Emperors and emperorship in late antiquity : images and narratives 2020045224, 2020045225, 9789004446908, 9789004446922, 9004446907

Table of contents :
Contents
Figures
Contributors
Introduction
Part 1 Constantine
Chapter 1 Emperors and Tyrants in the Fourth Century. Outlining a New Portrait of the Ruler and of His Role through Images and Words
Chapter 2 Constantine’s Arch: A Reassessment in the Light of Textual and Material Evidence
Chapter 3 Purple and the Depiction of Constantine in Eusebius and Other Contemporaneous Panegyrical Works
Part 2 Julian
Chapter 4 The Caesars: A Myth on Julian’s Emperorship
Chapter 5 Cosmic Warnings and Imperial Responses: Ammianus’ Astronomical Excursuses
Part 3 From the Valentinians to Theodosius
Chapter 6 Between Expressionism and Classicism: Stylistic Choices as Means of Legitimisation in Late Fourth-Century Imperial Portraits
Chapter 7 The Letter from Magnus Maximus to Valentinian II (CA 39): Two Imperial Images in Conflict
Chapter 8 Toying with Theodosius: The Manipulation of the Imperial Image in the Sources of the Riot of the Statues
Chapter 9 Managing the Empire while Securing the Throne: Theodosius I and the Administrative Structures of His Empire
Index of Names and Subjects
Index Locorum

Citation preview

Emperors and Emperorship in Late Antiquity

Impact of Empire ROMAN EMPIRE, C. 200 B.C.–A.D. 476 Edited by Olivier Hekster (Radbound University, Nijmegen, The Netherlands) Editorial Board Stéphane Benoist Angelos Chaniotis Lien Foubert Anne Kolb Luuk de Ligt Elio Lo Cascio Bernhard Palme Michael Peachin Francisco Pina Polo Rubina Raja Christian Witschel Greg Woolf

volume 40

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/imem

Emperors and Emperorship in Late Antiquity Images and Narratives Edited by

María Pilar García Ruiz Alberto J. Quiroga Puertas

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: Portrait of a Valentinian emperor. Marble. AD 364–378, urban workshop. From the Forum Boarium in Rome. Roma, Musei Capitolini, Palazzo Nuovo, Magazzino Sculture, i.no. Ant. Com. 10460 (© Roma – Sovrintendenza Capitolina ai Beni Culturali). Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: García Ruiz, Ma. Pilar (María Pilar), editor, author. | Quiroga  Puertas, Alberto J., 1978–, editor, author. Title: Emperors and emperorship in late antiquity : images and narratives /  edited by María Pilar García Ruiz, Alberto J. Quiroga Puertas. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, 2021. | Series: Impact of Empire,  1572–0500 ; volume 40 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020045224 (print) | LCCN 2020045225 (ebook) | ISBN  9789004446908 (hardback) | ISBN 9789004446922 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Rome—History—Empire, 30 B.C.–476 A.D. | Rhetoric,  Ancient. | Visual communication—Political aspects—Rome. | Symbolism in  politics—Rome. | Image (Philosophy)—Political aspects—Rome. |  Politics and literature—Rome. | Latin literature—Political aspects. Classification: LCC DG311 .E46 2021 (print) | LCC DG311 (ebook) | DDC  937/.080922—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020045224 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020045225

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. ISSN 1572-0500 ISBN 978-90-04-44690-8 (hardback) ISBN 978-90-04-44692-2 (e-book) Copyright 2021 by María Pilar García Ruiz and Alberto J. Quiroga Puertas. Published by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. Koninklijke Brill NV reserves the right to protect this publication against unauthorized use. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill NV via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents List of Figures vii Contributors x Introduction 1 María Pilar García Ruiz and Alberto J. Quiroga Puertas

Part 1 Constantine 1 Emperors and Tyrants in the Fourth Century. Outlining a New Portrait of the Ruler and of His Role through Images and Words 15 Ignazio Tantillo 2 Constantine’s Arch: A Reassessment in the Light of Textual and Material Evidence 53 Diederik Burgersdijk 3 Purple and the Depiction of Constantine in Eusebius and Other Contemporaneous Panegyrical Works 76 José B. Torres

Julian

Part 2

4 The Caesars: A Myth on Julian’s Emperorship 95 María Pilar García Ruiz 5 Cosmic Warnings and Imperial Responses: Ammianus’ Astronomical Excursuses 112 Álvaro Sánchez-Ostiz

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Contents

Part 3 From the Valentinians to Theodosius 6 Between Expressionism and Classicism: Stylistic Choices as Means of Legitimisation in Late Fourth-Century Imperial Portraits 139 Fabio Guidetti 7 The Letter from Magnus Maximus to Valentinian II (CA 39): Two Imperial Images in Conflict 177 María Victoria Escribano 8 Toying with Theodosius: The Manipulation of the Imperial Image in the Sources of the Riot of the Statues 199 Alberto J. Quiroga Puertas 9 Managing the Empire while Securing the Throne: Theodosius I and the Administrative Structures of His Empire 218 Daniëlle Slootjes Index of Names and Subjects 235 Index Locorum 239

Figures 1.1a Arch of Constantine, detail showing the siege of Verona. Steve Kershaw, The Arch of Constantine. Siege of Verona (Image), February 2013, https://open. conted.ox.ac.uk/sites/open.conted.ox.ac.uk/files/styles/full_size/public/ resources/DSC_0659.JPG?itok=0FhJerip, (March 2019), licensed under CC BY-NC-SA. Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported (CC BY-NC-SA 3.0) 16 1.1b Arch of Constantine, detail showing the battle at the Milvian Bridge. Steve Kershaw, The Arch of Constantine. Battle of the Milvian Bridge (Image), February 2013, (March 2019), licensed under CC BY-NC-SA. AttributionNonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported (CC BY-NC-SA 3.0) 17 1.2 Malborghetto Arch hypothetical reconstruction, Rome. https://commons. wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Arco_di_Toebelmann_01.jpg 20 1.3 Arch of Janus, Rome (reconstruction proposed by Mateos, Pizzo, Ventura), ‘Arcus Divi Constantini: An Architectural Analysis and Chronological Proposal for the Arch of Janus in the Forum Boarium in Rome’, JRS 2017, 237–274, 266 (fig. 16). 22 1.4 Column of Theodosius, Constantinople (fragment) © David Hendrix 23 1.5 Column of Arcadius, Constantinople (sketch). Hypothetical reconstruction of the Arcadian column in Constantinople [Gurlitt C. (1912)]. https://commons. wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gurlitt_Arcadius_Column.jpg 24 1.6 Wall panel in Imperial Palace at Constantinople (hypothetical reconstruction) from F. Bisconti, Monumenta picta. L’arte dei Costantinidi tra pittura e mosaico, in A. Donati, G. Gentili, Costantino il Grande. La civilità antica al bivio tra occidente e Oriente, Milano 2005, 182. 25 1.7 Constantine I, copper alloy coin. Constantinople (326–330), London, British Museum, Department of Coins and Medals, inv. 1890,0804.11 (© The Trustees of the British Museum). 26 1.8 Valentinian III, gold coin, Ravenna, 425–455, London, British Museum, Department of Coins and Medals, inv. 1863,0711.7 (© The Trustees of the British Museum). 27 6.1 Portrait of an emperor. Porphyry. Beginning of the 4th century, Alexandrian workshop. From Athribis (Augustamnica). Cairo, Egyptian Museum, i.no. CG 7257. 143 6.2 Group portrait of four tetrarchic emperors, detail. Porphyry. Beginning of the 4th century, Alexandrian workshop. From Constantinople. Venezia, Basilica di San Marco (Photo: Carole Raddato / CC-BY-SA-2.0). 144

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Figures

6.3 Colossal portrait of Constantine. Marble. AD 315 ca., urban workshop. From the Basilica of Maxentius. Roma, Musei Capitolini, i.no. MC 786 (Photo: José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro / CC BY-SA 4.0). 145 6.4 Solidus of Jovian. Gold. AD 363–364, mint of Sirmium. Private collection (© Classical Numismatic Group, Inc. Auction 106, Lot 841, http://www .cngcoins.com). 148 6.5 Solidus of Magnentius. AD 350–353. Gold, mint of Aquileia. Washington, DC, Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, acc. n. BZC.1948.17.668 (© Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington, DC). 148 6.6 Colossal portrait of a Valentinian emperor. Marble. AD 364–378, urban workshop. From Rome. Firenze, Galleria degli Uffizi, i.no. 273 (Photo: Ilia Shurygin). 150 6.7 Fragmentary portrait of a Valentinian emperor. Marble. AD 364–378 ca., urban workshop. From Rome. Copenhagen, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, i.no. 1475 (© Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek). 150 6.8 Portrait of a Valentinian emperor. Marble. AD 364–378, urban workshop. From the Forum Boarium in Rome. Roma, Musei Capitolini, Palazzo Nuovo, Magazzino Sculture, i.no. Ant. Com. 10460 (© Roma – Sovrintendenza Capitolina ai Beni Culturali). 151 6.9 Portrait of a Valentinian emperor. Marble. AD 364–378, urban workshop. From Rome. Tivoli, Villa d’Este, without i.no. (Photo: Antonio Pazzaglia). 151 6.10 Portrait of a Valentinian emperor. Marble. AD 364–378, Gallic (?) workshop. From Vienne. Vienne, Musée archéologique Saint-Pierre, i.no. R 2001-5-151 (courtesy of the Musées de Vienne, Isère, France). 152 6.11 Portrait of Caracalla, so-called Alleinherrschertypus. Marble. AD 212–217, urban workshop. From the Baths of Caracalla in Rome. Napoli, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, i.no. 6033 (Photo: Marie-Lan Nguyen / CC BY 2.5). 154 6.12 Solidus of Theodosius. Gold. AD 388, mint of Constantinople. Private collection (© Andreas Pangerl, http://www.romancoins.info). 156 6.13 Missorium celebrating the decennalia of Theodosius. Silver. AD 388, Eastern workshop (Thessalonica?). From Almendralejo (Baetica). Madrid, Real Academia de la Historia, without i.no. 176 (Ref. XXXXX). 156 6.14 Detail from the relief on the base of the obelisk in the Circus of Constantinople (Western side). Proconnesian marble. AD 390 ca., Constantinopolitan workshop. İstanbul, At Meydanı (Photo: Domenico Nardone, http:// wwwbisanzioit.blog spot.it). 158 6.15 Portrait of an early Theodosian emperor. Marble. AD 380–400 ca., Constantinopolitan (?) workshop. From Rome. Berlin, Staatliche Museen, Antikensammlung, i.no. 1772 (© Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Preußischer Kulturbesitz. Photo: J. Laurentius). 158

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6.16 Fragmentary portrait of an early Theodosian emperor. Marble. AD 380–400 ca., Constantinopolitan (?) workshop. From Rome. Berlin, Staatliche Museen, Antikensammlung, i.no. 1779 (© Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Preußischer Kulturbesitz. Photo: G. Geng). 159 6.17 Portrait of Theodosius, reworked probably from a portrait of Gallienus. Marble. AD 380–400 ca., Aphrodisian workshop. From the Tetrastoon in Aphrodisias. Geyre, Aphrodisias Müzesi, i.no. 72–203 (© New York University Excavations at Aphrodisias / Photo: G. Petruccioli). 161 6.18 Statue of an early Theodosian emperor (Arcadius?). Marble. AD 390 ca., Aphrodisian workshop. From the so-called ‘Place of Palms’ in Aphrodisias. İstanbul, Arkeoloji Müzesi, inv.no. 2264 (Photo: Egisto Sani /  CC BY-NC-SA 2.0). 162 6.19 Colossal portrait of an early Theodosian emperor, probably Honorius. Marble. AD 390 ca., urban workshop. From Rome. Roma, Musei Capitolini, i.no. MC 494 (Photo: Marie-Lan Nguyen / Public domain). 163 6.20 Reconstruction drawing of the monument in honour of the emperor Theodosius in the Tetrastoon of Aphrodisias. AD 390 ca. (Drawing by K. Görkay, from Smith 1999, fig. 2). 165 6.21 Reconstruction drawings of the monuments in honour of the emperors Valentinian II and Arcadius in the ‘Place of Palms’ of Aphrodisias. AD 390 ca. (Drawings by K. Görkay, from Smith 1999, figs. 3–4). 167

Contributors Diederik Burgersdijk Dr Diederik Burgersdijk teaches Latin and Ancient History at University College Utrecht, The Netherlands. He holds a research fellowship at Radboud University, and is guest-researcher at Allard Pierson, University of Amsterdam. Together with Alan Ross, he edited Imagining Emperors in the Later Roman Empire, published in 2018 (Brill, in the series Cultural Interactions in the Mediterranean). In 2010, he defended his PhD about the collection of imperial biographies, the Historia Augusta, at the University of Amsterdam. He is member of the editorial boards of Talanta: Proceedings of the Dutch Archaeological and Historical Society and the Rivista storica dell’antichità of the University of Bologna. María Victoria Escribano María Victoria Escribano Paño is Professor of Ancient History at the University of Zaragoza, Spain. Her research interests revolve mostly around distinctive features of religious politics in Late Antiquity. Her major publications include: “Heresy and Orthodoxy in Fourth Century Hispania”, in K. Bowes, M. Kulikowski (eds.), Hispania in Late Antiquity: Current Perspectives, Brill (The Medieval and Early Modern Iberian World 24), Leiden-Boston 2005, 121–149; “Heretical Texts and maleficium in the Codex Theodosianus” (CTh. 16.5.34), in R. Gordon, F. Marco (eds.), Magical Practice in the Latin West, Brill (RGRW 168), Leiden-Boston 2010, 105–138; (with R. Lizzi Testa), Politica, religione e legislazione nel’Impero romano, IV–V secolo d. C., Edipuglia, Collana Munera 37, Bari 2014; “Law, Heresy and Judges under the Thedosian Dynasty”, Klio, Beiträge zur Alten Geschichte, 98, 2016, 241–262; and “Superstitiosa coniuratio soluatur: Jovinian’s Exile in Cod. Theod. 16.5,53 (398)”, in D. Rohmann, J. Ulrich, M. Vallejo (eds.), Mobility and Exile at the End of Antiquity, Peter Lang, Early Christianity in the Context of Antiquity, 19, Berlin 2018, 69–90. María Pilar García Ruiz Dr María Pilar García Ruiz is Lecturer in Classics at the University of Navarra, Pamplona, Spain. Her research focuses on Late Latin and Greek literature, specifically in historiography and rhetorical texts. Highlights among her publications include a commentary on Claudian Mamertinus’ gratiarum actio, PanLat III (AD 362) (2006), the co-edited volume Praising the Otherness. Linguistic and Cultural Alterity in the Roman Empire (2013), with Alberto Quiroga, and various

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articles relating to Ammianus’ Res Gestae, the Panegyrici Latini collection and the works of the emperor Julian. Since 2013 she has led Romanitas Principum, a research group focused on imperial representation in Late Antiquity on which she has promoted international conferences and published various papers, such as ‘Julian’s self-representation in coins and texts’ in Burgersdijk-Ross (eds.), Imagining Emperors in the Later Roman Empire, Brill, 2018. Fabio Guidetti Fabio Guidetti is Marie Skłodowska-Curie Fellow in Classics at the University of Edinburgh. His main research focus is the cultural history of Rome in the Imperial and Late Antique period, approached from a broad interdisciplinary perspective which takes into account both visual and literary culture, as well as scientific, religious, and political thought. Among his recent publications are the critical edition, with translation and commentary, of the Treatise on the Celestial Sphere by the late antique astronomer Leontius Mechanicus (Pisa, ETS, 2020) and the volume A Globalised Visual Culture? Towards a Geography of Late Antique Art, co-edited with Katharina Meinecke (Oxford, Oxbow Books, 2020). Alberto J. Quiroga Puertas Dr Alberto Quiroga Puertas is Lecturer of Ancient Greek at the University of Granada, Spain. His research interests lie in Greek Imperial and Late Antique literature, with especial attention to its rhetorical dimension. He is the author of several papers on the rhetorical strategies used by authors such as Lucian, Libanius of Antioch, the emperor Julian, and Basil of Caesarea. He has also edited several books (e.g. Rhetorical Strategies in Late Antique Literature: Images, Metatexts and Interpretation, Brill, 2017) and authored several monographs (e.g. The Dynamics of Rhetorical Performances in Late Antiquity, Routledge, 2019). Álvaro Sánchez-Ostiz Álvaro Sánchez-Ostiz is Lecturer in Latin at the University of Navarra. His research fields are late Latin historiography and poetry, with a particular interest in the creation of public discourses and images from Julian to Theodosius, as well as in phenomena of intercultural exchange in the Classical World. He has published an edition of the Anonymus de rebus bellicis with a commentary, several papers on the reception of Latin literature in the Greek East, the literary technique of Ammianus Marcellinus, and interpretations of Claudian’s panegyrics.

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Daniëlle Slootjes Dr Slootjes is Associate Professor of Ancient History at Department of History, Radboud University Nijmegen, Netherlands. She specializes in the field of Late Antiquity and Early Byzantine History, and focuses in particular on provinces and dioceses in Late Roman administration, on early Christianity and crowd behavior in Rome and Constantinople. She has been the editor of many volumes, most recently Leadership, Ideology and Crowds in the Roman Empire of the Fourth Century AD (2020, Stuttgart, together with Erika Manders), and Byzantium in Dialogue with the Mediterranean. History and Heritage, in the series Medieval Mediterranean (2019, Leiden, with Mariëtte Verhoeven). Ignazio Tantillo Ignazio Tantillo is Professor of Roman History at the Università di Napoli l’Orientale. His research interests embrace various aspects of Mediterranean history in Late Antiquity: imperial ideology and representation of power; provincial history and administration; Ostrogothic Italy; epigraphy and the “statue habit”. Among his publications, a commentary on the first speech of Julian to Constantius II (1997); several articles on the representation of constantinian emperors. He is the chief editor of an epigraphic and archaological study on Leptis Magna (2010) and Gortyn (2020) in Late Antiquity; he is also co-editor of the italian commentary of Cassiodorus’ Variae (2014–2020). José B. Torres José B. Torres Guerra is Professor of Ancient Greek in the University of Navarra (Spain). His main research points have been Ancient Greek epic, Greek hymnology, mythography, and intercultural relations in the Imperial Period, a topic which has led him to pay special attention to authors such as Cornutus, Longus and Eusebius of Caesarea. As a result of these interests he published a monography on the Homeric Thebaid as a source of Iliad and Odyssey (1995), numerous articles on these questions and the new critical edition of Cornutus’s Survey of the Greek Theological Traditions, which appeared in the Bibliotheca Teubneriana (2018). He has developed his work on interculturalism in the Imperial Period within a research group of the University of Navarra.

Introduction María Pilar García Ruiz and Alberto J. Quiroga Puertas 0.1

Redefing Power: Emperor and Emperorship in the Fourth Century AD

“The authority of an emperor depended not exclusively on the power he possessed, it depended also on the way imperial power was presented and perceived.”1 These words encapsulate what has become the rationale of contemporary studies on the figure of the emperor, that is, how he became a symbol upon which politics, culture and religion ultimately converged. Both literary works of varied genres, and visual representations – statues, coins, public buildings, honorific inscriptions2 – were created and displayed in order to imprint the emperor’s image on the collective consciousness of his subjects.3 This complex web of media helped, among other things, to disseminate the political supremacy and legitimacy of the ruler, naturalising and universalising the experience of Roman imperial power.4 The emperor himself appeared, and was perceived, in the context of an ideologically engineered framework, supported by images of his person which changed over time. Such perceptions were also defined by the expectations and approaches of different communities and individual subjects.5 Over the course of the twentieth century, our understanding of the concepts, images, and ideas relating to the representation of empire and emperor has grown significantly through studies that draw on a variety of methodologies; some centring on philology and others focusing on history. Research on ceremonial occasions and the (re)presentation of the monarchy (Alföldi 1970; Straub 1964 [1939]; Salzman 2015) is especially noteworthy in this regard, as are the explorations of ceremonial practices and the visual arts (MacCormack 1981, McCormick 1985; Teja 1993; Lehnen 1997; Manders 2012). Other analyses have addressed the ways and means by which the message and experience of the 1 2 3 4 5

Drijvers 2011, 1. Fowler and Hekster 2005. Ando 2000, esp. 232–239. Noreña 2011, 1; 14–15. Hekster 2015, 1; 27. See also Miles 1999, 9: “Three developments seem to stand out, namely, the changes in imperial self-representation and ideology, the influx of ‘barbarians’ and their growing importance in the military and civil structures of the empire, and the emergence of Christianity as a powerful force.”

© García Ruiz and Quiroga Puertas, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004446922_002

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emperor’s hegemonic power was communicated to all citizens of the empire (Noreña 2011; Wienand 2012). Likewise, there has been no shortage of studies examining the specific images that each emperor created and communicated about himself (Delbrueck 2010 [1933]; Bardill 2012). More recently, the role played by other agents –powerful and marginal groups, political and intellectual elites, religious and ethnic minorities – in the context of political communication, as well as in the dynamics of the formulation, redefinition, and interpretation of the image of the Emperor in relation to a wide range of publics, has also been the focus of significant scholarly discussion (Slootjes 2011; Smith 2011; Kleijn and Bénoist 2013; Wienand 2015; Lenski 2016). Of equal interest are explorations of how different expectations and approaches (for instance shared tradition and identity) among individual and community audiences may have shaped such political communication concerning the image of the emperor and of the empire (Brown 1992; Hekster 2015, Lenski 2016). At the same time, the rhetorical techniques deployed in imperial panegyrics have been studied in depth and detail, disclosing a plurality of layers of meaning, oratorical strategies, and implicit political philosophy, as well as the reception and recodification of messages communicated in other genres and formats (Pernot 1993; Whitby 1998; Rees 2002, 2012; van Hoof 2014, Quiroga Puertas 2017, Burgersdijk-Ross 2018, Omissi 2018; Omissi-Ross 2020). The range and scope of these perspectives have provided a clearer and more detailed understanding of how the idea of imperial power was shaped, transmitted, and received in Late Antiquity. In this context, by capitalising on this multidisciplinary field of studies the research project Romanitas Principum has been created with the aim to study in greater detail the interactions between the different mechanisms involved in the process of imperial representation between the reigns of Constantine and Theodosius I.6 The main goal is to excavate the “image of the emperor” in both real and metaphorical terms as an icon7 of imperial identity. The scope of Romanitas Principum centres on the representation of late antique emperors. This first stage focuses on Constantine, Julian, and Theodosius given their dimension as contrasting figures, and thought-provoking emblems of the specific characteristics of fourth-century politics, religion, culture, and society. This research project also questions whether it is possible to outline the development of new symbols in 6 “Romanitas Principum: Romanity and Interculturality in late antique imperial selfrepresentation: Constantine, Julian, Theodosius” (funded by Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness, ref. MINECO FFI 2013-41327). 7 Borrowing Wienand’s expression, “late antique emperors as icons of sovereignty in an age of transition” in his epilogue to Contested Monarchy 2015.

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the imperial imagination as they were transmitted up and down the social ladder, from the emperor or elite groups to other social classes, from west to east across the empire, from pagan to Christian contexts, and vice versa. Likewise, Romanitas Principum seeks to reflect on these shifts as a way to a clearer understanding of the ‘shared’ and the ‘different’ in social or cultural terms. These are some of the themes that were addressed in the international workshop Emperors and Emperorship in Late Antiquity: Images and Narratives held at the University of Navarra, Pamplona (Spain) on 17 and 18 February 2017. Discussions centred on a set of open questions: What are the interrelationships between the language of rhetoric and the code of images, from Constantine to Theodosius? How is the study of visual and/or textual imperial images shaped by the fact that they were produced and promoted at the behest of the emperor and with his authority, by intellectual elites, local powers, other groups and individuals? How did political and religious vocabulary change in representing the emperor and his enemies? What might contemporary literary theories contribute to the interpretation of textual images from this period? What new light might other approaches, less commonly explored thus far, shed on how the emperor made his ‘presence’ felt among his subjects? 0.2

Revisiting Imperial Representations

These questions constitute the underlying issues of the contributions presented in this volume, which considers representations of material culture and texts as interconnected sources that engaged with and reacted to each other. Take, for instance, the discussion about the Arch of Constantine and other monuments commemorating the emperor’s victories in chapters 1 and 2 based on a number of sources that replicated and dialogued with each other – especially when it came to war issues, such as the consideration of external and internal enemies, as well as the relevance of spolia. A similar approach can be found in García Ruiz’s work (chapter 4), in which it is proven how Julian’s Caesars was composed as a response to previous portraits of glorified emperors. In this way, the texts and different forms of material culture dealt with in this volume have been interpreted from a multimodal approach in order to try to shed some light on how the patterns of representation of emperorship in the fourth century worked. In doing so, we believe that this volume can contribute to understand the processes involved in the choice of visual and textual imperial representations that started in the Constantinian period. This was a time that radically transformed and conditioned the artistic and literary models of subsequent

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generations, imbuing the existing symbols with new meaning, as well as creating a number of new symbols. Among the latter, the main innovations in Constantinian imperial (self-)representation concern the relationship between the emperor and the divine. It is not difficult to find sources in which the divine sends messages to Constantine in dreams and visions, assuring him of victory and success. We are told, for example, that in 310 the god Apollo, accompanied by Victory, promised him a reign to last thirty years;8 later, on the eve of the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, the Christian God assured him of triumph and offered his symbol as guarantee of victory.9 Both stories are likely to have originated with the emperor or his entourage, and were soon echoed in panegyric texts and other modes of iconography. This type of narrative helped Constantine’s family to reframe the notion of emperorship in accordance to his political and religious agenda. Apollo was the god both of his father, Constantius Chlorus, and of Claudius Gothicus, the emperor to whom Constantine wished to be linked. Dynastic legitimacy was likewise based on this cult of the ‘family’ god, rather than the gods of the Tetrarchs, from whom he wished to distance himself. From 310 to 324, Constantine not only used the imagery of the sun, but also superimposed or assimilated his own image into that of the sun, in his coin iconography. In many ways, this ongoing devotion to the Sun God reflected a much deeper obsession with the nature of light and its power as a metaphor. Far from shedding his initial fascination with the power of light, Constantine maintained it from the beginning to the end of his reign. Light also served as a beacon of unwavering consistency in his public self-presentation, even as he transformed himself from a pagan to a Christian ruler. The messages his subjects decoded from this complex of ideas were thus bound to be fraught with ambivalence and at times contradiction.10 Apropos of this paradigm of change and continuity in the religious arena, Torres’ contribution (chapter 3) aims to elucidate whether the purple took on new meanings or nuances for Constantine and his image-makers by comparing and contrasting Latin encomiastic testimonies with Eusebius’ Life of Constantine. As in the contemporaneous Panegyrici Latini, in the opening passages of Eusebius’ Life, purple garments signified imperial dignity in accordance with Roman tradition. But in the Council of Nicaea scene,11 Torres suggests, purple is the light and brightness that emanate from the Augustus when he assumes the role of episcopus maximus. Purple becomes a reflection of 8 9 10 11

Pan. Lat. VI(7) 21.5–6. Lact. De mort. persecutorum 44.5–9; Eus. VC 1.28, 31–38. Lenski 2016, 48–49, 51–52. VC 3.10.3–4.

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divine light, which the ruler somehow transmits from above. The cultural context of Eusebius and his audience is that of the Judeo-Christian Bible tradition. Another significant aspect in the display of the imperial image is the celebration of triumphs. Traditionally, military victory underscored the outstanding qualities and capabilities of the princeps, and the triumph was the most prestigious sign of military success.12 Military triumph had long been celebrated, but Constantine went to extraordinary lengths in this regard. In his contribution on Constantine’s Arch, Burgersdijk (chapter 2) points out that in 315 the Roman Senate dedicated a ‘monument in stone’ to extol the emperor who had conquered all his rivals and surpassed his predecessors. The formula of the arcus triumphis insignis could be interpreted literally as a self-referential ‘stone monument full of triumphs’. Constantine’s triumph (which would range from the profectio to the battle in Verona to the ingressus Vrbis) depicted on the frieze was also to surpass triumphant representations of past emperors to whom Constantine is compared. Contemporary panegyrists in 313 and 321 asserted this interpretation. The range and number of inscriptions, coins, medallions, reliefs, literary praise-poems such as Optatian’s Morphogrammata, as well as the architecture of Constantinople itself, “the city of Constantine’s Victory”, are proof enough of the fact that Constantine and his court, comprising intellectual elites and local powers, situated the high praise of triumph at the heart of his imperial (self-)representation. Yet, curiously enough, this tendency of glorification and magnification of the emperor’s heroic accomplishments became an invective topos. In this way, García Ruiz (chapter 4) argues that Julian subverted and ridiculed Roman emperors’ deed narratives, thus implicitly criticising Constantine’s large-scale propaganda. Another element worthy of attention in such representations of triumph and victory is the image of enemies defeated in civil war. In his contribution (chapter 1), Tantillo explores the surviving evidence for this representation of the internal enemy on public media in imperial Rome from Constantine to Theodosius and beyond. Tantillo analyses all the epigraphic records of tyrannus as ‘usurper’ and reads them in relation to visual and textual elements. The imagery was probably created to represent Maxentius in 312–313, but Constantine’s appreciation of it prompted him to make it his own. Along the same lines, Burgersdijk (chapter 2) points out the irony in the fact that the original commissioner of the Arch – that is, Maxentius – appears in the inscription as a ‘tyrant’. 12 Wienand 2015, passim, esp. 14, 491; extensive research literature on this subject, 14, n. 2.

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García Ruiz and Quiroga Puertas

Epigraphic and figurative evidence indicates that such monumental celebration of victory in internal conflicts was a phenomenon confined to Rome, and possibly to Constantinople where material remains are scarce. The transmission of the ‘tyrant-usurper’ label from the ranks of the Roman senate in the dedication of Constantine’s Arch is a good example not only of how Late Roman emperors and their closest advisors created and communicated the imperial image, but also of how other political actors contributed to defining this symbolic sphere of the Roman emperorship.13 From the Constantinian period onwards, tyrannus was commonly used to denote political adversaries to the reigning emperor and began to take on new connotations. In outlining the figure of the Good Christian Prince in Vita Constantini, Eusebius of Caesarea uses the term tyrannus as an antonym for the legitimate and pious ruler. A tyrant is not only one who usurps power through rebellion and oppresses his subjects; anyone who persecutes Christians is a tyrant.14 The problematics presented by these topics are addressed by Escribano’s contribution (chapter 7), in which it is shown how this religious meaning of the term is likewise articulated in the political narratives of later Christian emperors. The child emperor Valentinian II, persecutor of Nicaeans and protector of Arians, features as a ‘tyrant’ in a letter (Collectio Avellana 39) probably addressed to him by Magnus Maximus because, in the latter’s view, Valentinian was interfering in theological issues that were the prerogative of the Church. However, the values in relation to the representation of the emperor and his power were turned upside down after the reigns of Constantine’s sons due to the emergence of another shaping principle: the ideal of the imitatio deorum instead of imitating the emperors of the past. In the case of the emperor Julian, this theocratical stance on the image of the emperor and his relation to previous peers, (offered) by Julian himself in The Caesars, clashed with the historical view on the same issue defended by his ‘main biographer’: Ammianus Marcellinus. The historian’s narrative frames Julian’s image as a ‘Roman’ for an elite pagan audience in Rome. Thus, in his contribution, Sánchez-Ostiz (chapter 5) analyses excursus in which Ammianus records the reactions of emperors Constantius II, Julian, and Jovian to astronomical phenomena. This enquiry highlights how Julian’s centrality in Ammianus’ narrative is figured in contrast to the other emperors: of the three, only Julian is able to overcome

13 Omissi 2018. 14 Escribano 1998, 338.

Introduction

7

his doubts and accept the cosmic warnings, ultimately facing up to a properly Augustan departure from life.15 The following chapters cover the reigns of Jovian, the Valentinians, and Theodosius. Based on previous studies on the iconographic agendas of emperors Constantine and Julian, Fabio Guidetti (chapter 6) examines stylistic strategies reflected in imperial representation in the second half of the fourth century, specifically how the emperors’ roles were more precisely conceptualised through the representation of their facial features and attributes. Guidetti’s analysis of portraits extant from the Valentinian dynasty sheds new light on the multi-faceted self-representation of these emperors, who sought to combine the idealised traits of the Constantinian imperial image with a more effective expression of military strength and readiness for action. On the other hand, the Theodosian style recalls previous classicistic stages in Roman portraiture linked to political messages. Theodosius endeavours to present himself as a true heir to Constantine, and ultimately to Augustus, the founder of the Empire. His portraits, as well as those of his sons, based on a strong classicising ideal including oriental patterns, were also completely absent and motionless, depriving the imperial image of every surviving realistic feature. In the 370s and the 380s a new understanding of the role and function of a Roman emperor and the Roman monarchy emerged. In this context, Slootjes’ contribution (chapter 9) deals with an issue that has traditionally been overlooked, namely how changes in the administrative structures of the empire may have functioned as indicators of the emperor’s political strategies and his idea of the empire. A comparison between the Verona List (Laterculus Veronensis) and the two Notitiae Dignitatum, Notitia Occidentis and Notitiae Orientis, shows that three major changes were made to the names and territories of dioceses over the course of the fourth century. Notably, all three changes to the dioceses (Aegyptus made independent of the diocese of Oriens, Moesia divided into the dioceses of Dacia and Macedonia, and the dioceses of Galliae and Viennensis merged into one diocese, the so-called Septem Provinciae) can be dated to the reign of Theodosius I. As emperor, Theodosius did everything in his power to safeguard the political and religious unity of the empire under extraordinary circumstances, endeavouring to integrate all citizens from all regions of the empire. The steps taken to restructure dioceses and prefectures evince his capacity to defend the borders of the empire on an administrative level: accepting the status quo in Aegyptus and Galliae and, for security 15 Narratology is presented as a useful tool in the study of the imperial image in Late Antiquity, an approach that may continue to be fruitful in future research. For a narratological approach of Ammianus’ Res Gestae, see also Ross 2016.

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reasons, reassigning Pannonia to the prefecture of Italy, and Macedonia and Dacia to the prefecture of Illyricum. And yet, discord and conflicts did not disappear. In the Christianised empire, imperial portraits were still regarded as holy objects, worthy of reverence. Therefore, any attack on the image of the emperor could be interpreted as an attack on the person of the emperor – that is, as an act of treason.16 One such attack took place in Antioch in 387, the so-called “Riot of the Statues”. In response to a considerable rise in taxes, a crowd attacked the palace of the provincial governor pulling down wooden panel pictures with Theodosius’ portrait and casting down the bronze statues of the imperial family. Quiroga’s contribution (chapter 8) explores Theodosius’ political and emotional responses to the attack in contemporary Christian and pagan sources (John Chrysostom, Ambrose of Milan and Libanius) as well as later historians (Sozomen, Theodoret, and Zosimus). Irrespective of their religious affiliation, all these sources emphasise similar imperial virtues (piety, clemency and philanthropy), which are drawn from the traditional schools of rhetoric. The emperor’s wrath is unanimously excused given the magnitude of the offense. However, in the case of Ambrose of Milan and John Chrysostom, the emperor’s anger is contextualised within a Christian set of values in which ira-ὀργή is rendered a desirable emotional state when it leads to the practice of such Christian virtues as repentance and forgiveness. 0.3

The Emperor’s New Clothes

When reading the famous tale by Hans Christian Andersen in which an emperor was so obsessed with clothes and appareances that he was persuased to wear an invisible dress, one can find some similarities with late antique emperors’ concern for their image. Their efforts and resources to turn themselves into a symbol of power that could reach all the corners of the Empire were parallel to Andersen’s emperor. In this sense, it is not difficult to appreciate the preoccupation that Constantine, Julian, or Theodosius showed when it came to the display of their agendas through texts, laws, coins, and different artistic forms that interact with each other. This is precisely what the contributions to this volume seek to investigate: how to disantagle the complex web of propagandistic formats that converge in the figure of the emperor in order to show how these formats were meant to create an ideological wardrobe at the service of each emperor. 16 J. Chrys. De Statuis 3.3; Kahlos 2016.

Introduction

9

Bibliography Alföldi, A. 1970. [1934–1935]. Die monarchische Repräsentation im römischen Kaiserreiche. Darmstadt. Ando, C. 2000. Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire. Berkeley. Ando, C. 2017. ‘Triumph in the Decentralized Empire’, in F. Goldbeck, J. Wienand and H. Börm (eds.), Der römische Triumph in Prinzipat und Spätantike. BerlinBoston. 397–414. Bardill, J. 2012. Constantine: Divine Emperor of the Christian Golden Age. New York. Bassett, S. 2017. ‘The Topography of Triumph in Late Antique Constantinople’, in F. Goldbeck, J. Wienand and H. Börm (eds.), Der römische Triumph in Prinzipat und Spätantike. Berlin-Boston. 511–554. Benoist, S. 2017. [2005]. Rome, le prince et la Cité. Pouvoir impérial et cérémonies publiques (Ier siècle av. J.-C. – début du IV e siècle apr. J.-C.). Paris. Brown, P.R.L. 1992. Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire. Madison. Burgersdijk, D.W.P., Ross, A.J. 2018. ‘Introduction’, in D.W.P. Burgersdijk and A.J. Ross (eds.), Imagining Emperors in the Later Roman Empire. Leiden-Boston. Cameron, A. 2011. The Last Pagans of Rome. Oxford. Delbrueck, R. 2010. [1933]. Spätantike Kaiserporträts: Von Constantinus Magnus bis zum Ende des Westreichs, Berlin. Drake, H. 2015. ‘Speaking of Power: Christian Redefinition of the Imperial Role in the Fourth Century’, in J. Wienand (ed.), Contested Monarchy. Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century AD. Oxford. 291–308. Drijvers, J.W. 2011. ‘The Culture of Imperial Leadership in Late Antiquity’, Shifting Frontiers IX: Shifting Political Frontiers in Late Antiquity. 1–14 (pro manuscripto). Elsner, J. 2006. ‘Perspectives on Art’, in N. Lensky (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Constantine. Cambridge. 255–277. Escribano Paño, M.V. 1998. ‘Constantino y la rescissio actorum del tirano-usurpador’, Gerión 16. 307–338. Ewald, B.C., Noreña, C.F. (eds.) 2010. The emperor and Rome: space, representation, and ritual. Cambridge. Fowler, R. & O. Hekster 2005. ‘Imagining Kings: From Persia to Rome’, in R. Fowler and O. Hekster (eds.), Imaginary Kings. Royal Images in the Ancient Near East, Greece and Rome. Stuttgart, 9–38. Hekster, O. 2015. Emperors and ancestors: Roman rulers and the constraints of tradition, Oxford. Hoof, L. van 2014. ‘Libanius’ Life and Life’, in L. Van Hoof (ed.), Libanius: A Critical Introduction. Cambridge, 7–38.

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Kahlos, M. 2016. ‘The Emperor’s New Images. How to Honour the Emperor in the Christian Roman Empire?’, in M. Kahlos (ed.), Emperors and the Divine. Rome and its influence. Helsinki. 119–138. Kleijn, G., Bénoist, S. (eds.) 2013. Integration in Rome and in the Roman World. Leiden. Kulikowski, M. 2016. The triumph of empire: the Roman world from Hadrian to Constantine. Cambridge. Massachusetts. Leepin, H. 2008. Teodosio (tr. Spanish from German, Theodosius der Große: auf dem Weg zum christlichen Imperium 2003). Barcelona. Lehnen, J. 1997. Adventus principis: Untersuchungen zu Sinngehalt und Zeremoniell der Kaiserankunft in den Städten des Imperium Romanum. Frankfurt am Main. Lenski, N. 2016. Constantine and the Cities. Philadelphia. MacCormack, S. 1981. Art and Ceremony in late antiquity. Berkeley CA. Manders, E. 2012. Coining Images of Power: Patterns in the Representation of Roman Emperors on Imperial Coinage, A.D. 193–284. Leiden. McCormick, M. 1985. ‘Analyzing Imperial Ceremonies’, JbÖB 35. 1–20. McCormick, M. 1986. Eternal Victory: Triumphal Rulership in Late Antiquity, Byzantium, and the Early Medieval West. Cambridge-London-New York-New Rochelle-Melbourn e-Paris-Sydney. Miles, R. 1999. ‘Introduction. Constructing identities in Late Antiquity’, in R. Miles (ed.), Constructing identities in Late Antiquity. London. 1–14. Noreña, C. 2011, Imperial Ideals in the Roman West: Representation, Circulation, Power, Cambridge-New York. Omissi, A. 2018. Emperors and Usurpers in the later Roman Empire: civil war, panegyric, and the construction of legitimacy. Oxford-New York. Omissi, A. Ross, A.J. (eds.) 2020. Imperial Panegyric from Diocletian to Honorius. Liverpool. Pernot, L. 1993. La rhétorique de l’éloge dans le monde gréco-romain. Paris. Quiroga Puertas, A.J. (ed.) 2017. Rhetorical Strategies in Late Antique Literature. Leiden. Rees, R. 2002. Layers of Loyalty in Latin Panegyric: AD 289–307. Oxford. Rees, R. 2012. Latin Panegyric. Oxford. Ross, A.J. 2016. Ammianus’ Julian: Narrative and Genre in the Res Gestae. Oxford. Salzman, M.R. 2015. ‘Constantine and the Roman Senate: Conflict, Cooperation, and Concealed Resistance’, in M.R. Salzman, M. Sághy, and R. Lizzi Testa (eds.), Pagans and Christians in Late Antique Rome: Conflict, Competition, and Coexistence in the Fourth Century, New York, 11–45. Slootjes, D. 2011. ‘Local Elites and Power in the Roman World: Modern Theories and Models’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History 42. 235–249. Smith, R. 2011. ‘Measures of Difference: The Fourth-Century Transformation of the Roman Imperial Court’, AJP 132. 125–151.

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Straub, J. 1964. [1939]. Vom Herrscherideal in der Spätantike. Darmstadt. Teja, R. 1993. ‘Il cerimoniale imperiale’, in E. Gabba and A. Schiavone (eds.), Storia di Roma, vol. III, t. I. Torino. 613–642. Vera, D. 1980. ‘La polemica contro l’abuso imperiale del trionfo: rapporti fra ideologia, economia e propaganda nel basso impero’, RSA 10. 89–132. Whitby, M. (ed.) 1998. The Propaganda of Power: The Role of Panegyric in Late Antiquity. Leiden. Wienand, J. 2012. Der Kaiser als Sieger. Metamorphosen triumphaler Herrschaft unter Constantin I. Berlin. Wienand, J. (ed.) 2015. Contested Monarchy. Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century AD. Oxford. Wienand, J., Goldeck, F., Börm H. 2017. ‘Der römische Triumph in Prinzipat und Spätantike. Probleme-Paradigmen-Perspektiven’, in F. Goldbeck and J. Wienand (eds.), Der römische Triumph in Prinzipat und Spätantike. Berlin-Boston. 1–26.

Part 1 Constantine

∵

Chapter 1

Emperors and Tyrants in the Fourth Century. Outlining a New Portrait of the Ruler and of His Role through Images and Words Ignazio Tantillo It is not my intention to discuss the vocabulary of usurpation,* nor to investigate the ideology of civil war and its celebration in the fourth century. These topics have been largely explored, especially in recent times, and with splendid results.1 The aim of my paper is much more limited: I will browse the surviving evidence for the representation of the internal enemy within public media in imperial Rome; I will consider both the visual and textual elements of such representations, and I will try to consider them in parallel. In the first section, surviving monuments and references to them in literary sources are examined; epigraphic evidence is treated in the second section. At the end of the analysis, I will try to formulate some general considerations that – hopefully – may complement what has already been accomplished by the other scholars. 1.1

Representing Civil Wars

The Arch of Constantine was dedicated to the emperor by the senate and people of Rome in AD 315.2 Among the manifold features that have caught the * This text reproduces the one read at the conference in Pamplona with small additions, mostly bibliographical references. Sections of this paper had been previously discussed in seminars at the University of Uppsala (2011), New York University (2012) and University of Florence (2012). For suggestions and criticism I should like to thank A. Cameron, G.A. Cecconi, M. Cullhed, C. Goddard, R. Hedlund, H. Lejdegård, R. Lizzi, A. Marcone, J. Matthews, I. Östenberg, P. Porena, U. Roberto and the participants to the workshop in Pamplona. 1 MacMullen 1963; Wardmann 1984; Barnes 1996; Neri 1997; Flaig 1992 and 1997 are classics, as various contributions by Grünewald (esp. 1993). I found very usefull Sautel 1956; Szidat 1989b and 2010; Escribano Paño 1993; Wiedemann 1994; Omissi 2018. Cf. also the studies collected in Breed, Damon and Rossi 2010 and Börm, Mattheis and Wienand 2015. I have made large use of Mayer 2006, Lange 2012 and Wienand 2012, 2015 and 2017. Further bibliography in the following notes. 2 A selection of the immense literature on the arch can be found in Elsner 2000 and 2006, 257–260.

© Ignazio Tantillo, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004446922_003

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Figure 1.1a

Tantillo

Arch of Constantine, detail showing the siege of Verona. Steve Kershaw, The Arch of Constantine. Siege of Verona (Image), February 2013, https://open.conted.ox.ac.uk/sites/ open.conted.ox.ac.uk/files/styles/full_size/public/resources/ DSC_0659.JPG?itok=0FhJerip, (March 2019), licensed under CC BY-NC-SA. Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported (CC BY-NC-SA 3.0)

attention of scholars dealing with such an intriguing monument, the most striking one, in my eyes, is that this is the first surviving monument explicitly celebrating a victory in a civil war, that of Constantine over Maxentius in 312. It also features Romans killing other Romans. In the panel representing the siege of Verona, Maxentius’ supporters are virtually identical to their opponents in that their armour and helmets are the same (fig. 1.1a). On the panel depicting the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, the identity of the horsemen being slaughtered by Constantine’s troops was by no means equivocal. They were easily recognizable as the mounted guard of the emperor (fig. 1.1b), the same men who had been depicted – that time as the heroic side – a few years before in another late antique monument, the Arch of Galerius in Thessaloniki.3 Surprisingly, this aspect – an arch celebrating civil war and showing citizens in the very act of killing each other – has been overlooked for a long time.4 And yet, the fighting scenes on the Arch are well discernable and crudely realistic; as it has been noted, it seems that they were intentionally conceived and located (providing the onlooker with an ideal viewpoint) in order to create an emotional response. I would add that, from a Roman perspective, they would have been even more disturbing, since the victorious soldiers at the Milvian Bridge were the city’s aggressors, whilst its defenders were humiliated. 3 Speidel 1986; 1994, 154–155. 4 As far as I know, Mayer 2002 and 2006 has been the first to clearly stress this aspect of the arch and to put it in a historical framework. See also Lange 2012; Wienand 2012; 2015; Kristensen 2015.

Emperors and Tyrants in the Fourth Century

Figure 1.1b

17

Arch of Constantine, detail showing the battle at the Milvian Bridge. Steve Kershaw, The Arch of Constantine. Battle of the Milvian Bridge (Image), February 2013, (March 2019), licensed under CC BY-NC-SA. Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported (CC BY-NC-SA 3.0)

However, this broke with a centuries-old tradition. I believe that, although we cannot exclude that some precedent had existed, the importance and the scale of the Constantinian monument marked a seminal stage. Ancient authors kept repeating that victory in civil war deserved no celebration, and they reproved any type of commemoration of such achievements. This principle was never really replaced.5 It is certain that, during the first three centuries, no proper Roman triumph was ever celebrated for such victories; exceptions are only apparent.6 Constantine himself does not seem to have celebrated any actual (technically speaking) ‘triumph’ for his victories over Maxentius and Licinius.7 Triumph apart, behaviour may have been slightly more flexible in reality. Recent research has revealed to what extent the advertisement of success in civil conflicts was crucial for the generals of the later republic. This generated friction between the new needs of the elites and the traditional values and emotions. This problem was overcome through the development of strategies which allowed celebrations of civil war to be incorporated into public 5 The classic reference is Val. Max. II 8, 7. 6 Take for example – in the same period – the case of the ‘disguised’ triumph of Aurelian over Tetricus: according to HA Aur. 34, 2 Tetricus was brought in triumph clamide coccea, tunica galbina, bracis Gallicis ornatus (that is: he was clothed as a barbarian enemy; see Mayer 2002, 160). The very existence of a triumph of Maxentius over Domitius Alexander is dubious, since it is inferred from a corrupted passage of Zosimus (2, 14, 4 with the commentary by Paschoud, 203). 7 See Koortbojian 2020, 134–140.

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commemoration, not only by combining such celebrations with external victories (which provided a cover-up), but also through the creation of memorials and the insertion of dates referring to internal victories in the public calendar, a habit which continues in Late Antiquity.8 Celebration, generally speaking, of victories over fellow citizens became somehow possible, but the demarcation line was subtle and seeking celebration for having defeated other Romans was both a delicate and risky undertaking: going too far in this direction could prove politically counterproductive.9 Furthermore, in the course of imperial history something may also have changed in the way in which internal conflicts were perceived. While generally admitting that Constantine marked a sort of watershed, scholars, at least since Wickert,10 have stressed the importance of the third century for the development of a new political consciousness. Governmental instability and the multiplication of usurpations, generalisation of the citizenship and regionalisation, not least at military level, all contributed to a new definition of civil war, and consequently to a weakening of the resistance to their public celebration.11 This is shown, for example, by the display of the rival’s decapitated head that was integrated in the ‘Siegesinszenierung.’12 In such a context, representation of citizens killing each other in civil wars may have appeared less offensive. For that matter, it has been noted that the Roman viewer in 315 was somehow ‘prepared’ for such an arch through the memory of Maxentius’ severed head, which had been paraded through the city in 312.13 Nevertheless, the display of the mutilated remains of a bad emperor – a bad individual – is not exactly comparable to the sight of the entire Roman army being butchered and immortalised on a triumphal monument. Representations of slain Romans soldiers may actually have precedents, at least in literature. Wienand has rightly insisted on the remarkable – and perhaps unprecedented – image of Constantine as offered by his panegyrist of 313, who describes the Roman emperor on the battlefield of Verona, covered with the blood of his (Roman) opponents.14 According 8 Lange 2013 and Östenberg 2014. For Late Antiquity, on the Ludi triumphales, see nt. 47. According to Procopius the victory of Theodosius over Maximus was still celebrated in Rome in his own times (Chausson 2008). 9 As reported by Appianus (Civ. 2, 15, 101; cf. Dio 43, 19) people did not welcome the images of Caesar’s dying rivals showed during the latter’s triumph (Cato, Scipio, Petreius). 10 Wickert 1954. 11 Wienand 2012 and 2015, 192; Haake 2016; cf. also Flaig 1997 who also emphasises the change of the idea of usurpation between the third and fourth centuries. Lange 2012 tried to show that success in civil war was integrable even from the late republic. 12 Kristenesen 2015; Wienand, Goldeck and Börm 2017, 17. 13 Esp. Haake 2016; cf. also Iglesias 2015. 14 Pan. Lat. XII(9) 10, 3; Wienand 2015, 182–183 with nt. 64.

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to Wienand, this image was not an invention of the panegyrist, but had been formed within the entourage of the emperor. Similarly, the representation of killed Roman soldiers on the panels of the arch may have been negotiated by courtiers and representatives of the Roman senate during Constantine’s stay in Rome in late 312 and early 313.15 Whatever the case may be, it is not easy to find parallels for the Arch in so far as clear visual representations of civil wars are extremely rare, and not only in Roman history. Citizens slaughtering fellow citizens is not a common feature on public memorials (compare for example monuments set up to commemorate episodes of the French revolution, the American, or Spanish civil wars). Celebrations of such events are mostly symbolic or – in more recent times – focus on the victims, and on the sacrifice of the soldier. Rather than on winning, the emphasis is on a newfound civic concord. Indeed, the Arch of Constantine may not have been the first large monument to show citizens fighting each other. However, the only known precedent is dated several centuries before. The Julio-Claudian Medinaceli reliefs still await proper publication and remain unfamiliar to historians.16 These reliefs – originally belonging to a monument located in some Campanian city (perhaps Nola or Puteoli) and now scattered between different locations in Spain and Hungary – were for the first time assembled and exhibited at the ‘Mostra augustea’ in Rome in 2013. The slabs 2, 3 and 4 represent the Battle of Actium, the victory over Cleopatra and Marcus Antonius which was celebrated in the triple triumph of 29 BC. The battle was presented as an external victory, or a ‘mixed’ one,17 but here the combatants are barely distinguishable. On the basis of comparison with some sculptural fragments from the Palatine Hill, it has been argued that the Campanian monument was in fact a replica of an urban one.18 However, there is no certainty as to its original location or to its visibility. As far as Rome is concerned, there would not appear to be anything before the end of the third century. The possibility that the tetrarchic Arcus Novus in Rome had celebrated, and depicted, the victory over the British usurpers has been argued on purely hypothetical grounds.19 If we want to find some concrete evidence we have to move on again to the Constantinian age. The 15 Wienand 2015, 182 ff.; esp. 184 nt. 71. 16 Hölscher 1994; Schäfer 2013 (an exhaustive study on this monument by the same author is announced). 17 On the Actium celebrations and their ‘official interpretation’, see Lange 2009, 88–90; 2013, 81–82; 2016, 129–130. 18 Torelli 2014. 19 Laubscher 1976. The surviving pedestals in Boboli Gardens (Florence) show, among other things, barbarian prisoners.

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Figure 1.2

Malborghetto Arch hypothetical reconstruction, Rome. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Arco_di_ Toebelmann_01.jpg

picturesque tower, on the 19th kilometre of the Via Flaminia, known as the Arco di Malborghetto is in fact an arch. Its masonry shows some characteristic late features. Töbelmann (1915) was the first to suggest that this arch was erected on the very place where the Constantinian army had set up its camp before the Battle of the Milvian Bridge. This assumption, both plausible and very intriguing, has gained a wide following (fig. 1.2).20 This would be another arch for the Constantinian victory over Maxentius, but unfortunately no sculptural

20

For references and full discussion, cf. De Maria 1988; Messineo 1998.

Emperors and Tyrants in the Fourth Century

21

or epigraphic evidence related to it survives.21 Ammianus (21, 16, 5)22 narrates that Constantius II had some arches erected in Gallia and Pannonia after his victory over the usurper Magnentius in 352–353, but not one has been securely identified.23 The remains of the Arch of Janus in the Forum Boarium have been recently re-examined and new evidence has been discovered. This allows us to date it to the post-Constantinian period and reinforces the hypothesis that it was erected to commemorate Constantius II’s victory in civil wars. However, this arch does not appear to have included reliefs depicting war scenes (fig. 1.3).24 A long passage in the panegyric of Pacatus to Theodosius – recited in Rome in 389 – implies that there were, or that there should have been, depictions of Maximus humiliated after having been defeated by the emperor.25 An arch was set up to celebrate Honorius’ victory over the usurper Gildo in the Roman Forum. Fragments of this monument still survive; it reused Trajanic reliefs, but nothing else is known of its decoration.26 The Theodosian period provides us with more tangible evidence, in particular in Constantinople. According to some scholars, the Column of Theodosius included, in addition to depictions of defeated barbarians, scenes from the civil war between Theodosius and Maximus.27 In one of the surviving fragments, a group of Roman soldiers, belonging to one of the scholae palatinae (the imperial guard), are portrayed in the act of bowing and, apparently, begging for mercy (fig. 1.4); their gesture is comparable to that of Maxentius’ horseman surrendering on Constantine’s arch.28 But this is not the only possible 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

28

Giuliano da Sangallo’s sketched reconstruction of the monument (which includes reliefs) is not reliable. The existence of civil war trophies is attested also by Julian (Or. I 37B). Zonaras (13, 8, p. 198 Dindorf) mentions a common monumental tomb for the dead at Mursa. De Maria 1995. The massive tetrapylon, commonly known as the ‘Heidentor’, at Carnuntum is sometimes identified in one of them: now Mühlenbrock 2003, 290–295; Kovács 2017, 356. Mateos, Pizzo, Ventura 2017 have been able to date the arch most probably after 337: see infra 000 and Appendix n. 9. Pan. Lat. II(12) 44–45; Mayer 2006, 150. De Maria 1988, 323 nt. 102; Kalas 2015, 95–96; this monument is referred to by Pan. de VI cons. Hon. 369–373. Speidel 1995, 131–136 and pl. 48. Despite what has been stated by some, there is no proof that the historiai on the base of the equestrian statue of Theodosius in Constantinople portrayed scenes of the war against Maximus (all what we do know about this statue is summarized by Mango 1985, 44 nt. 40). Speidel 1995, 135 calls upon Amm. 17, 12, 10: omnes (surrending barbarians) clipeis telisque proiectis manus precibus dederunt, reorum ritu oblati curvatis corporibus. I find strange that the soldiers depicted on the column fragment still hold their shields.

22

Figure 1.3

Tantillo

Arch of Janus, Rome (reconstruction proposed by Mateos, Pizzo, Ventura), ‘Arcus Divi Constantini: An Architectural Analysis and Chronological Proposal for the Arch of Janus in the Forum Boarium in Rome’, JRS 2017, 237–274, 266 (fig. 16).

interpretation.29 Another dubious case is the Column of Arcadius (fig. 1.5): according to Emmanuel Mayer the reliefs of this column also – known thanks to a series of drawings made in 1575 – showed Romans fighting Romans and not only barbarians.30 Our evidence thus appears to be concentrated both in space and time; Rome in Constantinian times and, perhaps, Constantinople in Theodosian. Here, large imperial monuments offered realistic representations of civil wars, and such representations were created in the tradition of the Roman relief, embedded in a traditional monumental medium. Was victory in civil wars commemorated in other ways? Was it expressed through other mediums?

29 Lee 2007, 45 who rejects Speidel’s explanation. 30 Mayer 2002, 150 ff.

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Figure 1.4

23

Column of Theodosius, Constantinople (fragment) © David Hendrix

Eusebius records that Constantine had a painting set over the magnificent entrance of his new palace in Constantinople: “it showed the Saviour’s sign placed above his own head, and the hostile and inimical beast, which had laid siege to the Church of God through the tyranny of the godless, he made in the form of a dragon borne down to the deep … pierced through the middle of the body with a javelin …”31 (fig. 1.6 displays a hypothetical reconstruction of the painting).32 The snake represents the forces of evil – political and religious evil – embodied in the person of the usurper. Constantine himself gives support to this interpretation when, in one of his letters, he unambiguously defines his rival Licinius, as the “dragon” (VC 2 46, 2: “but now, with liberty restored and that dragon driven out of the public administration through the providence of the supreme God and by our service …”).33 It is uncertain whether this scene is borrowed from Christian iconography with the image of Christ treading on a lion and a snake (Psalm 91: 13: “… the young lion and the serpent 31 Eus. VC 3 3, 1–3 (transl. by Cameron, Hall 1999). 32 A tiny lunette above the gate of Theoderich’s Palatium on the renowned mosaics of Sant’ Apollinare Nuovo may represent the same scene, which the builder of the residence in Ravenna had copied from the Constantinopolitan example: Mango 1959, 24. 33 Eus. VC 2 46, 2 (transl. by Cameron, Hall 1999); see Mango 1959, 23–24; 1972, 118. On the assimilation of tyrants to demons in Eusebius, Johannessen 2013.

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Figure 1.5 Column of Arcadius, Constantinople (sketch). Hypothetical reconstruction of the Arcadian column in Constantinople [Gurlitt C. (1912)] https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/ File:Gurlitt_Arcadius_Column.jpg

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Figure 1.6

25

Wall panel in Imperial Palace at Constantinople (hypothetical reconstruction) from F. Bisconti, Monumenta picta. L’arte dei Costantinidi tra pittura e mosaico, in A. Donati, G. Gentili, Costantino il Grande. La civilità antica al bivio tra occidente e Oriente, Milano 2005, 182.

you will trample underfoot”), or rather from the traditional scene of calcatio colli.34 One would expect to find more allegorical representations of the usurper, but the evidence is disappointingly poor. An extremely rare type of bronze coin, struck in Constantinople in 326–330, shows the labarum piercing a snake (fig. 1.7).35 Some scholars consider that this iconography was influenced by the Constantinian painting in the palace at Constantinople. Indeed, referring to the above passage of Eusebius, some think that the snake symbolises a tyrant, the bad emperor (Licinius) defeated by the good one.36 Patrick Bruun proposed a similar interpretation of another rare type of coin, a multiple of the solidus, struck in Milan for Constantius II after the war against Magnentius.37 Here, the coiled snake, which replaces the ordinary overwhelmed barbarian, may have indicated the usurper. These types remain isolated, but reappear in the highly standardised monetary iconography of the fifth century. From the 420s onwards, depictions of the emperor placing his right foot over a human-headed snake are 34 Grabar 1936, 44; Mango 1959, 24; Brenk 1980, esp. 44; Herklotz 2000, 115. See also Dagron 1974, 196 and Pietri in Pietri-Rondeau 2013, 354 nt. 1. 35 RIC VII, 567 with nt. 2 and 573 n. 26; pl. 18. 36 Gagé 1933a, 399; Bruun 1991 [1962], 61 with nt. 32; more references in Bisconti 2006, 89–90. 37 RIC VIII, 232–233; pl. 8.

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Figure 1.7

Constantine I, copper alloy coin, Constantinople (326–330), London, British Museum, Department of Coins and Medals, inv. 1890,0804.11 © The Trustees of the British Museum

frequently encountered, for example, the solidus of Valentinian III struck in 425–426 (fig. 1.8). It has been argued, on the basis of the fourth century example of Constantius II, that this was an allusion to the downfall of the usurper Johannes. Emperors trampling on an enemy was a rather frequent iconographic motif; here the downtrodden barbarian is, supposedly, replaced by a symbolic image of the internal enemy.38 The eventual and large dissemination of this type of coin suggests that the specific connection with usurpers (if there had been one) was quickly forgotten. It is almost superfluous to add – or indeed stress – that coin legends from the fourth and fifth centuries contain no direct reference to victory in civil wars. There is no coin proclaiming the emperor as e.g. exctinctor tyrannorum. There are more allusive slogans which can be connected to victory in a civil war, such as those referring to the restitutio, the securitas publica … But this is obviously not the same thing. It must be said that reference to specific victories, rather common in the early empire (for example Germania devicta), disappear from coins after the 330s; from this point onwards, legends tend to celebrate the victorious emperor, rather than his single achievements.39 That said, barbarians and prostrate captives are commonly depicted. In any case, even in the aforementioned examples, the legends are elusive: the Constantinian coin calls 38 39

John Kent ad RIC X, 56. Alföldi 2000, esp. 146.

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Figure 1.8 Valentinian III, gold coin, Ravenna, 425–455, London, British Museum, Department of Coins and Medals, inv. 1863,0711.7 © The Trustees of the British Museum

upon the SPES PVBLIC(A), one of Constantius II styles him as DEBELLATOR HOSTIVM, while the fifth century type carries just VICTORIA AVGG. In summary, evidence for parallels of the representations on the Arch of Constantine is meagre outside Rome and Constantinople. In addition, none of the monuments in the two capitals seem to have been celebrating only victories in civil war. The figurative program of the Arch of Constantine refers or alludes to the external victories of the emperor through images of barbarian captives, and the same thing can be said about the two Constantinopolitan columns. Byzantine sources referring to Theodosius’ column concur, and the reliefs of the Column of Arcadius, if they really do represent barbarians as part of the civil war – are clearly recognisable. In the coinage, victory over the usurper, unlike victory over barbarians or victory tout court, is simply not a possible theme, and its eventual symbolic representation, not more than an ambiguous allusion, had but a feeble echo. 1.2

Tyranni

The urban arch possesses another ‘novelty’, this time in its inscription: the term tyrannus used to designate the political rival, the usurper. This term, or rather a concept, was destined to have great importance in the fourth century and beyond. The whole text is provided in Appendix n. 5, but I will focus on

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this title.40 Our evidence about this particular use of tyrannus – thanks to the discovery of new inscriptions – is now richer than a few years ago and is worth reconsidering. The dissemination of tyrannus through epigraphic records can help us to understand the features that emerge from the above discussion. The Greek term tyrannos was introduced in Rome early on and originally meant no more than ‘king’. For most Romans the words tyrannus and rex remained synonyms. It was under the influence of Greek philosophy and rhetoric that the noun tyrannus came into use also for denoting a bad sovereign.41 In Roman political oratory, tyrannus is the counterpart of the good leader; an archetypical character, the embodiment of vice with no virtue, driven by cruelty and self-interest, an avatar of bad rule. More generally, it is a label for anyone who acts in a despotic way, who abuses his power, for example Verres, Antonius, Catilina …42 In literature and historiography, authors could use it to condemn emperors, whether struck by damnatio memoriae or not. Before Constantine, in official documents or inscriptions, tyrannus had never been used for designating political adversaries of the reigning emperor.43 This point deserves to be stressed: the term tyrannus was introduced under Constantine. As already noted,44 this would appear to have been, at the latest, after his victorious entry into Rome in 312. It may have been disseminated through official documents in late 312 or 313.45 Two laws abolishing acts of the tyrannus were promulgated by Constantine in 313, a third one in 314.46 We do not know when the anniversary of evictio tyranni on October 28 was introduced in the Roman calendar (it appears only in that of Philocalus), but it is reasonable to believe that this occurred shortly after the defeat of Maxentius.47 40 41 42 43 44

45 46 47

For a detailed commentary Grünewald 1990 and 2007; Lenski 2008. See also authors cited infra. Berve 1967; Béranger 1935 [1973]; Wardmann 1984. Escribano Paño 1993 has assembled the sources. Cf. Omissi 2018, 21–34. This point has been recently stressed by Maranesi 2017. Springler 1952 and Wickert 1954, 2122 ff. and recently repeated by various authors, such as Grünewald 1990, 64–71; 1993; 2007; Barnes 1996; Escribano Paño 1998; Humphrey 2008; Lange 2012. Wickert (1954, 2123) while admitting that the word does not appear before Constantine, thinks that it may have developed during the third century, when the emperors were no longer content to stigmatize the ‘Gegenkaiser’ as illegitimate, but also to brand him as a ‘Gewaltherrscher’. From now on – if he has no opponents who condemn him – the ruler may be malus – that is a tyrant – but he remains princeps. Cf. Tantillo 2017, 149. Cod. Theod. 15, 14, 3 and 4 (transmitted dates: 326; correction by Seeck, since they concern the city of Rome; Seeck’s correction is universally accepted: Corcoran 2010, 100 with nt. 17); Cod. Theod. 5, 8, 1, proposita in Rome 24 apr. 314. A peculiar expression, indeed: according to ThLL V 2, 1036, ll. 4–6 this is the only occurance of evictio in the sense of devictio. One may rather suspect that this a corrupted form

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Driven by the use made in documents issued by the court, the label tyrannus quickly began to circulate. In the panegyric of Constantine recited in 313, Maxentius is never called tyrant,48 and Lactantius, who writes sometime after 313, does not seem to be aware of the new political meaning of this word. On the other hand, Eusebius uses it extensively in the section of his Historia which would appear to have been written after Constantine’s victory. It may be that such a particular use of the word had come to Eusebius’ attention through the reading of imperial letters, since he states that Maximinus, who died in the summer of 313, was the first to be “posted in public edits on tablets as the most hateful and God-hating tyrant.”49 Eventually, it becomes very frequent. Nazarius, in his panegyric to Constantine produced in 321, is patently familiar with this concept. Occurrences are countless and it would be of no use to cite them all. In laws and official acts emanating from court or other administrative offices, tyrannus is the common title for a usurper. It is prevalent in panegyrics and eulogistic prose or poetry (such as Optatianus Porphyrius’ poems); it can be found in petitions addressed to the emperors or to his representatives (such as the pamphlet De rebus bellicis). This did not prevent authors of the fourth century from continuing to make a more traditional use of the word tyrannus: Victor, Eutropius and other epitomisers apply the label tyrannus to those whom they judge to be bad princes, no matter if they were struck by damnatio memoriae, or styled tyranni by their rivals. Ammianus employs the word (in this specific political meaning) parsimoniously: in two cases, he evokes the tyranni (Silvanus and Maximus),50 while the noun tyrannus appears only in one speech by Constantius II (15, 8, 6: rebelles tyranni) and in the transcription of the letter by the same Constantius to Shapur (17, 5, 13). At the end of the century, the Historia Augusta provides a purely pragmatic definition of the concept: it is the fact of being conquered by their adversaries that turns some emperors into tyrants: quos tyrannos aliorum victoria fecit.51 for evocatio: Lenski 2008, 246. Salzman 1990, 140–141 stresses the fact that this anniversary – as the celebration fugato Licinio – is not followed by ludi; see also Hall 1998, 652, according to whom the evictio tyranni “was cast more in the light of a ‘liberation’ from ‘tyranny’ than a ‘victory’ for the emperor.” The Ludi triumphales may, on the contrary, refer to the victory at Chrysopolis: Stern 1954, 82; Salzman 1990, 134 nt. 1. 48 Actually the panegyrist of 313 seems to be aware of the themes which formed Constaninian imagery, and depicts Maxentius with all the other characteristic features of a tyrant: Escribano Paño 1998, 329–332. 49 HE 9, 11, 2 transl. Oulton, London 1942; Barnes 1996, 61–62. 50 15, 5, 24 (Silvanus); 27, 6, 2 (Maximus). 51 Pesc. Nigr. 1, 1 on which Wardman 1984, 221; see also Paschoud 1996, Grey 2010 and Omissi 2018, 301–306.

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A study of the epigraphic occurrences of tyrannus is useful. These are collated in the Appendix at the end of this chapter. They are only in Latin and there is nothing comparable in Greek epigraphy. I will not discuss every single document, but I will highlight those which are particularly significant, and try to draw some conclusions from the typology and provenance of the occurrences. None of the inscriptions predate Constantine (in number 0 the word tyrannus was restored by Mommsen). The earliest texts are approximately contemporary with the appearance of this concept in a juridical text (the two laws previously quoted). In effect, though the first surely dated example comes from the Arch in 315 (text no. 5), this was almost certainly not the earliest. One recently discovered stone from Thugga in Africa Proconsularis has been dated convincingly to 313 (text no. 3).52 Here, Constantine is acclaimed as [domitor? ty]rannicae factionis. The presence of the word factio,53 which also appears in the arch inscription, is noteworthy. A parallel celebration of Constantine, with factio but without the word tyrannus, can be found in a couple of inscriptions erected in Cirta, Numidia between 312 and 315. These honour the emperor as “the one who triumphs over all the (barbarian) nations and conquers every faction, who through his victory, restored freedom, which was oppressed by the darkness of slavery” (triumphator omnium gentium ac domitor universarum factionum, qui libertatem tenebris servitutis oppressam sua felici victoria nova inluminavit).54 This proves that this specific rhetorical imagery – the language employed to portray Constantine as a liberator – travelled speedily and was acknowledged in Africa very soon after his victory.55 Eusebius states that Constantine, shortly after his arrival in Rome in 312, had a statue erected in the “most crowded place” of the capital – supposedly the Forum – showing himself with the ‘salvific sign’ in his hand. Eusebius provides 52 Mastino 2003, 432–433: the legatus Anullinas, awarder of the honour, is presumably a younger relative of the proconsul Anullinus, in charge during year 313. The restauration domitor is perhaps preferable to extinctor (proposed by Mastino on the basis of comparison with CIL VI 1158=ILS 731=Appendix n. 8), since domitor universarum factionum is found in the constantinian dedications from Cirta. 53 Sall. Iug. 31, 15: haec inter bonos amicitia, inter malos factio est; Cic. Att. 7, 9, 4: per vim et factionem …; cf. Augustus’ Res gestae 1: exercitum … comparavi, per quem rem publicam a dominatione factionis oppressam in libertatem vindicavi (this claim is perhaps echoed in the Constantinian arch incription). 54 ILAlg. II 582 and 583; see also CIL VIII 7010. These inscriptions contain also one of the first occurrences of triumphare as synonymous of vincere (no longer connected to a ritual performance: Ando 2017, 41). 55 The enigmatic verse inscription from Lambaesis – Appendix n. 1 – must probably be dated to the same period: Grünewald 2007, 37 ff. and Tantillo 2017, 145–146.

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a precise transcription of the text carved on the base; here Constantine, talking in the first person, described himself as the liberator of the city from the ‘yoke of the tyrant’ (text no. 2a). I dare not even touch on the problem of the identification of this statue or of the sign, issues on which there have been endless discussions.56 I agree with those who think that we should not doubt the existence of such a monument. It is unlikely that Eusebius simply fabricated it.57 Although I do not deny that this is a very odd text (if style and language are suitable to an epigraphic honour, a self-dedication is not common), we must accept that there was some kind of statuary monument, clearly visible in Rome, in which Constantine was presented as a liberator from the tyrant’s despotic rule.58 Numbers 4 and 7, both from the Forum area, may also be connected to Constantine. Concerning no. 4, it must be stressed that the original inscription, carved on a marble slab, measured no less than three meters in length; no doubt it belonged to a large honorific monument, perhaps the pedestal of a statuary group. The surviving letters TAE on the second line have been recognised – in my opinion correctly – as part of the adjective taeterrimus o taeter, very appropriate to qualify tyrants (actual parallels do exist). The plural form (liberatoribus) is also notable. It may refer to Constantine and Licinius and would show that Constantine’s colleague was also praised for his activity against tyrants (thus confirming Eusebius’ statement according to which Maximinus was styled tyrannus in Licinius’ official acts). Number 7 has been assigned to Constantine on palaeographical data (the lettering best fits with the first half of fourth century), but it may also refer to some of his successors. What is quite interesting here is the fact that internal victories are coupled with victory over barbarians, and the former precede the latter; victory in civil war has been given priority. The presence of ex(s)tinctor is also remarkable; the link between the verb exstinguere and civil wars is ancient and recalls Augustus’ claim of having ‘extinguished’ bella civilia.59

56 Cf. Bardill 2012, 174–178. 57 According to some scholars, Rufinus’ not perfectly matching translation of Eusebius’ text (Appendix n. 2b) could reflect an actual knowledge of the original text by Rufinus himself. 58 Cullhed 1994, 52 (who argues Eusebius may allude to the colossal statue in the Basilica) and Hekster 1999, 21–22 (who prefers the Forum). 59 Res Gestae 34. But also Cic. ad fam. 10, 25, 1. A precedent may be found in CIL VI 234 (p. 3755)=ILS 2011 (tetrarchic?), an urban dedication to the Genius exercitus, qui extinguendis saevissimis latronibus … satis fecit; on this inscription see Bitto 2009, 176. The title could be used also for external victories: LSA-2622 (Licinius, between 308 ad 310, barbararum gentium extinctor); AE 1969/70, 631 (Julian, extinctor barbarorum).

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The vocabulary of tyrannus was inherited and enhanced by the son of Constantine, Constantius II, who conquered Magnentius and Vetranio; we find it used both in literature and in epigraphy. On the inscription engraved on the equestrian statue set up by the urban prefect in the Forum, near to the Arch of Severus, the emperor is styled exctinctor pestiferae tyrannidis, “the one who abolishes the ruinous tyranny” (text no. 8). Additionally, according to a recent suggestion, Constantius II could have been characterised as the superb[i tyranni factionis extinct]or on the ‘Arch of Janus’.60 The slogan extinctor tyrannorum was exploited for successive emperors. Three statues of Valentinian II, Theodosius and Arcadius were erected in the area of Comitium at the end of the year 388 by the urban prefect (texts no. 11–13), their dedicatory inscriptions hail them with the title of extinctores tyrannorum. The same formula can be found on the base of the Theodosian obelisk in Constantinople (text no. 15). Another large monument, around three meters in length, was dedicated again to Valentinian II, Theodosius and Arcadius, once again in the statue-crowded Comitium area, and it mentions the [saevoru]m tyranno[r]um domination[em - - -] (text no. 14). The two obelisks of Rome and Constantinople, erected in 357 by Constantius II and in 390 by Theodosius (conquerors of Magnentius and Maximus), respectively, are sometimes said to be strictly linked to the celebration of internal victories. Actually both dedicatory inscriptions allude to the victory over a tyrant. Nevertheless, this feature is less important than the exaltation of the prince capable of the enterprise of setting up a huge monolithic stone (compare texts no. 1061 and 15). The monuments themselves contain no allusion to the tyrants’ fate; they are just obelisks. Once again to summarise, all these inscriptions are public in character. They were commissioned by civic authorities or by the city as a whole, and engraved upon stones intended to be displayed in a public place. The exception is one epitaph of Sidonius’ grandfather, which is very late and known only indirectly (no. 18). Also, in non-imperial dedications the use of the term is strictly official, for instance, reference to the activity of an officer during the usurper’s reign (no. 6, 21; cf. 17). Most of these inscriptions are honorary; in other words they represent the textual ingredient of more complex honorific monuments, such as pedestrian or equestrian statues, or statuary groups. Some of them appear to have been of considerable size. Unfortunately, we do not know what the statues looked like, apart from the one described by Eusebius. It is possible that 60 61

Mateos, Pizzo, Ventura 2017=Appendix n. 9; the reconstruction of the dedicatory inscriptions provided by the authors is not entirely satisfactory. On this text see now Liverani 2012.

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the sculptural element of these monuments contained a more or less symbolic reference of the defeated tyrant.62 One might, for example, wonder if under the horse of Constantius there was not a snake, exactly as in the coin.63 Almost all of these inscriptions come from Rome. In Constantinople, where there are fewer examples, the word tyrannus only appears in a couple of inscriptions that commemorate public buildings, but this may be due to the fact we do not possess much of the city’s epigraphy. There are two texts from Africa, one from Lavinium, another from Atina, and one from Syracuse. Both African texts refer most likely to statues (no. 3 to Constantine; no. 1 uncertain, under Constantine), as well as the two Italian inscriptions (text no. 6, from Atina is a dedication to a senator who held an imperial office during the saevissima tyrannis of Maxentius; text no. 21, from Lavinium, is a dedication to Constantine or Constantius II, who had restored the city from the famine which occurred temporibus tyran[ni]); the honorary nature of the inscription from Syracuse seems also clear (text no. 20). The strong concentration of inscriptions in Rome, particularly in front of the Senate-house, is impressive. The Roman honorary inscriptions, including the Arch of Constantine, were dedicated to emperors who visited the capital after having conquered their internal enemies, in some cases in close connection with their adventus (Constantine visited Rome in 312, 315 and 321; Constantius in 357; Theodosius in June 389; and the prefect Albinus (awarder of no. 11–13) was in office from that same June 389 until February 391). The connection between these monuments and the actual presence of the rulers also appears significant considering that they stood in places where the emperors had, or were expected, to stop, and could therefore see them. It was exactly in this corner of the Forum that the imperial procession through the city came to an end under Christian emperors (no ascent to the Capitol was performed after Constantine); the sovereign addressed a speech to the senate in the Senate-house and was welcomed by the people whilst standing upon the rostra, before withdrawing to the palace on the Palatine hill.64 In other words, the collection of tyrannus-inscriptions shows that the reference to the internal enemy as the reason for acclaiming the emperor was 62

The traces on the pedestal of the monument to Gratian, Valentinian II and Theodosius in the Forum (an epistyle), have led Bauer 1999, 223 (cf. 233) to conjecture that one of the standing statues may have represented the emperor trampling on a captive or similar (but such traces may as well belong to a former employ of the support, as the author admits). 63 On the top of the block there are traces of the fixings for a bronze equestrian statue, but nothing which allows us to assume the existence of an object under or nearby the horse’s legs (although the top surface is partially broken in correspondence of the right leg). 64 Now Liverani 2016.

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scarcely employed outside Rome, where it seems to concentrate in a very special area, the open space in front of the curia, that became the centre for imperial celebration in the capital from Diocletian onwards. Here, the Romans (the Roman senators) erected several monuments that praised the rulers as victors of civil war, as liberators of tyranny, as restitutores of the City, of the ‘Roman name’, and of the righteous rule (all of which indirectly represented a claim of the centrality of Rome and of its prerogative of bestowing imperial power).65 In other regions of the empire people did not feel the same need to express their loyalty through reference to civil war. It cannot be a coincidence that, despite the large circulation of the rhetoric of tyranni (in eulogy and in official documents), and the survival of the statuary habit for the whole fourth century in many regions (such as peninsular Italy or the provinces of northern Africa), the inscriptions celebrating emperors for the victory over tyranni are virtually non-existent outside Rome. Epigraphic and figurative evidence would thus seem to go hand in hand, indicating that the monumental celebration of victory in internal conflicts was a phenomenon that was confined to the centres of power, namely Rome, at least as far as concerns its monuments, but also Constantinople, whose surviving epigraphy is perhaps not representative. 1.3

Good and Bad Rulers

This brings us to the third and final part of the study. Here, a few general remarks about the introduction of the concept of tyrannus, its political implications and the limits of its use in public monuments, ought to be made. In earlier times, and in fact until the time of the tetrarchs, the enemy within was referred to in various ways. He was either unnamed, or could be styled hostis publicus, a formal definition which followed a declaration by the senate (the first occurrence is under Nero, but was still in use in the fourth century).66 He could additionally be alluded to as rebellis or latro (both also in official documents), pirate, barbarian. This was still the case under the tetrarchs, whose panegyrists speak of British usurpers as pirates and robbers.67

65 For a different point of view, see Mayer 2006, 151 nt. 41. 66 Vittinghof 1936 and Amarelli 1989, 113 ff. For Nero, see Suet., Nero 49, 2. Symm. ep. 4, 5 and Claud. Gild. 427 prove that the senate continued to issue official declarations – defining hostis a living rebel –, though the initiative is now imperial (Cod. Theod. 9, 40, 21: 412). 67 Lassandro 1980 retraces the literary models of such representations, primarily Antonius in the Philippicae and Catilina; for the vocabulary in the third century and during the Tetrarchy, see Wiedemann 1994. For a possible epigraphic example of usurpers styled as

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Since it seems that it was decided, in a precise moment around 312 to label Maxentius a tyrannus, the first questions are: why this particular name and what was its inspiration? In 1990 Thomas Grunewald devoted many pages of his book on Constantinian propaganda to the discussion of tyrannus, as a political ‘Schlagwort’, in imperial ideology, but offered no real explanation for its origin. A few years later, Timothy Barnes tried to answer the question. Observing that already by the third century Christian authors, (Tertullian and Cyprian), employed the word tyrannus to signify the persecutor, Barnes argued that Constantine had this specific meaning in mind and consciously selected it to advertise his sympathies, to proclaim that he was there to protect the Christians against their oppressors.68 I am not convinced by this explanation, and would rather attribute the choice to other, more secular issues. In particular, I find it easier to believe that tyrannus had been chosen, drawing on the rhetoric and literary tradition, since it was more suitable to keeping with the actual situation in which the emperor Constantine found himself at the beginning of his rule. Firstly, Constantine was no doubt the cause of the success of this word, but not necessarily its ‘inventor.’ The inscription of the Arch, as it has been convincingly shown, is a senatorial creation. It contains clear allusions to classical authors who narrate the history of the ancient history of the city; the “inspiration of the deity” seems to recall Livy’s account of Camillus’ assault on Veii, which perhaps was combined with an allusion to the overthrow of the Tarquinii.69 We have seen that some elements which are present in the vocabulary of the Arch already circulated immediately after the victory at the Milvian Bridge. In particular, the theme of liberation from the tyrannus and his factio are found in documents dating back to before 315 (the inscriptions from Cirta). This means, in my opinion, that such an imagery or at least its initial nucleus was created in the aftermath of the defeat of Maxentius. There are good reasons to think that this occurred in Rome. Rather than envisaging a propagandistic message negotiated between the senate and the emperor, I would at least consider the possibility that this imagery was created outside the court circle and was presented (for example, through panegyrics commissioned by the Roman senators) to

latrones in the age of Diocletian, see nt. 000. On bandits as political rivals, Grünewald 1999. 68 Barnes 1996. 69 Lenski 2008; Hall 1998 argues that the language of the inscription on the arch is dependent both on Livy’s Epitome by Florus and on Cicero’s de divinatione; but cf. the critics of Lenski 2008.

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the emperor, who appreciated it and decided to make it his own.70 The word tyrannus may have been one of the ingredients of the original portrait offered to the emperor, which fused episodes of the ancient history of Rome, the evocatio and the end of the tyrants. The incorporation of the word in such a picture was entirely natural; Superbus was “the exemplum par excellence in Rome of a tyrant.”71 Tyrannus may even have been used before in connection to a usurper, though there is no trace of this. That said, in the coherent imagery created in 312/313, such a title found a consistent and effective place. Whoever invented and employed it, whether it was Constantine himself, or someone from his entourage, it was a brilliant idea. It suited both the elite of ancient Rome and the emperor, much better than previously used definitions. Maxentius was not recognised by his colleagues,72 but he had been recognised by the senate73 and he had been ruling from Rome, the “seat of power,” not from some remote province (like the ‘robbers’ of Imperium Galliarum, the ‘pirates’ of Britain …).74 Maxentius was, after all, the first emperor reigning in Rome to be stripped of his title in a very long time. His hereditary rights were even stronger than those of his rivals: the son of Maximinian, who had been Augustus since 285, and of Caesar Galerius’ daughter, Maxentius could be considered in some way superior to the fruit of the first marriage of Caesar Constantius to a humble woman. Maxentius had soon recognised the title of Augustus which his father had conferred to Constantine in late summer 307. All of this made him a particularly insidious and embarrassing enemy for Constantine, who claimed the right to the throne on the basis of his hereditary titles (son of Constantius and, from 310, descendant of Claudius).75 By associating the actors of civil war with certain historical figures (the tyrant Tarquinius and Camillus), a nobler 70

The imperial portrait – as we know it through panegyrics, inscriptions, and documents – is often the result of an interaction between centre and periphery: in some cases the interaction can work in a bottom-up sense; someone, from outside the court, proposes images that are accepted by the court and broadcasted. 71 Cic. Rep. 2, 51; Tusc. 1, 89; Luc. BC 6, 791; Sen. Oct. 313. For the quotation, references and larger discussion, see Pina Polo 2006, 73–74. 72 Constantine seems to have recognised him for a short period: RIC VI, 41 and 158. 73 He may have been declared hostis publicus at Carnuntum. This statement, which can be found in many studies (most recently in Doncu, 2012, 105), is finally based on Pan. Lat. XII(9) 18, 2: hostem rei publicae which is not conclusive. In any case, the Senate – that was ultimately responsible for such a declaration – could have not ratified this sentence. 74 Leadbetter 1998. Maxentius coined for Divus Constantius in order to weaken Constantine’s position (see Cullhed 1994, 77; Carlà, Castello 2010, 78–79). 75 Hence the claim that Maxentius was illegitimate: Anon Val. 4, 12 and Epit. 40, 13. The difficulties encountered by Constantine in dealing with Maxentius’ heritage are shown by Marlowe 2010.

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picture of the clash between the two tetrarchs76 could be conjured up, which suited both Constantine and the senators quite well. But there are more elements which can probably explain the success of tyrannus. Whatever the origin or whoever the ‘inventor’ of the word was, with Constantine styling his rivals tyranni (or welcoming and disseminating such a representation), a step forward in political ideology was taken. The creators of this new ideal persona may or may not have been conscious of the consequences of its introduction, but these consequences soon became evident and no doubt contributed to its eventual success. As we have seen, before Constantine the enemy within was referred to as hostis, as rebellis or latro, including in official documents, or pirate, or barbarian. That is to say, the enemy was projected outside the Roman orbit (hostis, barbarus), or to its edges (robber or pirate). The latter definitions (thief, robber, pirate, but also barbarian) also contain the idea of social distance and contempt; the good emperor and his rivals are not on the same level.77 The transfer of the old stereotypical character of the tyrannus into the real historical scenario and into the official language spawned a new category within Roman imperial politics. The internal enemy obtained the status of a new performer in public life and, at the same time, the emperor came to define his own power in a more explicit way. Tyrannus is not an external enemy, nor a robber, he is just somebody who rules badly. The constitutional basis of his power is not questioned by such a definition. The term tyrannus emphasises moral indignity, egoistic aims, cruelty etc. rather than legitimacy, at least not directly (legitimacy itself is a weak concept for the ancients).78 One can still be a tyrannus, and yet be perfectly Roman, possessing various claims to the throne, such as hereditary rights, formal senatorial recognition and so on. At the same time, the official recognition of the existence of tyrannus indirectly defined the emperor as a king, since the tyrant is its opposite, its specular antithesis. As Cicero reminds us in his De re publica (drawing on the Aristotelian-Polybian formulation of the three forms of government), tyranny is the degeneration of the monarchy, and fourth century authors repeat that tyranny and kingship are

76 According to Hall 1998, by alluding to the deposition of the tyrant “the senators could represent themselves as partners in the “liberation” of the city and in the restoration of peace by a divinely inspired triumph.” 77 See also Kolb 2001, 92–93. 78 Berve 1967; as to the scarce or relative relevance of the concept of “legitimacy” among the Romans, see Wickert 1954, 2290–3; Finley 1982 and Flaig 1992 and especially 1997, 30 (for the late empire); Omissi 2018, 28. On the idea of legitimacy in Ammianus and other late authors, see Szidat 1989a; but cf. Omissi 2018, 25 with nt. 93.

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twins. Every ruler is at risk of transforming himself into a tyrant79 and tyrannical attitudes in an emperor can always be corrected by another.80 By admitting the existence of bad kings, what all previous emperors had refused to confess overtly was acknowledged; that there could be more than one emperor (that is, a multiplicity of emperors ruling without mutual recognition, without concordia), and that there could be real civil wars. There should be wars as the good emperor had the responsibility to eliminate the bad one in order to restore a righteous rule. This was an actually moral duty for every citizen, as theorised for a very long time; Cicero asserts that aspiring to tyranny, to regnum or dominatio legitimises preventive tyrannicide.81 Ideally, the bad ruler had to perish in the most atrocious and spectacular way, in order to expiate through his body the suffering inflicted on others,82 while the good one deserved general gratitude and public recognition, since he acted for the salvation of all. Much of this was not new in itself, but it was new in political communication. The acceptance of such a conception was also easier during (and more suitable to) the reign of Constantine for another reason. Since well before Constantine, new theologies of imperial power had coupled and challenged (though not replaced) the old Roman principles according to which the emperor rules on behalf of the Roman people (Rome is the real owner of power; emperors are just temporary agents). From the third century there is a growing insistence on the fact that the real source of the emperor’s power is divine will. That was, at least, what emperors claimed, for example Aurelian, who warned the mutinous troops that it was God, not the soldiers, who bestowed the purple.83 The tetrarchic system was based on a tenaciously advertised political theology. Constantine’s fervent monotheism did nothing but reinforce this belief. People could now think, or were invited to think, that a superior and unappealable entity, which was neither the senate, nor other emperors, nor the troops, had the right to decide who had the right to rule, and who were the good and the bad.84 Chosen and inspired by his God, as in a pious mission, the good emperor takes action against the enemies of the heavenly master and of his fellow human beings, the tyranni, and there was no risk of being wrong. 79 Them. Or. 2 35a–d, who re-elaborates various passages from Plato’s Republic; Syn. Regn. 6. 80 Praxagoras of Athens (Dindorf p. 439, ll. 18–19; FGrH 219) says that “Constantine undertook an expedition against him [Licinius] in order to make him exchange his tyrannical ways for a sovereign’s attitude” [transl. Lieu, New York 1996]. 81 Sirago 1956; now Pina Polo 2006, esp. 80. 82 Scheid 1984. 83 Anon. post Dionem frg. 10, 6. 84 Previous emperors had tried to assert victory over internal rivals by evoking supernatural sanctions, as Septimius Severus did: Rubin 1980, esp. 38.

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When Constantine came to power, times were ready for accepting a tyrannus. The introduction of tyrannus was astute; the word proved a useful and flexible instrument for Constantine himself and for the following emperors. After being widely exploited for Maxentius, it was later easily and naturally applied to other usurpers with only the necessary adjustments. It provided a comfortable solution for justifying civil wars, sweeping away embarrassment; it was a useful tool for affirming one’s right to rule. But celebration of the victory over a tyrannus, also proposed under Constantine, continued to encounter opposition in the Roman Empire. To accept the existence of tyranni did not imply the approval of the celebration of victories obtained “out of Roman blood,” ex sanguine Romano. The main problem was this, that eliminating the villain and the malicious members of his entourage (his factio), did not justify killing all Romans who had followed him. Most people considered that, after all, civil wars were a personal business. Ammianus relates that Valentinian declined to give help to his brother against the usurper Procopius, preferring to use his army against barbarians, claiming that “Procopius was only his own and his brother’s enemy, but the Alamanni were the enemies of the whole Roman world” (26, 5, 13).85 Despite what has been said by certain authors,86 our sources show that resistance to celebrations for internal victories remained strong, and it would be a mistake to discard the explicit and unequivocal statements of Ammianus, Proba and Claudian, labelling them as the old-fashioned criticisms by a reactionary minority.87 The difficulty people had in accepting the celebration of victories in internal conflicts by merely declaring the internal enemy a tyrannus, is shown by the fact that even in panegyrics that call the tyrant with this name, the latter continues to be depicted also through the old devices; he is dressed in the clothes of a barbarian and/or a robber. Julian praises Constantius II for his victory over Magnentius in the great battle of Mursa, but specifies that Magnentius’ army could not be considered a Roman one, and while still calling Magnentius tyrannus, he portrays him as a barbarian (actually he says that

85

For the usurper as personal enemy of the emperor: Jul. Or. I 30 C-D; Symm. Or. I 18–19; Claud. Carm. 28, 118–121; all of them, with a panegyristic intent, claim that this personal enemy was also the common one. 86 McCormick 1986, 80–83 with nt. 12 asserts that Ammianus’ statement (no triumph ex sanguine Romano) was obsolete at his times (he notes the fact that in the epitome of Valerius Maximus’ work, made in late fourth or the fifth century the chapter de iure triumphali had been dropped); similarly Szidat 2010, 339–40. 87 Vera 1980; Amm. 16, 10, 1; Claud. VI cons. Hon. 392 ff.: Prob. Cento 1–8 (ed. C. Schenkl CSEL 16).

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he was a barbarian).88 The same characterisation can be found in Themistius’ speeches to Constantius II (Or. 2 33d; 3 43a etc.); both authors clearly state that a war against such a feral and brutish individual did not deserve the appellation of civil war. Even Pacatus, who seems otherwise perfectly at ease with the idea of civil war celebration (Pan. Lat. II(12) 46, 4), depicts Theodosius’ enemies in the same manner, especially when he states that Romans who had chosen to fight for the tyrant were no longer Romans.89 We have observed that also in monuments commemorating civil conflicts the figurative representations of Roman wars were accompanied by clear references to external wars, wars against barbarians. It seems like there was still a will to dilute the disruptive force of such a vision (Romans killing Romans) by inserting it in the more reassuring framework of imperial victory. Constantine succeeded perhaps in creating a new conception of the way power could be legitimated, but neither he nor his successors in the fourth century could win the force of tradition, and the human, anthropological commiseration of the war between fellow citizens. The result was a compromise. This compromise contributed to shape the political history and imperial ideology of Late Antiquity and beyond.90 Appendix 0) CIL III 12456 = AE 1891, 50. Durostorum (Moesia inferior). Date: 272–275. [I]mp(erator) Aure(lianus) vicit [reginam] / [Ze]nobiam inviso[sque tyrannos] / [inter Ca]rsium et Suci[avam] / [delevit] Duros[torum] Aurel(ianum) [- - -] l. 2 tyrannos supplevit Mommsen

88 Speidel 1995, 135; Tantillo 1997, 334–336. 89 In ch. 23 Maximus is compared to Spartacus and to the Cilician pirates (Maximus as a slave again in 30, 5); in ch. 25 and 26 the tyrant is depicted as a thief; in chapter 36 the soldiers of Maximus, by their siding with the tyrant, have lost the status of Romans which they immediately reconquer by surrendering to Theodosius. On Pacatus’ attitude towards the triumph for a civil war see Wienand 2015, 196. 90 Ironically Constantine was himself styled a tyrant by later pagan historiography and became victim of his own weapon (Bleckmann 2010). On the role of late antiquity in shaping the idea of tyranny in the Middle Ages, Fiocchi 2004.

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1) CIL VIII 18261=CLE I 278. Lambaesis (Numidia). Date: “unmittelbar nach 312” (Grünewald 1990, n. 107) a. Schmidt (Eph.Ep. 7, 380 and CIL): Constant[i]ne, / tuos sic semper / malis iratos / cernimus Augg(ustis), / malis; et pace / potimur, / cum et in hoc G[e]/nio sese provin/cia monst[re]t, / nam po[ni]t ille / cruces et proe/lia saeva tyranni b. Bücheler (CLE): Constant[i]ne, / tuos sic semper / malis iratos / cernimus, Augg(ustis)/ malis, et pace / potimur, / cum et in hoc G[e]/nio sese provin/cia monst[re]t, / nam to[li]t [i.e. tulit] ille / cruces et proe/lia saeva tyranni. 2) Eus., HE 9, 9, 11; VC 1 40, 2; Rufin., HE 9, 9, 11. Rome, Forum? Date: shortly after october 312 (?) a. Eusebius: Τούτῳ τῷ σωτηριώδει σημείῳ τῷ ἀληθεῖ ἐλέγχῳ τῆς ἀνδρείας τὴν πόλιν ὑμῶν ζυγοῦ τοῦ τυράννου [VC: τυραννικοῦ] διασωθεῖσαν ἠλευθέρωσα· ἔτι μὴν καὶ τὴν σύγκλητον καὶ τὸν δῆμον Ῥωμαίων τῇ ἀρχαίᾳ ἐπιφανείᾳ καὶ λαμπρότητι ἐλευθερώσας ἀποκατέστησα. b. Rufinus: In hoc singulari signo, quod est verae virtutis insigne, urbem Romam senatumque et populum Romanum iugo tyrannicae dominationis ereptam pristinae libertati nobilitatique restitui. 3) Mastino, Khanoussi 2003, pp. 424 ff. = AE 2003, 2014=LSA-92. Thugga (Africa Proconsularis). Date: ca. 313 (Mastino) [- - -divi]nae virtutis [principi(?)] / [extinctori(?)/domitori (?) ty]rannicae factionis et v[ictori(?) defensori(?)] / [pro]vinciarum suarum atque urb[is restitutori?] / d(omino) n(ostro) Flavio Valerio Constantino P(io) F(elici) semp[er Augusto] / C(aius) Annius Ceionius Anullinas v(ir) c(larissimus) legatu[s Numidiae(?)] / numini maiestatique eius semper de[votus]. l. 2: domitor is preferable (supra 000). 4) Grünewald 1990, n. 240 (and pp. 98–100)=CIL VI 40768=LSA-1430. Rome, Forum, near the Curia. Date: 313? (Alföldy, Scheithauer ad CIL); 313–316? (Grünewald 1990)

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a. Grünewald: [Felicitate] ac virtute [praestantibus] / [senatu]s populiq(ue) R(omani) tae[terrimis a/ tyrannis] liberatoribus [atque publicae se/curitatis] restitutori[bus dominis nostris / Fl(avio) Val(erio) Const]antino maxmo [et Val(erio) Licin(iano) Licinio / piis felicibus aeternis Augustis]. b. Alföldy: [Fortitudin]e ac virtute [divina] / [invictis, senatu]s populiq(ue) R(omani) tae[terrimis/ tyrannis exctinctis] liberatoribus [atque rei / publicae] restitutori[bus dd. nn. / Fl(avio) Val(erio) Const]antino maxmo [- - -] - - - - - 5) CIL VI 1139=ILS 694. Rome, Arch of Constantine. Date: 315 Imp(eratori) Caes(ari) Fl(avio) Constantino Maximo / P(io) F(elici) Augusto s(enatus) p(opulus)q(ue) R(omanus) / quod instinctu divinitatis mentis / magnitudine cum exercitu suo / tam de tyranno quam de omni eius / factione uno tempore iustis / rem publicam ultus est armis / arcum triumphis insignem dicavit // Liberatori urbis // Fundatori quietis // Sic X sic XX // Votis X votis XX. 6) CIL X 5061=ILS 1217)=LSA-1978. Atina (Campania). Date: 20 Aug 315–4 Aug 316 (PLRE I, pp. 777–778 s.v. Rufinus 15; Chastagnol 1962, pp. 63–68) C(aio) Vettio Cossinio Rufino c(larissimo) v(iro) / praefecto urbi comiti / Augg(ustorum) nn(ostrorum) corr(ectori) Camp(aniae) corr(ectori) / Tusciae et Umbriae corr(ectori) / Venitiae et Histriae cur(atori) alvei / Tiberis et cloacarum sacrae urbis / cur(atori) viae Flaminiae proconsuli pro/vinciae Achaiae sortito pontifici dei / Solis auguri salio Palatino ordo po/pulusque Atinas quod in correctura / eius quae sevissimam tyran/nidem incurrerat nullam / iniuriam sustinuerit / patrono dulcissimo. 7) CIL VI 40768a=IGLFRPal 49=LSA-1533. Rome, unknown proveniance (probably from the Forum). Date: 324–337? (Alföldy ad CIL); 352–360? [Co]nservatori Romani / [no]minis propagatori / [or]bis sui factionum / [ty]rannicarum extinctori / [dom]itori gentium barbarum / [- - -]t[o]ri D[- - 8) CIL VI 1158=ILS 731=LSA-838. Rome, Forum, near the arch of Severus. Date: 26 Sept 352–8 Dec 353 (PLRE I, p. 198 s.v. Cerealis 2)

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Restitutori urbis Romae adque orb[is] / et extinctori pestiferae tyrannidis / d(omino) n(ostro) Fl(avio) Iul(io) Constantio victori ac triumfatori / semper Augusto / Neratius Cerealis v(ir) c(larissimus) praefectus urbi / vice sacra(rum) iudicans d(evotus) n(umini) m(aiestati)que eius. 9) Mateos, Pizzo, Ventura 2017, pp. 23–27 (CIL VI 30364, 4–7; AE 1997, 123). Rome, Forum Boarium, Arch of Janus. Date: 352–357 (Mateos, Pizzo, Ventura 2017) [Senatus Populusque Romanus?] [D(omino) N(ostro) Flavio Iulio Constantio Pio Felici] [victori semper] Aug(usto) maxi[mo triumfatori] [totius orbis te]rrae liber[atori urbis ac] [ fundatori quie]tis superb[i tyranni fact-] [ionis extinct]orique et l[ibertatis P(opuli) R(omani) vin-] [dici in hostes qui c]um mag[na crudelitate?] [saevos? interfi]cerent Co[nstantem Aug(usti)] [ fratrem et effu?]sis se habenis [- - -] -----10) CIL VI 1163=31249=ILS 736=ILMN I 27. Rome, Circus Maximus (base of the obelisk). Date: after 357 Patris opus munusqu[e suum] tibi Roma dicavit / Augustus [toto constan]tius orbe recepto / et quod nulla tulit tellus nec viderat aetas / condidit ut claris exa[equ]et dona triumfis / hoc decus ornatum genitor cognominis urbis / esse volens Caesa Thebis de rupe revellit // sed gravior divum tangebat cura vehendi / quod nullo ingenio nisuque manuque moveri / caucaseam molem discurrens fama monebat / at dominus mundi Constantius omnia fretus / cedere virtuti terris incedere iussit / haut partem exiguam montis pontoque tumenti // credidit et placido [vexerunt aequora flu]ctu / litus ad Hesperium [Tiberi] mirante carinam / interea Romam ta[et]ro vastante tyranno / Augusti iacuit donum studiumque locandi / non fastu spreti sed quod non crederet ullus / tantae molis opus superas consurgere in auras // nunc veluti rursus ruf[is] avulsa metallis / emicuit pulsatque polos haec gloria dudum / auctori servata suo cu[m c]aede tyranni / redditur atque aditu Ro[mae vi]rtute reperto / victor ovans urbiq[ue locat sublim]e tropaeum / principis et munus cond[ignis us]que triumfis. 11) CIL VI 3791a=IGLFRPal 165=LSA-1356. Rome, Forum, near the arch of Severus. Date: shortly after 28 Aug 388 (PLRE I, pp. 37–38 s.v. Albinus 15)

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Extinctori tyrannorum / ac publicae securitati[s] / auctori / d(omino) n(ostro) Valentiniano / perpetuo ac Felici / semper Augusto / Ceionius Rufius Albinus v(ir) c(larissimus) / praef(ectus) urbi iterum / vice sacra iudicans / d(evotus) n(umini) m(aiestati)q(ue) eius. 12) CIL VI 36959=LSA-1374. Rome, Forum, near the Curia. Date: shortly after 28 Aug 388 (see nr. 11) Extinctori tyrannorum / ac publicae securitati / auctori / d(omino) n(ostro) Theodosio / perpetuo ac Felici / semper Augusto / Ceionius Rufius Albinus v(ir) c(larissimus) / praef(ectus) urbi iterum / vice sacra iudicans d(evotus) n(umini) m(aiestati)q(ue) eius. 13) CIL VI 3791b=ILS 789=LSA-1357. Rome, Forum, near the column of Phocas. Date: shortly after 28 Aug 388 (see nr. 11) Extinctori tyrannorum / ac publicae securitat[is] / auctori / domino nostro Arcad[io] / perpetuo ac Felic[i] / semper August[o] / Ceionius Rufius Albi[nus v(ir) c(larissimus)] / praef(ectus) urbi iter[um] / vice sacra iudicans d(evotus) n(umini) m(aiestati)[q(ue) eius]. 14) CIL VI 1154=36958=IGLFRPal 193. =LSA-1275 Rome, Forum, near the Curia. Date: shortly after 388 [Im]peratoribus ae[te]rnae urbis sua[e defensoribus] / [saevoru]m tyranno[r]um domination[em - - -] / [- - - di]gnitatis honorumque [- - -] / [domini]s nostris Fl(avio) Val[entiniano et] / [Fl(avio) Theodos]io Piis(?) Felici(bus) Invict(is) semper Augg(ustis) / [- - -]rum 15) CIL III 737 = CLE 286 = ILS 821. Constantinople, Hippodrome (base of the obelisk). Date: 390 Difficilis quondam dominis parere serenis / iussus et extinctis palmam portare tyrannis / omnia Theodosio cedunt subolique perenni / ter denis sic victus ego domitusque diebus / iudice sub Proclo superas elatus ad auras. 16) CIL III 735 = 12327 = CLE 285. Constantinople, Golden Gate. Date: after 425 ? (defeat of the usurper Iohannes)/ after 388? (Bardill 1999) Haec loca Theudosius decorat post fata tyranni / aurea saec(u)la gerit qui portam construit auro.

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17) CIL VI 1789=31932=LSA-1410. Rome, Forum of Trajan. Date: after 425 (allusion to the usurper Iohannes) [- - -] honorem [- - -] / [- - -]is hono[- - -] / [- - -]um uber[- - -] / [- - -]bis a tyrann[- - -] / [- - -]oni dedit consul[atum] / [- - -] aetatis anno adep[tus est a] / [dd(ominis) nn(ostris) The]odosio et Valentin[iano] / [Augustis aete]rnis nullo ambitu. I[nde] / [- - -]s factus quantum re[rum publicarum ei] / [iniung]ebatur auxit gloriam [omnibus seve-]/[ritate] legis laborantibus add[idit clementiae tempera]/[mentum] senatu mandata lecatio[ne auxilium] / [eum oppo]rtunissimum testantur eff[ecisse cum] / [ipsius] digna maioribus suis et prorsus [subli]/[mi]s oratio tum adfatus sacer a[d nostros] / [p]ostulatus ob quae ordo sublimis [populusq(ue)] / [R]omanus alteram ei statuam dec[retis inter se] / certantibus poposcerunt tan[ta a provi]/dentissimis clementibusque p[rincipibus] / celeritate delatam ut petito i[pso sacro] / [bene]ficio praeventa credatur. 18) Sid. Apoll., ep. 3, 12=CIL XIII 2352. Lugdunum (Lugdunensis); funerary inscription for Apollinaris (PLRE II p. 113 s.v. Apollinaris 1). Date: after 409 (allusion to the usurpers Constantinus e Iovinus) Serum post patruos patremque carmen / haud indignus avo nepos dicavi / ne fors tempore postumo viator / ignorans reverentiam sepulti / tellurem tereres inaggeratam / praefectus iacet hic Apollinaris post praetoria recta Galliarum / maerentis patriae sinu receptus consultissimus utilissimusque / ruris militiae forique cultor / exemploque aliis periculoso / liber sub dominantibus tyrannis / haec sed maxima dignitas probatur / quod frontem cruce membra fonte purgans / primus de numero patrum suorum / sacris sacrilegis renuntiavit / hoc primum est decus haec superba virtus / spe praecedere quos honore iungas / quique hic sunt titulis pares parentes / hos illic meritis supervenire. 19) CIL VI 1199=ILS 832. Rome, Ponte Salario. Date: 552 P(ro) imperante d(omino) n(ostro) piissimo ac triumphali semper Iustiniano p(atri) p(atriae) Aug(usto) ann(o) XXXVIIII / Narses vir gloriosissimus ex praeposito sacri palatii ex cons(ule) / atque patricius post victoriam Gothicam ipsis eorum regibus / celeritate mirabili conflictu publico superatis atque prostratis / libertate urbis Romae ac totius Italiae restituta pontem viae Salariae us/que ad aquam a nefandissimo Totila tyranno distructum purgato fluminis alveo / in meliorem statum quam quondam fuerat renovavit // quam bene curbati directa est semita pontis / atque interruptum continuatur iter / calcamus rapidas subiecti gurgitis undas / et libet iratae cernere murmur aquae / ite igitur faciles per gaudia vestra quirites / et Narsim resonans plausus ubique canat / qui potuit rigidas Gothorum subdere mentes / hic docuit durum flumina ferre iugum.

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Uncertainly dated inscriptions: 20) CIL X 7122. Syracuse, Sicily (lost). Extinctori tyrannicae / [ foe]ditatis [ fun]dat[ori liber]/[tatis - - -] 21) AE 1910, 162=LSA-1677. Lavinium (Latium et Campania). [- - - ob p]r(a)ecipu[am - - -] / [- - - liber]alitatem [ac reform]/[at]am in melio[rem statum] / civitatem recip[erata] / quoque annonae c[opia(?)] / quam temporibus tyran[ni] / caruit ordo Laurentium Lavina/tium d(evotus) n(umini) m(aiestati)q(ue) eius devotissimus.

Bibliography Alföldi, M.R. 2000. ‘Commodus 192 n. Chr. eine neue qualität von Triumphaldarstellungen auf Münzen’, in M. Torbágyi (ed.), Festschrift für Katalin Bíró-Sey und István Gedai zum 65. Geburtstag. s.l.s. 141–148. Amarelli, F. 1989. Trasmissione Rifiuto Usurpazione. Vicende del potere degli imperatori romani. Napoli. Ando, C. 2017. ‘Triumph in the Decentralized Empire’, in F. Goldbeck and J. Wienand (eds), Der römische Triumph in Prinzipat und Spätantike. Berlin-Boston. 397–414. Bardill, J. 1999. ‘The Golden Gate in Constantinople: A Triumphal Arch of Theodosius I’, American Journal of Archaeology 103: 671–696. Bardill, J. 2012. Constantine, Divine Emperor of the Christian Golden Age. Cambridge-New York. Barnes, T.D. 1996. ‘Oppressor, Persecutor, Usurper. The meaning of “tyrannus” in the fourth century’, in G. Bonamente and M. Mayer (eds), Historiae Augustae Collo­ quium Barcinonense. Bari. 55–65. Bauer, F.A. 1999. ‘Das Denkmal der Kaiser Gratian, Valentinian II. Und Theodosius am Forum Romanum’, MDAI(R) 106: 213–234. Bauer, F.A. 1996. Stadt, Platz und Denkmal in der Spätantike: Untersuchungen zur Ausstattung des öffentlichen Raums in den spätantiken Städten Rom, Konstantinopel und Ephesos. Mainz. Béranger, J. 1935 [1973]. ‘Tyrannus. Notes sur la notion de tyrannie chez les Romains, particulièrement à l’époque de César et de Cicéron’, REL 13: 85–94 [=Principatus. Etudes de notions et d’histoire politique dans l’antiquité greco-romaine, Génève 1973, 51–60].

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Berve, H. 1967. Die Tyrannis bei den Griechen. München. Bisconti, F. 2006. ‘Il giro delle esperienze figurative tra Roma e Costantinopoli nella pittura cristiana delle origini’, in Acta congressus internationalis XIV archaeologiae christianae: Vindobonae 19.-26.9.1999= Akten des XIV. Internationalen Kongresses für Christliche Archäologie: Wien 19.-26.9.1999: Frühes Christentum zwischen Rom und Konstantinopel. Città del Vaticano. 87–98. Bitto, I. 2009. ‘(La) terminologia del ribellismo nelle testimonianze epigrafiche dell’impero romano’, MedAnt 12: 169–184. Bleckmann, B. 2010. ‘Constantinus tyrannus: das negative Konstantinsbild in den paganen Historiographie und seine Nuancen’ in A.J. Turner, J.H.K. On Chong-Gossard and F.J. Vervaet (eds.), Private and public Lies: the discourse of despotism and deceit in the Graeco-Roman world. Leiden-Boston. 343–354. Börm, H., Mattheis, M. and Wienand, J. (eds.) 2015. Civil War in Ancient Greece and Rome: Contexts of Disintegration and Reintegration. Stuttgart. Breed, B.W., Damon, C. and Rossi, A. (eds.) 2010. Citizens of Discord: Rome and Its Civil Wars. Oxford-New York. Brenk, B. 1980. ‘The Imperial Heritage of Early Christian Art’, in K. Weitzmann (ed.), Age of spirituality. A Symposium. New York. 39–52. Bruun, P. 1991 [1962]. ‘The Christian Signs on the Coins of Constantine’, Arctos 3: 5–35, repr. in Studies in Constantinian Numismatics. Papers from 1954 to 1988. Rome. 1991. 53–70. Cameron, Av., Hall, S.G. 1999. Eusebius’ Life of Constantine. Introduction, translation and commentary. Oxford. Carlà, F. and Castello, M.G. 2010. Questioni tardoantiche: storia e mito della “svolta costantiniana”, Roma. Chastagnol, A. 1962, Les Fastes de la Préfecture de Rome au Bas-Empire, Paris. Chausson, F. 2008. ‘Une fête anniversaire dans la Rome de Justinien’, in M.L. Caldelli, G.L. Gregori and S. Orlandi (eds.), Epigrafia 2006. Atti della XIV Rencontre sur l’épigraphie in onore di Silvio Panciera. Roma. 955–974. Corcoran, S. 2010. ‘Hidden from History: the Legislation of Licinius’, in J. Harries and I. Wood (eds.), The Theodosian Code: Studies in the imperial law of late antiquity. London. 97–119. Cullhed, M. 1994. Conservator urbis suae. Studies in the Politics and Propaganda of the Emperor Maxentius. Rome. Dagron, G. 1974. Naissance d’une capitale. Constantinople et ses institutions de 330 à 451. Paris. De Maria, S. 1988. Gli archi onorari di Roma e dell’Italia romana. Roma. De Maria, S. 1995. ‘Ammiano Marcellino e gli archi trionfali della Pannonia. Architettura e temi dell’ideologia imperiale’, in G. Hajnóczi (ed.), La Pannonia e l’impero romano. Atti del Convegno internazionale … Roma 13–16 gennaio 1994. Milano. 299–312.

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Hekster, O.J. 1999. ‘The City of Rome in Late Imperial Ideology. The Tetrarchs, Maxentius, and Constantine, MedAnt 2: 717–748. Herklotz, I. (tr. N. Giové) 2000. Gli eredi di Costantino. Il papato, il Laterano e la propaganda visiva nel XII secolo. Roma. Hölscher, T. 1994. ‘Claudische Staatsdenkmäler in Rom und Italien. Neue Schritte zur Festigung des Principats’, in V.M. Strocka (hrsg.), Die Regiuerungszeit des Kaiser Claudius (41–54 n. Chr.). Umbruch oder Episode? (Symposion, Freiburg 1991). Mainz. 91–105. Humphrey, M. 2008. ‘From Usurper to Emperor: The Politics of Legitimation in the Age of Constantine’, JLA 1: 82–100. Iglesias, S. 2015. ‘Pari studio missum eiusdem tyranni ad permulcendam Africam caput. The Contrast between the Body of the Emperor and the Usurper in the Constantinian Latin Panegyrics’, in L’Africa romana. Atti del XX Convegno Internazionale di studi. Alghero 26–29 settembre 2013. Roma. 1095–1102. Johannessen, H. 2014. ‘Tyrants, Slaves and Demons: the Language of Demonic Slavery in Eusebius of Caesarea’s “De laudibus Constantini”’, StPatr 72: 111–122. Kalas, G. 2015. The Restoration of the Roman Forum in Late Antiquity: Transforming Public Space. Austin, Texas. Kolb, F. 2001. Herrscherideologie in der Spätantike. Berlin. Koortbojian, M. 2020. Crossing the pomerium. The Boundaries of Political, Religious, and Military Institutions from Caesar to Constantine, Princeton. Kovács, P. 2017. ‘Constantius II und die Bürgerkriege in Pannonien (350–351 n. Chr.)’, Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 68: 351–370. Kristensen, T.M. 2015. ‘Maxentius’ Head and the Rituals of Civil War’, in Börm, Mattheis and Wienand 2015. 321–346. Lange, L.H. 2009. Res Publica Constituta: Actium, Apollo and the Accomplishment of the Triumviral Assignment. Leiden-Boston. Lange, C.H. 2012. ‘Constantine’s Civil War Triumph of AD 312 and the Adaptability of Triumphal Tradition’, AnalRom 37: 29–54. Lange, C.H. 2013. ‘Triumph and Civil War in the Late Republic’, PBSR 81: 67–90. Lange, C.H. 2016. Triumphs in the age of civil war. The late Republic and the Adaptability of triumphal Tradition, London-Oxford-New York-New Delhi-Sydney. Lassandro, D. 1980. ‘La demonizzazione del nemico politico nei panegirici latini’, CISA 7: 237–249. Laubscher, H.P. 1976. ‘Arcus novus und Arcus Claudi. Zwei triumphbögen an der Via Lata in Rom’, NAkG 3: 65–108. Leadbetter, B. 1998. ‘The Illegitimacy of Constantine and the Birth of the Tetrarchy’, in S.N.C. Lieu and D. Montserrat (eds), Constantine. History, Historiography and Legend. London. 74–85. Lee, A.D. 2007. War in Late Antiquity. A Social History. Malden.

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Östenberg, I. 2014. ‘Triumph and Spectacle. Victory Celebrations in the Late Republican Civil Wars’, in C.H. Lange and F.J. Vervaet (eds), The Roman Republican Triumph: beyond the Spectacle. Rome. 181–193. Paschoud, F. 1996. ‘Le tyran fantasmé: variations de l’Histoire Auguste sur le thème de l’usurpation’, in F. Paschoud and J. Szidat (eds), Usurpationen in der Spätantike. Akten des Kolloquiums “Staatsstreich und Staatlichkeit”, Solothurn/Bern, 6.-10. März 1996. Stuttgart. 87–98. Pietri, L. Rondeau, M.-J. 2013. Eusèbe de Césarée: Vie de Constantin. Text by F. Winkelmann. Introduction and notes by Luce Pietri. Translated by Marie-Joseph Rondeau. Paris. Pina Polo, F. 2006. ‘The Tyrant Must Die: Preventive Tyrannicide in Roman Political Thought’, in F.M. Simón. F. Pina Polo. J.R. Rodríguez (eds.), Repúblicas y ciudadanos: modelos de participación cívica en el mundo antiguo. Barcelona. 71–101. Rubin, Z. 1980. Civil-war Propaganda and Historiography. Bruxelles. Salzman, M.R. 1990. On Roman Time: The Codex-Calendar of 354 and the Rhythms of Urban Life in Late Antiquity. Berkeley. Sautel, G. 1956. ‘Usurpations du pouvoir impérial dans le monde romain et rescissio actorum’, in Studi in onore di P. de Francisci.III. Milano. 463–491. Schäfer, T. 2013. ‘Ciclo di rilievi Medinaceli’, in Augusto. Catalogo della mostra, Scuderie del Quirinale, Roma 2013. Milano. 321–323. Scheid, J. 1984. ‘La mort du tyran. Chronique de quelques morts programmées’, in Du châtiment dans la cité. Supplices corporels et peine de mort dans le monde antique. Table ronde … Rome 9–12 novembre 1982. Roma. 177–193. Sirago, V. 1956. ‘Tyrannus. Teoria e prassi antitirannica in Cicerone e suoi contemporanei’. RANap 36: 179–225. Speidel, M.P. 1986. ‘Maxentius and his equites singulares in the Battle of the Milvian Bridge’, ClAnt 5: 253–262. Speidel, M.P. 1994. Riding for Caesar. The Roman Emperor’s Horse Guard. London. Speidel, M.P. 1995. ‘Die Garde des Maximus auf der Theodosiussäule’, IstMitt 45: 131–136. Springer, F.-K. 1952. Tyrannus. Untersuchungen zur politische Ideologie der Römer. Köln 1952 [diss.]. Stern, H. 1953. Le Calendrier de 354. Étude sur son texte et sur ses illustrations. Paris. Szidat, J. 1989a. ‘Imperator legitime declaratus (Ammian 30, 10, 5)’, in Historia testis: mélanges d’épigraphie, d’histoire ancienne et de philologie offerts à Tadeusz Zawadzki. Fribourg. 175–188. Szidat, J. 1989b. ‘Usurpatoren in der römischen Kaiserzeit: Bedeutung, Gründe, Gegenmassnahmen’, in H.E. Herzig and R. Frei-Stolba (eds.), Labor omnibus unus. Festschrift für G. Walser. Stuttgart. 232–243. Szidat, J. 2010. Usurpator tanti nominis. Kaiser und Usurpator in der Spätantike (337–476 n. Chr.). Stuttgart.

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Tantillo, I. 2017. ‘Costantino nell’epigrafia delle province africane, con particolare riferimento al periodo successivo alla battaglia di Ponte Milvio’, in R. Macchioro (cur.), Costantino a Milano. L’Editto e la sua storia (313–2013). Atti del Convegno. Roma. 125–149. Töbelmann, F. 1915. Der Bogen von Malborghetto. Heidelberg. Torelli, M. 2014. ‘L’Apollo Palatino di Roma e il modello dei rilievi Medinaceli-Budapest’, in Per Speculum in aenigmate. Miradas sobre la Antigüedad, Homenaje a Ricardo Olmos. Madrid. 227–234. Vera, D. 1980. ‘La polemica contro l’abuso imperiale del trionfo: rapporti fra ideologia, economia e propaganda nel basso impero’, RSA 10: 89–132. Vittinghoff, F. 1936. Der Staatsfeind in der römischen Kaiserzeit: Untersuchungen zur “damnatio memoriae”. Berlin. Wardman, A.E. 1984. ‘Usurpers and Internal Conflicts in the 4th Century A.D.’, Historia 33: 220–237. Wickert, L. 1954. ‘Princeps’, in RE XXII 2. 1998–2296 [1954]. Wiedemann, Th. 1994. ‘Emperors, Ususpers and Bandits. The Power of the Centre and the Power of the Provinces in the Politics of the Principate’, in Federazioni e federalismo nell’Europa antica. Bergamo 21–25 settembre 1992. Milano. 425–434. Wienand, J. 2012. Der Kaiser als Sieger. Metamorphosen triumphaler Herrschaft unter Constantin I. Berlin. Wienand, J. 2015. ‘O tandem felix civili, Roma, victoria! Civil-War Triumphs from Honorius to Constantine and Back’ in J. Wienand (ed.), Contested Monarchy. Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century AD. Oxford. 169–197. Wienand, J., Goldeck F. and Börm H. 2017. ‘Der römische Triumph in Prinzipat und Spätantike. Probleme-Paradigmen-Perspektiven’, in F. Goldbeck and J. Wienand (eds), Der römische Triumph in Prinzipat und Spätantike. Berlin-Boston. 1–26.

Chapter 2

Constantine’s Arch: A Reassessment in the Light of Textual and Material Evidence Diederik Burgersdijk 2.1 Introduction* The Arch of Constantine is a spectacular monument embedded in a densely developed urban landscape, situated at the foot of the north-eastern slopes of the Palatine Hill, at the entrance to the Forum Romanum’s Sacred Way. Its design and the different stages of construction, as well as the spatial and societal context, cause problems in interpretation for which many solutions have been proposed. In recent decades, scholars, if not focusing on the building process, tend to judge the Arch on the basis of its iconographic program, e.g. by distilling a meaning from the use of spolia in its design. While archaeological and art-historical excavations have studied the building process and sculptural programme, this chapter will depart from previous works on the Arch in its historical context, providing some new approaches for its architectural forms and inscriptions.1 As a triumphal monument, dedicated by the senate in Rome, it celebrated a recently arrived victorious ruler after the defeat of an enemy. The historical context can be reconstructed by tracing the genesis of the Arch, mapping its physical surroundings and comparing it to similar monuments of earlier date.2 The point of departure is the Arch as a triumphal monument, to be compared with its textual counterpart of panegyric. In fact, the panegyric from the year AD 321 (Pan. Lat. IV[10]), equally in honour of the * This a revised version of the paper held at the conference Emperor and Emperorship in Late Antiquity: Images, Narratives, and Ceremonies, 17–18 February 2017, at the University of Navarra in Pamplona, Spain. I am most grateful to the participants for their useful comments, as well as Daan den Hengst, Janric van Rookhuijzen and Catherine Ware, the anonymous peer-reviewers and the editors of this volume for their critical reading of the text. 1 Noteworthy is Barceló’s 1990 article providing an interpretation of the Arch as a whole. Subsequent studies took the use of spolia in the Arch’s design as point of departure for an interpretation of the whole, notably Elsner 2000 contra Liverani 2011. Elsner 2012, 258–260 revisits the topic and sums up the erstwhile conclusions. 2 As Marlowe 2010 does for the Maxentian context of the Arch. For the circumstances of the performance: Nixon and Rodgers 1994, 334–342.

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victorious emperor Constantine, was supposedly delivered only a few yards away from the newly erected triumphal Arch – the orator, Nazarius by name, could indicate it by gesture. As for other textual sources, such as inscriptions and juridical texts, I will argue that only few of them may be used to shed light on building practices surrounding the Arch’s construction, and are therefore hard to use as evidence for new aesthetical concepts, as has frequently been propagated in the studies of the past three decades. After a review on the status quaestionis in its broadest sense (§ II), I will discuss several angles by which the Arch has been approached, mainly and foremost judged from the outward appearance, as a composite artwork constructed from several pictorial (and textual) elements and temporal layers. Departing from the established views, I will deconstruct the dominant interpretations by discussing several aspects that are often invoked as evidence: the supposition that the Arch is an object of propagandistic self-expression on the emperor’s behalf, or the question of agency (§ III and IV). Then, we will take into account the juridical context; as far as there is any evidence to underpin current views, it rather points towards a negative assessment of re-use of material in the early fourth century (§ V). A new approach to the Arch will be proposed, combining the archaeological picture with textual evidence. It will turn out that the Arch mainly is a conventional monument in a traditional context, with some peculiarities that may count as innovations to the tradition (§ VI). It will be shown how the Arch may be seen as the material counterpoint of spoken panegyric (§ VII), which is an important element for a new approach to the arch as an architectural unity, combining art and text (Conclusion, § VIII). 2.2

State of the Discussion

Recent discussions concerning the Arch have focused particularly on approaches to art and materiality in Constantine’s reign, starting from the observation that the Arch contains a mix of styles and temporal layers. In earlier decades the composite style of the Arch has been considered a sign of decay in artistic ability, especially because of the Constantinian sculpture on the lower parts of the Arch. In recent research the sculptural programme of the Arch, with its recycled material and eclectic combinations of works of art, is seen as a novel expression of Roman identity, prefiguring the veneration for ancient objects which was to become normal practice in the Middle Ages. Others have considered the re-use of material as driven by pragmatism, without however considering this detrimental to the overall artistic impact of the Arch.

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The decorative elements from external provenance are normally designated as spolia, a notion originally referring to arms or equipment seized from an adversary’s body.3 While originally these were showcased in, e.g., a temple of the god to which the victory was dedicated, later the spolia were represented in artistic expressions, as for example the spolia from the Punic wars exhibited on the Capitoline Hill.4 An elegy by the poet and general Gallus to Caesar Augustus concerns the showing of spolia on a temple.5 In archaeological discourse, a derivative meaning of spolia is the stripped and plundered goods from houses and temples. The reuse of materials has been re-evaluated in recent decades and developed into a field of research in its own right.6 The recent appreciation may be seen as a reaction to the formerly accepted judgement, in which the use of spolia, a feature of Constantinian art, was valued negatively.7 The High Renaissance artist Raphael, who also served as the pope’s adviser on antiquities, observed a difference in artistic quality between the sculpture on the Arch from Antonine times and Constantine’s era, a verdict followed by Gibbon.8 This negative assessment of the Arch’s design still ruled in the earlier twentieth century.9 Elsner, at the end of the last century, challenged this disparaging evaluation and suggested that spolia may have been used as cultic objects. He did so by tracing the pious re-use of materials in churches from the Middle Ages back to Late Antiquity. While Elsner stated that ‘Constantine’s spin doctors were as masterly and creative as those of Augustus’, Hansen was equally positive about the conscious recycling of material and the artistic value attached to it.10 The comparison however between Constantine’s reign 3 spolia, in OLD 2a, are defined as ‘arms, equipment, etc., taken from the body of a defeated enemy, spoils of war in general, booty’. 4 Carandini 2017, 163 mentions a range of celebratory monuments and artefacts on the Capitol, cf. Romulus dedicating the arms of the Sabine king Acro to Jupiter Feretrius, see Livy 1.10 (and Carandini 2017, 152). 5 Courtney 2003, 253. 6 Many publications from recent years may be cited for this budding field of research, see recently Loar, MacDonald and Padilla Peralta (ed.) 2018; Underwood 2019. 7 The view is a reaction to the negative approach, as voiced among others by L’Orange and Von Gerkan 1939, 4–33, who consider the development of art in Constantine’s times as a loss of technical ability and a sign of artistic decay; also Berenson 1954. 8 Raphael and Gibbon: Elsner (2000, 149). 9 The topographical encyclopedia of Rome by Platner-Ashby 1926, 38 noted that ‘The whole cornice, too, is a mass of patchwork, and is crudely imitated in the entablature above the columns; while the medaillons are badly placed’. 10 Hansen 2015, 13–14 articulates the current view, not only by tracing back later practice to earlier situations, but also indicating the art of Constantine’s times as a new starting point, with an active role of the emperor in the process. Carlson 2010, treating the

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in the western half of the empire to Augustus’ centrally organised rule in Rome is highly problematic in itself, as is the comparison with medieval cult-relics. Objections to Elsner’s interpretation of spolia have been brought forward by those pleading for a more pragmatic interpretation of the re-use of material. There is little evidence to support the idea that the use of a spolium had memorial or monumental overtones. Coates-Stephens emphasises the lack of any contemporaneous texts which favour the interpretation, and draws a parallel with comparable monuments such as the Augustan Ara Pacis, in which no special appreciation of the use of older material can be perceived.11 From an archaeological point of view, Lancaster suggests a motive for re-use of older material in building constructions, arches in particular.12 For reasons of efficiency, earthenware was reused in arch constructions, such as the cupola in the empress Helena’s grave near the Basilica of Santi Pietro and Marcellino at the Via Labicana, dated some ten years after the inauguration of Constantine’s Arch. The amphorae used in this building originate from the mons testaceus (Monte Testaccio), a designated rubbish dump for used amphorae on the slopes of the Aventine near the Tiber. Lancaster explains the exploitation of this left-over material as ‘evident need’ (in other words, scarcity), ‘economic possibility’ (supply) and the resulting ‘cultural acceptability’ – which is the general acceptance of a practice of re-use of materials that had become standard in architecture. 2.3

Traditional Values

Scholars of Constantinian art who have employed methodologies from other disciplines contend that the medieval practice of piously recycling artefacts from the past can be traced to the time of Constantine. Connected to the ideological interpretation of spolia-use is the idea that Constantine is the last in a sequence of good emperors, and secondly, that the emperor himself had an Arch in relation with panegyrical speeches, adheres to the majority view. Brenk 1987, 105 has styled the Arch ‘a prominent monument of imperial propaganda by definition’. Marlowe 2010, 206 takes the opposite stance and criticises this ‘blatantly teleological view’. Koortbojian 2020, 125 however observes that ‘the view that this was a senatorial monument has become, by and large, communis opinio’ (see also n.125 with bibliography), a view he challenges in return. 11 Coates-Stephens 2003, 343 and references to further bibliography. Loar, MacDonald and Peralta (ed.) 2018 passim contains numerous examples from earlier centuries of re-using ancient material in artistic expressions in monumental context. 12 Lancaster 2009, 83–84.

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active role in promoting his new reign in Rome.13 The sculpture on the upper parts of the Arch originate from the reigns of Trajan, Hadrian, and Antoninus, while the heads of emperors on certain reliefs were remodelled on the emperor Constantine’s head, and eventually those of his father Constantius and co-emperor Licinius.14 According to the ideological interpretation, the recarving as well as the panels of Hadrian’s hunting expeditions were supposed to show the imperial virtutes that were also present in the new emperor. This may be true, but only as a matter of aemulatio, without commemorating a specific emperor from the past. In Late Antiquity, Hadrian was far from considered a good emperor, and there is hardly any reason to suppose that the virtues of reigning emperors were presented as inherited from their predecessors, let alone the bad ones.15 The virtues were, with variations through the ages, idiosyncratic for emperorship as such, and applied to the reigning emperor as the one who embodied them better than all his predecessors, cumulatively or even exponentially.16 Apart from that, re-carving the heads were hardly perceived as an artistic virtue. Reuse of material may not have had any effect on the artistic value of the Arch, as it does not detract from the monumental impression and imperial grandeur still apparent. The Arch, in other words, may not represent the emperor’s propagandistic self-expression addressed to the newly conquered City, depicting the virtues with which he identified, adorned with an inscription of imperial selfpromotion. The concept of a monument of propaganda is contradicted by the earlier existence of the Arch in a different guise and for different purposes. If built on Constantine’s instruction, the Arch must have been constructed in a period of no more than two-and-a-half years, between Constantine’s adventus at the end of October 312 and the anniversary of his ten-year reign in July 315 (his dies imperii was 25 July).17 It has been suggested that the Arch was in fact 13

Pensabene and Panella 1999, 112 and 126; Coates-Stephens 2003, 343, n.4; Liverani 2004, 395 also dispenses with the tradition of ‘good emperors’ referring to literary sources. 14 Pensabene and Panella 1999, 14 figure the recarved heads of Hadrian (fig. 1), Marcus Aurelius (fig. 2); cf. Ross Holloway 2004, 22–29. Elsner 2012, 258–259 for different interpretations of recarving, either driven by pragmatism or ideology. 15 Pace Elsner 2012, 259. Hadrian, according to the Historia Augusta (HA), a work from the fourth century, died invisus omnibus (Life of Hadrian 25.7). Liverani 2011, 34 inventorises the drawbacks of an ideological interpretation in five points. 16 Ware 2014 shows how Constantine assimilated to the virtues of his predecessors Constantius and Maximian on the basis of the Pan. Lat. VII(6) and VI(7), see also Ware 2018 for the Augustan tradition: there was a strong and lasting tradition in adopting virtues of predecessores, but still with the objective of surpassing them. 17 All imperial dates can be gathered from Kienast 20115, in the case of Constantine: 20015, 298.

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an altered version of the monument erected by Constantine’s predecessor Maxentius, as happened in an act of appropriation with the basilica nova on the Forum Romanum and the emperor’s grand portrait.18 Many of the Arch’s ornaments might have had a different significance, possibly the choices of Constantine’s defeated enemy who was his predecessor. Our lack of evidence for a monument of propaganda is even more profound as there is no proof that the Arch was Constantine’s initiative. The emperor’s direct interference is often presupposed, while the inscription suggests a different interpretation; as a token of trust, constructed by the senate to woo a new emperor who had hardly shown interest in Rome.19 The Arch may be conceived as an expression of civic pride on the City’s behalf, a challenge to the other imperial centres which were gaining importance throughout the empire while Rome, the capital of old, was looked upon in nostalgic sentiment. For these reasons, a centralised policy as supposed for Augustus, as a Roman-born emperor, cannot be attributed, without further explanation, to any emperor in Late Antiquity. It can, however, apply to the rival-emperor Maxentius, who held Augustus in high honour, and who – more than any of his predecessors – pursued a restoration policy in his style.20 Under Maxentius’ reign, the empire was to reach a new milestone, the next centenary to be celebrated in 315.21 The senate of Rome was struggling with an absent emperor after a period of classical Roman restoration policy. It seems more likely, therefore, that it was the senate which made Constantine the new focus of this specifically Roman celebration. The desire for the imperial praesentia is broadcast also in other media, particularly the panegyrical orations which invite the absent emperor to visit a city.22

18 Varner 2004; Bardill 2012, 83–84. Constantine’s colossal portrait as a recarved version of Maxentius’: Marlowe 2010, 203 and n.16 and further literature. In general about Constantine’s ‘Umwertung’ of the Maxentian heritage (not including the Arch): Leppin and Ziemssen 2007, 119–122. 19 Aurelius Victor Caes. 40.26: ‘all the monuments which he [sc. Maxentius] had built magnificently … the Senate had dedicated to Flavius [Constantine] because of his meritorious deeds’; Marlowe 2010, 202. 20 Cullhed 1994, Marlowe 2010, Hunsucker 2018. 21 Zosimus New History 2.4.3 is an important source for celebrations of the foundation of Rome, and see Paschoud 2003, 72–73 (for text) and 198–199 (and commentary); Burgersdijk 2016, 122–123 for Maxentius’ heritage under Constantine’s reign. 22 The klètikos logos in case, in order to (re-)invite the (absent) emperor or governor to whom the speech is adressed, as described in the rhetorical handbook by Menander Rhetor, II.424.3–430.8 (ed. Race 2019, 299–313). Examples from the Panegyrici Latini are VIII(5), VI(7) and IV(10).

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2.4 Reputation The question of recycling material elements, if approached only from an arthistorical point of view, holds the risk that the results of one particular field of research are transferred to another without reserve. As for the art-historical approach, it can hardly be maintained that combining elements in art and architecture can be conceived as either a novelty or as an ideologically inspired message. From an historical viewpoint, taking into account the situation in which such an artwork took shape, many objections may be made to the proposed art-historical concept. It might be asked when and in what stage of the Arch’s construction the reliefs were integrated in the Arch’s design. Furthermore, can the cult of relics be attributed to Constantine’s ‘spin doctors’? Maxentius, present in Rome and very well acquainted with its treasures from the past, was in a much better position to have had a hand in the overall design.23 If the design were of the Constantinian age, it would be questionable whether Constantine acted as the main agent in the construction. Several studies are relevant to a discussion of the growing practice of recycling material in the fourth and fifth centuries. Their conclusions are generally cautious as regards the acceptability of reuse. Relevant legal and historical texts suggest that the practice of re-use hugely increased during this period, but there were also restrictions put on the excessive use of earlier materials; most of the laws are directed against stripping of buildings and places such as public monuments and graves.24 On the one hand, this shows that mobility of material and objects was indeed there, but on the other hand, the perceptions of this practice were not all equally positive. Narratives in historiography attest to people in public office critised for all too liberal behaviour in acquiring the recycled material needed for restoration, decoration and rebuilding. While the written sources demonstrate that the artistic appreciation of recycling was limited, most, if not all relevant sources date from later periods, and apply to other parts of the empire than Rome. Ammianus (Res Gestae 27.3.7) is perhaps the most valuable source for reconstructing the legal situation in Rome at the end of Maximian’s reign and the start of Constantine’s. The passage discusses the performance of the city prefect Lampadius, who had been blamed for earlier misconduct, when praetor (c. 335–340), for putting his own name on public buildings as a founder.25 This was perceived as a lack of respect, since 23 As Marlowe 2010, 199–220 convincingly defends. 24 Alchermes 1994; Anguissola 2002. 25 Amm. Marc. 27.3.7: ‘For through all quarters of the city which had been adorned at the expense of various emperors, he had his own name inscribed not as the restorer

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earlier benefactors had financed the building and its restorations, a weakness in character from which the emperor Trajan was also said to suffer.26 Further in the narration, 27.3.9–10, Lampadius fled to the Milvian Bridge, chased by a furious mob, who reproached the prefect for not ordering material (such as iron, lead, bronze) from the usual taxes when erecting new buildings or restoring old ones, a deed that apparently damaged his reputation.27 From the restrictions on stripping and plundering, and the caution in dedicating buildings in one’s own name, it might tentatively be concluded that there was a certain consciousness of the integrity of buildings, and that moving and relocating objects was considered a dubious practice. Ammianus’ passage about the dedication of buildings to the original founder is immediately followed by a passage on spolia abuse. In Amm. Marc. 16.6.2, furthermore, a certain Dorus is mentioned whose task it was to watch over the antiquities, serving as a conservator whose function is otherwise unknown, but whose very presence may indicate a careful handling of antiquities.28 While the examples given may indicate a negative appreciation of re-contextualising building material, it must for present purposes be observed that any sign of artistic appreciation of the practice is lacking. of old buildings, but as their founder’, tr. Rolfe. Den Boeft et al. 2009, 56–57 on Amm. Marc. 27.3.7; and 50–51 on Lampadius’ career. The date of Lampadius’ praetorship is probably between 335–337, Den Boeft et al. 2009, 52. See for dedicating buildings in Rome HA, H 19.9–10 about Hadrian’s virtue of not inscribing the buildings with his own name: ‘and dedicated all of them in the names of their original builders’ (tr. Magie) and in HA, vita Septimii Severi 23.1: ‘And seldom did he inscribe his own name on these restorations or fail to preserve the names of those who built them’, the mentioned habit is called a vitium temporum, referring to the situation in Rome. 26 Cf. also for the same theme Anonymus post Dionem frg. 15.2 (edition Müller 1851, 199); see also Van Dam 2011, 128 n.37. For Trajan’s habit of adding his own name and the characterisation of herba parietina, see Epitome de Caesaribus 41.13. The anonymus not only mentions Trajan, but also ascribes this characteristic of Augustus to Constantine, cf. Warmington 1999, 153. 27 Amm. Marc. 27.3.9–10: ‘For when preparing to erect new buildings or restoring old ones(aedificia erigere exoriens nova, vel vetusta quaedam instaurans), he did not order materials to be obtained from the usual taxes(non ex titulis solitis parari iubebat inpensas), but if there was need of iron, lead, bronze, or anything of the kind, attendants were sent out, in order that they might, under pretense of buying the various articles, seize them without paying anything’. In addition to Den Boeft et al. 2009, 60–61, it might be noted that Ammianus follows the epigraphic habits of mentioning the nature of the building activity (aedificia … instaurans) along with the funding (non ex … inpensas), as well as the acquisition of materials. 28 De Jonge 1972, 63 mentions Dorus (only mentioned in this passage in RG), and the position of tribunus rerum nitentium in Notitia Dignitatum Occ. IV, as well as a custos with the same responsibility in Cass. Var. 7.15.

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2.5 Legislation An example of the legal domain from Constantinople may shed light on the situation in Rome; a law rendered in the Codex Theodosianus from the reign of Constantius II.29 The law was declared valid back to the year 333, which is within the limits of the reign of Constantius’ father Constantine, and thus also includes Lampadius’ prefecture (see § IV). The law (Cod. Theod. 9.17.2) runs thus:30 ‘… All who seized columns or marble from monuments or put down stones for the chalk-oven, must (…) pay one pound of gold for every grave to the exchequer after investigation by the office of Your Providence. Also, those who destroyed or damaged the decoration should be held liable to that same penalty, as also the ones who sold monuments on their premises to merchants of chalk together with those who dared to buy these – whatever is forbidden by divine prescript to be touched, cannot be purchased without pollution – and in this manner, that a pound is claimed from each one. But if by official indication of the officials monuments are torn down, we demand, so that no penalty will be avoided under the pretext of public building [i.e.: the penalty for the illegal robbing of building material], that the same officials impose this fine, because they should have been paid for from taxes or other kinds of funding.’31 At first sight, the legal text does not apply to the recycling of material in Constantine’s Arch, as it must be dated twenty years later, and applies to the situation in Constantinople for the robbing and destruction of graves. It may, however, be applicable to construction policies in Constantinian Rome. The law was enforced during Constantine’s reign, even if issued later, furthermore, the prohibition on trade of used material evokes a practice of stripping of 29 Constantinople may be seen as exemplary for the re-use of artefacts and building material, see Bassett 2004; the practice however may differ from the city of Rome, with Constantinople functioning as the new capital with a large import from all over the empire. In general emperors discouraged ‘the ruination of all types of monuments’, see Underwood 2019, 169 and n.57 with references to the Codex Theodosianus. 30 My translation. Only the relevant parts are quoted; for the full text, see: Pharr 1969, 239. Cf. also 15.1.14 (year 365); 15.1.19 (376); 15.1.40 (398), Lancaster 2009, 238 n65; CoatesStephens 2003, 341–358. 31 Universi …, qui de monumentis columnas vel marmora abstulerunt vel coquendae calcis gratia lapides deiecerunt … singulas libras auri per singula sepulchra fisci rationibus inferant investigati per prudentiae tuae iudicium. Eadem etiam poena, qui dissiparunt vel ornatum minuerunt, teneantur et qui posita in agris suis monumenta calcis coctoribus vendiderunt una cum his, qui ausi sunt comparare – quidquid enim attingi nefas est, non sine piaculo comparatur – sed ita, ut ab utroque una libra postuletur. Sed si ex praecepto iudicum monumenta deiecta sunt, ne sub specie publicae fabricationis poena vitetur, eosdem iudices iubemus hanc multam agnoscere; nam ex vectigalibus vel aliis titulis aedificare debuerunt.

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monuments (in this case funerary monuments), and the resale of material (columnae, marmora) for other purposes, as well as the illegal practice of selling and buying material to the exchequer (fisci rationibus). Even if the material is used for public utility (sub specie publicae fabricationis), a fine has to be imposed, since public building has to be funded from other resources (ex vectigalibus vel aliis titulis).32 Especially the latter addition applies to Lampadius’ misconduct, as he built and restored buildings non ex titulis solitis, but used public servants (apparitores) to buy material (plumbum, aes vel sim.), without paying for it (nulla pretia persolvendo). A large misuse of material and avoidance of official procedures, including sanctions on trespassing, are thus recorded in the sources. From the two examples from the period 335–340 – the praetorship of Lampadius and the law against plunder – we may conclude that severe measures were taken against stripping. The Arch erected in honour of Constantine will be no exception to the overall picture that material was re-used, but under strict rules and without any positive assessment, artistic or otherwise. Even if no objections are now known to the recycling of highly reputed artworks, this does not consequently mean that the practice was appreciated in its own terms. 2.6

Historical Context

By lack of contemporary historiographical sources, conclusions must be drawn from what the Arch itself reveals. In addition, the Arch’s meaning and message may have changed through the years, from the earlier stages of its development in Maxentius’ times onwards. A reconsideration of the urban structure, the historical situation in which it was erected, and a comparison with other artistic expressions from the same period may contribute to a new interpretation of the Arch. First, urban context. The Arch was situated on the crossroads of four Augustan regions, from which the name capita bubula (‘at the oxen heads’) is derived, which was also the birthplace of Augustus when born as Octavius.33 It was on the border of the Palatine pomerium, where the urbs quadrata had once been laid out by the City’s founder Romulus with special ritual significance, most probably arousing the interest of the Arch’s commissioner, Maxentius 32 Titulus in the fourth century denotes any kind of tax, but may also refer to the arca, or chest for public funding, see Chastagnol 1960, 335–341 and Van de Wiel 1989, 85. 33 Suetonius Div. Aug. 5.1. A place well known in Late Antiquity also: see Wardle 2014, 96–97. Panella, Zeggio and Ferrande 2014 for an archaeological survey of the region.

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(as we have seen in § IV above). This classical-oriented emperor was planning to celebrate the centenary celebrations for the year 314, coinciding with the decennalia of his own reign. In 204, the emperor Septimius Severus had celebrated Rome’s anniversary, at the occasion of which the Arch on the eastern slopes of the Capitol had been erected. Together with the earlier nearby Arches, the new Arch, on the extension of the via triumphalis towards the via sacra, was to provide a new ritual pathway to the Capitol. The most restorative emperor in decades – conservator urbis suae according to a much-discussed inscription –, had given pride of place to Rome’s and his own anniversary.34 His reign however, was overthrown by the victorious troops of his brother-in-law Constantine. Many monuments originally created to extoll the reign of an emperor of the ancien régime, such as the magnificent basilica on the Forum Romanum, and the colossal statue to furnish it, were now effaced (litura), re-elaborated and dedicated to the new emperor. Maxentius was branded a ‘tyrant’, a rebel, and his name erased from the historical records. A new inscription celebrated the victor (see below, note 47), in an attempt by the Roman senate to pledge loyalty to the new powers. Second, a look at the Arch and its possible meaning. Approaching the Arch, a richly decorated but equally harmonious construction can be seen, containing sculpture from various periods, from Trajan’s Dacian captives, to Hadrian’s rondos, and imperial gesta and virtutes as shown by Marcus Aurelius (profectio, liberalitas, clementia, lustratio, adlocutio, ingressus, etc., see below). The archways are decorated with Trajanic reliefs inscribed liberatori urbis and fundatori quietis. The contemporary finishing touch (historically and artistically), is the frieze showing Constantine’s expedition through Italy (the siege of Verona), the battle at the bridge, the entrance in Rome and the assembly on the Forum. On both the east and west flanks, a rising sun chariot and a descending variant can be seen, corresponding with a sacrifice to Apollo on one of the panels. The cosmic depictions not only showcase the East (the rising sun) and the West (the sun setting), but also represent the emperor’s omnipresent power, by day and by night. Hovering over the top of the Arch, the colossal statue of the sun could be seen.35 Solar symbolism was part of the design, as was usual at least 34

See for the implications and possible interpretations of the Latin epithet: Cullhed 1994, Hunsucker 2018, 99–100; cf. Marlowe 2010, 217 for the epithet on a coin of 313, and how Maxentian coinage had been reformulated to Constantinian use to liberator urbis suae (cf. Leppin and Ziemssen 2007, 122 for the same observation). 35 Marlowe 2006. Probably a quadriga on top of the monument lacked (Ross Holloway 2004, 51 denies the presence of a quadriga). Bardill 2012, 104 refers to Menander Rhetor’s prescript for solar imagery in panegyrical discourse, II.378 and 381 (ed. Russell and Wilson 1981, 94–95 and 100–101; Race 2019, 166–167 and 174–175).

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since Augustus, who was portrayed wearing a cuirass with eastern and western, solar and lunar symbols. These symbols, clearly to be seen by any passer-by, must have played a much larger role in visuality than re-use of material that can hardly be identified as such.36 Third, the series and sequence of triumphal arches. Constantine’s Arch has often been compared to the older ones, such Septimius Severus’ Arch, or the Arco di Portogallo.37 Constantine’s Arch is concluded to be mostly in line with established tradition.38 Yet other arches may reveal aspects of dedicating customs. The Augustan Arch of Dolabella on the Celian hill, integrated in the republican city wall porta Caelimontana, and fitting into the Augustan programme of restructuring the city and of division into regions, may serve as an example of transformation and renewed dedication.39 The building’s inscription attests of official, formular language: ‘The consuls Publius Cornelius Dolabella, Publius’ son, / [and] Gaius Iunius Silanus, Gaius Silanus’ son, priest of Mars, / have restored [this arch] following a senate’s decree and approved of it.’40 The Arch, in fact a recycled and dedicated city gate, has been restored after the senate’s permission and dedicated in the two mentioned consuls’ names, as the official commissioners. An arch on the Esquiline hill, also in use as a city gate (in the Servian wall) had been transformed into an arch in honor of Gallienus, who favored Christianity by granting Christians the right of property in AD 260.41 The 36

37 38

39

40 41

On the role of the viewer in late antique Rome, especially pagan: Bravi 2013. Ancient spolia being integrated in a monumental context is as old as at emperor Augustus’ reign, see e.g. Biggs 2018, esp. 48 and n.4 with a brief overview on literature on spoliation (proving, I think, the supposition that the practice started under Constantine false). In fact, the monumentalisation of ancient sculpture and artefacts, from Augustus’ times onwards, also thrived in the period just before Constantine, under the Tetrarchs, for which see Marlowe 2015. Jones 2000 considers Severus’ Arch the direct model for Constantine’s, given its architectural structure. Comparison with the Arco di Portogallo: Liverani 2011, 38 and n.10 for further reference. See Popkin 2018, 284 for the place of Constantine’s Arch in the sequence of Arches since Augustus’ times. Popkin’s conclusion is that the former is exceptional in that it depicts a civil war between Romans, while also Augustus boasts a victory in civil war in his written Res Gestae, but ‘is still the inheritor of Augustus’ Parthian Arch’. Carandini 2017, 346, referring to Pliny the Elder NH 3.5.66 for a description of the city gates, and 355 n.73 mentions two other arches, the porta trigemina (CIL XI 203) and the porta Esquilina (CIL V 6), serving as honorific monuments to Lentulus and Crispinus respectively. CIL 6.1384: P. Cornelius P.F. Dolabella / C. Iunius C.F. Silanus flamen martial. / cos. ex s.c. faciundum curaverunt idemque probav. Barnes 2011, 97.

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inscription reads: ‘To Gallienus the most indulgent emperor whose invincible virtue is only surpassed by his loyalty, and to Salonina the most revered empress, the foremost senator Aurelius Victor [dedicated this arch] to their divinity and majesty.’42 The senator dedicated the arch to the absent emperor. Several elements of imperial nomenclature recur in the text: clementia, invicta virtus, pietas, numen and maiestas. The epigraphic customs were long-standing practice during Constantine’s reign. Another inscription, CIL VI 40770a, may serve as an illustration of the standard communicative situation. The senator Q. Ceionius Caecina Verus dedicates the restoration of a bridge to the emperor Constantine and his Caesars Crispus and Constantine. The element of clementia, expanded with the epithet divina, is characteristic in addresses to the emperor, while also the sponsor senator Q. Ceionius Caecina is mentioned; he dedicates the restored bridge to the numen and maiestas of the imperial family, the father and his Caesar sons in case.43 Even so, in the case of Constantine’s arch, the senate devotes the monument to the reigning emperor. The Arch, just as other examples in the past, was re-dedicated and transformed into a triumphal monument beyond Augustan-Maxentian imagery, for an emperor who fostered his own cult of Deus Sol Invictus. The Arch was redestined for Constantine’s decennalia. His triumphal entrance into the city of Rome, that may well have led along the passage from the via triumphalis to the via sacra, was a major theme in the celebration.44 The sculptural programme on the Arch has been decorated by reliefs of earlier emperors. The arch is styled arcum triumphis insignem in the inscription, most probably a reference to the triumph depicted on the frieze; the formula can again be interpreted at face value, as autoreferential.45 42 CIL 6.1106: Gallieno clementissimo principi cuius invicta virtus sola pietate superacta est et Salononae sanctissimae Augustae Aurelius Victor v(ir) e(gregius) dicattissimus numini maiestatisque eorum. 43 See for further comments on the inscription Burgersdijk 2018, 146. In CIL VI 1134 = ILS 709 (to be dated 326–329 AD), the senator Julius Maximilianus dedicates a statue to the empress Helena, Constantine’s mother and grandmother of the Caesars Constantinus and Constantius (Burgersdijk 2016, 119–20 and 239 n.5; p.221 for further references). 44 The introitus as depicted on the Arch was not a triumph in the traditional, and juridical, sense, but had the appearence of a military procession, the emperor bearing his military garment and without triumphal chariot, and no senators accompanying the entrance, see Koortbojian 2020, 146 and passim. 45 The formula arcum triumphis insignem reminds somewhat of the famous Vergilian epithet for Aeneas, founder of the Roman gens: insignem pietate virum (‘a man outstanding in piety’, A I.10). The autoreferential interpretation is object of discussion, see Liverani 2014, 11–12, who categorises the communicative situation semiotically as ‘Tipo A1 – enunciatore ed enunciatorio esterni impersonali’ – he does not see any relation between the verbal expression and the visual art – in other words, there is no deictic aspect in arcum

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A Reading of the Arch

The comparative analysis between the message of the Arch and the panegyrics XII(9) and IV(10) may shed light on the interpretation as a whole, viewed in its historical context. The narrations in the orations XII(9) and IV(10) compare well, as sketched in the following graph: Table 2.1

Historical sequence of the march through Italy as described in Pan. Lat. XII(9) and IV(10).

Historical sequence

XII(9)

IV(10)

Segusio (Susa) Taurinates (Turin) Mediolanum (Milan) Brixa (Brescia) Verona Aquileia Rome, Milvian Bridge Rome, entrance Franks (barbarians)

5.4–6.5 7.1–4 7.5–8 Ø 8.1–10.5 11.1–13.5 14.1–18.3 19.1–21.5 22.1 sqq.

17.3 / 21.1–3 22.2–24.7 Ø 25.1–2 25.3–26.5 27.1–4 (praeteritio) 27.5–30.3 30.4–35.5 (17.1–2)

The monument, as well as the cited panegyrics, celebrates the emperor’s deeds, on the occasion of his decennalia following the conquests of Italy, rather than the liberation of Rome. The message belongs to pagan culture, in a neoplatonic philosophical context.46 These issues will be dealt with in the following, regarding the Arch’s sculptural program in comparison with the panegyrics. The Senate and People of Rome (SPQR) dedicate the Arch to the emperor in a clearly pagan vein.47 Lenski 2008 shows the pagan connotation of instinctu insignem. On the other hand, the inscriptions in the Archway, mentioned above, do direct the spectators’ interpretation of the reliefs. See Koortbojian 2020, 134–41, who emphasises a lack of evidence for an actual triumph, the occasion for the arch’s dedication being the decennalia of the emperor’s reign. 46 As argued in Burgersdijk 2020 for the panegyrical orations of Tetrarchic and Constantinian times. Neoplatonic overtones of the Arch’s inscription were detected by Lenski 2008, who identified the term instinctu divinitatis convincingly as a traditional pagan formula. This use corresponds with the use of divine terminology in the panegyrics. 47 CIL 6.1139 = ILS 694: Imp(eratori) Caes(ari) Fl(avio) Constantino Maximo / P(io) F(elici) Augusto S(enatus) P(opulus)Q(ue) R(omanus)  /  quod instinctu divinitatis mentis  /

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divinitatis, evoking the ritual of evocatio, the invitation to a godhead to leave a besieged city in order to prevent sacrilegium and to move to a temple in the victorious city. Words such as divinitas and mens, ‘divinity’ and ‘spirit’, reflect an abstract image of a god in Neoplatonic style.48 The Arch is not as much about the battle of the Milvian Bridge, as it is about the ‘liberation of the City’ after a march through Italy.49 The orator of the year 313 praises the emperor for having restored the city of Rome as well as the entire empire: de recuperata Vrbe imperioque Romano.50 In 2.4, he speaks of ‘liberating the City’ (liberandae Vrbis tempus), and again in 3.3 (liberandae Vrbi). The inscriptions in the Arch’s central passage hail the emperor as liberator of the city (liberatori Vrbis) and founder of peace ( fundatori quietis), as is also depicted on the frieze: a narration from the profectio to the battle in Verona up to the ingressus Vrbis.51 The orator of 321, Nazarius, mentions the founding of peace Constituta enim et in perpetuum Roma fundata est …, after the enemy has been destroyed.52 Equally, the Arch is only partly about the defeat of Maxentius; de tyranno cum omni factione suo evokes the entire march through Italy, that also contained the defeat of Maxentius’ general Pompeianus near Verona. After the march through Italy, the liberation of the city and founding of peace form the central theme in both of the speeches,53 whose orators avoid using terminology of capture and defeat, as virtue prevails over the army’s force and fortitude. In showing his virtue, the emperor operates as mens divina,

48

49 50 51

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magnitudine cum exercitu suo / tam de tyranno quam de omni eius / factione uno tempore iustis / rempublicam ultus est armis / arcum triumphis insignem dicavit. Identical expression in the panegyric of 313: XII(9) 22.1: quae divinitas perpetuo vigens motu? instinctu divinitatis mentis magnitudine (ILS 694) ~ XII(9)11.4 divino monitus instinctu. We have already seen that in dedicating an arch to the emperor the use of divinitas is normal practice, see above. See for clear depictions of the reliefs belonging to the inscriptions the photographic reproductions in Ross Holloway 2004, 31–32, figs. 2.20–1. Bardill 2012, 223–238; 92–104 (Constantinian sculpture). XII(9)1.3: ‘about the recovery of the City and the establishment of Roman power at last after a long-standing upheaval.’ The only contemporary source to mention the Milvian Bridge is Lactantius DMP 19 ad pontem Mulvium; this was however the normal route to enter Rome, where many battles for the hegemony over Rome had been fought (e.g. the battle to instate the emperor Septimius Severus to power against the troops of Didius Julianus). See Nixon and Rodgers 1994, 319 n.103 for versions of the battle. IV(10) 6.6: ‘Rome has been established and founded for eternity.’ In general outlines, the narration in the orations consist of XII(9): march upon Rome and victories (12–15); capture (16–18), entrance (19–20), aftermath (21–25). peroratio (26), and IV(10): confrontation of Constantine against Maxentius (6–14); divine aid (15–16); march through Italy (17–26); Rome (27–35).

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mastering imperial virtues needed for organising human matters. The celestial theme that the Arch expresses by its architectural form, as well as the depiction of heavenly bodies, help to portray the emperor’s position as intermediate between the heavenly and earthly realm, the divina mens that contemplates the cosmic Nous pervading the cosmos.54 The mens divina, mentioned in the Arch’s inscription, pervades panegyric of this same period similarly, cf. XII (9) 26.1: sive tute quaedam vis mensque divina es.55 The emperor is furthermore informed by heavenly advice, while his own judgment also bears a mark of the divine.56 The same holds for Nazarius’ speech, nine years later.57 The Arch itself on its lower tiers shows the earthly activities necessary for maintaining order on earth, the actions that rather show the emperor’s virtus than his military bravery, as it is put in panegyrical speech. Panegyric – XII(9) from AD 313 preceding the Arch, and IV(10) from 321 reacting to the very same motifs – has all the elements that recur in the pictorial narrative on the frieze, showing that sculptural and literary motives are in agreement. A show 54 XII(9) 26.1: … aliqua supra omne caelum potestas es quae hoc opus tuum ex altiore Naturae arce despicias … (‘or whether you are some power above all heaven which look down upon this work of yours from a higher pinnacle of Nature’). Cf. for the supreme God hiding in the arch of heaven: nec ambigitur eum praestantem sublimem sedem tenere et … eum (i.e. Iovem) in arduis arcibus habere solium consecratum (‘there is no doubt that he holds a prominent and sublime seat and … has a sacred seat in the lofty citadel’): Apul. De Mundo 25.343, (and Harrison 2000, 193), sublimem being a Latin equivalent of the Homeric hupatos. The heavenly connations of an arcus (‘triumphal arch’, not to be confounded with arx, although the words may be associated) are attested in Ov. Met. 2.129 and Manil. 3.318, where arcus designate heavenly realms. 55 ‘whether you are a divine mind spread over the whole world’; the emperor is further called ‘sacred’ in XII(9) 1.1: sacratissime imperator; and his virtue, his inspiration or his son divine: 10.3 divina virtus; 11.4 divino monitus instinctu; 26.5: divina suboles tua. 56 XII(9) 1.1 res a numine tuo gestas; 4.1 quid in consilio nisi divinum numen habuisti; 4.5 divino consilio, … hoc est, tuo (cf. for numen: numini tuo in 5.5 [in a wordplay with nomini], numen tuum in 19.2). See further 4.2: an illa ratio te ducebat (sua enim cuique prudentia deus est); 4.2: pro te tamen Iustitia pugnabat; 4.4: divina praecepta. The god that helps the emperor is referred to as quisnam deus (2.4), deus ille mundi creator et dominus (13.2), summus rerum sator (26.1). Constantine in direct contact with the divine, XII(9) 2.5: ‘You must share some secret with that divine mind, Constantine, which has delegated care of us to lesser gods and deigns to reveal itself to you alone’ (Habes profecto … dignatur ostendere). Cf. for divina mens 16.2, 26.1. 57 IV(10) 7.3: ‘God the ruler of things regards us from on high and, although human minds have deep hidings places for their thoughts, yet divinity winds its way in when it will explore the whole …’ (Spectat enim … scrutatura divinitas). (tr. Nixon & Rodgers 1994); IV(10) 17.1 ‘These men (sc. Franks) were felled under your arms in such numbers that they could have been utterly wiped out …, with the divine inspiration with which you manage everything.’ (Hi igitur … regis omnia). About the defeat of foreign people in both panegyric and on the Arch, see Carlson 2010.

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of imperial virtue, further elaborated in the attic reliefs from the Antonine era, feature the motives of profectio, liberalitas, adlocutio, and adventus or ingressus.58 Both the Arch and several of the Constantinian panegyrics celebrate an anniversary. Vows to the emperor, as seen on the Arch, on the occasion of his decennalia are also attested in IV(10), where Nazarius congratulates Constantine’s sons for their five-year reign (quinquennalia), and looks forward to the next period of equal length, 2.3: ‘The quinquennial celebrations of the most blessed Caesars keep us busy rejoicing, but already our hastening prayers … have come to rest on the decennial celebrations which will come to pass.’59 Equally, in AD 310 Constantine had been wished a thirty-year reign period, in Pan. Lat. VI(7) 21, where Victoria (also depicted above the opening of the central passage) offers the dedicatee three crowns symbolising three times ten years of reign. The rendering by crosses of this same period of reign, at both sides of the Arch by votis X and votis XX, draws upon this same theme of imperial celebration. Thirty years, of which ten had already passed, count as the maximum of conceivable reigning years. Like the senate, who dedicates a monument in stone, the panegyrical orator dedicates a monumentum, which might as well denote an oratorical monument or even historiographical work (as a stone monument).60 No difference may be made between the senate’s dedication of a monument in stone and the orator’s address to the emperor in words. The main goal in both media is to extol the emperor, and the cause is that he conquered all his rivals and surpassed his predecessors, even if they are his ancestors. In Nazarius’ speech, the father Constantius admires his son for having become greater than he 58

The reliefs are well represented in Ross Holloway 2004, 26–27: figure 2.11 depicts the ‘presentation of the barbarian chieftain’, fig. 2.12 the imperial address (adlocutio), fig. 2.13 the sacrifice (sacrificium), fig. 2.14 the barbarian prisoners, fig. 2.15 the arrival of the emperor (adventus, or ingressus), fig. 2.16 the departure (profectio), fig. 2.17 the imperial generosity (liberalitas) and 2.18 the ‘submission of the defeated’. Also, reliefs have been devoted to the return of Marcus Aurelius to Rome (the nostos-theme), distributing bread and money (liberalitas) and a military purification ritual (lustratio). For the contrast between Constantine’s military-style ingressus, as an emperor like Trajan used to practice when in the provinces, and the more senate-centered depictions of the Antonine emperors on the Arch’s reliefs, see Koortbojian 2020, 146–148. 59 Quinquennalia beatissimorum Caesarum … constiterunt. 60 See e.g. the way Livy praef. 1.6 styles historical writing incorruptis rerum gestarum monumentis (‘reliable records of historical events’, cf. also Cicero de Orat. 1.201), and Pan. Lat. XII(9) 24.3: ‘the memorials of valor preserved in writing from the memory of every age yield to you as well’ (cedunt ex … monimenta virorum), in which it becomes clear that panegyric (and thus stone monuments) are incentives to wipe away the memory of predecessors’ ancient valor.

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ever had been, and the father’s fame put in the shadow by the victories of his son Constantine (14.6: pater, qui terrarum triumphis altiori tibi cesserat). This is a reversal (or rather a hyperbole) of the motive that the emperor tries to gain authority by an appeal to imperial ancestry, as Constantine had done by adopting Claudius Gothicus as his forefather.61 Ancestors here serve as examples to surpass, rather than to follow. This panegyrical point of view calls into question the opinion that Constantine’s Arch puts the honorand in a line of good emperors. Nazarius (IV[10] 1.1), after all, sings of ‘the majestic praise of Constantine, who towers as far above the leaders of all ages as other leaders are distant from private men’. The Arch’s original commissioner, ironically, is the one who returns under the label of ‘tyrant’ in the inscription, on a monument restyled to the victor’s honor. The procedure has textual counterparts. The HA lays claim to originality by devoting attention not only to the lives of the victorious emperors, but also to the defeated ones, such as Septimius Severus’ adversary Pescennius Niger. The anonymous author begins his description thus, vita Pescennii Nigri 1.1: ‘It is an unusual task and a difficult one to set down fairly in writing the lives of men, who, through other men’s victories, remained mere pretenders, and for this reason not all the facts concerning such men are preserved in our records and histories in full.’ The quote shows the principles of erasing the memory of the defeated from the historical record. It also employs the notion of ‘tyrant’, most probably taken from Constantian context, maybe even taken directly from the inscription under discussion. 2.8 Conclusion Ever since the increase of scholarly interest in the concept of recycling, the communis opinio has taken root that the Arch of Constantine is a beginning of a novel concept of art, prefiguring the later cult of relics as seen in the Medieval period. Combined with the view that the Arch is a monument of propagandistic character, designed by the ‘spin-doctors’ of a new ruler in Rome, interpretations of the Arch and its message have become current that no longer agrees with a coherent view on the proper character of the Arch. Circumstantial evidence as appears from the urban context, and textual parallels from comparable messages result in a different concept. As to the urban context, it was Constantine’s predecessor Maxentius who was responsible for 61

Most recently Ware 2018, 126, and the Augustan context in which the newly introduced ancestry is presented in Pan. Lat. VII(6).

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the choice of the highly symbolic place near Augustus’ birthplace. Regarding textual evidence, passages from legal (Codex Theodosianus) and historiographical (Ammianus Marcellinus) texts make clear that the appreciation for re-use of objects cannot be proven without speculation and backward chaining. The imperial virtues as displayed in the Arch’s spolia did not serve to commemorate predecessors, or create a succession of good emperors, but as an incentive to the new ruler to surpass them (as we have seen in § III and IV). Use of spolia was restricted by law, and excessive use of it was considered morally blameworthy, in the eyes of the elite as well as the people (§ V). The practice of spolia use (as well as the discussion about it) was indeed present to a certain extent, which may hardly surprise in an empire with a capital that was quite literally built from spolia, Constantinople (see note 29). The evidence from the two examples of legislature against spoliation (from the period 335–340) may be strenghtened with the arguments ensuing from the recycling of two city gates, and the dedication of a bridge to Constantine (§ 6): the comparisons lead to the conclusion that the outward appearance and textual support on the monuments themselves must be taken at face value. The texts, in connection with the object, appear to be quite precise about the commissioner, the honorand and the status of the monument. The senate must have funded the Arch ex solitis titulis, that is, on their own expenses. Epigraphical evidence (from arches and bridges in comparable communicative situations, § VI above) and iconographic analysis suggest that the Arch, originally commissioned by Maxentius for the celebration of Rome’s centenary, is rooted in classical tradition, which did not change after his successor had captured the City. The eclecticism as seen on the Arch can be explained by its restructuring from a monument of Romanitas to a triumphal monument dedicated by the Roman senate to a new and mostly absent ruler. The Arch, moreover, bears a particularly pagan message, dedicated by the senate to the emperor. The imagery evokes an equally august (and Augustan) as celestial atmosphere that fits the solar imagery that defines the context of the Arch, also depicted on the eastern and western flanks. The solar imagery recurs on its sides, and has a counterpart in the solar imagery in panegyrical speech: the emperor and his divina mens as intermediate between the heavenly and earthly realm. The narrative on the Arch as expressed in the panels showing Constantine’s march through Italy may also be seen in the light of rhetorical narratio, as was shown in the speeches XII(9) and IV(10) from 313 and 321 respectively (§ VII above). Just as in these speeches, the Arch addresses the march as much as it regards the entrance into the City, the liberation of Rome and the founding of peace. Other literary motives, such as the suppression of foreign people, both

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figure in the architecture of the monument as in the text of the speeches. Even so, the Arch is only partly about the defeat of Maxentius at the Milvian Bridge; de tyranno cum omni factione suo also includes the battle against Pompeianus. Thus, the Arch as a monument dedicated by the entirely pagan senate, calls attention to a victorious emperor who is mostly absent. The senate honours the new emperor by re-dedicating a predecessor’s monument, and is constantly wishing and waiting for his return. Bibliography Alchermes, J. 1994. ‘Spolia in Roman Cities of the Late Empire: Legislative Rationales and Architectural Reuse’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 48, 167–178. Anguissola, A. 2002. ‘Note alla legislazione su spoglio e reimpiego di materiali da costruzione ed arredi architettonici, I sec. a.C.–VI sec. d.C.’, in: W. Cupperi (ed.), Senso delle rovine e riuso dell’antico (Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, Classe di Lettere e Filosofia. Quaderni 4.14), Pisa, 13–30. Barceló, P. 1990. ‘Una nuova interpretazione dell’arco di Costantino’, in: G. Bonamente, F. Fusca (edd.) Costantino il Grande. Dall’antichità all’umanesimo (Colloquio sul Cristianesimo nel mondo antico tomo 1), Macerata, 105–114. Bardill, J. 2012. Constantine, Divine Emperor of the Christian Golden Age, Cambridge. Barnes, T.D. 2011. Constantine. Dynasty, Religion and Power in the Later Roman Empire, Oxford. Bassett, S. 2004. The Urban Image of Late Antique Constantinople, Cambridge. Berenson, B. 1954. The Arch of Constantine or The Decline of Form, London. Biggs, Th. 2018. ‘A Second First Punic War. Re-spoliation of Republican Naval Monuments in the Urban and Poetic Landscapes of Augustan Rome’, in: M.P. Loar, C. MacDonald and D.-E. Padilla Peralta (ed.) 47–68. Bosman, L. 2004. The power of tradition: ‘spolia’ in the architecture of St. Peter’s in the Vatican, Hilversum. Bravi, A. 2013. ‘The Last Pagans of Rome and the ‘Viewers’ of Roman Art’, in: Lizzi Testa (ed.). The Strange Death of Pagan Rome. Reflections on a Historiographical Controversy, 171–188. Brenk, B. 1987. ‘Spolia from Constantine to Charlemagne: Aesthetics versus Ideology’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 41: Studies on Art and Archeology in Honor of Ernst Kitzinger on His Seventy-Fifth Birthday, 103–109. Burgersdijk, D. 2016. De Macht van de Traditie. Het keizerschap van Augustus en Constantijn, Amsterdam. Burgersdijk, D. 2018. ‘Constantine’s Son Crispus and His Image in Contemporary Panegyrical Accounts’ in: D. Burgersdijk & A. Ross (edd.) Imagining Emperors in

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the Later Roman Empire (Cultural Interactions in the Mediterranean 1), Leiden / Boston, 137–157. Burgersdijk, D. 2020. ‘Neoplatonic Philosophy in Tetrarchic and Constantinian Panegyric’, Imperial Panegyric from Diocletian to Theodosius (Liverpool Translated Texts for Historians, Contexts), edd. A. Omissi and A.J. Ross, Liverpool: Liverpool University Press 2020, 167–189. Carandini, A. (ed.) 2017. The Atlas of Ancient Rome. Biography and Potraits of the City, vol. 1: Text and Images, Princeton and Oxford. Carlson, J. 2010. ‘Narrative Reliefs of the Arch of Constantine and the Panegyrici Latini’, New England Classical Journal 37.3, 163–176. Chastagnol, A. 1960. La préfeture urbaine à Rome sous le Bas-Empire, Paris. Coates-Stephens, R. 2003. ‘Attitudes to Spolia in Some Late Antique Texts’, in: Lavan & Bowden, L. Lavan & W. Bowden (edd.) Theory and Practice in Late Antique Archaeology, Leiden 2003, 341–358. Courtney, E. 2003. The Fragmentary Latin Poets, Oxford. Cullhed, M. 1994. Conservator urbis suae: Studies in the Politics and Propaganda of the Emperor Maxentius, Stockholm. De Jonge, P. 1972. Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus XVI, Groningen. Den Boeft, J., D. Den Hengst, J.W. Drijvers, H.C. Teitler. 2009. Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus XXVII, Leiden. Elsner, J. 2000. ‘From the Culture of Spolia to the Cult of Relics: The Arch of Constantine and the Genesis of Late Antique Forms’, Papers of the British School at Rome 68 (2000) 149–184. Elsner, J. 2012. ‘Perspectives in Art’, in: N. Lenski (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Constantine, Cambridge, 255–277. Galinsky, K. and K. Lapatin. 2015. Cultural Memories in the Roman Empire (Getty Publications), Los Angeles. Hansen, M.F. 2015. The Spolia Churches of Rome. Recycling Antiquity in the Middle Ages, Aarhus. Harrison, S. 2000. Apuleius: A Latin Sophist, Oxford. Hekster, O. 2015. Emperors and Ancestors: Roman Rulers and the Constraints of Tradition (Oxford Studies in Ancient Culture & Representation), Oxford. Hunsucker, R. 2018. ‘Maxentius and the aeternae urbis suae conditores: Rome and its Founders from Maximian to Constantine (289–313)’, in: D. Burgersdijk & A. Ross (eds.). Imagining Emperors in the Later Roman Empire (Cultural Interactions in the Mediterranean 1), Leiden / Boston, 83–112. Jones, M.W. 2000. ‘The Design of the Arch of Constantine in Rome’, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 59, 50–77.

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Kienast, D. 20115. Römische Kaisertabelle: Grundzüge einer römischen Kaiserchronologie, Darmstadt. Koortbojian, M. 2020. Crossing the pomerium. The Boundaries of Political, Religious, and Military Institutions from Caesar to Constantine, Princeton. L’Orange, H.-P. and A. Von Gerkan. 1939. Der Spätantike Bildschmuck und das Ende der Antike, Berlin. Lancaster, L.C. 2009. Concrete vaulted Constructions in Imperial Rome. Innovations in Context, Cambridge. Lenski, N. 2008. ‘Evoking the Pagan Past. Instinctu divinitatis and Constantine’s capture of Rome’, Journal of Late Antiquity 1, 204–257. Leppin, H. and H. Ziemssen 2007. Maxentius. Der letzte Kaiser in Rom (Sonderbände der antiken Welt), Stuttgart. Liverani, P. 2004. ‘Reimpiego senza ideologia: la lettura degli spolia dall’ arco die Costantino all’étà carolingia’, Römische Mitteilungen 111, 383–433. Liverani, P. 2011. ‘Reading Spolia in Late Antiquity and Contemporary Perception’, in: Brilliant, R. and D. Kinney 2011 Reuse Value. Spolia and Appropriation in Art and Architecture from Constantine to Sherrie Levine, Farnham, 33–51. Liverani, P. 2014. ‘Chi parla a chi? Epigrafia monumentale e immagine pubblica in epoca tardoantica’, in: S. Birk, T. Myrup Kristensen and B. Poulsen (ed.) Using Images in Late Antiquity, Oxford, 4–32. Loar, M.P., C. MacDonald, D.-E. Padilla Peralta (ed.) 2018. Rome, Empire of Plunder. The Dynamics of Cultural Appropriation, Cambridge. Magie, D. 1929. Scriptores Historiae Augustae, Cambridge Massachusetts. Marlowe, E. 2010. ‘Liberator urbis suae: Constantine and the ghost of Maxentius’, The Emperor and Rome: Space, Representation and Ritual (Yale Classical Studies 35), Cambridge, 199–220. Marlowe, E. 2015. ‘The Multivalance of Memory: The Tetrachs, the Senate, and the Vicennalia Monument in the Roman Forum’, in: K. Galinsky and K. Lapatain (eds.), Cultural Memories in the Roman Empire, Los Angeles, 240–263. Nixon, C.E.V. & B.S. Rodgers, 1994. In Praise of Later Roman Emperos. The Panegyrici Latini. Introduction, Translation and Historical Commentary, with the Latin text of R.A.B. Mynors, Berkeley. Panella, C., S. Zeggio, A. Ferrande 2014. ‘Scavo delle pendici Nord-Orientali del Palatino tra dati acquisiti e nuove evidenze’, Scienze dell’Antichità 20, 159–210. Paschoud, F. (ed., comm.) 2003. Zosime. Histoire Nouvelle tome I livres I et II (Collection des universités de France), Paris. Pensabene, P. and C. Panella 1999. Arco di Costantino: tra archeologia e archeometria (Studia archaeologica 100), Rome. Pharr, C. 1969. The Theodosian Code and Novels and the Sirmondian Constitutions, New York.

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Popkin, M.L. 2018. ‘The Parthian Arch of Augustus and Its Legacy: Memory Manipulation in Imperial Rome and Modern Scholarship’, in: P. Goodman (ed.). Afterlives of Augustus AD 14–2014, Cambridge, 271–293. Race, W.H. (ed.) 2019. Menander Rhetor (Loeb Classical Library 539), Cambridge Massachusetts. Rees, R.D. 2012. Oxford Readings in Classical Studies. Latin Panegyric, Oxford. Rodgers, B. 2012. ‘Divine Insinuation in the Panegyrici Latini’, Historia 35 (1986) (= Rees 2012, 289–334). Ross Holloway, R. 2004. Constantine and Rome, New Haven. Russell, D.A. and Wilson, N.G. 1981. Menander Rhetor, Oxford. Underwood, D. 2019. (Re)using Ruins. Public Building in the Cities of the Late Antique West A.D. 300–600, Leiden / Boston. Van de Wiel, P. 1989. Hoofdstukken uit de Geschiedenis van Rome in Ammianus Marcellinus Res Gestae, Utrecht. Varner, E. 2004. Mutilation and Transformation. Damnatio memoriae and Roman Imperial Portraiture (Monumenta Graeca et Romana 10), Leiden. Wardle, D. (tr., comm.) 2014. Suetonius. Life of Augustus (Clarendon Ancient History Series), Oxford. Ware, C. 2014. ‘The severitas of Constantine: imperial virtues in PanLat 7(6) and 6(7)’, Journal of Late Antiquity 7, 86–109. Ware, C. 2018. ‘Constantine, the Tetrachy, and the emperor Augustus’, in: D. Burgersdijk & A. Ross (eds.). Imagining Emperors in the Later Roman Empire (Cultural Interactions in the Mediterranean 1), Leiden / Boston, 113–136. Warmington, B. 1999. ‘Some Constantinian References in Ammianus’, in: The Late Roman World and Its Historian: Interpreting Ammianus Marcellinus (ed. J.W. Drijvers & D. Hunt), London 147–157.

Chapter 3

Purple and the Depiction of Constantine in Eusebius and Other Contemporaneous Panegyrical Works José B. Torres Purple, a dye obtained with great effort from sea snails,* was a very expensive substance, and its use therefore became a symbol of royal dignity in Antiquity, probably even as far back as the Bronze Age.1 In Greek classical literature, such dignity was evoked allusively by the purple carpet on which the king of Argos treads when he comes into his palace in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon (vv. 910–965). In the Roman Empire, purple was a distinctive symbol of imperial dignity, long before and after Constantine (272–337), on whom this article focuses. It analyses the role played by purple in relation to the depiction of Constantine in Eusebius’ Life of Constantine, an extensive and atypical panegyric in four books completed after the death of the emperor in 337.2 In order to outline the Roman background of this symbol of imperial power and discuss the question within a broad literary context, the Eusebian text will be read in relation to other encomiastic works that also speak about Constantine and purple. As they date to an earlier time, two Pan. Lat. VI(7) and XII(9), are examined first. Both were addressed to the son of Constantius Chlorus and delivered before the Life of Constantine was composed, in 310 and 313 respectively, by anonymous pagan orators.3

* This article was written as a part of the research project ‘Romanitas and interculturality in the (self)representation of Late Antique emperors: Constantine, Julian, Theodosius’, funded by the Spanish MINECO (FFI2013-41327-P). I wish to thank professors Quiroga (University of Granada), Blanco and Sánchez-Ostiz (both from the University of Navarra) for the attention they have dedicated to previous versions of this text. 1 On purple in Antiquity, cf. Reinhold 1976; Stulz 1990; Longo 1998; Bradley 2009, 189–211, 226– 227. On the employ of purple as a royal symbol already in the Bronze Age, cf. James et al. 2009. 2 Cf. Cameron and Hall 1999; Bleckmann and Schneider 2007. On the Life of Constantine as an atypical panegyric, cf. Leo 1901, 311–312 (“ein ἐγκώμιον in vier Büchern, halbbiographischen Titels, halbhistorischen Inhalts, ganz rhetorischen Stils und kirchlicher Tendenz”); Barnes 1981, 255 (“an extravagant panegyric”). 3 On these texts, cf. Nixon and Rodgers 1994, 211–217, 288–293.

© José B. Torres, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004446922_005

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In the first discourse, the Latin panegyrist narrates how Constantine assumed the imperial purple in Eboracum (York) in 306 as a sign of his being the successor of the dead emperor, his father Constantius Chlorus. His soldiers are said to have bestowed on Constantine the imperial symbol despite his grief after the death of Constantius. By accepting the garment, Constantine recognised and proclaimed that he was the new Augustus: ‘straightaway the soldiers threw the purple over you despite your tears, taking more account of the public advantage than your feelings, for it was not right to mourn any longer a ruler who had been consecrated as a god’ (Pan. Lat. VI[7] 8.3).4 It should not be forgotten that this measure went against the inheritance system of the Tetrarchy, and that Constantine’s election was therefore not immediately accepted by his father’s colleagues.5 Purple appears again in this Panegyric (VI[7]), likewise as a symbol of the imperial condition, but now in a new context and in relation to its irregular use. According to the anonymous pro-Constantinean panegyrist, it would have been an abuse if the old tetrarch Maximianus (ca. 250–310) had usurped the imperial dignity and the purple as he intended: ‘suddenly to take up a position within the walls, clad in purple, and usurp imperial power, twice laid down, for the third time’ (Pan. Lat. VI[7] 16.1).6 The improper use of purple is actually the point shared by the two references to this material symbol which appear in the twelfth Panegyric, and in both cases the usurper is Maxentius (ca. 278–312), the son of Maximianus, about whom neither Christian nor pagan sources speak in positive terms.7 In the first passage (Pan. Lat. XII[9] 3.4), Maximianus attempts to tear the purple from the shoulders of his own son, whom he considers an ‘abomination’: ‘finally, he who was believed to be his father, after attempting to tear the purple from his shoulders, perceived that his own destiny had passed over to that abomination.’8 Maxentius is later referred to (Pan. Lat. XII[9] 16.3) as the ‘little slave who dressed himself in purple for so many years.’

4 Translations of the Panegyrici Latini are those of Nixon and Rodgers 1994. 5 Cf. infra on Eus. VC 1.21.2, and n. 34. On these events, cf. also Barnes 2011, 61–66. On the Christian version of the story (Constantius Chlorus elected Constantine as his successor before he died), cf. also, besides Eus. VC 1.21.2, Lact. mort.pers. 24.8–9. 6 On the circumstances alluded to in this passage, cf. Nixon and Rodgers 1994, 241–242; Barnes 2011, 72–74. 7 Cf. Grünewald 1990, 64–71. On Maxentius in general, cf. Leppin and Ziemssen 2007. 8 Cf. also Lact. mort.pers. 28.1.

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No other mention is made of imperial dress in the five Panegyrici Latini addressed to Constantine.9 Therefore, there is scant reference to purple as a symbol of imperial dignity. It could be that the unknown composers of these panegyrics had separately thought that magnificent symbols like purple must be employed sparingly, if their impressive function is to be preserved. Anyway, and more importantly, these limited references to purple seem to establish an important fact; only Constantine wears purple in a legitimate way and on the proper occasions, without any kind of eccentricity or impropriety as in the case of usurpers such as Maximian and Maxentius. Moreover, and as will be seen later in the case of the Life of Constantine, the emperor’s use of purple avoids the kind of hybris committed by the abovementioned Agamemnon. As a king, Agamemnon may have had the right to wear purple when he returned home, but it was an abuse, and therefore hybris, to tread on a material reserved for the gods, as he himself acknowledges in his tragedy (vv. 946–949).10 In order to establish a broader understanding of imperial purple in the fourth century AD, it is also advisable to consider the evidence of two other Latin Panegyrics that are not directly related to Constantine. These are Pan. Lat. III(11), an encomium addressed to Julian by Mamertinus (362), and Pan. Lat. II(12), written by Pacatus and dedicated to Theodosius in 389. While the first text contains three mentions of purple, the second includes seven, which clearly contradicts the situation in the previously discussed speeches.11 Like Pan. Lat. VI(7) and XII(9), both panegyrics refer to people who wear the imperial attribute improperly in different circumstances. This is the case in III(11) 30.3, which speaks about the ‘haughtiness’ of previous emperors dressed in purple (fastidia purpuratorum), who granted their friends great honours to avoid their being despised. Since Mamertinus indicates that this happened ‘a little before’ (paulo antea), the allusion must refer to Constantius II.12 Pan. Lat. II(12) repeatedly attacks Magnus Maximus, the usurper who fought against Theodosius and is called a ‘purple-clad butcher’ (carnifici purpurato: II[12] 24.1).13 Pacatus refers later (II[12] 26.1) to the enormous greed of this 9 As already noted, Constantine is the addressee of Pan. Lat. VI(7) and XII(9). Pan. Lat. VII(6), V(8) and IV(10) are also dedicated to him, together with Maximian in the case of Pan. Lat. VII(6). 10 Cf. Fränkel 1950, 430–431. 11 Cf. Pan. Lat. III(11) 5.4, 23.4, 30.3; II(12) 16.2, 24.1, 26.1, 28.4, 33.2, 37.4, 45.1. The cases of Pan. Lat. II(12) 28.4 (in relation to Vallius’ purpuras consulares; cf. Nixon and Rodgers 1994, 485) and II(12).37.4 (in relation to reuerendos municipali purpura flamines; cf. Nixon and Rodgers 1994, 504) are not discussed in this chapter. 12 Cf. Nixon and Rodgers 1994, 433. On the relationship between Julian and Constantius II, cf. García Ruiz forthcoming. 13 Cf. Nixon and Rodgers 1994, 478–479.

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usurper, who is also labelled purpuratus. In II(12).45.1, Maximus is even framed as a warning to any future pretenders who would wear the purple without deserving this honour: ‘if anyone at any time dreams of draping his shoulders with royal purple may he encounter the depiction of Maximus being stripped.’14 On the other hand, and in a positive way, Pan. Lat. III(11) 23.4 states that Julian dignified philosophy; having been a dishonored matter in the past, thereafter it sat ‘covered by purple’ on the imperial throne, as if Julian were the personification of this discipline.15 Pan. Lat. II(12) 16.2 says something almost identical in relation to Theodosius and Friendship: ‘Friendship (…) you not only summoned to the palace, but clothed in purple, wreathed in gold and installed on the throne.’16 It is also interesting that Pan. Lat. III(11) 5.4 mentions purple when it speaks about the possibility of removing the ‘blush of sacred modesty’ (purpuram sancti ruboris) from the virtue of Temperance, figured in the person of Julian, thus alluding indirectly perhaps to Julian’s blush.17 Two other works relating directly to Constantine may be regarded as part of the literary context of Eusebius’s Vita Constantini. The first is another panegyric, In Praise of Constantine, composed by the bishop of Caesarea himself, and pronounced in 336 during the celebration of the thirtieth anniversary of the reign of Constantine.18 The second text is the Oration to the Assembly of the Saints, addressed by Constantine to an assembly of bishops, supposedly written by him in Latin and, according to Eusebius, later translated into Greek (Life of Constantine 4.32). It was delivered on an uncertain date between 312/313 and 325, and it is not clear if Eusebius or other clerics (Lactantius) played a role in its composition.19 Purple is mentioned in both works and plays a role congruent with its public use and Roman tradition as attested by the Panegyrici Latini. The first reference to purple in the speech In Praise of Constantine (5.4) is very explicit in relation to the meaning of the imperial vestment and to the fact that only Constantine can wear the halourgis, the name Eusebius gives to the purple robe in this passage and in his panegyrics in general:20 ‘Declaring the august title of supreme authority by the splendor of his vesture, he alone 14 15 16 17 18 19

Cf. Nixon and Rodgers 1994, 510. Cf. Nixon and Rodgers 1994, 425–426. On the relationship between the two passages, cf. Nixon and Rodgers 1994, 466. On the blush of the emperor as a rhetorical motif, cf. n. 25. Cf. Drake 1976; Barnes 1977; Johannessen 2016, 31–33. On the questions here involved, cf. Girardet 2016, 15–45. On the linguistic abilities of Constantine, cf. Torres Guerra 2013. 20 With a single exception in VC 4.66.2; cf. infra. Halourgis properly designates what is wrought in or by the sea, and specifically a purple robe; it does not necessarily imply the garment of a god or a king (cf. LSJ s. v.).

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worthily wears that imperial purple which so well becomes him.’21 A similar case is to be seen in a second passage from this speech (5.6). On this occasion the purple is accompanied by another distinctive imperial attribute, the diadem:22 ‘He [Constantine] smiles at his vesture, embroidered with gold and flowers, and at the imperial purple and diadem itself, when he sees the multitude gaze in wonder, like children at a bugbear, on the splendid spectacle.’ Moral considerations are added just after the cited text, and then Eusebius speaks about another ‘garment’ (periblema) that coats the emperor’s soul; knowledge of ‘the Divine.’ This metaphorical vestment is also ‘temperance, justice, piety, and all other virtues’ (σωφροσύνῃ καὶ δικαιοσύνῃ εὐσεβείᾳ τε καὶ ταῖς λοιπαῖς ἀρεταῖς), which is said to fit the emperor especially well, as it is ‘a vesture such as truly becomes a sovereign.’ Such ethical commentaries are coherent with the kind of eulogies employed in secular encomiastic literature, and specifically in the basilikos logos, in which the four cardinal virtues (ἀνδρεία, δικαιοσύνη, σωφροσύνη, φρόνησις) should be taken into account, as Menander Rhetor’s theoretical exposition (373) avers.23 In relation to this, it is relevant that Constantine’s appearance attests to his moral condition when he enters the palace of his dead father according to the sixth Pan. Lat. (VI[7] 4.4). Calmness, modesty and a sense of justice are mentioned in this regard: Idem enim est quem rursus in te colimus aspectus, eadem in fronte grauitas, eadem in oculis et in ore tranquillitas. Sic est index modestiae rubor, sic testis sermo iustitiae, ‘For it is the same countenance that we revere once more in you, the same serious brow, the same calmness of eye and voice. In the same way your blush is an indication of your modesty, and your conversation a witness to your sense of justice.’24 In both texts (In Praise of Constantine 5.6; Pan. Lat. VI[7] 4.4) there is a common reference to the emperor’s justice. The repeated reference to a general virtue like dikaiosyne / iustitia, recommended by the rhetorical treatises about the basilikos logos as noted above, is, of course, insufficient as evidence to conclude that the two discourses are intertextually related.25 The significant point here is that 21 Translations of In Praise of Constantine are those of Schaff and Wace 1976, slightly modified. 22 On the assumption of the diadem by Constantine as an imperial attribute from 324, cf. Bardill 2012, 12–13, 18, 153, 335, 398–399. 23 On the ancient theory of the basilikos logos, cf. Men.Rh. 368–377. On Eusebius and his knowledge of this kind of logos, cf. Cameron and Hall 1999, 32–33; Bleckmann and Schneider 2007, 30–31. 24 Cf. Nixon and Rodgers 1994, 223. 25 On the remote possibility of Eusebius’ knowledge of the Panegyrici Latini, cf. Cameron and Hall 1999, 32. The blush of the emperor as a sign of his modesty (Pan. Lat. (VI[7]) 4.4), also attested in Pan. Lat. VIII(5) 19.3 and VC 3.10.4, is a eulogical topic which is also to be

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the passage from In Praise of Constantine (5.6), like the one cited above (5.4), speaks about the emperor and his purple in terms which would have probably fit within any pagan panegyric, even though mention of purple was not an eulogical usual element in a basilikos logos.26 In the eulogical work In Praise of Constantine there are no references to those who have worn purple improperly, although this features several times in the Panegyrici Latini. A counterexample could only be found in Eusebius if he were hypothetically to have played a role in the composition of the Oration to the Assembly of the Saints (24.2), which is far from being certain.27 The Oration is also included in this analysis as it is another contemporaneous and relevant testimony, not because it is regarded that Eusebius took part in its composition. Speaking of Valerian as one of the emperors who persecuted Christians in the third century, the authorial voice of the Oration refers to the notorious circumstances of his death, how he was led in chains by the Persian king Sapor I while he still wore the purple (porphyris in this case, not halourgis) and ‘the other imperial ornaments’:28 ἀλλὰ σύγε, Οὐαλεριανέ, τὴν αὐτὴν μιαιφονίαν ἐνδειξάμενος τοῖς ὑπηκόοις τοῦ θεοῦ, τὴν ὁσίαν κρίσιν ἐξέφηνας ἁλοὺς αἰχμάλωτός τε καὶ δέσμιος ἀχθεὶς σὺν αὐτῇ πορφυρίδι καὶ τῷ λοιπῷ βασιλικῷ κόσμῳ, τέλος δὲ ὑπὸ Σαπώρου τοῦ Περσῶν βασιλέως ἐκδαρῆναι κελευσθεὶς καὶ ταριχευθεὶς τρόπαιον τῆς σαυτοῦ δυστυχίας ἔστησας αἰώνιον. You, too, Valerian, who manifested the same spirit of cruelty towards the servants of God, have afforded an example of righteous judgment. A captive in the enemies’ hands, led in chains while yet arrayed in the purple and imperial attire, and at last your skin stripped from you, and preserved by command of Sapor the Persian king, you have left a perpetual trophy of your calamity.29 This text establishes a direct link between Valerian’s cruelty against the Christians and his awful fate. His presentation as a prisoner coated with the

26 27 28 29

seen in Pan. Lat. II(12) 44.2 in relation to Theodosius. In relation to Julian, cf. supra III(11) 5.4. But cf. Men.Rh. 367.20. On the problems concerning the authorship of the Oration, cf. Girardet 2013, 9–25. These events are also referred to in the epigraphical Res Gestae Divi Saporis which accompany the Sasanian relief at Naqsh-e Rajab (cf. Rubin 2002). Translations of the Oratio ad sanctorum coetum are those of Schaff and Wace 1976.

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imperial purple becomes even more paradoxical when not only is this garment said to have eventually been stripped from the body, but even his own skin.30 In the Life of Constantine Eusebius also makes limited reference to the purple, as attested in the other panegyrists who speak about this emperor. Nevertheless, the references to this precious substance in the work are as significant as they are rare. Unlike the other texts cited here, in which purple has no narrative structuring function, the references to purple in the Vita may even be read as milestones which indicate the different and evolving attitudes of Constantine towards imperial power and the relationship between purple and religion, both in an official and a personal sense. Halourgis, which appears four times in Eusebius’ panegyric,31 is employed for the first time after Constantius Chlorus’ death, in a situation parallel, and at the same time different to the one depicted in the sixth Latin Panegyric (Pan. Lat. VI(7) 8.3: cf. supra).32 According to the Eusebian Vita Constantini (1.21.2– 22.1), Constantine, who had been named heir by Constantius, entered the paternal palace vested in his father’s purple robe, which means symbolically that he was adorned with the same imperial dignity his father had enjoyed: [ὁ Κωνστάντιος] ἐν αὐτοῖς βασιλείοις ἐπὶ βασιλικῇ στρωμνῇ, τὸν κλῆρον τῆς βασιλείας νόμῳ φύσεως τῷ τῇ ἡλικίᾳ προάγοντι τῶν παίδων παραδούς, διανεπαύσατο. Οὐ μὴν ἀβασίλευτος ἔμενεν ἡ ἀρχή, αὐτῇ δ’ ἁλουργίδι πατρικῇ Κωνσταντῖνος κοσμησάμενος τῶν πατρικῶν οἴκων προῄει, ὥσπερ ἐξ ἀναβιώσεως τὸν πατέρα βασιλεύοντα δι’ ἑαυτοῦ δεικνὺς τοῖς πᾶσιν. In the palace itself, on the imperial couch, he handed over his part of the Empire by natural succession to the senior in age among his sons, and expired. The Empire however was not left ungoverned. Arrayed in his father’s own purple robe Constantine emerged from his father’s halls,

30

The Christian attitude of the Oration to the Assembly of the Saints (cf. 20.12) is especially evident in its Christiana interpretatio of Vergil’s fourth Eclogue, which includes the other reference to purple present in the text. As is well known, the Virgilian reference to a child who is about to be born and will renew the world when he becomes a man (cf. Verg. B. 4,7–9), was interpreted among Christians as a Messianic prophecy; cf. Putnam and Ziolkowski 2008. 31 The noun porphyra is employed only once in the Vita, and then in a passage (4.66) in which halourgis also appears. Cf. infra. 32 On this episode as depicted by Eusebius, cf. Cameron and Hall 1999, 198–199; Bleckmann and Schneider 2007, 48–50, 174–176. Eusebius had already written about Constantius’ death and the succession of his eldest son in HE 8.13.12–14.

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showing to one and all that, as though revived, his father reigned through him.33 By publicly putting on this garment, he was obviously proclaiming to the whole Empire and to the remaining Tetrarchs (Galerius as Augustus in the East and Maximinus Daia and Severus as Caesars in the East and West respectively) that he intended to be the new Augustus and successor to his father in this dignity.34 No further mention is made of the purple or of clothes dyed in it in Eusebius’ eulogy until the Council of Nicaea (325) opens the third book (3.10.3–4). On this solemn occasion Constantine made his entrance before the magnificent assembly, constituted by about three hundred bishops, in splendour:35 πάντων δ’ ἐξαναστάντων ἐπὶ συνθήματι, ὃ τὴν βασιλέως εἴσοδον ἐδήλου, αὐτὸς δὴ λοιπὸν διέβαινε μέσος οἷα θεοῦ τις οὐράνιος ἄγγελος, λαμπρὰν μὲν ὥσπερ φωτὸς μαρμαρυγαῖς ἐξαστράπτων περιβολήν, ἁλουργίδος δὲ πυρωποῖς καταλαμπόμενος ἀκτῖσι, χρυσοῦ τε καὶ λίθων πολυτελῶν διαυγέσι φέγγεσι κοσμούμενος. All rose at a signal, which announced the Emperor’s entrance; and he finally walked along between them, like some heavenly angel of God, his bright mantle shedding lustre like beams of light, shining with the fiery radiance of a purple robe, and decorated with the dazzling brilliance of gold and precious stones. This passage makes intentional use of enargeia and focuses on the physical appearance of the emperor as various textual markers show.36 As in the case of In Praise of Constantine (5.6), it is followed (in 3.10.4) by comments on the emperor’s internal disposition. Thus a coherent image of Constantine is presented, both external and internal, whose general tone is advanced by the initial encomiastic comparison: ‘like some heavenly angel of God.’ According to Eusebius, the almighty Augustus appears before the clergy as a heavenly angel of God whose most distinctive visible features are light and brightness because 33 Translations of the Life of Constantine are those of Cameron and Hall 1999. 34 By accepting his proclamation by his father’s soldiers Constantinus became, strictly speaking, a usurper; cf. supra and n. 5. He was afterwards accepted as Caesar by Galerius, who sent him the purple robe and co-opted him into the imperial college. Cf. Lact. mort. pers. 25.3.5. 35 Cf. Cameron and Hall 1999, 264–265; Torres Guerra 2017a, 84–85. 36 On enargeia and its use in this passage, cf. Torres Guerra 2017a, 82–85. On enargeia cf. Manieri 1988; Otto 2009; Plett 2012; Webb 1997; Webb 2009.

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of the combined effect of gold and precious stones which adorn his garments. As part of this brightness he is also described as wearing a purple robe (halourgis), which makes him shine because it blazes, in the text’s hyperbole, with a fiery radiance. The comparison of a man with an angel of God was problematic, because it could be regarded as an exaggeration and the first step towards hybris. Hybris may in fact be suggested by a reference to purple, as the example of Agamemnon in his tragedy cited above shows.37 But the Aeschylean Agamemnon is a very different figure from the Eusebian hero. Eusebius is careful to show that Constantine, this ‘angel of God’, is not guilty of hybris. As alluded to above, he does so through textual comments on Constantine’s external appearance which reflect his internal excellence: the emperor is humble because his eyes are cast down, his face blushes (cf. n. 25), his gait is decorous, and the rest of his appearance evinces, according to Eusebius, his moral disposition.38 In the first passage from the Life of Constantine (1.22.1) purple, or purple garments, signified imperial dignity and the status of emperor in accordance with Roman tradition. Eusebius now goes a step further, as purple is dyed with new and supernatural shades in this second text. As he opens the Council of Nicaea, Constantine is not only the emperor of Rome. Although not yet baptised, he had become a kind of episcopus maximus among Christian bishops.39 Significantly, he wears shining purple when he assumes this role. It should be recalled that not only was purple significant in social and political contexts in Antiquity, it also played an important role in ancient religions such as Judaism. This is well attested to in the Old Testament, in the book of Exodus, which prescribes that the tent of the Tabernacle (cf. Exod. [LXX] 26.1, 31, 36) and other religious objects be made of purple, at least partially (cf. Exod. [LXX] 27.16; 36.9, 10, 12, 15, 31, 36; 37.3, 5, 16; 39.12). More importantly, purple was also a significant element of the vestments which the High Priest should wear, as Exodus states in relation to his garments in general, and the priestly clothing known as ephod, the pectoral, and the mantle of the ephod, in particular (cf. 37

There are also many negative references to the purple in the pagan literature of the fourth century, for example, in relation to the Sophists who act arrayed in it. Cf. Them. Or. 28.341, and Quiroga Puertas 2013, 607, 610–611. On references to the purple among the Christian writers of this century, cf. infra. 38 Cf. Eus. VC 3.10.4. On the present motif (the face is the mirror of the soul), cf. Cic. Orat.; Hier. Epist. 54.13. On the emperor who casts down his eyes, cf. also Pan. Lat. IV(10) 4.5 (Constantine) and II(12) 44.2 (Theodosius). On the presentation of Constantine as a model prince in the Eusebian Life, cf. Drijvers 2004; Torres Guerra 2017b, 212. 39 Cf. Rapp 1998; Bremmer 2006, 71–72; Torres Guerra 2017a, 80, n. 32. On Constantine also as episkopos ton ektos (‘bishop of the external [i.e. secular] things’), cf. Straub 1967; De Decker and Dupois Masay 1980; Christinaki 2013.

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Exod. [LXX] 28.5, 8, 15, 33).40 If Eusebius’ text is read against the background of what Exodus prescribes in relation to purple, Constantine’s procession among the assembled bishops wearing his purple robe may be interpreted as meaning that the son of Constantius Chlorus no longer walks among them solely as the emperor of Rome. It has often been noted that Eusebius converted the figure of Moses into a recurrent point of comparison for the Augustus in his Vita Constantini.41 Likewise in relation to Exodus, in which Moses appears, it may be added that Eusebius presents Constantine in this significant passage of his eulogy as a kind of High Priest, as if Constantine’s imperial purple were embedded in the ritual purple which characterises the High Priest in the second book of the Old Testament.42 The references to the purple in the first and third books of the Life of Constantine must also be read in relation to what is said about this material in the fourth book. Purple appears once again there, and it does so in a very different context and with a very different role. Eusebius’ narration of the death of the emperor (4.62.4) recounts how Constantine renounces the purple, the halourgis, and prefers other kind of garments, also bright and shining, but more appropriate for a recently baptised individual, as if these were his baptismal robe:43 Κωνσταντῖνος (…) θείας τε σφραγῖδος ἀξιούμενος ἠγάλλετο τῷ πνεύματι ἀνεκαινοῦτό τε καὶ φωτὸς ἐνεπίμπλατο θείου (…) τὸ δ’ ἐναργὲς καταπεπληγὼς τῆς ἐνθέου δυνάμεως. Ὡς δ’ ἐπληροῦτο τὰ δέοντα, λαμπροῖς καὶ βασιλικοῖς ἀμφιάσμασι φωτὸς ἐκλάμπουσι τρόπον περιεβάλλετο ἐπὶ λευκοτάτῃ τε στρωμνῇ διανεπαύετο, οὐκέθ’ ἁλουργίδος ἐπιψαῦσαι θελήσας. Constantine was initiated by rebirth in the mysteries of Christ, and exulted in the Spirit on being vouchsafed the divine seal, and was renewed and filled with divine light (…), awestruck at the manifestation of the 40

The Hebrew text of Exodus also refers to purple in these other verses: 28.6, 28, 31, 37. Cf. also Exod (LXX) 39.12. 41 Cf. Hollerich 1989, 80–85; Mortley 1996, 178–180; Rapp 1998, 687–695; Cameron and Hall 1999, 35–39, Williams 2008, 28–31, 36–42, 55–57; Damgaard 2013; Van Nuffelen 2013, 133. 42 It should be noted that there are no references to the liturgical use of the purple (or better, of the colour purple) among Christians in the fourth century AD (cf. Lampe 1961, s. v. ἁλουργίς, πορφύρα, πορφύρεος; for ἁλουργίς applied to an altar cloth, cf. Lampe 1961, 79). The bibliography on liturgical questions shows that the use of different liturgical colours in the sacred vestments of the priest according to the liturgical season or the intention of the mass is first attested to in the eight century; cf. Righetti 1955, 1008–1010. 43 Cf. Cameron and Hall 1999, 342; Bleckmann and Schneider 2007, 484–487.

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divinely inspired power. When the due ceremonies were complete, he put on bright imperial clothes which shone like light, and rested on a pure white couch, being unwilling to touch a purple robe again. In this text, ‘when the due ceremonies were complete’ refers to the rite of baptism which Constantine received only when he felt the proximity of impending death, inaugurating in this way an approach that became common among Christian emperors in the fourth century until Theodosius the Great.44 Light, brightness, luminosity, clearness, are concepts which also recur in this passage, as they did at the inauguration of the Council in Nicaea. Now Constantine is said to have been filled with a light which is divine, and this will be repeated by the emperor himself when Eusebius cites his own words in the next chapter.45 The divine power which astonishes Constantine is said to be visible, and Eusebius expresses this idea using a significant adjective, in this instance nominalised, to enarges, ‘the visible’, related to enargeia, ‘clearness, distinctness, vividness’, a central concept in the presentation of the imperial image in the Life of Constantine as already argued in relation to 3.10.3–4.46 As noted above also, the emperor is later dressed in new clothes, characterised by their brightness: they are said first to be ‘bright’ and then, redundantly, to shine ‘like light.’ These imperial garments are not explicitly said to be white, as was usual from Antiquity in the case of the newly baptised (cf. Cyr.H. Myst. 4.8). But whiteness may be suggested by ‘bright’, lampros, which can have the same meaning as candidus in Latin, ‘shining white’, as when Polybius (10.5.1) translates the Roman expression toga candida as lampra esthes.47 The fundamental point to be underlined is that the emperor no longer wants to wear the purple cloth, nor even to touch it (VC 4.66.1). This procedure repeats and transcends the ritual unclothing of the catechumens who remove their old garments before receiving baptism. In the case of the Roman emperor, the casting off of the metaphorical brightness of purple which played a central role in 3.10.4 has as its counterpart the reception of the true light, the ‘divine light’ which Constantine receives on the occasion of his baptism, as related by Eusebius in the fourth book. In exploring a previous text (VC 3.10.3–4), the testimony of the Old Testament was drawn into discussion to suggest that the scene depicting the entrance of 44 45 46 47

Cf. McLynn 1994, 109–110. Cf. Eus. VC 4.63.1. Cf. n. 36 and Van Nuffelen 2013, 138–140. Cf. Plb. 10.5.1. In Eus. VC 4.63.4, only the couch on which Constantine rests is certainly white (cf. ‘[he] rested on a pure white couch’).

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Constantine into the Council of Nicaea may be better understood when it is read in the light of the Exodus passages which prescribe how the vestments worn by the High Priest should be prepared when he fulfils his ritual duties. In the case of the later text addressed here, purple acquires new, negative connotations. These are not to be found in the Old Testament but are typical of the New, whose evidence should be considered at this point.48 In this part of the Bible, as in the passage from the fourth book of the Life of Constantine analysed above, purple becomes a symbol of vanity, deception, and even evil. Fourth-century Christian writers also spoke of the purple in a negative sense, like their pagan contemporaries (cf. n. 37); this is especially evident in many texts by such prominent authors of this age as the three Cappadocian Fathers.49 There are a number of references to purple (always porphyra)50 in the New Testament, and at least one of them is purely factual.51 In other instances, purple is mentioned in the New Testament in negative terms. Purple means, for example, a form of wealth that is insensitive to the needs of poor Lazarus, according to the parable in the Gospel of Luke (16.19). Purple also appears as a characteristic of evil in the Apocalypse, as part of the ornaments which embellish the woman who is the Great Prostitute and, at the same time, Babylon (17.4–5), the damned city whose destiny is decried by the sellers from whom she used to buy purple and other luxurious goods (18.11–12, 16). The main scene in which purple plays a role in the New Testament is the Passion of Jesus, as narrated by Matthew, Mark and John. The situation is different in the case of Luke because, according to his gospel (23.11), it was Herod who put a cloak on Jesus, and it was a white cloak, before sending him back to Pilate; this text (cf. Eu.Luc. 23.1–25) does not mention the Roman soldiers putting their hands on the captive before the crucifixion. Matthew, Mark and John refer to the garrison mocking Jesus by assigning him royal attributes that are in no way appropriate in the case of a prisoner who is soon to be executed 48 49

On colour adjectives in the New Testament, cf. García Ureña 2015. There is a negative and categorical consideration of the purple in the Enarratio in prophetam Isaiam (3,128), attributed, albeit not unequivocally, to Basil of Caesarea: ‘The purple is a symbol of deceit, for it conceals the natural colour and makes shine its own splendour in those gleaming in appearance but hiding the evil in their depth’ (translation by the author). Basilius’ Sermones de moribus a Symeone Metaphrasta collecti (PG 32, 1308) includes a passage, proceeding from the dubious Enarratio in prophetam Isaiam (3,111), in which Basilius says that a true ruler is to be recognised not through external symbols as purple, cloak or diadem but because he possesses ‘the ruler’s virtue’ (τὴν ἀρχικὴν ἀρετήν). 50 Halourgis appears neither in the Old (in the Septuaginta version) nor in the New Testament. 51 Lydia of Thyatira is said to sell purple in Acts 16.14. As Prof. Blanco has reminded me, Thyatira was an important centre of textile production in Asia Minor at this time.

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or somebody who is soon to die, as Constantine was at this moment in his Life. The aforementioned attributes are a false sceptre (only in Matthew 27.29: ‘they … placed a reed in his right hand’),52 a crown of thorns (in the three evangelists), and a vestment which is ‘purple’ in Mark (15.17) or a ‘purple cloak’ in John (19.2). Obviously it is unthinkable that the soldiers of the garrison would have had purple garments at their disposal, or moreover that they would have used them to dress a bloodied Jesus who had been already scourged (cf. Eu.Matt. 27.26; Eu.Marc. 15.15; Eu.Io. 19.1). In fact, Matthew (27.28) says that the soldiers changed his vestments for a scarlet cloak, probably a military one: ‘And they stripped him and put a scarlet cloak round him.’ That may have been enough for the farce which the soldiers were presenting. They saluted Jesus as the King of the Jews (‘Hail, king of the Jews!’),53 and even prostrated before him as before an emperor according to Matthew 27.29 (‘To make fun of him they knelt to him’) and Mark 15.19 (‘They went down on their knees to do him homage’). As everything was a farce, they did not refrain from spitting and hitting this supposed sovereign on the head.54 Once the mockery was finished, Jesus was once more made a simple prisoner condemned to death and therefore the soldiers took away the spurious royal purple robe.55 Purple is mentioned for the last time in the fourth book of the Life of Constantine, in 4.66, and then with significant variations in comparison with its appearance in the scene of Constantine’s baptism (4.62.4). After the baptism had taken place and the emperor had died, the bishop of Caesarea tells that the soldiers lifted the body of the Augustus, brought it to Constantinople, and displayed it on an elevated place in the imperial palace.56 It is said that the coffin in which the corpse was laid had been wrapped in purple, which is now for the first time in the Vita Constantini ‘imperial purple’, halourgidi basilike (4.66.1). Moreover, a new reference to purple, now porphyra for the first time, comes next, when it is said that the emperor was ‘arrayed in the symbols of sovereignty, the purple and the diadem’ (4.66.2). The poignant institutional occasion of the funus imperatorum57 explains why the purple is now ‘imperial’, why it is mentioned together with the diadem, and why Constantine is again vested with purple, the symbol he had rejected shortly before. 52 53 54 55 56 57

Translations of the New Testament are those of Wansbrough 1985. Cf. Eu.Matt. 27.29; Eu.Marc. 15.18; Eu.Io. 19.3. Cf. Eu.Matt. 27.30; Eu.Marc. 15.19; Eu.Io. 19.3. But cf. Eu.Io. 19.5. Cf. Cameron and Hall 1999, 343–344; Bleckmann and Schneider 2007, 490–491. Cf. Arce 1988; Arce 2000.

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At the end of this analysis it may be said that purple is actually a recurring visual element which contributes to defining the image of the emperor in the Eusebian Life of Constantine; it is one of those important iconological elements of the Life for which, as noted by Van Nuffelen in 2013, a comprehensive study is not yet available.58 And, as previously argued, purple appears repeatedly in this work as a kind of milestone. It may be added that this hallmark has a kaleidoscopic character. In an official, secular sense, purple means Roman imperial power in the work of Eusebius, as seen in the first and last references in the Life, in the eulogy In Praise of Constantine, and in the contemporaneous Panegyrici Latini. Purple also means imperial dignity in the account of the Council of Nicaea. However, in this climactic moment of the Life of Constantine, it expresses new, religious and ritual notions, as best appreciated if the passage is read in light of the Old Testament and in comparison with other patristic texts. The rejection of purple may express Constantine’s most deeply held convictions and it does so paradoxically when the emperor changes the purple for white cloths at the moment of his death. In this case, Eusebius embeds in the purple and its colour the nuances which it acquires in the New Testament and in the contemporaneous Christian literature, as outlined above and especially in the Oratio funebris (PG 9,487,1–4) which Gregory of Nyssa dedicated to the empress Flacilla (356–386): ἀπεδύσατο τὴν πορφυρίδα, ἀλλὰ Χριστὸν ἐνεδύσατο. τοῦτό ἐστι τὸ βασιλικὸν ὄντως καὶ τίμιον ἔνδυμα. τὴν ὧδε πορφύραν ἀκούω αἵματι κόχλου τινὸς θαλασσίας φοινίσσεσθαι, τὴν δὲ ἄνω πορφύραν τὸ τοῦ Χριστοῦ αἷμα λάμπειν ποιεῖ. She took off the purple but took on Christ. This is the truly royal and honourable garment. I have heard that the purple from here is dyed with the blood of a sea shell, while the blood of Christ makes the purple from above shine.59 What is not found in a basilikos logos like the Life of Constantine is the negative sense which the improper use of purple acquires on several occasions in the Panegyrici Latini (VI[7] 16.1, XII[9] 3.4, XII[9] 16.3, III[11] 30.3, II[12] 24.1, II[12] 26.1, II[12] 45.1) and once in the Oration to the Assembly of the Saints (24.2).

58 59

Cf. Van Nuffelen 2013, 133. Translation by the author.

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Bibliography Arce, J. 1988. Funus Imperatorum: los funerales de los emperadores romanos. Madrid. Arce, J. 2000. ‘Imperial Funerals in the Later Roman Empire: Change and Continuity’, in F. Theuws and J.L. Nelson (eds.), Rituals of Power: From Late Antiquity to the Early Middle Ages. Leiden, 115–129. Bardill, J. 2012. Constantine, Divine Emperor of the Christian Golden Age. Cambridge. Barnes, T.D. 1977. ‘Two Speeches by Eusebius’, GRBS 18: 341–345. Barnes, T.D. 1981. Constantine and Eusebius, Cambridge, MA. Barnes, T.D. 2011. Constantine: Dynasty, Religion and Power in the Later Roman Empire. Chichester-Malden. Bleckmann, B. and Schneider, H. 2007. Eusebius von Caesarea. De Vita Constantini. Über das Leben Konstantins. Turnhout. Bradley, M. 2009. Colour and Meaning in Ancient Rome. Cambridge. Bremmer, J.N. 2006. ‘The Vision of Constantine’, in A.P.M.H. Lardinois, M.G.M. van der Poel and V.J.C. Hunink (eds.), Land of Dreams: Greek and Latin Studies in Honour of A.H.M. Kessels. Leiden, 57–79. Cameron, A. and Hall, G.S. 1999. Eusebius. Life of Constantine. Oxford-New York. Christinaki, E. 2013. ‘Constantine the Great as ‘episkopos ton ektos’ (episcopus rerum externarum)’, in D. Bojović (ed.), Saint Emperor Constantine and Christianity. International Conference Commemorating the 1700th Anniversary of the Edict of Milan. V. 1. Niš, 143–155. Damgaard, F. 2013. ‘Propaganda against Propaganda: Revisiting Eusebius’ Use of the Figure of Moses in the Life of Constantine’, in A. Johnson and J. Schott (eds.), Eusebius of Caesarea: Tradition and Innovations. Cambridge MA, 115–132. De Decker, D. and Dupois Masay, G. 1980. ‘L’episcopat de l’empereur Constantin’, Byzantion 50: 117–157. Drake, H.A. 1976. In Praise of Constantine: A Historical Study and New Translation of Eusebius’ Tricennial Orations. Berkeley. Drijvers, J.W. 2004. ‘Eusebius Vita Constantini als vorstenspiegel’, Lampas 37: 161–164. Fränkel, E. 1950. Aeschylus: Agamemnon. Oxford. García Ruiz, M.P. Forthcoming. ‘Julian and the Consulate: Politics and Representation through Consular Speeches’. García Ureña, L. 2015. ‘Colour Adjectives in the New Testament’, NTS 61: 219–238. Girardet, K.M. (ed.) 2013. Konstantin. Oratio ad sanctorum coetum. Rede an die Versammlung der Heiligen. Freiburg i. Br. Grünewald, T. 1990. Constantinus Maximus Augustus: Herrschaftspropaganda in der zeitgenössischen Überlieferung. Stuttgart. Hollerich, M.J. 1989. ‘The Comparison of Moses and Constantine in Eusebius of Caesarea’s Life of Constantine’, StudPatr 19: 80–85.

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James, M.A., Reifarth, N., Mukherjee, A.J., Crump, M.E., Gates, P.J., Sandor, P., Robertson, F., Pfälzner, P. and Evershed, R.E. 2009. ‘High prestige Royal Purple dyed textiles from the Bronze Age royal tomb at Qatna, Syria’, Antiquity 83: 1109–1118. Johannessen, H. 2016. The Demonic in the Political Thought of Eusebius of Caesarea. Oxford. Lampe, G.W.H. 1961. A Patristic Greek Lexicon. Oxford. Leo, F. 1901. Die Griechisch-Römische Biographie nach ihrer Literarischen Form, Leipzig. Leppin, H. and Ziemssen, H. 2007. Maxentius. Der letzte Kaiser in Rom. Mainz. Longo, O. (ed.) 1998. La porpora: realtá e immaginario di un colore simbolico. Atti del Convegno di Studio, Venezia 24–25 ottobre 1996. Venezia. Manieri, A. 1988. L’immagine poetica nella teoria degli antichi. Phantasia ed enargeia. Pisa-Roma. McLynn, N.B. 1994. Ambrose of Milan: Church and Court in a Christian Capital. Berkeley. Mortley, R. 1996. The Idea of Universal History from Hellenistic Philosophy to Early Christian Historiography. Lewiston NY. Nixon, C.E.V. and Rodgers, B.S. 1994. In Praise of Later Roman Emperors: The Panegyrici Latini. Berkeley. Otto, N. 2009. Enargeia. Untersuchung zur Charakteristik alexandrinischer Dichtung. Stuttgart. Plett, H.F. 2012. Enargeia in Classical Antiquity and the Early Modern Age: The Aesthetics of Evidence. Leiden. Putnam, M.C.J. and Ziolkowski, J.M. 2008. ‘Eclogues 4’, in J.M. Ziolkowski and M.C.J. Putnam (eds.), The Virgilian Tradition: The First Fifteen Hundred Years. New Haven, 487–502. Quiroga Puertas, A. 2013. ‘Themistius Or. 28. Between Singing and Philosophy’, Athenaeum 101: 605–619. Rapp, C. 1998. ‘Imperial Ideology in the Making: Eusebius of Caesarea on Constantine as ‘Bishop’’, JThS 49: 685–695. Reinhold, M. 1976. History of Purple as a Status Symbol in Antiquity. Bruxelles. Righetti, M. 1955. Historia de la liturgia. 1. Introducción general. El año litúrgico. El breviario. Madrid. Rubin, Z. 2002. ‘Res gestae Divi Saporis: Greek and Middle Iranian in a Document of Sasanian anti-Roman Propaganda’, in J.N. Adams, M.J. Simon and C.R. Swain (eds.), Bilingualism in Ancient Society: Language Contact and the Written Text. Oxford, 267–297. Schaff, P. and Wace, H. (eds.) 1976 (1890). A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church. Grand Rapids MI. Straub, J. 1967. ‘Constantine as koinós epískopos. Tradition and Innovation in the Representation of the First Christian Emperor’s Majesty’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 31: 39–55.

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Stulz H. 1990. Die Farbe Purpur im frühen Griechentum. Stuttgart. Torres Guerra, J.B. 2013. ‘The Bilingual Emperor: Eusebius of Caesarea’s Vita Constantini’, Talanta 45: 13–24. Torres Guerra, J.B. 2017a. ‘Image and Word in Eusebius (VC 3,4–24): Constantine in Nicaea’, in A. Quiroga Puertas (ed.), Rhetorical Strategies in Late Antique Literature. Images, Metatexts and Interpretation. Leiden, 73–89. Torres Guerra, J.B. 2017b. ‘De Plutarco a Eusebio: Alejandro y Constantino, ¿dos Vidas Paralelas?’, in M. Sanz Morales, R. Gónzalez Delgado, M. Librán Moreno and J. Ureña Bracero (eds.), La (inter)textualidad en Plutarco. Actas del XII Simposio Internacional de la Sociedad Española de Plutarquistas. Cáceres, 8–10 octubre 2015. Cáceres-Coimbra, 207–214. Van Nuffelen, P. 2013. ‘The Life of Constantine: The Image of an Image’, in A. Johnson and J. Schott (eds.), Eusebius of Caesarea: Traditions and Innovations. Cambridge MA, 133–149. Wansbrough, H. (ed.) 1985. The New Jerusalem Bible. New York-London. Webb, R. 1997. ‘Mémoire et imagination: les limites de l’ ‘enargeia’ dans la théorie rhétorique grecque’, in C. Lévy and L. Pernot (eds.), Dire l’évidence. Philosophie et rhétorique antiques. Paris-Montréal, 225–248. Webb, R. 2009. Ekphrasis, Imagination and Persuasion in Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Practice. Farnham. Williams, M.S. 2008. Authorised Lives in Early Christian Biography. Between Eusebius and Augustine, Cambridge. Zanker, P. 1981. ‘Enargeia in the Ancient Criticism of Poetry’, RhM 124: 297–311.

Part 2 Julian

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Chapter 4

The Caesars: A Myth on Julian’s Emperorship María Pilar García Ruiz 4.1 Introduction Julian wrote his Symposium or Kronia, subtitled The Caesars,1 during the Cronus festivities, in December 362.2 In the religious context of the Saturnalia, the emperor proposes his interlocutor, most likely his friend Salu(s)tius,3 to celebrate the feast by telling him a ‘myth’ (306B). Julian aspires to telling a ludic myth (en paidiâs merei) but one that contains a serious lesson, like Plato, “who also often conveyed a serious lesson in his myths”4 (306BC). According to Julian, the story was told to him by the god Hermes (306C). Therefore, despite the humorous tone, some significant statements are also to be expected. The Caesars recounts a banquet and a competition of Roman emperors before the gods so that they may decide who has been the best ruler.5 As the host, Romulus-Quirinus seats the gods on their celestial thrones.6 From Julius Caesar to Constantine and his sons, around forty Caesars are presented (308D–316A) with ironic remarks by Silenus, a grotesque character. The combination of humour and profundity in his dialogues sounds similar to the voice of Socrates in the Platonic dialogues.7 Following that opening presentation, several gods propose candidates. The candidates are asked to relate their exploits and to explain the reasons that guided their actions in life. The gods proclaim Marcus Aurelius the victor. However, there is no exaltation of the winner nor celebration of the triumph, instead, Zeus suggests all the contestants choose a patron god. Everyone succeeds in doing so except Constantine. He and his sons, 1 The subtitle is known since ancient times, Soc. III.1.57, and perhaps comes from Julian himself, Sardiello 2000, vii. 2 Wright 1913–1923; Lacombrade 1964; Sardiello 2000, vii–ix. 3 Jul. Or. 4.157C. Saturninus Secundus Sallu(s)tius, PP Orientis from 361, philosopher and author of the treatise On the Gods and the Cosmos. On his identity and the confusion with Flavius Sallustius PP Galliarum, see Fontaine-Prato-Marcone 1990, 97, n.1. 4 Translations of Julian taken from Wright (1913–1923). 5 Imperial sources refer that on the occasion of the feast a Saturnalicius princeps (“Ruler of the Saturnalia”) was chosen, who ruled as master of ceremonies for the proceedings. His capricious commands had to be obeyed by the other guests at the convivium, see Tac. Ann. 13.15. 6 On the description of the divine sees in Neoplatonic categories, see Quiroga 2018. 7 Especially to Pl. Symp. 215A–216E, cfr. Sardiello 2000, xxiii–xxv.

© María Pilar García Ruiz, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004446922_006

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persecuted by the gods of revenge for their impiety and their crimes, are ultimately saved by Claudius (Gothicus) and (Constantius) Chlorus, their ancestors. The myth makes an abrupt return to the present when Hermes addresses Julian promising him his father Mithras’ guidance and support (336C). The Caesars is a complex work that has given rise to a particularly extensive bibliography addressing a range of specific aspects of the text.8 With regards to the purpose of the work, most scholars are of the view that The Caesars is a political-religious reflection on the Roman past. The genre of satire enables ruthless mockery on the author’s part and frees him from the constraints of fidelity to the historical record. Thus, Julian criticises the vices of his ancestors, especially those of Constantine, whom he vituperates for the murder of his relatives and his allegiance to Christianity.9 In the final analysis, The Caesars is an account of Julian’s religious faith and of the human ideal that stems from it.10 Nevertheless, little critical attention has been paid to the fact that Julian presents The Caesars as a ‘myth’, ‘an invention of Hermes’, where the reader must trace the lines between truth and fiction: “but whether you should call mine an invention of Hermes (plasma Hermoû) … whether it is really true or a mixture of truth and fiction, the upshot, as the saying is, will decide” (306C– 7A). What might this sort of riddle mean? Following the Iamblichus Neo-Platonic tradition, Julian believed that ‘myths’ were intended to express the deepest and most serious truths of philosophy, especially those that deal with divine affairs. Although myths composed by Julian resemble those by Platonists,11 his idea of myths must be understood in a particular religious context,12 shared by his partner.13 Julian had set out a manifesto for myth as a divine artefact desired by the gods in To the Cynic Heracleios (March 362). According to him, myths are 8 Díaz Bourgeal 2017 reviews the main issues analyzed by critics, Sardiello 2000 offers an exhaustive and highly useful commentary on the text; on the relation with Platonic dialogue and satire, see Pack 1946; Alonso Núñez 1974 and Gallardo 1972; for the sources by which Julian was inspired, Baldwin 1978; on his uneven knowledge of Greek and Roman historians, Bowersock 1982; for the ideological confrontation with contemporary intellectual trends such as Christianity and Cynicism, Quiroga 2017. 9 Lacombrade 1964; Weiss 1978; Fontaine 1990, xviii; Hunt 1995; Amerise 2002; Díaz Bourgeal 2017, 136–138. 10 García Blanco 1982, 149. 11 Julian calls himself mythopoios, ‘myth-maker’, Or. 7 227B, cf. Pl. Rep. 377a–377e. 12 See Jul. Or. 7.217C. Thanks to Prof. de Blois for his comment at this respect. 13 A few months before Sallust, his friend and interlocutor at the dialogue, wrote a treatise, On the Gods and the Cosmos, exposing different types of myths. According to Sallust’s scheme, Julian’s myth would be a ‘mixed one’, typical of the initiation rites, “which intend to put us in contact with the World and the Gods” (IV.4–6).

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unlikely fictions that are not to be taken literally; rather, myths must be teased out until their hidden meaning is revealed.14 Myths were to be read by those, mere children in age or intelligence, who are incapable of reaching a higher form of knowledge.15 Julian himself offered an example of ‘good use of myths’, proposing an autobiographical myth:16 ‘A certain rich man had numerous flocks of sheep …’ Constantine was the rich man who, being eager to increase his wealth further, disregarded the Empire, neglected the education of his offspring and disavowed the gods. Father Zeus gave to Helios the task of bringing up Julian, the rich man’s nephew. As a child, Julian had a vision in which Hermes told him that he was the son of Helios and Athena, and that one day he would replace his cousin Constantius as the legitimate heir of the dynasty. His duty was to purify the house of his forefathers who had fallen into lives of atheism and debauchery. Julian subjected himself to the divine will and when he grew up he was initiated into the mysteries of Helios, and everything happened as had been foretold (227C–234C). The purpose of this parable was to show that Constantine and his sons had offended the gods, and the Empire was entrusted to his nephew Julian by the will of the gods, that Julian’s main genealogy was that of Helios, and that his mission was to purify the dynasty of his predecessors by restoring pagan worship.17 Therefore the first aim of this paper is to read The Caesars as a ‘myth’ in Julian’s sense of the term in search of the ‘divine truths’ contained in it in the light of the other autobiographical myth to be found in his To the Cynic Heracleios. This approach is based on a close reading of the text, particularly of the section dealing with the competition (316A–336C), which contains most of the dialogues of Silenus and the gods with the competing emperors, which constitutes the core of the myth. On the other hand, the classification of emperors as good or bad was a common topos of fourth century historiography and panegyrics,18 as was comparing the sitting emperor with his predecessors. Indeed, the emperors also played this game of emulation in the way they presented themselves. My argument here, and the second point of the paper, is that the background of the competition is ‘the question of models’ in a twofold approach: the emulation of gods and of men. The Roman emperors who strove to imitate one another 14 15 16 17

Jul. Or. 7 205D, 222C. Jul. Or. 7 206D, 223A, 226D. Jul. Or. 7 227C–234C. Athanassiadi 1992, 173; Hidalgo de la Vega 1997, 326, 333, 336–337; Elm 2012, 114–116; García Ruiz 2018, 219. 18 Lacombrade 1964, 13–17.

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and, in particular Alexander, are ridiculed, whereas those who endeavoured to emulate the gods are praised. 4.2

Roman Emperors and Alexander

A significant number of emperors, a “gallery of monsters and fools,”19 are presented in the first part of The Caesars (308D–316A), which claims to outline the history of the Roman Empire. There is only one exception in the hall of shame – Claudius Gothicus. “All the gods … admiring his greatness of soul (megalopsychía) granted the empire to his descendants, since they thought it just that the posterity of such a lover of his country (philopátridos andrós) should rule as long as possible” (313D). All history of the Roman emperors can be summed up in widespread criticism and a praise of Claudius, worshiper of Helios and supposed founder of the second Flavian dynasty,20 who receives the blessing of the gods and the guarantee that his descendants will endure in time, due to the goodness of their original ancestor.21 Once the presentation is complete, but before the gods have selected those Roman emperors who are going to compete, Heracles argues that his Alexander be included, convinced that he will eclipse them all (316AB). Then Silenus mocks Quirinus, the organiser of the meeting: “See now whether all these Romans can match this one Greek.” Quirinus tries to defend his own, even though, inwardly, he is afraid that Alexander will steal their thunder: “By Zeus,” retorted Quirinus, “I consider that many of them are as good as he! It is true that my descendants have admired him so much that they hold that he alone of all foreign generals is worthy to be styled ‘the Great.’ But it does not follow that they think him greater than their own heroes; which may be due to national prejudice (philautía), but again they may be right. However, that we shall very soon find out by examining these men.” Even as he spoke Quirinus was blushing, and was evidently extremely

19 Weiss 1978, 134. It does not reflect assessments by contemporary sources such as Aurelius Victor or Eutropius, nor earlier Casio Dio, even Greek Herodianus, Bowersock 1982, 166; Smith 1995, 12–14. 20 Claudius Gothicus as founder of the new Flavian dynasty goes back to Constantine’s times, although probably it is an apocryphal tradition: Pan.Lat. VI(7) 2.2 (310), V(8) 4.2–3 (311); Nixon-Rodgers 1984, 25; Hekster 2015, 225–233, esp. 229–231. 21 The memory of ancestors was a traditional way to legitimise oneself as emperor, Hekster 2015, 2.

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anxious on behalf of his descendants and feared that they might come off with the second prize (Jul. Caes. 316BC). The admiration of the Roman emperors for Alexander is a standard topos in the basilikos logos, and figures in various contributions by different emperors in The Caesars.22 Quirinus voices what Julian thinks, that the Roman emperors measure themselves against Alexander, but are incapable of acknowledging his superiority; philautía – love of one’s own – prevents them from doing so.23 The dialectical confrontation between Julius Caesar and Alexander is a good example of this dynamic. Julian draws on a number of episodes in Plutarch’s Parallel Lives. Proud and arrogant, Caesar argues that his achievements are superior to any of Alexander’s deeds, while Alexander asserts his superiority over Caesar by claiming that the latter was a mere imitator: O Jupiter and ye other gods, how long must I endure in silence the insolence of this man? There is, as you see, no limit to his praise of himself or his abuse of me. It would have better become him perhaps to refrain from both, since both are alike insupportable, but especially from disparaging my conduct, the more since he imitated it. But he has arrived at such a pitch of impudence that he dares to ridicule the model of his own exploits. Nay, Caesar, you ought to have remembered those tears you shed on hearing of the monuments that had been consecrated to my glorious deeds (322BC). Thus, the rivalry between Julius Caesar, both insolent and ridiculous in his extravagant self-praise and his attempts to emulate Alexander, and the latter, the truly brave Greek conqueror, illustrates the desire among Roman emperors to measure themselves and their achievements against others, especially Alexander.24 In contrast, Alexander describes his rivalry with other men, but speaks of admiring and following in the footsteps of the gods alone: “Achilles my 22 Julius Cesar 320C–322A; Octavian 325D, Trajan 328A and Constantine 329B. 23 See Sardiello 2000, 9 and 127; Jul. Misop. 349B, vid. also Weiss 1978, 131–132, 134; and Ep. 111. 24 The other contestants also measure themselves against Alexander: Octavian, “Like the noble Alexander here I was but a youth when I was called to govern my country,” Trajan expresses it synthetically: “I intended, more modestly, the same as Alexander” (333A). Constantine: “I am superior to … the Macedonian in having fought against Romans, Germans and Scythians, instead of Asiatic barbarians” (329B). The arguments Alexander deploys to undermine the value of Julius Caesar’s conquests would be likewise applicable to the achievements of the rest, especially those of Constantine (322D–324A, 324C).

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ancestor I strove to rival, but Heracles I ever admired and followed, so far as a mere man may follow in the footsteps of a god” (Jul. Caes. 325A). Early in the competition, the Greek hero states that gods, not men, should be role models in life, and following in the footsteps of the gods proves to be the key to Marcus Aurelius’ victory in the end. Finally, Alexander defends Greek superiority over the Romans; the former were subdued only in a time of decline and disorder: Well then, if in the old age, as one may say, of Greece, you were barely able to reduce not the whole nation but an insignificant state which was hardly heard of when Greece was in her prime, what would have happened to you if you had had to contend against the Greeks when they were in full vigour and united? (Jul. Caes. 324BC). Through Alexander, Julian defends Greek superiority over the Romans. However, even though none of the other candidates surpasses Alexander’s martial virtues, he will not be awarded first place because of his lack of restraint.25 Marcus Aurelius, a Roman emperor of philhellenic education and taste, is proclaimed the winner. Both were Julian’s former models of emperor:26 There was a time when I believed that I ought to try to rival men who have been most distinguished for excellence, Alexander, for instance, or Marcus; but I shivered at the thought and was seized with terror lest I should fail entirely to come up to the courage of the former, and should not make even the least approach to the latter’s perfect virtue (Jul. Letter to Themistius 253AB). 4.3

Competing Models: Victory, Wisdom and Pleasure

When the time comes to choose the contestants,27 the gods present their candidates. Hermes calls on Caesar, Octavian, and Trajan as the greatest warriors. Cronus asks for the participation of Marcus Aurelius on account of his being a philosopher (317B). Lastly, Dionysus requests the presence of Constantine, “a man not unwarlike but a slave to pleasure and enjoyment” (hedoné kai 25 Lane Fox 1997. 26 Bowersock 1982, 172. 27 Asked whether it would be better to summon all the Emperors or, as the athletic contests, just those who defeats the winner of many victories, all opted for the latter.

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apólausis) (318A). As though opening the Olympic Games, Hermes summons those who set victory, wisdom, or pleasure as their goal in life (319A). However, the competition is not the same for all three life-ambitions; rather, Julian’s principle that exploits must be accompanied by virtues also applies.28 Thus the candidates must first present their deeds and then the intentions that governed their lives (318B). In the first round, Julius Caesar, Alexander, Octavian, Trajan, and Constantine boast of their conquests with large and wordy explanations while Marcus Aurelius refuses to describe his achievements, claiming that the gods already know of them and will reward him for them. His approach produces silent admiration among the gods and even from Silenus (328C). That Marcus Aurelius wins the favour of the gods in this phase, not because of his philosophical ideas but because, despite being a great warrior, he resists the temptation to seek praise and glory is very significant and has not thus far been highlighted. The competitors must then cite the purpose that has guided their actions in life. By taunting them, Silenus succeeds in drawing out their vices: Alexander’s lack of control, even to the extreme of killing his best friend in wrath (330A, 331C); Julius Caesar’s fondness for being first in all things, seeking power from his compatriots through flattery (331CD, 332D); Octavian’s irreverence in inventing new gods such as Julius Caesar himself (332C, 333A); Trajan’s lewdness in shameful pleasures (333A); and Constantine’s eagerness to have many possessions and spend so much on satisfying his desires and those of his friends (335B). At the same time, however, Silenus’ search for faults or blame in Marcus Aurelius’ character proves fruitless (334B–335A). Marcus Aurelius accounts for his excessive indulgence with regards to his wife and son by arguing that his attitude is inherent to human nature, and his behaviour was intended to imitate Zeus and Achilles, doing, as everbody does, nothing other than caring for his family (312B, 334B–335A). Marcus imitates the gods even in their weaknesses. Dionysius exclaims in wonder: “For in my opinion he is a man, to quote Simonides, ‘four-square and made without a flaw.’”29

28 29

See Jul. Or. 1.4C–5A, 41B; Or. 2.92D, 95A; Letter to Themistius 253AB, 264C–265B. This text by the poet Simonides comes from the Encomium ad Scopam, Sim. fr. 37.3 (Page). The expression means a healthy man in the ethical sense of the term, virtuous in everything and therefore beloved of the gods; the text is quoted by Plato in a similar context (Prot. 339A, 344A), from which in all probability Julian has taken it, Bouffartigue 1992, 252, Sardiello 2000, 162.

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Marcus Aurelius, the Victor

From the very moment in which Marcus Aurelius entered the competition, he stood out because of his sober physical appearance and the depth of his soul, a living image of asceticism and temperance: Accordingly, Marcus was summoned and came in looking excessively dignified and showing the effect of his studies in the expression of his eyes and his lined brows. His aspect was unutterably beautiful from the very fact that he was careless of his appearance and unadorned by art; for he wore a very long beard, his dress was plain and sober, and from lack of nourishment his body was very shining and transparent, like light most pure and stainless (Jul. Caes. 317C). Asked by Hermes what he thought was the noblest ambition in his life, “in a low voice Marcus answered modestly, ‘to imitate the gods’” (333C). However, Silenus would not settle for that laconic answer: “tell me what did you think was really meant by ‘imitating the gods.’ ‘Having the fewest possible needs and doing good to the greatest possible number.’ ‘O you mean to say,’ he asked, ‘that you had no needs at all?’ ‘I,’ said Marcus, ‘had none, but my wretched body had a few, perhaps.’” (334A). Although it appears that Julian had found his model of emperor in Marcus Aurelius, Hunt has argued the meaning of the analogy is, in fact, the other way round: The Marcus seen in Julian’s Caesars is thus not – beyond the conventional image of the philosopher-ruler – a depiction of the second-century emperor, but a contemporary creation … the role of Marcus in The Caesars is a projection of Julian’s own self-identification, embodying the austere asceticism and practising piety which were the hallmarks of his own regime, and of the religious crusade over which he sought to preside. Even down to his long beard (317c) the Marcus of The Caesars is cast, not as his real self, but in the image of Julian.30 His part in the fable finds its ideal exemplum in Julian, and not the other way round.31

30

Julian’s beard is long and trimmed in goatee fashion (Amm. Marc. 22.14.3; 25.4.22), whereas Marcus’ is shorter and crimped with shorter growth and curling hair. 31 Hunt 1995, 297–298.

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This Marcus Aurelius has all the physical characteristics and moral qualities that Julian will ascribe to himself in the Misopogon: a long beard, asceticism, self-restraint (sophrosýne), and imitation of the gods in all aspects of life.32 Nevertheless, he is not formally presented by Julian as his model emperor. As will be seen later, Julian has decided not to take part in this contest of imitation and emulation among Roman emperors. The gods announce the result of their vote, proclaiming Marcus Aurelius to be the winner, but there are neither solemn ceremonies nor celebrations: “Our laws are such that the winner can be happy without the complaints of the loser” (335C). The competition is over, but not the myth. Before finishing the match, Zeus suggests that all the contestants choose a god or, what is the same in the emulation game, look for a model for life. All do so: Alexander and Heracles; Octavian and Apollo; Marcus Aurelius is inseparable from Zeus and Cronos; Ares and Aphrodite eventually take pity on Caesar; and even Trajan, who is permitted to sit next to his idol, Alexander, whom he sees as a god. All have a patron god except for Constantine. The moral of the emperors’ competition is that victory rests on virtue and the complete imitation of the gods, not of men, but that more important than any triumph is living under the patronage of a god. In all, Constantine has completely failed, as detailed below. 4.5

Constantine, the Loser

From the beginning, Constantine is different to the rest of participants. He is chosen for the contest because Dionysus requests the presence of “some votary of pleasure” (tina kai apolauseôs erasten). The gods consider him to be an outsider, “who does not model himself on us” and therefore cannot enter the gods’ dwelling-place (317D). Later we are told that the pleasure to which he is enslaved is a woman, with whom Constantine is infatuated:33 she “stood at a distance from the gods near the entrance to the moon” (329A). Tryphe, in Latin luxus or fastus, was a personification of an abstract concept, commonly represented in late antique iconography.34 It could mean ‘softness,’ ‘voluptuousness,’ ‘magnificence,’ ‘extravagance,’ ‘luxury,’ ‘opulence’ 32 García Ruiz 2018, 220. On the rhetorical resource of praising others of similar merit, Plutarch, De se ipsum citra invidiam laudando, and its possible use by Julian, vid. Niccolai 2017, esp. 1071–1072. 33 Zos. Hist. 2.32: “Constantine loved pleasure.” The Caesars is a key text in the pagan tradition against Constantine, Amerise 2002, 141. 34 As Downey 1938.

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or ‘sumptuosity.’ It was subjected to severe criticism in Greek and Roman antiquity,35 as a moral cause of political debacles.36 It was said that Tryphe could destroy the character of those who fell into her hands, not only kings and chiefs, but also honest citizens, as Julian argued in the first Encomium to Constantius.37 Tryphe shadows Constantine in the three scenes in which he appears. Firstly, in the account of his exploits, he was so enamoured that he had no eyes for anything else: He had defeated two tyrants, but, to tell the truth, one of them was untrained in war and effeminate (Maxentius), the other a poor creature and enfeebled by old age (Licinius), while both were alike odious to gods and men. Moreover his campaigns against the barbarians covered him with ridicule. For he paid them tribute, so to speak, while he gave all his attention to Pleasure, who stood at a distance from the gods near the entrance to the moon. Of her indeed he was so enamoured that he had no eyes for anything else, and cared not at all for victory38 (Jul. Caes. 329A). This is a stinging attack in which the narrator (i.e. Julian) strips Constantine of military success, in marked contrast to the historians of the time, who presented Constantine as a great general, victorious in battles both within and without,39 an emperor on whom Fortune shone,40 although for Aurelius Victor, Constantine’s desire for glory,41 and for Eutropius, his many successes, had made him arrogant.42 Fictional Constantine tries to defend his exploits:

35 36 37

38 39 40 41 42

In Ar. Ecc. 973–4; characterized as a devil, in Lucian. Bis. Acc. 23 she is the one who opposes Areté. Cozzoli 1980. Jul. Or. 1.15CD, Sardiello 1993, 141, n.6. Julian characterized some of his opponents as “libertines:” the Persians, Or. I 9C; 27A; the Antiocheans, Misop. passim; and the uneducated Cynics, Mother of Gods 181C, Quiroga 2017, 39. Tryphe is the cornerstone of his invective Misopogon, in which he condemns the Antiocheans for this flaw. ‘Victory’, niké (Cobet), instead of iustice, díke (mss Hertlein, V, M, Sardiello and Lacombrade). Eus. VC 1.11.1; 1.46; 4.5.2; 4.7.1.2. In Eusebius’ version, Constantine was triumphant in battle because he was a servant of the Christian God. Eutr. 10.6–7. Aur. Vict. 40.15. Eutr. 10.6.3.

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In the following respects I am superior to these others: to the Macedonian in having fought against Romans, Germans and Scythians, instead of Asiatic barbarians; to Caesar and Octavian in that I did not, like them, lead a revolution against brave and good citizens, but attacked only the most cruel and wicked tyrants. As for Trajan, I should naturally rank higher on account of those same glorious exploits against the tyrants, while it would be only fair to regard me as his equal on the score of that territory which he added to the empire, and I recovered; if indeed it be not more glorious to regain than to gain. As for Marcus here by saying nothing for himself he yields precedency to all of us. (Jul. Caes. 329A). His arguments are shown to be weak and easily refutable; it would appear that his arrogance and limited intelligence render him incapable of understanding the modesty of Marcus Aurelius.43 Julian aims to ridicule Constantine’s overweening self-confidence,44 as well as his desire to compete with all the greatest emperors.45 Silenus mocks the insignificance of his triumphs using a proverbial expression: “But Constantine,” said Silenus, “are you not offering us mere gardens of Adonis as exploits?” “What do you mean,” he asked, “by gardens of Adonis?” “I mean,” said Silenus, “those that women plant in pots, in honour of the lover of Aphrodite, by scraping together a little earth for a garden bed. They bloom for a little space and fade forthwith.” At this Constantine blushed, for he realised that this was exactly his own performance. (Jul. Caes. 329CD). In the Greek tradition, ‘the gardens of Adonis’ were a metaphor for the ephemeral and inconsistent.46 To my mind, the phrase ‘they (the achievements) bloom for a little space and fade forthwith’ contains a reference of one of the symbols par excellence of Constantine’s triumphs; the representation of Tyche-Constantinople. ‘Blooming’, or ‘flourishing’ was the meaning of the epithet Anthousa with which Constantine had renamed the city of 43 44

For the comment of Constantine’s argument here see Sardiello 2000, 154. Julian had already accused him of arrogant and audacious in Jul. To the Cynic Heracleios, 228D. 45 Certainly, Constantine’s portrait was inspired on that of Augustus and Trajan, and after 324 increasingly inspired by Alexander’s, Bardill 2012, 11–28; Guidetti 2013; Lenski 2016, 27–47. 46 Quiroga 2017; Theoc. XV.112–135; Plutarch, On the delays of the divine vengeance, 560c; Pl. Phaed. 276b. Sardiello 1997, 248, n.16 (with bibliography).

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Constantinople in its consecration in May 330.47 With it, the emperor intended to equate Constantinople with Rome, whose epithet Flora also meaning ‘the Flourishing’, and at the same time to show the greatness of his triumphs in the city that bore his name.48 Silenus-Julian regards these triumphs as delusions of grandeur, which will soon wither, will soon be nothing.49 And it can be argued that there is an implicit wordplay on the name of Constantine’s beloved, Tryphe-Tyche, criticising the symbol created by Constantine for his ‘city of victory’. In his second scene, Constantine is also guided by Tryphe’s principles: “What was the height of your ambition?,” Hermes asked Constantinus, “To amass great wealth and then to spend it liberally so as to gratify my own desires and the desires of my friends.” At this Silenus burst into a loud laugh, and said, “If it was a banker that you wanted to be, how did you so far forget yourself as to lead the life of a pastrycook and hairdresser? Your locks and your fair favour betokened this all along, but what you say about your motives convicts you.” Thus did Silenus sharply reprove Constantine (Jul. Caes. 335B).

47 Mal. Chron. 13.7–8: “He (i.e. Constantine) made a bloodless sacrifice to God and the Tyche of the city which had been restored and built and named after himself he called Anthousa. This city had originally been built by Phidalia, and she at that time had called its Tyche Keroe (…) 8. (…) When he had finished everything, he celebrated a race-meeting (…). He (Constantine) also celebrated a great festival on 11th May (330 d.C.)… ordering by his sacred decree that on that day the festival of the Anniversary of his city should be celebrated (…) He had another statue of himself in gilded wood, bearing in its right hand the tyche of the city, itself gilded, which he called Anthousa. He ordered that on the same day as the Anniversary race-meeting the wooden statue should be brought in, escorted by the soldiers wearing cloaks and boots, all holding candles; the carriage should march around the turning post and reach the pit opposite the imperial kathisma, and the emperor of the time should rise and make obeisance, as he gazed at this statue of Constantine and the Tyche of the city. This custom has been maintained up to the present day” (trasl. Jeffreys et al. 1986); Bardill 2012, 262. 48 On the symbolism of Tyche-Constantinople in the consecration coins of the city, see Lenski 2015. 49 Likely Julian intended to contradict Constantine’s propaganda campaign, epitomized in the epithet victor from 324, Eus. VC 2.19.2 (niketès basileús), and victor ac triumphator from 332, Wienand 2012, 484–505, esp. 486–488, 502.

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Constantine’s generosity was proverbial;50 ancient sources record his munificence with his soldiers, barbarians, and the people of Constantinople.51 Julian himself praised it in the first Encomium to Constantius:52 When he had made his power supreme, he found that the tyrant’s greed had worked like a drought, with the result that money was very scarce, while there were great hoards of treasure in the recesses of the palace; so he unlocked its doors and on the instant flooded the whole country with wealth, and then, in less than ten years, he founded and gave his name to a city (i.e. Constantinople) that as far surpasses all others. However, Julian later criticised this aspect of Constantine’s character in To the Cynic Heracleios: a rich man who cared only about his earnings, eager to increase his own wealth by fair means or foul, so little did he care for the gods.53 Constantine is sharply criticised for his wastefulness and extravagance in satisfying his own whims and those of his friends. Constantine’s response prompts insults from Silenus: “If it was a banker that you wanted to be, how did you so far forget yourself as to lead the life of a pastrycook and hairdresser?” Sardiello has observed that this mockery recalls passages in the Republic and the Gorgias in which Plato describes these and other trades as among the most despicable and shameful in a ‘diseased State’, concerned only with the care of the body and not of the soul. The philosopher describes holders of such roles as sycophants and scoundrels by nature.54 Silenus continues to chide Constantine: “‘your locks and your fair favour’55 betokened this all along, but what you say about your motives convicts you.” These Homeric verses are better understood in light of the following scene:

50 Eutr. 10.7.2: egregius, nihil occasionum praetermittens, quo opulentiores eos clarioresque praestaret. 51 Eusebius of Caesarea narrates that Constantine was very generous in gifts and honours with the ambassadors of Barbarian peoples; so many of them preferred to stay with him and not return home Eus. VC 4.1.1; cf. 7.3. See also Aur. Vict. Caes. 41.20; Eutr. 10.7; Lib. Or. 30.6, 37; Eunap. Vit. Soph. 6.2; Amm. Marc. 16.8.12: proximorum fauces apperuit; Zos. Hist. 2.32.1. 52 Jul. Or. 1.8B. 53 Jul. Or. 7.227C. 54 Pl. Rep. 373ac; Gorgias 462d–463a, 518e. 55 Silenus cites Hom. Il. 3.55; vv. 54–57 (Hector to Paris): “The lyre will l not help you, nor the gifts of Aphrodite, your locks and your appearance, when you lie low in the dust. But the Trojans are utter cowards: otherwise by now you would have put on a coat of stone because of all the evil things you have done.

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He (Constantine) could not discover among the gods the model of his own career, but when he caught sight of Pleasure (Tryphe) who was not far off, he ran to her. She received him tenderly and embraced him then after dressing him in raiment of many colours and otherwise making him beautiful. (336A). In my view, this is an allegorical way of referring to renowned Constantine’s handsomeness and making it part of his depravity. The previous insults of ‘pastrycook and hairdresser,’ as well as the reference to Homeric verses on Paris, and probably the expression “the gardens of Adonis”,56 are teasing about Constantine’s appeal and could allude to Constantine’s representation in Apollo’s likeness. Although in The Caesars there is no reference to it, in the To the Cynic Heracleios’ myth Helios regrets bitterly Constantine’s departure.57 Here Constantine is accused of impiety and sacriledge58 for having abandoned the gods, perhaps in implicit reference to Apollo, the supposed familiar cult. Divine condemnation also extends to Constantine’s sons and focuses on their impiety and the shedding of the blood of their kindred (336B), as in To the Cynic Heracleios myth (229BC). Here redemption comes from their ancestors. When Constantine and his sons are tormented by the gods of vengeance, Zeus granted them some relief because of Claudius (Gothicus) and (Constantius) Chlorus (336B). Claudius being the founder of the new Flavian dynasty to whom the gods guaranteed the empire to his descendants due to his greatness of soul and love to his homeland (313D),59 and Constantius as Julian’s grandfather (315A). Consequently, their pagan ancestors are credited with a power of intercession not unlike the saints in Christianity, to repair what Constantine and his sons had ruined. 4.6

A Myth on Julian’s Dynasty

The story has an unexpected turn, when Julian reproduces Hermes’ words at the end of the story:

56 See Jul. Caes. 329CD and above pp. 105-106. 57 Jul. Or. 7, 228D; Carlá 2013. 58 Jul. Caes. 336B: “Jesus cried aloud to all comers: “He that is a seducer, he that is a murderer, he that is sacrilegious and infamous, let him approach without fear!”” 59 On Claudius Gothicus in Julian’s thought, see Tantillo 1997 166, n.42, 185 n.58, and also in this volume Guidetti’s chapter, p. XX, n.10.

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“As for thee,” Hermes said to me (i.e. Julian), “I have granted thee the knowledge of thy father Mithras. Do thou keep his commandments, and thus secure for thyself a cable and sure anchorage throughout thy life, and when thou must depart from the world thou canst with good hopes adopt him as thy guardian god” (Jul. Caes. 336C). Narration locates Julian beyond the competition and rivalry between emperors, reciving a divine message; the divine protection in this life and in the future will be guaranteed if he continues under Mithras’ guidance. In the previous myth, after Constantine’s departure,60 Helios entrusts Julian, his new protégé, with a mission: Know that a mortal frame was given to thee that thou mightest discharge these duties. For we desire, out of respect for thy ancestors to cleanse the house of thy forefathers (Jul. Or. 7.234C). The myth of The Caesars could be said to carry out Helios’ command to “purify the dynasty” by debunking Constantine’s triumphs, symbols, and fame and denouncing the evil that Constantine and his sons had caused to the Empire. To conclude, Hermes’ account on the Roman emperors becomes a ‘myth on Julian’s dynasty’ containing ‘divine truths’ which amplify and extend the previous in To the Cynic Heracleios. The lineage to which Julian supposedly belonged is the blessed by the gods, who guaranteed its continuity, as long as his descendants were worshipers of the gods. The focus on emulation of men and gods enables Julian to ridicule traditional “good emperors”, but particularly his uncle Constantine. Through the imitation game, Julian accuses him not only of having abandoned the gods but also having corrupted the dynasty and the Empire. The initiate into the mystery of Helios-Mithras recounts to the Empire of his human and divine genealogy in a language of myths.61

60 Jul. Or. 7.229C–230A. 61 This paper is part of the research project “Romanitas Principum: Romanity and Interculturality in late antique imperial self-representation: Constantine, Julian, Theodosius” (funded by Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness, ref. MINECO FFI 2013-41327). I wish to express my gratitude to A. Quiroga, D. Syrbe, J.B. Torres, A. Sánchez-Ostiz A. Blanco, E. Alguacil, the anonymous reviewers and the participants in the Workshop in the University of Navarra and in a Research Seminar in Radboud University for all theirs suggestions.

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Bibliography Alonso Núñez, J.M. 1974. ‘Política y filosofía en Los Césares de Juliano’, Hisp. Ant. IV, pp. 315–320. Amerise, M. 2002. La figura di Costantino nei Caesares di Giuliano l’Apostata, Rivista storica dell’antichità, 32, 141–149 (= Enciclopedia Costantiniana, 2013). Baldwin, B. 1978. The Caesares of Julian, Clio 60, 449–466. Bardill, J. 2012. Constantine: Divine Emperor of the Christian Golden Age, Cambridge University Press, New York. Bouffartigue, J. 1992. L’Empereur Julien et la culture de son temps, Institut d’Ètudes Augustiniennes, Paris. Bowersock, G. 1982. ‘The emperor Julian on his predecessors’, in Winkler, J.J. and Williams, G. (eds.), Later Greek Literature, Cambridge, pp. 159–172. Carlá, F. 2013. ‘Le iconografie monetali in Costantino I’. Enciclopedia costantiniana sulla figura e l’immagine dell’Imperatore del cosidetto Editto di Milano 313–2013, Melloni, A. – Brown, P. – Helmrath, J. – Prinzivalli, E. – Ronchey, S. – Tanner, N. Roma 2013, vol. 1, 557–578. Cozzoli, U. 1980. ‘La tryphé nella interpretazione delle crisi politiche’, in Pavan, M. (ed.), Tra Grecia e Roma. Temi antichi e metodologie moderne, Enciclopedia Italiana, Roma, pp. 122–145. Dagron, G. 1984. Naissance d’une capitale. Constantinople et ses institutions de 330 à 451, Presses universitaires de France, Paris. Díaz Bourgeal, M. 2017. ‘Los Césares. Los modelos históricos de Juliano’, Espacio, tiempo y forma. Serie II. Historia Antigua, 30, 125–142. Downey, G. 1938. ‘Personifications of Abstract Ideas in the Antioch Mosaics’, TAPA, 69, pp. 349–363. Fontaine, J., Prato, C., Marcone, A. 1990. Giuliano Imperatore, Alla Madre degli dei e altri discorsi, introduzione di J. Fontaine, testo critico cur. C. Prato, traduzione e commento di A. Marcone, Milano. Gallardo López, M.D. 1972. ‘Los simposios de Luciano, Ateneo, Metodio y Juliano’, Cuadernos de Filología Clásica 4, pp. 239–296. García Blanco, J. 1982. Juliano. Discursos VI–XII, Gredos, Madrid. García Ruiz, M.P. 2018. ‘Julian’s self-representation in coins and words’, in Emperors and their Images in the Late Roman Empire, Burgersdijk D. and Ross A. (eds), Brill, Leiden-Boston-The Netherlands. Guidetti, F. 2013. ‘Iconografía di Constantino. L’invenzione di una nuova imagine imperiale’, VV.AA., Constantino I. Enciclopedia constantiniana sulla figura e l’immagine dell’imperatore del cosiddetto Edito di Milano, 313–2013, Instituto della Enciclopedia italiana, vol. II, Roma, pp. 185–200.

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Hekster, O. 2015. Emperors and ancestors: Roman rulers and the constraints of tradition, Oxford University Press, Oxford. Hunt, D. 1995. ‘Julian and Marcus Aurelius’, in Innes, D.; Hine, H. and Pelling, C. (eds.): Ethics and rhetoric: classical essays for Donald Russell on his seventy-fifth birthday, Oxford University Press, New York, pp. 287–298. Jeffreys E.; Jeffreys, M.; Scott, R. et al. 1986. The Chronicle of John Malalas: A Translation, Byzantina Australiensia 4, Australian Association for Byzantine Studies, Melbourne. Lacombrade, C. 1964. L’ empereur Julien: ouevres completes. Vol.II.2. Les Belles Lettres, Paris. Lane Fox, R. 1997. ‘The Itinerary of Alexander: Constantius to Julian’, CQ 47, 239–252. Lenski, N. 2015. ‘Constantine and the Tyche of Constantinople’, in Wienand, J. (ed.), Contested Monarchy: Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century AD. Oxford University Press, Oxford-New York, pp. 330–352. Lenski, N. 2016. Constantine and the Cities. Imperial Authority and Civic Politics. Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press. Niccolai, L. 2017. ‘Julian, Plutarch, and the Dangers of Self-Praise’, GRBS 57, 1058–1084. Pack, R.A. 1946. ‘Notes on the Caesars of Julian’, TAPA (Transactions of the American Philological Association) 77, 151–157. Quiroga, A. 2017. ‘In the Gardens of Adonis. Religious Disputations in Julian’s Caesars’, Studia Patristica 96 (vol. 22), pp. 37–46. Quiroga, A. 2018. ‘In Heaven unlike on Earth. Rhetorical Strategies in Julian’s Caesars’, in Quiroga, A. (ed.), Strategies in Late Antique Literature, 90–103. Ridley, R.T. 1982. Zosimus, New History. A Translation with Commentary. (Byzantina Australiensia, 2), Australian Association for Byzantine Studies, Canberra. Sardiello, R. 1993. ‘La raffigurazione di Costantino nei ‘Cesari’ di Giuliano Imperatore (335 B)’, Rudiae 5, pp. 137–147. Sardiello, R. 1997. ‘I ‘Giardini di Adone’ di Costantino: Iul. Caes. 329c–d’, Rudiae 9, pp. 243–256. Sardiello, R. 2000. Simposio: i Cesari, Mario Congedo, Galatina (Lecce). Smith, R. 1995. Julian’s Gods: religion and philosophy in the thought and action of Julian the Apostate, London-New York. Weiss, J.P. 1978. ‘Julien, Rome, et les Romains’, in Braun, R. and Richer, J., L’empereur Julien. De l’histoire à la légende (331–1715). Les Belles Lettres, Paris, 125–140. F 161.148. Wienand, J. 2012. Der Kaiser als Sieger. Metamophosen triumphaler Herrschaft unter Constantin I. Klio Beihefte 19, Akademie Verlag, Berlin. Wright, W.C. 1913–1923. The works of the emperor Julian, Volumes I–III, Harvard University Press, Cambridge-London.

Chapter 5

Cosmic Warnings and Imperial Responses: Ammianus’ Astronomical Excursuses Álvaro Sánchez-Ostiz 5.1

Introduction: Minor Stars in the Wake of Julian

One of the key features of Roman emperorship* relies on its temporal dimension. This can be condensed into the importance of being Augustus; of being inserted as a ruler in the everlasting history of the Urbs, regardless of by what means that Augustus became the ruler of Rome; how exactly he met the standards of a perfect prince; or how noble his death happened to be. Not surprisingly, the Roman historiographical tradition from the Julio-Claudians considers an emperor’s accession and decease as moments marked by doom and pointed at by cosmic forces.1 In the fourth century, however, imperial images acquire distinctive and significant nuances. After Constantine, Christian views added to the traditional ideas new religious arguments for legitimacy, new limits of power and new criteria for judging an exemplary emperor. Within this framework, the emperor Julian certainly stands out as a singular figure in that period, not only as a result of his determined opposition to the new ideas, but also because his literary work makes it easier to look into the author’s personal opinion on emperorship. Julian’s failed reign gave rise to both a markedly negative and a favourable narrative in the years following his death. Belonging to the latter line, Ammianus Marcellinus’ work presents Julian as its main character and imperial paradigm, and develops the subtlest narrative of emperorship in Latin during

* This study was developed in the context of the research project ‘Romanitas Principum: Romanidad e Interculturalidad en la auto-representación imperial tardoantigua: Constantino, Juliano, Teodosio,’ supported by MINECO (2013–2017). FFI 2013-41327P. Particular thanks are owed to the attendants at the ‘Workshop Emperor and Emperorship in Late Antiquity: Images, Narratives, and Ceremonies,’ held at the University of Navarra, 17–18 February 2017, specially to A. Ross and A. Blanco, and to M. Hanaghan for his helpful comments on previous versions of this chapter. Obviously, all errors and shortcomings remaining are mine alone. 1 Ross 2016, 181–182.

© Álvaro Sánchez-Ostiz, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004446922_007

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the fourth century.2 As literary explorations in recent years have emphasised,3 Ammianus’ Julian is an artistic construct, detached from the image dominant in earlier Greek sources and intended for a western Latin-speaking audience, or at least for a Roman posterity.4 While intertextual studies have properly placed the Res Gestae in Roman historiographical tradition,5 for their part, narratological examinations6 have enabled a significant advance in our understanding of Julian’s portrayal and Ammianus’ authorial voice. However, both approaches still offer great potential for new advancements. One of these grounds unmapped for narratologists is the implicit presence of Julian in sections of the Res Gestae free from the dominating and explicit presence of the leading figure, such as the last six books, the narrative sections devoted to secondary characters, or the assorted digressions. The purpose of this contribution is to study the interaction between authorial persona and idea of emperorship in four excursuses of Ammianus’ work that elucidate natural phenomena:7 the explanation on eclipses in 20.3.2–12, after Ursicinus’ disgrace; the comments on rainbows in 20.11.25–30, after Constantius’ failure in his Eastern campaign; a brief comment in 25.2.5–6 on the shooting star Julian saw his last night; and two paragraphs concerning comets in 25.10.2–3, which precede Jovian’s death. In three of the four cases, some of the characters involved in the narrative and the narrator had interpreted natural accidents as cosmic warnings for Constantius or Jovian, two minor stars in the wake of Julian, as their presentation becomes closely interwoven with that of Julian, but who are clearly secondary in comparison with him.8 It is important to note that these four passages are not the only authorial comments on phenomena with proleptic sense in the Res Gestae. Some of Ammianus’ scientific digressions seem not to have an overt connection with the narrative, while others are more or less explicitly referred to foreknowledge and fate. This is the case in 17.7.9–14,9 the section on the nature, causes and varieties of earthquakes, the explanation of the tsunami in 26.10.15–19,10 as well 2 3 4 5 6 7

Den Hengst 2010. Blockley 1973; Rosen 1982; Salemme 1989; Fornara 1992. Den Hengst 2010; Ross 2016, esp. 50–51, 203–206. Kelly 2008; Alonso 2016; Sánchez-Ostiz 2016. Ross 2016; Hanaghan 2017, 2018. They follow the recurrent arrangement of the scientific digressions in the Res Gestae: sketch of the phenomenon, explaining doxography and concluding phrase (Den Hengst 1992, 41). 8 Strictly considered, they are non-Julianic sections in a double sense: they do not directly relate to Julian, and as digressions suspend the main narrative. 9 See Den Hengst 1992 on the structural function of the section on earthquakes. 10 Kelly 2004; 2008, 88–100.

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as the excursus on the genius tutelaris of Constantius in 21.14.3–5.11 Thus, the digressions under scrutiny in this study are significant parts of a major theme in Ammianus’ design, in which omens, signs and divination are a noticeable part of the emperors’ account.12 However, these passages significantly share a common pattern that can be revealed by a literary analysis pointing at a broader scheme from the part of the author. Although divination and foresight have long ago been researched from the point of view of Ammianus’ beliefs,13 only recently has the narrative purpose of omens attracted attention: as prolepses or, less frequently, as analepses, omens move characters in a particular direction, and can likewise intensify the dramatic tension of the story.14 Certainly, the historian gives the greatest importance to Julian’s ambiguous response to omens, from the time of his accession to his death in the course of the Persian campaign. So, in 21.1.1–6, Julian made the decision of openly declaring war to Constantius after being informed through presages of the imminent death of his cousin: 6. Acuebat autem incendebatque eius cupiditatem pacatis iam Galliis | incessere ultro Constantium coniciens eum per uaticinandi praesagia multa, quae callebat, et somnia e uita protinus excessurum.15 Subsequently, in 21.1.7–14, Ammianus inserts a well-known excursus on divination that contributes to the main character’s portrayal,16 since the narrator wants his report to cope with malicious interpretations of the Caesar’s attitude to the matter: Et quoniam erudito et studioso cognitionum omnium principi | maleuoli praenoscendi futura prauas artes assignant, aduertendum est breuiter, unde sapienti

11

In a similar vein, the final sections of some books are prone to include ominous material (19.12.19; 20.11.32; 25.10.17; 26.10.17–19; it can be questioned also whether the insects darkening the skies in 24.8.4 might be considered as a cosmic warning). This tendency can be tracked down to the Roman annalistic tradition. 12 In addition, the historian gives prominence to accusations of magical practices in connection with treason trials: e.g. 18.3.1–7; 19.12.14–15; 26.3.1–4; 28.1.6–42; 29.1.6; 29.2.17; 29.2.28; 30.5.11. 13 Ensslin 1923; Seyfarth 1965; Camus 1967; Rike 1987; Liebeschuetz 1988; Fögen 1997, 151–71; Feichtinger 2003; Santos Yanguas 2007; Brodka 2009, 135–41; Scardigli 2011. 14 Ross 2016, 183–185. 15 “For his part, he sharpened and inflamed his desire to first attack Constantius, now that Gaul was quieted, since he inferred from many prophetic signs (in which he was an expert) and from dreams that Constantius would shortly depart from life.” English translations of Ammianus are taken from Rolfe 1940, with several changes. 16 The narrator (allegedly based on the authority provided by being direct witness, stressed that the interpretations of the philosophers, Greek scientists, and those of the Etruscan haruspices on the omens that precede the disastrous end were conflicting) does not clearly indicate whether Julian prefers to ignore the wrong interpretation of philosophers, whether he ceased believing in prophecies (25.2.8), or if he gave up to the ineluctable fate.

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uiro hoc quoque accedere poterit, doctrinae genus haud leue (7).17 Ultimately, Julian’s attitude to omens and his inability to recognise exempla from the past become the two most prominent reasons for his failure in Persia, but, as Ross rightly explains, both traits are deeply rooted in the Roman tradition and bring Julian’s outcome under an essentially Roman spotlight. Until the emperor’s deathbed, when he plainly acknowledges the strength of premonitory signs and the authority of the Etruscan discipline, the narrator keeps the narratee in suspense about the protagonist’s ability to understand his own fate:18 25.3.19: “nec fateri pudebit: interiturum me ferro dudum didici fide fatidica praecinente. ideoque sempiternum ueneror numen, quod non clandestinis insidiis nec longa morborum asperitate uel damnatorum fine decedo, sed in medio cursu florentium gloriarum hunc merui clarum ex mundo digressum. aequo enim iudicio iuxta timidus est et ignauus, qui, cum non oportet, mori desiderat, et qui refugiat, cum sit opportunum.”19 After this declaration, the reader can reconstruct prior allusions to Julian’s understanding of prefatory signs that Ammianus had held in ambiguous terms, and that disclose their full tragic irony, as is the case in 25.2.4–7, when the Emperor states that he will never sacrifice to Mars again. In other words, the allusions to how fate accomplishes and to how the characters do or do not grasp diverse clues about their destiny gradually depicts Julian, whose great tragedy is disclosed as the “chronicle of a death foretold” from the first hints at the beginning of the Persian campaign until its disastrous end.20 As presented by Ammianus, Julian’s death proves even more meaningful when weighed again 17 “And since malicious people attribute to an emperor both learned and devoted to all knowledge evil arts for divining future events, it has to be briefly explained why this not trivial kind of learning also may be added to a learned man’s equipment (7).” 18 As Ross 2016, 180–89 explains, the purpose of such narrative is to provide a Roman explanation of Julian’s failure in Persia in the context of the Greek versions of the Emperor’s death. This point resumes the discussion present in sources immediately posterior to Julian’s death. 19 “And I shall not be ashamed to admit, that I learned long ago from a trustworthy prophecy that I should perish by the sword. And therefore, I thank the eternal power that meet my end, not from secret conspiracies, nor from the prolonged pain of an illness, nor by the fate of a criminal, but that in the mid-career of glorious renown I have been found worthy of so noble a departure from this world. For, justly considered, he is as equally weak and cowardly who desires to die when he ought not, or he who seeks to avoid death when his time has come.” 20 On Ammianus’ literary strategies using ominous material in his recount of the Persian campaign, see Ross 2016, 180–189.

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the reactions of other imperial characters in similar circumstances. In summary, proleptic and analeptic comments on destiny, among which warning signs provided by the physical world play a major role, create internal coherence in the progressive presentation of Julian and of Ammianus’ general idea of emperorship. Within that broad framework of the Julianic narrative, the enquiry of this paper focuses on three digressive sections about eclipses, rainbows, and comets, which are treated respectively in sections 5.2, 5.3 and 5.4. Those passages are, nonetheless, better understood in comparison with the comments of the shooting star that preceded Julian’s death, as section 5.5 will show. Finally, the reciprocal evocation of these digressions will disclose general trends in Ammianus’ construction of his narrative persona, the characterisation of Constantius and Jovian in contrast with Julian, and ultimately the idea of emperorship in the Latin West during the fourth century. 5.2

Eclipses of Reason: Amm. 20.3.1–12.

After describing Ursicinus’ fall in 20.2, Ammianus’ narrative recounts in 20.3.1– 12 some celestial phenomena that occurred in the Eastern part of the Empire: (1) Eodem tempore per eoos tractus caelum subtextum caligine cernebatur obscura et a primo aurorae exortu ad usque meridiem intermicabant iugiter stellae; hisque terroribus accedebat, quod, cum lux caelestis operiretur e mundi conspectu penitus lance abrepta, defecisse diutius solem pauidae mentes hominum aestimabant: primo attenuatum in lunae corniculantis effigiem, deinde in speciem auctum semenstrem posteaque in integrum restitutum.21 It is far from clear that at this point the Res Gestae rigorously respects the actual chronology of events, since the narration suggests that the darkening takes place at the same time as Julian winters in Paris, in the last months of 360. However, the only eclipse in the northern hemisphere that year occurred 21

“At that same time, throughout the regions of the East (per eoos tractus) the heaven was seen to be overcast with dark mist, through which the stars were visible continually from the first break of day until noon. It was an additional cause of terror when the light of heaven was hidden and its orb removed utterly from the sight of the world, that the timorous minds of men thought that the darkening of the sun lasted too long; but it thinned out at first into the form of the crescent moon, then growing to the shape of the halfmoon, and was finally fully restored.”

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much earlier, on 28 August. Most likely the historian adjusted the sequence of events to the narrative function of this section, using the event itself and the excursus to highlight the decline of Constantius and the rise of Julian.22 The wording in 20.3.1 implies that a weather blackout occurs first, causing terror in human minds, and subsequently an eclipse becomes visible: hisque terroribus accedebat, quod … defecisse diutius solem pauidae mentes hominum aestimabant.23 Therefore, the cosmic portent seems to have happened in two different phases. However, the historian might have conflated two different situations and added picturesque details of his own, or even decoded the perception of the phenomena in two successive moments. Then the narrator details in eleven paragraphs (2–12) the astronomical coincidences in which such phenomena take place: (2) quod alias non euenit ita perspicue, nisi cum post inaequales cursus intermenstruum lunae ad idem reuocatur initium certis temporum interuallis, id est cum in domicilio eiusdem signi tota reperitur luna sub sole, liniamentis obiecta rectissimis, atque in his paulisper consistit minutis, quae geometrica ratio partium partes appellat …24 This description, traditionally counted among Ammianus’ scientific digressions,25 has attracted significant attention from scholars exhaustively dealing with its sources, structure, tradition, style, and inconsistencies.26 However, a narratological approach can also distinguish three different points of view highlighted by Ammianus’ description. First, from the point of view of the timorous human minds, whose fears are unjustified, since a proper scientific learning allows to realise that eclipses obey cosmic laws: hisque terroribus

22 Demandt 1974, 479–481, 501; Den Boeft, Den Hengst, Teitler 1987, 22–24; Barnes 1998, 102–106, who makes a strong case for Ammianus manipulating the chronology; and Hanaghan 2018. 23 Cfr. Den Boeft, Drijvers, Den Hengst, Teitler 2005, ad loc.: the ignorant’s fear before the auguries can be considered a common place. 24 “This phenomenon never takes place so clearly as when the moon, after its shifting courses, brings back its monthly journey to the same starting-point after fixed intervals of time; that is to say, when the entire moon, in the abode of the same sign of the zodiac, is found in a perfectly straight line directly under the sun, and for a brief time stands still in the minute points which the science of geometry calls parts of parts.” 25 Cichoka 1975, 337. 26 Szidat 1977, 112–129; Sabbah 1978, 525–528, 549–550; Den Hengst 1986; Den Boeft, Den Hengst, Teitler 1987, 22–51; Richter 1989, 213–214; Barnes 1990, 66–7; Den Hengst 1992; Fontaine 1996, 153–158; Barnes 1998, 102–106.

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accedebat, quod … defecisse diutius solem pauidae mentes hominum aestimabant … quod alias non euenit ita perspicue, nisi … Second, from the narrator’s persona, which is built up as an authoritative category through the excursus’ boastful erudition. In this regard, it is relevant that Ammianus drops the comment in 3.4 that Ptolemy has explained the moon’s nodes in a learnt and elegant way (scienter et decore),27 which suggests that he has weighed up and digested different doxai (8: opiniones uariae collegerunt). Greek technical terms scattered along the explanation (4: anabibazontas … katabibazontas ekleiptikous syndesmous; 9: synodos; 10: menoeides … dichomenis; 11: apokrousin) also contribute to the general impression of erudite expertise. However, Ammianus has seemingly derived his account mostly from Latin sources easily recognisable for those moderately proficient in the matter. They are mainly from Cicero,28 to whom he turns for the idea of paragraph 12 on the relatively tiny size of the Earth in comparison with the universe, and for most of the vocabulary used.29 In spite of these efforts from the part of the author, the digression is not easily intelligible, partly because of the geocentric model adopted, partly due to Ammianus’ inaccurate rendering of his sources.30 In any case, the digression concludes in paragraph 12 insisting on that there is no general consensus on how the phenomena are to be explained and that their appearance is deceptive for those who ignore qualified explanations, since human ability is sometimes imperfect: Quod autem solem nunc in aethere, nunc in mundo inferiore cursare praediximus, sciendum est siderea corpora, quantum ad uniuersitatem pertinet, nec occidere nec oriri, sed ita uideri nostris obtutibus … aliquotiens humana uisione languente … uerum ad instituta iam reuertamur.31 27 Ptol. Alm. 6.5. 28 Rep. 1.22–23. See Szidat 1977, 112–129, for more Ciceronian parallels in the excursus. Some information could have been taken from Plin. Nat. Hist. 2.41–58, Seneca and Calcidius among others. Den Hengst 1986, 137 points out a similar strategy by Ammianus in his digression on earthquakes (17.7.9–14): the historian hints at authoritative Greek sources, but his contents are derived from Latin authors. 29 Den Hengst 1986; Den Boeft, Drijvers, Hengst, Teitler 1987; Matthews 1989, 431–5; Den Hengst 1992. 30 Paragraphs 2 and 3 conflate different sources on why an eclipse does not happen every new moon, without providing a successful synthesis. 31 “But when we said that the sun had its course now in the ether and now in the world below, it must be understood that the heavenly bodies (so far as the universe is concerned) neither set nor rise, but that they seem to do so to an eyesight whose fixed situation is on the earth … through the imperfection of human vision we think … But let us now return to our subject.” According to the Dutch commentators, these closing sentences seem unrelated to the main thread and might have been added later by Ammianus.

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Third, from the point of view of the central character alluded to by the happening of the eclipse. Traditionally, ancient historiography brings in eclipses as a motif that cosmically reflects a change of fortune for a main individual, such as the death of a king or the collapse of a kingdom.32 In this vein, some have interpreted that the eclipse cosmically reflects Ursicinus’ downfall,33 which will not last indefinitely, and implies that Julian, as a new sun, will rise again in the following chapters. In all likelihood, however, the eclipse refers to the future, prophetically preparing Constantius’ fatal end (21.15) and Julian’s accession, which is dealt with in chapter 20.4, and which happened after Ursicinus’ disgrace, as reported in 20.2. Therefore, the excursus bridges preceding and subsequent chapters and smooths the diegetic flow, regardless of what the partition of the text into chapters decanted in the textual tradition could suggest. Apparently, Ursicinus’ deposition and Julian’s proclamation have little in common, except for Constantius’ reactions to events and omens present both in chapters 20.2 and 20.4. In fact, Ammianus narrates in 20.2 the fall from grace that eventually led Ursicinus to renouncing the public life. After the disaster of Amida, the magister peditum appears in court, where his detractors manipulate Constantius against him (always available to those who plotted traps), and is left in front of an unfair trial. Shocked by the unmerited charge of being responsible for the military disaster, Ursicinus bursts out and speaks his mind freely, to the point of reproaching the emperor for being a toy of the court’s eunuchs. According to Ammianus’ text, Ursicinus’ words were a kind of omen: 20.2.4: Qua iniquitate percitus qui audiebatur “etsi me,” inquit, “despicit imperator, negotii tamen est magnitudo, ut non nisi iudicio principis nosci possit et uindicari; sciat tamen uelut quodam praesagio, quod, dum maeret super his, quae apud Amidam gesta amendata didicit fide dumque ad spadonum arbitrium trahitur, defrustandae Mesopotamiae proximo uere ne ipse quidem cum exercitus robore omni | opitulari poterit praesens.”34

32 Den Boeft, Den Hengst, Teitler 1987, 23–24. 33 Szidat 1977, 112–115; Den Boeft, Den Hengst, Teitler 1987, 23–24; Viansino 2001, 153, nt 21; Caltabiano 1989, 295. 34 “He who was interrogated, irritated at the injustice, said: ‘Although the emperor despises me, the importance of the present business is such, that it cannot be examined into and punished, except by the judgement of the prince; yet let him know, as if this is a presage, that so long as he grieves over what he has learned on no good authority to have happened at Amida, and so long as he is swayed by the will of eunuchs, not even he in

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The phrasing quodam praesagio is reported by editions as part of Ursicinus’ direct speech, and at first sight seem out of place on the lips of the master of the infantry, who could not anticipate future events in the East in a proper sense.35 So, that remark can be interpreted as an elaboration from the part of Ammianus, who might have used Ursicinus as a “metaliterary commentator,”36 so that the comment characterises Constantius’ prior and later irresoluteness. It cannot be ruled out, however, that the remark was an authorial interpolation pointing out the ominous character of Ursicinus’ outburst in itself,37 since the end of chapter is focused from Constantius’ response.38 He angers outrageously, overlooks the matter, prohibits that the experts in divination elucidate what was over his knowledge, and dismisses Ursicinus from the army:39 20.2.5: Relatis adiectisque cum interpretatione maligna compluribus iratus ultra modum Constantius nec discusso negotio nec patefieri, quae scientiam eius latebant, permissis appetitum calumniis deposita militia digredi iussit ad otium Agilone ad eius locum immodico saltu promoto ex Gentilium Scutariorum tribuno.40 At any rate, whether quodam praesagio has actually been uttered by Ursicinus or intercalated by Ammianus, the emperor’s wrongful response to omens becomes particularly noteworthy in the narrative thread. Constantius misunderstood that Ursicinus’ rash eruption mentioning a disastrous, but feasible, course of events had been a sort of omen of what would happen in Mesopotamia, and he was likewise incapable of grasping the cosmic warning provided by the various dark signs and an eclipse occurring in the eastern territories. person with all the flower of his army will be able next spring to prevent the dismemberment of Mesopotamia’.” 35 Den Boeft, Den Hengst, Teitler 1987, 16–17, ad loc. 36 Hanaghan 2018, 124–27. 37 One can wonder whether Ursicinus’ outburst might have been one of the crepitus uocum associated by Ammianus to the occurentia signa in 21.1.11: multa significant super his crepitus uocum et occurrentia signa, tonitrua quin etiam et fulgura et fulmina itidemque siderum sulci. 38 As pointed out by Den Boeft, Den Hengst, Teitler 1987, 16–17 ad loc. 39 Nothing else is known about Ursicinus’ destiny after his dismissal and withdrawal to private life. 40 “After these words had been reported and much had been added with a malicious interpretation, Constantius was angered beyond measure; and without examining the matter or allowing the details of which he was ignorant to be explained, he ordered the victim of the calumnies to give up his command in the army and go into retirement, promoting Agilo, a former tribune of the gentiles and the scutarii, to his place, by an extraordinary advancement.”

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The “eclipse” of Constantius’ reason, his blindness to foresights of any kind, is ironically continued in the first paragraphs of 20.4. The emperor reacts to Julian’s moves with envy and fear, sending Decentius with the order of dispatching auxiliary and select troops to the East and deducting resources which could assist Julian in Gaul. 20.4.1-2: Properantem Constantium orienti ferre suppetias turbando prope diem excursibus Persicis, ut perfugae concinentes exploratoribus indicabant, urebant Iuliani uirtute. (2) ob haec et similia percitus metuensque, ne augerentur in maius, stimulante, ut ferebatur, praefecto Florentio Decentium tribunum et notarium misit auxiliares milites exinde protinus abstracturum, Herulos et Batauos, cumque Petulantibus Celtas et lectos ex numeris aliis trecentenos hac specie iussos accelerare, ut adesse possint armis primo uere mouendis in Parthos.41 Eventually these units are responsible for Julian’s proclamation as Augustus in Paris (4.14). The following chapter (20.5) details Julianus’ reaction to his troops’ initiative in Paris, before the narrative thread briefly diverges on war affairs in the East, namely how Sapor attacks and conquers Singara (20.6) and Bezabde (20.7), and how he fails in his attempt with Virta. Then the focus (20.8) moves to Julian’s letter to Constantius explaining the events in Gaul,42 and to Constantius’ reaction by means of an edict (20.9): he decides to lead the army against the Persians and commands Julian to content himself with the title of Caesar. The imperial edict was read before the legions assembled in Paris, who rejected it outright, cheering again Julian as Augustus. After a succinct chapter (20.10) on Julian’s new military achievements around the Rhine, the last section of the book (20.11) deals with Constantius’ unsuccessful attempt of laying siege to Bezabde, a failure commented on using a digressive section on rainbows that is treated in the next section. 41

42

“When Constantius was hastening to lend aid to the Orient, which was likely soon to be disturbed by the inroads of Persians, as deserters reported in agreement with our scouts, he was tormented by jealousy of the valorous deeds of Julian … (2) Excited by these and similar exploits, and fearing that their fame would grow greater, urged on besides, as was reported, by the prefect Florentius, he sent Decentius, the tribune and secretary, at once to take from Julian his auxiliaries, namely, the Aeruli and Batavi and the Celts with the Petulantes, as well as three hundred picked men from each of the other divisions of the army; and he ordered him to hasten their march under the pretext that they might be able to be on hand for an attack on the Parthians early in the spring.” It is interesting how Florentius’ capability of anticipating (uelut praesagiens) and reacting 20.8.20–22 played a significant role in the course of events.

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After the Storm Comes a Rainbow: Amm. 20.11.26–30.

Once the long and ineffective blockade of the town is dramatically depicted (20.11.5–25), the narrator draws the attention to how the events unfolded differently from what the Emperor had hoped for. In fact, his plans were ruined by atmospheric accidents that caused panic among the troops and were followed by a rainbow, a phenomenon briefly explained in five paragraphs (26–30), before the story returns to Constantius’ inner reaction in 31: 20.11.24-31: quod secus atque rebatur euenit. (25) cum enim remissius pugnaretur, umente caelo undantes nubes cum tenebris aduenere minacibus assiduisque imbribus ita immaduerat solum, ut luti glutinosa mollities per eas regiones pinguissimi caespitis omnia perturbaret. et super his iugi fragore tonitrua fulgoraque mentes hominum pauidas perterrebant. (26) Accedebant arcus caelestes conspectus assidui. quae species unde ita figurari est solita, expositio breuis ostendet … (30) … suppetunt aliae multae opiniones et uariae, quas dinumerare nunc est superuacuum narratione redire, unde digressa est, festinante. (31) His ac talibus imperator inter spem metumque iactabatur ingrauescente hiemis magnitudine suspectisque per auios tractus insidiis, | inter quae etiam tumultum exasperati militis uerebatur. Super his urebat eius anxiam mentem, quod uelut patefacta ianua diuitis domus | irritus propositi reuertetur.43 So, this digressive section additionally characterises Constantius’ imperial limited aptitudes, more precisely his clumsiness in coping with warnings provided by the cosmos.44 It is noteworthy that the chapter is narrated from the same 43

“But the result was different from what he guessed. (25) For when the fighting slackened, wet weather followed, dripping clouds with menacing darkness appeared, and the ground was so drenched with continual rains, that soft and sticky mud caused general trouble in that region of rich turf. And, besides all this, thunder and lightning with repeated crashes terrified the timorous minds of men. (26) More than this, rainbows were constantly seen; and how that phenomenon is wont to occur, a brief explanation will show … (30) … There are many other different opinions, which it would be superfluous to enumerate at present, since my narrative is in haste to return to the point from which it digressed. (31) For these and similar reasons the emperor was torn between hope and fear, since the severity of winter was drawing near and attacks were to be looked for in that trackless region, while also he feared mutiny of the exasperated soldiers. Besides this, his anxious mind was tormented by the thought that when, so to speak, the door of a rich house was open before him, he was returning without success.” 44 Hanaghan 2017, with previous bibliography on the passage.

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three points of view as in the case of the eclipses’ digression. First, it is viewed from the fearful human minds (mentes pauidae), also mentioned in 20.3.1, now terrified because of thunder and lightning: et super his iugi fragore tonitrua fulgoraque mentes hominum pauidas perterrebant. Although the formula of transition is much clearer than in the excursus on eclipses (quae species unde ita figurari est solita, expositio breuis ostendet), other coincidences of narrative strategy are remarkable. Ammianus decodes the account in successive stages in a way that also recalls the gradual supply of information in 3.1: initially, torrential rains cover the ground with mud; subsequently (super his), thunder and lightning take place; and finally, rainbows were added to the other phenomena happening (accedebant arcus caelestes conspectus assidui). Likewise, the drive for explaining the natural phenomenon is in this case the misperception by ignorant minds: rationes physicae … cuius species, quantum mortalis oculus contuetur … ut terrenae existimant mentes … Arbitrantur alii tunc iridis formam rebus apparere mundanis, cum … Second, the description is also viewed from the narrator, who gives a physical explanation with the authority of a Greek natural philosopher.45 Even though the explanation is obscured by technical jargon, the historian’s main concern is allegedly not to give a definite elucidation of an uncertain and dubious matter, but to note that the universe operates in accordance with its own laws, providing the human with signs to interpret it (suppetunt aliae multae opiniones et uariae, quas dinumerare nunc est superuacuum). In other words, both the excursus on eclipses and on the rainbow suggest that Julian’s elevation is the outcome, or even the reflection and content, of a cosmic change. Indeed, Ammianus claims, poets rightly consider Iris as messenger of the gods in human affairs (20.11.30), because the Arch, in its intricate physical mechanism, does not fail to communicate a change of circumstances (ideo apud poetas legimus saepe Irim de caelo tunc mitti, cum praesentium rerum uerti necesse sit status). All this unmistakably leads the reader to infer that divine authorities have sanctioned Julian’s usurpation. And third, the explanation is also considered from Constantius, whose standpoint is privileged in the last two paragraphs of the chapter (31–32), that close book 20 as well. So, without breaking abruptly from the narrative line, Ammianus further develops the idea of how emperors react to cosmic warnings. Constantius is torn between hope and fear, what has been caused not so much by the events themselves, but by seeing the celestial signs (His ac talibus 45 Ammianus’ source for this section has surely been Aetius, Greek doxographer from the 1st century AD.

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imperator inter spem metumque iactabatur). Thus, rainbows and inclement weather confirm that the machina mundi46 is functioning as usual. The comparison with other passages that exemplify the Emperor’s response to signs of his fate, especially with 21.14.1, reveals that cosmic warnings are part of a broader narrative plan to characterise Constantius’ emperorship and ability to make decisions.47 In that section the Emperor appears again anguished by omens, while soothsayers give him only responses that are to his liking: In hoc rerum aduersarum tumultu haerens eius fortuna iam et subsistens aduentare casum uitae difficilem modo non loquentibus signis | aperte monstrabat. namque et nocturnis imaginibus terrebatur et nondum penitus mersus in somnum umbram uiderat patris obtulisse pulchrum infantem eumque susceptum et locatum in gremio suo | excussam sibi proiecisse longius sphaeram, quam ipse dextra manu gestabat. id autem permutationem temporum indicabat, licet interpretantes placentia responderunt.48 Constantius’ reaction is dominated by fear, in the same way as he had been frightened in 20.11.31–32, after the military failure at Bezabde and the vision of rainbows. Similar narrative patterns with other nuances can be observed as well in chapter 25.10, devoted to Jovian’s last days, which is analysed in the following section. 5.4

Controversial Comets: Amm. 25.10.2–3.

From a structural point of view, book 25 is concluded by a chapter (25.10) arranged as an episodic chain of subsequent events: arrival in Antioch of the comitatus, omens of Jovian’s death, rush for marching on, final provisions on Julian’s corpse, report of the situation in Gaul, opening of the Consulate in Ancyra, Emperor’s death at Dadastana, and obituary. The two opening paragraphs set a tone that dominates over the rest of the chapter: when the expedition arrives in Antioch, several omens occurred (multa uisebantur et dira),

46 47

From the fateful constellation to the rainbow after the storm. In this sense, see Williams 2009 who argues that Ammianus portrayal of Constantius is a response to Christian polemics on Julian. 48 Woods 2004 points out a similar harsh allusion to Constantius’ unawareness of omens in the narration of Amphilocius’ death.

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which the experts (gnari prodigialium [rerum]) interpreted as calamitous as though the divine numen had been offended.49 25.10.1-4: His hoc modo peractis discursisque itineribus Antiochiam uenimus, ubi per continuos dies uelut offenso numine multa uisebantur et dira, quorum euentus fore luctificos gnari rerum prodigialium praecinebant. (2) nam et Maximiani statua Caesaris, quae locata est in uestibulo regiae, amisit repente sphaeram aeream formatam in speciem poli, quam gestabat, et cum horrendo stridore sonuerunt in consistorio trabes et uisa sunt interdiu sidera cometarum, super quorum natura ratiocinantes physici uariant. (3) quidam enim eos hoc nomine ideo existimant appellari, quod tortos ignes spargunt ut crines in unum stellis multiplicibus congregatis … uel certe stellas esse quasdam ceteris similes, | quarum ortus obitusque, quibus sint temporibus praestituti, humanis mentibus ignorari. plura alia de cometis apud peritos mundanae rationis sunt lecta, quae digerere nunc uetat aliorsum oratio properans. (4) Moratum paulisper Antiochiae principem curarumque ponderibus diuersis afflictum exeundi mira cupiditas agitabat; proinde nec iumento parcens nec militi flagrante hieme die profectus signis, ut dictum est, uetantibus plurimis Tarsum urbem Cilicum nobilem introiit, cuius originem docuimus supra.50 Among the multa dira (1) three signs are specifically pointed out. Two of them took place at the governor’s palace: the statue of Emperor Maximian loses the 49 Cfr. 23.5.10. 50 “After this business had been thus attended to, we came by long marches to Antioch; where for successive days, as though the divinity were angered, many fearful portents were seen, which those skilled in such signs declared would have sad results. (2) For the statue of the Caesar Maximianus, which stood in the vestibule of the royal palace, suddenly dropped the bronze ball, in the form of the globe of heaven, which it was holding, the beams of the council hall gave forth an awful creaking, and in broad daylight comets were seen, about which the views of those versed in natural history are at variance. (3) For some think that they are so called because they are numerous stars united in one body, and send out writhing fires resembling hair … or at any rate, that comets are stars like the rest, the appointed times of whose rising and setting are not understood by human minds. Many other theories about comets are to be found in the writings of those who are skilled in knowledge of the universe; but from discussing these I am prevented by my haste to continue my narrative. (4) The emperor lingered for a time at Antioch, bowed down by the diverse weight of his anxieties, but pursued by an extraordinary desire for getting out of the place. Accordingly, he left there on a day in the dead of winter, sparing neither horse nor man, although many signs (as has been said) forbade, and entered Tarsus, the famous city of Cilicia, of whose origin I have already spoken ….”

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globe from his hand,51 and the beams of the consistory horribly squeak. In contrast, the third sign is a celestial phenomenon, the vision of comets in broad daylight (2: … et sunt interdiu sidera cometarum uisa). The first two go unnoticed, but the third is developed at some length in a brief excursus,52 in which the historian emphasises that the experts’ opinion about comets is controversial (super quorum natura ratiocinantes physici uariant), and that a full exposition of everything written on the matter would exceed the purpose of his narration (3: plura alia de cometis apud peritos mundanae rationis sunt lecta, quae digerere nunc uetat aliorsum oratio properans), in terms notably similar to the final remarks on the rainbow (20.11.30: aliae multae opinions et uariae, quas dinumerare nunc est superuacuum …). As in the two cases above, the narrator provides his narratee with three different viewpoints upon the omens. First, the perspective of divination specialists (gnari rerum prodigialium),53 who tied together three very different orders of signs, and who are only partially right. Actually, the explanation on comets placed at the end states that comets are just one type of star, but human minds ignore when these are born and die (certe stellas esse quasdam ceteris similes … humanis mentibus ignorari). So Ammianus is probably recalling the pauidae mentes of the two other digressions.54 Second, the eye of the narrator, whose persona is invested with the authority of erudition and first-hand information, for Ammianus subtly claims to have been a direct witness of the events,55 after his retreat from Ctesiphon (Antiochiam uenimus),56 so that he had allegedly been present not only to those signs, but also to the experts’ interpretation and Jovian’s reaction.57 And finally, the worries of Jovian, who hurried from Antioch towards Constantinople. Ironically, the title added by Adrien de Valois58 for this chapter 51 A similar prodigy for Constantius in 21.14.1. 52 Without introductory remark, but with a formula of return. 53 Fontaine 1977: the haruspices remained in the imperial service, regardless of the religious affiliation of the Emperor. 54 I.e. celestial bodies, subject to the same cosmic laws that govern others, and therefore without any message than being part of the cosmos. 55 This is the last intrusion in the first person, but also the first comment after a long authorial silence. 56 The impressionistic account of the state of affairs in Gaul and the spontaneous reaction of Varronianus reinforce this sense (Den Boeft, Drijvers, Den Hengst, Teitler 2005, 309, ad loc.). 57 Dealing with Ammianus’ claims of autoptic narrative and the reliability of his use of the first person falls outside the limits of this study: Sabbah 1978; Ivič 2004; Kelly 2008; Weisweiler 2014; Ross 2016. 58 Kelly 2009.

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explained the Emperor’s rush on the basis of his dread of an uprising (Iouianus metu rerum nouarum per Syriam, Cappadociam et Galatiam celeriter itinere facto Ancyrae cum Varroniano filio infante consulatum init …), but in fact, nothing in this chapter explicitly or implicitly suggests so. The fear of a revolt is actually mentioned and treated in chapter 9, while in chapter 10 the narrator’s emphasis is posed rather on the emperor’s incapability of understanding the portents;59 these affected his concerns, so that he tried to escape them (moratum paulisper Antiochiae principem curarumque ponderibus diuersis afflictum exeundi mira cupiditas agitabat).60 Furthermore, the fate stimulated Jovian to hasten from Ancyra and to arrive in Dadastana (Hinc quoque Iouianum … praescriptus uitae finiendae dies exegit). In other words, his hurry did nothing more than bringing him closer and closer to the place and date set for his death.61 Summing up, Jovian was unable to grasp that his destiny was written in advance, that interpreting comets was too controversial for him, and ultimately that fleeing from one’s doom is hopeless.62 In a treatment similar to the other two passages already analysed, the narrator explains an astronomical phenomenon in the context of signs that foresight an emperor’s end and are mistakenly interpreted by this.63 In this case, however, the digression concludes book 25 and ultimately the Julianic 59 60

Den Boeft, Drijvers, Den Hengst, Teitler 2005, 307. On the other hand, the comment signis, ut dictum est, uetantibus plurimis seemingly suggests the opposite, for the signs advised not to march on. 61 Finally, his obituary in the final paragraphs of the chapter (14–17) mentions that he was Christian and little cultured, as well as that his father had premonitions on his son’s destiny but misinterpreted them. Den Boeft, Drijvers, Den Hengst, Teitler 2005, 309, ad loc.: “The structure of the sentence makes this perfectly clear: Jovian is the Patiens and fate is the Agens, in the fine sense of the word. This differs markedly from the beginning of § 4, where Jovian is also the Patiens, but in that case his own exeundi mira cupiditas was the active principle. Now the truth becomes clear. The fact that it was fate all along which hurried him on is simply, but subtly, expressed by quoque.” 62 Cfr. 25.9.8: illud tamen ad medullas usque bonorum peruenit, quod, dum extimescit aemulum potestatis, dumque in animo [per] Gallias et Illyricum uersat quosdam saepe sublimiora coeptasse, famam aduentus sui praeuenire festinans indignum imperio facinus amictu periurii fugiendi commisit Nisibi prodita, quae iam inde a Mithridatici regni temporibus, ne oriens a Persis occuparetur, uiribus restitit maximis. “But what afflicted the heart of every good citizen was that the fear of a rival to his power and the thought that many men had taken the first steps to loftier power in Gaul or Illyricum, in his haste to outstrip the report of his coming, under pretext of avoiding perjury has led him to commit an act unworthy of an emperor, betraying Nisibis, which ever since the time of King Mithridates’ reign had resisted with all its might the Orient to be occupied by the Persians.” 63 These will be completed some paragraphs later by Varronianus’ reaction at Ancyra during the ceremonies inaugurating Jovian’s consulate, and by some comments of the narrator himself.

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narrative and gives a particular emphasis to this feature of Jovian. This epitomises the greatest failure of emperorship, from his dubious accession64 to the shameful truce with Persia, and finally to his illiterate ineptitude for properly reacting to cosmic warnings. 5.5

Warnings and Responses

The emphasis on the tripartite point of view that is common to the three aforementioned sections, as well as other textual coincidences and narrative similarities, reveal a particular purpose within the narrative design, beyond the author’s fondness of divination’s matters that pervades his narration. Remarkably, all three digressions show a recurrent pattern of “cosmic warnings,” “popular reaction,” “scientific explanation,” and “imperial response.” The structural and argumentative correspondences bring to light that the historian has purposely highlighted the variety of cosmic warnings that secondary Augusti received, how they reacted, as well as what awareness they had of their own looming end and, therefore, of their entry into posterity. Regarding the scientific explanation, the three digressions are better integrated into the narrative flow than most digressive sections, since they are explaining remarks to phenomena interpreted as omens by some actor in the narrative. In 20.3.1–12, there is no opening formula; popular terror of cosmic phenomena is followed by a verbose, and otherwise confusing, exposition of eclipses, without mediating the usual excuse. Similarly, the brief explanation on rainbows in 20.11 completes the thunder and lightning that terrified the troops and is continued by the impression caused in Constantius’ mind. For their part, the two paragraphs on the origin of comets (25.10.2–3) that highlight the matter’s difficulty immediately pursue the portents seen by Jovian and his comitatus in Antioch. It is also worth noting that these three digressions bestow the narrator’s persona with the authority of the Greek and Latin scholar in interpreting the signs given by the cosmos.65 His superiority is emphatically opposed to the fearful ignorant of physical causes, and suggests intimacy and complicity between narrator and narratee, as if Ammianus were detaching himself and his 64 Barnes 1998, 138–41: “Jovian … totally lacked the skills needed to be emperor”; Heather 1999; Lenski 2000. 65 The excursus on comets makes no explicit mention of Greek terminology, but the etymology of comet (quod tortos ignes spargunt ut crines) placed the narrator among the docti Graecorum, although the usual comment (e.g. 22.15.29: ut nos [Graeci] dicimus; 23.4.10: quam Graeci cognominamus; 26.1.1: ut nos [Graeci] appellamus) is lacking.

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audience from timorous common people.66 Significantly, the historian does not explicitly relate these three digressions to the prognosis of the future or the divine sanction of past, taking for granted both the prophetic power the occurrentia signa and the reader’s familiarity with this traditional standpoint.67 As mentioned, eclipses were usually associated with a reversal of fortune, but the historian spares any mention to this, detailing the physical aspects of the phenomenon. Likewise, the account of rainbows is merely descriptive and gives information only about optical mechanisms, paying no attention to why the celestial arch might become a presage of the moment. Finally, the explanation about comets stresses the lack of consensus on their origin among scientists, without elucidating why daylight comets foretell Jovian’s end, as was commonly understood. In the two first cases, it is relevant that the cosmic warnings affected the fearful minds and Constantius’ mind, who was “torn between hope and fear.” In the third case, the succinct digression on comets focalises Jovian’s last days from the point of view of those who were in Antioch and accompanied the emperor in his desperate flight. Thus, Constantius’68 and Jovian’s responses to the signs, elucidated through astronomical digressions, disapprovingly complete their portrayal as Augusti, since both emperors failed to interpret the warnings and to properly react upon them. Furthermore, their figures are to be contrasted with Julian’s attitude to omens during the Persian disaster, particularly with his ambiguous response to the vision of the genius publicus in 25.2.4, when “he commended his future fate to the decrees of heaven” (uentura decretis caelestibus commendabat), shortly before disdaining the Etruscan discipline (id inter alia multa spernente).69 The chapter also contains a warning sent to Julian by the heaven in the form of a shooting star, the various explanations of which are commented in a two-paragraph digression introduced by sufficiet pauca monstrare. In this case, the pattern “cosmic warning” – “popular reaction” – “scientific explanation” – ­“imperial response” has been subjected to some minor alterations. 66 As saying “we have read the poets, the philosophers, and the scrutators of the physical world, so that we know that there is nothing to fear in the cosmic warnings contained in eclipses, comets, or weather forces, but we are able to see them as part of one larger plan.” The comment on uulgaris inscitia in 17.9.9 can be considered from this point of view as well. 67 In this regard, we have to keep in mind that Ammianus takes for granted the prophetic potential of the ocurrentia signa relying on the cosmic sympathy and the power of the sun as mind of the universe, as two comments in the excursus on divination show (21.1.8–11). 68 Cfr. 21.13.15: “Ut enim mea mens augurat iustitiaque rectis consiliis adfutura promittit, spondeo quod, si uentum fuerit comminus, ita pauore torpescent, ut nec oculorum uestrorum uibratae lucis ardorem nec barritus sonum perferant primum.” 69 Rosen 1970, 154, nt 2 points out the parallel and contrast with 21.1.7–14 and 14.3–4.

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The people’s pauidae mentes seem to have been substituted by the profanus et demens who believe that celestial bodies can fall from heaven, but also from Julian’s first fearful reaction (ad momentum haesit stupore defixus) followed by his surrender to the heavenly decrees (omni tamen superior metu uentura decretis caelestibus commendabat). 25.2.4-8: et quamquam ad momentum haesit stupore defixus, omni tamen superior metu uentura decretis caelestibus commendabat relictoque humi strato cubili adulta iam excitus nocte et numinibus per sacra depulsoria supplicans flagrantissimam facem cadenti similem uisam aeris parte sulcata euanuisse existimauit horroreque perfusus est, ne ita aperte minax Martis apparuerit sidus. (5) Erat autem nitor igneus iste, quem diaissonta nos appellamus, nec cadens umquam nec terram contingens. corpora enim qui credit caelitus posse labi, profanus merito iudicatur et demens. fit autem hic habitus modis compluribus, e quibus sufficiet pauca monstrare. (6) scintillas quidam putant ab aetherio candentes uigore parumque porrectius tendere sufficientes exstingui uel certe radiorum flammas iniectas nubibus densis acri scintillare contactu aut, cum lumen aliquod cohaeserit nubi. id enim in stellae speciem figuratum decurrit quidem, dum uiribus ignium sustentatur; amplitudine uero spatiorum exinanitum in aerium soluitur corpus ad substantiam migrans, cuius attritu incaluit nimio. (7) Confestim itaque ante lucis primitias Etrusci haruspices accersiti | consultique, quid astri species portenderet noua, uitandum esse cautissime responderunt, ne quid tunc temptaretur, ex Tarquitianis libris in titulo de rebus diuinis id relatum esse monstrantes, quod face in caelo uisa committi proelium uel simile quidquam non oportebit. (8) quo etiam id inter alia multa spernente orabant haruspices saltim aliquot horis profectionem differri et ne hoc quidem sunt adepti imperatore omni uaticinandi scientia reluctante, sed exorto iam die promota sunt castra.70 70

“And although for a moment he remained sunk in stupefaction, yet rising above all fear, he commended his future fate to the decrees of heaven, and now fully awake, the night being now far advanced, he left his bed, which was spread on the ground, and prayed to the gods with rites designed to avert their displeasure. Then he thought he saw a blazing torch of fire, like a falling star, which furrowed part of the air and disappeared. And he was filled with fear lest the threatening star of Mars had thus visibly shown itself. (5) That fiery brilliance was of the kind that we call διαΐσσων, which never falls anywhere or touches the earth; for anyone who believes that bodies can fall from heaven is rightly considered a layman, or a fool. But this phenomenon happens in many ways, and it will be enough to explain a few of them. (6) Some believe that sparks glowing from the ethereal force, (…) (7) Accordingly, before dawn the Etruscan soothsayers were hastily summoned, and asked

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More interestingly, however, Julian’s response differs from Constantius’ and Jovian’s, not in a better comprehension of natural phenomena or in a more philosophical or Stoic abandon to fate, but in a better promptness of decision. In fact, Julian is torn between acceptance (25.2.4: omni tamen superior metu uentura decretis caelestibus commendabat) and rejection of the divinatory technique (8: omni uaticinandi scientia reluctante) during the Persian campaign until his final moment.71 Therefore, Ammianus focuses on describing the emperor’s inner conflict that will be appeased only at his deathbed, so that Julian contrasts with the other two Augusti in that he overcomes his doubts, is not affected by the terrors of the ordinary people, and ultimately accepts the cosmic warnings so that he can face up to a properly Augustan departure from life. 5.6

Narrator and Emperorship

In summary, Julian’s reaction to the last celestial signs about his impending end has been carefully anticipated and continued through a recurring pattern in the narrative. By this means, the historian draws the reader’s attention on the continuities and dissimilarities that Julian’s demise has with that of Constantius and Jovian. In every case of the four discussed, each cosmic warning is misinterpreted by some character, is correctly explained by the narrator based on scientific knowledge, and is differently reacted upon by the emperor. In addition to characterising the three emperors’ approach to fate, these excursuses are particularly integrated into the narrative, as their brevity and loose use of introductory and reverting phrases show. Furthermore, they highlight intratextual connections between different sections and a gradation in how digressions are integrated in the narrative flow. So, the findings of my analysis, necessarily limited, show that at least some of Ammianus’ excursuses have a more valuable literary meaning than credited so far. In the case of the cosmic-astronomical digressions, neither the narrative is adapted to fit

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what this unusual kind of star portended. Their reply was, that any undertaking at that time must be most carefully avoided, pointing out that in the Tarquitian books, under the rubric “On signs from heaven” it was written, that when a meteor was seen in the sky, battle ought not to be joined, or anything similar attempted. 8 When the emperor scorned this also, as well as many other signs, the soothsayers begged that at least he would put off his departure for some hours; but even this they could not gain, since the emperor was opposed to the whole science of divination, but since day had now dawned, camp was broken.” As rightly highlighted by Ross 2016, 186–187.

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the digressions nor are these attuned to the facts: both parts are modelled by Ammianus adding nuances to his imperial portrayals. Down this line, a narratological approach to the excursuses in the Res Gestae allows us to surpass the limitations of a too rigid concept of the historian’s digressions that puts in the same plane digressive sections, digressive comments or digressive tone, which are phenomena certainly related, but that Ammianus exploits with diverse purposes according to the occasion. On the other hand, some particular aspects of the study, such as the relation of the eclipse and rainbow digressions to other passages of Constantius’ narrative, particularly with 21.14 on his final omens,72 the singular imbrication of the eclipses excursus with the rest of the book 21, or the motivations of Jovian in 25.10 certainly require further investigation.73 However, this on-going research demonstrates the effectiveness of the narratological approach, and opens up possibilities for similar inquiries in other passages referring to Gallus, Valentinian, Valens, and Gratian. Finally, the consideration of minor passages of minor stars has further illuminated that Julian’s centrality in Ammianus’ narrative is revealed in contrast to the other imperial characters, and that Constantius’ and Jovian’s depictions need to be properly understood only in comparison with Julian. Conversely, Julian’s narrative only makes full sense in the interaction with other prior and posterior emperors. This point reminds us that Ammianus’ Res Gestae is not primarily a work about Julian, but, rather, a narrative of emperorship based on the assumption that to be Emperor of Rome does not rely on the relative adherence to the perfect ruler’s paradigm or on the capricious twists of fortune;74 it rather consists in being inserted in a long series of rulers which could trace its roots back several centuries, and would be perpetuated for times to come. Bibliography Alonso, F.J. 2016. ‘Parody and Inversion of Literary Genres in Ammianus Marcellinus’, in Sánchez-Ostiz, Á. (ed.), Beginning and End: From Ammianus Marcellinus to Eusebius of Cesarea, Huelva. 243–260.

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For instance, 21.14, brief excursus on the tutelaris genius. On Jovian’s Themistius’ Or. 5 might be an interesting point of contrast: see Sabbah 1978, 354–59. As pointed out by Ammianus in 14.11.34: quae omnia si scire quisquam uelit, quam uaria sint et assidua, harenarum numerum idem iam desipiens et montium pondera scrutari putabit.

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Barnes, T. D. 1990. ‘Literary Convention, Nostalgia and Reality in Ammianus Marcellinus’, in Clarke, G. (ed.), Reading the Past in Late Antiquity, Rushcutters’ Bay: 59–92. Barnes, T.D. 1998. Ammianus Marcellinus and the Representation of Historical Reality, Ithaca. Blockley, R.C. 1973. ‘Tacitean Influence upon Ammianus Marcellinus’, Latomus 32: 63–78. Den Boeft, J., D. Den Hengst, H.C. Teitler 1987. Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus XX, Groningen. Den Boeft, J., J.W. Drijvers, D. Den Hengst, H.C. Teitler 2005. Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus XXV, Leiden. Brodka, D. 2009. Ammianus Marcellinus: Studien Zum Geschichtsdenken Im Vierten Jahrhundert n. Chr., Cracow. Caltabiano, M. 1989. ‘Il carattere delle digressioni nelle Res gestae di Ammiano Marcellino’, in A. Garzya (ed.), Metodologie Della Ricerca Sulla Tarda Antichità, Atti Del Primo Convegno dell’Associazione Di Studi Tardoantichi, Naples: 289–296. Camus, P.-M. 1967. Ammien Marcellin, témoin des courants culturels et religieux à la fin du IVe siècle, Paris. Cichoka, H. 1975. ‘Die Konzeption des Exkurses im Geschichtswerk des Ammianus Marcellinus’, Eos 63: 329–340. Demandt, A. 1974. ‘Verformungstendenzen in der überlieferung antiker Sonnen- und Mondfinsternisse’, AAWM 7: 469–527. Emmett, A.M. 1981. ‘Introductions and Conclusions to Digressions in Ammianus Marcellinus’, Museum Philologum Londiniense 5: 15–33. Ensslin, W. 1923. Zur Geschichtsschreibung und Weltanschauung des Ammianus Marcellinus, Leipzig. Feichtinger, H. 2003. ‘Doctrinae genus haud leve: der Exkurs über Weissagung in den Res Gestae des Ammianus Marcellinus: (XXI, 1, 6–14)’, Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und für Kirchengeschichte 98: 136–161. Fögen, M. T. 1997. Die Enteignung der Wahrsager: Studien zum kaiserlichen Wissensmonopol in der Spätantike, Frankfurt. Fontaine, J. 1977. Ammien Marcellin: Histoire. Vol. IV, 2: Livres XXIII–XXV, Paris. Fornara, C.W. 1992. ‘Studies in Ammianus Marcellinus: II: Ammianus’ Knowledge and Use of Greek and Latin Literature’, Historia 41: 420–438. Hanaghan, M. 2017. ‘Ammianus’ Rainbows and Constantius’ Fate’, Hermes 145: 445–457. Hanaghan, M. 2018. ‘A Metaliterary Approach to Ursicinus’ Outburst’, Philologus 162: 112–236. Heather, P.J. 1999. ‘Ammianus on Jovian: History and Literature’, in Drijvers, J.W., D. Hunt (ed.), The Late Roman World and Its Historian: Interpreting Ammianus Marcellinus, London: 105–116.

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Den Hengst, D. 1986. ‘Ammianus Marcellinus on Astronomy (Res Gestae 20. 3)’, Mnemosyne 39: 136–141. Den Hengst, D. 1992. ‘The Scientific Digressions in Ammianus’ Res Gestae’, in Den Boeft, J., D. Den Hengst, H.C. Teitler (ed.), Cognitio gestorum: The Historiographic Art of Ammianus Marcellinus, Amsterdam: 39–46. Den Hengst, D. 2010. ‘The Romanization of Julian’, in Burgersdijk, D.W.P., J.A. van Waarden (ed.), Emperors and Historiography: Collected Essays on the Literature of the Roman Empire by Daniël Den Hengst, Leiden: 212–229. Ivič, N. 2004. ‘Neutralizing Contingency: Ammianus Marcellinus as a Participant in Julian’s Persian Campaign, 363 AD’, Arcadia 39: 322–332. Kelly, G. 2004. ‘Ammianus and the Great Tsunami’, JRS 94: 141–167. Kelly, G. 2008. Ammianus Marcellinus: the Allusive Historian, Cambridge. Kelly, G. 2009. ‘Adrien de Valois and the Chapter Headings in Ammianus Marcellinus’, CPh 104: 233–242. Lenski, N. 2000. ‘The Election of Jovian and the Role of the Late Imperial Guards’, Klio 82: 492–515. Liebeschuetz, J.H.W.G. 1988. ‘Ammianus, Julian, and Divination’, in Wisseman, M. (ed.), Roma Renascens: Beiträge zur Spätantike und Rezeptionsgeschichte, Frankfurt: 198–213. Matthews, J. 1989 The Roman Empire of Ammianus, London. Richter, U. 1989. ‘Die Funktion der Digressionen im Werk Ammians’, WJA 15: 209–222. Rike, R.L. 1987. Apex omnium: Religion in the Res gestae of Ammianus, Berkeley. Rolfe, J.C. 1940. Ammianus Marcellinus with an English Translation, Cambridge MA. Rosen, K. 1970. Studien zur Darstellungskunst und Glaubwürdigkeit des Ammianus Marcellinus, Bonn. Rosen, K. 1982. Ammianus Marcellinus, Darmstadt. Ross, A.J. 2016. Ammianus’ Julian: Narrative and Genre in the Res Gestae, Oxford. Sabbah, G. 1978. La méthode d’Ammien Marcellin: recherches sur la construction du discours historique dans les Res Gestae, Paris. Salemme, C. 1989. Similitudini nella storia: un capitolo su Ammiano Marcellino, Naples. Sánchez-Ostiz, Á. 2016. ‘Ammianus on Eastern Lawyers (30.4): Literary Allusions and the Decline of Forensic Oratory’, in Sánchez-Ostiz, Á. (ed.), Beginning and End: From Ammianus Marcellinus to Eusebius of Caesarea. Huelva: 207–223. Santos Yanguas, N. 2007. ‘Fortuna y fatum: la contingencia en el desarrollo de la historia según Amiano Marcelino’, CFCEL 27: 93–105. Scardigli, B. 2011. ‘Prodigi in Ammiano Marcellino’, in Cagnazzi, S., C. Marcella, A. Favuzzi (ed.), Scritti di Storia per Mario Pani, Bari: 441–454. Seyfarth, W. 1965. ‘Ammianus Marcellinus und das Fatum’, Klio 43–45: 291–306. Szidat, J. 1977. Historischer Kommentar zu Ammianus Marcellinus Buch XX–XXI. I: Die Erhebung Julians, Wiesbaden.

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Viansino, G. 2001. Ammiano Marcellino. Storie. 2: Libri XVIII–XXIV, Milan. Weisweiler, J. 2014. ‘Unreliable Witness: Failings of the Narrative in Ammianus Marcellinus’, in van Hoof, L. and P. van Nuffelen (ed.), Literature and Society in the Fourth Century AD: Performing Paideia, Constructing the Present, Presenting the Self, Leiden: 103–133. Williams, S.R. 2009. ‘Ammianus and Constantius: The Portrayal of a Tyrant in the Res Gestae’, Mast. Thesis, University of Tennessee – Knoxville. Woods, D. 2004. ‘Ammianus Marcellinus 21.6.3: A Misunderstood Omen’, CPh 99.2: 163–168.

Part 3 From the Valentinians to Theodosius

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Chapter 6

Between Expressionism and Classicism: Stylistic Choices as Means of Legitimisation in Late Fourth-Century Imperial Portraits Fabio Guidetti 6.1 Introduction* When looking at the images of the Roman emperors of Late Antiquity, the first and most striking impression is that of enduring stability; the physical appearance of late antique rulers remained the same for quite a long period of time, even for decades. The simple fact that an emperor’s face normally undergoes some changes with the passing of time, or that emperors die and new ones take their place, seems not to have influenced very much the way the rulers’ images were conveyed through visual media. For example, on Constantine’s coinage, the emperor’s face does not change substantially between his second portrait type (created in AD 310, when he was about 37 years old)1 and his fourth (created ca. AD 330, when he was 57).2 The later version has slightly longer hair, and the traditional laurel crown has been replaced by the diadem, but, besides a somewhat fleshier quality of the face, no clear signs of ageing are detectable; at 60, the emperor does not look much different from when he was 35 years old.3 Constantine’s sons and successors were apparently not very interested in conveying their own individual appearances; their coin portraits * I express my gratitude to Hannah Gilb and Gavin Kelly for the many improvements on my English. 1 On the debate concerning the date of Constantine’s birth see e.g. Barnes 2011, 2–3; Barbero 2016, 133–34. 2 On the four portrait types of Constantine see Guidetti 2013, with references to the abundant earlier literature. 3 Things may have been partly different in monumental sculpture. The bronze colossal head in the Palazzo dei Conservatori (Roma, Musei Capitolini, inv. no. MC 1072), pertaining to Constantine’s fourth portrait type, depicts in detail the sagging skin on the cheeks and around the mouth, as well as the wrinkles on the neck; but, due to the lack of comparative evidence, it is difficult to establish whether this insistence on the signs of ageing was typical for the genre of monumental sculpture, as opposed to coin portraits, or should rather be interpreted as an isolated choice of the sculptor or patrons of this specific statue. On this head see Fittschen, Zanker 1994, 152–55, cat. no. 123; LSA 562.

© Fabio Guidetti, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004446922_008

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are virtually indistinguishable from one another, as well as from those of their father. Therefore, without the guidance provided by numismatic iconography, many sculptural portraits have been attributed by archaeologists and museum curators, with varying degrees of uncertainty, to Constantine himself or one or more of his sons. This self-representational choice reflects a typical late antique tendency. Admittedly, the first Roman emperor, Augustus, had chosen to represent himself in a similar way; his second portrait type (the so-called ‘Prima Porta type’), created when he was 35 years old, continued to be widely used until his death at 75, and even later for posthumous depictions.4 Generally, however, during the first three centuries of the Roman Empire, the public image of the emperor had changed rapidly and significantly. Every new emperor, at the moment of his accession, had chosen his own portrait, which was in most cases quite different from that of his predecessor. The reasons for such a continuous shift of images were twofold, being at the same time both political and stylistic. From a political point of view, imperial self-representation was conveyed in this period through an individualised portrait. This was possible because the emperor was first and foremost a Roman citizen, who happened to have been chosen to perform a very important public function; artistic representation privileged the individual over the function, indulging in the depiction of the emperors’ particular facial features. But, on the other hand, such a variety in imperial portraiture would have not been possible without the considerable abundance of means of expression – that is, of styles – made available by the characteristic eclecticism of Roman art. Every emperor, and every artist, could choose, among a multiplicity of stylistic options, those which they thought would convey the desired messages in a more effective way. 6.2

Eclecticism and the Palette of Stylistic Options

While the political reasons for fostering the desire for an individualised imperial portrait have long been recognised by Roman art historians, especially Paul Zanker and Bert Smith,5 the stylistic aspect is still in my opinion underestimated. This can be interpreted as the consequence of a long-lasting prejudice 4 The standard work on Augustus’ portraiture is Boschung 1993, to be complemented with the critical remarks of Smith 1996. 5 It would be impossible to account here for the great amount of publications by these two leading scholars in the field of Roman imperial portraiture: among the most important contributions see Zanker 1973; Zanker 1979; Zanker 1983; Zanker 1987; Smith 1985; Smith 1987; Smith 1996; Smith 1997; Smith 2000.

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against Roman art, usually considered as little more than a not particularly original re-elaboration of Greek models. Only recently a more positive evaluation of Roman eclecticism started developing, especially regarding the genre of ideal sculpture, calling for a better appreciation of the creativity of Roman artists in the choice and re-elaboration of their models.6 The availability of a wide range of models coming from different traditions resulted in the possibility to express any desired content by means of at least three different stylistic languages. First, what has been traditionally called the ‘Republican realism,’ which was, in fact, rather a kind of expressionism, the depiction of the human face through the exacerbation of individual characters and signs of ageing, in order to achieve a more immediate and powerful expression of meaning. Second, the late Hellenistic international style, characterised by a highly theatrical depiction of feelings and passions, so as to enhance the dramatic effect of the artwork on the viewer. Third, formal Classicism, offering a limpid and idealised representation of the subject through stylistic features which looked back to the Greek (in most cases, Athenian) masterpieces of the fifth and fourth centuries BC. These three stylistic options were already fully developed by the end of the second century BC. These tendencies, and the many possible interactions between them, shaped the development of all the different genres of Roman art until the end of antiquity. In the following pages, I will examine the continually shifting balance of these stylistic trends within the genre of imperial portraiture during the fourth century AD, articulating its varying developments down to the Theodosian period. I will focus especially on sculptural portraits, which were set up in the public spaces of late antique cities, conveying an image of the ruler produced by initiative of the local elites, but based on an official image issued directly by the imperial court. Such a study in the evolution of imperial portraiture will offer new insights for interpreting the image of the ruler in a key transitional moment, when emperors had to reinvent their role within the new framework of the late antique Christian Empire following a period of great political and cultural transformations. A good starting point for our analysis can be set around the end of the third century, when a fundamental change in the stylistic awareness of Roman artists and viewers seems to have taken place. In this period, a general shift towards abstraction can be observed. The portrait, as well as the human face which lies behind it, are no longer understood as a unity, which the artist may 6 See e.g. the recent handbooks by Borg 2015 and Friedland, Grunow Sobocinski, Gazda 2015, as well as Anna Anguissola’s studies on the visual language of Roman copies (Anguissola 2012; Anguissola 2018).

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interpret through one of the three styles I mentioned, but rather as the accumulation of single, independent elements, each of which may be realised according to different models, traditions, and stylistic options. As a consequence, each facial feature of a portrait is abstracted from the surrounding context and transformed into a formulaic element, which can be exploited as an autonomous carrier of meaning. The viewer will then reconstruct the overall message by adding the individual pieces of meaning attached to each detail and integrating them into a global picture, not necessarily free from inconsistencies.7 This new concept is excellently embodied by the porphyry portraits of the tetrarchic period (fig. 6.1), in which every element of the emperor’s face takes on an autonomous role as the formulaic expression of an imperial quality: the short hair and beard, typical features of military iconography, express the emperor’s ostentatious renouncing of an aristocratic self-representation; the deep wrinkles on the forehead show the constant concern of the ruler for the wellbeing of the Empire; the enormous, expressionist eyes are meant to see everything happening everywhere in the world, as well as in the mind and soul of every single citizen.8 Again, this aesthetic development is not unrelated to the new political scenario. The tetrarchic ideology was not particularly interested in representing the emperors as individuals. In the famous group portraits, such as the one now outside St Mark’s Basilica in Venice (fig. 6.2), the four rulers are virtually indistinguishable from one another, in the general shape of their heads and faces as well as in their physiognomic features; even the short beards differentiating between senior and junior emperors have been recognised as later additions. To develop on a very effective formulation by Bert Smith, Roman imperial portraiture in this period shifted from the depiction of a “particular person, whom the viewer knew … also happened to be emperor,”9 to a generic portrait of ‘the’ emperor; all the portrayed emperors could be identified with a name, but they were depicted first and foremost as rulers, not as individuals. In other words, the main interest in the emperor’s portrait is no longer his individuality, but rather his function, i.e. the possession of those 7 The best formulation of this principle can be found in Raeck 2005. 8 On the porphyry portraits see now Bergmann 2016; the imperial virtues which I have listed are among the standard themes of laudatory political discourse in the tetrarchic period, as found for example in the corpus of the Panegyrici Latini. 9 Smith 1997, 178: “The whole imperial portrait system of the Middle Empire, of type and replication, was a function and expression of the idea that the emperor was a person not different in principle from others. His portrait was known to be the emperor’s because it was recognisable as of that particular person, whom the viewer knew (from constant exposure to versions of his official portrait) also happened to be emperor. The purpose of centrally-provided models and their use by portrait workshops around the Empire was thus to ensure the ruler’s recognisability and identifiability.”

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Portrait of an emperor. Porphyry. Beginning of the 4th century, Alexandrian workshop. From Athribis (Augustamnica). Cairo, Egyptian Museum, inv. no. CG 7257

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Figure 6.2

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Group portrait of four tetrarchic emperors, detail. Porphyry. Beginning of the 4th century, Alexandrian workshop. From Constantinople. Venezia, Basilica di San Marco Photo: Carole Raddato / CC-BY-SA-2.0

virtues and qualities which made him worthy of that function. Thus, tetrarchic imperial portraits (and late antique portraits in general) can be understood as the result of a powerful combination of public statements and aesthetic choices. The emperor’s new depiction as a political figure, rather than an individual, is backed through a conscious stylistic change, privileging the abstraction of single elements as carriers of meaning over the rendering of the portrait as a coherent unity. After the tetrarchic experience, the Constantinian imperial face, invented in AD 310 with Constantine’s second portrait type (fig. 6.3), conveyed an entirely different set of values. It did so by exploiting a similar combination of elements, but using a very different stylistic language; the tetrarchic expressionism was replaced by strongly classicising aesthetics. The harmonious proportions, the carefully combed hair, the absence of any sign of ageing, and the overall calm and serenity are expressions of a new imperial ideal, which is as independent from the ruler’s individual features as the strong and incisive tetrarchic portraits were. The imperial image now marks the unbridgeable distance separating the emperor from every other human being, mirroring at the same time

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Figure 6.3

Colossal portrait of Constantine. Marble. AD 315 ca., urban workshop. From the Basilica of Maxentius. Roma, Musei Capitolini, inv. no. MC 786 Photo: José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro / CC BY-SA 4.0

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the peace and serenity which the whole world enjoys thanks to its ruler. The well-being of the Empire and its citizens is no longer presented, as was the case in the tetrarchic period, as the hard-won result of the emperor’s continuous effort, but rather as a permanent state, granted to the world by divine blessing, thanks to the physical and moral perfection of its ruler. Significantly, this development seems not strictly related to the emperor’s personal religious beliefs; the essential elements of this new kind of self-representation were left untouched by Julian’s revival of the traditional religion. The last pagan emperor contented himself with adding a beard to the (by that time) well-established Constantinian portrait, leaving all the other elements of the classicising imperial face – and their ideological significance – virtually unchanged.10 6.3

Imperial Portraits from Jovian to the Valentinians

When, in AD 363, Julian’s untimely death brought the dynasty to an abrupt end, his military successors sought new ways of self-representation. The Constantinian portrait, which had shaped the emperor’s image for more than fifty years, could not easily be ignored; after all, that was the emperor’s face with which every Roman was by now acquainted. But the new rulers, first Jovian (reg. 363–364) and then the brothers Valentinian (reg. 364–375) and Valens (reg. 364–378), wanted to stress a key difference between themselves and their immediate predecessors; they had not been born as princes of the imperial family, but had made their careers in the army, serving the Empire with loyalty and self-sacrifice, as the Tetrarchs had done before them. The new 10 On Julian’s portraits see recently Guidetti 2015 and García Ruiz 2018. In Guidetti 2015, 21–23 I argued that Julian’s choice of growing a short beard soon after his proclamation as Augustus may be interpreted as a way to attach himself to the military style of selfrepresentation adopted by the emperors of the third century up to the tetrarchic period. While this is certainly true, a more specific (and much more convincing) explanation has been suggested to me by Gavin Kelly in private conversation: in assimilating himself to an imperial image which had been fashionable until two generations earlier, Julian may be advertising his dynastic legitimacy through a direct reference to his imperial forefathers – his grandfather Constantius (reg. 305–306), his great-grandfather Maximian (reg. 285–305), and the purported founder of the dynasty, Claudius Gothicus (reg. 268–270), who was believed to have been Constantius’ great-uncle. In this way, Julian could advance his own dynastic claims, completely bypassing the other branch of the family, that of his uncle Constantine and his sons: as a descendant of Constantius’ marriage with Maximian’s (adopted) daughter Theodora, Julian could claim an even better legitimacy than the Constantinian line, which descended from the low-status Helena. This argument could find further confirmation in the fact that Julian’s brother Gallus, too, is described as having had a beard by the historian Ammianus Marcellinus (Amm. Marc. 14.11.28).

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late antique aesthetics, representing the human face as the sum of single autonomous elements, served their purpose very well. Some classicising features of the Constantinian imperial face could be combined with other, more expressionist ones, taken from the tetrarchic portrait, thus producing a hybrid image conveying the positive values of both traditions. No sculptural portrait of the short-lived Jovian is known, but his coins already show a marked difference with respect to the Constantinian tradition; now the emperor starts staging himself as corpulent and fat-faced. Even in a highly idealised portrait, as is typical for gold coinage, the large neck and fleshy double chin are clearly recognisable (fig. 6.4); especially noteworthy is the fading line of the jaw, almost disappearing in a continuous fleshy surface connecting the chin to the neck. This emphasis on corpulence is by no means new. An intermittent series of fat-faced rulers can be followed as an underground trend in fourth-century imperial portraiture, beginning rather subtly with Maximian, and finding its best expression with Licinius (reg. 308–324), Constantine’s brother-in-law and last surviving rival. As Bert Smith has shown in a groundbreaking article,11 Licinius developed his public image in explicit opposition to that of Constantine. In sharp contrast to the latter’s sublimated image as the emperor chosen by God, Licinius picked such iconographic elements as the corpulence and the smile in order to stylise himself as a vigorous, down-to-earth, accessible ruler.12 The same message was then appropriated by the military usurpers of the mid-fourth century, such as Magnentius and Decentius (350–353), who also sought to appear as resolute but friendly leaders (fig. 6.5), in contrast to the beautiful, distant emperors of the Constantinian dynasty.13 We can assume that Jovian and the Valentinians, by inserting this element into their own portraits, wanted to convey a similar message; vigour and strength on the one side, accessibility and openness on the other. The resulting image was a patchwork of elements pertaining to different iconographic traditions, each with a precise political significance: the hairstyle and diadem assured the continuity with the Constantinian dynasty; the large, deep eyes and the frown lines on the forehead, borrowed directly from tetrarchic portraiture, visualised the ruler’s concern for his people and his ability of seeing what was better for the Empire; while the fat and fleshy face, similarly derived from late 11 Smith 1997. 12 Smith’s reconstruction of Licinius’ public image is mainly based on the colossal portrait head of this emperor found in the theatre of Ephesus (Wien, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Antikensammlung, inv. no. 932). See the description and images of the piece on the Museum website: (accessed: 15 April 2020). 13 On these two concurring ideals of imperial self-representation in the fourth century see especially Zanker 1988.

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Figure 6.4

Solidus of Jovian. Gold. AD 363–364, mint of Sirmium. Private collection © Classical Numismatic Group, Inc. Auction 106, Lot 841, [accessed: 15 April 2020]

Figure 6.5

Solidus of Magnentius. Gold. AD 350–353, mint of Aquileia. Washington, DC, Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, Byzantine Collection, acc. no. BZC.1948.17.668 © Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection

tetrarchic models, affirmed the concreteness of emperors who were no longer haughty and inaccessible, but down-to-earth soldiers, who had experienced the difficulties of human life and whose bodies and minds had been strengthened by the hardness of military service.

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Five surviving imperial portraits of the Valentinianic period have been identified:14 – Florence, Galleria degli Uffizi, inv. no. 273 (fig. 6.6);15 – Copenhagen, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, inv. no. 1475 (fig. 6.7);16 – Rome, Musei Capitolini, inv. no. Ant. Com. 10460 (fig. 6.8);17 – Tivoli, Villa d’Este, without inv. no. (fig. 6.9);18 – Vienne, Musée archéologique Saint-Pierre, inv. no. R 2001-5-151 (fig. 6.10).19 Although scholars have proposed several tentative groupings, it has proved impossible to classify these works into different sculptural types, as normally done with earlier imperial portraits. As Bert Smith pointed out, the shift from individual representation to a rather standardised imperial image brought about, as a consequence, the loss of importance of the traditional system of copy and replication, which constitutes the basis for the study of earlier portraiture. In Late Antiquity no exact copies were probably needed, since the ruler’s recognisability was no longer achieved through his likeness, but through the presence of specifically imperial attributes, first of all the diadem.20 A characteristic 14

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The identification of the main group, formed by the three heads in Florence, Copenhagen, and Tivoli, was first proposed by Delbrück 1933, 178–85; the portrait now in the Capitoline Museum was found in 1939 in the Forum Boarium in Rome, while the one in Vienne, originally identified by Delbrück as Magnentius, was correctly recognised as Valentinianic by Stichel 1982, 41–44. See also von Sydow 1969, 73–81; Meischner 1992. Johanning 2003, 91–97 proposes for all these portraits a date in the mid-fifth century AD, a far-fetched hypothesis rightly rejected by Kovacs 2014, 66–69. Delbrück 1933, 184; Mansuelli 1961, 129–30, cat. no. 168; L’Orange 1984, 139; Wegner 1987, 120, cat. no. 15; Johanning 2003, 156; Romualdi, Manna 2007; Kovacs 2014, 66 and 260, cat. no. A 5; LSA 582 (J. Lenaghan). The bibliographical references on each object are not meant to be exhaustive. Delbrück 1933, 178–79; Poulsen 1951, 536–37, cat. no. 771; Poulsen 1974, 194–195, cat. no. 202; Wegner 1987, 122, cat. no. 32; Sena Chiesa 1990, 34, cat. no. 1b.3g (S. Maggi); Johansen 1995, 178–79, cat. no. 78; Johanning 2003, 162–63; Kovacs 2014, 66 and 261, cat. no. A 9; LSA 578 (J. Lenaghan). Floriani Squarciapino 1946–1948; Stutzinger 1983, 441–42, cat. no. 52; Wegner 1987, 126, cat. no. 67; Fittschen, Zanker 1994, 158–59, cat. no. 126; Ensoli, La Rocca 2000, 545–46, cat. no. 195 (A. Cioffarelli); Johanning 2003, 175; Kovacs 2014, 66 and 262–63, cat. no. A 16; LSA 597 (J. Lenaghan). Delbrück 1933, 183; L’Orange 1933, 75 and 142, cat. no. 100; Wrede 1972, 92–94; von Heintze 1984; Wegner 1987, 129, cat. no. 88; Meischner 1992, 221–25; Johanning 2003, 67–68 and 178–79; Kovacs 2014, 66 and 263, cat. no. A 18; LSA 581 (J. Lenaghan). Delbrück 1933, 175–77; Stutzinger 1983, 439–40, cat. no. 50; L’Orange 1984, 140; Wegner 1987, 130, cat. no. 91; Meischner 1995, 433–35; Johanning 2003, 72 and 180; Lavagne 2003, 79–80, cat. no. 151 (D. Terrer); Demandt, Engemann 2007, cat. no. I.10.33; Kovacs 2014, 66–68 and 264, cat. no. A 21; LSA 577. Smith 1997, 178; analogous skepticism on the applicability of the traditional Kopienkritik to the Valentinianic portraits also in Kovacs 2014, 68.

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Figure 6.6 Colossal portrait of a Valentinianic emperor (Valentinian or Valens?). Marble. AD 364–378 ca., urban workshop. From Rome. Firenze, Galleria degli Uffizi, inv. no. 273 Photo: Ilya Shurygin, by kind permission

Figure 6.7 Fragmentary portrait of a Valentinianic emperor (Valentinian or Valens?). Marble. AD 364–378 ca., urban workshop. From Rome. København, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, inv. no. 1475 © Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek

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Figure 6.8 Portrait of a Valentinianic emperor (Valentinian or Valens?). Marble. AD 364–378 ca., urban workshop. From the Forum Boarium in Rome. Roma, Musei Capitolini, Palazzo Nuovo, Magazzino Sculture, inv. no. Ant. Com. 10460 © Roma – Sovrintendenza Capitolina ai Beni Culturali

Figure 6.9 Portrait of a younger Valentinianic emperor (Gratian or Valentinian II?). Marble. AD 364–378 ca., urban workshop. From Rome. Tivoli, Villa d’Este, without i.no. Photo: Antonio Pazzaglia

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Figure 6.10 Portrait of a Valentinianic emperor (Valentinian or Valens?). Marble. AD 364–378 ca., Gallic (?) workshop. From Vienne. Vienne, Musée archéologique Saint-Pierre, inv. no. R 2001-5-151 Courtesy of the Musées de Vienne, Isère, France

phenomenon, already mentioned concerning Constantine’s sons, also occurs in the case of Valentinian and Valens; it is virtually impossible to precisely identify each portrait as depicting one of the two brothers. On their coins they are completely indistinguishable from one another, and we can assume that this was also the case with their statues. This exaggerated resemblance was a significant political statement in itself, with important precedents in the history of Roman imperial portraiture; like their tetrarchic predecessors, the two ruling brothers embodied one and the same function, ostentatiously sharing one will and a total unity of intent. The same phenomenon can be observed in the portrait in Tivoli, which does not show any signs of age; the youthful face suggests that the person depicted is one of Valentinian’s sons (either Gratian or Valentinian II), without any possibility of distinguishing between the two. Concerning their iconographic features, the portraits of the Valentinianic emperors are an exemplary illustration of the ability of late antique artists to juxtapose elements taken from different traditions. The adherence to the Constantinian model is evident, for example, in the straight hair, with fringe on the forehead, as well as the idealised face, with shaven cheeks and only limited signs of age. But, in contrast with the classicising, imperturbable serenity of the Constantinian portraits, Valentinian and Valens show a stronger facial expression, conveyed especially by the extreme contraction of the eyebrows,

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concentrating all the energy on the bridge of the nose and producing a remarkable swelling at the exterior edge of the orbits. The triangular bulge at the centre of the forehead, as well as the geometrical design of the wrinkles, provide yet another link between these images and those of the third-century military emperors, in particular the last portrait type of Caracalla (fig. 6.11) (the first experiment, 150 years earlier, of the introduction of elements taken from military iconography into the genre of imperial portraiture). The lower part of the face, on the contrary, is characterised by a fleshy oval shape with almost inflated cheeks, showing no trace of movement or contraction. The exceptionally wellpreserved bust in Vienne presents a short beard around the mouth and under the chin, which is another element referring to military self-representation. We cannot exclude that in the other portraits this short beard was simply painted. From the stylistic point of view, the most striking characteristic of these sculptures is the absence of any plastic interaction between the individual facial features; each of them is positioned as an independent element on the plain surface of the face, with no immediate relation to the surrounding ones. The whole structure of the head is governed by abstract geometrical principles, which turn the emperor’s face into a sort of two-dimensional mask.21 The geographic distribution of the documented Valentinianic portraits is also interesting; with the exception of the bust from Vienne, all other surviving sculptural portraits come from Rome. This predominance of the capital, however, does not match the data provided by statue bases; the inscribed record attests that the greatest number of known statues of Valentinian and Valens were actually set up in numerous cities of the African provinces (26 items listed in the LSA database). Even so, the abundance of evidence coming from this area may have less to do with the emperors’ relationship to these provinces and more with their prosperity in this period, and the high degree of preservation of their cities. However, it is interesting to note that, while for earlier emperors such as Constantius II and Julian the African evidence is matched by the equally abundant record from Asia Minor, this seems not to be the case for Valentinian and Valens, for whom only a handful of statue bases are documented from Eastern cities. On the other hand, the fact that of the African 21

Similar features also appear in some other works probably produced in the same chronological and artistic context. Particularly striking is the comparison with a female portrait now in Como, Museo Archeologico “Paolo Giovio,” inv. no. E 2951, probably identifiable with an empress of the Valentinianic dynasty, which shows the same energetic eyes and a similar flat, mask-like treatment of the facial features: Delbrück 1933, 169–171; Stutzinger 1983, 444–45, cat. no. 54; Wegner 1987, 119, cat. no. 9; Sena Chiesa 1990, 324–325, cat. no. 5a.1c (S. Maggi); Meischner 1993; Schade 2003, 187–88, cat. no. I 27; Kovacs 2014, 68, note 47; LSA 574 (J. Lenaghan).

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Portrait of Caracalla, so-called Alleinherrschertypus. Marble. AD 212–217, urban workshop. From the Baths of Caracalla in Rome. Napoli, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, inv. no. 6033 Photo: Marie-Lan Nguyen / CC BY 2.5

dedications only the bases have survived gives an interesting indication about the materials favoured in different geographical areas. In the African provinces, the majority of statues were evidently made of bronze and were melted down in subsequent periods; the number of surviving marble portraits from Rome, on the contrary, points to a larger diffusion of marble statues in the capital, probably due to the fact that the senatorial aristocracy were more readily able to afford this more expensive material than provincial governors or local elites.

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The Theodosian Turn

After the peculiar combination of elements pertaining to different traditions (from tetrarchic expressionism to the classicising Constantinian aesthetics) deployed by the Valentinianic portraits, Theodosius (reg. 379–395) and his coemperors went decidedly back to the Constantinian model, exploiting in full its idealisation potential. Theodosian imperial images look not only idealised and beautiful, but also completely absent and motionless. The emperors are set above the level of humanity, and, accordingly, their faces take on some distinctive marks that had been hitherto typical of the genre of ideal sculpture. This process can already be detected in coin portraits (fig. 6.12); with respect to the Valentinianic, but also Constantinian, precedents, the proportions of the head appear slenderer, and the relation between neck, jaw, and chin is more clearly articulated. The overall expression looks much more delicate, with more refined facial features. The treatment of the hair is also noteworthy. As opposed to the simple straight hair which characterised the Constantinian and Valentinianic emperors, some Theodosian coin portraits feature a peculiarly classicising hairstyle with graphically rendered locks, organised in alternate rows of curls turning into opposite directions. But it is in the sculptural portraits that the peculiarities of the Theodosian imperial face can be more directly appreciated. Theodosian portraiture goes even further than previously attempted in the direction of a complete absence of individualisation. This tendency is particularly clear in collective depictions; in the famous missorium in Madrid, for example, produced on the occasion of Theodosius’ decennalia celebrated in AD 388 (fig. 6.13),22 all three members 22 Madrid, Real Academia de la Historia, inv. no. 176. Delbrück 1929, 235–242, cat. no. 62; Delbrück 1933, 200; Sena Chiesa 1990, 44–45, cat. no. 1c.3d (C. Compostella); Kiilerich 1993, 19–26 and 68–70; Meischner 1996; Raeck 1998; Almagro Gorbea et al. 2000; Johanning 2003, 27–28 and 165; Vorster 2008. The date of AD 388 is granted by the inscription “D(ominus) N(oster) Theodosius perpet(uus) Aug(ustus) ob diem felicissimum X.” The attempt by Blázquez Martínez 2000, surprisingly accepted by several scholars (for example Kovacs 2014, 91), to date the missorium to AD 393 is in my opinion unnecessary. The search for a later date was prompted by the wrong assumption that Theodosius could not be depicted in such a pre-eminent position within the imperial college at a time when he was not yet the senior Augustus. In fact, Theodosius, although occupying the central position on the plate (quite understandably, I would say, given the fact that it is his anniversary which is being celebrated), is clearly not depicted as the senior Augustus. The latter, on the contrary, is identifiable without doubt with the young emperor on the left: he, and not the central figure, is the only member if the imperial college bearing the symbol of supreme sovereignty, i.e. the long sceptre; the dating provided by the inscription allows to identify him, correctly, as Valentinian II. One can cite for comparison the images of the Tetrarchs in the reliefs of the Arch of Galerius in Thessalonica and in the frescoes of the sanctuary

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Figure 6.12

Solidus of Theodosius. Gold. AD 388, mint of Constantinople. Private collection © Andreas Pangerl, [accessed: 15 April 2020]

Figure 6.13

Missorium celebrating the decennalia of Theodosius. Silver. AD 388, Eastern workshop (Thessalonica?). From Almendralejo (Baetica). Madrid, Real Academia de la Historia, inv. no. 176 © Real Academia de la Historia, España

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of the imperial college (Valentinian II, Theodosius, and Arcadius) are represented. They are only distinguishable thanks to their attributes and age groups. Theodosius in the centre is represented as a young man (even if he was already over 40 at the time), the 16-year-old Valentinian II is depicted on the left with the insignia of the senior Augustus, while Arcadius, on the right, shows a large, plump face with childish proportions. No distinctively individual features can be detected in their heads; the artist simply acknowledged the three emperors’ different age groups (although one could argue that the young Valentinian is purposefully depicted a bit smaller than he should be for his age, in order to give more pre-eminence to Theodosius). The expressionist elements which animated the Valentinianic portraits have now disappeared: the faces are absolutely regular, with harmonious proportions; the forehead has no wrinkles and is reduced to a narrow stripe between the two perfect arches of the fringe and the eyebrows; the almond-shaped eyes are big and staring, but their fixed gaze entails no contraction of the facial muscles. The same tendency can be noted in the imperial depictions on the base of the obelisk erected around AD 390 in the circus of Constantinople (fig. 6.14).23 Here, the age differentiation between the members of the imperial college is conveyed simply through their dimensions and the different shapes of their heads, ranging from Theodosius’ slender, elongated face to the round and childish proportions of the six-yearold Honorius. Up to now, nine surviving imperial portraits dating to the early Theodosian period (ca. AD 380–400) have been identified:24 – Berlin, Staatliche Museen, Antikensammlung, inv. no. Sk 1772 (fig. 6.15);25 – Berlin, Staatliche Museen, Antikensammlung, inv. no. Sk 1779 (fig. 6.16), fragmentary;26

of the imperial cult in Egyptian Thebes: in both cases all four emperors are virtually identical in their appearance, but only one of them, identifiable as Diocletian, holds the long sceptre (cf. Guidetti 2018, 14–18). 23 Delbrück 1933, 185–92; Kollwitz 1941, 115–21; Stichel 1982, 45–46; Kiilerich 1993, 31–49 and 71–76; Johanning 2003, 29–31 and 160; Kovacs 2014, 91–92. 24 von Sydow 1969, 81–88; Stichel 1982, 45–57; Kovacs 2014, 91–96. 25 Blümel 1933, 51, cat. no. R 122; Delbrück 1933, 204–06; L’Orange 1933, 75 and 140, cat. 96; von Sydow 1969, 82–83; Stichel 1982, 53–54; Stutzinger 1983, 447–49, cat. no. 57; Wegner 1987, 118, cat. no. 5; Kiilerich 1993, 89–91; Meischner 1995, 441–46; Johanning 2003, 71 and 152; Meischberger 2006, 45, cat. no. 10 (A. Becke); Kovacs 2014, 93 and 259, cat. no. A 3; LSA 589 (J. Lenaghan). 26 Blümel 1933, 52, cat. no. R 123; Delbrück 1933, 208–09; L’Orange 1933, 75 and 141, cat. 97; von Sydow 1969, 84; Stichel 1982, 55; Wegner 1987, 118, cat. no. 6; Kiilerich 1993, 91; Johanning 2003, 71 and 152; Kovacs 2014, 93 and 259–60, cat. no. A 4; LSA 594 (J. Lenaghan).

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Detail from the relief on the base of the obelisk in the Circus of Constantinople (Western side). Proconnesian marble. AD 390 ca., Constantinopolitan workshop. İstanbul, At Meydanı Photo: Domenico Nardone, [accessed: 15 April 2020]

Figure 6.15 Portrait of an early Theodosian emperor. Marble. AD 380–400 ca., Constantinopolitan (?) workshop. From Rome. Berlin, Staatliche Museen, Antikensammlung, inv. no. 1772 © Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz. Photo: J. Laurentius

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Figure 6.16

Fragmentary portrait of an early Theodosian emperor. Marble. AD 380–400 ca., Constantinopolitan (?) workshop. From Rome. Berlin, Staatliche Museen, Antikensammlung, inv. no. 1779 © Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz. Photo: G. Geng

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– Detroit, Detroit Institute of Arts, inv. no. 37.157, identifiable as Arcadius;27 – Geyre, Aphrodisias Müzesi, inv. no. 72–203, identified as Theodosius (fig. 6.17);28 – Geyre, Aphrodisias Müzesi, inv. no. 88–27, fragmentary, identifiable as Valentinian II;29 – Istanbul, Arkeoloji Müzesi, inv. no. 2264 (fig. 6.18), identifiable as Arcadius;30 – Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, inv. no. L-51-1;31 – Rome, Musei Capitolini, inv. no. MC 494 (fig. 6.19), identifiable as Honorius;32 – Rome, Museo Nazionale Romano, inv. no. 55052, fragmentary.33 The most conspicuous feature of these portraits is the absence not only of any signs of age, but also of that internal movement or tension between the single elements of the face which was an essential characteristic of imperial portraiture in the preceding period. While in the Valentinianic portraits, a 27

28 29 30

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Delbrück 1951; Vermeule 1964, 104–05; LSA 333 (J. Lenaghan). See the description and images of the head (hitherto identified, in my opinion incorrectly, as a portrait of Honorius) on the website of the Detroit Institute of Arts: (accessed: 15 April 2020). Meischner 1995, 439–40; La Rocca 2000, 27–28; Smith 1999, 161–63; Smith 2001; Johanning 2003, 70–71 and 148; Gehn 2012, 393–98, cat. no. O 22; Kovacs 2014, 92 and 259, cat. no. A 1; LSA 196 (J. Lenaghan). Smith 1999, 162–64; Smith 2007, 218 and 228–29, cat. nos. A 38 and A 42; LSA 165 and 168 (J. Lenaghan). Delbrück 1933, 195–98; L’Orange 1933, 73–75 and 140, cat. no. 94; Kollwitz 1941, 81–83, 94– 96, 115; İnan, Rosenbaum 1966, 89–90, cat. no. 66; Stichel 1982, 45; Wegner 1987, 120–21, cat. no. 21; Fıratlı 1990, 6–7, cat. no. 4; Kiilerich 1993, 27–30 and 70–71; Smith 1999, 162–64; Johanning 2003, 28–29 and 158; Smith 2007, 219 and 228, cat. no. A 37; Gehn 2012, 398–403, cat. no. O 23; Kovacs 2014, 92–93 and 260, cat. no. A 7; LSA 163 (R.R.R. Smith). Calza 1972, 301–03, cat. no. 210; Stichel 1982, 47–48; L’Orange 1984, 134; Wegner 1987, 126, cat. no. 61; Kiilerich 1993, 89; Meischner 1995, 441–46; Johanning 2003, 69–70 and 170; Bald Romano 2006, 228–30, cat. no. 112; Kovacs 2014, 93–94 and 262, cat. no. A 14; LSA 754 (J. Lenaghan). L’Orange 1984, 134–35; Wegner 1987, 127, cat. no. 70; Fittschen, Zanker 1994, 159–61, cat. no. 127; Ensoli, La Rocca 2000, 548, cat. no. 200 (A. Cioffarelli); Johanning 2003, 78–79 and 172; Kovacs 2014, 93–94 and 263, cat. no. A 17; LSA 598 (J. Lenaghan). Delbrück 1933, 182–83; Stichel 1982, 41; Wegner 1987, 127–28, cat. no. 75; Giuliano 1979–95, vol. I.9.II (1988), 416–20, cat. no. R319 (A.L. Cesarano, E. Formigli); Fittschen, Zanker 1994, 159; Ensoli, La Rocca 2000, 461, cat. no. 62 (A. Cioffarelli); Johanning 2003, 26 and 172; Kovacs 2014, 66; LSA 580 (J. Lenaghan). The fragments were traditionally identified as pertaining to a portrait of Valentinian or Valens because of their provenance from the area of Ponte Sisto, which was restored in AD 365–367 and provided with statues of these two emperors; however, Paul Zanker (in Fittschen, Zanker 1994, 159) first recognised that, from the stylistic point of view, the fragments show more similarities with Theodosian rather than Valentinianic portraits.

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Figure 6.17

Portrait of Theodosius, reworked probably from a portrait of Gallienus. Marble. AD 380–400 ca., Aphrodisian workshop. From the Tetrastoon in Aphrodisias. Geyre, Aphrodisias Müzesi, inv. no. 72-203 © New York University Excavations at Aphrodisias / Photo: G. Petruccioli

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Statue of an early Theodosian emperor (Arcadius?). Marble. AD 390 ca., Aphrodisian workshop. From the so-called ‘Place of Palms’ in Aphrodisias. İstanbul, Arkeoloji Müzesi, inv. no. 2264 Photo: Egisto Sani / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

contrast could be observed between the classicising traits inherited from the Constantinian dynasty and the vigorous facial features coming from the tradition of military self-representation, in the early Theodosian period the extreme idealisation takes over all the elements of the portrait, giving an impression of overall stylistic harmony. This idealisation is particularly clear in the upper part of the face. The forehead is geometrically rendered in the form of a smooth semi-cylindrical surface; the regular arch of the eyebrows, the continuity between the forehead and the nose, as well as the big, almond-shaped eyes can be linked to the tradition of ideal sculpture and its classical and Hellenistic

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Figure 6.19 Colossal portrait of an early Theodosian emperor, probably Honorius. Marble. AD 390 ca., urban workshop. From Rome. Roma, Musei Capitolini, inv. no. MC 494 Photo: Marie-Lan Nguyen / Public domain

models. As is usual in ancient idealising portraits, the signs of movement and vitality are concentrated in the lower part of the face, characterised by a fleshier and delicately carved surface. Even more than the Valentinianic ones, the surviving Theodosian imperial portraits include some outstanding pieces, for example those in Berlin and Istanbul. The superb quality of their workmanship, showing the mastery of Hellenistic tradition and the command of considerable technical skills (especially in the polishing of the surfaces), should be enough to counter those opinions which, in the past, interpreted the choice of idealisation and the lack of individual traits as the consequence of a decline in naturalistic standards and technical vocabulary. As was the case for the Valentinians, it is also impossible to identify precise sculptural types in the Theodosian portraits. This is a consequence of different factors, deriving from changes in the process of sculptural production as well as conscious iconographic choices. As I have already pointed out, since the late Constantinian period, some important changes had taken place in the modes of portrait production, which led to the abandonment of the traditional copy system. In addition, the frequent reworking of already existing heads34 34 On the typically late antique phenomenon of the reworking of earlier portraits, and its consequences on the traditional methods of stylistic analysis, see Kovacs 2014, 25–29, with further bibliographical references.

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particularly affected the hairstyles, which archaeologists have established as the most important marker for the traditional definition of sculptural types. But, most of all, the portraits themselves display a conscious and intentional lack of individualisation. None of these early Theodosian sculptural portraits would be recognisable as depicting a specific emperor in the absence of external evidence (antiquarian, archaeological, epigraphic). For example, the colossal head of a child in the Capitoline Museum is identifiable as a portrait of Honorius only on iconographic and antiquarian grounds. Since it lacks the diadem, it can be interpreted as a portrait of Theodosius’ younger son before his co-optation into the imperial college, which took place in 393 when he was eight years old.35 Conversely, the small diademed head of an even younger child, now in the Detroit Institute of Arts, can be identified as a portrait of his brother Arcadius, who had been bestowed the title of Augustus at the age of six. The childish, round and fleshy face is to be interpreted not as an individual feature, but simply as the marker of a specific age group, just as in Arcadius’ portrait on the right side of the Madrid missorium. We have more information when portraits are found in modern scientific excavations, especially when the bodies of the statues and/or their inscribed bases are preserved. This is the case for the three early Theodosian portraits found in Aphrodisias. The reworked head now in the Geyre museum, found in the so-called Tetrastoon, the colonnaded square in front of the theatre, belonged to a reused togate statue bearing a dedicatory inscription to Theodosius (fig. 6.20).36 The statue body, originally produced in the early imperial period (probably in the second century AD), had actually already been reused twice: around AD 361–363 it was rededicated to the emperor Julian by the provincial governor of Caria at that time, Antonius Tatianus; only a few years later, the same governor rededicated the same statue to Valens. Significantly, when its identity was changed again 25 years later, in the inscription only the name of the portrayed emperor was modified, while Antonius Tatianus still appeared as the dedicator. This means that the patron who ordered this last rededication was less interested in adding his own name than in preserving the memory of his predecessor. This is, in my opinion, a strong argument for the identification of the last dedicator as Flavius Eutolmius Tatianus, Antonius’ son, who was praefectus praetorio per Orientem under Theodosius, between AD 388 and 392.37 35 36

On Honorius’ status before his proclamation as Augustus see Kelly 2016, 345–57. On the reused statue body, possibly portraying an emperor from the outset, see Smith 2001; Smith 2006, 113–14, cat. no. 5; Gehn 2012, 389–98, cat. no. O 22; LSA 196–197 (J. Lenaghan). 37 On the Aphrodisian dedications of the two Tatiani see Roueché 2004, 20–21 (Antonius Tatianus) and 25–27 (Fl. Eutolmius Tatianus).

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Figure 6.20 Reconstruction drawing of the monument in honour of the emperor Theodosius in the Tetrastoon of Aphrodisias. AD 390 ca. Drawing by K. Görkay, from Smith 1999, fig. 2, by kind permission

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During his prefecture, the younger Tatianus also dedicated statues of Valentinian II, Theodosius, Arcadius, and Honorius in the western portico of the so-called ‘Place of Palms’ in Aphrodisias, next to the entrance to the baths.38 Two of these statues, probably those depicting Valentinian II and Arcadius, are preserved. Again in this case, the only information which may lead to a tentative identification comes from the excavation records, attesting that the headless torso was found near the base inscribed with a dedication to Valentinian II, while the better-preserved statue and the base with the dedication to Arcadius were found considerably farther away (fig. 6.21).39 Such identifications based merely on the find-spots would not necessarily be compelling in themselves, but in my opinion they can be confirmed by the iconography of the two statues. These wear a contemporary ceremonial toga, a senatorial garment which the majority of late antique emperors (who were not of senatorial rank) wore only on rare occasions, and especially when acting as consuls. During the five years of Tatianus’ praetorian prefecture, Valentinian II was consul in AD 390 and Arcadius in AD 392, but both had already been consuls before these dates. Now, the two statues differ in only one detail; one of them raises the right arm above the head, while the other has both arms relaxed. The raised right arm corresponds to a specific iconographic scheme, especially connected with consular duties; it refers to the act of throwing down the mappa to start the circus races. Thus, it is possible that the statue with the raised arm depicted the acting consul, performing his function as a magistrate. The other emperor, on the contrary, wears the consular dress because he has been a consul in the past, but is not acting in that capacity at the moment of the dedication. By identifying the acting consul with Valentinian II (based on the find-spots of the two statues and their bases), we can date the dedication to AD 390. This conclusion is further strengthened by the fact that Tatianus himself was appointed consul in AD 391, and it is quite difficult to believe that he would have failed to mention such an honour in the dedicatory inscription, if this was, indeed, carved at a later date. Let us now go back to the portrait of Theodosius mentioned earlier. The two Tatiani, father and son, were members of a pagan family. This, in my opinion, can explain not only Antonius’ dedication of a statue to Julian, but also his son’s choice of rededicating to Theodosius the same monument that his father had previously set up for the last pagan emperor. As frequently happens with late antique statuary, one cannot address the phenomenon of reuse without 38 Smith 2007, 218 and 228, cat. nos. A 37–38; Gehn 2012, 398–406, cat. nos. O 23–24; LSA 163–168 (R.R.R. Smith, J. Lenaghan). 39 See the find-plan in Smith 2007, fig. 42.

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Reconstruction drawings of the monuments in honour of the emperors Valentinian II and Arcadius in the ‘Place of Palms’ of Aphrodisias. AD 390 ca. Drawings by K. Görkay, from Smith 1999, figs. 3–4, by kind permission

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taking into consideration the availability of financial and material resources. As praetorian prefect, second in authority only to the emperors, the younger Tatianus was much more powerful than his father had ever been, and had access to much larger financial means. This explains why he was able to commission four entirely new marble statues for his dedication in the Place of Palms, whereas his father had to be content with reusing a convenient statue body which probably had been lying around for a while. But this is not enough, in my opinion, to obliterate the dedicators’ agency and the degree of intentionality displayed by their reuses. After all, in a place like Aphrodisias there must have been several old statues which could potentially be reused for a new dedication; choosing among them was an intentional act, connected with the message which the patron envisaged for his new monument. Moreover, the decision by the younger Tatianus to rededicate his father’s already twice-reused monument, instead of just commissioning one more new statue (like the ones he set up in the Place of Palms), must be regarded as a deliberate choice, connected not only to the desire to preserve Antonius’ memory, but also to the particular messages associated with that specific statue. In fact, statue bodies were powerful carriers of meaning. While the new statues set up in the Place of Palms wore the contemporary ceremonial toga, in the Tetrastoon rededication the emperor was shown wearing his garment draped in a way typical of the early imperial period. As Hans Peter L’Orange first recognised, once the so-called contabulatio fashion of draping the toga was developed in the first half of the third century, the old form of toga did not disappear, but remained in use as a liturgical garment worn by priests when performing rituals of the Roman civic religion.40 If, as Bert Smith has argued, the original statue was from the beginning an imperial depiction, it would have been quite natural to choose it for rededication in Late Antiquity. However, it seems to me not implausible that high functionaries of senatorial rank, such as the two Tatiani, had a good knowledge of the meaning of garments and insignia in Roman rituals.41 If this were the case, then the statue body chosen for the monument set up by Antonius Tatianus in honour of Julian may be interpreted as a way to celebrate this emperor in his capacity as pontifex maximus, the high priest of the traditional Roman religion, a dedication that 40 L’Orange 1938, 10 (on the depiction of a tetrarchic emperor wearing a toga draped in the early imperial fashion in the sacrificial scene of the so-called ‘Decennalia base’ in the Forum Romanum); figures wearing the same garment are found in some late antique sarcophagi from Rome: Guidetti 2017, 419–32. 41 A completely different question, and much more difficult to answer, is how far the viewers of these statues – that is, the citizens of Aphrodisias – would have recognised the meaning of specific garments or insignia.

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Julian is very likely to have appreciated. And, again, if this were the case, the rededication of such a monument to Theodosius by Tatianus’ son can be seen as a powerful statement in the negotiation of imperial behaviour. More than a generic petition of benevolence towards the pagans of the area, the dedication of a statue of the emperor in priestly dress may be interpreted as expressing the expectation, by a member of the pagan elite, that Theodosius, despite his personal Christian affiliation, would fulfil his pontifical duties towards the traditional religion through a policy of laissez-faire, as all Christian emperors before him had done. Subsequent events show that this negotiation failed. The chronological coincidence of Tatianus’ disgrace and condemnation with the prohibition of pagan cult practices by Theodosius has already been stressed by scholars, and I think that the Aphrodisias monument can add some new elements to the complex picture of that key moment of Roman history. The head of Theodosius’ statue from the Tetrastoon shows some of the stylistic markers already mentioned: the regular face with harmonious proportions, the absence of any signs of age, and the almond-shaped eyes. However, if we compare it with the contemporary head of (probably) Arcadius from the Place of Palms, some differences are evident: the volume of Theodosius’ hair is much smaller, and the eyebrows are geometrically abstracted not as an arch but as a horizontal line. This is because the portrait from the Tetrastoon, unlike those from the Place of Palms, was reworked from an already existing head. As Martin Kovacs has recognised, its structure clearly depends on that of a thirdcentury head, close to the first portrait type of Gallienus.42 As was customary in reuse practice, the older head was carefully chosen because it was already built according to formal and stereometric principles similar to those of the planned new sculpture, so that the reworking could be made simpler, and have a better aesthetic result. 6.5 Conclusion As noted at the beginning, eclecticism was an essential element of Roman aesthetics from at least the late Republican period. Within this eclecticism, each stylistic trend returned to fashion many times in the history of imperial portraiture, bringing with it associations with earlier periods of Roman history chosen as models for contemporary political and artistic practices. The early Theodosian portraits aim at presenting the emperor as a super-human being, detached from earthly concerns, acting as an intermediary between God and 42 Kovacs 2014, 92.

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the human world. The idealised classicising style provided efficient means to express these concepts. In its opposition to the strong, expressionist portraits of the Valentinians, Theodosius’ self-representation certainly looks back to the already classicising Constantinian face, but late fourth-century artists chose to express this new kind of imperial super-humanity by recurring to a wider range of stylistic models. This is a consequence, among other factors, of the choice of Constantinople as the main imperial residence. This meant that the official imperial portraits were now created by sculptors working in that city and educated in the local style. Theodosian portraiture presents some features, such as the slender proportions, the theatrical gaze, and the softness of facial structure, almost disappearing under the carefully polished surface, which were distinctive stylistic marks of Asian sculptors, heirs of a tradition which looked back to Hellenistic pathos and theatricality as well as to the Classical Attic models. This sort of neo-Hellenistic fashion had previously enjoyed an empire-wide success under Gallienus in the mid-third century. Constantine himself had resorted to similar aesthetics (including a probable imitation of Gallienus’ first portrait type) at the beginning of his reign, when he sought to distance himself from the tradition of tetrarchic imperial images.43 However, Constantinian portraits still show a very concrete quality, conveyed through a plastically developed structure, which is no longer observable in the early Theodosian images. These are characterised by a greater degree of abstraction; the individual features are reduced to graphic elements attached to plain geometrical surfaces, while the elongated proportions and the highly refined polishing fully justify the name of ‘subtle style’ (subtiler Stil) by which this tendency has been known since the studies of Hans Peter L’Orange.44 Theodosius’ classicising choice was at the same time contemporary, since it conveyed current ideas about the emperor and his political role, and retrospective, in that it entailed a continuous interplay of stylistic and ideological references to the past. Two different, but interrelated, phenomena provide the immediate frame of reference of Theodosian classicism. On the one hand, the importance of Classical and especially Hellenistic models, and the links with the tradition of ideal sculpture, can be interpreted as the consequence of the pre-eminence of Asian artists, particularly important for the development of a distinctive Constantinopolitan visual culture in the mid- and late fourth century. It is also significant, with respect to earlier periods, that almost half of the extant Theodosian portraits come precisely from this geographical area. On the other hand, the Theodosian style should also be interpreted in light of its relation to the previous classicistic waves in Roman portraiture, and the 43 Guidetti 2013, 185–86. 44 L’Orange 1961.

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political messages attached to them. By choosing to be depicted in this particular way, Theodosius aims at presenting himself as a true heir to Constantine, through Constantine to Gallienus, and ultimately through them to Augustus, the founder of the Empire. Comparable historical associations also characterise the opposite stylistic tendency. The expressionist portrait of the strong, concrete, down-to-earth ruler goes from Caracalla, through the military emperors of the third century and the Tetrarchs, to those fourth-century rulers (like Licinius and Magnentius) who set themselves in opposition to Constantine and his dynasty, down to the Valentinians, and beyond. The choice of the stylistic language used for imperial portraits thus depends on each ruler’s options of legitimisation, and conveys the immediate expression of a specific political message. In an artistic context in which individualisation is apparently seen as much less interesting than it used to be in earlier periods, an essential part of each emperor’s agenda is now emphatically stated in his portrait by ideally linking the new ruler to a given set of predecessors who are advertised as models. Of course, stylistic choices and the adoption of specific models had always been used, along with the rulers’ individual features, as powerful carriers of meaning in the genre of imperial portraiture. In the late antique period, however, the importance of style and models seems to increase, to the point that individual traits may be completely obliterated from imperial self-representation; the desired message is now conveyed by means of the subtle articulation, combination, and variation of a set of standardised preexisting formulae. This peculiar ability of expressing new messages through a retrospective gaze can be recognised as one of the most distinctive characteristics of the Romans’ relation to their own visual culture; it entails the ability to convey new ideas and answer new needs by re-using and re-combining traditional stylistic ingredients. The application of this technique to the genre of imperial portraiture, in particular, allows, as late as the second half of the fourth century, the perpetuation of the fundamental ambiguity about the role of the Roman emperor, who was simultaneously a ‘normal’ citizen chosen as supreme leader and a super-human being appointed with divine sanction; an ambiguity which will last long into the Christian Empire until the end of antiquity. Note This research was financed with the support of the European Union Frame­work Programme for Research and Innovation “Horizon 2020” (H2020-MSCA-IF-2017/ Grant Agreement no. 792387) and the 2018–2022 “Department of Excellence” project I tempi delle strutture. Resilienze, accelerazioni e percezioni del cambiamento (nello spazio euro-mediterraneo) – Linea di ricerca Mondo Antico of the Department of Civilisations and Forms of Knowledge, University of Pisa.

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Abbreviations LSA = The ‘Last Statues of Antiquity (LSA)’ Database, (accessed: 15 April 2020).

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Ensoli, S., La Rocca, E. (eds.). 2000. Aurea Roma: dalla città pagana alla città cristiana. Roma. Fıratlı, N. 1990. La sculpture byzantine figurée au Musée archéologique d’Istanbul. Paris (Bibliothèque de l’Institut français d’études anatoliennes d’Istanbul, 30). Fittschen, K., Zanker, P. 19942 (19851). Katalog der Porträts in den Capitolischen Museen und den anderen kommunalen Sammlungen der Stadt Rom, Band I: Kaiser- und Prinzenbildnisse. Mainz am Rhein (Beiträge zur Erschließung hellenistischer und kaiserzeitlicher Skulptur und Architektur, 3). Floriani Squarciapino, M. 1946–1948. ‘Un nuovo ritratto di Valente’, BCAR 22: 95–101. Friedland, E.A., Grunow Sobocinski, M., Gazda, E.K. (eds.). 2015. The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture. Oxford. García Ruiz, M.P. ‘Julian’s Self-Representation in Coins and Texts’, in D.W.P. Burgersdijk and A.J. Ross (eds.), Imagining Emperors in the Later Roman Empire. Leiden-Boston. 204–233. Gehn, U. 2012. Ehrenstatuen in der Spätantike. Chlamydati und Togati. Wiesbaden (Spätantike – Frühes Christentum – Byzanz. Reihe B: Studien und Perspektiven, 34). Giuliano, A. (ed.). 1979–95. Museo Nazionale Romano, I: Le Sculture. Roma. Guidetti, F. 2013. ‘Iconografia di Costantino. L’invenzione di una nuova immagine imperiale’, in A. Melloni, P. Brown, J. Helmrath, E. Prinzivalli, S. Ronchey, and N. Tanner (eds.), Costantino I. Enciclopedia costantiniana sulla figura e l’immagine dell’imperatore del cosiddetto Editto di Milano, 313–2013. Roma. Vol. 2, 185–200. Online publication (accessed: 15 April 2020). Guidetti, F. 2015. ‘I ritratti dell’imperatore Giuliano’, in A. Marcone (ed.), L’imperatore Giuliano, Realtà storica e rappresentazione. Firenze (Studi sul mondo antico, 3). 12–49. Guidetti, F. 2017. ‘La riscoperta della concorrenza: immagini di rituali e cerimonie nei sarcofagi urbani tardoantichi’, SCO 63: 407–445. Guidetti, F. 2018. ‘Gerarchie visibili: la rappresentazione dell’ordine cosmico e sociale nell’arte e nel cerimoniale tardoromani’, in C.O. Tommasi, L.G. Soares Santoprete, and H. Seng (eds.), Hierarchie und Ritual. Zur philosophischen Spiritualität in der Spätantike. Heidelberg (Bibliotheca Chaldaica, 7). 9–42. von Heintze, H. 1984. ‘Der spätantike Kaiserkopf in Tivoli, Villa d’Este’, MDAI(R) 91: 399–415. İnan, J., Rosenbaum, E. 1966. Roman and Early Byzantine Portrait Sculpture in Asia Minor. London. Johanning, G. 2003. Stilgeschichte des spätantiken Porträts. Hamburg (Antiquitates: Archäologische Forschungsergebnisse, 24).

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Johansen, F. 1995. Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek Catalogue. Roman Portraits, III. Copenhagen. Kelly, G. 2016. ‘Claudian’s last panegyric and imperial visits to Rome’, CQ 66: 336–357. Kiilerich, B. 1993. Late fourth-century classicism in the plastic arts. Studies in the socalled Theodosian renaissance. Odense (Odense University Classical Studies, 18). Kollwitz, J. 1941. Oströmische Plastik der theodosianischen Zeit. Berlin (Studien zur spätantiken Kunstgeschichte, 12). Kovacs, M. 2014. Kaiser, Senatoren und Gelehrte. Untersuchungen zum spätantiken männlichen Privatporträt. Wiesbaden (Spätantike – Frühes Christentum – Byzanz. Reihe B: Studien und Perspektiven, 40). L’Orange, H.P. 1933. Studien zur Geschichte des spätantiken Porträts. Oslo. L’Orange, H.P. 1938. ‘Ein tetrarchisches Ehrendenkmal auf dem Forum Romanum’, MDAI(R) 53: 1–34 [= id. 1973. Likeness and Icon. Selected Studies in Classical and Early Medieval Art. Odense. 131–157]. L’Orange, H.P. 1961. ‘Der subtile Stil. Eine Kunstströmung aus der Zeit um 400 nach Christus’, AK 4: 68–75. L’Orange, H.P. 1984. Das spätantike Herrscherbild von Diokletian bis zu den Konstantin-Söhnen, 284–361 n. Chr. Berlin (Das römische Herrscherbild, III.4). La Rocca, E. 2000. Divina ispirazione, in S. Ensoli, E. La Rocca (eds.), Aurea Roma: dalla città pagana alla città cristiana. Roma. 1–37. Lavagne, H. (ed.). 2003. Nouvel Espérandieu. Recueil général des sculptures sur pierre de la Gaule, tome I: Vienne (Isère). Paris. Mansuelli, G.A. 1961. Galleria degli Uffizi: le sculture. Parte II. Roma. Meischberger, M. (ed.). 2006. Konstantin in Berlin. Milano. Meischner, J. 1992. ‘Das Porträt der valentinianischen Epoche’, JDAI 107: 217–234. Meischner, J. 1993. ‘Familie Valentinian gratuliert’, MDAI(I) 43: 463–466. Meischner, J. 1995. ‘Studien zur spätantiken Kaiserikonographie’. JDAI 110: 431–446. Meischner, J. 1996. ‘Das Missorium des Theodosius in Madrid’. JDAI 111: 389–432. Poulsen, F. 1951. Catalogue of ancient sculpture in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek. Copenhagen. Poulsen, V. 1974. Les portrait romains. Volume II: de Vespasien à la basse-antiquité. Copenhague (Publications de la Glyptothèque Ny Carlsberg, 8). Raeck, W. 1998. ‘Doctissimus Imperator – Ein Aspekt des Herrscherideals in der spätantiken Kunst. Mit einem Anhang zur Datierung des Theodosiusmissoriums’. AA: 509–522. Raeck, W. 2005. ‘Raum und Falten. Realismus als Option der spätantiken Kunst’, in M. Büchsel, P. Schmidt (eds.), Realität und Projektion. Wirklichkeitsnahe Darstellung in Antike und Mittelalter, Akten des Kolloquiums (Frankfurt am Main, Kunstgeschichtliches Institut der Johann Wolfgang Goethe-Universität im Liebighaus, 8.–10. November 2002). Berlin (Neue Frankfurter Forschungen zur Kunst, 1). 87–102.

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Romualdi, A., Manna, D. 2007. Ritratto di Valentiniano I (364–375 d.C.) o di Valente (364– 378 d.C.), cosiddetto Costantino, in A. Romualdi (ed.), Studi e restauri. I marmi antichi della Galleria degli Uffizi. Volume II. Firenze. 214–221. Roueché, C. 2004. Aphrodisias in Late Antiquity: The Late Roman and Byzantine Inscriptions, revised second edition. Online publication (accessed: 15 April 2020). Schade, K. 2003. Frauen in der Spätantike – Status und Repräsentation. Mainz. Sena Chiesa, G. (ed.). 1990. Milano capitale dell’impero romano (286–402 d.C.). Milano. Smith, R.R.R. 1985. ‘Roman portraits. Honours, empresses, and late emperors’, JRS 75: 209–221. Smith, R.R.R. 1987. ‘The imperial reliefs from the Sebasteion at Aphrodisias’, JRS 77: 88–138. Smith, R.R.R. 1996. ‘Typology and diversity in the portraits of Augustus’, JRA 9: 30–47. Smith, R.R.R. 1997. ‘The public image of Licinius I: portrait sculpture and imperial ideology in the early fourth century’, JRS 87: 170–202. Smith, R.R.R. 1999. ‘Late Antique Portraits in a Public Context: Honorific Statuary at Aphrodisias in Caria, A.D. 300–600’, JRS 89: 155–189. Smith, R.R.R. 2000. ‘Nero and the Sun-god: divine accessories and political symbols in Roman imperial images’, JRA 13: 532–542. Smith, R.R.R. 2001. ‘A portrait monument for Julian and Theodosius at Aphrodisias’, in C. Reusser (ed.), Griechenland in der Kaiserzeit: Neue Funde und Forschungen zu Skulptur, Architektur und Topographie. Bern (HASB. Beiheft, 4). 123–136. Smith, R.R.R. 2006. Roman Portrait Statuary from Aphrodisias. Mainz am Rhein (Aphrodisias, 2). Smith, R.R.R. 2007. ‘Statue Life in the Hadrianic Baths at Aphrodisias, AD 100–600: Local Context and Historical Meaning’, in F.A. Bauer, C. Witschel (eds.), Statuen in der Spätantike. Wiesbaden (Spätantike – Frühes Christentum – Byzanz. Reihe B: Studien und Perspektiven, 23). 203–235. Stichel, R.H.W. 1982. Die römische Kaiserstatue am Ende der Antike. Untersuchungen zum plastischen Kaiserporträt seit Valentinian I. (364–375 n. Chr.). Roma (Archaeologica, 24). Stutzinger, D. (ed.). 1983. Spätantike und frühes Christentum. Ausstellung im Liebieghaus, Museum alter Plastik, Frankfurt am Main. 16. Dezember 1983 bis 11. März 1984. Frankfurt am Main. Sydow, W. von, 1969. Zur Kunstgeschichte des spätantiken Porträts im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr. Bonn (Antiquitas. Reihe III, 8). Vermeule, C.C., 1964. ‘Greek and Roman Portraits in North American Collections Open to the Public: A Survey of Important Monumental Likenesses in Marble and Bronze Which Have Not Been Published Extensively’, PAPhS 108: 99–134.

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Vorster, C. 2008. ‘Theodosius-Missorium’, in S. Schröder (ed.), Entre dioses y hombres. Esculturas clásicas del Albertinum de Dresde y el Museo del Prado, exhibition catalogue. Madrid. 342–347. Wegner, M. 1987. ‘Verzeichnis verläßlicher oder vermeintlicher Herrscherbilder von Valentinianus I. bis Herakleios’, Boreas 10: 117–132. Wrede, H. 1972. Die spätantike Hermengalerie von Welschbillig: Untersuchung zur Kunsttradition im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr. und zur allgemeinen Bedeutung des antiken Hermenmals. Berlin. Zanker, P. 1973. Studien zu den Augustus-Porträts. Göttingen (Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen. Philologisch-historische Klasse, 85). Zanker, P. 1979. ‘Prinzipat und Herrscherbild’, Gymnasium 86: 353–368. Zanker, P. 1983. Provinzielle Kaiserporträts. Zur Rezeption der Selbstdarstellung des Princeps. München (Abhandlungen der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-Historische Klasse, n.F., 90). Zanker, P. 1987. Augustus und die Macht der Bilder. München. Zanker, P. 1988. ‘Herrscherbild und Beamtenporträt’, in N. Bonacasa and G. Rizza (eds.), Ritratto ufficiale e ritratto privato. Atti della II Conferenza Internazionale sul Ritratto Romano (Roma, 26–30 settembre 1984). Roma (Quaderni de “La Ricerca Scientifica”, 116). 105–109.

Chapter 7

The Letter from Magnus Maximus to Valentinian II (CA 39): Two Imperial Images in Conflict María Victoria Escribano 7.1 Introduction* Maximus’ Letter to Valentinian II, preserved in the Collectio Avellana, is an important document because of its author, its content, and the circumstances in which it was produced. It was written by a usurper who had become Augustus and was condemned as a tyrannus after his fall,1 and it shows one emperor attacking another, albeit within the formalities of epistolary exchange between Augusti. It is highly likely that this was the first missive that Magnus Maximus directed personally to his colleague in Milan, three years after rising to power, and criticises the legitimate emperor on religious grounds. It is both a diplomatic and a polemical document, in which the Augustus of Trier, through criticism of the religious policy of Valentinian II, offers his personal vision of how a good princeps should fulfil his religious function. He wrote it after the conclusion of the so-called ‘basilica crisis’ in Milan2 in April 386 and before the outbreak of civil war (387). Among the ancients, the significance of the imperial letter was recognised by Rufinus of Aquileia and Theodoret of Cyrus, who offer a legitimistic interpretation of the letter. They read it as a prologue to the invasion of Italy that occurred a year later, in 387. Rufinus was writing in 402/403 and had first-hand knowledge of the ‘basilica crisis’ in Milan,3 and access to the letter after his * This study was carried out within the framework of research project HAR2016-77003 – P of the Ministry of Economy, Industry and Competitiveness. 1 This is how he is officially designated in the rescissio of his acta. Cod. Theod. 15. 14.7 (388): Maximus infandissimus tyrannorum. According to Procopius, the annual celebration commemorating the victory by Theodosius I over the tyrant, instituted in 389, was still being celebrated in the sixth century: Procop. Hist. 3.4.16. See Humphries, 2014, 160–161. Claudian refers to Magnus Maximus alongside Eugenius and Gildo, opening the recent series of tyrants. Claud. Gild. 468–9: tertia iam solito ceruix mucrone rotetur tandem funereis finem positura tyrannis. 2 Williams 2017, 214–286. 3 Palanque 1933, 407–9; Duval 1997, 133–36.

© María Victoria Escribano, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004446922_009

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arrival in Rome in 397.4 Maximus’ intention was to distance himself from the disgrace of tyranny and present himself as the legitimate emperor. In Rufinus’ view of events, the machinations and sieges of Justina, Maximus’ epistolary protest and Rome’s conquest were interrelated.5 In 449/450, Theodoret, who does not rely on Rufinus in this matter,6 focused on the exhortatory and intimidating dimensions of the epistula, noting that Maximus had written to Valentinian to exhort him to end his attacks on piety and not abandon his paternal religion, threatening him with war if he did not yield.7 According to Theodoret, the threats were acted on immediately. Through the historian from Cyrus we also know that Theodosius became aware of Maximus’ epistula and wrote to Valentinian in 387, after the latter fled Milan in the face of Maximus’ advance on Italy. In his stern letter, the Augustus of Constantinople traced a link between Maximus’ defence of orthodoxy and his power over Valentinian II. At the same time, he saw the weakness of Valentinian II in the face of his ‘usurper’ as a sign and consequence of his philo-Arianism.8 The collector, or collectors, of the Avellana, compiled in Rome in the middle of the sixth century,9 likewise regarded the tyrant’s letter as a remarkable document.10 However, the letter has received limited and secondary attention from scholars.11 The most recent contributions by McLynn and Humphries, specifically dedicated to analysis of the text, are in the process of being published.12

4 McLynn 2018, forthcoming. 5 Rufin. Hist, eccl. II.16. Cum haec in longum diuersis machinis et obpugnationibus Iustina molitur, Maximus, qui se exuere tyranni infamia et legitimum principem gestiret ostendere, datis litteris impium protestatur inceptum, fidem dei impugnari et statuta catholicae ecclesiae subrui … 6 Rauschen 1897, 561. 7 Thdt. Hist. eccl. 5.14.1. 8 Theodoret is alone in referring to this letter written from Constantinople. Socrates and Sozomen ignore it. Only Zonaras gave a brief summary later (13.18.4). 9 Blair-Dixon 2007, 22–59; Lizzi 2014, 77–102. 10 This is how it appears in the superscriptio of the document CA 39 (Epistola Maximi tyranni ad Valentinianum Aug. iuniorem contra Arrianos et Manichaeos) which anticipates the contents of CA 40, Maximus’ letter to Pope Siricius, in which he refers to the condemnation of the Manichaeans. Documents 39 and 40 in the edition by Otto Günther, Epistulae imperatorum pontificium aliorum inde ab a. CCCLXVII ad a. DLIII datae Avellanae quae dicitur collectio, I. Prolegomena. Epistulae I–CIV, II. Epistulae CV–CCXXXXIIII. Appendices. Indices (CSEL 35; Prague/Vienna/Leipzig: Tempsky-Freytag, 1895–1898), I, 88–90. 11 Birley 1983; 32; McLynn 1994, 208; Barnes 2000, 296–298. 12 I thank Professor McLynn for letting me read his text before publication.

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This paper seeks to analyse the two conflicting imperial images drawn by Magnus Maximus by examining his words and their relationship to the exceptional circumstances in which the letter was written, when the height of the the ‘basilica crisis’ in Milan (385–386) seemed to have passed, and a year before Maximus’ invasion of Italy (387). The text revolves around the religious function of the emperor and his intrusion into ecclesiastical matters, but also forms part of a series of initiatives in relation to the young-emperor undertaken by the court in Trier. In this respect, it is an example of diplomatic relations between Augusti, with the distinctive feature that the principles of collegiality and non-interference feature within the text of the letter alongside the characterisation of his peer as a persecutor. The paper will begin by examining the letter’s diplomatic precedents. It will then analyse the religious context, and in the third section the contents of the epistula, directly influenced by this context, in particular, the contrast between the figure of the orthodox emperor and the defender of the divine law, and that of the protector of heretics, presented as a persecuting tyrant. It becomes clear that Maximus aimed to discredit Valentinian in his letter, to gain support in Milan, and reinforce his authority before Theodosius. The point of interest is how the roles of legitimate emperor and ‘tyrant’ are reversed in a diplomatic text. 7.2

Rivalry and Diplomacy: The Image of Maximus in Ambrose’s Letter 30 (Maur. 24)

In mid-386, the scandal of tyranny as contended by Rufinus did not weigh upon Maximus in political terms. He had been accepted as a peer in the empire by Theodosius, and by Valentinian himself in 384; and in 386, Maximus’ recognition as Augustus was unconditional.13 Nevertheless, his image in the public mind in Italy was far from one of acceptance, as reflected in a contemporary document which evinces the lack of harmony between Trier and Milan in autumn and winter 384/385: Ambrose’s epistula 30 (Maur. 24), in which the bishop recounts his second legatio to Trier as Valentinian’s representative. The doubts surrounding its authenticity14 seem to have been resolved.15 Disregarding the bishop’s efforts to highlight his own diplomatic activity, when in reality he himself offers evidence that the negotiations between Trier and 13 Vera 1975, 267–301; Errington 2006, 32–34. 14 Dörner 2001, 217–244; Liebeschuetz 2005, 350–351. 15 McLynn 2018, forthcoming.

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Milan happened at the margins of his intervention in both the first and second embassies,16 the letter covers the points of conflict between the two imperial courts before the basilica crisis in Milan. Some scholars17 date Ambrose’s second embassy to 386 and regard it as a reaction to Maximus’ epistula to Valentinian. This chronological perspective was refuted by Duval18 using arguments shared and reinforced in this paper. In his preface to the letter, Ambrose alludes to the court’s lack of interest in knowing the result of his first embassy and reveals that the expositio of the second mission was his own initiative.19 The theory that Ambrose had been sent by the court in Milan to Trier after receiving Maximus’ letter to deny in person any religious persecution in Milan does not seem compatible with the imperial indifference that Ambrose alleges. Furthermore, as we shall see, the matters discussed in Ambrose’s epistula 30 bear no relation whatsoever to the questions posed by Maximus to Valentinian. On the contrary, Ambrose, in epistula 76 (Maur. 20) to Marcellina, written after Holy Week in 386, refers to events recounted in epistula 30,20 so it cannot post-date it. Questions of a different order also arise. The penultimate paragraph of the letter implies that Ambrose believed he would not get out of Trier alive. How could the bishop whose persecution in Milan had motivated Maximus’ letter to Valentinian fear for his life in Trier?21 Ambrose attributes the preservation of Valentinian’s regnum to Almighty God before the Augustus of Trier;22 is this affirmation by Ambrose in 386 compatible with the contents of his epistula to Valentinian

16 17 18 19 20

Ambr. Ep. 30 (Maur. 24), 1; 7; Proulx 2010, 75–97. Matthews 1975, 180, n.6; McLynn 1994, 217; Williams 1995, 224–232, among others. Duval 2002, 239–251. Ambr. Ep. 30 (Maur. 24). 1. Ambr. Ep. 76 (Maur. 20). 23: … caueret tamen, ne ipse sibi tyrannum faceret, cui Deus aduersarium non excitauit. non hoc Maximum dicere, quod tyrannus ego sim Valentiniani, qui se meae legationis obiectu queritur ad Italiam non potuisse transire; Cf. Ambr. Ep. 30 (Maur. 24). 4: … quoniam me lusistis!… quod si ego (Maximus) tunc temporis, quando uenisti, non essem retentus, quis mihi obstitisset et uirtuti meae? 21 Ambr. Ep. 30 (Maur. 24). 12: – (…) Postea cum uideret me abstinere ab episcopis, qui communicabant ei … commotus eis iussit me sine mora regredi. Ego uero libenter, etsi me plerique insidias euasurum non crederent, ingressus sum iter hoc solo dolore percitus, quod Hyginum eoiscopum senem exilium duci conperi, cui nihil iam nisi extremus superesset spiritus. Cum de eo couenirem comites eius, ni sine ueste, sine plumacio paterentur extrudi senem, extrusus ipse sum. Ambrosio emphasises that he was expelled twice. See Duval, 2002, 250. n. 121. 22 Ambr. Ep. 30. (Maur. 24). 3: “Quia tunc inferiori pacem petebam, nunc ut aequali.” – “Cuius” inquit “beneficio?” – Respondi: “Omnipotentis dei, qui Valentiniano regnum, quod dederat, reseruauit.”

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and with his Sermo contra Auxentium, texts which were written in the same year? I propose not only that the chronological order of the letters should be reversed, and Ambrose’s second embassy and epistula 30 dated to the autumn and winter of 384/385, after the debate on the ara Victoriae and before Holy Week in 385,23 but also that Maximus’ letter should be read in the light of the contents of Ambrose’s epistula 30 to Valentinian. Ambrose concludes the expositio on the second legatio in Gaul by advising Valentinian II to remain vigilant when faced with a man who hid war under a veneer of peace.24 Zosimus attributes similar intentions to Theodosius when he indicates that although he accepted that Maximus was emperor, he was preparing in secret to wage war against him.25 However, Maximus’ words, reproduced by the bishop, cannot be read as an ultimatum. Simulatio was a standard device in the characterisation of a bad emperor. By using it, the bishop aimed to disguise the results of an uneven performance in his first embassy, which had prompted Maximus to make formal complaints (criminationes) against Ambrose to the court of Milan. The letter is our main source for the diplomatic exchanges between Trier and Milan from 383 to 385, but also provides a summary of the image of Maximus that was circulating in Milan and which the Augustus of Trier saw first hand during the course of his interview with the bishop. After violently disposing of Gratian in 383, Maximus had opted for a diplomatic approach in his contacts with the Milanese court. Crossing the Alps was a difficult enterprise, as the disgraceful episode with Domninus in 387 reveals,26 and Theodosius was inclined to protect Valentinian, which obliged Maximus to develop parallel contacts with Constantinople.27

23 Ambrose’s stay in Trier should be situated between the end of the first part of the iudicia against Priscillian and his followers, when Ithacius was the accuser (Ambr. Ep. 68 [Maur. 26]. 3: Sed uehementior facta est, posteaquam episcopi reos criminum grauissimorum in publicis iudiciis accusare, alii et urgere usque ad gladium supremamque mortem, alii accusationes huiusmodi et cruentos sacerdotum triumphos prouare coeperunt), and his departure before the spring of 385 and the beginning of the basilicas crisis in Milan. Estimated dates for this embassy have ranged from 384 to 387. See the list of dates suggested in Duval, 2002, 239–251, especially 240–241, n. 13. 24 Ambr. Ep. 30 (Maur. 24). 13: Haec est expositio legationis meae. Vale, imperator, et esto tutior aduersus hominem pacis inuolucro bellum tegentem. 25 Zos. 4. 37. 3. 26 Zos. 4.42. 2–7. 27 Zos. 4.37.1. Them. Or. 18, 220c–221a; Errington 2006, 32; McEvoy 2013, 86–92.

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The usurper’s peace proposal to the Milanese court was accompanied by a request to relocate Valentinian II and his mother Justina to Trier.28 Under the pretext of guardianship of the young western emperor, Maximus hoped by diplomatic means to subordinate Gratian’s territories to the usurper and to control the Milanese court. Winning the support of the Roman senate and the financial resources which came with control over Italy and Rome would be the next step.29 Both parties wished to avoid war in autumn of 383, and the first ambassadors, the comes Victor and Bishop Ambrose, crossed paths on their journeys.30 However, the negotiations separately undertaken in Milan and Trier may have addressed different subjects. Surprised by Maximus’ demands and with no time to consult with Milan, Ambrose promised the arrival of the heir and his mother at the right time,31 while Victor returned from Milan with a refusal to listen to Maximus’ petition. The ambassador was the image of the emperor who sent him to negotiate. The court of Milan, probably more confident in its position because of Theodosius’ support, prepared to send a new delegation which would formally ratify the message send by the comes Victor to Maximus. Milan did not wait for Ambrose’s arrival, since the bishop said he had met the new legati on his return journey.32 The exchange of embassies was not without moments of tension. Ambrose was held in Trier while Victor returned and Maximus’ brother, Marcellinus, then in Milan, could only return with Valentinian’s authorisation.33 Maximus felt misled and obstructed in his military approach by Ambrose’s false promises, and sent a written protest to Milan with criminationes against the bishop, who explicitly recognises that that was the reason for his second embassy to Trier.34 Ambrose carried a rescriptum in which the Milanese court 28 Ambr. Ep. 30. 7. Qui ubi primum ueni, cum diceres quod Valentinianus ad te quasi filius ad patrem uenire … The reference to this father-son relationship, bearing in mind that Maximus was orthodox and Valentinian Arian, could give rise to symbolic associations and have ironic connotations. 29 For the administrative structures of the empire see Slootjes’ paper in this volume. 30 Ambr. Ep. 30 (Maur. 24). 6. 31 Although he denies it to Valentinian in his report of the second embassy and recognises that an ambassador cannot make a promise unless it has been authorised Ambr. Ep. 30 (Maur. 24). 7: De pace nobis legationem commissam, non de aduentu eius promissionem. Spondere nos id non potuisse certum est, quod mandatum non erat. 32 Ambr. Ep. 30 (Maur. 24). 7. 33 Ambr. Ep. 30 (Maur. 24). 7; 9. Ambrose’s letter has been very exploited in the discussions of the chronology of events in 383. For a brief statement, see Calderini, 1951, 111–116; McLynn, 1994, 162–163; Duval, 2002, 241–242; Nauroy, 2013, 2–18; Williams, 2017, 215–216. 34 Ambr. Ep. 30 (Maur. 24) 5: Propterea et ego ueni, quia prima legatione, dum mihi credis, per me deceptum te esse adserebas. Gloriosum mihi et hoc pro salute pupilli imperatoris …

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responded to Maximus’ letter, disowned Ambrose’s promises, and probably, following Theodosius’ example, implicitly recognised Maximus as an equal.35 Maximus’ lack of ceremony when he received Ambrose in the consistorium again was wholly justified. When Ambrose looked back in retrospect in 392, in his De obitu Valentiniani, and recognised that in his second embassy to Trier he had sought peace, as well as to reclaim Gratian’s remains,36 he was admitting that his diplomatic dealings had been at the point of endangering that very peace. Alongside the narrative of a complex diplomatic game, Ambrose’s epistula 30 (Maur. 24) conveys a shameful image of Maximus derived from his comparison with Valentinian and Theodosius: he is represented as a wrathful tyrant who did not respect diplomatic protocol (2); an enemy of the Romans for attempting to lead barbarians against Italy,37 while Valentinian kept them away from the Gauls (8); cruel for having ordered the murder of Gratian and refusing to hand over his reliquae, in contrast to the pious Valentinian who had returned his brother to him (9–10); and vengeful for punishing Gratian’s followers after his death while Theodosius received them and showered them with gifts and honours (11).38 The strongest attack on Maximus’ image, however, comes at the end of the letter. Ambrose’s refusal to take communion with the bishops who sought the deaths of the Priscillianists in Trier,39 and his ensuing expulsion, which coincided with the exile of the bishop Hyginus, was tantamount to questioning Maximus’ orthodoxy and portraying him as a persecutor of bishops (12). Attributing simulatio to Maximus was the logical culmination of Ambrose’s epistula to Valentinian (13). There is no evidence that Maximus could read Ambrose’s report to Valentinian, which undermined his image not only in Milan, but also in Rome. Obiectionem non timerem, non uererer criminationes tuas. Quibus promisis lusi te, ut paci adquiesceres? 35 Ambr. Ep. 30 (Maur. 24).2. Chron. Gall. a. 384: Maximus, timens Orientalis imperii principem Theodosium cum Valentiniano foedus initiit. Zos. 4. 37. 2–3 describes the embassy from Maximus to Theodosius and its effect. The praetorian prefect of the East, Cynegius, on a visit to Egypt, publicly showed official portraits of Maximus in Alexandria; Vera 1975, 267–301; Errington 2006, 32. 36 De ob. Val. 28: Ego te suscepi paruulum cum legatus ad hostem pergerem; ego maternis traditum manibus amplexus sum; ego tuus iterum legatus repetiui Gallias et mihi dulce officium fuit pro salute tua primo, deinde pro pace et pietate qua fraternas reliquias postulabas, nondum pro te securus et iam pro fraternae sepulturae honore sollicitus. 37 On the presence of barbarians in Maximus’ troops, see Rance 2001, 243–270. 38 Ambrose had recommended Valentinian seek Theodosius’ advice about the dispute concerning the Altar of Victory: Ambr. Ep. 72 (Maur. 17).12. 39 Escribano 2018, 69–70.

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The tone of the dialogue with the bishop and its discourteous conclusion were, however, eloquent indications of the version that Ambrose would give later. To this should be added, at Maximus’s expense, that the audience had taken place in the consistorium of Trier. 7.3

The Religious Background: Valentinian II and the Persecution in Milan (385–386)

Maximus’ letter CA 39 was composed in this diplomatic and epistolary context, after the confrontation between the bishop and the court of Milan in 385–386 about the use of the city’s basilicas. As we know, in 385 Ambrose had opposed the wish of the court of Justina and Valentinian II to use a basilica, most likely the Portiana, extra muros,40 to celebrate the liturgy of Holy Week in the presence of the emperor,41 but without Ambrose as celebrant. Although the Portiana was not under the bishop’s jurisdiction, due to its location,42 accepting the imperial initiative43 would have entailed the marginalisation of the bishop in his own city. This would have made imperial misgivings about Ambrose’s doctrinal positions visible to the populus, attracted by the procession and attendance of the imperial family at the celebration of Easter, which would have weakened the bishop’s authority as guide of the whole Milanese Christian community.44 On receiving the letter of invitation to the court to discuss the matter, Ambrose had called upon the people to defend not only religious unity but also his authority, and had managed to mobilise the Nicaeans, who accompanied him to the palace, prepared to force their way in and occupy the Portiana in response.45 When the troops sent by a comes militaris could not prevent the Milanese Nicaeans from committing what could be classified as an act close to sedition, it was necessary to appeal to the bishop to avoid disorder spreading. In exchange for his peace-making, the court was obliged to renounce its own use of the basilica. Nonetheless, the emperor could not appear subordinate to the bishop. A little later, the chancellery of Valentinian II promulgated a law to avoid the recurrence of such a situation, and to restrict Ambrose’s sphere of action to his 40 41 42 43

Ambr. Ep. 76 (Maur. 20). 1. This practice started to spread at the end of the fourth century; McLynn 2004, 234–270. Lenox-Conyngham 1982, 353–363; Maier 1994: 87, n.61; McLynn 1994, 174–175. The initiative was cautious and did not defy the decision by Gratian and Theodosius to prevent Arians worshipping inside the cities: Cod. Theod. 16.5. 6. 381; 8.381; 11. 383; 13.384. 44 Lizzi 2009, 43–49. 45 Ambr. Ep. 75a (Maur. 21a).29.

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congregation. In essence, the law of 23 January 386 (Cod. Theod. 16.1.4) authorised meetings of whoever confessed the faith endorsed in Rimini in 359 and in Constantinople in 360, and ruled seditious and subject to capital punishment anyone who attempted to cause a disturbance, believing that they were the only ones who had the right to hold assemblies.46 Within the framework of this law, in late January or early February, the Milanese court attempted to neutralise Ambrose’s influence. The bishop was summoned to engage in a debate with the Arian Mercurinus Auxentius in the consistorium, in the presence of the emperor as arbitrator. Afraid that a contentious debate de fide would become a trial whose outcome would be unpredictable and which could bring about his removal from Milan and the installation of a replacement, Ambrose avoided direct confrontation with his rival, disobeyed the imperial mandatum to present himself in court, opting instead to communicate his decision to Valentinian II by letter.47 In the missive, Ambrose demonstrated his greater confidence in the people as judge and invited Auxentius to debate their differences in church and before the faithful.48 To punish his refusal, the emperor responded by ordering him to leave the city.49 Soldiers tried to expel him by force when they surrounded the basilica, while the bishop appealed directly to the faithful in a homily weeks before Easter 386.50 These are the events that Ambrose recalls in his Sermo contra Auxentium, while he endured his first siege, as part of the palace conspiracy devised to damage him.51 In his oratio, he alludes to two accusations the court made against him. The first is related to the question of the church’s gold:52 the bishop was

46 Cod. Theod. 16.1.4: Imppp. Valentinianus, Theodosius et Arcadius AAA. ad Eusignium praefectum praetorio. (…) Conueniendi etiam quibus iussimus patescat arbitrium, scituris his, qui sibi tantum existimant colligendi copiam contributam, quod, si turbulentum quippiam contra nostrae tranquillitatis praeceptum faciendum esse temptauerint, ut seditionis auctores pacisque turbatae ecclesiae, etiam maiestatis capite ac sanguine sint supplicia luituri, manente nihilo minus eos supplicio, qui contra hanc dispositionem nostram obreptiue aut clanculo supplicare temptauerint. Dat. X kal. feb. Mediolano Honorio nob. p. et Evodio conss. (386 ian. 23). Ambrose recalls it in Ep. 75 (Maur. 21). 11; 12; 14; Ep. 75a (Maur. 21a). 2; 16; 25: hanc ergo legem quisquam sequatur qua firmatur Ariminense concilium? See Palanque 1933, 146–147; Nauroy 1988, 13–16; Barnes 2000, 288. 47 Ambr. Ep. 75 (Maur. 21). 1–2; 4. 48 Ambr. Ep. 75 (Maur. 21), 6; 17. Ep. 75a (Maur. 21a), 3; 26–29. 49 Ambr. Ep. 75a (Maur. 21a). 1; 15. Cf. Ep. 75 (Maur. 21). 18. 50 Nauroy 1988, 18; 21–28; 2009, 236–242. 51 McLynn 1994, 198; Williams 2017, 226–239. 52 Lizzi 2009, 52–55; 2012, 396–397.

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supposed to have bought the will of the Nicaeans with gold.53 The second was that he had subjugated the will of the Milanese Nicaean people, stirring up fanaticism with his provocative hymns (carmina), said to have the power of magical formulae.54 The accusations which had spread and which Ambrose incorporated into his homily were that he controlled the will of the Nicaean people with his hymns, directed their opinion towards orthodox Christology and drove them to seditious and violent attitudes, taking advantage of his spiritual leadership.55 Coercing the will of the Milanese people with gold and hymns was not a minor matter, bearing in mind the abovementioned law of January 386, and correlates with a third accusation levelled against the bishop, the accusation that he is a tyrannus. Ambrose’s letter to Marcellina (Ep. 76. [Maur. 20]) narrates the events of Holy Week in 386, when Valentinian II claimed the basilica noua instead of the Portiana,56 which led to the second siege of Ambrose57 in the basilica uetus.58 In that letter, Ambrose alludes to the allegation made by the notarius sent by the court to negotiate, who accused him of maiestas for having disobeyed imperial orders. The bishop was also suspected of arrogating despotic power for having incited the populus59 to revolt.60 The letter, like all 53 Ambr. Ep. 75a (Maur. 21a). 33: Aurum quaerunt, possum dicere: “Argentum at aurum non quaero,” sed inuidiam faciunt quia aurum erogatur: Nec ego hanc inuidiam perhorresco: Habeo aerarios, aerarii mei pauperes Christi sunt, hunc novi congregare thesaurum. Utinam hoc mihi semper crimen ascribant, quia aurum pauperibus erogatur! Nec ego hanc inuidiam perhorresco. 54 Ambr. Ep. 75a (Maur. 21a). 34. Hymnorum quoque meorum carminibus deceptum populum ferunt. Plane nec hoc abnuo. Grande carmen istud est, quo nihil potentius. Quid enim potentius quam confessio Trinitatis, quae quotidie totius populi ore celebratur? Certatim omnes student fidem fateri, Patrem et Filium et Spiritum sanctum norunt versibus praedicare. Facti sunt igitur omnes magistri, qui vix poterant esse discipuli. Carmen can refer both to a verbal enchantment or to a poem or verse. 55 Lanéry 2008, 228–234. 56 Ambr. Ep. 76 (Maur. 20).1–2. 57 Ambr. Ep. 76 (Maur. 20). 11. 58 Nauroy 1988, 152. 59 The populus had managed to abduct an Arian clergyman with the intention of lynching him: Ambr. Ep. 76 (Maur. 20). 4. 60 Ambr. Ep. 76 (Maur. 20). 22. Haec ego dicebam miratus imperatoris animum studio militum, obsecratione comitum, precatu populi posse mitescere. interea nuntiatur mihi missum notarium, qui mandata deferret. concessi paulum; mandatum intimat. “quid tibi uisum est,” inquit, “ut contra placitum faceres?” respondi: “quod placitum sit, ignoro, quidue temere factum dicatur, incertum habeo.” ait: “cur presbyteros ad basilicam destinasti? si tyrannus es, scire volo: ut sciam, quemadmodum me aduersus te praeparem … 23. non hoc Maximum dicere, quod tyrannus ego sim Valentiniani, qui se meae legationis obiectu queritur ad Italiam non potuisse transire. addidi, quia numquam sacerdotes tyranni fuerunt, sed tyrannos saepe

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Ambrose’s documents on the basilica crises, should be read through the lens of the bishop’s strategy of confrontation with the court. Leaving aside the rhetoric of resistance, the accusation of tyrannus should nevertheless be accepted as plausible and consistent with the events described. The death threat issued by Calligonus, the praepositus sacri cubiculi, against Ambrose once the emperor had ordered the soldiers to abandon the basilica61 may be seen as an indication that the court perceived the efficacy of the bishop’s methods of persuasion to be an impediment to the necessary performance of Valentinian’s ceremonial function.62 As in the previous phases of the crisis, the main bone of contention between the representatives of the court and the bishop, all of whom had turned the liturgy into a space of confrontation, was the power Ambrose exercised over the populus.63 The suspicion that the popular will was being manipulated with gold and ‘magical’ hymns was part of a strategy used by the court that Ambrose himself described as persecution.64 7.4

The Defender of the lex catholica and the Persecutor: Imperial Images in Conflict

The image of the persecutor-emperor had been established since Lactantius.65 Nero, Decius, Galerius, and Valens himself in the recent past had set abominable precedents in this regard. Maximus did not waste the opportunity that presented itself and used the events in Milan to address Valentinian II personally by letter. Moreover, the political situation favoured the aspirations of the Augustus of Trier. When Maximus wrote his letter to Valentinian II after Holy Week of 386, he was able to present himself as a defender of orthodoxy against the heresy in the West, in his strict enforcement of laws against the Manichaeans and the crime of maleficium, and in alliance with the Nicaean episcopate. Evodius, Maximus’ praetorian prefect, whom he appointed consul

61

62 63 64 65

sunt passi … 27. Haec gesta sunt atque utinam iam finita! sed grauiores motus futuros plena commotionis imperialia uerba indicant. ego tyrannus appellor, et plus etiam quam tyrannus … See Williams 2017, 250–258. Ambr. Ep. 76 (Maur. 20). 28. Denique etiam speciali expressione Calligonus, praepositus cubiculi, mandare mihi ausus est: “me uiuo tu contemnis Valentinianum? caput tibi tollo.” respondi: “Deus permittat tibi, ut impleas, quod minaris; ego enim patiar quod episcopi, tu facies quod spadones … Maier 1994, 86; McEvoy 2013, 124–127. Williams 2013, 129. Ambr. Ep. 76 (Maur. 20). 7: Feruebat persecutio … Ep. 77 (Maur. 22), 10–11. Paul, Med. V. Ambr. 15.1 and Aug. Conf. 9. 7.16 blame Justina for the persecution. Flower 2013, 78–126.

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in 386, was accepted in the East as the legitimate consular equal of Theodosius’ infant son Honorius.66 The prefect had acted as a judge and found the Priscillianists on trial in Trier guilty.67 Bearing in mind Theodosius’ role in the fight against heresy, Maximus’ actions in defence of orthodoxy in the trials against the Priscillianists in Trier and his full recognition by the court of Constantinople may have been interrelated.68 As Honoré suggested,69 the author of the letter was probably Maximus himself70 and, although the recipient was Valentinian II, it was written for a specifically Milanese audience. It may also have had a wider distribution afterwards, including in Rome and Constantinople. The content of the text unfolds around two lines of argument which shape two imperial images. On one hand, Maximus seeks credibility for his repeated assertion that he was not acting as an inimicus, but as a pious adviser who aimed to persuade the young emperor to correct his religious policy.71 He thus situated himself in a position of superiority72 and averted any suspicion of aggression. On the other hand, however, through a selective and tendentious presentation of events, he made Valentinian appear as though he were a persecutor of the Nicaeans, a protector of Arians, isolated and impious compared to his father, a tyrant from a Christian perspective.73 Although Maximus was the ‘usurper’, the tyrant in 66 Cod. Theod. 2. 33. 2 (386); 3.4.1 (386); 8.5.48 (386); 9.44.1 (386); 12.6.21 (386); Baldus, 1984, 175–192. 67 Sulp. Sev. Chron. 2.50.3: is (Evodius) Priscillianum gemino iudicio auditum conuictumque maleficii … nocentem pronuntiuvit redegitque in custodiam, donec ad principem referret. gesta ad palatium delata censuitque imperator, Priscillianum sociosque eius capite damnari oportere. Cf. Sulp. Sev. St.Mart. 20.4: uir quo nihil umquam iustius fuit. 68 Cf. Barnes, 2000, 298: “It is hard not to connect Theodosius’ recognition of Maximus with Valentinian’s political support of the “Arians” in Milan and his conflict with Ambrose.” 69 Honoré 1988, 187–188. 70 This was a personal letter that expresses personal feelings (CA 39,3: Erubesco, si quam crediderit serenitas tua astruere vellem rationem et dei agere causam); meanwhile in 383 Maximus had addressed messages to the Milanese court (Ambr. Ep. 30 (Maur. 24), 5; 7); Duval 2002, 240–242. 71 CA 39.1: … idcirco perennitatem tuam credidimus commonendam; 7: Videris, in quam partem hanc sedulitatem nostram interpreteris; nullo certe maiore genere curam meam circa clementiam tuam probare te posse, quam si te horter, ut desinas: puto enim recognoscas, quod nemo hoc suaderet inimicus. Haec amabiliter a nobis dicta esse opto ut intellegas, spero quod credas. 72 CA 39.1: Sed quoniam serenitati nostrae et in deum religio maior quam uiolari et ab inimicisimo quoque optabile nobis arbitremur, et circa serenissimam iuuentutem tuam tam arta nostri cura, tam sedula est, ut recte facta magis nos sua quam errata delectent: idcirco perennitatem tuam credidimus commonendam, ut introspecta ratione numinis summi et maiestatis ipsius considerata potentia, quid agere debeas, sollicita mente perpendas. 73 Barnes 1996, 55–65.

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the letter is Gratian’s legitimate successor. The religious delegitimisation of Valentinian entailed his political delegitimisation. Maximus deliberately omits any reference to previous diplomatic contacts that comprise the real context of hostility in which he was writing. Nor in his first direct contact with Valentinian does he try to legitimise his ascent in providential terms. This was a prominent theme in his letter to Pope Siricius,74 written at practically the same time,75 where he discusses his relationship with the divinity in a public document. In his communication with Valentinian II he avoided delicate questions, such as his role in Gratian’s death,76 and his refusal to return his remains, matters which could alienate him from the Nicaean community in Milan. He addresses the narrative of the religious question directly in the preface and establishes an antithesis between Maximus and Valentinian and between their respective territories. It was the catholicae legis turbatio atque conuulsio in the imperial pars under Valentinian’s control that prompted Maximus to write, which amounted to claiming that in his pars Imperii the lex catholica was safe. The religious battle-lines were drawn up on these terms.77 Maximus carefully selects the events that illustrate the impious actions of Valentinian II, which we know in detail from the Ambrosian documents that have been studied (Ep. 75 [Maur. 21]; Ep. 75a [Maur. 21a|] and Ep. 76 [Maur. 20]), although he attributes his knowledge of events to rumour (dicuntur, audio enim). He begins by attributing the violence against the Catholic churches to the pro-Arian law of January 386 (Cod. Theod. 16. 1.4), to which he alludes summarily (nouis clementiae tuae edictis). The violent acts that made it possible to criminalise the young Valentinian, depicting him as a frenzied, impious and avaricious emperor, were the siege of the priests in the basilicas, the imposition of a fine, and the introduction of capital punishment.78 The consequence was the subversion of the lex sanctissima in the name of an unknown law. The letter makes no mention of Ambrose, who had been the sacerdos under siege and threatened with death by the praepositus sacri cubiculi, Calligonus. Nor does it identify the recipient of the fine, the corpus mercatorum, which was a 74 CA 40.1. Cf. Sulp. Sev. Vit. Mart. 20. 2–3. 75 Escribano, 2019, 74. 76 Zos. 4.35.3–6; Rufin. Hist. Eccl. XI.14; Hier. Ep. 60.15; Soc. Hist. Eccl. V.11; Soz. Hist. Eccl. VII.13.8–9; Cameron 2007, 346. 77 Cf. Sulp. Seu. Chron 2. 49.2: quin etiam Ithacius ab his quasi perturbator ecclesiarum reus postulatus, iussusque per atrocem exsecutionem deduci trepidus profugit ad Gallias: Cod. Theod. 16.1.4: … ut seditionis auctores pacisque turbatae ecclesiae … 78 CA 39.3: audio enim … nobis clementiae tuae edictis ecclesiis catholicis uim illatam fuisse, obsideri in basilicas sacerdotes, multam esse propositam, poenam capitis adiectam et legem sanctissimam sub nomine nescio cuius legis euerti.

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victim of an extremely steep financial penalty to be paid within three days.79 The Milanese audience knew these details and no effort was made to repeat the bishop’s speech, but instead to appear as the defender of the Nicaean community in order to discredit Valentinian’s religious function by emphasising the seriousness of these events: hoc quam graue sit, poteris intueri, si dei magnitudinem volueris cogitare.80 Although there were many forces interested in supporting Valentinian II in response to Maximus’ interventions,81 including Theodosius,82 Maximus reversed the roles to bring the Milanese emperor’s isolation into focus, translating his theological solitude to the political sphere. According to the letter’s author, Valentinian II lacked religious allies in the West, which was the territory disputed between Milan and Trier. He omitted any reference to the situation in the East or to Theodosius, who is not mentioned in the epistula. Nicaean unity was dominant in both Italy and Africa, territories controlled by Valentinian, as well as in Maximus’s pars which, he deliberately recalls, included Gaul, Aquitania, and omnis Hispania. Not even uenerabilis Rome followed the emperor, despite being located in Valentinian’s pars. The author anticipates any objection, indicating that the only territory that had dissented, Illyricum, had suffered a severe divine punishment. Maximus cites as an example the recent defeat of the Arian Mursa, which had been the imperial seat of the Homoean Valens.83 With the calculating allusion to Mursa, Maximus warned that the emperor’s impiety could put the Empire at risk: ‘Periculose, mihi crede, diuina temptantur’.84 One of the foundations of imperial ideology, which linked the unity of the Empire with religious unanimity, had been subverted by the emperor himself. In his letter to Valentinian in 386, Ambrose had used the same 79 Cracco Ruggini 1974, 409–449. The highest fines in laws from those years included in the Codex Theodosianus varied between 20–30 pounds of gold. The fine imposed on the corpus mercatorum reached two hundred pounds of gold. 80 CA 39.3. 81 Delmaire 1997, 111–126; Fatti 2006, 105–139. Maximus therefore failed to receive any form of political endorsement from the Roman senate, whose prestige and auctoritas would have procured him legitimacy and recognition from others. Delmaire highlights the small number of high officials, mostly military officials, whose names are known, both from the Gallic phase of the usurpation and from the Roman phase. 82 Lizzi Testa 2009, 48–50; McEvoy 2013, 87. 83 CA 39. 4: Italia, omnis atque Africa hoc sacramentum credunt; hac fide gloriantur Gallia, Aquitanis, omnis Hispania, Roma ipsa uenerabilis … solum dissentiebat Illyricum … utinam illud incolume Arrianae legis Mursinense oppidum permaneret et non ad iudicium quondam erroris miseri concidisset, ut, quia ipsos erudisset auctores, praecipua irati numinis ultione procumberet. Pannonia was attacked by the Goths after the Battle of Adrianople: Jord. Get. 27. 140; Zos. 4. 34.2. 84 CA 39.4.

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argument concerning the emperor’s theological isolation in claiming that both the Gauls and Hispanias followed the fides Nicaena, which Theodosius himself had approved. After the basilica crisis, the Nicaean ‘usurper’ was closer to Theodosius, who had promulgated the Cunctos populos (Cod. Theod. 16.1.2. 380) than was the legitimate princeps, whose religious policy has put the security of the Empire at risk.85 Finally, by comparing Valentinian II with his father,86 Maximus attacked one of the foundations of the Milanese regime, which was dynastic legitimacy based on parentage, and left open the question of whether a heretic emperor could be considered legitimate. The young emperor had destroyed continuity by separating himself from the religious policy of his father, Valentinian I, who is invoked as an exemplum. The mutatio was so great that those who had once been considered priests were now to be judged sacrilegious.87 In this case, Maximus again avoids mentioning the name of Ambrose, the greatest victim of the religious mutatio introduced by Valentinian II. It was precisely Valentinian’s split from his father’s religious policy that had been one of the fundamental arguments used by Ambrose in his letter to the young Augustus of Milan. In the same letter, Ambrose recalled that Valentinian I had approved his appointment as bishop.88 Invoking the memory of Valentinian I was not done disinterestedly, it was intended to cause an effect: to emphasise the contrast between the religious peace of his period and the imago persecutionis which his son’s decisions could provoke, with their repercussions of discordia, contentio and crebra et pestifera seditio, the antithesis of doctrinal and political unity.89 Faced with an emperor who divides and persecutes, Maximus adopts the role of father and counsellor who attempts to rectify the young emperor’s wrongful religious conduct, a strategy that meant asserting himself as an exemplum of the correct fulfilment of religious function. First, it was the duty of the emperor to protect the churches and to guarantee that they should remain in orthodox hands, so he advises Valentinian II to return all Italy, venerable

85 Ambr. Ep. 75 (Maur. 21). 14: Quam fidem etiam parens clementiae tuae Theodosius beatissimus imperator et sequitur et probauit; hanc fidem Galliae tenent, hanc Hispaniae et cum pia diuini spiritus confessione custodiunt. Cf. Ambr. De fide 2.139–142. 86 See the comparison of Constantius II with his father Constantine I in Humphries 1997, 448–64; Id. 1998, 201–223. 87 CA 39.5: Venerabilis memoriae diuus Valentinianus, pater clementiae tuae, hac fide fideliter imperauit … quae tanta mutatio, ut, qui antea sacerdotes, nunc sacrilegi iudicentur? 88 Ambr. Ep. 75 (Maur. 21). 7; McLynn 1994, 25–27. 89 CA 39. 6–7.

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Rome, and the remaining provinces to their churches and priests.90 Although the dispute for control of the basilicas had been limited to Milan, Maximus widens the emperor/bishop contentio to all Valentinian’s pars, using an expression (Italiam omnem et uenerabilem Romam ceterasque prouincias suis ecclesiis, suis sacerdotibus reddas) that recalled the Theodosian laws against heresy.91 It was probably intended to try to annul the law of 386 by which Valentinian II had authorised the Arians to meet. The second piece of advice referred to the role that the emperor should play in ecclesiastical conflicts. Maximus urged the Milanese Augustus not to intervene (neque te medius interseras), so that those who dissented from the catholica ecclesia through their Arian interpretatio should be the ones to correct their course.92 In contrast to what Valentinian II had attempted to do, portraying himself as a judge in the certatio between Mercurinus Auxentius and Ambrose, the emperor should not intervene in heretical disputes and should leave their resolution to the priests and Catholic churches. At first glance, it may seem a surprising piece of advice from the Augustus who had condemned Priscillian of Avila and his most committed followers to death in 385. Maximus, however, after receiving Ithacius of Ossonoba’s preces plenas inuidiae et criminum against Priscillian,93 had delegated the case to the Gallic bishops and convened a synod in Bordeaux.94 The later development of events which led to the trials in Trier was a consequence of Priscillian’s prouocatio ad principem. All the bishops present in Bordeaux agreed to transfer the matter to the emperor, which Sulpicius Severus laments when he attributes to inconstantia nostrorum the permission to hand over such obvious crimes to the imperial court.95 Maximus delayed the cognitio while Martin of Tours was in Trier, to request that he abstain from judging the case. Only after Martin’s departure, deprauatus by the bishops Magnus and Rufus, did he depart from more moderate advice – et a mitioribus consiliis deflexus – and allowed the 90 CA 39.8: Unde aequum admodum est, ne sancto numini dicata conuellas, Italiam omnem et uenerabilem Romam ceterasque prouincias suis ecclesiis, suis sacerdotibus reddas … 91 Cod. Theod. 16.5.6 (381): … ut cunctis orthodoxis episcopis, qui nicaenam fidem tenent, catholicae ecclesiae toto orbe reddantur. 92 CA 39.8: … neque te medius interseras, cum fas sit iustius, qui a catholica ecclesia Arrianorum interpretatione discesserint, errorem suum uera religione mutare quam recte sentientibus suam immittere prauitatem. 93 Sulp. Sev. Chron. 2.47.2. 94 Sulp. Sev. Chron. 2.49.2. 95 Sulp. Sev. Chron. 2.49.3: ne ab episcopis audiretur, ad principem prouocauit. Cf. Prosper. Aquit. Epit. Chron. n. 1187. a. 385: Ad imperatorem prouocauit; Hyd. Chron. 13 b: … appellat ad Caesarem, quia in Gallis hisdem diebus potestatem tyrannus obtinebat imperii.

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trial to begin, but he delegated it to the praetorian prefect Euodius.96 In his Dialogi, Sulpicius Severus emphasises the episcopal inspiration for his decision (Maximus imperator, alias sane bonus, deprauatus consiliis sacerdotum), although he also states that Maximus was inclined to defer to the bishops.97 Thus, Maximus did not judge directly, the prefect Euodius did. Having received the gesta of the case, which recorded Priscillian’s confession of maleficium, he considered it necessary to condemn Priscillian and his followers to death, in strict application of the law against the crime of magic.98 Ambrose himself, during his second legatio to Trier, which coincided with the trials, had verified the alliance between Maximus and the bishops, in which the emperor tried to include the ambassador from the Milanese court.99 In delegating to the bishops, Maximus had shown himself to be scrupulous in the application of the law, according to which religious cases were the exclusive competence of the ecclesiastical sphere. This had been established by Constantius II and Gratian in separate laws compiled in the Codex Thedosianus,100 and above all by Valentinian I in a rescript which is not preserved but to which Ambrose of Milan refers in his letter of 386 to Valentinian.101 96

Sulp. Sev. Chron. 2.50.2. Martinus apud Treveros … non desinebat increpare Ithacium, ut ab accusatione desisteret, Maximum orare, ut sanguine infelicium abstineret: satis superque sufficere, ut episcopali sententia haeretici iudicati ecclesiis pellerentur; saeuum esse et inauditum nefas, ut causam ecclesiae iudex saeculi iudicaret. denique quoad usque Martinus Treveris fuit, dilata cognitio est: et mox discessurus egregia auctoritate a Maximi elicuit sponsionem, nihil cruentum in reos constituendum. sed postea imperator per Magnum et Rufus deprauatus et a mitioribus consiliis deflexus causam praefecto Euodio permisit, uiro acri et seuero. 97 Sulp. Sev. Dial. 3. 11.2; 12. 2. In Sulp. Sev. Vit. Mart. 20.1, he presents the bishops as being in foedus with the emperor and accuses them of having transformed their sacerdotal dignity into royal clienthood … et foeda circa principem omnium adulatio notaretur seque degenere inconstantia regiae clientelae sacerdotalis dignitas subdidisset, in solo Martino apostolica auctoritas permanebat. Cfr. Pacatus, Pan. Lat. II(12) 29.4. See Omissi 2018, 263–290, esp. 280–282. 98 Sulp. Sev. Chron. 2.50.3: is Priscillianum gemino iudicio auditum conuictumque maleficii nec diffitientem obscenis se studuisse doctrinis, nocturnos etiam turpium feminarum egisse conuentus nudumque orare solitum, nocentem pronuntiauit redegitque in custodiam, donec ad principem referret. gesta ad palatium delata censuitque imperator, Priscillianum sociosque eius capite damnari oportere; Girardet 1974, 577–608; Escribano 2005, 121–149. 99 Ambr. Ep. 30.12; cfr. Paul. Med. Vit. Ambr. 19.2. 100 Cod. Theod. 16. 2. 12 (355); Cod. Theod. 16. 2. 23 (376). 101 Ambr. Ep. 75 (Maur. 21). 2: Augustae memoriae pater tuus non solum sermone respondit sed etiam legibus sanxit: “In causa fidei uel ecclesiastici alicuius ordinis eum iudicare debere qui nec munere impar sit nec iure dissimilis.” Haec enim uerba rescripti sunt hoc est sacerdotes sacerdotibus uoluit iudicare; quin etiam si alio quoque argueretur episcopus et morum esset examinanda causa, etiam hanc uoluit ad episcopale iudicium pertinere.

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In fact, the rescript and the consequent non-interference by Valentinian I in ecclesiastical matters is one of Ambrose’s most important arguments for rejecting arbitration by Valentinian II in the certatio with the Arian Mercurinus Auxentius.102 In the same text, Ambrose had recalled the precedent set by Constantine I in asserting that the concilium was the appropriate setting for debating questions relating to fides.103 Maximus would repeat the same argument in his letter to Pope Siricius in Rome that same year. The letter responded to a query from Siricius about a certain Agroecius, who had been improperly promoted to the status of presbyter. Maximus asserted that Catholic priests should be the judges.104 “What greater respect could I show our Catholic religion?” the Augustus of Trier asks rhetorically. In the same letter, Maximus expanded on his vision of the role of the emperor in relation to fides catholica: it should remain illaesa et inuiolabilis, with all the bishops in agreement (concordantibus uniuersis sacerdotibus) and serving God. Any dissenssio should be eliminated.105 Based on these beliefs, Maximus related the strictly technical terms of his intervention in the Priscillian cause to the bishop of Rome. Maximus adapted Ambrose’s dispute with the Milanese court to his own political ends. The bishop had come out victor in the struggle for control over the basilicas and could be a powerful ally in Milan. In fact, Ambrose maintained an ominous silence during the year in which Maximus occupied the imperial residence in Milan after his invasion of Italy.106 It is unlikely that he wrote anything during that year. If he did write, he excluded it from his published legacy.107 Moreover, the chronological coincidence of the Letter to Valentinian II and that to Pope Siricius suggests that in 386 Maximus undertook a peaceful and diplomatic effort to gain support in Italy before his invasion. The letter from Siricius may have encouraged Maximus to address the two seats of power simultaneously. Should this be the case, the bearer of CA 40 could plausibly have delivered a copy of CA 39 to the bishop of Rome as proof of Maximus’s support of the Nicene faith and his defence of non-interference by the emperor in ecclesiastical conflicts. 102 Ambr. Ep. 75 (Maur. 21).2; 3; 5: Pater tuus deo fauente uir maturioris aeui dicebat: “Non est meum iudicare inter episcopos;” tua nunc dicit clementia: “Ego debeo iudicare.” 103 Ambr. Ep. 75 (Maur. 21). 15. 104 CA 40. 2: … ceterum de Agroecio, quem indebite ad presbyterii gradum conscedisse commemoras. quid religioni nostrae catholicae possum praestare reuerentius, quam ut de hoc ipso, cuiuscemodi esse videatur, catholici iudicent sacerdotes? 105 CA 40. 3. 106 Dörner 2001, 237–43: Proulx 2007, 75–95; Williams 2017, 215–220; 270–272. 107 Errington 2006, 210.

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7.5 Conclusion Maximus’ letter to Valentinian II, written after April 386, is a diplomatic text, but does not contain a single positive association or assessment of the recipient. The Augustus of Trier uses various techniques to undermine the image of the legitimate Augustus and to represent him as a violent, avaricious, isolated emperor who persecutes Nicaeans and has betrayed his father’s religious policy. Based on the principles of imperial ideology articulated by Eusebius, he was a danger to the empire. In contrast, Maximus is depicted as the defender of orthodoxy and religious peace, and guarantor of the exclusive right of the Nicaeans to the churches and of the priests to resolve their disagreements internally. The roles of ‘usurper’ and the emperor are reversed. In his letter, Maximus strove to combat the image of the wrathful, impious and tyrannical usurper which had been constructed in the courtly settings of Milan and was reflected in Ambrose’s epistula 30, and to build an alliance with the Nicaean cohorts that could give him a decisive influence in Milan and, by extension, in Rome and Constantinople. The implicit defence of the bishop who had twice represented the interests of Milan to Trier, and who had later been persecuted by that same court, was the shortest route to denigrating Valentinian II, drawing a contrast between the two imperial images and achieving credibility by articulating his request in an amicable way. Without any shadow of a doubt, the letter to Valentinian II was written by an inimicus. Bibliography Baldus, H.R. 1984. ‘Theodosius der Grosse und die Revolte des Magnus Maximus-der Zeugnis der Münzen’, Chiron 14: 175–192. Barnes, T. 1995. ‘Oppressor, Persecutor, Usurper: The Meaning of Tyrannus in the Fourth Century’, in G. Bonamnete and M. Mayer (eds.), Historiae Augustae Colloquium Barcinonense, Atti dei Convegni sulla Historia Augusta IV. Bari. 55–65. Barnes, T.D. 2000. ‘Ambrose and the Basilicas of Milan in 385 and 386: The Primary Documents and their Implications’, Zeitschrift für antikes Christentum 4: 282–299. Birley, A.R. 1983. ‘Magnus Maximus and the persecution of heresy’, Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 66: 13–43. Calderini, A. 1951. ‘Appunti sulla prima ambasceria di S. Ambrogio a Treveri’, in Miscellanea Giovanni Galbiati, III, Milano, 111–116. Cameron, A. 2007. ‘The Imperial Pontifex’, HSCP 103: 341–387.

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Cracco Ruggini, L. 1974. ‘Ambrogio e le opposizioni anticattoliche fra il 383 e il 390’, Augustinianum 14: 409–449. Delmaire, R. 1997. ‘Les usurpateurs du Bas-Empire et le recrutement des fonctionnaires. Essai de réflexion sur les assises du pouvoir et leurs limites’, in F. Paschoud and J. Szidat (eds.), Usurpationen in der Spätantike. Akten des Kolloquiums “Staatsstreich und Staatlichkeit” (6.–10. März 1966, Solothurn – Bern). Stuttgart. 111–126. Dörner, N. 2001. ‘Ambrosius in Trier Zu den Hintergründen der zweiten Gesandtschaft bei Maximus (Ambrosius, epist. 30 [24])’, Historia 50: 237–243. Duval, Y.-M. 1997. ‘Sur quelques sources latines de l’Histoire de l’Église de Rufin d’Aquilée’, Cassiodorus 3: 131–151. Duval, Y.-M. 2002. ‘Les ambassades de Saint Ambroise auprès de l’usurpateur Maxime en 383 et 384, in ed. Jean-Miche Carrié and Rita Lizzi (eds.), Humana sapit: études d’Antiquité tardive offertes à Lellia Cracco Ruggini. Turnhout. 239–251. Errington, R.M. 2006. Roman Imperial Policy from Julian to Theodosius. Chapel Hill. Escribano Paño, M.V. 2005. ‘Heresy and Orthodoxy in Fourth Century Hispania’, in K. Bowes and M. Kulikowski (eds.), Hispania in Late Antiquity. Current Perspectives. Leiden-Boston. 121–149. Escribano Paño, M.V. 2019. ‘Maximus’Letters in the Collectio Avellana: A Comparative Study’, in R. Lizzi Testa and G. Marconi (eds.), The Collectio Avellana And Its Revivals, Cambridge, 50–85. Fatti, F. 2006. Trame mediterranee: Teofilo, Roma, Costantinopoli, Adamantius 12: 105–139. Flower, R. 2013. Emperors and Bishops in Late Roman Invective, Cambridge. Girardet, K. 1974. ‘Trier 385. Der Prozess gegen die Priscillianer’, Chiron 4: 577–608. Honoré, T. 1988. Law in the Crisis of Empire, 379–455 AD: The Theodosian Dynasty and Its Quaestors. Oxford. Humphries, M. 1997. ‘In nomine patris: Constantine the Great and Constantius II in Christological Polemic’, Historia 46: 448–464. Humphries, M. 1998. ‘Savage humour: Christian anti-panegyric in Hilary of Poitiers’ Against Constantius’, in M. Whitby (ed.) The Propaganda of Power: The Role of Panegyric in Late Antiquity. Leiden. 201–223. Humphries, M. 2014. ‘Emperors, Usurpers, and the City of Rome: Performing Power from Diocletian to Theodosius’, in J. Wienand (ed.), Contested Monarchy. Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century AD. Oxford. 151–168. Humphries, M. 2018. ‘Magnus Maximus and the Roman Church, Collectio Avellana 39’, in A. Evers (ed.), Emperors, Bishops, Senators: The Evidence of the Collectio Avellana. Leuven. (Forthcoming). Kate Blair-Dixon, K. 2007. ‘Memory and authority in sixth-century Rome: the Liber Pontificalis and the Collectio Avellana,” in K. Cooper and J. Hilner (eds.). Religion, Dynasty, and Patronage in Early Christian Rome (300–900). Cambridge. 22–59.

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Lanéry, C. 2008. Ambroise de Milan, Hagiographe. Turnhout. Lenox-Conyngham, A. 1982. ‘The Topography of the Basilica Conflict of A.D. 385/6 in Milan’, Historia 31: 353–363. Liebeschuetz, J.H.W.G. 2005. Ambrose of Milan, Political Letteers and Speeches. Liverpool. Lizzi Testa, R. 2009. ‘La certatio fra Ambrogio e Mercurino Aussenzio, ovvero a proposito di una deposizione mancata en Ambrogio e la sua basilica’, Studia Ambrosiana 3: 39–68. Lizzi Testa, R. 2012. ‘Hi sunt thesauri Ecclesiae: la ricchezza della povertà nell’Occidente latino’, in B. Caseau (ed.), Les réseaux familiaux. Antiquité Tardive et Moyen Age in memoriam A. Laiou et E. Patlagean. Paris. 393–412. Lizzi, R. 2014. ‘La Collectio Avellana e le collezioni canoniche romane e italiche del V– VI secolo: un progetto di ricerca’, Cristianesimo nella Storia 35, 1: 77–102. Maier, H.O. 1994. ‘Private Space as the Social Context of Arianism in Ambrose’s Milan’, The Journal of Theological Studies 45: 72–93. McEvoy, M.A. 2013. Child Emperor Rule in the Late Roman West, AD 367–455. Cambridge. McLynn, N.B. 1994. Ambrose of Milan: Church and Court in a Christian Capital. Berkeley and Los Angeles. McLynn, N. 2004. ‘The Transformation of Imperial Churchgoing in the Fourth Century’, in S. Swain and M. Edwards, Approaching Late Antiquity. The Transformation from Early to late Antiquity. Oxford 234–270. McLynn, N.B. 2018. ‘Tyrants, Arians, and Manichees: Magnus Maximus in the Collectio Avellana’, in A. Evers (ed.), Emperors, Bishops, Senators: The Evidence of the Collectio Avellana. Leuven. (Forthcoming). Nauroy G. 1988. ‘Le fouet et le miel. Le combat d’Ambroise en 386 contre l’arianisme milanais’, Recherches Augustiniennes 23: 3–86. Nauroy, G. 2009. ‘La crise milanaise de 386 et les lettres d’Ambroise. Difficultés d’interprétation et limites d’un témoignage épistolaire’, in R. Delmaire, J. Desmulliez and P.-L. Gatier (eds.), Correspondances. Documents pour l’Antiquité tardive. Lyon. 227–258. Nauroy, G. 2013. ‘Ambroise de Milan ambassadeur à la cour de Trèves d’après la lettre 30 (24 M) à Valentinien II,’ in Connaissance des Pères de l’Église 129: 2–18. Omissi, A. 2018. Emperors and Usurpers in the Later Roman Empire, Civil War, Panegyric, and the Construction of Legitimacy. Oxford. Palanque, J.-R. 1933. Saint Ambrose et l’empire romain: Contribution à l’histoire des rapports de l’église et l’état à la fin du quatrième siècle. Paris. Proulx, M. 2010. ‘Patres orphanorum: Ambrosius of Milan and the Construction of the Role of the Bishop’, in R.M. Frakes, E. DePalma Digeser, and J. Stephens (eds.), The Rhetoric of Power in Late Antiquity: Religion and Politics in Byzantium, Europe and the Early Islamic World. London/New York. 75–97.

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Rance, Ph. 2001. ‘Attacotti, Déisi and Magnus Maximus: the Case for Irish Federates in Late Roman Britain’. Britannia 32: 243–70. Rauschen, Gerhard. 1897. Jahrbücher der christliche Kirche unter der Kaiser Theodosius dem Grossen. Versuch einer Erneuerung der Annales Ecclesiastici des Baronius für die Jahre 378–395. Freiburg i. Br. Solari, A. 1934. ‘L’alibi di Theodosius nella opposizione antidinástica’, Klio 27: 165–168. Vera, D. 1975. ‘I rapporti fra Magno Massimo, Theodosius e Valentiniano II nel 383–384’, Athenaeum 53: 267–301. Williams, D.H. 1995. Ambrose of Milan and the End of the Arian-Nicene Conflicts. Oxford. Williams, M.S. 2013. ‘Hymns and Acclamations: The Case of Ambrose of Milan’, Journal of Late Antiquity 6: 108–134. Williams, M.S. (2017). The Politics of Heresy in Ambrose of Milan, Comunity and Consensus in Late Antique Christianity. Cambridge.

Chapter 8

Toying with Theodosius: The Manipulation of the Imperial Image in the Sources of the Riot of the Statues Alberto J. Quiroga Puertas Wisdom, philanthropy, mildness, forgiveness, courage … These are some of the virtues that a Roman emperor was expected to embody and that pervaded late antique imperial speeches. However, what about anger and other passions that implied self-control and the management of emotions? Mastering the actions provoked by these emotions played a relevant role when emperors were publicly mocked or had to deal with violent expressions of dissatisfaction towards their policies. What did Julian feel when he lived in Antioch knowing that his habits, mannerisms, and behaviour had become laughing stock among locals? What did Theodosius think of the Thessalonians or the Antiochenes when he heard of the riotous acts that had taken place in those important cities? Most of the time the emperor would patiently sit and be addressed by a bishop, a philosopher, or a sophist who had come before him to ask for forgiveness, while he would struggle to conceal his amusement at the attempts of the speaker to walk the tightrope between making his points and ticking all the boxes of a typical imperial speech. Boredom, tiredness, or scepticism at what was being said would be other reactions that the emperor would experience after hearing for the thousandth time oh basileu followed by common topics intended to curry favour and to make amends. Some of these emotions were probably experienced by the emperor Theodosius when hearing the events of the Riot of the Statues in Antioch AD 387. Contemporary sources show how the emperor Theodosius was praised as well as rebuked, shared tears of sorrow and repentance, and was moved to pity by the hymns sung by children. Such a collection of highly emotional reactions demands a literary and historical interpretation capable of contextualising Theodosius’ political and emotional responses to the Riot of the Statues. Therefore, in what follows I will briefly sketch out the main incidents of the Riot and then I will proceed to explore the accounts of contemporary authors (two Christians, John Chrysostom and Ambrose of Milan, and a pagan, Libanius of Antioch) as well as of later historians (again, both Christian – Sozomen and

© Alberto J. Quiroga Puertas, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004446922_010

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Theodoret – and pagan – Zosimus) that inform us of Theodosius’ behaviour in order to determine how their handling of Theodosius’ reactions was related to their own political and religious agendas. In this context, particular attention will be paid to how the sources reflected on the anger experienced by Theodosius both as a catalyst of a set of imperial virtues and as a central element of the instrumentalisation of the figure of the emperor. Our knowledge of the Riot of the Statues in Antioch AD 387 relies on the extremely biased accounts provided by John Chrysostom’s twenty four homilies and Libanius’ five speeches on the tumult. Despite their differences, if we combine these two sources a relatively complete picture of the main incidents can emerge.1 In February 387, the emperor Theodosius imposed an extraordinary tax in order to commemorate his son and his own anniversary as emperor, or to financially support his military enterprises against barbarians and usurpers. Once the decree was read in the bouleutérion of Antioch, the protests of honorati and curiales gave way to an increasingly aggressive and spontaneous demonstration that soon gathered a mass of infuriated Antiochenes. At this point, Libanius’ version makes clear that the theatrical claque played a central role in the raging escalation of violence that ended with the destruction of public spaces. The climax of the Riot came with the stoning, desecration, and tearing down of the statues and portraits of the Imperial family. Once the stormy incidents were over, the comes Orientis arrested and executed some citizens amid the panic and flight of a good number of Antiochenes. When news of the Riot reached the emperor Theodosius, he sent the magister officiorum Caesarius and the magister militum Hellebichus to take care of the ensuing investigation. It was then that, according to John Chrysostom’s telling, one of the bishops of the city – Flavian – went to Constantinople to try to assuage the emperor’s wrath. By contrast, Libanius states that it was the magister officiorum Caesarius who achieved the emperor’s forgiveness after presenting his exonerating reports in Constantinople.2 In the end, Theodosius forgave Antioch and cancelled the precautionary punishments he had imposed on the city – the closure of the public baths and the hippodrome, the cancellation of the distribution of food, and the loss of the status of metropolis. Let us start our exploration of the use of Theodosius’ image in the context of the Riot with Chrysostom’s De Statuis, a corpus of twenty-four homilies of widely varied content.3 The scattered references to the Riot alternate with 1 On the events of the Riot, see French (1998). 2 Paverd (1991: 147–149). 3 On the number of homilies under the denomination De Statuis, see Valevicius (2000). Also Liebeschuetz (2011: 209–215).

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Christian teachings and admonitions intending to show Antioch as a major Christian centre capable of sheltering her inhabitants during a period of anxiety and fear (Hom. X.2): “Where indeed, besides, will you hear the things upon which you meditate here? Were you to go to the bench of justice? Quarrels and contentions are there! Or into the council-chamber? There is anxious thought about political matters! Or to your home? (…) Or were thou to go to the conferences and debates of the forum? Everything there is earthly and corruptible! (…) But here on the contrary everything relates to heaven, and heavenly things; to our soul, to our life.”4 Chrysostom’s claims that Antioch can find protection and solace from Theodosius’ wrath because of her Christian roots saturate his corpus of homilies on the Riot, including a reminder of the key role of Antioch in the development of early Christianity (Hom. XVII): “Do you wish to learn the dignity of your city? Do you wish to its ancestry? I will tell it exactly; not only that you may, but that you may also emulate. What then is after all the dignity of this city of ours? It came to pass, that the disciples were first called Christians at (Acts 11: 26).”5 Chrysostom’s strategy unfolds within this framework that links Antioch’s illustrious Christian pedigree with the spiritual comfort that the Church offered in the aftermath of the Riot. In doing so, Chrysostom implies that the justified wrath of Theodosius at the outrageous events could only be held back by the intervention of Christian figures, especially the bishop of Antioch, Flavian. In one of the homilies on the Riot, Chrysostom describes the bishop’s weapons to fight for Antioch (Hom. III): “He [Flavian] too has his breast-plate, that of righteousness. He too has his girdle, that of truth, and sandals of much greater dignity, those of the Gospel of peace. He too has a sword, not of iron, but of the Spirit; he too has a crown resting on his head. This panoply is the more splendid. The weapons are grander, the license of speech greater, and mightier the strength. So that from the weight of his authority, and from his own greatness of soul; and more than all the rest, from the hope which he has in God, he will address the emperor with much freedom and much discretion.”6

4 Translations taken from Stephens (1889). 5 See Ashbrook-Harvey (2000); Shepardson (2007); Stenger (2015). 6 Flavian’s efforts were supported by the monks that lived in the mountains near Antioch. Upon the arrival of the emperor’s emissaries, the monks (Hom. XVII) “at no one’s entreaty, by no one’s counsel, when they beheld such a cloud overhanging the city, they left their caves and huts, and flocked together in every direction (…) Then might one see the city likened to heaven, while these saints appeared everywhere; by their mere aspect consoling the mourners, and leading them to an utter disregard of the calamity.” On these monks’ activity, see Paverd (1991: 266–288).

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The climax of Chrysostom’s narrative can be found in homily XXI of the corpus of De Statuis in which Flavian’s journey to Constantinople to appease Theodosius’ heart is detailed (Hom. XXI): “he exposed his life for all; and while there were many things to hinder him, as the winter, his age, the feast, and not less than these, his sister, then at her last breath, he raised himself above all these obstacles.” Next Chrysostom highlights Flavian’s tactful strategy to remind Theodosius of the imperial virtues advanced by Chrysostom in previous homilies from the set of De Statuis: philanthropy, faithfulness, and a willingness to obey God’s emissaries. The scene of their meeting shows a carefully staged setting with Flavian playing the role of the apologetic suppliant (Hom. XXI: “he stood before the Emperor at a distance – speechless – weeping – with downcast eyes – covering his face as if he himself had been the doer of all the mischief”) trying to inspire pity in the emperor. In spite of Theodosius’ approachable attitude, his first answer betrayed resentment. At this point, in his second intervention Flavian is invested with such parrhesía in Chrysostom’s homily that the bishop’s address to Theodosius changed to a patronising tone combined with clear threatening hints. If the emperor finally decided to punish Antioch permanently and ignored the sacred laws, he would become the assistant of the devil, who was the real force behind the Riot.7 These lines show how John Chrysostom intended to instrumentalise Theodosius’ ὀργή with two purposes in mind. First, Chrysostom resorted to the tradition of the speculum principis in order to emphasise the control of emotions as a sine qua non to be considered a capable Christian emperor.8 Thus, in his Comparatio Regis et Monachi, Chrysostom clearly stated that (Compar. 2) “who truly rules over anger and envy and pleasure (θυμοῦ καὶ φθόνου καὶ ἡδονῆς κρατῶν), who commands all things under the laws of God, who keeps his mind free (…) but the one who seems to rule over men, but who is enslaved to anger and to the love of power and pleasures (…) will appear quite ridiculous to his subjects.”9 Theodosius’ final pardon in Chrysostom’s account (Hom. XXI) is

7 On parrhesía in late antique literature, see Rees (2018). Ambrose of Milan’s Ep. 74.2–3 is an important source on the Christian view on freedom of speech when a bishop addressed an emperor. 8 On the control of emotions and, more particularly, of anger in Late Antiquity, see Harris (2002: 124–127). Although the speculum principis did not fully develop until the Middle Ages, the contents and spirit of this genre was already present in Classical works with a pedagogic aim (e.g., Isocrates’ Evagoras, Dio Chrysostom’s discourses on kingship, Themistius’ speeches on royal virtues, Synesius of Cyrene’s On Kingship, etc.). 9 Translation taken from Hunter (1988).

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meant to draw the attention to the emperor’s intention to follow the imitatio Christi model when it came to overcoming anger and forgiving.10 Second, this standardised portrayal of Theodosius as a good, forgiving, and obedient ruler bestowed by God with imperial power served Chrysostom to accommodate a subtext relating to the schism of Antioch, an internal division that split the Church of Antioch throughout the fourth century. As a result of this, in 387 Antioch had two bishops, Paulinus and Flavian, who performed their ministerial duties in two different places for different congregations. Since Chrysostom belonged to Flavian’s group, he used the bishop’s embassy to Constantinople as a propagandistic text intended to win leverage for Flavian’s party (a successful strategy if we believe texts composed after 387, in which Chrysostom boasts of the converts Flavian made thanks to his intervention on behalf of the city),11 and to use the image of the emperor as part of the propaganda to support Flavian’s group in the context of the Meletian schism by characterising Theodosius as an emperor whose ὀργή was placated by Flavian’s ethos.12 Although the events of the Riot are mentioned in passing in his work, some excerpts from Ambrose of Milan’s writings should be taken into account when exploring the image of Theodosius as an emperor prone to anger. For Ambrose, anger became a sort of necessary evil as it paved the way for the display of imperial virtutes such as forgiveness and magnanimity. In the case of Theodosius, Ambrose went as far as to say in the funeral oration on the death of the emperor that Theodosius was especially inclined to forgive (De obitu Theodosii, 13) “when the passion of his anger had been particularly great.”13 In fact, Ambrose added to highlight the quality of Theodosius’ forgiveness after his anger had been tempered down, “one longed for what one dreaded in others, that he should be in a rage. This was a boon to the accused, because while holding supreme power over everyone, he would rather remonstrate like a 10 Chrys. De Statuis XXI: “How, can it be anything wonderful or great, that we should remit our anger against those who have treated us with indignity; we, who ourselves are but men; when the Lord of the universe, having come as He did on earth, and having been made a servant for us, and crucified by those who had experienced His kindness, besought the Father on behalf of His crucifiers, saying, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do?” What marvel, then, if we also should forgive our fellow-servants.” See also Stephens (2013): “Thus, in John Chrysostom’s account, the emperor viewed the pardon within the larger Christian context of Christ’s forgiveness.” 11 Chrys. De Anna PG 54.634. See also Soler (2001); Spuntarelli (2010: 79). 12 Sermo cum presbyter ordinatus, In Genesim sermo I, In ascensionem, Ad Meletium, Ad Eustachium are considered by Mayer (2005) to be part of Chrysostom’s propagandistic efforts. 13 Ambrose’s translations taken from Liebeschuetz and Hill (2005).

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parent than punish like a judge” (De obitu Theodosii, 13). This way of portraying Theodosius’ anger was supported by a Scriptural passage (Psalm 4.4: “Be angry and do not sin”) that frames the bishop’s treatment of anger not only as a way to prevent the emperor from the temptation of retaliation, but also as a form to counter pagan responses to the management of anger by using Scriptural admonitions.14 Ambrose’s premise that anger could lead to the demonstration of Christian virtues underlies in his addresses to Theodosius when the emperor experienced a fit of anger in the context of religious conflicts. The bishop encouraged the emperor to follow his own behavior when he forgave Antioch after the Riot of the Statues (Ep. 74.32): “You have pardoned the people of Antioch for the wrong they have done you.” These lines are part of the epilogue of a long letter sent to Theodosius by Ambrose when at Callinicum a synagogue and a building, in which the followers of the Valentinian sect used to meet, were burned down. Ambrose protested at Theodosius’ first impulse of forcing the local bishop to punish members of his flock and to rebuild the synagogue. First, he resorted to a threatening tone that ran throughout the letter: if the emperor persisted in his idea of assisting the Jewish community, he would be following the example of the much-hated emperor Julian when he tried to rebuild the temple at Jerusalem (Ep. 74.12). Theodosius’ imitatio Iulianii would be forcing Ambrose to break the quid pro quo nature of their relationship (Ep. 74.1): “for if I am unworthy to be heard by you, I am also unworthy to offer sacrifice for you, to be trusted with your vows and your prayers. So will you really not listen to the man whom you would want to be heard praying on your behalf?” Second, Ambrose asked Theodosius why he was experiencing that anger (Ep. 74.13): “if you are moved to anger by the burning of even the most worthless buildings (…) do you not remember, emperor, how many mansions of prefects have been burnt at Rome without anyone exacting punishment?” With these lines Ambrose implies that the destruction of those buildings at Callinicum did not deserve the anger of the emperor as this emotion should prelude forgiveness, a Christian virtue to which the Jewish community was not entitled (Ep. 74.10). Thus, Ambrose showed that he had a clear notion of the hierarchy of powers about which he questioned Theodosius (Ep. 74.11): “what then is more 14

According to Liebeschuetz and Hill (2005: 184), Ambrose hinted at Plato’s Laws (9.865a– 874d) when the bishop stated that “they say that the greatest of the philosophers granted immunity from punishment to those crimes which had been committed through anger.” See also Harris (2002: 262): “Ambrose was the first to eulogise an emperor almost exclusively on the basis of Jewish and Christian texts, and the Christianness of what Ambrose prescribes is obvious – not restraint, but repentance, real or (in this case) imaginary, after unrestrained behavior.”

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important, a show of public order, or the cause of religion? Severity ought to give way to devotion.” While Ambrose thought that the anger that Theodosius experienced after the Callinicum episode in 388–389 was not justified in Christian terms, in his letter after the riot at Thessalonica the bishop lectured the emperor on how to control and channel his wrath. On this occasion, the emperor had ordered the killing of an important number of Thessalonians when the general Butheric was murdered after the arrest of a popular charioteer. In this context, Ambrose reminded Theodosius, the emperor had surrendered to his worst instincts (Ep. 11.4): “you have been born with a passionate nature. When there is somebody around to calm you, you quickly channel it into pity, but if somebody inflames it, you let your passion grow to such a pitch that you can scarcely control it.” This control could be mastered if Theodosius followed the example of David (Ep. 11.7–10) and would help him fight his personal devils that were ruining a man (Ep. 11.12) “who set an unprecedented example of piety, who occupied the summit of clemency, who would not allow individuals to be endangered even if they were guilty.” If anger had been improperly experienced by Theodosius in the events at Callinicum, because Jews and heretics did not deserve the virtues that came after anger was assuaged, his wrath after the Thessalonica riot is presented by Ambrose as an opportunity for the emperor to master his emotions and conquer his own devils. On the pagan side, the sophist Libanius referred to the events of the Riot and their consequences in a number of his works (Epp. 154–159, Or. 32.2), yet it is the set of orations 19–23 that dealt directly with it. Composed after the emperor Theodosius had granted the imperial pardon to Antioch, these speeches had four different addresses. From a genre perspective, those dedicated to Caesarius and Hellebichus are encomia, while that addressed to the people of Antioch is a psógos chastising those terrified fellow citizens that had fled. The figure of the emperor Theodosius is comprehensively dealt with in orations 19–20. In the proemium of the first one, Libanius pretends to have travelled to Constantinople to deliver his oration 19 to placate Theodosius’ wrath (Or. 19.3): “So, though my advanced years bid me stay at home, as do many of my friends and relations, who could be heard telling me that it was not safe to plead such a case before an emperor in his wrath, I have deduced from your character and conduct that there will be no untoward consequences for me from my remarks.”15 Additionally the sophist follows Menander Rhetor’s prescriptions in this oration, who suggests performing this type of speech when a city has fallen into disgrace by amplifying the praises to the emperor recommended in 15

Translation taken from Norman (1977).

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his instructions for the composition of an ambassador’s speech (423.7–424.2), which was the case for Antioch in 387. As for oration 20, it also shows the sophist’s agreement with Menander’s suggested topics as Theodosius is represented as a ruler who follows the gods’ example when it comes to forgiveness,16 an expert and victorious warrior, and the epitome of imperial virtues such as philanthropy, moderation and mildness.17 The insertion of these topics from the speculum principis tradition is consistent with the other compositions that Libanius addressed to Theodosius in which appeals to justice, philanthropy and forgiveness are invoked as the key virtues of the figure of the emperor as part of the quid pro quo relationship that they maintained.18 By addressing Theodosius regarding issues that demanded justice and the imperial intervention, Libanius conveyed the image of a combative and quixotic sophist struggling to right wrongs and trying to keep his voice heard when it came to local and imperial affairs. In turn, the emperor secured the support of an eminent pagan by bestowing Libanius with personal favors and some of his attention.19 In the sophist’s Autobiography we also find a brief but significant reference to the Riot, the content of which conflicts with what is stated in oration 19, as Libanius confesses that he did not leave for Constantinople but remained at Antioch using his influence to help his fellow citizens (Or. 1.253): “But for this salvation I personally was held responsible. With orations and tears I soothed the members of the newly arrived commission of investigation and began to induce in them an eagerness for petitions, so that in a little while petitions came thick and fast. Let me regard this as the work of Fortune, and also the success of the numerous orations, each with its own variation of style, composed by me on the same theme.”20 The communis opinio among modern scholars is that Libanius wrote two different versions of his role in the Riot with two different audiences in mind. The fictional journey to Constantinople in Or. 19.2–4 to deliver his speech in front of Theodosius despite his old age is a rhetorical topos designed to imitate John Chrysostom’s ethopoiia of the bishop Flavian’s embassy on behalf of the Antiochenes (Hom. De St. XXI).21 It also helped Libanius to point out that old people like him (he was well into his seventies when the Riot

16 Libanius’ references to the gods should not be taken at face value, see Cribiore (2013: 132–171). 17 On Imperial virtues, see Noreña (2001: 152–160) and Wallace-Hadrill (1981). 18 López Eire (1991). 19 Malosse (2014: 85–87); Wiemer (2014: 197–202). 20 Translation taken from Norman (1992). 21 On the writings of Libanius and John Chrysostom on the Riot of the Statues, see Van der Paverd (1991). On use of emotions in the accounts of the Riot, Stenger (2017).

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took place) were trying to be pushed out of the spheres of power by a younger generation of officials and bureaucrats.22 Orchestrating two different versions may seem to be the attempt of an aging pepaideumenos to retain his influence in Antioch and his share of attention from the emperor Theodosius, but there is much more to it if we read orations 19 and 20 not only as fine examples of rhetorical craftsmanship but also as pieces with important intertextual and metatextual implications that relate to the image of Theodosius in Libanius’ works. It should be noted that the very first word of his writings on the Riot is the verb Ἠτύχηκε (Or. 19.1), which Norman translated as “our city has met with misfortune.” Other texts show that Libanius attributed a significant role to Tyche in his version of the Riot. In the above-mentioned passage from his Autobiography, Libanius tells us that his successful intervention on behalf of Antioch was “a work of Fortune” (Or. 1.253: τοῦτο ἔργον ἡγούμεθα τῆς Τύχης), and in the basilikos logos to thank Theodosius for granting the imperial pardon Libanius sought to excuse Antioch “after that disastrous occurrence” (Or. 20.33: μετὰ τὴν ἀτυχίαν ἐκείνην). Tyche and its cognates permeated Libanius’ literary creation of the account of his life and his activities representing the mixture of fortune and luck he had been granted during his life, thus becoming his guardian goddess. Yet the appearance of Tyche in Libanius does not point to an apologetic use in religious confrontations (even though Tyche had a long presence in Antioch)23 but as a way to shape a religious framework in which the order of things was subject to the will of Tyche. In this manner, allusions to Tyche in texts about the Riot addressed to Theodosius served not only to excuse Antioch’s behavior but especially to create a scenario in which the emperor’s decisions had to be taken in a setting dominated by a pagan concept such as Tyche.24 Implied in this 22 His epistolographic corpus shows that he composed almost 300 letters in his last years although he failed to expand his network among the new and influential political elite Watts (2015: 193–211). Libanius wanted to draw attention not to his actual response after the Riot, but aimed to construct a “performable ethos” (Fredal 2001: 256–257; Nesselrath and Van Hoof 2014: 160–161) still active and competitive with other public figures (in this case, the bishop Flavian). On the other hand, the passage from his Autobiography (Or. 1.254) in which he underlines his efforts to persuade the imperial commissioners in Antioch was composed with the intention of strengthening his position as an active pagan spokesman in a group of speeches that could have reached Theodosius as some of his pieces had before. 23 As exemplified by the first line of his Autobiography in which he states that he is writing it to correct mistaken opinions about his περὶ τῆς ἐμῆς τύχης (Or. 1.1). 24 On the presence of Tyche in Antioch, see Eidinow (2011: 26–27); Kondoleon (2000: 116– 118). On her relevance and evolving nature in Libanius’ works, see Cribiore (2013: 52–53); Van Hoof (2014: 35–36). See also Leppin (2011: 442–444).

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notion is Libanius’ belief that the welfare of the Empire relied on the appropriate maintenance of the traditional cults,25 a topic developed at length in another speech addressed to Theodosius asking him to enforce existing laws against the destruction of pagan temples (Pro Templis, Or. 30). This line of argumentation also features in Or. 19.7 when Libanius hinted at the destruction of the temple of Nemesis as a possible cause of the wrongful actions resulting in the Riot that evil spirits encouraged the Antiochenes to do: “The present situation surely must be regarded as the responsibility of the same spirit which has gained the aid of an outraged Nemesis also -the outrage being the disappearance of her temple.” This reference reinforces Libanius’ strategy to create a religious context as Nemesis and Tyche were two strongly related deities whose agency in the Riot contributed to Libanius’ plan of constructing a pagan framework in which the emperor’s virtues were to be put into practice. As for the imperial vices, Theodosius’ anger in Libanius’ orations is unoriginally presented by resorting to common topics. Ὀργή is shown as a disease that Antioch momentarily experienced, thus implicitly making Theodosius a doctor under whose responsibility the patient was placed (Or. 19.9). Ὀργή is also taken as a distinctive feature of what differentiated Greeks from barbarians: while the latter despise pity, Greeks are known for their ability to get over ὀργή (Or. 19.13). These digressions laid the ground for the mention to philanthropy, arguably the most recurrent virtue in late antique imperial speeches.26 Libanius reminded Theodosius that he had already proven himself a philanthropic ruler when he forgave Constantinople for the murder of a Scythian soldier without judgment (Or. 19.22, 20.14) and that there were some emperors whose lack of philanthropy he would not want to imitate (Or. 19.45). In summary, by overcoming his anger and forgiving Antioch Theodosius had become her new founder (Or. 21.41). Yet in this perfunctory treatment of Theodosius’ anger Libanius reserved himself a role. First, he portrayed himself as a prophet in his oration 20 when he boasted that he tried to free his fellow citizens from unfounded fears (Or. 20.36): “Now, indeed, I began to exclaim, ‘The emperor will have such exact knowledge of all this that we, the actual eyewitnesses, could not better him, and he will set the steel to no man’s throat.’” Second, Libanius aimed to exhibit the moral righteousness with which the title of sophist was bestowed by 25 Van Nuffelen (2014: 296). 26 On the recurrence of philanthrôpia, see Harris (2002: 257): “In much of this literature, anger control tends to dissapear into a generalised gentleness and philanthrôpia, and the emperor’s control over his anger is rather conspicuously absent from the Latin prose panegyrics.”

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refreshing the emperor’s memory about the important role of sophists in the system of communication between emperors and citizens (Or. 19.38): “Well, consider, Sire, the means by which after this you may have people to praise you. You will, I think, succeed if you regard it as sufficient that none of these malefactors should remain alive. If it were possible for a man to die the death many times over, we ought to have died so. But since this is impossible, it is time to put an end to your wrath.”27 Moving into fifth century Christian historiography, there is a brief reference to the Riot in Sozomen’s Church History. The historian echoes Chrysostom’s account by narrating Flavian’s embassy to Constantinople, but differs from Chrysostom when Sozomen tells us that the bishop realised that persuading Theodosius was such a difficult task that it demanded taking an unorthodox approach. We are told that Flavian (HE 7.23) “caused some young men accustomed to sing at the table of the emperor to utter these hymns with the litanies of the Antiochans. It is said that the humanity of the emperor was excited; he was overcome by pity at once; his wrath was subdued, and as his heart yearned over the city, he shed tears on the cup which he held in his hand.” This strategy was successful in making Theodosius abandon his wrath. “Much bloodshed would have ensued,” Sozomen concluded, “had not the wrath of the emperor been stayed by his respect for this sacerdotal entreaty.”28 The main differences between Sozomen’s and Chrysostom’s portrayal of Theodosius lie in the emperor’s ethopoiia.29 Chrysostom’s Theodosius was given the chance to reply when addressed by the bishop Flavian, but in Sozomen’s episode the emperor suddenly changed his mind having been moved after hearing the young men singing at the table. This was not an uncommon practice in the Christian milieu. It was encouraged by Clement of Alexandria in the prescriptions included in his Pedagogue (II.43–44)30 on how to behave in a Christian fashion when attending banquets, and by John Chrysostom in his apotropaic recommendation on how to bring God to the table and expel the evilness involved in uncontrollable laughter, drunkenness, and gluttony (Expos. in Psalm 41, PG 55.157.35–45). To the emperor’s swift change of disposition in Sozomen’s passage the use of passive forms is fundamental in explaining Theodosius’ obedient attitude. Once his impulse to destroy the city 27

See also Harris’ comments on Libanius’ purpose when composing his orations 19 and 20 (2002: 259): “Besides flattery, the purpose was very clearly a demonstration of Libanius’ profesional skill and standing as a rhetorician.” 28 Translations taken from Zenos (1886). 29 Sabbah et al. (2008: 190) consider that Sozomen did not follow closely Chrysostom’s nor Libanius’ account. 30 See König (2012: 121–150).

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(διαφθεῖραι διενοεῖτο) was suppressed, Theodosius surrendered to a submissive disposition in which philanthropy and pity overcame him (φιλανθρωπίᾳ διαχεθέντα τὸν βασιλέα κρατηθῆναι τῷ ἐλέῳ).31 Under the influence of these two Christianised virtues -philanthropy and pity-, Theodosius became an emperor capable of stopping his anger (τὴν ὀργὴν κατέπαυσεν) thanks to the respect inspired by Flavian’s suplication (τὴν ἱερατικὴν ὑπὸ εὐσεβείας ἱκεσίαν αἰδεσθείς). Three unexpected actors (Flaccilla, Ambrose of Milan, and the monk Macedonius) come to the fore in the version of the Riot in Theodoret of Cyrus’ Ecclesiastical History. First, Theodoret places his telling of the Riot after a short praise of Theodosius’ wife, Flaccilla, who was adorned with some of the virtues that a fourth century Christian empress could have (HE 5.19): being a good counselor to her husband, and generous with the sick and underprivileged. She passed away in 386, one year before her statue – alongside the representations of the imperial family- was torn down and dragged through Antioch during the Riot.32 According to Theodoret, it was the desecration of her statue that enraged Theodosius, whose φιλοστοργία for Flaccilla is underlined in the text as one of the reasons that made him take serious measures to chastise Antioch, which would have been carried out had Ambrose of Milan not intervened, the second important character in Theodoret’s version. The bishop of Milan is given a prominent role in the aftermath of the Riot thanks to a chronological lapsus since Theodoret set the Riot of the Statues after the Massacre of Thessalonica (V.17–18), a revolt that Theodosius solved by ordering the killing of several thousands in 390.33 Scholars agree that this is not an innocent historical lapsus, but a conscious manipulation on Theodoret’s side in order to show how the emperor’s εὐσέβεια (a concept that Theodoret considered to be akin to religious orthodoxy)34 evolved thanks to the firm hand of the bishop of Milan, who resorted to a law (Cod. Theod. 9, 40, 13) issued apropos the killing of Thessalonica in order to properly manage executions in cases of capital punishment.35 The third relevant character in Theodoret’s passage is Macedonius, one of the monks who had come down from the surrounding mountains to plead to the imperial emissaries.36 Although illiterate and 31 32 33 34 35 36

On the influence of religion in Theodosius’ decision-making process, see Maraval (2009: 305–309). Thelamon (2003). On the intervention of Ambrose and Theodosius in this event, see Liebeschuetz and Hill (2005: 262–269); McLynn (1994: 106–111). Martin; Canivet; Bouffartigue et al. (2009: 21–22). Martin; Canivet; Bouffartigue et al. (2009: 419, n. 3). On Theodoret’s relationship with monasticism, see con el monacato la obra de referencia sigue siendo Canivet (1977). An alternative account of this episode in Theodoret’s A History of the Monks of Syria 13.7.

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ignorant of the Scriptures, Macedonius gave a brief speech to Hellebichus and Caesarius asking them to remind the emperor that “the nature of man is formed after the image and likeness of God” (a famous quote from Genesis 1:26).37 This intervention would be, according to the French editors of Theodoret,38 a device to further Theodoret’s strategy of presenting Theodosius as an obedient emperor who learned to control his rage and the consequences of his decisions by respecting the ecclesiastical hierarchy (attention had to be paid heeding first to bishops and then to monks), as proven by Theodoret’s final remark: “In relating these events I have had a twofold object. I did not think it right to leave in oblivion the boldness of the illustrious monk, and I wished to point out the advantage of the edict which was put out by the advice of the great Ambrosius.”39 At the beginning of the sixth century the pagan historian Zosimus composed his New History to prove that the barbarisation of the Empire, together with the abandonment of traditional values and religious cults for a new Christian order, were to be accounted as the main reasons for the disappearance of the Roman Empire.40 In this context, Zosimus held Theodosius to be an incompetent emperor, one of those responsible for hammering the final nail into the coffin of late paganism.41 In the historian’s eyes (4.41), the Riot of the Statues reflected a period when corruption, luxury, and intemperance prevailed. The destruction of the statues of Theodosius and his wife was considered by Zosimus to be a shameful act (αἰσχρῶς) that he downplayed by remarking that tumult and insults were characteristic of Antioch’s idiosyncratic sense of humour. At this point, Zosimus resumes Libanius’ version of his fictional embassy to Constantinople yet he adds a companion, Hilarius, a member of the Antiochene curia who would have also gone to Constantinople where Theodosius’ wrath was appeased by Libanius’ speech. In fact, Zosimus continues, their embassy was so successful that Theodosius rewarded Libanius by commissioning him with the composition of a second speech (Libanius’ Or. 20 To the Emperor Theodosius, after the Reconciliation), and Hilarius by appointing him governor of Palestine. Zosimus’ biased approach to the events of the Riot underlined the pagan cultural pedigree of the embassy that persuaded Theodosius to forgive Antioch. Libanius had a well-established reputation in the cultural milieu, so it comes as no surprise that Zosimus mentioned the sophist’s κλέος (glory, fame) as the 37 38 39 40 41

On this biblical quotation in Theodoret, vid. Viciano (1996). Martin; Canivet; Bouffartigue et al. (2009: 422). Theodoret’s translation taken from Jackson (1892). Paschoud (2003: xxxiii). See, for instance, Zosimus 4.32–33, 50.

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reason why he was chosen for the embassy. As for Hilarius, he is absent from the rest of the accounts on the Riot but has been identified by F. Paschoud as Hilarius 8 in the PLRE, proconsul in Palestine in 392–393.42 In fact, the PLRE gives credibility to Zosimus’ text as Hilarius “owed his governorship to the impression he made then.” He was also a student of Libanius, who praised him in several letters for being a well-learned pepaideumenos with an ability to translate from Latin into Greek (Ep. 181N; 185N). These facts would explain Zosimus’ words praising his family and education (4.41: γένους τε λαμπρότητι καὶ παντὶ παιδείας εἴδει προήκοντα). It should also be questioned why Zosimus adopted Libanius’ version of his fictitious journey to Constantinople instead of following the text in which the sophist acknowledged that he remained at Antioch after the Riot. According to F. Paschoud and R. Goulet, the fourth book of Zosimus’ New History relies entirely on Eunapius’ History, who in turn knew Libanius’ Autobiography, a text that had enjoyed a wide and fast circulation by the end of the fourth century.43 The presence of two pagan characters – Libanius, for whom he had mixed feelings, and Hilarius – together with the absence of mentions of Christians in the aftermath of the Riot would fit with Eunapius’ historiographical programme designed to try to counter the emergence and power of Christianity. I think, then, that it is fair to speculate that Eunapius knew the two different versions of Libanius yet preferred to follow Libanius’ account of his fictitious embassy in Or. 19. This was a choice that eventually both inspired and misled the unreliable Zosimus, who passed this incident down without reexamining the sources because of his blind loyalty towards Eunapius, especially when chastising the Christian Theodosius was at stake.44 The religious implications of Zosimus’ inaccurate version of the Riot of the Statues become more evident when it is compared with the narration of a similar episode concerning Antioch and another imperial figure. Zosimus tells us (3.11) that when the emperor Julian arrived at Antioch in 362 two different conceptions of life collided: Julian’s bios philosophikos was poles apart from the happy-go-lucky attitude of the Antiochenes. Other factors complicated Julian’s experience in Antioch: the long-standing and strong presence of Christianity in the city, the emperor’s religious programme, and Julian’s failed policy to regulate the price of grain during his stay there. In this context, the 42 43 44

On Hilarius, see PLRE I: 435. Van der Paverd (1991: 50) does not entirely rule out the possibility of Hilarius coming to Constantinople “on his own accord.” Blockley (1981–1983 vol. II: 79; Eunapius’ Frag. 53 = Zos. 4. 41); Goulet (2014 vol. I: 542, ft. 2); Nesselrath and Van Hoof (2014: 162–163); Paschoud (2003: lxv). Paschoud (2003: lxxiv–lxxx); Quiroga (2015).

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Antiochenes gave free rein to jokes and mockery regarding the emperor’s lifestyle and physical appearance, to which Julian replied by composing his bitter and witty Misopogon. In his work, Zosimus does not deny this strife but does his best to smooth the incident out as an amusing anecdote intended to show Julian’s skills as a caricaturist. If we compare Theodosius’ and Julian’s conflicts with Antioch, Zosimus’ partial attitude becomes apparent. First, it should be appreciated that the atmosphere that propitiated the Riot was described by Zosimus as corrupted (Τῶν δὲ ὑπὸ τὴν Θεοδοσίου βασιλείαν οὕτω διεφθαρμένων) as well as symptomatic of a period of moral decay. In contrast, the arrival of Julian’s army to Antioch is portrayed as a gentle and serene journey (Μεθ’ ὅσης μὲν οὖν ἡσυχίας καὶ εὐλαβείας) to a city that welcomed him with a kind disposition (φιλοφρόνως). Second, the Antiochenes’ unpleasant expressions against Theodosius and his family are excused by Zosimus because of the tension of the situation and because of the reputation of Antioch’s wits (τῆς συνήθους αὐτοῖς ἀστειότητος). However, similar witticisms are deemed serious offenses when the Antiochenes teased Julian for his reluctance to attend or enjoy theatrical spectacles (εἴργοντός τε θεάτρων ἑαυτόν). Third, Theodosius needed to be persuaded by two pagan figures (Libanius and Hilarius) to cancel his punishments against Antioch. In the case of Julian, he took care of his discord with the Antiochenes by composing the Misopogon,45 described by Zosimus as a refined and charming (λόγον δὲ ἀστειότατον) work that made the people of Antioch feel sorry for their jokes. Unlike Theodosius, Julian appears as a firm and persuasive ruler willing to use dialogue to air any grievances. Consequently, as noted by Paschoud, these two episodes were manipulated by Zosimus in his attempt to follow Eunapius’ religious agenda by presenting a pro-Julianic tale of Julian’s dealings with the Antiochenes that contrasts with Theodosius’ management of the crisis in 387. By contrast to other texts such as Themistius’ To Theodosius on the most royal virtues, which take a more theoretical approach to the image of an emperor, the analysis of the sources regarding the Riot of the Statues allows us to explore how the articulation of Theodosius’ virtues (pity, clemency, philanthropia were the common stock of virtues that were emphasised regardless of the religious affiliation of the authors) as the result of the appeasement of anger were merged into the authors’ personal agendas. In the Christian sources, Theodosius features as a figure who always ends up persuaded by Christian methods, with the intention of reasserting the new order in which Christian figures such as bishops and monks not only had the moral upper hand, but also symbolised the supremacy of heavenly matters 45

Paschoud (2003: 100, ft. 30).

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over earthly powers. As Ambrose wrote to Theodosius in a threatening way (Ep. 74.33), ut me magis audires in regia, ne si necesse esset audires in ecclesia. The pagan sources put the emphasis on the context in which the Riot took place. Libanius’ orations 19–20, together with other pieces meant to reach Theodosius, were intended to be a polite reminder of the necessity of enforcing existing laws that protected traditional cults.46 In this way, the image of Theodosius as a forgiving and philanthropic ruler in the set of speeches on the Riot is framed in a pagan context in which two important concepts – Tyche and Nemesis – dominated the scene. In the case of Zosimus, the Riot was deployed as a rhetorical exemplum of the decadence of the Empire under Christian emperors. In both cases, it is evident that pagan and Christian sources did not hesitate to instrumentalise Theodosius’ image for their own purposes.47 Leaving aside the differences among the sources regarding who should be credited with the merit of having eased the emperor Theodosius and what political issues underlaid during the Riot, both pagan and Christian authors coincide in focusing their narratives on the anger of the emperor Theodosius. Approaches to his wrath vary in their treatment of this emotion but seem to follow a similar pattern: the emperor’s ὀργή, which was unanimously excused given the magnitude of the affront, gave way to a display of imperial virtues. The angry response of the emperor Theodosius to riotous events as shown in the sources was framed within two discourses that converged into the same narrative: the transformation of his ὀργή into the display of imperial virtues. Thus, when Christian and pagan sources are compared, a stronger emphasis in accommodating Theodosius’ reactions to a literary tradition (mainly, the speculum principis and Menander Rhetor’s basilikos logos) is appreciated in Libanius’ and Zosimus’ accounts of the Riot of the Statues. However, in the case of Ambrose of Milan and John Chrysostom, the emperor’s anger is contextualised within a Christian set of values in which ὀργή had become a desirable emotional state if it led to the implementation of Christian virtues such as repentance and forgiveness. Bibliography Ashbrook-Harvey, S. 2000. ‘Antioch and Christianity’, in C. Kondoleon (ed.), Antioch, The Lost Ancient City. Princeton. 43–9.

46 See Or. 32.2 Also Liebeschuetz (re. 2003: 267–268). 47 Kahlos (2016).

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Blockley, R.L. 1981–1983. The Fragmentary Classicising Historians of the Later Roman Empire, 2 vols. Liverpool. Canivet, P. 1977. Le monachisme selon syrien Théodoret de Cyr. Paris. Cribiore, R. 2013. Libanius the Sophist: Rhetoric, Reality, and Religion in the Fourth Century. Ithaca and London. Drake, H. 2015. ‘Speaking of Power. Christian Redefinition of the Imperial Role in the Fourth Century’, in J. Wienand (ed.), Contested Monarchy: Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century AD. Oxford. 291–308. Eidinow, E. 2011. Luck, fate and fortune: antiquity and its legacy. London. Fredal, J. 2001. ‘The Language of Delivery and the Presentation of Character: Rhetorical Action in Demosthenes’ Against Meidias’, Rhetoric Review 20.3–4: 251–267. French, D.R. 1998. ‘Rhetoric and the Rebellion of A.D. 387 in Antioch’, Historia 47.4: 468–484. Goulet, R. (tr. and ed.). 2014. Eunape de Sardes. Vies de Philosophes et de Sophistes, Paris. Harris, W.V. 2002. Restraining Rage: The Ideology of Anger Control in Classical Antiquity. Cambridge (MA)-London. Van Hoof, L. 2014. ‘Libanius’ Life and life’, in L. Van Hoof (ed.), Libanius. A Critical Introduction. Cambridge. 7–38. Hunter, D. 1988. John Chrysostom. A comparison between a king and a monk. Against the opponents of the monastic life. Lewiston. Jackson, B. 1892. Theodoret. Church History, Dialogues, and Letters. Michigan. Kahlos, M. 2016. ‘The Emperor’s New Images. How to Honour the Emperor in the Christian Roman Empire?’, in M. Kahlos (ed.), Emperors and the Divine. Rome and its influence. Helsinki. 119–138. Kondoleon, C. 2000. Antioch. The lost ancient city. Princeton. König, J. 2012. Saints and Symposiasts: The Literature of Food and the Symposium in Greco-Roman and Early Christian Culture. Cambridge. Leppin, H. 2011. ‘The Late Empire’, in G. Marasco (ed.), Political Autobiographies and Memoirs in Antiquity. Leiden-Boston. 417–453. Liebeschuetz, J.H.W.G. 1972 (re. 2003). Antioch. City an Imperial Administration in the Later Roman Empire. Oxford. Liebeschuetz, J.H.W.G. 2011. Ambrose and John Chrysostom: clerics between desert and empire. Oxford. Liebeschuetz, J.H.W.G. and Hill, C. (tr.). 2005. Ambrose of Milan. Political Letters and Speeches. Liverpool. López Eire, A. 1991. ‘Reflexiones sobre los discursos de Libanio al emperador Teodosio’, Fortunatae 1: 27–66. Malosse, P.L. 2014. ‘Libanius’ Orations’, in L. Van Hoof (ed.), Libanius. A Critical Introduction. Cambridge. 81–106. Maraval, P. 2009. Théodose le Grand. Le pouvoir et la foi. Paris.

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Martin A.; Canivet, P.; Bouffartigue, J. et al. (tr. and ed.). 2009. Theódoret de Cyr. Histoire Ecclésiastique. Livres III–V. Paris. Mayer, W. 2005. The homilies of St. John Chrysostom, provenance: reshaping the foundations. Roma. McLynn, N. 1994. Ambrose of Milan: church and court in a Christian capital. Berkeley and London. Nesselrath, H.-G. and Van Hoof, L. 2014. ‘The reception of Libanius: from pagan friend of Julian to (almost) Christian saint and back’, in L. Van Hoof (ed.), Libanius. A Critical Introduction. Cambridge. 81–106. Noreña, C.F. 2001. ‘The Communication of the Emperor’s Virtues’, JRS 91: 146–168. Norman, A.F. (tr.). 1977. Libanius. Selected Works. London and Cambridge (MA). Norman, A.F. (tr.). 1992. Libanius. Autobiography and Selected Letters. London and Cambridge (MA). Van Nuffelen, P. 2014. ‘Not the last pagan: Libanius between elite rhetoric and religion’, in L. van Hoof (ed.), Libanius. An Introduction. Cambridge. 293–314. Paschoud, F. (tr. and ed.). 2003. Zosime. Histoire Nouvelle, Paris. Paverd, F. 1991. St. John Chrysostom. The Homilies on the Statues: an introduction. Rome. PLRE = Jones, A.H.M.; Martindale, J.R., and Morris, J. 1971–1992. The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire. Cambridge. Quiroga-Puertas, A.J. 2015. ‘Deconstructing Praise: Zosimus’ Conception of the Emperor Theodosius’ ἀνδρεία’, Mnemosyne 68.3, 452–464. Rees, R. 2018. ‘Authorising freedom of Speech under Theodosius’, in D.W.P. Burgersdijk and A.J. Ross (eds.), Imagining Emperors in the Later Roman Empire. Leiden-Boston. 289–309. Sabbah, G. et al. (tr. and ed.). 2008. Sozomène. Histoire Ecclésiastique. Paris. Shepardson, C. 2007. ‘Controlling Contested Places: John Chrysostom’s Adversus Iudaeos Homilies and the Spatial Politics of Religious Controversy’, JECS 15.4: 483–516. Soler, E. 2001. ‘Utilisation de l’historie de l’Église d’Antioche au IVème siècle par Jean Chrysostome dans les débuts de sa prédication’, in B. Pouderon and Y-M Duval (eds.), L’ Historiographie de l’ église des premiers siècles. Paris. 499–510. Spuntarelli, C. 2010. ‘Didascalia e potere episcopale ad Antiochia nell´ ideologia dei panegirici di Giovanni Crisostomo’, ASE 27.1: 77–100. Stenger, J. 2015. “The soul and the city: John Chrysostom’s modelling of urban space”, in T. Fuhrer, F. Mundt and J. Stenger (eds.) Cityscaping: Constructing and Modelling Images of the City. Berlin. 133–154. Stenger, J. 2017. ‘Staging Laughter and Tears: Libanius, Chrysostom and the Riot of the Statues’, in M. Alexiou and D. Cairns (eds.), Greek Laughter and Tears. Edinburgh. 166–186.

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Stephens, J. 2013. ‘A Pagan and Christian interpretation of the 387 Riot of the Statues‘. ATINER Conference Paper Series. Stephens, W.R.W. (tr.). 1889. John Chrysostom. Homilies on the Statues. Buffalo. Thelamon, F. 2003. ‘Un modèle féminin chez les historiens de l’église de IVe et du Ve siècle: le souveraine chrétienne’, in P. Delage (ed.), Les Pères de l’Eglise et les femmes. Paris. 313–325. Valevicius, A. 2000. ‘Les 24 homélies De Statuis de Jean Chrysostome. Recherches nouvelles’, ReAug 46: 83–91. Viciano, A. 1996. ‘El hombre, imagen de Dios (Gen 1,26) en las obras exegéticas de Teodoreto de Ciro’, in J.M. Casciaro et al. (eds.), Esperanza del hombre y revelación bíblica. Navarra. 200–214. Wallace-Hadrill, A. 1981. ‘The Emperor and His Virtues’, Historia 30.3: 298–323. Watts, E. 2015. The Final Pagan Generation. Oakland (CA). Wiemer, H.-U. 2014. ‘Emperors and empire in Libanius’, in L. Van Hoof (ed.), Libanius. A Critical Introduction. Cambridge. 187–219. Zenos, A.C. 1886. Socrates and Sozomenus. Ecclesiastical Histories. New York.

Chapter 9

Managing the Empire while Securing the Throne: Theodosius I and the Administrative Structures of His Empire Daniëlle Slootjes 9.1 Introduction Modern historical analyses of the era of the Theodosian dynasty (379–455) tend to focus on the actions of the individual emperors, the proclamation of Christianity as state religion, the so-called separation of East and West in 395 and its consequences, the role of imperial women, or the invasions of nonRoman peoples.1 This contribution deals with an aspect that so far has not received much scholarly attention: the operations of the administrative structures at the end of the fourth century, with a particular focus on Theodosius’ role in developments of the administration. While scholars generally agree that the new complex administrative system of provinces, dioceses, and prefectures was fully operational by the end of the fourth century, not much research has been done on the effect of specific late fourth century political developments of the empire on the administrative structures.2 In part, this has to do with the way in which scholarship of the (Late) Roman world tends to analyze: studies concentrate either on emperors and their highest political officials such as the urban and praetorian prefects within the framework of imperial politics and representations of power, or they focus on the local functioning of provincial government. Consequently, one gets the impression that these were two different levels of management that never really intermingled. In other words, this often leads to studies of individual emperors without examining the daily operations of the administrative structures, even though these were crucial for the stability and consolidation of imperial rule. As a result, apart from discussing the far-reaching changes under Diocletian and Constantine 1 Holum (1992); Williams and Friell (1994); Leppin (2003); Salisbury (2015). 2 On the administrative changes of the fourth century: Jones (1964), 42–47, 373–377; Barnes (1982 and 1992); Noethlichs (1982); Migl (1994); Palme (1999), 95–98; Zuckerman (2002); Kulikowski (2004), 69–71; Feissel (2004), 108–110; Slootjes (2014; 2020 and forthcoming 2021). The formation of prefectures as territorial units was part of a development that followed over the course of the fourth century. See Barnes (1992); Migl (1994), 161–208.

© Daniëlle Slootjes, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004446922_011

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in the early fourth century, scholars do not often discuss the performance of subsequent individual emperors in combination with the practical operations of the imperial administration. To a certain extent, one might argue that the short-term rule and even personality of an individual emperor mattered less for the long-term effective organisation and operations of the administration. Nevertheless, it might be worthwhile to examine them in connection to each other.3 This contribution presents an analysis that aims to integrate the engagement of the individual emperor Theodosius the Great (379–395) with the functioning of the administrative structures of the empire at large. After a brief discussion of the geographical and administrative structures of the empire in the 370s preceding Theodosius’ accession to the throne, the emperor’s involvement with his administration will be illustrated by considering his dealings particularly with the prefectures and dioceses as well as his appointment policies and legislation. It will become clear that, while Theodosius was confronted with exceptional conditions in that both internal and external enemies threatened the stability of the empire and in particular of the imperial position, he also tried to maintain and be involved in the regular daily business of the empire’s administration. Even though parts of the empire might have been in turmoil which called for the emperor’s special attention, others parts were secure but of course still in need of an emperor who represented stable imperial leadership and was accessible to them for their requests. The results of this contribution will attempt to advance our understanding of the close connection between individual emperors, administrative structures and empire wide developments in the late fourth century. 9.2

The Geographical and Administrative Structures of the Empire in the 370s

The emperors Diocletian (284–305) and Constantine the Great (306–337) set in motion a series of reforms that resulted in a more complex, hierarchical and multi-layered system of administrative units, i.e. provinces, dioceses, and prefectures, as well as in a considerable increase in the number of officials administering these different types of units.4 Considering the complexity of the new organisation of provincial government, our evidence shows that it took years, 3 Cf. Errington (2006), 81. 4 Jones (1964), 42–47, 373–377; Barnes (1982 and 1992); Migl (1994); Palme (1999), 95–98; Kulikowski (2004), 69–71; Feissel (2004), 108–110; Slootjes (2014; 2020 and forthcoming 2021).

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if not decades, for all these new units to be implemented at an empire wide level.5 Regional differences may have played a part too in the pace of the actual realisation of the alterations in certain areas of the empire. Notably, we are almost completely left in the dark about the decision making process behind this large scale administrative operation, as well as about the way the inhabitants of the empire ‘experienced’ the increasingly complex system.6 Remarkably few ancient sources have documented these far-reaching administrative changes. Our most important sources are the Verona List (Laterculus Veronensis) of the early fourth century, and the Notitia Dignitatum, with its eastern and western lists, each with their own date of creation, but roughly speaking reflecting the empire’s situation in the late fourth and early fifth centuries.7 At first sight, these bare administrative lists seem to reveal little information, except for acknowledging territorial boundaries, as the lists indicate which provinces were part of which diocese. However, a comparison between the Verona List and the two Notitiae indicates that three major changes were made in the names and territories of the dioceses over the course of the fourth century: (1) Aegyptus became an independent diocese instead of being part of the diocese of Oriens; (2) Moesia was split into the dioceses of Dacia and Macedonia; (3) and the dioceses of Galliae and Viennensis ended up as one diocese, i.e. Septem Provinciae.8 Each of these changes in the dioceses were the result of specific regional and/or empire wide political conditions. Notably, all three adjustments to the dioceses can be dated to the reign of Theodosius I. Ultimately, by the end of the fourth century, there were 116 provinces divided over thirteen dioceses, six in the West (Britannia, Septem Provinciae, Hispania, Africa, Italia, and Illyricum) and seven in the East (Dacia,

5 The formation of prefectures as territorial units was part of a development that followed over the course of the fourth century. See Barnes (1992); Migl (1994), 161–208. 6 Slootjes (2014); cf. also Slootjes (2017a); Slootjes (2017b). Cf. Mazel (2016), 23. 7 See the Laterculus Veronensis and the Notitia Dignitatum. On dating and interpretation of the Notitia Dignitatum, see Bury (1920); Jones (1964, Appendix II); Mann (1976); Brennan (1996); Kulikowski (2000). For the Notitiae Orientis the period 386–396 is now recognised as a date by most scholars, whereas for the Notitia Occidentis circa 419 (but no later than 425). 8 Seeck (1876). Cf. Jones (1964), appendix III, 1451–1461. A fourth change which did not involve changes in territory was that of the diocese of Pannonia. Its name was changed into the diocese of Illyricum, which in itself is puzzling as eventually a prefecture called Illyricum was created as well and has created confusion among scholars when trying to understand the ancient sources. Cf. Cod. Theod. 10.19.7 of 373 as a reference to Illyricum as diocese. Migl (1994), 157; Bavant (2004), 306; Caldwell III (2012), 92–93.

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Macedonia, Thracia, Asiana,9 Pontica, Oriens, and Aegyptus).10 The dioceses in turn were grouped together in four prefectures, i.e. Galliarum, Italia, Illyricum and Oriens.11 9.3

The Accession of Theodosius I

In the early 370s, the empire was ruled by two emperors, Valentinian I (364–375) in the West, and his brother Valens (364–378) in the East. When Valentinian I died in 375, his son Gratian, who had been appointed by his father as junior coruler in 367, became the senior emperor for the West, joining his rule with his brother Valentinian II as his junior emperor as the latter had been acclaimed emperor by the armed forces. While Valens died at the battle of Adrianople in 378, and Gratian was murdered in 383, Valentinian II remained on the western throne until 392. After the devastating loss of Valens at Adrianople in 378, Valentinian and Gratian’s rule over the western half of the empire was temporarily expanded to the east as well. In order to stabilise the situation in Illyricum and the East, they asked Theodosius for help. Although Theodosius was not a relative of the emperors, he had experience within the imperial administration as he had been dux in Moesia around 374.12 By the mid to late 370s, Theodosius had retreated to his estates in Gallaecia in Spain, perhaps because he had fallen out of favour. Now, by the late 370s, the imperial government was in need of strong and capable officials. The emperors called upon Theodosius to resume a military command against the Goths, thereby allowing him to return into a powerful position which eventually led to obtaining the imperial position in 379.13 9 See Not. Dig. Orientis xx and xxiv. Notably, the vicarius Asianae did not control the provinces of Asia, Insulae and Hellespontus as these were under the control of the proconsul Asiae. See Sodini (2004), 352. 10 The number of provinces divided over the dioceses: Britannia (5), Septem Provinciae (17), Hispaniae (7), Africa (7), Italiae (17), Illyricum (6), Dacia (5), Macedonia (6), Thracia (6), Asiana (10), Pontica (10), Oriens (15), Aegyptus (5). 11 The organisation of the dioceses into the prefectures was as follows: Prefecture of Galliarum (Britannia, Septem Provinciae, Hispaniae), Prefecture of Italia (Africa, Italia, Illyricum), Prefecture of Illyricum (Dacia, Macedonia), and Prefecture of Oriens (Thracia, Asiana, Pontica, Oriens, Aegyptus). 12 Matthews (1975), 93; Errington (1996a), 443 and 449. Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae 29.6.14–16; Zosimus 4.16.6. Based on the speech of Pacatus, Theodosius might have returned in this position of dux in 378. 13 [Victor] Epit. 47.3; Pacatus, Pan. Lat. II(12) 9; Theodoret, Historia Ecclesiastica 5.5–6. Matthews (1975), 91–92; Errington (1996a); Sivan (1996); Leppin (2003), 40–44.

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As Leppin has argued, however, Theodosius might have been already asked to come back from Spain by Gratian before the battle at Adrianople in early August, as the time frame between Valens’ death and Theodosius officially assuming the emperorship over the East in January of 379 seems quite short for the steep promotion that he then subsequently made.14 When new emperors came to the throne, and Theodosius would not have been an exception, it was of the utmost importance to position themselves firmly within their imperial administration. The following analysis, based on the empire’s administrative and geographical division into prefectures, dioceses and provinces, offers us insights into Theodosius’ engagement in the daily affairs of the imperial administration. 9.4

Theodosius and the Prefectures

First, the geographical division of the empire’s prefectures, i.e. the largest units within the administration, had to be clarified by Theodosius as the previous two decades, starting in the 360s, had shown various (and sometimes temporary) adjustments to the geography of the administration in reaction to the political situation in the empire. The period between the death of Constantine the Great in 337 and the early 360s had been a formative phase in the development of the prefectures. Whereas originally praetorian prefects can been seen as – what Barnes called – ‘old style prefects’ and thus the highest officials of the empire who accompanied emperors wherever the latter would go, in the decades post-337 the praetorian prefecture evolved into a command that was attached to a specific region.15 During these decades, both old and new style prefects appear until the mid-360s when most praetorian prefects seem to be responsible for and attached to the administration of certain regions of the empire.16 By then, there were alternating three or four prefectures: Gaul, Oriens, Italy with Africa and sometimes with or without Illyricum. The evidence for the individual praetorian prefects points to certain moments in the mid-tolate fourth century during which Italy, Africa and Illyricum were joined into one prefecture, while at other moments Illyricum was a separate prefecture.17 The career of Claudius Mamertinus is illustrative for this shift back and forth.18 14 Leppin (2003), 43–44. 15 Barnes (1992), 249–252; Migl (1994), 39–49 and 124–175; Bleckmann (2003); Errington (2006), 80–81; Slootjes (2020 and forthcoming 2021). 16 Migl (1994), 140–175. 17 PLRE I, table B. Praetorian prefects 337-ca. 395, pp. 1049–1–52. 18 PLRE I, Mamertinus 2.

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In 361, during the reign of the emperor Julian (361–363), Mamertinus was appointed Praetorian Prefect of Illyricum, presumably by the emperor himself.19 Soon, in early 362, he seems to have become Praetorian Prefect of Italy and Africa as well, as might be concluded from a series of laws from the Codex Theodosianus.20 For whatever reason, in mid-364 the prefecture seems to have been divided into two, as Sextus Claudius Petronius Probus was serving as Praetorian Prefect of Illyricum alone and thus leaving Africa and Italy to Mamertinus.21 This turned out to be a temporary situation, because by late 364 Mamertinus was Praetorian Prefect of Italy, Africa and Illyricum again which then seems to have lasted through 365.22 By 364, when the empire was in the hands of the two emperors Valentinian I (364–375) and Valens (364–378), both rulers met in Naissus and in Sirmium, so Ammianus Marcellinus tells us, to discuss some sort of geographical division of rule, agreeing upon a regional division of responsibilities, of administrative staff and army units.23 For modern scholars this meeting could be explained as one of the clear forerunners of the split between East and West, which we tend to perceive in a more definite version upon the death of Theodosius I in 395. However, in recent years modern scholarship has questioned the almost ‘traditional’ split of the Empire into East and West in the year 395 and has called for a sense of more unity of the empire.24 If one accepts this reassessment, then we should also rethink the implication of the empire’s separation as a result of the meeting of Valentinian and Valens. In regard to the emperors’ deliberations about the prefectures, Valentinian I opted for a conservative continuation of the status quo of the three prefectures, even though in our eyes the geographical structure of three prefectures seems impracticable to control, if not untenable. It might seem more sensible to separate the prefecture of Italia, Africa, and Illyricum into at least two prefectures. Nevertheless, this situation of three prefectures lasted for another decade until the year 376 when serious problems with the Goths – their settlement in Thrace threatened to turn into war – led to a temporary separation of Illyricum from Italia and Africa.25 Julius Ausonius was appointed Praetorian Prefect of Illyricum and in office late in the year 377, although we lack any

19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae 21.12.25. Cf. Pan. Lat. XI(3) 1.2. See PLRE I, Mamertinus 2, p. 541 for a list of the laws. PLRE I, Probus 5. Cod. Theod. 1.29.1. Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae 26.5.5. Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae 26.5.1–5. Cf. Errington (2006), 3; 21–28; 81–83. Errington (2006), 1; Grig and Kelly (2012); Dijkstra, Van Poppel and Slootjes (2015). Matthews (1975), 88–89; Errington (2006), 82.

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further information about his accomplishments during the term of office.26 In an attempt to regain civil control over Illyricum, Gratian, in early 378, appointed Quintus Clodius Hermogianus Olybrius as Praetorian Prefect, an experienced official who had held several governorships as well as the urban prefecture of Rome.27 Of course, the emperors would send their military commanders to the region as well to deal with the military threat posed by the Goths. In such situations of danger and potential instability in parts of the empire, it remains difficult for us to get a sense of how the civil administration of governors, vicarii, and praetorian prefects continued in these regions. Did it come to a halt until stability was guaranteed again, or would it be able to remain in place and function properly? In most cases, we simply lack the evidence to be able to say anything about the administrative state of affairs. This particular situation in Thrace soon led to a military crisis resulting in the battle of Adrianople on August 9, 378, and in the subsequent death of the emperor Valens. Ammianus tells us that Valens, who had decided not to wait for Gratian, left the city of Adrianople for the battle field together with his military commanders, while the imperial signia, the praetorian prefect and his advisory council were left behind within the city walls and protected by a proper guard.28 In other words, even though his name is not specified, most likely Olybrius was the praetorian prefect who stayed behind in Adrianople and who thus evaded the battle. Of course, Olybrius was no military official, and by leaving him behind in the city with the imperial insignia, Valens made sure that the highest civil official would stay alive in case something would happen to the emperor himself. After Valens’ death, Gratian continued to have confidence in Olybrius, and somewhere between late 378 and before the appointment of Theodosius as emperor in January 379 he seems to have transferred Olybrius to the appointment of Praetorian Prefect Orientis. As for the other Praetorian Prefects of the empire, after the battle at Adrianople, Gratian seems to have promoted the two Praetorian Prefects of Galliarum, Decimius Magnus Ausonius and his son Decimius Hilarianus Hesperius into a joint Praetorian Prefecture (praefectura duplex) over Gaul, Italy, and Africa.29 Apparently, he trusted these men to the extent that he left them with the highest civil authority of almost the entire western half of the empire.

26 27 28 29

PLRE I, Ausonius 5. Cf. Ausonius, Epicedion in patrem 52. PLRE I, Olybrius 3. Cf. Leppin (2003), 59. Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae 31.12.10. PLRE I, Ausonius 7 and Hesperius 2. Ausonius, Epistula 22.91, praefectura duplex. Cf. Errington (2006), 83.

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On January 19 of 379, Theodosius was appointed emperor and seems to have accepted the responsibility over Illyricum until the situation with the Goths was settled.30 He decided to stay in Illyricum and took up residence in Thessalonica. While Sirmium had been the administrative center of Illyricum, in the previous decades it had suffered from invasions of non-Roman peoples and had become vulnerable.31 So Theodosius opted for Thessalonica, which was better protected, to become the center of imperial presence, if only for a few years in the late 370s and early 380s, until the wars were over and Theodosius moved to Constantinople where an adventus was held for him on 24 November 380.32 As to what happened to the civil administration of Illyricum in the aftermath of the battle at Adrianople, the evidence is unclear. In times of potential threats to the stability of the region and the empire at large, such as during the problems with the Goths, it was more practical to have a separate praetorian prefect for Illyricum. Theodosius appears not to have appointed a Praetorian Prefect of Illyricum immediately, but he seems to have taken his time in search for a reliable candidate for the position in a region that had proven to be vulnerable as well as important in connecting the eastern and western half of the empire. Of course, Theodosius’ own presence in the region might have made the time frame for the appointment less urgent. By the following year 380, Theodosius had found a candidate in Eutropius who remained in office through September 381.33 For part of the first year of his appointment Theodosius and Eutropius were probably both stationed in Thessalonica. Although a native from Bordeaux, Eutropius had spent much time in the East, he had accompanied Julian on his campaign against the Persians, had been the magister memoriae in the East under Valens, and had then become proconsul of Asia in 371/2. Eutropius’ prefecture of Illyricum would have contained the dioceses of Macedonia, Dacia, and Thracia. During Eutropius’ term of office as Praetorian Prefect of Illyricum he received many laws from the emperors which offer an insight into the issues that were dealt with by the imperial government. Notably, these laws give no indication of a dire situation in the prefecture, but seem to deal with matters that were part of the daily affairs of life throughout the Roman Empire.34 For instance, there is a series of laws addressed to Eutropius, issued in Thessalonica 30 31 32 33 34

Errington(1996b); Leppin (2003), 47–51; Errington (2006), 82. Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae 30.5–6. Várady (1969); Christie (1992), 323. Errington (1996b); Leppin (2003), 58; Errington (2006), 83. PLRE I, Eutropius 2. See PLRE I, p. 317 for a more extensive list.

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on 17 June 380 and in the name of Gratian, Valentinian II, and Theodosius. As this series was issued in Thessalonica, we can assume that Theodosius was the instigator. These laws are concerned for instance with betrothal and antenuptial gifts, payment of trials, rejection of criminals in offices in the provinces, or property laws for the family of those who were deported.35 In other words, while Theodosius on the one hand tried to get a military grip on the situation with the Goths, on the other hand he also made an attempt to continue regular administrative business. The latter would have been expected from an emperor, even if he were away from the imperial capital. We have to keep in mind that the empire was hardly ever at war in its entirety. Thus, war and instability in one region of the empire would be of little to no concern in the secure and prosperous regions of the empire which would, however, expect the emperor to be available as their ruler as well. Indeed, while in Thesssalonica, Theodosius would have been accompanied by a large group of imperial officials responsible for the various bureaus that ran the empire’s administration. Wherever the emperor would be, he was expected to be accessible for petitions of his subjects as well as the issuing of issuing imperial legislation. The continuation – or perhaps the revival – of the daily administration in the region can also be seen as a signal to the local population in the provinces that the imperial government was in control of its empire. Once the Gothic wars were over in 382, Theodosius returned Illyricum back into ‘western’ control as he had promised to Gratian.36 In the following year, Sextus Claudius Petronius Probus was Praetorian Prefect of Italy, Africa, and Illyricum, so at first sight the former construction of a large central prefecture within the empire seems to have been restored. However, Probus’ term might have lasted only a few months and it is not quite clear if Illyricum continued to be part of this central prefecture.37 The ancient evidence for most of the succeeding Praetorian Prefects mentions Italy and Africa as their geographical responsibility, but not Illyricum until the prefecture of Flavius Eusignius in 386 who appears to have been in control of Illyricum as well.38 However, the position of Illyricum within the administrative structures was hereby not settled.

35 Cod. Theod. 3.5.10; 3.5.11; 3.6.1; 4.19.1; 9.27.2; 9.42.8; 9.42.9. 36 Errington (2006), 83. 37 PLRE I, Probus 5. According to the authors of the PLRE I (p. 739) Sozomen was wrong when he explained that Probus fled to Thessalonica together with Valentinian II when Magnus Maximus invaded Italy in 387. 38 Nonnius Atticus Maximus (PLRE I, Maximus 34); Vettius Agorius Praetextus (PLRE I, Praetextus 1); Flavius Neoterius (PLRE I, Neoterius).

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In reaction to the invasion of the usurper Magnus Maximus into Italy in 387 and Valentinian II’s flight to Thessalonica, negotiations between Valentinian and Theodosius once again led to the latter’s control over Illyricum.39 The battle against Maximus brought Theodosius to Italy where he stayed until 391 before returning to Constantinople. Nevertheless, the responsibility over the central prefecture of Africa, Italy, and Illyricum seem to have remained in Theodosius’ hands as it had become clear that Valentinian II was too weak an emperor to exercise firm control over the western half of the empire. In August 390, Theodosius had appointed Virius Nicomachius Flavianus as Praetorian Prefect over the central prefecture.40 However, during Flavianus’ term of office the emperor Valentinian II died in 392 and subsequently Theodosius appointed Apodemius as Praetorian Prefect over Illyricum and in the following months over Africa as well, thus leaving Flavianus with Italy.41 Theodosius was left as the sole emperor, but immediately had to deal with the usurpation of Eugenius and Arbogast, who had moved into Italy in 393 and whose side Flavianus had taken. Eugenius consolidated Flavianus’ appointment of Praetorian Prefect of Italy. Errington seems to suggest that Flavianus’ desertion to Eugenius’ side might have been caused by frustration over the removal of Illyricum and Africa from his prefecture.42 However, one might also argue that in his attempt to secure the regions of his empire, Theodosius realised, on the one hand, that the central prefecture was too large for one praetorian prefect to handle, and on the other hand, that Flavianus might not turn out to be as reliable as he had hoped. This latter point is obviously speculative, but it became a reality once Flavianus deserted the Theodosian government to join forces with Eugenius. Flavianus’ choice proved to be a bad one, as Theodosius would win a final battle at Frigidus in September 394. With his appointments of men in high offices Theodosius shows that he was well aware of the importance of choosing qualified and especially loyal men.43 The dealings with the region of Illyricum are illustrative for the struggle for power at the highest level in the sense that stability in that region proved to be vital for the imperial authority, either in its fight against the Goths as well as in internal wars over the imperial position. Clearly, the geographical centrality as a gateway between East and West was considered crucial for the empire’s security. It was also during these decades, perhaps at some stage between the 39 40 41 42 43

Errington (2006), 84. PLRE I, Flavianus 15. Cf. Errington (2006), 85–86. PLRE I, Apodemius 3. Errington (2006), 85–86. Cf. Matthews (1975), 237–238. Matthews (1975), 224–226 for a short overview of loyal and trustworthy men who were appointed by Theodosius in important offices. See also Leppin (2003), 112 and 116.

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invasion of Magnus Maximus into Italy in 387 and the final years of the fourth century, that the regions that together made up the prefecture of Illyricum were not a logical or practical unit. Thus, it was decided, perhaps by Theodosius himself, even though we have no evidence of the actual decision making process, that Illyricum was to be split up in such a way that the dioceses of Dacia and Macedonia together would make up the prefecture of Illyricum, whereas Pannonia which had always had strong connections with northern Italy ended up as part of Africa and Italy.44 By the end of the fourth century, at the beginning of the rule of Theodosius’ sons Arcadius and Honorius, the four prefectures of the empire seem to be in place. 9.5 Theodosius I and the Dioceses By the end of the fourth century, most of the dioceses were clearly established from a geographical point of view, yet there was still discussion about the position, authority and responsibility of the leading officials, in most dioceses called the vicarius (Aegyptus with its Praefectus Augustalis and Oriens with its Comes Orientis were in title exceptions though their duties appear to be the same). From the period of Theodosius’ reign there are four laws that address these issues, showing that the emperors were still in the process of positioning the vicarii within the hierarchy of officials.45 These also demonstrate that one cannot simplify the system of officials into some type of hierarchical arrangement by placing praetorian prefects at the top, followed by the vicarii, and then by the provincial governors. The latter type of official had various levels and ranks, as proconsuls for instance were higher in rank than vicarii.46 The laws also show that the emperors considered it their responsibility to clarify the privileges and limits of the various offices. During the rule of Theodosius, three adjustments to the territories of the dioceses seem to be made. Remarkably, while dioceses had started to appear from the reign of Constantine onwards, by the final two decades of the fourth century three major territorial changes took place. First, whereas Aegyptus in the early fourth century had been part of the diocese of Oriens, around 381 – thus during the joint rule of Valentinian II, Gratian and Theodosius – Aegyptus 44 This would cause some confusion, as Pannonia then ended up named Illyricum as a diocese, so that Illyricum represented both a diocese in the West and a praefecture in the East. Migl (1994), 151 and 157; Errington (2006), 84. Also, Kulikowski (2000), 364 and Feissel (2004), 304. 45 Cod. Theod. 1.15.10 of 379; 1.15.11 of 380; 1.15.13 of 386 and 1.15.13 of 389. 46 Slootjes (2006).

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became a diocese in its own right, independent from Oriens.47 Although this seems to have been a serious change, in practice this might also be seen as a confirmation of the status quo throughout the entire fourth century. Under Diocletian Egypt had been divided into several provinces, but had also continued to have its own official for the entire region of Egypt, the praefectus Aegypti, who eventually became to be called the praefectus Augustalis.48 Second, as discussed in the previous section, the prefecture of Illyricum was altered in that Pannonia would be disconnected from Illyricum and assigned to the prefecture of Italy, while Dacia and Macedonia would together comprise the prefecture of Illyricum.49 Third, on the Verona List of the early fourth century the dioceses of Galliae and Viennensis are mentioned, but by the end of the fourth century these were combined into the diocese of Septem Provinciae. The merger of the two dioceses of Galliae, with its eighth provinces, and Viennensis, with its seven provinces, into the one diocese Septem Provinciae must have occurred in the final decade of the fourth century. As Mathisen has argued, this might have been part of an administrative organisation by the usurper Magnus Maximus who had turned Quinque Provinciae into Septem Provinciae (with an increase of two more provinces, Lugdunensis tertia and Lugdunensis senonia). However, once Maximus was defeated in 388, Theodosius together with his co-rulers Valentinian and Arcadius officially had Maximus’ acts as emperor nullified: ‘We condemn every decision which Maximus, the most nefarious of tyrants, conceived in his crafty mind and supposed that he should promulgate, thus rendering injustice instead of justice. Therefore, no man shall flatter himself with any law or decision of the tyrant’.50 Notably, even with this imperial and legal rejection, within Gaul the name Septem Provinciae seems to have been used, but in official documentation outside of Gaul it was Quinque Provinciae. A law from the year 400 shows that the imperial government officially had started to speak of Septem Provinciae.51 47 Consisting of the provinces Aegyptus, Augustamnica, Arcadia, Thebais Libyia Superior and Libya Inferior. Feissel (2004), 108; Tate (2004), 377; Palme (2007), 245–246. 48 See PLRE I, fasti on p. 1084–1085 for a list of the praefecti Augustalis of the fourth century. Cf. Lallemand (1964), 56; Noethlichs (1982), 81 n. 52. 49 Várady (1969). 50 Cod. Theod. 15.14.7 (translation by Pharr). Cf. Cod. Theod. 15.14.8. Mathisen (2013), 280–281, also for more discussion on the use of the Quinque Provinciae and Septem Provinciae, especially in ecclesiastical sources. For previous ideas, see Palanque (1934), 361–363; Chastagnol (1973), 25. 51 Cod. Theod. 1.15.15 of June 18, 400. Cf. Cod. Theod. 16.10.5 of January 29, 399 which still calls the diocese Quinque Provinciae. The first known vicarius of Septem Provinciae seems to

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This case of Gaul reveals a notable and conscious expression of imperial power which for Theodosius could only have led to the rejection of Magnus Maximus’ acts. In Theodosius’ eyes Maximus had been a usurper, even though for a while the emperor seems to have tolerated Maximus’ ruling position in the West. Some type of negotiations between Theodosius and his eastern court, Valentinian in the West, and Maximus might have led to a geographical division along lines of great praetorian prefectures with Maximus having control over the Gallic prefecture until Maximus broke this deal when he invaded Italy, thereby forcing Theodosius eventually into action.52 When Maximus was killed, and Theodosius was the most dominant partner of the three e­ mperors – Valentinian II having become too weak and Theodosius’ son Arcadius still a minor – Theodosius would have been leading in the actions taken upon the defeat of Maximus.53 Clearly, he decided that Maximus’ image and deeds had to be erased from history, a well-known fate for unsuccessful claimants to the throne. Unfortunately, it is not clear to us why Maximus had chosen this change, that he might have considered as practical and a possible improvement for the empire’s administrative functioning. Eventually, Maximus’ alterations of the Gallic dioceses were indeed accepted some years after Theodosius’ death. 9.6 Conclusion This contribution presents the first steps towards a more in-depth analysis of a topic that deserves further scholarly attention, i.e. the way in which specific historical situations, individual emperors, and the daily (administrative) structure of the empire were more intertwined than we tend to acknowledge in modern scholarship. The case of Theodosius lends itself well for an analysis that attempts to link the various domains of emperorship. When he came to the throne, he not only had to stabilise the regions of Illyricum that had been disrupted by Gothic wars, but had to deal with usurpation as well. While trying to deal with such extraordinary occurrences, Theodosius continued the typical have been Acilius Glabrio Sibidius signo Spedius (PLRE I, p, 838–839). Mathisen (2013), 281. Cf. Scharf (1992), 381. 52 Matthews (1975), 173–181; Errington (1996a), 441–442; Leppin (2003), 88–91 and 96–97; Errington (2006), 5; 31–34. Ambrose Ep. 30 (24) with McLynn (1994), 161–164. Zosimus 4.19.2 (according to Errington, Zosimus wrongly attributes this division to Gratian). 53 Theodosius had Arcadius elevated as Augustus in January 383, though this had not been accepted by Gratian. See Leppin (2003), 65 and 96.

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imperial administrative business by issuing legislation and appointing the highest civil officials in the empire such as praetorian prefects, urban prefects or consuls. However, there is much more to be said about Theodosius, which still has to be unearthed. For instance, one could undertake a prosopographical study of all his high officials, including the city prefects as it would also be valuable to get insights into the men he left behind in Constantinople (or Rome) when he went on campaign. Unfortunately, we do not always have ancient evidence for the involvement of the emperor in appointments, but a detailed prosopographical study might bring more (family) connections to the fore than we are aware of so far. At this stage, the ancient evidence leaves us with the impression that Theodosius mainly dealt with the appointments of men in the highest offices such as the praetorian prefect in the case of the provincial government. If so, that means that the praetorian prefects were responsible for the appointments of the vicarii and the provincial governors. We have seen that some regions obtained more of Theodosius’ attention, such as Illyricum, although out of clear political and military reasons. Again, the evidence not always allows us to precisely indicate what the emperor decided, but it is often clear that Theodosius himself must have been involved because of the implication of a decision and its consequences, in particular for the stability of crucial regions of the empire. He simply could not afford not to be involved, even though he himself was preoccupied by trying to fight off enemies, both from outside and inside the empire’s territory. Finally, as a further suggestion for future research, it would also be valuable to connect Theodosius’ movements and actions to the particular legislation that the issued while being away from his capital. Furthermore, once an analysis of Theodosius would be more complete, it would also be worthwhile to explore in a similar fashion the ways in which his imperial predecessors, his co-rulers as well as the successors of the Theodosian dynasty dealt with or were involved in the functioning of the administrative structures of the empire. That would certainly advance our understanding of the close connection between individual emperors, administrative structures and empire wide developments in the late fourth century even further. Bibliography Barnes, T.D. 1982. The New Empire of Diocletian and Constantine. Cambridge (MA). Barnes, T.D. 1992. ‘Praetorian Prefects 337–361’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 94, 249–260.

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Bavant, B. 2004. ‘Illyricum’, in C. Morrisson (ed.), Le Monde Byzantin I (Paris), 303–348. Bleckmann, B. 2003. ‘Der Bürgerkrieg zwischen Constantin II. und Constans (340. n.Chr.)’, Historia 52, 225–250. Bowersock, G.W. 1986. ‘From emperor to bishop: the self-conscious transformation of political power in the fourth century A.D.’, Classical Philology 81, 298–307. Brown, P. 2012. Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350–550 AD. Princeton. Caldwell III, C.H. 2012. ‘The Balkans’, in S.F. Johnson (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity (Oxford), 92–114. Cameron, A. 1969. ‘Theodosius the Great and the regency of Stilico’, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 73, 247–280. Christie, N. 1992. ‘The survival of Roman settlement along the middle Danube: Pannonia from the fourth to the tenth century AD’, Oxford Journal of Archaeology 11, 317–339. Dijkstra, R., Van Poppel, S., Slootjes, D. (eds.) 2015. East and West in the Roman Empire of the Fourth Century: an End to Unity? Leiden. Ernesti, J. 1998. Princeps Christianus und Kaiser aller Römer: Theodosius der Grosse im Lichte zeitgenössiger Quellen. Paderborn. Errington, R.M. 1996a. ‘The accession of Theodosius I’, Klio 78, 438–453. Errington, R.M. 1996b. ‘Theodosius and the Goths’, Chiron 26, 1–27. Errington, R.M. 1997. ‘Church and state in the first years of Theodosius I,’ Chiron 27, 21–72. Errington, R.M. 2006. Roman Imperial Policy from Julian to Theodosius. Chapel Hill (NC). Feissel, D. 2004. ‘Ch. III L’empereur et l’administration impériale’, in C. Morrison (ed.), Le Monde Byzantin I. L’Empire romain d’Orient (330–641), (Paris), 79–110. Gluschanin, E.P. 1989. ‘Die Politik Theodosius’ I. und die Hintergründe des sogenannten Antigermanismus im oströmischen Reich’, Historia 38, 224–249. Holum, K. 1982. Theodosian Empresses: Women and Imperial Dominion in Late Antiquity. Berkeley – Los Angeles. Jones, A.H.M. 1964. (1992 repr. Baltimore). The Later Roman Empire. Oxford. Kelly, G., and Grig, L. 2012 Two Romes. Rome and Constantinople in Late Antiquity. Oxford. Kulikowski, M. 2004. Late Roman Spain and its Cities. Baltimore. Leppin, H. 2003. Theodosius der Grosse. Auf dem Weg zum Christlichen Imperium. Darmstadt. Mathews, J. 1975. Western Aristocracies and Imperial Court, AD 364–425. Oxford. Mathisen, R.W. 2013. ‘The council of Turin (398/399) and the reorganization of Gaul ca. 395/406’, Journal of Late Antiquity 6, 264–307.

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McLynn, N. 1994. Ambrose of Milan. Church and Court in a Christian Capital. Berkeley – Los Angeles. Migl, J. 1994. Die Ordnung der Ämter. Prätorianerpräfektur und Vikariat in der Regionalverwaltung des Römischen Reiches von Konstantin bis zur Valentinianischen Dynastie. Frankfurt am Main. Noethlichs, K.L. 1982. ‘Zur Entstehung der Diözesen als Mittelinstanz des spätrömischen Verwaltungssytems’, Historia 31, 70–81. Oost, S.I. 1962. ‘Count Gildo and Theodosius the Great’, Classical Philology 57, 27–30. Palme, B. 1999. ‘Die Officia der Statthalter in der Spätantike. Forschungsstand und Perspektiven’, Antiquité Tardive 7, 85–133. Salisbury, J.E. 2015. Rome’s Christian Empress: Galla Placidia rules at the Twilight of Empire. Baltimore. Sivan, H. 1996. ‘Was Theodosius I a usurper?’, Klio 78, 198–211. Slootjes, D. 2006. The Governor in the Later Roman Empire. Leiden. Slootjes, D. 2014. ‘Late antique administrative structures: on the meaning of dioceses and their borders in the fourth century’, in L. Brice and D. Slootjes (eds.), Aspects of Ancient Institutions and Geography. Studies in Honor of Richard J.A. Talbert (Leiden), 177–195. Slootjes, D. 2020. ‘Governing the empire: the effects of the Diocletianic and Cons­ tantinian provincial reforms under the sons of Constantine’, in N. Brian-Baker and S. Tougher (eds.), The Sons of Constantine, AD 337–361. In the Shadows of Constantine and Julian (Cambridge, 255–74). Slootjes, D. 2021. ‘The decision-making process behind the anchoring of provinces and dioceses into a new Late Roman administrative system: a case study of the diocese of Hispaniae’, in M. Jursa, B. Palme, S. Tost (eds.), Land, Labour and Power: Governing Ancient Empires. Proceedings of the 3rd to 5th International Conferences of the Research Network Imperium and Officium (Vienna, forthcoming). Sodini, J.-P. 2004. ‘L’Asie Mineure’, in C. Morrisson (ed.), Le Monde Byzantin I (Paris), 349–372. Tate, G. 2004. ‘Ch. XIII. La Syrie-Palestine’, in C. Morrison (ed.), Le Monde Byzantin I. L’Empire romain d’Orient (330–641) (Paris), 373–401. Várady, L. 1969. Das Letzte Jahrhundert Pannoniens (376–476). Amsterdam. Williams, S., Friell, G. 1994. Theodosius: The Empire at Bay. London. Zuckerman, C. 2002. ‘Sur la Liste de Vérone et la province de Grande Arménie, la division de l’Empire et la date de création des diocèses,’ in Mélanges Gilbert Dagron (Travaux et Mémoires 14), 617–637. Paris.

Index of Names and Subjects administrative structures 7, 29, 218-231 Adrianople 190, 221-225 Alexander the Great 98–101, 103, 105, 105 n. 45 anger 8, 120 (Constantius), 125 (divine a.), 199–214 (Theodosius), see also ὀργή Antioch 8, 124–129, 199–214 Christian roots 201 Antiocheans 104, 199–213 Apodemius (praefectus praetorio) 227 Apollo 4, 63, 103, 108 Arbogast 227 Arcadius 185 n. 46, 228, 229, 230, 230 n. 59. Arcadius’ Column 22, 22, 27 Arcadius’ representations 32, 157, 160, 164, 166, 169 Arians 6, 184 n. 43, 188, 188 n. 68, 192 astronomical phenomena 6, 112–132, see also omens Augustus 7, 31, 55, 55, 56, 58, 58, 60 n. 26, 62, 64, 64 nn. 36, 38, 71, 105 n. 45, 112, 140, 140 n. 4, 171; see Octavianus basilica crisis 177–195 basilikos logos 80 n. 23, 80–81, 89, 99, 207, 214 Calligonus (praepositus sacri cubiculi) 187, 189 Caesarius (magister officiorum) 200, 200, 205, 211 Christian God 4, 104 n. 39, see also Christ, Jesus Christ 23, 203 n. 10 Christian Empire 6, 8, 141, 171 Christian perspective(s) 81, 82, 112, 188, 209, 213 Christian ruler 4, 6, 33 Christian virtues (in a Roman emperor) 8, 203 n. 10, 204, 210, 214; see also forgiveness, repentance Christianity 1 n. 5, 64, 96, 96 n. 8, 108, 201, 212, 218 civil wars (as a part of imperial discourse)  5, 15–27, 31, 34, 36, 38, 39, 40.

Claudius Gothicus (supposedly founder of second Flavian Dinasty) 4, 48, 70, 96, 98, 98 n. 20, 108, 108 n. 59, 146 n. 10 Claudius Mamertinus (praefectus praetorio) 222–223 Constantius Chlorus 4, 36, 36, 36 n. 74, 57, 57 n. 16, 61, 69, 77, 77, 77 n. 5, 82, 82, 82 n. 32, 85, 96, 108, 108, 146 n. 10 Constantinian dynasty 97, 97, 98, 98 n. 108, 109, 110, 146, 146 n. 10, 147, 162, 171; also (second) Flavian dynasty: 98 Constantine the Great 1–8, 15–40, 53–72, 76–89, 95–109, 112, 139, 140, 144, 146 n. 10, 147, 152, 170, 171, 191 n. 86, 194, 218, 219, 222, 228 episcopus maximus 5, 84 Constantine’s Arch 15–17, 19, 21, 27 arcus triumphis insignis 5, 42, 65, 65 n. 45 fighting scenes of the Arch 16 symbolical meaning of the Arch 53–54, 62–72 Constantinople 6, 21, 21 n. 27, 22, 23, 25, 25, 27, 32, 33, 34, 61, 61, 61 n. 29, 71, 88, 106, 106, 107, 126, 170, 178, 178 n. 8, 181, 185, 188, 188, 195, 200, 200, 202, 203, 205, 206, 206, 208, 209, 211, 211, 212, 212 n. 42, 225, 227, 231 Constantine’ city of victory 5 Constantius II 6, 21, 25, 26, 27, 29, 32, 33, 39, 40, 57 n. 16, 61, 78, 78 n. 12, 97, 104, 113–132, 153, 191 n. 86, 193 Constantius II’s obelisk (Rome) 32, Cronos (also Cronus) 95, 100, 103 David (king) 205 diadem (imperial insignia) 80, 80, 80 n. 22, 87 n. 49, 88, 88, 139, 147, 149, 164, 164 Decimius Hilarianus Hesperius (praefectus praetorio) 224, 224 n. 29 Decimius Magnus Ausonius (praefectus praetorio) 224, 224 n. 29 Diocletian 34, 35 n. 67, 157 n. 22, 218, 219, 229 dioceses 218–222, 225, 228–230

236 divination 114, 114, 114, 120, 126, 128, 129, 131 n. 70 emperorship (idea of Empire) 3, 4, 6, 57, 112, 112, 112, 113, 116, 116, 124, 128, 132, 222, 230 enargeia 83, 83 n. 36, 86 encomium (see also panegyric) 78 ethopoiia 206, 209 Eugenius 177 n. 1, 227, 227, 227, 227 Eutropius (magister memoriae) 225–226 excursus (or digression) 6, 112–132, 208 fate 32, 81, 113, 114 n. 16, 115, 115 n. 19, 124, 124 n. 46, 127, 127 n. 61, 129, 130 n. 70, 131, 131, 230 Flacilla (emperor Theodosius’ wife) 89 Flavian (bishop of Antioch) 200–210 Flavius Eusignius (praefectus praetorio) 226 Forgiveness 8, 199–200, 203, 203, 203 n. 10, 204, 206, 206, 214; see also Christian virtues (in a Roman emperor) Fortune (see also Tyche) 104, 206, 207, 207 Frigidus 227 Gardens of Adonis (expression) 105, 105, 105, 108 Goths 190 n. 83, 221, 223–227 Gratian 33 n. 62, 132, 152, 181, 182, 183, 183, 183, 189, 189, 193, 221, 221, 221, 221, 222, 224, 224, 224, 224, 226, 226, 228, 230 n. 52, 220 n. 53 halourgis 79, 79 n. 20, 81, 82, 82 n. 31, 84, 85, 87 n. 50 Helios (Helios-Mithras) 97, 97, 97, 97, 98, 108, 109, 109, 109 Hellebichus (magister militum) 200, 205, 211 Heracles 98, 100 Hermes 97, 100, 101, 102, 106, 108, 109 Julian’s The Caesars as a Hermes’ myth 95, 96, 96, 109 Hilarius (member of the curia of Antioch)  211–213 Honorius 21, 157, 160, 160 n. 27, 164, 164 n. 35, 166, 188, 228 imitatio

Index of Names and Subjects emperors 6, 57, 97, 103, 109 gods 6, 103, 103, 109 imitatio Christi 203 imitatio Iulianii (Theodosius) 204 imperial representation significance of beard in imperial depictions 102, 102, 102 n. 30, 103, 142, 142, 146, 146 n. 10, 153, 153 originating in emperors’ entourage 36; in local authorities: 141–171; pagan or Christian elites: 3, 5, 36, 69–70, 169; in Roman Senate: 34, 34 n. 65, 35–36, 63, 65, 66–67, 69, 71, 72 stylistic choices 7, 140–171 internal enemy (representation of) 5, 15–27, 39 Jesus 87, 88, 108 n. 58 Jovian 6, 7, 113–132, 146, 146, 147 Julian (emperor) 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 21 n. 22, 31 n. 59, 39, 78, 78 n. 12, 79, 79, 79, 79, 81 n. 25, 95–109, 112–132, 146, 146, 146 n. 10, 153, 164, 166, 169, 199, 204, 212–213, 223, 225. Julian’s centrality in Ammianus’ narrative 6, 6, 112–132 Julius Caesar 95, 99–100, 101, 101, 101 Julius Ausonius (praefectus praetorio)  223–224 Justina (empress) 178, 182, 184, 187 n. 64 legatio 179, 181, 193 Licinius 17, 23, 25, 31, 31, 31 n. 59, 38 n. 80, 57, 99, 104, 147, 147, 147, 147 n. 12, 171 Light: emperor as light 4, 83, 86; divine l.: 5, 85, 86 Macedonius (monk) 210–211 magnanimity 203 Magnentius 21, 25, 32, 32, 32, 39, 39, 147, 149 n. 14, 171 Magnus Maximus 6, 78, 177–197, 226 n. 37, 227, 228, 229, 230 maiestas 65, 65, 186 Malborghetto Arch (posible commorative arch of Battle of Milvian Bridge) 20 Marcus Aurelius 57 n. 20, 63, 69, 95, 100–103, 105 Martin of Tours 192–193

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Index of Names and Subjects Maxentius 5, 5, 15–40, 58, 58, 59, 62, 62, 63, 67, 67, 67 n. 53, 70, 71, 72 Maximian 57, 59, 77, 77, 77, 78, 78, 125, 125, 125 n. 50, 146 n. 10, 147 megalopsychía 98 Milan 25, 66 (Milan’s court): 177–195 Milvian Bridge (Battle of) 4, 16, 16, 20, 35, 60, 66, 67, 67 n. 51, 72 Moses 85, 85 myth 95–109 mythopoios 96 n. 11 Naissus 223 Narratology 7 n. 15, 112–132 authorial voice 81, 113–121, 126 narrative persona 116 Nemesis 208, 208, 208, 214 Nicaea (Council of) 4, 83, 84, 86, 87, 89 Nicaeans 6, 184–195 Octavian 99 nn. 22, 23, 100, 101, 101, 103, 105, see also Augustus omens 114–132 ὀργή 8, 202, 203, 208, 208, 208, 210, 214, 214, 214, see also anger Paganism 211; traditional religion, cults: 66 n. 46, 146, 168, 169, 208, 211, 214 Panegyric(s) 2, 4, 29, 35, 36 n. 70, 39, 53, 54, 56 n. 10, 58, 63 n. 75, 66–70, 71, 76–89, 97, 142 n. 8, 208 n. 26 (see also encomium Index Locorum v. Panegyrici Latini) Eusebius of Caesarea Life of Constantine as an atypical panegyric 76, 76 n. 2 Parrhesía 202. 202 n. 7 Paulinus (bishop of Antioch) 203 Persia 114–115, 121, 121 n. 41, 127, 128 philanthropy 8, 199, 202, 202, 202, 208, 208, 210, 210 philautía 98, 99 porphyris 81 porphyry (portraits) 142, 142 n. 8 Priscillian 181 n. 23, 192, 192, 192, 193, 193 Priscillianists 183, 188, 188, 194 provinces 219–220, 222, 226, 229 purple 4–5, 38, 76–89; also halourgis, porphyris p. and brightness 86

p. and virtues (basilikos logos) 80 p. in the Judeo-Christian tradition 82, 84–88, 89 synonym of haughtiness, hybris 78–79; 84 Quintus Clodius Hermogianus Olybrius (praefectus praetorio) 224, 224, 224, 224, 224, 224 n. 27 rededication of monuments, reworking of sculptures 164, 166, 168, 168, 168, 169 repentance 8, 199, 204, 214 (see also Christian virtues in an emperor) Riot of Statues 8, 199–214 Rome 5, 6, 106, 149, 149 n. 14. 153, 154, 160, 160, 168, 178, 178, 178, 182, 183, 188, 192, 194, 195, 204, 224, 231 Arch of Constantine as an expression of civic pride 53–72, esp. 58; representation of internal enemy in late antique Rome 15–40 Roman Senate 5, 6, 15, 19, 33, 34, 34 n. 66, 35, 36, 36 n. 73, 38, 57, 58, 58, 58, 58 n. 19, 63, 64, 64, 65, 66, 69, 69, 69 n. 58, 71, 71, 71, 72, 72, 182, 190 Senate house 33, 33 Romulus 55 n. 4, 62 (also RomulusQuirinus: 95 or Quirinus: 95–109) Sapor 81, 81 sceptre (imperial insignia) 88, 155, 157 n. 22 senators 34, 35, 37, 37 n. 76, 65 n. 44; senatorial aristocracy: 154 Sextus Claudius Petronius Probus (praefectus praetorio) 223, 223 n. 21, 226, 226 n. 37 Silenus 95–107 Sirmium 223, 225 sophrosyne 103 speculum principis 202, 202 n. 8, 206, 214 spolia 3, 53–72 Sun God 4, 63, 63; solar symbolism: 63, 63 n. 35, 64, 71, 71, 71 Theodosian dynasty 218, 231 Theodosius 2, 2, 3, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 18 n. 8, 21, 21, 21, 21 n. 27, 32, 32, 33, 33 n. 62, 40, 40 n. 89, 78, 78, 78, 81 n. 25, 84 n. 38, 86, 155, 155, 155 n. 22, 157, 157, 157, 157,

238 Theodosius (cont.) 160, 164, 164, 164, 166, 166, 166, 169, 169, 169, 169, 169, 169, 170, 170, 171, 178, 179, 179, 181, 181, 182, 183, 183, 183, 183 nn. 35, 38, 188, 188, 188 n. 68, 190, 190, 191, 191, 199–214, 218–231 T. self-representation as Constantine  170–171 T. column (Constantinople) 21, 21 n. 28, 57 T. obelisk (Constantinople) 32, 157 Thessalonica 155, 225, 225, 225, 225, 226, 226 n. 37, 227 Thessalonica (riot, massacre of) 205, 205, 210, 210 toga 86, 166, 168, 168, 168, 168 n. 40 Trajan 57, 60, 60 n. 26, 63, 69 n. 58, 99 nn. 22, 24, 100, 101, 101, 103, 105, 105 n. 45 Trajanic reliefs 21, 63 Trier 177–195 tyranny, degeneration of monarchy 37–38; tyrant (tyrannus) 5, 6, 6, 15–40 passim, 179, 183, 188, 188 tyrannos (greek) 28 triumph 4–5, 17, 17 n. 6, 18 n. 9, 19, 30, 30 n. 54, 37 n. 76, 39 n. 86, 40 n. 89, 65, 66 n. 44, 95, 103, 105, 105, 106, 106, 109 Tryphe: Tryphe-Tyche (wordplay) 106, 106 n. 48

Index of Names and Subjects Tyche (also Τύχη) 106 n. 47, 207–208, 214 Tyche-Constantinople 105 Valens 132, 146–154, 160 n. 33, 164, 187, 221–225 Valentinian I 39, 132, 221, 221, 221, 223, 223, 223 Valentinian brothers (Valentian I and Valens) 152, 160 n. 33, 163, 163, 170, 171 Valentinian dynasty (or Valentinianic emperors =Valentian I, Valens, Valentinian II, Gratian) 7, 7, 146–154 Valentinianic portrait (style) 149, 153, 155, 155, 157, 160, 160 n. 33, 163, 163, 170, 171 Valentinian (sect) 204 Valentinian II 32, 32, 33 n. 62, 152, 155 n. 22, 157, 157, 160, 166, 166, 166, 166, 166, 221, 221, 221, 226, 226 n. 37, 227, 227, 227, 227, 228, 229, 230, 230 as a tyrant 6, 177–195 Valentinian III 26 Valerian 81, 81, 81 Verona’s battle 5, 16, 18, 63, 66, 67, 67 Victor comes 182, 182, 182 Virius Nicomachius Flavianus (praefectus praetorio) 227 virtues (imperial virtues and basilikos l0gos) 80; 199–214

Index Locorum Aeschylus Agamemnon 910–965 76 946–949 78 Ambrose of Milan De fide (On Faith) 2.139–142 191 De obitu Theodosii (On the death of Theodosius) 13 203, 204 De obitu Valentiniani (On the death of Valentinian) 28 183 Ep. 11 4 205 7–10 205 12 205 Ep. 30 179, 180 1 180 2 183 3 180 4 180 5 182, 188 6 182 7 180, 182, 188 8 183 9 182 9–10 183 11 183 12 180, 183, 193 13 181, 183 24 230 Ep. 68 3 181 Ep. 72 12 183 Ep. 74 1 204 2–3 202 10 204 11 204 12 204 13 204 32 204 33 214

Ep. 75 189 1–2 185 2 193, 194 3 194 4 185 5 194 6 185 7 191 11 185 12 185 14 185, 191 15 194 17 185 18 185 Ep. 75a 189 1 185 2 185 3 185 15 185 16 185 25 185 26–29 185 29 184 33 186 34 186 Ep. 76 180, 189 1 184 1–2 186 4 186 7 187 11 186 22–23 186 23 180 27 187 28 187 Ep. 77 10–11 187 Ammianus Marcellinus 14.11.28 146 14.11.34 132 15.5.24 29 15.8.6 29 16.6.2 60 16.8.12 107 16.10.1 39

240 Ammianus Marcellinus (cont.) 17.5.13 29 17.7.9–14 113, 118 17.9.9 129 17.12.10 21 18.3.1–7 114 19.12.14–15 114 19.12.19 114 20.2 116, 119 20.2.4 119 20.2.5 120 20.3.1 117, 123 20.3.2–12 113 20.3.1–12 116, 117, 118, 128 20.4 119, 121 20.4.1–2 121 20.4.14 121 20.5 121 20.6 121 20.7 121 20.8 121 20.8.20–22 121 20.9 121 20.10 121 20.11 121, 128 20.11.5–25 122 20.11.24–31 122 20.11.25–30 113 20.11.26–30 122 20.11.30 123 20.11.31–32 123, 124 20.11.32 114 21.1.1–6 114 21.1.7–14 114, 129 21.1.8–11 129 21.1.11 120 21.12.25 223 21.13.15 129 21.14.1 124, 126 21.14.3–4 129 21.14.3–5 114 21.15 119 21.16.5 21 22.14.3 102 22.15.29 128 23.4.10 128 23.5.10 125

Index Locorum 24.8.4 114 25.2.4 129, 131 25.2.4–7 115 25.2.4–8 130, 131 25.2.5–6 113 25.2.8 114 25.3.19 115 25.4.22 102 25.9.8 127 25.10 124 25.10.1–4 125 25.10.2–3 113, 124, 128 25.10.14–17 127 25.10.17 114 26.1.1 128 26.3.1–4 114 26.5.1–5 223 26.5.5 223 26.5.13 39 26.10.15–19 113 26.10.17–19 114 27.3.7 59, 60 27.3.9–10 60 27.6.2 29 28.1.6–42 114 29.1.6 114 29.2.17 114 29.2.28 114 29.6.14–16 221 30.5–6 225 30.5.11 114 31.12.10 224 Anonymous post Dionem 10.6 38 15.2 60 Anonymous Valesianus 4.12 36 Appian The Civil Wars 2.15.101 18 Apuleius De mundo 25.343 68

241

Index Locorum Aristophanes Assemblywomen 973–974 104 Augustine Confessions 9.7.16 187 Augustus Res gestae 1 30 34 31 Aurelius Victor De Caesaribus 40.15 104 40.26 58 41.20 107 Epitome de Caesaribus (attributed to) 41.13 60 47.3 221 Ausonius Ep. 22.91 224 Epicedion in patrem 52 224 Basil of Caesarea Enarratio in prophetam Isaiam 3.111 87 3.128 87 Sermones de moribus a Symeone Metaphrasta collecti 87 Cassiodorus Variae 7–15 60 Cassius Dio 43.19 18 Cicero De divinatione 35 De oratore 1.201 69 De re publica 37 1.22–23 118 2.51 36

Letters to Atticus 7.9.4 30 Letters to Friends 10.25.1 31 Orator 84 Philippicae 34 Tusculan disputations 1.89 36 Claudian Carmina 28.118–121 39 On the Gildonic revolt 427 34 468–469 177 Panegyric on the Sixth Consulship of Honorius 369–373 21 392 ff. 39 Clement of Alexandria Pedagogue II.43–44 209 Codex Theodosianus 1.15.10 228 1.15.11 228 1.15.13 228 1.15.15 229 2.33.2 188 3.4.1 188 3.5.10 226 3.5.11 226 3.6.1 226 4.19.1 226 5.8.1 28 8.5.48 188 9.17.2 61 9.27.2 226 9.40.13 210 9.40.21 34 9.42.8 226 9.42.9 226 9.44.1 188 10.19.7 220 12.6.21 188 15.1.14 61 15.1.19 61 15.1.40 61

242

Index Locorum

Codex Theodosianus (cont.) 15.14.3 28 15.14.4 28 15.14.7 177, 229 15.14.8 229 16.1.2 191 16.1.4 185, 189 16.2.12 193 16.2.23 193 16.5.6 184, 192 16.5.8 184 16.5.11 184 16.5.13 184 16.10.5 229 Collectio Avellana 177 39 178 1 188 3 188, 189, 190 4 190 5 191 6–7 191 8 192 40 178 1 189 2 194 3 194 Constantine Oration to the Assembly of the Saints 79, 82 24.2 81, 89 Cyril Mystagogy 4.8 86 De rebus bellicis 29 Dio Chrysostom On Kingship 202 Epitome de Caesaribus 40.13 36 Eunapius History Frag. 53

212

Lives of the Philosophers and the Sophists 6.2 107 Eusebius of Caesarea Ecclesiastical History 8.13.12–14 82 9.9.11 41 9.11.2 29 In Praise of Constantine 5.4 79, 81 5.6 80, 81, 83 Life of Constantine 1.11.1 104 1.21.2 77 1.21.2–22.1 82 1.22.1 84 1.40.2 41 1.46 104 2.19.2 106 2.46.2 23 3.3.1–3 23 3.10.3–4 83, 86 3.10.4 80, 83, 84, 86 4.1.1 107 4.5.2 104 4.7.1–2 104 4.32 79 4.62.4 85, 88 4.63.1 86 4.63.4 86 4.66 88 4.66.1 86, 88 4.66.2 79, 88 Eutropius 10.6.3 104 10.6.7 104 10.7 107 10.7.2 107 Florus Epitome 35 Gregory of Nyssa A Funeral Oration for the Empress Flacilla PG 9,487,1–4 89

243

Index Locorum Historia Augusta Aurelian 34.2 17 Hadrian 19.9–10 60 25.7 57 Pescennius Niger 1.1 29, 70 Septimius Severus 23.1 60 Homer Iliad 3.54–57 107 3.55 107 Hydatius Chronicle 13b 192 Isocrates Evagoras 202 Jerome Ep. 54.13 Ep. 60.15

84 189

John Chrysostom Ad Eustachium 201 Ad Meletium 201 Comparatio Regis et Monachi 202 De Anna 203 De Statuis 200 Hom. III 201 Hom. X.2 201 Hom. XVII 201 Hom. XXI 202, 203, 206 Expositio in Psalm 41 209 In Ascensionem 203 In Genesim sermo I 203 Sermo cum presbyter ordinatus 203 John Malalas Chronicle 13.7–8 106

Jordanes Getica 27.140 190 Julian Ep. 111 99 Or. 1 (Encomium to Constantius) 4C–5A 101 8B 107 9C 104 15CD 104 30CD 39 37B 21 41B 101 Or. 2 (On Kingship) 92D 101 95A 101 Or. 4 (Consolation upon the departure of Salutius) 157C 95 Or. 6 (Letter to Themistius) 253AB 100 264C–265B 101 Or. 7 (To the Cynic Heracleios) 205D 97 206D 96 217C 96 222C 97 223A 97 226D 97 227B 96 227C 107 227C–234C 97 228D 105, 108 229BC 108 229C–230A 109 234C 109 Or. 8 (To the Mother of the Gods) 181C 104 Or. 10 (The Caesars) 306B 95 306BC 95 306C 95 306C–307A 96 308D–316A 95, 98 312B 101 313D 98, 108 315A 108

244 Or. 10 (The Caesars) (cont.) 316AB 98 316A–336C 97 316BC 99 317B 100 317C 102 317D 103 318A 101 318B 101 319A 101 322BC 99 322D–324A 99 324BC 100 324C 99 325A 100 328C 101 329A 103, 104, 105 329B 99 329CD 105, 108 330A 101 331C 101 331CD 101 332C 101 332D 101 333A 99, 101 333C 102 334A 102 334B–335A 101 335B 101, 106 335C 103 336A 108 336B 108 336C 96, 109 Or. 12 (Misopogon) 104, 213 349B 99 Lactantius De mortibus persecutorum 24.8–9 77 25.3.5 83 28.1 77 Libanius of Antioch Ep. 154–159 205 181 212 185 212 Or. 1 (Autobiography) 1 207

Index Locorum 253 206, 207 254 207 Or. 19 (To the emperor Theodosius, about the Riots) 1 207 2–4 206 3 205 7 208 9 208 13 208 22 208 38 209 45 208 Or. 20 (To the emperor Theodosius, after the Reconciliation) 14 208 33 207 36 208 Or. 21 (To Caesarius, Master of Offices) 41 208 Or. 30 (For the Temples) 208 6 107 37 107 Or. 32 (Against Thrasydaeus) 2 205, 214 Livy 1.6 (praef.) 69 1.10 55 Lucan 6.791 36 Lucian of Samosata The Doble Indictment 23 104 Manilius 3.318 68 Menander Rhetor 367.20 81 368–377 80 378 63 381 63 423.7–424.2 206 424.3–430.8 58

245

Index Locorum New Testament Acts 11:26 201 16:14 87 Apocalypse 17:4–5 87 18:11–12 87 18:16 87 John 19:1 88 19:2 88 19:3 88 19:5 88 Luke 16:19 87 23:1–25 87 23:11 87 Mark 15:15 88 15:17 88 15:18 88 15:19 88 Matthew 27:26 88 27:28 88 27:29 88 27:30 88 Notitia Dignitatum 220 Notitia Occidentis 220 IV 60 Notitia Orientis 220 XX 221 XXIV 221 Old Testament Exodus 26:1 84 26:31 84 26:36 84 27:16 84 28:5 85 28:6 85 28:8 85 28:15 85 28:28 85 28:31 85 28:33 85

28:37 85 36:9 84 36:10 84 36:12 84 36:15 84 36:31 85 36:36 85 37:3 84 37:5 84 37:16 84 39:12 84, 85 Genesis 1:26 211 Psalms 4:4 204 91:13 23 Ovid Metamorphoses 2.129 68 Panegyrici Latini II(12) 9 221 16.2 78, 79 23 40 24.1 78, 89 25 40 26 40 26.1 78, 89 28.4 78 29.4 193 30.5 40 33.2 78 36 40 37.4 78 44–45 21 44.2 81, 84 45.1 78, 79, 89 46.4 40 III(11) 5.4 78, 79 23.4 78, 79 30.3 78, 89 IV(10) 1.1 70 2.3 69 4.5 84

246 IV(10) (cont.) 6–14 67 6.6 67 7.3 68 14.6 70 15–16 67 17–26 67 17.1 68 17.1–2 66 17.3–21.1.1–3 66 22.2–24.7 66 25.1–2 66 25.3–26.5 66 27–35 67 27.1–4 66 27.5–30.3 66 30.4–35.5 66 V(8) 78 4.2–3 98 VI(7) 57 2.2 98 4.4 80 8.3 77, 82 16.1 77, 89 21 69 VII(6) 57, 70, 78 VIII(5) 19.3 80 XI(3) 1.2 223 XII(9) 1.1 68 1.3 67 2.4 67, 68 2.5 68 3.3 67 3.4 77, 89 4.1 68 4.2 68 4.4 68 4.5 68 5.4–6.5 66 5.5 68 7.1–4 66 7.5–8 66 8.1–10.5 66 10.3 18, 68 11.1–13.5 66 11.4 67, 68

Index Locorum 12–15 67 13.2 68 14.1–18.3 66 16–18 67 16.2 68 16.3 77, 89 18.2 36 19–20 67 19.1–21.5 66 21–25 67 22.1 66, 67 24.3 69 26 67 26.1 68 26.5 68 Paulinus Mediolanensis Life of Ambrose 15.1 187 19.2 193 Plato Gorgias 462d-463a 107 518e 107 Laws 865a-874d 204 Phaedrus 276b 105 Protagoras 339a 101 344a 101 Republic 38 373ac 107 377a-377e 96 Symposium 215a-216e 95 Pliny the Elder Natural History 2.41–58 118 3.5.66 64 Plutarch On prasing oneself innofensively (De se ipsum citra invidiam laudando) 103 On the delays of the divine vengeance 560C 105

247

Index Locorum Polybius 10.5.1 86 Praxagoras of Athens FGrH 219 38 Proba Cento 1–8

39

Procopius of Caesarea History of the Wars 3.4.16 177 Prosper of Aquitaine Epitoma Chronicon n. 1187 192 Ptolemaeus Almagest 6.5 118 Rufinus Ecclesiastical History II.16 178 IX.9.11 41 XI.14 189

Sozomen 7.13.8–9 189 7.23 209 Suetonius The Twelve Caesars Augustus 5.1 Nero 49.2

62 34

Sulpicius Severus Chronicle 2.47.2 192 2.49.2 189, 192 2.49.3 192 2.50.2 193 2.50.3 188, 193 Dialogues 3.11.2 193 3.12.2 193 Life of St. Martin 20.1 193 20.2–3 189 Symmachus Ep. 4.5 34 Or. I 18-19 39

Sallust Jugurthine War 31.15 30

Synesius of Cyrene De regno (On Kingship) 202 6 38

Sallu(s)tius On the Gods and the Cosmos 95 IV.4–6 96

Tacitus Annals 13.15 95

Seneca Octavia 313 36

Themistius Or. 2 (Thanksgiving to Constantius) 33d 40 35ad 38 Or. 3 (Embassy Speech for Constantinople delivered in Rome) 43a 40 Or. 5 (On the Consulship, to the emperor Jovian) 132 Or. 15 (To Theodosius on the most royal virtues) 202, 213 Or. 18 (On the Emperor’s love to listen) 220c–221a 181

Sidonius Apollinaris Ep. 3.12

45

Simonides Frag. 37.3

101

Socrates Scholasticus 5.11 189

248

Index Locorum

Or. 28 (The disquisition on speaking) 341 84

Verona List (Laterculus Veronensis) 220

Theocritus XV.112–135 105

Zonaras (Joannes) 13.8 21 13.18.4 178

Theodoret of Cyrus A History of the Monks of Syria 13.7 210 Ecclesiastical History 5 5–6 221 14.1 178 17–18 210 19 210 Valerius Maximus II.8.7 17 Vergil Aeneid I.10 65 Eclogue 4 7–9 82 20.12 82

Zosimus New History 2 4.3 58 14.4 17 32 103 32.1 107 4 16.6 221 19.2 230 32–33 211 34.2 190 35.3–6 189 37.1 181 37.2–3 183 37.3 181 41 211, 212 42.2–7 181 50 211