Greek Literature. Volume 9. Greek Literature in the Byzantine Period [9] 041593771X, 9780415937719

Table of contents :
Series Introduction vii
Volume Introduction ix
Section A. Synchronic and Diachronic Perspectives
1. From Ephrem to Romanos / Sebastian Brock 1
2. Wandering Poets: A Literary Movement in Byzantine Egypt / Alan Cameron 14
3. The Sixth Sibylline Oracle as a Literary Hymn / Mark D. Usher 55
4. On the Imitation (Mimesis) of Antiquity in Byzantine Literature / Herbert Hunger 80
Section B. Registers and Styles
5. The Language of Byzantine Literature / Robert Browning 103
6. The Oral Background of Byzantine Popular Poetry / Elizabeth and Michael Jeffreys 134
7. The Function and Evolution of Byzantine Rhetoric / George L. Kustas 179
8. Levels of Style in Byzantine Literature / Ihor Sevcenko 199
Section C. "The Saint's Life"
9. The "Low Level" Saint's Life in the Early Byzantine World / Robert Browning 223
10. Imperial Panegyric: Rhetoric and Reality / George T. Dennis 235
11. Byzantine Hagiography and Sex in the Fifth to Twelfth Centuries / Alexander Kazhdan 245
12. Byzantine Descriptions of Works of Art / Henry Maguire 258
Section D. Literary Renaissance
13. The Poverty of Écriture and the Craft of Writing: Towards a Reappraisal of the Prodromic Poems / Margaret Alexiou 301
14. Poetic Justice in the Patriarchate: Murder and Cannibalism in the Provinces / Ruth Macrides 341
15. Honour among Romaioi: The Framework of Social Values in the World of "Digenes Akrites" and Kekaumenos / Paul Magdalino 373
16. Aristocracy and Patronage in the Literary Circles of Comnenian Constantinople / Margaret Mullett 409
17. Amphoteroglossia: The Role of Rhetoric in the Medieval Learned Novel / Panagiotis Roilos 439
457 Copyright Acknowledgments

Citation preview

Series Content Volume I

THE ORAL TRADITIONAL BACKGROUND OF ANCIENT GREEK LITERATURE Volume 2

HOMER AND HESIOD AS PROTOTYPES OF GREEK LITERATURE Volume 3

GREEK LITERATURE IN THE ARCHAIC PERIOD: THEEMERGENCEOFAUTHORSHIP Volume 4

GREEK LITERATURE IN THE CLASSICAL PERIOD: THE POETICS OF DRAMA IN ATHENS Volume 5

GREEK LITERATURE IN THE CLASSICAL PERIOD: THE PROSE OF HISTORIOGRAPHY AND ORATORY Volume 6

GREEK LITERATURE AND PHILOSOPHY Volume 7

GREEK LITERATURE IN THE HELLENISTIC PERIOD Volume 8

GREEK LITERATURE IN THE ROMAN PERIOD AND IN LATE ANTIQUITY Volume 9

GREEK LITERATURE IN THE BYZANTINE PERIOD

Acknowledgments

The editor wishes to thank the following scholars for their help and encouragement: Benjamin Acosta-Hughes, Victor Bers, Emmanuel Bourbouhakis, Casey Due, Mary Ebbott, David Elmer, Corinne Pache, Jennifer Reilly, Panagiotis Roilos, David Schur, Roger Travis, T. Temple Wright, Dimitrios Yatromanolakis.

Greek, Literature

Volume 9

Creek Literature in the Byzantine Period

Edited with introductions by

Gregory Nagy Harvard University

ROUTLEDGE New York/London

Published in 2001 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Published in Great Britain by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an Imprint of Taylor & Francis Books, Inc. Copyright C> 2001 by Routledge All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including any photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Greek literature I edited with introductions by Gregory Nagy. p.em. Includes bibliographical references. Contents: v.I. The oral traditional background of ancient Greek literature - v. 2. Homer and Hesiod as prototypes of Greek literature -- v. 3. Greek literature in the archaic period: the emergence of authorship -- v. 4. Greek literature in the classical period: the poetics of drama in Athens -- v. 5. Greek literature in the classical period : the prose of historiography and oratory - v. 6. Greek literature and philosophy - v. 7. Greek literature in the Hellenistic period -- v. 8. Greek literature in the Roman period and in late antiquity -- v. 9. Greek literature in the Byzantine period. ISBN 0-8153-3681-0 (set) -- ISBN 0-8153-3682-9 (v. 1) -- ISBN 0-8153-3683-7 (v. 2) - ISBN 0-8153-3684-5 (v. 3) -- ISBN 0-8153-3685-3 (v.A) -- ISBN 0-8153-3686-1 (v. 5) -- ISBN 0-8153-3687-X (v. 6) -- ISBN 0-8153-3688-8 (v. 7) -- ISBN 0-415-93770-1 (v. 8) -- ISBN 0-4IS-93771-X (v. 9) --ISBN 0-8153-21. Greek literature--History and criticism.!. Nagy, Greg')ry. PA3054 .G74 2001 880.9--dc21 2001048490 ISBN 0-8153-3681-0 {set} ISBN 0-8153-3682-9 {v.l} ISBN 0-8153-3683-7 (v.2) ISBN 0-8153-3684-5 (v.3) ISBN 0-8153-3685-6 (vA) ISBN 0-8153-3686-1 (v.5) ISBN 0-8153-3687-X (v.6) ISBN 0-8153-3688-8 (v.7) ISBN 0-4159-3770-1 {v.8} ISBN 0-4159-3771-X (v.9) Publisher's Note The publisher has gone to great lengths to ensure the quality of this reprint but points out that some imperfections in the original may be apparent.

Contents

vii IX

1 14 55 80

103 134 179 199

223 235 245 258

Series Introduction Volume Introduction

Section A. Synchronic and Diachronic Perspectives 1. From Ephrem to Romanos Sebastian Brock 2. Wandering Poets: A Literary Movement in Byzantine Egypt Alan Cameron 3. The Sixth Sibylline Oracle as a Literary Hymn Mark D. Usher 4. On the Imitation (Mimesis) of Antiquity in Byzantine Literature Herbert Hunger Section B. Registers and Styles 5. The Language of Byzantine Literature Robert Browning 6. The Oral Background of Byzantine Popular Poetry Elizabeth and Michael Jeffreys 7. The Function and Evolution of Byzantine Rhetoric George L. Kustas 8. Levels of Style in Byzantine Literature Ihor Sevcenko Section C. "The Saint's Life" 9. The "Low Level" Saint's Life in the Early Byzantine World Robert Browning 10. Imperial Panegyric: Rhetoric and Reality George T. Dennis 11. Byzantine Hagiography and Sex in the Fifth to Twelfth Centuries Alexander Kazhdan 12. Byzantine Descriptions of Works of Art Henry Maguire

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Section D. Literary Renaissance 301

341

373

409

439

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13. The Poverty of Ecriture and the Craft of Writing: Towards a

Reappraisal of the Prodromic Poems Margaret Alexiou 14. Poetic Justice in the Patriarchate: Murder and Cannibalism in the Provinces Ruth Macrides 15. Honour among Romaioi: The Framework of Social Values in the World of Digenes Akrites and Kekaumenos Paul Magdalino 16. Aristocracy and Patronage in the Literary Circles of Comnenian Constantinople Margaret Mullett 17. Amphoteroglossia: The Role of Rhetoric in the Medieval Learned Novel Panagiotis Roilos Copyright Acknowledgments

Series Introduction

This nine-volume set is a collection of writings by experts in ancient Greek literature. On display here is their thinking, that is, their readings of ancient writings. Most, though not all, of these experts would call themselves philologists. For that reason, it is relevant to cite the definition of "philology" offered by Friedrich Nietzsche. In the preface to Daybreak, he says that philology is the art of reading slowly: Philology is that venerable art which demands of its votaries one thing above all: to go aside, to take time, to become still, to become slow- it is a goldsmith's art and connoisseurship of the word which has nothing but delicate cautious work to do and achieves nothing if it does not achieve it lento. But for precisely this reason it is more necessary than ever today; by precisely this means does it entice and enchant us the most, in the midst of an age of "work," that is to say, of hurry, of indecent and perspiring haste, which wants to "get everything done" at once, including every old or new book:- this art does not easily get anything done, it teaches to read well, that is to say, to read slowly, deeply, looking cautiously before and aft, with reservations, with doors left open, with delicate fingers and eyes. (This translation is adapted, with only slight changes, from R. J. Hollingdale, Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, Daybreak: Thoughts on the Prejudices ofMorality [Cambridge, 1982]') Nietzsche's original wording deserves to be quoted in full, since its power cannot be matched even by the best of translations: Philologie namlich ist jene ehrwiirdige Kunst, welche von ihrem Verehrer vor Allem Eins heischt, bei Seite gehn, sich Zeit lassen, still werden, langsam werden- , als eine Goldschmiedekunst und -kennerschaft des Wortes, die lauter feine vorsichtige Arbeit abzuthun hat und Nichts erreicht, wenn sie es nicht lento erreicht. Gerade dam it aber ist sie heute nothiger als je, gerade dadurch zieht sie und bezaubert sie uns am starksten, mitten in einem Zeitalter der "Arbeit," will sagen: der Hast, der unanstandigen und schwitzenden Eilfertigkeit, das mit AHem gleich "fertig werden" will, auch mit jedem alten und neuen Buche:- sie selbst wird nicht so leicht irgend worn it fertig, sie lehrt gut lesen, das heisst langsam, Vll

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tief, riick- und vorsichtig, mit Hintergedanken, mit offen gelassenen Thiien, mit zarten Fingern und Augen lesen ... (F riedrich Nietzsche, Morgenrothe. Nachgelassene Fragmente, Anfang 1880 his Frnhjahr 1881. Nietzsche Werke V.I, ed. G. Colli andM. Mominari[Berlin, 1971],9.)

This is not to say that the selections in these nine volumes must be ideal exemplifications of philology as Nietzsche defined it. Faced with the challenge of describing their own approaches to Greek literature, most authors of these studies would surely prefer a definition of "philology" that is less demanding. Perhaps most congenial to most would be the formulation of Rudolf Pfeiffer (History of Classical Scholarship I [Oxford, 1968]: "Philology is the art of understanding, explaining and reconstructing literary tradition." This collection may be viewed as an attempt to demonstrate such an art, in all its complexity and multiplicity. Such a demonstration, of course, cannot be completely successful, because perfection is far beyond reach: the subject is vast, the space is limited, and the learning required is ever incomplete. Finally, it is important to keep in mind that disagreements persist in the ongoing study of ancient Greek literature, and thus the articles in these nine volumes necessarily reflect a diversity of opinions. There is ample room for disagreement even about the merits of representative articles, let alone the choices of the articles themselves. It is therefore reasonable for each reader to ask, after reading an article, whether it has indeed been true to the art of philology. The editor, a philologist by training, has his own opinions about the relative success or failure of each of the studies here selected. These opinions, however, must be subordinated to the single most practical purpose of the collection, which is to offer a representative set of modern studies that seek the best possible readings of the ancient writings.

Volume Introduction

By the Roman period, as we saw in volume 8, Greek literature had become so definitive, so obviously classical, that it appears to be "time-free" (see Feeney 1995, article 1 in volume 8, especially p. 303). With the onset of the Byzantine period of Greek literature, such appearances are only reinforced. In fact, the first impression radiating from the sum total of Byzantine literature is that it speaks for itself perfectly- that it represents a totally self-explanatory cultural system. A closer look, however, reveals complex interactions among a variety of styles and registers of expression. Such variety needs to be examined not only synchronically, that is, in terms of systems of communication functioning within their own historical contexts, but also diachronically, that is, in terms of systems evolving through time. The readings in section A (articles 1 through 4) give a sense of the vast cultural varieties represented by Byzantine literature and of its connections to previous phases of Greek literature. Of special importance is the close link between Byzantine literature and the cultural legacy of Late Antiquity- in particular, the emergence of Christianity as a dominant worldview. Of general importance is the intimate connectedness of this same literature with antiquity itself, viewed as a totality (Hunger 1969/1970, article 4). Equally important is the pervasive interaction of West with East (as represented especially by Egypt and Syria). Questions of style and register necessarily engage various cultural dichotomies, such as low art and high art, standard and substandard, canonical and apocryphal, classical and popular, oral and written, East and West, religious and secular, orthodox and heretical. The rich varieties of such cultural constructs are analyzed in section B (articles 5 through 8, including important papers by Browning 1978 and Sevcenko 1981, articles 5 and 8). Section C focuses on the most representative genres of Byzantine literature, such as hagiography (saints' lives), court rhetoric (especially panegyrics), and bravura descriptions of art. Section D rounds out not only volume 9 but also this whole set of nine volumes centering on premodern Greek literature as a notional totality. The articles in this section explore the interaction of literary productions with their social and cultural contexts (especially Magdalino 1989 and Mullett 1984, articles 15 and 16), the emergence of vernacular literature and its rhetorical subtleties (Alexiou 1986, article 13), and the generic fluidity and indeterminacy characteristic of many Byzantine texts (Macrides 1985, article 14). The main topic of this last section in the nine volumes, "Literary Renaissance," is particularly apt, since it leaves the IX

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reader with a simultaneous sense of closure and open-endedness. The focus here is on a renaissance, dating from the eleventh and twelfth centuries C.E.- well before the better-known western European models. Some of the genres analyzed in this section are clearly identifiable in terms of antiquity- but also in terms of modernity. It is no accident that the crown jewel of genres in this Greek literary renaissance is itself the ultimate expression of modernity, the novel (Roilos 2000, article 17). The "novelty" of the Byzantine novel, as an ongoing notional rediscovery of all Greek antiquity, is symbolic of the renaissance, the eternal rebirth, of Greek literature. Further Readings Alexiou, M. 1977. "A Critical Reappraisal of Eustathios Makrembolites' Hysmineand Hysminias." Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 3:23-43. Browning, R. 1963. "A Byzantine Treatise on Tragedy." In GERAS: Studies Presented to G. Thomson on the Occasion o/His 60th Birthday, 67-81. Prague. Galatariotou, C. 1987. "Structural Oppositions in the GrottaferrataDigenesAkrites." Byzantine and Modem Greek Studies 11:29-68. Hunger, H. 1981. "The Importance of Rhetoric in Byzantium." In M. Mullett and R. Scott, eds., Byzantium and the Classical Tradition, 35-47. Birmingham. Jeffreys, E. 1980. "The Comnenian Background to the Romans dAntiquite." Byzantion 10:455-486. Lord, A. B. 1954. "Notes on Digenis Akritas and Serbocroatian Epic." Harvard Slavic Studies 2:375-383. Momigliano, A. 1963. "Pagan and Christian Historiography in the Fourth Century A.D." In A. Momigliano, The Conflict between Paganism and Christianity in the Fourth Century, 79-99. Oxford. Nock, A. D. 1925. "Diatribe Form in the Hermetica." Journal o/EgyptianArchaeology 11:126-137. Reprinted in Z. Stewart, ed., Essays on Religion in theAncient World, 26-32. Oxford. Roueche, C. 1988. "Byzantine Writers and Readers: Storytelling in the Eleventh Century." In R. Beaton, ed., The Greek Novel, A.D. 1-1985, 123-133. London. Usher, M. D. 1997. "Prolegomenon to the Homeric Centos." American Journal 0/ Philology 118:305-321.

From Ephrem to Romanos S.P.

BROCK,

Oxford

In late antiquity Syria was an area of extraordinary artistic and literary creativity: the modern visitor stands breath-taken before the ruins, whether it be of Palmyra, or of Qal'at Sim'an. The literary remains are equally impressive, though less accessible, being written in both Greek and Syriac. The very fact, however, that the literary culture of Syria in this period was bilingual perhaps provides a clue towards answering the question, why should Syria have witnessed this outburst of energy in the creative arts? As far as literature is concerned, one might suggest that this was at least in part due to the meeting of, and interaction between, two great literary cultures, Greek and Aramaic, the latter revitalized by the adoption of Syriac (the Edessene dialect of Aramaic) as the literary vehicle for Aramaic-speaking Christianity. The product of this creative activity proved to be particularly influential in two areas of Christian literature, liturgy and poetry: the Syrian, or "Antiochian" origins of the great Byzantine liturgical tradition are well known, while on the Syriac side, liturgical texts in this language reached India (where they are still in use) and even China. In the case of poetry I have in mind, as far as Greek poetry is concerned, primarily that which innovates metrically, abandoning the old classical metres for the new principles of syllabism and homotony: here it is the great poets of Syria and Palestine, men like Romanos, Cosmas of Jerusalem, Sophronios, lohn of Damascus and Andrew of Crete (but originally also of Damascus), on the Greek side, and Ephrem, Jacob of Serugh, Narsai on the Syriac, whose names and influence stand out in the annals of eastern christian poetry and hymnography. In the title of this paper, where our attention will be focussed on poetry, I have taken Ephrem and Romanos as representatives of Syria's two great literary traditions, Syriac and Greek. They are appropriate, not only because they happen to be the finest poets to have emerged from early christianity, but also because they provide us with a suitable framework of time within which to work, the fourth to the first half of the sixth century. At the outset it should be said that I have no intention of offering value judgments on these two great poets, let alone of indulging in the reverse of Sozomen's cultural chauvinism by claiming that anything good in Romanos is ultimately due to Syriac influence. (It will be recalled that Sozomen, faced with the undoubted fact of Ephrem's immense reputation in his day as a poet, attempted to show that the very art of poetry had originally been introduced into barbaric Syriac

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by Bardaisan's (probably legendary) son Harmonios) 1. Rather, my aim is to look at some of the areas where interaction between the two literary traditions is likely to have taken place. If examples of influence, one way or another, do turn up, the existence of these should of course not be seen as detracting from the creative genius of whatever author in whose writings such influence can be discerned ~ just as no one in their senses would claim that the fact that Catullus adapted Greek metres and models detracts from his genius as a poet. In studying the Syriac and Greek religious poetry of Syria during our period it is essential, as William Petersen has recently pointed out in his valuable book, The Diatessaron and Ephrem Syrus as Sources of Romanos the Melodist 2, to distinguish between poetic form and literary sources. This is an obvious enough distinction, but, as Petersen has shown in his survey of earlier scholarship 3, it is astonishing how often it has been neglected in discussions of the possibility of a Syriac model for the new Greek literary form of the kontakion. I myself would prefer to add a third element, and distinguish between metrical form, literary form, and literary motif4. Since I intend to devote most of my time to literary motifs, I shall deal in a very summary fashion with the first two. METRICAL FORM

Attention is normally focussed on the koritakion, a stanzaic verse form based on principles of syllabism and homoton)', of which Romanos was the greatest, but not the earliest, exponent. Was this new metrical form based on a Syriac model, and if so, on what model? The candidates are three, and in all three the basic metrical principle is that of syllabism; they are: (1) the madrasha, or stanzaic poem, often with a highly complex syllabic structure; (2) the soghitha, which properly belongs to the category of madrasha, but which is characterized by a simple syllabic structure; and (3) the memra, or isosyllabic couplet, used for narrative poetry. The fact that all three have their advocates among scholars who have written on the subject suggests at once that no exact Syriac model in fact exists (though discussion has not always been helped by various misapprehensions concerning the nature of these three verse forms, and of Syriac poetry in general). As Petersen points out, by far 1 Sozomen, Ecclesiastical History. JII.I6. On this see my "Syriac and Greek hymnography: problems of origin", Studia Patris/iea 16 (1985), pp. 77-81. 2 e.S.e.O. 475, Subsidia 74 (1985). See also his "The dependence of Romanos the Melodist upon the Syriac Ephrem: its importance for the origin of the kontakion", Vigiliae Chrislianae 39 (1985), pp. 171-87. The same point is also made in my "Syriac and Greek hymnography". J The Dialessaron and Ephrem Syrus, pp. 1-19. 4 Metrical form and literary form can of course govern each other, but as we shall see there are good practical reasons for making this threefold distinction, even though the three components are not on the same hierarchical level.

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the most satisfactory discussion of the matter remains that of Paul Maas, in an article published in 1910 5 ; his conclusion is one with which I would fully agree: the kontakion must be ultimately inspired by a Syriac model, and this model is undoubtedly the madrasha; but at the same time the model is certainly not taken over slavishly: it has been adapted to the Greek language in a number of different ways, most notably by the introduction of homotony, a feature absent from its Syriac model. Before leaving the question of poetic form, it is worth mentioning that a clear case for a more direct borrowing can be made out in the case of the Greek isosyllabic kala slichon verse. Though there is no evidence for direct translations of Ephrem's madrashe, or hymns, into Greek, some of his memre, narrative poems in the 7 + 7 syllable metre, were translated into Greek, probably at an early date, and for these the translator simply took over the isosyllabic metre of the original. Many such isosyllabic pieces are to be found in the tangled corpus of works which go under the name of Ephrem Graecus 6, and it is evident that in many cases these are original Greek compositions, or at least free adaptations; we do, however, have one text, on the prophet Jonah, where the isosyllabic Greek is an exact translation of an ext.lnt memra whose attribution to Ephrem seems to be reasonably assured 7. LITERARY FORM

A characteristic feature of much poetry in both Greek and Syriac during our period is the use of dialogue 8; it is equally a feature of several prose homilies in the two languages. This dialogue can take a number of different forms, and the adoption of one particular form may govern the poetic form employed. Thus, strictly formal dialogue where the speakers are allocated alternate couplets, is virtually confined to the soghitha. that is, stanzaic poetry with a simple isosy\labic structure. This particular literary form happens to be a favourite in Syriac, and a large number of splendid dramatic dialogues survive, the best of which certainly belong to our period, although they are usually anonymous and so not exactly datable 9 . The Syriac dialogue poems normally have a short narrative introduction. after which the dialogue begins, taking the form of an alphabetic acrostic: 5 P. Maas, "Das Kontakion". By:antinische ZeilschriJl 19 (1910), pp. 285-306, reprinted in his Kleine SchriJlen (ed. W. Buchwald; Munich. 1973), pp. 368-91. 6 See especially the texts edited by S.G. Mercati, S. Ephraem Syri Opera, I. Sermones in Abraham el Isaac, in Basilium Magnum, in Elialn (Rome. 1915) . • Greek text ed. D. Hemmerdinger lliadou. "Saint Ephrem Ie Syrien. Sermon sur Jonas", Le .\.{useon 80 (1967). pp. 47-74: Syriac text ed. E. Beck. Des heiligen Ephraem des Syrers, Scrmones II (C.SC.O. 311-2. SeT. Syri 134-5; 1970), no. I. 8 For a more detailed discussion. with a proposed five-fold typology. see my "Dramatic dialogue poems". Symposium Syriacum IV (O.CA. 2~9. 1987).pp. 135-47, 9 See my "Syriac dialogue poems: marginalia to a recent edition", Le .Huseon 97 (1984), pp. 29-58,

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each letter of the alphabet has two verses, one for each speaker. A characteristic feature is that the second speaker often picks up the opening words of the first speaker, but then develops them in a contrastive manner. Dialogue poems with this strictly formal arrangement are only rarely found in Greek. Notable examples are an early kontakion on Elijah and the widow of Sarepta 10, and two pairs of dialogues, between the Virgin Mary and the Angel, and between Mary and Joseph, which are incorporated into Homily 6 attributed to Proclus, and in another homily attributed to Germanus II. None of these is a direct translation from Syriac, and it remains to be seen whether any borrowing of literary motifs from Syriac dialogues on the same topics exists, or not. But the similarities in literary form here are so great that some sort of relationship seems inevitable. One consideration in particular suggests that the literary form has been borrowed from Syriac by Greek writers: the genre in Syriac is already found in a few of Ephrem's hymns in the fourth century, and has obvious roots in the ancient Mesopotamian contest poem, whereas in Greek, while strophomythia per se is well known from classical Greek drama, there are no good precedents for the manner in which it is employed in these alphabetic texts. There are of course other ways in which dialogue can be used in poetry, and if we compare what happens in the two languages some interesting facts emerge 12. Instead of being in alternate stanzas the dialogue can be arranged in uneven blocks and incorporated into a narrative framework. This manner of handling dialogue is found in a few of Ephrem's madrashe (dialogues between Death and Satan), and there is one memra, by Jacob of Serugh, where the Church and the Synagogue dispute in this way. This type of poetic dialogue, however, appears to lack any exact correspondences in Greek sources of the period. In a third type of dialogue poem the dialogue is incorporated into a bare narrative skeleton. Most of Ephrem's madrashe containing dialogues between Death and Satan are of this type, and it also occurs in a few soghyatha; but no memre exist having this structure. In Greek it is found in a number of Romanos' kontakia, including that on the Cross, where the theme is that of the Descent into the Underworld, as in Ephrem's madrashe just mentioned. A fourth type of dialogue poem consists of narrative into which speeches and dialogue are inserted. Homiletic material, if present at all, is confined to the opening. In Syriac this is characteristic of several memre, and there is at least one prose text; it is never found in madrashe. Turning to Greek, we

10 Ed. C.A. Trypanis, Fourteen Early Byzantine Cantica (Vienna, 1968), no. 8 (cp. also P. Maas, Fruhbyzantinische Kirchenpoesie (Kleine texte 52/53; 1910), no. 3). 11 C.P.G. 5805, 8009. 12 The following is based Oil my "Dramatic dialogue poems".

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again find several examples among Romanos' kontakia (e.g. that on the prophet Elijah), and it also turns up in isosyllabic couplets, in various pieces concerning biblical characters to be found in the corpus of Ephraem Graecus - none of which, however, appears to be a direct translation from Syriac. A fifth type again consists of narrative with interspersed speeches, but this time a considerable amount of homiletic material is interspersed. In Syriac this is typical of several memre, or verse homilies, by Narsai and Jacob of Serugh (i.e. late fifth and early sixth century), and also of a few prose texts. In Greek, there are again counterparts among Romanos' kontakia (e.g. that on Adam and Eve), and of course it is characteristic of many prose homilies by Basil of Seleucia, John Chrysostom and others. If we set out these observations in tabular form we will discover why, in the past, scholars have been so uncertain which of the Syriac verse forms to select as a possible model for the kontakion 13: - in the case of Greek kontakia of type I, the alphabetic poem with dialogue in alternating stanzas, the Syriac counterpart is the soghitha; - in the case of kontakia of type III, it is the madrasha that provides the Syriac counterpart; - in the case of kontakia of types IV and V, it is the memra which provides the Syriac counterpart. Almost certainly we should see a chronological development here: the earliest kontakia correspond most closely to the madrasha or soghilha, not only in the metrical form (as Maas indicated), but also in the way they handle dialogue. From these beginnings the kontakion then developed and began to handle dialogue in other ways as well, incorporating it into a narrative framework - corresponding to our types IV and V, both characteristic of the Syriac memra. It is hard to say with certainty whether this development in the kontakion was an independent inner-Greek one, or whether it was (in part at least) due to the growing popularity of the memra as a vehicle for narrative poetry in Syriac during the latter half of the fifth century. We would certainly be more inclined to accept the possibility of the influence of the memra in this matter of literary form if we could pin-point examples where the author of a kontakion clearly took over literary motifs from Syriac memre of this kind. This brings us to our third element, literary motif. LITERAR Y MOTIF

In a bilingual culture such as must have existed in Syria in late antiquity we should not be surprised to find literary motifs crossing linguistic boundaries without necessarily having actual translations to provide the vehicle to convey the motif from the one language to the other. Thus Ephrem alludes to 13 This shows the importance, for our purposes, of distinguishing between poetic form and literary form.

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episodes in Greek mythology on a few occasions in his Hymns 14, but his knowledge of these by no means necessarily implies that he was basing himself on translations of Greek texts mentioning these episodes. Likewise the various Jewish haggadic traditions of which he makes use will probably have reached him at an oral, and not a written, level. Even a fairly superficial reading of the Greek and Syriac poetic output in Syria during our period will throw up a large number of literary motifs and themes handled in very similar ways in the two languages. Often it will be very difficult, if not impossible, to discern how these have travelled from one language to the other, and in which direction this has taken place. There remains scope for much fruitful work in this area, and future investigation will no doubt clarify the situation considerably: unfortunately most of the research that has taken place so far on this topic has either been rather superficial, or limited to only part of the evidence available. An exception is provided by Petersen's careful collection of 21 instances where Romanos appears to base himself directly on passages in Ephrem's writings. His basic case, that Romanos is borrowing from Syriac sources, is not necessarily weakened by the fact that some of his 21 instances represent commonplaces in early Syriac poetry and thus need not represent direct borrowings from Ephrem himself. Since no one would deny that Syriac authors, both poets and prose writers, readily made use of Greek literary motifs, I will concentrate here on the possibility (I would say probability) of the transmission of literary motifs in the other direction, from Syriac to Greek. A number of general areas seem to me promising and deserving of detailed investigation; these concern certain biblical episodes which clearly caught the imagination of early Syriac writers, and in many cases specifically Syriac developments can fairly readily be discerned, even though the theme itself may also have been popular with Greek authors writing in Syria. These general areas are: the episodes of Cain and Abel (Gen 4), Abraham and Isaac (Gen 22), Elijah and the Widow of Sarepta (I Kgs 17), Mary and the Angel (Luke I), Mary and Joseph (Matthew I), the Sinful Woman who anointed Christ (Luke 7), and the Descent of Christ into Sheol. in several cases some of the Syriac evidence still awaits publication. Here it will be practicable only to look at one of these themes in detail and I select the episode of the Aqedah, or Sacrifice of Isaac, since some new Syriac texts on this episode, in both prose and verse, and containing relevant material, have recently been published. The stark, one might almost say apophatic, biblical narrative of Gen 22 invited elaboration, and over the ages writers (and for that matter, artists), Jewish, Christian and Muslim, have not failed to take up the challenge. From

\4 Hymns on Paradise III.8 alludes to Tantalus, and Carmina Nisibena XXXVI.5 alludes to Orpheus.

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Greek and Syriac writers of the fourth to sixth century we have quite an impressive response, some nine texts in Greek, of which the kontakion by Romanos is perhaps the most dramatic, and in Syriac six texts, all but one in verse (in Greek only Ephrem Graecus and Romanos are in verse) 1 5. Romanos' kontakion is probably the latest in time of all these texts, and so it will usefully serve as our starting point. The first fifteen stanzas (there are twenty four in all) are devoted to Abraham's reaction to God's initial command; this takes two forms, hypothetical, and actual. First comes the hypothetical speech, describing what one might have expected Abraham to have said in reply. Romanos is here making use of a well-known rhetorical technique, known as ethopoeia, which had already been applied to this episode by earlier Greek homilists such as Basil of Seleucia and Ps. Chrysostom; it is a technique also found in some of the Syriac texts as well - a clear case of borrowing. In the course of this hypothetical speech of Abraham Romanos introduces a second hypothetical speech, to illustrate what Sarah might be expected to have said, were he to tell her what he was going to do with Isaac. This transition from one hypothetical speech to the other occurs in stanza 7 with the following words put in Abraham's mouth: "Sarah will get to hear of all your words, Lord, and when she knows of your purpose she will say ... ". In introducing Sarah into the episode (the biblical text is entirely silent on this matter) Romanos was again simply following the precedent of earlier writers - both Greek and Syriac who were curious to know how Abraham managed to extract the child Isaac from his mother's care. The hypothetical speech put into Sarah's mouth runs on for five stanzas, and her reaction is what one might expect a mother's to be, and Romanos makes a number of clear allusions to the hypothetical speech put into Sarah's mouth in the poem on Abraham and Isaac under the name of Ephrem Graecus (of which no known Syriac original exists, and indeed it may not be a translation at all). Then, in Romanos' stanza 12, we encounter an extraordinary transition: what Abraham might have been imagined to suppose that Sarah might have said, if he had told her of God's command, suddenly becomes as it were reality, and Abraham starts to rebuke Sarah: Do not use words like that, woman, you will anger God: He is not asking us for anything that does not belong to him, for he is simply taking what he earlier gave us. Do not spoil the sacrificial offering with your lamentations; do not weep, otherwise you will put a blemish on my sacrifice.

Though this dramatic transition from hypothesis to reality is an innovation on Romanos' part, the content of what he says when he rebukes Sarah is again basically in harmony with speeches attributed to him in the earlier 15

The texts are listed in Le Museon 99 (1986). pp. 66-7.

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Greek homiletic tradition. The reply that Romanos now puts into Sarah's mouth, in stanza 14f, is by contrast totally without precedent in the earlier Greek tradition: not only is Sarah aware of what Abraham is intending to do with her son (in the earlier homiletic tradition Abraham sometimes hides his true purpose from her), but she actually gives her assent, thus putting her faith in, and love for, God on a par with Abraham's. Her words are adressed, not to Abraham himself, but to Isaac: If God desires you for life, he will give orders that you live; he who is the immortal Lord will not kill you. Now I shall boast: having offered you as a gift from my womb to him who gave you to me, I shall be blessed. Go then, my child, and be a sacrifice to God, go with your father - or rather your slayer. But I have faith that your father will not become your slayer, for the Saviour of our souls alone is good. Romanos' very positive approach to the figure of Sarah in the second half of the kontakion contrasts dramatically with the way she is treated in the first half, and those scholars who have made a search for Romanos' sources in this homily, Nikolopoulos, Moskhos and Grosdidier de Matons 16, have all found the same thing: in the first half Romanos clearly draws on the earlier Greek homiletic tradition for his general approach, though he has handled these sources in his usual creative manner: it is a matter of verbal allusion, and not of direct borrowing. For the second half of the kontakion, however, where Sarah shares willingly in the offering up of Isaac, no Greek source at all provides anything similar: the nearest is a homily attributed to Amphilochius and preserved only in Coptic 1 7 ; here Abraham decides not to tell Sarah his true purpose (he imagines what she would say), and he leaves her to suppose that they are going off to make an ordinary sacrifice. Sarah accordingly sends Isaac off willingly, having first instructed him how to conduct such a sacrifice; her words to him are heavily loaded with prophetic irony. It is of course possible that Romanos, knowing this unusual treatment of the theme by Amphilochius, himself took it one step further. But this is to ignore the fact that he was a native of Horns in Syria, and so is very likely to have benefitted from that region's cultural bilingualism. Now if we turn to the Syriac literary tradition we find that the second half of Romanos' .6 N.G. Nikolopoulos, 'Elti "ta~ 1tTlYa~ tOU EI~ t~Y Gllo-iaY tOU A~paall UIIYOIl ProliayOu tOU MEAqX)OU, 'AG1]vii 56 (1952), pp. 278-85; M. Moskhos, "Romanos' hymn on the Sacrifice of Abraham: a discussion of the sources and a translation", Byzantion 44 (1974), pp. 310-12; J. Grosdidier de Matons, Romanos /e Me/ode. Hymnes, I (Sources chretiennes 99; 1964), pp. 12935. 17 Ed. L. van Rompay, in C. Datema, Amphilochii Iconiensis Opera (Corpus Christianorum, series graeca 3; 1978), pp. 274-303.

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kontakion happens to have a close parallel in an anonymous verse homily probably of the late fifth century 18. Before turning to this we should note that the seeds for such a positive handling of Sarah had already been sown in Ephrem's Commentary on Genesis, where he simply says 19: Abraham did not reveal the matter to Sarah since he had not been ordered to reveal it; but had he done so, she would have been beseeching him that she might go and share in his sacrifice, just as he had made her share in the promise of Isaac's birth.

Building on this, the anonymous Syriac homily provides exactly the same development that we find in the second half of Romanos' kontakion: Sarah is not only aware that Isaac is to be sacrificed, but she sends him off willingly. Not only do we have this general, but very striking, parallel between the two texts, but, as we shall see, there are also some remarkable similarities in details of phraseology. The Syriac homily in question survives in a single manuscript, and like many verse homilies in the 7 + 7 syllable metre it is wrongly attributed to Ephrem (whose name is traditionally given to that metre). It cannot possibly be his, since it draws quite heavily in places on another interesting anonymous homily which is itself certainly later than Ephrem 20, Since I shall be quoting from both homilies, I shall call the earlier one Memra (verse homily) I, and the later one, with the very favourable treatment of Sarah, Memra II. Memra II has an added interest in that it is one of the very few pieces of Syriac literature for which there is some evidence that the author was a woman; this evidence (unfortunately not entirely unambiguous) hangs on a grammatical form where the narrator speaks in the first person. The great prominence given to Sarah in the whole poem might well lend some further support, for Sarah in fact is made to undergo two trials, to Abraham's one, and it is she who emerges as the true heroine of the ordeal. Before we look in detail at the treatment of Sarah in Memra II, a notable feature of both Memras should be mentioned: Isaac and Abraham bring back from the sacrifice the ram's fleece. One wonders whether this might not be a distant reminiscence of the Greek legend of the Golden Fleece, and there happens to be a curious - but probably purely fortuitous - similarity between the description of the wonderful fleece in Memra I (line 143) and that given by Apollonius Rhodius of the Golden Fleece in Argonautica IV, lines 184-5. The introduction of the motif of the fleece into the episode of Gen 22 appears to be unique to these two Syriac poems. How, then, do these two Syriac Memre handle the person of Sarah in their retelling of the biblical drama? Clearly the question "Where was Sarah" was 18 Memra II in my "Two Syriac verse homilies on the binding of Isaac", Le Museon 99 (1986), pp. 61·129. 19 Ed. R. Tonneau (C.S.C.O. 152·3, Scr. Syri 71·2; 1955), section XX, 20 Memra 1, also edited in my "Two Syriac verse homilies".

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an important one for all the authors. Greek or Syriac, who wrote of the theme of Gen 2221. In contrast to the majority of Greek homilists, who offer examples of what Sarah might have said, if Abraham had told her of his true intention, in Memre I and II we are provided with actual speeches by Abraham and Sarah. Memra I provides quite a long exchange between Abraham and Sarah (some forty lines. out of a total of 187 lines in the poem). Terrified on seeing them about to go off, she exlaims: Where are you taking my only-begotten ... reveal to me the secret of your intention ... why are you not revealing your secret to Sarah your faithful wife who in all the hardships of exile has borne trials along with you 0 To which Abraham evasively replies: I wish to slaughter a lamb and offer a sacrifice to God. At the fleece which will come back with us you will givc praise to God all the more. Sarah urges her husband to leave Isaac behind: You are drunk with the love of God - who is your God and my God - and if he so bids you concerning the child, you would kill him without hesitation. Abraham tells her not to worry: the fact that he is taking two young men with him should suffice to allay her fears that he might do something rash. This persuades Sarah, and so Abraham and Isaac set off. In Memra II the dialogue between Sarah and Abraham is shorter (just under 30 lines). When Sarah sees Abraham bringing out a knife to take with him, ... her heart groaned, and she began to speak to Abraham: Why are you sharpening your knife0 What do you intend to slaughter with it? Why have you hidden this secret from me today? Abraham replies, with characteristic male condescension: This secret today - women cannot be aware of. Sarah then starts to remind him of their joint response on an earlier occasion, when they gave hospitality to the poor - who turned out to be angels (Gen 18). Her speech continues with words borrowed directly from Memra I, but it develops in a very different way: You are drunk with the love of God, who is the God of gods, and if he so bids you concerning the child you will kill him without hesitation: let me go up with you to the burnt offering, and let me see my only child being sacrificed. If you are going to bury 21 For further details see my "Sarah and the Aqedah", Le Museon 87 (1974), pp. 67-77 (written before I had come across Memre I and II), "Genesis 22: where was Sarah?", Expository Times 96 (1984), pp. 14-17, and the discussion in "Two Syriac verse homilies", pp. 70-76.

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him in the ground, I will dig the hole with my own hands, and if you are going to build up stones, I will carry them on my shoulders; the lock of my white hairs in old age will I provide for his bonds. But if r may not go up to see my only child being sacrificed, I will remain at the foot of the mountain until you have sacrificed him and come back. (Lines 23-30).

Sarah then turns to Isaac and instructs him how to behave when he is being sacrificed, after which she embraces him with tears, takes him by the hand and hands him over to Abraham. If one considers the homiletic tradition on this theme as a whole in this period, Syriac as well as Greek (and one could add the Jewish tradition as well) Memra II and Romanos stand out from all the other texts in having two striking features in common in their handling of the biblical narrative at this point: in the first place, Sarah sends Isaac off willingly, in full knowledge of what Abraham is about to do; and secondly Sarah speaks directly to Isaac at this point, something she is made to do elsewhere only in the homily attributed to Amphilochius(where, however, as we have seen, she believes that Abraham and Isaac are going off to sacrifice an ordinary lamb). These two features alone seem to me to be sufficient evidence to suggest that there must be some connection, indirect if not direct, between the second half of Romanos' kontakion and Memra II - and perhaps we should also add "Amphilochius". Before trying to specify the nature of these connections any further, however, some chronological uncertainties need to be mentioned. If the homily attributed to Amphilochius were to be genuine, then it would date from the late fourth century; the fact that it survives only in Bohairic, however, introduces an element of doubt, given the large number of misattributions given by Coptic scribes to texts translated from Greek. There are sufficient links between it and Memra II to make it likely that the author of whichever proves to be the later text knew the other. Unfortunately we have no means of giving a precise date to Memra II, and it is only on rather general grounds that one can suggest a late fifth century date: it could conceivably be somewhat later, and one should not entirely rule out the possibility that it is later than Romanos, and in that case theoretically it could be dependent on him, rather than the reverse relationship. Literary borrowing by a sixth-century Syriac writer, probably Syrian Orthodox, from a Melkite Greek writer is, however, intrinsically unlikely, and certainly there is no other evidence at all for a knowledge of Romanos by Syriac writers of that period. That Memra II is in fact earlier than, and was directly known to, Romanos is suggested by a quite different point. The study of Romanos' Greek sources has shown that we do not ever find him making any verbal quotations: the most we have is verbal allusions. This means that if we are to extend our search to Syriac sources, as I believe we must in the light of Memra II, then we should not expect to find any verbal quotations there either, only allusions. A possible example of such an allusion

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is provided by another very unusual feature found only, among Christian writers, in Memra II and in Romanos. In stanza 19 of his kontakion Romanos has Abraham say just before the sacrifice is to take place, "First I will bind him, then I will slay him, lest his quivering (skirtema) hinder my intention". Concern lest some involuntary movement on Isaac's part should invalidate the sacrifice is not found in any other Greek source; it does, however, feature in Memra II, though there it is Isaac who brings up the matter, in a speech to his father at this point: Draw near, father, and bind me; tie tightly for me my bonds lest my limbs should shake, and there be a blemish in your sacrifice.

This may seem a small detail, but it is a very telling one. This particular concern over involuntary movement is purely a Jewish one, and it is surprising to find it at all in a Christian handling of the theme 22 • Thus in the Palestinian Targum to Gen 22: 10 Isaac says to his father at exactly this point "Bind my hands well so that I may not struggle at the time of my pain and disturb you and so render your offering unfit". Likewise in Bereshith Rabba 56:8 Rabbi Isaac is recorded as having said: When Abraham wished to sacrifice his son Isaac, the latter said to him, I am young and afraid that my body will tremble through fear of the knife and I will grieve you, for thereby the ritual slaughter may be rendered unfit, and this will not count as a real sacrifice; therefore bind me very firmly.

There can be no doubt, I think, that in our two Christian texts, Memra II and Romanos, we have an echo of a concern that was of great importance to the Rabbis - though of none at all to Christians. At this point it will no doubt be recalled that Romanos was of Jewish origin, a detail furnished by the kontakion written in his honour. This information should not, however, lead us to jump to the conclusion that Memra II must be the borrower, for one good reason: Memra II represents Jewish tradition more closely than does Romanos, for in the Jewish texts and in Memra II it is Isaac who asks for his father to bind him firmly lest he (Isaac) invalidate the sacrifice, whereas in Romanos the concern about involuntary movement is put into Abraham's mouth. These two distinctive features common to Memra II and Romanos Sarah's willing sharing in the sacrifice, and the Jewish concern over involuntary movement - strongly suggest that Romanos either knew Memra II itself, or failing that, a lost Syriac homily also attesting these two highly atypical features which set apart these two texts from all the other homiletic treatments, Greek and Syriac, of this episode. If one accepts the strong likelihood that Romanos is borrowing from a Syriac source for these two features, then the field is open to the search for 22

Cp "Two Syriac verse homilies", pp. 89,94.

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other Syriac sources which he may also have known. As far as this particular kontakion on Abraham and Isaac is concerned, several such cases of the possible borrowing of motifs can indeed be found, as I have indicated elsewhere 23 • By way of conclusion it is worth making a more general observation. There has perhaps been a tendency on the part of some scholars to think consciously or unconsciously - of the Greeks writers of Syria as if they were emigre Greeks - rather like the British in India, none too observant of the native literary culture around them 24. This is certainly not a satisfactory conceptual model: we should instead think of these writers as Syrians of Greek literary culture, living side by side, and interacting intellectually, with Syrians of Syriac literary culture. Here one might compare the situation in modern Syria and Lebanon where there have been authors whose literary culture and language has been essentially French or English, but who have nevertheless been fully aware of trends in Arabic literature, and so open to influence from that quarter. If we adapt this second conceptual model to the way in which we look at Syria in late antiquity, then we will be far more likely to accept the possibility that creative writers like Romanos were conscious of what was going on in contemporary Syriac literature. Furthermore, we need to recall in this connection the great prestige that Syriac poetry had in the eyes of several fifth-century Greek writers 2 5. Whether or not the particular examples given here carry conviction, sufficient has been said to make it clear that one needs to take Syriac literature - and especially Syriac poetry - into consideration if one is properly to appreciate the full richness of Syrian literary culture as a whole in late antiquity.

See "Two Syriac verse homilies". pp. 91-6. Thus Grosdidier de Matons in his Romanos Ie },felode el les origines de la poesie religieuse a Byzance (Paris, 1977) was unduly sceptical about the possible Syriac background to Romanos; on this point see the review by A. de Halleux, "Hellenisme et syrianite de Romanos Ie Melode", in Revue d'HislOire Ecc/esiaslique 73 (1978). pp. 632-41. 21 See the eulogy of Ephrem in Sozomen, Eccl. Hisl. 111.16; cpo Theodoret, Eccl. Hisl. IV.29. 23

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WANDERING POETS: A LITERARY MOVEMENT IN BYZANTINE EGYPT In the later Roman Empire Egypt, not for the first time in its history, became the home of Greek poetry. "The Egyptians", wrote Eunapius of Sardis in about the year 400, "are mad on poetry" ('e:7tt 7tOL'Y)'t'LXn [J.E\I mp6~pcx [J.CX[\lO\l't'c(1 ), and indeed it is hardly possible to name a single prominent Greek poet of the fourth and fifth centuries who was not either an Egyptian, or else, like the Lycian Proclus, educated in Alexandria. 2 Yet modern scholars, while studying in some detail its more important representatives, have devoted surprisingly little attention to the movement as a whole. 3 The Dionysiaca of Nonnus is familiar to every student of Greek poetry (even if few can claim to have read all its 48 books), the hymns of Synesius 4 and the epigrams of Palladas 5 have been much studied in recent years, and even the lame epics of Triphiodorus and Colluthus still find an occasional reader. But Nonnus and Synesius are not really the most typical representatives of the movement, and Palladas by any reckoning is an isolated figure. Most of their fellow-countrymen put their talent for poetry to a much more practical use, and though men still Vito Soph. 493. Egyptian domination was spent by the sixth century (below p. 508) when of the numerous poets who flourished at the court of Justinian, only Julianus Aegyptius seems to have been an Egyptian - though Agathias received his literary education at Alexandria (Hist. ii 15, p. 97. I Bonn). P. Waltz (Anth. greeque i [1928J xxiii) suggested that the Cyrus attested as the father of Paul the Silentiary is none other than Cyrus of Panopolis, and this, if true, would provide an interesting and important link between the two schools. Unfortunately chronology will hardly permit: Paul was still alive and writing in 567 (date of A P ix.658), whereas we are told that Cyrus lived up to the reign of Leo (Lite of Daniel the Stylite § 31), which implies that he did not outlive Leo, who died in 474. Even granted that Paul was a child of Cyrus' extreme old age he would still have been nearly roo when he wrote his poem. And furthermore Agathias' reference to Paul's wealthy and distinguished ;;POYOVOL (v. 9, p. 297. 3) hardly fits an Egyptian adventurer who died without a penny (below p. 473). 3 It is mentioned in passing, e.g., by l\Iaspero, REG xxiv (19II) 458, Friedlaender. Hermes xlvii (1912) 56, Bury, Later Roman Empire ii 2 (1923) 431 n. 3. Thraede has virtually nothing to say on the subject in his article 'Epos' in RA C v (1962) 992-3: Christ-SchmidStahlin, Geseh. d. griech. Literatur ii. 2 6 (1924) 956f. give no more than a list (albeit a valuable, though not exhaustive, list) of names and references. 4 C. Lacombrade, Synesios de Cyrene (1951) ch. xiv and works there cited, especially the full edition with commentary by Terzaghi in 1939. 5 See most recently my articles in JHS 1964, JRS 1965 and CQ 1965, and the various articles of Bowra and Irmscher there cited. 1

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continued to call poetry a divine gift, and to invoke the Muses to assist them in their song, the truth of the matter was that for most poets of the later Empire poetry was no more and no less than a profession. 6 It is these professional poets whom I propose to discuss. Not, however, at any rate principally, from the literary point of view. This would hardly be possible, for the simple reason that with one notable but slightly atypical exception barely a line of their numerous and voluminous works has survived. The exception is Claudian of Alexandria - atypical because his extant works are written in Latin. 7 But paradoxically enough the fact that the work of these poets has so utterly perished is of less importance than might at first sight appear; it is not likely that their literary merit was of a very high order, and their significance, for the modern scholar at any rate, lies elsewhere, in the light their existence and activity cast on the social, cultural and even political life of the later Empire. From scattered allusions in the correspondence of contemporaries and the compilations of Byzantine savants of later ages,S it is possible to reconstruct a fascinating picture of a regular school of poets, born and educated in Egypt, who spent their lives wandering from city to city·throughout the Empire in search of fame and fortune. The term 'school' may, I think, be justified by a number of interesting and important features they have in common. In a Christian world they were almost all professed pagans, unlike a Nonnus or Musaeus they all wrote on contemporary subjects, in an age of regimentation they travelled freely and widely, they were all scholars and many knew Latin (a rare accomplishment for a Greek of any age), and, not least, so far from living the usual life of the poet in peaceful seclusion, they were often shrewd and worldly adventurers, equally proficient in the very different arts of poetry and politics. I propose to consider each of these features in turn. I

The fourth century saw the triumph of Christianity and the decline and eventual proscription of worship of the old gods. In the closing years of the century Theodosius the Great forbade under the direst penalties worship of 8 Hence the circle of Agathias and Paul the Silentiary, few if any of whom were professional poets, would fall outside the scope of this study even if they had been Egyptians (n. 2 above). 7 Of his Greek works we have only a few epigrams dubiously ascribed to him (d. W. Schmid, RAG iii [1957J 168) and a fragmentary Gigantomachia (see N. Martinelli Misc. Galbiati ii [1951J 47f., B. Lavagnini, Aegyptus xxxii [1952J 452f.). 8 The references to Photius are all to the Bibliotheca, and I have found it more convenient to refer simply to 'Suidas', than to 'the compiler(s) of the Suda'. Most of the relevant entries in Suidas derive from the biographical dictionary of Hesychius of Miletus, some from Damascius' Lite of Isidore.

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pagan deities in every fonn,9 and fanatical monks joined in bands all over the East to destroy and loot pagan temples. Io Yet paganism lingered on, especially in the intellectual and university circles of Alexandria, where the teaching of the classics and neoplatonism continued in pagan hands until the sixth century.ll But these poets were not born or even educated in Alexandria alone; many, indeed most, of them came from the Thebaid, in particular from the district art;>und Panopolis. Pamprepius, Cyrus, Nonnus and Triphiodorus all came from Panopolis itself, Horapollon from Phenebith, a village in the nome of Panopolis, Christodorus from Coptus, Olympiodorus from Egyptian Thebes and Andronicus from Hennupolis. Of the more important figures only Claudian and Palladas are actually attested as Alexandrians, though doubtless most of the others will have spent a tenn or two at least in the lecture rooms there. Now Panopolis had always been a centre of Hellenic culture: Herodotus noticed that even in his day it was the only city in Egypt which favoured Hellenic customs,lZ and it continued a stronghold of 'Hellenism' (in the meaning 'paganism' the word bore from the mid-fourth century on) until well into the fifth century.I3 For the well-to-do landowners of Upper Egypt remained predominantly pagan until the middle of that century, when they eventually capitulated before the vigorous evangelism (not to mention strong arm tactics) of that resolute and uncompromising abbot Schenute of Atripe.u It is precisely from this class that our poets will have come, for the education necessary to produce a poet in the later Empire was beyond the means of any but the fairly comfortably Off.16 Hence it is not surprising that in spite of the fact that Egypt was at this period a land of monks,!' young men from well-to-do families in the 9 See most recently N. Q. King, The Empel'OY Theodosius and the Establishment of Chf'istianity (1961). 10 For a convenient table of the terrorism of the monks see Fliche-Martin, Hist. de l'Eglise iv (1937) 19f. 11 The most important document for paganism in fifth century Alexandria is Zacharias Scholasticus' Lite 0/ Sevel'us. See also J. Maspero, Bull. de l'Inst. /I'any. d'arch. orient. du Cail's xi (1914) 176f. 12 ii. 91 (then known as Chemmis). 13 E. Amelineau, Geographie de l'Egypte a l'ipoque copte (1893) 18 and see particularly Remondon in Bull. de l' inst. jl'an y. d'arch. oyient. du Cail'e Ii (1952) 67f. 14 J. Leipoldt, Schenute von Atripe und die Entstehung des nationaliigyptischen Chris/entums (Texte und Untersuchungen N.F. x [1904]) 27, 175f. Ii Cf. A. H. M. Jones, Later Roman Empil'e ii (1964) 1001 - though education in Egypt was by no means confined to the positively wealthy (cf. Sir H. I. Bell, Egypt [1948] 82f.), and the fact that many of these poets occupied municipal chairs as grammatici (below p. 49If.) suggests thattheycame from the lower rather than the higher stratum of this class. On the social origins of the professors of Bordeaux, some of them actually lower than curial, cf. M. K. Hopkins, CQ n.S. xi (1961) 246--8. The only poet whose social class is actually attested is Andronicus, who was a curial of Hermupolis (Photius Cod. 279 fin.). 18 There were 30,000 monks and nuns in Oxyrhynchus before even the end of the fourth century: cf. H. Lietzmann, HistOt'y 0/ the Early Church iv (Eng\. Tr. 1950) 148.

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Thebaid who went to be 'finished off' in Alexandria after a grounding in the local schools 17 ne,'ertheless remained pagans, According to Malchus of Philadelphia (probably his contemporary) Pamprepius made no secret of his paganism (TO 'EMl]VtxOV T~C; 8p,t;v/.do:c; (J.e:T 8povov U"'l(HO~ YEve'tTl~ 7tape5WKE Aa~eo8at OU7tW YEvv118evn' E7td Ka.a oapKa .0 OlOOOV Ttyep811, 7tpoxoa'i~ U7tOAOUOaIlEvo~ 7tOWIl0'io 5 '!opoavou, o~ 1tOSl is brilliant hypallage for the color of the water and a superb word play on 'YAUUI(O~, which can also mean "bright" or "gleaming· (for the ordinary meaning of "sea-green" cf Nonnus Dion. 20.353; 2.14). For oupwv used personally cf Limenius' Paean to Apollo, where it describes that god's "tracing" or "spreading· the foundations of his oracular shrine "with immortal hand" (a1t[AEtOU~ eEj.1EAiou~ 't'] aIlPpo't~ XElPI. oupwv, Kappel 390 no. 46 line 24). Note also a hymn from Epidaurus in which the Mother of the Gods moves oupouou f>U'tU[V] I(0IlUV (M. L. West, "The Epidaurian Hymn to the Mother of the Gods: CQ N.S. 20 [1970] 212f). If, in similar fashion, oupwv describes the motion (or its effect) of Jesus stepping into or out of the river, it may be meant to suggest his walking on water (Mk 6:45-52 pars.)-an intimation at baptism of that mark of his divine character described in line 13. 6-7.

itt: 1tUpOC;

h:CPEU~ Also edited by Lenz, op. cit., who, on the basis of manuscript studies, could deny to Aristides the authorship of these two speeches and attribute it to Thomas. The still unpublished speech "For the Olynthians" certainly belongs to the same category of speeches with ancient historical contents. 10 Walz, op. cit., III, 516-21. 17 My edition of the letters of John Chortasmenus appeared in 1969. 18 Procopii Gazaei epistolae et declamationes, ed. A. Garzya and R.- J. Loenertz (Ettal, 1963), 83-98. 19 Walz, op. cit., I, 269-72. 20 Ibid., 537-39. 21 Ibid., 428-42. '" Aph thonji Progymnasmata, ed. H. Rabe (Leipzig, 1926), 34f1.

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Michael Psellus belong here as well.:!3 In the case of the ethopoeia, Christian or contemporary topics were exceptions . Yet, of the approximately two dozen character-drawings of Nicephorus Basilaces (twelfth century) in Walz's collection, about twelve are concerned with subjects taken from the Old or the New Testaments, one dealing even with a "modern" topic. 24 In addition to these, we should like to mention one ethopoeia by Nicephorus Chrysoberges (twelfth-thirteenth century), namely, "What might a Christian philologist have said when Julian the Apostate forbade [the Christians] to read Hellenic books?" and one on the Virgin by Nilus Diassorenus (fourteenth century).25 Historiography and official rhetoric (speeches to the emperor and official orations of all kinds) were thoroughly rooted in the classical tradition, yet the main emphasis was never laid on classical contents. Most of the Byzantine historians were interested in a more detailed account of the time they themselves were living in, that is, of contemporary history. Ancient history they treated, if at all, as conscientiously as did the chroniclers, who always began their often rather sketchy outlines with the creation of the world. In conclusion we can say that only a relatively small part of Byzantine literature is determined by the reproduction of classical contents and subject matter. Much greater is the number of those works that are in some other respect or even in a number of ways-and to a varying extent-characterized by the imitation of the ancients. This long-known fact which, as far as I know, has never found a specific and coherent treatment, must hardly be understood as if the Byzantines had consciously conceived the hundredfold application of ancient motifs, figures, and quotations as imitation. The fact is rather that the Eastern Empire had not experienced a break in its historical and cultural development as had the ,,vest, where such an interruption had been caused by the establishment of Germanic empires on formerly Roman soil. Again and again one discovers from remarkable details in the literature, art, and architecture of Byzantium that the cultural continuity had been preserved since antiquity. Much of this situation was due to that intellectual development in the course of which highly gifted as well as learned Christian Fathers-I am referring to Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Eusebius, and above all the Cappadocians-succeeded in introducing the new Christian values into the long approved literary-stylistic forms of pagan antiquity, and could eliminate every thought of the discrepancy between these two elements in the course of the development. Thus they created that intellectual attitude of Christian humanism which at all times claimed the loyalty of the most noble minds and the most outstanding writers of Byzantium. 26 A particularly original testimony 23 Ed. H. Flach, Classen und Scholien zur Hesiodiscken Tkeogonie (Leipzig, 1876), 424-28 . .. Walz, op. cit., I, 466-525. The girl of Edessa who is deceived by a Goth (ibid., 519-22) is borrowed from the Passio SS. Curiae, Samonae et Abibi by Symeon Metaphrastes (PG, 116, col. 145 D-161; Bibliotheca HagiograPkica Craeca, no. 736) . • 5 K. Krumbacher, Cesckichte der byz. Litl., 2nd ed. (Munich, 1897), 470 and 560. The elhopoeia of John Geometres on the Emperor Nicephorus II Phocas (PG, 106, col. 932) comprises only a dozen lines. " Hunger, Reich dey Neuen Mitle, 355-69.

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of this intellectual attitude, which reaches from the literature of the educated far into the realm of folklore, are those supposed prophecies of pagan philosophers on the Trinity, the Incarnation, and other Christian dogmas, which not only occur in the form of short passages in numerous manuscripts, but also are known in the form of characteristic presentations in large fresco cycles of many late- and meta-Byzantine monasteries and churches of monasteries. 27 In an essay on the "Vorbildqualitat und Lehrfunktion der byzantinischen Kunst," O. Demus recently emphasized the naturalness, the universality, and the representativeness of this art which he rightly calls a living Christian art. 28 Thus we usually feel that the imitation of this "intellektuellen Kunst, die ihre Mittel der analytischen Bewaltigung des antiken Erbes mit bewusster Meisterschaft anwendete" (intellectual art that applied its means of analytically mastering the classical inheritance with conscious skill)29 is a survival rather than a revival. Analogous conditions have to be kept in mind in regard to the literature of the Byzantines. Since one knew one's Homer, the tragedians, Herodotus, Thucydides, Plato and Demosthenes, Plutarch and Lucian so well, one used quotations and allusions and adopted motifs and various associations very freely, and was quite unaware of utilizing foreign property or of even committing plagiarism. 3o The mutual penetration of the old Hellenicpagan and Christian traditions in accordance with the principles of Christian humanism usually enabled authors to introduce mythological or historical examples of antiquity without giving offense to anybody by doing so. Those cases where personal enmity or extreme zealotry did bring about attacks on the "Humanists" shall be disregarded in this context.31 Some examples of this naive imitation of classical models are found in those cases where Christian or contemporary Byzantine personalities are replaced by mythological figures. The "as-if-by-chance" element of this pagan-Christian mixture gives a particular charm to the works of art we here refer to. The substitution of mythological figures tanked from circumstantially drawn comparisons to mere references or allusions. In his sixth hymn (counting according to Terzaghi), Synesius presents Christ as a second Heracles, without mentioning the name of the Greek national hero. Like Heracles, Christ "cleaned up" the earth, the sea, the air (the 07 Among the "prophets" in the refectory of the Lavra on lIit. Athos are depicted Socrates, Pythagoras, Hypatia, Solon, Cleanthes, Philon, Homer, Aristotle, Galen, Sibyl, Plato, Plutarch. Cf. Hunger, Reich der Neuen Mitte, 303. N. A. Bees, "Darstellungen altheidnischer Denker und Autoren in der Kirchenmalerei der Griechen," Byzantinisch-Neugriechische Jahrbucher, 4 (1923), 107-28; K. Spetsieres, Ehc6vES 'EA7Ii}vwv q>lAocr6cpwv Els bcKAT]cr1as, in 'ElTIcrrTJ~. 'E-1TFTT]p1S Tiis 1)~trTWV CrrrlKC,V. ed. F. Ritschel (Haile, 1832). 117 Nic. Greg., X.2 (Bonn ed., I, 477). 118 J. F. Boissonade, Anecdola nOM (Paris, 1844), No. 133, p. 156; cf. also H. Hunger in Byzallt. Zeitsc,...;!t, 45 (1952), 9. III

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and developed a "poetry for the eye" which was no longer related to contemporary language and versification. The frequently occurring imitations of the classical dactylic hexameter and elegiac distich, of trochaic octosyllabics and anacreontics show the same tendency. Of course, it would have been better had secular poetry made itself independent of the rules of quantity, as religious hymn-poetry had done by following the example of Romanus Melodus, and had it cultivated the genuine Byzantine meter, namely the "political" fifteen-syllable line. Actually, however, the hexametric attempts of later scholars, like for instance John Chortasmenus (first half of the fifteenth century), are indications of an utter inability to appreciate the peculiarity of classical meter.1l9 A characteristic feature of Byzantine art and literature, as yet perhaps hardly noticed, is the balance between a strict adherence to an acknowledged and accepted tradition-in our case the imitation of antiquity-on the one hand, and the greatest possible variation of detail on the other; in the best works of art and literature this is excellently done. The ingenuity of the writer will express itself in an abundance of stylistic details and phrasings of his own coinage, which, however, have to be sought; the superficial observer will see nothing but the repetition of well-worn cliches. I first pointed to this phenomenon in my book on the prooimion, five 'years ago; in studying the preambles of the documents, the composition of which was entrusted to men who were extremely well versed in literary matters, I had noted this combination of traditionalism and abundant variation. 120 The antinomy of strict imitation in regard to the whole and broad diversity in detail is of consequence in the much abused centos, the patchwork poems, to which a short discussion shall be dedicated here from the viewpoint of the Byzantine literary historian. Two epigrams by the philosopher and mathematician Leo (fifth century) that are contained in the ninth book of the Palatine Anthology shall be cited here as examples of the Greek pagan cento.l2l The first consists of six, the second of twelve hexameters; each of these lines is a complete verse from the Iliad or the Odyssey. In the first epigram we can trace only one minor deviation from this strict rule: in line 4 the nominative yv~v6s had to replace the original accusative, and line 5 was composed of parts taken from two verses. The first word of the last verse is used with a meaning different from that in Homer, namely as an obscene homonym, which is the point of the whole epigram. The second epigram (Hero and Leander) is similarly composed of complete verses from Homer. Here the only deviation from the verbally rendered passage from Homer occurs in line 6 (middle of the epigram), which again consists of parts of two verses taken from the Odyssey; these two lines were of necessity retouched for grammatical reasons, but remained otherwise unchanged. In these twelve lines the poet succeeded in recounting: the story of Hero and Leander briefly, without apparent effort, and at the same time without grammatical errors -all this without himself having troubled to compose a single verse or part 110 On this problem, d. Hunger, Der by;;antinisciLe Katz-j\1ause-Krieg, 30ff. "" Hunger, Prooimion, 17 and 58. ill A. P., IX.361 and 381 (ed. Beckby, III [Munich, 1958], 222, 236). On pagan centos, d. Stemplinger, op. cit., 193-95.

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of a sentence. A praise of such methods will hardly pass the lips of the modem reader who expects original ideas of a poet's genius. Whatever the case for originality may be, one will have to admit that such achievements were possible only on the basis of a most intimate familiarity with the text of Homer, a deep understanding and knowledge of the language, and an excellent memory. After all, we cannot believe that the writers of centos went, kalamos in hand, through the whole text of Homer searching for'suitable lines-or that they even consulted computers! These patchwork poems are, rather, testimonies of an extraordinary performance of the memory and of an active control over the material, faculties which-though far from indicating genius-belong 'within the range of a techne, in the classical meaning of the word. It is true that St. Hieronymus had condemned the cent os as childish nonsense long before the publication of these epigrams.122 In spite of this, Bishop Patricius and the Empress Eudocia, the wife of Theodosius II, undertook the task of molding the Incarnation and the life of Jesus into the shape of Homercentos.123 This work undoubtedly required even greater versatility than those pagan centos composed by Leo the Philosopher which we have already discussed: here it was a completely disparate subject that had to be rendered in Homeric lines. Thus, it is not astonishing that things do not end up nearly as smoothly as they do in Leo's centos. In fact, non-Homeric elements are repeatedly inserted, and the style as well as the grammar leave much to be desired. I should suppose, however, that after a closer study of the manuscripts a better text could be produced. A. Ludwich, the editor, took no interest in this aspect; in the Latin preface he clearly expresses his contempt for such "bungling pieces of work. "124 In my opinion, in this enterprise of the Bishop and the Empress we must see neither narrow-mindedness nor snobism-the latter could much better be applied to the work of Leo the Philosopher-rather, we should understand it as the naive and moving attempt to clothe the history of salvation, which is of fundament'al importance to every Christian, in that linguistic garb which was the most venerable to every Greek, namely, the verses of Homer. It is the same spirit to which numerous Byzantine and Russian icons owe their more or less precious, though artistically often uninteresting, metal covers. To a different order belong the two Byzantine dramatic works of the twelfth century which were intended to be read; of these the one belongs completely, the other partially, to the category of the centos in a wider sense. A third of the 2610 lines of Christus Patiens (XP1O'TOS 1TOoxwv)125 is borrowed from classical models, mostly from Euripides, the Medea and the Bacchae having the greatest share in the contribution, some others of his plays following in this order: Hippolytus, Rhesus, and, far less often, Orestes, Hecuba, and Hieron .. Ep. 53.7: Pue,'ilia sunl haec el circulaloyum ludo similia. Edition of chapters 1-13 and 50 (approximately 1950 lines in all) by A. Ludwich (Leipzig. 1897). 124 Ed. Ludwich. p. 87: nam huius gemris libri. qui !laud pauci ad!luc in bibliolhecis latenl. hodie a mmine digni habentur. qui accumlius explm'entur .... Emendatiuneulae paucae mihi jere invito (!) e:reide,'wlt inter seribendum: hunc igitur campum. quem videbam nimis sterilem esse. aliis palientioribus permitto diligentius eolendum. 120 Ed. J. G. Brambs (Leipzig. 1885); A. Tailier (Paris. 1969). 122

123

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The Trojan Women. About three dozen lines are taken from Aeschylus' Agamemnon and Prometheus Vinetus, as well as from Alexandra by Lycophron.

In accordance with the old tradition of Christian humanism and the methods of quoting discussed above, numerous borrowings from the Old and New Testaments are inserted between the many hundreds of classical quotations. The author-whose identity remains unknown-was certainly not a genius, but he was a well-versed writer and an expert on ancient tragedy as well as on the Holy Scriptures. The following example should help to illustrate the nature of these adoptions: 1127 T[ TCXVT' ci:Mw; TrEIOLEOV Tois aois My0l5 II Hipp., 1182 TI TCXVT' ci:Mw; TrElOLEOV ITCXTPOS MyOlS 1128 EpyOIS S', oa' VrrE8EI~cxs Eis I-IcxpTVpicxv, // John 10: 25 Ta Epycx 0: Eyw ITOIW EV T0 OVOl-laTI TOU TTCXTPOS I-I0V, TCXUTa I-IcxpTVpEi TrEpl EI-IOV 1129 WS fOLIV emav aOI SEATlTOV 8vvaTov. II Ps. 110: 2 I-IEYMa ,0: epycx KVPIOV, E~Tl[ETT\l-IeVa .is 1T():v-ra TO: SEA~l-IaTa aUTov 1130 nOAAWV ,aIJias EOLiv ci:eATT'TWV 8EOS, 1/ }v1ed., 1415 ITOMWV TaIJicxs ZEVS EV 'OMIJTT~ 1131 ITOAM: T' ci:EAITTWS ITOAAclKIS Kpaivel 8EOS, // Jled., 1416 TTOAAO: T' OeATT'TWS Kpcxivoval SEQi 1132 TO: 8' cxu 80KTlSev-r' OVK E'1'evpe wi TEAOS' /1 Jied., 1417 Kcxi TO: 80KTlSev-r' OVK E-rEAEaSTl 1133 aV 8' ci:80K~'wv CXUTOS evpolS IJOI ITOpov. II );ied., 1418 TWV 8' 050K"TWV IT.fvaIS. Finally, the whole passage is extended at the end by four lines which are dedicated to the Telephus-motif (6 Tpc:;,O'as KCXi IOO"ETal; here: vai, 1TaVO'OV, c:;,s e-rpcuaas, T]1TaTO) 1TOVOVS). The third example of imitation, A.P., V.273 ""'" DC, III.174-96, is limited to the basic thought (old age takes revenge on coy beauty) and to a few lexical correspondences: Ocpfi1PWV, /JaKap. This strange mish-mash is partly attributable to the exigencies of a verse form tied to a musical phrase. This seems to be the consideration which determines the choice between OtiTOpdoEW~ IJ€V auv iLKptl3aU~ i\ KOIJ7JaV pT/lJaTwv TjIJ;V, w~ etTfOIJEV, otiOT/IJw. ¢povr,~, oti/il rap fprOV 01' (fPOV, trpawaTwv liE lJuXXOV KcU ovvrolJw.~ A6r~ rfrOVEV' o'tlEv Kal 'PwlJaiiXClpaKTijp, S·r;,~i:'/ol, of a rhetorical question, of an eceiesiastical formula. or of an etymological figure inspired by the Septuagint fi '. After all. Autoreianos was a High Prelate. b. Metaphrases as X orm Students of style in a modern language compare their evidence with some norm of which a ginn style is a specialized or individual nuiant"". For them, the "com'ersational" or "usual" speech or prose of an average educated person is such a norm and "high style" is then seen determined a" a deviation from it. In the \"'eke of our Byzantine predecessors. we Byzantinists proceed in the opposite way: we assume with them that \\.'orks in high style provide the Ilorm. e\'en if we can guess that such works had little to do with the language spoken by their educated authors. Cnlike modern linguists, we cannot directly confront the subjects of our stud~'. But we do have at OLU' disposal a large body ofpl'o::;e that can be con::;idered the Byzantine counterpart of the a\'erage modern educated speech and can serve as a norm by which to judge Byzantine high style. This prose is contained in the numerous Byzantine paraphrases or metaphrases 6H of high-style works, both Byzantine and Antique - some important ones. such as that of Xicetas Choniates. still remaining unpublished'l). Changes introduced by the paraphra::;ers are customarily viewed as deviations from high style: the omission or simplifica tion of difficult passages; the remoyal of hyperbuted to have spent ninety-five years on his column. Alypios lived to the age of 120?5 Several different strands can be traced in the life of the 'low-level' saint as perceived by his followers and contemporaries. The most obvious is the imitation of the Gospel story. The healings, the miraculous provision of food, the restoration to life of the dead, the dialogues with demons, the apocalyptic visions, perhaps the close maternal links and slight role of the father, all recall the life of Christ, which provided a model or framework within which the life of the holy man could be organised. But there are many recurring motifs and structural features in these saint's lives which have no Gospel parallels. The most important will be reserved for separate discussion. In the meantime it is evident that invisibility, invulnerability, and longevity fall outside the Gospel framework and recall rather the pagan aretalogy. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

ibid., 66 (Laurent, 195). Cf. F. Nau, ROehr 7 (1902), 605. Joannis Moschi, Pratum spirituale 57. Vie de S. Symeon Ie Jeune 122 (van den Yen, 100·3). Vita S. Lucae Stylitae 16 (Delehaye, Les saints stylites, 212). Vie de S. Symeon Ie Jeune 224 (van den Ven, 194-6). Delehaye, op.cit., passim.

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The precocious development of the future saint also has pagan precedents - the infant Herakles strangling the snakes in his cradle and the infant Achilles in Pindar (Nem. iii. 43ft) are two parallels which spring to mind. Bilocation and clairvoyance are typical marks of the shaman, who, like the saint, acquires his powers by withdrawal from society and returns to it in a new status. 36 The cultural amalgam of late antiquity and the early Byzantine period provided more than enough models and patterns out of which the humble and oppressed could construct a fantasy of life rising above the physical and social constraints to which they were subject, a fantasy which perhaps enabled them the more easily to endure the harshness and drabness of their everyday life. Perhaps for some of his contemporaries the holy man played a role not unlike that of Superman, both in the Nietzschean and in the Hollywood sense of the word, reminding them, if only in an exaggerated and sometimes superficial way, of the range and power which, if God will, human ability can attain. The path to sanctity How did the holy man establish his sainthood and gain his superhuman powers? Withdrawal from society is always involved. Usually it is physical withdrawal to the desert or the mountains, or to the aerial regions. Sometimes it is social withdrawal, as when the saint feigns madness and is so freed from the normal restraints and tabus. 37 Self-imposed hardships are also both a path to holiness and a demonstration of it, and are to be seen as a form of withdrawal; the saint seeks out that which other men avoid. Many saints begin by wlllpping cords tightly round their bodies until they cut into their flesh. Others voluntarily accept the chains which awaited a humble member of society if he fell into debt or offended those in authority. Theodore of Sykeon wore heavy iron chains and passed a long period in an iron cage. 38 Symeon the Elder loaded his body with chains. 39 So did Luke the Stylite and Lazaros the Galesiote. 4o These apparently perverse choices of what most men avoid were unquestioningly accepted as evidence of holiness. 36. Cf. E.R. Dodds, The Greeks and the I"ational (Berkeley 1951), 140-3, 160 (bibliography). 37. Cf. E. Benz, 'Heilige Narrheit', Kyrios 3 (1938). 1-55; J. Saward, 'The Fool for Christ's Sake in Monasticism, East an:l West', Theology and Prayer, ed. A.M. Allchin fStudiesSupplementary to Sobornost 3) (London 1975); L. Ryden, Das Leben des hi. Na"en Symeon von Leantios von Neapolis (Uppsala 1963); S. Murray, A Study of the Life of Andreas, the Fool for the Sake of Christ (Barna-Leipzig 1910).

38. Vie de Theodore de Syketm 28. 39. Theodoret, Historia religiosa 26.10. 40. Vita S. Lucae Stylitae 5 (Delehaye, Les saints stylites, 200); Delehaye, op.cit., ex. OPPOSITE

Irons worn by an ascetic (siderophoros), displayed at Xenophontos, Athos Photo: Robert Byron (by courtesy of the Courtauld Institute of Art)

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It is striking how often the acquisition of sanctity involves a kind of substitute death. Often the young man passes months or years in an enclosed or subterranean space resembling a grave. Symeon the Stylite lived in an abandoned water-tank, Alypios in an old tomb,41 St John of Rila in tenth-century Bulgaria lived for many years in a hollow oak-tree which recalled a coffin.42 Theodore of Sykeon excavated a spelaion skoteinon under the altar of a church and lived there for some months. Later he hollowed out another spelaion under a rock in a remote place and remained there, unknown to all but one disciple, for two years. 43 When his grandmother and mother found him, his head was covered in dried blood (ichor) and full of worms, his bones were laid bare, and none could stand near him because of the stench. In the words of his biographer, 'he looked like a corpse'. The point could not be made more clearly. Theodore was as it were a man risen from the dead. His holiness needed no further proof, and the local bishop at once ordained him reader, subdeacon, deacon, and priest. The evil smell resulting from the holy man's self-mortification is mentioned again and again in the lives as evidence that he has passed beyond the normal human state and gained superhuman powers. It clearly symbolises the smell of death. But the stench of holiness soon turns into its apparent opposite, the fragrance of holiness. Once his sainthood is established the saint's body and all that is in contact with it distil an exquisite and unearthly perfume, like that which flows from the relics of dead saints and martyrs. So the saint is perceived not merely as one who enjoys all the powers which the humble do not possess - a kind of Superman. He is also seen as one who has passed beyond the human condition although he continues to sojourn among his fellow men. He is beyond sin and beyond the power of evil, and has regained the primeval innocence of man before the fall. He is a living reminder of the victory of life over death and of good over evil, and one that is local, visible, and tangible. He has died and been born again. But his rebirth is the beginning and not the end of his earthly career. In this respect the pattern of the saint's life is very different from that of the life of Christ. Not all 'low-level' saints display clearly all the characteristics that have been enumerated. But all show some of them, and many show all of them.

Social and political status Human weakness and vanity play their part in the perception of the saint. Naturally he is a man without possessions. But his poverty is usually chosen, not inherited. His parents are often respectable, sometimes substantial citizens. The parents of Luke the Stylite owned a considerable estate - perhaps including a stratiotikon ktema, since his father was a soldier. As a young man Luke distributed 41. Theodoret, Historiil reiigiosa 26.6. 42. J. Ivanov, 'Zhitiia na sv. Ivana Rilskii: GodSof 31.13 (1936), 28. 43. Vie de TheodoredeSykeon 16, 19,20·1.

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his property to the poor, then worked for two years as a sWineherd. 44 Theodore of Sykeon, though the son of a barmaid and prostitute, was somehow related to leading members of his local community - protiktores, as they are called4s - and his unknown father was reputed to be a person of more than local importance. 46 This emphasis on the economic and social position which the saint abandons in his search for holiness is partly ethical; poverty is not a moral category unless it is voluntary. But it probably also contains an element of social snobbery. The man who embodies so many of the dreams and aspirations of the group must not be in origin a nobody, a landless, homeless, rootless outsider. Though essentially a local figure, linked closely with a particular region and often with a particular spot, the saint sometimes displays his powers at an imperial level. He prophesies the death or accession of emperors, warns them, is consulted by them. This is not all fantasy. Daniel the Stylite, who is perhaps not quite a lowlevel saint, was really consulted by several emperors - presumably through an interpreter, since the saint never troubled to learn a word of Greek. Theodore ofSykeon, living and working in a region through which a main military road passed, may well have actually visited Constantinople and become acquainted with persons of power and influence including three emperors; after all, he was a bishop, however reluctant. But in most cases the imperial and metropolitan connections of the holy man must have been a reflection in fantasy of the common man's eagerness to have influence with the highest authority, an eagerness which cohabited uneasily with an anxiety to keep out of the way of authority in general. The counter-hero of the dispossessed The popular saint appears as the direct antithesis of the ideal citizen of classical antiquity. He is a rural, not an urban figure. He lacks military prowess, he has no public career, he is equally devoid of physical strength and beauty and of intellectual distinction. Yet it may be unwise to take him as evidence for a complete abandonment of traditional ideals. Perhaps he displays a kind of reflection of the ideal man of classical urban culture, but a reflection in a distorting mirror. His prowess is in the unceasing war against demons and the powers of evil. He follows a career which takes him out of this world and into the next by a regular progression of triumphs over human constraints. He possesses moral strength and spiritual beauty, often manifested in a kind of glowing aura surrounding his person. And though he may not read books, he has the power to read men's minds and hearts 1ioratikotes. 47 He is perhaps to be seen as the counter-hero of the dispossessed and )f those to whom the high urban culture of Late Antiquity had nothing to offer. 44. Vita S. Lucae Stylitae 5 (Delehaye, 206). 45. Vie de Theodore de SykefJfi 25. 46. ibid., 3; he was a forrmer circus acrobat who had become an imperial apocrisiarius under Justinian. Was he perhaps a protege of Theodora? 47. Cf. A.-J. Festugiere, Vie de Theodore de Sykeon, ii. 218.

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Imperial Panegyric: Rhetoric and Reality George T. Dennis

Above all else the people we call Byzantines prized orthodoxy, correct doctrine, correct thinking, which they-and we-generally think of in a theological context. But there was another kind of orthodoxy, political orthodoxy, as some have tem1ed it. I This involves correct thinking about the civil and instirutional life of the empire, the whole imperial ideology. These orthodoxies, inseparable and sacred as they were, found expression in ways that were also sacred for the Byzantines. Theological orthodoxy found its expression largely in the divine lirurgy and was there made known to the faithful. Political orthodoxy, in rum, was articulated by a literary elite and communicated to the citizens of the empire through rhetoric. The use of rhetoric as an instrument of politics has ancient roots. In the fourth cenrury B.C. Isokrates endeavored to influence Athenian foreign policy in favor of Philip of Macedonia, whom he compared to Herakles, the benefactor of mankind, just as Byzantine orators, a thousand years later, would compare their rulers to Christ, the lover of mankind, philatlthropos. 2 In fact, many of the rhetorical cliches formulated by Isokrates would be heard over and over again throughout the Byzantine period. The imperial government, from Diocletian on, couched its decrees in rhetorical style to render them more solemn and memorable. 3 To its fmal days the Byzantine administration continued this practice, the most notable example being the preambles to imperial chrysobulls. 4 In its most prosperous days, as well as in its most penurious, in victory and in defeat, the Byzantine upper classes never gave up the srudy and practice of classical rhetoric. The basic handbooks by Hermogenes and Aphthonios were copied and commented on throughout the Byzantine cenruries. s The medieval dictionary, the Suda, in its entry on Hermogenes, notes that "everyone has a copy" of his rhetorical manual. 6 As late as the fifteenth century, John Chortasmenos prefaced an encomium of Manuel II with the declaration that he was explicitly following Herrnogenes, and that his oration should be , See H.-G. Beck. Das byz"ntinischeJahrtausend (Muruch. 1978),87-108. , H. Hunger, Die hochsprachhche profane Literatur der Byzantiner, 2 vols. (Muruch, 1978), vol. I, 72. J Hunger. u"teratuT, I, 71. -' H. Hunger, Prooimion. Elemente deT byzantinischen Kaisen"dee in den Arengen deT Urkunden (Vienna, 1964). ; Hunger, Literalur, I, 76. 'Suidae Lexicon, ed. A. Adler, 5 vols. (Leipzig, 1928-38; repro 1971), E 3046.

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judged, not on its content, but on how closely it observed the rules of rhetoric.' While fonnal epideictic orations go back several centuries, it was Menander the Rhetorician, in about A.D. 300, who was credited with setting down the rules governing them. s The fourth and fifth centuries saw a great flowering of Greek rhetoric in which both pagans and Christians participated. Names that immediately come to mind are Libanios, Themistios, Eusebios of Caesarea, Gregory of Nazianzos, Prokopios of Gaza. It was Eusebios, in his orations on Constantine the Great, who christianized the imperial ideology and articulated the political orthodoxy that would prevail until the death of the last Constantine. The speeches and letters of Libanios served as models of fme writing for rhetoricians, such as Psellos, and for emperors, such as Manuel II. Gregory of Nazianzos and others added biblical and Christian motifS and topo; to those of classical antiquity. Even during the dark ages that followed, it is obvious that men continued the study and, presumably, the practice of rhetoric, for when, in the ninth century, the sources become more abundant, we fmd them engaged in their literary activities with renewed vigor. From then until the end of the empire, the teaching and practice of rhetoric underwent very few changes. Teachers of rhetoric attracted students; they taught them to imitate classical models, and, in due time, some, such as Psellos, Italikos, and Basilakes, were themselves held up as models! Byzantium was never without rhetoricians. Who were these rhetoricians, and why was rhetoric so very important to them? First of all, they were not very numerous. They fonned a special class, a literary elite, which included emperors and empresses, ordinary laymen, secular clergy, bishops, and monks. The bond that held them together was rhetoric, the "communion of letters" as they tenned it.' o For one thing, it distinguished them from the ignorant tribes outside their borders. Manuel II felt obliged to continue his literary activity to set an example for his subjects, "so that as they mingle so much with barbarians they might not become completely barbarized."" And inside, it separated them, as Nikephoros Gregoras claimed, from ditch diggers and tavern keepers. '2 By maintaining classical rhetoric, with all its peculiarities, this class experienced continuiry with the greamess of Rome and with Greek culture. In a world of change it gave security, stability, and meaning to their lives. In addition, proficiency in the art could lead to advancement and material rewards.

7Johannt5 Chorwmenos (Ul. 1370-lyovera 'I.OIK"'. Alew. olaooxij TIEplMEIETal. Descriptio imaginis, 22, ed. Friedlander, 12. U Friedlander, Spatantiker Gemaldezyklus in Gaza, 52ft; F. W. Deichmann, Friihchristliche Bauten und 1I1osaiken von Ravenna (Baden-Baden, 1958), pI. 360; Beckwith, Early Ch"istian and Byzantine 36 and pI. 63 . .. K. Weitzmann, "The Survival of Mythological Representations in Early Christian and Byzantine Art," DOP, 14 (1960), 52, fig. 12. "A. Goldschmidt and K. Weitzmann, Die byzantinischen Elfenbeinskulpturen, II (Berlin, 1934), pI. 3, nos. 9, 10. U J. Beckwith, The Art of ConstantinoPle (London, 1961). 136f. "D. C. Winfield and E. J. "v. Hawkins, "The Church of Our Lady at Asinou, Cyprus," DOP, 21 (1967), 261 fl., fig. 9. '0 TOO'Ov-rOV

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one known to have existed before the iconoclastic controversy, and is best represented by two frescoes in the church of Santa Maria Antiqua in Rome (fig. 7).46 It is probable that the version of the martyrdom represented by the Leningrad and Berlin ivories was not created until the Macedonian Renaissance of the tenth century. The contorted figures seem to have been borrowed from several other scenes. Some figures may have migrated from portrayals of the Deposition, of Souls in Torment, and of John Baptizing the People, subjects which had been rare or unknown in the pre-iconoclastic period. 47 Other poses came from classical scenes, which we know to have survived into the tenth century, as they appear in contemporary manuscript illumination. 46 Christopher of Mytilene's epigram stresses the variety of the martyrs' poses: "See the victorious Forty of God here, standing by the lake, each one in another posture. But if they are not alike in their postures, in the trial by frost they have one mind."49 Thus the poem refers to what was probably a comparatively recent development in Byzantine iconography. The most important ekphrasis which survives from the post-iconoclastic period is that devoted by Mesarites to the church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople. Nikolaos Mesarites was born in 1163 or 1164 in Constantinople. It has been deduced from internal evidence that his description of the church of the Holy Apostles was written between 1198 and 1203. In this period, in 1201, he is recorded as sacristan of the churches in the Great Palace of the Emperors in Constantinople, and he had a judicial appointment at the cathedral of St. Sophia. 50 His ekphrasis on the Holy Apostles is of particular interest for two reasons. First, it is one of the longest and most elaborate Byzantine examples of this genre which survives. Second, it describes an important building and a cycle of mosaics which have completely disappeared, and which are accessible only, if at all, through written documents and through a few manuscript illuminations. The first church of the Apostles seems to have been built in the fourth century by Constantius. It was rebuilt by Justinian before A.D. 550 as a cruciform structure with five domes-one dome over each arm and one over the crossing. Justinian's church was destroyed after the Turkish conquest to make way for the Fatih mosque of Mehmet the Conqueror, which now 46 It is also known from a fresco at Syracuse. See O. Demus, "Two Palaeologan ::\Iosaic Icons in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection," DOP, 14 (1960), 87ff., esp. 101f. " Ibid., 106f. The motif of an older martyr holding up the slumped body of a younger companion recalls Joseph holding up the dead body of Christ. Compare the Leningrad and Berlin ivories of the Forty Martyrs especially with the miniature in Paris, Bibliotheque Nationale, gr. 74, fol. 100 (H. Omont, Evangiles avec peintures byzantines du XI'siecie [Paris, n.d.J, pI. 88). The martyrs who hug their chests with their arms and droop their heads are similar to the souls in torment depicted in Paris. gr. 74, fol. Sl v (ibid., pI. 41) and in Vat. gr. 394, fol. 12v (J. R. Martin, The Illustration of the Heavenly Ladder of John Climacus [Princeton, 1954J, fig. 73) . •, Weitzmann, "The Survival of Mythological Representations," 64f. ASPEl &.sAoJcpopOVS eEOV EvSaoE TEC'C'apO:t ecpEa1'aOTas KaT" AII-IVTJV' [Ei 5'/ipJa Kat EV ax,,~ao-lV 015E 1-111 elEV 6~oiol, !v !'lao-avo;> 1TayETOlO 6~6cppova Sv~6v EXOVcnV. E. Kurtz ed., Die Gedichte des Christophoros Mitylenaios (Leipzig, 1903), 90, no. 133. The title reads: [Eis TOUS &ylovs] TECTCTapO:tiis KO\ nOAlv oi~o Koi uowp pEvcrm ~E~OUA'l-rOI .... XXXIV.5-7, ed. Downey.

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monastery of the Transfiguration in the Meteora in Greece, is a still clearer illustration of the text of the ekphrasis (fig. 14). Here the Lord bends his whole body sharply, drawing his side away from Thomas' hand, in a manner which appears to fit closely the description by Mesarites. 72 Among the surviving Byzantine portrayals of this scene which antedate the ekphrasis of Mesarites, there are no instances in which Christ assumes just this posture. Generally Christ stands straight upright, as in the eleventhcentury mosaic from Hosios Loukas in Greece. 73 It is very likely, however, that the iconographical type of the Meteora icon and the Sopocani fresco existed in Byzantine art before 1200, even if no examples of it have survived to this day. First, we have the evidence of a miniature in a late twelfth-century Coptic Gospel book, now in the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris (copte 13, fol. 278"; fig. 15). It shows Christ supporting himself by laying his right arm over Thomas' shoulders; at the same time he seems to be trying to draw his side away from the Apostle's touch, and thus stands at what appears to be a some\\"hat awkward angle. 74 It is probable that this Coptic miniature is a copy of a more elegant Byzantine model. There is also the evidence of a tenth-century ivory, which is at Dumbarton OakS in Washington (fig. 16). Here Christ is turning his side away from Thomas' touch, and at the same time he inclines his head toward the Apostle. Thus, we have the same elements in the tenth-century ivory which appeared, vastly exaggerated, in the fourteenth-century icon. These examples allow us to conclude that the mosaic in the Holy Apostles which Mesarites described showed Christ with the upper part of: his body bending down, and his side curving away from Thomas' hand. In his description Mesarites says that Christ "depicts in his posture the wounded man," and that the "hand of Thomas enters" his side "like a spear," and that the side of Christ "~ishes to pour forth blood and water." Clearly Mesarites is making a visual comparison between the pose of Christ showing his wound, and that of Christ receiving his wound on the cross. This comparison is appropriate only to post-iconoclastic Crucifixion scenes, because only in this period did artists depict the crucified Christ as a wounded man, with his body bent and slumping on the cross. On some occasions pre-iconoclastic artists showed Christ inclining his head slightly, as in the miniature from the Syrian Rabula gospels of the sixth century (fig. 17). But here, as in all other pre-iconoclastic examples of the Crucifixion, Christ's body is erect. It is an image which emphasizes Christ's triumph over death, rather than his suffering humanity. The earliest surviving Byzantine work of art from the milieu of the capital which portrayed Christ on the cross as a dead man seems to belong to the ninth century. In a monastic psalter in the Pantocrator monastery on Mount Athos (codex 61, fol. 98) there is a miniature which "K. Kreidl-Papadopoulos, "Die Ikonen im Kunsthistorischen Museum in \vien," jbKsWien, 66 (1970), 55, fig. 37. 73 E. Diez and O. Demus, Byzantine Mosaics in Creece (Cambridge, Mass., 1931), fig. 10. ,. Millet, Recherches SUI' I'iconographie de I'Evangile, 578, fig. 631.

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depicts Christ on the cross, with his eyes closed. 75 Here, as well as in all other surviving ninth-century Crucifixion scenes, Christ's body is still upright. But by the second half of the tenth century, Byzantine ivory carvers were depicting Christ with his whole body sagging.76 In the eleventh- and twelfth-century Crucifixion scenes, such as the famous mosaic at Hosios Loukas, the curve of the body becomes more pronounced (fig. 18). Only an image of this type, with Christ's body sinking down and his side curved, would fit the description which Mesarites gives us of Christ's posture in the mosaic of the Incredulity of Thomas. When Mesarites, in describing the Incredulity of Thomas, visually recalled Christ's posture in the Crucifixion, he must have had in mind Crucifixion scenes of the post-iconoclastic type, dating to the tenth century or later. This passage of his ekphrasis, therefore, shows an appreciation of one of the most important innovations of Middle Byzantine art, the portrayal of Christ suffering on the cross as a man. The passages which I have quoted demonstrate that the ekphraseis were often accurate and in touch with contemporary developments in art. There was more in them than a dead literary tradition. They reflected not only changes in iconography, but also the new attitudes which lay behind the changes. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that the literary element was strong. Before we can fully assess the ekphraseis as evidence for art history, we will have to look deeper into their literary aspects and identify common quotations and conceits in order to find out how the use of topoi affected the validity of Byzantine writing on art.

II.

THE USE OF TOPOl AND THEIR EFFECT ON ACCURACY

From antiquity to the fifteenth century the ekphraseis devoted to works of art formed a continuous tradition in Greek literature. 77 Nearly all of them, to some extent, copied each other; there is no need to look further than the introductions of the ekphraseis to find examples of repetition. The prefaces often explain the author's purpose in writing the description, and contain general observations on the visual arts. The innocent reader might hope that they would give a picture of changing attitudes toward art throughout the centuries. Unfortunately, they are completely stereotyped. Thus, in'the twelfth century, Constantine Manasses prefaces his ekphrasis on a mosaic in the Great Palace at Constantinople ,vith the statement that painting is superior ,. ]. R. Martin, "The Dead Christ on the Cross in Byzantine Art," Late Classical and Mediaeval Studies in Honor of Albert Mathias Friend, Jr., 189f1., pI. 23, 4. The earlier examples from Sinai have been discussed by H. Belting and C. Belting-Ihm, "Das Kreuzbild im 'Hodegos' des Anastasios Sinaites," Tortulae. Studien zu altchristlichen und byzantinischen Monumenten, ed. W. N. Schumacher (Rome, 1966), 30ft. "See, for example, Goldschmidt and Weitzmann, Die byzantinischen Elfenbeinskulpturen, pI. 39, no. 10l. "On the ekphrasis as a literary form, see L. Meridier, L'influence de la seconde soPhistique sur l'auvre de Gregoire de Nysse (Paris, 1906), 41ft.; G. Downey, "Ekphrasis," RAC, IV (1959). 921ft.; G. Pfohl, "Monument und Epigramm," 75 Jahre Neues Gymnasium Nurnberg, Festschrift (Wiirzburg, 1964), 1ft.; A. Hohlweg, "Ekphrasis," RBK, II (Stuttgart:1971), col. 33ft.; Baxandall, Giallo and the Orators (supra, note 6), 78f.

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to sculpture. Unlike the sculptor, the painter can reproduce color and shade, and is thus able to portray " ... the roughness of skin and every kind of complexion. a blush, blond hair, a face that is dark, faint, and gloomy, and again one that is sweet, comely, and radiant with beauty .... "78 This passage is inspired by the ekphrasis of the third-century sophist Philostratus the Elder. In the introduction to his Imagines there is a similar passage on the superiority of painting to sculpture, in which the painter's ability to reproduce shade and color is extolled. The painter, says Philostratus, can imitate the look of a man who is mad, suffering, or joyful. He can differentiate between eyes of different colors, and likewise with hair and clothing. 79 The opinions of Philostratus the Elder on this subject were repeated in the introduction of his grandson's ekphrasis. 80 The untrustworthiness of the statements which preface the ekphraseis is demonstrated by a remark which I have noted in the introduction to Mesarites' description of the interior of the church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople. Mesarites, writing around the year 1200, declares that he is the first to describe the church, even though both Procopius and Constantine the Rhodian had already written on the building, the former in the sixth and the latter in the tenth century. Furthermore, Constantine the Rhodian had made the same claim, saying that he was the first to speak on the church. 81 When the reader of an ekphrasis passes from the introduction to the description itself, he will usually find a large number of topoi which are variations on one theme, the realism of the work of art. The author may, for example, declare that the art is so realistic that he has forgotten it is art and not real action. The third-century sophist Philostratus the Elder, describing a painting of a boar hunt, claims, "I was carried away by the painting, thinking that the figures were not painted, but existed and moved .... "82 The same remark is made by Procopius of Gaza, in the late fifth or early sixth century, in the course of his' description of a painting of Phaedra. 83 And the Byzantine writer Mesarites, describing the mosaics in the church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople, twice reminds us that "the events that we now observe are not real life, but a picture. "84 This sentiment reflects a tendency in the ekphraseis for the authors to go beyond the works of art themselves, to a fuller narration of the stories which inspired them. The first example of this technique in Greek literature is 78 ••• TpaxlrrrjTa Oip~CTOS Kal XP6av '!Ta\I'To5a'!T~ IpvSl'J~a Te Kai K6~l'Jv ~avS"v Kai '!Tpo""mov KC'TTVl'JPOV Kai WPaK'OV Kai envyvov Kai a6S,s /jov Kai xaplEv Kal cnl;'flov 'l'c;'> Ka;';'El ..•. Ed. Sternbach, "Beitrage

zm Kunstgeschichte" (supra, note 16). col. 75, line 16ff. ,. Imagines, 1.2. 80 Imagines, Prooemium 3. This tapas also appears in the writings of Leonardo da Vinci; ed. H. Ludwig, Das Buck von del' Malerei, I (Vienna, 1882). part I, 38. 81 XI1.12. ed. Downey, and ibid., p. 860; ed. Legrand "Description" (supra, note 58), v. 412; Procopius, De aedificiis, 1.4.9f. "E~T]XST)V V'!TO T~S ypa,!,~s ~" y'yp6cpSat OOKWV aliTovs, erVat OE Kai K,veicrSat .... Philostratus, Imagines, 1.28.2. 83 Descriptio itnaginis, 17, line 163f., ed. Friedlander (supra, note 36). 84 00 yap Iv TTp6y~a",v aM',v ypa~~a", Ta vvv TIpOS ,,~wv KaSopw~eva, XXX.2 and XXXIV.8, ed. Downey.

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