 1990, 494-495. 17  For the aequora caelo connection see also Ov. Ars 2,87.

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non amplius aequor / puppe secabatur, longeque erat utraque tellus). First the sunlight fades, either because the clouds build up, or because the wind begins to swell at night: in C. 391 (dumque fugit com Sole dies) just as in Met. 11,480 (cum mare sub noctem tumidis albescere coepit) or in Met. 11,521 (caecaque premitur nox te­nebris hiemisque suisque); then, flashes of  lightning are seen immediately: in C. 395-396 (Iamque noti erumpunt, crebro polus igne sonantem / dat tonitrum fractaeque ruunt in flumina nubes) just as in Met. 11,522-523 (discutiunt tamen has praebentque mican­ tia lumen / fulmina: fulmineis ardescunt ignibus imbres). Finally, the motifs of  war and siege, which run through the entire description of   the tempest of   Ceyx (Met. 11,510-513) in the form of   a simile,18 are present, yet barely mentioned, in the use of   military terminology employed by Folengo in C. 401-402 (donec aquae et coelum lato curvamine sese  / componunt dextrisque datis sua foedera iungunt).19 In the end, after the shipwreck, there is the regret of   having left home and the desire to return, just as in Met. 11,546-548 (patriae quoque vellet ad oras  / respicere inque domum supremos vertere vultus, / verum, ubi sit, nescit: tanta ver­ tigine pontus / fervet); with Folengo this translates more generally as the desire to put one’s feet back on land, as expressed in the final verse of   the poem C. 418 (mox frustra insani vellent contin­ gere portus). So although the motif of   the tempest is topical, it is interesting to see how it is represented following a non-Virgilian scheme, with the absence of   Aeolus behind the action of   the winds,20 and the real reason for the journey: Aeneas took to the 18   Cf. Pianezzola 2005 and the verses 490-491 (feroces / bella gerunt venti) where the winds are warriors who assault the ship; v. 496 undarum incursu grauis unda (incursus is a  technical term for an armed assault). The war motif is compounded by that of  the siege through a series of  epic similarities: the sea ‘besieges’ the ship as if it were a fortress to be conquered. 19  Met. 11,505-506 (nunc, ubi demissam curvum circumstetit aequor, / suspi­ cere inferno summum de gurgite caelum). The similarity is also recalled by the meaning of  the term curvamine: cf. Bömer 1980 ad loc. (– curvus), who points out that Ovid takes it to be the water of   the sea or a river rising in tall waves because of  the tempest. C. 402 also takes up the clause, Aen. 12,822 (component, cum iam leges et foedera iungent) referring to the truce between Latins and Trojans. 20 In Aen. 1 the tempest is unleashed by Aeolus, while it is quelled by Neptune; in Od. 4 it is unleashed by Poseidon; in Apollonius Rhodius’s Argonautica (2,1102) the tempest is brought on at night by Zeus; in Met. 1 the storm-maker is Jupiter, who is then helped by Neptune.

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sea by way of   a divine order, not for personal enjoyment or mere curiosity. In the story of  Ceyx, even though the tempest was based on Aen. 1,34-123, 21 the god of   the winds does not intervene directly, while Alcyone, his daughter, in Met. 11,410-414, tries to dissuade Ceyx from taking to the sea for fear of  storms. Aeolus is evoked only in the still terrified memories of  the woman, of  when her father locked the winds up in his house.22 Of the various versions of  epic tempests serving as a model for Ovid, we can observe that in Od. 5,282-381 the tempest was unleashed by Neptune, while the tempest in book X was caused by winds; in Apollonius Rhodius 2,1102-1112 the one who unleashes the first Boreas wind is Zeus; 23 finally in Ovid Fast. 3,579-600, the tempest that engulfs Anna while she is fleeing is not unleashed by any deity.24 In the first book of   the Metamorphoses the Virgilian Aeolus is replaced by Jupiter, who has supreme power over the entire universe. It is he who lets the winds out of   the cavern to unleash the flood. Aeolus does not have a hand in the flood, no doubt, but he does not appear even as a  servant, executing an order from above (unlike what happened in Virgil, when he was taking orders from Juno). There is therefore a profound difference compared with the Aeneid, with the power over the winds passing definitively into the hands of   Jupiter, who is also the first deity to appear in the Metamorphoses. It is clear that Folengo alludes to Jupiter as the god behind the tempest in the Canto di Giu­ berto by reading verses C. 389-390 (accipiunt, deus ipse tonat, deus ipse iacentes / extemplo horribili iaculatur fulmine terras) and taking into due account the way the tempest grows – similar to a flood 25 – we can easily think back to the Ovidian Jupiter and the story of   Deucalion and Pyrrha (Met. 1,253: Iamque erat in totas sparsurus fulmina terras).   Bömer 1980, ad Met. 11,410.   Met. 11,437-438. Griffin 1981, 149 notes that this evocation of   Aeolus from Alcyone’s childhood memories is a  characteristic of   Alexandrian poetry, and Ovid’s evident debt to Nicander. 23  When Valerius Flaccus takes up the myth again, the tempest is caused indirectly by Boreas who, envious of  the ship Argo, asks Aeolus to intervene. 24  Cf. Reed 2013, 349. 25  Folengo is thinking of   a flood, as demonstrated by the placement of   these verses in J, depicting a universal flood. 21 22

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Immediate reference is made in the poem to the natural signs heralding the tempest: the sailors are guilty of   being reckless 26 and not heeding the signs of   nature. In the end, they are mercilessly called stulti (C. 414). We might comment that these signs of  nature seem to be difficult to interpret: 27 the calm sea is called deceptive (subdolus … mentiturque), as though it were setting a trap for sailors who are about to be attacked by Aquilo. For them it is difficult to predict the change of   weather.28 The idea of   the sea being deceptive is reinforced by Folengo with mentiturque, which may be seen as a reference to Ovid (cf. Met. 11,281: Men­ titurque fugae causam: petit, urbe uel agro / se iuvet …29). A recurring theme is the arrival of   the wind of   Boreas/Aquilo 30 and the description of   its effects (Lucr. 1,273-276; Verg. Georg. 3,196200), but it is interesting to note that Ovid frequently mentions Boreas as a way of  identifying and personifying the tempest. 26  See also Verg., Georg. 1,373: numquam imprudentibus imber / obfuit. Rain never catches one off guard, those who are aware of  the signs of  nature can predict it and avoid much of  the resulting damage. 27  In verse C. 381 mentiturque leves Zephyros aquilone parato, the difference compared with Statius is comical (Stat. Silv. 4,5,7-8: Iam pontus ac tellus reni­ dent / in Zephyros Aquilone fracto). 28   This passage reminds us of   Lucr. 2,559 subdola cum ridet placidi pellacia ponti and 5,1005 non poterat quemquam placidi pellacia ponti / subdola pellicere in fraude ridentibus undis) – where pellacia helps to personify the sea, i.e. its deceptive nature – stressing that the good sailor must be alert to the signs of   nature that are the prelude to a storm. There is an odd masculine correspondence for subdolus that refers to aequor, neutral in Latin. We can only put forward hypotheses to explain this anomaly, observing that, while in VP the adjective remains unchanged, it is corrected in VC with infidum, which corresponds correctly to the neutral. The choice of  the term can be justified by the reference to Lucretius (perfectly apt for the context), but the problem remains that, metrically, subdolum would theoretically have corrupted the hexameter with the synalepha before arridet. We find it difficult to believe that Folengo would sacrifice syntax to metre, therefore it might be that, since the Canto di Giuberto is placed in a macaronic poem, the author might have felt free to insert, right in the opening line of   the poem, a morphological macaronism by way of   parody. The fact that in VC the term has been modified may mean one of   two things: on the one hand, the author could not bear to see the error, on the other the intervention of  the editor (we know that VC was published posthumously), who would have been unable to interpret the macaronic irony of   the author. With regard to Folenghian morphological macaronisms, cf. Paoli 1959. 29  Mentiturque in a hexameter opening is rare in classic poetry. 30  Cf. Galli, 2007. Boreas is the Greek god of   the north winds, corresponding to the Roman Aquilo, and is mentioned repeatedly in Ovid to indicate the tempest, indeed 27 times.

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The Canto di Giuberto also introduces (C. 382-384) another, not purely warlike reason that induces men to embark on such a dangerous journey: that is, the desire to know, curiosity. From an epic point of   view, Ceyx’s adventure (he had set off to consult the oracle of   Claros in ancient Lydia, to know the fate of   his brother, transformed by Apollo into a sparrowhawk) responds to this purpose: the cross-reference to Ceyx is justified by the fact that his curiosity is punished by a tempest that leads to his death, in the same way Folengo’s poem evokes the theme of   punishment against men who set out on a journey to satify their thirst for knowledge.31 But from the point of   view of   poetic memory we find instead a  precise Ovidian reference in quos plura videndi / cura subit, which takes up a connection present only in Ovid Met. 14,835 (si tibi cura videndi  / coniu­ gis est). In terms of   content, however, we can also recognise the Ovidian variatio on the theme of   sea travel present in Met. 1,94 (peregrinum ut viseret orbem) where, as an element characterising the Golden Age, forests have not yet been desecrated to build ships that would allow man to explore the world.32 At the same time the link in gurgite nantes clearly references Verg. Aen. 1,118 apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto. It is fundamental to recognise, moreover, that the Folenghian motive is not at all heroic: it consists, much more simply, of   the curiosity of   seeing the Nereids (v.  383 deas in gurgite nantes) and Neptune’s chariot (v.  384 tridentiferi verrentes caerula currus). And although Neptune’s trident is traditional, Folengo may have found this appellative only in Ovid Met. 8,595-596 (excepi nantemque ferens “o proxima mundi  / regna vagae” dixi “sortite, Tridentifer, undae …” ).33 Here too we see that the original model is overturned, because both the Nereids and Neptune are themselves 31   The shipwreck is a way of  punishing curiosity, and a Christian value can be observed here. One example is the tempest unleashed on Dante’s Ulysses while in view of  the mountain of  Purgatory, after daring to cross the columns of  Hercules, cf. Inf. XXVI. 32  Anderson 1996, ad Met. 1,94-100: Ovid puts a spin on a familiar theme concerning the wickedness of  sea navigation, starting with the desecration of  the mountain forests, whose pines are cut down unnaturally to build the first ship by a Navigator (peregrinus), who dreams of  travelling around the world. 33  Cf. Bömer 1977, ad vers.: similar in Met. 11, 202 (tridentiger: cumque tri­ dentigero tumidi genitore profundi). Apart from Ovid, the term is taken up only

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the protagonists of   the poems and stories read by the sailors. Carmen 64 dwells on the encounter of   the Argonauts with the Nereids, and highlights the reaction of   those who see the ship Argo for the first time.34 In Folengo, on the other hand, it is the sailors that long to see those deities that they have only heard about in verse or song. Ceyx’s curiosity in Met. 11,410-414 was punished with a shipwreck, described in a passage with an epic tone. In the same way, when they go so far that they can no longer see land, the sailors in the Canto di Giuberto are also overwhelmed by the tempest. Here too Folengo’s poetic memory includes classical echoes: for example, the clause of   verse C. 386 (misceri aspiciunt coelum aequore, et aequora coelo), references Ov.  Ars. 2,87 (territus a summo despexit in aequora caelo), while misceri in the first position recalls Verg. Aen. 4,411 (Misceri ante oculos tantis clamoribus aequor).35 As we have already mentioned, the description of   the hurricane is similar to that of   J where – and this is a very important element confirming that the episode of   Deucalion and Pyrrha is precisely the model on which Folengo bases his story – a universal flood is represented (verses C. 388-402). But the first word of   verse C. 387, protinus, brings us back to the beginning of   the flood as well, in the scene of  Deucalion and Pyrrha in Met. 1,262 (Protinus Aeoliis Aquilonem claudit in antris  / et quaecumque fugant inductas flamina nubes, / emittitque Notum): namely the moment when Jupiter imprisons Aquilo in order to unleash the tempest winds. Although protinus to open the verse is very common, the subsequent tempest sequence reveals a  very Ovidian scheme.36 by Sidonius Apollinaris (22, 158 sacra tridentiferi Iovis hic armenta profundo), but he is probably not considered as a model by Folengo. 34 Catull. Carm. 64,12-14 quae simul ac rostro ventosum proscidit aequor  / tortaque remigio spumis incanuit unda, / emersere freti candenti e gurgite vultus / aequoreae monstrum Nereides admirantes. 35  The case of   Virgil is naturally different, relating to the confusion caused by the Trojans as they prepare for departure. Looking at the general context of  Folengo’s verses we cannot but think also of   Aen. 5,8-9 (Vt pelagus tenuere rates nec iam amplius ulla / Occurrit tellus, maria undique et undique caelum). 36   See page 5 of  this volume for a description of  the sequences of  the rhetorical structure used by Ovid.

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Verse C. 388 (circuitu mugire tremiscereque aequora fundo) consists mainly of   a contamination of   Ovid and Virgil verses: Met. 7,205-206, et silvas moveo iubeoque tremescere montes  / et mugire solum manesque exire sepulcris (in which the speaker is Medea),37 while the clause brings to mind Verg. Aen. 2,419: spumeus atque imo Nereus ciet aequora fundo.38 But in this case these poetic memories are not structurally relevant. Unlike verses C. 389-390 (accipiunt, deus ipse tonat, deus ipse iacentes / extemplo horribili iaculatur fulmine terras), where the reference to Ovidian Jupiter is evident,39 or also C. 391-393 when, describing the brooding clouds that are darkening the sun, Folengo uses the expression picea caligine vultus, a  direct reference to Ov.  Met. 1,264-265 (emittitque Notum: madidis Notus evolat alis  / terri­ bilem picea tectus caligine vultum) and, when using the adjective piceus for the black, rain-heavy sky, to Met. 11,548-550 (tanta vertigine pontus / fervet, et inducta piceis e nubibus umbra / omne latet caelum, duplicataque noctis imago est).40 Another interesting element that links the Canto di Giuberto to the flood of  Deucalion and Pyrrha (Met. 1,274: Nec caelo contenta suo est Iovis ira sed illum / caeruleus frater iuvat auxiliaribus undis) is Folengo’s reference to Neptune (tridentifer) who, in the first book of  the Aeneid, caused the tempest to cease, and in the Metamorphoses works with Jupiter to unleash the flood. With verses C. 394-395 there is a  return to the contamination of   Ovidian and Virgilian material (apparent volitantque   Tremescere is present in the infinitive only in Ovid, cf.  Met. 7,637 Ferre suis visa est pariterque tremescere motu. 38  Aequora fundo is also present in Stat., Theb. 5,382 Pars clipeis munire ratem, pars aequora fundo. 39   Cf. Bömer 1966, ad Met. 1,253 (Iamque erat in totas sparsurus fulmina ter­ ras): for Jupiter Ovid uses the formulas fulmina spargere – fulmina iaculari just as in Met. 2,61 (qui fera terribili iaculatur fulmina dextra). 40 Cf. Met. 6,702-704 and the description of  the flight of  Boreas (Haec Boreas aut his non inferiora locutus / excussit pennas, quarum iactatibus omnis / afflata est tellus latumque perhorruit aequor,  / pulvereamque trahens per summa cacumina pallam / verrit humum pavidamque metu caligine tectus). Regarding the comparison of   the black of   the sky with pitch cf. Her. 18,7 where we find a similar expression in the description of   the tempest (Ipsa vides caelum pice nigrius et freta ventis / turbida perque cavas vix adeunda rates). Piceus is a Virgilian neologism, but it is used by Ovid seven times, although not always in the meteorological context of   the tempest. The adjective is always used to denote the blackening sky, caused by thickening clouds. 37

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atra sub nocte vapores. / Iamque noti erumpunt, crebro polus igne sonantem / dat tonitrum), in which Folengo takes up the connection (sub atra nocte) used metaphorically by Ovid in Met. 5,71 (iam moriens oculis sub nocte natantibus atra), describing the moment of   Lycabas’ death. Sonantem at the end of   the verse is found seven times in Virgil, but never using the ablative, unlike in the single Ovidian reference in Met. 12,528: Mopsus et ingenti circum clangore sonantem). The image evoked by the passage is that of   a sky on fire due to lightning strikes. We also find this topical aspect in Met. 11.522-523 discutiunt tamen has prae­ bentque micantia lumen  / fulmina; fulmineis ardescunt ignibus ignes. The narrative structure of   the flood in Met. 1 appears to be followed in all its phases by the Canto di Giuberto: torrential rain comes down, rivers swell, the tempest covers the sea. Verse C. 396 (dat tonitrum fractaeque ruunt ceu flumina nubes) recalls Met. 1,285 (expatiata ruunt per apertos flumina campos).41 At the same time, in C. 389 deus ipse tonat, the Canto di Giuberto recalls Met. 14,542 (Intonuit dicente dea, tonitrumque secuti / cum sali­ ente graves ceciderunt grandine, nimbi / aeraque et tumidum subi­ tis concursibus aequor / Astraei turbant et eunt in proelia fratres. / E quibus alma parens unius viribus usa, / stuppea praerupit Phry­ giae retinacula puppis / fertque rates pronas medioque sub aequore mergit).42 In C. 398-400 (desuper agminibus pluviarum deque tumenti / ad latera excipiens torrentum gurgite spumas / praecipi­ tes, miris paulatim exaestuat undis) the sky that appears to be falling into the sea is a small variation on the Ovidian image present in Met. 11,516-517: ecce cadunt largi resolutis nubibus imbres  / inque fretum credas totum descendere caelum. The tone remains serious, and we can conclude that all the verses describing the hurricane are formed in the high style of  the classical epic, while the depiction of   the tempest ends, as already observed, with the introduction of   a military lexicon, with the 41  Even though ruunt attributed to flumina also appears in Lucr. 1,292; Verg., Aen. 4,164; Hor., Serm. 1,7,26; Lucan. 2,217; Sil. 1,207; 4,652. 42  According to Lamacchia (1969, 11) the epic register of   the Ovidian passage almost turns into parody when divine intervention gives way to the realistic description of   an actual thunderstorm, with which Ovid puts out the fire of   the Trojan ships.

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waters of   the sky and the sea seen as allies against a  common enemy, joining up to submerge the boats of   the sailors defined as miseri. The use of   this image (the great Ocean crushed from above by the iniqua agmina of  the rains, until the waters and the sky join up dextrisque datis sua foedera iungunt, as an alliance) brings to mind the tragic conclusion of   the sinking of   Ceyx’s ship, epically described by Ovid, with the analogy between the waters invading the ship and the fortress conquered by an army.43 But then from C. 404 Folengo surprises us with a comical, even parodic scene, overturning all the models so far emulated: the sailors become seasick, and cover the Nereids in vomit, only to be further punished by the winds for the wickedness of  this gesture. This surprise effect also comes from the fact that nothing, in the preceding piece, portends this comic scene at the end of  the tempest. The punishment inflicted on the sailors is linked to the theme of   the reason for the journey, with added parody: as we noted, they did not set out on the journey due to an excess of   greed or rashness, or to perform heroic deeds, but merely out of  curiosity, to see the Nereids, and when they finally do so, they defile them with their vomit: at miseri avulso singultant viscere proni / hinc atque hinc nautae, nigraque urgente vomuntur  / bile dapes, foe­ datque acidus Nereidas humor (C. 403-405). These verses are reminiscent of   Ov. Met. 14,211-212 (mandentemque videns eiec­tan­ temque cruentas / ore dapes et frusta mero glomerata vomentem): 44 the metric cliché is the same, but the subject is Polyphemus in Achaemenide’s tale to Macareus. An additional parodic effect is created by the contrast with another hypotext source, this time that of   Virgil (Aen. 3,575),45 in which avulsa viscera refers to the eruption of  Etna. All subsequent verses (C. 406-413) describe the revenge of  the winds (unde indignantes venti tam audacter amicas / […] concur­ runt, sonituque ingenti obnixa profundo / tergora subiiciunt pelago,   Cf. Pianezzola 2005.   Which in turn refers to Aen. 3,632-633. Eiectantem e  vomentem specify the Virgilian eructans, a more literal take on Homer. Morrison believes that Ovid made an anagram of  Virgil’s eructans, using cruentas in Met. 14,211. See also Met. 12,238-240 Sanguinis ille globos pariter cerebrumque merumque / vulnere et ore vomens madida resupinus harena  / calcitrat (referring to Euritus killed by Theseus). 45  Interdum scopulos avulsaque viscera montis. 43 44

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totumque revellunt) with the stunned Nereids climbing onto the chariot, while dolphins, seals and large whales burst onto the scene (Sedibus aula Deum natat imis 46 deque quadrigis / attonitae saliunt nympahae perque atria curvi / delphines phocaeque ruunt et grandia caete). The expression aula Deum – the “courtof   the gods” – refers to the court of   the Nereids, also disturbed by the general unrest. Dolphins, seals and Nereids are put together by Ovid in both Met. 1,300-302 (nunc ibi deformes ponunt sua cor­ pora phocae / mirantur sub aqua lucos urbesque domosque / Nerei­ des, silvasque tenent delphines et altis / incursant ramis) and Met. 2, 265-269 (ima petunt pisces, nec se super aequora curvi / tollere con­ suetas audent delphines in auras; / corpora phocarum summo resu­ pina profundo / exanimata natant: ipsum quoque Nerea fama est / Doridaque et natas tepidis latuisse sub antris). This representation of   the court of   the Nereids is reiterated in the scene of   Phaeton in the second book of   the Metamorphoses, an about-turn of   the scene in the first book, describing the sea dried up by the fire of   Apollo’s chariot. All the inhabitants of   the sea (deities and animals) are in clear difficulty, and here too the Nereids, seeking an escape route via the coolest caves on the bottom of   the sea, are accompanied by seals and dolphins. The Ovidian verses are evidently lowered by Folengo’s grotesque depiction, so much so as to jar strongly with the epic tone of  the passage, with the result being a  stylistic departure that is even more evident than if the language had been macaronic. There has been much debate in Folenghian studies whether the Latin verses, making up the Canto di Giuberto, went from the C version to J and VP, or vice  versa.47 This is not the place to discuss the question, however the physiognomy of   the passage and the continuous references to the Metamorphoses are an important point to reflect upon: the poem is a  perfectly working and separate piece of   work. The Ovidian references are the 46  The nexus sedibus … imis also recalls Aen. 1,84-85: incubuere mari totumque a sedibus imis / una Eurusque Notusque ruunt creberque procellis / Africus. 47  Our analysis leads us to question the theory that the verses of   J and VP would converge in C at a  later time, and would confirm the backdating of   the composition of   C, at least book XIII, advanced by Chiesa 2013, who however generically puts forward as a justification only the stylistic similarity of   the third version to Folenghian production from the 1530s. This topic will be developed in an upcoming work.

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skeleton that gives it a structure. Folengo presents two tempests, at the beginning and at the end of   Manto’s alchemical episode, of   which the second – of   Ovidian inspiration – is a variatio in Latin compared to the first, based on Virgil and in macaronic. It is now recognised that Folengo’s parodic intention towards the classics is achieved through the linguistic mechanism of   macaronic. Here we see the use of   humanistic Latin and a  high stylistic register cause the comic effect within Giuberto’s poem to arise from the betrayal of   the reader’s horizon of   expectation. This analysis shows however that this Canto owes a  clear debt to Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Thinking about Folenghian studies as a whole, the discovery of  a hitherto unnoticed hypotext has been crucial in defining the unity and completeness of   the passage. It remains to be discovered whether this phenomenon occurs in other parts of  Baldus.

Bibliography Editions of  the Works of  Teofilo Folengo Teofilo Folengo, Macaronicum poem, Cipadae apud magistrum Aqua­ rium Lodolam Macaronicum poema, anastatic copy curated by the “Amici di Merlin Cocai” Association, Mantova 1993. Theophili Folengii Mantuani Anachoritae, Varium Poema et Janus, anastatic copy curated by the “Amici di Merlin Cocai” Association, Mantova 2011.

Editions, Commentaries and Critical Essays Anderson 1996 = W. S. Anderson (ed.), Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Books 1-5, Norman-London 1996. Botley 2010  = P.  Botley, Learning Greek in Western Europe, 13961529: Grammars, Lexica, and Classroom Texts, Philadelphia 2010. Bömer 1969  = P.  Ovidius Naso, Metamorphosen: Kommentar von Franz Bömer, 1 (Buch 1-3), Heidelberg 1969. Bömer 1977  = P.  Ovidius Naso, Metamorphosen: Kommentar von Franz Bömer, 4 (Buch 8-9), Heidelberg 1977. Bömer 1980  = P.  Ovidius Naso, Metamorphosen: Kommentar von Franz Bömer, 5 (Buch 10-11), Heidelberg 1980. Chiesa 1993  = M.  Chiesa, Dubbi intorno alla Cipadense, in Teofilo Folengo nel quinto centenario della nascita. Atti del Convegno Man300

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tova-Brescia-Padova, 26-29 settembre 1992), Firenze 1993, 459469. Chiesa 2013  = M.  Chiesa, Don Teofilo ‘parteggiano’, in Idem, Saggi folenghiani, Alessandria 2013, 97-111 (first published in Les années trente du xvie siècle italien. Actes du Colloque (Paris, 3-5 juin 2004) réunis et présentés par D.  Boillet et M.  Plaisance, Paris, Centre Interuniversitaire de Recherche sur la Renaissance Italienne (CIRRI), 2007, 63-73). Galli 2007 = D. Galli, Valerii Flacci Argonautica 1: commento, Ber-

lin-New York, 2007.

Goffis 1985 = C. F. Goffis, Interpretazione del Janus di Teofilo Folengo, Giornale storico della letteratura italiana, 162, 1985, 27-47. Goffis 1995 = C. F. Goffis, Roma, Lutero e la poliglossia folenghiana, Bologna 1995. Griffin 1981 = A. H. F. Griffin, The Ceyx legend in Ovid, Metamorpho­ ses, Book XI, CQ  31, 1981, 147-154. Labate 1990 = M. Labate, Venti, in EV  V, Roma 1990, 490-498. Lamacchia 1969  = R.  Lamacchia, Precisazioni su alcuni aspetti del­ l’epica ovidiana, Firenze 1969. Luzio 1911 = A. Luzio (ed.), Teofilo Folengo, Le maccheronee, Bari 1911. Paoli 1959 = U. E. Paoli, Il latino maccheronico, Firenze 1959. Pianezzola 2005 = E. Pianezzola, La tempesta e l’assedio: Ovidio, Metamorfosi XI 410-582, Paideia 60, 2005, 255-267. Reed 2013  = Ovidio, Metamorfosi, vol.  V (libri X-XII), a  cura di J. D. Reed, traduzione di Gioachino Chiarini, Milano 2013. Signorini 1993 = R. Signorini, L’arca del Gonzaga e l’antro alchemico di Manto, in Teofilo Folengo nel quinto centenario della nascita (Atti del Convegno Mantova-Brescia-Padova, 26-29 settembre 1991) Firenze 1993, 59-83.

Abstract This essay aims to make a contribution to the study of  Ovidian works in the sixteenth century by analysing a passage in humanistic Latin in the macaronic poem Baldus by Teofilo Folengo (13th Book), known as the Canto di Giuberto. Several classical references can be seen in the passage, but we can conclude from the analysis that the poem owes a clear debt towards Ovid’s Metamorphoses. When we think about Folenghian studies as a whole, the discovery of  a hitherto unnoticed hypotext has been crucial in defining the unity and completeness of  the passage. 301

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MARK ALEXANDER BOYD AND OVID’S HEROIDES. LAVINIA’S EPISTLE TO TURNUS

The writer I discuss here is not especially well known. The Scottish humanist Mark Alexander Boyd (1563-1601), or Marcus Alexander Bodius as his name was Latinised, was born into a prominent, old Ayrshire family – indeed, one line had held a peerage since 1454 – and was a nephew of  James Boyd of  Trochrig, the future Archbishop of   Glasgow, under whose care he was raised following the premature death of   his father. In 1581 he left for France where he remained until 1595, making a number of  trips to Italy and Spain and alternating periods of   soldiering with his studies, which were largely in law.1 In 1590, he was in Bordeaux, where his collection Epistolae quindecim, quibus totidem Ovidij respondet 2 was printed at the presses of   Simon Millanges, the only existing copy being now in the city’s Bibliothèque municipale. A  second collection, Episto­ lae Heroides, et Hymni,3 was published in La Rochelle in 1592. He returned to Scotland in 1595 and died at the family seat, Penkill Castle, in 1601. He is buried in the village cemetery in *  I wish to thank James Stuart for translating this chapter with customary intelligence and sensitivity, and for his invaluable comments, which helped in refining the original manuscript. 1  On Boyd’s life and writing, see Cunningham 2000; Ritter 2010, 8-21, including references to earlier sources; and, most recently, Reid 2018, 10-11. 2  Boyd 1590. 3   Boyd 1592. Despite the mention of  Antwerp on the title page (Antverpiae 1592), the volume was composed in the type of   Jérôme Haultin, a typographer based in La Rochelle where Boyd was living at the time: see Donaldson 1994, 364-365. After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127601 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 303-334

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nearby Old Dailly. In addition to the two published collections, a  number of   Boyd’s unpublished works are preserved in two manuscripts in the National Library of  Scotland.4 He is also credited as the author of  Fra banc to banc,5 a sonnet in Scots that was included in the original 1900 edition of   the Oxford Book of  English Verse.6

1. Boyd and Ovid’s Heroides In response to Ovid’s Heroides, Boyd tried his hand at composing, first, a set of   elegies answering the letters of   Ovid’s heroines and, subsequently, a  new series of   epistles ostensibly penned by an alternative selection of  female protagonists. a. Responses to the Heroines The responses to Ovid’s heroines are included in the first of  Boyd’s published volumes, which also features an epistle from Thisbe to Pyramus that would appear, with just slight changes, in the Epistolae Heroides.7 The protagonists of  these responses, each of  which is preceded by an argumentum, take a broad range of  approaches. Ulysses (1) attempts to reassure Penelope. He reminds her of   the difficulties he has had to face, reaffirms his faithfulness and suggests that the suitors are soon to receive their comeuppance. Demophon (2) tries to dissuade Phyllis from suicide, promising that he will return to her soon but also scolding her for the excesses of   her imagination and her unjustified jealousy. Orestes (6), we find, is driven less by his love for Hermione than by his thirst for revenge against Pyrrhus, who has taken his promised bride. Macareus (11), learning that Canace’s father Aeolus has sent her a sword with which   MS 20759 e Adv. MS 15.1.7: see Cunningham 2000, 162-165.   On the authorship of  the sonnet, see Donaldson 1994; on its dating, see also Cunningham 2000, 172. 6   Donaldson 1994, 345. 7  Dedicated to Robert Boyd of   Badneth, Boyd’s distant cousin and correspondent and the youngest son of  the fifth Lord Boyd, the 1590 publication also includes elegies, epigrams and the illustrium mulierum elogia, a series of   couplets dedicated to female figures from myth and history. 4 5

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to kill herself, begs her to wait; Love will punish Aeolus for his unjust actions. Alongside those who have remained faithful – Lynceus for instance (Linus, epist. 14), and Phaon (15) – there are those such as Paris (5, to Oenone) and Hercules (10, to Deianira) who admit their betrayals and attempt to justify them. Theseus (7) tells Ariadne that he was forced by Bacchus to leave her, and that he would rather have her than Phaedra; in reply to Hypsipyle (8), Jason writes that he has been unable to return as he has been pursued by barbarian forces, and has taken Medea with him because she saved his life, but that his love for her will not prevent him from returning to Hypsipyle and their children. Jason also writes to Medea (12), informing her that, having had to choose between her and his own life, he has taken the latter option for his children’s sake, before begging her to accept the exile that he has won for her instead of  execution. In keeping with the traditional depiction, Hippolytus (4) defends his chastity, severely reprimanding Phaedra. Aeneas (9) tells Dido largely what he tells her in Aen. 4,333-361: that he left her reluctantly at the orders of   Jupiter, and that he will not forget her, adding that he is not breaking a  vow of   marriage; he arrived in Carthage a  guest and it is as a guest, not as an enemy, that he left. For Achilles (3) and Protesilaus (13), honour and glory are worth more than love, a characterisation that places Boyd’s Protesilaus in stark contrast to his depiction in Propertius, where even death cannot stop him making one final visit to his wife.8 Apart from this rather glaring exception, Boyd formulates the heroes’ responses in a  way that largely conforms to their depiction in myth and literature, choosing not to transform them (or to transform them entirely) into elegiac characters as Ovid had done with the three male protagonists of  the double Heroides. This departure from the Ovidian model might be explained, in part, by the different circumstances in which the letters are conceived. In the double Heroides, it is Paris, Acontius and Leander who are initiating the exchange; Boyd’s heroes, in contrast, are writing in response to the largely jealous and accusatory com-

  Prop. 1,19,7-10.

8

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plaints of   their lovers,9 voicing their own perspectives, which are not necessarily (or at least exclusively) dominated by love, to counter the subjective (and frequently distorted) viewpoints of  the women. In some cases, the circumstances change while the letter is being written. As he is writing, Jason learns of   the horrendous fate of  his wife and children and closes his epistle invoking divine retribution on Medea. Towards the end of   his letter to Sappho, Phaon senses that she might have committed suicide and composes a  couplet to be inscribed on her tomb. This taste for an evolving situation (which was a unique feature of   Deianira’s epistle in Ovid’s own text, in which she learns of   her husband’s death as she is writing) 10 is characteristic of  a number of  the Epis­ tolae Heroides. Boyd was not the first humanist writer to compose answers in Latin to the epistles of   Ovid’s Heroides, but he was the first to respond in systematic fashion to all of   them. Before him, the Italian Angelo (Aulo) Sabino († post-1474) had composed three letters, from Ulysses to Penelope, from Demophon to Phyllis and from Paris to Oenone.11 Starting with the 1477 edition of   the works of   Ovid published in Parma, these were printed together with the Heroides 12 on multiple occasions as the work of   Ovid’s contemporary, Aulus Sabinus. A number of  other responses would

9   As Paleit 2008, 359 puts it, “A drive to stop the women complaining suggests that Boyd’s 1590 replies are partly anti-elegies, which attempt to deflate or counter the querulous female superfluity of   the Heroides.” In Paleit’s view, in his responses to Ovid’s Heroides, Boyd is reasserting gender roles, while the later Epistolae Heroides, et Hymni finds him more sympathetic to the women’s point of   view. However, I believe that this greater openness can be explained, at least in part, by the fact that the epistles in the later volume are written as though by women, and that Boyd had Ovid’s epistles on which to model his own. 10 Ov., Her. 9,143-144. 11  For the letters to Penelope and Phyllis, Angelo Sabino was drawing on the list of   responses that, according to Ov. Am. 2,18,27-34, were penned by Ovid’s friend, the eques Aulus Sabinus. 12   P. Ovidii Nasonis opera. Impressum Parmae ductu et i(m)pensis mei stephani coralli lugdunensis. M.CCCC.LXXVII. die primo iulii. On Sabino, the attribution of   the epistles and their critical reception, see Sommariva 2022. Sedlmayer 1888, 167 mentions a letter of   response from Phaon to Sappho composed of   13 couplets and preserved in the fifteenth-century manuscript Chisianus H. IV. 121. However, it most likely predates Sabino.

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appear the intervening years,13 but Boyd only demonstrates an awareness of   Sabino’s responsiones, openly entering into competition with him with an appeal to the reader’s disinterested judgement: Vale, Lector. Sabini epistolas tres retexui, quod mihi non placerent. At tuum erit de utroque candidum iudicium.14 This somewhat disparaging appraisal may have been motivated by the occasionally excessive liberty Sabino had taken with the traditional mythical material,15 in addition to Boyd’s high opinion of  himself. Addressing the reader at the beginning of   the book, Boyd expresses an awareness that it is necessary for any writer who wishes to pen a  response to the Heroides to express himself as Ovid would do.16 His emulative intentions are declared even more clearly in the argumentum preceding the last of  the epistles, that of   Phaon (15): atque hic nititur autor Nasonis pulcherrima cum epistola concertare.17 However, any false hopes he harboured 13 An Elegidion Orestis ad Hermionem captivam, by the German humanist Jacob Locher (1471-1521) – also known as Philomusus – appeared in 1512, Janus Dousa the elder (1545-1604) published a response from Lynceus to Hypermestra in 1569, while the Hyppolitus Ovidianae Phaedrae respondens, a long, moralising elegy by the English scholar John Shepreve (or Shepery 1509-1542) was published in Oxford in 1586. For more on these three compositions, see Dörrie 1968, 107-108. On Shepreve, see also Ryan 1977, 128-129. 14  Boyd 1590, 9. White 2009, 223-242 offers a  three-way comparison between Sabino, Boyd and Michel d’Amboise, focusing particularly on the last two. In 1541, d’Amboise had published 15 responses, in French, to the epistles of   the Heroides (Les contrepistres d’Ovide), though Boyd does not take them into account and may not have known of   their existence: see White, 2009, 211. It is not possible, here, to provide a detailed comparison of  the epistles written by Sabino and Boyd and identify points of   contact and divergence. However, what seems clear from even an initial inspection is the emulative spirit of   Boyd’s text, in which, at various points, he adopts different solutions to those of   Sabino. To give just one example, in both authors, the series of   dead figures encountered by Ulysses is clearly based on the Nekuia, but while Sabino (vv. 61-80) adds both Protesilaus and Laodamia (vv. 67-70), Boyd mentions Protesilaus without his wife (v. 68), and goes on to develop the scene in Aen. 2,547-550 with Priam complaining to Achilles about the behaviour of  Pyrrhus (vv. 71-72). 15  A liberty that reached its zenith (vv. 81-90) with the epistle to Penelope, in which Ulysses claims that the fierceness of  the sea during his return journey is due to Thetis’s reaction to the transformation of   Hecuba – whom Ulysses had chosen as a slave to avoid making his wife jealous – into a dog (vv. 81-90). 16  Boyd 1590, 6 Esse necesse qui Nasoni respondet, Nasonem ut referat quoque; et quoad fieri licuerit eodem fuco, eodemque foco esprimat: nec in verbis vulgarem huius saeculi laudem, sed in rebus ipsis perraram ingenii gloriam venari. 17  Boyd 1590, 70-71.

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in this direction seem to have fallen away quite quickly: in one of   the texts in his second collection – therefore just two years later – he expresses his disappointment in the results.18 b. The Heroines’ Letters In 1592, Boyd published the Epistolae Heroides, et Hymni,19 which he dedicated to James  VI of   Scotland with a  prose epistle and a ten-line epigram in Latin at the beginning of  the volume. Along with the letters of  the heroines, the book included sixteen hymns, a poem in Greek addressed to Orpheus, four epigrams – one in Latin and three in Greek – written by friends about Boyd himself, and a selection of  prose epistles.20 The number of   the heroines’ letters is dictated by Ovid’s Heroides – leaving aside those of  the double Heroides – but Boyd seems to have distanced himself from his model in other regards. No less than five of   the women writing are historical figures (where the only such figure in Ovid was Sappho, whose love for Phaon had become the stuff of   legend): the dancer Lamia (5) writes in powerfully erotic tones to Demetrius Poliorcetes, who is about to marry another woman; Sophonisba (10) informs Masinissa that she has decided to take her own life; the chaste Paulina (11) writes to Mundus reaffirming her chastity after he has seduced her by disguising himself as Osiris; Julia (13) accuses her father, Augustus, of   acts of   wickedness and tyranny; Octavia (14) protests her unflinching devotion to Anthony, who has betrayed her and sent her away. The protagonists of   the other epistles are figures from mythology. The huntress Atalanta (1) makes amorous advances to Meleager; Callioneira (2) writes to the ungrateful Diomedes who has abandoned her; Antigone (4) 18   In the second epistle to Cornelius Varus (see n. 20, below) in Boyd 1592, 155: Heroes meos maior quam qui peperit, perdidit, exussit furor; quinquennis, eaque continua spiritus periit contentio. 19  With the sole exception of   the epistle from Thisbe to Pyramus, the volume’s verse compositions were all republished by the Scottish physician Arthur Johnston (Johnston 1637, 142-207), although the heroines’ epistles are presented (ibid. 142-181) without the argumentum. 20  Of particular interest is the second epistle to Cornelius Varus (Boyd 1592, 151-155), in which Boyd voices his thoughts on poetry and ancient and modern poets.

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begs Haemon not to go against his father out of   love for her; Lavinia (8) entreats Turnus to withdraw from the duel with Aeneas and run away with her; Thisbe (12) plans to meet up with Pyramus and has a prophetic dream. Nor are more extreme situations lacking: Silvia (3) informs Mars that she is giving birth to the twins and is placing them under his protection, as she is to be cast into the Tiber; Philomela (9) writes to Tereus, hoping that in doing so, Procne will learn of  the rape of  her sister. At the end of  the letter she transforms into a nightingale and has a vision of   the other members of   the family transformed into birds; Clytia (7), her strength failing, attempts desperately to win back the love of   Apollo; Eurydice (6) writes to Orpheus from Hades asking that he try to win over the gods of   the underworld with his cithara. In  the final elegy (15), which takes its inspiration from Bion, Venus dictates to Amor a  lament for the death of   Adonis.21 The departure from Ovid is visible in the inclusion of   historical figures, in the change in circumstances experienced by a number of  the heroines as they write (in Ovid’s Heroides it happened only to Deianira), and above all in the fact that the theme of  love is no longer ever present. In one respect, however, Boyd remains faithful to Ovid’s example: each epistle is written at a  decisive moment for the fortunes of   the various protagonists, and from the very beginning, the reader is aware of   how the episode will turn out. Four of  the epistles – Venus’ lament over the fate of  Adonis and the letters from Atalanta to Meleager, from Eurydice to Orpheus and from Philomela to Tereus – are discussed in depth by Carolin Ritter, whose commentary also offers a fruitful, detailed analysis of   the qualities of   both the collection as a whole and the elegies’ internal organisation.22 Here, I focus on the epistle from Lavinia to Turnus (8), in which the Ovidian model is made to interact with the Virgilian epic.

21  For an overview of   the elegies and their respective classical sources, see Ritter 2010, 22. 22  Ritter 2010, 22-55.

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2. Lavinia to Turnus Lavinia’s epistle to Turnus – the eighth and, as such, central composition in the series – is the only letter written in her name in either Latin or the vernacular.23 Running to 98 lines, it is the only one of   Boyd’s Epistolae Heroides that, like the letters from Penelope, Briseis and Dido in Ovid, is inspired exclusively by an epic narrative. Specifically, Boyd turns to the Aeneid,24 much as Ovid had done with Dido, but where Dido is a key protagonist in the Aeneid, “the virgo Lavinia is a  mute figure”,25 who never acts on her own initiative. For his heroine, Boyd could only draw on two of   the three occasions towards the end of   Virgil’s poem in which her behaviour is mentioned.26 In Aen. XI, Lavinia takes part – oculos deiecta decoros (v. 480) – in the procession led by Amata to the temple of  Pallas. As we shall see shortly, this passage may have been the source for the magical/sacrificial rite that Boyd’s Lavinia claims to have participated in with her mother. Aen. 12,64-69 recounts her reaction when Amata pleads with Turnus not to take part in the duel with Aeneas: Accepit vocem lacrimis Lavinia matris Flagrantis perfusa genas, cui plurimus ignem Subiecit rubor et calefacta per ora cucurrit. Indum sanguineo veluti violaverit ostro Si quis ebur aut mixta rubent ubi lilia multa Alba rosa: talis virgo dabat ore colores.

65

Lavinia’s tears and the reddening of   her face may be a sign that she is in love with Turnus.27 This is certainly Boyd’s reading of  the text and he makes as much as possible of   it, imagining Lavinia writing immediately to Turnus after he has reaffirmed his deci­   See Ritter 2010, 66.   Lavinia is also mentioned in Livy 1,1,9-10 (the pact between Aeneas and Latinus) and 1,2,1 (Turnus’ dispute with Aeneas), but only in regard to her marriage to Aeneas. On Lavinia in the Aeneid, see Lacey 1987. 25  Traina 20042, 108, to v. 64: “la virgo Lavinia è un personaggio muto”. 26  The other passage in the Aeneid describes Lavinia’s distress over Amata’s suicide (Aen. 12,605-606 filia prima manu floros Lavinia crinis / et roseas laniata genas), and therefore does not offer Boyd anything relevant to build on. 27  See Lyne 1983; Traina 1990, 497 and 20042, 108 to vv. 65-66. 23 24

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sion to decide the outcome of   the war in single combat with Aeneas.28 The letter is a final attempt to convince her beloved to change his plans and keep himself safe (vv. 1-2): Q uae tibi Laurenti tua dat Lavinia Turno, Clam lege, si per te mi licet esse tua.

Boyd begins his text, as does Ovid in many of   his epistles, with a reference to the very letter that is being written. An initial variation from the Ovidian model comes in the request for secrecy in v.  2: clam lege. This same plea, which has no equivalent in Ovid, is also used – again at the start of   the hexameter – in Atalanta’s epistle to Meleager (1,3), where it is motivated by the need to avoid the (otherwise inevitable) punishment of   Diana. With Lavinia, we go on to discover at the end of   the letter that the secret that needs to be kept is her proposal to run away with Turnus so that he might be saved from death and she from the proposed marriage to Aeneas. In prosodic terms, Clam lege finds a  correspondent in perlege, which appears in the first position at the start of   three of   Ovid’s epistles,29 and which is also used by Boyd in ep. 9,3 (Philomela to Tereus perlege, quid dubitas?). The esse tua at the end of   the pentameter is also from Ovid.30 Here, the question of   whether Lavinia can describe herself as tua, as both Penelope and Phyllis had done at the start of   their epistles,31 is left to Turnus to decide (si per te mi licet).32 Despite the Ovidian flavour of  the passage, however, the pairing Laurenti Turno is from Virgil.33 28 See Aen. 12, 1-80. In v. 73, Lavinia makes an explicit reference to the last words of   Turnus’ reply to Amata (v. 80 illo quaeratur coniunx Lavinia campo); see below, 323. 29  Her. 4,3; 16,12 and 20,5; see also Her. 4, 176 and 5,1 in which perlegis takes the same position. 30   Her. 20,56. Esse tua at the end of  the pentameter is also used by Dracontius (Satisf. 266), a poet very probably unknown to Boyd; esse tua* is more frequent. 31  Her. 1,1; 2,1. 32  For another case in which the status of   the figure writing is made dependent on the preferences of   the recipient, cf. Ov. Her. 4,1-2 Q uam nisi tu dederis, caritura est ipsa, salutem / mittit Amazonio Cressa puella uiro. See also Met. 9,530531 Q uam,  nisi  tu  dederis, non est habitura salutem,  / hanc tibi mittit amans (the letter of  Byblis to her brother Caunus, with whom she is in love). 33   Aen. 7,650 Laurentis … Turni.

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Lavinia gets straight to the point (vv. 3-4): Arma moves igitur, populoque tuente Latino Unus qui repetet praelia Turnus erit.

Vv. 3-4 directly reference the words with which Turnus informs Latinus of   his decision to meet Aeneas in single combat (Aen. 12,14-17): Aut hac Dardanium dextra sub Tartara mittam, Desertorem Asiae (sedeant spectentque Latini), 15 Et solus ferro crimen commune refellam, Aut habeat victos, cedat Lavinia coniunx.

Boyd introduces variations without obscuring the Virgilian hypotext, his populoque tuente Latino (v. 3) and unus (v. 4) corresponding respectively with – and in the same order as – sedeant spect­ entque Latini and solus in Virgil, and the arma moves igitur in v. 3 referring to Turnus’ decision to fight Aeneas.34 However, she then lists a series of   considerations that Turnus has apparently dismissed, but that ought to be enough to persuade him to withdraw from the confrontation (vv. 5-12): Nec mea te genitrix, crebroque madentia nimbo haec Lumina, nec noster te cohibebit amor, Nec pulsi Rutuli clara moriente Camilla, et Non procul a turpi deditione tui, Tyrrhenusque pater, feretroque eductus acerno Lausus, et eversae quae potuere manus. Nec genus Italiae, neque te tua Daunia, quaeque Pendet ab auspicio terra Latina tuo.

10

Each couplet, here, dwells on something that might dissuade Turnus, from matters of   sentiment at the start of   the passage to

34  Boyd effectively communicates the affirmatory character of   Lavinia’s words with the full stop and colon (which I changed to a comma), that close lines 4 and 6 respectively, and I disagree with the change made in Johnston 1637, where they are replaced with question marks. Arma move* appears at the start of   a line in Fast. 3,395 (movent), Sil. 10,139 and Coripp., Ioh. 4,479 (movet) and 569 (movens), although Boyd is unlikely to have been familiar with the Corippus text. See also Ov., Am. 1,9,26 (arma movent) and Her. 5,98 (arma movet) for its use at the end of  the pentameter.

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recent events in the conflict that have not gone well for him, and to his responsibilities as both a  warrior and king: the reference to Amata and Lavinia’s own tears leads us back to the beginning of   Aen. xii (vv. 54-66); the death of   Camilla (Aen. 11,816-831) and the rout of   the Rutulians (Aen. 11,869 turbati fugiunt Rutuli) are evoked, as are the deaths of  Mezentius (Aen. 10,873-908) and Lausus (Aen. 10,808-832) and the actions of   the repelled Latin army (v. 10 eversae quae potuere manus); last, Lavinia lists the peoples whose fates are dependent on Turnus’ own fortunes: the Italics, the Latins and the Daunians whom he rules over (vv. 11-12). The use, three times, of   nec in vv.  5-7 – picked up again at the end of   the list with nec … neque in v. 11 – serves to highlight Turnus’ apparent determination to disregard these considerations. Writing of   Amata and herself (vv.  5-6), Lavinia lets the emphasis fall on her tears and the love she feels, a sentiment that could only be perceived indirectly in Virgil.35 After citing the withdrawal of   the Rutulians in the wake of  Camilla’s death,36 Lavinia references the killing of   Mezentius and Lausus, though in the opposite order to Virgil. Mezentius is referred to as Thyrrenus pater, a designation not employed by Virgil that both alludes to his origins and reminds the reader of   his despair at the death of   his son. The depiction of   Lausus on the bier (v. 9 feretroque eductus acerno), which is also absent from the Aeneid, is probably inspired by the funeral of   Pallas.37 Et eversae quae potuere manus (v.  10), “of   what the devastated ranks were capable”, may allude to the two consecutive defeats referred to by Latinus when he attempts to convince Turnus not to meet Aeneas in single combat, and to give up his claim on

35   There are no direct textual borrowings from Virgil and Ovid, but madentia nimbo haec / lumina echoes the madentia plumis / lumina of  Stat., Silv. 1,2,9293, albeit in a  different context. The term deditio (v.  8) is found in later Latin poetry, with examples in Claud., VI Hon.,252 and Prud., Psych. 340. 36  In vv. 7-8, it is unclear whether the tui of   v. 8 (et / non procul a turpi de­ ditione tui) is an adjective, made to agree with Rutuli, or a  pronoun, either of  which would mean that deditio is to be understood as “surrender”, or whether it is the objective genitive of   tu, in which case deditio implies the delivery of   Turnus to the enemy. 37  See, especially, Aen. 11,64-65 Haud segnes alii cratis et molle feretrum / arbuteis texunt virgis et vimine querno.

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Lavinia (Aen. 12,19-45).38 Latinus is at pains to point out that he also has a responsibility to the Rutulians not to expose Turnus to such mortal danger (vv.  40-42) and reminds Turnus that he already has dominion over his father’s kingdom and various other cities; in Latium and in the Laurentian territories he might find a  worthy bride (vv.  22-25). Boyd’s Lavinia, in contrast, focuses on Turnus’ own responsibility to Daunia and its allies. Lavinia next invites Turnus to consider her fate, should he be defeated by Aeneas (vv. 13-14): Adde, quid eveniat si triste, miserrima dicar Causa subinvisi funeris esse tui.

Adopting a form favoured by Ovid, Boyd introduces her reasoning with adde (which appears again in v. 61),39 although the miser­ rima dicar / causa is from Met. 4,151-152 (Persequar exstinctum letique  miserrima  dicar  / causa comesque tui), these being the words of  Thisbe in the tale of  her tragic love for Pyramus, an episode that inspired Boyd to write another epistle that appeared in both his first publication and, slightly altered, in the Epistolae Heroides. From this point forward, the central subject in Lavinia’s words is herself, and particularly her feelings, starting with the violent repulsion she feels towards Aeneas (vv. 13-20): Optarem Tyria cum perfida solvit ab urbe, Legit et Hesperias Troia puppis aquas, Acta peregrinum feriisset turbine saxum, Ipse foret nostris erro sepultus aquis. Tros Anchisiade, quam tu mihi durus, et ipsa Haec tua cum taedis imperiosa Venus!

15

20

Here, the adjective perfida applies to the ship (puppis) that carried Aeanas from Carthage and echoes the abandoned Dido’s use of   the same word to describe Aeneas. The betrayal of   Dido, merely alluded to in these lines, is mentioned explicitly further on. What does emerge here is an initial negative representation of  Aeneas: for Lavinia, he is not the hero who has received his   Aen. 12,34-36 Bis magna victi pugna vix urbe tuemur / spes Italas; recalent nostro Tiberina fluenta / sanguine adhuc campique ingentes ossibus albent. 39   In dactylic poetry, of   98 uses of   adde at the start of   a line, Ovid accounts for 44, followed by Lucretius with 11 examples. 38

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mission from the Fates but simply a wanderer (v. 18 erro). He is labelled erro again in lines 70 and 83, in both cases in relation to the abandonment of  Dido.40 The puppis aquas of  v. 16 is another Ovidian borrowing; indeed, we have just four examples of   it, all from Ovid and at the end of   the pentameter.41 However, the Tros Anchisiade of   v.  19 is from Virgil, specifically the Sibyl’s apostrophe to the hero.42 Lavinia continues with a heartfelt plea (vv. 21-26): Turne per has lachrymas, per et hoc miserabile Turne Pectus, et invisae virginitatis onus, Parce tibi, mi parce tuae, miserere tuorum. Impia de cerebro proelia pelle tuo. Desine Dardanio contendere: rector Olympi Id vetat, et capiti fors inimica tuo.

25

The Turne per has lacrimas of   v.  21, which resurfaces in v.  75, also appears in Amata’s supplication to Turnus (Aen. 12,56-60): Turne, per has ego te lacrimas, per si quis Amatae Tangit honos animum (spes tu nunc una, senectae Tu requies miserae, decus imperiumque Latini Te penes, in te omnis domus inclinata recumbit), Vnum oro: desiste manum committere Teucris.

60

Boyd removes ego te, eliminating the hyperbaton, but he retains the anaphora with per and adds the anastrophe with et. Like Amata in the Aeneid, Lavinia ends her impassioned plea asking Turnus to withdraw from the duel. The vehement tone, explained in Amata’s case by her materteral affection and the Bacchic fervour engendered in her by Alecto, is here redirected into the more conventional sphere of   amorous passion, which drives Lavinia to detest her own virginity.43 The miserere tuorum of  v. 23 is also from the Aeneid, where the phrase is directed at Turnus both by   See below, 323-324.   Trist. 1,10,48 and 2,18; Pont. 2,2,30 and 4,14,22. The imperiosa in v. 20, is not necessarily from Ovid. It does appear in the same metrical position in Trist. 5,6,32 and Ibis 534, but it is also found in Mart. 6,23,4 and 11,58,8, and Avian., Fab. 19,12. 42   Aen. 6,126 Tros Anchisiade, facilis descensus Averno. 43   V. 22: the virginitatis onus appears in Ennod., Carm. 1,6,26 (at the end of   the pentameter) and Drac., Rom. 10,325 (at the start of   the line), but Boyd may have arrived at the pairing independently. 40 41

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Drances, who begs him either to concede defeat or meet Aeneas in single combat (Aen. 11,365) and by Saces, who implores him to come quickly to his comrades’ aid (Aen. 12,653).44 Lavinia proceeds with four sententious lines that reiterate how ill-advised the duel with Aeneas would be (vv. 27-30): Q uem fortuna colit, mea lux, procul ille periclo Militat, et dextro numine tela capit. Q uem fortuna fugit, sub praelia terror eunti Huic comes, ac animo frangitur ipse suo.

Addressing Turnus as mea lux (v. 27), an elegiac staple repeated in v.  93, over the two couplets Lavinia pictures opposite outcomes, heightening the contrast between them with the parallelism between the hempiepes of   the two hexameters, which follow a metric template used by Ovid and later by Statius.45 The two subsequent couplets are constructed in an analogous fashion, and make much the same point (vv. 31-34): Non incauta loquor, pugnaeque pericula tantae Q ui non praetimeat tu nisi nullus adest. Non incauta loquor, suprema peregimus, atque Cuncta mihi magico nota ministerio.

In this case, each hexameter begins with the same hemiepes,46 but while the first couplet ties into the preceding verses, reiterat44   Less notable, insofar as they are drawn from a  wider repertoire of   Latin poetry, are the rector Olympi of   v.  25 that appears in the clausula, as it always does in hexameter, and the combination in v. 26 of   capiti at the end of   the first hemiepes and tuo at the end of  the pentameter, of  which there are nine precedents, seven in Ovid and two in Martial. The pairing sors inimica of  v. 26, however, may be Boyd’s own creation, although it does appear once in Ennodius and Corippus and five times in Venantius Fortunatus. 45 Ov., Pont. 1,5,68 quem  fortuna  dedit and Stat., Silv. 2, 6, 56 quem  for­ tuna sinit. Other borrowings from the poetic repertoire are less significant: procul ille (v. 26) has five prior uses, but never in this metrical position; militat (v. 28) at the start of  the hexameter has eight known uses including one in Ov., Am. 1,9,1 (militat omnis amans); dextro numine, which is found once, in a different metrical position, in Ennod., Carm. 2,90,6 and once, in glyconic verse, in Prud., c. Symm. praef. 2,62 may here be Boyd’s own creation, perhaps based on numine dextro, which Statius uses twice as a  clausula. Finally, there are three prior examples of   huic comes (v. 30) at the start of  the hexameter (Petr. 124, bell. civ. 252; Sil. 2,7; Mart. 3,91,3). For vv. 29-30 sub praelia terror eunti / huic comes cf. below vv. 71-72 in proelia mater eunti / fit comes . 46  Probably structured to follow the metric template of   non iniussa cano in

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ing the perilousness of   the duel with Aeneas, the second introduces the description of   a ritual, the supernatural character of  which is anticipated in v. 34 by magico ministerio. This expression is adapted from Tib. 1,2,44 (pollicita est magico saga minis­ terio), which speaks of   an enchantress with the power, amongst other things, to conjure the Manes from the grave. The episode conjured by Lavinia takes up the central section of   the epistle (vv.  35-58) and can be broken down into three parts: the site and preparations for the ritual (vv.  35-44), supernatural goings on (vv. 45-50), and the prophecy of   Faunus (vv. 51-58). Fana patris Fauni stabulis obtecta ferarum Nostin, et ex facie saxa verenda sua? Itur ad haec, comites sequimur, praecessit Amata Mater, et elumbis quae sacra curat anus. Contulimusque marem catulum, nigramque bidentem, Q uam novies viva proluit amnis aqua. Verbenaeque comas; et Marmaritida, quaeque Surgit in immota virga biennis aqua. Contulimusque salem, baccamque triennis olivae, Viscum, farra, merum, thurea dona, focum.

35

40

Amata’s procession to the temple of  Faunus may have been based on the procession of  matronae she leads, accompanied by Lavinia, to the Temple of   Pallas in Aen. 11,477-485. Boyd locates the ceremony in the cave consecrated to Faunus to which King Latinus goes seeking omens regarding the marriage of   his daughter (Aen. 7,81-101). Yet, while Boyd’s evocation of   the Aeneid episode is helped by the recurrence of   the expression patris  Fauni (Aen. 7,102), there are other elements that contribute to setting the scene. The temple is hidden from view by the lairs of   wild beasts (v. 35 stabulis obtecta ferarum), and here Boyd recalls Aen. 6,179 (itur in antiquam siluam, stabula alta ferarum).47 Latinus Virgil’s Ecl. 6,9. Paul. Nol., Carm 31 H (de obitu Celsi D.),475 non  commenta  loquor and Alc. Avit., Carm. 1,318 non immensa loquor are closer to the hemiepes in question, although Boyd mentions neither author in his writing. Note also the use of  praetimeo in v. 32, a term that only appears in verse in Plaut. Amph. 29 and Lygd. 4,14 (praetimuisse). 47  Although the obtecta may have been influenced, other than by Aen. 2,300 (obtecta  recessit with the same metrical placement), by Claud. Rapt. 3,82 (tene­

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undergoes an incubatory ritual normally performed by a  sacer­ dos 48 by which he is able to make contact with Acheron and the underworld. Boyd’s entirely female ritual, meanwhile, is officiated by an anus elumbis. The sacrifice also differs from the one performed by Latinus, who slaughtered a  hundred sheep (Aen. 7,93 centum lanigeras mactabat rite bidentis). The sacrifice of   a dog (offered to favour Hecate in particular, and more generally the chthonic deities) and a  nigra bidens, meanwhile, is in keeping with the contact established with the underworld over the course of   the ceremony. With the black ewe (v.  39 nigramque bidentem),49 Boyd could well have been drawing on the Odyssey,50 but it is even more likely that he was recalling the atri velleris agna sacrificed to Night and Earth by Aeneas (Aen. 6,249) before he descended to the underworld. There are no clear verbal borrowings here that might point to a specific source text inspiring Boyd’s description of  the ceremony at the temple of   Faunus. The influence of   the Erichto episode in Lucan, for instance, cannot be demonstrated. There is a more promising candidate, however, in the magical rite described in Ecl. 8 – itself inspired by the second Idyll of   Theocritus, a poet Boyd admired  51 – in which, as in Lavinia’s account, the ceremony is officiated by a woman. Additionally, in the mention of   “nine times” (novies) in v. 40, there may be an acknowledgement of  the principle that numero deus impare gaudet, as declared in Ecl. 8,75, where the divinity in question is most likely Hecate.52 There are further analogies with Ecl. 8 in the components of   the sacrifice, broso obtecta recessu), where it features in the account of   the nightmare in which Ceres sees her imprisoned daughter. 48  Aen. 7,89-91 multa modis simulacra videt [scil. sacerdos] volitantia miris / et varias audit voces fruiturque deorum  / colloquio atque imis Acheronta affatur Avernis. 49   For this expression, cf.  Aen. 12,170 saetigeri fetum suis intonsamque  bi­ dentem, which appears in the account of   the solemn sacrifice with which the impending duel between Aeneas and Turnus is sanctioned. 50 In Od. 11,35-36, Odysseus slaughters a ram and a black ewe as suggested by Circe (10,527) in order that their blood be offered to the dead. 51  Boyd 1592, 152. 52   See Cucchiarelli 2012,  438, to v.  75. In  Theocritus, Idyll. 2,43 Simaetha pours the libation to Hecate three times.

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but these are relatively common elements that Boyd may have derived from other sources.53 The herb marmaritis (v. 41) is new, not having been mentioned before in Latin poetry, although Pliny does claim that it is used by sorcerers in their evocations.54 There are various echoes from elegiac poetry in Boyd’s language,55 but the thurea dona of   v.  44 is only found – in a  different metrical position – in Aen. 6,225, in the account of  Misenus’ funeral rites. Indeed, Boyd returns to this very passage further on in the poem.56 The second phase of   the ceremony is distinguished by the manifestation of  supernatural forces (vv. 45-50): Vix incoepit anus, vix prima piacula tentat, Horrida de medio cum salit umbra rogo. Ut procul auditur spirantis in aethere venti Stridor, et accretae mobile murmur aquae, Subsilui, fateor, pavidaque in fronte capilli, Ut nemorum motae contremuere comae.

45

50

In v.  45, the anaphora of   vix emphasises how immediately the prodigy is realised; prima piacula, meanwhile, is found in the same metrical position in Aen. 6,153 (Duc nigras pecudes; ea prima pia­ cula  sunto), which describes the expiatory sacrifice that Aeneas must make before he can descend to the underworld. In  v.  46, de medio and rogo take the same metrical position as they do in Mart. 11,54,2 (Turaque de medio semicremata rogo), while there is also an echo of   Prop. 4,7,2 luridaque evictos effugit umbra rogos, a  source that would have a  thematic affinity with Lavinia’s description insofar as it describes the apparition of  the dead Cyn Cf. Verg., Ecl. 8, 64-67 Effer aquam et molli cinge haec altaria vitta, / verbenasque  adole pinguis et mascula tura,  / coniugis ut magicis sanos avertere sa­ cris  / experiar sensus. However, see also Hor.  Carm. 1,19,13-16 hic vivum mihi caespitem, hic / verbenas, pueri, ponite turaque / bimi cum patera meri: / mactata veniet lenior hostia, among others. 54 Plin., Nat. 24,160 Aglaophotim herbam, quae admiratione hominum prop­ ter eximium colorem acceperit nomen, in marmoribus Arabiae nascentem Persico latere, qua de causa et marmaritim vocari; hac Magos uti, cum velint deos evocare. 55 The amnis aqua* at the end of   the pentameter in v.  40 (echoed by the biennis aqua of   v. 42) appears five times in Ovid and twice in Tibullus; the bac­ camque … olivae of   v. 43 may have been prompted by Ov., Met. 8,295 bacaque  cum ramis semper frondentis olivae. 56  See below, 321. 53

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thia to the poet.57 In vv. 49-50, the motif of  the branches shaken by the wind in the presence of   the divine is worth noting. Here, the likely reference is Fast. 3,329-332, in which the treetops of  the Aventine woods tremble in the presence of  Jupiter – who has been summoned by Faunus – and the hair of  the onlooking Numa begins to stand on end.58 The detail of  the shade that leaps out from the heart of   the fire is not developed as the narration proceeds.59 The final part of   the ritual consists of   the old woman’s questions and the deity’s responses (vv. 51-58): Percunctatur anus: quae Turni fata? Q uis error? Anne peregrino debita virgo toro? Enthea vox sequitur, mediis ut vallibus Echo Verba refert primo debiliora sono: “Pergite, relliquias bibula torrete favilla, 55 ossa viri Latio tollite lecta cado” Faunus ait, positum simul atra caede metallum Inficit, et vatis labitur ante pedes.

In these lines we find echoes of   various Latin poets, albeit for the most part these do not lead us back to a particular source.60   Other components can be traced to examples from the wider poetic repertoire, though with no apparent thematic connection. In  v.  47, the clausula aethere venti was used by Virgil (Aen. 10,356), and later by Manil. 2,74 (-ra) and Val. Flacc. 1,591(-tis). The murmur aquae in v. 48 is certainly derived from Ovid, who used the same pairing twice, both times at the end of   the pentameter (Her. 18,80 and Fast. 3,18). The fronte capilli that closes v. 49 is used by Ovid, also at the end of  the pentameter, in Met. 10,138. The nemorum … comae of   v. 50, meanwhile, may have been familiar to Boyd from Hor., Carm. 4,3,11 (Et spis­ sae  nemorum  comae) and 1,21,5 (nemorum  coma), but also from Lucan. 9,627 (nemorum … coma). 58  Constat  Aventinae  tremuisse cacumina silvae,  / terraque subsedit pondere pressa Iovis: / corda micant regis totoque e corpore sanguis / fugit et hirsutae deriguere comae. That Boyd took inspiration from this passage is further supported by the use, in v. 57, of   Faunus ait, the only precedent for which is in the same episode (Fast. 3,312). 59   It might be surmised that Faunus is speaking through the conjured spirit, though this is not made explicit by Boyd who, in v. 57, simply states, Faunus ait. 60  The Q uis error in v. 51 also appears, in a different metrical position, in Stat., Silv. 5,5,7. The adjective entheus in v. 53 was a favourite of  Statius, who accounts for six of  the seventeen known cases. The second half of  v. 53 follows the metrical template of  Aen. 4,156 mediis in vallibus acri, closing the line with Echo, which in dactylic poetry tends to occupy the last foot of   the hexameter. There are twelve known precedents for the verba refert at the start of  v. 54, of  which seven are found 57

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The prophesy of  Turnus’ funeral in vv. 55-56, however, is adapted with just a  few variations from Virgil’s account of   the funeral of  Misenus (Aen. 6,227-228): Reliquias uino et bibulam lauere fauillam, Ossaque lecta cado texit Corynaeus aeno.

This is the same passage from which Boyd takes the expression thurea dona, which he uses in v. 44. The conclusion to the episode sets the intervention of  the deity (Faunus ait) centre stage, attributing to him the flow of   black blood (v. 57 atra caede) that stains the metal (presumably of   the culter used for the sacrifice) and labitur ante pedes of   the priestess.61 The Faunus ait of   v.  57 evokes Numa’s aforementioned consultation with Faunus in Ovid,62 which we can be sure is the source given that it is the only time the expression is used in Latin poetry.63 The unfavourable omens provide a further reason for Lavinia to beg Turnus to avoid a  confrontation that would prove fatal (vv. 59-64): Dira rei facies, profugo concurrere Teucro Desine: fatales Phryx habet ille manus. Adde quod hunc peperit Phrygii Simoentis ad undam Dardanio Anchisae mitis Acidalia. Et superum genus est, liquidoque reducet Olympo, Si metuet, plures in sua vota deos.

60

In the first couplet, which is rich in poetic echoes,64 Boyd uses the phrase fatales manus (v.  60) in reference to the hands in Ovid, including Met. 13,908 where it also appears at the start of  the line (as is does, incidentally, in Lucan. 5,149 and Auson., Mos. 297). The pergite at the start of   v. 55 finds fifteen precedents in dactylic poetry. Of these, eleven also occupy the first position, the first being Verg., Ecl. 6,13. The word pair atra caede in v. 57 is only found in Sil. 1,419 (Perfusaeque atra fumabant caede ruinae). 61   The expression only makes sense if caedes is understood as the implied subject of   labitur. On the second part of   the pentameter, cf. Prop. 3,8,12 uolui­ tur ante pedes, although ante pedes also appears at the end of   the pentameter in Tib. 1,10,16. 62  See above, 320. 63  See above, 320 and n. 58. 64  There are five (four of   them in dactylic poetry) prior uses of   dira facies (v. 59) of   which two take the same metrical position: Ov., Fast. 1,553 dira viri

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of   Aeneas, which might kill Turnus in the duel, while in Aen. 12,232, Juturna refers ironically to the forces fighting for Aeneas as fatalisque manus.65 Boyd continues to evoke the Aeneid in the following couplet, in which Lavinia adds further considerations (v. 61 adde quod, a formulation much favoured by Ovid) 66 to support her initial objection. Here, the source is Aen. 1,617618: 67 Tune ille Aeneas quem Dardanio Anchisae Alma Venus Phrygii genuit Simoentis ad undam?

In similar fashion, the superum genus in v. 63 may be a reminiscence of   Dido’s words to Anna in Aen. 4,12 Credo equidem, nec vana fides, genus esse deorum.68 Lavinia then offers a rundown of   Aeneas’ personal history to make it clear that, come what may, he will always benefit from divine protection, and that to fight him is therefore effectively to take up arms against the gods themselves (vv. 65-72): Sique mori potuit, Danao cum Pergamus igni Cessit, ab excidio cur procul ille fuit? Cur Diomedeae superest inglorius hastae? Vitrea cur facilem praebuit unda viam? Sique mori potuit, miserae post funus Elisae Ut fugit Tyrias miles, et erro manus? Fata diique favent, in proelia mater eunti Fit comes: adversus dirigis arma deos.

65

70

facies and Stat., Theb. 10,556 dira intus facies. The concurrere Teucro is a  variation on the end of   the hexameter in Aen. 10, 8 (concurrere  Teucris); desine is overwhelmingly used in Latin poetry in the first position; ille manus, meanwhile, appears at the end of   a pentameter once in Tib. 2,1,70 and on seven occasions in Ovid. 65   The expression is also found in Claud., Get. 61 (fatales hucusque manus), where, again, it refers to an armed force. 66   Ovid accounts for no less than 30 of   58 known examples, and with one exception always uses it at the beginning of   the line. The simple adde has already appeared in Boyd’s text, in v. 13. 67 On Acidalia, which Boyd also uses in epist. 6, 76, see Ritter 2010, 262 ad loc. 68  There are three precedents in the same metrical position for the in sua vota in v. 64. Two of   these are in Ovid: Am. 1,13,44 (in sua vota duas) and Ars 3,674 (in sua vota fides). The only other known example is in Avian., Fab. 32,6 (in sua vota deum), which would not necessarily be familiar to Boyd.

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Having first observed how Aeneas escaped the massacre of   the last night of  Troy (vv. 65-66), Lavinia evokes the unheroic (v. 67 inglorius) figure he cut when, wounded by Diomedes, he was defended by Aphrodite and by Apollo, who then carried him away from the battle.69 Next, to dissuade Turnus, and with scant regard for the Virgilian narrative, she depicts Aeneas’ famously troubled voyage as smooth sailing (v. 68 facilem viam). Last of  all, Aeneas’ departure from Carthage is depicted as a  flight from the possible repercussions of   Dido’s death (vv. 69-70): miles is used sarcastically, and the pejorative erro makes its second appearance, having been used by Lavinia to describe Aeneas in v.  18. Among the allusions to classical poetry in these verses, there are two that merit particular attention. Both are reminiscent of   elegiac poetry: in miserae post funus Elisae, which is repeated with variation (viduae instead of   miserae) in v. 81, miserae and Elisae take the same positions as they do in Ov., Am. 2,18,31 (iam pius Aeneas  miserae  rescripsit  Elissae), in which Ovid discusses the replies to the Heroides composed by his friend Sabinus; in the expression mater eunti  / fit comes used in vv.  71-72 to describe Venus’ unfailing support for her son, the expression fit comes echoes the language used in Prop. 3,16,20 to indicate the protection the same goddess grants to lovers (ecce suis fit comes ipsa Venus). In the next lines (vv. 73-76), in part through direct verbal borrowings (underlined below), Boyd evokes the part of   the Aeneid narrative in which Lavinia is supposed to be writing her epistle: Illo quaeratur, dicis, Lavinia campo, ast hic qui demet te mihi campus erit. Turne per has lachrymas, misero ne funere dicar Praeda peregrini militis esse tuo.

75

In v. 73, Lavinia quotes Turnus’ own words to Amata, as he reiterates the suggestion that he might cut the war with Aeneas short by fighting him in single combat (Aen. 12,80 illo quaeratur coniunx Lavinia campo). In v. 75, she repeats the words (spoken in Aen. 12,56 by Amata) with which she cautioned Turnus against  Hom. Il. 5,305-346 and 431-446.

69

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the duel in v.  21.70 She then resumes her negative portrayal of  Aeneas, the peregrinus miles, whose characterisation as praedo by Amata 71 is hinted at with the term Lavinia uses for herself, praeda (v. 76). The unfavourable depiction of  Aeneas is continued in the subsequent lines, where the argumentation is lent urgency by a series of  questions (vv. 77-88): Ille quidem ferus est, nec avara mitior unda, Mobile per tristes qui mare quaerit opes. Ulla fides olli, Danais qui prodidit auro Pergamon, et patrios vendidit aere deos? Ulla fides olli viduae post funus Elisae, pars aliis pacti qui cupit esse tori? Hospitii lectique fidem qui prodidit erro Perfidus, immiti quid foret ille mihi? Cui periere duae, fuerim Lavinia coniunx tertia? Num generi mitior ille meo? Ut bene conveniunt veteris Lavinia, foelix Saturni soboles, et Iovis ille nepos?

80

85

Using some decidedly Ovidian language,72 Aeneas is first likened, for his cruelty, to an adventurer who takes to the waves in search of  wealth. Lavinia then makes specific reference to his past transgressions, making the dual accusation – each part introduced with ulla fides olli (vv. 79 and 81) 73 – that he betrayed his homeland and then Dido, who, abandoned (viduae, v.  81), took her own life.

70   See above, 315. The second section of   v.  75, misero ne funere dicar, may be based on the metrical template of   Maxim. 1,237 (misero quid funere differt), an author Boyd could have encountered in the edition of   Catullus, Tibullus and Propertius complied by Sebastien Gryphe, which was published in Lyon in 1531 and enjoyed multiple reprints over the course of   the sixteenth century (see D’Amanti 2020, LXIV and n. 2). 71  Aen. 7,362 (perfidus … praedo) and 11,484 (Phrygii praedonis). Mezentius also refers to Aeneas as a praedo (Aen. 10,774). 72 The hemiepes of   v. 77 (ille quidem ferus est) is the same with which Ovid defines Amor in Ars 1, 9. The querit opes at the end of   the pentameter in the following line is also an Ovidian pairing, only appearing in this metrical position in Ov. Am. 1,10,22; Ars 2,674 and Her. 15,66 (although see also quaerat opes in Fast. 4,350). 73   Ulla fides is only found at the start of  the hexameter in Val. Flac. 7,100.

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While it has not been possible to establish Boyd’s source for this version of   the story, in which Aeneas hands Troy to the Greeks, the idea of   the double betrayal of   Dido, as guest and as lover, can be traced to Dido’s own words to Aeneas as he makes his preparations to leave.74 There is a discernible allusion to Ovid’s own Dido epistle in the cui periere duae in v. 85. In Ovid, Dido not only warns Aeneas that he will be blamed for her death (Her. 7,64 tu potius leti causa ferere mei), but also voices the suspicion that he abandoned his wife by choice (vv.  83-84 si quaeras ubi sit formosi mater Iuli, / occidit a duro sola relicta viro). In  Boyd, Lavinia escalates this latter charge, assigning him the blame for his wife’s death. Common to Virgil and Ovid is the use of   perfidus in relation to Aeneas’ unfaithfulness (perfide, in Aen. 4,305 and 366; Ov. Her. 7,79 and 118; perfidus in Aen. 4,421); Lavinia uses the term in v. 84, where it is paired, in enjambment, with the erro in v. 83,75 the latter word appearing here for the third time (after v. 18 and v. 70) in the negative characterisation of   Aeneas. If Aeneas was perfidus with Dido, Lavinia wonders, how will he behave towards her, who dislikes him (v. 84 immiti … mihi 76), and must she be the third wife 77 of   a man who has already lost two (insinuating that Aeneas is responsible for their deaths)? The num that introduces the question of   whether he will be less cruel with her bloodline (v.  86 num generi mitior ille meo?) suggests that the answer is a negative one. The last question, as to the chances of  a happy outcome to the marriage of  a descendent of  Saturn and the grandson   See, in particular, Aen. 4,307-308 nec te noster amor, nec te data dextera quondam  / nec  moritura  tenet crudeli funere  Dido?; 316 per conubia nostra, per inceptos hymenaeos and 323-324 cui me moribundam deseris, hospes / (hoc solum nomen quoniam de coniuge restat)? 75 The prodidit erro in v.  83 echoes the prodidit auro of    v.  79, which also appears, again as the clausula, in Sil. 13,842. 76  To my mind, the immitis in Johnston 1637, which links to mitior in v. 86, is less satisfactory than the immiti in Boyd 1592, which is made to agree with mihi, and, underlining Lavinia’s hostility towards Aeneas, makes his cruelty towards her even more probable. 77   Lavinia coniunx (v. 85) is only found in Virgil (four examples: Aen. 6,764; 7,314; 12,17; 12,937) and Ovid (Fast. 3,629), being used on all occasions at the end of   the hexameter (coniunx Lavinia appears only once, in a different metrical position, in Aen. 12,80). It thus offers a  further allusion to the two poets who inspired Boyd’s text. 74

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of   Jupiter, is clearly sarcastic since, as Turnus and Boyd’s readers would know all too well, Saturn was usurped and banished by Jupiter. Lavinia counters the plan for Turnus to fight the unwinnable duel with Aeneas with a better and quite different solution: rather than lose the will to live because he has been denied her, Turnus should choose to live for her, she being ready to come with him and stay at his side in peace and war alike. However, if he is unwilling to change his course, Lavinia will also seek death by running herself through with a sword (vv. 89-98): Si tibi sum tanti, propero si forsitan igni Sic furis, ut sine me sit tibi vile mori, vive mihi potius, superis cedamus, et arva Tros tua possideat, qui prius exul erat. Uxor ero, mea lux, pacis tibi iura colenti, Marte laboranti miles et uxor ero. Fida comes tecum gradiar par saxa, per undas Haerebo lateri laeta puella tuo. Si nihil haec moveant, damnataque corripis arma, esperiar parili si licet ense mori.

90

95

The last lines of  the epistle are written in the language of  the love elegy: Turnus, who burns with love (vv. 89-90 igni / sic furis), is again addressed by Lavinia as mea lux (v. 93, the first example in v. 27), while she also declares herself his puella (v. 96). There are various reminiscences of   Ovid’s Heroides.78 The si tibi sum tanti of  v. 89 appears to be based on the si tibi sum vilis of   Her. 12,87, which also appears at the start of   the hexameter. The second section of   v.  90, meanwhile, is borrowed from Dido’s words in Her. 7,48 Si, dum me careas, est tibi uile mori, although the reference is essentially antiphrastic: Dido believes that Aeneas is ready to risk death just to get away from her, while in Lavinia’s 78  Naturally, there are also various instances here in which Boyd simply uses material from the wider poetic repertoire without specific reference to the source material. The et arva in v. 91 also concludes the hexameter in Lucan. 9,184 and Stat. Theb. 4,718; the corripis arma at the end of  line 97 finds precedent in Sil., 4, 414, corripit arma; the fida comes of   v. 95 is also found at the start of   the hexameter in Lucan. 5,804; in the majority of  examples in dactylic poetry, the word pair si nihil (v. 97) is positioned at the start of   the line; the ense mori of   v. 98 appears at the start of  the hexameter in Lucan. 2,265.

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vision, life would lose all meaning for Turnus if he were to lose her. The uxor ero at the conclusion of   v.  94 also features at the end of   the pentameter in Her. 8,122; the haerebo lateri laeta puella tuo of   v.  96 appears to be modelled on Her. 19,138 molle latus  lateri composuisse tuo. The thematic allusions are even more significant. Lavinia’s promise to be Turnus’ companion in peace and war is reminiscent of   the bolder pledge – to follow Protesilaus in life and in death  – made at the end of   her letter by Laodamia,79 a  figure who is similarly concerned about her beloved’s safety. In similar fashion, the threat of   suicide with which Lavinia concludes her epistle finds precedents in Ovid’s Heroides, in which both Phyllis (Her. 2) and Dido (Her. 7), in a barely disguised attempt to compel their respective beloveds to return, announce their intention to end their own lives.80 However, Ovid’s heroines are far more resolute in their promise, reiterating their intention in the epitaphs they compose, and – in the mythical narrative – following through in their actions. Lavinia, in contrast, will not embrace death; instead she will marry the hated Aeneas. Not only this, while the motif of  a death by sword suggests an even greater affinity between Lavinia and Dido, there remains a  fundamental difference between the figures of   Aeneas – the vow-breaking lover – and Turnus, who is willing to risk his life to win back his promised bride. Although the parili ense mori is essentially an attempt to blackmail Turnus to change his mind, with the adjective parilis, Lavinia makes it clear that she wishes to share the fate of   her beloved by taking up a weapon as an instrument of  death. In conclusion, we are left with a text that conforms to the conventions of   the elegy and features a  protagonist of   analogous status to the Heroides of   Ovid, and in which the tradition of  Latin poetry is echoed in language and theme. The greatest space 79  Her. 13,161-162 me tibi venturam comitem, quocumque vocaris, / sive – quod heu! timeo – sive superstes eris. 80  The cases of   Deianira (Her. 9) and Sappho (Her. 15) are different. The former chooses death as a punishment, while in the latter episode, we are given only an ambiguous allusion to the cliffs of  Leucadia.

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is given to Virgil and Ovid, of   course, but they are not alone. Lavinia, Turnus’ puella, has directed at her beloved a suasoria that draws both ideas and expressions from the Heroides. The epistle draws its outward situation – and to some extent its language – from the Aeneid but, crucially, does not also transpose its point of  view. Like Ovid’s heroines, Lavinia considers the events of  the narrative from her own perspective. Her negative characterisation of   Aeneas is inspired by the words of   Amata in the Aeneid, but it is embellished with details that Boyd draws from other sources, spe­cifi­cally Aeneas’ betrayal of   Troy and the assistance Venus gives her wounded son in battle, as recounted in the Iliad. In  creating a  heroine capable of   making skilled use of   literary and mythographical sources, Boyd shows us that he has taken his lesson from Ovid,81 but with one significant difference. While Ovid’s heroines draw from literature to describe the character and actions of  the men they love, Lavinia harnesses literary reminiscences to paint a negative picture of   the man she hates. Boyd turns again to the Aeneid for the idea of  the ritual in the central section of  the epistle, although he does incorporate influences from a range of   other sources. The dark tone, for instance, is suggestive of   the post-Virgilian epic, even if specific references are hard to establish, though perhaps in this there is a reflection of   the mores and tastes of   the period. After all, Boyd was born just a  year before Shakespeare and Marlowe. Common to the Heroides is a  focus on a  particular segment of   a mythical story whose conclusion, while still unknown to the heroine herself, is known to the reader.82 So too, with the case in hand: the reader will know how the story plays out, that the outcome Lavinia yearns for is destined not to come about. The same can be said for a  number of   Ovid’s heroines, but what is distinctive about the fate of   Lavinia is that, deprived of   the man she loves, she ends up marrying a man who is not only different to the object of   her affections, but someone she actively detests. Such a  fate is not even considered in the Heroides of  Ovid. 81  On this aspect, and on the extreme sophistication that this procedure can assume in Ovid, see lastly Bessone 2018. 82  On this constitutive characteristic of   Ovid’s Heroides it will suffice to refer to Barchiesi 1987.

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In the letter dedicating the Epistolae Heroides to James  VI, Boyd asserts that no contemporary author has managed to compose a tersam, tenuem, latinam, concinnam elegy, observing that this is not surprising given that even the Augustan poets struggled to do so: 83 Cultior Propertius, et tutior, concinnior Tibullus; his tenuitatem, et nativum impetum adiecit Naso priorum primus. Ego ut de me quid hic dicam vetat verecundia, certe certamen cum poetarum plebe non inii, eoque animo demum copias eduxi, ut de rei summa dimicarem. Q uid perfeci, videant posteri.

Despite the author’s noble intentions, there can be little debate today that the results fall well short of  the standards of  Augustan elegy in general, and Ovid in particular, a comparison not helped by Boyd’s occasionally laborious Latin and lack of   levity. However, his attempt remains a significant testimony to the ongoing fortunes of   the Heroides and the appreciation of   classical literature in France and Scotland at the end of  the sixteenth century.

Appendix The text of  Boyd’s poem is reproduced below, complete with the introductory argumentum, following modern spelling and typographic conventions and with a  few modifications to the punctuation. In  terms of   critical apparatus, I  adopt the same sigla as Ritter 2010, whereby A refers to the text as printed in Boyd 1592, 38-42, and B the text in Johnston 1637, 162-164.

Argumentum in octavam Lavinia, Latini regis filia, et Amatae, primum fuit Turno desponsata. Verum pater Fauni permotus oraculo eam denuo Aeneae promittit. Q uare bello gravi inter rivales orto, post strages plurimas decrevit Turnus singulari cum Aenea certamine coniugem vindicare, cuius decreti certior facta Lavinia, quae Turnum animo Phrygio praetulit, monet virum ne cum profugo, Venerisque nato manum conferat, neque se perditum eat, istud fatum sortesque prohibere. Q uod si nihil levius, in exilium prius abeat, Laviniam in discriminis partem venturam.   Boyd 1592, A III.

83

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LAVINIA TURNO

Q uae tibi Laurenti tua dat Lavinia Turno, Clam lege, si per te mi licet esse tua. Arma moves igitur, populoque tuente Latino Unus qui repetet praelia Turnus erit. Nec mea te genitrix, crebroque madentia nimbo haec Lumina, nec noster te cohibebit amor. Nec pulsi Rutuli clara moriente Camilla, et Non procul a turpi deditione tui, Tyrrhenusque pater, feretroque eductus acerno Lausus, et eversae quae potuere manus. Nec genus Italiae, neque te tua Daunia, quaeque Pendet ab auspicio terra Latina tuo. Adde, quid eveniat si triste, miserrima dicar Causa subinvisi funeris esse tui. Optarem Tyria cum perfida solvit ab urbe, Legit et Hesperias Troia puppis aquas, Acta peregrinum feriisset turbine saxum, Ipse foret nostris erro sepultus aquis. Tros Anchisiade, quam tu mihi durus, et ipsa Haec tua cum taedis imperiosa Venus! Turne per has lachrymas, per et hoc miserabile Turne Pectus, et invisae virginitatis onus, Parce tibi, mi parce tuae, miserere tuorum, Impia de cerebro proelia pelle tuo. Desine Dardanio contendere: rector Olympi Id vetat, et capiti sors inimica tuo. Q uem fortuna colit, mea lux, procul ille periclo Militat, et dextro numine tela capit. Q uem fortuna fugit, sub praelia terror eunti Huic comes, ac animo frangitur ipse suo. Non incauta loquor, pugnaeque pericula tantae Q ui non praetimeat, tu nisi, nullus adest. Non incauta loquor, suprema peregimus, atque Cuncta mihi magico nota ministerio. Fana patris Fauni stabulis obtecta ferarum Nostin, et ex facie saxa verenda sua? Itur ad haec, comites sequimur, praecessit Amata Mater, et elumbis quae sacra curat anus. Contulimusque marem catulum, nigramque bidentem, Q uam novies viva proluit amnis aqua. Verbenaeque comas; et Marmaritida, quaeque Surgit in immota virga biennis aqua. 330

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Contulimusque salem, baccamque triennis olivae, Viscum, farra, merum, thurea dona, focum. Vix incoepit anus, vix prima piacula tentat, Horrida de medio cum salit umbra rogo. Ut procul auditur spirantis in aethere venti Stridor, et accretae mobile murmur aquae, Subsilii, fateor, pavidaque in fronte capilli Ut nemorum motae contremuere comae. Percunctatur anus: quae Turni fata? Q uis error? Anne peregrino debita virgo toro? Enthea vox sequitur, mediis ut vallibus Echo Verba refert primo debiliora sono: “Pergite, relliquias bibula torrete favilla, ossa viri Latio tollite lecta cado” Faunus ait, positum simul atra caede metallum Inficit, et vatis labitur ante pedes. Dira rei facies, profugo concurrere Teucro Desine: fatales Phryx habet ille manus. Adde quod hunc peperit Phrygii Simoentis ad undam Dardanio Anchisae mitis Acidalia. Et superum genus est, liquidoque reducet Olympo, Si metuet, plures in sua vota deos. Sique mori potuit, Danao cum Pergamus igni Cessit, ab excidio cur procul ille fuit? Cur Diomedeae superest inglorius hastae? Vitrea cur facilem praebuit unda viam? Sique mori potuit, miserae post funus Elisae Ut fugit Tyrias miles, et erro manus? Fata diique favent, in proelia mater eunti Fit comes: adversus dirigis arma deos. Illo quaeratur, dicis, Lavinia campo, ast hic qui demet te mihi campus erit. Turne per has lachrymas, misero ne funere dicar Praeda peregrini militis esse tuo. Ille quidem ferus est, nec avara mitior unda, Mobile per tristes qui mare quaerit opes. Ulla fides olli, Danais qui prodidit auro Pergamon, et patrios vendidit aere deos? Ulla fides olli viduae post funus Elisae, pars aliis pacti qui cupit esse tori? Hospitii lectique fidem qui prodidit erro Perfidus, immiti quid foret ille mihi? Cui periere duae, fuerim Lavinia coniunx tertia? Num generi mitior ille meo? 331

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Ut bene conveniunt veteris Lavinia, foelix Saturni soboles, et Iovis ille nepos? Si tibi sum tanti, propero si forsitan igni Sic furis, ut sine me sit tibi vile mori, vive mihi potius, superis cedamus, et arva Tros tua possideat, qui prius exul erat. Uxor ero, mea lux, pacis tibi iura colenti, Marte laboranti miles et uxor ero. Fida comes tecum gradiar par saxa, per undas Haerebo lateri laeta puella tuo. Si nihil haec moveant, damnataque corripis arma, esperiar parili si licet ense mori.

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Bibliography Barchiesi 1987 = A. Barchiesi, Narratività e convenzione nelle Heroides, MD 19, 1987, 63-90. Bessone 2018  = F.  Bessone, Storie di eroi, scrittura di eroine. Storia e critica letteraria nelle Heroides, in P. Fedeli – G. Rosati, Ovidio 2017. Prospettive per il terzo millennio. Atti del Convegno Internazionale (Sulmona 3/6 aprile 2017), Teramo 2018, 181-213. Boyd 1590 = Marci Alexandri Bodii Scoti epistolae quindecim, quibus totidem Ovidij respondet. Accedent et ejusdem Elegiae, Epigram­ mata, illustriumque mulierum Elogia, Burdigalae apud S.  Millangium, Typographum Regium 1590. Boyd 1592  = M.  Alexandri Bodii Epistolae Heroides, et Hymni. Ad Jacobum sextum Regem. Addita est eiusdem Literularum prima curia, Antverpiae MDLXXXXII. Cucchiarelli 2012  = A.  Cucchiarelli (ed.), Publio Virgilio Marone, Le Bucoliche, Introduzione e  commento di A.  C. Traduzione di A. Traina, Roma 2012. Cunningham 2000  = I.  C. Cunningham, Marcus Alexander Bodius, Scotus, in L. A. J. R. Houwen – A. A. MacDonald – S. L. Mapstone (eds.), A Palace in the Wild: Essays on Vernacular Culture and Humanism in Late-Medieval and Renaissance Scotland, Leuven 2000, 161-174. D’Amanti 2020 = E. R. D’Amanti (ed.), Massimiano, Elegie, Milano 2020. 332

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Dörrie 1968  = H.  Dörrie, Der heroische Brief. Bestandsaufnahme, Geschichte, Kritik einer humanistisch-barocken Literaturgattung, Berlin 1968. Donaldson 1994 = R. Donaldson, ‘M. Alex: Boyde.’ The Authorship of  ‘Fra banc to banc’, in A. A. MacDonald – M. Lynch – I. B. Cowan (eds.), The Renaissance in Scotland. Studies in Literature, Religion, History and Culture, Leiden-New York-Köln 1994, 344-366. Johnston 1637 = A. Johnston (ed.), Delitiae poetarum Scotorum hujus aevi illustrium, Amsterdami 1637. Lacey 1987 = W. K. Lacey, Lavinia, in: EV 3, 147-149. Lyne 1983 = R. O. A. M. Lyne, Lavinia’s Blush: Vergil, ‘Aeneid’ 12. 64-70, G&R 30, 1983, 55-64 (reprinted in McAuslan – Walcot 1990, 157-166). McAuslan – Walcot 1990 = I. McAuslan – P. Walcot (eds.), Virgil, Oxford 1990. Paleit 2008 = E. Paleit, Sexual and political liberty and neo-Latin poet­ ics: the “Heroides” of  Mark Alexander Boyd, Renaissance Studies 22, 2008, 351-367. Reid 2018  = S.  J. Reid, Classical Reception and Erotic Latin Poetry in Sixteenth-Century Scotland: The Case of   Thomas Maitland (ca. 1548-1572), in A.  Petrina – I.  Johnson (eds.), The Impact of  Latin Culture on Medieval and Early Modern Scottish Writing, Kalamazoo 2018, 3-39. Ritter 2010 = C. Ritter (ed.), Ovidius redivivus: Die Epistulae Heroides des Mark Alexander Boyd. Edition, Übersetzung und Kommentar der Briefe Atalanta Meleagro (1), Eurydice Orpheo (6), Philomela Tereo (9), Venus Adoni (15), Hildesheim-Zürich-New York 2010. Ryan 1977 = L. V. Ryan, The Shorter Latin Poem in Tudor England, Humanistica Lovaniensia 26, 1977, 101-131. Sedlmayer 1888 = H. S. Sedlmayer, Epistula Phaonis ad Sappho, WS 10, 1888, 167. Sommariva 2022 = G. Sommariva, Le epistole di Sabino: vicissitudini critiche e nuove prospettive, Vichiana 2022, 47-59. Traina 1990 = A. Traina, Le troppe voci di Virgilio, RFIC 118, 1990, 490-499. Traina 20042 = A. Traina (ed.), Virgilio. L’utopia e la storia. Il libro XII dell’Eneide e antologia delle opere, Bologna 2004. White 2009 = P. White, Renaissance Postscripts: responding to Ovid’s Heroides in Sixteenth-Century France, Ohio State University, 2009. 333

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Abstract Following an overview of  the Scottish humanist author Mark Alexander Boyd’s (1563-1601) two collections of   poems inspired by Ovid’s Epistulae heroidum – the Epistolae quindecim, quibus totidem Ovi­ dii respondet, which comprises 15 responses to the epistles of   Ovid’s heroines, and the 15 Epistolae Heroides composed by Boyd himself – the paper provides a  commentary on the epistle from Lavinia to Turnus (8) in the latter volume, analysing the manner in which content from the epic tradition is made to interact with the elegiac conventions of  the text’s Ovidian model.

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OVID IN THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW: THE METAMORPHOSES AS INTERPRETED BY GEORGE SANDYS Sprung from the Stocke of  the ancient Romanes; but bred in the New-World. George Sandys 1 Sandys’s work also reminds us that from the beginning our culture has had its roots deep in European soil.2

In his essay The Classics and the American Republic, Stanley  M. Burstein voices the possibility that George Sandys’s translation of   Ovid’s Metamorphoses can be considered the first American book.3 In the first half of   the last century, Richard B. Davis asserted that Sandys should be regarded as the first American writer,4 while Grant C. Knight declared, “Virginia can claim the first poet in American literature. This was George Sandys, whose translation of  Ovid’s Metamorphoses (1626) was the earliest genuine contribution made to belles lettres by an adopted American”.5 In 1897, Moses Coit Tyler had identified the text as, “the first utterance of   conscious literary spirit articulated in America”.6 Indeed, Sandys himself described his translation as “the first book written in Virginia”.7

*  This essay expands and revises a chapter I previously published in Italian in my volume Fate in His Eye and Empire on His Arm. La nascita e lo sviluppo della letteratura epica statunitense, Napoli 2017. 1  Sandys 1632. All the quotations from Sandys’s Metamorphoses and Aeneid come from the electronic edition of   the texts available at the Electronic Text Center at the University of  Virginia. 2  Lipscomb 1948, 203. 3  Burstein 1996, 29. On the English translations of  the Ovidian text, see Lyne 2002, 249-263 and Morford 1982, 150-158. 4   Davis 1947. 5  Knight 1932, quoted in Pearce 1942, 281. 6  Tyler 1897, 54. 7  On the literary and cultural background of   early Virginia, see Davis 1973 and Lipscomb 1948. After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127602 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 335-351

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The three aspects referenced in these quotations – the volume’s status as the earliest book produced in America, that it was the translation of   a European classic literary masterpiece, and the nationality of   the English-born translator – would appear to characterize Sandys’s Metamorphoses as an early transatlantic text. After all, “The actuality of   transatlantic literary exchanges” –  as Linda  K. Hughes and Sarah  R. Robbins assert in Tracing Cur­ rents and Joining Conversation – “is as old as ships carrying persons, enslaved and free, along routes propelled by Atlantic Ocean currents”.8 Consistent with Paul Giles’s contention that, “Transatlanticism, and particularly transatlantic approaches to American literature, is in itself a very old phenomenon”,9 Sandys’s EuroAmerican publication epitomizes how the literary representation of   Europe helped shape the ideological and cultural foundations of  the United States. Indeed, the literary masterpieces of  the Old World profoundly shaped the intellectual structure of   the early American colonies and, later, of   the Early Republic. Yet – as this essay attempts to demonstrate – the American reading of   European works, in turn, contributed to broadening and deepening the canonical interpretation of  the texts themselves.10

1. From Europe to America and Back: When the Empire Hasn’t Written Back It is a strange fact that Ovid’s Metamorphoses, for all his subsequent fall from favor, was the first literary work to be completed in this country, and among the first editions of  a classical author to be published after the Revolution.11

During the Revolutionary era, many American writers tried to tell the story of   the birth of   a nation that – tracing its origins across two continents and two millennia – they considered not merely equal to the nations of   Europe but greater than them. In  the process, the literature of   the United States discovered its own   Hughes – Robbins 2015, 1.   Giles 2013, 15. 10   On the importance of   classical literature in America, see Burstein 1984; Richard 1994 and 2008; Shields 2001. 11   Morford 1982, 150. 8 9

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identity not in the complete acceptance of   the European tradition, nor even in a full rejection of   it, but rather in the attempt to modify and amplify it by reworking its constitutive elements. This phenomenon can be backdated further, and one of   the very first examples of   the reformulation of   European models can be found in the transatlantic translation of   Ovid’s Metamorphoses by the Englishman George Sandys (1578-1644). A writer, translator, diplomat and traveler, not to mention colonial treasurer for agriculture and industry with the Virginia Company from 1621 to 1625, Sandys began his translation in 1615 and completed it in 1626 in the Jamestown colony. After studying at Oxford, in 1610 Sandys undertook a Grand Tour of   the Holy Land and other Mediterranean countries, including France, Italy, the Ionian Islands, Turkey, Egypt, and Cyprus.12 In 1621, he published in England The First Five Bookes of  Ovids Metamorphosis; the translation, in heroic couplets, received such a positive response from literary critics that it was reprinted twice within a  year, while a  new edition was released in 1623. When he decided to move to Virginia in 1621, Sandys had already completed the first five books and worked on the next two during the crossing.13 In America, he found inspiration from his journey to complete the text and finished the remaining eight books in Jamestown, where he was witness to – and an agent of  – the metamorphosis of  the wilderness into a more civilized environment.14

12   In 1615, Sandys published an account of   his travels in  A Relation of   a Journey Begun An. Dom. 1610: Containing a Description of   the Turkish Empire, of   Egypt, of   the Holy Land, of   the Remote Parts of   Italy, and Islands Adjoyning. Sandys’s later works revolve around biblical sources and themes: A  Paraphrase upon the Psalmes of   David and upon the Hymnes Dispersed throughout the Old and New Testaments (1636); A  Paraphrase upon the Divine Poems  (1638); Christ’s Passion. A  Tragedie. With Annotations (1640); A  Paraphrase upon the Song of  Solomon (1641). 13  In a  letter to Samuel Wrote dated March 28, 1623, Sandys recalled the translation of   the two books during the voyage to the colony: “Yet amongst the roreing of  the seas, the rustling of  the Shrowdes, and Clamour of  Saylers, I translated two bookes, and will perhaps when the sweltring heat of   the day confines me to my Chamber gain a further assaye. For which if I be taxt I have noe other excuse but that it was the recreacion of   my idle howers, and say with Alciat”. Q uoted in Lyne 2002, 254. 14  On George Sandys’s life and poetics, see Davis 1955 and Ellison 2002.

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Sandys was appointed treasurer of   the council of   state in Virginia and member of   his majesty’s council for Virginia in London by his brother Edwin Sandys (1561-1629) and by the Earl of   Southampton, who jointly managed The Virginia Company. As a  colonial official, his job was to supervise the collection of  annual rents, oversee industry and promote the production of  staple commodities. Sandys was at Jamestown when the Tappahannocks massacred the colonists on March 22, 1622, and he was one of  the leaders of  the reprisals against the attackers. Having completed the translation of   the last eight books of  Ovid’s text in America, Sandys published the complete work as Ovid’s Metamorphosis Englished by George Sandys in a small folio format in London in 1626. In the section of   the volume entitled “To the reader,” Sandys proclaimed his confidence in the enterprise and his expectation that the translation might challenge the cultural prestige of  Latin, French and Italian: To this I was the rather induced, that so excellent a  Poem might with the like Solemnity be entertained by us, as it hath beene among other Nations: rendered in so many languages, illustrated by comments, and imbelished with Figures: withall, that I may not prove lesse gratefull to my Autor, by whose Muse I may modestly hope to be rescued from Oblivion.

In the meantime, the Crown had dissolved the Virginia Company in 1624 and Sandys had returned to England in 1625. In 1632, he seemed no longer satisfied with his work and – after extensively revising the 1626 version – published another edition of the translation entitled Ovid’s Metamorphosis Englished, Mythologiz’d, and Represented in Figures. An Essay to the Translation of  Virgil’s Aeneis. The large folio edition featured elaborate prose commentaries and copperplate engravings, and included a translation, in decasyllabic couplets, of  the first book of  Virgil’s Aeneid. He modified the translation considerably and inserted several glosses by which he sought to elucidate unfamiliar words to the “mere English Reader”.15 Sandys had actually considered refining his verse and including commentaries in the first edition but, as he asserted in 15  For a historical and philological reconstruction of   Sandys’s translation, see Detobel.

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the address “To the reader”, “the hastiness of  the Presse, an unexpected want of   leasure, have prevented me”. The passages added in prose in the second edition contain notes, explanations, and commentaries which occupy almost as much space as the poem; in particular – as Davis observes – the translator added “several hundred references to other authors, ancient and modern, whose works throw light on Ovid’s poetry”.16 In the new edition, each of   the fifteen books of   Ovid’s text is preceded by a  copperplate engraving – designed by Francis Clein and engraved by Salmon Savery – and followed directly by a commentary featuring explanations of  the mythology and an allegoric reading of  the text.17 Sandys died in 1644 in Boxley (Kent), where he had retired in 1639. The importance of   Sandys’s work was immediately acknowledged by his contemporaries. Impressed by the style of   the first five books, Michael Drayton (1563-1631) encouraged his friend to continue his effort and, in the poem entitled “To Mr George Sandys, Treasurer for the English Colony in Virginia,” painted Sandys as a cultural pioneer in the New World: And (worthy George) by industry and use, Let’s see, what lines Virginia will produce; Go on with Ovid, as you have begun With the first five books; let your numbers run Glib as the former, so shall it live long, And do much honour to the English tongue. Entice the Muses thither to repair, Entreat them gently, train them to that air […] (37-44).18

Sandys’s talent as a  translator was also acknowledged by John Dryden (1631-1700), who in the preface to Fables Ancient and Modern; Translated into Verse from Homer, Ovid, Boccace, & Chaucer: with Original Poems (1700) defined “the Ingenious and Learned Sandys” as “the best Versifier of  the Former Age”.19 Over   Davis 1957, 451.   The volume was reprinted in facsimile by the University of  Nebraska Press in 1970 and edited by K. Hulley and S. T. Vandersall. 18  Drayton 1961. On the relationship between Sandys’s British literary background and the New World, see Gummere 1957. 19   Johnson 1755. 16 17

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the course of   the seventeenth-century, Sandys’s translation was published in ten editions and was read and appreciated by such an author as John Milton. Sandys – who wrote relatively a  few original poems – was mainly praised for the heroic couplets with which he translated Ovid’s text; his style influenced a number of  eighteenth-century poets, including Alexander Pope, who declared that “English poetry owes much of  its present beauty to Sandys”.20 Sandys’s erudition and originality have been recognized by scholars over the centuries; in 1929 he was still considered a founding figure in the cultural history of   America, as evidenced by a  bronze plaque in a  Jamestown church bearing a  Latin inscription composed by Professor Frank Justin Miller: Georgio Sandys primo poetae americano qui dum quaestor aerarii coloniae Virginiae erat Ovidi Metamorphoses in versus anglicos transtulit itaque in nostris oris opus classicum primum edidit qui autem in terris novis nempe inter omnia silvestria quamvis ipse finitimis circumsonaretur armis semina tamen rerum humaniorum sevit quas nos posteri per vastum continentem florentes vidimus idcirco ei hoc monumentum honoris causa d.d.d.21

Recognition of   Sandys’s achievement has continued into more recent years. According to John Hollander, the translation not only had a “major role in the development of   the English heroic couplet as an authoritative mode for serious seventeenth-century eloquence,” but also “has a toughness and range of   energies that succeed remarkably in carrying over Ovid’s compact artfulness”.22

20   A useful tool to study Sandys’s style is Pearcy 1984, 71-99. In particular, Sandys’s attempts to translate Ovid’s Latin hexameters into heroic couplets are analyzed in Rubin 1985. 21 Q uoted in Lipscomb 1948, 203. 22  Hollander 1971.

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2. Metamorphosing the Metamorphoses Of bodies chang’d to other shapes I sing. Assist, you Gods (from you these changes spring) And, from the Worlds first fabrick to these times, Deduce my never-discontinued Rymes. George Sandys, Metamorphoses. Book I

While for Drayton, the translation represented an opportunity to elevate Britain’s literary standing, Sandys had actually anticipated the manner in which American literature has tended to define itself both as a unique entity within the Western cultural tradition and as the legitimate heir of   that tradition. The choice of   Ovid’s Metamorphoses had a  symbolic value. The Latin poet described the transformation of   what already existed into something new, on a real as well as on a metaphorical level. According to Sandys, in Ovid’s poem everything is changeable and elusive, much like the poem itself with its unwillingness to fit precisely within the system of   literary genres: where, on the one hand, the length of   the text, the use of   hexameter and a  series of   technical and formal elements adopted from Homer and Virgil – among which, the invocation to the Muse, the extended similes and catalogs – characterize the work as an epic poem, on the other, the reworking of  several of  the more conventional features of  the genre – such as the episodic structure and the absence of   war or a central hero – shift the text away from the traditional canon of   epic. However, the fact remains that the Metamorphoses is an epic poem, and the social and ideological function ascribed to the genre is such that it is validation enough for its use to recount the foundation of   a new nation and a new national literature. The central theme of   the work further links the Old and the New Worlds. The teleological purpose of  the Ovidian text – with the Pythagorean theory of   the world as a  constantly changing place – takes on new meaning in the American colonial context. Pervaded by the idea of   an evolving subject that first breaks up and then recomposes itself into something else – a  progressive transformation into something “other” that, whether by sudden or slow steps, is always dramatic – the poem seems to reflect the history and formation of   the United States itself, with its continuous shifting between an American and a  Euro-American identity. In  other words, the Metamorphoses seems to effect the 341

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transformation not only of  the characters involved in the various processes, but also of   the written text itself, reappropriating and modifying important narrative features, and so becoming something different and unique. The transformation finds a  further development in Sandys’s translation because – as noted by Davis – “His stay in Virginia had enabled [Sandys] to translate the fantasies of   an Old World while being surrounded by the marvels of   a new”.23 Sandys himself saw a close connection between his translation of   Ovid and his experience in America, an idea he emphasized in the dedication to King Charles I: It needeth more than a  single denization, being a  double Stranger. Sprung from the stocke of   the ancient Romanes; but bred in the New-World, of  the rudenesse whereof  it cannot but participate; especially having Warres and Tumults to bring it to light instead of  the Muses.

The identity of  the text oscillates between the Old World and the New, between the ancient and the modern eras, with Sandys in control. The connections Sandys establishes between the content of   the text and the history, geography and traditions of   America and its “Indian” and colonist inhabitants – illustrating how the universe has developed, outdoing even Ovid’s creativity – are rooted in both his reading and personal experiences.

3. Finding Europe in America If American literature is a fusion of  European intellect and American environment, Sandys’ Ovid may well be included in it.24

In his recent study of   English Renaissance translations of   Ovid, Raphael Lyne suggests that the influence of   Sandys’s experience in Virginia can be observed in the extensive glosses, explanations and commentaries written for the 1632 edition. In  particular, according to Lyne, Sandys “puts Ovid’s world-picture in its place,

  Davis 1947, 304.   Davis 1973, 13.

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encompassed geographically, but also physically within the book, by his own”.25 Lyne’s idea is in line with an assertion made by Davis in 1947, that “[…] American life and landscape in Sandys’ work […] does not appear in the 1626 edition, […]  but in the large ‘complete edition of   1632’ ”.26 In his dated but still useful essay “America in George Sandys’ ‘Ovid’ ”, Davis explains how the relationship between the Metamorphoses and America is manifested in two different kinds of   references: “those to Florida, Mexico, and the West Indies were the product of  his reading, and those to Virginia stem directly from his personal experiences”.27 Taking Jose de Acosta’s Natural History of   the Indies (1588) as his primary literary source for many of   the Native American references, in his commentary on Ovid’s story of   Hermaphroditus in Book IV, Sandys observes that, “There are many [hermaphrodites] this day in Aegypt, but most frequent in Florida; who are so hated by the rest of   the Indians, that they use them as beasts to carry their burdens: to suck their wounds, and to attend on the diseased.” Yet here – as in the other passages considered – more than providing an explanation of   Ovid’s text, Sandys is describing a  specific American context. In  the commentary to Book  VI, his discussion of   human sacrifice extends to practices among “the salvages of   Florida”, while in Book  VII, the story of  Medea – who uses potions to give immortality to humans – is juxtaposed with the American legend of   a Spaniard who quested in search of   a miraculous fountain, “famous for rendring youth unto age; which is rightly ranked among incurable Diseases” and, in his examination of  Book XI, Sandys affirms, in reference to the story of   King Midas, that the Indians believed that gold was the Spaniards’ god, so greedily did they seek it. The comment on the Cyclops and cannibalism in Book XIV places the mythological story within a contemporary frame: compared to “Polyphemnus, who feasts himselfe with the flesh of   his guests”, West-Indians are more savage as they “eat their enemies, whom they have taken in the warres”; in similar fashion, the   Lyne 2001, 239.   Davis 1947, 298. 27  Davis 1947, 299. 25 26

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magical properties of   a herb described by Ovid are replicated in the story of   “a fellow, who sixe or seven yeares had beene a slave to the Spaniard in the West-Indies”. If the connection between Sandys and the West Indies is defined through the filters of   literature, his relationship with the Virginian context was mainly autobiographical: in reference to Ovid’s account of   Deucalion’s flood, Sandys explains that “There is no nation so barbarous, no not the salvage Virginians, but have some notion of   so great a ruine”. In regard to the transformation of   the people into frogs, Sandys comments that the same creatures, (called “Pohatans hounds” by the English), “depopulated a City in France, and now not a little infest Virginia in Summer”. Sandys makes a  similar digression in his comment on the story of   Galanthis, whom Zeus turned into a  weasel, an animal Sandys compares with “a Beast, which the Indians call a Possoun, that hath two flaps beneath her belly, which she can shut and open at pleasure”. Even in these examples, Sandys’s commentary not only provides information about the New World, but also offers new meanings to the stories of   the Old one. In line with his reframing of   the Greek and Roman myths in the American context, Sandys recognizes Christopher Columbus as the protagonist of   the founding mythology of   the new continent: “Columbus by his glorious discoveries more justly deserved a place for his ship among the Southern Constellations, than ever the Argonauts did for their so celebrated Argo”. The most explicit parallel drawn by Sandys between the content of  his text and the context of  the New World is to be found in the following lines from Book XV: Where once was solid land, Seas have I seene; And solid land, where once deepe Seas have beene. Shels, far from Seas, like quarries in the ground; And anchors have on mountaine tops been found.

At the third line, Sandys notes in the margin: “Such have I seene in America”.28 As a  traveler, Sandys links two geographical and 28  Other examples of   the connection between Sandys’s translation and the New World can be found in Davis 1941, 255-276.

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historical worlds; at the same time, as a  translator, he connects two different cultural traditions. Davis sums up this concept in these terms: if “strange men, fantastic creatures, marvelous lands  […] were stimuli which quite clearly had urged Sandys to the translation of  Ovid, […] strange men, fantastic creatures, and marvelous new lands he and his fellows had found in America”.29 The dual nature of   the translation, with its ancient Roman and new American identities, manages both to objectify the epic theme of   journey as a  form of   change and, simultaneously, to reflect the cultural role of   the British-Virginian translator himself. The ambitious verse with which he translates the Ovidian incipit – “Of bodies changed to other shapes I sing” – not only anticipates the efforts of   American literature to incorporate and reshape European models, but also inserts the “I” of   the translator at the center of   the work, as a  catalyst in the reworking of  the text.

4. Reciprocal Metamorphoses: Two Continents in Progress What was before, is not, what was not, is: All in a moment change from that to this. George Sandys, Metamorphoses, Book XV

Included as an appendix to Sandys’s second edition is his translation of   the first book of   the Aeneid. If, in literature as in politics, his role as both insider and outsider was defined by the dynamics between center and periphery, between the hegemonic and the liminal, his inclusion of   the Aeneid is an indication that Virgil’s ideological agenda had begun to exert a stronger hold on him that Ovid’s stylistic agility. According to James Ellison, Virgil’s text justified, in ideological and allegorical terms, the creation of   an English Empire in the New World.30 More than this, however, with this translation of   the first book of   the Aeneid – with the hero’s landing on the Carthaginian shores and the legitimacy of   Roman colonialism – Sandys was importing to America the model for an epic literature that would be capable of   describing the impending imperial project of   the colonies: he considered   Davis 1947, 304.   Ellison 2002, 101-109.

29 30

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the Aeneid a  tale of   empire and was particularly interested in Aeneas’ role as the founder of  a nation.31 More specifically, the fact that Sandys first translates Ovid’s Metamorphoses and then Virgil’s Aeneid seems to anticipate a position that would gain currency in America: that it was necessary to reconsider the relationship between the two Latin poets. The canonical interpretation hinges on the idea that “the Meta­ morphoses cannot be properly understood without the realization that they were meant to be Ovid’s answer to Virgil’s Aeneid”.32 The Metamorphoses provides a counterpoint to a more standard epic retelling of   the construction and development of   Rome: “As Ovid tells the history of   the nation state, from its beginnings in the primeval chaos to the reign of   Augustus Caesar” – Liz Oakley-Brown affirms – “the narrative undermines the teleological structure of  the earlier epic [Aeneid]”.33 Stephen Hinds has tried to overturn this idea of   Ovid as the secondary term of  a dualistic relationship. In his suggestively titled poststructuralist monograph Allusion and Intertext: Dynamics of  Appropriation in Roman Poetry, he argues that, “Rather than construct himself as an epigonal reader of   the Aeneid, Ovid is constructing Virgil as a hesitant precursor of   the Metamorphoses”.34 Hinds’s assertion echoes the way Sandys reinterpreted the concept of  Translatio studii et imperii, recasting the classical masterpieces and history of   Europe in his attempt to interpret the foundation and aspirations of  the new political entity of  America. In his pairing and repositioning of  the Metamorphoses and the Aeneid a  century and a  half before the conquest of   the United States’ political independence, Sandys “brought to a creative focus the parallel interests of  literature and colonization” in America: 35 Ovid’s text inspired the characterization of   a new nation, while Virgil’s defined its aspiration to expand. At the culmination of  his cultural enterprises, Sandys considered himself akin to the explorers and colonizers of  the Renaissance, who had the opportunity to     33  34  35  31 32

Ibidem. On Sandys’s translation of  the Aeneid see Brammall 2015. Galinsky 1975, 15. Oakley-Brown 2006, 8. Hinds 1998, 106. Davis 1947, 304.

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be remembered by future generations as the great empire builders of   a mythical past.36 His translations narrate the birth and development of   the colonies against a  specific European background and outline their imperialistic ambitions by reinterpreting the principle of  Translatio studii et imperii. The recontextualization of   the two poems helped bolster the idea that the locus of   progress was shifting westward, and that the colonies, and no longer Great Britain, would be the next (and perhaps the last) embodiment of   civilization; in other words, the two translations foreshadowed the Founding Fathers’ fictionalization of   “the U.S. nation-state not merely as different from, but also as qualitatively better than, the European nationstates”.37 From this perspective, it appears that the idea of  transatlanticism – namely the relationship of   interdependence between the two continents – has always been deeply intertwined with that of  American exceptionalism – which is to say the principle whereby that which differentiates the United States from other countries is the same as that which makes it superior to them. This phenomenon, which has characterized the nation since its founding phase, found imaginative expression in Sandys’s works. All the same – as Paul Giles elucidates – “one of   the specific benefits of   the transatlantic approach has been its systematic attempt to reorient American literature and culture through the dynamic of   imperial power relations, the ways in which America and Britain have been engaged since the seventeenth century in various forms of   colonial power struggle”.38 As a  case in point, Sandys’s reference to the European imperial epic underlines the extent to which the exceptionalism engrained in the American empire, and in many American works of   art, is something that the United States has always shared with other national literatures and empires. As the Metamorphoses ends in praise of   the empire of   Augustus, it is as though the translator’s and the poet’s voices have doubled up, with Ovid’s vision of   Rome merging with Sandys’s sentiments about the colonies:   Conlan 1998, 32.   Pease 2007, 109. 38  Giles 2013, 15. 36

37

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Hee shall the habitable Earth command; And stretch his Empire over sea and land. Peace given to Earth; he shall convert his care To civill Rule, just Lawes; and by his faire Example Vertue guide.

John Wood Sweet sums up this relationship as follows: “Perhaps he [Sandys] identified with Ovid, who had been sent by Augustus away from Rome and into exile in a  remote province. And perhaps, in his enthusiasm for the English venture in Virginia, Sandys missed some of  Ovid’s ironic tone and his running critique of   Roman imperialism”.39 It is true that Sandys saw no irony – assuming there is any – in Ovid’s work: instead, he centered his interpretation on the epilogue and its focus on the immortal glory of  the poet and Augustus’s Rome: And now the worke is ended, which, Ioue’s rage, Nor fire, nor Sword shall raze, nor eating Age. Come when it will my deaths uncertaine howre; Which of  this body only hath a powre: Yet shall my better part transcend the skie; And my immortall name shall never die. For, where-so-ere the Roman Eagles spread Their conquering wings, I shall of  all be read: And, if we Poets true presages give, I, in my Fame eternally shall live.

It is an epilogue which connects a  classical text and the New World, and makes a  good match with Sandys’s own ambitions and those of   the colonies: the colonies had plans that required a new story, and Sandys had already begun to tell it: Now horrid warre, and of  that Heroe sing; Who fatally from Ilium wandering, First reacht Italia and Lavinia’s strand. Much suffer’d he by sea, & much by land, Through wrath of  Gods, by Iuno’s hatred wrought, And much by warre; while he to Latium brought His Gods; a Citty built: whence Latines come, Great Alban Sires, and walls of  lofty Rome.   Sweet 2005, 1.

39

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Bibliography Brammall 2015  = S.  Brammall, The English Aeneid: Translations of  Virgil, 1555-1646, Edinburgh 2015. Burstein 1996 = S. M. Burstein, The Classics and the American Repub­ lic, The History Teacher 30 (1), 1996, 29-44. Conlan 1998  = J.  P. Conlan, ‘Paradise Lost’: Milton’s Anti-Imperial Epic, Pacific Coast Philology 33 (1), 1998, 31-43. Davis 1941  = R.  B. Davis, Early Editions of   George Sandys’s ‘Ovid’: The Circumstances of  Production, The Papers of  the Bibliographical Society of  America 35 (4), 1941, 255-276. Davis 1947 = R. B. Davis, America in George Sandys’ ‘Ovid’, William and Mary Q uarterly 4 (3), 1947, 297-304. Davis 1955 = R. B. Davis, George Sandys, Poet-Adventurer: A Study in Anglo-American Culture in the 17th Century, London 1955. Davis 1957 = R. B. Davis, Volumes from George Sandys’s Library Now in America, The Virginia Magazine of  History and Biography 65 (4), 1957, 450-457. Davis 1973 = R. B. Davis, Literature and Society in Early Virginia, 1608-1840, Baton Rouge, LA 1973. Detobel = R. Detobel, The Case of  George Sandys’s Translation of  Ovid’s Metamorphosis, http://www.shakespeare-today.de/front_content. php?idart=254. Drayton 1961 = M. Drayton, To Mr George Sandys, Treasurer for The English Colony in Virginia, The Works of  Michael Drayton, Oxford 1961. Ellison 2002  = J.  Ellison, George Sandys: Travel, Colonialism, and Tolerance in the Seventeenth Century, Cambridge and Rochester, NY 2002. Galinsky 1975 = K. Galinsky, Ovid’s Metamorphoses: An Introduction to the Basic Aspects, Berkeley, CA 1975. Giles 2013  = P.  Giles, Transatlanticism, Past, Present and Future: A  Brief Overview, in D.  Maudlin – R.  Peel (eds.), Materials of  Exchange between Britain and North East America, 1750-1900, London and New York 2013. Gummere 1957 = R. Gummere, The Classics in a Brave New World, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 62, 1957, 119-139. Hinds 1998  = S.  Hinds, Allusion and Intertext: Dynamics of   Appro­ priation in Roman Poetry, Cambridge 1998. 349

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Hollander 1971 = J. Hollander, Ovid’s Metamorphosis, The New York Times, August 15, 1971, https://www.nytimes.com/1971/08/15/ archives/ovids-metamorphosis-englished-mythologized-andrepresented-in.html. Hughes – Robbins 2015  = L.  K. Hughes – S.  R. Robbins, Introduc­ tion: Tracing Currents and Joining Conversations, in L. K. Hughes – S. R. Robbins (eds.), Teaching Transatlanticism: Resources for Teach­ ing Nineteenth-Century Anglo-American Print Culture, Edinburgh 2015. Johnson 1755  = S.  Johnson, A  Dictionary of   the English Language: In which the Words are Deduced from Their Originals and Illus­ trated in Their Different Significations, by Examples from the Best Writers, to which Are Prefixed a History of   the Language, and An English Grammar, London 1755. Knight 1932 = G. C. Knight, American Literature and Culture, New York 1932. Lipscomb 1948 = H. C. Lipscomb, Humanistic Culture in Early Vir­ ginia, The Classical Journal 43 (4), 1948, 203-208. Lyne 2001 = R. Lyne, Ovid’s Changing Worlds: English Metamorphoses, 1567-1632, Oxford and New York 2001. Lyne 2002 = R. Lyne, Ovid in English Translation, in P. Hardie (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Ovid, Cambridge 2002, 249-263. Morford 1982 = M. Morford, Early American School Editions of  Ovid, The Classical Journal 78 (2), 1982, 150-158. Oakley-Brown 2006 = L. Oakley-Brown, Ovid and the Cultural Poli­ tics of  Translation in Early Modern England, Farnham 2006. Pearce 1942 = T. M. Pearce, American Traditions and Our Histories of  Literature, American Literature 14 (3), 1942, 277-284. Pearcy 1984 = L. T. Pearcy, The Mediated Muse: English Translations of  Ovid, 1560-1700, Hamden, CT 1984. Pease 2007 = D. E. Pease, Exceptionalism, in B. Burgett – G. Hendler (ed.), Keywords for American Cultural Studies, New York 2007, 108-112. Reinhold 1984  = M.  Reinhold, Classica Americana: The Greek and Roman Heritage in the United States, Detroit, MI 1984. Richard 1994 = C. J. Richard, The Founders and the Classics. Greece, Rome, and the American Enlightenment, Cambridge, MA 1994. Richard 2008 = C. J. Richard, Greeks and Romans Bearing Gifts: How the Ancients Inspired the Founding Fathers, New York 2008. 350

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Rubin 1985 = D. Rubin, Ovid’s Metamorphoses Englished: George Sandys As Translator and Mythographer, New York 1985. Sandys 1632 = G. Sandys, Ovid’s Metamorphosis Englished, Mythologiz’d, And Represented in Figures. An Essay to the Translation of Virgil’s Aeneis, https://ovid.lib.virginia.edu/sandys/frontmatter.htm. Shields 2001 = J. C. Shields, The American Aeneas: Classical Origins of  the American Self, Knoxville, TN 2001. Sweet 2005 = J. W. Sweet, Introduction: Sea Changes, in J. W. Sweet, Envisioning an English Empire: Jamestown and the Making of   the North Atlantic World, Philadelphia 2005. Tyler 1897 = M. C. Tyler, A History of   American Literature During the Colonial Time, New York 1897.

Abstract Generally considered as the first American book, George Sandys’s translation of   Ovid’s Metamorphoses (1626) represents one of   the earliest examples of   the cultural reformulation of   European classic masterpieces in the New World. English writer and translator, diplomat and traveler, colonial treasurer of   the Virginia Company, Sandys (1578-1644) began his translation in 1615 in Europe. He completed the text in 1626 in the Jamestown colony, after becoming a  witness and actor of   the metamorphoses of   the American wilderness into a more civilized environment. From a  colonialist point of   view, the choice of  translating Ovid’s Metamorphoses had a  symbolic value, as the Latin poet had described the transformation of   what already existed into something new, on a real as well as on a metaphorical level. Sandys’s transatlantic text contributed to defining the ideological and cultural foundations of   the early American colonies and, later, of   the Early Republic: the translation anticipated the tendency of   American literature to define itself both as a specific uniqueness in western cultural tradition and as a legitimate heir of   that tradition. Yet – as this essay tries to demonstrate – Sandys’s re-writing of   the Ovidian text contributed to extending its canonical reading by providing the poem with an exceptionalistic and imperialistic interpretation.

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“ORRENDO A UN TEMPO E INNOCENTE AMORE”: THE OVIDIAN MYRRHA IN ITALIAN LITERATURE

The fact that the presence of   Metamorphoses in Italian literary tradition is ubiquitous and systematic has been amply demonstrated by numerous studies,1 which have identified its function in terms of   mythological and thematic codification. However, in his analysis of   myth and metamorphosis in Italian literature, Bodo Guthmüller identifies the Ovidio Metamorphoseos vulgare by Giovanni di Bonsignori as the principal source for translation of   the poem up until the sixteenth century, with the classical text in fact being read “in una versione italiana basata non sull’originale, ma su una parafrasi che risale al tempo di Dante”.2 It is perhaps precisely the inclination of   the translation to permit a free reading of   Ovid’s poem that offers modern poets thematic frameworks and models to play with, allowing them to take apart the sources, “fondendo con i  singoli elementi, trasformandoli, elementi di altra provenienza e di sua invenzione”.3 Although it is possible to verify the success of   this translation using surveys 1   Particular mention should be made of   the studies by Bodo Guthmüller, cf. Guthmüller (1997, 2007 and 2009). 2  Guthmüller 2009, 15. 3  Guthmüller 2009, 29. “Ma anche nei casi in cui veniva utilizzato l’originale, l’Ovidio che si aveva davanti poteva essere diverso rispetto a quello che leggiamo oggi. Varianti inserite nel testo portavano a versioni delle favole completamente nuove  […]. Glosse aggiunte, commenti o  interpretazioni allegoriche potevano comprendere un passo o  un’intera favola in maniera del tutto diversa rispetto a quanto possiamo fare oggi. Nello studio dunque di opere letterarie, musicali o  figurate a sfondo mitologico, è bene ripromettersi come postulato metodologico di fondo quello di consultare l’Ovidio del Medioevo, del Rinascimento, del Barocco al posto di quello moderno”, Guthmüller 2009, 277.

After Ovid. Aspects of   the Reception of   Ovid in Literature and Iconography, edited by Franca Ela Consolino, GIFBIB, 28 ©  DOI 10.1484/M.GIFBIB-EB.5.127603 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 353-374

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of   various types in the tradition of   the Metamorphoses, we made the decision to use a  sample-based analysis, focusing on the figure of   Myrrha, and to identify her presence in some works from the modern era. We make no claim to an exhaustive exploration, but any such discussion must include a comparison with Dante, who serves as the foundation for mythical codification in Italian literature.

Myrrha in the Divina Commedia To introduce the figure of   Myrrha in the Divina Commedia, Dante draws directly from the Metamorphoses, from which he takes the component of   wickedness, deriving from a  violation of   human and divine laws. Contrary to what one might expect in view of   the story and the behaviour of   Ovid’s heroine, Dante does not place Myrrha among the lustful or punish her among the traitors, but instead places her among the falsifiers, those who deceive about their identity. In the 3rd canto of   the Inferno, the pilgrim portrays the damned “nella loro furia pazza, in atto di azzannare come cinghiali inferociti i  loro compagni di bolgia”, as noted by Sapegno.4 In the canto in which he will meet the counterfeiters of  coins, including Master Adam, and the falsifiers of   words, such as Sinon, who convinced the Trojans to accept the Trojan horse, Dante also finds room for a second category of  deceivers, the “falsatori di persona”, who pretended to be other than what they were. Sapegno notes that the opening of  the canto with the mythological images of   Athamas and Hecuba and the presence of   evil spirits who pursue their victims suggest a “clima di bizzarria e  di furia”,5 which is helpful in marking the change in the behaviour of   the agens, who has abandoned the compassion with which he looked upon the souls of   the previous bolgia, replacing it with “un tono di disprezzo e di sdegno”.6 The stories of   Athamas, who is a victim of   the fury of   Juno and kills his son Learchus in a fit of   madness, and Hecuba, mad with grief at the

  Sapegno 19853, Canto trentesimo, 335.   Sapegno 19853, 335. 6   Sapegno 19853, canto ventesimonono, 323. 4 5

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death of   her children Polyxena and Polydorus, are taken from Ovidian mythology. Drawing from the 4th and 13th books of   the Metamorphoses, Dante offers a representation of   the fury caused by a  “mente torta” 7 to construct the context in which to place the figures of   the damned. Neither Thebes nor Troy in fact saw “furie” “tanto crude” “quant’io vidi in due ombre smorte e nude, / che mordendo correvan di quel modo / che ’l porco quando del porcil si schiude”.8 The reference to the hellish scenario in which Athamas commits his crime highlights the link between Dante’s text and Ovid’s verses. The reference to episodes from the Metamorphoses allows Dante to combine references to monstrous images, such as Tisiphone, who, a serpent coiled about her waist and accompanied by grief, fear and terror, Luctus comitatur euntem / et Pavor et Terror trepi­ doque Insania vultu,9 stands in front of   Ino and Athamas, hurling asps and blood at them, and vergit furiale venenum / pectus in amborum praecordiaque intima movit.10 Like Ovid, the modern poet has continued to portray Hecuba barking like a dog, a sign of   a mother’s revenge against Polymestor before “Ecuba trista, misera e  cattiva” is actually transformed into a  female dog.11 The Ovidian images evoked are used by Dante as a means of comparison to describe the mad fury of  Gianni Schicchi and Myrrha, whose monstrous sins are avenged by an equally horrendous punishment. Tormented by furies that are “tanto crude” that they outstrip those of   Thebes and Troy, the two damned figures run mad as a pig escaping from its sty. “Ombre smorte e nude”,12 they appear as angry spirits, whose grotesque characterisation is indicative of   the aloof   posture adopted by Dante, who observes them without any kind of  empathy. In relation to Myrrha, Dante uses one of   the characters to pronounce a  guilty verdict with no extenuating circumstances, blaming the girl’s very wickedness for the horrendous crime she committed.  Dante, Inferno 30,22: “tanto il dolor le fe’ la mente torta”.   Ibidem, 25-27. 9  Ov., Met. 4,484-485. 10 Ov., Met. 4,506-507. 11 Dante, Inferno 30,16. 12 Dante, Inferno 30,24. 7 8

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Ed elli a me: “Q uell’è l’anima antica di Mirra scellerata, che divenne al padre fuor del dritto amore amica. Q uesta a peccar con esso così venne, falsificando sé in altrui forma, come l’altro che là sen va, sostenne, per guadagnar la donna de la torma, falsificare in sé Buoso Donati, testando e dando al testamento norma” 13

It was the alchemist Griffolino d’Arezzo who identified Gianni Schicchi and Myrrha, with one being characterised as an evil spirit, because of  a swiftness and agility of  movement or perhaps because of   malice, and the other being defined as an “anima antica”, thus emphasising the character’s association with the classical world of   mythology. Even though antiquity, in a  jarring juxtaposition with contemporary Florence, gives her greater depth than her companion in misfortune, Myrrha is condemned in her wickedness for having been “amica” “al padre” “fuor del dritto amore”. Posing as another woman, she succeeded in committing the horrendous crime of   joining in incestuous love with her father. Dante also recalls Myrrha’s impiety in the 7th of   the Epistole, where, comparing her to Florence, he uses the same adjectives: Myrrha scelestis et impia in Cinyre patris amplexus exestuans. As Giorgio Padoan writes in the Enciclopedia Dantesca, “ l’accento batte sulla scellerataggine ed empietà (cfr. Met. 10,366) dell’incesto desiderato con rabbiosa follia, ma in primo piano è pur sempre l’inganno fraudolentemente perpetrato ai danni del padre”: 14 Myrrha is guilty of   falsifying her person, in order to deceive Cinyras and force him to commit the terrible crime.

The Sixteenth-century Vulgarizations Moral condemnation of   Myrrha’s incestuous love and betrayal of   her father also marks the way this mythological episode is depicted by sixteenth-century interpreters. In the vulgarizations  Dante, Inferno 30,37-45.   Padoan 1970. On the relationship between the hellish episode and the epistle, see Pampinella-Cropper 2012. 13 14

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of   Ovid’s poem there is a  common attitude of   rejection, which can be heard in Dante’s critical detachment but also in further successive reinterpretations. As Andrea Torre noted in a  study dedicated to the figure of  Adonis, the story of  Myrrha is subjected to moral condemnation both in Dante and in Petrarch (Trium­ phus Cupidinis, 3,76-78), who “stigmatizzano la follia dell’amore contro natura […] ricorrendo entrambi a un’immagine di devianza morale”.15 As confirmation of   his hypothesis, the scholar notes that “tutto il peso censorio sull’evento viene confermato dalle letture allegoriche cui è sottoposta la figura di questa donna tra Medioevo e Rinascimento”. Criticism of  the behaviour of  Ovid’s heroine is also evident in sixteenth century volgarizations of   the poem, in which the moral question seems to play a major role. While substantially faithful to the classical text, Lodovico Dolce’s work Trasformationi 16 introduces the episode in a  manner that is significantly different compared to Ovid’s work.17 Where Ovid addressed daughters and their fathers, inviting them to keep away because he dira canam, the sixteenth-century translator speaks to women as the only audience for the literary tale. Because of   their capacity to be the ideal audience for – because they have “intelletto d’amore” 18 – and listeners to the tale, to whom Boccaccio states the literary work “più […] che agli uomini convenirsi donare”,19 the “Donne e  Donzelle” – clearly alluding to those   Torre 2014, 86.   Dolce 1553, XXI. 17  Guthmüller notes that “neanche Dolce però si considera un fedele traduttore; è convinto della superiorità della poesia moderna e cerca di adattare i testi classici ai modelli della nuova letteratura nazionale e  di abbellirli con i  mezzi della propria lingua e della propria poesia. Nelle Trasformationi vuole riscrivere il poema di Ovidio secondo il modello dell’Orlando Furioso di Ariosto, opera allora di gran successo: suddivide infatti i 15 libri di Ovidio in 30 canti e fa cominciare ogni canto con un proemio, per poi concluderlo con un congedo; non esita a modificare i racconti ovidiani e a introdurre nel poema miti tolti da altre fonti”, Guthmüller 2009, 280. See also Capriotti 2013. 18 Dante, Donne ch’avete intelletto d’amore, Vita nova. 19  Boccaccio, Decameron, Proemio: “E chi negherà, questo, quantunque egli si sia, non molto più alle vaghe donne che agli uomini convenirsi donare?”. For Boccaccio, women “il più del tempo nel piccolo circuito delle loro camere racchiuse dimorano, e quasi oziose sedendosi, volendo e non volendo in una medesima ora, seco rivolgono diversi pensieri, li quali non è possibile che sempre sieno allegri”. Women should be compensated for their weaknesses – “elle sono molto men forti che gli uomini a  sostenere” – and distracted from romantic suffering by 15 16

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of   Dante – who read or hear Dante’s verses should stop listening to or reading the story of   Myrrha. While referring directly to the precedent of   the Vita Nova, the poet presents a different type of   woman, who does not merely listen but actively involves herself as a  reader. It is for this reason that the audience of   the Trasformazioni is invited to avoid reading or, if unable to refrain from doing so, to consider the story of   the daughter of   Cinyras “fra le novelle  / e  fra l’altre menzogne”.20 Although the advice not to heed the tale was already present in Ovid’s verses, Dolce’s request does nonetheless assume a touch of   originality because it appeals to the perception of   the literary dimension of   fantastical invention. Like Ovid, who suggests that the story should not be believed or that, if it is believed, its terrible consequences should also be believed, vel, si credetis, facti quoque credite poenam,21 the translator invites us to consider “quel fin” which concerns Myrrha for her “voglie tanto inique e felle”. Hora, quanto io dirò Donne e Donzelle lasciate d’ascoltare, e non leggete; o se leggete pur, fra le novelle e fra l’altre menzogne lo porrete. O pur se voglie tanto inique e felle donna potesse haver vi crederete, crediate ancor, ch’ell’hebbe a parte a parte quel fin, ch’io scriverò fra poche carte.22

In the 21st canto of  his poem, Lodovico Dolce invokes the literary component and fictional roots of  the tale to legitimise the subject matter, which was out of   step with the moral sensibilities of   the time. The sixteenth century poet continues the condemnation that led Ovid to decree that, in this case, love is a  worse crime than hate (hic amor est odio maius scelus),23 even extending the consequences to include Myrrha’s son Adonis. literature. While men can devote themselves to a variety of   activities that allow them to “trarre, o in tutto o in parte, l’animo a sé e dal noioso pensiero rimuoverlo almeno per alcuno spazio di tempo”. 20   Dolce 1553, XXI. 21 Ov., Met. 10,303. 22  Dolce 1553, XXI. 23 Ov., Met. 10,315.

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In examining the Stanze nella favola di Adone by Lodovico Dolce, Andrea Torre in fact observes that the condemnation of  Myrrha’s conduct remains in the sixteenth-century treatment of   the myth of   Adonis, and also indelibly stains the destiny of  her son. While Dolce “sviluppa il nucleo concettuale del ‘peccato familiar’, modificando la dispositio della materia e  allestendo un vero e proprio tribunale celeste in cui Giunone declama una dura requisitoria volta a far ricadere l’ ‘iniqua e scelerata’ colpa di Mirra su Adone (64, 1-2: ‘Tu vedi, o sposo, s’è di viver degno / L’iniquo parto, il mal concetto seme’)”,24 according to Torre “Giovanni Tarcagnota impiega solo due versi del suo poemetto L’Adone (1550) per riconoscere nell’assalto mortale del cinghiale l’inevitabile conferma dello stigma con cui il perverso comportamento di Mirra aveva macchiato Adone: ‘Che forse per punir Mirra, e ’l suo errore, / Venia [un cinghiaro] verso il figliuol con tanto horror’ (10, 7-8)”.25 In his amplification of   the poem, which, according to practice in volgarizations, combines translation with commentary and expansion of   each episode,26 Dolce spends some time defining the character of   the protagonist, “iniqua e  fiera” and “sì rea natura e maladetta”, who, in contrast to the “membra assai belle e leggiadre”,27 was guilty of   the foulest of   crimes. The opposition between the beauty and the “bestial torto appetito” of   the young woman is manifested in Myrrha’s torment, which is already present in Ovid and shows the protagonist attempting to beseech   Torre 2014, 87.   Ibidem. 26   Cf. Folena 1994 and Guthmüller 2009, 279: in “volgarizzamenti nel Medioevo e nel Rinascimento […] era frequente che nella trasposizione in volgare il testo latino subisse mutamenti che potevano toccare tanto la struttura, quanto il contenuto dell’opera. Si era infatti convinti che nel volgarizzare un testo si potesse fare e disfare a proprio piacimento; se lo si trascriveva in volgare, non si vedeva perché non lo si dovesse migliorare e arricchire secondo le proprie idée”. Cf. Borsetto 1990. 27  Dolce 1553, XXI: “Hebbe questi una figlia; che fu detta / Mirrha, di membra assai belle e leggiadre; / ma di sì rea natura e maladetta, / ch’ella s’inamorò del proprio padre. / La Thracia, che m’è cara e dolce madre, / poi che da quella terra s’allontana, / che produsse fra noi cosa sì strana. // E se d’incensi va l’Arabia altera, / e di Cinamo e d’altri eletti odori; / io non l’invidio: che l’iniqua e fiera / Mirrha le toglie i suoi maggior’ honori. / E giura Amor per la palude nera, / che punto non ti nocquero i suo’ ardori; / ma con la face tinta al lago Averno / t’arse una de le Furie de l’Inferno”. 24 25

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the gods: hoc prohibete nefas scelerique resistite nostro.28 According to the sixteenth-century text, “ben conosc’ella ancor, che pecca & erra, / e più volte si danna e si riprende”, but then she wonders why in the animal world “opra ciascun, come ’l desio l’accende”.29 Picking up on the Ovidian conflict between law and nature, for which human scruples have imposed cruel laws (humana malignas / cura dedit leges),30 Dolce reaches the conclusion that “troppo è certo la legge ingiusta e dura / a tor quel, che permette la natura”. In the modern poem, the taboo of  incest is interpreted as a consequence of   civilisation and is not part of   natural living. Faithful to Ovid’s narrative, the volgarization lingers on the representation of  Myrrha’s torment: Scaccia (poi soggiungea) la cieca voglia, et ama il padre tuo, come conviene: da lui prendesti questa frale spoglia; giungerla con la sua non istà bene. D’honesto amore o misera t’invoglia: rompi i malvagi lacci e le catene. E se ciò far non lascia la presenza, ammorzi l’empio ardor subita assenza.31

The young woman demonstrates an awareness of   ‘convenienza’ and knows what “non istà bene”, aiming rather for “honesto amore” to avoid finding herself “de la madre  / rivale, & empia adultera del padre”, but, as in the Latin poem, to Cinyras, who asks her who she would like for a  husband (cuius velit esse mariti),32 “senza ritegno alcun piange e sospira, / e dimostra profondo alto dolore”. Dolce portrays the nocturnal torments of  Myrrha who, as in Ovid, modo desperat, modo vult temptare, pudetque / et cupit,33 “Hor teme, hor spera, hor vuol tentar la sorte;  / hora quel, che volea, muta e  disvuole”.34 In her wanting and not wanting, the young girl shows a  feminine fragility that recalls classical models,  Ov., Met. 10,322.   Dolce 1553, XXI. 30 Ov., Met. 10,329-330. 31   Dolce 1553, XXI. 32 Ov., Met. 10,358. 33  Ibidem, vv. 371-372. 34  Dolce 1553, XXI. 28 29

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and in which we hear not just an echo of   Dante’s perplexity in embarking on the otherworldly path (“E qual è quei che disvuol ciò che volle” 35) but also a reference to the instability of   woman, who in Stanze per la giostra by Poliziano “mille volte el dì vuole e disvuole”. As in the classical poem, it will be the nurse who breaks through Myrrha’s unstable equilibrium, convincing her to confess “l’abo­ mi­noso amore” and then helping her to achieve it. L’incauto padre in braccio ricevette le proprie carni; e disioso quelle tenendo ohimè, tra le sue braccia strette, le nozze consumò malvage e felle: e forse motteggiando anco dovette dirle, anima e figliuola e tai novelle, et ella a lui chiamando padre ancora con finta voce e de l’usato fuora. Partissi poi con l’utero fecondo del medesimo seme, ond’ella nacque. Né quella notte il giacimento immondo, ma molte usare a la malvagia piacque. Al fin vols’egli far l’occhio giocondo di lei, che seco tante volte giacque. E fatto venir lumi, gli fu presto la figlia, e ’l suo peccato manifesto.36

In his study of   the figure of   Adonis, Andrea Torre asserts that “nelle Metamorfosi d’Ovidio Anguillara insiste invece sul dato biologico della consanguineità tra madre e figlio; e fonda strategicamente su di esso gli scarti della sua riscrittura rispetto al racconto ovidiano”. Condemned by his mother to a  “perversa attitudine per i  ‘venerei assalti’ e  per ogni ‘infame amor’ ”, Adonis inherits the moral stigma of  Myrrha.37  Dante, Inferno 2, 37.   Dolce 1556. 37  “Appare evidente che l’autore cinquecentesco proceda qui alla naturalizzazione biologica di un giudizio morale, alla forzosa oggettivizzazione di un dato culturale. I continui riferimenti al campo semantico bio-genealogico che accompagnano tanto l’entrata in scena del giovane eroe (“prezioso parto”, “sangue real”, “sangue regio”, “aer paterno”, “sangue esterno”, “figliuolo incerto”, “regio figlio”, etc.) quanto la sua tragica dipartita (dove il suo sangue si mescolerà con l’ “humore” del fonte adonio e  con la “terra”, ad alimentare nuovi cicli vitali); 35 36

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Anguillara’s interpretative process follows a  line that Guthmüller considers even more “modernistico” than Dolce, because the poet “concepisce la traduzione come una competizione”.38 In the introductory essay to the edition of   Metamorphoses by Giovanni Andrea dell’Anguillara edited by Alessio Cotugno, the editor maintains that the volgarizator found in the translation “un proprio, riconoscibile timbro poetico”,39 on which he builds his interpretation, and in this sense acquires a  specific literary identity that goes far beyond the idea of  translation. Although it follows the structure of   Ovid’s poem faithfully, Anguillara’s rewritten version proceeds by contamination, extension, concatenation, propagation and digression, in a  style that Gabriele Bucchi has described as mannerist.40 In his muddled, expanded work, the story of   the young woman in love with her father is subject to deeper psychological analysis and the details are enriched, but the approach to the myth is unchanged. Although not one of   the passages in which the modern poet’s intervention is most conspicuous – the approximately two hundred verses in Ovid’s work become eighty octaves 41 –, and while not making any alterations to the fabula, the story is lightened, especially due to a tendency towards dramatisation. The torment of  Myrrha, who in Ovid struggles between monstrous desire and guilt, assumes in Anguillara the outlines of   a comedy scene. The young woman, who in the classical source was asked by her father to choose a  husband from among her suitors, now asks rhetorically why she is not in love with “un più giovane, e più bello”, ultimately concluding that no man could be better than her father.

questi continui riferimenti, dicevo, non fanno allora che allungare l’ombra entro cui il suo agire è destinato a collocarsi”. Torre 2014, 88. 38   Guthmüller 2009, 280-281: “Ovidio serve solo come punto di partenza, il vero modello poetico è anche per lui l’Ariosto. Nella sua rielaborazione del poema antico Anguillara arriva addirittura a trasformare alcune favole di Ovidio, imitate da Ariosto nell’Orlando Furioso, secondo la nuova versione ariostesca”. 39  Cotugno 2019, XXXIV. 40  Bucchi 2011. 41   In his book Bucchi 2011 provides an overview of   the individual myths in the volgarizations, which shows the far greater extent of   the rewriting of   other episodes.

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Lassa (dicea) che fiamma iniqua, e nova m’accende de l’amor del mio parente? Perché l’amor non lascio infame, e fello, e non amo un più giovane, e più bello? Ma, qual sarà più bel se ’l padre mio mi par sopra ogn’altr’huom più bello, e adorno? Deh, sommi Dei, sì indegno affetto, e rio da me scacciate, e tanta infamia, e scorno.42

The voices representing the rending of  Myrrha’s soul between her own unspeakable desire and the horror of   sin, between temptation and moralising expectation, are supplemented in Anguillara by the point of   view of   the poet,43 who intervenes to judge the action, already anticipating the end of  the tragic story. E bramò haver di lui la prole, e l’hebbe, e pur del suo figliuol sorella, e madre. O scelerata putta, e qual facella accese entro al tuo cor fiamma sì fella? 44

But, when she imagines being the sister of   her children and the wife of   her father, Anguillara’s Myrrha goes further (still in the author’s taste for mannerist complication), imagining the complicity of  her beloved. Horsù poniam, che tu vogli macchiarlo, e far l’error, la cosa in sé tel vieta. Che egli, che sa il dover, vorrà servarlo, rispetto havendo a la paterna pieta. Che, s’io potessi a’ miei voti placarlo, qual sarebbe di me donna più lieta? Non havrei da portare invidia altrui, se ’l medesmo furor prendesse lui.

In Anguillara’s rewriting, condemnation takes the form of   the voice of   the author, who expresses judgement and distances himself from his character. This is achieved in part by marrying Myr  Anguillara 1563, 10.   Cotugno 2019, XXXIII: “a ciò si aggiunga la sostituzione dell’io narrante del volgarizzatore a  quello dell’autore, secondo i  dispositivi retorici anche in questo caso tipicamente ariosteschi”. 44  Anguillara 1563, 10, octave 181. 42 43

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rha’s hopes and agonies with theatrical gestures – such as her lowered eyes – which unequivocally reveal her awareness of  guilt: “Q uando sente parlar l’empia donzella  / de la santa honestade, abbassa gli occhi,  / sapendo la sua mente infame, e  fella,  / e  gli empi ardori suoi nefandi e sciocchi”. The judgment of   the girl’s wickedness is an implicit consequence of   her clearness of   mind, in that she wished to conceive children with her father, even though she knew that her insane passion was driven by the three terrible sisters, “Tesifone, Megera e  Aletto”. The conflict on which Alfieri will build his tragic heroine is summarised by Anguillara in the “misera mè” 45 with which the young woman begins what could be called an ‘inner dialogue’, putting the two sides of  the character’s soul in conflict. The poet’s rhetorical choices also contribute to this dramatisation, through the use of   figurative devices that anticipate the outcome of  the story. Q ual se la quercia annosa altera, e grossa ferita il piè da gl’inimici ferri, prima, che senta l’ultima percossa, sta in dubbio da qual parte i rami atterri; temon la grave sua ruina, e possa quei, ch’ha d’intorno à lei propinqui cerri; al fin da quella parte, ond’ha più pondo, lascia cader l’altera cima al fondo: Tale il ferito cor de la fanciulla hor piega ver la tema, hor ver la speme, et hora il rio pensiero, hor l’altro annulla, e questo, e quel la sua ruina teme. Conchiude al fin, ch’oggi altra strada è nulla per salvar sé da le sue pene estreme, se non la morte, e su l’ultima clade al fine il dubbio cor ruina, e cade.46

The “ruina” of   the oak anticipates the “ruina” of   Myrrha’s heart, to which it is linked by the similarity of   their shared swaying 45  Ibidem, 180: “Misera mè, perchè non venni al mondo / in quella parte, ove non è contesa / la copula à la vergine, secondo / le persuade à far la voglia accesa. / Hor, s’io non vengo al fin dolce, e giocondo, / dal loco, e da la sorte io sono offesa. / O’ folle, quale è il fin, che speri, e brami, / scaccia pur via da te le voglie infami”. 46  Ibidem, 181.

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motion. Extending the comparison to a mighty tree wounded by an axe, which was already present in Ovid (securi  / saucia trabs ingens),47 Anguillara constructs an image that brings together the natural and psychological worlds and already identifies Myrrha with an oak, creating a symbol that is able to imprint itself in the memory. While the construction of   emblematic figures satisfies the century’s taste for images that speak, the attention to movements and lights reveals a  sensitivity that explains its artistic success. The stars that in Ovid are hidden in the sky to let the horrific scene unfold in darkness, in Anguillara’s version respond almost to a provocation by the impious maiden, who first seeks to escape the moonlight that illuminates her face. Q uando l’infame vergine si spinse verso la sceleraggine proposta, fuggì la Luna splendida, & estinse la luce con la mano al volto opposta. Tanto nefando, e novo error costrinse a fuggirsi ogni stella, e star nascosta. Pose ogni segno al suo splendore il velo, e fe’ del foco suo mancare il cielo.48

The gesture demonstrates the full responsibility of   the protagonist, which is never justified by the narrator. While in Ovid, as Joseph  D. Reed noted in his Introduction to Books  X, XI and XII, Myrrha and Biblis manage to be “focalizzatrici della loro storia”, forcing the reader “a condividere il loro punto di vista sui dolori sofferti”,49 in Anguillara’s version the frequent moralising intervention of   the commentary creates greater detachment from the character, with whom there is never any sense of   identification. The effect of  pathos is also cancelled out in the reconstruction of   the recognition scene, which Anguillara enriches with a  theatrical action reminiscent of   the commedia dell’arte tradition. Demonstrating a solid understanding of   the staging and mecha Ov., Met. 10,372-373.   Anguillara 1563, 10, octave 182. 49  Reed 2013, XX. 47 48

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nisms of   the comic, the translator shows Myrrha trying to cover herself to escape from Cinyras, who has gone to look for a lamp to reveal the girl’s identity. La figlia, che levar il padre sente, e per aprir un uscio oprar la chiave, si gittò intorno il panno immantinente, che di quel, che seguì, sospetta, e pave. Va pian pian ver lo studio, e vi pon mente, e vede, che la corda in man pres’ have, e che per far risplender l’aria nera cerca, che faccia il solfo arder la cera. Tosto prende il camin verso la porta, e ’l ferro isprigionar vuol per aprire, ma intanto il lume acceso il padre porta, et ella à tempo non si può coprire. Tosto fa rimaner la fiamma morta col vento Mirra, e poi dassi a fuggire. Ma non restò l’ardor morto dal fiato, ch’ei vide la sua figlia e ’l suo peccato.50

In Myrrha’s subsequent flight, the poem gives a  wink to the comedy audience, through escapes, disguises and adventurous journeys. With his substantial experience as a playwright and his knowledge of  classical comedy, Anguillara deconstructs the tragic sense of   the episode, focusing instead on effect elements, which create suspence and surprise. Despite finding her father in front of   the door, Myrrha nonetheless manages to escape, finding the nurse, with whom she disguises herself. The two women manage to reach Arabia, where the nurse will die and Myrrha, after nine months, will carry her pregnancy to term, first transforming herself into a tree.

The Mirra of  Vittorio Alfieri Unlike Anguillara, who sets the episode within a  framework of   theatricality that alludes to the modes of   the comic, Vittorio Alfieri effectively translates the story into a theatrical text, making Myrrha the protagonist of   one of   his most successful tragedies.   Anguillara 1563, 10, octaves 192-193.

50

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Alfieri works intensively on the character of   Myrrha, reworking the Ovidian source and adapting it to the sensibilities and morals of   the time, to define a new profile, with any association with guilt removed. Roberto Alonge asserts that “La Mirra di Alfieri finisce là dove la Mirra di Ovidio comincia”,51 alluding to the different perspective in which the character is placed, but also to the particular representation that the playwright offers, one entirely focused on herself and the turmoil of  her spirit.52 In the Vita, the poet confesses his own difficulty in dealing with such a character, who seemed to him “non tragediabile”. A Mirra non avea pensato mai; ed anzi, essa non meno che Bibli, e così ogni altro incestuoso amore, mi si erano sempre mostrate come soggetti non tragediabili. Mi capitò alle mani nelle Metamorfosi di Ovidio quella caldissima e  veramente divina allocuzione di Mirra alla di lei nutrice, la quale mi fece prorompere in lagrime, e  quasi un subitaneo lampo mi destò l’idea di porla in tragedia; e mi parve che toccantissima ed originalissima tragedia potrebbe riuscire, ogni qual volta potesse venir fatto all’autore di maneggiarla in tal modo che lo spettatore scoprisse da sé stesso a poco a poco tutte le orribili tempeste del cuore infuocato ad un tempo e  purissimo della più assai infelice che non colpevole Mirra, senza che ella neppure la metà ne accennasse, non confessando quasi a  sé medesima, non che ad altra persona nessuna, un sì nefando amore. In somma la ideai a bella prima, ch’ella dovesse nella mia tragedia operare quelle cose stesse, ch’ella in Ovidio descrive; ma operarle tacendole. Sentii fin da quel punto l’immensa difficoltà ch’io incontrerei nel dover far durare questa scabrosissima fluttuazione dell’animo di Mirra per tutti gl’interi cinque atti, senza accidenti accattati d’altrove. E  questa difficoltà che allora vieppiù m’infiammò, e  quindi poi nello stenderla, verseggiarla, e  stamparla sempre più mi fu sprone a tentare di vincerla, io tuttavia dopo averla fatta, 51  Alonge 2005, 15: “La Mirra di Alfieri finisce là dove la Mirra di Ovidio comincia”. “Q uella di Alfieri è un’altra Mirra, un’altra storia. È la storia di una re-pressione, mentre Ovidio ci dà la storia della pressione, dell’urgere sfrenato della cieca frenesia fisica”. 52  See on this Alonge 2005, 19: “Ovidio ha la capacità, sì, di penetrare nel cuore di Mirra, ma pure quella – inedita e sconvolgente – di porre a nudo anche il punto di vista del padre, le sue pulsioni occulte, inconfessate e inconfessabili, mentre in Alfieri […] il dramma dell’incesto sarà colto essenzialmente dall’angolo visuale della donna”.

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la conosco e  la temo quant’ella s’è; lasciando giudicar poi dagli altri s’io l’abbia saputa superare nell’intero, in parte o in nulla.53

Alfieri admits his own “difficoltà” in dealing with Myrrha’s “scabrosissima fluttuazione dell’animo”, which he decided to portray by distancing himself from the Ovidian model.54 Although capable of   doing so “prorompere in lagrime”, the protagonist in the episode from Metamorphoses poses the problem for Alfieri of  how to represent a morally unacceptable story. The question of  reception of   the theatrical text, often central in Alfieri’s conceptual thinking, becomes in this case a  crucial core element around which the playwright questions himself extensively, imagining a tragedy in which “lo spettatore scoprisse da sé stesso a poco a poco tutte le orribili tempeste del cuore infuocato ad un tempo e purissimo della più assai infelice che non colpevole Mirra”. It is in the concept of   the guilt of   the protagonist that we can measure how far removed Alfieri’s tragedy is from the classical source. Because it is impossible to portray a tragic heroine who would contravene all theatrical and social conventions on verisimilitude and moral appropriateness, Alfieri develops a  new character, who reveals strength of   character and innocence.55 Instead of   showing an incestuous love that would have been immoral and unbearable on the stage, the playwright revisits the mythological story, corrupting the Ovidian source with other versions and grafting his own poetic invention onto those strands. It is mainly Hyginu’s account (fab. 58) that influences Alfieri’s interpretation, using the curse of   Venus on Cenchreis to give Myrrha’s story a  sense of   inevitability that is able to make the monstrous love of   the protagonist more tolerable. The tragic need for divine persecution contributes to defining the innocence of   a heroine for whom the public can feel compassion.56 The diminution of  Myrrha’s guilt is  Alfieri, Vita, IV, 14.   Still Alonge 2005, 48 notes that “Alfieri fa di tutto per prendere le distanze dall’exemplum offerto da Ovidio, ma intanto, stranamente, su quell’exemplum versa calde lacrime di commozione”. 55  Cf. Binni 1995. For the autobiographical proximity to the theme, one can refer to Debenedetti 1977 and Joly 1979. 56   The following is stated in the Parere: “spero che lo spettatore verrà a compatire, amare ed appassionarsi molto per Mirra”. 53 54

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essential in allowing the audience to identify with her and transforms her into what is defined in sixteenth-century tragedy as a  “half-way character” (“personaggio mezzano”), partially innocent but also unequivocally compromised by error. Alfieri constructs this sense of  a median figure in line with his tragic poetry, tempering the horror at the theme of   incest with pity for the “feroci martìri” that agitate the young woman’s soul. In  the Parere sulla Mirra, the poet considers the initial scene of   the confession to the nurse Eurycleia, which may even bring tears to the eyes of   the audience, as “racchiusa nei confini dei nostri costumi” and therefore appropriate for the taste and sensibilities of   the time. The innocence of   the protagonist may emerge and win out over guilt, bringing out the necessary strength and virtue to stifle passion and encourage moderate behaviour: “non so trovare un personaggio più tragico per noi” “atto a rattemprar sempre con la pietà l’orrore ch’ella ispira”. It is in the dedicatory sonnet of   the tragedy that the poet defines Myrrha’s position, capable of   moving us yet horrifying us with her guilt. Addressing the tragedies to his beloved Luisa Stolberg, Alfieri describes it as “ l’orrendo a un tempo e innocente amore” “della figlia di Ciniro”, who “sempre da’ tuoi begli occhi il pianto elìce”.57 The lines of   the sonnet draw attention to the tragic effect of  Myrrha’s story, to which the playwright himself attached significance when describing his own emotion on reading Ovid’s work. In  introducing the tragedy, Alfieri places the emphasis on the tears of   the Countess of   Albany and on the irremediable conflict linked to Myrrha’s status as a  half-way character, thus offering the keys to approaching the text. Without going into a  detailed analysis of   the tragedy – for which reference should be made to an extensive bibliography 58 – 57  “Vergognando talor che ancor si taccia, / donna, per me l’almo tuo nome in fronte / di queste omai già troppe, e a te ben conte / tragedie, ond’io di folle avrommi taccia; / or vo’ qual d’esse meno a te dispiaccia / di te fregiar: benché di tutte il fonte / tu sola fossi; e il viver mio non conte, / se non dal dì che al viver tuo si allaccia. / Della figlia di Ciniro infelice / l’orrendo a un tempo e innocente amore, / sempre da’ tuoi begli occhi il pianto elìce: / prova emmi questa, che al 1mio dubbio core / tacitamente imperïosa dice; / ch’io di MIRRA consacri a te il dolore”. 58  Among others, refer to Binni 1995, Branca 1981, Guglielminetti 1993 and Masiello 1964.

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it  is valuable to identify the moments when the poet defines the character traits of   the protagonist, conferring on her guilt an extremely modern nuance. It should be noted here how this particular identification of   the tragic heroine coincides with the moments when the work is most removed from the classical model. It is most definitely around the figure of  the nurse that Alfieri develops the original elements of   his interpretation of   the myth. In the dialogues between Eurycleia and Cenchreis he constructs the narrative of   the torment of   Myrrha, which is best illustrated by the confidences the young girl entrusts to her nurse. The playwright expands on the corresponding moments in Ovid, extending them and giving them greater power. In the first scene of   the first act, Eurycleia recounts the young girl’s suffering to Cenchreis, who is concerned by Myrrha’s sadness – “io dal dolor strugger la veggio”.59 As in the Metamor­ phoses, in which the nurse is awakened by Myrrha’s cries and sur­ git … reseratque fores, mortisque paratae  / instrumenta videns,60 thwarting her suicide attempt, so in Alfieri’s tragedy she hears her crying and comes to her rescue. […] I suoi sospiri eran da prima sepolti quasi; eran pochi; eran rotti: poi (non udendomi ella) in sì feroce piena crescean, che al fin, contro sua voglia, in pianto dirottissimo, in singhiozzi si cangiavano, ed anco in alte strida. Fra il lagrimar, fuor del suo labro usciva una parola sola: “Morte … morte”; E in tronchi accenti spesso la ripete. Io balzo in piedi; a lei corro, affannosa: ella, appena mi vede, a mezzo taglia ogni sospiro, ogni parola e pianto; e, in sua regal fierezza ricomposta, meco adirata quasi, in salda voce mi dice: “a che ne vieni? Or via, che vuoi? …”.61

 V. Alfieri, Mirra, I, 1, 22. For the text, refer to Alfieri 1974 or Alfieri 1996.  Ov., Met. 10,384-385. 61 Alfieri, Mirra, I,1,77-91. 59 60

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While retaining the reason for this nocturnal weeping, Alfieri changes its scope, showing Myrrha intent on invoking death, but not seeking it. Although the symptoms refer to the suffering of   love, the nurse can state with confidence and certainty that “d’amor non è dunque il suo male. Amore, / benché di pianto e di sospir si pasca, / pur lascia ei sempre un non so che di speme, / che in fondo al cor traluce; ma di speme, / raggio nessuno a lei si affaccia: è piaga  / insanabil la sua”.62 Even before her entrance, which only occurs in the second act (II, 2), the protagonist is drawn clearly using the signs that define her illness. It is by remarking on her unhealthy condition that Eurycleia further diminishes Myrrha’s responsibility, in that she suffers from an evil from which she cannot escape. The episode in Ovid describing the suicide attempt is echoed at several points in the play until it culminates in the unprecedented finale. When in the fourth scene in the second act, Myrrha goes so far as to ask Eurycleia for death, Alfieri shows the central position of  the character of  the nurse, which he uses to develop a different idea of   motherhood from the one offered by the introduction of   the figure of   Cenchreis. While the dialogue between the women in act 1, scene 1 showed the central position of   the theme of   motherhood, with the juxtaposition of   the natural and the emotional mother, (“Tu madre, / con più tenero e vivo amor parlarle  / non potevi, per certo”),63 in which some critics have detected autobiographical echoes, the confrontation between the nurse and the young girl in the grip of  her amorous fury identifies a character very different from Ovid’s. Although the father is no longer deceived to satisfy Myrrha’s desires, it is to Eurycleia that the playwright nonetheless entrusts a responsibility in defining the young girl’s destiny. Alfieri removes from the tragic plot the story of  the feasts of  Ceres, through which the nurse manages to weave her machinations to get the girl to Cinyras, and attributes a different guilt to Eurycleia. […] In questo crudel dubbio immersa già da gran tempo io stando, all’ara un giorno io ne venìa della sublime nostra   Ibidem, vv. 142-147.  Alfieri, Mirra, I,1,97-99.

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Venere diva; e con lagrime, e incensi, e caldi preghi, e invaso cor, prostrata innanzi al sacro simulacro, il nome tuo pronunziava …64

The nurse has aroused “lo sdegno  / della implacabil Dea”, who now, “orribilmente di furore accesa”, persecutes Myrrha. While constructing a  mechanism of   fate-related necessity that justifies the protagonist’s destiny, making her more acceptable to modern eyes, Alfieri transforms the responsibility of   the nurse, attributing to her an attitude of   defiance to the divinity, rather than the conduct of  a procuress. A comparison between the tragedy and Ovid’s poem reveals various other elements that establish the profound originality of   Alfieri’s text. These clearly include the parental pair of  Cenchreis and Cinyras, who, as noted by Alonge,65 are characterised by a  strong marital identity, with which they present themselves on the stage and to their daughter, strengthening the allusion to incestuous love in terms of   rivalry with the mother. The figure of   Pereus, Myrrha’s intended husband, introduces an additional element of  novelty compared to the myth, bringing to fruition what in Ovid was only a prospect of  marriage: At Cinyras quem copia digna procorum,  / quid faciat, dubitare facit, scitatur ab ipsa,  / nominibus dictis, cuius velit esse mariti.66 But it is in Myrrha’s silence and in her strength of   character that Alfieri creates her tragedy.67 The girl suppresses her passion, revealing the signs of  her own suffering, without going so far as to confess her love: “A un cor dolente  / sfuggon parole, a  cui badar non vuolsi”.68 The poet constructs the innocence of  the tragic heroine based on this resistance to a  love “in cui me stessa  / prima abborri­ sco”,69 but also on the impression that her family members have that “ai detti, agli atti, ai guardi, anco ai sospiri,  / par che la   Ibidem, 263-269.   Alonge 2005, 50: “la coppia è incombente, dominante”. 66  Ov., Met. 10,356-358. 67  See Azzolini 1980. 68 Alfieri, Mirra, II,4,322-323. 69  Ibidem, III,2,140-141. 64 65

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invasi orribilmente alcuna / sovrumana possanza”.70 As the finale will reveal, it will be the emergence of   this raging love that will make Myrrha guilty, that will make her, almost in a  frenzy, in the “estremo / sospir”, utter words that will unequivocally condemn her: “oh madre mia felice! … almen concesso / a lei sarà … di morire … al tuo fianco”.71

Bibliography Alfieri 1974 = V. Alfieri, Mirra, critical edition by M. Capucci, Casa di Alfieri, Asti 1974. Alfieri 1996 = V. Alfieri, Mirra, ed. by A. Fabrizi, Modena 1996. Alonge 2005 = R. Alonge, Mirra l’incestuosa. Ovidio, Alfieri, Ristori, Ronconi, Roma 2005. Anguillara 1563  = G.  A. dell’Anguillara, Le metamorfosi di Ovidio ridotte da Giovanni Andrea dell’Anguillara in ottava rima, Venezia 1563. Azzolini 1980  = P.  Azzolini, La negazione simbolica nella “Mirra” alfieriana, Lettere italiane 32, July-September 1980, 289-313. Binni 1995 = W. Binni, Lettura della Mirra, in Studi alfieriani, Modena 1995, vol. I. Borsetto 1990 = L. Borsetto, Il furto di Prometeo. Imitazione, scrittura, riscrittura nel Rinascimento, Alessandria 1990. Branca 1981 = V. Branca, Alfieri e la ricerca dello stile con cinque nuovi studi, Bologna 1981. Bucchi 2011 = G. Bucchi, Meraviglioso diletto: la traduzione poetica del Cinquecento e le Metamorfosi d’Ovidio di Giovan Andrea dell’An­ guillara, Pisa 2011. Capriotti 2013 = G. Capriotti, Le Trasformationi di Lodovico Dolce: il rinascimento ovidiano di Giovanni Antonio Rusconi, Ancona 2013. Cotugno 2019 = A. Cotugno, Introduzione a A. Cotugno (ed.), G. A. dell’Anguillara, Le Metamorfosi di Ovidio, con le Annotationi di G.  Orologi e  gli Argomenti di F.  Turchi, Manziana 2019/2020, vol. I, Tomo I, IX-LXVI. Debenedetti 1977  = G.  Debenedetti, Vocazione di Vittorio Alfieri, Roma 1977.   Ibidem, III,3,228-230.   Ibidem, V,2,182-183.

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Folena 1994 = G. Folena, Volgarizzare e tradurre, Torino 1994. Guglielminetti 1993  = M.  Guglielminetti, Lo spazio mitico della ‘Mirra’, in Id., Saul e Mirra, Roma 1993, 31-81. Guthmüller 1997 = B. Guthmüller, Mito, poesia, arte. Saggi sulla tradizione ovidiana nel Rinascimento, Roma 1997. Guthmüller 2007 = B. Guthmüller, Ovidio Metamorphoseos vulgare. Forme e funzioni della trasposizione in volgare della poesia classica nel Rinascimento italiano, Fiesole 2007. Guthmüller 2009 = B. Guthmüller, Mito e metamorfosi nella lettera­ tura italiana da Dante al Rinascimento, Roma 2009. Joly 1979 = J. Joly, Le désir et utopie. études sur le théâtre d’Alfieri et Goldoni, Clermont-Ferrand 1979. Masiello 1964  = V.  Masiello, L’ideologia tragica di Vittorio Alfieri, Roma 1964. Padoan 1970 = G. Padoan, Mirra, Enciclopedia dantesca, Roma 1970, https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/mirra_%28EnciclopediaDantesca%29/ Pampinella-Cropper 2012 = M. Pampinella-Cropper, Myrrha: Inces­ tuous Passion and Political Trasgression (Inferno 30), Forum Italicum 46, 2012, 82-109. Reed 2013  = J.  D. Reed, Introduzione a  J.  D. Reed (ed.), P.  Ovidio Nasone, Metamorfosi, vol. V, libri X-XII, Milano 2013. Sapegno 19853 = Dante Alighieri, La Divina Commedia, Inferno, ed. N. Sapegno, Florence 19853. Torre 2014 = A. Torre, L’edonista riluttante. Erotismo, sessualità e mito adonico nel Rinascimento, Italique 17, 2014, 73-101.

Abstract The systematic presence of  Metamorphoses in Italian literary tradition as been investigated by several studies, who have focused on the codification of   the myths. The aim of   this paper is to analyze the figure of   Myrrha and its interpretations in the early Italian modernity. From Dante to Vittorio Alfieri, the essay wants to identify the different interpretations of   the mythological character, who is guilty of   falsifying her person (Dante), in order to commit the terrible crime. Myrrha is also a tragic heroine, who tries to resist to a love “in cui me stessa / prima abborrisco” (Alfieri). In the sixteenth century vulgarization the classic character undergoes a deeper psychological analysis, and her torment assumes the outlines of  a comedy scene.

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