Nonnus of Panopolis in Context: Poetry and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity with a Section on Nonnus and the Modern World 9783110339420, 9783110339376

Table of contents :
Preface
Abbreviations
List of Contributors
I: Introduction
Revisiting Old Problems: Literature and Religion in the Dionysiaca
II: Nonnus and the Literary Past
Peitho in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca: the Case of Cadmus and Harmonia
Oracles in the Dionysiaca
Nonnus and the Orphic Argonautica
Orpheus and Orphic Hymns in the Dionysiaca
Ovidian Metamorphosis and Nonnian poikilon eidos
Image-Making and the Art of Paraphrasing: Aspects of Darkness and Light in the Metabole
III: Nonnus and the Visual Arts
Contextualizing Nonnus’ Visual World
Personifications at the Service of Dionysus: the Bacchic Court
IV: Nonnus and Late Antique Paideia
Faith and Fidelity in Biblical Epic
The Methaphrasis Psalmorum, Nonnus, and the Theory of Translation
Nonnus’ Mystic Vocabulary Revisited: Mystis in Dionysiaca 9.111–31
Neoplatonic Form and Content in Nonnus: Towards a New Reading of Nonnian Poetics
Rhetorical Elements in the Ampelus-episode: Dionysus’ Speech to Ampelus (Nonn. Dion. 10.196–216)
Appositives in Nonnus’ Hexameter
V: Nonnus and Christianity
Judaic Orgies and Christ’s Bacchic Deeds: Dionysiac Terminology in Nonnus’
Paraphrase of St. John’s Gospel
City and Landscape in Nonnus’ Paraphrase 12.51–69: Poetry and Exegesis
A Classical Myth in a Christian World: Nonnus’ Ariadne Episode (Dion. 47.265–475)
The Shield of Salvation: Dionysus’ Shield in Nonnus Dionysiaca 25.380–572
VI: The “School” of Nonnus
The End of the “Nonnian School”
Poetic Inspiration in John of Gaza: Emotional Upheaval and Ecstasy in a Neoplatonic Poet
Nonnus in Gaza
The Expansion of Modern Poetry from Egypt to Palestine in the Early Sixth Century CE
A Learned Spiritual Ladder?
Towards an Interpretation of George of Pisidia’s Hexameter Poem On Human Life
VII: Nonnus and the Modern World
Simone Weil, Reader of the Dionysiaca
The Heros’ Quest of Dionysus as Individuation of an Age
Approaching the Dionysiaca under the Aspect of Jungian Archetypes and the Monomyth of Joseph Campbell
Bibliography
List of Figures
Index of Greek Words or Phrases
Index of Passages
General Index

Citation preview

Nonnus of Panopolis in Context

Trends in Classics – Supplementary Volumes

Edited by Franco Montanari and Antonios Rengakos Scientific Committee Alberto Bernabé · Margarethe Billerbeck Claude Calame · Philip R. Hardie · Stephen J. Harrison Stephen Hinds · Richard Hunter · Christina Kraus Giuseppe Mastromarco · Gregory Nagy Theodore D. Papanghelis · Giusto Picone Kurt Raaflaub · Bernhard Zimmermann

Volume 24

Nonnus of Panopolis in Context

Poetry and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity with a Section on Nonnus and the Modern World

Edited by Konstantinos Spanoudakis

DE GRUYTER

ISBN 978-3-11-033937-6 e-ISBN 978-3-11-033942-0 ISSN 1868-4785 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2014 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Logo: Christopher Schneider, Laufen Printing: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen ♾ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

Preface When we look back to older Nonnian scholarship the picture appears rather grim: the shadowy poet and his extensive output, too late for classical Hellenists and too early for Byzantinists, find themselves caught between the preconceptions of the former and the latter. To a large extent these are the outcome of the dissociation of Nonnus’ oeuvre from its era of transition that was to seal the centuries to come. Most classical Hellenists at some point have come across the Dionysiaca: passages from the Dionysiaca are in passing plundered either as a source of mythology or as a source allegedly providing insights into someone else’s lost work. Insidiously the poem came to be regarded a mythological handbook of the same sort as Ps.-Apollodorus’ Bibliotheca, if less systematic, certainly “poetic” and (of course) degenerate. No wonder the editors of the widely used Loeb edition of the Dionysiaca saw fit to assign the mythological notes to an expert (H. J. Rose) who provided also a ten-page long “Mythological Introduction”, all set to explain Nonnus’ idiosyncratic “mythology” marred by a taste for the surreal and the erotic. Even modern scholars who consider Nonnus seriously from the perspective of a classical Hellenist often lay emphasis on his epic and Hellenistic models at a verbal or thematic level, failing to recognise the vast risemantizzazione those models have suffered. And at any rate for most classical Hellenists the Paraphrase remains terra incognita. On the other hand, Byzantinists never felt a genuine allegiance to Nonnus or his “school” and rarely ever regarded him as appropriately an author of “theirs”. Too far from Constantinople and strongly affiliated to an epic and Hellenistic past, unlike George of Pisidia, Nonnus was felt to belong to a different literary context, and perhaps rightly so. On the rare occasions when Nonnus was found to have left a trace on a Byzantine author, he would be treated by Byzantinists as another classic of the past. Unbiased readers have not been numerous and have often been deterred, or even repulsed, by the artificial style and content, the protracted circular narrative and the long and winding composites. And those who have studied Nonnus or a “Nonnian” poet have suffered, and still suffer, from a crisis of identity simply because in the field of Literary Studies (unlike Art, History, Philosophy or Patristics) Late Antiquity has not (yet?) been widely established as an independent area of research. Charting the map proved more complex upon realisation of the fact that it was the same man who wrote the Dionysiaca, a poem with an exuberant interest in astrology, apocryphism and not least the female body, and the Paraphrase of the Gospel of Saint John, then (and indeed sometimes even today) regarded as an arid and graceless rendition of the holy model. The persona of

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Nonnus suffered accordingly: he was made to become a convert, a proselyte, a pagan, a Christian, a crypto-Christian, a false Christian, a nothing and an all in the world of Late Antique poetics. No word of Nonnus in context; no concern for the cultural milieu that made the Nonnian paradox (which is not) possible; no word of the large doses of Late Antique paideia injected in both his works; no interest in the influence of coeval visual arts; and no hint at the ambitious plan of a highly educated man, gifted in producing hexameters, to represent world-history beginning from the earliest times, centred around a god of salvation, with his eye fixed to a more perfect world dominated by a more accomplished God, who had planned everything in the first place. The episodes narrated in the longer poem, a tour de force of artistry and erudition, seem like the tesserae forming the chaotic mosaic of the advances and drawbacks in the history of man. The raging language, laden with all sorts of contradictions and prolepses, and widely shifting like the world it purports to convey, enhances the same effect. The minor work brings the plan to a magnificent conclusion, the triumph of God’s plan to lift man to a superior level. This is celebrated by means of sublime poetry merging the best of man’s thought with the inspiration lavished by faith in the true God. The Paraphrase, no doubt, was a risky undertaking at a time when Christian dogmas were largely solidified but still beset with controversy from in and out of the Church. Yet, the risk was worthwhile. It is nothing other than a convinced Christian mind behind this plan. Despite all this, even today the intrinsic unity of Nonnus’ works tends to be forgotten. Nonnus is de facto partitioned between the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrase. The Paraphrase is often considered, or relegated, to be a subject (only) for theologians to study. The Dionysiaca would be tolerated as a University course in Classics; the Paraphrase remains out of the question. Classics libraries pile up books on the Dionysiaca whereas they ignore the Paraphrase. This insanity in a way made it desirable to organise an event in which Nonnus would be studied for his own sake, and other scholars would be invited to reflect on him in context. For this generation of scholars the goal was less hard to attain as significant work had already been undertaken on an individual basis. The first International Conference entirely devoted to the Panopolitan poet and his ambience (“Nonnus of Panopolis in Context: Poetry and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity”: http://www.philology.uoc.gr/conferences/Nonnus/) was held in Rethymno, Crete, 13–15 May 2011. “Once scattered but now all united in one fold, in one flock”: the words of Artemidorus the Grammarian about the “bucolic muses” (AP 9.205), would apply well to Nonnian scholars and students coming together for the first time. Those shiny days in Crete marked

Preface

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quite an achievement. The articles collected here are essentially the Proceedings of that conference enriched by three additional contributions. They cover a wide range of topics that live up to the original plan and bring discussion up to date. Old questions are recast and new insights into the poetry itself and its parameters are offered. As an organiser I am grateful to the Department of Philology of the University of Crete for funding, to the participants of my post-graduate seminar on Nonnus that year, and to my colleagues in Rethymno for their support. I am also grateful to Eva Gemenetzi (Rethymno) and Nestan Egetashvili (Tbilisi) for helping to organise the event. As an editor I am grateful to Mary Whitby and Katherine LaFrance (Oxford) for their help. I am also indebted to the editors of the series and the anonymous readers for many valuable suggestions. The largest part of the credit goes to the participants and contributors, who were the actual event and “are” the present volume. To them I am also grateful for their spirit of congeniality, their promptness and their understanding. Konstantinos Spanoudakis, Florence, December 2012.

Contents Preface

v

Abbreviations

xiii

List of Contributors

xv

I: Introduction Pierre Chuvin Revisiting Old Problems: Literature and Religion in the Dionysiaca

3

II: Nonnus and the Literary Past Katerina Carvounis Peitho in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca: the Case of Cadmus and Harmonia Jane Lightfoot Oracles in the Dionysiaca

21

39

Enrico Livrea Nonnus and the Orphic Argonautica

55

Marta Otlewska-Jung Orpheus and Orphic Hymns in the Dionysiaca

77

Michael Paschalis Ovidian Metamorphosis and Nonnian poikilon eidos

97

Maria Ypsilanti Image-Making and the Art of Paraphrasing: Aspects of Darkness and Light in the Metabole 123

III: Nonnus and the Visual Arts Gianfranco Agosti Contextualizing Nonnus’ Visual World

141

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Laura Miguélez Cavero Personifications at the Service of Dionysus: the Bacchic Court

175

IV: Nonnus and Late Antique Paideia Andrew Faulkner Faith and Fidelity in Biblical Epic The Methaphrasis Psalmorum, Nonnus, and the Theory of 195 Translation Rosa García-Gasco Nonnus’ Mystic Vocabulary Revisited: Mystis in Dionysiaca 9.111–31

211

David Hernández de la Fuente Neoplatonic Form and Content in Nonnus: Towards a New Reading of 229 Nonnian Poetics Nicole Kröll Rhetorical Elements in the Ampelus-episode: Dionysus’ Speech to Ampelus 251 (Nonn. Dion. 10.196–216) Enrico Magnelli Appositives in Nonnus’ Hexameter

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V: Nonnus and Christianity Filip Doroszewski Judaic Orgies and Christ’s Bacchic Deeds: Dionysiac Terminology in Nonnus’ 287 Paraphrase of St. John’s Gospel Claudia Greco City and Landscape in Nonnus’ Paraphrase 12.51–69: Poetry and 303 Exegesis Robert Shorrock A Classical Myth in a Christian World: Nonnus’ Ariadne Episode 313 (Dion. 47.265–475) Konstantinos Spanoudakis The Shield of Salvation: Dionysus’ Shield in Nonnus 333 Dionysiaca 25.380–572

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VI: The “School” of Nonnus Claudio De Stefani The End of the “Nonnian School”

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Daria Gigli Piccardi Poetic Inspiration in John of Gaza: Emotional Upheaval and Ecstasy in a 403 Neoplatonic Poet Delphine Lauritzen Nonnus in Gaza The Expansion of Modern Poetry from Egypt to Palestine in the Early 421 Sixth Century CE Mary Whitby A Learned Spiritual Ladder? Towards an Interpretation of George of Pisidia’s Hexameter Poem On 435 Human Life

VII: Nonnus and the Modern World Domenico Accorinti Simone Weil, Reader of the Dionysiaca

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Nina Aringer The Heros’ Quest of Dionysus as Individuation of an Age Approaching the Dionysiaca under the Aspect of Jungian Archetypes and 487 the Monomyth of Joseph Campbell

Bibliography

505

List of Figures

539

Index of Greek Words or Phrases 543

Index of Passages General Index

553

541

Abbreviations ACO APApp. BDAG CA Chantraine GH D–K FGrH GPh GVI ΗΕ IEG IG IGUR Lampe LfgrE LIMC LSJ OF

OGIS OLD Peek Lex. PMG PG PL RAC RE Roscher SGO

Schwartz, E. 1924–40. Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum, I–IV, Berlin. Cougny, E. 1890. Anthologia Palatina, III: Appendix, Paris. Bauer, W. – F. W. Danker, al. 20003. A Greek–English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Early Christian Literature, Chicago – London. Powell, J. U. 1925. Collectanea Alexandrina, Oxford. Chantraine, P. 19582–1953. Grammaire homérique, 2 vols., Paris. Diels, H. – W. Kranz. 19524. Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, 3 vols., Berlin. Jacoby, F. 1923–58. Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, parts I– III, Berlin – Leiden. Schepens, G. (ed.) 1998–. FGrH, parts IV–, Leiden. Gow, A. S. F. – D. L. Page. 1968. The Garland of Philip and some contemporary Epigrams, 2 vols., Cambridge. Peek, W. 1955. Griechische Versinschriften, I: Grabepigramme, Berlin. Gow, A. S. F. – D. L. Page. 1965. The Greek Anthology: Hellenistic Epigrams, 2 vols., Cambridge. West, M. L. 19892–19922. Iambi et Elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum cantati, 2 vols., Oxford. 1873–. Inscriptiones Graecae, Berlin. Moretti, L. 1968–90. Inscriptiones Graecae Urbis Romae, 4 vols., Rome. Lampe, G. W. H. 1961. A Patristic Greek Lexicon, Oxford. B. Snell – H. Erbse, al. 1955–2010. Lexikon des frühgriechischen Epos, 4 vols., Göttingen. H. C. Ackermann – J. R. Gisler (eds.) 1981–97. Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae, I–VIII, Zurich – Düsseldorf. Liddell, H. G. – R. Scott – H. S. Jones. 19969. A Greek–English Lexicon, with a Revised Supplement ed. by P. G. W. Glare, Oxford. Bernabé, A. 2004–07. Poetae Epici Graeci, pars II: Orphicorum et Orphicis similium testimonia et fragmenta, fasc. 1–2 Munich – Leipzig; fasc. 3 Berlin – New York. Dittenberger, W. 1903–05. Orientis Graeci Inscriptiones Selectae, 2 vols., Leipzig. Glare, P. G. W. (ed.) 1982 (20122). Oxford Latin Dictionary, Oxford. Peek, W. 1968–75. Lexikon zu den Dionysiaka des Nonnos, 4 fascs., Berlin. Page, D. L. 1962. Poetae Melici Graeci, Oxford. Migne, J.-P. 1844–66. Patrologiae cursus completus, series Graeca, Paris. Migne, J.-P. 1844–55. Patrologiae cursus completus, series Latina, Paris. Klauser, Th., al. 1950–. Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum, Stuttgart. Wissowa, G., al. (eds.) 1893–1978. Real-Encyclopädie der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft, Stuttgart – Munich. Roscher, W. H. 1886–1937. Ausführliches Lexikon der griechischen und römischen Mythologie, 6 vols., Leipzig. Merkelbach, R. – J. Stauber. 1998–2006. Steinepigramme aus dem griechischen Osten, 5 vols., Munich – Leipzig.

xiv SH SLG SVF TDNT TLG TrGF

Abbreviations

Lloyd-Jones, H. – P. J. Parsons. 1983. Supplementum Hellenisticum, Berlin – New York. Page, D. L. 1974. Supplementum Lyricis Graecis, Oxford. Arnim, H. von. 1903. Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, 4 vols., Leipzig. Kittel, G. – G. Friedrich (eds.) 1964–77. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, transl. G. W. Bromiley, 10 vols., Grand Rapids, MI. Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (http://www.tlg.uci.edu/). Snell, B. – R. Kannicht – S. Radt. 1971 (19862 )–2004. Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta, 5 vols., Göttingen.

List of Contributors Domenico Accorinti teaches Greek and Latin at the Liceo “G. Galilei” of Pisa. His research interests include Late Antique poetry, the history of religions, mythology, the reception of classical literature, and the history of classical scholarship. He has published an edition of Book 20 of Nonnus’ Paraphrase of the Gospel of St John (Pisa, 1996) and the fourth volume (Books 40–48) of the Rizzoli edition of the Dionysiaca (2004). He has edited L’épopée posthomérique by F. Vian (Alessandria, 2005) and co-edited with Pierre Chuvin Des Géants à Dionysos. Mélanges de mythologie et de poésie grecques offerts à Francis Vian (Alessandria, 2003). He is also the author of a forthcoming edition of the correspondence between Raffaele Pettazzoni (1883–1959) and Herbert Jennings Rose (1883–1961). He is currently working on editing the Brill’s Companion to Nonnus. Email: [email protected] Gianfranco Agosti is Assistant Professor at the Department of “Scienze dell’Antichità” at the University of Rome “La Sapienza”, and an associate member of the Centre d’Histoire et Civilisation de Byzance (UMR 8167). He published widely on Late Antique literature, art, religion and civilisation including an edition with Introduction and Commentary on Nonnus Paraphrasis 5 (Florence, 2003) and the third volume of the Rizzoli edition of the Dionysiaca (Books 25–39; Milan 20132). He is currently preparing a critical edition of Greek epigrams on poets of the Imperial period and Late Antiquity (with Enrico Magnelli), an edition of fragmentary Imperial and Late Antique poets (with JeanLuc Fournet), and a monograph on Late Antique and Early Byzantine inscribed epigrams. Email: [email protected] Nina Aringer is Research Assistant at the Department of Classical Philology at the University of Vienna and staff member of the project “Religion and Poetry in the Epic of Nonnos of Panopolis”, co-ordinated by Professor Herbert Bannert. In addition, she teaches Latin, Greek and German since 1994 and offers seminars for teachers and students to develop further skills. She is co-author with Herbert Bannert and Nicole Kröll of a research report on Nonnus (AAHG 64 [2011]) and is currently working on Jungian Archetypes and their relevance (“Monomyth”) for the Dionysiaca. Email: [email protected] Katerina Carvounis is Lecturer in Ancient Greek Literature at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens. Her main research interests include early hexameter poetry and later Greek epic. She has co-edited (with Richard Hunter) the volume Signs of Life? Studies in Later Greek Poetry (Ramus 37.1 &

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2, 2008) and is currently completing a Commentary on Quintus of Smyrna Posthomerica 14. Email: [email protected] Pierre Chuvin is a former Professor of Ancient Greek Literature at Blaise-Pascal (Clermont-Ferrand) University, then at Paris-Ouest (Nanterre-La Défense), emeritus from October 2011. Former Director of the French Institute for Central Asian Studies at Tashkent (1993–1998), then of the French Institute for Anatolian Studies at Istanbul (2003–2008), he published Chronique des derniers païens (Paris, 1990); Mythologie et géograhie dionysiaques. Recherches sur l’œuvre de Nonnos de Panopolis (Clermont-Ferrand, 1991); Mythologie grecque. Du premier homme à l’apothéose d’Héraclès (Paris, 1992). He edited Nonnos de Panopolis, Les Dionysiaques, chants 3–5 (Paris, 1976); ch. 6–8 (1992); ch. 41–43 (with M.C. Fayant, 2006); Paul le Silentiaire, Description de Sainte-Sophie (with M.C. Fayant, Die, 1997). He is preparing a new edition of Paul’s poem. Email: [email protected] Claudio De Stefani is Assistant Professor at the Department of Humanities, University of Naples II. He published an edition of the first chapter of Nonnus’ Paraphrasis (Bologna, 2002), the Teubner edition of the ecphrastic poems of Paul the Silentiary (2011), the edition of the Arabic translation of Galen’s De differentiis febrium (Rome, 2011), and numerous articles and reviews on tragedy, Hellenistic and Late Antique poetry, Greek and Arabic medicine and Byzantine poetry. He is currently preparing an edition of the Epigrams of Paul the Silentiary, of Galen’s De differentiis febrium and De optimo medico cognoscendo and of Aristides Orationes 17–25; he is working on Manetho’s Apotelesmatica and Christophorus Mitylenaeus. Email: [email protected] Filip Doroszewski is Assistant Professor in the Faculty of Humanities at Cardinal Stefan Wyszynski University in Warsaw. He has published a number of articles on Early Christianity and on Late Antiquity which have focused mainly on the Paraphrasis of St. John’s Gospel by Nonnus of Panopolis. He is currently preparing a book on the mystery terminology in Nonnus’ Paraphrasis. Email: [email protected] Andrew Faulkner is Associate Professor in the Department of Classical Studies, University of Waterloo. He has published a commentary on the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite (Oxford, 2008), edited a volume of collected essays on the Homeric Hymns (Oxford, 2011), and published articles on Greek poetry of the Hellenistic period and Late Antiquity. He is currently preparing an edition with Introduction and Commentary of the Metaphrasis Psalmorum, a hexameter paraphrase of the Psalms. Email: [email protected]

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Rosa García-Gasco is Postdoctoral Researcher in the Department of Greek Philology and Indoeuropean Linguistics, University Complutense of Madrid, where she has been collaborating in several projects directed by Professor Alberto Bernabé. Her PhD (2007) was on Orpheus and Orphism in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca. She has since then published numerous articles on Greek religion and myth in collective volumes, as well as on Greek drama and rhetoric. She has also co-edited with D. Hernández de la Fuente and S. González The Theodosian Age (AD 379–455): Power, Place, Belief and Learning at the End of the Western Empire (Leicester, 2013). She continues working on epic, Dionysus, dramatic literature and performance. Email: [email protected] Daria Gigli Piccardi is Associate Professor at the Department of “Lettere e Filosofia”, University of Florence. She published a monograph on Metafora e Poetica in Nonno, (Florence, 1985); an edition with translation and commentary of the fragmentary epic poem handed down in P. Argent. 480 (La Cosmogonia di Strasburgo, Florence, 1990); she edited Books 1–12 of the Dionysiaca of Nonnus of Panopolis, with an extensive Introduction, translation and commentary for the Rizzoli edition (Milan, 2003). Her other main interests include the rhetoric of Imperial age, the interpretation of dreams in antiquity and the theological oracular poetry of Late Antiquity. She is currently preparing an edition with translation and commentary of John of Gaza’s Tabula mundi. Email: [email protected] Claudia Greco teaches Latin and Greek at high school. She published an edition with Italian translation and commentary on chapter 13 (the Last Supper) of Nonnus’ Paraphrasis of the Gospel of St. John (Alessandria, 2004) and papers on chapter 12. Her interests include Late Antique rhetoric and the School of Gaza: she produced an edition with Italian translation and commentary on the funeral orations VII–VIII F.-R. by Choricius of Gaza (Alessandria, 2010), papers and reviews on classical and late prose. At present, her work is focused on the Old Testament quotations in Nonnus’ Paraphrasis and on the relationship of the School of Gaza with neighboring cultures. Email: [email protected] David Hernández de la Fuente is Assistant Professor at the Department of Ancient History at Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia (Madrid, Spain) and Lecturer at the University of Potsdam (Germany). He has published a reading of Nonnus’ Dionysiaca (Bakkhos Anax, Madrid 2008), and numerous articles and reviews on Greek literature, philosophy and religion. Among his several books, he has edited New Perspectives on Late Antiquity (Newcastle,

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2011) and authored Vidas de Pitágoras (Vilaür, 2011). He is currently preparing an edition and translation of Plato’s Laws (I–III) and a monograph on Dionysus. Email: [email protected] / [email protected] Nicole Kröll is Research Assistant at the Department of Classical Philology at the University of Vienna and staff member of the project “Religion and Poetry in the Epic of Nonnos of Panopolis”, coordinated by Professor Herbert Bannert. She is currently working on a doctoral thesis on the Ampelus episode in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca. Email: [email protected] Delphine Lauritzen holds a PhD in Greek Studies from the University Paris IV Sorbonne. She has written several articles in the field of Late Antique poetry and civilization. She edited together with M. Tardieu Le voyage des légendes. Hommages à Pierre Chuvin, 2013 with CNRS Éditions, Paris. She is also preparing a critical edition with introduction, French translation and notes of the Description of the Cosmic Table by John of Gaza. Email: delphinelauritzen @gmail.com Jane L. Lightfoot is Charlton Fellow and Tutor in Classical Languages and Literature in New College, Oxford. She has published editions and commentaries on Parthenius of Nicaea (Oxford, 1999), Lucian’s On The Syrian Goddess (2003), the Sibylline Oracles (2009), as well as a Loeb edition of selections of Hellenistic poets (2008). Her articles, reviews, and chapters follow her wide interests across the prose and poetry of the Hellenistic period and Late Antiquity, and her edition of Dionysius the Periegete’s Description of the Known World is forthcoming with Oxford University Press (2014). Email: jane.light [email protected] Enrico Livrea is Professor of Greek at the Department of “Lettere e Filosofia”, University of Florence. He has published widely on Greek literature, especially of the Hellenistic, Imperial and Late Antique era. A selection of his many books would include Apollonii Rhodii, Argonauticon, liber IV (Florence, 1973); Pamprepius, Carmina (Leipzig, 1979); Triphiodorus, Ilii Excidium (Leipzig, 1982); Musaeus, Hero et Leander (Leipzig, 1982); Studia Cercidea (Bonn, 1986); Studia Hellenistica (2 vols, Florence, 1991); ΚΡΕCCΟΝΑ ΒΑCΚΑΝΙΗC. Quindici studi di poesia ellenistica (Florence, 1993). He has produced editions with commentaries on two chapters of Nonnus’ Paraphrasis (Σ: Naples, 1989; Β: Bologna, 2000) and is currently preparing an edition with commentary on Par. 3. Email: [email protected]

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Enrico Magnelli is Assistant Professor in Greek Literature at the Department of “Lettere e Filosofia”, University of Florence. He has published widely on Greek poetry from the Hellenistic to the Byzantine period, Attic comedy, and Greek metre, including Alexandri Aetoli testimonia et fragmenta (Florence, 1999) and Studi su Euforione (Rome, 2002). He is currently preparing a monograph on the use of Homer in Greek comedy and satyr-play, a critical edition of Greek epigrams on poets of the Imperial period and Late Antiquity (with Gianfranco Agosti), and an edition with Introduction and Commentary on the fragments of Euphorion. Email: [email protected] Laura Miguélez Cavero is Research Associate at the University of Oxford. In 2008 she published Poems in Context: Greek Poetry in the Egyptian Thebaid 200–600 AD (De Gruyter). Her commentary on the Sack of Troy by Triphiodorus of Panopolis, furnished with an ample Introduction, has now been published with DeGruyter (2013). Her current projects keep focusing on Late Antique hexameter poems, not only those by Triphiodorus and Nonnus, but also those extant on papyrus. Email: [email protected] Marta Otlewska-Jung is a PhD candidate at the Institute of Greek and Latin Languages and Literatures at the Free University of Berlin. She currently explores the philosophical influences on the Dionysiaca of Nonnus of Panopolis in its Late Antique context. She holds a master’s degree in Classics from the University of Wroclaw, Poland. Email: [email protected] Michael Paschalis is Professor of Classics at the Department of Philology, University of Crete. He has published numerous articles on Hellenistic and Roman poetry and prose, the poetry of Late Antiquity, the reception of the Classics and Modern Greek literature. He is the author of Virgil’s Aeneid: Semantic Relations and Proper Names (Oxford, 1997) and has edited three volumes of Rethymnon Classical Studies. He has co-edited four volumes of Ancient Narrative Supplements and The Reception of Antiquity in the Byzantine and Modern Greek Novel. A book of his on Andreas Kalvos has just appeared (Heraklion, 2013) and another one on Nikos Kazantzakis is forthcoming. Email: michael. [email protected] Robert Shorrock teaches at Eton College, Windsor, and is co-editor of the journal Greece & Rome. He is the author of The Challenge of Epic: Allusive Engagement in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus (Leiden, 2001) and The Myth of Paganism: Nonnus, Dionysus and the World of Late Antiquity (London, 2011). Email: [email protected]

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List of Contributors

Konstantinos Spanoudakis is Assistant Professor at the Department of Philology, University of Crete. He published an edition of the poetical and grammatical fragments of Philitas of Cos (Leiden, 2002), numerous articles and reviews on Hellenistic poetry and the poetry of Late Antiquity, and co-edited with F. Manakidou Alexandrine Muse. Tradition and Innovation in Hellenistic Poetry (Athens, 2008). His edition with Introduction and Commentary on chapter 11 (The Resurrection of Lazarus) of the Paraphrasis of the Gospel of St. John by Nonnus of Panopolis is forthcoming with Oxford University Press. Email: [email protected] Mary Whitby is Faculty Instructor in Greek and Latin in the University of Oxford and a lecturer at Merton College, Oxford. Her research interests lie primarily in the poetry of Late Antiquity on which she has published a number of articles. For some years she has been working in particular on George of Pisidia with a view to producing an English translation and commentary of his works. Email: [email protected] Maria Ypsilanti is Assistant Professor of Ancient Greek Literature at the University of Cyprus. She has published several articles on Greek tragedy and on Hellenistic and Late Antique poetry, and has just completed a research program on Nonnus’ Paraphrasis of St. John’s Gospel, funded by the University of Cyprus. She is also preparing an edition with commentary of the Epigrams of Crinagoras, forthcoming with Oxford University Press. Email: mypsilanti@ ucy.ac.cy

I: Introduction

Pierre Chuvin

Revisiting Old Problems: Literature and Religion in the Dionysiaca* The second part of the twentieth century, especially near its end, has been productive for Nonnian studies, singled out by several achievements–in terms of both literary criticism and text availability. First came, for the Dionysiaca, the three-volume translation by William Rouse that appeared in the Loeb series in 1940, in very sad times. Rouse, using Arthur Ludwich’s edition (Teubner, 1909/11), gave the first English translation of the Dionysiaca. Then came Rudolf Keydell’s edition, in 1959, followed by Werner Peek’s Lexikon, 1968–1975. Keydell’s work was the crowning of thirty-six years of publishing by this scholar, and gave impulse to a new, more positive, approach to the so many Nonnian problems; it was already the approach of Gennaro D’Ippolito, in his Studi Nonniani (1964), and it inspired two more editions, each one with a translation and a rich commentary. The one in France was directed by Francis Vian and counted not less than eight contributors for eighteen volumes, published from 1976 to 2006;1 the other, in Italy, was the work of a team, with Daria Gigli (coordinator), Fabrizio Gonnelli, Gianfranco Agosti, Domenico Accorinti.2 Consisting of four pocket-size thick volumes, it appeared at a much quicker pace in 2003–2004.3 Of course, the last editors made use – and a good use – of Vian’s teamwork. In contrast to its popularity in former centuries, the Paraphrase of John might seem neglected; but a new edition, endowed with a rich commentary and directed by Enrico Livrea, has been in progress since 1989. Seven Books out of twenty-one (as many as there are chapters in John) are issued. Especially useful for the Dionysiaca is Book 5 of the Paraphrase, with commentary by Gianfranco Agosti (2003). A result of all this work has been to underscore some major trends about not only the authorship of the Dionysiaca (there is now a consensus that he

* Translated from the French by K. Spanoudakis and Katherine LaFrance. 1 Collection des Universités de France (“Budé”) series. Vian had been working on the Dionysiaca well earlier. For this collaborative project, probably one of the first, I was recruited by Vian in 1965–1966; the last volume of his edition of the Posthomerica by Quintus Smyrnaeus appeared in 1969; the appearance of the Dionysiaca spread out over thirty years, until 2006! Simultaneously he has given the three volumes of the Argonautica of Apollonius Rhodius (appearing from 1974 to 1981) and the volume of the Orphic Argonautica (1987). This says what we owe him for our understanding of Greek epic poetry. 2 And separately Francesco Tissoni 1998 for Books 44–46. 3 Biblioteca Universale Rizzoli (BUR), Classici greci e latini, Milan.

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was the same Nonnus who wrote the Paraphrase)4 but also the religion of the common author of both poems: this Nonnus was a Christian, maybe even a bishop,5 learned in mythography on one side, and, on the other side, master of a real competence in Christian theology, a follower of Cyrillan (Chalcedonian) orthodoxy; he composed the two poems roughly during the same period. Thus the question of Nonnus’ religious beliefs has somewhat shifted. It is no more to know whether he was a Christian. He was, and probably he was born so, to judge from his name. But which kind of Christian? The question is not so much about naming a person than characterising a mentality, difficult as such a task may seem. And yet another consensus, tightly bound to the former, is arising, about the overall design of the Dionysiaca and its – not obvious at first reading – consistency. This last trend has challenged a long-established principle, starting from the fact that, at the very beginning of the Dionysiaca, Nonnus lays the poetic rule of diversity, ποικιλία; faithful to that rule, he would have been satisfied to pile up stories as if it were a serial, so that we do not have to look for too much consistency in his big poem, made of disconnected parts as a kind of feuilleton and, at best, left unfinished. Such was the Keydellian doxa; it was formulated in several papers since 1927 and inter alia in Eine Nonnos-Analyse (1932); it was generally approved, for instance, in France by Paul Collart (1930). But later on, other scholars, among them Gennaro D’Ippolito (1964), then Francis Vian, made conspicuous well-knit structures governing not only parts, but also the whole of the poem, in the wake of Viktor Stegemann, even though Stegemann’s book, Astrologie und Universalgeschichte (1930), had been submitted to a harsh criticism, not always wrong, by Keydell. But it helped to lay a principle, that in Nonnus, stylistic ποικιλία does not preclude logic in the chain of events. All this leaves more than one question open. Bishop or not, how could Nonnus waste so much time on such topics, that to his Christian eyes ought to be so futile, often immoral, almost always full of error? Did he write more than twenty one thousand so melodious verses, arrange so meticulous a composition, on matters he deeply despised? We feel here as pessimistic as Liebeschuetz: “in the last resort we cannot penetrate through what Nonnus wrote to what he was thinking”.6 Anyway, we cannot avoid such a basic problem as the interpretation of Nonnus’ huge secular work, that seems at times impregnated with a kind of

4 As stated by Alan Cameron 2011, 700–1. 5 A hypothesis advanced by Livrea 1987. Contra: Al. Cameron 2000; response by Livrea 2003. 6 Liebeschuetz 1996, 90.

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mysticism,7 and at times full of irony, even farce.8 Did not Alan Cameron recently call the Dionysiaca “a soft porn mythological epic”?9 Provocative as is the formula, has it not nonetheless some reality? Indeed, the poem may seem frivolous in more than one passage.

1 The Hidden Consistency of the Dionysiaca: the Programmatic Book 25 In order to check the consistency of the Dionysiaca, I shall go through some major cases: first the pivotal Book 25, then two intersecting subjects, the female lovers of Dionysus and his long way to apotheosis, and eventually the contrasting pictures of Tyre and Beirut in Books 40–43. Book 25 is essential in the construction of the work in that it opens the second half of the poem – with a second prologue, a second profession of literary intention, and three types of scenes visibly composed each in relation to the others, and in relation to the important themes of the poem as a whole. By introducing these, the author thus presents the keys for reading it. A first type of scene is made of rhetorical comparisons (syncriseis, vv. 29, 98) of Dionysus with three other sons of Zeus – Perseus (31–147), Minos (148– 74) and Heracles (174b–252) – exalting Dionysus and denigrating, more and more strongly, his rivals. We meet again, near the end of the poem, Heracles in Book 40, and Perseus in Book 47; they are also rewarded with apotheosis and enter into a contrasting relationship with Dionysus: reception for the one, hostility for the other. Between them, the brief presence of Minos in twenty seven lines can be surprising, and we will come back to this. These three comparisons are themselves framed by the double proclamation of the superiority of the Indian war above all other wars, even the Trojan war, and of the inferiority of the Homeric heroes – but not of Homer himself (23–30 and 253– 63).10 From this there results a ring comparison with five elements in response: (1) Nonnus, “competitor of both the Ancients and the Moderns” facing (5) his 7 So Gigli Piccardi 2003, 570, on 3.350f., concerning Electra’s toils and their award; Chrétien 1985, 106 concerning Ino in 9.84; Vian 1988, 445 concerning the “Hymn to Heracles Astrochiton”, near the end of Book 40. 8 Gigli 1981; Lasky 1978, 373–6; Vian 2003, 7–10 à propos the Gigantomachy that opens Book 48. 9 Al. Cameron 2007, 38. We might add that there is also some “hard porn” when the poet seems to enjoy describing sadistisc rapes such as Philomela’s (4.320–30) or Aura’s bondage (48.652–88). 10 On Nonnus in relation to his model and rival Homer see Shorrock 2001, 171–2 and passim.

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master, the unrivalled Homer; (2) Perseus against (4) Heracles, these “rings” having (3) Minos at their centre. Yet Minos, unlike Perseus and Heracles, is not deified and does not play a very important role in the rest of the poem; as opposed to the Trojan war, the legend of Minos does not supply Nonnus with any literary model. In fact, among so many rich and varying stories involving him, only one exploit is retained by the poet and it is of an amorous, not heroic, sort: the capture of a town (Megara) by seducing the daughter (Scylla) of the king (Nisus). If Minos plays a part elsewhere in the poem, it is above all in the genealogies. Nonnus makes three allusions to his most famous role as judge of the Underworld, but none to Minos as legislator or as a conqueror; while Lycurgus, Solon, and Augustus, conqueror of the seas and king of justice, find their place in the epic. Yet, in Books 41–43, the coming of law is a major theme. Minos’ affair with Scylla might act as a foil to Dionysus’ love with Pallene (Book 48), but Nonnus eludes all comparison. The central piece of this ring-composition remains somehow empty. Following the syncriseis, the second type of scene is borrowed from the Gospels. Brief (277–99) but situated exactly in the middle of the Book (285–7),11 where line 286 is framed by two tetracola which solemnise it, it is a miracle of Dionysus, the healing of a person blind from birth (cf. John 9.1–12) where some drops of wine bring about the same effect as the paddy made from soil and the saliva of Christ. It is accompanied by parallels to the transformation of water into wine at the wedding of Cana (John 2.1–11) and, in a more discrete manner, to the sending out of the apostles (John 20.21).12 A hunter, whose dogs have been made drunk by lapping up the water of the river turned to wine, runs up to the town to announce the “good news”. The poem offers other analogies to Gospel stories; this one here is highlighted by its place at the heart of a Book devoted to the praise of Dionysus. In the second half of the Book, the third type of scene and the longest (300–572), which will delay the intended (264 f.) resumption of the narrative of the war is the arrival of the cosmic shield of Dionysus – a shield-talisman which symbolises the universality of the Dionysiac mission, presented by the Mother of the gods.13 This gift sets forward the same symbolism as the tunic with constellations which will be presented by Heracles in Book 40 (Vian l.l.). Its description is of double reference: the Homeric reference to the shield of

11 The Book consists of 573 lines. 12 Agosti 2004, 105–7. 13 Vian 1990, 33. A different perspective is offered by Spanoudakis in the present volume, p. 333 f.

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Achilles, also customized, if I daresay, with cosmic decoration, is just as evident as the reference to the Christian theme of death and resurrection in the Lydian legend which provides the poet with narrative material.14

2 The Five Women of Dionysus The five women, wives or lovers, whom Dionysus pretends to during the poem, are introduced according to a ring-shaped composition: the first, Nicaea (15.169–422 [end]), corresponds to the fifth and last, Aura (48.238–942); the second, Beroe (Books 41–43), corresponds to the fourth, Pallene (48.90–237); the third, Ariadne (47.265–471, then 664–75), is in the central position.15 At the top of the pyramid thus is the place for Ariadne, who is clearly the most prominent of the five: Dionysus marries her and she gives him many an offspring – unnamed offspring; she will be the only one among the “women of Dionysus” to get a place in heaven, in the form of the Crown. She does not experience, however, the same triumphal apotheosis as Semele at the end of Book 8. Then two lovers, not spouses, are raped by Dionysus while they are paralysed by intoxication: Nicaea and Aura; they each give him only one child (Telete, Iacchus), but the girl and the boy are promised to play a key role, although not otherwise divulged, in the mysteries of Dionysus. Telete “Initiation” appears only at her birth (16.399–402), then one time near the end of Book 48 (v. 886) with Iacchus, who is hardly better off: he is only named four times in the poem, three of which are in two passages very close to each other at the very end of Book 48, vv. 884 (883–6), 965, 968 (951–68) where he is “the third Dionysus”. The other mention of him, at 31.68, as the older “Eleusinian Dionysus”, comes from an isolated version. In Book 48, Nonnus uses local versions of the story adapted to his narration:16 Aura had to give birth to twins because of her connection with Mount Dindymon (the “Twin-summits Mountain”). The poet only needed one child, the future Iacchus; the name of the nymph evokes the breeze: it is possible that Nonnus himself had combined these elements, imagining that Breeze sends to the breezes the superfluous twin (see the puns at 48.892–4).

14 Cf. John 11.1–44, resurrection of Lazarus; the details of the two miracles are very different. 15 Nonnus evidently knew other lovers of Dionysus, cf. allusions to Coronis, mother of the Charites, and to Althaia; see Vian 2003, 118 with n. 5. 16 See also Vian 1994, 208–14 (= 2005, 524–30).

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The median ring in the Nonnian cycle of Dionysus’ wives is represented by two incomplete unions: with Beroe, who is refused to him; with Pallene, whom he marries but with whom strangely (according to criteria of ancient mythography) he does not beget a child; the two episodes give pretext to lascivity or “soft-porn”, by a speech (from Dionysus in the guise of a gardener to Beroe, 42.282–312) and by a lascivious but non-violent struggle (Dionysus’ corps-à-corps with Pallene, 48.106–82); while Dionysus, who failed in 41–43 to marry Beroe and so to become the patron of Roman law, reappears in Book 48, in the episode of Pallene, as “a god of justice and mercy”,17 punishing the criminal father and saving the innocent daughter (Vian 2003, 21).

3 Dionysus’ Long Way to Apotheosis The frequent presence of circular groupings, on various levels of the poem’s composition, is accompanied also by linear progressive schemas, without which the narration would progress by jolts. This holds true also for the major theme of the poem – Dionysus’ ascent to Olympus – which forces him to triumph over multiple tests. The first birth of Dionysus is marked by the triumphal conflagration of Semele and her ascension into the sky, immediately after her death;18 immortality is conferred onto her in its plenitude, without her having to pass through Hades. This point is remarkable, because, in the most notorious version of the apotheosis of Semele, it is Dionysus who, crossing the infernal mouth of Lerna marshes near Argos, descends to fetch his mother from Hades. Without saying it, the poet thus takes here the opposite course to the tradition.19 There is no room for the episode of Lerna outside the passage of Dionysus in Argos in Book 47, where it is wholly ignored. Semele’s fate in Book 8 is much more like Virgin Mary’s, leaving the earth and ascending up to heaven rather than dying, without any earthly or subterranean trip, a Dormition (κοίμησις) and not a death. Concerning Dionysus, at the time of his very first birth, when Semele is struck by Zeus’ lightnings, he receives a bath, not in water but in fire, which

17 Vian 2003, 10. On the amorous failures of Dionysus cf. ibid. 47–8. 18 The last verses of Book 8, vv. 396–418, in terms taken up at the very end of the poem, 48.975–8, thereby setting in parallel the apotheoses of mother and son. 19 The mysteries of Lerna remained active until the fourth century, according to the testimony of literary and epigraphic sources, see Chuvin 2009, 217–20.

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purifies him for immortality.20 In Book 9, his three successive nurses give him more tastes of it. The first ones, reminding us οf the Nymphs to whom Aphrodite entrusted her son Aeneas (Hom. Hy. Aphr.), are the Naiad Nymphs, daughters of the river Lamos; they offer Dionysus their milk which flows by itself (9.31) – a characteristic of divine milk;21 but Hera plunges them into a murderous madness.22 Hermes then carries the suckling infant to his aunt Ino, a simple mortal who will be recompensed with apotheosis and whom Dionysus will meet again, when she has become a goddess, during his dive into the depths of the sea (21, see infra). After Ino the little Dionysus will have Mystis the Sidonian as a nurse to initiate him in Dionysiac practices (9.91–134), just like in Book 48 the little Iacchus, “the third Dionysus”, will have his half-sister Telete to serve him. At the two ends of the work, between Book 9 (appearance of Dionysus on earth) and Book 48 (his final admission to the banquet of the gods), the parallelism between the role of Mystis and that of Telete is obvious. The role of Mystis constitutes one of the “mystical” passages of the poem.23 In Book 9, again Hera hunts out the infant, again Hermes carries him away, this time to entrust him to a higher power – Rhea the Mother of the gods – who safeguards him at the time of his infancy from the malice of Hera.24 In these three stages of the first infancy, there is thus a continuous progression, for which Nonnus reversed the usual sequence, which placed first the stay of Dionysus with Ino.25 When Dionysus reaches adulthood, the most outstanding stages of his deification make him roam the universe before his final entry in Olympus (48.974–8), which echoes the ascent of Semele in Book 8, and they are characterised by the consumption of the food of immortality: first of all, after his terrified flight (20.352) before Lycurgus and his dive into the depths of the sea (the episode was transferred from the early childhood of Dionysus, where it is placed in Homer), Dionysus is accommodated by members of his family (Ino, Melicertes) who offer to him nectar (21.170–7); then, at the beginning of the

20 Cf. Chrétien 1985, 102, on 9.25; Chuvin, 1992, 135 n. 2, on 8.401. 21 Cf. Vian 2003, 212, on 48.956. Human milk has to be pressed out: 9.58. 22 They are mentioned three more times in the poem, in Books 14, 24 and 47, the latter echoing their role in Book 9. 23 For a discussion see García-Gasco’s contribution to the present volume, p. 211 f. 24 According to 11.241–3 and 12.207, Rhea had furnished Dionysus with a bottle of ambrosia with which the future god coats the wounds of Ampelus, without reviving him, but conferring on the vine its exquisite aroma. It does not come up in the passages relating to the stay of Dionysus at Rhea. 25 See Chrétien 1985, 19–20.

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last year of this seven-years war, Dionysus receives from the Mother of the Gods a shield, gifted with a strong symbolic meaning (domination over the Universe, invincibility at war …). Later on, in Βοοks 32–35, to cure the madness inflicted on him by Hera, his anointing and breast-feeding by the goddess, although it takes place in this world, creates the Milky Way and opens the heavens to him (35.319–35, cf. 302–5): Hera’s milk is ambrosia; finally, after his victory over the Indians, it is in Tyre, city which has the immortal rocks (ἀμβρόσιαι πέτραι), that the reception by Heracles Astrochiton “with the starry tunic” occurs – which makes Dionysus taste, for the first and only time in a regular meal before his final apotheosis, the food of immortality, ambrosia and nectar joined together (40.418–21, with a recollection of Book 35). The most precious dish is obviously the ambrosia, used also in ointments.26 In this world, Dionysus consumes it only in Tyre, at the table of Heracles with the starry tunic.27 There is a crescendo: in the depths of the sea, Melicertes (god, but not son of Zeus) gives him nectar to drink (21.176–7); on the earth, Heracles/Melkart (god son of Zeus and a mortal woman) gives him nectar to drink and ambrosia to eat (40.419– 20); in the Olympian sky, he sits at the table of Apollo and Hermes, both gods sons of Zeus and a goddess (48.976–8, last lines of the poem).

4 Tyre and Beirut in Contrast (40.298 to 43 end) Immediately after his victory over the Indians, Dionysus demobilises his army (40.275–80), divides the spoils; then his route is skirted round; from India, after the crossing of Arabia (40.294), he directly reaches Tyre, fatherland of his ancestors; setting out again from Tyre, crossing mount Lebanon, he actually arrives, after a short trip, on the site of the future Beirut, which is not yet founded. Tyre and Beirut are located in a vague “Assyria”. After departing from Beirut, Dionysus will find himself, as if by a touch of a magic wand, in Lydia, in the area of Sardes (43.440–5) where he will offer to Rhea not the

26 9.280, Apollo rubs Ino with ambrosia; also Dionysus and Ampelus, Hera and Dionysus. In a “minor” mode, the receptions by simple mortals: at Brongus (17.32–86), Staphylus (18), Icarius (47) were put in a series by B. Gerlaud (1994, 131–2); they do not contribute to the deification of the benefactor but to the diffusion of his benefit, the wine. See also the discussion by Frangoulis 2006, 34–41. 27 We might add two complementary gifts made to Dionysus by gods: the starry shield for the war (25.338, 387–412) and the “civilian”, peaceful if majestic, starry tunic (40.578), in a society where dress is of the utmost significance in Late Antique society.

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purple of Tyre celebrated in 40.298–310 but the pearls of the Indian Ocean: the Phoenician interlude seems forgotten. Unrelated to Dionysus’ travel to far eastern India, the tales of the two cities are bound together by a short negative comparison, to the detriment of Tyre (41.14–27); a comparison that Keydell’s text, following a mistaken conjecture by Koechly, does not allow us to perceive (41.15). The way these two stops are staged makes clear once more the poet’s search for ποικιλία, playing with contrasts, at first by their volume – nearly half a Book for Tyre (40.298–580: 297 lines against 283) and three Books for Beirut (41–43) – although the Tyrian half-Book looks much more abundant in local data than the three Berytian Books. They are contrasted also by their subject: seen through the eyes of Dionysus, Tyre is an existing city, well built, with real monuments, having a history, even if this history is a mythical one, a κτίσις story; Beirut, though “the oldest city” in the world (41.361–7), is nothing more than a natural landscape, where the two rival gods, Dionysus and Poseidon, are wandering; the tale can not yet be told. The reception scene in Tyre is quite urban; at Beirut’s site, we are in the wild. For Tyre, Nonnus follows a twofold pattern from the beginning to the end, a hospitality scene and a cultic one: greetings / invocation (366–410), reception / apparition of the god in his divine shape (411–7), meal (418–21), conversation (422–575), exchange of gifts (576–8), departure (579–80); this meeting combines skilfully traditional elements – Dionysus’ prayer ends as expected by a call to the benevolence of the god (410) – with a theurgical evocation in the mood of the one arranged at Pergamum by Maximus of Ephesus for the Emperor Julian;28 the κτίσις story of Tyre, told by Heracles Astrochiton, occupies the conversation after dinner. We may notice that it is the only foundation story developed at length in the whole of the Dionysiaca. So, a “theological” discourse, by Dionysus, being an inquiry about the god’s identity, is followed by a “mythological” discourse, by the god Heracles, disclosing the origins of Tyre (and of a part of mankind). Let us turn now to Beirut. Local elements are there; but not as flagrant as in the case of Tyre and they are spread out here and there during the three Berytian Books of the poem, each of these Books being allowed a major theme, cosmological (41), erotic (42) and warlike (43). Nonnus proceeds here by juxtaposition instead of fitting parts of his narrative one into the other, according to the usual “ring composition” scheme. So, he is more at large to expand his themes, displayed from the most solemn (Aphrodite and Beroe’s birth, Beroe’s fate) to the most conventional for us (the two pretenders, their fight). As subtly 28 Eunapius Vit. soph. 7.2, p. 475 Boissonade.

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noticed by M.-C. Fayant,29 Books 41–43 tell one story in three Books (about Beirut), and so do 44–46 (about Thebes), while Book 47 offers three successive themes in one Book (Athens, Naxos, Argos), analogous in theme to those in 41–43: progress of mankind / love story (Ariadne on Naxos / war (for Argos), and Book 48, three in one again (Giants, then Pallene, both in Thrace, and Aura in neighbouring Bithynia).

5 Rhetoric and Religion in the Dionysiaca One passage in the Dionysiaca might be inspired by pagan theology: in Book 40, the call, following the rules of a cultic hymn, devoted by Dionysus to Heracles Astrochiton “Starclad” (Rouse), great god of Tyre. The fervour and polytheistic (syncretist) theological knowledge that it seems to convey give to what might be a plain courtesy visit, the tone of a pilgrimage. Dionysus’ prayer begins and ends with the name Astrochiton (369, 408): within this frame, the invocation consists of two parts, 369–91 (23 lines) and 392–409 (18 ll.); the first part describes a solar Heracles, master of cyclical time; the second one is devoted to a catalogue of syncretisms of this solar god with other gods, foreign or native (392–3, 399–401, 407–8); it is interrupted twice by small “miniatures”; one (394–8, five lines), tells the story of the bird phoenix, illustrating the perpetual alternate ageing and rejuvenation of AeonChronos who is also a picture of Life, “l’Âme du monde”;30 the second tells the birth of mountains from the cultivated earth, made pregnant by the sperm poured out from sleeping Zeus31 (402–6, five lines). Two words opposite to each other, ἀρούρη and ἐρίπναι, remind us of the cultivated flat plain along the coast and the mountains behind: a landscape familiar in Lebanon, and specially in Tyre’s surroundings. Contrasting with this picture, in the first of the three Berytian Books, in 41.55–7, Nonnus describes another creative process: the creation of man, without any crude fecundation but by a mixing of primeval elements, water, fire, air and mud, which reminds us of Phoenician conceptions. 29 Fayant 2000, 3–4. 30 Vian 1993, 46 and 48, on v. 398, cf. 374. 31 Domenico Accorinti (2003) has solved the problems laid by this passage and explained the birth of mountains, in a decisive way. In two lines three complementary entities intervene: Eros, desire (ἵμερος) and union (γάμος): Εros awakes desire who in turn provokes sexual intercourse. It is not necessary to suppose a god Gamos, who appears elsewhere mainly in licencious wedding-songs, in accordance to the crude meaning of the word gamos in Greek, from Roman times till ours (Chuvin 1991, 236–7, after Robert 1967; see also Al. Cameron 2000).

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The perfection of the first men in 58, made “at the semblance of gods” (65 θεῶν ἴνδαλμα), modelled from mud, recalls evidently the Biblical creation, but without any mention of a Creator – and without any explanation of how the spirit comes into these creatures (compare the famous mosaic from Shahba / Philippopolis, where ψυχαί are expecting their turn to enter into bodies just modelled).32 To be sure, we note, in the same Nonnian passage, one more pouring of divine sperma; but it is an error of Nature, giving birth to the Athenian serpentiform monster, Cecrops, son of the Earth and Hephaestus (58–66), and not to the Berytian first men, the “golden ear” (41.51, 66). So, Nonnus puts different tales side by side, less about the origins of mankind and of the world, than about the origins of precise χῶραι and γένη. He is eclectic, not attempting to give a unified version. Nonnus plays again a syncrisis game, here between Berytian (Phoenician) and Athenian (Hellenic) traditions, the latter being clearly inferior to the former. Francis Vian (1994) has devoted a thorough paper to “Théogamies et sôtériologie dans les Dionysiaques” based upon a meticulous study of words, related to the contexts where they are used; he concluded that, except in a dubious case, Nonnus nowhere refers to truly Dionysiac mysteries: “Nonnos ne fait nulle part référence à d’authentiques mystères dionysiaques”. We can only endorse this opinion.33 There are striking facts pointing to a conscious omission by the poet, and not merely a lack of knowledge. The word “saviour” (σωτήρ) is not used at all in the Dionysiaca (as noticed by Liebeschuetz 1996, l. c. infra), and the verb σώζω is uniquely used to say “farewell” (5× only). As if Nonnus deliberately avoided reminding his reader of the Saviour par excellence, Christ. But, in a warlike and mythological epic, he needed a verb meaning “to protect, to save” and also “to heal”; for that purpose, he uses the doublet σαόω (27×), for “safety”, never for “salvation”.34 The poet carefully avoids references to forms of polytheism which might be still surviving, still “hot” at his time, as the cult of Asclepius, the mysteries of Lerna or the magical use of names and onomatopoeias drawn from Aristophanes, branded by Schenoute.35 Asclepius, Hygie, Telesphorus and the other members of Asclepius’ retinue are wholly absent from the Dionysiaca.36 Three mentions of Paieôn in 29.144, 25.62 and 40.407 make him distinct as well from Apollo than

32 First published by Will 1953. Cf. Balty 1995, 144–5; Dunbabin 1999, 168–9. 33 See also García-Gasco in this volume pp. 220, 234. A different conclusion is drawn by F. Doroszewski in his contribution to the present volume, p. 287 f. 34 For other ways of expressing this notion, see below. 35 Chuvin 2009, 162–4. 36 See the survey by Agosti 2003, 81–9 (“Asclepio nella Tarda Antichità”).

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from Asclepius; in the last passage he is identified with the supreme god, Astrochiton.37 Healings are the work of Aristaios (or Dionysus himself).38 We do not even feel a true Dionysiac enthusiasm in the poem. There is not much here for the reader in Rabelais’ mood. Anyway, how could we fancy that wine and drunkenness bring a mystical revelation, except by metaphor? How could wine, alone, bring joy and happiness into that world? At most, forgetfulness of sorrows … The pleasure of wine, here, is purely mundane.

6 Christian Theology in the Dionysiaca We see, nonetheless, the emergency of what looks like religious fervour in the Dionysiaca, whose most obvious instances are Semele’s apotheosis at the end of Book 8 and the prayer to Astrochiton in the second part of Book 40.39 This fervour is of polytheistic expression but, on the whole, of similar nature to the Christian one. Christian books are open to public utterance, while the books of mysteric religions, even if inspired from Heaven, are initiatory; for instance, Cadmus, ancestor of Dionysus, is depicted during his infancy, in 4.267, “sucking the ineffable milk from all-divine books” (ζαθέων ἄρρητον ἀμελγόμενος γάλα βίβλων). An important word here, ἄρρητον, is a hapax in the Dionysiaca. It makes the difference. There is no predication, no apostolate in the civic polytheist cults, but a knowledge acquired once for all. Dionysiac mysteries had much less to do with a religion of the Book than Christian cults, centered around common reading since the first testimonies we have from them, for instance the famous letter of Pliny to Trajan.40 So, when we inquire about religious feelings in the Dionysiaca, that means they are inspired by the poet’s own holy books, which can be no other than the Christian ones; echoes from the Gospels filtered into his secular work. Three cases have drawn the attention of scholars: a. Echoes of Luke 1.28, the evangelical greeting, Χαῖρε, κεχαριτωμένη, ὁ κύριος μετὰ σοῦ. Εὐλογμένη σὺ ἐν γυναιξὶν καὶ εὐλογημένος ὁ καρπὸς τῆς

37 See Vian 1990, 202 with notes. 38 Gerlaud 1994, 148–9. 39 See the conclusion of my Notice to Book 8 (1992, 116–7). Semele’s apotheosis takes place just before the end of the eight first books of the poem; Dionysus’ “first apotheosis, just before the beginning of the last eight”. 40 Pliny Epist. 10.96 (97); βίβλος ζάθεος: see Procl. Hy. 4.5, Nonn. Par. 1.82 and Paul Sil. Soph. 778f.

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κοιλίας σου, in Dion. 3.425–6 (Hermes, messenger of the gods, to Electra; see Gigli Piccardi 2003, 323) Χαῖρε, γυναικῶν πασάων μετόπισθε μακαρτάτη, and Dion. 9.72 (not in Gigli Piccardi) Ὀλβίη ἐν πάσῃσιν θυγατράσιν ἔπλεο Κάδμου. b. A child born to a virgin ἀμαίευτος41, ἀνύμφευτος (Eros son of Aphrodite!), in 41.132–4 Καὶ πάις ὠκυπόδης, τόκον ἄρσενα ποσσὶ τινάξας, / γαστρὸς ἀμαιεύτοιο μογοστόκον ἔφθασεν ὥρην, / μητρὸς ἀνυμφεύτοιο μεμυκότα κόλπον ἀράξας, and 48.834 (Aura pregnant, to give birth to the third Dionysus)42 οὐκ ἴδον, οὐ πυθόμην, ὅτι παρθένος υἷα λοχεύει. c. Tears of the man-God in 12.171, Βάκχος ἄναξ δάκρυσε, βροτῶν ἵνα δάκρυα λύσῃ, a Nonnian line famous since Golega, eighty years ago;43 this compassion of the Lord towards the mortals is inspired by the death of Lazarus; in the Dionysiaca, Dionysus reacts to the death of Ampelus, who will live again, under another form, the vine. But he does not have the power of calling him back to life. In none of these passages do we find the expression of an anti-Christian polemic; and not more in 41.56, “a childbirth without fecundation” (ἄσπορος ὠδίς),44 or in 7.79, (Zeus will give to the world his only son). Speaking of the mythological Zeus, to say “his only son” sounds like a joke; but it actually means that Dionysus will be the only Zeus’ son to whom his father gives birth through the miracle of the thigh. These witticisms, as others like 48.834, already quoted, come from the mere rhetorical tradition; they imply no personal opinion from the poet.

41 Ἀμαίευτος is used in [Opp.] Cyn. 1.40 (Mair: ἀμαιώτοιο plurr.) and twice in the Dion., applied to Dionysus in 1.5 and 48.841; also in Par. 3.36; ἀνύμφευτος, several times of the Holy Virgin. 42 Cf. Vian 2003, 70–2, 95 with n. 1, after Liebeschuetz 1996, and Agosti 2003, 362 and 412. Note that the “immaculate conception” is Mary’s, not Jesus’, conception; pace Vian 2003, 95. 43 Golega 1930, 69. Cf. Cyril’s comment on John 11.35 δακρύει δὲ ὁ κύριος … ἵνα ἡμῶν περιστείλῃ δάκρυον, and Nonn. Par. 11.123–4. No spur of anti-Christian polemic: contra, erroneously, Bogner 1934, 332. See Vian 1995, 68. 44 Ἄσπορος is employed in the official text of the Concil of Ephesus for the nativity of Christ; the Council says promptly “ἄνευ ὠδίνων”. Ὠδίς is one of the favourite words of Nonnus (58× and 39× of the derivative verb).

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7 Christian Theology in the Dionysiaca (continued): the “Hope” By contrast, if salvation vocabulary is absent from the Dionysiaca, the vocabulary of solace through hope, with such words as παρηγορέω, παρήγορος, is quite conspicuous (37×). Its first appearance in the poem is at Dion. 3.351–3, where Electra gives some comfort to Cadmus by describing to him her own fate: ῎Εμπης τόσσα παθοῦσα παρήγορον ἐλπίδα βόσκω / Ζηνὸς ὑποσχεσίῃσιν, ὅτι ἐλεύσομαι εἰς πόλον ἄστρων. And she allows him a glimpse into a better fate (359, Electra to Cadmus καὶ σὺ) ἐσσομένων προκέλευθον ὑπέρτερον ἐλπίδα βόκων. The astral apotheosis of souls after the death is quite explicit in Electra’s mouth; she will become the seventh star of the Pleiades constellation.45 The theme occurs again and again, e.g. at 7.351 (Zeus to Semele/Thyone) Έλπίσιν ἐσσομένῃσιν παρηγορέων ἕο νύμφην, and ibid. 366. While other promises of immortality are postponed to a remote future, to Semele immortality, under the name of Thyone, is at once granted and actual. But hopes are of more than one sort. At 9.84 (Hermes to Ino) we find again the theme of the “better hope” of eternity ἀντὶ δὲ Κάδμου ἐλπίδι λωιτέρῃ καλέσῃς Νηρῆα τοκῆα, παιδὶ τεῷ ζώουσα σὺν ἀθανάτῳ Μελικέρτῃ. Here we have not a catasterism, but a migration from this world to another realm of gods, not the highest of heaven, but the deepest of the seas, as Ino will become a Nereid (79). This is a manner of foretelling the ultimate fate of Dionysus, first welcomed by minor deities.46 As expected, the question of apotheosis/ fate post mortem is again in the foreground at the end of the poem. At 46.360–3, we are at the end of the “Pentheus drama”, Cadmus, Agave and Autonoe are desperate after Pentheus’ (and Actaeon’s) deaths.47 Dionysus is soothing the two mothers’ and old man’s grief by presenting the women a “drug of oblivion” (360), then addressing Cadmus with “healing words” (361), and at the end showing the women “primeval oracles of the hope to come” (363 ἐλπίδος ἐσσομένης πρωτάγγελα θέσφατα φαίνων). For the first kind of solace (as for the gift of the cosmic shield) the Homeric reference, here Od. 4.219–32, is clear but there is more than that. The contents of the “oracles,

45 This belief is widespread in very different social groups; we find it also in Procl. Hy. 3.7, and at a more humble level in the funerary poem of a Phrygian astrologist, probably at the beginning of the fourth century CE, a certain Epitynchanos, on which see Robert 1937, 131–2; SGO 16/31/10. 46 Cf. ad loc. Chrétien 1985, 106 and Gigli Piccardi 2003, 646 n. 1. 47 Nonnus depicts also Dionysus as a god of solace in this world, soothing the pain of Pallene with the same “healing words” as for Cadmus, but without reference to “first oracles”.

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first messengers of hope for the future” (363)48 are not easy to guess, except if we admit that Christian hope is meant. The simplest and indeed the only way to understand the line, for a Christian, is to see in it an allusion to the superiority of Christian revelation over the pagan one. We have no way to tell what else this hope could be; at all events, Cadmus and Harmonia’s final fate will be their metamorphosis into a pair of stone snakes on the Illyrian coast. This fate is recalled several times in the poem49 and again, after 44.107–18, here at lines 364–7. The couple will become stone gods. Since Pindar’s verses, the pair was admitted in some sort of “Islands of the Blessed”. Here, Cadmus and Harmonia’s fate is at best an expiation for the murder of Dirke’s guardian snake by Cadmus. This peculiarity (stone snakes instead of living snakes) is attested only in Nonnus. It may, or may not, be Nonnus’ invention.50 It is redolent of Christian polemic against pagan gods, mute and blind images. As for the allusion at 7.72, when Zeus shows Aion “oracles higher” than those of Delphi, it might be tempting to compare it with the representation of the Castalia fountain at the four rivers of Paradise, on the pavement of the Justinianic church at Qasr el-Lebia in Cyrenaica, where the four rivers stand for the four evangelical messages, and Castalia personifies a first kind of revelation, weaker but well timed.51 This enables us to explain both the interest taken by Nonnus in out-of-fashion tales and the double meaning of ποικιλία, in terms of aesthetics and of theology. A secular world, with Roman law and classics, asserts its presence, without breaking Christian faith. So, the hope for a better fate post mortem and admission into heaven is actually present in the poem, but hardly where we should have expected it. The Dionysiaca gives to mankind a glimpse into eternal happiness in the afterlife, even if the hopes remain selective. Most times, these hopes are aiming at catasterism to fulfil the soul’s expectations, giving reward and comfort: ἐλπίς might take in a small number of places an eschatological meaning or double sens. Astral immortality is in no way restricted to an “elite” of philosophers or to imperial persons. It is an ancient, even common belief. These are a few instances among many catasterisms in the poem.52 They are singled out by the use of some characteristic words, and they affect only 48 Almost the totality of the ten composites in πρωτα- or πρωτο- employed by Nonnus in the Dion. appear in cosmic passages or with an “original” connotation. Cf. also προάγγελα, 21x, of which three as an adjective, “fore-telling” in 21.304, 26.282, 38.16. 49 Chuvin 1976, 168, on 4.420. 50 See also 48.599–698, the devastation of Aphrodite’s sanctuary by Aura and my remarks in Alexandrie la Divine (in the press). 51 The interpretation of Qasr el-Lebia’s pavement is by Agosti 2003a, followed by Chuvin 2009a. 52 Cf. e.g. 47.246–9, 257–9, the catasterism of Erigone, and Fayant 2000, 25–38.

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Cadmus, the daughters of Cadmus, and Electra. Nonnus, in his secular poem, is sometimes actually alluding to the Christian holy books he is using, even if at a much lesser degree than to his secular models. But anyway, the poet is sharing concepts familiar to any cultured Christian at his time. His Dionysus creates material happiness, as well as a first, rough, form of individual Justice, as noticed by Vian; and in the end, he leaves room for a superior form of Justice, that is Roman rule, at the level of the State as well as for individuals. This, to my opinion, is one of the meanings of the Beroe’s and Pallene’s affairs.53 As seen by Francis Vian, Dionysus is neither a rival nor a prefiguration of Christ; he is a precursor, a forerunner: he does not imitate, does not explicitly announce, but alludes to the coming of the true Saviour and he prepares the material world to that. After all, wine is necessary for the eucharist.

53 Vian 2003, 95 n. 1.

II: Nonnus and the Literary Past

Katerina Carvounis

Peitho in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca: the Case of Cadmus and Harmonia* Scholarly attention has long been drawn to the overtly rhetorical character of speeches and the limited amount of dialogue in the Dionysiaca: as Wifstrand has pointed out, there is seldom a reply to a speech in the epic, and most speeches are outbursts of feeling (with or without a listener) often directed to absentees, nature, or animals.1 Yet speeches are not without consequence; in fact, the plot of the epic is often activated by speeches that aim to persuade the addressee to follow a particular course of action by means of verbal argumentation, rather than injunction, exhortation, threat, or supernatural intervention alone.2 Such speeches of persuasion punctuate the epic at key points in Nonnus’ Dionysiac saga and constitute a driving force for the progression of the narrative,3 while they are often associated with deception, as the speaker assumes a different persona or is endowed with powers unknown to the

* I would like to thank Dr Konstantinos Spanoudakis for inviting me to the conference on Nonnus (Rethymno, May 2011), where this paper was first presented, and for his subsequent help as editor of this volume; Dr Mary Whitby for offering detailed feedback and comments; Dr Fotini Hadjittofi and Professor Richard Hunter for commenting on an earlier version of this paper; the anonymous referee(s) for insightful suggestions; the Faculty of Classics, Cambridge, and Murray Edwards College, Cambridge, for hosting me and for providing a supportive environment while I explored the Dionysiaca and undertook research on this paper; and the participants of the original conference for stimulating questions and observations. I alone am responsible for remaining infelicities. 1 Wifstrand 1933, 142; cf. Agosti 2005, 46. According to Elderkin 1906, 2–3, there are 305 speeches in the Dionysiaca, which comprise 36 % of the epic. 2 On two occasions in the epic, the narrator explicitly praises the gift of persuasion of two seers: Dion. 6.33–4 Ἀλλὰ μόγις παρέπεισεν ἀναινομένην ἔτι Δηώ / ἡδυεπὴς Ἀστραῖος ἔχων θελξίφρονα πειθώ; 38.42–4 μαντιπόλος δὲ γέρων γελόωντι προσώπωι / Ἴδμων ἐμπεδόμυθον ἔχων ἐπὶ χείλεσι πειθώ / λαὸν ὅλον θάρσυνεν. 3 Speeches of persuasion in earlier epic also have a direct impact on the narrative; for instance, Athena’s speech (as the Antenorid Laodocus) to Pandarus in Il. 4.93–103, where she urges him to shoot at Menelaus (note ἦ ῥά νύ μοί τι πίθοιο, Λυκάονος υἱὲ δαΐφρον; Il. 4.93; ὣς φάτ᾽ Ἀθηναίη, τῶι δὲ φρένας ἄφρονι πεῖθεν, Il. 4.104), constitutes Nonnus’ model for an Indian’s speech to Melaneus, urging him to shoot at Dionysus (Dion. 29.52–67): see Vian 1990, 336, on Dion. 29.58–62. Yet the main turning points of the Iliad and the Odyssey (such as Hector’s decision to fight Achilles, Achilles’ return to the war, and Odysseus’ recognitions with key members of his family) depend less on isolated speeches of persuasion than on other factors such as shame, revenge, and tokens of recognition respectively.

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addressee.4 It is by means of speech and music that Cadmus (disguised as a herdsman) makes Typhoeus give him Zeus’ sinews (1.486–506), which are necessary for the Olympian to secure his supremacy and establish cosmic order, while Aphrodite (equipped with her cestus and disguised as Peisinoe) persuades Harmonia to marry Cadmus (4.77–176), from which union will spring Semele, mother of Dionysus. At two critical moments in the Dionysiaca a disguised god appears to a mortal and persuades them to undertake a course of action that will lead directly to their death: Hera (as Semele’s nurse) persuades Semele to ask Zeus to appear with his thunderbolts (8.207–63), and Ate (as Ampelus’ companion) persuades the young man to get on a bull (11.118–54).5 The subsequent deaths of Semele and Ampelus lead to Dionysus’ re-birth from Zeus’ thigh and Ampelus’ transformation into a vine respectively. Speeches of persuasion also have a pivotal role within the context of the Indian war in the centre of the epic: Hera (as Melaneus) moves the Indian chief Astraeis to raise war against Dionysus (14.309–14); Iris (as Night) persuades Hypnos to play his part in the deception of Zeus (31.136–90); Chalcomede deceitfully persuades Morrheus to take off his corselet (35.111–38);6 and Tectaphus’ daughter Eerie persuades her father’s guards to allow her to visit him, which enables her to nurse him from her own breast (26.121–34). Nonnus’ Dionysiaca includes examples of failed persuasion too: Helios cannot dissuade his son Phaethon from riding his chariot (38.196–211) and Teiresias cannot bring Pentheus to respect Dionysus (45.96–215). Whereas many speeches of persuasion are followed by the half-verses ὣς φαμένη παρέ-

4 For πειθώ mingled with trickery and lies cf. Dion. 20.184–5 and 47.256–7 respectively. For deceit in the Dionysiaca cf. Newbold 2010. 5 There are marked correspondences between these two speeches: Hera and Ate argue that the gifts that Semele and Ampelus receive from Zeus and Dionysus respectively are not commensurate with the powers of these gods: Hera lists gifts that other gods could have brought Semele, as well as Zeus’ gifts to his other brides, while Ate lists benefits reaped by other followers of Dionysus, as well as gifts received by friends of other gods. Although Zeus and Dionysus know what will happen (cf. Dion. 8.351 f. and 11.83–98), they cannot avert the tragic outcome; yet neither Semele nor Ampelus are altogether effaced by death, for the former is catasterised and the latter becomes the vine. 6 Chalcomede’s speech recalls Cadmus’ address to Typhoeus (Dion. 1.486–506): both speakers have received divine reassurance (1.378–407, 33.351–82) before they persuade their addressees (bewitched by music and struck with desire respectively) to let go of their sources of strength, and they also promise to honour them accordingly, as Cadmus will celebrate Typhoeus with song and Chalcomede will become Morrheus’ bedmate. The apparently divergent contexts of these two speeches converge through the simile in Dion. 1.525–34, where Typhoeus listening to Cadmus’ music is likened to a young man mesmerised by a girl.

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πεισε(ν)7 or ὣς εἰπὼν παρέπεισεν,8 with the addressee then promptly acting as advised, the speeches by Helios and Teiresias conclude with the words εἶπε καὶ οὐ παρέπεισε (38.212 = 45.216) and are followed by disastrous consequences for the unyielding addressee. Furthermore, in Dionysiaca 42, Dionysus (42.282–312, 319–21, 363–428) and Poseidon (42.459–85) are unsuccessful in persuading Beroë to marry either of them, while Hymnus’ unsuccessful attempt to court Nicaea leads directly to his death (15.290–369). The Dionysiaca also contains numerous references to the goddess Peitho herself. Uniquely in Nonnus, Peitho features as the wife of Hermes,9 who is referred to as “leader of the tongue, guide of intelligent speech” (Dion. 26.283– 4).10 But as in the earlier literary tradition,11 here too the distinction between Peitho as goddess of verbal persuasion and Peitho as goddess of seduction is not clear-cut, and Peitho more commonly appears in the Dionysiaca in amatory contexts.12 She is thus mentioned among (24.262–4) or alongside the Graces (47.315–8),13 as an attendant to Aphrodite (33.110–2), and in opposition to Athena (16.138–9, 25.150–1).14 What is striking in Nonnus’ handling of Peitho in this epic is that her intervention can have a direct impact upon mortals in the course of the action (in contexts relevant to marriage and/or procreation).15 In the main part of this paper, I shall examine the prelude to the marriage of Cadmus and Harmonia in Dionysiaca 3–4 as a case study for Nonnus’ treat7 Cf. Dion. 11.155, 14.315, 20.289, 26.135, 31.191, 32.1, 35.139, 40.31, 42.1. 8 Cf. Dion. 18.42, 24.170, 29.68, 36.470, 46.97. The half-verse in Dion. 47.728 follows a speech consisting mostly of exhortations with the argumentation being restricted in the explanation for these exhortations. 9 Dion. 5.574–5; 8.221; 33.128–30; 48.232, 710–2. See Vian 2003, 153 (on Dion. 48.232) and Fayant 1998, 147; cf. also Gigli Piccardi 2003, 445 on Dion. 5.574 f. For earlier associations between Hermes and Peitho in cult see Stafford 2000, 114–5. 10 Hermes is also associated with Beroë, city of Justice (Dion. 41.145, 159–61, 171). Fayant 1998, 157 has argued that the adjective πανθελγής (used of Hermes’ rod in Dion. 35.234–6) qualifies the divine logos in the Paraphrase (Par. 18.177), thus pointing to Hermes-Logos of the hermetic tradition through a network of resonances between the two works ascribed to Nonnus. For Hermes-Logos and Christ see Accorinti 1995. 11 See Buxton 1982 and Stafford 2000. 12 Dion. 10.280, 34.292, 42.530, 47.329–30, 48.108–10, 48.299–300. Cf., e.g., Carm. Anacr. 16.24–4 West (γράφε χεῖλος οἷα Πειθοῦς, / προκαλούμενον φίλημα), where Peitho is situated on the lips and leads to a kiss. For the links between Peitho and Aphrodite, and for representations of the two goddesses, see LIMC VII.1, 242–50 s.v. Peitho. 13 Gerlaud 2005, 159–60 on Dion. 33.110–2 notes that whereas Peitho is one of the Graces in Dion. 24.263, she is differentiated from them in Dion. 47.315–8. 14 For persuasion also associated with erotic contexts in the Dionysiaca cf. Dion. 42.34 ἔφλεγε δ᾽, ὅσσον ἔθελγεν ἐπιστάξας μέλι πειθοῦς (of Eros making Dionysus desire Beroë). 15 See Nonn. Dion. 3.83–130 and 48.594–600. As Vian 2003, 142 on 48.106–10 has argued, Peitho’s presence in the contest between Dionysus and Pallene suggests that the latter will

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ment of peitho and the goddess Peitho in materialising Zeus’ promise to reward Cadmus with Harmonia. In Dionysiaca 3, Cadmus arrives at Samothrace and sets off inland to find the city; on his way to Harmonia’s house, he is met by Peitho (in the form of a woman bearing a jug), who covers him in a cloud and leads him to the palace of king Emathion (3.83 f.). On the way a crow reproaches Cadmus for being tardy to reach his future wife Harmonia (3.97– 123). Once the king’s palace is in sight, Peitho points it out to Cadmus and disappears into the sky (3.124–30). The narrator describes the palace and then relates king Emathion’s background and Cadmus’ exchange with Electra, who is Emathion’s mother and Harmonia’s surrogate mother (3.248–372). Zeus sends Hermes as messenger to Electra to convey his will that Harmonia should marry Cadmus (3.373–444). Electra passes on the message to Harmonia, who vehemently rejects the proposed marriage. Aphrodite (as Peisinoe) appears to Harmonia equipped with the cestus and dressed in Peitho’s garb. She pretends to be in love with Cadmus and through a lengthy speech (4.77–176) excites Harmonia, who then bids farewell to her family and fatherland, and expresses her resolution to marry Cadmus (4.182–96). As the young girl prepares to sail away with him, the Moon mockingly reproaches Aphrodite and tells Harmonia that she will bear the pains of love (4.213–25). Cadmus sets sail; he stays at the steering-oar and seats Harmonia on the stern, while a passenger comments on the resemblance of Cadmus and Harmonia to Eros and Aphrodite respectively (4.238–46). This episode shows Peitho intervening directly in the course of action, while it also contains the longest speech of successful persuasion in the Dionysiaca with Aphrodite deploying rhetoric and argumentation to arouse Harmonia’s desire and persuade her to marry Cadmus (4.177–8). The latter part of this paper will examine Peitho’s critical intervention before Dionysus’ rape of the virgin huntress Aura at the end of the Dionysiaca: Peitho there removes a cloud from Aura’s eyes and invites the thirsty huntress to drink from a stream of wine created by Dionysus (48.597–8). The present paper thus seeks to illustrate how Nonnus adapts episodes from the earlier literary tradition and draws attention to the force of peitho and the role of the goddess Peitho while reflecting contemporary rhetorical practices.

eventually be persuaded by Dionysus’ speech, as it is subtly hinted in the text (Dion. 48.234– 5). For Peitho’s role in the marriage ceremony cf. Plut. Quaest. 264b, and for her role in a married couple’s life cf. Plut. Coniug. praec. 138c–d: see Stafford 2000, 136–7.

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1 Cadmus and Harmonia, Jason and Medea Cadmus’ journey to securing Harmonia as his future bride (3.43–4.248) is framed by two supernatural speeches by the crow and the Moon, which find marked correspondences with the romance between Jason and Medea in Apollonius’ Argonautica 3,16 where a crow addresses the seer Mopsus, who is accompanying Jason when the latter is about to meet Medea (Apoll. Rhod. 3.927–47), while the Moon mocks Medea as she flees Colchis with Jason (4.57– 65). Both in the Argonautica and in the Dionysiaca, the crows begin with a dismissive comment towards the addressee (Apoll. Rhod. 3.932 /ἀκλειὴς ὅδε μάντις “No fame has the seer”17 ~ Dion. 3.103 / νήπιος ἔπλετο Κάδμος “So Cadmus is a baby”),18 and the Moon mockingly refers to love as pain that must be endured (Apoll. Rhod. 4.64–5 ἀλλ᾽ ἔρχεο, τέτλαθι δ᾽ ἔμπης, / καὶ πινυτή περ ἐοῦσα, πολύστονον ἄλγος ἀείρειν ~ Dion. 4.224 τλῆθι φέρειν πόνον ἶσον). Harmonia’s departure is openly modelled on that of Medea in Argonautica 4: there are verbal echoes between their tearful (Apoll. Rhod. 4.34; Dion. 4.199) farewells (Apoll. Rhod. 4.32 ~ Dion. 4.183), and both maidens embrace their beds and the walls and doors of the home they are leaving (Apoll. Rhod. 4.26– 7; Dion. 4.203–5), while they are then seated on the ship’s stern as they depart from their respective homelands (Apoll. Rhod. 4.188–9 πρύμνηι δ᾽ ἐνεείσατο κούρην / ἀνθέμενος “He lifted the girl and seated her in the stern” ~ Dion. 4.233–4 ἐπὶ πρύμνηι δὲ καὶ αὐτὴν / Ἁρμονίην ἄψαυστον ὁμόπλοον ἵδρυσε κούρην “but he kept the girl Harmonia untouched sitting on the poop, his companion”).19 Both Argonautica 3 and Dionysiaca 3–4 broadly deal with a young maiden who desires a foreigner and willingly leaves her fatherland with him, while in both cases this desire is attributed to divine intervention (by Eros at Aphrodite’s instructions, and by Aphrodite disguised as Peisinoe respectively).20 Yet there are salient differences in the context and structure of the two episodes:

16 See (e.g.) Chuvin 1976, 6, 43–4; D’Ippolito 1964, 202–3. For Nonnus’ engagement with Argonautica 3 for Dionysiaca 33–35 (Morrheus and Chalcomede) see Montenz 2004. 17 All translations of Apollonius of Rhodes are by W. H. Race (Loeb). 18 All translations of the Dionysiaca are by Rouse 1940, sometimes adapted. 19 Cf., e.g., Chuvin 1976, 158, on Dion. 4.199; Vian 2001, 302–3 (= 2005, 106–7 = 2008, 405– 6). 20 The marriage between Jason and Medea will (eventually) result in the death of their children, while Cadmus and Harmonia too will witness, and lament for, their children’s misfortunes, as Cadmus himself will acknowledge (Dion. 46.253–64). Cadmus and the foundation of Thebes are explicitly recalled in a digression explaining the origin of the dragon’s teeth that Aeetes gives the Argonauts in Apoll. Rhod. 3.1176–87.

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unlike Medea, Harmonia does not (have to) betray her parents and fatherland to follow her future husband; and unlike Jason, Cadmus does not have to overcome dangerous obstacles. Furthermore, whereas in Argonautica 3 words are an important vehicle for Jason and Medea to interact with each other (Apoll. Rhod. 3.973–1147)21 and for Medea to externalise her inner struggle (3.464–70, 636–44, 771–801),22 there is no real interaction between Cadmus and Harmonia before they leave Samothrace,23 but it is Aphrodite’s words that turn Harmonia’s mind from rejection to acceptance. In what follows, I shall illustrate Nonnus’ use of direct speech and rhetorical techniques to externalise thoughts, dreams, imagery and messages that are related by the narrator in Apollonius’ parallel episode between Jason and Medea.24 Let us then look at the sequence of Medea’s inner thoughts and emotions as they develop in Argonautica 3 after Jason departs from Aeetes’ palace following the latter’s challenge to the Argonauts. Shot by Eros’ arrow, Medea brings to her mind’s eye “what he himself [= Jason] was like, what clothes he was wearing, what he said, how he sat on his chair, and how he walked to the door. As she pondered, she did not think that any other man was like him, and ever in her ears rang his voice and the honey-sweet words he had spoken”, Apoll. Rhod. 3.453–8: προπρὸ δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ὀφθαλμῶν ἔτι οἱ ἰνδάλλετο πάντα, αὐτός θ᾽ οἷος ἔην, οἵοισί τε φάρεσιν ἧστο, οἷά τ᾽ ἔειφ᾽, ὥς θ᾽ ἕζετ᾽ ἐπὶ θρόνου, ὥς τε θύραζε ἤϊεν· οὐδέ τιν᾽ ἄλλον ὀίσσατο πορφύρουσα ἔμμεναι ἀνέρα τοῖον· ἐν οὔασι δ᾽ αἰὲν ὀρώρει αὐδή τε μῦθοί τε μελίφρονες οὓς ἀγόρευσε. Meanwhile, Aeetes gathers an assembly of the Colchians and reveals his destructive plans concerning the Argonauts (3.579 f.). The whole of Aeetes’ 21 Words are crucial for Jason to win over Medea, as Mopsus reminds him: Apoll. Rhod. 3.945–6 οἰόθι δ᾽ αὐτὸς / λίσσεό μιν πυκινοῖσι παρατροπέων ἐπέεσσιν. Mori 2007, 464 highlights Jason’s “charming manner of speaking that will captivate Medea in Colchis”. 22 On “interior monologues” in Apollonius see Fusillo 2008, 147–66. 23 As Hadjittofi 2010, 75–88 points out, there is no indication of Cadmus’ own feelings. For Medea’s troubled mind in the narrator’s voice cf. Apoll. Rhod. 3.443–62, 616–35, 744–69, 948– 66. 24 On persuasion in the Argonautica see Toohey 1994, 164–9. For Nonnus and the rhetorical tradition see Miguélez Cavero 2010 (invective); Agosti 2006 and Wifstrand 1933, 147–50 (ethopoeae); Massimilla 2003 (ὑποφορά); Lasky 1978 and Stegemann 1933, 209–30 (encomium); cf. also the comments in Cuartero i Iborra 1994, 294–6, Gerstinger 1943–47, 78–9, and Keydell 1936, 912.

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proclamation in the assembly is related in extended indirect speech, which is, as Hunter points out, “possibly without real parallel in high Greek poetry”.25 Aeetes adds that he would never have received Phrixus as suppliant in his palace if he had not been instructed to do so by Hermes, who had been dispatched by Zeus (3.584–8):26 οὐδὲ γὰρ Αἰολίδην Φρίξον μάλα περ χατέοντα δέχθαι ἐνὶ μεγάροισιν ἐφέστιον, ὃς περὶ πάντων ξείνων μειλιχίηι τε θεουδείηι τ᾽ ἐκέκαστο, εἰ μή οἱ Ζεὺς αὐτὸς ἀπ᾽ οὐρανοῦ ἄγγελον ἧκεν Ἑρμείαν, ὥς κεν προσκηδέος ἀντιάσειε. For he said that he would not have received the Aeolid Phrixus as a guest in his palace in spite of his great need – he who surpassed all strangers in gentleness and fear of the gods – had not Zeus himself sent his messenger Hermes to him from heaven, so that he might find an affectionate host.

Following Aeetes’ proclamation, Medea dreams that “a contentious disagreement arose between her father and the strangers, and both sides turned the decision over to her to be as she desired in her own mind. And she immediately chose the stranger with no regard for her parents”, 3.627–31: νεῖκος πέλεν ἀμφήριστον πατρί τε καὶ ξείνοις· αὐτῆι δ᾽ ἐπιέτρεπον ἄμφω τὼς ἔμεν ὥς κεν ἑῆισι μετὰ φρεσὶν ἰθύσειεν· ἡ δ᾽ ἄφνω τὸν ξεῖνον, ἀφειδήσασα τοκήων, εἵλετο. Medea deliberates whether or not to help Jason and even considers killing herself, but resolves to help as she had promised. Finally, when Jason arrives at the shrine of Hecate to meet Medea, he appeared “to her longing eyes, striding on high like Sirius from the Ocean, which rises beautiful and bright to behold, but casts unspeakable grief on the flocks”, 3.956–9: αὐτὰρ ὅ γ’ οὐ μετὰ δηρὸν ἐελδομένηι ἐφαάνθη, ὑψόσ᾽ ἀναθρώισκων ἅ τε Σείριος Ὠκεανοῖο, ὃς δ᾽ ἤτοι καλὸς μὲν ἀρίζηλός τ᾽ ἐσιδέσθαι ἀντέλλει, μήλοισι δ᾽ ἐν ἄσπετον ἧκεν ὀιζύν. 25 See Hunter 1993, 147–8 and Hunter 1989, 160, on Apoll. Rhod. 3.579–605, where he explores the effect of this indirect mode. 26 For Aeetes in the Argonautica see Williams 1996.

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Jason is successful in persuading Medea to help him (3.975–1007) and she gives him a drug to anoint himself and detailed advice to face the challenges set by her father (3.1013–62). In the exchange that follows between the two, Medea asks Jason not to forget her (μνώεο: 3.1069, 1110), and he refers to the gratitude that Greece will owe her and to the wedding chamber they will share (3.1120–30). While Medea’s monologues voice her inner struggle and her resolve to act, the narrative follows her emotions as they are being influenced by, and reflected in, dreams, images and thoughts. In Dionysiaca 4, Harmonia is given two speeches to express first her outright rejection (Dion. 4.36–63) and then, following Aphrodite’s speech, her wholehearted approval of Cadmus as her suitor (4.182–96), with this change of heart further emphasised through verbal contrasts: 4.25 ἀπειθέι … κούρηι and 4.178 πειθήμονα κούρην; 4.30 /ξεῖνον ἔχειν ἀπέειπε and 4.180 /ξεῖνον ἔχειν μενέαινε. From Harmonia’s initial reaction to the divine message to her departure with Cadmus from Samothrace, this first part of Dionysiaca 4 contains five speeches.27 Whereas, as we saw earlier, Apollonius’ Aeetes had mentioned Hermes’ visitation from Zeus within an extended passage of indirect speech, Hermes’ visitation from Zeus to Electra is narrated in direct speech at the end of Dionysiaca 3. This speech is divided into two parts: the first is an extended address to Electra (3.425–35), while the second consists of Zeus’ message (3.435–44), which Hermes frames with reminders to his addressee to obey (3.435–6 πείθεο; 3.444 πειθομένη). Harmonia’s objections to a marriage with Cadmus are related first in indirect speech (4.28–33) and then in direct speech (4.36–63). There is significant overlap in the content of these two versions, with the first part of Harmonia’s speech amplifying her objections as stated in the narrator’s voice, namely that Cadmus brings no gifts (4.38–9) and that he is a vagrant suitor (4.40–4). Here is the latter part of her speech, Dion. 4.44–63: Ἀλλ᾽ ἐρέεις, Κρονίωνι τεῶι χραίσμησεν ἀκοίτηι· πῶς Διὸς οὐ γέρας ἔσχεν Ὀλύμπιον, εἴ περ Ὀλύμπου, ὡς ἐνέπεις, προμάχιζε, καὶ οὐ Διὸς εὐνέτις Ἥρη Ζηνὸς ἀοσσητῆρι συνήρμοσε παρθένον Ἥβην; Οὐ χατέει Κάδμοιο τεὸς πόσις ὑψιμέδων Ζεύς. Ἰλήκοι Κρονίδης· ἐψεύσατο θέσκελος Ἑρμῆς ἀμφὶ Διὸς γενετῆρος· ἐγὼ δ᾽ οὐκ οἶδα πιθέσθαι, εἰ λίπε θοῦρον Ἄρηα, κυβερνητῆρα κυδοιμοῦ, καὶ βροτὸν ἄνδρα κάλεσσεν ἑοῦ συνάεθλον ἀγῶνος 27 Yet no dialogue, as Chuvin 1976, 41 points out.

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Peitho in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca: the Case of Cadmus and Harmonia

ὁ κρατέων κόσμοιο καὶ αἰθέρος. Ἆ μέγα θαῦμα, τοσσατίους Τιτῆνας ἐνεκλήισε βερέθρωι, καὶ Κάδμου χατέεσκεν, ὅπως ἕνα μοῦνον ὀλέσσηι.

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But you will say he helped your husband Cronion; why did the man not get from Zeus an Olympian gift of honour, if indeed he was defender of Olympus, as you say? And why did Hera, consort of Zeus, not join virgin Hebe to the helper of Zeus? Your husband Zeus who rules on high has no need of Cadmus. Son of Cronus, be gracious; divine Hermes lied about father Zeus. I do not know how I can believe that he abandoned furious Ares, leader of warfare, and called in a mortal man as partner in the game–he who rules over the world and sky. Here is a great marvel: he locked up so many Titans in a pit and was in need of Cadmus to destroy only one!

This part of Harmonia’s speech can be related to the exercise of refutation (ἀνασκευή), one of the progymnasmata in the rhetorical handbooks.28 Aphthonius claims that one should refute “what is neither very clear nor what is altogether impossible, but what holds middle ground”.29 He further recommends that those “engaged in refutation should first state the false claim of those who advance it, then add an exposition of the subject and use these headings: first, that it is unclear and incredible, in addition that it is impossible and illogical and inappropriate, and finally adding that it is inexpedient”.30 In the main part of her speech to Electra, Harmonia challenges Cadmus’ greatest claim to fame, namely, that he has helped Zeus. She criticises Hermes who lied about the story (4.50–1 ἐψεύσατο θέσκελος Ἑρμῆς / ἀμφὶ Διὸς γενετῆρος “divine Hermes lied in what he said about Father Zeus”), and draws attention to the absence of logic (if Cadmus did help Zeus regain Olympus, why did he not receive a reward from Olympus?), to its incredibility (for she cannot believe – 4.51 ἐγὼ δ᾽ οὐκ οἶδα πιθέσθαι – that Zeus neglected Ares, god of warfare, and resorted to a mortal’s help), and its implausibility (it would be a great marvel [4.54] that Zeus was able to lock up so many Titans in a pit but require Cadmus to destroy one). Harmonia concludes by complaining that whereas both her fathers (Ares and Zeus) had wedded their sisters (Aphrodite

28 See Aphthon. 5; [Hermog.] 5; Nicol. 29–35. Note Chuvin 1976, 42: “Les v. 36–44 amplifient les v. 28–33. Les v. 45–56 réfutent la thèse d’une récompense de Zeus à Cadmos”. For rhetorical elements in speeches see also Kröll in this volume, p. 251 f. (on the Ampelus episode). 29 Aphthon. 5.1 Ἀνασκευή ἐστιν ἀνατροπὴ προκειμένου τινὸς πράγματος. Ἀνασκευαστέον δὲ τὰ μήτε λίαν σαφῆ μήτε ἀδύνατα παντελῶς, ἀλλ ὅσα μέσην ἔχει τὴν τάξιν. All translations of Aphthonius are by Kennedy 2003. 30 Aphthon. 5.2 Δεῖ δὲ ἀνασκευάζοντας πρῶτον μὲν εἰπεῖν τὴν τῶν φησάντων διαβολήν, εἶτα ἐπιθεῖναι τὴν τοῦ πράγματος ἔκθεσιν, καὶ κεφαλαίοις χρήσασθαι τοῖσδε· πρῶτον μὲν ἀσαφεῖ καὶ ἀπιθάνωι, πρὸς τούτωι καὶ ἀδυνάτωι καὶ ἀνακολούθωι καὶ ἀπρεπεῖ, καὶ τελευταῖον ἐπενεγκεῖν ἀσύμφορον.

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and Hera respectively), she is compelled to have a banished man (4.63 λιπόπατριν ἀκοίτην). Aphrodite’s speech in response to Harmonia (4.77–176) contains elements of an encomium, and the goddess brings to the fore, and engages with, images and thoughts similar to those that had been experienced by Apollonius’ Medea.31 According to Aphthonius, an encomium typically opens with a proemium appropriate to the subject; one then moves to the subject’s origin and upbringing, focuses on their deeds, offers a comparison to elevate the subject, and concludes with an epilogue.32 Aphrodite’s speech starts with a sort of “proemium”, where Harmonia is called ὀλβίη (4.77, cf. 4.96) and μακαρτάτη (4.78), while reference is made to Cadmus with three terms in ascending degree of intimacy: 4.77 οἷον ἀλήτην, which acknowledges Harmonia’s main objection to this marriage; 4.78 οἷον … μνηστῆρα, which is the term that Harmonia herself had used for local suitors that she could have married (4.42); and 4.78 οἷον ἀκοίτην, which picks up Harmonia’s last word (4.63). Harmonia’s objection that Cadmus is a wanderer is answered partly through speculation on his real identity (4.80–4), which probes into Cadmus’ origin (that is, the first topic in an encomium), and partly through the later claim that Peisinoe herself would go anywhere with him (4.114–8, 160–1), while the issue that he comes without gifts is addressed through consideration of the fact that she (Peisinoe) would not want any gifts anyway as long as she has Cadmus (4.119–23). In wondering about his real identity, Aphrodite-Peisinoe introduces comparisons that aptly elevate Cadmus: she compares him first with the mortal Adonis33 and then with Zeus’ Olympian sons (bar Harmonia’s own father Ares), Hermes and Apollo. She thus acknowledges Harmonia’s earlier point that a lie does surround Cadmus, but suggests that it refers to his descent rather than his actions (4.84 ἀλλὰ Διὸς γένος ἔσχεν, ἑὴν δ᾽ ἐψεύσατο

31 See Aphthon. 8; [Hermog.] 7; Nicol. 47–58. Cf. Frangoulis 2006a, 42 and 45 for reference to the speech as an ἐγκώμιον to Cadmus. 32 Aphthon. 8.3 προοιμιάσηι μὲν πρὸς τὴν οὖσαν ὑπόθεσιν. Εἶτα θήσεις τὸ γένος (…). Εἶτα ἀνατροφήν (…). Εἶτα τὸ μέγιστον τῶν ἐγκωμίων κεφάλαιον ἐποίσεις τὰς πράξεις (…). Ἐπὶ τούτοις τὴν σύγκρισιν ἐκ παραθέσεως συνάγων τῶι ἐγκωμιαζομένωι τὸ μεῖζον. Εἶτα ἐπίλογον εὐχῆι μᾶλλον προσήκοντα “You will construct a prooemium appropriate to the subject; then you will state the person’s origin (…) then upbringing (…). Then you will compose the greatest heading of the encomion, deeds (…) after these a comparison, attributing superiority to what is being celebrated by contrast; then an epilogue rather fitting a prayer”. 33 Dion. 4.80–1 ἀτρεκὲς Ἀσσυρίης ἀπὸ πατρίδος αἷμα κομίζει, / ἧχι ῥόος χαρίεντος Ἀδώνιδος; cf. 42.376–7 (Dionysus to Beroë) Ἀσσυρίου δέ / εἰ ἐτεὸν χαρίεντος Ἀδώνιδος αἷμα κομίζεις. The comparison with Adonis, and the self-restraining ἤλιτον that follows (4.83) echo the crow’s earlier words to Cadmus himself (3.107–11, 3.109).

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φύτλην “no, he is sprung from Zeus and he has concealed his stock!”).34 In suggesting that Cadmus may actually be Hermes, Aphrodite engages with Harmonia’s argument that her fathers had wedded their sisters, for if Cadmus is indeed Hermes, then he is her cousin so they, too, are related (4.87 Ἁρμονίηι πόσις ἦλθεν ἀνεψιὸς ἄπτερος Ἑρμῆς “here’s cousin Hermes without wings come as husband for Harmonia”). In considering the possibility that he may be Apollo, Aphrodite-Peisinoe claims that she would never reject him (like Daphne and Harmonia),35 but would even leave her parents for him, 4.96–101: αἴθε καὶ αὐτῆς Πεισινόης σπεύσειεν ἔχειν ὑμέναιον Ἀπόλλων· οὐ μὲν ἐγώ ποτε Φοῖβον ἀναίνομαι, οἷά τε Δάφνη, οὐ νόον Ἁρμονίης μιμήσομαι· ἀλλὰ λιποῦσα κλῆρον ἐμὸν καὶ δῶμα καὶ οὓς ποθέω γενετῆρας, ἵξομαι Ἀπόλλωνι συνέμπορος εἰς ὑμεναίους.

100

I only wish Apollo would be as eager for marriage with Peisinoe herself: I do not renounce Apollo, like Daphne, I will not imitate Harmonia’s mind; but leaving my inheritance and house and my parents whom I love, I shall go to my travels to marriage with Apollo.

This is the sort of choice that had been raised in the narrative of Medea’s dream (Apoll. Rhod. 3.627–31, cited above), and it emerges once again in this speech to Harmonia when Aphrodite moves to visual “evidence” to support her inference that Cadmus may well be Apollo: she had seen a statue of Apollo’s, and when she saw that “vagrant” (104 ἀλήτην) she thought she saw Phoebus again. A possible counter-argument envisaged by Harmonia at this point is that Apollo has a gold-gleaming crown: 4.106 ἀλλ᾽ ἐρέεις, ὅτι Φοῖβος ἔχει χρυσαυγέα μίτρην “But you will say, Phoibos has a goldgleaming diadem”. Massimilla has convincingly linked this rhetorical trope, which Nonnus uses seventeen times in the Dionysiaca to introduce an objection that the speaker will then refute, to the ὑποφορά mentioned by rhetoricians.36 This rhetorical

34 Cf. Dion. 39.53 (Deriades questioning Dionysus’ divine descent) οὐ θεός, οὐ θεὸς οὗτος· ἑὴν δ᾽ ἐψεύσατο φύτλην; cf. 29.56–7 (anonymous speaker inciting Melaneus to shoot at Dionysus) μὴ τρομέεις ποτὲ Βάκχον, ὃς ἐκ χθονίοιο τοκῆος / ὠκύμορον λάχεν αἷμα, Διὸς δ᾽ ἐψεύσατο φύτλην. 35 The use of Harmonia’s proper name in Dion. 4.99 sets her on a par with Daphne as a mythological exemplum to be adhered to or rejected (cf. Aphrodite’s address παρθένε πασιμέλουσα in Dion. 4.92). 36 See Massimilla 2003, 501–13.

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trope offers to Aphrodite the opportunity to say that Cadmus is gold in his entire body and to reiterate her choice of Cadmus as bedfellow over everything else – including her parents, 4.111–3: Εἰ θέμις εἰπεῖν, δέχνυσο καὶ γενέτην καὶ μητέρα, δέχνυσο πάσας ἀμφιπόλους, καὶ μοῦνον ἐμοὶ πόρε τοῦτον ἀκοίτην. Accept, if I dare to say it, my father and mother too, accept all my waiting-women, and give me only this man for my bedfellow!

For the main part of her speech Peisinoe gives a detailed and eroticised portrait of Cadmus through her own first-hand impression that is underpinned by emphasis on verbs of seeing (Dion. 4.126 ἐσέδρακον; 128 εἶδον … εἶδον; 146 ἴδοιμι) and expressed through metaphor, comparison, and hyperbole, Dion. 4.128–42: Εἶδον ἐγὼ παλάμην ῥοδοδάκτυλον, εἶδον ὀπωπὴν ἡδὺ μέλι στάζουσαν· ἐρωτοτόκου δὲ προσώπου ὡς ῥόδα φοινίσσουσι παρηίδες· ἀκροφαῆ δὲ δίχροα χιονέων ἀμαρύσσεται ἴχνια ταρσῶν μεσσόθι πορφυρόεντα· καὶ ὡς κρίνον εἰσὶν ἀγοστοί. Καλλείψω πλοκαμῖδας, ὅπως μὴ Φοῖβον ὀρίνω χροιῆι ὀνειδίζουσα Θεραπναίης ὑακίνθου. Εἴ ποτε δινεύων φρενοτερπέα κύκλον ὀπωπῆς ὀφθαλμοὺς ἐλέλιζεν, ὅλη σελάγιζε Σελήνη φέγγεϊ μαρμαίροντι· καὶ εἴ ποτε βόστρυχα σείσας αὐχένα γυμνὸν ἔθηκεν, ἐφαίνετο Φωσφόρος ἀστήρ. Χείλεα σιγήσαιμι· τὸ δὲ στόμα, πορθμὸν Ἐρώτων, Πειθὼ ναιετάουσα χέει μελιηδέα φωνήν. Καὶ Χάριτες μεθέπουσιν ὅλον δέμας· ἄκρα δὲ χειρῶν αἰδέομαι κρίνειν, ἵνα μὴ γάλα λευκὸν ἐλέγξω.

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I have seen his rosefinger hand, I have seen his glance distilling sweet honey; the cheeks of his lovebegetting face are red as roses; his feet go twinkling, ruddybrown in the middle, and changing colour at the ends into shining snow; his arms are lilywhite. I will pass the hair, or I may provoke Phoibos by blaming the hue of his Therapnaian iris. Whenever he moved his full eyes with their heart-gladdening glance, there was the full moon shining with sparkling light; when he shook his hair and bared his neck, there appeared the morning star! I would not speak of his lips; but Persuasion dwells in his mouth, the ferry of the Loves, and pours out honey-sweet speech. Aye, the Graces manage his whole body: hands and fingers I shrink to judge, or I may find fault with the whiteness of milk.

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Whereas the narrator’s voice in the Argonautica had described features of Jason that Medea brings to her mind’s eye, it is Peisinoe’s speech here that brings to life Cadmus’ desirability through her own eyes. By mentioning individual physical features of the young man, Peisinoe focuses on his physique, starting from his hand, sight, cheeks, feet, and arms; she passes over his locks and moves to his glance, bare neck, and mouth, where Peitho – who is here associated with love (πορθμὸν ἐρώτων, 4.139) and speech (μελιηδέα φωνήν, 4.140)–dwells, and concludes with a mention of his white hands and fingers (4.128–42).37 This juxtaposition of Apollonius’ narrative of Medea’s growing love for Jason with Aphrodite’s persuasive speech that makes Harmonia desire Cadmus thus draws attention to the force of persuasion in the Dionysiaca and to Nonnus’ use of rhetorical techniques in direct speech that is so characteristic in this epic. And as Hopkinson has put it, “it is possible to see the poet not only as a continuator of the classical epic tradition, but also as a product of his time”.38

2 The Goddess Peitho in Dionysiaca 3 and Dionysiaca 48 Let us now examine the role of Peitho herself in the progression of the narrative by beginning with her interaction with Cadmus in Dionysiaca 3. As we saw earlier, Cadmus, on his way to Harmonia’s house, is met by Peitho (3.84 θαλαμηπόλος … Πειθώ), who is disguised as a labouring woman (3.86 οἷα γυνὴ ταλαεργός) carrying a jug filled with water. She covers Cadmus in mist and leads him through the city to the palace, Dion. 3.83–9, 93–7: ἐρχομένωι δὲ ἐς δόμον Ἁρμονίης θαλαμηπόλος ἤντετο Πειθὼ θνητῆς εἶδος ἔχουσα, καὶ ἀχθοφόρου διὰ κόλπου,

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37 As the anonymous referee points out, the enumeration of Cadmus’ features brings to mind the technique of the blason poétique, which will flourish in later European literature; for a recent discussion of (to mention one example) Spenser’s blason in Book II of The Faerie Queene with two further examples from the Italian tradition see, e.g., Wilson-Okamura 2009, 48–52 (I am grateful to Dr T. Demetriou for referring me to this article). Peisinoe’s portrait of Cadmus contains numerous elements applied to women in the ancient novels, with this transposition pointing to Cadmus’ feminisation: see Frangoulis 2006, 45–50 and Hadjittofi 2009, 93–108. 38 Hopkinson 1994b, 6–7.

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οἷα γυνὴ ταλαεργὸς ἀφυσσαμένη πόμα πηγῆς, ἀργυρέην εὔκυκλον ἐκούφισε κάλπιν ἀγοστῶι, ἄγγελος ἐσσομένων, ὅτι νυμφίον ἠθάδι θεσμῶι ζωογόνοις πρὸ γάμοιο καθικμαίνουσι λοετροῖς. (…) Καὶ ἀκροτάτων ἀπὸ ταρσῶν κυανέηι νεφέληι κεκαλυμμένον ἄχρι καρήνου Κάδμον ἀσημάντοιο δι᾽ ἄστεος ἤγαγε Πειθὼ ξεινοδόκου βασιλῆος ἐρευνητῆρα μελάθρου, πομπὸς ὁδοῦ Παφίης ὑπὸ νεύμασιν.

95

As he was going towards Harmonia’s house, he was met by Peitho, Lady of the bridechamber. She had the form of a mortal woman, and like a household drudge, she carried a weight pressed against her bosom by her arm, a rounded silver jug which she had filled with drink from the spring: a presage of things to come, since they drench the bridegroom by time-honoured custom with life-giving water in the bath before the marriage. (…) Peitho covered Cadmos with a dark mist from heels to head, and led him through the unseeing city in search of the king’s hospitable hall, guiding his way by the Paphian’s command.

The model for this scene has long been identified with the encounter between Odysseus and Athena in Odyssey 7, where the goddess pours thick mist around Odysseus, so that no Phaeacian can question him, and appears before him as a young girl carrying a jug, Od. 7.14–20:39 ἀμφὶ δ᾽ Ἀθήνη πολλὴν ἠέρα χεῦε φίλα φρονέουσ᾽ Ὀδυσῆι, μή τις Φαιήκων μεγαθύμων ἀντιβολήσας κερτομέοι τ᾽ ἐπέεσσι καὶ ἐξερέοιθ᾽ ὅτις εἴη. ἀλλ᾽ ὅτε δὴ ἄρ᾽ ἔμελλε πόλιν δύσεσθαι ἐραννήν, ἔνθα οἱ ἀντεβόλησε θεὰ γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη παρθενικῆι εἰκυῖα νεήνιδι κάλπιν ἐχούσηι. [A]nd Athene, with kindly purpose, poured about him a thick mist, that no one of the great-hearted Phaeacians, meeting him, should challenge him, and ask him who he was. But when he was about to enter the lovely city, then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athene, met him in the guise of a young maiden carrying a pitcher.40

39 Chuvin 1976, 138: “Le thème vient d’ η 14–15; cf. Ap. Rh. 3.211–12; Virg. Aen. 1.411”. See Hadjittofi 2010, 72–5 and 85 for an exploration of Aeneas’ meeting with Venus in Aeneid 1 as an intertext for the present scene. 40 Translation by A. T. Murray − E. G. Dimock (Loeb).

Peitho in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca: the Case of Cadmus and Harmonia

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Three departures in Nonnus’ adaptation of this model are of particular interest here. First, Peitho’s use of the mist is left unexplained; unlike Odyssey 7, where the mist surrounding Odysseus is intended to protect him from the Phaeacians, nothing in Nonnus’ narrative suggests that the people of Samothrace could or would be hostile towards Cadmus,41 and there is no indication as to when the mist is dissolved.42 Secondly, Peitho’s jug is explicitly introduced as a sign of future events, for the narrator explains that it is customary to drench the bridegroom with water before his wedding (Dion. 3.88–90). Thirdly, whereas the Odyssean model included an extensive exchange between Athena and Odysseus, with the goddess also explaining Arete’s genealogy to the Ithacan hero (Od. 7.48–77), in Nonnus’ narrative there is no verbal interaction between Peitho and Cadmus, but it is the narrator who relates Emathion’s genealogy (Dion. 3.186–219) and reports Electra’s question on her guest’s identity (3.243– 4). Even as Peitho takes leave from Cadmus and disappears in the sky, it is through a gesture that she points him to the right direction, 3.124–30:43 Ἀλλ᾽ ὅτε οἱ στείχοντι λεωφόρα κύκλα κελεύθου τηλεφανὴς βασιλῆος ἐφαίνετο πανδόκος αὐλὴ κίοσιν ὑψωθεῖσα, τανυσσαμένη τότε Κάδμωι δάκτυλον ἀντιτύποιο νοήμονα μάρτυρα φωνῆς σιγαλέωι κήρυκι δόμον σημήνατο Πειθὼ ποικίλον ἀστράπτοντα· καὶ αἰθέρα δύσατο δαίμων ἀλλοφανὴς πτερόεντι διαιθύσσουσα πεδίλωι.

125

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Cadmos walked along the winding highroad; and when the king’s allhospitable court came into view, far-seen upon its lofty pillars, Peitho pointed a finger to indicate the corresponding words in her mind, and by this voiceless herald showed the house of shining artistry: then the divinity in another shape rose into the sky, shooting through it with winged shoe.

With Peitho’s silence is contrasted the crow’s verbosity, as the bird reproaches Cadmus for his tardiness in meeting his future bride (Dion. 3.103–22). As we saw earlier, Nonnus’ primary model here is Apollonius’ crow, which reproaches 41 Chuvin 1976, 138: “Samothrace, île des mystères, est accueillante (3, 96, 125), contrairement à la cité des Phéaciens (η 31ss.): la nuée protectrice n’est qu’un souvenir littéraire dont il ne sera plus question”. Cf. also D’Ippolito 1964, 199–200. 42 Contrast Od. 7.143 καὶ τότε δή ῥ᾽ αὐτοῖο πάλιν χύτο θέσφατος ἀήρ and Apollonius’ imitation of the Odyssean model, 3.210–4 τοῖσι δὲ νισσομένοις Ἥρη φίλα μητιόωσα / ἠέρα πουλὺν ἐφῆκε δι᾽ ἄστεος, ὄφρα λάθοιεν / Κόλχων μυρίον ἔθνος ἐς Αἰήτοιο κιόντες. / ὦκα δ᾽ ὅτ᾽ ἐκ πεδίοιο πόλιν καὶ δώμαθ᾽ ἵκοντο / Αἰήτεω, τότε δ᾽ αὖτις ἀπεσκέδασεν νέφος Ἥρη. 43 Cf. Miguélez Cavero 2009a, 260 (with n. 39) for “the pointing finger” as “a gesture of deixis and command”. Peitho’s sudden departure recalls that of Athena leaving Pylos before Nestor and Telemachus, Od. 3.371–2 ἀπέβη γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη / φήνηι εἰδομένη.

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the seer Mopsus, who is accompanying Jason on his way to meet Medea (Apoll. Rhod. 3.927–38); according to the crow, Mopsus cannot grasp what even children know (Apoll. Rhod. 3.932–3 ὃς οὐδ᾽ ὅσα παῖδες ἴσασιν / οἶδε νόωι φράσσασθαι “who has not the sense to conceive in his mind even as much as children know”), namely, that a girl will not talk to a man about love before strangers.44 Whereas Mopsus understands and acts accordingly (Apoll. Rhod. 3.938 f.), there is no indication in Nonnus’ corresponding scene that Cadmus actually hears or comprehends the crow’s message, and it is only after Peitho has pointed to the palace that the narrator offers Cadmus’ reaction to its impressive façade (Dion. 3.131 f.). In this respect, Peitho’s appearance, the mist and her final gesture all have an immediate effect on the progression of the narrative towards the fulfilment of Zeus’ promise to reward Cadmus with Harmonia, as the goddess guides Cadmus to the right place without allowing any distractions to hinder him on the way. Peitho’s role here takes a particularly interesting dimension when seen in conjunction with her other important intervention on the human plane in Aura’s rape in Dion. 48.590–600.45 After the virgin huntress Aura mocks Artemis, boasting that her own body, unlike that of the goddess, attests to her intact virginity, Artemis seeks retribution from Nemesis, who punishes Aura by making her lose her virginity. Eros shoots Dionysus with his arrow and the love-mad god strikes the earth with his thyrsus to pour out a stream of wine. Eros casts mist upon Aura’s eyes (48.591), so that she cannot see any other source of water to quench her thirst, and only when she reaches Dionysus’ deceitful spring does Peitho remove the cloud (48.595), inviting the huntress to drink from the spring and receive her husband in her embrace (48.597–8).46 Aura drinks from the fountain; heavy with wine, she falls asleep on the ground and Dionysus rapes her in her sleep. Aura subsequently gives birth to twins and kills one of them, while Dionysus saves the other (Iacchos), who is honoured like a god together with Zagreus and Dionysus:

44 Another important model for Nonnus’ crow is Call. Hec. fr. 74.3–28 Hollis: note especially Dion. 3.101 νωθρὸς ὁδίτης “sluggish traveller”, which Nonnus borrows from Call. Hec. fr. 68 Hollis (see Hollis 1976, 142–3 and Gigli 1980, 114–5) and Hec. fr. 74.9 Hollis ὡς Θριαὶ τὴν γρῆϋν ἐπιπνείουσι κορώνην (Hec. fr. 74.9 Hollis) ~ Apoll. Rhod. 3.937 ἐπιπνείουσιν Ἔρωτες ~ Dion. 3.121 ἀλλά με Κύπρις ἐπέπνεεν. Nonnus’ crow (like that of Callimachus) refers to herself simply as a “mouthpiece”. 45 Cf. Schmiel 1993, 470: “[t]he story of Aura was … planned as the climax of the ‘Dionysiaca’”. 46 Aura herself had mentioned Peitho upon waking up from a prophetic dream that had foreshadowed the loss of her virginity: Dion. 48.299–300.

Peitho in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca: the Case of Cadmus and Harmonia

Κεῖθι δὲ διψώουσα μεσημβριὰς ἔτρεχεν Αὔρη· ἀμφὶ δέ οἱ βλεφάροισιν Ἔρως κατέχευεν ὀμίχλην, μή ποτε διψώουσα Διὸς χύσιν ἤ τινα πηγήν ἢ ῥόον ἀθρήσειεν ὀρεσσιχύτου ποταμοῖο. Ἀλλ᾽ ὅτε Βακχείην ἀπατήλιον ἔδρακε πηγήν, δὴ τότε οἱ βλεφάρων σκιόεν νέφος ἤλασε Πειθώ, τοῖον ἔπος βοόωσα γάμου πρωτάγγελον Αὔρηι· “Παρθενική, μόλε δεῦρο, τελεσσιγάμοιο δὲ πηγῆς εἰς στόμα δέξο ῥέεθρα, καὶ εἰς σέο κόλπον ἀκοίτην”. Κούρη δ᾽ ἄσμενος εἶδε· παραπροχυθεῖσα δὲ πηγῆι χείλεσιν οἰγομένοισιν ἀνήφυσεν ἰκμάδα Βάκχου.

37 590

595

600

And there came running thirsty at midday Aura herself; and Eros cast a mist over her eyelids, so that she could never find raindrops from Zeus, or some fountain, or the stream of a river pouring from the hills. But when she saw the deceitful fountain of Bacchos, Peitho dispersed the shadowy cloud from her eyelids, and called out to Aura like a herald of her marriage: “Maiden, come this way! Take into your lips the stream of this nuptial fountain, and into your bosom a lover”. Gladly the maiden saw it, and throwing herself down before the fountain drew in the liquid of Bacchos with open lips.

Noteworthy correspondences emerge between Peitho’s direct interventions in the human plane at the beginning and end of the Dionysiaca: whereas she had previously covered Cadmus in a dark cloud (Dion. 3.94 κυανέηι νεφέληι)47 and led him to Emathion’s palace, she now removes the cloud (Dion. 48.595 σκιόεν νέφος) from Aura’s eyes so that the huntress can see Dionysus’ deceptive fountain.48 Whereas Peitho had remained silent in her interaction with Cadmus with the presence of her jug foreshadowing the future course of events, here she speaks two lines that disclose what will happen. But although the narrator mentions that Aura saw (48.599 κούρη δ᾽ ἄσμενος εἶδε), there is no indication that she heard, and the huntress proceeds to drink from the fountain.49 Vian suggests that Aura does not hear Peitho’s warning because Peitho’s supernatural cry may be inaudible to a mortal,50 and he points out that Aura’s rape, unlike that of Nicaea in the parallel episode in Dionysiaca

47 Peitho is clearly the agent of this action, although this is not explicitly stated in Dion. 3.93–5 (cited above). 48 Cf. Vian 2003, 184–5 on Dion. 48.591 and Schulze 1966, 374 n. 3. 49 Vian 2003, 52 n. 2 (“l’emploi absolu d’εἶδε est remarquable”) and 185; see the discussion in Krafft 1975, 120 n. 67 (contra Schulze 1966, 370, who argues that Dion. 48.590–8 may be a later addition). 50 Vian 2003, 52.

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16, is altogether characterised by silence,51 which he attributes to the fact that from Dionysus’ union with Aura Iacchos will be born.52 Peitho’s active intervention thus frames the Dionysiac saga, and although she does not engage directly with the mortals on the human plane, for she is either silent (as with Cadmus) or inaudible (as with Aura), she nevertheless has an instrumental role in moving the plot forward at two critical moments in this epic that draw attention to Dionysus’ genealogy, namely the marriage of Cadmus and Harmonia, which instigates the line of Dionysus, and the birth of Dionysus’ own son Iacchos. The episode of Cadmus and Harmonia in Dionysiaca 3–4 thus draws attention to different modes of persuasion – both rhetorical tropes in extended speech and the intervention of the goddess Peitho herself – that highlight the instrumental role of peitho in the narrative of the Dionysiaca, as Nonnus adapts earlier epic models within his contemporary context. Peitho’s subtle, brief, yet crucial appearances near the beginning and at the very end of the epic do not go unnoticed, and through her association with eloquence and seduction the goddess embodies two salient features of the Dionysiaca, its rhetorical virtuosity and erotic colouring.

51 Vian 2003, 58. 52 Vian 2003, 57–8.

Jane Lightfoot

Oracles in the Dionysiaca Nonnus loves to foreshadow the future. The Dionysiaca are full of anticipations and prefigurations of all kinds,1 of which divine signs and oracles are one particular, very prominent, form. I began with the following questions: how, where, and why does Nonnus use oracles?2 Who mediates the oracles, and to whom? Where in the narrative are oracles given? What kind of information about the future is disclosed? What effects are thereby achieved? And is Nonnus content (with due allowance for rhetorical elaboration) to reproduce the conventions he has inherited from earlier literature in regard to the representation of oracles, or is there anything characteristically Late Antique, or indeed individual and idiosyncratic, about oracles in the Dionysiaca? But these basic questions inevitably suggest others. My enquiry could, for instance, develop into a narratological study of prolepsis in the Dionysiaca – surely a desideratum, in any case. Or, to clarify what is distinctive in each poem, it might compare the Dionysiaca with the Paraphrasis – in which case, rather than concentrating specifically on oracles, it would open out into a study of inspiration and its presentation. The main burden of this essay concerns oracles in the Dionysiaca, throughout the poem as a whole and in its set-piece scenes of oracular consultation. But I will also have something to say about these broader questions, that is, anticipation as a narrative technique, and the comparison and contrast between Nonnus’ two surviving poems and how they treat disclosure of the future.

1 Fate and its Disclosure I begin with some general remarks on prolepsis in the Dionysiaca. While my main purpose is to provide a context for the presentation of oracles in particular, the subject is one that demands more systematic treatment. Such a study would aim to characterise the poet’s attitude to futurity – what events are considered worth anticipating, and what is the effect of such anticipations? – 1 By anticipation I mean a prolepsis, where the narrator (usually the primary narrator, but occasionally an internal character) draws to the attention of his addressee (usually the reader, occasionally to an internal character), what is going to happen at a future point. By prefiguration, I mean that a future event is foreshadowed by some corresponding earlier happening. 2 For an earlier approach to this question, Ruiz Pérez 2002 (I thank the author for supplying me with a copy).

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but should also help to demarcate the differences between Nonnus and his predecessors, above all Homer, along the way. One that immediately comes to light is that prolepses in Homer are used especially for significant characters, moments of high drama, and turning-points in the narrative. Where they reach us, the audience or readers, but not the characters in the narrative, they may create dramatic irony.3 In the Dionysiaca, on the other hand, prolepses tend to be less dramatic – they do not generate tragic irony4 – and more thematic. That is, they have a strong tendency to mark developments in Dionysus’ career, or in the careers of his family.5 There are also many more of them, and not all occur at moments of the greatest significance; some look forward to fairly minor Dionysiac aetiologies.6 Most prolepses – among which I include prophecies, prefigurations, and narratorial comments – are internal, anticipating events within the poem itself; but a significant number are external, especially looking forward to the serpentine metamorphoses of Cadmus and Harmonia, but also further still, to the battle of Salamis, to the coming of the Romans, and to the establishment of a Roman law school at Berytus.7 This too contrasts with Homer, where narratorial anticipations of events beyond the scope of the poem are few and far-between.8 In general, the implication is that time is a deterministic system in which things are bound to happen, and especially that the god’s career and ascent are fore-ordained and inevitable. Nonnus’ concern is to present events in a grand pageant, the triumph of Dionysus, on which the narrator himself insists, and from which there is to be no diversion. To foreshadow the workings of fate, Nonnus has a wide range of techniques, and some particular favourites. From Homer he derives the verb μέλλειν, usually in prolepses by the narrator (or sometimes by an internal speaker). Unlike Homer, however, Nonnus never uses the verb to signal a gap between a character’s expectations and the actual outcome. The point is not 3 De Jong 1989, 86. 4 At 2.449, νήπιος is used, as in Homer, to highlight the gap between a character’s misguided expectations and reality (De Jong 1989, 86–7), but more often this epithet denotes childishness or is used as a taunt (19.316, 30.41, 37.404, 45.70). 5 E.g. the fates of Cadmus and Phineus (2.687–91); the foundation of Thebes (4.293–306); the metamorphoses of Cadmus and Harmonia (2.677–9, 4.417–21, 5.121–4, 44.107–18, 46.366–7). 6 E.g. 11.164–6, prefiguring the irrigation of the vine (see Vian ad loc.). 7 Cadmus and Harmonia (n. 5 above); Salamis (39.135–7); the Romans (3.196–9); Berytus (41.160, 180–2, 273–398). 8 De Jong 1989, 88. She includes only Il. 2.724–5 and 12.3–35, and excludes “versteckte Andeutungen” (84) such as Il. 22.410–1; external prolepses (e.g. of the death of Achilles) in charactertext are of course a different matter. All passages in the previous note are in narrator-text except 2.669–79 (Zeus) and 41.389–98 (Harmonia’s oracle).

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to produce irony, but simply to emphasise the ineluctability of events in the Dionysiac cycle; all but one of the μέλλειν prolepses concern Dionysus’ family or his associates, friends and foes.9 Sometimes a phrase draws express attention to the lapse of time until the fulfilment of the prolepsis:10 the references to “elderly” time or “late” fulfilment spring open the time-frame of the poem and set the events of the poem in an even grander and more universal canvas. A more distinctive mannerism is the use of epithets or appositional phrases which contain the notion of futurity. They denote something as having a prophetic quality, advertise the fact that a prolepsis has just occurred or is about to occur, or belong in a phrase which itself contains an anticipation of the future. Μάντις its derivatives are very frequent: μαντήιος (13.239), μαντιπόλος (fifteen times in all),11 πρόμαντις (3.199, 7.179, 25.6, 46.73, 48.263),12 and (these last apparently his own coinages, though they recur in later poets) μαντῷος (4.289, 6.103, 38.57, 40.501, 48.284) and μαντώδης (11.72, 12.110, 13.304). Overlapping with this is a favourite usage, the future participle of the verb “to be”, often combined with a noun or adjective containing the idea of futurity: as well as μάντις itself (2.397, 11.164, 26.270, 41.180, 44.83), we find ἄγγελος (3.88, 5.123, 7.339, 44.45), αὐτάγγελος (11.91), προάγγελος (4.349, 4.390, 7.202, 44.38), πρωτάγγελος (13.241, 38.63, 46.363), κῆρυξ (7.107, 9.13, 41.160), and προκέλευθος (3.359, 18.177). All this implies a system in which there has been considerably more ab initio planning than in Homer’s universe, where the goal-posts shift as the poem progresses, and even when Zeus utters a couple of future prospectuses there is room for manoeuvre between his words and the eventual outcome.13 In Nonnus, future events are discoverable, through pronouncements, signs and their interpretation, and through consultation of inscribed tablets, and there can be no slippage between what is promised and what finally comes to pass. But although the premises remain basically stable – that there is a predetermined course of events, especially surrounding Cadmus and his descendant Dionysus, both of whom throughout the poem are bathed in a limelight of fateful significance – the deities on whom the structure rests present no kind of consistency or worked-out system. Dionysus mobilises a

9 4.419, 5.124, 5.211, 7.183, 7.364, 13.243, 20.142, 21.162, 41.211 (the exception), 44.118, 44.274. 10 4.421 ἀλλὰ τὰ μὲν πέπρωτο μετὰ χρόνον; 5.211, 21.162 καὶ τὰ μὲν ὣς ἤμελλε γέρων χρόνος ὀψὲ τελέσσαι, sim. 20.142. The model is Call. Aet. fr. 12.6 Pf. (= Apoll. Rhod. 1.1309); similar phrases in Apoll. Rhod. 4.1216, 1764. 11 Already in Eur. Hec. 121, but a rare word before its extraordinary popularity in Nonnus. 12 See Chuvin on 7.179. 13 Il. 8.473–6, 15.64–71.

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colourful, but ultimately incoherent, pageant of deities to uphold his determinist structure and to implement Fate. Despite the insistence on predetermination and ineluctability, the Fates are not the anchor of the system. References to them are decorative and barely more than that.14 Contrary to Homer, where we hear about the personified Fates only from internal speakers,15 the narrator of the Dionysiaca feels no inhibition at all about vouching for them on his own account. He does so in a fully-visualised portrayal with their traditional thread and spindles (and, according to Athena in 24.280–1, a loom), and even introduces Atropos as a character in Book 12 after the death of Ampelos. Despite, or because of, this generosity of coverage, one does not have to look very far to discern that there is no worked-out plan here, no consistency, not even the feeblest attempt to present a coherent theological system. The Iliad was obscure on the objective existence of Fates and the ultimate control of the universe, but its opacity was productive and highly poetically effective. In this case it is merely incoherent.16 Some passages imply that Zeus and the Fates work together (25.365); others that Zeus himself is subordinate to them (2.671–9, 8.367–8); and yet others, albeit in metaphorical language, imply that they are ministers to the will of a higher authority (Zeus, 1.366–7, 7.106; Aphrodite as mistress of the cosmos, 41.316–7). On the one hand, they represent a grim necesssity against which Zeus himself is powerless; on the other, Atropos is so moved by Dionysus’ grief for his friend that she consents to loosen the threads that bind him (12.138–72). Although the spinners are credited with a real existence, they are outshone by cosmic deities who regulate, and in some cases personify, time, fate, and destiny. Here, too, we find little coherence, but much expenditure of effort on colour and vivid detail. Some of these gods are derived from sources which confer associations of deepest antiquity: the Hesiodic Astraeus (Th. 376), and the Orphic “first-born” Phanes,17 Ophion, and Eurynome (first couple to hold sway on Olympus).18 But they are now recast according to the Late Antique penchant for abstractions and universalism, and associated with, or even assimilated to, gods of time and the cosmos. Thus Phanes shares some characteristics with Aion (see Chrétien on 9.141, 157) and authors oracles of an astronomical nature (12.33–5); Ophion is partnered, not only by Eurynome (2.573) 14 Vian 1993, 52. 15 Il. 19.87, 20.127–8, 24.49, 24.209–10; Od. 7.197–8. 16 According to Vian 1995, 67 “il faut … distinguer deux plans: sur le plan ‘humain’ ou terrestre – ici celui de Dionysos –, les Moires se sont laissé fléchir; sur le plan divin, elles n’ont fait qu’exécuter les arrêts d’un destin préétabli”. To my mind this is too systematic. 17 Chrétien on 9.141 Πρωτογόνου δὲ Φάνητος; Vian 1993, 42–3; OF 80, 140F. 18 Vian 1993, 43; Apoll. Rhod. 1.503.

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but also with Harmonia (8.161).19 Personifications of time are repeatedly associated with oracles and prophecies. Chronos – himself a figure from Orphic poetry – does not have a large role, but where he does feature it is always in some connection with the foundations of the present order (the victory of Zeus, 2.422; the coming of the Romans, 3.197). He is accompanied by his daughters, the Horai (12.15; 12.96), who attend on the oracle-giving Helios (12.17–8); they ratify prophecy (7.107) and enable fated events by bringing around appointed times (38.15) and by solemnising their inception (3.196–9, 7.179, 9.11–5). They share these functions with Aion himself, who is both a recipient of prophecy (7.7–109) and himself the medium, as it were, in which the prophecies are acted out. He accomplishes fateful times (36.422–3) and confers recognition and solemnity on events of cosmic importance (12.25, 38.90, 41.83–4, 144, 179). The large cast of these deities and their ubiquity throughout the poem is remarkable, even more so when we reflect on the absence of literary parallels; true, a famous scene at the end of the second Book of Claudian’s Laudes Stilichonis introduces us to Sol, Aevum, and Natura in a cave on the edges of the cosmos (see below), but in general the counterparts and correlates of Nonnus’ cosmic deities are to be found in cosmological mosaics, not in works of literature.20 When we turn specifically to oracles and other supernatural revelations, we find a similar pattern. On the one hand, the assumptions are unchanged. Oracles rest on the notion that the powers of fate, which are inevitable and ineluctable, can be glimpsed in advance by signs and communicated through intermediaries with privileged access to its workings. These presuppositions are already embedded in the epic genre, which Nonnus inherited. He has not changed the theological basis of the system; if anything, in his hands it has taken on even bolder, cruder contours. Rather, his contribution, as we might expect, is rhetorical elaboration and colourful variety, a profusion of mechanisms that put revelation into effect: in a word, ποικιλία. All traditional mechanisms of communication between gods and mortals are present. In the first place, many gods transmit messages directly. Apollo himself, conspicuously, is downgraded, but other Olympians step into the breach. Zeus is both a dispenser of fate but also a mediator of it (2.660–98, 7.7–109); Hermes carries important messages to Electra (3.425–44), to Ino (9.61– 91), and to Dionysus (38.78–95); and, presumably on the general principle of

19 Despite her link to Aion in 7.109. For the fluctuation, Chuvin on 8.161; Vian 1993, 43–4 (see 41–2 for Harmonia herself). 20 Vian 1993, 49, 52.

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kinship and comradeliness, Rhea (12.330, 36.413–6) and Attes (25.361–7) both bring Dionysus messages about his career and about the duration of the Indian War. Heracles Astrochiton delivers a colonisation oracle to the Tyrians (40.429–534). Long-established oracle-centres are here, above all Delphi, but also the shrine of Ammon in Libya and Dodona (3.292–4, 13.370–3, 40.392); so too are seers who specialise in the interpretation of certain kinds of portent (Teiresias, 7.159–61, 44.82–95, cf. 5.337–42;21 an unnamed Indian specialist who interprets an animal portent, 26.279–84; the Phrygian seer Idmon, 38.31– 71, modelled on the Iliadic Calchas, who not only interprets the flight of birds but has also acquired expertise in astronomical signs as well). Divine communications in the Dionysiaca therefore employ almost all available media. Above all, oracles employ human language – ὀμφή (inspired speech or the divine voice) is pervasive throughout the poem,22 and indeed throughout the Paraphrasis too – but as well as spoken oracles, Nonnus mobilises prophetic dreams (7.141–57; 18.166–95; 44.46–79; 48.258–86), animals (11.83–98; 26.268–78; 38.26–9; 42.534–8) and celestial portents (5.121–5; 13.238–41; 38.15–25, cf. thunder in 14.405–7), and, in Odyssean fashion, auspicious sneezes (7.107, 13.82). If the Spinners are associated with their woven tapestry, several of the cosmic deities are associated with writing. It is possible to consult tablets of destiny and/or to read the stars. Because it is a good illustration of his technique, and also because, in the second part of this paper I shall turn to non-traditional scenes of oracular consultation (the so-called “cosmic preludes”), I should like to pause and consider Nonnus’ treatment of Delphi in a little more detail. Delphi figures in the poem on some half dozen occasions,23 in which a certain tension and ambiva-

21 Teiresias’ advice fails to palliate the dream on both occasions, the first because it actually precipitates the event predicted by the dream, the second because Teiresias is said expressly to known the outcome already. 22 Ὀμφή itself occurs in the following senses: (i) voice of a god, in the form of a particular oracle or divine command (3.200; 4.249; 12.141; 25.380; 41.399; this is the sense in early Greek hexameter poetry, for which see LfgrE s.v. ὀμφή B); (ii) as present at a particular oracle centre (3.292; 13.68); (iii) inspired utterance of a seer or intermediary (6.103; 7.161); (iv) specific oracle, unattached to a particular deity (12.107; cf. Theogn. 808); inspiration (14.90; 41.263). Nonnus abides by the Homeric convention that the word is qualified by an epithet or personal name to indicate the divine source of the oracle (with the exception of 12.107), but the Homeric tendency to restrict the word to direct speech (the exception being Il. 2.41) has fallen away, both in Nonnus (every instance in the Dionysiaca in narrative) and Apollonius (3.939, 4.725, 4.1382). Derivatives: ὀμφαῖος (3.99, 6.89, 9.284, 12.42, 12.330, 13.373, 27.252), ὀμφήεις (2.689, 4.103, 4.309, 4.348, 5.535, 6.16, 7.72, 9.60, 9.271, 13.132, 40.442, 42.389, 44.119; a rare adjective, but also in an inscription from Didyma, Didyma no. 497.5). 23 2.696–8; 4.102–4; 9.250–89; 13.122–34; 38.56; cf. 42.390.

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lence emerges. On the one hand, this is antiquity’s most charismatic oraclecentre. Nonnus’ picture is literary, impressionistic, and betrays a hazy notion of its workings. Neverthless, in the poem it is a special, uncanny place. The very landscape seems to be informed by a kind of natural wisdom; the rocks and the Castalian spring are endowed with intelligence.24 The divine relevations apparently come directly from the ἄξων (the Pythia’s role is very unclear), or pour from a cleft in the earth.25 The whole site is specially endowed with voice and sound.26 We can find precedent for this in earlier literary treatments: Apollo speaks of his ὀμφή in Delphi in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, and the Pythia, whose role at Delphi was always seen in terms of the spoken word, tends in Roman poetry to be increasingly associated with uncanny, bellowing sound.27 Nevertheless, the Pythia’s role in Nonnus is degraded,28 and the special oral character of Delphic prophecy is translated to the very furnishings of the shrine and its surrounding landscape. The tripods are endowed with voice, and sound emerges de profundis. On the other hand, Apollo’s role in all of this is rather marginal. Unlike in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, the divine voice is never associated with Apollo himself; Apollo’s own appearances in the poem are fleeting, and he never speaks. Indeed, his brotherhood with Dionysus cannot conceal a certain sense

24 4.291–2 ἔμφρονα Πύθιος ἄξων / ἐθέσπισε; 4.310 Κασταλίης … νοήμονος; 13.122 σοφῇ παρὰ Δέλφιδι πέτρῃ; 13.134 σοφῶν … ῥεέθρων. There is something of this in Alcaeus’ Delphic Paean, as summarised by Himerius (Or. 14.10–1), although Apollo is at the centre, as he is not in Nonnus: he returns when he hears τοὺς Δελφικοὺς ἠχῆσαι τρίποδας; on his arrival all nature celebrates, nightingales, swallows, and crickets sing; and there is a sort of pathetic fallacy as Castalia and the Cephisus thrill to his presence. Cf. by contraries Clement’s declaration that the Castalian spring has fallen silent, Protr. 2.11.1. For the landscape responding to Dionysus’ presence (not Apollo’s), see Eur. IT 1243–44. 25 Delphic ἄξων: 2.697, 4.290, 7.72, 27.252; cleft in the earth: 9.270 and Chrétien ad loc.; for Nonnus’ view of the workings of the oracle, Vian on 4.292, and other notes cited by Vian on 13.129. 26 While ὀμφή and its derivatives apply to supernatural communications of all sorts, Delphi has a rich vocabulary of its own: 4.290, 13.133 ἀσίγητος; 2.698 αὐδήεις; 4.292, 13.133 αὐτοβόητος; 4.308, 4.350, 9.270 ἠχώ; 4.292, 307 φωνή. For sound at Delphi, see 4.103; 4.307–10; 4.350; 7.72; 9.270–1; 9.284; 13.132–4; 27.252; 41.222. For Nonnus’ emphasis on Jesus’ voice, see below, p. 54 and n. 52. 27 HomHyHerm. 543, 545 (cf. 566, of Hermes). For the speech of the Pythia, see Lucr. 1.739; Plut. De Pyth. οrac. 397c (though this view insists that her words are human, not divine); Lucan 5.190–3, 217–8. For the Pythia-like Sibyl see Virg. Aen. 6.43–4, 50, 99, and for the Sibyl herself (another Apolline prophetesss) the impressive testimony of Heraclitus 22 B 92 D–K ap. Plut. Pyth. οrac. 397a. For Apollo, Stat. Theb. 3.613 (mugiat). 28 She is nowhere in sight when Cadmus consults the oracle in 4.289–318, and only appears in 9.270–4 to be scared away by Ino.

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of competition between the two;29 that is the point of the Ino episode, where her madness disrupts the pre-existing Apolline cult and prefigures the new Dionysian rituals of the Thyiades. What Nonnus seems to want to do is to retain all the traditional prestige of Delphi, which he rhetoricises and embellishes with uncanny sound and landscape instinctively responsive to the presence of deity; he cannot overwrite Apollo’s presence, and concedes that the brothers share the site, but one suspects that his investment in Delphi’s prestige is in large part because Dionysus had such a large stake in it. About Nonnus’ treatment of divine communications two general observations run somewhat counter to one another. The first is that because he avails himself of so many types of divine communication and revealer, he can, and often does, vary the oracular mechanism and agency, choosing the right mode to fit the message and the circumstances. For example, the prophecy of Cadmus’ marriage to Harmonia takes the form of a direct personal revelation to Cadmus by Zeus: there is no opacity or indirectness, but a grateful communication to the man without whose help he could not have triumphed over the monstrous Typhon (2.660–98). The birth of the first Dionysus, Zagreus, is read from Persephone’s horoscope, which arises nicely out of the circumstances, a mother’s anxious consultation of an astrologer over her marriagable daughter (6.1–102). The end of the Indian war is foretold by a portent which is partly an adaptation of the Iliadic portent at Aulis, an obvious model given the martial context (38.15–69). And the foundation of Tyre, native city of Cadmus’ grandfather, is narrated in an analepsis in which the foundation oracle is quoted by the author of the oracle himself, Heracles Astrochiton (40.423–537). On the other hand, what complicates and perhaps works against the sort of nice discrimination and choice that Nonnus displays in these scenes is a tendency to thicken the texture, to confuse and contaminate different kinds of revelation, so that we are left with a kind of oracular hotch-potch. The Astraeus scene, which is basically astrological, also makes reference to the Fates as spinners (6.94). The Aulis portent interpreted by Calchas is rewritten so that a celestial sign now figures alongside the bird portent; Idmon, the Calchas-figure, has been trained by Urania in the interpretation of celestial omens (38.31–41).30 Words pertaining to divine voice are, as we have seen, very common, but they spill out beyond contexts where it is a question of sound and the spoken word and apply also, for example, to the hoof of the cow that marks the site of Thebes (4.348), or to inscribed oracles (12.42). And contrary to all precedent,

29 Brotherliness: 37.736–7; 48.978 (the last line of the poem); competition comes clearly into focus in 38.56. 30 Though it is Hermes who interprets the portent, 38.78–89.

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Teiresias becomes an interpreter of dreams.31 These two tendencies – the selective and the syncretistic – may seem at odds with one another, yet both can be seen as expressions of what is most characteristic of Nonnus, his ποικιλία. But when we turn to the content of the messages, we find the familiar contrast between colourful implementation and simple mechanism. For the striking thing about Nonnus’ divine signs is their straightforwardness. Their language and content is as unsubtle as the ways in which they are mediated are diverse and varied. Even when oracles are quoted, their language lacks its traditionally figurative, ambiguous, or tortuous character. On the contrary, signs tend to be crude and easily-interpretable. They usually work in one of three ways: (i) straightforward disclosure, where the mediator simply tells it like it is; (ii) correspondence and simple metaphor, such as animal and celestial portents and dreams; (iii) other simple prefigurations and anticipations. Examples of the first are inscribed tablets and direct oral address. The fact that the future is now accessible in written, as well as oral, form seems to make it more, rather than less, readily interpretable: one needs only consult the tablet, and one finds lettering (12.67, 41.352), images (12.94, 12.105), or a combination of the two. Images are ipso facto visual likenesses, while the texts as Nonnus renders them are straightforwardly predictive (12.70–89, 97–102). As for correspondence, this is of course a familiar technique in epic bird and animal portents, and in dreams,32 but Nonnus extends it into his celestial portents as well, all of which are straightforwardly prefigurative (and contain some variant on the ἄγγελος formula). The “rising” of Draco33 at the marriage of Cadmus and Harmonia anticipates their snaky metamorphoses (5.121–5); the star of Ares shines on Asterios at the beginning of the war (13.238–41): the star corresponds to his name, while the war-god portends his victory; and, as Hermes explains to Dionysus, the solar eclipse portends the victory of Dionysus

31 For Teiresias’ specialisms, see Roscher V.188.64–189.65, s.v. Teiresias (Buslepp). 32 Three of Nonnus’ four prefigurative dreams (p. 44) use the same metaphor, with a lion representing either the dreamer or his aggressor; in two instances the lion is taken captive. Even though Nonnus also uses the Iliadic motif of the deceptive dream (18.171, with Gerbeau ad loc.; 44.93, with Simon ad loc.), deceptiveness is a thin pretence, and the dreams are in fact μαντιπόλοι (18.175, 44.83); Nonnus wants to have his cake and eat it. Genuinely deceitful dreams do, however, occur in 42.323–36 and 47.320–36, 345–9. 33 Draco does not literally “rise”, because it never sets; what is meant is apparently its progress after its nearest approach to the horizon (see Vian on 5.125 and Gow on Theoc. 24.11 f. δύσιν).

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as the sun, which is the god, triumphs over his dark-skinned enemies (38.15– 25, 80–9; cf. Ypsilanti in this volume p. 124 f.). So, too, astronomy itself, though it formed the basis of a very learned edifice by Stegemann (1930), tends to be treated untechnically, of which there is an excellent example in Persephone’s horoscope in Book 6. Here, as Pierre Chuvin’s analysis has shown (1992, 9– 12), all technicality is left out, and what remains is simple prefiguration and thinly-veiled metaphor: a lunar eclipse presages the obscurity in which she will lose her virginity (6.74–9, 7.309–11); the conjunction of Mars and Venus signifies illegitimate intercourse (6.80–3); a significant role is given to Spica in the constellation of Virgo, which looks forward to the bringing of corn (6.83–4); the presence of the planet Jupiter is self-explanatory (6.84–5); and the mention of the constellation Draco anticipates the snake which will figure in the rape scene (6.98, 7.328–33). What Nonnus has done here is to convert a complex and abstruse system into his favoured mode of simple, easily-interpretable correspondences. Among the Nonnian vocabulary for portents, the words σῆμα and σύμβολα – though they do occur – are not particular favourites.34 Commoner are the verbs θεσπίζειν and προθεσπίζειν, of which the latter is particularly noteworthy because before Nonnus its appearances are almost exclusively in prose.35 There is a tendency – though there are exceptions – for θεσπίζειν to be used of articulate speech, and προσθεσπίζειν of other kinds of sign, inarticulate sounds, animal noises, and so on.36 In sum, Nonnus’ vocabulary tends to stress that the prefigurations are supernatural in origin, and that they are adumbrations of a future that is inevitable (προ-) – but less that they are in need of interpretation (which, if it is case at all, is usually very elementary).

2 “Cosmic Preludes” – Revisited The second half of the paper will concentrate on the set-piece oracular scenes in the poem, four of which have already been illuminated by Francis Vian in his paper on the four so-called “cosmic preludes”. The scenes in question are the consultation of Astraeus by Demeter concerning her daughter (6.15–108); of Zeus by Aion, in which the second Dionysus is foretold (7.7–109); of Hyper-

34 Σῆμα of portents at 11.83, 37.60, 38.16, 38.78, 42.534; σύμβολον at 12.92, 38.47, 39.157. 35 Apparently the only exception is Hipponax IEG 4a. 36 Θεσπίζειν: 3.122, 4.292, 13.373, 26.280, 33.358, 41.318. Προθεσπίζειν: 2.557, 7.288, 7.349, 17.354, 22.47, 22.387, 25.299, 26.212, 39.163, 44.49, 44.264, 48.110. Counterexamples: 7.304, 38.166, 39.136, and perhaps 12.69.

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ion by the Horai, in which the vine is promised to the autumn (11.485–12.117); and of Harmonia by Aphrodite, who wants to know the future of her daughter (41.263–400). Vian calls these scenes “cosmic preludes” because they all contain deities who personify aspects of the cosmos, and because they all lead to an event of cosmic importance (in three cases, events in the career of Dionysus, in the last case the rise of the Roman city of Berytus and its law-school). He has well demonstrated that Nonnus’ compositional technique is one of variatio, what he calls a “game of correspondences” between one scene and another. This “game of correspondences” is very intricate indeed, and can be extended even further if other oracular scenes are brought into the sequence – or rather, if we replace the notion of a single sequence with that of overlapping series, of pairings and multiple correspondences which work their way through the whole poem. Interlinkages are obvious. The anxious consultation of Astraeus by Demeter about her daughter in 6 balances the anxious consultation of Harmonia by Aphrodite about hers in 41. The two consultations in Books 6–7 are followed by a divine rape resulting in a form of Dionysus, while the motif of the arrow of desire in Book 7 (Semele) is replayed in Book 41 for Beroe, where it is both amplified (since two gods are shot simultaneously) and ameliorated (since a decorous contest results, and not a rape). As for variation, take the consultation of tablets in Book 12 and 41 – an obvious pair, but with artistically pleasing and contextually-appropriate variations in each. Phanes is the author of the oracles on the tablets of Harmonia in the palace of Helios, disposed by signs of the zodiac (12.34);37 Ophion of those in the palace of Harmonia, disposed according to the seven planets (41.352, 362, 399). Both are in vermillion lettering (12.67, 41.352). But in Book 12, where the basic question is “when” (to which season will the grape belong?), the principle is time, as implied by the presence of the twelve Horai, and by the chronological ordering-principle of the tablets themselves. In contrast, in Book 41, where the basic question is “where” (to which city will the principle of law be assigned?), the principle is that of place, as implied by the four cardinal points (n. below), by the map of the cosmos which Harmonia is embroidering (294–302), as well as by the lists of cities which punctuate that Book. The four “cosmic preludes” do form an obvious set, but not a closed one. Indeed, if we include the scene where Dionysus visits Heracles Astrochiton in Book 40, and receives an account of the formation of Tyre, then we get something like a ring structure, though not perfect symmetry. Books 6–7 and 40–1 37 On their arrangement see Vian 1995, 57–60.

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are obvious pairs. The first two are consultations involving one Olympian and one non-Olympian deity about a form of the god Dionysus; the second two are both about Phoenician cities. The pairs match, although they are not quite at the same distance from the respective ends of the work, while the middle item, the consultation of Hyperion by the seasons in Book 12, stands at the end of the first quarter of the work (rather than in the middle). Perhaps it is because it would have spoiled this pleasing structure that for the birth of Iacchus in the final Book, which forms the expected conclusion to the series of three Dionysi, Nonnus foregoes the opportunity of one last cosmic prelude. Instead of mobilising the representatives of time in one final scene, he links Iacchus’ birth instead to that of Telete in Book 15, both the result of punitive action by angry goddesses.38 It does mean, however, that the very last oracle of the entire poem is spoken by Dionysus himself, albeit in a rather rushed and incidental manner (48.883–6), as he instructs Nicaea to preserve the destined deity. Let us return, though, to the scenes involving written tablets – namely, the tablets of Harmonia in Book 12 and those of Ophion in Book 41 – and spend a little more time reflecting on what is so distinctive about them, namely the idea of consulting a repository of written fates. Antecedents and parallels are not lacking, but it remains to see how far they take us. First, the idea of a dwelling in remote parts of the cosmos, inhabited by personifications of cosmic forces, goes right back to the Theogony, where Day and Night have a house which they alternately inhabit.39 The scene of privy consultation on matters of cosmic law and succession is also found in the Orphic Rhapsodies, where Zeus received oracles and advice in the Cave of Night before his accession to the kingship of the gods.40 The Orphic coloration in Nonnus may owe something to this background: the ancient, pre-Olympian, god Phanes, to whom the composition of the tablets is ascribed in Book 12, is one of the gods present in the Cave of Night in the Orphic poem (OF 164.IIF). Other consultation scenes are found in Ovid and Claudian.41 In the last Book of the Metamorphoses, Jupiter describes how in the house of the Fates he has seen the fates of Venus’ descendants engraved on tablets of bronze, iron, and adamant;42 with him,

38 Vian 1993, 39–40. The allegorised picture of Nemesis in 48.378–88 endows her with universal power; the reference to the cardinal points in 48.384–5 (see Vian ad loc.) can be compared with those in 6.37–43, 41.279–87, and elsewhere. 39 Hes. Th. 744–57; West 1983, 213–4. 40 OF 6F, with Bernabé’s comments on 6.2; Derveni papyrus, col. 11.1 τ]ῆς Νυκτός. ἐξ ἀ[δύτοι]ο δ’ αὐτὴν [λέγει] χρῆσαι; West 1983, 72, 86, 213; Betegh 2004, 110–1. 41 Met. 15.808–15; Stilich. 2.424–53. 42 In other words, the metals of cosmic architecture: see Lightfoot 2007, 494, 495.

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Nonnus shares the idea of written fates. At the end of the second Book of Claudian’s encomium of Stilicho, Helios goes to visit a remote and ancient cave, watched over by a serpent coiled back on itself, with Nature sitting at the entrance, and, within, an old man writing down the laws of the cosmos (not individual fates, but the laws of planetary motion and the numbers of the constellations). The cave is also tenanted by the personified ages of metal. With this passage, Nonnus shares the astral colouring. He also shares the personifications of time demarcated by ages, for the figure of Aion, who appears in his own right in the Dionysiaca, is also the self-devouring serpent in Claudian.43 These parallels are interesting, but the idea of consulting written sources is the one that needs further probing, especially the nature of what is actually written down. We can certainly parallel the idea of scribal deities, gods who write things down. But this usually presents itself in the form of the Fates writing down the destinies of individuals (less often, of whole families, as in Ovid), or of tablets on which sinners’ deeds are recorded, to be scrutinised in due course by Zeus.44 In later antiquity, the conception also emerges of the Fates writing down the pronouncements of Zeus and/or as universal archivists.45 This has little to do with Nonnus, in whom the Fates are not scribes, nor is it a question of records of individual sinners, nor of tablets recording the dicta of Zeus. Even in Ovid, who otherwise parallels Nonnus’ scene so impressively, with a deity consulting a repository of written wisdom, there is still a significant difference in what is written down, its nature and its scope. Nonnus’ tablets are records of the cosmos’ entire history, past, present, and future. Individually, we can again find parallels for parts of this structure, but not for the whole. Gianfranco Agosti has drawn attention to the Oenoanda oracle as a parallel for an inscribed oracle, publicly displayed46 – although, as an attempt to describe the nature of deity, its actual content is different from what we find in these scenes in Nonnus. From literary sources we can parallel the notions of commemorative stelai (i.e. narratives of things that have happened);47 writings which record the fates of individuals or, at most, of

43 Vian 1993, 44; for the influence of the Rhapsodic Theogony on this scene see West 1983, 256. 44 Sources in RE Suppl. XV, 1292.52–1293.10 (Schwabl); add Call. HyDem. 6.56, where Nemesis records a sinful utterance. 45 Claudian De bello Gildonico 202–3; Pacatus Panegyr. 18.4; Martianus Capella 1.65 and 1.89. 46 On the location of the inscription, Hall 1978. 47 Passages cited by Giglia Piccardi 2003, 741 and n. 22. Diod. Sic. 5.46.7, Procl. In Tim. I.102.19 f. are commemorative, Iambl. Myst. 1.2 (5–6) philosophical; all are associated with Egypt.

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whole families (as in Ovid); written cosmic laws (as in Claudian’s records of planetary motion); but not the grand sweep of cosmic history and mythography. This seems to be Nonnus’ innovation. His tablets contain a riot of detail, without parallel anywhere else: they contain records of cosmic history, with allusions to the succession myth (12.45–51), Titanomachy, anthropogony, and flood (12.52–63); and more detailed predictions, namely of individual metamorphoses (12.70–89, 97–102), the histories of cities (41.364–7, 389–98), protoi heuretai and contributors to culture, the arts and sciences (41.372–84, presented as predictive oracles), a short catalogue of divinities and the plants associated with them (12.110–3); also pictures with emblematic significance, such as that of Ganymede (12.39–40, 103–6). It seems that Nonnus has not invented the type of scene, prophetic consultation. Nor has he invented the idea of written fates, nor the cosmic imagery with which the scene is surrounded. But he seems to be the only ancient author to combine them all in this way: only he has a consultation scene where revelation is dispensed against a background of cosmic imagery, and which consists of written material of such scale and scope. The amount of embroidery is extraordinary – even more so in comparison with the almost complete silence about inscribed fates (as opposed to inventories of crime) which has prevailed in the Greek literary tradition before him. His oracles are also eclectic in form as well as content. They include verse oracles, pictures, signs of the zodiac, and, with the word κύρβις, an allusion to inscribed laws as well as an echo of Apollonius’ use of the word to denote an inscribed map or πίναξ (12.32 ~ Apoll. Rhod. 4.280). Again, the two scenes balance and vary one another. A list of predictions in both cases, taking the form of a thematically-appropriate list or catalogue (12.70–89 + 97–102, 41.372–84), culminates, in the one case, in a digest of items of which Dionysus is the climax (12.110– 3), in the other in a reasonable stylistic imitation of a verse oracle concerning Beroe (41.389–98). Note, one last time, that all Nonnus’ investment has gone into literary and stylistic virtuosity, but not into mystification of the content; the message is as clear as can be. We find the characteristic “when … then” oracular style (41.389, 392), as well as a certain disjointedness as the temporal sequence jumps backwards and forwards – but no oracular ambiguity, cultivated obscurity, animal metaphor, or any of the linguistic features which we find imputed to oracles among the literary Delphic oracles, or in the Sibylline corpus.

3 Conclusion I have tried to demonstrate a tension between (on the one hand) the sameness of the view of fate and the routineness of the correspondence of the divine

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sign with the outcome, and (on the other) ποικιλία of mechanism, oracular agent, and the pleasing patterning among the major scenes, which invite close attention to the game of similarity and difference. In other words, this is a rhetor’s poem, that of a literary artist, not that of a theologian. Nonnus’ method of embroidery does not seem to me to contribute much of philosophical depth or theological innovation. There is little subtlety or ambiguity, little interest in double determination, in the parallel workings of fate and human psychological motivation, with which oracles are associated in other literary works (especially tragedy) – though we do (arguably) find the motif of the self-fulfilling oracle with Semele’s dream and rape. I see no proof of the influence of the Jewish or Christian scriptures,48 although possible contacts or areas of overlap between the two systems of thought is a potentially fruitful area for future research. It may be worthwhile to add, as a contribution to such a study, some notes on the vocabulary and imagery associated with prophecy in the Paraphrasis. Remarkably, Nonnus is able to embed much the same vocabulary of prophecy and prefiguration in both poems despite their entirely different theological systems. In the Paraphrasis, too, prophetic sayings are θέσφατα.49 Prophecy is again a matter of inspired speech – above all that of Jesus, but also of John the Baptist, and even of scriptural prophets and the Law50 – and epithets draw attention to the importance of prophets’ words.51 Inspired speech – above all, Jesus’, but once also that of the Holy Spirit – is denoted by the verbs θεσπίζειν and προθεσπίζειν;52 any tendency to restrict the latter to inarticulate speech

48 There is no trace of the notion of recording angels, and despite the linguistic similarities between 12.67 and Par. 7.160 (see Gigli Piccardi 2003 on 12.33–5 and Agosti 2004, 22–3), I do not believe that the understanding of Christian scriptures and written pagan oracles have in any real sense converged. 49 To the passages in n. 52 add Par. 16.14 ἡμετέρων … προάγγελα θέσφατα μύθων (~ John 16.4 ὅτι ἐγὼ εἶπον ὑμῖν); 16.45 προώρια θέσφατα (~ John 16.14). 50 On prophecy and the spoken word, see Agosti 2004, 22–32. Ὀμφή used of Jesus: Par. 1.194, 3.49, 3.53, 5.106, 5.141, 6.58, 6.196, 8.104, 11.83, 13.88, 13.94, 14.116, 16.96; of John: 3.164, 5.127; of scriptural prophets and the Law: 7.162, 10.127, 12.152, 12.166, 15.103. The combination ἔνθεον ὀμφήν occurs in both poems (Par. 11.83, 12.166, 14.116; Dion. 7.161, 12.141, 25.380). Αὐδή occasionally denotes inspired speech (Par. 1.193), but more often does not. 51 Ἐμπεδόμυθος: of John in 1.17, 5.131, 10.145; as epithet of ὀμφήν in 1.209, 3.52, 5.89, 13.89, 16.68; epithet of Atropos in Dion. 12.141, of Idmon in 38.43 (see nn. ad loc.); of Christ in Greg. Naz. PG 37.1565.2. Πρωτόθροος: Par. 3.130, 5.175, 12.152, 13.88. 52 Θεσπίζειν: Par. 7.125, 13.88; προθεσπίζειν: Par. 7.149, 16.1, 16.42 (Holy Spirit), 16.117, 18.155, 21.114. Similarly, θέσπιδι φωνῇ (not used in the Dionysiaca) is used of the prophetic speech of Jesus and others (5.54, 9.34, 10.22, 11.209, 12.156), and θέσπιδι βίβλῳ of scripture, including

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has fallen away. The future participle of the verb “to be” is used thirteen times, in passages which draw the notion of futurity explicitly out of, and often import it into, John’s original text, in reference to the coming kingdom (3.30), judgement (5.92, 116), eternal life (6.161, 10.37, 100), and the prophecies of Christ and earlier prophets (1.75, 1.181, 5.107, 12.166, 13.88, 14.119, 16.41). Yet although he clothes it in his characteristic vocabulary, Nonnus does not change the presuppositions of the work he paraphrases. Whereas signs and prefigurations foreshadow future events in the Dionysian universe, in the Judaeo-Christian one the scriptural prophets uttered prophecies which are now being realised in the coming of the Messiah, and will be further realised in the coming of the last days. The basis of expectation is scriptural prophecy and the inspired speech of living carriers of the divine word, and since Nonnus shares the general understanding of scripture itself as inherently prophetic,53 there is no clear distinction between Moses, Elijah, and the speaking prophets of the present.54 Nonnus’ business is explicitation. He seizes upon the (already many) allusions to prophecy and futurity in the original but also brings to the surface others only latent in the Gospel, and he embellishes them, especially with water-imagery.55 This last is particularly striking: the background is essentially pagan,56 so that it is curious that the same imagery seems not to be used in the Dionysiaca. Did Nonnus consider it especially appropriate for the Gospel of the Baptist, one that associates water imagery with the spirit (John 7.37–9, cf. 4.13–4), but does not associate it with prophecy? In general, however, he may embroider, but leaves fundamentally intact, a system which resists the ποικιλία to which the literary extravaganza of his pagan poem lends itself so well. the present gospel (1.87, 1.179, 12.163, 20.138, 21.138, cf. 13.81 θέσπις ἀοιδή). For Nonnus’ emphasis on Christ’s voice, see Caprara 2005, 41–2; for both John the Baptist and Jesus as φωνή, Lampe s.v. φωνή 1g. 53 Par. 5.154 γραπτὰ θεορρήτων … θέσφατα βίβλων (~ John 5.39 τὰς γραφάς); Par. 7.160 θέσφατα … σοφῇ κεχαραγμένα βίβλῳ (~ John 7.41). 54 In Par. 5.179–82, Jesus’ spoken word is contrasted with Moses’ written one, but in 9.145 Moses’ medium is ἰωή. 55 Par. 1.92–3 προφήτης / πνεύματι παφλάζων, θεοδινέος ἔγκυος ὀμφῆς (De Stefani ad loc. finds storm imagery here, but compare also παφλάζειν of the Castalian spring in Dion. 4.310 and 13.134); 3.162 πατρῴης σοφίης αὐτόσσυτον ὄμβρον ἰάλλει; 3.164 ἀειλιβέος ῥόον ὀμφῆς; 6.195 μύθων δ’ ἡμετέρων ῥόος ἔνθεος. 56 For the connection of water with poetic inspiration, cf. Plat. Leg. 719c; for water and fluency, Cratinus fr. 198 K.–A., with further material ad loc. A separate issue is that some oracle centres specialised in hydromancy (Daphne: Agosti 2004, 25; Lightfoot 2007, 88 n. 147). The idea does not seem rooted in the Judaeo-Christian view of prophecy, though in his paraphrase of John 4.14 Ignatius, Rom. 7 connects “living water” with an inspired internal voice (see J. B. Lightfoot ad loc.; on metaphorical applications of ὕδωρ ζωῆς, Aune on Rev. 7.17b).

Enrico Livrea

Nonnus and the Orphic Argonautica In his superb edition of the Orphic Argonautica (hereafter OA), Francis Vian keeps back his opinions on the date and authorship of the poem until the very end of his Notice.1 Instead of endorsing the findings of Gottfried Hermann,2 that the anonymous author must have lived after Quintus of Smyrna but before Nonnus, he appears to follow Keydell3 in affirming that “one will think rather … that the OA shows as much knowledge of Nonnus as of Quintus, to judge from certain features of vocabulary and from the similarity of certain expressions”, and concluding that “the poem might … be later than the first half of the 5th century”. I must confess that despite my reverence for the authority and the unimpeachable scholarly integrity of the great Master, I cannot go along with this view. The language of the OA, teeming as it does with vulgarisms of prosody, morphology, syntax, and vocabulary, is unmistakably outlandish before the extreme refinement of Nonnus’ baroque music, and appears to have taken shape in a semi-hellenized context, far from the great tradition of learning and scholarship which marked the last days of Greek culture in Egypt. This impression is reinforced by its metre, which shows no awareness of all the complex rules which Nonnus imposed on his hexameters. Besides this, there is in the OA an significant series of clues, albeit of varying weight, which point rather to the second half of the fourth century. First, external chronology. The whole poem is conceived as autobiographical, narrated by the poet Orpheus in the first person. It opens with a long and puzzling catalogue of the “Orphic” poems he claims to have composed before setting off on the Argonaut adventure. Astonishingly, there is no mention whatever of the Lithica, a work which I have been able to date to shortly after 371–2,4 the date of the emperor Valens’ edict concerning magic: its practitioners were condemned to execution by beheading, a fate which actually befell the famous Maximus of Ephesus, the emperor Julian’s mentor in religious matters, and author of the astrological poem Περὶ καταρχῶν; his shockingly violent death is described in lines charged with emotion (Lith. 70–81). This then could furnish us with a terminus ante quem for the dating of OA; but there is much more. In deploring the decline of the old order in his day, now that Christianity

1 2 3 4

Vian 1987, 45–7. Hermann 1805, 673–826. Keydell 1942, 1333. Livrea 1992, 204–6.

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is firmly established, the Lithica poet launches into a hymn of praise for μόχθος, the pain and exertion of work, 63–5: μητέρα δ’ ἡρώων ἀρετὴν ἀπάτερθε κλύοντες προτροπάδην φεύγουσιν, ἀοσσητῆρα δὲ μόχθον, μόχθον ἀοσσητῆρα βίου, μάλα πεφρίκασιν. They have only to hear a distant cry of “Valour” – the mother of heroes – and they turn tail and run for their lives; and as for “Toil” – the saviour, Toil, Life’s saviour – they shudder with fear of it.

This ethical sentiment, Pythagorean in origin, recurs with the same intensity in OA, where Orpheus misses no opportunity to emphasize the μόχθος which is inflicted on him despite his old age (89, 100, 240, 375, 483, 892, 948, 1148). The οἶστρος, the mystical goad of divine inspiration, wielded by Apollo and Bacchus, which torments Orpheus by forcing him to wander over the face of the earth, as far as Libya and Egypt, is abated only thanks to the intervention of his mother Calliope, 103–5: καί μ’ ἀλητείης τε καὶ ἐξ οἴστρου ἐσάωσε μήτηρ ἡμετέρη, καί ῥ’ ἐς δόμον ἤγαγεν ἁμόν, ὄφρα τέλος θανάτοιο κίχω μετὰ γήραϊ λυγρῷ. My mother set me free from wandering and from the gadfly; she brought me back to my home, for me to meet there my life’s end, and grim old age.

This notion of an external intervention saving a lost soul first occurs in the early phase of Neoplatonism, in the third or fourth century: cf. Eunapius VS 5 κατὰ πόδας ἑπόμενος καὶ ἀνιχνεύων ἢ τὸν πεφευγότα νεανίσκον ἀναζητῶν, ἐπιτυγχάνει κειμένῳ, καὶ λόγων τε πρὸς αὐτὸν εὐπόρησεν καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν ἀνακαλουμένων ἄρτι διΐπτασθαι τοῦ σώματος μέλλουσαν, καὶ τὸ σῶμα ἔρρωσεν ἐς κατοχὴν τῆς ψυχῆς. We might compare in the Song of the Pearl in the Acts of Thomas the heavenly aid shown to the Prince in the letter in the form of an eagle, which leads the prince to remember his own identity and the goal of his quest (40 f. Poirier). I mentioned the poet and philosopher Maximus of Ephesus. There is a detailed report of one of his theurgic miracles in Eun. VS 7.2.10: he caused the statue of Artemis to smile, and made the torches she was holding burst into flame.5 A parallel scene in OA depicts how, after Orpheus’ initiation and a

5 Cf. Civiletti’s fine analysis, 2007, 455–7.

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purificatory rite under cover of darkness, the massive wall surrounding the tree on which hangs the Golden Fleece gives way, 984–5: ἐκ δ’ ἄφαρ Ἀρτέμιδος φρουρὸν βρέτας ἧκε χαμᾶζε πεύκας ἐκ χειρῶν, ἐς δ’ οὐρανὸν ἤραρεν ὄσσε. Immediately the sentinel statue of Artemis let the torches fall from her hands to the ground, and raised her eyes to heaven.

When we recall that Artemis-Hecate represents the soul of the cosmos (cf. 900–6), we can see the movement of the eyes as a turning towards her true heavenly home; this is the counterpart of Artemis’ smile in Eunapius, expressing the goddess’ innate superiority. Here we have a parallel, noted but not fully explored by Keydell, which yet again links OA with the second half of the 4th century. Another feature which takes us back to the time of Julian is the role of the cave: this is not simply where Orpheus lives (75), but also, very strangely, the place of his future death (1375). The mystical and symbolic function of the Nymphs’ grotto in the Hylas episode (645) has been studied very competently by Agosti 1994; one may add that the emperor Julian had an artificial grotto built in his palace, and that a cave plays a very significant role in the Vision of his contemporary Dorotheus (132), which I have discussed elsewhere.6 Two further points may be made: at its launching, Argo is held fast by seaweed (243 f.), and only in response to Orpheus’ intervention does its magic keel consent to glide through the water (237–77): a very comparable sequence of events occurs in Julian Ad deor. matr. 2, where the ship conveying to Rome the statue of the Magna Mater (who combines the identities of Deo, Rhea, and Demeter) remained stuck in the Tiber “as if rooted”, until the priestess Claudia, who had been falsely accused of unchastity, tied her holy girdle to the ship, made it move, and towed it far upstream. I conclude this chronological excursus with an exceedingly problematic passage, OA 1165–66 (1): νῦν γὰρ δὴ λυγρῆς τε καὶ ἀργαλέης κακότητος λήξομαι, εἰ νήσοισιν Ἰερνίσιν ἆσσον ἵκωμαι. The speaker is the good ship Argo, giving information about her route over the ocean, saying “From now on, I shall have as my lot a painful and terrible end, if I approach the islands of Ierne”. But this interpretation of Vian’s rests

6 Livrea 1986, 701 n. 39.

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on no fewer than four changes: (1) ἀργαλέης Wiel (ἀργεννῆς Ω); (2) λήξομαι Vian (ἵξομαι Ω); (3–4) νήσοισιν ἰερνίσιν M (νήεσσιν ἐρινύσιν Ω). We should certainly retain this last correction by a humanist scholar, restoring the mention of the British Isles, but λήξομαι fails to convince. All we need to do is to correct at the beginning to οὐ γὰρ δή (= 90), and write, with the humanists and Saint-Amand, ἕξομαι in the well-attested sense of “keep clear of, avoid” (cf. LSJ s.v. IV). The meaning then will be “I shall not avoid a painful and terrible fate, if I approach the isles of Ierne”. May we even keep ἀργεννῆς “white, as white as ice, icy”, referring to the Far North? Is it necessary to remind ourselves that throughout the fourth century the invasions of Picts, Scots, Saxons, and Franks, which brought about the loss of the British provinces, were felt as open wounds inflicted on the Roman Empire? But this line of enquiry, treating OA for the first time as an important literary and historical source, is today still in its infancy. We must therefore be content to establish the date of OA as somewhere in the decade 360–70, long before 450, Nonnus’ floruit. The question we must now face is this: what do we make of the 112 passages which, since Vian, have been regarded as evidence of the influence of Nonnus (whether Dionysiaca or Paraphrasis) on OA? Before tackling this problem, we need to examine line 31. Vian prints (2): ὄργια Πραξιδίκης καὶ ὀρεινῆς νύκτας Ἀθηλῆς. His text departs at three places from the manuscript tradition, which has ἀρείνης (Ω : ἀρείης Β2γρ Sitzler), νυκτὸς (νύκτας Gesner, Hermann), Ἀθήνης Ω. “The nights of Athele the mountain-dweller” would allude to the exceedingly rare figure of a mystic Persephone, whom her mother Rhea refused to breastfeed because of her ugliness (she had two faces, four eyes, and horns); cf. Athenag. Pro Christ. 20.1 = OF 88 διὸ καὶ τὴν Ῥέαν φοβηθεῖσαν τὸ τῆς παιδὸς τέρας φυγεῖν οὐκ ἐφεῖσαν αὐτῇ τὴν θηλήν, ἔνθεν μυστικῶς μὲν Ἀθηλᾶ, κοινῶς δὲ Φερσεφόνη καὶ Κόρη κέκληται. However, there is no evidence that locates this monstrosity in the mountains. In fact, the epithet transmitted here is ἀρείνης, equivalent to φήγινον (67) “oaken”, cf. OGIS 1229.70, IG 12.5.913, and doubtless designates an oak-wood statue of Athena. The fact that the goddess was the object of an Orphic cult need cause no surprise: M. L. West records that “[a]t Praisos in eastern Crete [Athena] was made mother of the Korybantes (who cannot here be distinguished from the Kouretes), in surprising wedlock with Helios. What lies behind these associations of Athena is her connection with armed dancing. Epicharmus in his Muses [fr. 75] represented her as a piper playing the enoplios nomos, the music for the armed dance, for the Dios-

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curi. Plato [Leg. 796b] connects her with armed dancing like that of the Kouretes and Dioscuri; and Dionysius of Halicarnassus [Ant. Rom. 7.72.7] writes that such dancing is an ancient Greek custom, whether it was established by Athena after the annihilation of the Titans or by the Kouretes wanting to entertain the baby Zeus”.7 All these elements lead us to identify the oaken statue of Athena with the Palladium, which gives us a valuable reference point for fixing the absolute chronology of OA. We have several pieces of evidence (An. Val. 5.19, Proc. BG 1.15, Mel. 300, Hesych. 4) on the transporting of the Palladium from Rome to Constantinople for the occasion of the ἐγκαίνια τῆς πόλεως on 11 May 330 on the orders of Constantine, who had it placed at the base of a porphyry column fifty metres high, which is still extant. As Agosti (2008a) has most ingeniously demonstrated, Constantine had erected in the Tetrastoon (the portico of the Forum of Septimius Severus) the statue of Rhea-Cybele which came from Dindymon near Cyzicus: it was destined to become the Τύχη of Constantinople (Zos. 2.31.2–3, OA 610–3). The uncharacteristic fullness of the account of the Cyzicus episode is indicative, Agosti maintains, of the interest of our poet in the physical relics of the Argonautica and their role in the contemporary scene, which was both religious (a pagan symbol converted to Christian use) and political, given the prestige conferred on the imperial house by these ancient remains from a glorious and mythical past. Now, it was actually the emperor Julian who ordered the statue of the Τύχη (Patria 47.173 Preger) to be buried, for safekeeping; this statue was, in the expert opinion of Dagron,8 identical in all respects with the Palladium. Here we have a convincing explanation of our poet’s interest in this ξόανον, which was certainly the centrepiece in nocturnal rites (νυκτός). My conclusion is that OA was composed in the time of Julian or a little later, when the conservative and traditional aspects of Orphism enjoyed a renaissance. This would confirm that OA antedates Nonnus by several decades. I now proceed to examine a number of passages where the points of contact between OA and Nonnus can be considered especially attractive. Nonnus Dionysiaca 6.169–77: οὐδὲ Διὸς θρόνον εἶχεν ἐπὶ χρόνον· ἀλλά ἑ γύψῳ κερδαλέῃ χρισθέντες ἐπίκλοπα κύκλα προσώπου, δαίμονος ἀστόργοιο χόλῳ βαρυμήνιος Ἥρης

7 West 1983, 137–8. 8 Dagron 1974, 30, 309, 373.

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Ταρταρίῃ Τιτῆνες ἐδηλήσαντο μαχαίρῃ, ἀντιτύπῳ νόθον εἶδος ὀπιπεύοντα κατόπτρῳ, ἔνθα διχαζομένων μελέων Τιτῆνι σιδήρῳ τέρμα βίου Διόνυσος ἔχων παλινάγρετον ἀρχήν ἀλλοφυὴς μορφοῦτο πολυσπερὲς εἶδος ἀμείβων, πῇ μὲν ἅτε Κρονίδης … I quote Chuvin’s fine translation:9 “Mais il n’occupe pas longtemps le trône de Zeus; après avoir enduit d’un plâtre trompeur les contours de leurs visages fourbes, poussés par la colère de la déesse Héra, pleine de haine et de lourde rancune, les Titans le mettent à mal d’un coutelas venu du Tartare, alors qu’il observe dans un miroir l’image illusoire que celui-ci lui renvoie. Là, tandis que ses membres se divisent, sous le fer Titan, Dionysos, faisant du terme de sa vie le début d’une vie recommencée, se transforme en êtres divers, prenant tour à tour l’apparence de multiples créatures: tantôt, comme le Cronide …”. This seductive interpretation has been called into question by Gigli:10 she wonders if ἐδηλήσαντο (172) implies that Dionysus was killed rather than wounded, and if διχαζομένων μελέων, far from referring to Zagreus’ reflected image which through the mirror represents the beginning of the μεριστὴ δημιουργία, the creation of the particular reality in his polymorphism,11 should be understood as “the limbs mutilated by the Titanic sword”. On this view Dionysus would be already dead in line 174, and his metamorphoses would show that he survived death. But the line of the Paraphrasis that Gigli cites in support of her case, 11.164 ἀθρήσας μετὰ τέρμα βίου παλινάγρετον ἀρχήν, depicts the raising of Lazarus and cannot be invoked as a parallel for the nine metamorphoses of Dionysus, for these constitute the continuation of Zagreus’ life under different forms. It is hardly likely that Zagreus is slain a second time by the Titans in line 205 ταυροφυῆ Διόνυσον ἐμιστύλαντο μαχαίρͅῃ: this is an allusion to a definitive σπαραγμός. In truth, the god, being immortal, never dies, but transforms himself constantly, like the material of the cosmos: if however ἐδηλήσαντο means “wounded”, his severed limbs are the origin of the μεταβολαί of creation.12 The mirror which enables Zeus to recognize the 9 Chuvin 1992, 52. 10 Gigli 2003, 458–9, 482–90. 11 Chuvin 1992, 52. 12 For this Neoplatonic concept, cf. as well as Procl. In Tim. II.80.19 Diehl = OF 309.IV ἔσοπτρον … εἰς ὃ ἐμβλέψας ὁ θεὸς καὶ εἴδωλον ἑαυτοῦ θεασάμενος προῆλθεν εἰς ὅλην τὴν μεριστὴν δημιουργίαν, Macrob. Comm. Somn. Scip. 1.12.12 qui ab illo individuo natus in singulos ipse dividitur, Damasc. In Phd. 1.130.81 Westerink Διονυσιακῶς δὲ μερίζεται (ἡ ψυχή) ὑπὸ τῆς γενέσεως, Alex. Lycop. Contr. Manich. 5.74 Brinkmann τὴν θείαν δύναμιν μερίζεσθαι εἰς τὴν ὕλην, etc.

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martyrdom and metamorphoses of Zagreus assumes a much disputed function, which the puzzling lines 206–7 do nothing to elucidate: Ζεὺς δὲ πατήρ, προτέροιο δαϊζομένου Διονύσου, γινώσκων σκιόεντα τύπον δολίοιο κατόπτρου. I am not convinced either by Chuvin’s interpretation (53) “mais lorsque Zeus le Père s’aperçoit qu’une forme ombreuse, au piège d’un miroir, a causé le démembrement du premier Dionysos”, or by Gigli’s “riconoscendo l’ombra del primo Dioniso ucciso, riflessa nell’inganno dello specchio”. Gigli is certainly right to refer to a miracle of catoptromancy (a mirror which reflects the sufferings of Zagreus, by “fixing” it, as it were, as it develops). On my interpretation, the image in the mirror takes us back to the true Dionysus, who will be not Zagreus, the imperfect primary hypostasis, but the son of Zeus and Semele: this is why the little Zagreus sees in the mirror only a νόθον εἶδος, an image which however by its dividing character brought about by the blows of the Titans impels him to reunite with the true, mature, form which belongs to him. In a very similar way the young Prince (= Soul) in the Song of the Pearl, at the moment when he ascends back to his heavenly home, sees his spiritual image in the golden Robe which awaits him and with which he identifies ἰδόντος μου τὴν ἐσθῆτα ὡς ἐν ἐσόπτρῳ ὁμοιωθεῖσαν.13 Leaving aside other aspects of this Orphic myth of the Passion, I single out for attention one constant feature of the Nonnian and Orphic representations of Zagreus, his bull-like appearance, cf. 165 κερόεν βρέφος, 205 ταυροφυῆ, 209 Ζαγρέος εὐκεράοιο. This enables us to solve one of the gravest textual problems of OA, that of verse 24 (3): Κασμίλου τε καὶ Ἡρακλῆος περίφημον ἄμυξιν. To achieve the sense of “la lacération mémorable de Casmilos et d’Héraclès” Vian prints in his text a conjecture by West, who toys with his Κασμίλου on the basis of the καὶ μήλου of the manuscripts, which would be an error arising from majuscule script, abetted by iotacism. If Heracles is identified with an Idaean Dactyl in Onomacritos, OF 351, and his twelve labours are an hypostasis of Time = Chronos, how could it be said that the unattested dismemberment of Casmilus was “mémorable“? He is frequently identified with Hermes and linked with the Cabiri: cf. schol. Apoll. Rhod. 1.916–8, 77.22 W. μυοῦνται δὲ ἐν τῇ Σαμοθράκῃ τοῖς Καβείροις, ὡς Μνασέας φησί· καὶ τὰ ὀνόματα αὐτῶν δ´ τὸν 13 Cf. Livrea 1996, 397–8.

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ἀριθμόν, Ἀξίερος, Ἀξιοκέρσα, Ἀξιόκερσος, . Ἀξίερος μὲν οὖν ἐστιν ἡ Δημήτηρ, Ἀξιοκέρσα δὲ ἡ Περσεφόνη, Ἀξιόκερσος δὲ ὁ Ἅδης. ὁ δὲ προστιθέμενος τέταρτος Κασμίλος ὁ Ἑρμῆς ἐστιν, ὡς ἱστορεῖ Διονυσόδωρος (FGrH 68 F 1) … οἱ δὲ δύο εἶναι τοὺς Καβείρους φασί, πρεσβύτερον μὲν Δία, νεώτερον δὲ Διόνυσον. Other genealogies of Casmilus are found in Strabo 10.3.21, (who makes him a son of Cabeira and Proteus, and father in turn of the Cabiri), Acusil. FGrH 2 F 20 (son of Hephaestus and Cabiro), and above all in Herodotus 2.5.1, who casts interesting light on the relation of Casmilus and the Pelasgians (= Tyrrhenians?). Although Casmilus (or Cadmilus) is indeed associated with mysteries, and not only those of Samothrace (cf. Call. fr. 723 Pf., and Iamb. 9, which I shall discuss more fully elsewhere), it is clear that Dionysus is the only possible candidate to occupy the first half of the verse: Vian’s parallel14 with the Corybantes and bleeding Cabiri does not work, because it would imply a double emploi in lines 25 and 27–9. Pace Landaluce,15 who cites a Cretan cult in which a bull-Dionysus is sacrificed, Firm. Mat. De err. 6.4 = OF 332 vivum laniant dentibus taurum, crudeles epulas annuis commemorationibus excitantes, the mss. reading καὶ μήλου is indefensible, because μῆλον is nowhere found with the sense of “ox” or “bull”,16 and Doroth. Abr. 25 has an untranslatable pun. Clem. Al. Protr. 2.19 (Κάβειροι) τὴν κίστην ἀνελόμενοι ἐν ᾗ τὸ τοῦ Διονύσου αἰδοῖον ἀπέκειτο, εἰς Τυρρηνίαν κατήγαγον suffices to show that the fate of the various parts of the gods’ dismembered body gave rise to a number of myths. But how is Dionysus to be restored to the beginning of line 24? Καὶ μήλου has the look of a fatuous gloss perpetrated by of a copyist who did not understand a cultic epithet of Dionysus: I would therefore restore Εὐκεράου “horned, with fine horns”, cf. the line of Nonnus cited above, and Ammonius AP 9.827.1 εὐκεράου … Διονύσου. In that case Orpheus would have composed a work in which he dealt with the passion (“famous dismemberment”) of Dionysus and that of Heracles; it was from such an Orphic work that Nonnus drew on in his original description of the passion (I would not say “death”) of Zagreus, the first Dionysus. (4) OA 92 νείατον ἐς κευθμῶνα, λιτῆς εἰς πυθμένα γαίης The scene is the Underworld; Orpheus has descended there to bring back to life his wife Eurydice. Unfortunately the expression λιτῆς … γαίης remains

14 Vian 1987, 12. 15 Landaluce 1996, 24. 16 “[I]njustifiable”, Vian 1999, 594.

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obscure: nor has Magnelli’s learned commentary on Alex. Aet. fr. 1.2,17 where the phrase originates (λιτὴ … γαῖα), produced a plausible explanation of this oddity. But much more is involved: the one solitary error of prosody allegedly committed by Nonnus concerns the short quantity of ῐ in his description of the frugal meal, λῐτὰ δεῖπνα, that Brongus offers to Dionysus in his humble homestead (Dion. 17.59, with Gerlaud’s comment).18 This apparent “howler” was mistakenly corrected by Agathias, who restored the “right” quantity, λῑτ-, at AP 9.644.3 = 47.3 Viansino. We should perhaps approach λιτὴ γαῖα from the glosses at Hesychius λ 1146 λιτή· λιταυνευτή, 1148 λιτὴ χθών· ἀπὸ τοῦ προσκυνεῖσθαι καὶ λιτανεύεσθαι, and from the Pindaric expressions O. 6.78 λῐταῖς θυσίαις, Par. 4.217 λῐτὰς τ’ ἐπαοιδάς. These would suggest the existence of an adjective λῐτός “prayed to, supplicated”, which seems entirely reasonable in view of the Homerizing compound πολύλλιτος found in Hellenistic poets.19 Consideration of the context here, where the Λιταί “Prayers” are mentioned in line 108, and in Alexander Aetolus’ poem ῾Aλιεύς (the poet is describing the grass where the horses of the Sun are grazing in the Islands of the Blessed – a location that may be identical with Orpheus’ Underworld!) leads one to conclude that the translations “sacra” (Magnelli) and “vénérable” (Vian), though unliteral, are not far off the mark. That prayers may be addressed to the Earth is proved by such passages as Homer, Il. 9.568 f., where Meleager’s mother πολλὰ δὲ καὶ γαῖαν πολυφόρβην χερσὶν ἀλοία κικλήσκουσ’ ῾Αίδην καὶ ἐπαινὴν Περσεφόνειαν, πρόχνυ καθεζομένη, δεύοντο δὲ δάκρυσι κόλποι. Also in HomHyAp. 333 χειρὶ καταπρηνεῖ δ’ ἔλασε χθόνα καὶ φάτο μῦθον, and, most strikingly, in the violent prayer of Eris in Colluthus 47–820 χειρὶ δὲ πέτρης οὔδεϊ κόλπον ἄραξε καὶ οὐκ ἐφράσσατο γαῖα. Moreover, Orpheus’ need to supplicate the gods of the Underworld to gain the restoration of Eurydice is a frequent motif: cf. e.g. Eur. Alc. 359 = OF 980 ὕμνοισι κηλήσαντο, Hermesianax CA 7.89 = OF 985 παντοίους δ’ ἐξανέπεισε

17 18 19 20

Magnelli 1999, 115–8. Gerlaud 1994, 243. On πολύλλιτος see Williams on Call. HyAp. 80. See Livrea’s comment, 1968, 85–7.

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θεούς, OF 988 ᾠδαῖς γοητεύσας, 990 oranti Orpheo, Ov. Met. 10.47 oranti, 10.72 orantem etc. It follows that λιτὴ γαῖα, far from being a mere epitheton ornans (“barren earth”?!), recalls, when uttered by Jason, the prayers that were needed then to mollify Hades, as they are now to persuade the elderly Orpheus to join the Argonauts. A corollary of my argument is that Nonnus is not guilty of any error of prosody, as indeed one would expect: his λῐτὰ δεῖπνα are in fact a kind of sacred meal, exemplifying the topos of warm hospitality offered to a god (sometimes disguised), which is always rewarded. One glimpses veiled hints of a sort of Dionysiac eucharistic banquet, cf. Dion. 17.51 ἀδαιτρεύτοιο τραπέζης (= Par. 21.82, the table where the risen Christ partook of bread and fish),21 62 ἀναιμάκτοιο τραπέζης, 68 δεδονημένος ἄσθματι Βάκχου, and the resemblance of Brongus’ cave to that of the Great Mother at Aizanoi, and the cavern in Sicily where Demeter hides her daughter.22 Agathias’ “correction” is therefore misplaced, and the existence of λῐτός alongside λῑτός (cf. Call. Hec. fr. 74.3 Hollis λιτὸν εδ[ ) is confirmed. (5) OA 139 Ἴφικλος αὖ Φυλάκου δῖον γένος ἀντετόρησε The arrival of the hero Iphiclus is expressed in an incomprehensible manner, for the Homeric gloss ἀντετόρησε could not here mean “approach” or “penetrate”. Rather than correcting to ἄντ’ ἐπέρησε or ἐπόρευσε with West (following Voss), I once toyed with ἄντ’ ἐπόρουσε, a conjecture which recalls a sound Homeric parallel, ἐπόρουσεν ὁ δ’ ἀντίος (Il. 21.144), cf. also Nonn. Dion. 26.249 ἀντίον … ἐπόρουσε, and the Nonnian use of ἐπορούω (Dion. 28.102, 30.306). But this temptation must be resisted, because this Homeric rarity is not the product of an ancient correction or misreading. It expresses the notion of penetration, as in the piercing action of a δόρυ (Il. 5.337) or a thief’s breaking into a δόμον (Il. 10.267), cf. also HomHyHerm. 178, 283; and this is the sense which the poet is reproducing here, cf. Opp. Hal. 3.556, 4.546. Iphiclus “penetrates” the group of assembled Argonauts by running, a feat for which he was famed throughout antiquity, cf. Nonn. Dion. 28.284–7: εἰς δρόμον Ἰφίκλῳ πανομοίιος, ὅς τις ἐπείγων ταρσὰ ποδῶν ἀβάτοιο κατέγραφεν ἄκρα γαλήνης, καὶ σταχύων ἐφύπερθε μετάρσιον εἶχε πορείην, ἀνθερίκων στατὸν ἄκρον ἀκαμπέα ποσσὶν ὁδεύων.

21 Cf. Gonnelli 2003, 281. 22 Cf. Gerlaud 1994, 243.

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In running, he was fully a match for Iphiclos, who as he sprinted would scarcely mark the surface of the calm sea that no one could walk on, and sped over a cornfield without his feet bending the erect tips of the ears of the standing crop.

Nonnus no doubt takes his cue from the twofold prowess that Homer bestows on the horses of Boreas (Il. 20.226–9), but he may also be recalling the description in Maxim. 422–4: οὐδ᾽ εἴ κ᾽ Ἰφίκλοιο θοώτερος αὐγάζοιο, ὅστε καὶ ἀνθερίκοισιν ἐπέτρεχεν, οὐδέ τι καρπόν σύρετ’ ἀήσυρα γυῖα φέρων ἐπὶ λήϊον ἄκρον. Cf. also Hes. fr. 62 M.–W., Apoll. Rhod. 1.182–4, 2.1101, Luc. Hist. conscr. 8, Verg. G. 3.195, A. 7.808, Ov. Met. 10.653. Once again, Nonnus is in no sense directly indebted to OA, where this concept is economically expressed by means of a learned Homeric gloss. (This Iphiclus is quite unconnected with his namesake, the brother of Althaia and mentor of Meleager, cf. 160–2). (6) AO 170–4 †Ἠνειὸς† Καινῆος ἀφίκετο, τόν ῥά τέ φασι μισγόμενον Λαπίθαις ὑπὸ Κενταύροισι δαμῆναι θεινόμενον πεύκαισι τανυφλοίοις τ’ ἐλάτῃσι, καί οἱ ἀνατλῆναι καὶ ἀκαμπέα γούνατ’ ἐρεῖσαι ζώοντ’ ἐν φθιμένοισι μολεῖν ὑπὸ κεύθεα γαίης. In the catalogue of Argonauts in Apollonius, on which this passage depends, we find not Caineus, but his son Coronos, who is not mentioned here; instead, where he should be, we read the incomprehensible Ἠνειός, an otherwise unknown name which led Herter to conjecture ἠδ’ υἱός: but this would mean that Caineus’ son would be left unnamed here. Clearly, I suggest, behind Ἠνειός there lurks ἡ δὲ βίη Καινῆος “mighty Caineus”, a Homeric turn of phrase used elsewhere in our poem, cf. βίην Ἡρακλῆος θείοιο (118), μένος ὄβριμον Ἡρακλῆος (657). Caineus’ personal involvement in the Argonautic adventure is attested by Apollodorus (1.9.16), who mentions one Καινεὺς Κορώνου: the latter could be the same Coronus of line 138 or indeed his grandson, the son of Caineus. I interpret Caineus’ feat thus: “There came the mighty Caineus who, they say, when he dwelt among the Lapiths, struck by the pines and trunks of fir trees, was hammered into the ground by the Centaurs; yet he endured their onslaught, and braced his unbent knees, and, still living, descended among the dead into the depths of the earth”. The expression ἀκαμπέα γούνατα demands our attention, because the selfsame phrase recurs

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in Nonnus, where it describes the firm step of Lazarus at the moment of his raising from the dead, Par. 11.167: καὶ ποδὸς ὀρθωθέντος ἀκαμπέα γούνατα σύρων. One might be tempted to imagine here a case of oppositio in imitando on the part of Nonnus, who depicts not a living hero descending into Hell, but a dead man, Lazarus, returning to life; but in Nonnus ἀκαμπής is taken from Apoll. Rhod. 1.63, influenced by Pindar’s description of Caineus’ end ὀρθῷ ποδί (Thren. fr. 57.8 Cannatà). Nevertheless, we cannot rule out the possibility of a direct reminiscence of OA in Nonnus; that he is the later author is shown by the inappropriateness of ἀκαμπέα γούνατα when applied to a dead man whose limbs were still tightly constricted by the linen bonds of the graveclothes (170 σφιγγόμενον πλεκτῇσιν ὅλον δέμας εἶχε κερείαις). However, this oxymoron comes as no surprise in the context of a miracle, following as it does νεκρὸς ὁδίτης (100), and may recall OA 174 ζωόν τ’ ἐν φθιμένοισι (if ζωὸν ἔτ’ ἐν φθιμένοισι is to be preferred, as an echo of Apoll. Rhod. 1.59 ζωόν περ ἔτι, then μολεῖν will need to be corrected to μολόνθ’). In Pindar’s θρῆνος the ambiguous οἴχεται (8) makes it impossible to decide if Caineus is dead or has sunk, still living, under the earth; Apoll. Rhod. and OA share this ambiguity, while Acusilaus FGrH 2 F 22, states unequivocally ἀποθνῄσκει: cf. Apollodorus Epit. 1.22, schol. Plat. Leg. 12, Eust. ad Il. 1.266, Apostol. 4.19. However, Ovid Met. 12.512 f. mentions a transformation into a bird. If Caineus here is a “living corpse”, then his condition may well symbolize either Orpheus’ exploit in the Underworld, or the Argonautic adventure, and this would explain the prominence he is given in the Catalogue, and the poet’s decision not to emulate Apoll. Rhod.’s indirect reference to him.23 (7) OA 195 Νύμφη ὑποκλινθεῖσα παρ’ Ἀσωποῖο ῥοῇσι Enter the renowned Phlias: “de son union avec Baccchos, une Nymphe avait jadis enfanté près du cours de l’Asôpos cet homme au corps parfait et à l’esprit avisé” (Vian). The parallels with Apoll. Rhod. 1.117 πηγῇσιν ἐφέστιος Ἀσωποῖο and Nonn. Dion. 7.180 παρ’ Ἀσωποῖο ῥεέθροις seem to make Crivelli’s correction inevitable: he translates Asopi, and Vian follows him. Nonetheless, it should be pointed out that Apollonius’ Asopus is the river in the Argolid near Sicyon, whereas Nonnus’ Asopus is undoubtedly the Boeotian river that Zeus 23 See now West 2007, 445.

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blasted with a thunderbolt at Callimachus HyDel. 4.78: this makes it unlikely that Nonnus is echoing OA. Moreover, all the mss. present the form Αἰσήποιο, which denotes a river in Mysia (cf. Il. 2.825, 4.91). Are we to attribute the geographical blunder to a Homerizing scribe, or to the poet himself? He is certainly capable of distinguishing between Ἀσωπός and Αἴσηπος: for the former, cf. 144 (where, however, Vian’s conjecture Εἰλίσσοιο has ousted the odd Αἰσήποιο Ω, which Landaluce 1996, 29–30 defends), for the latter 488 ἀργυρέαις Αἴσηπος ἐπικλύζει προχοῇσι. The fullness of the Cyzicus episode proves that the poet was well informed on the Realien of Asia Minor, and of the Black Sea coast in particular. He may well have believed that Αἴσηπος was the name of two Greek rivers which are constantly confused in the literary tradition, the Boeotian and the Argive Asopos; if so, that is the form we should restore at both places in OA. However, there is a niggling doubt. In 144, the mention of Asopos, restored thanks to Crivelli, is perfectly plausible in a line devoted to Phaleros, since (a) the river Asopus marked the frontier between Boeotia and northern Attica, and ran into the sea opposite Euboea; (b) Euboea and Boeotia are mentioned in the preceding (141–3) and in the following verses (146–7, where Τανάγρης must be read with Ω); (c) the hero Phalerus is at once Euboean, Athenian, and Thessalian; (d) the town of Gyrton in Thessaly is encircled by the waters of the river Peneus, which could explain the “inaccurate” epithet ἁλιστεφές. (8) OA 251–2 αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ φόρμιγγα τιτηνάμενος μετὰ χερσί, μητρὸς ἐμῆς ἐκέρασσ’ εὐτερπέα κόσμον ἀοιδῆς. Rather than cite a vague parallel from Nonn. Dion. 42.253 βάρβιτα χερσὶ τίταινε, we should compare the true source of OA, Simon. IEG 11.23–4 μελίφρονα κόσμον ἀοιδῆς / ἡμετέρης, which was adopted into Orphic poetry, OF 25 ἕκτῃ δ’ ἐν γενεῇ κατεπαύσατε κόσμον ἀοιδῆς.24 The archaizing tone of this passage of OA needs no underlining. (9) OA 394–6 καί οἱ κεκλιμένος μὲν ἐπ’ οὐδαίοιο χαμεύνης κεῖτο μέγας Κένταυρος, ἀπηρήρειστο δὲ πέτρῃ ἱππείαισιν ὁπλαῖσι τανυσσάμενος θοὰ κῶλα.

24 To the parallels collected by Diggle 1970, 110–1, add now Spanoudakis 2002, 325, on Philit. fr. 25 ἐπέων … κόσμον.

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The centaur Chiron was lying on the earth as his bed, and resting his hooves on the rock. No one has cited here a parallel in Nonnus, Par. 6.34–5 καὶ ἕκαστος ἐρείδετο γείτονι τοίχῳ κεκλιμένοι στοιχηδὸν ἐπ’ εὐπετάλοιο τραπέζης where the poet is describing the crowd present at the miracle of the feeding of the five thousand. Nonnus’ passage is problematic, because the sense of τοίχῳ is unclear; “the wall of the crowd” makes no sense, cf. Dion. 10.41, 12.14, 41.370. Hence a gush of bad conjectures: τάξει Marcellus, θάμνῳ Koechly, ποίῃ Golega cl. Dion. 32.88, χόρτῳ Abram et Neri. There has been reluctance to correct an apparent echo of [Theoc.] 21.8 κεκλιμένοι τοίχῳ τῷ φυλλίνῳ, where two fishermen are leaning on the wall of their poor hut, made of branches; but it would be attractive to replace τοίχῳ precisely with πέτρῃ, the rocks which bestrew the grassy slopes where the crowd has gathered. (10) OA 695–6 Ἥρης ἐννεσίῃσιν ἐρωδιὸν ἧκε φέρεσθαι ἄκρην ἀντιπέραιαν· We have no geographical indication of a “headland opposite” which the heron could be flying towards. In fact we have here a risky conjecture by Vian, apparently formulated on the basis of Apoll. Rhod. 2.351, 4.521,25 or of Nonn. Dion. 11.415, 21.318 γαῖαν ἐς ἀντιπέραιαν, 24.148 ἐς ἀντιπέραιαν ἐρίπνην; but it displaces from the text the sound reading of the archetype, ἄκρην ἱστοκεραῖαν “the extremity of the yard-arm”. The poet here, as elsewhere, is employing a “modern” term (cf. Artem. 1.35) to refer to the ἐπίκριον, with which he was fully conversant (cf. 761), on the authority of Apoll. Rhod. 2.1262–63 … ἐπίκριον ἔνδοθι κοίλης / ἱστοδόκης στείλαντες ἐκόσμεον “they began to lower … the yard-arm and stowed it away neatly inside the hollow mast-crutch”. There is a good Homeric parallel for the heron’s unpredictable movements at Od. 2.146–59, discussed by Landaluce.26 In short: the transmitted text is sound, and the Nonnian passages are not parallels. (11) OA 886 †ἄλλα τ’ αὖ πολλὰ καὶ† ἐς ὕστερον αὖθις ἀκούσῃ.

25 Vian 1981, 151–2; Vian 1983, 457 adds Triph. 217. 26 Landaluce 1996, 79–80.

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The poet’s treatment of the love story of Jason and Medea is very summary. The text of line 886 has been considered irredeemably corrupt, and has given rise to bad conjectures such as ἀλλὰ σὺ πολλὰ καὶ Vian, ἄλλα τε πόλλ’ αὖ καὶ Taillardat. Preferable perhaps might be ἄλλα μὲν οὖν τάδε πόλλ’ εἰς ὕστερον αὖθις ἀκούσῃ, which recalls for us the concluding section of the Paraphrasis, where Nonnus, following St. John, declares that many more stories of Jesus’ miraculous deeds could be told, 21.139 ἄλλα δὲ θαύματα πολλὰ σοφῇ σφρηγίσσατο σιγῇ. (12) OA 928–33 δεινὸς ὄφις, θνητοῖς ὀλοὸν τέρας, οὐ φατὸν εἰπεῖν· χρυσέαις φολίδεσσιν ἐθείρεται, ἂν δ’ ἄρα πρέμνον ἀπλάτοις ὁλκοῖσι φορεύμενος, ἀμφιπολεύει σῆμα χαμαιζήλοιο Διός, ποτὶ κῶας ἀμείβων φρουράς· ἄκμητος δ’ ἐπιμαίεται ἄμμορος ὕπνου γλαυκοῖς ἀμφ’ ὄσσοισιν ἀναιδέα κανθὸν ἑλίσσων. This description of the serpent that guards the golden fleece, though effective, presents considerable difficulties. Vian’s translation, “un terrible serpent, monstre funeste aux mortels, indicible prodige; il est couvert d’écailles d’or et, circulant en haut du tronc avec ses formidables anneaux, il est le desservant du monument de Zeus infernal, montant près de la toison una garde incessante; infatigable, ignorant le sommeil, il scrute les environs de ses yeux glauques, en roulant une impudente prunelle” is based on a twofold modification of the ms. tradition, which has at 932 φρουραῖς ἀδμήτοις δ’. I am unable to understand how one could translate ποτὶ κῶας ἀμείβων / φρουράς as “montant près de la toison une garde incessante”: what is meant is a watch which alternates, cf. Nonn. Dion. 24.344 εἶχον ἀμοιβαίης φυλακῆς ἄγρυπνον ὀπωπήν, that is, the dragon moves unceasingly from watching over the fleece on the oak to watching over the monument to Zeus the Infernal or Chthonian (σῆμα χαιμαιζήλοιο Διός) right beside it. These are in effect two aspects of an almost identical task, because the epithet χαμαίζηλος is applied also to a serpent-Poseidon at IG II2.1367.18. We should therefore interpret “alternating his watch on the fleece …”; as for ἀδμήτοις … ὄσσοις, there is no problem, provided that the words are preceded by a colon. The Homeric phrase οἱ μὲν ἀμειβόμενοι φυλακὰς ἔχον (Il. 9.471) satisfactorily accounts for the similarity between OA and Nonnus: it had already been echoed by Quint. Smyr. at 8.499. Without additional punctuation, there is no possibility of interpreting, “tiene puestos sus sentidos en una vigilancia indomable”, with Landaluce,27 because 27 Landaluce 1996, 96–7.

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(a) δέ in third position is unacceptable; (b) ποτὶ κῶας ἀμείβων could not mean “at the moment when he passes close by the fleece”, because the parallels with 264 and 792 seem invalid. I do not understand Hermann’s translation of ἀμύνων as “identidem accedens”, and Vian’s interpretation28 “le dragon veille alternativement de ses deux yeux” seems to me impossible. My interpretation rules out the possibility of considering σῆμα χαμαιζήλοιο Διός as an appositional phrase, with Gesner, Hermann, and Abel; Dottin’s comma before ἀμφιπολεύει,29 and the slight alteration of ἐν to ἂν (= ἀνά) as suggested by Vian, restore the desired meaning. (13) OA 971 λιγνὺς δ̓ αἰθαλόεσσα †χύθη† περιμήκεα καπνόν Vian regards this verse as corrupt and puts obeli around χύθη.30 OA has elsewhere the regular forms περιμήκεα ταῦρον (313) and ἕρκος περιμήκετον (895), which are guaranteed by the Homeric περιμήκετος (Il. 15.287, Od. 6.103, Opp. Hal. 4.452), but late epic has a fondness for quasi-Homeric forms modelled on ἠχέτα τέττιξ etc., cf. 445 ἱππότα Πηλεύς, 748 εὐθαλέα λειμών (where the text is sound), 1250 ἠχέτα πορθμόν, 1279 Κυανοχαῖτα (nominative).31 It follows that περιμήκεα (c: περιμήκετα W remains perfectly possible) can have the function of a nominative, which allows us to correct to περιμήκεα καπνός, in apposition to λιγνὺς αἰθαλόεσσα. This is confirmed by Nonn. Dion. 23.264 καπνοῦ λιγνυόεντος, 2.522 καπνῷ λιγνυόεντι, parallels which Vian omits. We can therefore avoid recourse both to the dative περιμήκει καπνῷ (Gesner, Hermann), and to the unlikely correction χέεν (Vian 1999). Therefore the verse as a whole can be interpreted thus: “A sooty flame spread out, voluminous smoke”. There is a fair chance that the poet took the formula from a description of “Orphic” sacrifice, which could have influenced Nonnus also. (14) OA 1044–48 βροτοὶ δέ μιν ἀμφινέμονται γυμνοὶ Βουονόμαι τε καὶ Ἄρκυες ἀγροιῶται Κερκετικῶν τ’ ἀνδρῶν φῦλον Σινδῶν τ’ ἀγερώχων †οἱμήσαντο† μεσηγὺ Χαρανδαίων τ’ αὐλώνων

Καυκάσιον παρὰ πρῶνα διὰ στεινῆς Ἐρυθείας. 28 Vian 1982, 118. 29 Dottin 1930, 37. 30 Vian 1982, 126. 31 To the examples collected by Vian 1982, 126 n. 83 add Lith. 151 ἀκάκητα πατήρ, cf. Chantraine GH I, 199.

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I see no point in postulating a lacuna with Vian: all that is needed is to eliminate, with Ruhnken, the redundant τ’ before αὐλώνων. Beneath the vox nihili οἱμήσαντο there lurks something which is worth the trouble of recovering, after we have discarded the absurd conjectures of the humanists (οἳ μήσαντο K, οἰκήσαντο Msl, οἰκμήσαντο O, οἳ κήσαντο E, οἳ κείσαντο Mosch.) and of the moderns (οἳ νάσσαντο Hermann, οἰκῆσαν τὸ Voss, … ]ησῶν τε West). In the margin of my copy of Vian’s edition I had written in 1987 οἳ βῆσαν τὸ, involving a minimal palaeographical correction (β > μ in minuscule), to give the sense: “… and the tribe of Cercetii and that of the overbearing Sindi, who had made their way between the valleys of the Charandaei, near the peak of the Caucasus, through the defile of Erytheia”. I now discover that the same conjecture has been proposed independently by Landaluce:32 he translates “que llegaron”, but does not go so far as to print his conjecture in his text. Rejection of the lacuna is strikingly confirmed by the Nonnian expression Καυκασίων … παρὰ πρῶνας ἐναύλων (Dion. 25.373). These geographical details must have been found in some “Orphic” poem which narrated Heracles’ mission against Geryon; this has left a trace in the name of Erythia in the Caucasus: cf. Herod. 4.8 “Geryon, say the Scythians, lived beyond the Black Sea”, Dionysius Periegetes 681–2 Σινδοὶ … Κερκέτιοι (not in Vian), and is no doubt recalled here by the author of OA. There must have been a keen interest in the Sea of Azov at the time when in Rome the house of the consul T. Flavius Clemens was converted into a basilica dedicated to St Clement. The Acts of St Clement record the miraculous survival of a child trapped by the incoming tide in the Sea of Azov: this scene from Late Antiquity is depicted in a moving fresco from the early Middle Ages; even the portraits of the donors, Beno da Rapiza and Maria Macellaria, are still extant. (15) OA 1056–58 †δισσαῖς δ’ ἐν τριμόροισι† Βοὸς πόρον ἐξικόμεσθα, λίμνης ἂν τὸ μεσηγύ, , βοοκλόπος οὗ ποτε Τιτάν ταύρῳ ἐφεζόμενος βριαρῷ πόρον ἔσχισε λίμνης. In this arguably corrupt passage, Vian was prompted by desperation, after discarding the unlikely δισσαῖς δ’ ἡμερίαισι (cf. Soph. Aj. 208), to propose the correction δισσοῖς ἐν τριμόροισι, which he interprets as two-thirds of a day. His translation reads: “Puis, en l’espace des deux tiers d’un jour (?), nous parvînmes à la Passe du Bœuf (Bosphore), situé entre le Marais (et le Pont 32 Landaluce 1996, 105.

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Euxin ) à l’endroit où jadis le Titan voleur de bœufs monté sur un puissant taureau, ouvrit la passe du Marais”. One may protest at this maltreatment of the text on two grounds: a. δισσαῖς ἐν τριμόροισι is quite sound: ἡ τρίμορος (a new coinage by the poet, who may be drawing on some Orphic tradition) denotes here the night with its three parts, a reference to a famous Homeric verse (Il. 10.253); the Argonauts reach the Cimmerian Bosphorus in the course of the second night, after rowing for a night and a day; b. There is no case for postulating a lacuna in which it would have been explained that the Bosphorus lay between the marsh of Meotis and the Black Sea (so Keydell), an obvious and unnecessary observation. Instead of correcting λίμνης ὅν τε, the transmitted text, to λίμνης ἂν τὸ μεσηγύ (West) or λίμνης ὄντα (Gesner), we need only to restore an οὗ, making a pair with οὗ in the same line, to give the sense: “where lies the central part of the marsh”. The sentence as a whole is constructed with a careful balance: 1056 πόρον − 1058 πόρον, 1056 βοὸς − 1058 βοο-, 1057 λίμνης − 1058 λίμνης, so that one should interpret: “In the space of two nights, we arrived at the Ox Ford, which is in the middle part of the Marsh, where the Titan rustler of oxen, mounted on a mighty bull, opened the pass of the Marsh”. The reference is clearly, as Vian himself is aware,33 to the hero Heracles, who had stolen Geryon’s cattle. This escapade is generally located near Tartessos and the Pillars of Heracles, but has been transferred to Maeotis, where the presence/absence of Heracles precedes the Argonauts, as in the episode of Jason in Libya in Apollonius Rhodius (4.1396–405, 1432–84). This importance of Heracles from an Orphic perspective is underlined by the poet himself, cf. 24 and the entire Hylas episode (639–47), which has been magisterially interpreted by Agosti (1994). And Nonnus? One expression in the Paraphrasis, 21.14 ἀγχιπόρῳ στόμα λίμνης, seems to confirm that 1066–67 should not be separated from 1057–58, and that the transmitted text is sound, apart from the need for a minimal correction in 1057. My own view is that Nonnus was recalling Aesch. PV 729–34 στενοπόροις λίμνης … πύλαις, 733 πορείας, a model which would of course have been available to both authors. (16) OA 1094–99 οἱ δ’ ἐπεὶ οὖν τέναγός τε †πολυστρέπτοισι κάλωσι† βάντες ὑπὲρ τοίχων ἅλα δὲ σφυρὰ κοῦφα βάλοντο· ὦκα δ’ ἄρ’ ἀρτήσαντο πολυστρέπτοισι κάλωσι πρύμνης ἐξ ὑπάτης δολιχὴν μήρινθα βαλόντες Ἄργος τ’ Ἀγκαῖός τε καὶ ἀρχὰς δῶκαν ἑλέσθαι ἥρωσιν. 33 Vian 1987, 33.

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Vian’s judgement was that the second half of 1094 had been corrupted by dittography; before him, Hermann had conjectured χάλασσαν κλίμακα μακρήν. Vian further changed ὦκα in 1097 to νῆα (Gesner) to provide an object for ἀρτήσαντο, and in 1097 preferred λαβόντες to βαλόντες, the latter incurring suspicion from βάλοντο 1095. While admitting that the sense of the passage as a whole escapes him, he very tentatively proposes to construe it as follows: “Eux alors (laissèrent glisser l’échelle) dans le haut-fond ; enjambant le bastingage, il posèrent leurs chevilles légères dans la mer. Argos et Ancaios eurent tôt fait de fixer, avec des cordages torsadés, en haut de la poupe, un long câble qu’ils jetèrent et dont ils donnèrent aux héros les bouts à saisir”. But the ladder Hermann postulates does not exist: the Argonauts disembark from the ship by means of twisted ropes, which they then recycle for another purpose, to make a cable for hawling in the Argo. We can therefore accept without any qualms the apparent repetition of πολυστρέπτοισι κάλωσι (1094, 1096): in the first instance the phrase denotes the ropes needed for clambering down into the water, in the second, the cable of which they were to make a constituent part. If we replace the colon at the end of line 1095 with a comma, and construe the δέ in 1094 as apodotic,34 all we need to do is to accept the minimal correction τέναγόσδε (Hermann), and the passage is restored, yielding completely satisfactory sense: “After they had clambered over the bulwarks to reach the shallow water down the twisted ropes, and lowered their nimble ankles into the sea, Argus and Ancaius, using the twisted ropes, attached a long cable to the top of the stern-post, and gave its ends to the heroes to take hold of”. Nonnus’ πρυμναίους … κάλωας (Dion. 32.156) confirms the sequence κάλωσι / πρύμνης, and his frequent use of the phrase πολυστρέπτῳ /-οις kklx at the end of the hexameter validates the two enhoplia here in OA. In spite of LSJ s.v. πρύμνα: “Ships were generally drawn up on land by the stern“, I regret that I can find no explanation why, here, as at its launching (240), the Argo is hauled the wrong way, backwards, stern first: the passage in Aratus (342– 52) explaining that the constellation Argo glides through the heavens in an irregular way, astern, is of no value here, because Aratus is describing actual ships making a half-turn to reach their moorings, which is not the case in our passage. I would venture to see here some Orphic symbolism that has yet to be deciphered: if the voyage of the Argo is a metaphor for the descent into the Underworld, it is natural that its head or prow should be turned towards its ultimate destination, the νόστος. In the same way, Orpheus was forbidden to look back when he was leading Eurydice from the Underworld to the light.

34 Vian 1987, 62, IX.1 lists parallels.

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(17) OA 1107–09 Μακροβίων, οἳ δὴ πολέας ζώουσ̓ ἐνιαυτούς, δώδεκα χιλιάδας μηνῶν ἑκατοενταετέρους, πληθούσης ἥβης χαλεπῶν ἔκτοσθεν ἁπάντων. Although he shows no knowledge of the Macrobii, Nonnus is fascinated by the longevity, e.g. of elephants, Dion. 26.296–7 ἐλεφάντων, / οἷς φύσις ὤπασε κύκλα διηκοσίων ἐνιαυτῶν, and of the phoenix, Dion. 40.395 χιλιέτις σοφὸς ὄρνις … φοῖνιξ. This characteristic, a feature of the Golden Age, is generally ascribed to the Ethiopians or the Indians, peoples familiar to Nonnus. But how long do the Macrobii actually live for? Vian thinks a thousand years,35 as in Simonides (PMG 570) and Pindar (P. 10.37–44), but the parallel is misleading: Simonides and Pindar refer to the Hyperboreans, not the Macrobii; Pindar does not, either at P. 10 or at Paean 8.63, measure their life-span in numerical terms, but has only the cryptic phrase φυγόντες ὑπέρδικον Νέμεσιν, P. 10.44. Vian’s arguments are, I feel, somewhat far-fetched and convoluted: “Douze mille mois lunaires de vingt-neuf jours équivalent à peu près à mille années solaires de 365 jours … mille mois lunaires représenteraient un siècle, à condition de supposer una année de dix mois lunaires, conception abérrante, mais que l’on peut tirer d’une interprétation de λ 247”. But there is a much easier way of arriving at the figure of a thousand years: δώδεκα χιλιάδας μηνῶν are not “douze siècles de mille mois” (?), but rather “douze mille mois”; ἑκατονταετήρων cannot refer to μηνῶν, but must be corrected to ἑκατονταέτηροι, discarding the accusative plural which Hermann and Vian retain; if we put a comma after μηνῶν and ἥβης, it is easy to see that these people who have a total life-span of one thousand years enjoy a good hundred years of youth. The flavour of the passage as a whole prefigures Nonnus; he too had a fondness for compounds in -έτηρος, cf. τρι-, ἑπτα-, etc. These numerical abstractions, not uncommon in the Dionysiaca also, may go back to the Orphic Δωδεκαετηρίδες (OF 726–52), and this was the title of a poem by the Orpheus of Croton who, at the time of Pisistratus, composed an Argonautica which was perhaps one of the most important sources of OA. Was it, one wonders, still accessible to Nonnus? (18) OA 1321–22 οὐ μὲν δὴ φίλον ἐστὶν ἀπό ῥ’ ὤσασθαι ὁμεύνου λέκτρων τε στερέσαι σβέσσαι τ’ ἐκ πυρσὸν ἔρωτος.

35 Vian 1987, 190.

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Vian’s text departs from the mss tradition, which has ὅμιλον (ὁμεύνου Hermann), λέκτρα τε στορέσαι (λέκτρων τε στερέσαι Sanctamandus, Wesseling), λῦσαι (σβέσσαι Schneider). But ὅμιλος makes good sense, denoting the ὄαροι of 1327, Jason and Medea’s amorous conversation. One cannot follow Landaluce36 in defending the archetype of 1322 at the heavy price of a metrical blunder (λέκτρα τε̅); but all that is needed is the correction to λέκτρα τε , where οἱ = αὐτοῖς , as is the practice of OA.37 Cf. Apoll. Rhod. 4.1107 λέκτρῳ δὲ σὺν ἀνέρι πορσύνουσα, 1130 θαλαμήιον ἔντυον εὐνήν. Despite the parallels from Nonnus cited by Kost38 (e.g. Dion. 15.402 ἔσβεσε πυρσὸν Ἐρώτων), it is hard to see how σβέσσαι could have been corrupted to λῦσαι Ω: on the contrary, one must construe λῦσαι πυρσὸν ἐξ ἔρωτος “facem amoris extinguere” (Gesner). The meaning then will be: “It is not kindly to spurn amorous advances, prepare the marriage bed, and to quench the flame of love”. For once, my translation here coincides with that of Dottin,39 which does not admit of any illogicality. Note in 1227–28 how queen Arete, with characteristic womanly tenacity, throws his own words back at him: ὅμιλον − ὀάροις, λέκτρα − λέκτρων, πυρσὸν ἔρωτος − παρθενίην ᾔσχυνε. The words πυρσοὶ ἔρωτος denote both blazing sexual passion and the wedding torches. (19) OA 1338–39 γάμων αἰδέσσιμον ἔργον, καὶ τότε παρθενίης νοσφίζετο κούριον ἄνθος. It is theoretically possible that Nonn. Dion. 16.282–3, speaking of Nicaea (ἐνοσφίσθη δὲ κορείης / παρθενική), may have been imitating OA; but the poet here is using the language not only of HomHyDem. 108 κουρήιον ἄνθος and Orpheus, OF 148 παιδὸς ἀφείλετο κούριον ἄνθος, but also of Archilochus IEG 196a.27 (one of the Cologne epodes) ἄνθος δ᾽ ἀπερρύηκε παρθενήιον. These models he shared with Nonnus. (20) OA 1372 οἵ τ’ ἄρα νερτερίων βερέθρων κληῖδας ἔχουσιν. The poem comes to its end with Orpheus’ sacrifice to the “most noble Sovereigns who hold the keys to the depths of the Underworld”. Commentators 36 37 38 39

Landaluce 1996, 117–8. Vian 1987, 58. Kost 1971, 280. Dottin 1930, 52.

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have adduced, apropos of νερτερίων βερέθρων, Nonnus’ expression (Par. 8.49) νερτερίοιο … βερέθρου, where however it denotes the earthly κόσμος. There must have been a common source for the two phrases in a now lost “Orphic” line, perhaps from an account of Orpheus’ descent to the Underworld. The time has come to draw up a provisional balance-sheet. My examination of a number of apparently significant points of contact between OA and Nonnus has not brought to light a single instance where one can assert with certainty that Nonnus was recalling this anonymous text, which is so alien to his style, his literary culture, and his religious outlook, and which he may perhaps not even have read. On the other side, there are a number of places where the two poets have drawn either from the common stock of epic diction, or, a more interesting possibility, on the same texts from the Orphic tradition that were in circulation in the Imperial period, for example the Ἱεροὶ Λόγοι ἐν Ῥαψωιδίαις ΚΔ. In addition, on several occasions Nonnus has been able to assist us in restoring the severely corrupt text of OA.40

40 I could not include the important book of Schelske 2011, which became available while my paper was already in the press. However, the author does not seem to be interested in topics such as chronology, Nonnian parallels or textual criticism. I hope to be able to review this book soon.

Marta Otlewska-Jung

Orpheus and Orphic Hymns in the Dionysiaca Taking a first look at the Dionysiaca and the Orphic Hymns, both works do not seem to have much in common. The Orphic Hymns are a collection of 87 short ritual poems with an average length of ten-fifteen lines, preceded by a dedication “Orpheus to Musaeus”.1 In contrast, the Dionysiaca consists of 48 Books and exceeds every limit with its enormous length of over 21.000 lines. While the Dionysiaca was composed presumably in fifth century CE Alexandria,2 the origins of the collection of Orphic Hymns remain uncertain. In recent times most scholars tend to point to Asia Minor and especially to Pergamon of second or third century CE as the most probable place and time of their origin.3 The Orphic Hymns have a character of ritual hymns with no allusions to an exciting service,4 while the Dionysiaca, due to its main principle of variety (poikilia),5 tries continuously to surprise and to entertain its audience with the brilliant eloquence and literary erudition of its author. Indeed, the Dionysiaca has the ambition to present the author’s extensive knowledge in all possible fields (from mythology and literature to astronomy and philosophy) while the Orphic Hymns, written in all probability for ritual practice, aim at invoking the deities and asking for their support. However, despite the differences, both works have common features. According to the present state of research both have their origins in later antiquity in rather peripheral parts of the Eastern Imperium Romanum, yet in important and established centres of Greek culture: Pergamon and Alexandria. They were both composed for Greek communities aware of their literary, myth-

1 The longest poems of the collection are the dedication (44 lines) and the OH 10 to Physis (30 lines), while the shortest hymns consist only of 6 lines (e.g. OH 5 to Ether). 2 On the date of Nonnus see Friedländer 1912, 43–59; Keydell 1936, 904–5; Vian 1976, XVI– XVIII; Livrea 1987, 113–23. 3 For discussion on this matter see Hunsucker 1974, 13–28. Interestingly, Egypt was also mentioned as a possible background of the Orphic Hymns, cf. Gerlach 1797, 19; Dieterich 1891, 24, 52; Baudnik 1905, 19. Kern 1911, 432–6, was the first to propose Pergamon as a possible place for the Orphic Hymns. 4 Cf. e.g. Burkert 1977, 8. 5 Cf. among others String 1966, 33–70; Vian 1976, 8–9; Fauth 1981, 20–2, 35; Gigli Piccardi 1985, 150–4, 214–7; Hopkinson 1994a, 10–1, 14; Tissoni 1998, 79–85.

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ological and religious traditions. We can assume that their readers had a similar status in their societies and also faced similar problems as inhabitants of the periphery of the Roman Empire. Another common feature of both works is the metre in which they are composed – the hexameter. This enabled Nonnus to include other epic genres, like hymns or epigrams in his work.6 There are several passages in the Dionysiaca that have explicitly been recognized as hymns. Paradoxically, Nonnus himself calls his whole work a hymn7 and the hymnic parts are frequently introduced as ἔπος. In fact, several hymnic parts of the Dionysiaca resemble the preserved collection of Orphic Hymns in style and character. The god Dionysus has a central position both in the Dionysiaca and in the Orphic Hymns. Seven hymns of the collection are addressed to him;8 in many others he is invoked or alluded to.9 The role of Dionysus is emphasized also by the choice of epithets which frequently identify him with other important Orphic deities (as may be noticed in the OH 6 to Protogonos). In addition, Dionysus has been explicitly given priority among other gods in the dedicative poem from Orpheus to Musaeus (εὐχή), which prefaces the collection of the Orphic Hymns.10 This special attention cannot surprise. In the whole Orphic movement the god Dionysus is one of the most prominent figures.11 When Nonnus chose the subject for his epic he surely was well aware of its Orphic associations and did not wish to avoid a confrontation with the Orphic myths. With these analogies at hand I propose to inquire into the intertextual relationship between the Dionysiaca and the Orphic Hymns: did or could Nonnus know the preserved collection of the Orphic Hymns? What is the conse-

6 On the different genres in Nonnus’ epic cf. Abbel-Wilmanns 1977, 87–95; Lasek 2009, 10–4. 7 Dion. 1.15 ποικίλον ὕμνον ἀράσσω “I strike (a lyre composing) a diverse hymn”. Lasek 2009, 136–43 considers the whole epic of Nonnus as a huge hymn and examines the meaning of the word ὕμνος throughout the Dionysiaca. Cf. also the eponym Hymnus, a shepherd killed by his beloved nymph Nicaea (Dion. 15.204–422). Interestingly, Hymnus is in the Dionysiaca a pastoral poet whose name “suggests the hymnlike function of the lament” (Harries 1994, 74). Hymnus’ lament is in Dion. 15.370–422. 8 These are OH 30 to Dionysus, OH 45 to Dionysus Bassareus and Triennial, OH 46 to Liknites, OH 47 to Perikionios, OH 50 to Lysios Lenaios, OH 52 to the God of Triennial Feasts, OH 53 to the God of Annual Feasts. To compare, Zeus has only four hymns addressed explicitly to him. 9 E.g. in the OH 42 to Mise and OH 49 to Hipta. On the latter in Nonnus see García-Gasco in the present volume p. 214. 10 To Dionysus refer lines 8–9 ὅς τε μεγίστας / τιμὰς ἐν μακάρεσσιν ἔχεις, Διόνυσε χορευτά. 11 Cf. e.g. Guthrie 1935, 41–2; Alderink 1981, 10, 23, 66–72; West 1983, 24–6; Robertson 2003, 218–20.

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quence of such intertextual correspondence for Nonnus’ audience? Could Nonnus be seen as an Orphic writer?12 In this article I want to examine the relationship between the two works and draw attention to some correspondences in choice of words, visualisations and mythical subjects. Further, I will focus on the figure of Orpheus, to whom the collection of Orphic Hymns is ascribed and who is mentioned several times in the Dionysiaca. I will argue that the figure of Orpheus, although virtually not appearing in the epic, is important for the understanding of Dionysus’ poetry as displayed by Nonnus. According to him, Orpheus, the patron over Orphic poetry, seems to draw upon the poetry of Dionysus. In the intratextual chronology of the Dionysiaca, Orpheus is one generation later than Dionysus’ contribution to the creation of literature and culture. On the following pages I will try to show that Nonnus challenges Orphic poetry,13 and particularly the Orphic Hymns.14

1 The Hymnic Parts in the Dionysiaca Among the hymnic parts in the Dionysiaca15 two passages stand out: Dionysus’ hymn to Heracles Helios Astrochiton (Dion. 40.369–410) and Dionysus’ prayer to Selene (Dion. 44.191–216). Both passages are rather long (41 and 25 lines), both are performed by the god Dionysus, address other deities16 and in both 12 Nonnus takes up myths and motifs which were particularly present in Orphism (cf. Hernandez de la Fuente 2002, 27–48; García-Gasco 2007, 161 f.; 2008) and several times refers to Orpheus as a protagonist in the Dionysiaca. However, Nonnus does not seem to have been an initiate of the Orphic or other pagan mysteries, cf. Vian 1988, 405–10; García-Gasco in the present volume. 13 I.e. both the mythical powerful song of Orpheus and the later poetry which was ascribed to him. 14 My research question results from questions already raised by other scholars. Research of the hymnic parts in the Dionysiaca has shown remarkable similarities with the Orphic Hymns. In this field I took advantage of the remarks of Braun 1915; Simon 1999 and 2004; Tissoni 2008 and Lasek 2009. Critics of the Orphic Hymns also refer to the Dionysiaca of Nonnus, cf. Hunsucker 1974; Ricciardelli 2000 and Morand 2001. The question of Orphism in the work of Nonnus has been discussed in Hernández de la Fuente 2002 and García-Gasco 2007; 2008. In my research on the poikilia in the Dionysiaca and the way Nonnus challenges his models I benefited a lot from the work of String 1966; Fauth 1981; Hopkinson 1994a and Shorrock 2001. Works on Orphism have also been useful, particularly Guthrie 1993 (first published 1956); Burkert 1977; Alderink 1981; West 1983; Herrero de Jáuregui 2010. 15 On the hymnic passages in the Dionysiaca cf. Braun 1915; Lasek 2009. 16 In distinction to the hymnic parts praising cities, such as the Hymn to Tyre in Dion. 40.338–52 or the Hymn to Beroe in Dion. 41.143–54.

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cases the request of Dionysus is fulfilled. Hence, the hymns appear as a successful example and worth imitating. Because of their resemblance to the preserved collection of the Orphic Hymns, they have attracted the attention of scholars.17 I will present the context of the two hymns and point out some verbal and visual correspondences with the Orphic Hymns.18 My main argument is to illustrate how these are treated as model hymns by Nonnus.

1.1 Dionysus’ Hymn to Heracles Helios Astrochiton (Dion. 40.369–410)19 Dionysus sings this hymn in a temple of the god Heracles in Tyre, the home city of Cadmus, Dionysus’ grandfather. Phoenicia, the land of his ancestors, is the second country after Arabia which Dionysus visits in his festive procession after his triumph over the Indians. Dionysus calls this deity by alternating names: Heracles, Helios and Astrochiton. However, it seems evident that the Phoenician god Melqart is meant.20 Many scholars have insisted on the syncretistic character of this hymn and compared it to the preserved collection of the Orphic Hymns.21 The speech of Dionysus contains all the criteria of a hymn,22 although Nonnus characterizes it as ἔπος (Dion. 40.411). Its structure resembles the Orphic Hymns: after the invocation, an extended development characterizing the solar deity with the use of epithets, prepositions and short phrases follows. By contrast, the final request for the god’s benevolence and appearance is 17 Cf. Braun 1915, 27–9, 37–8, 58–9; Hunsucker 1974, 57; Morand 2001, 83–6 and Appendix 3; Simon 1999, 289; 2004, 25; Accorinti 2004, 123; Tissoni 2008, 142–3; Lasek 2009, 27, 39. 18 The Orphic Hymns are not the only possible source of inspiration for these two hymnic passages of the Dionysiaca, cf. Braun 1915, 9–29; Simon 1999, 287–94; 2004, 177–81; Lasek 2009, 23–35 who also points out parallel expressions in the works of Homer, Pindar, Euripides as well in the Magic Hymns and Homeric Hymns. However, I wish to argue that the correspondences with the Orphic Hymns are especially frequent and consequent. 19 More on this hymn in Braun 1915, 2–29; Fauth 1995, 165–83; Simon 1999, 287–94; Lasek 2009, 23–35. Cf. Morand 2001, 83–4. 20 Melqart was identified with Heracles by interpretatio graeca, cf. Rose apud Rouse 1940, III, 181 n. a. More on the god Melqart in Bonnet 1988 passim, cf. also Fuchs 2003 48–56. Nonnus mentions this deity of Tyre only in this episode of the Dionysiaca (40.366–580) and employs the alternate names Astrochiton and Heracles. 21 Cf. Braun 1915, 9–29; Morand 2001, 84–5. D’Ippolito 1964, 168 calls this hymn quite inappropriate in an epic poem due to its syncretistic and Orphic character! 22 This passage is called a hymn by e.g. D’Ippolito 1964, 41; Tissoni 1998, 142; Morand 2001, 83, although it has also been characterized as a prayer, cf. Simon 1999, 142. For the genre analysis see Lasek 2009, 32–5.

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very brief and simple: it contains only a single line (Dion. 40.410).23 In the development Dionysus identifies Heracles with fifteen other deities from different regions,24 a quite unique procedure in an epic text. The syncretistic character of this passage does not find a parallel in any other place in the Dionysiaca and partly resembles the syncretism of the Orphic Hymns. Here similarly, each poem is addressed to a single deity called by different epithets.25 The gods are frequently described with common epithets, invoked by the same names and therefore appear in relation to one another. Most of the Greek deities mentioned in this passage of the Dionysiaca have also their personal hymns in the collection of the Orphic Hymns26 but none of the foreign gods mentioned by Nonnus can be found in the collection, although several hymns are addressed to deities from Asia Minor.27 However, there is no place in the Orphic Hymns in which the deities from different regions would be listed and identified together. Dionysus’ hymn to Heracles Helios Astrochiton shows many verbal and visual correspondences with several hymns from the collection of the Orphic Hymns, especially with OH 8 to Helios, OH 11 to Pan, OH 12 to Heracles and OH 34 to Apollo. Both Dionysus’ hymn and the Orphic Hymns describe the solar deity as a ruler of the world,28 driving his four-horse chariot29 and being strongly connected with the fire.30 His starry coat which inspired his character-

23 Cf. Morand 2001, 83–4. 24 These are the following deities: the god Belos from Euphrates, the Libyan god Ammon, the god Apis of the Nile, the Arabian Kronos, Assyrian Zeus (392–3). Sarapis, Egyptian Zeus, Kronos, Phaethon “of many names”, Mithras, Babylonian Helios, Delphian Apollo, Gamos (Marriage), Paieon, Aither poikilos (399–402). 25 Except from the introductory poem which mentions the names of about eighty different deities. 26 There are personal hymns to the following deities: Heracles (OH 12), Helios (OH 8), Zeus (OH 15, OH 19, OH 20, OH 48), Kronos (OH 13), Apollo (OH 34) and Aither (OH 5). Paion is the epithet of Heracles in OH 12.10 and Paian is a frequent epithet usually of solar deities within the collection (OH 8.12 to Helios, OH 11.11 to Pan, OH 34.1 to Apollo, OH 52.11 to the God of Triennial Feast, OH 67.1 to Asclepios). Neither Phaethon, nor Gamos are mentioned in the preserved collection. 27 The Orphic Hymns contain several names of deities from Asia Minor: Mise, Antaia, Hipta, Adonis and Meilinoe but they do not mention the foreign deities from Dionysus’ hymn: Ammon, Apis, “Arabian Kronos”, “Assyrian Zeus”, Sarapis, “Egyptian Zeus”, Mithras, “Babylonian Helios”. 28 Cf. Dion. 40.369 ὄρχαμε κόσμου and OH 8.16 δέσποτα κόσμου, 8.11, 11.10 κοσμοκράτωρ. 29 Cf. Dion. 40.379 φέρεις τετράζυγι δίφρῳ and ΟΗ 8.5 τετραβάμοισι ποσσὶ χορεύων, 8.19 τετράορον ἅρμα διώκων. Cf. also Dion. 40.373 δίφρου and OH 8.6 διφρευτά. 30 Cf. Dion. 40.369 ἄναξ πυρός and OH 11.3 πῦρ ἀθάνατον, 11.17 ἐλαφροτάτου πυρὸς ὄμμα, 8.11 πυρίδρομε.

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istic epithet and name ἀστροχίτων shows the god of the sun against the background of a sky at night – an image present also in the Orphic Hymns.31 Moreover, the cyclic motion of the solar deity,32 his relation to the seasons,33 to the age (αἰών),34 to the beginning and the end of a single life35 correspond with the pictures in the Orphic Hymns. Also the comparison to an eye which can see everything shows strong similarity to some expressions from the collection.36 Furthermore, in his hymn Dionysus mentions the significance of his addressee for vegetation, which is noticed also in the Orphic Hymns.37 Two more expressions in Dionysus’ hymn draw particular attention to the Orphic Hymns: the description of the night escaping from the sun38 and the division of the year into twelve months which resembles the description of the twelve works of Heracles in OH 12.39 Finally, Dionysus’ request for Heracles’ benevolence resembles most the requests in the Orphic Hymns.40 The hymn of Dionysus is successful: it apparently pleased the god Heracles who appeared on Dionysus’ request wearing “a patterned robe like the

31 Cf. Dion. 40.369 ἀστροχίτων and OH 11.5 ἀστροδίαιτε, 34.13 νυκτὸς ἐν ἡσυχίαισιν ὑπ’ ἀστεροόμματον ὄρφνην. 32 Cf. Dion. 40.372 κύκλον ἄγεις μετὰ κύκλον and ΟΗ 8.11 κυκλοέλικτε, cf. Simon 1999, 288. 33 Cf. Dion. 40.380 χεῖμα μετὰ φθινόπωρον, ἄγεις θέρος εἶαρ ἀμείβων and OH 34.21–3 μίξας χειμῶνος θέρεός τ’ ἴσον ἀμφοτέροισιν, / εἰς ὑπάτας χειμῶνα, θέρος νεάταις διακρίνας, / Δώριον εἰς ἔαρος πολυεράτου ὥριον ἄνθος. 34 Cf. Dion. 40.374 γήραϊ καὶ νεότητι ῥέει μορφούμενος αἰών and OH 8.1 ἔχων αἰώνιον ὄμμα. 35 Cf. Dion. 40.370 βροτεοίου βίου δολχόσκιε ποιμήν and OH 34.15 σοὶ δ’ ἀρχή τε τελευτή τ’ ἐστὶ μέλουσα. For Dion. 40.370 δολιχόσκιε cf. OH 34.6 ἑκηβόλε. Cf. also Dion. 40.396–8 φοίνιξ, τέρμα βίοιο φέρων αὐτόσπορον ἀρχήν, / τίκτεται ἰσοτύποιο χρόνου παλινάγρετος εἰκών, / λύσας δ᾽ ἐν πυρὶ γῆρας ἀμείβεται ἐκ πυρὸς ἥβην τέρμα βίοιο φέρων αὐτόσπορον ἀρχήν and OH 11.22–3 ἀγαθὴν δ’ ὄπασον βιότοιο τελευτὴν / Πανικὸν ἐκπέμπων οἶστρον ἐπὶ τέρματα γαίης. For Dion. 40.396 αὐτόσπορον cf. OH 8.3, 12.9 αὐτοφυής. 36 Cf. Dion. 40.379 παμφαὲς αἰθέρος ὄμμα and OH 8.14 εὔδιε, πασιφαής, κόσμου τὸ περίδρομον ὄμμα, 8.18 ὅμμα δικαιοσύνης, 34.8 πανδερκὲς ἔχων φαεσίμβροτον ὄμμα. Cf. Simon 1999, 288. 37 Cf. Dion. 44.388 ὄμβρον ἄγεις φερέκαρπον and OH 34.16 παντοθαλής. 38 Cf. Dion. 40.381 νὺξ μὲν ἀκοντιστῆρι διωκομένη σέο πυρσῷ and ΟΗ 3.10–1 ἣ φάος ἐκπέμπεις ὑπὸ νέρτερα καὶ πάλι φεύγεις / εἰς Ἀίδην. 39 Cf. Dion. 40.372–3 υἷα χρόνου λυκάβαντα δυωδεκάμηνον ἑλίσσων, / κύκλον ἄγεις μετὰ κύκλον and OH 12.11–2 ὃς περὶ κρατὶ ἠῶ καὶ νύκτα μέλαιναν, / δώδεκ’ ἀπ’ ἀντολιῶν ἄχρι δυσμῶν ἆθλα διέρπων. Cf. Morand 2001, 84. 40 Cf. Dion. 40.410 οὔασιν εὐμενέεσσιν ἐμὴν ἀσπάζεο φωνήν and e.g. OH 30.9 εὐμενὲς ἦτορ ἔχων σὺν εὐζώνοισι τιθήναις, 48.6 εὐμενέων ἐπαρωγὸς ἐπέλθοις μυστιπόλοισιν, 16.10 ἔλθοις εὐμενέουσα καλῷ γήθοντι προσώπῳ. Especially the word εὐμενέεσσιν draws attention to the Orphic Hymns where εὐμενής and its derivatives appear 17×. Cf. Simon 1999, 294.

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sky and image of the universe”41 – apparently an allusion to the epithet ἀστροχίτων – held out his hand to Dionysus, and entertained him with a divine feast and several myths about Tyre. However, the whole episode in the temple of Tyre and the meeting of Dionysus with Heracles Astrochiton (Dion. 40.366–580) do not influence the action of the Dionysiaca. A careful reader could ask himself if it is really necessary for the plot of Nonnus’ epic for any other reason than for poikilia. If the 214 lines were simply cut off from the Dionysiaca, the audience would be spared some colourful digressions from the history of Tyre.42 But in this case readers would also miss Dionysus’ successful communication with another deity. Here, the addressed god invites Dionysus to a meal with Nectar and Ambrosia – a scene that foreshadows Dionysus’ acceptance among the Olympians. Witnessing both deities together encourages the audience to reflect upon the striking parallels in the lives of Dionysus and Heracles. Even if the Dionysiaca does not narrate further details from Heracles’ life the parallels between him and Dionysus must have been selfevident. Heracles too was an illegitimate son of Zeus, persecuted by Hera, fulfilling supernatural deeds and roaming the world to be finally cleaned from his mortal imperfections, accepted among the Olympians and awarded a divine wife, Hebe. Dionysus addresses him on the way to his own apotheosis, which he will finally achieve at the end of the epic after his long adventurous journey. The meeting of the two gods in the temple of Tyre precedes Dionysus’ infinitive dwelling at Olympus which is still to come. For Nonnus’ audience, it certainly has been instructive as to what kind of poetry inspired Dionysus’ hymn. Therefore, the Orphic Hymns as a possible model for Dionysus’ request would receive a special prestige for successfully invoking the gods. Although several similarities between Dionysus’ hymn and the Orphic Hymns result from the traditional presentation of the solar deity in Greek literature,43 the quantity of parallels is striking. Nonnus’ audience is additionally attracted to this passage because of the exceptional character of Dionysus’ hymn. This encourages modern readers and scholars question its intertextual lineage.

41 Dion. 40.416 ποικίλον εἷμα, τύπον αἰθέρος, εἰκόνα κόσμου. Translations of the Dion. are by Rouse 1940. On the starry robe of the deities see Eisler 1910, I, 51–112; Ypsilanti in this volume p. 125 f. 42 Cf. Fuchs 2003, 44–5. 43 Cf. Simon 1999, 287–94.

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1.2 Hymn to Mene-Selene (Dion. 44.191–216)44 The hymn or prayer to Mene-Selene45 is of a different character. This time Dionysus has a serious reason to invoke another deity since he finds himself insulted and ruthlessly imprisoned by his cousin Pentheus. In this miserable situation Dionysus calls the goddess of the Moon by the names of several different goddesses: Mene-Selene, Hecate, Artemis and Persephone. Dionysus shortly describes the range of power of each deity. In his choice of epithets he emphasizes the affinity and the relationship of each goddess to himself. After that Dionysus addresses also his father and mother in one: Zeus. Unlike the hymn to Heracles Helios Astrochiton, the request in this hymn is quite extensive and expands over two sections of the hymn. First, Dionysus turns to the goddesses and asks for death and posthumous punishment of Pentheus (Dion. 44.206–13). After that he calls upon his father Zeus to be the avenger of Semele, the mother of Dionysus, hence to acknowledge his child and prove the lie of Pentheus’ insult (Dion. 44.214–6). Dionysus prayer is answered by Mene (Dion. 44.218–52), who confirms the rightness of his claim, and by Persephone, who engages in punishing Pentheus (Dion. 44.255–77). In its structure and length this hymn apparently resembles several Orphic Hymns.46 All deities Dionysus mentions in his prayer are present also in the preserved collection. In order to win the benevolence of his addressees, the god of wine emphasizes their affinity to himself. As a result, the addressed deities appear not only in a relation with Dionysus but also with one another, which is a characteristic feature of the Orphic Hymns. Dionysus’ strategy and his choice of epithets in describing singular deities are effective: the goddess of the Moon appears, confirms her affinity with Dionysus and promises to fight against his enemies. In the following tables I have put together selected parallels from Dionysus’ Hymn to Mene-Selene and the Orphic Hymns. The section addressed to the goddess Moon is presented first:

44 More on this hymn in Braun 1915, 29–38; Simon 2004, 177–81; Tissoni 1998, 142–52; Lasek 2009, 28–32. Cf. also Morand 2001, 85–6. 45 On an analysis of the genre of this passage cf. Lasek 2009, 30. 46 Morand 2001, 85. However, Morand emphasizes also that in contrast to the Orphic Hymns no line in the Dionysiaca is loosely built, using only several adjectives.

Orpheus and Orphic Hymns in the Dionysiaca

Dionysus’ Hymn to Selene (Dion. 44.191–216) Μήνη (Dion. 44.191) Σελήνη (Dion. 44.192) – πολύστροφε (Dion. 44.191) – παντρόφε (Dion. 44.191) –

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Parallel expressions in the Orphic Hymns

Μήνη in Euche 4, OH 9.2, 3 to the Moon Σελήνη OH 9.1 to the Moon – ἑλικοδρόμε (OH 9.10) – φερέκαρπε (OH 9.5, cf. OH 50.10 (LysiosLenaios) φερέκαρπον ἅρματος ἀργυρέοιο κυβερνήτειρα (Dion. – παντρόφε (ΟΗ 26.2 to Earth) 44.192), cf. νυκτιφαής (Dion. 44.218) – κυβερνήτειρα (OH 10.3 to Physis) – cf. OH 9.1 φαεσφόρος, 9.6 νυχαυγής, 9.9 νυκτὸς ἄγαλμα ταυρῶπις (Dion. 44.217) – ταυρόκερως (OH 9.2)

Both the Dionysiaca and the Orphic Hymns call the goddess of Moon alternatively by the names “Mene” and “Selene” and emphasize her connection with cyclic motion and nurture. Although Selene’s silver chariot is not mentioned in the Οrphic Hymns, she is several times described as shining in the darkness. All these features appear as very important in order to show Selene’s affinity to Dionysus and hence for the success of Dionysus’ strategy. Indeed, in Selene’s answer Dionysus is portrayed by very similar characteristics: νυκτιφαής, φυτηκόμος and σύνδρομος Μήνης (Dion. 44.218). Further, she describes the god of wine by the epithet ταυρῶπις47 (Dion. 44.217) and assures him of her ability to provoke madness.48 Interestingly, a similar kinship between the deities may be noticed also in the Orphic Hymns in which nocturnal activity, nurturing and madness are also ascribed to Dionysus.49 The next deity addressed by Dionysus is Hecate; the verbal correspondences with the Orphic Hymns are as follows: Dionysus’ Hymn to Selene (Dion. 44.191–216) Ἑκάτη (Dion. 44.193) – πολυώνυμος (Dion. 40.193) – νυκτιπόλος (Dion. 44.194)

Parallel expressions in the Orphic Hymns Ἑκάτη OH 1.1 to Hecate – πολυώνυμος (cf. OH 36.1 to Artemis) – νυκτερία (OH 1.5), cf. OH 9.3 (Selene) ἐννυχία and 9.6 νυχαυγής

47 Cf. Dionysus ταυρῶπις in 44.279 and more frequently ταυροφυής: 6.209, 9.15, 11.151, 15.31, 21.217. Selene is ταυροφυής also in 5.72, 23.309. For parallel descriptions of Dionysus in the Orphic Hymns cf. 52.2 ταυρόκερως, 30.4 ταυρωπός, 30.3 δικέρως, 45.1 ταυρομέτωπε, 30.4 ταυρωπόν, 52.10 κερώς. 48 Cf. Dion. 44.229 μανίης μεδέω καὶ λύσσαν ἐγείρω. 49 For Dionysus’ feeding role in the Orphic Hymns cf. especially 50.10 φερέκαρπον, 50.4 εὐτραφές, εὔκαρπε, πολυγηθέα καρπὸν ἀέξων, 53.8 χλοόκαρπε, κερασφόρε, κάρπιμε. For Dionysus association with madness cf. OH 45.4, 52.1 μαινόλα, 50.8 θυρσομανές.

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–

ἐννυχίη (Dion. 44.193)

–

πυρσοφόρῳ παλάμῃ δονέεις θιασώδεα – πεύκην (Dion. 44.194) σκυλακοτρόφος, ὅττί σε τέρπει / κνυ- – ζηθμῷ γοόωντι κυνοσσόος ἔννυχος ἠχώ (Dion. 44.194–6)

–

–

ψυχαῖς νεκύων μέτα βακχεύουσα (OH 1.3) σκυλακῖτιν (OH 1.5), cf. OH 36.12 (Artemis) σκυλακῖτι cf. OH 30.1 ἐρίβρομον, 30.4 ἄγριον

In the description of Hecate it is her nocturnal activity that is emphasized and this draws the goddess especially close to Dionysus. This feature has a parallel in the OH 1 to Hecate. Moreover, in her nocturnal roaming and her sympathy for the dogs’ howling she resembles the Bacchants and the noisy Dionysus. These features of Hecate are also reflected in the Orphic Hymns. Moreover, Hecate’s affinity to Dionysus is emphasized in the collection by their common epithet οὐρεσιφοῖτις.50 However, a strong correspondence between the Dionysiaca and the Orphic Hymns can be noticed already in the first epithet with which Dionysus calls Hecate: πολυώνυμος. This epithet is of very frequent use in the Orphic Hymns51 and refers usually to several female deities52 and to the god Dionysus who is described as πολυώνυμος four times.53 In the Dionysiaca it appears only three times: in this passage (Dion. 40.193), as an epithet of Astrochiton in the previously discussed hymn to Heracles Helios Astrochiton (Dion. 40.400) and in Dion. 17.374 where it refers to a mysterious hymn murmured by Aristaios while healing wounded Bassarids and allies of Dionysus during the campaign against the Indians.54 50 Cf. οὐρεσιφοῖτις of Hecate (OH 1.7) and Dionysus (OH 52.10). 51 See Bernabé Pajares 1988, 137 for all fourteen examples of the use of this epithet in the Orphic Hymns. Cf. also Simon 1999, 178; Tissoni 1998, 144; Simon 1999, 292; Lasek 2009, 31; Ricciardelli 2000, XXXIII–XXXIV. Similarly, the compound adjectives containing the prefixes πολυ- and παν- are especially frequent both in the Dionysiaca and in the Orphic Hymns. 52 Prothyraia (ΟΗ 2.1), Physis (OH 10.13), Hera (OH 16.10), Mother of the Gods (OH 27.4), Artemis (OH 36.1), Demeter of Eleusis (OH 40.1), Antaia (OH 41.1) and (in the plural) to the Moirai (OH 59.2). Out of the male gods it is also an epithet of Pan (OH 11.10), Adonis (OH 56.1). Some of the deities indeed appear in connection, cf. Prothyraia-Eileithyia-Artemis-Hecate (cf. Ricciardelli 2000, 238); Mother of Gods (Μήτηρ θεῶν) is later in the same hymn identified with Hestia (OH 27.9), in other sources also with Rhea, Demeter, Hera, cf. Ricciardelli 2000, 337. 53 The passages which relate to Dionysus are as follows: OH 45.2 to Dionysus Bassareus of Triennial Feasts, 50.2 to Lysios Lenaios, 52.1 to the god of Triennial Feasts (as πολυώνυμε … Βακχεῦ) and finally 42.2 to Mise, but referring to Dionysus Eubuleus. 54 Dion. 17.373–4, 377 Ἄλλους δ᾽ οὐταμένους ἰήσατο Φοιβάδι φωνῇ, / φρικτὸν ὑποτρύζων πολυώνυμον ὕμνον ἀοιδῆς, / πατρῴης νοέων ζωαρκέος ὄργια τέχνης. Aristaios was a son of Apollo and the nymph Cyrene and hence his medical capabilities. As the husband of Autonoe he was also uncle of Dionysus.

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In a note to this passage Rose explains the expression πολυώνυμος ὕμνος as “incantations [which] contained all possible names to be sure of getting the right one”.55 Hence, the epithet πολυώνυμος appears in three passages of the Dionysiaca dealing with hymns. Interestingly, these passages are hymns sung by Dionysus and contain the names of many different deities. Using this epithet Nonnus refers to the Orphic Hymns. In this context, the expression πολυώνυμος ὕμνος may be treated as an intratextual and intertextual allusion to such a hymn. The next deity addressed by Dionysus is Artemis; the following table presents the most significant verbal correspondences to be found in the Orphic Hymns: Dionysus’ Hymn to Selene (Dion. 44.191–216) Ἄρτεμις (Dion. 44.197). – ἐλαφηβόλος56 (Dion. 40.197) – ἐν δὲ κολώναις / νεβροφόνῳ σπεύδουσα συναγρώσσεις Διονύσῳ, / ἔσσο κασιγνήτοιο βοηθόος … (Dion. 44.197–9)

– – –

νεβροφόνῳ (Dion. 44.198) νυχίη (Dion. 44.202) νυκτελίῳ … Διονύσῳ (Dion. 44.203)

Parallel expressions in the Orphic Hymns Ἄρτεμις (OH 36 to Artemis) – ἐλαφηβόλος (OH 36.10) – κυνηγέτις (ΟΗ 36.5) – θηρόκτονος (OH 36.9) – ἣ κατέχεις ὀρέων δρυμούς (OH 36.10), cf. OH 1.8 (Hecate) οὐρεσιφοῖτιν and 52.10 (of Dionysus) οὐρεσιφοῖτα – cf. OH 52.10 (of Dionysus) νεβριδοστόλε – νυκτερόφοιτος (OH 36.6) – νυκτέριε (OH 52.4 of Dionysus)

Artemis’s close association with Dionysus shows her passion for hunting, her dwelling in the mountains and the nocturnal time of her activity. These three domains are also present in the depiction of both Artemis and Dionysus in the Orphic Hymns. Dionysus is not explicitly called a “hunter” in the Orphic Hymns, but he is roaming in the mountains clad in fawnskin. This epithet corresponds with the unusual depiction of Dionysus as νεβροφόνος (“killing fawns”) in his hymn to Selene.57 Moreover, this description of Artemis draws her closer to other addressed deities: Selene, Hecate and Persephone. Similarly, in the Orphic Hymns Artemis is presented as a goddess who is in close

55 Rose, apud Rouse 1940, II 58 note a. 56 Morand 2001, 86 draws attention to the fact that the epithet ἐλαφηβόλος describes Artemis also in Hom. Hy. 27.2 and in Anacr. PMG 348.1 and therefore, is not very significant for the relation between the Dionysiaca of Nonnus and the Orphic Hymns. 57 Dionysus is called νεβροφόνος only in this passage. In the Dionysiaca he is usually only clad in fawnskin, as in the Orphic Hymns, cf. OH 52.10 νεβριδοστόλε vs Dion. 26.28 νεβροχίτων, cf. also Dion. 11.345 νεβρίδα πέπλον ἔχων ἐποχήσομαι ἅρματι νεβρῶν.

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relation with many deities; however, special affinity she shows towards the god Dionysus.58 The next addressee of Dionysus in his prayer is Persephone. She is presented as queen of the Underworld who reigns over the dead and issues orders to Hermes and the Erinyes. Dionysus obliges her to destroy Pentheus out of regard for the primeval Zagreus, whose other name was Dionysus, Dion. 44.212–3: ἀλλὰ σὺ φῶτα δάμασσον ἀθέσμιον, ὄφρα γεραίρῃς ἀρχεγόνου Ζαγρῆος ἐπωνυμίην Διονύσου. I pray thee, master this impious creature, to honour the Dionysus who revived the name of primeval Zagreus.

In his first request Dionysus refers to the myth of Zagreus, the first Dionysus, son of Zeus and Persephone. This myth is recounted in the sixth Book of the Dionysiaca and is fundamental for the structure of Nonnus’ epic. It is also essential for the Orphic and Dionysiac mysteries59 and I will discuss it in relation to the Orphic Hymns in the second part of this article. Dionysus’ relationship to Persephone is his crucial argument in showing the goddess’ affinity to himself and as a result receiving her support. Indeed, Persephone came to Dionysus’ rescue and armed the Erinyes to persecute Pentheus (Dion. 44.255– 77). The Orphic Hymns like the Dionysiaca call both Persephone and Semele mothers of Dionysus.60 Moreover, Persephone has an important position in the collection: besides the OH 29 which is addressed to her, many other hymns mention her name.61 She is consequently presented as a mighty queen of the 58 Artemis’ epithets: πολυώνυμος (OH 36.1) and αἰολόμορφος (OH 36.12) describe in the Orphic Hymns also many other deities among which Dionysus: for πολυώνυμος see above, p. 87; αἰολόμορφος in OH 50.5. A similar epithet, ποικιλομόρφος, describes Zagreus at the moment of his death in Dion. 6.179. Artemis is also called βρομία (OH 36.2) which is a common epithet of Dionysus both in the Orphic Hymns and in the Dionysiaca. Nonnus uses the feminine form Βρομίη while talking of a Bacchant in Dion. 21.64, 88. Cf. παμβασίλεια of Artemis (OH 36.11), Physis (10.16), Rhea (14.7), Hera (16.2, 9), Hygeia (68.1), Semele (44.1), Earth (11.2 and 18.6). Also σκυλακῖτις of Artemis (OH 36.12) and Hecate (1.5). 59 Cf. West 1983, 73–4, 152–63. 60 On Semele as Dionysus’ mother cf. OH 44.3 μητέρα θυρσοφόροιο Διωνύσου πολυγηθοῦς. On Persephone as Dionysus’ mother cf. OH 29.8 Μῆτερ ἐριβρεμέτου πολυμόρφου Εὐβουλῆος, 30.6–7 Εὐβουλεῦ, πολύβουλε, Διὸς καὶ Περσεφονείης / ἀρρήτοις λέκτροισι τεκνωθείς, ἄμβροτε δαῖμον. 61 The name is written alternately Περσεφόνη and Φερσεφόνη and is mentioned in: Euche 6, OH 22.4, 24.11, 30.6, 41.5, 43.7, 44.6, 46.6, 53.3, 56.9, 57.5, 10, 71.3, 70.3, 71.5.

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Underworld who has power over life and death.62 Dionysus’ request: “Let me see Pentheus dead”63 suits this representation of Persephone’s supremacy. Moreover, the request addresses also Hermes and Erinyes, here presented as subordinates to Persephone, to take part in the punishment. While the Erinyes are persecuting Pentheus, Hermes is expected to console Dionysus.64 Similarly, in the Orphic Hymns Hermes is depicted both in connection with the Underworld and as a comforter.65 Interestingly, Hermes and the Erinyes appear in the Orphic Hymns in relation to Dionysus.66 The description of Dionysus’ enemy, Pentheus, as “unlawful man” (φὼς ἀθέσμιος) in the quotation above is possibly a response to Dionysus’ epithet θεσμοφόρος “law-giving” in the Orphic Hymns.67 The last addressee of Dionysus is his father (and mother) Zeus: Dionysus’ Hymn to Selene (Dion. 44.191–216) Zeus (Dion. 44.214) – κλῦθι, πάτερ καὶ μῆτερ (Dion. 44.215)

–

–

Parallel expressions in the Orphic Hymns

Zeus (OH 15, 19, 20, 48) – κλῦθι, πάτερ (ΟΗ 48.1 to Sabazios) – πάντων μὲν σὺ πατήρ, μήτηρ (OH 10.18 to Physis) ἐλεγχομένου δὲ Λυαίου / σὴ στεροπὴ – ἣ μεγάλας ὠδῖνας ἐλάσσατο πυρφόρῳ γαμίη Σεμέλης τιμήορος ἔστω (Dion. αὐγῇ (OH 44.4 to Semele) 44.215–6) – cf. OH 50.1 (of Dionysus) διμάτωρ, 52.5 κρύφιον Διὸς ἔρνος, 3 μηροτρεφής, 2 πυρίσπορε τιμήορος (Dion. 44.216) – τιμωρός (OH 62.4 to Dike)

62 OH 29.15–6 ζωὴ καὶ θάνατος μούνη θνητοῖς πολυμόχθοις, / Φερσεφόνη· φέρβεις γὰρ ἀεὶ καὶ πάντα φονεύεις. 63 Dion. 44.206 νεκρὸν ἴδω Πενθῆα, cf. also 44.204 νεκυσσόος. 64 Dion. 44.206–9 ἀχνυμένου Διονύσου / δάκρυον εὐνήσειε τεὸς ψυχοστόλος Ἑρμῆς· / σεῖο δὲ Τισιφόνης μανιώδεος ἠὲ Μεγαίρης / Ταρταρίῃ μάστιγι λαθίφρονα παῦσον ἀπειλὴν. 65 For Hermes’ role as a comforter cf. OH 28.6 λυσιμέρμινε and 57.8–9 εὐιέρῳ ῥάβδῳ θέλγων ὑπνοδῶτερ ἅπαντας / καὶ πάλιν ὑπνώoντας ἐγείρεις. For his connection with the Underworld as psychopompos cf. OH 28.2 κοίρανε θνητῶν, 57.1–2 Κωκυτοῦ ναίων ἀνυπόστροφον οἶμον ἀνάγκης, / ὃς ψυχὰς θνητῶν κατάγεις ὑπὸ νέρτερα γαίης, 5 ὃς παρὰ Περσεφόνης ἱερὸν δόμον ἀμφιπολεύεις, 9–11 σοὶ γὰρ ἔδωκε / τιμήν Φερσεφόνεια θεὰ κατὰ Τάρταρον εὐρὺν / ψυχαῖς ἀενάοις θνητῶν ὁδὸν ἡγεμονεύειν. 66 Cf. OH 57.3 Ἑρμῆ, βακχεχόροιο Διοωνύσοιο γένεθλον; cf. also the epithets of the Erinyes OH 69.1 ἐρίβρομοι and εὐάστειραι, 69.3 νυκτέριαι and 69.8 αἰολόμορφοι. All these epithets describe also Dionysus (OH 30.1, 48.2, 45.4, 52.4, 50.6). Even in the description of their clothes they resemble Dionysus cf. OH 69.7 θηρόπεπλοι vs OH 52.10 νεβριδοστόλε. 67 Cf. Dion. 44.212 and OH 42.1. It is unusual because θεσμοφόρος refers usually to Demeter and Persephone.

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Dionysus’ second request begins with the form κλῦθι which is very common in the Orphic Hymns.68 Zeus’ affinity to Dionysus results from their relationship: Zeus is father of Zagreus, the first Dionysus, and of the second Dionysus. Moreover, Dionysus obliges Zeus to be the avenger (τιμήορος) of Semele. In the Orphic Hymns this epithet (τιμωρός) appears only once and refers to Dike “who is seated upon the sacred throne of lord Zeus”.69 Both Dionysus’ request and the Orphic Hymns allude several times to the myth of Semele’s death. Interestingly, in the Dionysiaca Semele received from Zeus a new immortal life and in the Orphic Hymns she is addressed as a goddess.70 There are more verbal and conceptual correspondences between the Orphic Hymns and the Dionysiaca;71 however, they were certainly not the only source for Nonnus.72 In the discussed passages, the parallels to the Orphic Hymns are strikingly frequent. This supports the thesis that Nonnus knew the preserved Orphic Hymns or another similar collection. But which conclusions can we draw from such intertextual dependence? In both passages, Dionysus’ requests have been answered and his addressees confirmed in word and deed their appropriateness. Dionysus’ hymns – sung by a god, pleasing their addressees and successful in their requests – obviously can be read as model hymns, hymns worth repeating. Is it then Dionysus himself who invents the genre of an appropriate appeal to god? In the chronology of Nonnus’ epic, Dionysus is prior to any other author and therefore holds a certain primacy in composing hymns. Even if Nonnus follows in word and style other sources (e.g. the Orphic Hymns), Dionysus as a divine protagonist cannot refer to any prominent literary predecessors. Hence, his hymns are model hymns to all later authors – even to Orpheus, the spiritual father of the Orphic Hymns. Thus, Nonnus seems to challenge his models by exploiting the role of Dionysus. For Nonnus’ audience, the allusions to ritual poetry like the Orphic Hymns were particularly significant. They did not merely have a literary meaning to his audience, but were probably used in rites, where the question of successful and appropriate invocation to a deity was a matter of deliberate consideration. Therefore, the allusions Nonnus makes may not only reflect his erudition in imitating and emulating sources, but also illustrate the (spi)ritual life of a particular community.73 68 The form κλῦθι appears in the Orphic Hymns 32×, the plural form κλῦτε 4×. 69 OH 62.2. Translations of the Orphic Hymns are sourced from Athanassakis – Wolkow 2013. 70 Cf. Dion. 8.407–19 and OH 44.10. 71 Similar Hunsucker 1974, 58. 72 Cf. e.g. Braun 1915, 9–29; Simon 1999, 287–94; 2004, 177–81; Lasek 2009, 23–35. 73 On the Orphic rites in Egypt in Late Antiquity cf. Herrero de Jauregui 2010, 51–62. Cf. also Burkert 2004, 86–8; Bernabé 2008b, 901–9.

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2 Orphic Theogonies and the Myth of Dionysus-Zagreus The myth of the birth and death of Dionysus-Zagreus is fundamental for the whole epic of Nonnus. It narrates the seduction of Persephone by Zeus in the shape of a snake, the birth of Zagreus, the first Dionysus, and how Zeus planned to make this son his successor. However, on Hera’s demand the Titans killed Dionysus deceitfully. They whitened their faces with chalk and attacked Zagreus while he was looking at his reflection in a mirror. Upon his death Zagreus tried to escape by changing his shape: first a child, then an old man, a young man, a lion, a horse, a serpent and a tiger he finally turns into a bull, which is then killed and trenched with a knife by the Titans. Although the episode is quite short, it deepens the character and nature of the god Dionysus and assigns him an important place in the divine genealogies as the successor of Zeus. The first Dionysus experiences metamorphoses and death. Moreover, in this myth the Dionysiaca respond to the cycle of Orphic theogonies74 present also in the Orphic Hymns. The particular role of Dionysus as the son of Persephone can be observed in the following two passages: μῆτερ ἐριβρεμέτου πολυμόρφου Εὐβουλῆος (OH 29.8 to Persephone) Mother of loud-roaring and many-shaped Eubouleus

Κικλήσκω Διόνυσον ἐρίβρομον, εὐαστῆρα, / Πρωτόγονον, διφυῆ, τρίγονον, Βακχεῖον ἄνακτα (ΟΗ 30.1–2 to Dionysus) I call upon loud-rouring and reveling Dionysos, / primeval, two-natured, thrice-born Bacchic lord

Through the names Eubuleus and Protogonos, Dionysus is identified with the god Protogonos-Phanes – the Orphic deity who emerged from an egg. Indeed, in the Orphic Hymns, Dionysus is called Eubuleus thrice and Protogonos twice.75 He is described as πολύμορφος (of many shapes) which possibly refers

74 Another allusion to the Orphic theogonies can be found in Dion. 2.572–4 in which Zeus mentions Astraios, Eurynome and Ophion. 75 For Protogonos and Phanes cf. also OH 6. See West 1983, 68–113; Ricciardelli 2000, 251–2, 254–5, 351–2. On Eubuleus cf. West 1983, 253 and Ricciardelli 2000, 354–5. In the Dionysiaca πρωτόγονος is an epithet of Phanes twice (Dion. 9.141 and 12.34) and once of Chaos (Dion. 7.111).

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to the metamorphoses of Zagreus shortly before his death;76 and διφυής (of two natures). The latter can be understood in several ways: As allusion to his divine and mortal origins; to his divine blood which was stained by the Titans in the moment of his death; and to his features which embody simultaneously femininity and masculinity. The attribute τρίγονος (of three births) may refer to the three Dionysi: Zagreus, the son of Zeus and Persephone; Dionysus, the son of Zeus and Semele; and Iacchus, the son of Dionysus and Aura. Yet, the emphasis may as well be put on his three parents – Persephone, Semele and Zeus. Indeed, the latter is frequently called both father and mother of Dionysus.77 Unlike the Dionysiaca, where the Titans are portrayed as reckless murderers of the innocent Zagreus, the Orphic Hymns introduce them as the “glorious children of Ouranos and Gaia”, who seem especially close to human beings.78 The only allusion to their role in killing Dionysus can be found in the place of their dwelling: Tartaros.79 It seems that in both works the myth of the death of Zagreus plays a fundamental role. The differences result from the allusive character of the Orphic Hymns and the narrative character of the Dionysiaca. Nonnus, choosing this subject for his epic poem, was aware of its meaning in Orphic circles. He did not avoid this analogy but gave it a central position in the dramatic structure of his epic. This undoubtedly suited his principle of poikilia but also connected his work to the Orphic literature, including the Orphic Hymns.

3 Orpheus as a Protagonist Orpheus appears in the Orphic Hymns and in the Dionysiaca, but neither of these works alludes to him as a mythological character and it is legitimate to ask why. In the Orphic Hymns his name serves only as the signature of the author and opens the dedicative poem to Musaeus. Understandably, in a collection of ritual texts more attention is given to the deities addressed than to the author, whose name shall rather indicate the divine inspiration of the written poems instead of revealing the authentic authorship of the collection.80 76 Dionysus is frequently depicted with the attributes of a bull – the form in which Zagreus was killed; cf. ταυροφυής (Dion. 5.564, 11.151, 21.217) and ταυρομέτωπε (OH 45.1), ταυρόκερως (OH 52.2). 77 Cf. also Dionysus’ prayer to Mene-Selene, Dion. 44.215. 78 Cf. OH 37.1–2, 4–6. 79 Cf. OH 37.2–3 (Titans) γαίης ὑπένερθεν / οἴκοις Ταρταρίοισι μυχῷ χθονὸς ἐνναίοντες. 80 On the authorship of the Orphic Hymns see Hunsucker 1974, 28–32.

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Only through the phrase Καλλιόπῃ σὺν μητρὶ do the Orphic Hymns allude to Orpheus by suggesting that the muse Calliope was either his mother or teacher.81 In the Dionysiaca, Nonnus mentions the name of Orpheus, but he does not narrate any of the myths concerning him. What then is the role of Orpheus in the Dionysiaca? Orpheus appears in the Dionysiaca in three different contexts. First he is depicted as a child on the knees of his mother Calliope, drinking her milk while his father Oeagrus leaves the family to join Dionysus’ campaign against the Indians.82 Then, his name is mentioned twice in the context of a poetic competition on the grave of Staphylos, the hospitable king of Assyria and his son Botrys. Oeagrus, “the father of Orpheus”,83 takes part in a competition rivalling Erechtheus of Athens, who compares in his song Dionysus and the family of Staphylos to Demeter and the family of Celeus.84 Oeagrus wins the competition with only a two-line song, Dion. 19.104–5: Εὐχαίτην Ὑάκινθον ἀνεζώγρησεν Ἀπόλλων, Καὶ Στάφυλον Διόνυσος ἀεὶ ζώοντα τελέσσει. Apollo brought to life again his longhair’d Hyacinthos, Staphylos will be made to live for aye by Dionysos.

Clearly, Oeagrus’ song wins not because of its poetic superiority, but because of its content and prophetic meaning: Staphylos indeed came back to eternal life as his name means “cluster of grapes”. Moreover, in the two lines the god Dionysus is portrayed as winning against Apollo, the very god of music. Third, Orpheus appears when Aphrodite by chance glances at a prophetic tablet, where he is named among other inventors.85 The inscription on the 81 Cf. OH 24.12 and 76.10. 82 Dion. 13.428–31 καὶ θρασὺς υἱὸς Ἄρηος ἑὴν Πίμπλειαν ἐάσσας / Βιστονίης Οἴαγρος ἐκώμασεν ἀστὸς ἀρούρης, / Ὀρφέα καλλείψας ἐπὶ γούνασι Καλλιοπείης / νήπιον ἀρτιχύτῳ μεμελημένον εἰσέτι μαζῷ. It may be assumed that together with his mother’s milk Orpheus also drank divine inspiration. 83 Oeagrus is described as γενέτης Ὀρφῆος the moment he enters the competition after the song of Erechtheus (Dion. 19.101) and the moment Oeagrus is crowned with ivy as the sign of his victory in the competition (19.113). 84 These stories indeed show similarities. Erechtheus sings of how Demeter gave corn to Celeus, the hospitable king of Eleusis and how the goddess consoled his wife, Metaneira, and their son, Triptolemos, with heart-charming words after Celeus’ death. Later Erechtheus compares it to the situation in Assyria: how the king Staphylos hosted Dionysus and after his death the god consoled his family. The song of Erechtheus is 14 lines long (Dion. 19.82–96). 85 Dion. 40.368–84. The other inventors on this list are: Pan (syrinx), Hermes (lyre), Hyagnis (the double pipes), Linus (eloquent speech), Arcas (the measures of the twelve months and

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tablet prophetically mentions that Orpheus will discover the “streams of mystic song with divine voice”.86 However, unlike the inventions of other persons mentioned in this list, Orpheus’ creation remains quite imprecise and does not refer to any particular genre. Rather, it connects his name with mysteries (μυστιπόλοιο), divine invention and streams of song. This broad expression may allude to a diversity of poems ascribed to the legendary musician, and suits also the character of the Orphic Hymns. The divine provenance of Orpheus’ inspiration is emphasized in the expression θεηγόρα χεύματα. This visualization is interesting because it indicates either the abundance of the deity’s gift or of Orpheus’ writing.87 Interestingly, this word is used within the poem to describe streams of different liquids, especially of water and wine.88 This may suggest that the god who inspired Orpheus was Dionysus.89 Although this is only an assumption, it is confirmed in the Orphic Argonautica where Dionysus and Apollo are mentioned as the ones who inspired the work of Orpheus.90 The two gods appear interchangeably in this role in Orphic fragments too.91 Moreover, the whole catalogue of inventors begins with the word νοήσει, which suggests an act of conscious cognition in this process of invention. In all three passages mentioning Orpheus, the emphasis is placed on two aspects: Orpheus’ genealogy and his connection with the μολπή (i.e. music and literature). In the first passage we learn that Orpheus’ mother is the Muse Calliope and that he is one generation younger than Dionysus. The second passage is to my knowledge the only place in Greek literature where Oeagrus is associated with artistic skills. However, it is the role of Oeagrus as warrior and supporter of Dionysus which again draws Orpheus closer to the god of wine.

the sun’s circuit), Endymion (the times of the moon’s phases), Cadmus (the alphabet combined of vowels and consonants), Solon (the inviolable laws) and Cecrops (a durable unity of the masculine and feminine natures). More on this list of the inventors and on Orpheus’ invention in García-Gasco 2007, 71–7. 86 Dion. 41.375 μυστιπόλοιο θεηγόρα χεύματα μολπῆς. 87 Nonnus uses the word χεῦμα usually in literal meaning but also for an abundant speech, cf. Dion. 23.283. 88 For “streams of wine” cf. e.g. Dion. 14.429, 16.371. 89 On Dionysus as the god of inspiration cf. Shorrock 2011, 81–4. 90 Cf. OA 7–11 Νῦν γάρ σοι, λυροεργέ, φίλον μέλος ἀείδοντι / θυμὸς ἐποτρύνει λέξαι τά περ οὔ ποτε πρόσθεν / ἔφρασ’, ὅταν Βάκχοιο καί Ἀπόλλωνος ἄνακτος /κέντρῳ ἐλαυνόμενος φρικώδεα κῆλ’ ἐπίφασκον, / θνητοῖς ἀνθρώποισιν ἄκη, μεγάλ’ ὄργια μύσταις. 91 Cf. OF 383T.5–7 where Apollo inspires Orpheus and OF 350F.5 where it is Bacchus. Cf. also Vian 1987, 175, on OA 10.

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Interestingly, the Dionysiaca does not mention the heart-moving power of Orpheus’ poetry at all. The distich of Oeagrus, which obviously characterizes the nature of Orpheus’ poetry,92 wins not because of its artistic value but due to its prophetic meaning, the secret truth it reveals. This pleases Dionysus most of all and is the main criterion for success in the competition. Similarly, the description of Orpheus’ invention in the prophetic golden tablet in the 40th Book relates it to “mystic rites” and “divine inspiration” but it does not mention by any word the power of softening hearts. It confirms that in the Dionysiaca Orpheus is not significant as a mythological character but as the inventor and hence future author of Orphic poetry. That Orpheus appears to be one generation younger than Dionysus means that he belongs to the mythological future. Hence, the poetry ascribed to him is younger than life, deeds and words of Dionysus. In the epic, the latter composes hymns himself in order to invoke other gods. However, the hymns of Dionysus not only serve rhetorical purposes or the principle of poikilia. Nonnus, by presenting Dionysus as an author of hymns, may also have had the aim of pointing out his supremacy and primacy over other poets who are still to come – including Orpheus, the first poet of the human race. In this view, Orpheus appears as a follower of Dionysus in the domain of poetry.

4 Conclusions The aim of this article was to show how the Dionysiaca relate to the Orphic Hymns: First, by including hymnic parts (especially Dionysus’ hymns to Heracles Helios Astrochiton and to Selene); second, by alluding to Orphic subjects and to the myth of Dionysus-Zagreus; and third by referring to the figure of Orpheus. As I have tried to demonstrate, Dionysus’ hymns to Heracles Helios Astrochiton and to Selene frequently draw upon the Orphic Hymns in their choice of words and art of visualisation. Nonnus certainly knew this kind of Orphic poetry and assigned it a very special position in his epic: as a model of poetry, chosen by a god to successfully address other deities. Therefore, a correlation between the Dionysiaca and the Orphic Hymns can be established: on the one hand, Nonnus pays homage to Orphic poetry by acknowledging it an important position in his epic. On the other hand, he underlines Dionysus’ priority to Orpheus and thereby challenges the Orphic Hymns.

92 Note the emphasis on ὡς γενέτης Ὀρφῆος in Dion. 19.101.

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The figure of Orpheus is essential for this correlation. According to the inner chronology of the Dionysiaca, Orpheus and the poetry ascribed to him belong to the future. In the epic, he is depicted as a child and forthcoming poet. Therefore, the content of the epic and the hymns of Dionysus appear paradoxically as a source of inspiration for Orphic poetry. Unlike Dionysus, the character of Orpheus is not developed within the epic. Nonnus avoids to present him as an adult and describes his poetic and artistic role only vaguely. By doing so he liberates himself from the obligation to give a clearer picture of a mystic figure that must have been very popular among his audience. The figure of Orpheus appears only in allusions and as an outline, but always referring to Dionysus – whatever his life, death or poetry might be. The imprecise description of Orpheus’ poetic invention (μυστιπόλοιο θεηγόρα χεύματα μολπῆς, Dion. 41.375) may reveal the diversity of poems ascribed to him. Although it remains uncertain what exactly the Orphic texts and conceptions were, it is often emphasized that the god Dionysus stood in the centre of this movement. His central role connects the Dionysiaca with every Orphic text. Although chronologically posterior, the Dionysiaca expresses and summarises the core of Orphic poetry: the Dionysian life, nature and deeds. Nonnus does not seem to aspire to be an Orphic poet. But he clearly claims priority in writing about Dionysus. In this view, the Dionysiaca challenge each Orphic poem, and consistently the Orphic Hymns.

Michael Paschalis

Ovidian Metamorphosis and Nonnian poikilon eidos The issue of Nonnus’ familiarity with and use of Ovid’s Metamorphoses as a literary source has attracted and continues to attract a lot of scholarly attention. In recent years the argument in favor of Ovidian influence on Nonnus has weakened considerably. Nonnus had at his disposal an enormous amount of Greek literature now lost to us and hence, as Peter Knox has pointed out, “it is a priori improbable that a Panopolitan would use a Latin poem as his source for Greek mythology, when there were so many works available in his native tongue”. 1 Nonnus’ familiarity with the Metamorphoses is not improbable but it is an entirely different thing to assume that he used Ovid’s epic as a source text.2 The existence of a common source for Ovid and Nonnus is commonly suggested as an alternative to Nonnus’ dependence on Ovid but the situation may turn out to be more complex.3 The parallel study of Ovid and Nonnus, independently of Quellenforschung and intertextual relations, would in my view prove more useful. It would shift attention to a more substantial comparison of Ovidian and Nonnian narratives and poetics in areas where there is common ground. Below I will attempt to do so in comparing the Proems of the Metamorphoses and the Dionysiaca and Ovid’s and Nonnus’ versions of the Actaeon episode.

1 Metamorphosis and poikilon eidos: Introduction A major issue that invites a comparison between Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Nonnus’ Dionysiaca is that both place transformation at the heart of their 1 Knox 1988, 551. 2 In favor of Nonnus’ dependence on Ovid see especially Braune 1935; D’Ippolito 1964; Diggle 1970, 180–200. In discussing the motif of the rape of Europa, Kuhlmann (2012) stresses the “many similarities” between the Dionysiaca and the Metamorphoses as regards structure and narrative mode and seems to imply some sort of dependence (“Nonnus further develops the elements already to be found in Moschus’ epyllion and Ovid’s Metamorphoses”, 489). Against Nonnus’ dependence in addition to Knox see Agosti 2004, 258–65; Paschalis 2007, 2. For further bibliography see below the discussion of the Actaeon and Pentheus episodes. 3 Cf. Barchiesi 2005, 231 on Nonnus and Ovid with regard to the Phaethon episode: “Allo stato attuale della discussione, si può dire che Nonno è una fonte indipendente, non condizi-

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poetic program. The Ovidian Proem is unusually short but its temporal grasp and literary ambition is extraordinary, Met. 1.1–4:4 In noua fert animus mutatas dicere formas corpora; di, coeptis (nam uos mutastis et illa) adspirate meis primaque ab origine mundi ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen. My mind moves me to tell of shapes changed into new bodies. You, gods, inspire my undertaking (since it was you that changed it) and bring down my continuous song from the world’s very beginning to my own times.5

Three main aspects of metamorphosis are suggested by these lines. In the first place they are transformations not of gods but of human beings brought about by the gods. Next they are single transformations and involve a permanent loss of form: the language describes a single completed action and one new shape: mutatas (“changed”), mutastis (“you changed”), and nova corpora (“new bodies”).6 Finally these transformations are strung together to form a continuous song (carmen perpetuum) from the world’s first origins to the poet’s own time.7 The organizing principle for these changes is not a single plot, event or character but a (relative) chronological order. The narrative itself reveals numerous other organizing techniques that operate within the chronological frame but the only theme that links almost all the stories together is “change” (an additional theme, not mentioned in the Proem and not present in every story, is “love”). Transformation lies also at the heart of the Dionysiaca and is also announced in the Proem, Dion. 1.1–44: Εἰπέ, θεά, Κρονίδαο διάκτορον αἴθοπος εὐνῆς, νυμφιδίῳ σπινθῆρι μογοστόκον ἄσθμα κεραυνοῦ, καὶ στεροπὴν Σεμέλης θαλαμηπόλον· εἰπὲ δὲ φύτλην Βάκχου δισσοτόκοιο, τὸν ἐκ πυρὸς ὑγρὸν ἀείρας onata da Ovidio, e neppure risalente a un modello comune. Le somiglianze fra i due poeti vanno quindi interpretate nel quadro di una tradizione più vasta e complessa”. 4 The most informative commentary on Ovid’s Proem is Barchiesi 2005, 133–45. 5 Translated by the author. 6 In this article I discuss only real and actual metamorphosis. The notion of “multiple metamorphosis” in Anderson (1963) involves metaphorical in addition to physical change and therefore does not concern my research. The portrayal of the Metamorphoses as “a world of ceaseless change and instability” (Newbold 2010, 82) is correct but does not concern me either. 7 Strictly speaking to the apotheosis of Julius Caesar in 44 B. C., the year before Ovid’s birth.

Ovidian Metamorphosis and Nonnian poikilon eidos

Ζεὺς βρέφος ἡμιτέλεστον ἀμαιεύτοιο τεκούσης, φειδομέναις παλάμῃσι τομὴν μηροῖο χαράξας, ἄρσενι γαστρὶ λόχευσε, πατὴρ καὶ πότνια μήτηρ, εὖ εἰδὼς τόκον ἄλλον ἑῷ γονόεντι καρήνῳ ὅς πάρος ὄγκον ἄπιστον ἔχων ἐγκύμονι κόρσῃ τεύχεσιν ἀστράπτουσαν ἀνηκόντιζεν Ἀθήνην. Ἄξατέ μοι νάρθηκα, τινάξατε κύμβαλα, Μοῦσαι, καὶ παλάμῃ δότε θύρσον ἀειδομένου Διονύσου. Ἀλλὰ χοροῦ ψαύοντι Φάρῳ παρὰ γείτονι νήσῳ στήσατέ μοι Πρωτῆα πολύτροπον, ὄφρα φανείη ποικίλον εἶδος ἔχων, ὅτι ποικίλον ὕμνον ἀράσσω. Εἰ γὰρ ἐφερπύσσειε δράκων κυκλούμενος ὁλκῷ, μέλψω θεῖον ἄεθλον, ὅπως κισσώδεϊ θύρσῳ φρικτὰ δρακοντοκόμων ἐδαΐζετο φῦλα Γιγάντων· εἰ δὲ λέων φρίξειεν ἐπαυχενίην τρίχα σείων, Βάκχον ἀνευάξω βλοσυρῆς ἐπὶ πήχεϊ Ῥείης μαζὸν ὑποκλέπτοντα λεοντοβότοιο θεαίνης· εἰ δὲ θυελλήεντι μετάρσιος ἅλματι ταρσῶν πόρδαλις ἀίξῃ πολυδαίδαλον εἶδος ἀμείβων, ὑμνήσω Διὸς υἷα, πόθεν γένος ἔκτανεν Ἰνδῶν πορδαλίων ὀχέεσσι καθιππεύσας ἐλεφάντων· εἰ δέμας ἰσάζοιτο τύπῳ συός, υἷα Θυώνης ἀείσω ποθέοντα συοκτόνον εὔγαμον Αὔρην, ὀψιγόνου τριτάτοιο Κυβηλίδα μητέρα Βάκχου· εἰ δὲ πέλοι μιμηλὸν ὕδωρ, Διόνυσον ἀείσω κόλπον ἁλὸς δύνοντα κορυσσομένοιο Λυκούργου· εἰ φυτὸν αἰθύσσοιτο νόθον ψιθύρισμα τιταίνων, μνήσομαι Ἰκαρίοιο, πόθεν παρὰ θυάδι ληνῷ βότρυς ἁμιλλητῆρι ποδῶν ἐθλίβετο ταρσῷ. Ἄξατέ μοι νάρθηκα, Μιμαλλόνες, ὠμαδίην δὲ νεβρίδα ποικιλόνωτον ἐθήμονος ἀντὶ χιτῶνος σφίγξατέ μοι στέρνοισι, Μαρωνίδος ἔμπλεον ὀδμῆς νεκταρέης, βυθίῃ δὲ παρ’ Εἰδοθέῃ καὶ Ὁμήρῳ φωκάων βαρὺ δέρμα φυλασσέσθω Μενελάῳ. Εὔιά μοι δότε ῥόπτρα καὶ αἰγίδας, ἡδυμελῆ δὲ ἄλλῳ δίθροον αὐλὸν ὀπάσσατε, μὴ καὶ ὀρίνω Φοῖβον ἐμόν· δονάκων γὰρ ἀναίνεται ἔμπνοον ἠχώ, ἐξότε Μαρσύαο θεημάχον αὐλὸν ἐλέγξας δέρμα παρῃώρησε φυτῷ κολπούμενον αὔραις, γυμνώσας ὅλα γυῖα λιπορρίνοιο νομῆος.

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Tell the tale, Goddess, of Cronides’ courier with fiery flame, the gasping travail which the thunder-bolt brought with sparks for wedding-torches, the lightning in waiting upon Semele’s nuptials; tell the naissance of Bacchos twice-born, whom Zeus lifted still moist from the fire, a baby half-complete born without midwife; how with shrinking hands he cut the incision in his thigh and carried him in his man’s womb, father and gracious mother at once–and well he remembered another birth, when his own head conceived, when his temple was big with child, and he carried that incredible unbegotten lump, until he shot out Athena scintillating in her armour. Bring me the fennel, rattle the cymbals, ye Muses! put in my hand the wand of Dionysos whom I sing: but bring me a partner for your dance in the neighbouring island of Pharos, Proteus of many turns, that he may appear in all his diversity of shapes, since I twang my harp to a diversity of songs. For if, as a serpent, he should glide along his winding trail, I will sing my god’s achievement, how with ivy-wreathed wand he destroyed the horrid hosts of Giants serpent-haired. If as a lion he shake his bristling mane, I will cry “Euoi!” to Bacchos on the arm of buxom Rheia, stealthily draining the breast of the lionbreeding goddess. If as a leopard he shoot up into the air with a stormy leap from his pads, changing shape like a master-craftsman, I will hymn the son of Zeus, how he slew the Indian nation, with his team of pards riding down the elephants. If he make his figure like the shape of a boar, I will sing Thyone’s son, love-sick for Aura the desirable, boarslayer, daughter of Cybele, mother of the third Bacchos late-born. If he be mimic water, I will sing Dionysos diving into the bosom of the brine, when Lycurgos armed himself. If he become a quivering tree and tune a counterfeit whispering, I will tell of Icarios, how in the jubilant winepress his feet crushed the grape in rivalry. Bring me the fennel, Mimallons! On my shoulders in place of the wonted kirtle, bind, I pray, tight over my breast a dapple-back fawnskin, full of the perfume of Maronian nectar; and let Homer and deep-sea Eidothea keep the rank skin of the seals for Menelaos. Give me the jocund tambours and the goatskins! but leave for another the double-sounding pipe with its melodious sweetness, or I may offend my own Apollo; for he rejects the sound of breathing reeds, ever since he put to shame Marsyas and his god-defiant pipes, and bared every limb of the skin-stript shepherd, and hung his skin on a tree to belly in the breezes.8

Nonnus’ Proem contrasts with Ovid’s on all three aspects of transformation outlined above. In the first place Nonnus lays the focus not on human but on divine metamorphosis (13–5 Proteus). Furthermore he does not foreground single transformations but multiple metamorphosis of one deity. Finally multiple metamorphosis is organized around a single subject-matter, which is the heroic life and deeds of Dionysus (15–33). In Nonnus there are irreversible and permanent transformations as in Ovid but the distinguishing feature of the Dionysiaca are reversible transformations and ever-changing shapes. Reversible transformations are the privilege of the gods, of certain humans of divine descent, and favorites of the gods. Zeus and Bacchus, chief representatives of the first category, have the power of crossing

8 All translations of the Dionysiaca are by Rouse 1940.

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and recrossing boundaries, of changing into animate or inanimate nature and back. They can do these things on different occasions or on one occasion in succession (multiple consecutive transformations). Dionysus-Zagreus assumes nine different shapes as he is being dismembered by the Titans (6.174–205). Multiple transformation is an aspect of Nonnian ποικιλία (diversity) which in turn is associated with Dionysiac shape-shifting.9 All major transformations in the Dionysiaca – real, aspired or metaphorical – are placed against the background of ποικιλία and the mutations and manifestations of Dionysus. But the simultaneous possession of different shapes is monstrous and undesirable. The chief representative of this kind of being is Typhoeus who is defeated and removed from the picture very early in the Dionysiaca. Diversity manifests itself in very original ways. In Book 11.155–223 Ampelos is killed by a bull while emulating bull-shaped Dionysus (a case of imagined self-transformation) and in Book 12.173–87 he is resurrected as a vine-tree. In Book 21.1–154 and 295–8 the nymph Ambrosie fights Lycurgus and runs the danger of being murdered; she prays to Mother earth for help, the earth engulfs her and the Nymph reemerges changed into a vine-shoot; it winds itself around the neck of Lycurgus and nearly strangles him, but Hera frees him by cutting the vine with Ares’ word; eventually the Nymph is catasterized. The idea of a Nymph being transformed into a plant, then continuing her earlier performance in the same episode more vigorously than before and subsequently changing into yet another shape is alien to Ovid. In Ovidian transformations there is continuity, since something of the old shape continues into the new one (the name; human mind and feelings; a striking habit, ability or desire) but as a rule the new shape remains unchanged.10 For instance in Met. 1.544–67 the Nymph Daphne prays to her father for help to escape from the pursuing Apollo and is next changed into a laurel tree. The laurel tree retains the name of the Nymph, human mind and human feelings. Thus it shrinks from the god’s kisses even after death but reacts positively to his promises – that the laurel will become his symbol and crown permanently his head, that it will adorn the head of triumphant Roman generals and will guard the portals of Augustus – as it seems to nod assent with its newly created branches. The consecutive transformations of Ambrosie could be tested against Ovid’s Caeneus story. The Lapith Caeneus (Met. 12.171–535) was originally a

9 Of the various notions of ποικιλία mentioned in Fauth (1981) I am here concerned especially with those that apply to metamorphosis. 10 Chapter 5 of Solodow (1988) offers a very good introduction to the typical features of Ovidian metamorphosis.

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woman called Caenis but was raped by Neptune who in requital changed him into an invulnerable man; but the Centaurs managed to kill Caeneus and after death he was changed into a bird. The crucial difference with Nonnus’ Ambrosie is that the transformation of Caenis into Caeneus belongs to an older episode, entirely unrelated to the episode of the battle between the Lapiths and the Centaurs. Illuminating is also the comparison of Ambrosie to Tereus in the story of Tereus, Procne and Philomela (Met. 6.412–674): when the sisters Procne and Philomela cook and serve to Tereus his son Itys as a special banquet dish, Tereus seizes a sword and begins to pursue them. In the course of the pursuit all three are changed into birds; Tereus is changed into a hoopoe, whose crest and long beak make him look like a warrior and retain the memory of his desire to inflict vengeance (6.671–3). Contrary to the Nonnian Ambrosie, the Ovidian Tereus in the shape of a bird can no longer perform exactly as before, that is pursue the two sisters vigorously and exact his vengeance. In Ovid transformations of the gods are common but multiple consecutive transformations, as when in the Dionysiaca Zeus adopts several shapes in order to court Semele, the future mother of Bacchus (7.318–33), are not practiced by major deities. A single transformation is enough for Zeus or Apollo to conquer the object of his desire. In rare cases minor deities or humans may practice multiple metamorphosis but these prove unsuccessful in terms of the purpose they are intented to achieve. Those who practice them are defeated, outsmarted or killed. The supreme example is Thetis whose multiple transformations in Met. 11.260–5 do not prevent Peleus from raping her. It is significant that in a poem that tells of mutatas formas Proteus does not practice any of his legendary transformations: he is only said to have done so by the rivergod Achelous (Met. 8.730–7). Because in the Proem of the Dionysiaca the poet portrays himself as a successor to Proteus, it is important to stress that in the Metamorphoses the successors to Proteus are portrayed as failures: Thetis is raped by Peleus who acts on the advice of Proteus; Achelous is defeated by Hercules (Met. 8.879–84); Periclymenus is killed by the same hero (Met. 12.555–76). The last case concerns Mestra, Erysichthon’s daughter. The everhungry Erysichthon sells his daughter so that he can provide himself with food; she exploits her ability of multiple metamorphosis to escape the owner and return home to her father, who can then sell her again (Met. 8.846–74). In the end, however, not even this device works, and Erysichthon is reduced to self-cannibalism. Nonnus’ fondness of multiple metamorphosis is manifested in his treatment of Io, the daughter of Inachus. In Ovid she is metamorphosed into a cow but eventually retrieves her human shape, a process of reverse transformation which Ovid describes at length (Met. 1.738–46). Next her worship as a goddess

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is mentioned, but without any reference to the horns of Isis or any association with Io as a formerly horned animal (Met. 1.747 Nunc dea linigera colitur celeberrima turba). What in Ovid is a reverse transformation in Nonnus becomes a multiple metamorphosis, from horned animal to horned goddess. In Dion. 3.259–83 Io’s transformation into a heifer assumes a Dionysiac flavor: though female, she is called ταυροφυής (bull-shaped), an epithet of Dionysus recording one of his principal shapes; and her guardian, the hundred-eyed, ever watchful Argus is referred to as βουκόλον … ποικίλον. In Egypt Io does not retrieve her earlier, human shape but undergoes a new transformation: Io’s bull form is changed into that of the horned goddess Isis (3.279–81 βοέην μετὰ μορφὴν / δαιμονίης ἴνδαλμα μεταλλάξασα κεραίης / ἔσκε θεὰ φερέκαρπος). To be noted that shape-shifting takes place against an ever-changing landscape where the Nile with his muddy floods deposits year after year new alluvium on his bride the earth. As regards single transformations of human beings, in Ovid the focus is placed as a rule on the process of transformation. Nonnus frequently explores other aspects. One was mentioned above: placing the single event against various manifestations of ποικιλία and/or associating it with the shapes and mutations of Dionysus. Another one has to do with the complications of changing identity, as in the Actaeon story discussed in the third section of this article.

2 Poikilon eidos and Metamorphosis: Further Considerations A closer look at the Proems of the Dionysiaca and the Metamorposes reveals further differences as regards the issue of transformation. The first section of Nonnus’ Proem (1–10) deals with the birth of Dionysus, the son of Zeus and Semele. The “birth” of the god whose heroic life and exploits constitute the topic of the Dionysiaca functions at the same time as a suitable “beginning” and also as a metaphor for the creation of the work itself. These lines do not, however, talk about the god’s birth in a simple and straightforward manner. They enrich it with meaningful themes and metaphors: Dionysus’ “double” birth; Zeus’ destructive thunderbolt that became a source of life; Semele who was burnt to ashes but did not die (she was later given a divine life); fire that did not extinguish water; a male parent (Zeus) who provided a life-giving womb; and the birth of Athena from Zeus’ head. Birth is viewed here as a kind of metamorphosis that manifests itself in diverse forms (ποικιλία). Thus section 1 of the Proem introduces the notion of ποικιλία,

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which is mentioned explicitly in line 10 and is a dominant thematic but also stylistic and structural feature of the Dionysiaca. Nonnus announces a concept of metamorphosis that concerns gods and gods-to-be (Semele) and assumes different, reversible shapes, where one shape does not erase the other, where conventional death does not extinguish life. Ovid’s Proem begins with the birth of “new bodies” and the strategically placed word “noua” relates directly to the beginnings of poetic composition (In noua fert animus). In addition to the idea of creation and originality the word “noua” implicitly associates Ovid’s poem with metamorphosis, an idea which returns explicitly in line 2 of the Proem (discussed at the end of this section).11 Ποικιλία appears also as an intrinsic feature of Nonnus’ allusive engagement with Homer and other epic poets. In the second part of the Proem (11– 33) the single Homeric Muse invoked in line 1 (θεά) has changed into many Muses (Μοῦσαι), who in addition appear as Maenads, companions of Bacchus, and in the third section (34–44) are invoked as Mimallones. Furthermore while in the opening line the poet asks the Muse in the Homeric manner to sing of the circumstance of the birth of Dionysus, in the next sections of the Proem he asks for the god’s accoutrements and emblems and changes himself into a Dionysiac poet who strikes up a ποικίλον ὕμνον.12 In the rest of the proem (lines 13–44) Nonnus enters into a more explicit contest with Homer’s account in Odyssey 4 of how Menelaus managed to elicit from Proteus, with the aid of his daughter Eidothea, a prophecy regarding his nostos and the nostoi of other Achaeans.13 I quote the passage directly relevant to the Proem of the Dionysiaca, Od. 4.435–59: τόφρα δ’ ἄρ’ ἥ γ’ ὑποδῦσα θαλάσσης εὐρέα κόλπον τέσσαρα φωκάων ἐκ πόντου δέρματ’ ἔνεικε· πάντα δ’ ἔσαν νεόδαρτα· δόλον δ’ ἐπεμήδετο πατρί. εὐνὰς δ’ ἐν ψαμάθοισι διαγλάψασ’ ἁλίῃσιν ἧστο μένουσ’· ἡμεῖς δὲ μάλα σχεδὸν ἤλθομεν αὐτῆς· ἑξείης δ’ εὔνησε, βάλεν δ’ ἐπὶ δέρμα ἑκάστῳ. ἔνθα κεν αἰνότατος λόχος ἔπλετο· τεῖρε γὰρ αἰνῶς φωκάων ἁλιοτρεφέων ὀλοώτατος ὀδμή·

11 See further Barchiesi 2005, 133–45. 12 On the unconventional character of the Proem see Vian 1976, 7–10; Bannert 2008. On Nonnus as a Dionysiac poet see Shorrock 2001, 114–6 with literature. 13 On Nonnus, Homer and Proteus see Vian 1976, 7–10, 134–6; Fauth 1981, 32–8; Gigli Piccardi 1985, passim; Hopkinson 1994a; Shorrock 2001, 20–3, 114–21.

Ovidian Metamorphosis and Nonnian poikilon eidos

τίς γάρ κ’ εἰναλίῳ παρὰ κήτεϊ κοιμηθείη; ἀλλ’ αὐτὴ ἐσάωσε καὶ ἐφράσατο μέγ’ ὄνειαρ· ἀμβροσίην ὑπὸ ῥῖνα ἑκάστῳ θῆκε φέρουσα ἡδὺ μάλα πνείουσαν, ὄλεσσε δὲ κήτεος ὀδμήν. πᾶσαν δ’ ἠοίην μένομεν τετληότι θυμῷ· φῶκαι δ’ ἐξ ἁλὸς ἦλθον ἀολλέες. αἱ μὲν ἔπειτα ἑξῆς εὐνάζοντο παρὰ ῥηγμῖνι θαλάσσης· ἔνδιος δ’ ὁ γέρων ἦλθ’ ἐξ ἁλός, εὗρε δὲ φώκας ζατρεφέας, πάσας δ’ ἄρ’ ἐπῴχετο, λέκτο δ’ ἀριθμόν· ἐν δ’ ἡμέας πρώτους λέγε κήτεσιν, οὐδέ τι θυμῷ ὠΐσθη δόλον εἶναι· ἔπειτα δὲ λέκτο καὶ αὐτός. ἡμεῖς δὲ ἰάχοντες ἐπεσσύμεθ’, ἀμφὶ δὲ χεῖρας βάλλομεν· οὐδ’ ὁ γέρων δολίης ἐπελήθετο τέχνης, ἀλλ’ ἦ τοι πρώτιστα λέων γένετ’ ἠϋγένειος, αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα δράκων καὶ πάρδαλις ἠδὲ μέγας σῦς· γίγνετο δ’ ὑγρὸν ὕδωρ καὶ δένδρεον ὑψιπέτηλον. ἡμεῖς δ’ ἀστεμφέως ἔχομεν τετληότι θυμῷ. Meanwhile she, having plunged down under the sea’s broad bosom, came back bringing with her four sealskins out of the seaway, all of them recently flayed: she was planning a snare for her father. When she had scooped out beds for us all in the sand of the seashore, she sat waiting for us, and as we came right up beside her, laid us there in a row, over each man throwing a sealskin. Then would the ambush have been most horrible, such was the baneful odor that horridly rose from the sea-bred seals to afflict us. What man ever would lie in a bed with a deep-sea monster? But she saved us herself and devised a great cure for the nuisance: bringing ambrosial unguent sweet in the breathing, she put it under the nostrils of each, thus killing the smell of the monster. So we remained for the whole of the morning with resolute spirits. Soon as the seals came out of the sea-brine, huddled together, they lay down in a row on the tide-heaped sand of the seashore. Out of the sea at midday did the old man come, and he found his well-fed seals, and he went through them all, and he counted the number, counted us first among all of his seabeasts, nor in his spirit noticed that it was a trick; then he too laid himself down there. Shouting and screaming, we launched an assault on him, casting about him arm-holds; nor did the old man forget his craft or his cunning but to begin transformed himself to a long-bearded lion, then to a serpent and next to a panther and then to a huge boar; then he became running water, a tree next, lofty and leafy. We maintained irresistible grips with a resolute spirit.14

14 Translated by R. Merrill.

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As noted above, in the Proem of the Dionysiaca the figure of the Homeric poet is radically changed. The poet is turned into a master of ποικιλία and Dionysiac shape-shifting and applies his transforming art on the Homeric material with meticulous ruthlessness. He does so by appropriating and adapting a Homeric episode, by turning Homer against Homer. Let us begin with the contents of the Homeric episode. Following the instructions of Eidothea Menelaus and his companions put on seal skins and manage to deceive Proteus, who is himself the master of shape-shifting deceit, by passing as real seals. They capture him as he is lying among his flock of seals and hold him down until he has stopped changing himself and returned to his original shape, so that Menelaus may inquire him about his nostos and the nostoi of other Achaean warriors. The Homeric passage contains two kinds of “transformation”, human disguise and divine multiple metamorphosis. The poet of the Dionysiaca asks the Muses to cause Proteus to appear before him in all his diverse shapes (ποικίλον εἶδος) – as he appeared to Menelaus – because he strikes up a hymn of many shapes (ποικίλον ὕμνον). In Homer Proteus is captured and forced to stop changing himself but in Nonnus his capacity for multiple metamorphosis (πολύτροπος) is changed into an aesthetic principle (ποικιλία) and his flock of seals are changed into a Chorus of Muses-Maenads. Of major programmatic significance is the fact that the poet of the Dionysiaca deprives Odysseus of the epithet πολύτροπος that marks the opening of the Odyssey. Based on what Proteus tells Menelaus in Odyssey 4.555–60 “the many wiles” of Odysseus avail him not, since his nostos looks impossible: he is a prisoner on the island of Calypso and has neither a ship nor the companions needed for the voyage. Thus implicitly Nonnus uses Homer against Homer, the episode of Odyssey 4 against the opening line of Homer’s epic. Having deprived Odysseus of his wiles, Nonnus proceeded to appropriate πολύτροπος, change its meaning to “shape-shifting” and apply it to the composition of a ποικίλον ὕμνον to the god of countless mutations. Ποικίλον εἶδος is not a static but a dynamic notion, indicating not just diversity but ever-changing shapes. Whichever of his six Homeric shapes should Proteus choose to adopt, Nonnus is able to match him with appropriately varied theme and style. The poet matches the six shapes in which Proteus appears in the Odyssey to episodes of Dionysus’ life recounted in the Dionysiaca. Serpent, lion, leopard, boar, water and tree are also manifestations of Bacchus and Zeus. Furthermore almost every individual manifestation of Proteus is at the same time multi-shaped: the serpent that “glides along its winding trail” changes shape as it moves and has the ivy on the thyrsus as its counterpart; the leopard with the spotted skin undergoes Protean transforma-

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tions as it leaps storm-like through the air;15 water can take all possible shapes; the quivering tree has an ever-changing shape.

2.1 νεβρὶς ποικιλόνωτος vs φωκάων δέρματα In lines 34–8 of the Proem Nonnus takes up the issue of human disguise in the Odyssean episode and attaches aesthetic significance to it. He rejects the Homeric heavy-smelling seal skin of Menelaus16 for the sake of the Dionysiac “dappled fawn skin” that smells of the aroma of Maronian nectar. In doing so he simultaneously rejects the single shape (seal skin) for the many shapes of the νεβρὶς ποικιλόνωτος, which stands for the quality of ποικιλία in the new epic. Furthermore while the seal skin is a casual means of disguise, intended only to deceive, the fawn skin is a ritual garment occurring several times in the Dionysiaca. It is commonly worn by the god’s companions or favorites, the god himself and even by Zeus.17 The poet receives the dappled fawn skin from the hands of the Muses – Maenads and is thus singled out as the first in order and rank among the favorites of Dionysus.

2.2 νεβρὶς ποικιλόνωτος vs δέρμα κολπούμενον αὔραις In the concluding lines of the Proem Nonnus contrasts his newly acquired dappled fawn skin to the skin of flayed Marsyas. The flaying of Marsyas picks up and reverses the situation in Homer where Menelaus and his companions put on the skin of “newly flayed seal skins” (φωκάων … δέρματα … νεόδαρτα). Marsyas challenged Apollo to a musical contest with his flute but lost and in punishment the god flayed him alive and hang his skin on a tree to belly in the breezes. In Ovid’s respective account (Met. 6.382–400) the poet focuses on what happens to the body of Marsyas: his skin is removed entirely leaving behind bare limbs, bare sinews, bare veins, bare insides. By contrast Nonnus focuses on what happens to the skin of Marsyas: as specified in Dion. 19.319– 22 Apollo turned his skin into a windbag (ἔμπνοον ἀσκόν): the wind entered it often as it hang on high and swelled it into a shape resembling living Marsyas which forever reproduced the sound of the double flute. Thus while the 15 Cf. Dion. 43.246–7, of Proteus: κερδαλέος δὲ γέρων πολυδαίδαλον εἶδος ἀμείβων / εἶχε Περικλυμένοιο πολύτροπα δαίδαλα μορφῆς. 16 Cf. Hopkinson 1994a, 10: “the noisome Homeric sealskin is a collateral descendant of Callimachus’ long-distance cranes, braying ass, bloated woman, and filthy river”. 17 On its significance see Maxwell-Stuart 1971.

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poet takes pride in his newly acquired Dionysiac νεβρίς, Marsyas is deprived of his own skin. The dappled fawn skin stands for the god’s favorite ποικίλον ὕμνον; Marsyas’ skin stands for the song that the god rejects, the arrogant, god-fighting flute-playing.18 Ovid’s short Proem also applies the notion of metamorphosis to the poet’s manner of writing but in its own terms. I already noted above that the opening phrase “In noua fert animus” introduces the composition of the poem as a kind of metamorphosis. The expression also programmatically eliminates the role of the epic Muse. But this is not done in direct competition with Homer as it happens in the Proem of the Dionysiaca. The third person singular opening (In noua fert animus) is directed at Virgil’s first person singular opening (Aen. 1.1 Arma virumque cano). In the next three lines Ovid reestablishes divine inspiration in a conspicuous manner. The pattern of beginning with the poet’s own voice and next (re)turning to divine inspiration is Virgilian and Ovid’s target is again Virgil: while Virgil reestablishes the Homeric Muse (Aen. 1.8 Musa, mihi causas memora) Ovid addresses the gods in general.19 In the second line of the Proem the gods are asked to inspire Ovid’s undertaking, an undertaking they have changed just as they changed the shapes of things that are the subject of the poem. Ovid thus applies the notion of metamorphosis to his own work in terms of his “changed” manner of writing (nam vos mutastis et illa).20 According to E. J. Kenney (1976) Ovid is implying that he had embarked upon another kind of (epic) poem when the gods intervened and deflected his purpose, along the line of Apollo’s intervention in Virg. Ecl. 6.3–5. A more probable interpretation was given by Kovacs (1987, 462): “The change Ovid is alluding to is his new manner of writing: no longer light love poetry (or love letters from fictional heroines) in elegiac couplets but instead mythical narrative in hexameter”. Whatever the case, in the Proem Ovid tells how the generic direction of his inspiration was transformed and how divine intervention caused him to turn from the kind of poetry he was writing to composing the Metamorphoses. Nonnus tells how he left behind Homeric epic and transformed himself into a Dionysiac poet by receiving from the Muses-Maenads the dappled fawn skin, the emblem of the Protean Dionysiaca.

18 On Marsyas’ music see further Harries 2006, 539–40. 19 Cf. Barchiesi 2005, 137: “La più sintetica e globale invocazione agli dèi nella storia dell’epica”. 20 The majority of MSS read illas, with reference to formas. Illa is a late medieval variant now accepted by most editors and refers to coepta.

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3 The Episode of Actaeon in the Dionysiaca The contrast between Ovidian metamorphosis and Nonnian poikilon eidos detected in the programs of the two poems and outlined in general terms with examples from both epics can be put to the test by comparing episodes which treat the same myth and have been discussed in the context of Nonnus’ presumed dependence on Ovid. The Actaeon myth belongs to the most prominent episodes of this kind. An additional advantage is the following one: the dappled fawn skin (νεβρὶς ποικιλόνωτος), the Dionysiac garment which the poet receives from the Muses-Maenads in the Proem and which is emblematic of the ποικίλον ὕμνον he sings, plays a crucial role in Nonnus’ version of the Actaeon myth (Dion. 5.287–551). It is highly significant that the next reference to the dappled fawn skin occurs in the Actaeon story. This time it is the dappled skin (στικτὸν δέμας / εἶδος) of the fawn (νεβρός) / deer (ἔλαφος) into which Actaeon is transformed. It will be shown below that Nonnus’ version of the myth presents meaningful and significant connections with the Proem of the Dionysiaca. The best known version of the Actaeon myth occurs in Ovid’s Metamorphoses (3.138–252) and it is the one that made Actaeon a favorite subject in Western Literature and Art. According to Ovid, Actaeon, the son of Autonoe and grandson of Cadmus, while seeking a cool resting place after a tiring hunting expedition accidentally walked into the forest pool where Artemis was bathing in the company of her Nymphs; angered at having been seen naked by mortal eyes the vengeful goddess instantly turned Actaeon into a stag by sprinkling him with water; the hero was subsequently chased and mangled by his own hounds which did not recognize their transformed master.21 Nonnus offers a composite narrative in two parts.22 In the first part of the episode (Dion. 5.287–369) he tells the story approximately like Ovid but with four major differences: Actaeon spies deliberately on bathing Artemis from the top of an oak tree, as Pentheus in Euripides’ Bacchae attempts to spy on the Maenads (1064–75), because he feels erotic desire for the goddess; the hero is instantly transformed as in Ovid, but Artemis does not address him and does not openly use her powers or any visible means to turn him into a deer; the punishing deity slows down the rage of the hounds so that the hero’s suffering may last longer; Actaeon retains the capacity to speak for the time necessary

21 On the myth of Actaeon and Ovid’s treatment of it see Schlam 1984; Lacy 1990. Commentaries: Bömer 1969, 487–514; Anderson 1997, 388–409; Barchiesi – Rosati 2007, 146–65. 22 Chuvin 1976, 95–8.

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to utter a moving lament (Dion. 5.332–69) as he is being mangled by his own hounds while in Ovid transformed Actaeon loses his human voice immediately. In the second part of the episode (Dion. 5.370–551) Rumor brings the sad news to Actaeon’s mother Autonoe, who next searches vainly for her son’s remains. Later the soul of Actaeon in the shape of a dappled deer appears to his father Aristaeus in sleep and talks to him with human voice: he identifies himself as his son; he confesses his erotic desire for Artemis; he pleads the innocence of his hounds which are now mourning and vainly looking for him; he retells the story of his death but replaces the oak tree with the olive sacred to Athena, admitting that he committed hybris towards both Athena and Artemis; he gives further details concerning the bath of Artemis and the reaction of her nymphs; and he provides indications as to the whereabouts of his remains and gives instructions for his burial. When Aristaeus wakes up, he informs his wife of the dream and their son’s instructions and she locates, collects and buries his remains. Braune, Keydell and D’Ippolito among others argued that Ovid was one of Nonnus’ models. They adduced as evidence a number of parallels, like the following ones: the reaction of the Nymphs to the sight of spying Actaeon (Dion. 5.307–10 = Met. 3.178–80); Actaeon’s outer transformation with parallel preservation of human conscience, his flight and fear of wild animals (Dion. 5.316–25 = Met. 3.194–205 passim); a passage referring to the mangling of the hero by his hounds (Dion. 5.329–31 = Met. 3.249–50); and a passage about the bath of Artemis (Dion. 5.482–4 = Met. 3.163–4).23 We have already seen that there are substantial divergences between the two versions of the story of Actaeon. Pursuing the topic of Nonnian ποικιλία vs Ovidian metamorphosis I will attempt to show below that any similarities like the ones listed above should not distract our attention from the distinguishing features of Nonnus’ narrative. Actaeon’s instructions for his burial monument sum up basic points of my argument, Dion. 5.527–32: “… ζῳοτύπον δ’ ἱκέτευε πολύτροπον, ὄφρα χαράξῃ στικτὸν ἐμὸν νόθον εἶδος ἀπ’ αὐχένος εἰς πόδας ἄκρους· μοῦνον ἐμοῦ βροτέοιο τύπον τεύξειε προσώπου, πάντες ἵνα γνώωσιν ἐμὴν ψευδήμονα μορφήν. Μηδέ, πάτερ, γράψειας ἐμὸν μόρον· οὐ δύναται γὰρ δακρυχέειν ἐμὸν εἶδος ὁμοῦ καὶ πότμον ὁδίτης”.

23 Braune 1935, 33–8; Keydell 1935, 601–3; D’Ippolito 1964, 177–90.

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“… And ask a skillful artist to carve my changeling dappled shape from neck to feet, but let him make only my face of human form, that all may recognize my shape as false. But do not inscribe my fate, father; for the wayfarer cannot shed a tear for fate and shape together”.

Actaeon desires that a versatile artist (ζῳοτύπον … πολύτροπον) should carve an image of his consisting of a dappled deer body and a human face, so that all may recognize (ἵνα γνώωσιν) his shape as false; there should be no inscription telling his fate.24 These instructions tell the reader in a very eloquent fashion what the focus and purpose of the second part of Nonnus’ Actaeon episode is about. It develops the theme of animal ignorance of the deer’s human identity, which caused the hounds to tear their former master apart, into human ignorance of Actaeon’s true identity25 and the hero’s efforts to make it known: his mother does not recognize his remains the first time she searches for them because they are not human (Dion. 5.390–404, beginning with: εἶδε καὶ οὐ γίνωσκεν ἑὸν γόνον); the dead hero spends sixteen lines (Dion. 5.415–431) revealing his human identity to his sleeping father by identifying individual parts of his animal body with human parts; and he gives instructions for carving a funerary image of himself with an animal body and a human head attached to it. The meticulous presentation to Aristaeus sounds like a reverse transformation, a restoration of the human form, but it is actually the fruit of Actaeon’s anguish to make his human identity known. While Ovid mentions the preservation of Actaeon’s human mind only once (Met. 3.203 mens tantum pristina manet), Nonnus does it repeatedly (beginning with Dion. 5.323 εἰσέτι μοῦνος ἔην νόος ἔμπεδος), because it is precisely this condition which enables the transformed hero to possess and display consciousness of his situation and struggle to make it known. Transformed human beings in Ovid frequently retain human consciousness but are entirely incapable of taking initiatives and acting like human beings in order to achieve something. “This monstrous and ugly figure is unparalleled”, writes Chuvin of the image to be carved on Actaeon’s burial monument.26 Indeed the simultaneous possession of an animal body and a human head makes of Actaeon a “monstrous” figure. But what is the significance of this representation? For Actaeon it is the dappled fawn skin that represents his new identity and it is an identity he stubbornly rejects; in his desire to show that his ποικίλον εἶδος is false and make his human identity known he is caught between the animal and the 24 On inscriptions in the Dionysiaca see Montes Cala 2009. 25 Human ignorance appears also in Ovid but it is restricted to Actaeon’s hunting companions (Met. 3.242–6). 26 Chuvin 1976, 191.

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human shape (physical identity), something unparalleled in Ovid and monstrous by Nonnian standards. It should be stressed that Nonnus gives great prominence to the spotted skin of transformed Actaeon, unlike Ovid who mentions it only once and at the obvious moment of the hero’s metamorphosis (Met. 3.197 maculoso vellere). In the Dionysiaca there are eight references to Actaeon’s dappled skin, which cover a wide spectrum of linguistic and descriptive ποικιλία (στικτός Dion. 5.321, 331, 413, 528; ποικίλλετο 321; δαιδάλεος 391, 501; αἰόλος 494) and occur at crucial points of the narrative. The spotted skin is singled out by Actaeon to represent his animal shape on the funerary monument. As already noted above, in the Metamorphoses Actaeon is changed into a stag (cervus), while in the Dionysiaca he is changed into a fawn (νεβρός) or deer (ἔλαφος). The employment of νεβρός in the Actaeon episode is associated with νεβρίς, the fawn skin given to the poet in the Proem of the Dionysiaca, in a number of significant ways. In the first place it is in the opening lines of the Actaeon episode that the second reference to νεβρός occurs. It serves to introduce the fate of Actaeon as “the wandering fawn torn apart by his hounds” (Dion. 5.301 κυνοσπάδα νεβρὸν ἀλήτην). In addition the sculptor who will be begged to carve Actaeon’s image on the funerary monument should be πολύτροπος, like Proteus and like the poet who appropriates his skills in the Proem – actually this is the second occurrence of πολύτροπος in the epic with reference to artistic creation. But unlike the poet who proudly claims from the Muses the Dionysiac νεβρὶς ποικιλόνωτος, Actaeon resists his transformation into a fawn (νεβρός) with dappled skin. On the carved image Actaeon’s spotted animal shape extends from the neck downwards like a garment, like the poet’s fawn skin worn on his shoulders in lieu of a χιτών (1.34–5 ὠμαδίην δὲ / νεβρίδα ποικιλόνωτον ἐθήμονος ἀντὶ χιτῶνος). I will return to this point below. To be noted that in stories and art the metamorphosis of Actaeon is often enacted by Artemis throwing a stag’s skin over the hero.27

4 Actaeon and Pentheus Scholars have identified Dionysiac features in the Actaeon myth and have noted parallels between Actaeon, Pentheus and Dionysus: they are Theban cousins who suffer a similar fate and the first two are offenders respectively against Artemis and Dionysus. They have also pointed out that Nonnus’ Actaeon: as hunter and game evokes Pentheus and Dionysus; gazes on bathing 27 Burkert 1983, 112.

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Artemis from the branches of a tree just as in Euripides’ Bacchae (1064–75) and in the Pentheid (Dion. 44.58–60, 46.145–58) Pentheus attempts to spy upon the Bacchants from a similar location. The Actaeon episode anticipates the Pentheid (Dion. 44–46) on various points. It should also be noted that in Euripides’ Bacchae as well the fate of Actaeon anticipates that of Pentheus: Cadmus warns the King by reminding him of the death of Actaeon who was torn apart by his hounds because he boasted that he excelled Artemis in hunting (Bacc. 337–41, 1291).28 Below I will engage myself with aspects of the relation between the Actaeon and the Pentheus episodes of the Dionysiaca. As noted above, from a narrative viewpoint various elements of the Actaeon episode anticipate the fate of Pentheus; but most of the Actaeon precedents are themselves derived or developed from Euripides’ Bacchae, which in turn is the principal model of the Pentheid.29

4.1 Transformed Actaeon and Disguised Pentheus In this context Actaeon’s rejection of his new, spotted skin seems to allude to characters that resist the religion of Dionysus and more specifically to Pentheus who, before Dionysus drove him mad, refused to dress up like a Maenad (Eur. Bacc. 851–3). Actaeon bears the shape of a spotted deer when he is torn apart by his “fawn-killing” hounds (νεβροφόνοι: an epithet elsewhere applied almost exclusively to Dionysus and his followers)30 and Pentheus is dressed as a woman when he is mangled by the Maenads. But these are not ordinary female clothes: to the garments of his mother and aunt(s) Nonnus has added a touch of ποικιλία: Pentheus puts on a ποικιλόνωτον … πέπλον and a ποικίλος … χιτών, Dion. 46.110–5: καὶ χροῒ ποικιλόνωτον ἐδύσατο πέπλον Ἀγαύης· Αὐτονόης δ’ ἔσφιγξεν ἐπὶ πλοκάμοισι καλύπτρην, στήθεα μιτρώσας βασιλήια κυκλάδι τέχνῃ· καὶ πόδας ἐσφήκωσε γυναικείοισι πεδίλοις· χειρὶ δὲ θύρσον ἄειρε· μετερχομένοιο δὲ Βάκχας ποικίλος ἰχνευτῆρι χιτὼν ἐπεσύρετο ταρσῷ. 28 Heath 1992, 10–8, 136–42 with literature. 29 On Dion. 46 in relation to Euripides’ Bacchae see D’Ippolito 1964, 165–75; Tissoni 1998, 66– 71; Simon 2004, 103–32; Accorinti 2004, 339–55. On Actaeon and Pentheus in the Dionysiaca as instances of “ἀσέβεια punita” see D’Ippolito 1964, 164–90. Tissoni 1998, 324 calls the σύγκρισις between Actaeon and Pentheus “motivo guida del canto 46”. 30 Dion. 5.329, 447; 16.141; 25.225; 44.198. The only exception is 13.115, of Agamemnon.

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He donned the embroidered robe of Agaue, bound Autonoe’s veil over his locks, laced his royal breast in a rounded handwork, passed his feet into women’s shoes; he took a thyrsus in hand, and as he walked after the Bacchants a broidered smock trailed behind his hunting heel.

Women’s clothes and the thyrsus derive from Euripides’ Bacchae. There Dionysus proposes to dress Pentheus in female clothes (821–34); to these he adds a thyrsus and a “dappled fawn skin” (835 νεβροῦ στικτὸν δέρας), the traditional cloak of the Maenads, which his mother and her sisters wear in the play (24, 111, 696–7). Pentheus resists the idea and so the god drives him mad, dresses him in women’s clothes and gives him a thyrsus; this time the text does not (explicitly) mention a νεβρίς (915–44). In the Dionysiaca Bacchus invites Pentheus to dress in female clothes and become a female Agave (46.83). When Pentheus is driven mad, he chooses the items himself, from among the clothing of his mother and aunts. Bacchic frenzy guides him to choose suitable clothing: the list begins with a ποικιλόνωτον … πέπλον and concludes with a ποικίλος … χιτών. The Dionysiac character of ποικιλόνωτος with reference to a garment is undisputable: of the nine occurrences in the Dionysiaca four concern a fawn skin (νεβρίς) and one a leopard skin.31 I would not agree, however, that the ποικιλόνωτον … πέπλον Pentheus puts on is a νεβρίς,32 because a few lines below πέπλος and νεβρίς are kept distinct (Dion. 46.159–160) and because the passage mentions in addition a ποικίλος … χιτών. Ι would rather think that in order to disguise himself as a Maenad Pentheus chooses items of female clothing which are ποικίλα and have the appearance of a νεβρίς.33 The ποικίλος … χιτών that trails behind Pentheus’ heels as he is preparing to join the Bacchants is reminiscent of transformed Actaeon’s spotted fawn skin that “extends from neck to foot” (5.528 στικτὸν ἐμὸν νόθον εἶδος ἀπ’ αὐχένος εἰς πόδας ἄκρους). As for the epithet στικτός qualifying the fawn skin in the Bacchae, it was noted above that it occurs four times in Nonnus’ Actaeon narrative with reference to the hero’s spotted animal shape. On the whole disguised Pentheus and transformed Actaeon appear “clothed” in Dionysiac skin and garments: both are distinctly ποικίλα. And it would seem that the Euripidean / Dionysiac νεβρίς

31 1.35 given to the poet; 7.343 worn by Zeus; 37.702 worn by Melisseus; 43.78 to be worn by Proteus; 14.357 of leopard skin; cf. Tissoni 1998, 311. 32 Simon 2004, 113, 142. 33 Accorinti 2004, 461 translates ποικιλόνωτον … πέπλον as “manto variegato” and ποικίλος … χιτών as “variopinta veste”. The latter picks up the πέπλοι ποδήρεις of Euripides’ Bacchae (833) which, according to EtM 191.5, were called βασσάραι, were ποικίλοι and were worn by Thracian Bacchants (Accorinti 2004, ad loc. with literature; Dodds 1960, 177).

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was instrumental in shaping both the skin of Actaeon and Pentheus’ female garments.

4.2 The Attached Head and the Missing Head In Euripides’ Bacchae Agave and her sisters instigated by Dionysus uproot the fir tree, on which Pentheus was perched preparing to spy on them, “in order to capture the mounted beast” (1107–08 τὸν ἀμβάτην / θῆρ’ ὡς ἕλωμεν); Pentheus falls to the ground and realizing that death is approaching casts away the snood from his head, so that his mother may recognize him and spare his life (1116 ὥς νιν γνωρίσασα μὴ κτάνοι). In a desperate condition and touching her cheek in supplication Pentheus appeals to her to recognize him and spare his life (1118–21). But the possessed sisters tear him apart; and next Agave fixes his head on the point of her thyrsus and carries it around as if it belonged to a mountain lion (1141–42 ὡς ὀρεστέρου / … λέοντος). In Book 46 of the Dionysiaca events unfold in approximately the same way. Relevant to the topic of this article are the following differences: though in both works Pentheus recovers his senses when he falls to the ground, Nonnus’ Pentheus does not explicitly remove his head-dress (cf. Dion. 46.189–90) so that his mother may recognize him; but from his appeal to Agave for mercy it becomes clear that the καλύπτρη is gone and his face is fully visible. The way Nonnus elaborates on the appeal of Euripidean Pentheus to his mother (1118–21) is very significant, Dion. 46.194–8, 201–2: Μήτερ ἐμή, δύσμητερ, ἀπηνέος ἴσχεο λύσσης· θῆρα πόθεν καλέεις με τὸν υἱέα; Ποῖα κομίζω στήθεα λαχνήεντα; Tίνα βρυχηθμὸν ἰάλλω; Οὐκέτι γινώσκεις με τὸν ἔτρεφες, οὐκέτι λεύσσεις· Σὴν φρένα καὶ τεὸν ὄμμα τις ἤρπασε; […] Δέρκεο ταῦτα γένεια νεότριχα, δέρκεο μορφήν ἀνδρομέην· οὐκ εἰμὶ λέων· οὐ θῆρα δοκεύεις. O my mother, cruel mother, cease from this heartless frenzy! How can you call me your son a wild beast? Where is my shaggy chest? Where is my roaring voice? Do you not know me any longer whom you nursed, do not you see any longer? Who has robbed you of sense and sight? […] See this chin with its young beard, see the shape of a man – I am no lion; no wild beast is what you see.

Euripides focuses exclusively on the son-mother relationship while Nonnus adds the crucial distinction between animal and human being. When the ghost

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of transformed Actaeon appeared to his sleeping father, he identified individual parts of his animal body with human parts because Aristaeus saw a deer before his eyes and could not recognize his son. Pentheus is human but his frenzied mother takes him for a lion (Dion. 46.176–7) and so he does something analogous: he points to parts of his body begging his mother to see and recognize that they do not belong to a lion but to a human being.34 To be noted that the fawn (Actaeon) and the lion (Pentheus) are both Dionysiac animals. From a narrative viewpoint the passage of the Actaeon episode anticipates the one in the Pentheus narrative. It is likely, however, that the Actaeon passage developed Pentheus’ appeal to Agave in Euripides’ Bacchae mentioned above. As evidence I would adduce the overall context of Pentheus’ death. Accorinti notes correctly that Pentheus who falls from the fir tree and is mangled by his mother possessed by λύσσα and unable to recognize him evokes Actaeon who falls from the olive tree, is immediately transformed into a fawn and torn apart by his hounds which do not recognize him and are also driven by λύσσα (5.493–6, 325–31).35 To these common elements let me add one more: at the moment of death Actaeon bears the shape of a spotted fawn and respectively Pentheus is (or was) dressed in a ποικιλόνωτον … πέπλον and a ποικίλος … χιτών. The Actaeon passages constitute a narrative precedent within the Dionysiaca but probably they were themselves modeled after the death of Pentheus in Euripides’ Bacchae. When Agave recovers her senses, she realizes that she is not holding a lion’s head but the head of her own son. She kisses it on the eyes, cheeks and curls, laments her action, blesses Autonoe because she wept for her son but did not kill him, and promises to build a tomb and bury the headless body with an inscription informing wayfarers of her son’s parentage and fate, Dion. 46.315–9: “… Σοὶ μὲν ἐγὼ φιλόδακρυς, ἀώριε, τύμβον ἐγείρω χερσὶν ἐμαῖς ἀκάρηνον ἐνικρύψασα κονίῃ σὸν δὲμας· ὑμετέρῳ δ’ ἐπὶ σήματι τοῦτο χαράξω· ‘Εἰμὶ νέκυς Πενθῆος, ὁδοιπόρε· νηδὺς Ἀγαύης παιδοκόμος με λόχευσε καὶ ἔκτανε παιδοφόνος χείρ’”.

34 Tissoni 1998, 324 sees a “direct echo” of Dion. 5.415–732 but does not observe this aspect of the σύγκρισις between Actaeon and Pentheus. 35 Accorinti 2004, 351–2.

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“… For you, untimely dead, I will build amid my tears a tomb with my own hands. I will lay in the earth your headless body; and on your monument I will carve these words: ‘Wayfarer, I am the body of Pentheus; the cherishing womb of Agaue brought me forth, and the murdering hand of Agaue slew her son’”.

Actaeon was torn apart by his own hounds; Pentheus suffered a sparagmos by his mother and aunts. Apparently someone collected the limbs of Pentheus’ body for burial (Dion. 46.353–5), as Autonoe collected the scattered members of Actaeon (Dion. 5.545–546). Both narratives attach particular attention to the head of the dead heroes. Autonoe kisses Actaeon’ deer head on the lips and caresses one of its horns (Dion. 5.545–8); Agave kisses the eyes, cheeks and curls of Pentheus’ head; Autonoe in her own lament dedicates several lines to Pentheus’ human head in contrast to Actaeon’s deer head (Dion. 46.322–8). Transformed Actaeon’s carved image will bear a deer head; Pentheus’ body will be buried without the head. Agave buries a headless body (ἀκάρηνον) though she could bury a body (δέμας) reconstituted in its entirety. In Bacc. 1298–300 Cadmus collects the limbs (ἄρθρα) of Pentheus but further information regarding its recomposition has been lost because of a lacuna in the text.36 In the exodos of the Euripidean tragedy Pentheus’ severed head functions independently of his body, when Agave carries it to Cadmus in triumph (1165– 285), and the same happens in the narrative of the Dionysiaca (46.217–320). Iconographical sources preceding the Bacchae represent women carrying various parts of Pentheus’ dismembered body, not just the head.37 I suspect that it is the Bacchae and its tradition which inspired Nonnus to detach the head from the rest of Pentheus’ body also at burial and to give prominence to Actaeon’s head – Autonoe’s lament is illuminating on this point, because it contrasts Pentheus’ head to her own son’s animal head. I will return to this argument below. But there is also another reason for the attention attached to Pentheus’ head and regards the distinction between human and animal identity. It takes us back to the Actaeon episode and concerns the relation between Pentheus’ condition and the condition of metamorphosed Actaeon. Pentheus is metaphorically caught between the animal and the human condition in a way reminiscent of Actaeon. The ποικιλόνωτος πέπλος assimilates young Pentheus (cf. 46.201 γένεια νεότριχα; 315 ἀώριε) to a νεβρός; his frenzied mother takes him for a lion; he appeals to his mother’s eyes and reason vainly trying to convince her that he is not an animal by pointing to parts of his human body. Cadmus reacts as follows to the sight of Agave triumphantly holding his grandson’s head in her blood-stained hands: “What 36 Dodds 1960, 232; Kirk 1970, 130–1; Seaford 2001, 249–50. 37 See, for instance, Weaver 2009.

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an intelligent beast you have conquered” (Dion. 46.242 Οἷον θῆρα δάμασσας ἐχέφρονα). The epithet ἐχέφρων occurs twenty-six times in the Dionysiaca, five of which – the greatest number by far in a single episode – are found in the Actaeon episode: four are used to qualify the condition of metamorphosed Actaeon, the “intelligent fawn” (ἐχέφρων νεβρός), and one to qualify his “intelligent hounds” (Dion. 5.351, 368, 464, 538; 450). Aristotle taught that the seat of reason was the heart but Alcmeon of Croton, Hippocrates, Plato and Galen believed that it was the brain. A vital manifestation of intelligence missing from Ovid’s transformed human beings is speech. We have already seen that while in Ovid Actaeon loses from the start his human voice and hence the capacity to express himself, in Nonnus he retains it for a time sufficient to voice a long complaint; having retrieved the capacity to speak after death he utters a long speech to his sleeping father. It is also through speech that Pentheus appeals, though vainly, to the vision and reason of Agave imploring her to recognize that he is not an animal but a human being. But speech goes along with human shape and so Actaeon asks his father to have an image carved on his funerary monument that will represent him with a human head attached to an animal body so that all may recognize his true identity. I suggest that Nonnus derived inspiration from the independent function of Pentheus’ severed head in the Bacchae in order to compose a monstrous and grotesque representation of Actaeon. The same source probably inspired him to stage the burial of a headless body instead of recomposing it. But these Nonnian inventions created an intriguing situation: while in the Actaeon episode the human head attached to the animal body was adequately informative without the need of a funerary inscription vice-versa the headless body requires an inscription informing wayfarers of his parentage and fate. It is as if the need for an inscription was triggered by the fact that Pentheus’ head was missing and could not “narrate” his story. Here there may be a connection between head and inscription as a written utterance. The crucial elements discussed above do not occur in Ovid’s Pentheus narrative (Met. 3.511–733) or take a different direction. The Pentheus episode is located at the end of Book 3 and balances the Actaeon episode within the cycle of stories concerning the fate of Cadmus’ grandsons and daughters.38 The main source is again Euripides’ Bacchae; a significant mediating text in parts of the episode is Virgil’s Aeneid.39 In the Metamorphoses there is no

38 Commentaries on the Pentheus episode: Bömer 1969, 570–625; Anderson 1997, 388–409; Barchiesi – Rosati 2007, 207–41. On Actaeon and Pentheus see Feldherr 1997 and 2010. 39 Barchiesi – Rosati 2007, 207–13.

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mention of female disguise with regard to Pentheus (Met. 3.701–3);40 in fact the king does not yield an inch to Bacchus and is not driven mad by the god.41 Ovid reserves disguise for the god himself: Acoetes, who is brought before Pentheus, presents himself as a former helmsman and now follower of Bacchus and tells him a story of how the god in the form of a beautiful boy was kidnapped by the sailors of his ship and then manifested himself in all his majesty and turned the sailors into dolphins, is probably Dionysus himself. Acoetes’ narrative is complemented with the miracles he works in the end: he is cast into prison by Pentheus but, as his attendants are preparing the instruments of torture, the prison doors are thrown open of themselves and he is released from bonds (Met. 3.572–700). Commentators note that the Ovidian Acoetes reworks not only the helmsman of the Homeric Hymn to Dionysius (7) but also Dionysus in Euripides’ Bacchae, who in the capacity of ξένος is captured and brought before Pentheus but next manifests his supernatural powers and releases himself revealing his divine identity – actually Acoetes is captured while Pentheus’ attendants are searching for Dionysus.42 Ovid’s Pentheus watches the Maenads not from a tree-top but from a clearing near the middle of the mountain (Met. 3.708–10) – hence the connection made above between Actaeon’s fall from the olive tree and Pentheus’ fall from the fir tree is irrelevant. As Pentheus is spying on the Bacchic orgies from this elevated location, his mother spots him, wounds him with her thyrsus and invites her sisters to join in the hunt of the “wild boar” (aper). Pentheus is frightened, gives up his arrogant and violent talk, repents and confesses his 40 McNamara 2010, 183: “Clearly, Ovid’s Pentheus is not in the cross-dressing world of drama, but the (Roman) epic world, with its suspicions of effeminate men. Or at least, that is where he aspires to place himself with his rhetoric”. 41 Cf. Barchiesi – Rosati 2007, 208: “il personaggio di Ovidio rimase fino al crollo finale un aggressivo tiranno, patriotico, militarista, mascolino e nemico del nuovo dio”. 42 A version of the story of the Tyrrhenian pirates (Σικελὸς μῦθος) occurs also in Nonnus and is put in the mouth of Tiresias and addressed to Pentheus as a tale warning the king against the god’s wrath (Dion. 45.105–69). First Keydell 1935, 603–4 and later D’Ippolito 1964, 173–7 suggested that Nonnus derived the idea of inserting the tale into the Pentheus narrative directly from Ovid; see further Chuvin 1992, 74–7. For a presentation and comparison of these and other versions of the story of the Tyrrhenian pirates see James 1975; Herter 1980. For an outline of the arguments in favor and against Nonnus’ dependence on Ovid see Herter 1980, 110–3; Barchiesi – Rosati 2007, 221–3; Accorinti 2004, 346–8. While Tiresias’ tale of the Tyrrhenian pirates contains repeated and emphatic warnings to Pentheus to beware of the wrath of Dionysus, in Ovid’s narrative neither the poet not Acoetes issue such a warning, not even once – contrary to scholarly claims which recur invariably since Keydell 1935, 603. On this point see James 1975, 29. Vian 2000, 684 contrasts Nonnus’ narrative to all other versions, in which “Dionysos veut seulement faire reconnaître sa nature divine”. On Acoetes and Bacchus see Hardie 2002, 166–70; Barchiesi – Rosati 2007, 222–3.

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guilt. Wounded and facing death he appeals to his aunt Autonoe for help invoking the shade of Actaeon (“Let Actaeon’s shade move your spirit”), but she does not know (nescit) who Actaeon is, belying the meaning of her name;43 hence she tears away his right arm while his other aunt Ino rips off his left arm. Having no arms to extend and plead for mercy, Pentheus shows the “mangled stumps” of his arms and cries: “Mother, look!” (aspice, mater!). But the sight increases Agave’s frenzy: she wrenches off his head and holding it in her hands she exults in triumph over her victory (Met. 3.711–28). On his way to Cithaeron Pentheus is compared with a spirited war horse eager for battle (Met. 3.704–7; in 531–63 he declared war on the Bacchants) and later frenzied Agave identifies him with a wild boar. The former identification does not occur in Nonnus and in place of the latter the narrative of the Dionysiaca exploits the Euripidean identification with a lion. Ovid’s Pentheus pleads for his life on the basis of family relationships (nephew to aunt, son to mother) but I could not anyway envisage a situation in which he would have pointed to parts of his body, as in Nonnus, distinguishing them from those of a boar. The aftermath of the dismemberment involving Agave, Kadmos and Autonoe (Dion. 6.221–369) and the severed head of Pentheus is absent from Ovid – a boar’s head would anyway not have been convenient for such an occasion. But the message of the last section is clear as regards Pentheus’ mother and aunts: they are the true warriors (Met. 3.728 “opus hoc uictoria nostra est!”) in contrast to Pentheus portrayed as the war horse;44 the true beasts (cf. Met. 3.725 uisis ululauit Agaue) in contrast to Pentheus viewed as a wild boar;45 the maddened hounds that mangled Actaeon. Though Actaeon, unlike Nonnus’ hero, is an innocent offender of Diana and Pentheus a hard-line god-fighter, the circumstances of their death are similar and in fact the death of the former is picked up in Pentheus’ appeal to Autonoe. The frenzied Bacchants hunt down (cf. also Theoc. 26.6) and tear Pentheus apart ignorant of his identity as the hounds do in the case of Actaeon; both heroes are turned from spectators to spectacle; both display the same kind of helplessness: Pentheus is left without arms to hold out to his raging mother and beg for mercy and so he shows her the “mangled stumps” of his arms (Met. 3.723–4 non habet infelix quae matri bracchia tendat, / trunca sed ostendens dereptis uulnera membris); transformed Actaeon uses his eyes 43 James 1993, 88. 44 Anderson 1997, 409: “The final ‘victory’ takes the military imagery from Pentheus’ grasp and lodges it with the women”. 45 Cf. Barchiesi – Rosati 2007, 238: “il riferimento alla visione scatena una violenta ambiguità, dato che la metamorfosi opera non sulla vittima (come nel caso di Atteone), ma nella mente della torturatrice, che ‘vede’ un Penteo diverso da come lo vediamo noi”.

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in place of his arms (3.241 circumfert tacitos tamquam sua bracchia uultus: “he turns his silent eyes from side to side, as if he were stretching arms out towards them”).46 In Nonnus the ποικιλόνωτον … πέπλον assimilates Pentheus to the spotted fawn into which Actaeon was turned; in Ovid dismemberment “metamorphoses” him into a stag which like him does not possess arms. Ovid pursues the theme of dismemberment into a striking simile, of Homeric descent and partly Virgilian wording,47 which concludes the Pentheus episode and brings Maenadic violence to its culmination: the women tear the hero’s limbs more quickly than autumn wind strips the leaves from a tree which are touched by the cold and hardly cling there (3.729–31 non citius frondes autumni frigore tactas / iamque male haerentes alta rapit arbore uentus/ quam sunt membra uiri manibus derepta nefandis). All that is left is a trunk with leafless branches, the analogue of Pentheus’ maimed body. The removal of limbs like tree branches is an implicit metamorphosis, as when the arms of Daphne are changed into branches (Met. 1.550 in ramos bracchia crescunt).48 Tiresias’ prophecy that, if Pentheus should persist in outraging Bacchus, he would end up lying mangled and scattered in countless places (Met. 3.522– 523) is thus fulfilled in the most unexpected way. I have argued that both Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Nonnus’ Dionysiaca place transformation at the heart of their poetic program but in different terms. Nonnus lays the focus not on human but on divine metamorphosis, does not foreground single transformations but multiple metamorphosis, a prominent manifestation of ποικιλία, and organizes it around a single subject-matter, which is the heroic life and deeds of Dionysus (15–33). Ποικιλία features also as an intrinsic feature of Nonnus’ allusive engagement with Homer. In the Proem the poet is turned into a master of ποικιλία and Dionysiac shape-shifting and applies his transforming art on the Homeric material with meticulous ruthlessness. He does so by appropriating and adapting a Homeric episode, by turning Homer against Homer. In reworking the Odyssean episode of Menelaus and Proteus he rejects the single shape of the seal skin and adopts instead the Protean shapes of νεβρὶς ποικιλόνωτος, which stands for the quality ποικιλία in his new Dionysiac epic. In his own short Proem Ovid tells how the generic direction of his inspiration was transformed, how divine intervention caused him to turn from the kind of poetry he was writing to composing the Metamor46 Anderson 1997, 405 reminds us that Ovid likes to describe the frustrating loss of arms in metamorphosis, usually in the form of prayer (he compares Io in Met. 1.636), and understands the dismemberment of Pentheus as “a cruel type of metamorphosis, totally different from the limbless body in Met. 3.680–1 of the sailor who was changed into a sportive dolphin” (408). 47 Barchiesi – Rosati 2007, 239–40. 48 On the change pattern “arms into branches” see Haege 1976, 88.

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phoses. The νεβρὶς ποικιλόνωτος, the Dionysiac garment which the poet receives from the Muses-Maenads in the Proem and which is emblematic of the ποικίλον ὕμνον he sings and a synecdoche for ποικιλία, recurs in the spotted fawn skin of Actaeon and Pentheus’ disguise clothes which include a ποικιλόνωτον … πέπλον and a ποικίλος … χιτών. The last two sections of the article discuss at length differences between Ovid and Nonnus in the treatment of the Actaeon and Pentheus myths. They also elaborate on the close analogies between the Actaeon and Pentheus episodes in the Dionysiaca: from a narrative viewpoint the Actaeon episode anticipates the Pentheid but this is so because it has already been influenced by Euripides’ Bacchae.

Maria Ypsilanti

Image-Making and the Art of Paraphrasing: Aspects of Darkness and Light in the Metabole* Influence from Homeric and Hellenistic poetry on the Paraphrase has been repeatedly observed by scholars.1 The work borrows vocabulary and formulas from the epic; nevertheless, Nonnus does not produce a crude patch of verses or half-verses, and thus the Paraphrase extends much beyond a Homeric cento.2 Occasionally, broader motifs and scenes of the poem are modeled on epic patterns: for instance, the Feeding of the Five Thousand has been seen as recalling a Homeric φιλοξενία.3 Furthermore, Nonnus also uses phrases from other literary sources of the Greek past. For example, the Wedding at Cana has been regarded as being described in terms of a Bacchic feast, and echoes from the Bacchae of Euripides have also been traced in it.4 In addition, vocabulary related to Dionysiac or other mystic ceremonies has been remarked upon in the Paraphrase.5 In general, however, the subject-matter of the Metabole, i.e. the episodes from the life of Christ which cannot be systematically put in parallel with settings taken from Greek poetry, rarely allows inspiration derived from too extensive scenes from the literary past. The intense theologi-

* I would like to thank Dr. Konstantinos Spanoudakis and Dr. Katerina Carvounis for their help with items of bibliography otherwise inaccessible to me. 1 See Miguélez Cavero 2008, 24; for echoes of Callimachus’ Hecale and of Euphorion, see Hollis 1994, 58–9. 2 For an examination of the same Biblical episode, of Doubting Thomas, in Nonnus’ Paraphrase and in Eudocia’s Homeric Centos, and the subsequent demonstration of their differences, see Whitby 2007. 3 See MacCoull 2003, 492 f. and Doroszewski in this volume pp. 287–91. 4 See Bogner 1934, 320. For Dionysiac elements in the imagery of Par. 2 (including resemblances with passages from the Dionysiaca) see, for instance, Livrea on Par. 2.15. For similarities between the narration of the miracle at Cana and that of the analogous miracle of Dionysus in the battle at lake Astakis (Dion. 14.323–437), see Hernández de la Fuente 2007, 174. For similarities between the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrasis as regards elements of Nonnus’ description of the Wedding, and for further Homeric echoes in the relevant phraseology, see Shorrock 2011, 58–67. 5 With terms such as ὄργια, μυστιπόλος, τελετή, etc. in Par. 2.112 f., 4.107 f., 7.33, al., see Vian 1988, 408 f. “Metaphors and sometimes daring innovations, such as Dionysiac references and epic vocabulary referring to Christ, are used in the Par. to ennoble the ‘simple’ language of the Gospel”, as Hernández de la Fuente 2007, 173 puts it. See also García-Gasco in this volume p. 215.

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cal character of the work that Nonnus is paraphrasing, the Fourth Gospel, makes the appearance of such reminiscences all the more difficult, since narrative sections and description of events are fewer in the Fourth Gospel than in the other Gospels. Particularly noteworthy are the metaphors for night with which Nonnus adorns his description of the advance of the evening just before the miracle on lake Tiberias. To render the Gospel’s simple and straightforward καὶ σκοτία ἤδη ἐγεγόνει (John 6.17), Nonnus elaborately depicts nightfall, Par. 6.66–9: ἀρτιφανὴς δέ γαῖαν ὅλην ἐκάλυψε μελαγκρήδεμνος ὀμίχλη, καὶ χροῒ ποικιλόνωτον ἐπισφίγξασα χιτῶνα ἀστερόεν σελάγιζεν. Having just appeared, dusk with her black veil covered the whole earth and, stretching on her body a mantle with various hues on its back, shone full of stars.

The presentation of dark night enwrapped in a mantle decorated with stars belongs to Nonnian stock imagery. It is used in the Dionysiaca as well, 18.160 f. καὶ ζόφον ἐχλαίνωσεν ἑῷ χροῒ σιγαλέη Νύξ / οὐρανὸν ἀστερόεντι διαγράψασα χιτῶνι;6 it also appears in Orph. Hy. 7.10, where the stars are αὐγάζοντες ἀεὶ νυκτὸς ζοφοειδέα πέπλον. Francis Vian remarked that the Nonnian image is a renovation of the Homeric οὐρανὸν ἀστερόεντα, with the introduction of the night’s starry tunic, and mentioned the night’s similar veil in [Aeschylean] Prometheus, Euripidean Ion and certain Orphic passages as literary precedents of this image.7 Here we will look at these instances and others, too, in an effort to investigate in more detail the manner in which Nonnus makes use of the material offered by the poetic past. In the Nonnian passages several poetic themes are in fact blended: on the one hand the poet has in mind the motif of the stars being a “decoration” of the sky/night, as, for instance, in Eur. Hel. 1096 ἀστέρων ποικίλματα and in the lyric fragment SLG S458i.1 f. κυανέας [πο]λυόμματον / ποί]κιλμα νυκτ[ός.8 6 Kuiper 1918, 251 briefly comments on the similarity of the two passages from the Parphrase and the Dionysiaca. The image recurs in Dion. 2.165 f. ὑψιτενὴς ἅτε κῶνος ἐς ἠέρα σιγαλέη Νύξ / οὐρανὸν ἀστερόεντι διεχλαίνωσε χιτῶνι, / αἰθερα δαιδάλλουσα, where the opposition between night’s darkness and the stars’ light is less stressed. 7 See Vian on Dion. 2.166. See also next note. Gigli Piccardi 1985, 171–9 discusses the Nonnian theme of the mantle, belonging to the Night, Dawn, Gaia, Chaos, and also refers to the literary past of the starry tunic theme ([Aesch.] Prom. 24, Eur. Ion 1150, Orph. Hy. 7.10, Arg. 513); see Gigli Piccardi 1985, 173 with n. 8 and Franchi 2013, 362–3, on Par. 6.67. 8 For the traditional description of the sky as “starry”, cf. Οὐρανὸν ἀστερόεντα in Hes. Th. 127, an image which Nonnus uses also in the Dionysiaca, presenting the sky, or the ether, as

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On the other hand, he expands and illustrates in a memorable picture the old poetic motif of night conceived as wearing a robe, which appears as early as in [Aesch.] Prom. 24, in the phrase ποικιλείμων νύξ, explained by the Scholiast as ἡ ποικίλον ἔνδυμα ἔχουσα. Nonnus goes on to build the charm of his image on an opposition, describing a physical entity which displays two opposite features, darkness and light. Such an antithesis is already to be found in a fragment from a tragedy that was attributed to Euripides in antiquity (Peirithous; in modern editions it appears under Critias TrGF 43 F 4.3 f.), where the phenomenon is rendered with an impressive density: ὀρφναία / νὺξ αἰολόχρως; a similar image is portrayed with the simpler Sophoclean αἰόλα νύξ (Trach. 94 and 132 f.).9 So, with his ποικιλόνωτον χιτῶνα of the “starry” darkness (Par. 6.67 f.), Nonnus produces a variation of a theme established in poetry which used diversely the concept of the “glittering” night. It is notable that Nonnus is consistent in imagining the darkness as a textile, since it is “torn” by the dawn in two passages of the Paraphrase and once in the Dionysiaca with similar wording, ζόφον / νύκτα … ἔσχισεν Ἠώς (Dion. 3.18, Par. 12.51, 21.19).10 Furthermore, the image of a personified natural element wrapped in a figurative χιτών decorated with stars is also to be found in dialogue with the poetic image of a magnificent real cloth with the whole of nature depicted on it (earth, sky with stars, sea, rivers etc.); Nonnus himself portrays such a drapery, a πέπλος woven by Harmonia, in Dion. 41.295 f.11 A famous and elaborate account of celestial bodies decorating a real textile makes up the ekphrasis of the tapestries of the roof of Apollo’s temple in Euripides’ Ion 1146–58, where Night on her chariot, dressed in a black veil (1150 μελάμπεπλος, echoed in Nonnus’ μελαγκρήδεμνος Night)12 and followed by stars, appears in a descrip“engraved with stars”, Dion. 27.50 αἰθέρα … χορῷ κεχαραγμένον ἄστρων, 38.311 οὐρανὸν … χορῷ κεχαραγμένον ἄστρων. As Vian notes on 27.50–1, this expression is literal when it describes the stars engraved on a fictitious celestial globe. This is one more indication of Nonnus’ interest in Αstrology (see below), since his use of astronomical spheres influences his diction when he is describing the sky. 9 For αἰόλος and its interpretation in Sophocles see below, with n. 52. 10 See further Gigli Piccardi 1985, 173 f. James 1981, 127 sees the verb σχίζειν, as well as χαράσσειν used for the action of the Dawn, as offering “a certain dramatic force” to Nonnus’ description of the Dawn. Cf. also Dion. 27.5–6 καὶ φυγὰς ἀρτιχάρακτος ἐχάζετο κῶνος ὀμίχλης / σχιζόμενος φαέεσσιν. For χαράσσειν, cf. Par. 6.85 ἀκροφανὴς ἐχάραξε λιπόσκιον ὄρθρος ὀμίχλην with Franchi 2013, 382–3; Gigli Piccardi 1985, 177. 11 For the veil of Harmonia and its similarities with Achilles’ shield in Il. 18 and with Dionysus’ shield in Dion. 25, see Chuvin on Dion. 41.288–310. See also below, with n. 18. 12 The motif is used again by Nonnus, in self-variation, in various instances of the Dionysiaca: 38.18 f. κελαινιόωντι δὲ πέπλῳ / κρυπτόμενον Φαέθοντα μεσημβριὰς εἶχεν ὀμίχλη, 30.93 ζοφερῇ χλαίνωσεν ὀμίχλῃ, 16.124 νυκτὶ μελαγχλαίνῳ. For example, as regards later epic, it is picked up by Musaeus, who twice uses the phrase κυανόπεπλος (-ον) … ὀμίχλη(ν) in 113

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tive magnificence. Such passages belong to the long tradition of poetic accounts of decorated textiles, the earliest among which that displays cosmological elements on it being the φᾶρος created by Zeus and depicting Earth and Ocean in a fragment of Pherecydes of Syrus, 7 B 2 D–K τότε Ζὰς ποιεῖ φᾶρος μέγα τε καὶ καλὸν καὶ ἐν αὐτῷ ποικίλλει Γῆν καὶ Ὠγηνὸν καὶ τὰ Ὠγηνοῦ δώματα.13 These divine textiles decorated with items of cosmic significance have an Orphic origin.14 Both in and outside Greece various gods are associated with celestial bodies, often through such cosmic imagery depicted on their veils, as it is on the φᾶρος in the story retailed by Pherecydes.15 Frequently the impressive tunics of the deities symbolize universal sovereignty, and Nonnus in the Dionysiaca does refer to such cloaks, which belong to Zeus or to Chronus.16 The cloak of Zeus is also described as ἀστράπτων, a verb typically used of the brightness of sun and stars, or of deities.17 A variation of the theme of the star-clad garment is the breast-plate and the shield of Dionysus, which are also decorated with stars.18 Now, in Dion. 40 Nonnus portrays a

and 232, and also by John of Gaza Descr. 2.245 and Paulus Silentiarius Soph. 905. See further Kost on Musae. 113 and James 1981, 138. 13 Earlier decorated veils, mentioned with no description of their decoration, are the ποικίλος πέπλος of Athena in Il. 5.734 f., the δἰπλαξ πορφυρέη with the ποικίλα θρόνα of Andromache in Il. 22.441, the καλύπτρη δαιδαλέη of Pandora in Hes. Th. 574 f.; a veil decorated with various scenes is Helen’s δίπλαξ, which depicts men’s ἄεθλα in the Trojan war in Il. 3.125 f., where the textile is not described in detail, and thus does not constitute an ekphrasis. See further Shapiro 1980, 264–7 and passim. 14 See Stegemann 1930, 20 f.; West 1963, 10 f. For the Orphic notion of the cosmic Πέπλος, see also OF 406–7 with Bernabé ad loc. for further ancient passages and bibliography. 15 The boy-hero Sosipolis was represented in a painting in his shrine in Elis as wearing a chlamys ποικίλην ὑπὸ ἀστέρων, as Pausanias 6.25,4 tells us, cf. Eisler 1910, I, 72 with n. 6. Athena is also portrayed with a dress decorated with stars, see Eisler 1910, I, 77. For other deities dressed in star-clad garments (Aphrodite, Helios, Hera, Hephaestus, Apollo, etc.), see Eisler 1910 I, 67, 73 f. and passim. Isis, too, was represented wearing such a mantle (Apul. Met. 11.4; see also Eisler 1910, I, 69 f.), whilst Babylonian deities wore star-clad robes, see Chuvin 1991, 230 n. 26. For the cosmic mantle in Indian tradition, see Eisler 1910, I, 100 f. Cf. also next note. 16 For the robe of sovereignty, cf. Nonn. Dion. 1.480 σκῆπτρα Διὸς φορέοντα καὶ ἀστράπτοντα χιτῶνα, 2.571 σκῆπτρα Διὸς καὶ πέπλα, 3.197 σκῆπτρα Διὸς καὶ πέπλα Χρόνου. See further West 1963, 167 with n. 1; Eisler 1910, I, 387 with n. 14 and Gigli Piccardi 1985, 172, on the attribution of a mantle to Chronus, probably of Orphic origin. For Zeus’ mantle, see also Eisler 1910, I, 108 f. 17 See Simon 1999, 294 f. 18 The breast plate in Dion. 20.271 (ἀστερόεντι … θώρηκι), and the shield in 25.380 f. (also in 20.293 σάκος ἀστερόνωτον), see further Vian on Dion. 25.50–1; Stegemann 1930, 18–24. See also above, n. 11.

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divinity whose name comes from his star-studded robe that denotes his cosmic power;19 it is Astrochiton, a figure that merges Heracles, Helios and a Tyrian god, Melquarth.20 Cf. his description in ll. 408 f. Ἀστροχίτων δὲ φατίζεαι, – ἐννύχιοι γάρ / οὐρανὸν ἀστερόεντες ἐπαυγάζουσι χιτῶνες.21 Finally this deity enfolds Dionysus in an ἀστραίῳ … χιτῶνι, Dion. 40.578.22 Scholars consider that the poet’s representation of this figure with the star-encrusted tunic is marked by “orphic syncretism”, in the context of the paganism of Late Antiquity which, it has been observed, tended to monotheism.23 Orphic influence is also to be traced in the description of the νεβρίς of Dionysus in Dion. 9.186 f. (cf. also 14.133 f., where the Satyrs imitate Dionysus, and 39.61, where Deriades speaks scornfully of Dionysus’ νεβρίς); here the god’s deer-skin is described as imitating the appearance of the stars.24 It is also noteworthy that several Books of the Dionysiaca (25, 38, 41) contain a great deal of elaborate exposition of the sky, the sun, the moon, various constellations and other cosmic elements, which thus express the inescapable universal order.25 The poet’s interest in Astrology is evident and explored early on in the poem; the figure

19 See Simon 1999, 146–51; Fauth 1995, 166. 20 See further Simon 1999, 142 f. For similarities of this figure to other divinities as well (Baal, Mithras, Sarapis, Apollo), see Bogner 1934, 322 n. 12; Eisler 1910, I, 93, 107; Bowersock 1990, 46 f.; Fauth 1995, 169–72 and Simon 1999, 148. 21 See further Simon on Dion. 40.408 and 409. The adjective is employed for Night in Orph. Arg. 1028 and for the Moon in ibid. 513, see Eisler 1910, I, 105–6 with nn. 6 and 7. On the use of the word by the author of Orphic Argonautica, James 1981, 118 remarks that this repetition “suggests that the word was not coined by the poet, even though it is not attested earlier, and that there was some tradition of its use is suggested also by Nonnus’ repeated employment of it as virtually a proper name for the sun at Dion. XL, 367 ff.” 22 Reference to a star-clad tunic of Dionysus is also made in Dion. 18.198. This motif, and especially Astrochiton’s enwrapping Dionysus with the ἀστραῖος χιτών in 40.578, announces the final apotheosis of Dionysus in 48.974–8, see Gerlaud on Dion. 14.239; Vian 1988, 403. 23 See Bowersock 1990, 44–7; Simon 1999, 146 f.; Chuvin 1991, 229–34. Hernández de la Fuente noticed that the episode involving Dionysus and Heracles-Melquarth in the Dionysiaca displays lexical parallels with the description of the meal of Jesus and the Disciples in Par. 21.81–2, see Hernández de la Fuente 2007, 175. For other resemblances between the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrase, see Hernández de la Fuente passim. He believes that these common features make it clear that Nonnus stands firmly in the syncretic spirit of his age, which combines pagan and Christian elements, and do not mean that Nonnus adheres to a specific religion. 24 Cf. OF 541F.6 f. δέρμα πολύστικτον θηρὸς κατὰ δεξιὸν ὦμον, / ἄστρων δαιδαλέων μίμημ’ ἱεροῦ τε πόλοιο, see Bogner 1934, 324 f.; Fauth 1981, 181; Livrea 1989, 50 with n. 19. Egyptian influence has been seen in this Orphic fragment, see Eisler 1910, I, 106; 1925, 283. Chrétien on Dion. 9.187 notes that in this νεβρίς Dionysus is assimilated to the Sun. 25 The passages are collected and discussed by Fauth 1981, 181–6.

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of Astraeus and his globe in Dion. 6.58 f. is yet further confirmation of this.26 In particular, the adjective ποικιλόνωτος used in Par. 6.68 for the night’s mantle is attributed to the globe in Dion. 6.88 σφαῖραν ποικιλόνωτον, and Fauth suggests that it reflects the νεβρίς of Dionysus which is described as imitating the sky.27 In the adjective ποικιλόνωτος used of the star-encrusted robe of the night there is a further imaginative mingling of sources, since the word typically denotes the skin of a serpent or some other animal in earlier literature (cf. Eur. Her. 376 δόρκα ποικιλόνωτον, IT 1245 ποικιλόνωτος … δράκων, Pind. P. 4.249 ποικιλόνωτον ὄφιν) and often in Nonnus himself (cf. Dion. 1.35, 37.702 and 43.78 νεβρίδα ποικιλόνωτον, 7.343 ποικιλόνωτος … νεβρίς), while in Par. 6.68 it is used to describe an imaginative cloth covering personified Darkness. Here influence deriving from the concept of the sky as a surface described as νῶτον can be also seen, if one compares the image of night driving her chariot through the “starry back of the ether”, Eur. Andromeda TrGF 114.3 f. ἀστεροειδέα νῶτα διφρεύου-/σ’ αἰθέρος ἱερᾶς. In the accounts of Night in Par. 6.68 and Dion. 18.160 the chiton surrounds the χρώς of Night. This word stresses Night’s personification and assimilates her as closely as possible to some tangible creature, in the same fashion as the epic heroes who dress themselves in a real robe which then endows them with a star-like quality, namely, Odysseus in Od. 19.232–4 and Jason in Apoll. Rhod. 1.725–6. The mantle of Odysseus drapes his body and is placed περὶ χροΐ (Od. 19.232), the same term used by Nonnus of Night’s clothed body.28 It 26 See, for instance, Bogner 1934, 325 f., who demonstrated Nonnus’ interest in magic yet further. For Nonnian Astraeus as inspired by the Hesiodic Titan of the same name (Th. 375– 80), see Chuvin 1992, 6. For the astronomical tradition of celestial globes that Nonnus uses, see ibid. 7–9; for discussion of the zodiac in the Dionysiaca see ibid. 36–9. 27 See Fauth 1981, 181. 28 These heroes wear a χιτών that gleams like the sun (or more than this, in the case of Jason’s mantle); later on in Arg. 1.774 Jason, wearing the mantle, whose depicted scenes were elaborately described, is himself compared to a bright star, φαεινῷ ἀστέρι ἶσος; see Shapiro 1980, 274–5. For the description of Jason’s mantle and other garments in Hellenistic poetry see further Thomas 1983, 107 f. Homeric heroes are compared to celestial bodies in other contexts as well: Hector is likened to an οὔλιος ἀστήρ in Il. 11.62, and the star-like appearance of Achilles before his combat with Hector is described in Il. 22.26 f. It has been argued that such comparisons derive from the association of the radiance of the armour of heroes (for this feature in Quintus Smyrnaeus, for instance, see Goţia 2009, 117, 153–7; Quint. Smyr. 8.23–4, 8.47, 9.69) with the gleam of various celestial bodies and that this association is not irrelevant to the stars depicted on the heroes’ weapons. This is visible in the arms of Achilles, whose shield is encircled by astral imagery (Earth, Sky, Sea, Sun, Moon and other constellations appear in the shield’s outer circle, Il. 18.483 f.), and who himself shines like the sun in his panoply (Il. 19.398), the shield shining like the moon (Il. 19.374); see, further, Hardie 1985, 12 f. Thus heroes acquire a star-like quality thanks to their dress, which can be either a wonderful mantle or splendid weapons. Mantle and armour are equivalent, as arms are in fact a kind

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is evident that the poet is fascinated by the idea of a mantle decorated with stars and employs it fairly frequently in his work, adjusting the theme to the needs of the particular occasion. The appearance of a figure with a divine pagan past in a Christian context is found elsewhere, as well. In fact Night personified is represented on both pagan monuments, such as Trajan’s Column, and in Christian art. In two miniatures of the Paris Psalter, dating to the tenth century, Night is portrayed holding over her shoulders a veil decorated with stars and wearing a halo. Night is also similarly depicted in the Octateuchs, which recalls ancient representations of Selene and Hecate.29 Nonnus’ liking for graphic descriptions of shining divine robes is, on the one hand, channeled into the traditional image of Night, whose conventional personification is not incompatible with Christianity. On the other hand, the figure of Jesus is above all susceptible to a presentation that includes a robe which, in the Paraphrase, indeed denotes universal power. Eisler has argued that the ἄρραφος χιτών of Christ at John 19.24 continues the motif of tunics endowed with cosmic significance, here combined with the rabbinic tradition of the robes of High priests.30

of attire. Cf. the typical Homeric adjective χαλκοχίτωνες (Il. 1.371, 2.47, al.), in which the body armour is conceived as a cloak. Hardie has argued that in another passage (Dion. 25.352 ἀστερόεεσαν … ἀσπίδα, regarding a shield which has previously been described as displaying πόντον … καὶ αἰθέρα καὶ χορὸν ἄστρων, 25.338), Nonnus shows that he understands the Homeric adjective ἀστερόεις in Il. 16.133 f. θώρηκα … / ποικίλον ἀστερόεντα to mean “starry”, “decorated with stars”, and not “like a star”, as certain ancient commentators interpreted it, thereby offering his own contribution to the discussion; see Hardie 1985, 13. It is noteworthy that a historical personality commissioned a cloak with a representation of the sky and the stars on it; it is the (unfinished) cloak of the extravagant Demetrius the City-besieger, Plut. Dem. 41.4–5 ἦν δέ τις ὑφαινομένη χλανὶς αὐτῷ πολὺν χρόνον, ἔργον ὑπερήφανον, εἴκασμα τοῦ κόσμου καὶ τῶν κατ’ οὐρανὸν φαινομένων· ὃ κατελείφθη μὲν ἡμιτελὲς ἐν τῇ μεταβολῇ τῶν πραγμάτων, οὐδεὶς δὲ ἐτόλμησεν αὐτῇ χρήσασθαι, καίπερ οὐκ ὀλίγων ὕστερον ἐν Μακεδονίᾳ γενομένων βασιλέων (I owe this reference to my colleague at the University of Cyprus, Prof. Theodoros Mavrogiannis). 29 Fig. 9 (The Crossing of the Red Sea) and fig. 13 (The Prayer of Isaiah) in Buchthal 1938, see also Friedländer 1912, 207. For the dating of the Psalter, on the basis of the style of its iconography, and for its probable location (Constantinople), see Buchthal 1938, 64–6. For artistic representations of Night, see id. 32 and 42 f. and (in regard to John of Gaza Descr. 2.245–52) Friedländer 1912, 208 f. For portrayals of Night and Day in the Greek Octateuchs of Vatican (codd. 747 and 746), Smyrna and the Serail, see Weitzmann – Bernabò nos. 21, 22, 23 and 24 (“Separation of Light from Darkness”, Gen. 1.5). See also Agosti 1998a, 58 with n. 36. The Night is represented on the Column of Trajan as a woman holding a veil over her head (the work is a relief and no stars are depicted), see Zanker et al. 2000, 83 (Plate 39). For further ancient representations, see Roscher III.1, 573–6 s.v. Nyx. 30 See Eisler 1910, I, 184–8.

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In Nonnus, Mary Magdalene recounts to the Disciples how the earthly χιτών of Christ was abandoned after the Resurrection and replaced by a tunic dressed in which Christ shone (στίλβοντα) and radiated brightness (χέων … αἴγλην) in Par. 20.82 f. Actually, Nonnus adds this detail here, which is absent from John,31 and which is probably intended to recall the Transfiguration of Christ. That episode appears only in the other Gospels, which Nonnus occasionally uses as well,32 but, interestingly, it is also mentioned by Cyril in his discussion of the next Johannine scene, Christ’s appearance to the Disciples (20.19, Cyril In Jo. III.127 Pussey). The insertion of this echo by Nonnus is one more manifestation of the poet’s systematic use of Cyril’s commentary.33 It was noted long ago that Christ’s portrayal in Par. 1.132 is modeled on the presentation of the Sun.34 Kuiper has also underlined the similarity among the image of Christ wearing the brilliant chiton in Par. 20.82, that of Nonnian Astrochiton, who merges, as we have seen, Heracles and Helios, and that of Zeus, who wears the ἀστράπτοντα χιτῶνα (Dion. 1.480).35 It is perhaps not coincidental that the next image in this passage of the Paraphrase is that of night falling and “blackening” the earth, 20.84 σκιερὴν ὅτε γαῖαν ὅλην ἐμέλαινεν ὀμίχλη, which renders John’s simple οὔσης οὖν ὀψίας (20.19): darkness, often described as ὀμίχλη in the Paraphrase, has further metaphorical connotations, signifying mental darkness.36 Thus Nonnus at this point inserts the idea of Christ’s radiance in order to stress the contrast between heavenly beauty, purity and knowledge that Christ represents and the earthly obscurity arising from ignorance and baseness. Yet Christ is also symbolized by the Morning

31 For philosophical and theological precedents of the body as a mantle, see Accorinti 1996, 189 f. See also Gigante 1988, 11–33. 32 Mt 17.2, Mk 9.3, Lk 9.29, see Accorinti on Par. 20.83. For Nonnus’ use of the synoptics see Agosti 2003, 107 f. 33 For the influence of Cyril’s commentary on the Paraphrase, see for instance Livrea 1989, 25. 34 Par. 1.131–2 Χριστὸν … / ἅρματος ὑψιπόροιο μετάρσιον ἡνιοχῆα, see Kuiper 1918, 230; Golega 1930, 67 with n. 1. See also Agosti 1998a, 55 with n. 24. 35 Kuiper 1918, 239; see also Golega 1930, 66. Commenting on the poet’s taste for metaphors involving shining celestial bodies and for the depiction of these bodies, Kuiper (1918, 239 n. 1) states: “Imaginibus et comparationibus quae caelestium luinum splendorem lectoribus ante oculos ponunt, incredibile est quantum semper Nonnus delectatus sit”, further citing Dion. 5.487, 27.320, Par. 5.135 f. Kuiper (1918, 239) also underlines that Jesus’ χιτών is shinning also in 19.118 f. θεσπεσίην ἐσθῆτα … / … καὶ αἰγλήεντα χιτῶνα (Jesus’ earthly robe removed before the Crucifixion). 36 And “the obscurity of the material world”, see Accorinti 1996, 193 f.

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Star in the Revelation,37 and this is probably echoed in the ἑώιος … ἀστήρ of the opening of Par. 20.4, where this star is again placed in opposition to the night that surrounds it (20.3 f. ὅτε σκιοειδέι γαίῃ / νυκτιφανὴς ἀχάρακτος ἑώιος ἤιεν ἀστήρ), this brief description of early morning being yet another addition of Nonnus to the text he paraphrases. Therefore, in the Paraphrase the poet uses astral imagery and the motif of the brilliant tunic that he richly exploits in the Dionysiaca, although it is now associated either with Christ, as befits a Christian poem, or with the traditional portrayal of a natural element whose representation in the Christian world is still similar to its pre-Christian portrayal. Likewise allusive to her pagan divine quality are the periphrases for “day” in the Paraphrase, with their frequent reference to the δρόμος of ἠώς (Par. 2.101, 4.190 f., 9.80, 11.24 and 82, 12.192, 14.16). Probably the strongest among these references is the phrase ἑκηβόλος … ἠώς in Par. 1.102 and Dion. 34.124, where the typical epic epithet of Apollo is applied on the day.38 The same phrase also appears in Triph. 209 f., where the contrast between the darkness of night and the ἑκηβόλος ἠώς taken over by it is duly stressed. Nonnus underlines again the antithesis between light and dark in several passages of the Paraphrase, the first of which is the programmatic opening (1.12– 3). There the poet uses one of his favourite words for “shine”, σελάγιζε, a rare term in poetry outside Nonnus, first utilized by Callimachus whose influence on the Panopolite poet is evident in the use of the Callimachean imperfect in all Nonnian instances.39 In Book 1 the light-darkness antithesis refers to the divine light which defeats cosmic darkness and has, of course, theological significance; similar is the implication conveyed by the same opposition in

37 22.16 ἐγώ εἰμι ἡ ῥίζα καὶ τὸ γένος Δαυίδ, ὁ ἀστὴρ ὁ λαμπρὸς ὁ πρωϊνός; see Accorinti 1996, 32 f. and Agosti 1998a, 55 f. For a detailed discussion of the imagery of the Morning Star in previous culture and literature which can be seen as the background of this passage, see Moore 1982. Christ is also associated with ἀστραπή in the Gospel of Luke, see Robinson 1904, 141. For an early discussion of the glitter of heaven and the imagery of celestial bodies representing God’s magnificence in the Old Testament, see Chambers 1886. 38 See De Stefani on Par. 1.102. James (1981, 123) observes that the epithet of the Dawn “has a similar force to σελασφόρος, as is shown by σέλας πέμπουσα in the preceding line” (sc. Dion. 34.123). He also underlines (129) the anthropomorphism of the Dawn in this passage, as well as in Dion. 25.568 f. Ἠώς / φέγγος ἀναστείλασα πυριγλήνοιο προσώπου, comparing the latter to Apoll. Rhod. 1.519. See also Agosti 1998a, 54. 39 See De Stefani 2002, 116–7. For σελαγίζω see Hollis 1990, 160 (on Call. Hec. fr. 18.12). Σελαγίζω in the Paraphrase occurs also in 18.24. For the association of Dion. 9.104 f., where Dionysus’ divine light overcomes darkness, with John 1.5 καὶ τὸ φῶς ἐν τῇ σκοτίᾳ φαίνει, paraphrased by Nonnus in Par. 1.11–3 as ἐν ἀχλυόεντι δὲ κόσμῳ / οὐρανίαις σελάγιζε βολαῖς γαιήοχος αἴγλη, / καὶ ζόφος οὔ μιν ἔμαρψε, see Golega 1930, 69, Gigli Piccardi 1985, 239 f. See also next note.

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Book 20 with the image of the shining Christ. This antithesis between light and dark has philosophical/theological implications, in that it is related to the revelation of the Trinitarian God in Par. 1, 20 and elsewhere40 (either rendering and expanding John’s words, or being added by the poet, as in Book 20). On the other hand, in other passages this opposition has a merely ornamental function, since Nonnus is particularly keen on vividly exploiting the dynamics of visual contrast.41 In Par. 6.69 the key word for the brilliance of night is the same as one of the words describing the divine light in Book 1, σελάγιζεν (in the same sedes). This elaborate depiction of a bright night is similar to the ὀρφναία / νὺξ αἰολόχρως of Attic tragedy mentioned above, in that light and darkness are not opposed here, as in the theological passages, but are accordant and compatible, since in the Nonnian portrayal of Night (ὀμίχλη in Par. 6.67, ζόφον in Dion. 18.160, night [ἐννύχιοι] in Dion. 40.408), darkness is united with its opposite, light, thanks to the radiance of the nocturnal constellations.42 The poet’s indulgence in the ecphrastic depiction of this opposition,

40 Cf. Par. 3.99 f. οὐρανόθεν γάρ / εἰς χθόνα φέγγος ἵκανε, καὶ ἀσταθέων γένος ἀνδρῶν / φέγγεος ἀστράπτοντος ἐφίλατο μᾶλλον ὀμίχλην, / καὶ φάος οὐ ποθέουσιν, ὅσον ζόφον (John 3.19 ὅτι τὸ φῶς ἐλήλυθεν εἰς τὸν κόσμον, καὶ ἠγάπησαν οἱ ἄνθρωποι μᾶλλον τὸ σκότος ἢ τὸ φῶς); 8.2 f. εἰμὶ φάος κόσμοιο λιπαυγέος· ὃς δε μοι ἀνήρ / πιστὸν ὁμαρτήσειεν ἔχων νόον, οὔποτε βαίνει ποσσὶν ἀλωομένοις σκιοειδέα κῶνον ὀμίχλης, / ἀλλὰ καταυγάσειεν ἔχων ὁμόφοιτον ἑαυτῷ / ζωῆς ἀπλανέος φάος ἔμπεδον (John 8.12 ἐγώ εἰμι τὸ φῶς τοῦ κόσμου· ὁ ἀκολουθῶν ἐμοὶ οὐ μὴ περιπατήσῃ ἐν τῇ σκοτίᾳ, ἀλλ’ ἕξει τὸ φῶς τῆς ζωῆς); 9.187 τυφλοὶ δ’ ἐστὲ νόῳ βλεφάρων πλέον (to the Pharisees, an expansion of John’s νῦν δὲ λέγετε ὅτι βλέπομεν); 12.140 f. ἀπλανέες δ’ ἐν φωτὶ δι’ ἰθυπόροιο κελεύθου / στείχετε θαρσήεντες, ἕως ἑκάς ἐστιν ὀμίχλη, / πρὶν ζοφερῇ στροφάλιγγι κιχήμεναι ὑμέας ὄρφνην, κτλ. (John 12.35 περιπατεῖτε ὡς τὸ φῶς ἔχετε, ἵνα μὴ σκοτία ὑμᾶς καταλάβῃ κτλ.); 12.182 f. οὐρανόθεν φάος ἦλθον, ἵνα βροτός, ὅς με γεραίρει, / πίστιν ἔχων ἀτίνακτον ἐν ἀχλύι μή ποτε μίμνῃ (John 12.46 ἐγὼ φῶς εἰς τὸν κόσμον ἐλήλυθα, ἵνα ὁ πιστεύων εἰς ἐμὲ ἐν τῇ σκοτίᾳ μὴ μείνῃ). The equation of light with goodness and of darkness with evil is an old topos, which further occurs in Neoplatonism, in Gnostic texts and in Chaldaean oracles, see Gigli Piccardi 1985, 240. For the idea of light in ancient Greek philosophy and religion, including poetic divine epiphanies (for instance HomHyDem. 180, 278 f.), see Beierwaltes 1957, 15 f. and passim. Nonnus associated Dionysus, too, with the Sun and opposed him to the darkness of the Indians (Dion. 38.80 f., cf. also 28.173); see Gigli Piccardi 1985, 238–41, who sees a Neoplatonic influence on this motif. 41 For examples of this tendency in the Dionysiaca (21.332, 45.280 f.), see Gigli Piccardi 1985, 174. 42 A similar paradoxical combination of light and darkness occurs in a Christian inscription from Tanagra of the fifth century CE (GVI 1952.15), which speaks of a “night-like dawn”, ἔννυχος ἠώς, to describe the day of one’s death: “les derniers mots, ἔννυχος ἠώς, sont un développement de νύξ, la nuit du tombeau”, as Duchesne (1879, 145) put it. See further the discussion of Agosti (1998a), who examines several passages of Late Antique authors, including Nonnus, where day, dawn, radiance and other notions signifying light are accompanied by adjectives or other attributes derived from the idea of night and darkness. Agosti points to

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or rather, mixture, can be seen here in the context of Alexandrian artistic taste, now extended to Late Antique literature, for the contrast between shade and light.43 Hellenistic poets frequently demonstrate their interest in, and inspiration arising from, painting, sculpture and architecture as well, since in their work viewing, involving all sorts of pictorial details, is often predominant.44 Nonnus thus places himself in the poetic tradition which exploits such visual effects. Of great interest is another metaphor for night used in the Paraphrase a few lines earlier, in the context of the same scene, Par. 6.62 καὶ σκιόεις ὅτε κῶνος ἀνέδραμε γείτονος ὄρφνης; the “cone” of darkness appears frequently in Nonnus’ work, very often in the Dionysiaca and once more in the Paraphrase.45 The concept of night forming a cone occurs several times in astronomical writings. For instance, Simplicius, the commentator on Aristotle, when discussing the Pythagorean idea of Earth as a star, mentions that, in the view of Pythagoreans, night is created by the cone formed by earth’s shadow (Simpl. on De caelo, p. 512.16 Heiberg, referring to De caelo 293a);46 this concept is also implied in Arist. Met. 345b1–9.47 Plutarch transmits an interpretation of Homer’s θοὴ νύξ which takes the adjective to denote the conic shape Isaiah 26.9 ἐκ νυκτὸς ὀρθρίζει τὸ πνεῦμα μου πρὸς σέ, ὁ θεός, διότι φῶς τὰ προστάγματά σου ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς, as a biblical passage which has probably influenced such descriptions. 43 For the play between light and shade in Hellenistic art see for instance Fowler 1989, 169. A study of the poetic use of the contrast between light and dark (white and black, as well as light and dark colours), examining selected passages from Virgil, Homer and Quintus Smyrnaeus, is Goţia 2009. Principally, but not exclusively, brightness is connected with life and darkness with dangerousness in Homer (see especially Goţia 2009, 63–5); although he is inspired by Homer, Virgil displays creative imagination and uses freely the connotations of colours and their contrast without any standard significance attributed to each one (see especially Goţia 2009, 29–31). Finally, terms denoting colour accompany gods, men and objects in Quintus and create spectacular combinations without any fixed symbolism; see Goţia 2009, 67–204. The contrast between dark night and the radiant stars that accompany her, a picture similar to that of Nonnus discussed in the present paper, occurs in Quint. Smyr. 5.346–7 ἐπεσκιόωντο δ᾽ ἀλωαὶ / νυκτὸς ἐπεσσυμένης, ἐπεκίδνατο δ᾽ οὐρανὸν ἄστρα. Here the image of the falling night is a preparation for the death of Ajax; see Goţia 2009, 96. 44 For Apollonius see for instance Manakidou 1993, 114 with n. 46; for Apollonius and Callimachus see Fowler 1989, 169–76. The “pictorial realism” (which is not restrained only in the description of works of art, but also extends to the colourful representation of everyday life) of all major Hellenistic poets is discussed in Zanker 1987, 55–112. 45 Dion. 2.165, 6.78, 6.90, 7.310, 18.158, 27.5, 33.267, 38.35, 38.254, 41.95, Par. 8.4. 46 See also Anon. Pyth. 58 B 37 D–K. 47 Εἰ … τὸ τοῦ ἡλίου μέγεθος μεῖζόν ἐστιν ἢ τὸ τῆς γῆς καὶ τὸ διάστημα πολλαπλασίως μεῖζον τὸ τῶν ἄστρων πρὸς τὴν γῆν ἢ τὸ τοῦ ἡλίου, καθάπερ τὸ τοῦ ἡλίου πρὸς τὴν γῆν ἢ τὸ τῆς σελήνης, οὐκ ἂν πόρρω που τῆς γῆς ὁ κῶνος ὁ ἀπὸ τοῦ ἡλίου συμβάλλοι τὰς ἀκτῖνας, οὐδ’ ἂν ἡ σκιὰ πρὸς τοῖς ἄστροις εἴη τῆς γῆς, ἡ καλουμένη νύξ. Also cf. Cleom. De motu 2.2.94, 170.11 f.

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of the shadow of the earth, Plut. De def. orac. 410d.9. The “sharpness” of the shadow of night recurs as an explanation of θοὴ νύξ also in De fac. in orb. lun. 923b.5 τὴν νύκτα θοὴν ὀξύτητι τῆς σκιᾶς προσηγόρευσεν. There are similar observations in Heraclitus QH, and in other authors.48 Commenting on the Homeric θοὴ νύξ Eustathius (III.97.25, on Il. 10.394) remarks, summing up all the views expressed at times: Ὅτι θοὴν ὁ ποιητὴς νύκτα καὶ νῦν λέγει ἢ τὴν τῶν ζῴων καταθετικὴν εἰς ἀνάπαυλαν, ἀπὸ τοῦ θέω θῶ, τὸ τίθημι, ἢ τὴν ταχεῖαν, ὡς ἀπὸ τοῦ θέω, τὸ τρέχω. ἀνεπαισθήτως γὰρ τοῖς ὑπνοῦσιν ἀπερχομένη δοκεῖ ταχυτέρα τῆς ἡμέρας εἶναι.49 ἢ μάλιστα φιλοσόφως, τὴν κωνοειδῆ καὶ εἰς θοόν, ὅπερ ἐστὶν εἰς ὀξύ, λήγουσαν. ἐπεὶ γάρ, φασίν, ὁ φωτίζων ἥλιος μείζων ἐστὶ τῆς φωτιζομένης γῆς, κωνοειδὴς γίνεται ἡ αὐτόθεν σκιά, ὅ ἐστιν ἡ νύξ. Καθόλου γάρ, εἰ τὸ φωτίζον μεῖζον τοῦ φωτιζομένου, κωνοειδὴς ἀποτελεῖται σκιά, κτλ. The poet now, too, calls the night θοήν either because it puts the animals to rest, from θέω θῶ, that is τίθημι, “to put”, or because it is swift, because it derives from θέω, that is “to run”. For it goes by without being felt by those who sleep, therefore it seems to be swifter than the day. Or, in a particularly philosophical way, because it has a conic shape and it comes to an end which is θοόν, sharp. Because, as they say, since the sun which illuminates is larger than the earth which is being illuminated, the shadow which is produced, that is night, has a conic shape. For, generally, if the source of the light is larger than the object which is being illuminated, the shadow formed thereby has a conic shape, etc.

It is obvious that Nonnus’ persistent description of darkness as a κῶνος places him with those who accept the philosophical/scientific view that darkness, from an astronomical point of view, is conical in shape thanks to the size of the Sun which is bigger than that of the Earth. Being the first author to use this description in poetic diction,50 the Panopolite poet, apart from inclining

48 Heraclitus believes that the Homeric phrase is related to the spherical shape of the pole, 45.1 Ἥ τε θοὴ νὺξ οὐκ ἄλλο τι σημαίνει πλὴν τὸ σφαιροειδὲς ὅλου τοῦ πόλου σχῆμα· τὸν γὰρ αὐτὸν ἡλίῳ δρόμον ἡ νὺξ ἀνύει, καὶ πᾶς ὁ καταλειφθεὶς ὑπ’ ἐκείνου τόπος εὐθὺς ὑπὸ ταύτης ἐκμελαίνεται. See further Kidd on Posidonius fr. 9. 49 Apollonius the Sophist (88.7–9) says τὸ δὲ νυκτὶ θοῇ ἀντὶ τοῦ ταχείᾳ· ἡ μὲν γὰρ ἡμέρα πολύμοχθος οὖσα διὰ τὰ ἔργα μακρὰ φαίνεται, ἡ δὲ νὺξ διὰ τὴν ἀνάπαυσιν ταχεῖα. Hainsworth 1993 comments on θοή of Il. 10.394 “perhaps because darkness falls rapidly in the relatively low latitudes of Greece”. 50 The phrase is later picked up by John of Gaza Descr. 2.245 ἀφεγγέα κῶνον ὀμίχλης. John’s imitation of Par. 6.62 and 66 f. is evident in the following ἀχλυόεντας ἀνειρύσσασα χιτῶνας, for the Night’s mantle (2.247).

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to a scientific conception of night, is also probably offering his interpretation of the Homeric phrase and regarding the epithet θοός for night as equivalent to ὀξύς and not to ταχύς,51 in contrast to Sophocles who with his αἰόλα νύξ, mentioned in the beginning of this paper, offers a playful variation on the Homeric phrase, that oscillates between the notions ποικίλος and ταχύς.52 In addition, it is remarkable that in Par. 8.4 Nonnus uses the phrase σκιοειδέα κῶνον ὀμίχλης to denote mental darkness, thereby rendering John’s σκοτία which is opposed to the light of life (8.12), granted to the followers of Christ. Thus Nonnus sketches the figurative night in terms appropriate only for the literal night, which, furthermore, is seen from an astronomical viewpoint. In doing so, he imagines the mental darkness as physical darkness which, together with the cone simile, further produces the impression of an imposing, even threatening movement, as is suggested by James for certain passages of the Dionysiaca.53 The same danger that darkness of the mind involves can be felt also, and more intensively, in another metaphor for it, in Par. 12.142 πρὶν ζοφερῇ στροφάλιγγι κιχήμεναι ὑμέας ὄρφνην, used to render again John’s σκοτία (12.35). Blindness is once more perceived as performing a (milder) circu51 Stoics and Neoplatonists interpreted Homer allegorically. The figure used in this allegorical interpretation is known as metalepsis (Quint. 8.6.37) in which a term is explained through a middle term. Homeric θοός attributed to islands (Od. 15.299) can be understood only via the adjective ὀξύς which is the middle term, being a synonym for θοός in the sense “swift”; but ὀξύς also means “pointed”, and it transfers this meaning to θοός in the Homeric description of the islands, which are thus logically seen as having a pointed shape (Strabo 8.3.26 identifies the islands with a group of the Echinades called Oxeiai, θοὰς δὲ εἴρηκε τὰς ὀξείας· τῶν Ἐχινάδων δ’ εἰσὶν αὗται, πλησιάζουσαι τῇ ἀρχῇ τοῦ Κορινθιακοῦ κόλπου καὶ ταῖς ἐκβολαῖς τοῦ Ἀχελῴου; see further Hoekstra on Od. 15.299). Θοός as “pointed” passes then from the islands to night as well, which can be in fact pointed if the Earth’s shadow is imagined as a cone in space, see De Lacy 1948, 260. 52 Eustathius Comm. Il. III.98,9 says that Sophocles the φιλόμηρος changes Homer’s θοή to αἰόλα both to denote night’s ornamentation by means of the stars and to imply the “Homeric notions”, ἰστέον δὲ καὶ ὅτι ὁ φιλόμηρος Σοφοκλῆς τὸ θοή μεταλαβὼν «αἰόλα νύξ» λέγει οὐ μόνον κατὰ τὸ ἐν ἄστροις ποικίλον αὐτῆς, καθ’ ὃ καὶ ποικιλείμων παρ’ Αἰσχύλῳ λέγεται, ἀλλὰ καὶ κατὰ τὰς ῥηθείσας Ὁμηρικὰς ἐννοίας. Eustathius is here referring to the two Homeric meanings of αἰόλος, “decorated” and “quick” (for αἰόλος as “quick” in Homer cf. for instance Il. 19.404, on horses). Cf. Eustathius, Il. I.552,10–2: κορυθαιόλος … δηλοῖ δὲ τὸν ἔχοντα αἰόλην κόρυθα, ἤγουν ποικίλην περικεφαλαίαν – εἰκὸς γὰρ αὐτῷ παρηλλάχθαι τὸν ὁπλισμόν – ἢ τὸν εὐκίνητον ἐν πολέμοις παρὰ [τὸ αἰόλον], τὸ ταχύ κτλ. Further on the interpretation of the adjective as denoting ποικίλος or ταχύς see Xenis 2010, 75. For the use of the adjective in Quintus Smyrnaeus see Goţia 2009, 102. 53 Commenting on the expression “cone of darkness” in Dion. 2.165, 7.310 and 33.267 (see above, n. 45), James 1981, 128 observes that here “nightfall is represented as a swift and dramatic, almost menacing, movement”, putting this notion in parallel with the effect of χαράσσειν for the Dawn (see above, n. 10).

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lar movement in Par. 9.184 εἰ ζόφος ὑμετέρης περιδέδρομεν φέγγος ὀπωπῆς. The concept of darkness “coming as an eddy” in 12.142 is quite distinctive and remarkable; στροφάλιγξ, used in Homer for swirling dust (Il. 16.775), was employed for the orbit of stars in later poetry (Arat. 43, Manetho 2.27 f.).54 It has been suggested that the Nonnian universe is spherical and rotates eternally, its motion frequently described in words such as ἕλιξ and κύκλος and their cognates.55 Whether this theory is valid or not, imagery involving night does welcome the appearance of terms evoking poetic accounts of the cosmos, and their use becomes even more intriguing and original when this night is figurative, as in Par. 12.142.56 What is more, the connotations of eternal rotation that στροφάλιγξ involves increase the ominousness of this metaphorical night, in that it gives it the appearence of a swift unstoppable power leading to an everlasting vicious circle. So, by presenting mental darkness as a cone or as an eddy, Nonnus continues and expands his astronomical diction into the area of metaphor, thereby further suggesting the fatal dangerousness of the night of ignorance. To sum up, the depiction of night, literal or mental, is probably influenced by both consideration of visual arts and by astronomical knowledge. It also incorporates various literary precedents, such as instances of Attic drama, lyric and Orphic themes, the astral imagery in literary descriptions of textiles and the notion of deities whose clothing signifies their universal dominion. The latter models, combined of course with biblical motifs and with the theological concept of light and its connotations, form the background for the depiction of Christ in certain passages of the Paraphrase. Far from being poetically mon54 Nonnus uses στροφάλιγξ several times to express various notions. In certain passages of the Paraphrase and of the Dionysiaca the noun describes the advancement of divisions of time: hour, day, years. In Par. 4.191 στροφάλιγξ represents the swift progress of two days, in an image reminiscent of the traditional carriage of Dawn, ἕως δρόμος ἄλλος ἐπ’ ἄλλῳ / ὀξείῃ στροφάλιγγι παρέστιχε δίζυγος ἠοῦς. In Par. 5.137 it describes again the movement of a timeunit, here an hour, εἰς στροφάλιγγα μιῆς ταχυδινέος ὥρης. In several passages of the Dionysiaca (25.333, 35.73, 36.422, 47.472) the noun qualifies the movement of years; see further Chuvin on Dion. 6.70. 55 Cf. σφαῖρα ἑλισσομένη (Dion. 6.65), see further Stegemann 1930, 24 f., 42. There also comes to mind the idea of the Empedoclean cosmic rotation expressed as δίνη and στροφάλιγξ in 31 B 35.4 D–K, commented upon also by Arist. De caelo 295a13. See further Wright 1981, 207; Furley 1987, 93. 56 An interesting parallel is the Sophoclean “circle of night” (Aj. 672 νυκτὸς αἰανὴς κύκλος), where night is placed in the context of the eternal alternation of seasons and the succession of day and night (cf. also Soph. El. 1365), and where the epithet αἰανής has, according to some, ominous connotations. Even in antiquity itself, various interpretations have been suggested for the adjective: dark/ominous, mournful (αἰάζω), eternal (αἰεί), see further Stanford 1963, 147, and Finglass 2011, 336.

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olithic, Nonnus accommodates in his verses scenes either heavily meaningful or merely decorative which are freely and flexibly vested with vocabulary and imagery drawn from the same poetic reservoir; all his data is further distilled through the typical Hellenistic taste for vigorous expression and optical stimulation.

III: Nonnus and the Visual Arts

Gianfranco Agosti

Contextualizing Nonnus’ Visual World* 1 Literature and Visual Arts in Late Antiquity The question of the relation of literature to visual arts has acquired by now full citizenship in the agenda of scholars of Late Antiquity.1 Over the last few years, our understanding of Late Antique literature has been increasingly changed by the analysis of the central role played by ekphrasis and its rhetorical principles in many works from the Imperial period down to the early Middle Ages;2 studies focusing on word and image in the Christian world are more and more frequent.3 Such an approach, innovative as it seems, is actually a sort of “coming back” to the very beginning of modern research: as it is well known, the concept itself of Late Antiquity has been somewhat “invented” by art historians,4 whereas historians of literature only later and very gradually accepted to view literary production of the third to the sixth century in its own cultural setting and in its aesthetic principles.5 To some extent, art historians still have some primacy in this field: in Averil Cameron’s words, they “are highly involved with texts, using texts to explicate visual material, and constantly debating the relation of text and image; but are literary historians equally aware of images and visual art?”.6

* I extend thanks to Konstantinos Spanoudakis for inviting me to such a successful conference in Crete, and to Michael Paschalis for his hospitality; to both and for their support and patience; and to Enrico Magnelli for his comments and help. 1 In the footsteps of some seminal studies such as McCormack 1984, Maguire 1981 or Roberts 1989 (whose most influential chapter was devoted to Poetry and Visual Arts). 2 Cp. Miguélez Cavero 2008, 283 f. (with a complete bibliography); Webb 2009; Maguire 2011. Among the studies on Hellenistic and Imperial periods, Zanker 2004 and Squire 2009 are particularly important. 3 The article by Onians 1980, arguing for a different ability of seeing abstract images in Late Antiquity, opened up a new direction in research; see also Pentcheva 2011. For recent surveys see Francis 2009, 2012. 4 Elsner 2002; Liebeschuetz 2004. 5 Which are different from those of classical and Hellenistic “highbrow” literature. It is significant to compare condemnations of Nonnus’ poetry and style (R. Lind, for example, considered Nonnus “one of the Kulturbarbaren”) nearly contemporary to the sympathetic appreciation of Late Antique art by Ernst Kitzinger (1938–40): Agosti 2008c, 33–4. For Latin literature similar considerations can be found in Formisano 2007, esp. 277–80, and McGill 2012, 335–6. 6 Cameron 2006, 19.

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As far as Nonnus is concerned,7 we shall admit that we are in a rather better position. His peculiar style invited scholars early on to compare it to contemporary figurative arts and already in 1957 Margarethe Riemschneider pointed to Coptic art in order to explain some features of Nonnus’ style (for example, his fondness for the round line). In recent years iconography has often been evoked to illustrate single passages of the poems and some valuable studies devoted to this topic have appeared.8 More relevant, visual arts entered in the debate on poet’s religion and on the “cohabitation” of Dionysus and Christ in his works, especially after the discovery in the same tomb of an impressive Dionysiac tapestry and of a Christian textile (the latter illustrating a scene from the Protevangelium Iacobi; now at the Abegg Foundation).9 The real meaning of the pervasive Dionysiac themes in the dining rooms of Late Antique domus, and the possible survival of Dionysiac religious associations and rites, are still much discussed: a debate that is obviously not without consequences on interpreting Nonnus’ poems.10 In spite of such flourishing research, we still lack a general monograph dealing with all the aspects of

7 For references to Nonnus’ Dion. I rely on the Belles Lettres edition (1976–2006); for Par., on recent critical editions where available (ch. 1: De Stefani; ch. 2 and 18: Livrea; ch. 4: Caprara; 5: Agosti; 6: Franchi; 13: Greco; 19 and 20: Accorinti), otherwise on Scheindler’s one (1881). As for commentaries on Dion., I quote the Belles Lettres edition and the Italian edition (by Gigli, Gonnelli, Agosti, Accorinti, Milan 2003–04) as well. English translations of Dion. are by Rouse 1940; of the Par. by Prost 2003, both modified when necessary. 8 See Riemschneider 1964; Agosti 2006a and 2008b; Miguélez Cavero 2009; ead. in this volume p. 175 f. Less frequently, Nonnian passages are evoked to explain iconographic details: for example, Arce 2002, 124–9 identifies a figure in the cosmological mosaic of Merida as Heracles, on the basis of the Heracles astrochiton of Dion. 40; in the case of two ivory pyxides from the sixth century, the Dionysiaca has been suggested as an influence, see LIMC s.v. Dionysus in peripheria orientali nos. 124 and 125 (C. Augé / P. Linant de Bellefond), and San Nicolás Pedraz 1994. 9 See now Schrenk 2004, cat. no. 1, 26–34 and no. 62, 185–9. On the discussion about the Abegg tapestry see Livrea 1987; Willers 1992; Gigli Piccardi 2003, 60–2; and especially Török 2005, 233–5 to whose way of reading it (“another case of the articulation of elite self-image through its projection into the world of the myths”) I subscribe. 10 On Dionysiac mosaics of Near East see Bowersock 2006, 39–45. On those of Roman North Africa and their possible meanings see Parrish 1995, 332 concluding: “Several examples – especially fourth and fifth century works which allude to cultic initiation … or which exalt Dionysos in a new, Late Antique manner … testify to the force of the Bacchic cult in this period, stimulated in part by the rivalry of Christianity” (approved by Gigli Piccardi 2003, 65). On the opposite side, many scholars pointed out the disengaged nature of mythological decorations; it is striking, for example, to see how the flourishing artisanal production of ivory plaques (well attested throughout the fifth and sixth centuries) from Alexandria were decorated with subjects from Greek mythology (Bonacasa Carra 2000; Kiss 2007, 200–2). Mythological themes on luxury objects were not considered dangerous or compromising with paganism: for this (and other) reason I am sceptical about a living force of Dionysism in the fifth century,

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Nonnus’ attitude towards figurative arts and to the visual world of his time.11 In this paper I would like to point out what I consider to be one of the basic topics such a research should tackle, that is the link of the visual aesthetics of Nonnian poetry to the experiences and tastes of Late Antique society.

2 Images, Texts and Everyday Life The influence of works of art on Nonnian poetry is evident: in many passages the poet apparently describes a figurative model, or refers to an iconography well known to his audience. Referring to previous studies,12 I will focus here on some examples not previously addressed, aiming to show that the comparison with figurative arts can explain the way the audience visualized the poet’s descriptions. These cases allow us to appreciate the interrelation between literature, real life and visuality in Late Antiquity. In the episode of Phaethon in Book 38 of the Dionysiaca, Nonnus is particularly indebted to iconography – not surprising at all, given the popularity

even though I admit that it is difficult to draw incontrovertible conclusions from elusive evidence. For example, as for domestic objects with Dionysiac imagery from Salagassos in the fourth century Peter Talloen has recently observed: “For many of these scenes their meaning would have depended on their physical context and the interpretation of the viewer. The formal and narrative fluidity of such interchangeable imagery echoes a flexibility of meaning and interpretation found widely in Late Antiquity. It also illustrates the fact the boundaries between pagan and Christian communities in the fourth century were not as rigid as some contemporary historians would have us believe […] Although Dionysiac imagery does not always necessarily have a religious significance, this evidence suggests there was a degree of competition between Christianity and the popular local cult of Dionysus, and that Dionysiac and other mythological themes on pottery are open to a more spiritual or cultic interpretation than has often been assumed” (Talloen 2011, 577 and 585; cf. also below n. 34). On Christ and Dionysus in Nonnus’ poetry see now the assessment by Shorrock 2011, 54–78. Reversing the perspective, it is interesting that Cameron 2011, 700–11 mentions Nonnus as a case of a Christian poet (see also Cameron 2007) writing a poem on Dionysus, in order to support his view that Dionysiac themes, so prevalent in Late Antiquity iconography, had no religious and soteriological significance at all. 11 But Vincent Giraudet devoted a chapter of his PhD thesis (Paris IV, 2010) to certain visual aspects of Nonnian poikilia. I leave aside the iconographical reception of Nonnus’ poetry, not much studied after the groundbreaking work by Simon 1964 (a few further references in Agosti 2012, 382–4). 12 See the works cited in n. 8. For a good example of how such research helps us better understand Nonnus’ poetry cf. Gigli Piccardi 2003, 58–60, 621–3, studying the birth of Dionysus, as it is narrated in Dion. 9, and the striking analogies to the Dionysiac mosaics of Nea Paphos (on which see recently Bowersock 2006, 39).

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of Phaethon’s myth in the Imperial and Late Roman period.13 Iconographical representations explain also details that one would be tempted to consider as a gracious creation of the poet’s own phantasy. For example, it has already occurred to me to point out that some Roman sarcophagi with children driving chariots drawn by rams prove that the chariot of Phaethon as a child in Dion. 38.176–83 is nothing but a common spectacle of everyday life.14 I think this is also true for the preceding scene, 38.155–66:15 πολλάκι παιδοκόμοισιν ἐν ἤθεcιν ἁβρὸν ἀθύρων Ὠκεανὸς Φαέθοντα παλινδίνητον ἀείρων γαστρὶ μέσῃ κούφιζε, δι᾿ ὑψιπόρου δὲ κελεύθου ἄστατον αὐτοέλικτον ἀλήμονι σύνδρομον αὔρῃ ἠερόθεν παλίνορσον ἐδέξατο κοῦρον ἀγοστῷ, καὶ πάλιν ἠκόντιζεν· ὁ δὲ τροχοειδέι παλμῷ χειρὸς ἐυστρέπτοιο παράτροπος Ὠκεανοῖο δινωτῇ στροφάλιγγι κατήριπεν εἰς μέλαν ὕδωρ, μάντις ἑοῦ θανάτοιο· γέρων δ᾿ ᾤμωξε νοήσας, θέσφατα γινώσκων, πινυτῇ δ᾿ ἔκρυψε σιωπῇ, μὴ Κλυμένης φιλόπαιδος ἀπενθέα θυμὸν ἀμύξῃ πικρὰ προθεσπίζων Φαεθοντίδος αἴλινα Μοίρης.

155

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Often in the course of the boy’s training Oceanos would have a pretty game, lifting Phaethon on his midbelly and letting him drop down; he would throw the boy high in the air, rolling over and over moving in a high path as quick as the wandering wind, and catch him again on his arm; then he would shoot him up again, and the boy would avoid the ready hand of Oceanos and turn a somersault round and round till he splashed into the dark waters, prophet of his own death. The old man groaned when he saw it, recognizing the divine oracle, and hid all in prudent silence, that he might not tear the happy heart of Clymene, the loving mother by foretelling the cruel threads of Phaethon’s Fate.

Nonnus was certainly fond of this act, no doubt because it gave him the opportunity to describe the paradox of a child in the air: it also occurs at 9.307–9, where Athamas plays with his son Melicertes throwing him in the air to amuse him.16 On the contrary, the act has tragic consequences at 21.111, where a Nysan woman does it in oder to kill her son. In our passage the elaborate

13 See the commentaries on Book 38 by Simon 1999 and Agosti 2004. 14 Agosti 2004, 791–2, with further bibliography. 15 On the literary aspects of the passage see Simon 1999, 11–2; Agosti 2004, 789–91. 16 See the commentary by Chrétien 1985, 127, quoting Eur. Danae TrGF 323.1–2 “perhaps would fall [πίτνων Nauck; πηδῶν Stob. codd.] into and play in my arms and at my breast” (translation by C. Collard – M. Cropp, Loeb).

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description, as well as the hyperbolic expressions of a child flying (note δι᾿ ὑψιπόρου δὲ κελεύθου)17 are intended to emphasize Phaethon’s fatal destiny, as the narrator himself clarifies immediately after. Ocean’s way of playing with his nephew is quite a real-life, common experience, as all of us directly or indirectly know: so it does not need a particular exegesis. But the baroque description of the boy “rolling over and over moving in a high path as quick as the wandering wind” and of the “somersault round and round”, and the accumulation of words expressing turning, features underlined by scholars,18 go clearly beyond the function of the passage. They take a sort of picture of the boy twirling and floating down: a picture – I would suggest – that reminded Nonnus’ audience of another very familiar spectacle, that of acrobatic plays usual in the Late Roman society during feasts and public entertainments.19 Visual arts witness such popularity: for example, we find an exact representation of adults throwing children in the air in the lower left part of an ivory diptych of the sixth century, now in St Petersburg (fig. 1), studied by André Grabar, who showed that the scene belongs to an iconographical tradition often represented in Byzantine art.20 Changing the subject, we should note that also in the generic and often vague war scenes of the Dionysiaca (we will come back to this) one can sometimes find details probably picked up from real life and known to us from iconography. Take for instance an interesting wooden relief from the fifth century, now in Berlin, depicting the liberation of a city, and whose origin is much debated,21 originally fixed, as it is probable, to a wall as decoration. The subject is uncertain: either a biblical theme (the rescue of Gibeon by Joshua) or Roman soldiers defeating barbarians (the Blemmyes?) or the troops of an usurper (fig. 2).22 Outside the besieged city wall the enemy leaders are hanged on forked stakes, a cruel habit well known from historical sources. In fact, in describing the slaughter in the city of the Indians, Nonnus does not forget

17 Cf. at the end of the episode Phaethon falling ὑψόθεν. 18 Cf. Simon 1999, 200. 19 See Jones 2012, 309. 20 Volbach 1976, 16; Grabar 1960, 139 (“acrobats adultes faisant tourner dans l’air des enfants”) and pl. 25; Bank 1977, 40; Green 1985, 471–2 and pl. 10. 21 The piece is usually indicated as Egyptian (Hermoupolis?), but recently von Törne 2010 thinks there is/may be a western provenance. 22 Josh. 10: see R. Brilliant ap. Weitzmann 1979, 81 cat. no. 69; Effenberger – von Falck 1996, 133. Von Törne 2010 suggests that the troops of Galla Placidia defeat the usurper Joannes in Ravenna in 425 CE.

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such a vivid detail that his audience was probably eager23 to find in a similar context. Witness 34.226–9: τὰς μὲν ἄγων Φλογίος βασιληίδος ἄγγελα νίκης σφιγγομένας πόμπευε δι᾿ ἄστεος. ὑψιτενεῖς δέ αἱ μὲν ἐυγλυφάνοιο παρὰ προπύλαια μελάθρου ἀγχονίῳ θλίβοντο περίπλοκον αὐχένα δεcμῷ. These [sc. some of the Bacchants] Phlogios led bound, and conducted them through the city as tidings of royal victory. Some were hung up besides the carved gateway of the palace, with nooses choking their encircled necks.

Nonnus had at his disposal literary models, namely the hanging of unfaithful maidens from the Odyssey, which he is echoing,24 so it is not necessary to indicate a figurative source for the passage, nor had I such an intention. The importance of this wooden relief actually lies in helping us to understand how the poet and his audience visualized such a horrific detail. It offers a good example of the intermingling of literary models and visual patterns. Another detail from the long section of the defeat of the Bacchic army in the second day of the battle may be added (Dion. 34.123–35.261). In 35.11–6 old men and women watch the battle from walls and roofs: ἀκλινέες δὲ γέροντες ἀερσιλόφων ἐπὶ πύργων φύλοπιν ἐσκοπίαζον· ὑπὲρ τεγέων δὲ καὶ αὐταί θυρσοφόρον στίχα πᾶσαν ἐθηήσαντο γυναῖκες· καί τις ὑπὲρ μεγάροιο περικλινθεῖσα τιθήνῃ παρθένος ἑλκεσίπεπλος ἐδέρκετο θῆλυν ἐνυώ καὶ κταμένῃ βαρύδακρυς ἐπέστενεν ἥλικι κούρη. The old men were seated unmoving upon the high precipitous walls, watching the fray; the women also upon the rooftops gazed at all the whole thyrsusbearing throng, and many a longrobed maiden from her chamber above leaning upon her nurse marked this female warfare, and lamented with tears the slaughter of some girl of her own years.

Here again, the literary models are unquestionably the τειχοσκοπία and, for the women watching from the roofs, a similar scene in Triphiodorus’ poem (547). Nevertheless, I think that Nonnus is not simply reworking the literary

23 The “taste for cruelty” is widespread in Imperial and Late Antique literature (I studied such a taste in Agosti 2001a). 24 See the commentaries by Gerlaud 2005 and Agosti 2004 ad loc. for other literary parallels.

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tradition: he is rather describing a scene somewhat familiar to himself and to his audience. Let us take a look at the well-known Trier ivory (fig. 3), which probably represents the adventus ceremonial of the relics of St Stephen, according to Holum and Vikan:25 on the right part we see some people on the roofs and an isolated man climbing up the church, that is the same representation of a group from which an isolated figure is detached, as we find in Nonnus’ verses (where the isolated character is the anonymous maiden lamenting the death of a girl of her age). The same image of people on roofs looking at a mass (representing a saint surrounded by church figures?) we find on an ivory plaque (6th century, Syria or Egypt), now at the Louvre.26 Once again, I am not suggesting Nonnus had in mind a precise iconographical type, rather that what we might be tempted to consider only a literary detail was actually quite a common scene in his world (he was surely eye-witness to similar scenes).27 I think that a systematic exploration of Late Antique iconography will elucidate other narrative details of the war against Indians. Such a study could somewhat counterbalance the fact that we cannot unfortunately comment so much about the general theme, because of the paucity of comparable monuments extant. In fact the war against the Indians is rarely represented and only in sarcophagi friezes of Imperial age, with the exception of one mosaic coming from the triclinium of a Roman villa of Fuente Alamo (Spain, 4th century), and representing the victorious battle over the Indians in the lower panel, and the triumph of Bacchus in the upper one; and another one in Rome (Museo Nazionale) with Bacchus fighting against an Indian.28 There are no relations between these images and the text of the Dionysiaca, and the only thing we can say is that we have at least an idea of what kind of representations of the war Nonnus and his audience could have seen.29 A preferential field of research from this point of view is Coptic art, of course. Textiles in particular prove important for a proper understanding of

25 Holum – Vikan 1979. 26 G. Bühl ap. Evans – Ratliff 2012, 44–5 cat. no. 23. 27 As it is possible to demonstrate for the scene of Dion. 35.92–6, where Indian women throw stones from the roofs against Bacchants: a literary topos but also something known to everyday life, as the comparison with a passage from the Coptic Panegyric of Makarios of Tkow shows well: see Agosti 2013. The same goes for some passages in Dion. 37, especially in the chariot race: for example, the curious half-moon shaped metae, which struck scholars (37.103– 15, cf. Frangoulis 1999, 33 and Agosti 2004, 688), are clearly visible in some mosaic representations of the circus. 28 See LIMC s.v. Dionysos/Bacchus nos. 233–6, 241–7 (C. Gasparri); and cf. above, n. 8. 29 Lancha 2003, 199–200; López Monteagudo 1999, 36–8.

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several Nonnian passages. Nonnian scholarship frequently exploited the parallels,30 though it still lacks a systematic comparison.31 Apart from single results, it is important to underline that this was the kind of art that the poet and his contemporaries had before their eyes in everday life; and that we should perhaps consider the question of “models” from a different perspective. A small but illuminating example: in the “second prologue” of the Dionysiaca, along the syncrisis between Dionysus and Heracles, the poet introduces Heracles strangling the Nemean lion, 25.176–9: οἶδα μέν, ὅττι λέοντι βραχίονα λοξὸν ἑλίξας εὐπαλάμῳ πήχυνε περίπλοκον αὐχένα δεσμῷ, πότμον ἄγων ἀσίδηρον, ὅπῃ ζωαρκέι λαιμῷ ἔμπνοος ἀσφαράγοιο μέσος πορθμεύεται ἀήρ I know he threw his arm from one side and circles the lion’s neck entangled in mighty grip and so without weapon brought death, in that spot where the breath passes through the gullet of lifesufficing throat.

Nonnus’ search for accuracy in describing the way of strangling the lion is justified by the myth (the lion could be killed only in that very way), and by literary models.32 But the detailed characterization of the arm winding around the lion’s throat compellingly calls to mind a long-established iconographical tradition: one of the best examples is the well known drawing from an Oxyrhynchus papyrus of the third century, representing a way of depicting Heracles’ fight that continued up to Byzantine art, slightly transformed.33 It is instructive to compare the Nonnian description with the motif of a group of nearly twenty silk textiles, which are decorated with the repeated representation of a man wrestling with a lion (fig. 4). From the iconography it is impossible to decide if the man is Samson or Heracles, and also the use of these luxury textiles remains uncertain (hangings, garments?), so it has been reasonably suggested that the motif could be interpreted either as Biblical or mythological depending on the use and the patron.34 Iconographical tradition suggests that 30 Especially in the commentaries of both the Budé and BUR editions. 31 For the conceptual frame necessary for such a comparison, Török 2005 is essential. 32 See Agosti 2004, 92–3 with further indications (and a discussion of Heracles’ popularity in Late Antique literature and art). 33 P.Oxy. XXII 2331. See Weitzmann 1960, 57–8. For later examples in Coptic art see Török 2005, 192, 255. 34 See J. L. Ball ap. Evans – Ratliff 2012, 154, cat. no. 102. This uncertainty is somewhat typical: compare, for instance, Elsner 1998, 110 on the Abegg tapestry, about which it is impossible to ascertain “[w]hether the decoration of a wall or couch with this textile would have implied the adherence of an initiate to Dionysiac religious cult, or would have been a less

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Nonnus and his audience were familiar with a certain kind of depiction the poet is trying to reproduce in words: it would therefore be vain, if not misleading, to pretend to indicate a precise model of Nonnian description. When we speak of the “ambiguity” affecting Nonnian poetry, in expressing either the refined theological reading of the Fourth Gospel or the intoxicating narrative of Dionysus’ terrestrial life, we should keep in mind that such an ambiguity was primarily a fact of language, and very common in the everyday life of Egyptian Late Antique élites. The coexistence of Biblical and mythological motifs in everyday art illustrates such a phenomenon well: for example, in a fourth century fragment of box mounting (from Western Mediterranean) there are four vignettes: the Sacrifice of Abraham; Adam, Eve and the Snake; Bellerophon slaying the Chimaera; and Heracles.35 In other terms, categories usually invoked for Nonnian poetry such as continuity with the past or Christian interpretation of classical paideia, were part of the daily life of Late Antique world and as such they should be taken into account in our evaluation of Nonnian “literary” poetry. It is perhaps in the Christian poem that the influence of an iconographic subject is clearest, as recent studies have shown.36 We still need a comprehensive study of visuality in the Paraphrasis, examining it against the Late Antique Christian theory of vision and of the use of images in church preaching.37 In particular, the high frequency of verbs related to sight and gaze in the poem,38 reproducing and strenghtening the tie between seeing and believing characteristic of John’s Gospel, should be analysed in its relations to the theory sacredly charged declaration of paideia in the form of mythological imagery, or would just have been an appropriate and suitably lavish adornment for a nobleman’s drinking party” (quoted by Török 2005, 234). On the possibility of double reading, pagan and Christian, in Coptic art see the important pages by Török 2005, 262–80. 35 J. Witt ap. Wamser 2004, 262–3, cat. no. 397. 36 At 5.31–4 the description of the paralytic, who walks to the Temple carrying his bed on his shoulders is to be compared to some representations of the miracle, as an ivory plaque from Rome (410–420: L. Kötzsche ap. Weitzmann 1979, 446–8), or the scene in the panel with the four Evangelists (Egypt, 6th century: Weitzmann 1979, 540–1), especially with regard to the knees (ἀήθεα γούνατα πάλλων “shaking unused knees”, in Nonnus) and the bed easily carried on the shoulders (ἀκαμάτῳ βαρύφορτον ἐπωμίδι λέκτρον ἀείρων “the heavy bed on steady neck and shoulders laid”. At 20.88 the representation of Christ μιτρωθεὶς ἑτάροισι in Par. 20.88 reproducing exactly an iconographical type (Accorinti 1996, 198). Further examples: John the Baptist pointing a finger at the agnus Dei in Par. 1.103–5 (De Stefani 2002, 176–7; Spanoudakis in the present volume pp. 366–7); Caprara 2005, 32–6, 139–40; Franchi 2013, 168–90. 37 For a recent theory of Christian visuality see Peers 2012. On relations between texts and images in Late Antiquity see Cavallo 1994 and Brubaker 2010. 38 For a partial analysis see Agosti 2003, 168.

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of seeing as part of the salvific experience of pilgrimage,39 and to the practice of monastic painting.40 I offer just one example: in the narrative on healing the paralytic, in Book 5, Nonnus insists on the aspect of seeing, underlining the notion six times in the first fifty verses (compared to only one in John’s text). I already pointed out in my commentary the baptismal meaning of “seeing the water”, a common motif in the patristic exegesis of the miracle,41 as well as some analogies with contemporary iconography. And I suggested also that the symbolic description of the “heavy” paralytic’s bed is due to the fact that Nonnus and his audience were aware of the presence of this relic in St Mary’s church in Jerusalem.42 By now, what seems to me to be really significant is that the combining of every element was due to what I would call “ideological enargeia”, functional to the audience’s horizon of expectation:43 the rewriting of the miracle is a sort of “literary pilgrimage” to Bethesda. From this perspective the insistence on seeing is correspondent to its central role in actual pilgrimages. In tales recounting miracles, seeing was essential to healing and Nonnus is not remiss in reproducing this feature in his narrative, since it re-enacted the experience of the healed lame and of every pilgrim as well.44

3 Visualizing a City Only a systematic analysis could draw a comprehensive account of Nonnus’ concept of images and the poet’s acquaintance with theoretical and aesthetical theories of his time, of course. As a preliminary test-bed I will examine the description of the city of Indians in the Dionysiaca. The ekphrasis of cities was a common rhetorical exercise of Late Antique school that entered Nonnian poetry because it was part of his audience’s cul-

39 Frank 2000, 75–100 is fundamental. 40 On which see Bolman 2007. 41 Agosti 2003, 168. 42 Agosti 2003, 375 (the main source is Theod. De situ Terrae Sanctae 8, 142.3 Geyer). 43 Enargeia was an essential feature of description, as it is well known: but I think that the way Nonnus draws the narrative of miracles operates within a religious and epistemological context rather than literary, anticipating the middle Byzantine use of the term (as an equivalent of “truth”: see, recently, Papaioannou 2011, 51 on Late Antique antecedents of this development). 44 See, for example, St Symeon Miracle 163 quoted by Vikan 1982, 33. Moreover, the insistence that the paralytic bore his heavy bed with no effort is linked to another fundamental aspect of Late Antique and Byzantine appreciation of art: the touch (on tactility as a fundamental part of religious and artistic experience in Byzantium, see now James 2011).

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ture and expectations. A common feature of these descriptions in Nonnus is that they give realism up, in favour of ideal or symbolic images:45 the role played by rhetorical theory of literary ekphrasis is evident.46 But in spite of the numerous descriptions of cities and places in his poems, Nonnus does not appear to be much interested in the main purpose of Late Antique ekphrasis, i.e. to show through words what the physical eye cannot perceive.47 The poet is rather more interested in enhancing the artistic beauty of cities and their buildings (possibly elaborating complex comparisons, as in the case of Tyre resembling a maiden swimming: Dion. 40.319–52), or in pointing out single features that are eventually relevant to the narrative. As a consequence, his descriptions carry a certain vagueness even when they are apparently generous in details. A good example is the city of Indians, where the main battle of the poem occurs: the generic and rough description of it did not fail to strike modern readers.48 Why did Nonnus depict it so vaguely? One possible, albeit generic, reason, usually invoked by scholars, is the influence of literary and rhetoric tradition, mainly that of the Homeric model. Miguélez Cavero rightly emphasizes a passage from a treatise attributed to Hermogenes, according to which Homer did not describe the sack of Troy, but “the sack of every city”.49 But it is also possible to remember the habit of visualizing a besieged city in the iconography of the time: in depictions of battles in front of a city, the latter is usually reduced to a mere symbol without any characterization. For instance, in the miniatures of the Ilias Ambrosiana or in the mosaics of the nave of Santa Maria Maggiore representing the passage of the Red Sea or the siege of Gabaon50 we find the same generic representation as in Nonnus.51 45 As for example in Dion. 3.124–83, where Electra’s palace is an ideal representation of a Late Antique palace; or in Par. 5.1–2 where Jerusalem is described as a city-temple, being a symbol of the heavenly temple (Agosti 1998). For a description of buildings in Nonnus see Miguélez Cavero 2008, 148–9, with further bibliography. On descriptions of buildings and cities in Late Antique rhetoric see Webb 2011. 46 See Webb 2009, and for the literature of city descriptions, Saradi 2006, 50–5; Ćurčic et al. 2010; Carile 2011. 47 The usual aim of his descriptions is to convey astonishment and admiration (we will come back to that), with the exception of Par. 5.1–2. On theory of ekphrasis see Webb 2009; Maguire 2011; Pentcheva 2011; for poetry Agosti 2006a with further bibliography. 48 See, for example, Chuvin 1991, 286: the city “reste anonyme et … semble imaginée d’après le modèle de Troie. Mais Dionysos en l’encerclant, est amené à occuper l’Inde entière”. 49 [Hermog.] On Method of forceful speaking 33, quoted by Miguélez Cavero 2008, 307. 50 M. R. Menna in Andaloro 2006, 321 pl. 19; 326–7 pl. 29, with further bibliography. Needless to say, iconography of the besieged city traces back to Roman imperial art. 51 Another important monument would have been Arcadius’ column representing the expulsion of the Goths from Constantinople and the ensuing battles (see Weitzmann 1979, 79–80),

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While Nonnus give names and often some peculiar features of many Indian towns, offering in Book 26 a sort of “literary Madaba map” of India, the capital remains anonymous. According to its nature as true symbol of Dionysus’ dark enemy, the city is sketched with both generic and imaginary features. Its first mention is at Dion. 25.274–76: the great Indian city is full of mournful laments (“all the city [πᾶσα πόλις] was moved at the fate of the lately dead; the streets resounded with the mournful noise of the women’s dirge”). Some lines further the fragrance coming from Hydaspes river, whose water has been transformed into wine, intoxicates the entire town (25.297–302: “Already the scent of the vine was spreading through the city on the soft warm breeze, and intoxicating all the streets, foretelling victory for Indian-slaying Lyaios. The people spent the night on the lofty towers in fear, and the guards of the highcrested citadel lined its wall with their shields”). In these passages the only mentioned architectural elements of the city are streets (ἀγυιαί) and high towers (πύργοι) and walls (the iconic image of the city itself in Late Antique art).52 Only later at the end of Book 26, does the poet offer a somewhat detailed description, Dion. 26.366–78: τόσσος ἄρα στρατὸς ἦλθε· πόλις δ᾿ ἐστείνετο λαῷ· καὶ στίχες εὐπήληκες ἐμιτρώθησαν ἀήταις, τετραπόρων πλήσαντες ἐν ἄστεϊ κύκλα κελεύθων· οἱ μὲν ἐνὶ τριόδοισιν ἐπήτριμοι, οἱ δ᾿ ἐπὶ βάθροις ἄλλοι δ᾿ ἠλιβάτοιο πρὸ τείχεος, οἱ δ᾿ ἐπὶ πύργων νήδυμον ὕπνον ἴαυον ἀκοντοφόρων ἐπὶ λέκτρων. ἡγεμόνων δὲ φάλαγγας ἑῷ ξείνισσε μελάθρῳ Δηριάδης, καὶ πάντες ἀμοιβαίων ἐπὶ θώκων ξεινοδόκῳ βασιλῆι μιῆς ἥπτοντο τραπέζης. τοῖσι μὲν ἕσπερα δεῖπνα καὶ ἐννυχίου πτερὸν Ὕπνου μέμβλετο, καὶ στρατὸς εὗδεν ἐνόπλιος ἄρεϊ γείτων· ἐγρεμόθῳ δ᾿ εὕδοντες ἐφωμίλησαν ὀνείρῳ, μιμηλὴν Σατύροισιν ἀναστήσαντες ἐνυώ.

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So great then, was the host there assembled. The city was crammed with people: helmeted crowds were surrounded by winds till they filled the circle of the streets that ran all four ways in the city, some thick at the threeways, some in the seats, some on the height of the walls, while others lay quietly on the turrets and slept under arms. The company of leaders was entertained by Deriades in his own hall, and all touched the

but as it is lost we have no way of making a comparison which would have been interesting – for its “ideological” and political implications as well. 52 On walls as essential features of city-representations, see Cavallo 1989; Orselli 1994, 426–7.

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same table as their hospitable king in turns on rows of seats. Feasting engaged them in the evening, the wing of sleep in the night: the army slumbered under arms on the eve of battle, and slumbering they had to do with battlestirring dreams, as they fought against shadows like Satyrs.

This description opens with the mention of the winds surrounding soldiers for which Vian recalls the Four Winds adorning the corners of the imperial reliefs.53 Nonnus, in fact, simply means that the Indians’ town encompasses all the four cardinal points. He has a passion for such an order, as it appears elsewhere in the poem,54 and this is nothing but a common feature of Late Antique rhetoric:55 in this same manner Gregory of Tours describes Dijon’s walls and four gates “located at the four corners of the world” (Hist. Franc. 3.19), or in the ekphrasis of Anastasius’ Chalke the building at the end of the poem presents itself as “on all sides exposed to the breezes of the four winds” (AP 9.656.21 τετραπόρων ἀνέμων … αὔραις).56 What follows is a very synthetic description of some elements of the city: triods, benches, towers. Benches (βάθρα) particularly struck scholars,57 but in another similar passage Nonnus speaks of the seats of the Indian assembly:58 Vian remarked that the expression calls to mind a sort of anachronistic theatre: if we think, rather, of a bouleuterion, the description might make more sense. Other “information” on the Indians’ city is given at 34.226–48 (quoted above), where it is said that the city has a royal palace (μέλαθρον) and some wells (where some Bacchants are entombed–an occasion for a pathetic ethopoea); in the following Book there are allusions to the paved streets (35.9 ἄστεος εὐλάιγγες … ἀγυιαί) and to a Sun Gate (35.240–1 βριαρὴν κληῖδα πυλάων / ἡλιάδων) through which Bacchants prisoners are able to escape thanks to the intervention of Hermes.59 53 Vian 1990, 291. 54 In 5.50–70 (Thebes, where the symbolism of the city as universe is evident), and in the description of Harmonia’s palace (Dion. 41.274 f., with four gates oriented to the cardinal points). 55 Mentions of the four points of the compass in late Latin poetry are very frequent, see Roberts 1989, 43. 56 On this poem see now Tissoni 2000, 30–6 who proposes to assign it to Christodorus of Coptos. 57 Vian’s edition restored the correct reading instead of βόθροις “moats”. 58 36.428–9 αὐτίκα δ’ ἠγερέθοντο πολυσπερέων στίχες Ἰνδῶν, / ἑζόμενοι στοιχηδὸν ἀμοιβαίων ἐπὶ βάθρων “at once the many tribes of Indians assembled, and sat down in companies on rows of benches”. 59 An allusion both to Homer (Od. 24.12 Ἠελίοιο πύλας) and to Deriades’ genealogy (Dion. 26.361–5), but also a traditional name for a city gate, familiar to Nonnus’ audience (Hermupolis and Alexandria had a Sun and a Moon Gate, for example).

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The description of the Indians’ city shows very well Nonnus’ contribution to the “ambiguous realism” of city descriptions in early Byzantine times.60 We can find all the elements of his schematic representation in the images of cities in late mosaics and reliefs, as well as in medieval miniatures tracing back to a Late Antique iconographic tradition, as, for example, in the Madaba map, or in some of the vignettes in the floor mosaic of the church of St Stephen at Umm-el-Rasas; or in the schematic representation of Alexandria (sixth century) in the mosaics from a church in Jerash (fig. 5).61 In these depictions, cities are rendered schematically, eventhough specific buildings occasionally appear.62 It is the same amalgamation of schematism and “realism”, that Nonnus shows by drawing a very generic city with a few places and buildings mentioned in a more detailed way. The substantial coincidence between the city and the palace in his verses is noteworthy also, which reminds us of representations we find in mosaics, such as that of Theodericus’ palace in S. Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna: it is a very common ideological feature in Late Antique art and literature.63 Another feature in describing cities and buildings in Nonnus is typical of the Late Antique way of seeing, i.e. astonishment and admiration. Θαῦμα (and cognate words) is in fact a central issue in Nonnian aesthetics. Many scholars underscored the importance of formulas like ἆ μέγα θαῦμα to introduce surprise, amazement, admiration, both in paradoxographical stories and in narration of miracles; and the ἐκφράσεις are full of such expressions, of course. Among several passages,64 I might cite Dionysus admiring Staphylus’ palace in 18.89–92: ὁ δὲ βραδυπειθέι ταρσῷ πλαζομένην ἑλικηδὸν ἑὴν ἐτίταινεν ὀπωπήν· καὶ θεὸς ἀστερόεσσαν ἐθάμβεεν ἤνοπι κόσμῳ ξεινοδόκου βασιλῆος ἰδὼν χρυσήλατον αὐλήν.

60 Saradi 2006, 119–46; for a similar attitude in late Byzantine ekphraseis see now Saradi 2010, esp. 181–6. 61 Saradi 2010. 62 Saradi 2010, 79–80. 63 Carile 2009. 64 For a literary analysis of this description see Faber 2004. Other cases: Cadmus in Samothrace, 3.180–1; admiration for pantomimes in 19.99 (Dionysus), for the games in 37.585, 746 (the Bacchic troops), for the universe 38.318 (Phaethon); in the Paraphrasis the word denotes the reaction towards miracles: 2.94, 3. 38; 4.49, 86, 251; 5.106; 7.173; 8.182; 11.165, 173; 18.180 with Livrea 1989, 198; 20.45.

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[Dionysus] followed with slow obedient foot, and turned his wandering gaze to each thing in order. The god was amazed at the hospitable king’s hall, embellished with gold and starry with glittering decorations.

This is not only a literary and rhetorical motif: the vocabulary of astonishment emphasizes the response of the beholder,65 as it did in everyday life. When Nonnus’ listeners saw Dionysus amazed at a magnificent palace, they recognized a quite familiar attitude. Admiration and astonishment are normally solicited in inscriptions associated with statues, images or buildings,66 being part of the usual written display of the late Roman society. It is no surprise, after all, that one of the most sensational Nonnian quotations in inscriptions relates to amazement, SGO 21/07/01.1–2 (Beer Sheba, Palestine, 5th/6th century) ὀφθαλμοί, τί τὸ θαῦμα; πότ᾿ ἐνθάδε κόσμος ἐτύχθη; / τίς βροτὸς ηὕρατο κάλλος, ὃ μὴ πάρος ἄσπετος αἰών; “Eyes, what is this wonder? When was such a glory made here? Who was the mortal who found a beauty that infinite Time did not before?”.67

4 Nonnus and the Written Display of Late Antique World Inscriptions are somewhat in the middle between images and texts, sharing features of both: as texts, they conveyed messages and (in case of epigrams) prestige and culture;68 as images they gave, even to illiterate people, a sense of the power of words.69 Nonnus likes to insert inscriptional epigrams in his poem, expanding some epic precedents,70 and it is not surprising to find a 65 Compare the description of the church of St Sergius at Gaza by Choricius (Laud. Marc. 1.23 Förster-Richtsteig): “when you enter the church, you will be staggered by the variety of the spectacle. Eager as you are to see everything at once, you will depart not having seen anything properly, since your gaze darts hither and thiter in your attempt not to leave anything observed” (transl. Mango 1972, 61); see the discussion by Kiilerich 2012, 23. 66 Δέρκεο καὶ θαύμαζε τὸν ἄξιον οἰκιστῆρα is said in an epigram from Ephesos (4th/5th century, SGO 03/02/15.2) for a theatre renewed by proconsul Messalinus; the epigramma longum of thirteen hexameters (end of the 5th century) in a lintel above the central doorway of the church of St Theodore (Jerash) addresses in the first line the passerby with the following statement, SGO 21/23/03.1 θ̣άμβος ὁμοῦ καὶ θαῦμα παρερχομένοισιν ἐτύχθην. See Robert 1948, 66–70; Agosti 2010a. 67 Ὀφθαλμοί, τί τὸ θαῦμα … comes from *Nonn. Dion. 1.93 (see the comment of Vian 1976, 140). 68 I developed this point in Agosti 2010a, 172–4. 69 Agosti 2010a, 177–80. 70 The poet includes some epigrams in his poems: Miguélez Cavero 2008, 170–2; Agosti 2010a, 173.

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scene where an inscription is read in the Dionysiaca, one of the fewest in ancient literature, and the only one in an epic poem.71 At 12.29–115 the Seasons consult Harmonia’s tablets (κύρβιες), fixed to a wall of the Sun’s palace, in order to know which of them will be honored with the grapes. Each tablet has zodiacal signs, images and texts, and all of them (probably four) are separately fastened to the wall. When her turn comes, Autumn runs from one tablet to another and passes over the inscriptions, reading them veloci oculo; only when she finds the part concerning her, in the third tablet, does she carefully read what turns out to be a hexameter oracle (107–13):72 ἧχι χαρασσομένων ἐπέων τετράζυγος ὀμφή· κεῖθι θεὰ φιλόβοτρυς ἐκώμασεν, εὗρε δὲ νύμφη θέσφατα κισσοφόρῳ πεφυλαγμένα ταῦτα Λυαίῳ· “Φοίβῳ Ζεὺς ἐπένευσεν ἔχειν μαντώδεα δάφνην, καὶ ῥόδα φοινίσσοντα ῥοδόχροϊ Κυπρογενείῃ, γλαυκὸν Ἀθηναίῃ γλαυκώπιδι θαλλὸν ἐλαίης, καὶ στάχυας Δήμητρι, καὶ ἡμερίδας Διονύσῳ”. There was an oracle engraved in four lines of verse. There the grape-loving goddess revelled, for she found this prophecy, kept for Lyaios Ivybearer, “Zeus gave to Phoibos the prophetic laurel, Red roses to the rosy Aphrodite, The grayleaf olive to Athena greyeyes, Corn to Demeter, vine to Dionysos.

Scholars have obviously recalled some iconographical parallels for these two scenes: Stegemann suggested a comparison between the arrangement of the tablets and the cycles of frescoes, or mosaics, illustrating the Ancient and the New Testament in the Byzantine churches; furthermore, Vian drew attention to the Tabulae Iliacae and the carvings surrounding Mithraic reliefs.73 I would like to point out that the detail of tablets with oracular verses fastened to a wall was surely not invented by Nonnus. In fact, in Late Antiquity there was a great diffusion of verse oracles, the so-called oracles théologiques (as Batiffol defined them): they were poetic texts concerning the true nature of God, well known and disseminated through the whole Mediterranean area, as attested

71 See Bing 2009, 142–6. 72 Compare Aphrodite at 41.339–99 reading “glorious oracles of the wall” (ἀγλαὰ θέσφατα τοίχου) by Ophion; in the tablet of the Sun she finds an encomium of Rome, in Greek verses, 387–8 καὶ πίνακος γραπτοῖο μέσην ὑπὲρ ἄντυγα κόσμου / τοῖον ἔπος σοφὸς εὗρε πολύστιχον Ἑλλάδι Μούσῃ “on the written tablet which lay in the midst on the circuit of the universe, she found these words of wisdom inscribed in many lines of Grecian verses”. 73 See Stegemann 1930, 161; Vian 1995, 60.

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by literary and inscriptional sources.74 The theological oracle of Apollo Clarios, six hexameters on God αὐτοφυής, ἀδίδακτος, ἀμήτωρ “born of itself, untaught, without a mother” (SEG 27.933), is perhaps the most famous example. This oracle is known both from literary sources (in various versions) and from inscriptions, in particular from one inscription, sixteen lines on a relief of an altar, carved on a block of the Hellenistic city walls of Oinoanda (fig. 6).75 Nonnus is describing an image he is well acquainted with.

5 Two Aspects of the Visual Aesthetics: Dematerialization and spolia The true connection of Nonnus’ poetry to visual arts appears in his favorite stylistic and narrative devices forming what we can define “visual aesthetics”.76 Recent scholarship extensively studied how deeply Nonnian style is characterised by chromatism, insistence on light and colors, “precious words”, fragmentation of focus, miniaturization, brilliance of individual units rather than of the organic whole: features that are common in Late Antique visual arts.77 Every reader of Nonnus’ poems, mainly the Dionysiaca, feels the same experience as the beholder of the dome of St Sophia, according to Procopius, Aed. 1.1.27:78 [A]ll these details, fitted together with incredible skill in mid-air and floating off from each other and resting only on the parts next to them, produce a single and most extraordinary harmony in the work, and yet do not permit the spectator to linger much over the study of any one of them, but each detail attracts the eye and draws it irresistibly to itself. So the vision constantly shifts suddenly, for the beholder is utterly unable to select which particular detail he should admire than all the others [οὐδαμῆ ἔχοντος ὅ τι ἄν ποτε ἀγασθείη μᾶλλον τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων].79

74 See for ex. IG XII 6, 2, 1265, an oracle, originally given to the Argonauts, for the foundation of a temple to the Virgin, found in the wall of a Christian church in the second half of the fifth century. 75 A complete bibliography can be found in Mitchell 1999, 81–92; Chaniotis 2010, 116–7; Agosti 2010a, 174 n. 97. 76 Agosti 2006a; 2008b. 77 See also Charlet 2008. 78 On multiple sensorial aesthetics in Late Antique descriptions of Hagia Sophia see now the important article by Pentcheva 2011. 79 Translation by Dewing and Downey ap. Mango 1972, 75. On the concept of dispersion of the viewer’s gaze see now Kiilerich 2012, 23.

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Such an attention to the detail of the compositional unit is paralleled in poetry by the the proclivity to episode-composition, a feature already recurrent in Imperial authors, and which reaches its climax in Nonnus’ poems, favoured in this, no doubt, by rhetorical principles of ekphrasis. Focalization on details brings fragmentation in narrative: λεπτολογία in mass scenes, narrative articulated in series of tableaux (especially in war chapters, Dion. 27, 28, 32–36, 39), lists and enumerations, pervasive presence of speeches constructed on the techniques of ethopoea. Following Michael Roberts’ essay80 we can easily compare the “catalogue” of saints in the church of San Vitale at Ravenna with the catalogues of the Bacchic and Indian troops in Books 13 and 26; or Nonnus’ treatment of narrative with the paratactic juxtaposition of scenes peculiar to column sarcophagi; with panels of ivory diptychs, or the isolated medallions of Near East mosaics, and of coptic textiles. This comparison is particularly useful in interpreting controversial passages. For example, the juxtaposition of “panels” in the naval battle of the second half of Book 39 – often considered proof that Nonnus did not accomplish his poem – has nonetheless its coherency, because the series of panels, apparently disconnected, acquires its coherency as soon as we consider that the narrative is organized according to different viewpoints. The observer is in the middle and changes his perspective every time. It is a literary form of the “radiant perspective” we can observe in mosaics like that of Megalopsychia in Antioch.81 In recent years this aspect of Nonnian poetics has been studied in detail82 and is susceptible to further exploration. It is particularly important also because it helps avoid a misunderstanding: the visual style and narrative do not imply lack of overall structure or coherency. On the contrary, research by Francis Vian, and recently by Pierre Chuvin, dramatically demonstrated the existence of a precise plan in the Dionysiaca.83 The poem is not a disintegrated collection of loosely connected plotlines and epyllion-like units, an old view that is unfortunately still widespread.84 It is rather much more productive to take into account the multiplicity of viewpoints typical of Nonnian narrative, that appears to have been inspired by the essential principle of “visual ekphrasis”, where the reader/listener (and viewer) has a clear overall vision thanks to a dynamic

80 For Latin literature see especially Roberts 1989, 66–121; further bibliography in Agosti 2006a and 2009. 81 Agosti 2006a and 2008b. 82 See the PhD thesis by Giraudet 2010. 83 Chuvin 2006a, 249 rightly insists that the poem’s structure is a “construction soignée”. 84 See for example some harsh judgments on the Dionysiaca in Baumbach – Bär 2012, 468 (Bär) and 486 (Kühlmann).

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sight.85 Seeing (and describing) was conceived as a walk through the space, as rhetorical treatises on ekphrasis and the practice of late authors show: Nonnus builds the episodes of the Dionysiaca according to the same principle. A couple of aspects that are not much-studied in Nonnian aesthetics may now be stressed. The first one is the “dematerializaton”. For a longtime it has been observed that the poet in some descriptions combines sight from up high (the so-called “bird’s-eye view”) with that from inside, as for example in the description of Electra’s palace (Dion. 3.124–83), for which Chuvin rightly observes that Nonnus “décrit la silhouette d’un bâtiment à coupole vu de face, comme un décor de théâtre, sans profondeur”.86 In my previous works I have already compared such a technique with the so-called “image explosée” we see applied in late mosaics, as that of the depiction of Ecclesia Mater in Tabarka (5th century);87 or in the images of the mosaic of the church of Tayyibet el-Imam (5th century).88 I insisted on adopting this new perspective on Nonnus: to my arguments I think now we should also add another, not less important reason. This way of describing is influenced by typical features of Late Antique aesthetics, the lack of volumetric mass, or “dematerialization” and two-dimensionality.89 Dematerialization was intended to supersede naturalistic representation, in favor of a spiritual weightlessness conferring symbolic meanings. The best example of this tendency in Nonnus is the description of lanterns (λαμπτῆρες) in the hands of the soldiers going to arrest Christ in Gethsemane, Par. 18.16–24: καὶ ὁμόστολος ἀνήρ χερσὶ πολυσπερέεσσι μετάρσιον ἄλλος ἐπ᾿ ἄλλῳ λύχνων ἐνδομύχων ἀνεμοσκεπὲς ἄλσος ἀείρων, ἄλσος, ὅπερ δονάκεσσιν ἀμοιβαίοισι συνάπτων πυκνὰ μεριζομένοισι γέρων κυκλώσατο τέκτων, ἀστερόεν μίμημα καὶ εἴκελον ὀξέι κόσμῳ· μεσσοφανὴς ὅθι λύχνος ὁμοζυγέος διὰ κόλπου ὀξὺ φάος πολυωπὸν ὑπὸ σκέπας ἔκτοθι πέμπων, ἀκροφανὲς σελάγιζε πολυσχιδὲς ἁλλόμενον φῶς 85 The concept of “visual ekphrasis” has been introduced by Pentcheva 2004, 236 f. for middle Byzantine miniatures of buildings, that presuppose for the viewer the same periegesis (movement) like literary ekphrasis. 86 Chuvin 1976, 4. For the description of Tyre see Saradi 2010, 78. 87 Agosti 1998, 206 n. 60. 88 See Balty 2008, 103 pl. 6. 89 Fabricius Hansen 2001; Ćurčic 2010, 22; 2011, 69. On the lack of spatial illusionism in Coptic art cf. Török 2005, 212–6; see now Liverani 2014 on the disparition of three-dimensionality.

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those in company with him [sc. Judas] / each followed closely on the next with hands raised high / and carrying a lamp protected from the wind / within a grove, a grove constructed out of reed / and well made being split and woven by a master, / and starry likeness similar to swift universe; / inside, the lamp was seated in an inner pocket / and shot its keen out right through the cover’s holes / which split the light in leaping, ramifying rays.

This extraordinary passage conveys an elaborate allegory of the lamp as an image of the universe, thoroughly studied and explained by Enrico Livrea.90 Moreover, considered from the perspective of visual aesthetics the lamp is a perfect example of a “dematerialized object”. As Slobodan Ćurčic pointed out, dematerialisation was achieved in architecture by the use of multiple large windows, mosaic decoration, and deeply carved architectural elements, in order to introduce much more physical light with a symbolic effect, especially in churches; the same result was obtained in objects by perforating the surface, as found in lighting or incense burning devices. Even though we do not have a lamp similar to that described by Nonnus, for perforation we can usefully compare a lamp in the form of a cylindric lantern from fourth/fifth century Egypt;91 or a lamp basket from sixth century Egypt.92 The same dematerialized structure is shown by some censers, such as a sixth century censer from Laodikeia, reproducing a church with a doomed roof,93 or some from fifth/ sixth century Egypt and Nubia (figs. 7a–b).94 The second feature is the reuse of spolia. The importance of spolia is well known in Late Antique architecture, especially from the Arch of Constantine onwards; art historians have shown the relevance of this “syncretic” architecture to create a new Late Antique aesthetic.95 Some scholars made a parallel between use of spolia in architecture and the reuse of Homeric material in the Homeric centos.96 People in Late Antiquity lived in a world full of traces from 90 Livrea 1989, 116–22 (suggesting also that Nonnus is alluding to lampadophoric ceremonies of his time). 91 See Osharina ap. Althaus – Sutcliffe 2006, 173, cat. no. 143: the lamp has attached in its openwork sides three figures of Marsyas, but I doubt that “Coptic artists have chosen the subject to represent the victory of the new over the old, of the cult of the Sun and the light of Christianity over old pagan ideas” as Osharina remarks. 92 See Effenberger – von Falck 1996, 216 cat. no. 225. 93 Ćurčic 2010, 22 fig. 16. 94 K. R. B. in Weitzmann 1979, 342 cat. no. 323 (with inhabited scroll in the roundbody and a domed cover with birds and grapevine tendrils); L. Langener in Effenberger – von Falck 1996, 216 cat. n° 224. 95 Elsner 2004, with further bibliography; Agosti 2006a. On spolia see now the excellent collection of essays by Brilliant – Kinney 2011. 96 For example, Elsner 2004. But see now Liverani 2011, pointing out the difference between literary citation and reuse of spolia.

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the past: spolia were an essential vehicle for diffusing and keeping alive a prestigious past. With the increasing and finally triumphant Christianization, traces from the past inevitably changed their meaning. To Christians’ minds, ancient images and spolia were not only precious works of art: once “neutralized” (adding crosses, for example) or reemployed, they were also evidence of the defeated pagan past.97 In a thought-provoking paper Jason Moralee has successfully shown that in Christian Jerash, the reorganization of Christian space also involved the reuse of epigraphic spolia. In the church of St Theodore, constructed in the proximity of the ancient Temple of Artemis (at the end of the fifth century) two hexameter epigrams, inscribed above the outer and the inner central doorway, declare, in the language of classical paideia, the defeat of pagan cults and the Christian victory over superstition. These new inscriptions are close to a group of epigraphic spolia which state “in some visual sense the poetic triumphal narrative of the church’s dedicatory inscriptions”.98 One can see fragments of a dedication for the salvation of the emperors to a local god by a priest of Dionysus reused in a shrine dedicated to Michael, Mary and Gabriel, as well as fragments of Greek and Latin inscriptions reused in the structure and decoration of the outer and inner walls, columns, chapel and for paving a court. These fragmentary inscriptions were clearly placed in strategic points (the entry of the ecclestical complex) as signs of a past defeated. To some extent, this was probably an exceptional case and we should be cautious in generalizing: spolia have not always been used with religious or ideological bias.99 But it is important to bear in mind that for Nonnus and his audience the reuse of spolia in architecture was a normal experience, and that they were alert to recognizing elements put together from different realms. In such a world, it was easy to conceive literature as formed by “spolia” of the prestigious classical tradition, especially for Christian intellectuals. In the fifth century the short season of Greek Biblical poetry (Nonnus’ Paraphrasis, Eudo-

97 Compare the explicit statement of Jacob of Sarugh: “the Devil then scout … Christ is light … He has destroyed the houses that I built in honor of vanity, and everywhere he has torn down the temple of the demons. He has removed the stones and wood that made up the temples of the idols and used them for buildings: he is thus mocking mine” (quoted by Fabricius Hansen 2001, 80). 98 Moralee 2006, 197 99 See Greenhalgh 2011, 85 who casts some doubts on discovering religious meanings in reuse: “attempts to argue that this Roman altar or that funerary inscription represented the triumph of Christianity over Paganism, or an interest in the aesthetics of lapidary capitals, should be firmly resisted, unless it can be shown that the object in question has been brought a great distance”.

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cia’s extensive project, the Metaphrasis of the Psalms) created Christian classicizing poetry, reusing the literary past in a way that was not so different from the reuse of spolia in the Christian reorganization of civic spaces. Intermingling of single words, iuncturae, doublets between the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrasis have always struck scholars, who were involved in polemical debates concerning the poet’s confession and the relative chronology of his poems. After Vian’s illuminating studies on linguistic formulas we know that Nonnus worked at the same time on both poems, probably with the aim of constructing a vast cultural project. In my opinion both poems were addressed to an audience belonging to the intellectual élite, probably a mixed audience made up of Christian and pagan intellectuals (especially if we accept that Nonnus composed and performed them in Alexandria).100 Therefore we shall always read both poems as part of a unique cultural and ideological project, sharing the same spolia. But spolia do not have the same meaning in both the poems, of course, since literary allusions in the Paraphrasis inevitably had ideological resonances. Just a small example to clarify this latter point: in the prologue of the Dionysiaca there is an allusion to Theocritus’ first Idyll (31 ψιθύρισμα τιταίνων ~ Theoc. 1.1 ἁδύ τι ψιθύρισμα), underscoring the theme of competition with the literary past as Robert Shorrock observed.101 At at the end of the Paraphrasis (21.142) Nonnus uses again a Theocritean word (νεοτευχής, referring to the “newly fashioned” cup symbol of the new poetry, Id. 1.28) to characterize the endless “newly written books” (βίβλους τοσσατίας νεοτευχέας) necessary to record Jesus’ miracles. The last verses of the Paraphrasis too can be read as a “declaration” of poetics (affirming the superiority of the new Christian poetry).102 While in the Dionysiaca the plan is that of literary competition, in the Paraphrasis the employment of the Theocritean word implies also ideological resonances, revealing itself eventually as a Kontrastimitation of a prestigious model now overcome.

6 The Ideological Beholder: Revenging on Statues and Depicting Pantomimic Miracles In a recent article, Laura Miguélez Cavero has persuasively argued that images of gods in the Dionysiaca are probably inspired by iconographical models, 100 Agosti 2012, with further references. 101 Shorrock 2008. 102 Agosti 2009, 118. In general, on the contrast between ancient pagan poetry and the new Christian poetry in Late Antiquity see Shorrock 2011.

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though they are often accompanied by derision (expressed by an anonymous τιc-Rede); already Francis Vian had demonstrated that in the poem pagan cults and worship are reduced to a literary and cultural presence, lacking any real religious significance.103 The obvious conclusion from such statements, reinforcing a widespread view, is that Nonnus was a Christian, reasoning as a Christian. Let us examine his relation with statues. In spite of his highly frequent usage of terms such as εἰκών and ἄγαλμα (more rarely βρέτας) the poet is extremely spare in offering descriptions of statues in his poems. With the exception of the dogs automata in Cadmus’ palace and perhaps of Actaeon’s statue,104 the most typical feature of Greek and Roman cityscapes105 is virtually absent in Nonnus. He obviously refers to real statues sometimes or uses the word as a metaphor, but we would look in vain for elaborate ekphraseis like those of his follower Christodorus of Coptos. One passage might perhaps explain Nonnus’ reticence. At the end of the poem when Aura, a nymph companion of Artemis who is raped by Dionysus in her sleep, realizes she is pregnant, she goes mad and finally kills and eats one of her children, before throwing herself into a river.106 But she tries also to take vengeance for her pregnancy, mutilating a statue of Aphrodite and finally throwing it into a river, Dion. 48.689–98: καὶ νόον αἰθύσσουcα, κατάσχετος ἅλματι λύσσης, Κύπριδος εἰς δόμον ἦλθεν· ἀπειλητῆρα δὲ κεστοῦ λυσαμένη ζωστῆρα νεοκλώστοιο χιτῶνος ἁβρὸν ἀνικήτοιο δέμας μάστιζε θεαίνης· καὶ βρέτας ἁρπάξασα τελεσσιγάμου Κυθερείης Σαγγαρίου σχεδὸν ἦλθε, κυλινδομένην δὲ ῥεέθροις γυμναῖς Νηιάδεσσι πόρεν γυμνὴν Ἀφροδίτην. καὶ μετὰ θεῖον ἄγαλμα καὶ αὐτοέλικτον ἱμάσθλην δείκελον ἁβρὸν Ἔρωτος ἀπηκόντιζε κονίῃ· καὶ κενεὸν λίπε δῶμα Κυβηλίδος Ἀφρογενείης Still frantic in mind, shaken by throes of madness, she came to the temple of Cypris. She loosed the girdle from her newly spun robe, the enemy of the cestus, and flogged the

103 Cf. Chuvin in this volume p. 13, but see Doroszewski’s contribution to the present volume, p. 287 f. 104 But I follow Daria Gigli in thinking rather of an image carved on the funerary relief (Gigli Piccardi 2003, 441). On the Actaeon episode see Paschalis in this volume p. 109 f. 105 For Late Antiquity see now Kristensen 2010. 106 Hadjittofi 2008 has recently analysed this story against the background of the ideology of chastity familiar to Nonnus’ Christian audience, showing how much the poet is influenced by contemporary Christian ideas on sexuality.

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dainty body of the unconquerable goddess; she caught up the statue of marriage-consummating Cythereia, she went to the bank of Sangarios and sent Aphrodite rolling into the stream, naked among the naked Naiads; and after the divine statue had gone with the scourge twisted round it, she threw into the dust the delicate image of Love, and left the Temple of Cybelid Foamborn empty.

To a Christian audience, such a description of abuse against the statue, even if fully justified by the narrative context, would have hardly failed to remind them of the destruction of the statues of pagan gods by Christians.107 In Nonnus’ verses, the statue of Aphrodite is thrown into the river and the statue of Eros is thrown into the dust: the poet clearly alludes to symbolic acts, well known to him and his audience.108 Nonnus insists on the punishment inflicted on the statue by scourging it.109 Public “corporal” punishment of pagan statues was actually the normal procedure according to the sources:110 the poet here is clearly alluding to practices familiar to him and his contemporaries. So, the surprising lack of description of statues in the Dionysiaca might be due to a deliberate choice: as a Christian, Nonnus preferred to avoid a subject he considered potentially subversive. The comparison with visual arts can be useful in the discussion of one of the most difficult issues in Nonnian poetry, i.e. the treatment of miracle scenes appearing in the Dionysiaca. Take for instance, the healing of an old blind Indian in Dion. 25.281–91: κεῖθι καὶ εὐρυγένειος ἑὸν πόδα νωθρὸν ἑλίσσων καὶ πάρος ἀχλυόεσσαν ἔχων ἀλαωπὸν ὀμίχλην, ξανθὴν λυσιπόνοιο μέθης ἔρραινεν ἐέρσην ὄμμασι κολλητοῖσιν· ἀρυομένου δὲ προσώπου οἰνωπὰς ῥαθάμιγγας ἀνωίχθησαν ὀπωπαί. Τερπομένοις δὲ πόδεσσι γέρων ἐχόρευε λιγαίνων

107 The problem has been studied in many recent, excellent works: Trombley 2008; Frankfurter 2008 and 2008a; Kristensen 2009; Caseau 2011. Cf. Chuvin in this volume pp. 16–7. 108 The importance of throwing down an idol is clear from a passage from the Life of Porphyry by Marc the Deacon (61, transl. G. F. Hill): “When we came unto the place where was the aforesaid idol of Aphrodite (but the Christians were carrying the precious wood of Christ, that is to say the figure of the Cross), the demon that dwelt in the statue beholding and being unable to suffer the sight of the sign which was being carried, came forth out of the marble with great confusion and cast down the statue itself and broke it into many pieces” (ἐξελθὼν ἐκ τοῦ μαρμάρου μετὰ ἀταξίας πολλῆς, ἔρριψεν αὐτὴν τὴν στήλην καὶ συνέκλασε αὐτὴν εἰς πολλὰ κλάσματα). 109 At Dion. 30.192–210 the Bacchant Alkimacheia scourges a statue of Hera. 110 Kristensen 2009, 237–40.

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ἰκμάδα φοινίσσουσαν ἀλεξικάκου ποταμοῖο· χερσὶ δὲ γηραλέῃσι ῥόον νεφεληδὸν ἀφύσσων πορφυρέης ἔπλησε μέθης εὐώδεας ἀσκούς· καὶ Διὶ βωμὸν ἀνῆψε καὶ οἰνοχύτῳ Διονύσῳ, ἀθρήσας Φαέθοντος ἀήθεος ὄψιμον αἴγλην. In that place there was an old broadbeard moving with a slow step, since the hapless man was in the dark shadow of blindness. He sprinkled the yellow drops of the nomorepain liquor upon his fast-closed eyes; and as his face felt the drops of wine, his eyes were opened. The old man danced for joy, and praised the purple juice of the evil-averting river; then with his old hands he ladled up the purple liquor in torrents, and filled his fragrant skins, and kindled the altar for Zeus and Dionysos giver of wine, now he had seen at last the sun which he had not seen for so long.

The obvious parallels in language and narrative with the healing of the man born blind at the pool of Siloah in chapter 9 of the Paraphrasis (so close that the episode of the Dionysiaca is a sort of resumé of the correspondent in the Christian poem) led scholars to draw opposite conclusions: some considered it a true Dionysiac miracle (written before the conversion to Christianity, of after the conversion to paganism), for others this is a story simply conceived to give an example of the power of wine. Recently in his commentary, Francis Vian pointed to literary taste rather than to religious faith.111 I agree with his interpretation of the passage, and I would like to go a step further, suggesting that the poet is actually alluding to a pantomimic scene: the first reaction of the man is described as a dance of joy, and he cares about filling his skins with wine. Needless to say, pantomime had a great importance for Nonnus, as a repertory of subjects and a source of inspiration for the gestural side of his style.112 Even though we do not know any pantomime narrating the healing of a blind man, we can reasonably presume that the subject was still quite popular, according to the several tales of such miracle both in hagiography and iconography. Among figurative arts there is a representation that could be interpreted as a pantomimic scene. In the lower register of one leaf of the diptych of the consul Anastasius (517 AD; now in Paris) we find two scenes inspired by theatre: on the right a tragic scene (with three women) and on the

111 Vian 1990, 30 “brève anecdote qui intéresse le poète … par son aspect paradossal”, and 255; Agosti 2004, 105–7. 112 For Nonnus and pantomime imagery see Agosti 2003, 355 n. 212; on the pantomimic contest at Dion. 19.136–286 see recently Webb 2012, 239. For the importance of the study of Late Antique spectacles for our understanding of society see recently Roueché 2009 (saying on theatrical subjects in iconography as evidence for mimes and pantomimes: “much more material may be lurking in the themes used by visual arts”, 179).

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left a comic one, illustrating the healing of a hunchbacked man and the healing of a blind by a bald-headed man, maybe a priest (fig. 8).113 It has been tentatively suggested that the scene comes from a Menandrean comedy,114 but I wonder if the artist represented rather a pantomime, a kind of spectacle still in vogue at the beginning of the sixth century.115 The scene, to be sure, is not directly comparable with Nonnian passage: in Nonnus the Indian heals himself sprinkling drops of wine upon his eyes, without being touched by anybody. It is not a question of sources or parallels, but rather of understanding the meaning of a scene: if we agree to identify the healing with a popular pantomimic subject, we have further evidence to give up any religious meaning in the passage of the Dionysiaca. The “miracle” of the Indian does not imply any salvific vision of Dionysism, but only an extolling of the power of wine. To sum up, the aim of this paper is to show that images at different levels are important for a contextual understanding of Nonnian poetry, mainly because they were an essential part of the poet and his audience’s world. Rather than looking for iconographical sources, I suggest that visual arts substantially contribute to appreciate how much Nonnus’ poems are indebted to real life. Nonnus was not a poet closed in an ivory tower, but rather an intellectual aware of the cultural and religious tensions of his world: the comparison with figurative arts shows that behind many passages of his poems, usually read as literary phantasy, lies a sharp look at the real life. To avoid any misunderstanding, I realize that this is a very partial critical approach. It is impossible to reduce such a complex writer as Nonnus to a system: he belongs undoubtedly to the category of “fox writers” – to use a definition by Isaiah Berlin – i.e. authors with a multiform vision of life and the world. Therefore, it would be a vain pretension to propose the key to understanding the core of his thought and his poetry (and I had no intention of doing this). Nonetheless, I think that investigating the way he confronted himself with the visual world helps us to explain one of the reasons for his ideological and poetical project.

113 Volbach 1976, 36 no. 19, pl. 9; Engemann 2008, 60–1; Jones 2012, 310 quotes the diptych as an example of the juxtaposition of tragic and mimic iconography. Some scholars suggested to interpret the scene as a manumission, but see n. 115 below. 114 See Csapo 2010, 160 with further bibliography. 115 The gesture of healing is quite the same in representations of the blind man’s healing by Christ: see for example Weitzmann 1979, 440–1, 446, 550, 580.

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Fig. 1: Ivory diptych of Anastasios (detail) sixth century (St. Petersburg; from Green 1985, pl. 10).

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Fig. 2: Wooden relief of a besieged city, fifth century, Egypt (?) (Berlin; from Effenberger – von Falck 1996, 133).

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Fig. 3: Ivory plaque with adventus of St Stephen’s relics (detail), fifth century (Trier; from Holum – Vikan 1979, fig 1).

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Fig. 4: Silk textile, sixth century, Eastern Mediterranean, Dumbarton Oaks (from Evans – Ratliff 2012, 154, cat. no. 102).

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Fig. 5: Alexandria, mosaic from the church of St John at Jerash, 531 AD (from Saradi 2010, 80, fig. 6).

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Fig. 6: Inscription from Oinoanda, general view and detail (from Chaniotis 2010, 116–7).

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(b)

Fig. 7: (a) Cylindric lantern, fourth/fifth century, Egypt (St Petersbourg; from Althaus – Sutcliffe 2006, 173, cat. no. 143). (b) Lamp basket, sixth century, Nubia (Berlin; from Effenberger – von Falck 1996, 216 cat. no. 225).

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Fig. 8: Diptych of the consul Anastasios, low panel, 517 AD (Paris; from Volbach 1976, 36 no. 19, pl. 9).

Laura Miguélez Cavero

Personifications at the Service of Dionysus: the Bacchic Court The Bacchic universe created by Nonnus for his Dionysiaca is densely populated with personifications. Some of these are of a cosmic nature (Night, Day, Dawn, Aion, the Seasons and the Moira, but also Victory and Sleep), others are topographical representations (rivers, cities, regions), and a third type are clustered around the main divinities (Dionysus, Zeus, Aphrodite) as symbols of their characters and capacities. It is this latter type that is to be the object of study of this article.1

1 Divine Courts in the Dionysiaca The gods that play important roles in the Dionysiaca are each surrounded by their own courts populated by suitable personifications. Zeus is attended by Νίκη “Victory”,2 Φόβος “Rout”, Δεῖμος “Terror” and Ἐνυώ “War”,3 while Ares is surrounded by Phobos, Deimos, Ἔρις “Strife” and Enyo.4 Hermes marries Peitho “Seduction” or “Persuasion” (5.574–5, 8.220–2), who is also part of Aphrodite’s retinue.5 Poseidon’s entourage, thoroughly described in the naval battle between Poseidon and Dionysus for the hand of Beroe, includes several marine figures (43.205–85, 326–33), but also personified seas, while fighting for Dionysus there are personified rivers (286–99). Aphrodite is attended by the Graces (31.199–208, 33.4–113, 41.4–9).6 To help Minos to seduce Scylla, she is escorted by Peitho, Desire (Πόθος) and Eros (25.148–73), and together with Peitho and Eros accompanies Dionysus in his victory against Pallene (48.106– 10). 1 On the first two types see now Miguélez Cavero 2013. Research for this paper received financial support from the Spanish Ministry of Science and Innovation, which funded the project FFI2010–21125 (FILO). 2 Probably after Hes. Th. 383–8. 3 2.357–9a, 414–23, 700b–2. Nike also accompanies Zeus’ protegés, Cadmus (4.447–50, 5.107– 12) and Dionysus (39.385–6). 4 29.262b–70, 32.174b–80, 33.155–9a, 39.214–7. Following earlier tradition: Il. 4.439–45, 13.298– 303, 15.119–20; Hes. Th. 933–6; [Sc.] 191–6. 5 On the role of Peitho in the Dionysiaca see K. Carvounis’ article in this volume p. 21 f. 6 In Dion. 24.261–4 they are referred to as Pasithea, Peitho, and Aglaia. Hes. Th. 907–9 calls them Aglaia, Euphrosyne and Thalia.

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Likewise, entities transformed into “proper” gods are also attended by a court manned by personifications of their characteristics and powers. Both Harmonia and Astraeus have courts which emphasise the cosmic nature of their power, thus presenting them as being in control of astral phenomena. The Morning and Evening Stars (Eosphoros and Hesperos) and the four winds (Euros, Notos, Boreas, Zephyrus) are the attendants of Astraeus (6.15–49),7 not because he knows the patterns of movement of the stars (and thus is able to predict Persephone’s future – 6.58 f.), but because the patterns of the universe reside in him. Something similar happens in the case of Harmonia (41.275b–87), whom Nonnus locates in a cosmic house with four portals, guarded by four handmaids. Three of these bear the names of the rising sun (Antolia, for the East wind), the setting sun (Dysis, for the West wind) and midday (Mesembria, for the South wind), while the fourth is named after the constellation of the North, Ἄρκτος “the Bear”, which would appear to represent the cold, dark night. Harmonia is an embodiment of the feminine quality of the stability of the universe, and Nonnus assigns her four female counterparts of the winds, the four key times of day (sunrise, midday, sunset, night). She is thus presented as the custodian of the natural succession of the different hours of the day. In these descriptions of divine courts Nonnus exploits a double referent, namely the epic tradition that began with Homer and the visual tradition. In the Homeric poems, Ares goes into battle with Eris, Deimos and Phobos, whose presence explains the cruelty and ferocity of the fight in the Iliad.8 Humans are aware of their influence on the human world,9 but Homeric personifications do not interact with them.10 At the same time, personifications of abstract concepts were frequent in both archaic and classical art.11 By Late Antiquity there 7 Not an invention ex nihilo: in Hes. Th. 378–82 Eos bears to Astraeus the winds (Zephyrus, Boreas and Notos), Eosphoros and the shining stars with which the sky is crowned. Hesperos persuades Demeter to drink when her daughter has disappeared in Call. HyDem. 8–9. On the figure of Astraeus, see Chuvin 1992, 6. 8 Il. 4.439–45 Ares is surrounded in combat by Deimos, Phobos and Eris; 5.517–8 Ares and Eris stir up the fighting; 11.72–8 Eris rejoices at the combat, standing among the participants; 13.298–303 Phobos follows Ares into battle; 15.119–20 Deimos and Phobos yoke up his horses while Ares puts on his armour. In the Ps.-Hesiodic Shield Ares is pictured in the midst of the battle together with Deimos and Phobos (144–60; Phobos reappears in 230–7). The independence of the personifications is enhanced by Hesiod’s Theogony, where the forces at work in the cognizable world are identified and defined by their genealogies. On personifications in Hesiod see Burkert 2005. 9 Il. 9.497–514 Phoenix to Achilles on Litai and Ate; Il. 19.78–144 Agamemnon on the power of Ate. 10 Feeney 1991, 241. 11 Shapiro 1993.

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was a whole variety of them,12 and their correct interpretation was usually ensured by name labels.13 A colourful instance of this iconographic motif may be found in the sixth-century Jordanian court of Aphrodite and Adonis, where they are accompanied by the three Graces and a number of playful Erotes.14

2 The Artistic Connection: the Late Antique Court of Dionysus Dionysus, then, needed to have his own court if he was to be presented as a god in the Dionysiaca. In the plastic arts, it is common to find him in a triumphal procession in the company of his thiasos,15 or surrounded by personifications, each of which represented a quality or element related to him. Take the fourth-century “Voile of Antinoe”, for example.16 The upper register here narrates the conception, birth and childhood of Dionysus, while the main one depicts a Bacchic procession. From left to right, we can see the maenad ΒΟΤΡΟΙΟΧΑ “grape-holder”, an anonymous satyr, the maenad ΛΥΔΗ “Lydia”, old Maron or Silenus holding on to the satyr ϹΚΙΡΤΟϹ “Leaper”,17 a naked Semele, a satyr called ΛΑϹΙΟϹ “Hairy”, Ariadne, whose veil upholds the little Eros (the surface is heavily eroded here), Dionysus, Ino (ΕΙΝΩ) and another satyr.18 Satyrs and maenads are given names related to their functions (“grape-holder”), their origins (from Lydia, a prominent location in the Dionysiac geography),19 their abilities or inclinations (“Leaper”), and their physical appearance 12 Leader-Newby 2005, 231–2 differentiates between three different types of context: 1. “single abstract personifications featuring as emblemata within a geometric carpet design” (such as the depictions of Apolausis in the fourth-century Baths of Apolausis at Antioch); 2. “combinations of related personifications” (Aion and the Chronoi at Antioch); 3. in mythological scenes, the “articulatory” type (“it seems to offer a commentary on the events taking place in the scene depicted and to direct the viewer’s interpretation of it”). 13 See Leader-Newby 2006. 14 Analysis and photos in Piccirillo 2002, 148–61. 15 For an overview, see Kondoleon 1995, 191–221; Parrish 2004. 16 Paris, Louvre, Department of Egyptian Antiquities inv. 11102. See Rutschowscaya 1990, 28– 9, 82. 17 A recurrent name for Satyrs: Skirtos also appears in the mosaic from Sheikh Zuweid (fig. 5), accompanying Dionysus in a mosaic from Zeugma (see n. 52), as well as in the mosaic of the Triumph of Dionysus (House of Aion, Nea Paphos, Cyprus), where he appears as a little Satyr who offers Dionysus a round plate with fruits (see Kondoleon 1995, 198–9). 18 Compare with the wedding of Dionysus and Ariadne, accompanied by Maron, Pothos, Eros and a drunken Heracles, as represented in a fourth-century mosaic from Shahba-Philippopolis (see Balty 1977, 50–7). 19 Chuvin 1991, 99–111.

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Fig. 1: First Bath of Dionysus, House of Aion, Nea Paphos (Cyprus). Courtesy of the Director of the Department of Antiquities, Cyprus.

(“Hairy”). Maenads as personifications of wine-related states such as drunkenness or hangover were common in Athenian ceramics of the Classical period,20 and here we see that in their names both maenads and satyrs represent different aspects of the Dionysiac world: Dionysiac geography, the cultivation of the vine and enjoyment of wine, dancing as part of Bacchic celebrations, and the unusual appearance of the god and his cortège. In the Cypriot mosaic of the first bath of Dionysus (fig. 1),21 the baby god sits in Hermes’ lap, surrounded by the usual members of his entourage (ΤΡΟΦΕΥΣ “tutor”, ΝΥΜΦΑΙ “Nymphs”), and several personifications: of the location of the scene (ΝΥΣΑ), of the ongoing events (ΘΕΟΓΟΝΙΑ “birth of the gods”, ΑΝΑΤΡΟΦΗ “upbringing”), and of the gifts of the god to humanity (ΑΜΒΡΟΣΙΑ, ΝΕΚΤΑΡ).22 The combination of personifications of place and

20 See Smith 2005. 21 Analysis in Daszewski 1985, 35–8. 22 The same iconographic formula is applied to the birth of Achilles in the House of Theseus, also in Nea Paphos: Thetis reclines on a couch, and the baby Achilles is held by Anatrophe, while Ambrosia approaches with a jug of water for the bath, for which they are going to use a circular vessel; Peleus sits at Thetis’ side, and behind him stand the three Fates,

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Fig. 2: House of Dionysus, west portico, Nea Paphos (Cyprus). Courtesy of the Director of the Department of Antiquities, Cyprus.

event make the image identifiable as a specific, temporal event which occurs at a definite point within the god’s story. In general, personifications are used to introduce and condense aspects of the story which would otherwise have been left out.23 These two examples show complex combinations, but there are also more specific, concentrated images, such as for instance, another Cypriot mosaic (fig. 2), where Ikarios has to choose between the proper use of wine as made by Dionysus and Akme “temperance” and the excesses of the drunken mortals depicted on the right-hand side.24 In a third-century mosaic from the House of Poseidon in Zeugma-on-theEuphrates (now Belkıs, Turkey), Dionysus stands in a chariot pulled by two tigers, with Victory holding the reins, while a bacchant (ΒΑΚΧΗ) in a dancing pose clasps the cymbals.25 The presence of Nike, the personification of the triumph of Dionysus over the Indians, does not allow the viewer to locate the image at a particular time or place in the story of the god: the personification

each labelled with her name, as a reminder of the short life Achilles is doomed to have. See also the bath of Alexander the Great in a mosaic from Baalbek-Soueidié (with Ross 1963). Analysis of the three mosaics in Leader-Newby 2004, 132–6. 23 For a more complex use of personifications, see Marinescu – Cox – Wachter 2005, on a set of mosaic panels on the life of Kimbros, including calendar dates (pairs of figures, with a female designating the day and a male the month), concepts (such as nosos “illness”), events (diatheke “testament”, diaeleuthera “manumission”) and physical activities (enteuxis “petition”, menusis “denunciation”, paideia “education / teaching”, philia “friendship”, proeleusis “progress”). 24 Analysis in Kondoleon 1995, 174–84. 25 Photo: Önal 2009, 26. More images and brief analysis in Ergeç et al. 2007, 104–9. Compare with the similar iconographic display of the triumph of Dionysus (Dionysus standing on his chariot, accompanied by Victory, though unlabelled) in a fourth-century mosaic from Sétif (Algeria – on which see Parrish 2004, 77, with figs. 2 and 3).

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here stands for a longer narrative which would otherwise include the whole thiasos returning from India (Bacchants, satyrs, Indian captives and abundant booty). In the representations we find Dionysus surrounded by members of his family (Semele, Ino), gods related to episodes in his life (Hermes), and different forms of personification. There are maenads and satyrs presented as individual characters and personifications of different aspects of the Bacchic lifestyle, anonymous attendants of Dionysus both female (different types of nurses) and male (his tutor), the event (ἀνατροφή, θεογονία, but also νίκη) and its location (Nysa), and virtues of the god (ἀκμή “temperance”). None of these examples refer to the cult of the god, but on the contrary are embedded in the secular culture which included knowledge of mythology.26 In the case of the mosaic featuring Ikarios’ choice, the scene might have been used to stimulate intellectual conversation about the uses of wine.27

3 The Bacchic Court According to Nonnus When compared with artistic representations and other literary texts, what is different in the case of the Dionysiaca is that Dionysus needs to prove that he is a god (13.21–34), and one of the ways to achieve this is to build up an entourage which testifies to his divinity. The appropriate epic form is the cataloguing of troops, to which he resorts in Dion. 13.53–14.227, the description of the contingents of the Bacchic army, and in subsequent sections on the behaviour of the Dionysiac army in the battles. The cases of both groups and individuals call for a detailed analysis.

3.1 Bacchants, Nymphs, Bassarids and Satyrs In the catalogues of the Bacchic troops, Bacchants and Nymphs remain anonymous, identified by their place of origin or where they lived,28 whereas the 26 See Leader-Newby 2004, 141–58. Kondoleon 2006, 59 calls these representations “visual declarations of paideia” and concludes: “[69] whether the local elites were truly cultivated or merely collectors of imagery that they hoped or knew would confer status on them cannot be known”. 27 On mosaics and other pieces of decoration as possible generators of intellectual conversation, see Leader-Newby 2005; Kondoleon 2006. 28 14.203–12 τοῖσι κορυσσομένοισι συνέδραμον εἰν ἑνὶ Βάκχαι, / αἱ μὲν Μῃονίης ἀπὸ ῥωγάδος, αἱ δὲ κολώνης / 205 ἠλιβάτων ἤιξαν ὑπὲρ Σιπύλοιο καρήνων. / Νύμφαι δ’ ἑλκεχίτωνες Ὀρειάδες ἄρσενι θυμῷ / λυσσάδες ἐρρώοντο σὺν εὐθύρσοισι μαχηταῖς / … / … αἱ μὲν ἐρίπνας / 210 γείτονες οἰονόμων Έπιμηλίδες, αἱ δὲ λιποῦσαι / ἄλσεα δενδρήεντα καὶ ἀγριάδος ῥάχιν ὕλης, /

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Bassarids are given names related to vegetation and the vine, thus attesting to the power of Dionysus over nature.29 This play on the names of members of a homogeneous group was already a feature of the early epic, e.g. in the catalogues of Nereids in Il. 18.38–48 and Hes. Th. 240–64. In a similar way, Satyrs30 are catalogued and named, 14.105–11: Καὶ Σατύρους κερόεντες ἐκόσμεον ἡγεμονῆες Ποιμένιος Θίασός τε καὶ Ὑψίκερως καὶ Ὀρέστης, καὶ κεραῷ Φλεγραῖος ἐφωμάρτησε Ναπαίῳ· ἦλθε Γέμων, κεκόρυστο Λύκων θρασύς· ἀκροπότῃ δέ Πετραίῳ γελόωντι φιλέψιος ἕσπετο Φηρεύς, καὶ Λάμις οὐρεσίφοιτος ὁμόστολον εἶχε πορείην Ληνοβίῳ, καὶ Σκιρτὸς ἐκώμασε σύνδρομος Οἴστρῳ. And the horned Satyrs were commanded by these leaders: Poimenios [“Pastoral”] and Thiasos, Hypsiceros [“Tall-horn”] and Orestes [“Mountain-dweller”], and Phlegraios [“Ardent”] with horned Napaios [“Vale-dweller”]. There was Gemon [“Laden (with wine?)”], there was bold Lycon [“Wolfy”] armed; playful Phereus [“Beasty”]31 followed laughing tippling Petraios [“Stony”], hill-ranging Lamis marched with Lenobios [“Used to the wine press”], and Skirtos [“Leaper”] tripped along beside Oistros [“Sting”].32

συμφυέες Μελίαι δρυὸς ἥλικος. Exploits of the Bacchants in 29.225–90. Greek text from the Budé edition. English translation adapted from Rouse 1940. 29 14.219–27 ὧν τότε Βασσαρίδες θιασώδεες ἴδμονι τέχνῃ / [220] κρείσσονες ἠπείγοντο Διωνύσοιο τιθῆναι, / Αἴγλη Καλλιχόρη τε καὶ Εὐπετάλη καὶ Ἰώνη / καὶ Καλύκη γελόωσα Βρύουσά τε, σύνδρομος Ὥραις, / Σιλήνη τε Ῥόδη τε καὶ Ὠκυθόη καὶ Ἐρευθώ / Ἀκρήτη τε Μέθη τε, καὶ ἕσπετο σύννομος Ἅρπῃ / [225] Οἰνάνθη ῥοδόεσσα καὶ ἀργυρόπεζα Λυκάστη, / Στησιχόρη Προθόη τε· φιλομμειδὴς δὲ γεραιή / οἰνοβαρὴς Τρυγίη πυμάτη κεκόρυστο καὶ αὐτή “Stronger than these then came the nurses of Dionysos, troops of Bassarids well skilled in their art: Aigle [“Shiny”] and Callichore [“Beautiful Dancer”], Eupetale [“Petalled”] and Ione [“Viola”], laughing Calyce [“Flower-cup”], Bryusa [“Teeming”] rival of the breezes, Seilene [“Sileny”] and Rhode [“Rosy”], Ocythoë [“Quick runner”] and Ereutho [“Reddish”], Acrete [“Drinker of pure wine”] and Methe [“Ebrious”], rosy Oinanthe [“Vine flower”] with Harpe [“Sickler”] and silver-foot Lycaste [“Thorny?”], Stesichore [“Dance mistress”] and Prothoë [“Fore runner”]; last of all came ready for the fray Trygië [“Vintage”] too, that grinning old gammer heavy with wine”. Analysis of the names and literary and artistic parallels in Gerlaud 1994, 189–90, note to 221–7. The classification of Bacchants, nymphs and Bassarids is not maintained throughout the poem: see Vian 2005a. 30 On their role in the Dion. see Vian 2008a. 31 The centaurs are called φῆρες in Il. 1.268 φηρσὶν ὀρεσκῴοισι and 2.743 φῆρας … λαχνήεντας. 32 Analysis of the names and literary and iconographic parallels in Gerlaud 1994, 182–3, note to 105–11.

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As in the artistic representations, we find associations with their place of origin, physical features and abilities. It might be noted that one of the characters here is the same Skirtos,33 who is also pictured in mosaics and fabrics.

3.2 Other Contingents: Cyclops and Corybants The exploits of Cyclops and Corybants are described in the battle against the Indians (28.172–330). Through their names they contribute to Dionysus’ image certain powers or forces:34 Argilipos, Steropes and Brontes (28.172–237) are the incarnations of the thunderbolt, the lightning and the thunderclap; Trachios, Elatreus and Euryalos (28.238–50) contribute three ways of fighting (using a rock, with a fir tree and chasing enemies into the sea); Prymneus (251–6) represents the favourable wind which blows astern; Ocythoos (278–88a) contributes a quickness of step, and Mimas (288b–97) fights with the rhythm of the warlike Pyrrhic dance;35 Melisseus (306–8) handles his weapon in as terrifying a way as a bee its sting, and Acmon (309–11) shows his expertise with the anvil (ἄκμων). As Gigli Piccardi (1985, 141–2) notes, the concentration of nomina significantia in the “Homeric” battles of Book 28 makes up for the actual absence of Iliadic realism and ferocity in the descriptions.

3.3 Mystis The case of Mystis, the first nurse of Dionysus (9.98–102), who initiates the little god into the elements involved in his mystical nocturnal rites (9.111–31), is a special one, because it is developed into a full episode.36 This is the only instance of a nurse called Mystis playing a ritual role, though the Orphic hymn 49 is devoted to Hipta (Ἵπτα),37 Dionysus’ nurse (49.1 Βάκχου τροφόν), who glorifies the mysteries of Sabos and takes part in the nocturnal choirs of Iacchos (49.2–3). Proclus attributes to Orpheus a book about Hipta,38 and

33 See also Diosc. AP 7.707.3 Σκίρτος ὁ πυρρογένειος. 34 See Vian 1990, 160: “Chaque personnage met au service du dieu les pouvoirs magiques qui constituent son essence et son matérialisés par son nom”; Gigli Piccardi 1985, 140, on the nomina significantia: “un nome viene dato come personificazione di un’idea o di un’immagine che un certo personaggio o una sua qualità rappresenta”. 35 Pyrrhichos, the personification of warlike dance, musters the Bacchic armies in 13.36–42. 36 Later mentioned also in 9.299–301, 13.138–41. 37 On Hipta see Morand 2001, 174–81, 242–4; García-Gasco in this volume p. 214. 38 Procl. In.Tim. II 105,28 Diehl = OF 329.II.

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Fig. 3: Child sarcophagus with Dionysiac motifs (c. 140 AD), Glyptothek, Munich [Inv. No. XIII.11.240 = Matz 1969, no. 201]: from left to right, the child Dionysus riding on a ram, carrying the liknon on his head (the ram is led by a young satyr who carries a thyrsus, and the background of the scene features a maid and an older man); the child Dionysus being bathed by two females, the investiture of Dionysus (a satyr puts on his cothurni, Silenus gives him the narthex, a maid adjusts a headband on his head and a second maid talks to him). © Glyptothek, Munich.

describes her carrying the liknon (the ritual winnowing basket) and a snake, and receiving Dionysus.39 In the case of Mystis, Nonnus seems to be drawing on the presence of female attendants and nurses in the artistic representations of Dionysus and his circle, which in some instances were given names related to their function in the cortège or to an aspect of the god. Nonnus may have been aware of the role played by nurses in some Bacchic cults, but he does not appear to know how exactly these rites were conducted.40 The initiation of Dionysus into his own cult features in the plastic representations of the childhood of the god, mainly in sarcophagi built for children, where the god requires the presence of his nurses.41 The most important scenes are the bath of the child god and his investiture, to which we might add the ritual ride, carrying the liknon. These three motifs occur together in a sarcophagus preserved in the Glyptothek in Munich (fig. 3), but elsewhere they occur separately.42 39 Procl. In.Tim. I.407.22 Diehl = OF 329.I. 40 More about this in the article by Chuvin in this volume p. 13, where further references. 41 Matz 1969, III, 345–59; 1964, 1400–05; Turcan 1966, 406–17, esp. 409: “[Mystis] est l’initiatrice par excellence, et ce personnage de la vieille prêtresse qui préside à la consécration de Bacchus Mystès apparaît maintes fois dans l’imagerie dionysiaque. Nonnos a pu lui donner un nom fonctionnel, mais il ne l’a pas inventée”. 42 In a sarcophagus from Rome, Museo Capitolino, Galleria 46a (Matz 1969, no. 200), from left to right we see the investiture of the child Dionysus, Silenus punishing a satyr, six nymphs attending the baby Dionysus (three of them bathing him, while the other three are bearing fruit). In the Princeton-Arezzo-Woburn Abbey Sarcophagus, the fragment preserved in the Princeton University Museum (Matz 1969, no. 202) pictures from left to right the construction of a place of cult (three male and one female character erect a statue of a bearded Dionysus,

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Fig. 4a–b: Silenus and Mystis (?). Two fragments of the Hanging of Dionysus, Abegg Stiftung, Inv. No. 3100a. © Abegg-Stiftung, CH-3132 Riggisberg, 2008 (Foto: Christoph von Viràg).

In some cases the female figure of a nurse, a personification of what Dionysus requires from women, is combined with that of a masculine tutor, a Silenus of the philosophical type. For instance, the centre of the fourth-century Dionysosbehang, now in the Abegg Stiftung,43 shows Ariadne and Dionysus standing among their cortège, including a Silenus of the balding type, dressed in contemporary clothes and carrying a little whip (fig. 4a), along with a female while a boy holds a bunch of bay twigs and a handful of flowers), two young females offer fruit or cakes to two young satyrs, and the investiture of Dionysus. 43 Analysis and bibliography in Schrenk 2004, cat. no. 1, pp. 26–34.

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wearing a short red chiton and a blue cloak, which do not cover her right arm, breast and leg (fig. 4b).44 Similarly, the sixth-century mosaic of Sarrîn (Oshroene, Syria, now in the National Museum of Aleppo),45 depicts, in one of the longer panels, a Dionysiac thiasos with Dionysus and Ariadne at its centre. This features a nurse (dressed in a long robe which leaves the right leg, the back and the left breast uncovered; she is smiling as she begins a dance step, and carries in her left hand a little bell and in her right a little whip),46 and a Silenus of the Socratic type, bald, but with hair on the temples and a moustache and beard.47 When he develops the character of Mystis, Nonnus seems to have in mind the presence of female attendants and nurses in plastic representations of the Dionysiac thiasos: it appears that he perhaps knew about the combination of a male tutor and a female initiatrix. In the Dionysiaca, the latter personifies the ritual aspects of the god, which Nonnus systematically leaves out of his poem, preferring to focus on his mythological and general cultural features. Just as the warlike names of the Cyclops and other fighters make up for the lack of realistic descriptions of carnage and confrontation, so the episode of Mystis makes up for the lack of the necessary evocation of the mystic cults of Dionysus.

3.4 Telete A similar case is that of Telete, daughter of Nicaea and Dionysus,48 whom Dionysus later recalls to take care of his son Iacchos, the third Dionysus (48.880–2). Telete could mean “initiation”, but it often refers simply to the

44 Schrenk (2004, 32) considers two possibilities, namely that this figure is either Mystis or a human initiate. 45 On which see Balty 1990. 46 The same two attributes are carried by a maenad in a sixth-century silver cup from the George Ortiz Collection, Geneva (inv. no. 253; exhibited and published in Weitzmann 1979, cat. no. 128, pp. 149–50; Lafontaine-Dosogne 1982, cat. no. O.4, pp. 134–5), and in a seventh-century silver vase now in the Hermitage Museum, Moscow (inv. no. ω 232; published in Bank 1977, cat. no. 84; Althaus – Sutcliffe 2006, cat. no. 85), depicting this figure and a Silenus carrying a wineskin. See the full analysis of this figure and the parallels in Balty 1990, 36–7; 1997. 47 Balty 1990, 38 calls him “mystagogue de Dionysos-Mystès”. 48 16.399–402 Ἐκ δὲ γάμου Βρομίοιο θεόσσυτος ἤνθεε κούρη, / ἣν Τελετὴν ὀνόμηνεν ἀεὶ χαίρουσαν ἑορταῖς, / κούρην νυκτιχόρευτον, ἐφεσπομένην Διονύσῳ, / τερπομένην κροτάλοισι καὶ ἀμφιπλῆγι βοείῃ “From the marriage of Bromios a god-sent girl grew to flower, whom Nicaia named Telete, one ever rejoicing in festivals, a night-dancing girl, who followed Dionysos, taking pleasure in clappers and the bang of the double hide”.

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Fig. 5: Mosaic of Sheikh Zuweid, c. 350–450. Northern Sinai, now in the Ismailiya Museum, Egypt. Upper register: Dionysus sits in a chariot, led by a winged Eros and towed by a pair of centaurs; the whole scene is labelled ΤΕΛΕΤΗ. On the right hand side of the centaurs, Silenus rides a donkey, and the satyr Skirtos and an anonymous maenad play Bacchic instruments. Drawing from J. Clédat, “Fouilles à Cheikh Zouède”, ASAE 15 (1915), 15–28.

event in which mysteries are solemnized, i.e. a religious festivity,49 as is the case in a mosaic from Sheikh Zuweid (fig. 5).50 49 See Kaltsas 1997, also describing a second-century CE votive relief (Athens, Nat. Mus. 1390) with the inscription TEΛETΗ. On τελεταί related to Dionysus see also Carmina Anacreontea 5.7–8 τῶν τελετῶν, παραινῶ, / μὴ ξένον μοι τορεύσηις. See also IG II.2.1358, col. 2.10. 50 More on this mosaic in Ovadiah – Ovadiah 1987, 51–3.

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As in the case of Mystis, the presence of Telete in the Dionysiac entourage evokes the festivities of the god, thus making unnecessary a detailed description of what happened during these celebrations. In the case of Telete, however, Dionysus goes one step further, because he is presented as Telete’s “generator”. It does not matter whether Telete means “initiation” or “festivity”: the important factor is the fact that the god has the power to generate these, which functions as a further proof of his divinity. As far as Nonnus’ sources of inspiration are concerned, we do have some knowledge of plastic representations of Telete. Pausanias (9.30.4) mentions a statuary group in stone and bronze on Mount Helicon, picturing Telete and Orpheus along with wild animals. The excavations of the ancient town of Zeugma-on-the-Euphrates have yielded two mosaics depicting Telete, from the turn of the third century.51 In one of these Telete is the name of the maenad who accompanies Dionysus and the satyr ΣΚΙΡΤΟΣ (“leaper”),52 and in the second, which is severely damaged, she sits on a couch with what appears to be a young, winged Eros, an allegory of the initiation of girls into love.53

3.5 Creation of a New Court: Metamorphosis of the Members of his Entourage into Elements of the Dionysiac Sphere Dionysus needs to establish himself as a god on earth in order to be accepted on Mount Olympus. Mystis teaches him his mystic rites and he engenders Telete, but he still needs to have a particular sphere of power and a characteristic attribute, just like the established divinities (13.21–34). The technique used to present him at the centre of the cultivation and enjoyment of wine is the explanatory narrative of how the characters who meet Dionysus are metamorphosed into Bacchic accoutrements, thus implying that behind each object there is a person transformed by the contact with the god. The first “batch” of personifications is that of Ampelos “Vine” (10.175 f.), Cissos “Ivy” and Leneus (10.399–430), Calamos “Reed” and Carpos “Fruit” (11.351–481). The second group is the royal Assyrian family: Methe “Drunkenness”, Staphylos “Bunch of Grapes” and Botrys “Grape”, with their servant Pithos “Wine Jar” (18.5–305, 18.327–20.141). Gerbeau (1992, 5–8) suggests sev51 On which see Darmon 2005, working on the association between Paideia and Telete. 52 Dionysus, Skirtos (Satyr) and Telete (Bacchant), turn of the third century CE, house of Poseidon, Zeugma-on-the-Euphrates (Belkıs, Turkey). Photo: Önal 2009, 55. 53 Telete and the Seasons, turn of the third century CE, House of Poseidon, Zeugma-on-theEuphrates (Belkıs, Turkey). Önal 2009, 91. More pictures and a brief commentary on both mosaics in Ergeç et al. 2007, 132–5, 200–4.

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eral Assyrian connections for the names of Staphylos and Botrys, and also a number of plastic representations.54 Methe was a more popular allegory,55 and Ambrosia is a Bacchic nymph turned into a vine to escape the hands of Lycurgus (21.1–169, after Il. 8.130–40). The image of Lycurgus fighting the vine is a well-known one.56 Metamorphosis is a sign of permanence, and permanence is a form of survival after death: if his vegetal and liquid alter egos have divine characteristics, so does Dionysus. In no case does Dionysus perform the metamorphoses himself, and those of Cissos, Calamos57 and Ampelos are inscribed on one of the prophetic tablets kept by Helios (12.97–102). The Fates take pity on Dionysus’ pain on the loss of Ampelos and try to undo his death (12.138–72), and so Dionysus sees Ampelos becoming a vine (173–87) and Cissos an ivy (188–92). We come to know about the metamorphoses of the family of Staphylos from Dionysus himself, but the wording of his consolation speech to his widow Methe is carefully chosen so as to avoid presenting him as responsible for the metamorphoses.58 The god, meanwhile, simply hears about the catasterism of Ambrosia (21.295–8). Explanatory myths including a metamorphosis performed by alien forces, such as the legend of Apollo and Daphne, are a common element in Greek mythology and religion.59 These narratives can be said to promote the divine

54 For Staphylos, see Parlama 1994. Botrys is more elusive. 55 According to Pliny HN 34.69, the works in bronze by Praxiteles included Liberum patrem, Ebrietatem nobilemque una Satyrum, quem Graeci peritoeton cognominant. Pausanias mentions a drinking Methe in the tholos of Epidauros (Paus. 2.27.3) and a temple of Silenus in Elis, where Methe offers him wine in a cup (6.24.8). An epigram by Asclepiades celebrates an amethyst owned by Queen Cleopatra with an engraved figure of Methe (AP 9.752). See KossatzDeissmann 1992. 56 See Farnoux 1992: B. Lycurgus et Ambrosia; C. Lycurgus contre la vigne. 57 The metamorphoses of Calamos and Carpos have already been narrated in 11.480–1. 58 19.50–8 οἰνοχόον τελέσω σε μετὰ χρυσόθρονον Ἥβην. / Ἔσσεαι ἀμπελόεντι συναντέλλουσα Λυαίῳ, / Βακχείων ὁμόφοιτος ὑποδρήστειρα κυπέλλων. / Καί σε Μέθην καλέσουσι κόρον τερψίμβροτον οἴνου· / Βότρυν ἐμῆς καλέσω λαθικηδέα καρπὸν ὀπώρης· / καὶ σταφυλὴν φερέβοτρυν ἀπὸ Σταφύλοιο καλέσσω / ἡμερίδων ὠδῖνα καὶ ἀμπελόεσσαν ἐέρσην. / Οὐδὲ Μέθης ἀπάνευθε δυνήσομαι εἰλαπινάζειν, / οὐδὲ Μέθης ἀπάνευθεν ἐγώ ποτε κῶμον ἐγείρω “I will make you pourer of wine, next after Hebe golden-throne. You shall rise a satellite star for Lyaios of the vine, ever by his side to serve the Bacchanal cups, and man’s joy, the surfeit of wine, shall bear your name, Methe. I will give the name of Botrys to the care-consoling fruit of my vintage, and I will call after Staphylos the carry-berry bunch of grapes, which is the offspring of the garden vines full of juicy liquor. Without Methe I shall never be able to feast, without Methe I will never rouse the merry revels”. Metamorphosis of Pithos: 20.127–42. 59 Overviews in Buxton 2009; Forbes Irving 1990.

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image of Dionysus, but at the same time his lack of any personal intervention or control over the processes involved divests him of any capabilities as a god.

3.6 Nicaea A popular theme in Dionysiac representations is the triumph of Dionysus, with the god standing in a chariot and surrounded by his court.60 This festive procession can be abbreviated, as we have seen in the mosaic from Zeugma (figure 4), by presenting the god accompanied by the personification of Victory (Νίκη). Nike is at Dionysus’ side in his final, triumphant battle against the Indians,61 but she has also been present in the narrative from an earlier stage. Dionysus defeats the Indians for the first time at the battle of Lake Astacid (14.323– 15.168), which is followed by the episode of Nicaea and Hymnos (15.169– 16.405). The nymph Nicaea, who lives by Lake Astacid, rejects the advances of the shepherd Hymnos but is then raped by Dionysus while she is in deep sleep after drinking from the waters of the lake, turned into wine by Bacchus. The narrative concludes with the foundation of the city of Nicaea, 16.403–5: Καὶ πτόλιν εὐλάιγγα φιλακρήτῳ παρὰ λίμνῃ τεῦξε θεὸς Νίκαιαν, ἐπώνυμον ἣν ἀπὸ Νύμφης Ἀστακίης ἐκάλεσσε καὶ Ἰνδοφόνον μετὰ νίκην. And the god built a city of fine stone beside the tipplers’ lake, Nicaia, City of Victory, which he named after the nymph Astacia and for the victory which brought the Indians low.

The city is thus founded as a double celebration of Dionysus’ ability to defeat men (the Indians)62 and women (Nicaea). Just as the patterns of the universe reside in Aion and the succession of the hours of the day in Harmonia, the defeat of Nicaea and the foundation of the homonymous city are intended as a way of presenting Dionysus as in possession of Victory.63 Nicaea (ultimately 60 Gasparri 1986, cat. nos. 241–52; Boucher 1988, cat. nos. 140–73. 61 39.385–6 Διωνύσοιο δὲ νηῶν / Ἰνδοφόνῳ παλάμῃ κολπώσατο λαίφεα Νίκη. Without the personification, see also 25.251b–2. 62 Gerlaud 1994, 238, note to 404b–5: “Nicée est à la fois la ville de Nicaia et la ville de la victoire (νίκη). Mais de quelle victoire? Ἰνδοφόνον le précise, puisque Nonnos l’applique toujours à la victoire finale (sauf en 39.252) et que, par ailleurs, la bataille du lac a été ἀναίμακτος (15, 123; cf. 17, 130–131). Les v. 403–405 constituent donc une anticipation chronologique; μετά signifie à la fois ‘d’après, en souvenir de’ … et ‘après’, puisque le dieu ‘ne fonde la cité qu’à son retour’”. 63 The narrator also stresses Dionysus’ victory in the second proem: Dion. 25.66–79, 216–8.

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a variant form of Nike) becomes a member of the Bacchic chorus,64 which is a kind of bluff, since Dionysus is defeated by Poseidon when they battle for the hand of Beroe (Books 41–43),65 the reverse of his earlier victory at the lake, in both military and erotic terms.

4 Conclusions The personifications which form the courts of Zeus, Ares, and Aphrodite in the Dionysiaca, as well as secondary deities such as Astraeus and Harmonia, are inspired ultimately by the personifications that surround a number of divinities in the Homeric poems. The readers of the Dionysiaca, however, probably also saw them as textual counterparts of the ones that were popular in the visual arts of Late Antiquity. When Nonnus incorporates different types of personifications in the entourage of his main character, the link established with known works of art is of a general nature, rather than referring to specific works of art. Dionysus was frequently pictured surrounded by maenads and satyrs which personify different aspects of himself and of his way of life, such as his love of wine or his power over the vegetal world. More abstract personifications served to define and locate the featured episode in the context of Dionysus’ life, condensing longer narratives or making possible the representation of abstract realities. In the Dionysiaca, Bacchants, Bassarids and satyrs, all of them endowed with nomina significantia, remind us of Dionysus’ powers over nature, specifically in relation to the vine and wine. Nonnus uses the names and presence of the Cyclops and Corybants, and of Mystis and Telete, to evoke different realities without actually describing them, be it the Homeric fight or the mysteries of Dionysus. Artistic personifications condense and evoke complex realities in a similar way, but in the text of the Dionysiaca personifications sometimes disguise the absence of the real thing: the warlike names of Cyclops and Corybants suggest a ferocity which is not actually described in the battle, while Mystis and Telete evoke the celebrations of the mysteries which do not take place in the Dionysiaca itself. The highly visual element of the personifications is intended to block any profound reflection on the reality which it evokes.

64 48.811 τελετῆς Νίκαια κυβερνήτειρα Λυαίου “Nicaea, the leader of the rites of Lyaios”. 65 Nonn. Dion. 42.194–5 Διόνυσον, ὃν ἔστεφε πολλάκι νίκη / βαιὸς Ἔρως οἴστρησε βαλὼν πανθελγέι κέντρῳ. Dionysus himself assures his troops that they are going to win the battle against Poseidon (43.133–4 ἀλλὰ πάλιν μάρνασθε, Μιμαλλόνες, ἠθάδι νίκῃ / θαρσαλέαι), but all to no avail.

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The metamorphoses of the friends of Dionysus into different elements related to the vine and to wine enhance the divine image of Bacchus, but he does not “earn” or perform any of the metamorphoses, which means that he cannot truly be credited with the formation of his court. Similarly, when, after the early defeat of the Indians and of the nymph Nicaea at Lake Astacid and the later foundation of the homonymous city of Nicaea, Dionysus claims to be in possession of Νίκη “victory”, the reality of his double defeat in the face of Beroe and Poseidon, both erotic and military, undermines his claims. The personifications which surround Dionysus certainly help to present him as a god, but any deeper analysis of their origins and their interaction with the god shows that, though he is a god and a son of Zeus, Dionysus does not do much to merit being treated like a god.

IV: Nonnus and Late Antique Paideia

Andrew Faulkner

Faith and Fidelity in Biblical Epic* The Metaphrasis Psalmorum, Nonnus, and the Theory of Translation The two substantial poetic paraphrases of biblical literature in Greek to survive from Late Antiquity have noticeably different styles. Nonnus’ paraphrase of St John’s gospel, while faithful to the sequence of events in the New Testament text,1 eschews strict adherence to the original prose, often adapting and expanding upon the gospel for the purpose of theological exegesis or artistic embellishment.2 In comparison, the paraphrase of the Old Testament Psalms, generally accepted to be of similar date to the Nonnian paraphrase but of uncertain authorship,3 is a relatively close line-by-line rendering of its Septuagint model.4 This difference has the potential to discourage detailed comparison of the two works,5 while the more literal rendition of the Psalms has proved less attractive to modern scholars of classical poetry.6 In what follows,

* I am grateful to Prof. Gianfranco Agosti, Prof. Hans Armin Gärtner, Dr Christos Simelidis, Dr Mary Whitby, Dr Nicholas Richardson, Prof. R. P. H. Green, and Dr Konstantinos Spanoudakis for their insightful comments on earlier drafts of this article. 1 See Smolak 1984, 2; De Stefani 2002, 9–10. 2 Nonnus’ relative freedom with respect to his Vorlage and the influence of Cyril of Alexandria’s theological commentary on his rendering of St John’s gospel is well documented. See e.g. Livrea 1989, 25; 2000, 85–92 (miracle of the wine); Agosti 2003, 52–70 (healing of the paralytic at Bethesda); Caprara 2005, 6–45 (Samaritan woman at the well and healing of the official’s son at Capernaum); Greco 2004, 15–28 (last supper, betrayal of Judas); Whitby 2007, 201–7 (doubting Thomas). 3 On the vexed questions of the Metaphrasis Psalmorum’s authorship and dating, see e.g. Ludwich 1912, v–xi; Golega 1939; 1960, 5–24; Agosti 2001, 87; Whitby 2007, 196; De Stefani 2008; Simelidis 2009, 60–1. A majority now follows Golega, contra Ludwich, in ascribing the work to an unknown disciple of the fifth-century oeconomus of St. Sophia, Marcianus, to whom the paraphrase is dedicated in the accompanying prologue. See, however, Persic 1998. 4 See e.g. Agosti – Gonnelli 1995, 364; Agosti 2001, 87; Whitby 2007, 196. 5 Whitby 2007, who deftly compares Nonnus’ paraphrase with the centos of “Eudocia”, leaves aside the Metaphrasis Psalmorum “because it is separated from them by its Old Testament theme and by its different technique”. 6 See recently Agosti 2001, 92 “Il metafraste annuncia dunque un progetto ambizioso, e consegue pienamente il suo risultato, anche se paradossalmente la Metafrasi è il meno attraente per noi dei poemi biblici, data l’asettica precisione della sua riscrittura linguistica che non solo ha scarse propensioni esegetiche, ma è anche assai restia ad impiegare l’arte allusiva, e a consentire così quelle agnizioni di lettura offerte invece dai poemi di Eudocia e di Nonno”.

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I will reconsider the translational approaches of the two poems, first locating their divergent adherence to their source texts within ancient theory on translation and comparable examples of biblical epic in Latin. I will then turn to a closer examination of the particular translational method espoused in the prologue to the Metaphrasis. I contend that the prologue, while rejecting a strictly literal rendering of the Septuagint, engages with Judaeo-Christian thought concerning the Septuagint translation of the Hebrew Old Testament. Greater precision in defining the methodology of the Metaphrasis will provide a more nuanced appreciation of its place within the poetic tradition. Despite the obvious stylistic differences noted above, I propose that previous scholarship has nonetheless exaggerated the methodological disparity between Nonnus’ Paraphrase and the Metaphrasis. I have spoken above about the translational techniques of the two paraphrases. This is justified by the permeable border between interlingual “translation” and intralingual “paraphrase” evident in both modern and ancient theory, such that one might better term these biblical paraphrases “intralingual translations”.7 This overlap is in fact inherent within the poetic programme put forth in the proem to the Metaphrasis, which speaks in the same breath of interlingual translation from Hebrew into Greek and the reversification of the Psalms into Greek hexameters.8 A certain caution is required with respect to modern terminology. As discussed above, scholarship has demonstrated amply that Nonnus elaborates upon his New Testament source text within a programme of theological exegesis. The author of the Metaphrasis also, if not engaging extensively with contemporary theological exegesis, at times inserts Christian concepts and language into his version of the Psalms, and may interact with early commentaries on the Psalms.9 But one must perhaps be careful of the term “exegesis”, for what is meant by most scholars who use the term of Nonnus’ style is theological exegesis in line with the commentary of St Cyril of Alexandria on St John’s gospel. Less narrowly defined, exegesis as explanation and interpretation of a text is an element of almost all translation, “not only on a linguistic level, but also on a semantic level. In this latter respect, the translation often dissociates itself from the neat grammatical identification of words and phrases and becomes a ‘free’ translation, substituting or adding elements to clarify things, or omitting 7 The term, developed by Jakobson 1959, is associated with Nonnus’ biblical paraphrase by Marinatos 2008, 369–70. The boundaries between interlingual translation and intralingual paraphrase are also slight in antiquity; see Roberts 1985, 9–10, with bibliography. 8 More below. Compare for example Agosti 2001, 89 and 2008, 210, who speaks of “traduzione”. 9 See Golega 1960, 126–7, 133–49; Gonnelli 1989.

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elements that seem to be superfluous”.10 There is again obvious overlap here with the terminology of abbreviation, elaboration, and transposition, which are said to be typical of paraphrase.11 Through the careful use of traditional poetic language both Nonnus and the author of the Metaphrasis interpret their source texts in ways that effectively refine the aesthetics and emphasis of their versions, whether or not theological exegesis is at play. It should at least be kept in mind that artistic and theological modifications are not always separate entities. Ancient theorists did, if somewhat uncertainly, recognize a distinction between more or less literal translations. Quintilian differentiates three stages of the prose rendering of poetic texts undertaken by students (Inst. Or. 1.9.2): they first break apart the verses (uersus primo soluere), then supply the sense in different words (mox mutatis uerbis interpretari ), then give a bolder paraphrase, abbreviating and ornamenting the text as long as the sense of the poet is retained (tum paraphrasi audacius uertere, qua et breuiare quaedam et exornare saluo modo poetae sensu permittitur).12 In the realm of interlingual translation from Greek to Latin, both Cicero (Opt. gen. 14) and Horace (Ars 133) distinguish between uerbum e uerbo renderings, categorized negatively as the work of an interpres, and superior sensus de sensu literary translations. Notably, however, there seems to be variation in exactly what is intended by these contrasting modes of translation. As Green points out, Donatus accepts in his commentary on Terence’s Adelphoe 11 (uerbum de uerbo expressum extulit), as one surely must, a degree of ornament in the Latin version of Diphilus’ original, despite Terence’s deliberate characterization of his version as uerbum de uerbo.13 In this early instance we are certainly not dealing with low-quality slavish translation, and it is clear that something altogether more liberal than our modern notions of word-for-word translations was often meant by this expression of fidelity in antiquity.14 Moreover, what is opposed to uerbum e uerbo translation in the linguistically similar passages of Cicero and Horace noted above is in fact different: Cicero supposes the retention of the rerum

10 Sysling 2007, 288 on the Septuagint and Targum translations of the Old Testament. 11 On these three modes of paraphrase identified in ancient literary theory, see Roberts 1985, 29. Cf. Lausberg 1998, 482–4. 12 Roberts 1985, 5–60 presents a taxonomy of paraphrase, classifying biblical epic as rhetorical “literary” paraphrase distinct from more literal grammatical paraphrase (39). On the limitations of Robert’s sharp division between these categories see Green 2006, 43–7 and below. 13 Green 2006, 44–5. 14 See further Fantuzzi – Hunter 2004, 467–74, with good comments on “translation” and intertextuality; Marti 1974, 64–6, and for a recent overview of the topic with bibliography Mülke 2008, 111–24.

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ordo, where Horace imagines something altogether more free.15 In Greek, there is likewise no clear distinction between the terms μετάφρασις and παράφρασις with respect to literal rendering.16 Despite a general distinction between relatively literal and free translations, ancient terminology does not clearly locate degrees of literalism as fixed points on a spectrum. The picture in antiquity is further complicated when one turns to biblical translation. Brock, who identifies the comments of Cicero and Horace with a division of technique between the translation of official or legal documents and literary texts that is already active in the Hellenistic period, demonstrates that any “neat dichotomy between literary and non-literary translation, hitherto operative, breaks down with the advent of Christianity, or rather … with the advent of biblical translation”, after which a mode of literalist word-forword translation of scripture gains favour.17 Whether such a neat dichotomy ever really existed is debatable,18 but Judaeo-Christian literature nonetheless brings with it new challenges for the translator. Scripture at times occupies a middle ground between legal document and literary text, while there develops a sharper distinction between the acts of exposition and translation of JudaeoChristian scripture. Literalist translation also serves a need in the face of heresy (or accusations of heresy), and an impression that the enormity of the divine mystery of the scriptures precludes a sensus de sensu rendering. The Jewish Philo (c. 20 BC–50 AD), to whom we will return later, distinguishes the terms μεταφράζω and παραφράζω, noted above, as modes of adapting a source text in his Life of Moses 2.38 καὶ ταὐτὸν ἐνθύμημα οἷόν τε μεταφράζοντα καὶ παραφράζοντα σχηματίσαι πολλαχῶς, ἄλλοτε ἄλλας ἐφαρμόζοντα λέξεις “It is possible both paraphrasing and translating to render the same thought in various ways, applying different words on different occasions”,19 but then immediately contrasts these with the particularly literal approach taken by the translators of the Septuagint (ὅπερ ἐπὶ ταύτης τῆς νομοθεσίας οὔ φασι συμβῆναι, συνενεχθῆναι δ’ εἰς ταὐτὸν κύρια κυρίοις ὀνόμασι, τὰ Ἑλληνικὰ τοῖς Χαλδαϊκοῖς, ἐναρμοσθέντα εὖ μάλα τοῖς δηλουμένοις πράγμασιν “They say this did not happen in the instance of the Law, but rather that, bringing together the proper Greek words in unity with the proper Chaldaean words, they fit them

15 See Brink 1971, 210–1. 16 See Roberts 1985, 26. Philo (the first to do so) distinguishes the two terms in his Life of Moses 2.38; see further below. 17 Brock 1979, 70. 18 Above on Terence, and e.g. Mülke 2008, 113–4 on Cicero’s earlier word-for-word translations of Greek originals. The freedom accorded to any translation depended on more precise factors than the “literary” nature of the undertaking. 19 All translations are by the author.

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extremely well to the things being exposited”). Literal translation of Hebrew scripture is associated particularly with the Jewish Aquila in the second century CE,20 while in the fourth century CE scripture is famously singled out in matters of translation by St Jerome. In his letter to Pammachius, in which he defends his Latin translation of an epistle of Epiphanius sent to John of Jerusalem in 393 AD, Jerome advocates the sensus de sensu approach to translation taken by Horace and Cicero, except in the case of scripture, where even word order is a mystery, Ep. 57.5 ego enim non solum fateor, sed libera uoce profiteor, me in interpretatione graecorum, absque scripturis sanctis, ubi uerborum ordo mysterium est, non uerbum e uerbo, sed sensum exprimere de sensu.21 How do poetic renderings of scripture fit into this picture? Jerome, who is himself somewhat inconsistent in his approach to translation, elsewhere admitting less literal rendering of scripture where required,22 refers to Juvencus’ Latin hexameter paraphrase of the gospels as “virtually word-for-word”, De vir. ill. 84 Iuuencus … quattuor euangelia hexametris uersibus paene ad uerbum transferens quattuor libros composuit.23 Green is surely correct to argue that Jerome’s concept of Juvencus’ faithfulness to his source text is in line with the pagan concept of de uerbo translation discussed above,24 even if Jerome’s expression may have carried particular rhetorical force in certain Judaeo-Christian circles. With respect to Jerome’s specific wording, one might compare Macrobius Sat. 5.3.1 uersus ad uerbum paene translatos of Vergil rendering Homer. Juvencus in any case makes exegetical and poetic modifications to his source text,25 and some freedom from the Vorlage must be assumed in poetic versions of scripture. Subsequent to Juvencus, much of Latin biblical poetry displays significantly increased modification of and departure from scriptural source texts, to the extent that the biblical epics of Sedulius and Arator are best distinguished from paraphrase.26 It can be supposed that Jerome would not have described these works as paene ad uerbum. Within such boundaries, however, we should accept a certain flexibility in what was considered a faith-

20 On Aquila see the excellent overview of Fernández Marco 2000, 109–22. 21 Cf. Brock 1979, 69–70. 22 See Marti 1974, 73–6; Mülke 2008, 124–63; Consolino 2005, 523 n. 306 with bibliography. 23 Perhaps comparable is Photius’ (Bibl. codd. 183–4) praise of Eudocia’s faithfulness to the original in her versions of the Octateuch and Daniel: see Usher 1998, 82 and Whitby 2007, 197. 24 Green 2006, 43–7, against Robert’s strict classification of grammatical and rhetorical paraphrase (see above, n. 12). 25 See Colombi 1997; Fichtner 1994, 201–4; Green 2006, 90–103. 26 On Sedulius and Arator as distinct from Juvencus see Green 2006. Roberts 1985, 92–106 surveys the poetic Heptateuch (“Cyprian”), as well as the more liberal biblical epics on Old Testament themes by Victorius and Avitus, arguing for a connection to paraphrase in all cases.

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ful poetic version of scripture. Under this category would surely fall the renderings of three Psalms by Paulinus of Nola in Carm. 7–9, which paraphrase Psalms 1, 2, and 137 (136) quite closely but also include elaboration and allegorical expansion, or his Laus Sancti Iohannis based upon Luke 1.27 Without assuming a particular chronological ordering of the Greek poems, the relationship between Juvencus and Paulinus is perhaps loosely comparable to that between the Metaphrasis and Nonnus’ Paraphrase. Nonnus is more free than the Metaphrasis in adherence to the original, introducing greater modification and exegetical elaboration, but he nonetheless in his Paraphrase closely follows the spirit and rerum ordo of St John’s Gospel, “tant’è che ad essa si potrebbe ben applicare il giudizio sul poema evangelico di Giovenco formulato da Girolamo”.28 Strict criticism of translational fidelity to scripture was perhaps not applicable to what was simultaneously a poetic exercise, and there is nothing to suggest fierce condemnation of poetic renderings of scripture on these grounds.29 Internal evidence nonetheless suggests that authors of early biblical poetry were at times concerned with the fidelity of their versions to the original texts and the distinction between verse and prose. The fifth-century Victorius includes near the outset of his Alethia, a Latin poem quite freely based upon Genesis (called a commentary on Genesis by Gennadius), a curt apologia for divergences from the biblical text (1.144–6).30 This is not a sign of underlying controversy but demonstrates an awareness of the issue of fidelity by a poet who took great liberties in his engagement with scriptural narrative. Less overtly, Juvencus touches on the question of poetic variation in the epilogue to his relatively faithful version of the gospels, 4.802–5: has mea mens fidei uires sanctique timoris cepit et in tantum lucet mihi gratia Christi uersibus ut nostris diuinae gloria legis ornamenta libens caperet terrestria linguae.

27 See Green 2006, 146–8. Paulinus occupies a middle ground between Juvencus and Sedulius. 28 Livrea 1989, 39. 29 Contra the connection of Sedulius’ comments on paraphrastic fidelity, expressed in his letter to Macedonius (dederimus hinc obtrectatoribus uiam, dicentque nonnulli, fidem translationis esse corruptam, quia certa uidelicet sunt in oratione, quae non habentur in carmine), to general theories of epic as biblical paraphrase, see Green 2006, 159–60, who rightly identifies the remarks instead with the nature of Sedulius’ prose version of his own Carmen Paschale. 30 See Roberts 1985, 97–9.

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My mind has assumed this strength of faith and holy fear, and the grace of Christ so much shines for me that the glory of the divine law in my verses willingly adopts the terrestrial ornaments of language.

The mind of the poet assumes the strength (uires) of faith and divine fear, which allows the divine law itself to adopt willingly the earthly ornaments of language (ornamenta terrestria). The function of Christ or the Holy Spirit as divine inspiration or guide of the author is a common enough topos in Christian classicizing poetry, an alternative to the well-known appeal to the Muses in pagan texts.31 It is nonetheless noteworthy that divine inspiration here serves to exculpate Juvencus from the exigencies of elevated literary and rhetorical language,32 a fact which is underlined in the passage by the repeated use of the verb capio to describe the functions of the poet’s mind (mens mea) and scripture (diuinae gloria legis). This concern also recalls Juvencus’ meditations in the preface to his work, where he presents his poetic undertaking, in contrast to earlier pagan poetry, as a divine gift without reproach of falsehood, 20 diuinum populis falsi sine crimine donum.33 The imagery of poetic inspiration in Juvencus’ epilogue is similar to what we find in the opening lines of the prologue to the Metaphrasis, which itself connects divine inspiration to the nature of scriptural translation and the expression of divine knowledge in human language. The poet begins, 1–9: ἔλπομαι ἀθανάτοιο θεοῦ κεκορυθμένος οἴμῃ σοὶ χάριν ἀντὶ πόνων φορέειν καὶ κέρδος ἐπ’ ἔργῳ καὶ τυφλὸς γεγαὼς δοκέειν φάος ἄλλο κομίζειν, Μαρκιανὲ κλυτόμητι· τί γάρ νύ τοι ἔπρεπεν ἄλλο ἢ τό μοι εὑρέμεναι σέθεν ἄξιον; οὐ γὰρ ἐφετμῆς σεῖο, πάτερ, λαθόμην· ἐθέλω δέ τοι ἤπιος εἶναι εἰς ἀγαθὸν σπεύδοντι. τί δ’ ἥδιον ἠὲ μερίμναις σῇσιν ἐπ’ ἀτρύτοισι νόον φιλόμολπον ἐγείρειν, μεμνῆσθαι δ’ ἐπέων, ὧν φθέγξαο τοῖα πιφαύσκων. I hope, armed with the song of immortal God to bring to you joy in return for pains and reward for work, and, although being blind, to be able to convey another light,

31 E.g. in Latin Juv. 1.25–7, Sedul. 1.85, Arat. 2.577–8 with Green 2006, 21–2, 300–2. In Greek, Greg. Naz. Arc. 1.22, Met. Pr. 1–2, 109–10. See further Shorrock 2011, 22–33. 32 Ornamentum is commonly used of elevated rhetorical or literary language. Cf. Hor. Ars 448 with Brink 1971, 418, and for further examples OLD s.v. 4. 33 See the rich commentary on this passage in Green 2006, 19–23.

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Marcianus, famed for skill. For what else is indeed now more fitting, than for me to find something worthy of you? For your command I have not forgotten, father, and I want to be pleasing to you, who strive after good. What then is sweeter than to rouse the song-loving mind upon your limitless thoughts, and to recall the words which you uttered speaking thus.

Juvencus links the assumption or putting on (cepit) of divine strength to the capacity of his song to convey scripture, while the poet of the Metaphrasis pursues his poetic task armed (κεκορυθμένος) with the song of immortal God.34 This particular image of the poet armed with song blends pagan and Christian topoi. Weapons are tied to poetry from Homer onward, with the bow and arrow used pointedly of composition by Pindar.35 At the same time, one is reminded of the Christian armed in his spiritual journey with the divine strength of Christ’s word against evil, most forcefully evoked in Eph. 6.10–7.36 The departure from pagan sources of inspiration is further developed in the opening lines of the prologue through allusion to the eponymous epic bard Homer. This initially appears quite straightforward: the poet portrays himself as a blind bard hoping to convey “another light” (φάος ἄλλο, 3).37 The new direction of the poet, however, is possibly signalled also through subtle allusion to earlier pagan poetry. Obedient to his spiritual father Marcianus, to whom the paraphrase is dedicated, the poet asks what could be sweeter than to rouse his song-loving mind upon the foundation of Marcianus’ “limitless thoughts”, 7–8 τί δ’ ἥδιον ἠὲ μερίμναις / σῇσιν ἐπ’ ἀτρύτοισι νόον φιλόμολπον

34 Note also the shared imagery of light: the grace of Christ shines (lucet) upon Juvencus; the poet of the Metaphrasis hopes to convey another light (φάος ἄλλο) through his inspired poetry. 35 See Nünlist 1998, 142–54, and on Pindar Simpson 1969. West 2007, 45 notes the figure in the Rigveda. One can compare similar language at Nonn. Dion. 25.264–7 ἀλλὰ θεά με κόμιζε τὸ δεύτερον ἐς μέσον Ἰνδῶν, / ἔμπνοον ἔγχος ἔχοντα καὶ ἀσπίδα πατρὸς Ὁμήρου, / μαρνάμενον Μορρῆι καὶ ἄφρονι Δηριαδῆι / σὺν Διὶ καὶ Βρομίῳ κεκορυθμένον, on which see Agosti 2009, 106–7. Cf. also the anonymous epigram AP 7.82 Δώριδος ἐκ Μούσης κεκορυθμένον ἀνέρα Βάκχῳ / καὶ Σατύροις Σικελὸν τῇδ’ Ἐπίχαρμον ἔχω. 36 Cf. 2 Tim. 2.3–4, Phil. 2.25, Philem. 1.2, where St Paul speaks of Christians as soldiers of Christ. One could also compare the putting on of Christ in baptism (Gal. 3.27 ὅσοι γὰρ εἰς Χριστὸν ἐβαπτίσθητε, Χριστὸν ἐνεδύσασθε). Cf. in the general context of song Paulinus Carm. 16.121–8, 17.137–40. Gianfranco Agosti kindly points out to me that similar imagery is used also in the Chaldaean Oracles (see fr. 2), which were familiar to Christian authors. 37 See Golega 1960, 26, who is surely correct that the poet’s blindness is metaphorical; Agosti 2001, 88.

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ἐγείρειν.38 The combination μερίμναις ἀτρύτοισιν recalls its only other known occurrence in a fragment of Hellenistic anapaestic poetry, Lyrica Adespota CA 10 τήν τ’ ἀπὸ Μουσῶν ἄφθιτον αὐδήν / ἣν σὺ μερίμναις ταῖσιν ἀτρύτοις / καθυφηνάμενος πόντος τις ὅπως ἔπτυσας ἄλ[λο]ις “The deathless voice of the Muses, which, weaving in your limitless thoughts, you spit out for others like an ocean”.39 These lines connect Homer’s μέριμναι ἄτρυτοι with his poetic production; having woven the deathless voice of the Muses in his limitless/ indefatigable thoughts, he spits out his poetic production for others. A similar concept is described by Aelian, who reports that on a temple to Homer built by Ptolemy Philopator, the painter Galaton depicted Homer vomiting as other poets gather up what he spits out.40 Golega instead interprets these lines to mean “Was ist denn süßer als für deine unablässingen Sorgen gesangliebenden Sinn zu erwecken”, with song acting as a balm for Marcianus’ endless troubles.41 While this is possible, the context of poetic inspiration favours a supportive sense in ἐπί: the poet’s song is roused upon the limitless thoughts of Marcianus, which stand as the foundation for his poetic exercise.42 Immediately following this, the poet supposedly quotes the words of Marcianus in direct speech. It is not insignificant that the Hellenistic fragment reflects upon the influence of Homer in an age of literary innovation. If accepted, the intertext between the Metaphrasis prologue and CA 10 both announces the presence of Homer, whose language the poet is using extensively, and highlights the

38 The word μέριμνα frequently just means “thought” in Greek literature, and is used of poetic ability at Bacchyl. 19.11, where the chorus appears to address Bacchylides εὐαίνετε Κηΐα μέριμνα; cf. Maehler 1997 ad loc. 39 The parallel is noted by Golega 1960, 28 without comment on the thematic relevance of the echo. 40 VH 13.22 Γαλάτων δὲ ὁ ζωγράφος ἔγραψε τὸν μὲν Ὅμηρον αὐτὸν ἐμοῦντα, τοὺς δὲ ἄλλους ποιητὰς τὰ ἐμημεσμένα ἀρυτομένους. Noted by Wilamowitz ap. Powell, CA ad loc. 41 Golega 1960, 25–8. 42 As, for example, something borne upon the shoulders (ἐπ’ ὤμοις) of a giant, Eur. Phoen. 1131–32. Cf. similar language of the Holy Spirit rousing the poetic mind of St Gregory Nazianzus at Arc. 22–3 νόον καὶ γλῶσσαν ἐγείροις. While the primary sense of the verb here is “to rouse”, as often of stirring up song (see LSJ s.v. 2), Mary Whitby points out to me that ἐγείρειν is also frequently used of building in later Greek: see Williams 1978, 62–3 on Call. HyAp. 64 and in Christian literature John 2.19, Nonn. Par. 2.95 (with Livrea 2000 ad loc.), Paul. Sil. Soph. 8, 150, 300, Amb. 128. This implication would be particularly appropriate in the context of Golega’s identification of Marcianus as the oeconomus under Gennadios, referred to as κλυτόμητις (a common epithet of the builder Hephaestus) in line 4; see Golega 1960, 26–7. For ἐπί + dat. one could also consider the meaning “in honour of your limitless thoughts”; cf. Od. 24.91 ἐπὶ σοὶ κατέθηκε … ἄεθλα, Il. 23.776, or for thanking Joseph. Ant. Jud. 1.193 ἐπὶ τούτοις εὐχαριστήσας.

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differentiation in religious inspiration:43 the poet has transposed the μέριμναι ἄτρυτοι of the pagan Homer onto the figure of his spiritual father Marcianus, whose pious thought instead stands as the motivation for his Christian poetry. Inspiration therefore comes both straight from God and through the poet’s devout spiritual father. Divine inspiration of poetry and apostolic language is a prominent motif also later in the prologue. In the closing verses, the poet claims Christ as his constant helper in the fulfilment of Marcianus’ will, 109– 10 ἐγὼ δέ οἱ ἤνυσα βουλήν / Χριστὸν ἀειζώοντα λαχὼν ἐπαρωγὸν ἀοιδῆς. Furthermore, a long passage in lines 52–104 expands upon Marcianus’ wonder at the power of the Holy Spirit to establish once again a single world language, which before had been confused through the sins of humanity (59–62). The poet loosely paraphrases Acts 2. 2–11, with the Holy Spirit proceeding forth from heaven and appearing as fire upon the tongues of the Apostles (63–6), whose words are heard by all peoples to the ends of the earth. Agosti has correctly identified this emphasis on inspiration and the divine origin of language with the justification for the translation of the Psalms into hexameter:44 the aim to return the Psalms to their original metrical form (31 τὸ πρόσθεν αὖτις) is at the end of the poem tied to Marcianus’ belief in the ancient derivation of all language from God, including the Ionian language (105–6 καὶ γὰρ ἐτύχθη / ἐκ παλαχῆς θεότευκτος), while the invocation of God “legittima dunque la traduzione in lingua omerica dei canti di Davide, la loro riscritura tramite gli ornamenta terrestria linguae”.45 Going one step further, the emphasis upon divine inspiration in the prologue can perhaps be linked more precisely to Judaeo-Christian thought on translation of the Septuagint and other scripture. Near the outset of the prologue, the poet acknowledges the difference between literal translation in prose and the freedom of poetic translation, 18– 21: ἀτὰρ μετ’ Ἀχαιΐδα γῆρυν αὖτις ἀμειβομένων κατὰ μὲν χάρις ἔφθιτο μέτρων, μῦθοι δ’ ὧδε μένουσιν ἐτήτυμοι· οὐ γὰρ ἀοιδῆς, ἀλλ’ ἐπέων Πτολεμαῖος ἐέλδετο.

43 One might here note the particular influence of Hellenistic poetry on the corpus of St Gregory of Nazianzus see Hollis 2002; Simelidis 2009, 30–46. 44 Agosti 2001, 88–91. Cf. Agosti – Gonnelli 1995, 361 n. 296. 45 On ancient ideas concerning shared origins of Greek and Hebrew verse see Agosti – Gonnelli 1995, 359. For the origin of language in God cf. Or. Sib. 1.33–4 with Lightfoot 2007, 342. Angelic singing is explicitly linked to human hymnody in St Gregory Nazianzus’ Poemata Arcana; see Faulkner 2010, 85–6.

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But through translation into the Greek language, the grace of the metre was lost, although the words in this way remain true. For Ptolemy desired not song but rather prose.

The metrical grace (19 χάρις), which the poet will restore in his versification of the Greek Psalms, recalls the joy (2 χάρις) he earlier hopes to bring to Marcianus. The comment in verse 20 that the words of the Psalms remain “true” (ἐτήτυμοι) in the prose translation instigated by Ptolemy, despite the loss of metrical grace, has been misunderstood. Golega takes this to imply that the poet’s reversification, based upon the faithful Septuagint translation, itself aims at a closely literal translation:46 “Da nach seiner Überzeugung die Worte des Davidischen Psalters auch in der Σ ἐτήτυμοι bleiben, so läßt er nur ungern ein Wort seiner Vorlage aus”. Albeit with recognition of stylistic variation in which metre plays a role, Gonnelli also speaks of the “intenzione” of the poet to produce an extremely close rendering, in which one hexameter line corresponds to each stichus of the Septuagint.47 There is no doubt that the poet of the Metaphrasis follows his model quite closely, at least in comparison to the Nonnian paraphrase, but there is no justification for speaking of the poet’s aim to produce a version as close as possible to the Septuagint on the level of either word or verse. On the contrary, the poet’s claim that the words of scripture remain true “in this way” (20 ὧδε) is through the μέν … δέ-construction of the passage contrasted with the preceding statement that the grace of the metre was lost in the translation from Hebrew to Greek prose: in other words, the beauty of the Hebrew metre was lost in the prose, but through this method the words of scripture in the Septuagint remain “true” (with the sense of ἐτήτυμος perhaps closer to “genuine” or “exact”). It follows that, by placing the Greek Psalms back into verse (29–34), the poet accepts a certain poetic freedom in his rendering. The aim is not to produce a strictly faithful version of the Septuagint, even if the Metaphrasis does follow the Vorlage quite closely, but to restore the lost χάρις μέτρων, an aesthetic goal which is also fitting (29 ὥς κ’ ἐπέοικε). It is this aesthetic goal which fulfills the underlying goal of the poet that “others too”, meaning pagans,48 should know that every language proclaims Christ king, 32 ἵνα γνώωσι καὶ ἄλλοι / γλῶσσ’ ὅτι παντοίη Χριστὸν βασιλῆα βοήσει.

46 Golega 1960, 120. 47 See Agosti – Gonnelli 1995, 364 “[la metafrasi] segue pedissequamente il testo sacro … (n. 307) Con l’intenzione di massima di far coincidere un esametro a ciascuno stico dei salmi dei Sept.”. 48 See Agosti 2001, 89.

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Given this direct engagement with the issue of translational fidelity in the prose rendering of the Septuagint, it is tempting to connect the poet’s emphasis on divine inspiration elsewhere in the prologue, discussed above, also to ancient translation theory; in particular to the role ascribed by a number of Judaeo-Christian authors to divine inspiration in the interlingual translation of scripture. We saw above that Philo underlines the particularly literal approach taken by the translators of the Septuagint in his Life of Moses (2.38). He goes on, however, to render redundant this very question of precise translational method, by claiming that the translators of the Septuagint were divinely inspired. Connected to the purest of souls, that of Moses, they are not called translators but prophets and hierophants, 2.40 οὐχ ἑρμηνέας ἐκείνους ἀλλ’ ἱεροφάντας καὶ προφήτας προσαγορεύοντες, οἷς ἐξεγένετο συνδραμεῖν λογισμοῖς εἱλικρινέσι τῷ Μωυσέως καθαρωτάτῳ πνεύματι “agreeing that they are not interpreters but hierophants and prophets, whose clear minds ran together with the most pure soul of Moses”.49 The divine inspiration of the Septuagint translators, evidently comparable to the inspired speech of the Apostles in Acts 2, subsequently becomes a commonplace amongst the Christian Fathers.50 The import of this for the Metaphrasis prologue is apparent: the poetic rendering of the paraphrase, in contrast to the prose version commissioned by Ptolemy, must admit some freedom from the original text in order to convey the beauty of the poetic form (18–21), but the poet’s paraphrase is legitimized by the divine inspiration accorded by God. This effectively answers any criticism that might be brought against the poet for not translating literally, such as St Jerome countered in his letter to Pammachius, or is expressed in St Athanasius’ letter to Marcellinus concerning the Psalms.51 The aesthetic aims of verse composition are similarly situated within the context of divine inspiration in the opening verses of the Latin poet Paulinus’ Laus Sancti Iohannis (Carm. 6.1–26), based upon Luke 1. Paulinus begins with a humble invocation of the Trinity to inspire his song and to direct St John out of the gospel source into his dry river, 7–8 praesta euangelico ductum de fonte Iohannem | in nostra arenti decurrere carmina riuo. He then goes on to underline that his song is nothing new, but based upon the previous accounts in prose (sermone soluto)52 of prophets and holy men (14–7). His poetic under49 This goes beyond the account of the pseudepigraphic Letter of Aristeas, the primary but controversial source for Ptolemy Philadelphus’ supposed patronage of the translation of the Pentateuch. 50 See Hanhart 1962, 147–9; Brock 1979, 77. Iren. Haer. 3.21.4, for example, directly compares the work of the translators and the Apostles inspired by the same Spirit. 51 See Livrea 1989, 41 n. 17. 52 The adjective solutus is frequently combined with uerba and oratio to signify prose; see OLD s.v. 9b.

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taking aims, through the versification of scripture, to bring pleasure to the minds of his readers (18–9 mentes laxare legentum), a task which he compares directly to the prophet David’s versification of what earlier men had proclaimed under God’s inspiration (20–4). As in the case of David, it is right also for Paulinus’ heart, although overwhelmed by sin, to admit heavenly perception, 25–6 caelestem admittere sensum. In contrast to the Metaphrasis prologue, there is no explicit engagement here with the question of translational fidelity, but Paulinus’ biblical verse composition is nonetheless differentiated by its aesthetic aims from the prose scripture written by prophets and holy men, and at the same time justified in this intention by its own claims to divine inspiration. In the case of Nonnus’ Paraphrase, there is no programmatic prologue with which to compare what we find in the Metaphrasis prologue. Agosti, however, detects authorial self-awareness in the closing lines of the poem, which paraphrase the famous statement at the end of St John’s gospel that even the world could not contain the number of books required to record all the deeds of Christ, 21.139–43:53 ἄλλα δὲ θαύματα πολλὰ σοφῇ σφρηγίσσατο σιγῇ μάρτυς ἐτητυμίης, τά περ ἤνυσεν αὐτὸς Ἰησοῦς, ὅσσα καθ’ ἓν στοιχηδὸν ἀνὴρ βροτὸς αἴ κε χαράξῃ, βίβλους τοσσατίας νεοτευχέας οὐδὲ καὶ αὐτόν ἔλπομαι ἀγλαόμορφον ἀτέρμονα κόσμον ἀεῖραι. Many other marvels, which Christ himself accomplished, the true witness seals in wise silence; so many are there that should a mortal man write them altogether in row, this many newly-wrought books I do not expect even the boundless, beautifully-formed world could contain.

In particular, the rare adjective νεοτευχής, used once in Homer at Il. 5.194 of chariots, is on two earlier occasions employed of poetic novelty (Timoth. Pers. 203 and Theoc. 1.28). This leads Agosti cautiously to identify the νεοτευχέες βίβλοι with the poet’s composition in a new style. The final line is therefore a self-confident statement by Nonnus, whose force “risulta meglio se paragonata alla professione di umiltà fatta dall’autore della Met. Pss. proprio in apertura” (ἔλπομαι ἀθανάτοιο θεοῦ κεκορθυμένος οἴμῃ). This is an attractive suggestion, but I am not convinced that νεοτευχής should necessarily be read self-reflexively here. While it is a rare word in earlier poetry, it is used twice more in

53 Agosti 2001, 95–6.

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Nonnus’ Paraphrase without any programmatic implication (14.9 νεοτευχέα χῶρον and 9.33 ὀφθαλμοὺς … νεοτευχέας; elsewhere in later poetry cf. Triph. 676 νεοτευχέα κόσμον). It would furthermore be quite a boast to set one’s own poetic output in apposition to the numerous books needed to record all the deeds of Christ, which not even the boundless world could contain. This seems contrary to the spirit of a work which engages meaningfully with scripture and Christian exegesis. The implication would also ultimately be one of volume, which, despite the prolixity of Nonnus’ 48-book Dionysiaca, would have little point here. If we abandon this programmatic reading, we also have to set aside the supposed contrast in humility and poetic outlook between Nonnus and the author of the Metaphrasis prologue.54 We have seen that, despite modern recognition of stylistic differences between Nonnus’ Paraphrase and the Metaphrasis Psalmorum, there is reason to believe that the paraphrastic (or translational) methods of the two works may not have been sharply distinguished in antiquity. We should also consider that the relationship between target text and Vorlage in the case of the Metaphrasis is not an exact corollary of that between Nonnus’ paraphrase and the New Testament. Poets obviously make choices,55 but the stichic nature of the Septuagint Psalms perhaps lends itself more naturally to line-by-line adaptation into hexameter verse, while the less rigid continuous prose of the New Testament promotes greater flexibility. The Psalms are perhaps also a special case due to their privileged position as widely known and often sung texts.56 It at least seems to be the case that poetic renderings of the Psalms are elsewhere often quite faithful to the original: Paulinus, despite devoting some space to exposition and allegorical interpretation, is extremely faithful to the original in his paraphrases of Psalms 1, 2, and 137 (136), whereas his paraphrase of Luke 1 shows greater freedom.57 Even in the cases of the later Sedulius and Arator, who are extremely free with respect to their source texts, quotations of the Psalms are often rendered closely.58 At the very least, we

54 The verb ἔλπομαι occurs commonly enough at verse-beginning in hexameter poetry (Il. 7.199, 7.353, 8.526 etc.), such that there is no compelling reason to suppose a direct link between the two paraphrases because of its appearance in the first and last lines respectively. For this last line in Nonnus to be read programmatically against the Metaphrasis, it would, as Agosti suggests, need to be isolated from its context. 55 On Photius’ praise of Eudocia’s faithfulness to the original in her version of the Octateuch, see above n. 23. 56 On the early use of the Psalms in Judaeo-Christian writings and liturgy see Gillingham 2008, 5–46. 57 See Green 2006, 145–8. 58 See Green 2006, 176, 309; also 150 on Prudentius’ faithful version of Psalm 116 (115).15.

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should guard against the assumption that the Metaphrasis is, in comparison to the Nonnian paraphrase, a humble attempt to render the Psalms as faithfully as possible in verse. The poet demonstrates a capacity for subtle allusion at the outset of the prologue, in which, despite his formulaic pose of humility, he professes his ambition to provide an aesthetically pleasing poetic version of the Psalms. Adaptations of the Septuagint text can also, although not always, be handled with careful attention to context and language by the poet of the Metaphrasis. Limitations of space do not here allow for an examination of all such adaptations, but let me offer two examples. First, Met. 21.36–7 ἄπλετα λυσσώοντες ἐμοὺς δάσσαντο χιτῶνας, / καὶ κλήροις πεπάλαχθεν, ὅτις κ’ ἐμὰ πέπλα κομίσσῃ renders Sept. 21.18 διεμερίσαντο τὰ ἱμάτιά μου ἑαυτοῖς / καὶ ἐπὶ τὸν ἱματισμόν μου ἔβαλον κλῆρον “they divided my clothes amongst them, and cast lots for my garment”. It is notable that the poet adds ἄπλετα λυσσώοντες “raging greatly”,59 which does not correspond to anything in the Septuagint. A more literal rendering would not have been difficult to produce: e.g. οἳ δὲ καὶ ἀλλήλοισιν ἐμοὺς δάσσαντο χιτῶνας (for οἳ δὲ καὶ ἀλλήλοισι[ν], cf. Il. 6.218). The non-Homeric verb λυσσάω, however, is traditionally used of mad dogs with rabies (Ar. Lys. 298, Arist. HA 604a4; of a wolf at Theoc. 4.11). It therefore picks up on and sustains the image presented a few lines above in verse 16 of the Psalm, where dogs, associated with wicked men, surround David: ὅτι ἐκύκλωσάν με κύνες πολλοί, rendered by the poet as ἐσμὸς ἀπειρέσιός με κυνῶν κυκλώσατο τόσσος. The use of ἄπλετα here seems even to recall ἀπειρέσιος. The technique of adaptation and reintegration of material from earlier in the text is found also in Nonnus.60 In this particular instance we can compare directly Nonnus’ rendering of the same Septuagint verse, quoted in John 19.24, at Par. 19.129–32 ἡμέτεροι δασπλῆτες ἐπ’ ἀλλήλοισι φονῆες / ξυνοὶ ἁμιλλητῆρες ἐμοὺς δάσσαντο χιτῶνας / καὶ κλήρους ἐβάλοντο φιλοχλαίνῳ τινὶ λαχμῷ / ἡμετέρης ἐσθῆτος ἕως ἐγένοντο φορῆες “My frightful murderers divided my garments in public contest and cast lots for my cloak, until they became the wearers of my clothes”. There are obvious differences. Nonnus stretches his version over four lines, while his additions to the quotation bear teleological weight: the reference to murderers (ἡμέτεροι δασπλῆτες … φονῆες), which implies the soldiers who in John draw lots for the clothing of the crucified Christ, collapses even further the distance between Old Testament

59 I see no strong reason to suppose with Golega 1960, 108 that this is an imitation of Nonn. Dion. 48.884 ἄσχετα λυσσώουσα. Cf. Manetho 1.244 ἔνθεα λυσσώοντες, and Met. 9.48 ἄπλετα λυσσώων. 60 See e.g. Whitby 2007, 206 on Par. 20.103–35.

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prophecy and New Testament resurrection. Nonnus is less economical, but both poets make adaptations in keeping with the broader context of the passage. The significance of other variations from the Septuagint text in the Metaphrasis may be more subtly allusive. Met. 4.12 ἄμμι τεῆς τέκμαρ χρύσεόν σεο φέγγος ὀπωπῆς introduces a golden quality to the light of God’s face in Sept. 4.6 ἐσημειώθη ἐφ’ ἡμᾶς τὸ φῶς τοῦ προσώπου σου κύριε. Gold is certainly appropriate as a generic ornament of divine light for a poet who at times was required by the metre to make adaptations to the Septuagint original without particular purpose.61 But in a Psalm which emphasizes from its outset the justice of God (verse 1 ἐν τῷ ἐπικαλεῖσθαί με εἰσήκουσέν μου ὁ θεὸς τῆς δικαιοσύνης μου rendered in Met. 4. 1 εὐδικίης ἐμέθεν θεὸς ἔκλυεν εὐξαμένοιο with “justice” the first word in the poem; verse 5 θύσατε θυσίαν δικαιοσύνης rendered in Met. 4. 10 θῦμα δίκης βασιλῆα γεραίροι), might we here consider an allusion to the classical topos of the golden face of Justice (see Soph. Aj. Locr. TrGF 12 τὸ χρύσεον δὲ τᾶς Δίκας / δέδορκεν ὄμμα and Eur. Melan. TrGF 486a δικαιοσύνας τὸ χρύσεον πρόσωπον, quoted together by Athen. 12.65)?62 St Gregory the Wonderworker in the third century invokes the same image in his panegyric to Origen.63 As in the case of the allusion to Homer’s poetic activity in the opening lines of the Prologue, the classical motif would here be transferred into the Christian context, thereby underlining God’s role as the dispenser of justice in place of the pagan divinity. I would not insist upon this particular case, for which the evidence is without doubt too slight to confirm such subtle allusion, but one should nonetheless remain open to such possibilities. We must at the very least admit that the poet of the Metaphrasis is at times capable of intentionally adapting his Vorlage through skilful manipulation of language and careful attention to the aesthetics of composition.

61 Cf. Eur. Phoen. 176 Σελαναία, χρυσεόκυκλον φέγγος and Paul Sil. AP 5.228.5–6 οὐδὲ φαεινῆς / φέγγος ἰδεῖν ἐθέλω χρύσεον Ἠριπόλης. The phrase φέγγος ὀπωπῆς occurs at the end of the line several times in Nonnus Dion. 20.402, Par. 9.91, 97, 184. 62 For the φέγγος of justice, cf. Plato Phdr. 250b. 63 Orat. in Orig. 12.148 ἐμποιήσας ἔρωτα τῇ αὐτοῦ ἀρετῇ καὶ τοῦ κάλλους τῆς δικαιοσύνης, ᾗς τὸ χρύσεον ὄντως ἔδειξεν ἡμῖν πρόσωπον.

Rosa García-Gasco

Nonnus’ Mystic Vocabulary Revisited: Mystis in Dionysiaca 9.111–31* Besides different themes and material, we can find in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca references to religions that are intermingled and confused in such a way that it is difficult, if not impossible, to pinpoint what belief or set of beliefs each reference corresponds to. Dionysiac ritual, which could a priori be considered the most important influence on Nonnus’ work, is mixed not only with Orphism, whose doctrinal reformations were made by Neoplatonic philosophers mainly, but also with other mystical religions namely Mithraic and Christian cults, and with numerous elements coming from magic and astrology. In the passage to be examined we will try to point out a series of elements that allude to certain types of ritual which may remind us of the “religion” we know as Orphism. We will not only mention them, but we will also try to approach the questions related to the text’s transmission and, if possible, the sense that such references could have for Nonnus and his contemporaries. The passage, despite its brevity – it has only twenty verses – is relevant to the old question about Nonnus’ religion, but we are not expecting to answer that question with certainty, nor to revisit all mystical references in Nonnus’ work. Moreover, the author’s beliefs are not important for the research as some of the latest works on the issue have clearly shown.1 The text is, mainly, more prodigal than any other in terms of alluding to concepts, objects or actions associated to forms of mystical religions. This abundance has attracted the attention of some Nonnian scholars, who have mentioned this text as the nucleus, or at least as an important point demonstrating Nonnus’ religious beliefs. In the so-called quaestio Nonniana, references to rituals play an important role, since Bogner pointed out that belief in mystical religions was one of the three pillars (along with magic and astrology) of the poet’s paganism.2 Thus, Francis Vian, Pierre Chuvin and Ángel Ruiz Pérez,3 have mentioned Mystis in discussing, in one sense or another, Nonnus’ * This paper has been written as a contribution to the following research projects carried out in Universities Complutense and Carlos III de Madrid: HUM2006-09403/FILO and HUM200762750/FILO. I am sincerely grateful to Ricardo Dorado Puntch for helping me out with the English version of this paper. 1 Cf., for example, Shorrock 2011, who discusses some poets’ ability to change their personae poeticae from Christian to Pagan, and vice versa. 2 Bogner 1934. 3 Vian 2005, 537 f.; Chuvin 1992; Ruiz Pérez 2002.

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religious beliefs, and we are allowed to think that it must be due to the abundance of mystical references. The principal purpose of this paper is to provide our own classification and commentary of such accumulation of mystical elements and references, in order to throw a little light on the type of knowledge that the poet could have had on mystical rites, specifically the Dionysiac and Orphic ones. We will set our whole argumentation around three key elements: a. The introduction of Mystis as an innovation in Nonnus’ account of Dionysus’ mythical life b. The allegorical use of the character to talk about mystical initiations (and consequently, the personification of an abstract concept) c. Our classification of the references alluding to the transmission of the ritual, the circumstances of celebration of the teletai, and the ones alluding to the ritual appearance required or rather figured in Dionysiac rituals.

1 Mystis, an Innovation of Nonnus There is more or less a general agreement on the fact that the Dionysiaca aims to be a compilation of all myths regarding Dionysus. The central episode in our passage, 9.111–31, deals with the god’s childhood. Firstly, the episode of Mystis serves us as an example of the poet’s tendency to follow the tradition, and at the same time to innovate on traditional accounts, the resource called imitatio cum variatione. Let us see the traditional elements in Dionysus’ childhood: he is born from Zeus and Semele who, deceived by Hera, gets struck by thunder and dies while pregnant. Zeus, as the tradition has it and Nonnus carefully maintains, sews the boy to his thigh so that the child may be brought forth. Once born, Zeus hands the baby to other gods, so that they may hide him from Hera, who keeps chasing him ferociously. While Ino (Semele’s sister) is in charge of Dionysus, Nonnus introduces a new character taking care of Dionysus: Mystis, a nurse, whose name or actions are absent from the rest of the sources. All the rest of the successive god’s nurses agrees with tradition, only Mystis is an innovation. She does not appear in any other passage of the work, nor is she essential for the plot of Dionysiaca. It is possible to find the reasons for her presence, firstly, in her name, a situation name, whose meaning points out to a poetic personification of the Mystical Initiation itself. So, Mystis’ presence and name explain, and are explained by, the actions that the nurse brings about in the passage from Dion. 9.111–31:

Nonnus’ Mystic Vocabulary Revisited: Mystis in Dionysiaca 9.111–31

Καὶ θεὸν ἔτρεφε Μύστις ἑῆς μετὰ μαζὸν ἀνάσσης ὄμμασιν ἀγρύπνοισι παρεδρήσσουσα Λυαίωι καὶ πινυτὴ θεράπαινα φερώνυμα μύστιδι τέχνηι ὄργια νυκτελίοιο διδασκομένη Διονύσου καὶ τελετὴν ἄγρυπνον ἐπεντύνουσα Λυαίωι πρώτη ῥόπτρον ἔσεισεν, ἐπεπλατάγησε δὲ Βάκχωι κύμβαλα δινεύουσα περίκροτα δίζυγι χαλκῶι πρώτη νυκτιχόρευτον ἀναψαμένη φλόγα πεύκης εὔιον ἐσμαράγησεν ἀκοιμήτωι Διονύσωι πρώτη καμπύλον ἄνθος ἀναδρέψασα κορύμβων ἄπλοκον ἀμπελόεντι κόμην μιτρώσατο δεσμῶι, αὐτὴ δ’ ἔπλεκε θύρσον ὁμόζυγον οἴνοπι κισσῶι, ἀκροτάτωι δὲ σίδηρον ἐπεσφήκωσε κορύμβωι κευθόμενον πετάλοισιν, ὅπως μὴ Βάκχον ἀμύξηι, καὶ φιάλας γυμνοῖσιν ἐπὶ στέρνοισι καθάψαι χαλκείας ἐνόησε καὶ ἰξύι δέρματα νεβρῶν, καὶ τελετῆς ζαθέης ἐγκύμονα μύστιδα κίστην, παίγνια κουρίζοντι διδασκομένωι Διονύσωι πρώτη ἐχιδνήεντα κατὰ χροὸς ἧψεν ἱμάντα σύμπλοκον, εἱλικόεις δὲ δράκων περὶ δίπλακα μίτρην ἅμματα κυκλώσας ὀφιώδεϊ κάμπτετο δεσμῶι.

213 111

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Mystis also nursed the god after her mistress’s breast, watching by the side of Lyaios with sleepless eyes. The clever handmaid taught him the art that bears her name, the mystic rites of Dionysus in the night. She prepared the unsleeping worship for Lyaios, she first took the rattle, and clanged the swinging cymbals with the resounding double bronze; she first kindled the nightdancing torch to a flame, and cried Euion to sleepless Dionysos; she first plucked the curving growth of ivy clusters, and tied her flowing hair with a wreath of vine; she alone entwined the thyrsus with purple ivy, and wedged on the top of the clusters an iron spike, covered with leaves that it might not scratch Bacchos. She thought of fitting plates of bronze over the naked breast, and fawnskins over the hips. She taught Dionysos to play with the mystical casket teeming with sacred things of worship, and to use them as childish toys.4

This is not the only text in the Dionysiaca which reflects mystical allusions, but it is the accumulation of the different references that makes it special, allowing us to have an idea about Nonnus’ knowledge of mystical rites. The most significant references to be commented appear italicized in the given text.

4 Translation by Rouse 1940.

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2 Mystis, an Allegorical Way to Refer to Dionysiac Ritual It seems not only possible but also necessary to talk about Mystis as an allegory or personification of the Initiation itself. Here, Nonnus must be following a tradition of Orphic echoes: the closest reference seems to be the Orphic Hymns, a heterogeneous collection of poems which may be dated between the second and third centuries CE. Hymn 49 introduces a mystical nurse, called Hipta (to whom the hymn is consecrated), vv. 1–4: Ἵπταν κικλήσκω, Βάκχου τροφόν, εὐάδα κούρην, μυστιπόλοις τελεταῖσιν ἀγαλλομένην Σάβου ἁγνοῦ νυκτερίοις τε χοροῖσιν ἐριβρεμέταο Ἰάκχου. κλῦθί μου εὐχομένου, χθονία μήτηρ, βασίλεια … I call upon Hipta, nurse of Bacchos, maiden possessed, in mystic rites she takes part, she exults in the worship of pure Sabos, and in the night dances of roaring Iacchos. O queen and chthonic mother, hear my prayer …5

The figure of Mystis is clearly connected to Hipta’s, as Janine Balty has shown in her article “Mystis” in LIMC.6 There are some relevant iconographic sources that seem to be used by Nonnus in this passage, as a marble relief preserved in the Louvre Museum which shows Silenus and Mystis/Hipta as Dionysus’ mystagogue and mystical nurse, respectively. Mystis’ name is not an invention of Nonnus, but its application to the nurse, called Hipta in the Orphic tradition, is original. The poet aims to present Mystis like the inventor of the rites honoring Dionysus. Nonnus’ insisting in the use of the noun μύστις, both as a common and a proper name along the text, has very much to do with such an intentio. Such ambivalence allows the paretymological play in verses 111 to 113: here, the first occurrence of the name “Mystis” is part of the introductory distich with which Nonnus marks the transition between the former scene (in which Dionysus, still a child, is next to Ino, ἑῆς … ἀνάσσης), and the one in question. In 9.113 we find the reciprocity between the nurse’s name and the denomination “mystic art” (μύστιδι τέχνηι) given to the type of rites that she founds; in order to make it still clearer, Nonnus insists and adds explicitly

5 Translation by Athanassakis – Wolkow 2013. 6 Balty 1997.

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that the rites take her name: ὄργια … φερώνυμα. The use of specific terms to designate celebrations associated with the mysteries, such as ὄργια in 9.114 and τελετή in 9.115, is significantly reduced to only two verses in all the passage. Such verses are, in addition, in immediate succession and their sense is practically identical, becoming another example of the poet’s inclination towards redundancy. Given Mystis’ allegorical nature, it seems a fair possibility that the set of ritual actions carried out in our passage may represent an overview of the constitutive elements of mystical rites, at least as Nonnus imagines them. It is to be remembered, nevertheless, that there are many other passages in the Dionysiaca where actions related to mystical rituals are referred to. Actually, it would be wrong to state that Mystis’ scene is the clearest or most complete description of Dionysiac cultic proceedings in Nonnus’ work. But it is also true that most of the references discussed here find parallels in other Nonnian passages that will be mentioned as well.

3 Classification of the References Our proposal of classification takes into account the following criteria: the structure and way of transmission of Dionysiac ritual, the objects used in mystic celebrations, the parallels in other sources and, finally, the characteristic clothes and instruments of the Maenads in literary and iconographic tradition.

3.1 Structure and Transmission in Ritual The expansion of his cult through the world serves as a pretext for Dionysus, the unquestionable protagonist of the poem, to undertake a war against the Indians and to punish all those characters who try to prevent it. That is why the references to Dionysiac ritual are the most meaningful to us at this point. According to Ruiz Pérez, Nonnus’ poem is wrought with myths that belonged to a ἱερὸς λόγος, containing grosso modo a series of narrative elements present in all stories involving people who reject Dionysus and suffer severe punishments. These characters are called θεομάχοι in the Dionysiaca. The ἱερὸς λόγος can be considered the theoretical foundation of a Dionysiac ritual and this “sacred story” is equivalent to the “spoken” part (λεγόμενα) of a series of cultic acts in which the representation of the myths constitutes the “dramatized” part (δρώμενα). The devotee must extract from the ἱερὸς λόγος a moral that, in the case of Dionysus, is as ambiguous as the personality of

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this equally cruel and merciful god: his extreme cruelty with his enemies is only comparable to the relief experienced by his worshippers. As for the structure of the Dionysiac ritual, which is extremely difficult to separate from Orphism in Nonnus and earlier times, Dion. 9.111–31 offers evidence of the way the “spoken” component was transmitted and complements other texts representing myths and objects used in the dramatization. We are going to discuss first about the important presence of two forms of the verb διδάσκω, which point at the specific way of transmission of mystical rites belonging to Dionysism and Orphism. This verb, meaning “to teach” in the active voice and “to learn” in the passive, is the one used specifically to refer to the process of transmission of mystical doctrines, especially Orphic. A mystagogue “teaches” the mýstes the knowledge regarding the mysteries in secret ceremonies. In the text we find two participles of this verb, one referring to Mystis and one to Dionysus: v. 114 and v. 128, although the part of the text corresponding to the second instance is corrupt. Both participles are ambiguous,7 for it is not clear whether they are participles in the medio-passive voice (“to teach”) or in the passive (“to learn”); the solution is provided by professor Vian by pointing out that Dionysus is not only initiated by Mystis, but also Mystis is initiated by the young, yet powerful, god.8 The passage also contains references to δρώμενα in Dionysiac ritual, not only to λεγόμενα. Thus can we consider the references to the dances, the wearing of “Dionysiac” clothes or the handling of certain musical instruments or torches, that are distributed all along the passage. Firmly connected with these allusions is the following group of references, that we call “the objects of the ritual”.

3.2 The Objects of the Ritual We have to talk firstly about the basket in 9.127 f.,9 translated “casket” by Rouse. The basket, or the casket, seems to have had a deep symbolic value in Orphism:10 Firmicus Maternus provides data on the mythical base of its mean7 Cf. Chrétien 1985, 108–9. 8 The distinction between active and middle voice of διδάσκω was neglected by some poets and late prose writers, middle being used like active in e.g. Pind. O. 8.59 or Luc. Somn. 10. 9 There are only two other references to a κίστη in the Dionysiaca, none of them in a mystical context. On the one hand, in 6.87 it designates a box where Astraeus keeps a heavenly sphere, and on the other, an occurrence in 27.116 is inserted in a military speech by Deriades, about the cinerary ballot-box in which the dead among the Dionysiac devotees will have to return to their country. 10 Also in the Eleusinian mysteries, where it was instrumental in the λεγώμενα, according to Clem. Protr. 2.21.2.

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ing when assuring that it contained the heart of Dionysus saved by Athena.11 Besides κίστη, also attested is the name κάλαθος, which served to protect the symbols of the mysteries that were to be revealed to the initiate during the ceremony. Clement Alexandrinus provides relevant evidence on its content, Protr. 2.22.4: Οἷαι δὲ καὶ αἱ κίσται μυστικαί· δεῖ γὰρ ἀπογυμνῶσαι τὰ ἅγια αὐτῶν καὶ τὰ ἄρρητα ἐξειπεῖν. Οὐ σησαμαῖ ταῦτα καὶ πυραμίδες καὶ τολύπαι καὶ πόπανα πολυόμφαλα χόνδροι τε ἁλῶν καὶ δράκων, ὄργιον Διονύσου Βασσάρου; What are these mystic chests? – for I must expose their sacred things, and divulge things not fit for speech. Are they not sesame cakes, and pyramidal cakes, and globular and flat cakes, embossed all over, and lumps of salt, and a snake the ritual instrument of Dionysus Bassareus?12

In the light of Clement’s evidence,13 it seems reasonable to think that some Orphic rituals would include a basket with a snake inside, a telluric animal that would serve therefore as a reminder of the initiate’s immortal origin and destiny.14 The Gurob papyrus (OF 578F) also mentions a different kind of content of the basket, named now κάλαθος. This text is of enormous importance for the study of Orphic ritual. In lines 28–30 we read: Ε]ἴς τὸν κάλαθον ἐμβαλῖν κ]ῶνος ῥόμβος ἀστράγαλοι ]η ἔσοπτρος. Put into the basket … pine, bull-roarer, knuckle-bones … mirror.

The text mentions a set of objects that in the Orphic myth of Dionysus’ dismembering would have served the Titans to deceive Dionysus before killing him. The papyrus text, combined with the one by Clement, allows us to say that the basket was used to contain one or more sacred symbols of the cult: the sacred snake, food-offerings and objects that suggested or evoked the god’s toys. Nevertheless, there is no reason why they should all be in the basket at

11 Firm. Mat. Err. 6.5 praefertur cista in qua cor soror latenter absconderat “it is carried the basket in which her sister had hidden secretly the heart”. 12 Translation by Herrero de Jáuregui 2010, 382–3. 13 And of others that agree with him: a series of Pergamus coins, dated to c. the second century CE, depict a snake leaving a basket. Cf. Cumont 1933, 246–7; Burkert 1993, 265 and n. 32. 14 Burkert 1987, 106; 1993, 265 and n. 34.

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the same time.15 On the other hand, the basket itself was a symbol of great religious value, as denoted by the fact that there was an officiant, the κιστοφόρος, receiving its name from being its carrier, like Demosthenes attests.16 In his speech On the Crown 259–60 Demosthenes asserts: … ἀνὴρ δὲ γενόμενος τῇ μητρὶ τελούσῃ τὰς βίβλους ἀνεγίγνωσκες καὶ τἄλλα συνεσκευωροῦ, τὴν μὲν νύκτα νεβρίζων καὶ κρατηρίζων καὶ καθαίρων τοὺς τελουμένους καὶ ἀπομάττων τῷ πηλῷ καὶ τοῖς πιτύροις, καὶ ἀνιστὰς ἀπὸ τοῦ καθαρμοῦ κελεύων λέγειν “ἔφυγον κακόν, εὗρον ἄμεινον”, ἐπὶ τῷ μηδένα πώποτε τηλικοῦτ’ ὀλολύξαι σεμνυνόμενος (καὶ ἔγωγε νομίζω· μὴ γὰρ οἴεσθ’ αὐτὸν φθέγγεσθαι μὲν οὕτω μέγα, ὀλολύζειν δ’ οὐχ ὑπέρλαμπρον), ἐν δὲ ταῖς ἡμέραις τοὺς καλοὺς θιάσους ἄγων διὰ τῶν ὁδῶν, τοὺς ἐστεφανωμένους τῷ μαράθῳ καὶ τῇ λεύκῃ, τοὺς ὄφεις τοὺς παρείας θλίβων καὶ ὑπὲρ τῆς κεφαλῆς αἰωρῶν, καὶ βοῶν “εὐοῖ σαβοῖ”, καὶ ἐπορχούμενος “ὑῆς ἄττης ἄττης ὑῆς”, ἔξαρχος καὶ προηγεμὼν καὶ κιττοφόρος καὶ λικνοφόρος καὶ τοιαῦθ’ ὑπὸ τῶν γρᾳδίων προσαγορευόμενος, μισθὸν λαμβάνων τούτων ἔνθρυπτα καὶ στρεπτοὺς καὶ νεήλατα, ἐφ’ οἷς τίς οὐκ ἂν ὡς ἀληθῶς αὑτὸν εὐδαιμονίσειε καὶ τὴν αὑτοῦ τύχην; On arriving at manhood you assisted your mother in her initiations, reading the servicebook while she performed the ritual, and helping generally with the paraphernalia. At night it was your duty to mix the libations, to clothe the catechumens in fawn-skins, to wash their bodies, to scour them with the loam and the bran, and, when their lustration was duly performed, to set them on their legs, and give out the hymn: “Here I leave my sins behind, Here the better way I find”, and it was your pride that no one ever emitted that holy ululation so powerfully as yourself. I can well believe it! When you hear the stentorian tones of the orator, can you doubt that the ejaculations of the acolyte were simply magnificent? In day-time you marshalled your gallant throng of bacchanals through the public streets, their heads garlanded with fennel and white poplar; and, as you went, you squeezed the fat-cheeked snakes, or brandished them above your head, now shouting your Euoi Saboi! now footing it to the measure of Hyes Attes! Attes Hyes! – saluted by all the old women with such proud titles as Master of the Ceremonies, Fugleman, Ivy-bearer, Fan-carrier; and at last receiving your recompense of tipsy-cakes, and cracknels, and currant-buns. With such rewards who would not rejoice greatly, and account himself the favorite of fortune?17

15 Sometimes the texts use the collective plural τὰ ὄργια to refer to the whole content of the basket: Theoc. 26.13 (cf. Gow ad loc.) and Cat. 64.260 pars (sc. bacchantium) obscura cavis celebrabant orgia cistis “Others [sc. Bacchants] honored the hidden sacred symbols in hollow baskets”. 16 Cf. Dem. 18.260. Demosthenes describes Aeschines holding a similar basket and brandishing snakes in his hands. 17 Translation by C. A. Vince and J. H. Vince (Loeb).

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Demosthenes ferociously parodies some Asian mysteries in which, according to him, Aeschines’ mother would have been a priestess. The text presents a significant accumulation of elements of diverse provenances, such as Dionysiac mysteries, but also Mithraism and the oriental – and womanish, in Greek eyes – cult of Attes.18 The orator ridicules subtly his opponent by using his mother as an excuse. However, of greater importance is the fact that Demosthenes accuses Aeschines of being pro-Macedonian. The allusion to the basket appears in the text in a twofold way: Demosthenes underlines the main role played by Aeschines in the ceremonies, first as his mother’s assistant, and then, surrounded by rich grannies, as κιττοφόρος καὶ λικνοφόρος καὶ τοιαῦθ’ ὑπὸ τῶν γρᾳδίων προσαγορευόμενος. Although the interpretation of κιττοφόρος as “sacred basket carrier” is not sure, and in fact our translation reflects the other possibility – understanding the word as “ivy carrier”, as a sign of the highest sacerdotal status of Aeschines – we have the second term composed of φέρω: λικνοφόρος, which takes us to a different object, called λίκνον, which was used in agriculture to separate grain from chaff. In Orphic celebrations, nevertheless, it had a symbolic value, mainly in the ceremonies designated καθαρμοί, whose aim was to purify the devotees. Dionysus himself has a cultic relationship with the λίκνον, given the fact that he is called Λικνίτης in some testimonies. According to them, the god would have been grown up in a fan, used as a cradle. Τhe λίκνον is therefore considered a sacred object in the realm of Dionysus in whose rites it could be used in the same way as the basket, κάλαθος or τάλαρος, the term used in Nonnus’ text.19 Harpocration Lex. s.v. λικνοφόρος adds a little information on the sacred “Fan-carrier” when commenting that it has to be present in every initiation ceremony (τελετή) and sacrificial offering. The basket and the fan were used as well to contain symbolic objects for the ritual. But it is difficult to know with certainty what that content was. Scholars have put forth many proposals, such fruit, wine or cake offerings – like the ones mentioned by Demosthenes – or the phallus,20 a theory which could be based on Clement’s testimony (Protr. 2.19.4) about the ritual basket of the Cabiri in Samothrace, containing Dionysus’ sexual organs. Shortly after this reference, in 2.22.4, Clement alludes to the mystical basket, in a text 18 For a more complete commentary on this passage, from the perspective of Dionysism, cf. García-Gasco, forthcoming. This curious mix of mystic elements increases the parodic sense of the text, which has been compared to Strepsiadesʼ initiating ceremony in Clouds 255–62 even since Goodwin 1904. Cf. also Wankel 1976 ad loc. 19 And also in the Eleusinian Mysteries. More about the λίκνον and its functions in Harrison 1903, 292–9 and 1904, 241–2.; Kroll 1926; Nilsson 1957, 21–37; Horn 1972, 56–62. 20 Cf. Foucart 1914, 378–9; Des Places 1969, 211; Burkert 1983, 269–70.

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quoted above in relation to the reference given by the Gurob papyrus on the same issue. The religious relevance of the basket is also proved by later testimonies which mention the κιστοφόρος, the officiant receiving their name from being its carrier: in the second and third centuries CE several inscriptions attest the existence of priests κισταφόροι, and priestesses κισταφορήσασαι, exclusively in charge of the basket care.21 In the Dionysiaca κάλαθος is replaced by the term τάλαρος used by Nonnus to evoke the Eleusinian mysteries, in three passages in which it appears closely associated with agriculture (13.189, 27.286, 31.69). The basket and the snake would not allow by themselves to talk exclusively about Dionysiac rites, because both symbols are also attested in Demeter and Persephone’s mysteries. On the other hand, the evidence from Clement and the aforementioned Gurob papyrus allow us to bring two elements together that in the passage referring to Mystis are not related to one another: the snake and the basket. Nonnus’ confusion is due to his lack of direct knowledge of the content and uses of a mystical basket, but it seems clear that both symbols belong to the same context. On the other hand, as we have seen, the Gurob papyrus mentions toys, even without classifying them very clearly: pine, bull-roarer and knucklebones. For Nonnus, the “mystical basket” is Dionysus’ toy itself: such is the lesson that Mystis, his nurse, teaches him according to verses 127–8. This allusion serves us to connect the importance of teaching with the dramatized practice of rituals. Nonnus is not interested in the content of the basket, but in the basket itself, for whose presence in Dionysiac rites he could have found the most useful source in iconography.

3.3 The Circumstances of the Teletaí: the Night In regard to the realization of δρώμενα of the mystical rites, we have to emphasize the words related with the night, indeed very numerous throughout the passage discussed here. They suggest that a great part of the mysteries in Nonnus’ time would take place at night: in 9.112 Nonnus talks about sleepless Mystis’ eyes (ὄμμασιν ἀγρύπνοισι), in 114 the same idea is reflected by a wellknown adjective of Dionysus (νυκτελίοιο .. Διονύσου) and in 115 the concept that receives the qualification of ἄγρυπνος is τελετή. Again, in 118 there is a reference to the ritual night dance (νυκτιχόρευτον), for which torches are

21 Jahn 1869, 323 f.; Henrichs 1969, 230 and n. 23. Cf. also Jiménez 2002, diss. § 2. 2. 3. 4.

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needed (φλόγα), whereas 119 contains a new reference to the “sleepless” condition of the god (ἀκοιμήτωι Διονύσωι). Demosthenes’ On the Crown quoted above contains an important reference to the night, during which a series of rituals related to Dionysism and Orphism take place: “At night it was your duty to mix the libations, to clothe the catechumens in fawn-skins, to wash their bodies, to scour them with the loam and the bran, and, when their lustration was duly performed, to set them on their legs, and give out the hymn: Here I leave my sins behind …”. Then, the author talks about another kind of celebrations, those which take place during the day. The later consisted, as it seems, on guiding the θίασοι, the name given in the sources to the groups of Dionysiac devotees. The former allusion, indeed, seems to be closer to Orphic celebrations. It is important that in Nonnus’ text the adjective νυκτέλιος “nightly” or “nocturnal”, is similar to another one, very well attested in texts referring to Dionysiac cults: νυκτίπολος, which is closely related to the other attribute used by Nonnus: νυκτιχόρευτος. In my opinion, νυκτέλιος guides us to νυκτίπολος and simultaneously to νυκτιχόρευτος. The earliest appearances of the term νυκτίπολος in Greek literature have to do with Dionysus’ followers, human or mythical, and not with the God himself. Thus in a fragment from Heraclitus of Ephesus (fr. 87 Marc. = 22 B 14 D–K), where it is used to criticise all participants in Dionysiac cults: Τίσι δὴ μαντεύεται Ἡράκλειτος ὁ Ἐφέσιος; «Νυκτιπόλοις, μάγοις, βάκχοις, λήναις, μύσταις», τούτοις ἀπειλεῖ τὰ μετὰ θάνατον, τούτοις μαντεύεται τὸ πῦρ· «τὰ γὰρ νομιζόμενα κατὰ ἀνθρώπους μυστήρια ἀνιερωστὶ μυοῦνται». For whom does Heraclitus of Ephesus prophesy? For night-wandering wizards, Bacchants, Lenaeans, initiates. These are the ones he threatens with the things that come after death; for these he prophesies fire. For the initiation-rites accepted among mankind they perform (are initiated into?) in an impious manner.22

The Bacchants are as well called νυκτίπολαι in Eur. Ion 716–7: ἵνα Βάκχιος ἀμφιπύρους ἀνέχων πεύκας λαιψηρὰ πηδᾷ νυκτιπόλοις ἅμα σὺν Βάκχαις, There Dionysus holding aloft twin torches leaps nimbly about in company with his nightranging maenads.23

22 Translation by T. M. Robinson. 23 Translation by D. Kovacs (Loeb).

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The adjective νυκτίπολος is applied to Dionysus for the first time in Eur. Cret. TrGF 472 = OF 567): Φοινικογενοῦς παῖ τῆς Τυρίας τέκνον Εὐρώπης καὶ τοῦ μεγάλου Ζηνός, ἀνάσσων Κρήτης ἑκατομπτολιέθρου· ἥκω ζαθέους ναοὺς προλιπών, οὓς αὐθιγενὴς τμηθεῖσα δοκὸς στεγανοὺς παρέχει Χαλύβωι πελέκει καὶ ταυροδέτωι κόλληι κραθεῖσ’ ἀτρεκεῖς ἁρμοὺς κυπαρίσσου. ἁγνὸν δὲ βίον τείνομεν ἐξ οὗ Διὸς Ἰδαίου μύστης γενόμην, καὶ νυκτιπόλου Ζαγρέως βροντὰς τοὺς ὠμοφάγους δαίτας τελέσας μητρί τ’ ὀρείωι δᾶιδας ἀνασχὼν καὶ κουρήτων βάκχος ἐκλήθην ὁσιωθείς. πάλλευκα δ’ ἔχων εἵματα φεύγω γένεσίν τε βροτῶν καὶ νεκροθήκης οὐ χριμπτόμενος τήν τ’ ἐμψύχων βρῶσιν ἐδεστῶν πεφύλαγμαι.24 Son of Phoenician-born Europa and of great Zeus – you who rule Crete and its hundred cities! I have come here from the most holy temple whose roo fis provided from native cypress-wood cut into beams with Chalybean axe and bonded in exact points with oxglue. Pure is the life I have led since I became an initiate of Idaean Zeus and a servitor of night-ranging Zagreus, performing his feasts of raw flesh; and raising torches high to the mountain Mother among the Curetes, I was consecrated and named a celebrant. In clothing all of white I shun the birthing of men and the places of their dead I do not go near; against the eating of animal foods I have guarded myself.25

This text is an enlightening compendium of information about the earliest form of Orphism, as A. Bernabé has recently demonstrated.26 Plutarch mentions the adjective νυκτέλιος in close relation with Orphism, De E Delph. 389a: τὸ μὲν πάθημα καὶ τὴν μεταβολὴν διασπασμόν τινα καὶ διαμελισμὸν αἰνίττονται: Διόνυσον δὲ καὶ Ζαγρέα καὶ Νυκτέλιον καὶ Ἰσοδαίτην αὐτὸν

24 I print the text as edited by Bernabé 2004. 25 Translation by C. Collard – M. Cropp (Loeb). 26 Bernabé 2004.

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ὀνομάζουσι, καὶ φθοράς τινας καὶ ἀφανισμοὺς οἱ τὰς ἀποβιώσεις καὶ παλιγγενεσίας, οἰκεῖα ταῖς εἰρημέναις μεταβολαῖς αἰνίγματα καὶ μυθεύματα περαίνουσι… … they speak in a deceptive way of what he undergoes in his transformation as a tearing apart, as it were, and a dismemberment. They give him the names of Dionysus, Zagreus, Nyctelius, and Isodaetes; they construct destructions and disappearances, followed by returns to life and regenerations–riddles and fabulous tales quite in keeping with the aforesaid transformations.27

Zagreus is the name commonly given in later sources to the protagonist god in the foundational Orphic myth. According to it, Zeus would have designated a young son of his as his successor. The Titans, instigated by Hera, trick, murder and dismember him, and finally eat his flesh, according to some versions.28 As Graf 1974, 32 f. has shown, the cultic attributes to the night have much to do with the secret and mystical condition of some Dionysiac and Orphic rites. So, it seems reasonable to take in consideration Nonnus’ knowledge of the connection between this adjective and the Orphic Dionysus.29

3.4 The Ritual Appeareance: Dionysiac Clothes, Ornaments and Instruments Finally, we will discuss the textual references to features referring to the physical appearance of the mýstes in the Dionysiac ritual, namely to their clothes and ornaments, which, in fact, seem to pertain to mythical territory, rather than ritual. In 9.120–4 we find the consecration by Mystis of the cultic vegetal objects, the grapevine and the ivy, which intertwine around the thyrsus, the essential complement of the Bacchants traditional image. Nébrys “fawn-skin”, mentioned in verse 126, is also an element of well-known frequency in Bacchic imagery, contrarily to the bronze receptacles that Mystis uses as a striking garment placed on her chest (9.125–6). Wilson points to the conclusion that Nonnus would have taken this tale about Mystis and the sacred objects from an older source and that he would have wrongly understood a sentence in which a φιάλη and a μαστάριον, both of them names for a distilling apparatus, were compared. So, it is due to a simple lexical error, a deficient reading on

27 Translation from F. C. Babbitt’s Loeb (Moralia V). 28 Bernabé 2008a, with bibliography. 29 Nevertheless, νυκτίπολος is also an epithet to other divinities as Themis (Orph. Hy. 79.7), Enodia (Eur. Ion 1048), or Hecate (Apoll. Rhod. 3.862; 4.148, 829, 1020). All of them are related to the Netherworld.

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Nonnus’ part or a misunderstanding of the fragment of Euphorion which seems to be his source of inspiration, CA 13 = 14 Lightfoot: Ἐν πυρὶ Βάκχον δῖον ὑπὲρ φιάλης ἐβάλοντο. On the fire they placed the divine Bacchus, in a phiále.

Wilson’s arguments range from Christian apologists, like Pseudo-Cyprianus or Tertullian, to Zosimus the alchemist, who lived between the third and the fourth century CE. The first evidence is provided by Christian authors when speaking of certain rites of pagan baptism in which wine and fire play a significant role. On the other hand, Zosimus talks about a series of distilling apparatus, one of which was called φιάλη. It seems that this was the term which, along with χαλκεῖον, was used as a general designation for the still, before the appearance of the τρίβικος, also mentioned by Zosimus. The Hellenistic still, however, was known as μαστάριον. One may therefore conclude that, if we consider that, a tradition of initiatory ritual had existed in which fire and distilled wine were used, it would have most probably belonged to a Dionysiac ritual. The confusion, as proposed by Wilson, is facilitated by the fact that in Nonnus’ time the Gnostic sect had already been expelled and the pagan cults were in a terminal state, so that Nonnus’ factual knowledge of ritual wine distillations was probably null. Thus, he probably interprets μαστάριον, inserted by his source in a sentence dealing with a φιάλη in the shape of a breast (μαστός), and he consequently imagines it as if it were a metallic article to cover the breast. Nevertheless, the text of Euphorion CA 13 is highly uncertain, as pointed out by Magnelli, who reasonably amended the problematic structure ὑπὲρ φιάλης, endorsing ὑπερφίαλοι in its place.30 Thus, the presence of φιάλαι in the passage can be explained (Wilson) or denied (Magnelli), which makes the possibility of Nonnus directly knowing Dionysiac and mystic ritual still fainter and less probable. There have been other attempts of explanation: Eitrem tries to defend the received text by seeing in φιάλαι chimes, bells, or bronze vessels from which the Maenads used to drink milk; Cook thinks they would be vessels used in libations; Chrétien talks about hanging ornaments, and Turcan thinks of bells.31 All of them have in common the reference to objects whose presence in the ritual, the iconography or literature related to Dionysus is confirmed by evidence prior to Nonnus. They explain the object from an archetypical conception of a Maenad that corresponds to the one from Dionysiac imagery. Mys30 Magnelli 2002, 149–50. 31 Eitrem 1935; Cook 1925, 346–7; Chrétien 1985, 110; Turcan 1966, 548–51.

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tis’ actions in Nonnus do not have to be taken literally, as if a document of ritual actions, but rather as an accumulation of literary and iconographical elements. Such a point of view would allow us to conciliate Wilson’s vision, according to which there is no reason for the presence of the φιάλαι, with the one of those who see in them components of the Bacchant image that the sources have created. The same explanation is valid for the use of snakes as belts, although in this case the parallels are evident and more numerous. Indeed, the inclusion of the reptile in the ritual clothing is only a variant of the handling of these animals that the tradition considers characteristic of Maenads in a state of divine possession. The snake is an animal strongly linked to Dionysus and his followers in a great number of testimonies. Thus, Plutarch talks about Alexander the Great’s mother, Olympias, who apparently used to take part in Bacchic celebrations, where she would have taken these animals in her hands, Alex. 2.6: ἡ δὲ Ὀλυμπιὰς μᾶλλον ἑτέρων ζηλώσασα τὰς κατοχὰς καὶ τοὺς ἐνθουσιασμοὺς ἐξάγουσα βαρβαρικώτερον ὄφεις μεγάλους χειροήθεις ἐφείλκετο τοῖς θιάσοις, οἳ πολλάκις ἐκ τοῦ κιττοῦ καὶ τῶν μυστικῶν λίκνων παραναδυόμενοι καὶ περιελιττόμενοι τοῖς θύρσοις τῶν γυναικῶν καὶ τοῖς στεφάνοις ἐξέπληττον τοὺς ἄνδρας. Now Olympias, who affected these divine possessions more zealously than other women, and carried out these divine inspirations in wilder fashion, used to provide the revelling companies with great tame serpents, which would often lift their heads from out the ivy and the mystic winnowing-baskets, or coil themselves about the wands and garlands of the women, thus terrifying the men.32

We also find snakes in Demosthenes’ On the Crown 260 cited above. The orator accuses Aeschines’ mother to have been a priestess in some kind of mystical rites, but she is not the one to handle the snakes, but Aeschines himself: “you squeezed (θλίβων) the fat-cheeked snakes, or brandished them above your head, now shouting your Euoi Saboi! Now footing it to the measure of Hyes Attes! Attes Hyes”. The reference is clearly made to a celebration in honor of Bacchus, identified with an oriental god called Sabazios honored by means of the ritual cry Saboi. On the other hand, the first part of the cry is traditional when celebrating Dionysus. As for Demosthenes’ allusion to snakes brandished by the devotees, this is a well attested practice. In Nonnus, actually, we find snakes that interact

32 Translation by B. Perrin (Loeb).

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friendly with the Maenads, as, for example, in Dion. 35.204–22: when the Bacchant Chalcomede is about to be raped by the Indian Morrheus, a snake suddenly comes out of her clothes and terrifies the warrior. But the aetiological explanation of the relationship between the snake and Dionysius’ realm, as many other traditionally Dionysiac elements, is found in Eur. Bacc. 99–104: ἔτεκεν δ’, ἁνίκα Μοῖραι τέλεσαν, ταυρόκερων θεὸν στεφάνωσέν τε δρακόντων στεφάνοις, ἔνθεν ἄγραν θηροτρόφον μαινάδες ἀμφιβάλλονται πλοκάμοις. Whom once his mother had within her in the inescapable pains of childbirth when the thunder of Zeus flew and she thrust him premature from her womb, and she left her life at the stroke of the thunder and lighting. And immediately in the birth chambers Zeus the son of Kronos received him. And he covered him in his thigh and closed it up with golden pins, to conceal him from Hera. And he gave birth, when the fates brought completion, to the bull-horned god, and crowned him with crowns of snakes, for which reason the Maenads cast the prey that feeds on beasts around their hair.33

We should also mention the parallels to Mystis’ Dionysiac clothes in the earlier sources. Besides the snakes and the phiálai, Nonnus talks about other objects used by Mystis in this first mystical initiation: fawn-skins, δέρματα νεβρῶν, and the thyrsus, crowned with ivy, θύρσον ὁμόζυγον οἴνοπι κισσῶι. Once again, the main source is to be found in the Bacchants, which we can consider the archetype for all literary and iconographic imagery that existed in Euripides’ time and that was to come later. As for the nébrys, the ritual animal skin that Dionysus and Bacchants used to wear, it is also present in Demosthenes’ text in the form of the participle νεβρίζων, referring to the act of Aeschines putting this garment on the initiates. Finally, Nonnus’ mention of musical instruments like the rattle and the cymbals, in 9.116–7, completes this comprehensive picture of the archetype Bacchant.

4 Conclusion The passage examined does not throw light on the old question of the author’s religious beliefs. Moreover, as noted above, this paper is far from trying to

33 Translation by Seaford 2011.

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answer that question. Nevertheless, the Nonnian text about Mystis is useful, if for nothing else, for demonstrating the operative way of one of the governing principles in the poem (imitatio cum variatione): on a traditional basis, the poet uses a character from a minoritarian tradition. The use of the name Mystis instead of Hipta aims to reinforce the allegorical status of the figure, but also to facilitate the etymological plays in phrases where mýstis is used as a common name. The accumulation of elements of various mystery rites, as well as the general confusion between diverse cults, allows us to discern Nonnus’ erudition. However, it does not prove a direct knowledge of the ritual, but a profound erudition that is supported by the study of the iconography of Late Antiquity. The text quoted and commented as well as all its references are very near to well-known images containing Dionysiac themes. The influence of the written sources is also relevant, as we attempted to demonstrate.

David Hernández de la Fuente

Neoplatonic Form and Content in Nonnus: Towards a New Reading of Nonnian Poetics 1 Nonnus of Panopolis has left an unrepeatable and permanent trace in the history of Greek literature. The opus magnum attributed to him – the 48 cantos of the Dionysiaca and the hexameter Paraphrase of the Gospel of St. John – although embedded in a long tradition starting in Homer, marks a turning point in Greek poetry1 and could as well be understood as a symbolic token of the new literary and spiritual trends of this time of change.2 Style is no doubt a great part of the literary challenge of Nonnus in a kind of querelle des anciens et des modernes that he raises in the prologue (1.1–13) and the second proem of the Dionysiaca (25.27). Nonnian poetics, which could perhaps be the best instance of eclecticism in Late Antique literature, consciously depart from classical standards: while based in Homer and the epic tradition, Nonnus seeks to overcome the Father of all bards with a peculiar thematic mixture of genres: tragedy, hymnography, comedy, pastoral poetry and even novel. Similarly, his poetics surpass all Aristotelian requirements and mark a swift transition – both in form and content – to a deeply Neoplatonic mode. His other poem is also significantly marked by the choice of the most philosophical of all Gospels and by the theological discussions reflected upon its poetic version. The precise and pregnant adjectives, alliterations and bold metaphors regarding the Logos at the Prologue of the Paraphrase (1.1–58) confirm the unity of style of both Nonnian enterprises. Indeed, Nonnus’ poetics are coloured with a very striking set of characteristics – such as thematic eclecticism, descriptive and allegorical richness3 together with a certain “baroqueness” and variety or poikilía4 – which contribute to a colourful impression that has aroused both perplexity and admiration among the readers of the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrase over the centuries. Such care for formal details cannot be coincidental, and we believe that the reader must be aware that the strangeness of his aesthetics could have deeper implications in the level of content. Not only questions of poetic form and content can be explained from Neoplatonic aes1 2 3 4

There is a long list of imitators of Nonnus. Cf. Keydell 1936, 904–20 and 1941. Cf. Hernández de la Fuente 2008a. For the visual style of Nonnus cf. String 1966, 89. String 1966, 33–5; Fauth 1981, 123.

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thetic, ethical and metaphysical views,5 but also a complete reading of Nonnus’ works can be achieved through some Leitmotive appearing both in the Dionysiaca and in the Paraphrase, and involving Neoplatonic ideas. Thus Nonnus’ poetry would contain, if our views are confirmed, a practical application of the aesthetic principles of Neoplatonism on the basis on three main aspects: a. the metaphysical transition from the One to the Many through imitation, reflection and continuous change-metamorphosis, b. the circular motion of the universe, the soul – through a cyclic death and rebirth –, divinity and noetic or prophetic thought and c. the effects of prophecy as a sign of the divine Unity in our sensible world. The first one refers mainly to the sensible world and the second to the upper cosmos or the intelligible world. The poetic style transcends here the formal elements and implies an undeniable ideological background related to the cultural environment that inspired the poet. Neoplatonic aesthetics are strongly based on metaphysics and a brief survey of both will help us understand the thematic choice of Nonnus’ poetry, linking form and content, and his philosophical vision of divinity. As it is well known, Neoplatonism puts forward a philosophical system consisting in a hierarchic structure of reality formed by multiple levels, where the inferior ones strictly and ontologically depend on the former ones in succession, according to their greater or lesser degree of participation in the Being. The One is the foundation of the whole reality but not the origin of every level, which is produced by emanation from the one immediately superior.6 In Plotinus, the intellect is produced from the One and the soul emerges from the intellect in a system of metaphysical, not space-temporal, causality. These three higher principles or hypostases lie behind the surface phenomena that present themselves to our senses. Each of the levels, according to Proclus, transmits a power or dynamis to the inferior one, giving birth to it or causing its qualities. The last level is always our sensible world, which exists in time and space, where unity disappears completely and the derivative process of emanation ends. The material world is an imperfect imitation of the intelligible world achieved through the impression of the divine model upon Matter. Thus, in general, the Neoplatonists’ idea of reality is a transition from the One to the Many, from the perfect, immortal and unutterable unity of the highest level to the multiplicity of our mortal sensible world. Thus, a lesser participation in the Being implies an increase in variety and multiplicity in a process of separation between the intelligible reality and the sensible world. Of course, the relation

5 Cf. e.g. Schneider 1892, 593–601; Gigli Piccardi 1985, 215–6 and Hernández de la Fuente 2011a. 6 A good summary is in Wallis 1995, 1–15 and Remes 2008, 35–76.

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between Unity and Multiplicity was also a central notion of Platonism.7 The members of the Platonic Academy discussed such ideas over the centuries and, even before, they were key issues in what we know of the astronomical discussion of the so-called Pythagoreans.8 This ontological transition of reality was thoroughly discussed in the New Academy, not only the aforementioned downward movement from the One to the Many (Progression) but also the upward one from the Many to the One (Reversion), a kind of mystical coming back to divine unity:9 a key moment was, indeed, the transition of the souls from the intelligible to the material world, which was usually explained both through physical descriptions of circular motions and through mythical allegories. Secondly, the representation of both the universe as a sphere and the explanation of its motion – also related to that of the soul and the soul of the world – has as a Platonic idea enormous relevance in the history of thought. The very act of contemplation is described by Plato as a circular motion, in contrast to the rectilinear movement of action.10 Thus, according to the philosophical cosmology, cosmogony and psychology of Plato’s dialogues such as Timaeus, Phaedo, Phaedrus or Laws, the circular movement characterizes both the revolutions of the cosmos and the voyages of the soul, and even the best kind of reasoning.11 Plotinus insisted on the topic of circular motion following closely Plato’s Timaeus (34a–b, 36e–37a) and understanding it as the result of abstract thought separate from the sensitive nature of the world. One of Plotinus’ intentions through this reworking was to deny Aristotle’s theory of movement by the unmoved mover (cf. De caelo 285a). At another level, however, spatial continuity between the two worlds, sensible and intelligible, and between body and soul in the Enneads (2.2.2, 5 and 4.4.16, 27) seems particularly outstanding for this reworking of the circular motion, as basic principle of the intellect and, at the same time, as a kind of mechanical belt communicating both realities. The Neoplatonists were concerned with the question of which is the relationship between the circular motion of the sensible world and that of the intelligible world, which constitutes its real centre. Plotinus’ treatise On the circular motion introduces the notion of analogy, giving account of the motion of the sensible world in relation to its principles, which are placed in the level of the intangible realities. Iamblichus On the Mysteries 7 Cf. Lisi 2011, 249 f.; De Vogel 1953. 8 For Plato cf. e.g. Parm. 134e–137c and Dorter 1994, 47 f.; Phil. 16b–17a and Hampton 1990, 23–6. Regarding Pythagoreanism and the Platonic number theory cf. Burkert 1972, 85–6. 9 Cf. Plot. 4.4.2, Procl. In Alc. 2.153; see Dodds 1963, 35–7. 10 Pl. Tim. 40a. 11 See, e.g., Pl. Phdr. 247b–d, Rep. 616b–617d, Tim. 34a–b, Laws 897c.

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1.3 recalls this theory saying that “The whole heaven, including the universe imitating this, goes around in a circular revolution, unites all to itself and leads the elements whirling in a circle; and all things being one another, it holds them together and defines their equal proportions”. Thus, there shall be an analogy between the centre of the circle, which is shaped by the sensible world in its motion, and the intangible realities and circularity connect everything to each other, uniting form and content. Soon the question shall pass from physics to the idea and shape of divinity. But a detailed explanation both of the transition from Unity to Multiplicity and of Platonic circularity goes beyond the scope of this contribution. The third thematic issue of Neoplatonism that recalls our preliminary attention is the philosophical use of pagan traditions and collections of oracular texts as source of wisdom by some Neoplatonists. On the one side the aim of these collections of oracles was to update the traditional pagan religion. The Chaldean Oracles, for example, were perhaps the most influential text. They consist of a collection of hexameter verses, traditionally ascribed to Julian Theurgos (2nd cent.), although probably compiled later.12 Their cosmological, soteriological and ethical wisdom was held by Neoplatonists as Iamblichus to be divine revelation. Their doctrine provided a “Father” on the summit of a hierarchical universe with a heavenly trinity of hypostaseis (Intellect, Hecate and World-Soul), which of course act as a pseudo-religious basis for Neoplatonic metaphysics.13 These oracles, on which Porphyry commented as well in his On Philosophy from Oracles, testify to the eclectic nature of Oriental Neoplatonism, combining Platonic elements to traditional pagan beliefs (as thinkers such as Iamblichus, Hierocles or Damascius were trying to do), and putting forward a protreptical vademecum in order to direct people towards a contemplative life away from the sensible world. We can also mention some other collections of oracles with opposite propagandistic aims, but all of them important in the understanding of Nonnus’ poetical context: the Sibylline Oracles, a colorful collection of apocryphal prophesies from the first century BC to the sixth century CE, using the authority of the classical sibyls to promote the views of their Judeo-Christian forgers,14 and the so-called Tübingen Theosophy, probably written during the reign of Emperor Zeno (died 491), which contains quotes from pagan oracles. This hexameter collection was used as justification for the transfer of pagan wisdom to the new official religion of the empire and contains evidence of a strong Christian apologetic intention.15 The 12 13 14 15

Majercik 1989; Athanassiadi 1999; Goulet 2000, 978; Remes 2008, 15 f.; Lewy 2011. Saffrey 1981; Reale 2004, 312 f. Rieuwerd 2003; Lightfoot 2007; Hooker 2008. Beatrice 1995.

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peculiarity of these texts is precisely the connection between pagan religious and philosophical traditions and Christology.16 In any case the eclectic assortment of pagan philosophy and the Judeo-Christian views in these collections of oracles reveal the powerful influence of the cultural tradition of the ancient prophecy, be it for either justifying the new faith, or the Neoplatonic systems. But more interestingly, for our purpose, after the Neoplatonic physics and their metaphysical developments, are the aesthetic implications stemming from these three points and the allegorical interpretation of classical myths and gods allowed by Neoplatonism from Plotinus and Porphyry onwards. Plotinus himself opened up the way for superseding the classical canons through the consideration of art as a mimesis in direct contact with the world of ideas and capable of reflecting Unity and portraying the One. The Egyptian philosopher defends the art of imitation in three ways: firstly, because imitation is present everywhere as a principle of both realities; secondly, because it can go beyond sensible realities and take us to the principles underlying nature (Enn. 4.3.11); and thirdly, because imitation may even enhance the beauty of nature. For Plotinus, art becomes a symbolic rather than representative element, and it is described as a real source of knowledge for the world of ideas. Ultimately, the supreme knowledge of the sensible world can be facilitated by the arts. Thus, the transition from the One to the Many, the old dilemma of Platonism, could found a way out through plastic or figurative arts. These sketches of a general theory on aesthetics shall find a vivid concretion in Porphyry. The philosopher of Tyre, so keen on the allegories of classical Greek art and epic, wrote a lost work, On statues, where the contemplation of an artistic representation of divinity seems to lead the soul to a higher level of understanding. Of course, the best possible way of portraying the gods and the cosmos is a circular one (On statues fr. 352F ap. Eus. PE 3.7.4). However, these canons of circularity do not apply only to terms of art, but also to literature. Let us remember that Neoplatonism rescued poetry after its alleged condemnation by Plato.17 Proclus in his Commentary on the Republic (V–VI) restores poetry as a way of superior learning, and claims that this art is capable of making contact with the divine world. Proclus equates poetry to the language of the mysteries in his theory of poetic allegory and introduces literature in his idea of the cosmos and reflection, according to which, the structure of the whole is reflected in every part as in a mirror.18 Proclus (In

16 For the Christian use of pagan oracles cf. Nieto Ibáñez 2010; Hernández de la Fuente 2008a, 245–52. 17 Cf. in general Sheppard 1980. 18 Sheppard 1980, 146–7.

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Remp. I.177.7–196.13) speaks of three types of poetry – inspired, didactic and mimetic – of which, following Pl. Phdr. 245a, the former is higher and inspires the poet to a super-rational cognition, allowing him an understanding of metaphysical truths. Accordingly, the reader who is capable of disentangling the allegory in such poems will also have an open path to real knowledge.19 According to Neoplatonic aesthetics, then, art reflects the multiplicity of the sensible world through a variety of images. Neoplatonists will allude to the representation of the supra-sensible world, especially of stars and sky, but also of eternity itself, “through the circle and circular things”. Another key issue of this theory of mimesis is that of reflection, the mirroring of true intellectual upper reality in our world. As Sheppard (1980, 161) put it “in Proclus’ thought everything really does reflect everything else. Like a modern structuralist he finds the same underlying pattern in the mysteries, in theurgy, in philosophy, in language, in myth, and in the world as a whole. The principles behind the use of symbola in theurgy are also the principles behind Proclus’ interpretation of poetic myths and so he can transfer language from the one sphere to the other and use mystic language to provide a terminology for allegory”. Allegory and representation provide us with the ultimate aesthetic key to the understanding of some of the characteristics of Late Antique poetics and, in particular, of Nonnus’ poetry. Thus, as we shall now briefly analyse, Nonnus’ thematic choice – especially regarding the main heroes of his poems – is not difficult to explain when one thinks of the Neoplatonic background of Dionysus, on the one hand, and of the Gospel of Saint John, on the other.

2 We must then examine the allegorical interpretation of both Dionysus and Christ in the Neoplatonic tradition as a symbol of alternatively the second hypostasis, the world soul and the contact between the intellect and the sensible world. The place of the non-created second hypostasis of Neoplatonism, that is to say God’s Son or the Logos – which evidently in Christianity corresponded to Jesus Christ – was slightly more complicated in pagan henotheism.20 Most of the time, Late Antique theologians referred either to Phoebus19 Sheppard 1980, 172. 20 On the concept of henotheism, i.e. the worship of a single and supreme god, without questioning the existence of other deities, see Versnel 1990, 35 f. and Alvar 2010. Cf. a general survey in Athanassiadi 1999.

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Apollo or to Dionysus. Late Antique theological assimilations tending to henotheism favoured diverse eclectic systems parallel to Neoplatonic schemes. A good example of these currents is Macrobius, in whose Saturnalia there is a unique god in two phases, celestial or underground, Day or Night, Apollo or Dionysus, identified as the same deity (Sat. 1.18.7).21 Dionysus will become the God’s son par excellence, perhaps the most notable Christus alter of Late Antique paganism.22 Regarding Dionysus, this interpretation had probably already been explored in the pre-Plotinian Platonism, as Plutarch looked to Dionysian myths for his views on physics (De Is. et Os. 364d–365b) and as allegorical reference to the heavenly cycles (368d),23 but it is also to be seen in Plotinus, Porphyry, and especially in the later Neoplatonism of Olympiodorus and Damascius. The Neoplatonic exegesis of myths provided a metaphysical key for the explanation of the connexions between the intelligible and the sensible worlds, as Mariño Sánchez has analysed.24 Also, in the case of Dionysus, the Orphic myth of Zagreus, involving the sacrifice of the god by the Titans and his later rebirth, was used not only as a symbolic narrative of the destiny of the soul, but also as a metaphysical allegory of the transition between unity and multiplicity, the intelligible and the sensible world, the indivisible and the divisible, the reality and the reflection. The myth of Zagreus, probably an ancient Orphic story known at least from the fourth century BC, provides the god Dionysus with a deeply eschatological and soteriological dimension in the mystery religions,25 which will be determinant to its Neoplatonical reworking. In their commentaries, the Neoplatonists were no less interested in the allegorical interpretation of the ancient poems and myths than in the dialectics of Plato’s works. In the myth of Zagreus the young god is deceived by the Titans with some ritual toys and a mirror. This object reflects the reality, as a parallel of the soul at the crossroads of the intelligible and the sensible world, the One and the many.26 Plotinus (4.3.12) interprets this mirror in order to explain the transition of the soul from the intelligible to the sensible world in the following way: “the souls of men see their images as if in the mirror of Dionysus and pass to be on that level leaping from above, but they are not torn off from their own principle and from the intellect” (transl. Armstrong). Here the myth 21 Cf. also Martianus Capella De nupt. Phil. et Merc. 2.185 f. A study on solar syncretism in Late Antiquity can be found in Fauth 1995, 165–83. 22 As a general framework see the studies by Nilsson 1957 and Bruhl 1953. 23 Cf. Tarrant 2010, 85. 24 See, in general, Mariño Sánchez 2007, 373 f. 25 Bernabé 2003, 69, 253 f. 26 Cf. Plot. 3.13.25, 4.3.12, Procl. In Tim. ΙI.78.12 f., etc.

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of Dionysus-Zagreus is allegorically used in order not only to express the Neoplatonic cosmology but also the circular voyage of the souls from the superior region of the celestial sphere down to the sensible world and vice versa, both the downward movement of progression towards multiplicity and the upward one of Reversion to Unity. The cycle of the soul, as we have already mentioned, plays an important role in the Platonic and Neoplatonic eschatology.27 The dismemberment of Zagreus was then a key element in order to approach the henotheistic interpretation of the Neoplatonic consideration of Dionysus as the God’s Son in a soteriological and eschatological function. In his Commentary on the Dream of Scipio Macrobius alludes to the myth of Dionysus Zagreus, where the God’s Son is identified with the “material intellect”, that is, the “reflection” of the intelligible world upon Matter: “Members of the Orphic sect believe that material mind is represented by Bacchus himself, who, born of a single parent, is divided into separate parts. In their sacred rites they portray him as being torn to pieces at the hands of angry Titans and arising again from his buried limbs alive and sound, their reason being that Nous or Mind, by offering its undivided state to the indivisible, both fulfils its worldly functions and does not forsake its secret nature” (1.12.12, transl. Stahl). Thus, the death of Dionysus, who is torn up in many fragments after seeing his reflection in the mirror, works here as an allegory of the transition from the One to the multiple material world. For Proclus’ system, at last, this episode of Zagreus and the mirror also had a determinant cosmological role: the death and dismemberment of the God’s Son was interpreted as the symbol of creation and the differentiation of matter. In Proclus’ Commentary on Timaeus, the young Dionysus appears as an allegory of the cosmic intellect, which suffers a process of division in order to create the world. Proclus intends the mirror of Dionysus to represent “a symbol of the capacity of the Universe to be filled up with the intellect” (In Tim. III.80.20 f.) and the intellect as the “undivided substance” of Dionysus (In Tim. III.145.9 f.), which is torn up into a multiplicity of fragments by the action of the Titans. Afterwards, Proclus interprets Dionysus’ rebirth from Zeus’ thigh and his subsequent care by the nurse Hipta28 as the reception of the intelligible forms by the world soul, participating in the “mundane intellect” of the world, that is to say Dionysus: the nurse Hipta “receives Dionysus 27 Further details on the Neoplatonic eschatology of this myth and a comparison between Macrobius and Plotinus in Mariño Sánchez 2007, 378–80. 28 Hipta, formerly a goddess of western Asia Minor mentioned on Lydian inscriptions, is related to Dionysus Sabazius. In the Orphic myths, she is quoted as a wet-nurse, to whom Zeus gives the new-born Dionysus and appears in Orphic Hy. 48 and 49, cf. OF 329F and see García-Gasco in the present volume p. 214.

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[or Bacchus]. For with the most divine part of herself, she becomes the receptacle of an intellectual essence, and receives the mundane intellect, which proceeds into her from the thigh of Jupiter […] For as Plato before observed, it is impossible for the intellect to accede to any thing without soul. But this is similar to what is asserted by Orpheus; by whom Dionysus is also called “the sweet offspring of Jupiter”. This, however is the mundane intellect, which proceeds into light conformably to the intellect that abides in Jupiter. Thus too, the divinely-delivered theology [of the Chaldeans] says that the world derives its completion from these three things [i.e. from intellect, soul and body]” (In Tim. II.407.25 f., transl. Taylor). Olympiodorus and Damascius also refer to the story of the dismemberment of Dionysus in a philosophical key. In an ethical way, according to Olympiodorus “Dionysus is the patron of genesis, because he is also the patron of life and death”29 and he leads a virtuous life, “hence he is torn to pieces, because these virtues do not implicate each other; and the Titans chew his flesh, mastication standing for extreme division, because Dionysus is the patron of this world, where extreme division prevails” (ibid. 1.5). Olympiodorus also relates the figure of Dionysus to the gift of prophecy, which is also a prerogative of the true philosopher, in the broad Neoplatonic sense. In Phd. 69d1, Plato’s Socrates affirms that those who are called “Bacchuses” by the mystic authors, that is, those who have been purified of this life and dwell with the gods, are really philosophers who have lived in a contemplative and righteous way. Commenting on this, Olympiodorus says that only the person who leads such a life can become a “Bacchus” while “we are chained to matter as Titans by extreme partition, in a world where mine and thine prevail, but we are resuscitated as Bacchus; hence we become more receptive to the gift of prophecy as death draws near, and Dionysus is the patron of death because he is the patron of ecstasy in any form” (ibid. 8.7). In Damascius’ Commentary on the Phaedo, the creative action of Dionysus has a double function, both metaphysical and ethical. Dionysus helps the sensible world participate of the intellect, while the Titans represent the bonds of the soul to the body. The dismemberment and rebirth of Dionysus guarantee the cycle of the soul, its ties to the bodily world and its posterior liberation: “when a man leads a Dionysian life, his troubles are already ended and he is free from his bonds and released from custody, or rather from the confined form of life; such a man is the philosopher in the stage of purification” (In Phd. I.171). Damascius, who also approached Greek myths in the Neoplatonic allegorical sense, deals with Dionysus in an interesting fashion. Damascius 29 In Phd. 1.6; transl. Westerink.

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comments, as does Olympiodorus on the passage about the “Bacchuses” in the Phaedo and defends a unitary philosophy linking metaphysics with theurgy: “To some philosophy is primary, for example, Porphyry and Plotinus and a great many other philosophers; to others hieratic practice, for example, Iamblichus, Syrianus, Proclus, and the hieratic school generally. Plato, however, recognizing that strong arguments can be advanced from both sides, has united the two into one single truth by calling the philosopher a “Bacchus”; for by using the notion of a man who has detached himself from genesis as an intermediate term, we can identify the one with the other” (In Phd. I.172.1 f.). As van Riel (2010, 673) puts it, here “Damascius reunites two currents of late Platonism, one stressing the importance of philosophical reason, the other seeing hieratic practice as the way to purify the soul” and the role of Dionysus is strongly emphasized. Secondly, if we take into account the Christian interpretation of the processes and theories described above, it seems evident that Dionysus’ place was taken by Christ. The Neoplatonic Dionysus represented the second hypostasis, a divinity of the “cosmic intellect” linking both worlds and providing the soul with the remembrance of a superior level of reality. In the hierarchy of Being, Dionysus appears as the demiurge of transition between the One and the Many, mediating through his own fragmentation and sacrifice. If pagan intellectuals had turned Dionysus into the essence of divinity, the hypostasis of the Father and “Zeus intellect” (Διὸς νοῦν), his Christian counterpart was clearly Christ. The interaction between both divine figures was not new, for the beginnings of this assimilation can already be traced back to the first contact between the Jewish community and the Greek philosophical tendencies to henotheism in Hellenistic times: the so-called theos hyspsistos. The interpretatio graeca had even led to the Jewish God being compared to Dionysus30 and this process smoothed the way for further syncretism under the Roman Empire. The central miracle of both gods of transforming water into wine, was a key moment in their respective epiphanies. In the case of Christ, the episode of the marriage at Cana in Galilee is momentous, conceptually speaking, for being the incarnation of the Logos,31 as well as for being the public revelation of the glory of the Son of Man. In the case of Dionysus, the episode of transforming water into wine is also fundamental in order to reveal his divinity and smooth his triumphant path.32 Symbolic equation of blood with wine is also 30 As referred by Plut. Quaest. conv. 4.671c–672b and, critically, by Tac. Hist. 5.5.5. Cf. Wick 2004, 183 f. 31 Wick 2004, 189. 32 Cf., e.g., Nonn. Dion. 14.323–437, as it will be commented further.

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patent in both gods, and was already present in the Old Testament (“And of the blood of grapes you drank wine” Deut. 32.14). Wine is implicitly Dionysus’ blood, both in the myth of Zagreus33 and in the metaphor of the omophagy in Euripides’ Bacchae, a topic made explicit by other authors.34 Wine and divinity are exchangeable metaphorically and symbolically in the case of Dionysus and Christ35 and the Gospel of John had clear evidence of the intercultural reference between both deities when Christ claims: “I am the true vine”. The allusion to Dionysus (“the false vine”, one could say) was obvious for any reader of that time. Further Christian passages are well known: the Babylonian harlot getting drunk with the blood of saints (Acts 17.6), the Eucharistic commemoration of bread and wine, etc. Much has been said about the influence of Neoplatonism on Christology and Christian theology in general.36 Neoplatonism was a strong influence on early Christian thinkers, who identified the Old Testament God of the Jews with the first hypostasis, the One. As it is well known, Augustine of Hippo introduced Neoplatonism to the Christian scriptures37 and the thinking of the so called Cappadocian Fathers, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nazianzen and Gregory of Nyssa had a strong Plotinian influence. But it was especially in the late fifth or early sixth century Ps.-Dionysius the Areopagite, the greatest Neoplatonist of all Christian thinkers, through his works The Celestial Hierarchy and The Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, adapted the heavenly hierarchies to the Plotinian schemes. This eclectic philosophy of Late Antiquity, with its triple ultimate beings, mysticism and soteriological doctrines, served as a basis for Christian Trinitarianism, mystical Christianity (from Gnosticism, which was prior to Neoplatonism but adapted many of its ideas, such as the One and the hypostases, onwards) and, of course, the idea of the Christ-Logos as saviour. Neoplatonic hypostases intended as “substance” or “foundation” were soon being commented on by Christian theologians on the subject of the relation between God Father and Christ, as in Hebr. 1.3.38 Of course, there were many differences between the Neoplatonic noetic triad of Plotinus, of a vertical nature, and the Christian trinity, which we may call “horizontal”:39 the hypostases of the Neoplatonists could never have played such an important role in Christian theology without the influence of the Orphic and Pythagorean 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

Of deep theological meaning for pagan cult, cf. Plut. De E ap. Delph. 388f–389b. Ach. Tat. 2.2.4. Cf. Spanoudakis 2007, 48, 50. John 15.1–8, Ov. Met. 6.488. Cf. Wick 2004. Cf. e.g. Wallis 1995, 160–1; Remes 2010, 199–207. O’Meara 1981, 34 f. Cf. also Hebr. 3.14 and 11.1 and 2 Cor. 9.4 and 11.17. Cf. Norris 1997 and Kasper 1977, 241–2. Cf., in general, Manchester 1992.

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derivations attested in the Nag Hammadi texts and some of the propositions of the Chaldaean Oracles (fr. 27 “in every world shines a triad ruled by a monad”).40 The further discussions on the hypostatic union of Christ’s human and divine nature and the question of substantialism under the influence of the Cappadocian Fathers – with the standardized formula “three hypostases in one ousia” – cannot be dealt with here, but they point out the importance of the obvious Neoplatonic background of the debate about the nature of Christ and His position in the hierarchy of Being. Again, the position that Dionysus had occupied for the pagan Neoplatonists was to be assigned to Christ-Logos. The Prologue of the Gospel of John, baroquely paraphrased by Nonnus, reflects the complex ideological background of the Evangelist, who surely took into account, for this philosophical beginning of the Logos, the theosophical speculations of the day. Amelius, a disciple of Plotinus, already described this Prologue of John as dealing precisely with the world soul, a divine component of this Neoplatonic hierarchy of hypostases that could be in touch with bodily parts of the world: “And this then was the Word, on whom as being eternal, depended the existence of the things that were made, as Heracleitus also would maintain, and the same forsooth of whom, as set in the rank and dignity of the beginning, the Barbarian [scil. St. John] maintains that He was with God and was God: through whom absolutely all things were made; in whom the living creature, and life, and being had their birth: and that He came down into bodies, and clothed Himself in flesh, and appeared as man, yet showing withal even then the majesty of His nature; aye, indeed, even after dissolution He was restored to deity, and is a God, such as He was before He came down to dwell in the body, and the flesh, and Man”.41 The Church Fathers soon became aware of the notable similarities between both divinities representing the Son’s hypostasis: Dionysus seemed the most noteworthy and dangerous rival to Christ as a saviour god in funerary iconography42 and many pagans educated in Neoplatonism and in mythological tradition entrenched him as a henotheist essence of the divine. Already in the second century, Justin the Martyr, for example, attacked what he considered to be a pagan imitation of biblical prophesies about the Messiah, which would have been interpreted as a coming of a Dionysus sent by his father and elevated to heaven after dying for his fellow men:43 this reflects, as a matter of 40 Transl. Majercik 1989. 41 Transl. E. H. Gifford. Amelius ap. Eus. PE 11.19. 42 On this aspect see the conclusions of Thomas 2000, 83 and Hernández de la Fuente 2013, 469–72. 43 Referring to the figure of Dionysus Zagreus. Cf. Justin Martyr Apol. 1.54 and Dial. 69.

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fact, the global storyline of the stories of Dionysus – presumably as told in the Dionysiac literature, such as the Bassarica or Dionysiaca – and part of the commentaries to the sacrifice of Orphic Dionysus made by Christian apologists, who were constantly trying to distance the pagan God from Christ.44 Later on, Clement of Alexandria will contrast the Dionysian mysteries with the true “word and mystery of the word”, summoning Pentheus to answer the call of Christ’s religion and dwelling upon the theological opposition “true” / “false” vine: a Neoplatonic Dionysus vs Saint John’s Christ-Logos.45

3 In the light of this let us put now the Neoplatonic debate in the context of Nonnus’ literary interest in paraphrasing the Gospel of John while working on a great Dionysiac epic. The fusion of Judeo-Christianity and the classical tradition of Hellenism produced a constant literary dialogue of genres and styles. The ultimate encounter between both cultural traditions, which took place in the Eastern part of the Empire and especially in regions such as Egypt,46 is exemplified in Nonnus’ oeuvre. As it is well known, the Christian writers come together in Hellenism through the rhetorical and philosophical schools: on the one hand, the genres of classical rhetoric (speeches, treaties, or epistles), transmit the Christian message,47 but, on the other, there is also an adaptation of more specific genres such as history,48 biography and even the novel49 not to mention Neoplatonic philosophy as the most common philosophical basis for the first Christian thinkers.50 Regarding Greek poetry, Christian writers adopt all its forms, lyric, hymnography and epic, both heroic and didactic, as the mode of paraphrasis – Apollinaris of Laodicea (c. 310–90) and his imitators

44 See, in general, Herrero de Jáuregui 2010, ch. 4. 45 Clem. Protr. 12. See Doroszewski in the present volume p. 289 f. 46 Cf. Rémondon 1952. 47 Already the first generation of Christian writers adapted the long tradition of Greek epistolography, as evidenced by the well-known collections of Pauline and Johannine letters, and by other apostolic fathers such as Ignatius of Antioch, Polycarp of Smyrna or the large amount of apocryphal letters. From the second century CE, subsequent generations adapted the Christian message to the literary tastes of the day, that is the “Second Sophistic”. Despite resistance of some Christian Fathers, the view that Greek rhetoric could be very useful for Christianity was generally imposed. Cf. Jaeger 1962. 48 Hengel 1979, ch. 1. 49 Cf. Grégoire 1987. 50 For a good panorama of this see Osborn 1987.

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(Ps.-Apollinaris, c. 460–70)51 – goes to show.52 A Biblical vademecum was reworked in the various classical genres: the Psalms in hexameter, the Pentateuch in iambic verse, the Gospel and Epistles as Platonic dialogues, and other Christian texts as Pindaric odes, comedies, etc., as the Histories of Socrates Ecclesiasticus (3.16) and Sozomen (5.18) attest. These literary exercises, which sometimes indulge in theological exegesis, were discarded as heterodox and few examples have survived. None of them is so interesting as Nonnus Paraphrase, which versifies the Johannine Gospel adopting models from classical literature – such as Homeric adjectivation, echoes from Euripides Bacchae – and, above all, a pagan Neoplatonic taste,53 in the versification of its model “through the filter of spiritual Neoplatonism”.54 Thus, there are abundant references to Neoplatonic paganism in the Paraphrase,55 together with some disputed allusions to Christianity in the Dionysiaca.56 But the Paraphrase is also aware of the Christian Neoplatonists, in the frame of the theological debates of the time, between the Council of Ephesus (431) and that of Chalcedon (451). Indeed it has been proven that Nonnus was aware of these contemporary interpretations and was influenced by theologians such as Cyril of Alexandria, who published his Commentary on John’s Gospel in 425–8.57 Nonnus’ approach to poetry can be compared to that of some of his near contemporary Neoplatonists. Proclus’ extant hymns58 have been analysed in comparison to Nonnian poetry. Some lexical parallels between these authors have been recently pointed out in key poetical allusions to the intellect as ἐγερσίνοος (Procl. Hy. 3.4, Nonn. Dion. 12.376, 37.673) or φρενοθελγής (Procl. Hy. 3.17, Nonn. Dion. 1.406).59 Long ago, Schneider thought that the study of Proclus’ hymns revealed clearly that he was acquainted with and even copied Nonnus’ poems,60 although Vogt was more prudent and preferred to under51 Clavis Patrum Graecorum 3700 (Geerard 1974). Cf. Gelzer 1993, 45. 52 On Biblical epic in general cf. G. Agosti 2001. 53 Cf. Bogner 1934, 333. 54 As Spanoudakis 2010, 353 has put it. 55 For Neoplatonism in the Paraphrase cf., in general, the excellent commentary of De Stefani 2002. For other elements, cf. also Hernández de la Fuente 2007. E.g. for the scene of the foot washing see Greco 2004, 20. The order of narration in the scene of the foot washing might allude to the Neoplatonic descendent hierarchy of the universe and the last supper cointains astrological allusions (Greco 2004, 92). 56 For Christian influence on the Dionysiaca cf. Golega 1930, 62–88 and Spanoudakis 2007. E.g. the episode of Tylos’ resurrection or the paradoxical maternity of virgins. Cf. also Spanoudakis in the present volume p. 333 f. and Hernández de la Fuente 2013. 57 See Livrea 1989, 26–31; Vian 1976, XVIII and, especially, Greco 2004, 15–28. 58 See Helmig – Steel 2011. 59 Cf. van den Berg 2001, 146, 161, 214, 155, 244, 267, 173, 223. 60 Schneider 1892, 601.

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stand Proclus’ hymns only in relation to his “philosophische Stellung”. Although the question of the dependence of Proclus on Nonnus or vice versa remains still sub iudice, “[g]ewiß haben beide manches miteinander gemeinsam, im Sachlichen mehr als im Metrischen”.61 Recently, the author of a commentary on the first canto of the Paraphrase of Nonnus (1–3, containing a list of metaphorical epitheta) pointed out numerous parallels between this text and the terminology of the Proclian hymns:62 a pagan counterpart of such technique is to be seen in Nonnus’ hymn to Beroe (Dion. 41.143 f.). We can also quote the parallel figure and work of another well-known Neoplatonist, Marinus of Neapolis, disciple, biographer and successor of Proclus, who can as well be compared with the oeuvre of Nonnus.63 As Suidas says, Marinus wrote a life of Proclus in prose, but also in epic metre, as was the fashion of epic narrative of his day, “with certain other philosophical questions”. Regarding Marinus’ style “in structure his poem may have remembered Nonnus’ paraphrase of the Gospel of John, while its contents may have included philosophical myths like those rehearsed in the Dionysiaca of the same author”.64 But the poetical and allegorical approaches to Homer and Plato in the Neoplatonic tradition are present in the so-called Nonnians, such as Musaeus, and of course, should be traced back to Nonnus himself.65 In relation to the role of Dionysus and Christ in his time and in Neoplatonic metaphysics, Nonnus’ poetical and thematic choice would represent a practical aesthetical application of the post-Plotinian eclectic metaphysics, mingled with the theosophy of the oracle-collections. In the context of Alexandrian Neoplatonism, Nonnus seems to be a representative of cultural syncretism in two different ways:66 as an enthusiastic defender of Dionysiac soteriology in the frame of pagan Neoplatonism and as a devotee of the Johannine Christ-Logos of Neoplatonic background. Nonnus’ reworking of the holy traditional texts of Dionysiac cult and Christianity has been compared rightly in this sense to Porphyry’s The Cave of the Nymphs and Hierocles’ Commentary on the Golden Verses of Pythagoras. If the ultimate goal of the Paraphrase is to establish “a connection between the Jewish-Christian biblical poetry in the Greek language (Philo), with the great poetic tradition of the Homeric-Alexandrian kind, and the Neoplatonism of educated pagan circles”,67 the counter61 62 63 64 65 66 67

Vogt 1957, 375. De Stefani 2002, 21. Saffrey – Segonds 2001. Edwards 2000, 55 n. 5. Cf. Gelzer 1975, 318–9 and Lamberton 1986, 158. Livrea 1989, 29 f.; Grillmeier – Hainthaler 1996, 92–5. Grillmeier – Hainthaler 1996, 95.

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part aim of the Dionysiaca could well be to provide a Neoplatonic common background for the traditional pagan God of intellect, Dionysus, in comparison to the new Christian parallel God’s Son. Nonnus’ Dionysiaca and Paraphrase must be studied from such a methodological point of view, based on the Neoplatonic Leitmotive of transition from the One to the Many through imitation, reflection and continuous changemetamorphosis and circular motion, and focusing on the non-created second hypostasis, integrating the allegorical Neoplatonic tradition referring to Dionysus with the new Christian symbolism of the Logos or God’s Son. A last thematic issue relating both form and content in the Dionysiaca is the use of oracular poetry, to which later Neoplatonists were so attached and Christian thinkers so fond.68 It seems that Nonnus’ poetry contains a practical application of these aspects through the aesthetic principles of Neoplatonic allegory sketched in the works of philosophers such as Plotinus, Porphyry and Iamblichus. Let us first look at the transition from the One to the Many through the hypostases and the descent to the sensible world through imitation and reflection. The ideas or mimesis and transformation are fundamental to Nonnian poetics.69 The process of imitation, for example, is very often alluded to, and in different ways: τύπος, εἰκών, ἴνδαλμα, φάσμα, μίμημα.70 With the Homeric imitation of Proteus (Od. 5.456–8) in the prologue of the Dionysiaca, Nonnus introduces the theme of continuous change, a matter of form,71 but also of content. The poetics of metamorphosis are related to the changing sensible universe, expectant before the arrival of Dionysus. As an heir of a long poetic tradition Nonnus consciously invokes Proteus with his multiform appearance (ποικίλον εἶδος ἔχων) because he will also sing a “multiform hymn” (ὅτι ποικίλον ὕμνον ἀράσσω). Such ποικιλία was recommended, for example, by the rhetor Himerius, using the same figure for the allegory.72 This choice, however, seems to be more than simply rhetoric. Following the Neoplatonic approach to the myth of Dionysus Zagreus, the theme of reflection and the mirror also plays an important role in Nonnus (Dion. 6.170 f.). There Zagreus gets distracted staring himself in a mirror, in whose false image he loses himself, 6.173 ἀντιτύπῳ νόθον εἶδος ὀπιπεύοντα κατόπτρῳ. The stylistic game

68 Cf. in general Nieto Ibañez 2010. See J. Lightfoot in the present volume p. 39 f. 69 Fauth 1981, passim. 70 For Riemschneider 1957, 57–61 “das Scheinbild” is one of the main stylistic features in Nonnus. 71 Cf. again Fauth 1981, esp. 189–90. 72 Himer. Or. 68.9. See Kroell in the present volume pp. 252–3.

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between the original and the reflected image may allude to the single reality of the god and his multiplication in allegorical key.73 There are many traces, both in the Paraphrase and in the Dionysiaca, of Neoplatonic metaphysics in allegories, metaphors, adjectivation, vocabulary, etc. The use of Platonic and Neoplatonic terminology in the Paraphrase is also very striking, such as the word ἄμοιρος (13.48), referring to the disciples who do not “participate” in sin and are freed from evil (as in Pl. Symp. 181c and Polit. 269e, but also Plot. 1.8.4, 22) or ἀμέριστος (1.4) evoking the indivisible union of Father and Son, the unity of divinity, often attested to in Neoplatonists such as Iamblichus, Proclus or Damascius, commenting on some Platonic passages, esp. Tim. 35af.74 The union of Father and Son as paraphrased by Nonnus in Par. 5.74–5 ἔργα γὰρ εἰν ἑνὶ πάντα πατὴρ ἐμὸς ὁππόσα ῥέζει, / ταῦτα θεὸν γενέτην μιμούμενος υἱὸς ἀνύσσει, also recalls the henotheistic version of the traditional Greek pantheon in the pagan hymns75. The verb συναστράπτω (Par. 13.4 and Dion. 7.99) alludes to the union between God and God’s Son, that is to say, the first and second hypostasis.76 The question of hypostatic union of the two natures of Christ is also addressed in the Paraphrase and can be studied, both theologically – in the light of the Councils – and philosophically, but this discussion obviously goes beyond our present scope.77 Let us only mention, as an example, that the miracles of Christ in 13.32 f. are closely related to the demiurgic power of God’s creation in some Neoplatonic texts.78 The ineffability of Christ’s incarnation is described in 1.40 in a very similar fashion to the union with the One in Proclus (Theol. Plat. 2.6–7) and the impossibility of seeing directly the godhead in 1.55 recalls some parallel Neoplatonic passages.79 The mystical vocabulary dealing with the purification of the soul in the Paraphrase often recalls the Neoplatonic language of the ὁμοίωσις θεῷ, following the well-known motto of Pl. Theaet. 176b, and the Neoplatonic reworkings of it,80 and the ascent of the soul to the Good. Some examples noted by Livrea and Greco (on Par. 2.68, 13.52, 68) relate

73 Cf. Chuvin 1992, 27–8 and Livrea in the present volume pp. 59–61. 74 Also Theaet. 205c. Cf., e.g., Iambl. Myst. 1.9, Procl. Theol. Plat. 1.4; also id. El. theol. 62, Damasc. ap. Simpl. In Phd. 625.4. 75 Cf. also εἰν ἑνὶ πάντες in Par. 13.142. 76 Cf. Greco 2004, 72 77 See Livrea 1989, 29 n. 27. 78 Or. Chald. fr. 210c. There is Neoplatonic terminology to express the luminosity of the Logos (Par. 1.26, cf. Procl. Theol. Plat. 1.22): De Stefani 2002, 126–7; Greco 2004, 97–8 and 141–2. 79 E.g. Plot. 5.5.11, 2, Procl. Theol. Plat. 2.11. Cf. De Stefani 2002, 138, 147. 80 E.g. Plot. 1.2.3, 15–22.

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the followers of Christ to the true philosopher in the quest for the reversion to the One.81 And now to circularity: Nonnus presents an impressive collection of expressions, descriptions and metaphors of great complexity, which are especially employed in descriptions of the cosmos and references to the fate of the soul in both the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrase, and also in episodes dealing with divinity and prophecy. It has been said that the very conception of Nonnus’ narrative shows a circular structure, with abundant repetitions and an obsession for circularity.82 The narrative is not linear, but displays a circular and cosmic timeline, not necessarily consistent with the development of each episode.83 The main episodes containing abundant references to the circular movement of Platonism are cosmological descriptions84 and eschatological references. An example of this is the episode of Persephone’s loom (6.145 f.), when the goddess awaits her union with Zeus weaving wool with some cosmological themes. A parallel case is the episode where Harmonia weaves when she receives the visit of Aphrodite (41.295–302), who wants her to reveal some prophecies regarding the future power of the city of Berytos. In these ekphraseis of cosmological and prophetic wools, Nonnus outlines the cycles of the cosmos following a well-known theme of Orphic cosmogony, where Persephone-Core weaves out the universe in the loom of time.85 But we find the most overwhelming presence of circularity in the cosmological ekphrasis of the shield of Dionysus (25.384–412), a divine weapon forged by Hephaestus. The episode is an obvious imitation of that of the shield of Achilles in Homer’s Iliad, which also had a representation of the universe following an old cosmological theme.86 This passage is especially worth reading in order to realize the hyperbolic description of the circularity in the universe and to compare it, for example, with the quotations from the Republic and the Timaeus. Perhaps the best example of the circular motion in Nonnus is a kind of “map of the cosmos” through the twelve zones of the Zodiac outlined in a mythical episode of Book 37.222–90.87 The passage presents an incredibly rich vocabulary refer81 Livrea 2000, 248; Greco 2004, 97–8, 107–8. 82 Cf. Newbold 1999. 83 Cf. Riemschneider 1957. 84 Well studied by Vian 1993; revisited by J. Lightfoot in the present volume p. 48 f. 85 In the Orphic tradition, Persephone’s loom appears as a key element in the creation of nature. Persephone’s work is interrupted either when she is seduced by Zeus or carried off by Hades, cf. OF 228, 286, 288 and see Eisler 1910, I, 248. The lost poem Peplos dealt with Persephone’s loom (Bernabé 2008, 407 f.; Herrero de Jáuregui 2010, 207). See also Ypsilanti in this volume p. 125 f. 86 Already in Homer this cosmological description was very vivid: cf. Hardie 1985. 87 For this issue in Nonnus cf. Stegemann 1930; Koch 1930 and, more recently, Feraboli 1984.

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ring to circularity (ἄντυγι κύκλου […] πουλυέλικτος […] στεφανηδόν […] ελίκων […] πολυκαμπέα κύκλα […] κυκλούμενος). The metaphor of the circular chariot race is also noteworthy for its reference to the circular bios: “the turning-point of the Zodiac” (Ζῳδιακὴν περὶ νύσσαν), which is parallel to Christ making a circuit round the twelve disciples when seated at their circular table in Par. 13.55 f. ὁππότε δαιτυμόνων δυοκαίδεκα κύκλον ἀμείβων / νίψεν ἑῶν ἑτάρων ὁσίους πόδας ἁγνὸς Ἰησοῦς, / κεκλιμένους παλίνορσος ἑοὺς ἔνδυνε χιτῶνας· / καὶ παλάμης ἀγκῶνα παλινδίνητον ἐρείσας.88 The word παλινδίνητος is also used by Nonnus in the preliminary and prophetic course of Phaeton in Dion. 38.155–83: Oceanus raises Phaeton and throws him whirling around ( Ὠκεανὸς Φαέθοντα παλινδίνητον ἀείρων) in a complex description of his circular movement. Παλινδίνητος, a favourite poetic word for Neoplatonists,89 appears as well in the so-called Strasbourg Cosmogony,90 describing the orbit of a star (26 παλινδίνητος ἀνάγκη, cf. Nonn. Dion. 2.265 and 3.356). In the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrase describes often the circularity of time or that of the universe.91 With a similar metaphorical description Nonnus refers to the circular journey of the soul after death, following the Platonic doctrine of the Phaedo and Phaedrus and its Neoplatonic developments. The best example of this is a clear reference to the reincarnation as a circular sequence, using the analogy of the chariot turning around the goal, when talking about the fate of the souls of the Indians killed in the battle, Dion. 37.1–6: “So the Indians … buried their dead with tearless eyes, as prisoners now set free from earthy chains of human life, and the soul returning whence it came, back to the starting-place in the circling course” (κυκλάδι σειρῇ / νύσσαν ἐς ἀρχαίην). Greco (ibid.) has recently explored the theme of the circular journey (travel and return) in comparison to the metaphorical course of the soul, as representing Neoplatonic thoughtpatterns underlying the Nonnian narrative of the Paraphrase. The course of divinity is parallel to the course of the soul, and both Christ and Dionysus are described using adjectives of circularity. Also the prophetic passages of both the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrase are full of references to circularity and to the “circular time” (cf. Par. 2.98, 13.84 f., 151).92 It is undoubtedly the allegorical level of poetical discourse that is defended by Proclus in his Commentary

88 Greco 2004, 19–21, 110–1. 89 Oracle ap. Julian Ep. 89b.305, Claudian AP 1.19.2, Anon. AP 9.505.14. 90 Gigli Piccardi 1990, 122–3. 91 A favorite expression (35x) in Nonn. Dion. 1.290 and 496, 2.265 and 314, 3.213, 11.220 and 519, 15.240, 18.195, 21.167, 22.210, 27.158, 28.96, 29.13, 30 and 246, 33.94, 34.21, 36.26, 37.330 and 562, 38.156, 48.88, 127 and 150, etc., and Par. 2.98, 3.41, 5.39, 11.41, 13.58 and 151, 14.109. 92 On the circularity of time cf., in general, Livrea 1989, 284–5.

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on the Republic V–VI, and the emphasis on circularity that is defended by Porphyry in his fragmentary On Statues. Finally, let us turn to the use of oracular poetry. The idea of taking oracular motifs as an internal sub-structure for the coherence of Nonnian poetics seems attractive.93 In fact, there is a large number of episodes in both poems where oracles anticipate Nonnian narrative, as a classical literary pattern of myth. In addition to this use of oracles, which we can call “internal” use, there is another use in Nonnus. Both the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrase contain some echoes of existing literary oracles in a second use, which could be called “external”. The striking parallels in diction and content between “theological” oracles from Late Antiquity and quotations from Nonnus works have been repeatedly noted. The influence of oracular themes is evident in several passages of the Dionysiaca and many scholars have already noted the coincidences with collections of oracles.94 A good example is the consultation of Harmony’s prophetic tablets after the death of Ampelus (12.41 f.), which includes a representation of the cosmogony and the succession of the gods and alludes to several myths of metamorphosis after death (12.70–81 and 97–102), such as a representation of Ganymede and the prophecy of the invention of wine, in a language with some parallels with contemporary collections of oracles. Thus, as Daria Gigli pointed out, Nonnus quotes, in this episode, (12.68), an oracular expression (ἀρχέγονος φρήν) mentioned by the ecclesiastical writer Didymus the Blind (De Trin. 2.27), which also coincides with fr. 23 of the Chaldean Oracles, to prove that the pagan oracles had already affirmed the Christian Trinity, the equality of Logos Son and the Holy Spirit with God the Father. Nonnus probably did not use the work of Didymus here, but a compilation of oracles where these lines were present, perhaps one of the many similar texts that circulated at that time in Egypt conciliating pagan traditions with Christianity. In addition, this usage occurs in the context of Ampelus’ prophecy in Book 12, which is especially important for the narrative scheme of the Dionysiaca and for the theology of the wine, as we have tried to show elsewhere (12.117 f. and 173 f.).95 But this word, ἀρχέγονος,96 has a Neoplatonic background in Par.

93 Ruiz Pérez 2002. 94 Dion. 6.155 f., 12.270 f., 26.285 f., 35.319 f. Cf. an interesting comparison with oracular poetry in Gigli Piccardi 1985, 233–4. Regarding the Sibylline Oracles, in passages referred to divinity, we can quote: παρ’ ὑψίστου βασιλῆος (Or. Sib. 1.8 and Par. 15.65) or ἀντίτυπον μίμημα (Or. Sib. 1.33, 333 and 8.270; Nonn. Dion. and Par. 1.117, 1.47, 3.29) or the prophetic voice, as θέσπιδι φωνῇ (Or. Sib. 1.268 and Par. 5.54, 9.34, 10.22), θεσπεσίῃ ἀοιδῇ (Dion. 39.359) or ἀμβροσίῃ τινὶ φωνῇ / ἀμβροσίης δὲ φωνῆς (Or. Sib. 1.275, Nonn. Par. 1.59, 11.79–80). 95 Hernández de la Fuente 2008, 216. 96 Cf. also Nonn. Dion. 24.48, Procl. El. theol. 152.

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1.15, where Nonnus evokes the beginning of the Logos. In the Paraphrase, the motto of prophecy and the anticipation of Christ’s death and resurrection is to be felt in almost every canto: prophecy is alluded to through several interesting metaphors.97 A good example is the prophecy of the treason of Christ in Par. 13.78–81, 85–97, 100–9.98 In Nonnus there are outstanding examples of matches with real oracles, for example, from the sanctuary of Apollo at Didyma (Asia Minor), which was very active in Hellenistic and Roman Times.99 New paths of research could be opened from a study of Nonnian poetry in comparison with the Neoplatonic tradition of oracular poetry in two ways: a. in relation to pagan Neoplatonism, Nonnus’ use of real oracles, transmitted as emanating from sanctuaries, and of collections of philosophical oracles such as the Chaldean Oracles, b. in relation with Christianity, Nonnus’ use of texts justifying assimilations between pagan and Christian prophecies, such as the Sibylline Oracles or the Tübingen Theosophy. Regarding the former, for example, in Dion. 41.364 f. a “table of Cronus”, that is to say, a sort of inscription foretells the future power of Rome with a vocabulary attested both in inscriptions and collections of oracles.100 On the latter, Nonnus presents numerous allusions to prophetic vision and divine knowledge: in Par. 1.20 οὐ μὲν κεῖνος ἔην νοερὸν φάος the epithet νοερός recalls Neoplatonic oracular poetry101 and in Par. 1.197 Christ senses the presence of Nathaniel ὄμμασι καὶ πραπίδεσσι in a Neoplatonic ὅρασις νοός with abundant oracural parallels.102 These are just some examples of possible research into Nonnus’ knowledge of oracular poetry and hymnography.103 In conclusion, a new reading of Nonnian poetics could take into account the ideological background of Neoplatonism. In this regard, three aspects seem to be the most striking features of Nonnian poetics, linking both form and content to Neoplatonic issues: firstly, the idea of transition from the divine One to the Many (either through metamorphosis or through the reflection of a reality broken down into pieces); secondly, the idea of the circularity and circular motion, a basic motto of Neoplatonic physics, metaphysics and, last but

97 Cf. e.g. Agosti 2003, 494. 98 Greco 2004, 21 f. 99 Regarding Didyma cf. Rodríguez Somolinos 1991: some examples of matches with Nonnus are oracles number 49, 52, 53, 73, 82 and 83. 100 Yἱέες Αὐσονίων (Dion. 41.366): Ausonian is also a way of referring to Italy and Rome in the tradition of oracular poetry: cf. Malkin 1987, 34–37 for inscriptions, Lyc. 593, 615, 702, 922, 1355 or the Sibylline Oracles 5.27, 12.88, 13.141 and 149. 101 Cf. Procl. Hy. 1.1 or Or. Chald. fr. 37.4, 39.4, 81.1. 102 As De Stefani 2002, 230 has intelligently commented. Cf. Or. Chald. frr. 1.8, 112, 213.2. 103 De Stefani 2002, 123.

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perhaps most notably, aesthetics; thirdly, the power of prophecy as a sign of the divine in our sensible world. Ideologically Nonnus puts forward an eclectic, theosophic concept of divinity and this would aesthetically imply the ultimate evolution of the old Homeric genre in the eclectic philosophic manner of Late Antiquity. The poetic style here transcends the formal elements and reveals an undeniable Neoplatonic ideological background. Perhaps it is only the first verse of the Paraphrase, Ἄχρονος ἦν, ἀκίχητος, ἐν ἀρρήτῳ λόγος ἀρχῇ which serves as the best illustration of Nonnus’ poetic Neoplatonism.104 The Unity of Divinity in its hierarchical composition, the manifold and paradoxical transformations of the sensible world, together with the eternal circular motion of cosmos and soul, could be the basic philosophical themes of this poetry, relating style to contents upon a Neoplatonic basis. Further work on the poetry of Nonnus as a practical application of the metaphysics, aesthetics and poetics of Neoplatonism is likely to provide a better understanding, not only of the pagan Dionysiaca and the Christian Paraphrase, but also of the ideological background of fifth century Egypt and Late Antique Greek literature in general.

104 Cf. De Stefani 2002, 103 f. Only a word such as ἄχρονος recalls the notions of eternity and ineffable atemporality of Plotinus or Proclus (Plot. 4.4.1, 12; 4.4.10, 6, Procl. El. theol. 124).

Nicole Kröll

Rhetorical Elements in the Ampelusepisode: Dionysus’ Speech to Ampelus (Nonn. Dion. 10.196–216)* Poetry and rhetoric are very closely interconnected in Late Antiquity.1 A good example for the taking over of poetical style by rhetorical literature is Himerius, a Greek sophist and rhetorician of the fourth century, who ran a private rhetorical school in Athens. Himerius, a school sophist par excellence, takes up, amongst others, one of the greatest poets of classical antiquity, namely Pindar, and applies the design of the epinikia to some of his own speeches,2 thus the sophist “poetisizes” rhetoric, so to say. By this means he successfully creates a fusion of rhetoric and poetry and thus sheds some light on the literary techniques of the educated elite of Late Antiquity. At that time rhetoric was the basis of any kind of higher education. If someone wished to hold a leading position within the system of imperial administration he had to undergo a thorough grammatical and rhetorical training in one of the renowned schools, Athens, Constantinople, Antiochia, Gaza or Alexandria.3 And also the knowledge of the most excellent poets of Late Antiquity was based on this more and more standardized schooling. Therefore, not only sophists like Himerius applied poetical principles to their rhetoric, but also vice versa: the poets used rhetorical techniques for their epic or epigrammatic works. The reason for this is obvious: every man of letters was, at this time, educated by a grammarian and/or sophist of his home town or had actually attended one of the famous schools just mentioned. This exclusive formation shared by all members of the high layer of society can be detected throughout all literary genres.4 All genres draw, to a great extent, on stylistic techniques, as there are for example compounds, participles, asyndeta and allegories. The comprehensive rhetorical knowledge that is typical of Late

* The participation in the conference “Nonnus of Panopolis in Context” at Rethymno and research for this paper was funded by the Austrian Science Fund (FWF): project P20642–G02, “Religion and Poetry in the Epic of Nonnus of Panopolis”. – I want to thank the anonymous reader for helpful suggestions and Danuta Shanzer (Vienna) for brushing up my English. 1 See Miguélez Cavero 2008, 264–5: “In Late Antiquity more than ever rhetoric goes poetical and poetry rhetorical”. 2 See Stenger 2008. 3 See Kennedy 1983, 133–79 and id. 1994, 242–56. 4 See Kennedy 1983, 17–8.

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Antique authors is taught by the progymnasmata.5 These preparatory instructions were manuals for students of rhetoric which advised them on how to write for example an ekphrasis, an encomium or an ethopoea, to name but a few.6 Theon, Aphthonius, Hermogenes and Nicolaus, the authors of these progymnasmata, thus preserved the rhetorical records of the classical era for the centuries to come.7 These principles of classical rhetoric as a common cultural heritage of the last centuries of antiquity should be the starting point for the following analysis. We can assume that also Nonnus’ 48 Books of the Dionysiaca share many characteristics in literary style with the rhetorical works of that time. Hence, my aim is to demonstrate that both prosaic and poetic works are founded on the same ground of rhetorical rules and standards. The Ampelus-episode in the Dionysiaca should exemplify in which way Nonnus employs traditional rhetorical techniques and topoi and modifies them to create a new type of epic under the heading of the celebrated ποικιλία (Nonn. Dion. 1.15 ποικίλον εἶδος ἔχων, ὅτι ποικίλον ὕμνον ἀράσσω). That the ποικιλία is neither exclusively Nonnian nor restricted to epic is proved by Himerius. For Himerius in his 68th oration, as does Nonnus, takes Proteus as the example for the literary art of variation, with a special emphasis on rhetoric when he characterizes Proteus as σοφιστής.8 What follows is the application of ποικιλία for the rhetorical genre when he prompts his addressees to implement a variety of styles and themes in order to embellish their orations: πρὸς τὸ ποικίλλειν τοὺς λόγους “to introduce a variety into your orations”.9 As can be seen easily in Himerius’

5 See, for example, poems 4 (an ekphrasis and an encomium on the rose respectively) and 6 (an ethopoea of Aphrodite on the death of Adonis) in Ciccolella 2000, 143–9 and 161–73. 6 See Kennedy 1983, 54–73. 7 For the diffusion of rhetoric from the Second Sophistic onwards throughout the Late Antique centuries see Kennedy 1994, 230–82. The influence of rhetorical standards on the literary genre of epic poetry has already been pinpointed, for instance, for Quintus Smyrnaeus’ Posthomerica, see Bär 2010 and Maciver 2012. 8 Proteus can be found several times in ancient literature before Nonnus and Himerius: Od. 4.351–569; Hdt. 2.112–20; Eur. Hel. 1–67; Verg. G. 4.387–529; Hld. 2.24.4. 9 Him. Or. 68.9 δοκεῖ δέ μοι καὶ ὁ Πρωτεὺς σοφιστής τις τοὺς λόγους δεινὸς γενόμενος, ἐπειδή τις αὐτὸν μῶμος ἐκ φιλοψόγου γλώττης ἠνώχλησεν, εἰς πολλὰς ἰδέας μερίσας τοὺς λόγους, ἵνα οὕτως ἐλέγχῃ τὰ σκώμματα, περιπεσὼν δὲ αὐτὸς σοφιστῇ δεινοτέρῳ, τῷ μύθῳ παρ’ ἐκείνου παθεῖν ὃ κατὰ τοὺς λόγους εἰργάζετο. ἐκεῖθεν ὁ παρ᾽ Ὁμήρῳ Πρωτεὺς ὡς πυρσὸς ἅπτεται, ὡς ὕδωρ λύεται, ὡς λέων βρυχᾶται, ὡς δένδρον ὀρθοῦται καὶ τέθηλεν “It seems to me that Proteus was also a sophist, one skilled at eloquence. When a Momus with his censureloving tongue verbally harassed him, he used many qualities of style in his response, so that he could thus prove that Momus’s derisive remarks about him were false. But when Proteus encountered a more skilful sophist (i.e., Homer), he found himself being represented in that

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outline of ποικιλία, the principle of variation was the ideal of every kind of rhetorical work, and it is also typical for the Nonnian epic.

1 Naming and Genealogy: Dionysus’ Speech to Ampelus As an example for the usage of rhetorical standards by Nonnus, I would like to discuss a speech by Dionysus himself when addressing his favourite companion, the satyr Ampelus, in Book 10 of the Dionysiaca (10.196–216).10 The speech in question demands special attention, due to the fact that it is the first speech at all taken by Dionysus in the Dionysiaca. Letting the god speak, Nonnus continues what he has just started in 10.175–92: the portrait of Ampelus. There, the poet is about to deliver an ekphrasis on the figure which he has just implemented and which will turn out to be of great importance for Dionysus on his way to Olympus.11 Following the determined categories of ekphrasis, the poet begins with a physical description of Dionysus’ beloved companion. Having given all the details of Ampelus’ outward appearance, Nonnus continues with an address to Ampelus by Dionysus. The two main elements of the speech are well known from the rhetorical instructions that can be found in the progymnasmata: naming and genealogy.12 Both categories play a vital role in theoretical conceptions of encomium and also within the sophist’s tale as having the same multiformity that he had managed to achieve stylistically in his response to that Momus. Hence the Homeric Proteus (Od. 4.417–8, 456–8) kindles like a fire, flows like water, roars like a lion, grows tall and flourishes like a tree”. All translations of Himerius are by Penella 2009. – After having referred to the story of the creation of the multitude of living creatures in Pl. Prot. 320c–2d, Himerius adds: ἔχετε οὖν, ὦ παῖδες, καὶ τὸν Πρωταγόρου λόγον οὐχ ἧττον ἡμῶν πρὸς τὸ ποικίλλειν τοὺς λόγους διὰ τοῦ μύθου παρασκευάζοντα “So, my boys, you, no less than I, have Protagoras’s story to prepare through its myth to introduce variety into your orations”. – For ποικιλία as a stylistic principle of rhetoric see also Hermog. Id. 1.11 (279 Rabe) and Dion. Hal. Dem. 8. 10 Gigli Piccardi 2003, 704 refers to the rhetorical concept of the following speech and points out that Nonnus is applying this type of rhetorical questioning several times in the Dionysiaca. 11 For the rhetorical conception of ekphrasis see Aphthon. Prog. 12.1 and Hermog. Prog. 10.1 Patillon (transl. Kennedy 2003, 86 and 117–20). See further Nicol. Prog. 11 Felten (Kennedy 2003, 166–8). On the rhetorical conception and theory of ekphrasis see Webb 2009, on the exceeding importance of the technique of ekphrasis in the Dionysiaca Miguélez Cavero 2008, 283–309. 12 Aphthonius, for example, mentions as one of the first points to be considered when performing an eulogy, the origin of the person in question, Prog. 8.3 Εἶτα θήσεις τὸ γένος, ὃ διαιρήσεις εἰς ἔθνος, πατρίδα, προγόνους καὶ πατέρας. – A full overview of the composition of an encomium is also given by Menander Rhetor in his βασιλικὸς λόγος, see Völker 2003, 371–2.

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narrative of the Ampelus-story.13 So when presenting Ampelus, Nonnus starts with elements resembling the rhetorical standards of prose oratory. However, the poet does not deliver an encomium that strictly follows the rhetorical guidelines. He rather adapts and varies the standardized model in order to fit it into his own poetical aims. The first two lines of Dionysus’ speech already show Nonnus’ autonomous handling of rhetorical elements. For instead of mentioning his addressee by name – which was already done by the narrator in 17814 – the poet lets Dionysus begin with four symmetrically arranged questions on Ampelus’ origin, 196–7 Τίς σε πατὴρ ἐφύτευσε; Τίς οὐρανίη τέκε γαστήρ; / Τίς Χαρίτων σε λόχευσε; Τίς ἤροσε καλὸς ᾿Απόλλων; “What father begat you? What immortal womb brought you forth? Which of the Graces gave you birth? What handsome Apollo made you?”,15 followed by a direct address and an order, 198 Εἰπέ, φίλος, μὴ κρύπτε τεὸν γένος “Tell me, my friend, do not hide your kin”. As can be seen from these first lines, the language is highly rhetorical. The interrogative pronoun Τίς is repeated four times within two lines. The genealogic theme is repeated several times, first by the questions (196 Τίς … ἐφύτευσε; Τίς … τέκε, 197 Τίς … λόχευσε; Τίς ἤροσε …;) and the summing-up in 198 (τεὸν γένος), and then in the subsequent speculations about Ampelus’ real nature, 198–207: Εἰ μὲν ἱκάνεις ἄπτερος ἄλλος ῎Ερως βελέων δίχα, νόσφι φαρέτρης, τίς μακάρων σε φύτευσε παρευνάζων ᾿Αφροδίτῃ; Καὶ γὰρ ἐγὼ τρομέω σέο μητέρα Κύπριν ἐνίψαι, μὴ γενέτην ῞Ηφαιστον ἢ Ἄρεα σεῖο καλέσσω. Εἰ δὲ σύ, τὸν καλέουσιν, ἀπ᾿ αἰθέρος ἤλυθες ῾Ερμῆς, δεῖξον ἐμοὶ πτερὰ κοῦφα καὶ ἔμπνοα ταρσὰ πεδίλων. Πῶς μεθέπεις ἄτμητον ἐπήορον αὐχένι χαίτην; Μὴ σύ μοι αὐτὸς ἵκανες ἄτερ κιθάρης, δίχα τόξου, Φοῖβος ἀκερσεκόμης κεχαλασμένα βόστρυχα σείων;

200

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If you come another Eros, unwinged, without arrows, without quiver, which of the Blessed slept with Aphrodite and bred you? But indeed I tremble to name Cypris as your

13 For the influence of the encomium on the Ampelus-episode see Lasky 1978, 366–70 who already notes Dionysus’ rhetorical qualities. A general overview of the literary genus of encomium is to be found in Pernot 1993 (esp. 134–78) and Viljamaa 1968. 14 177–8 Ἤδη γὰρ Φρυγίης ὑπὸ δαιράδα κοῦρος ἀθύρων / Ἄμπελος ἠέξητο, νεοτρεφὲς ἔρνος Ἐρώτων. 15 All translations of the Dionysiaca are sourced from Rouse 1940.

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mother, for I would not call Hephaistos or Ares as your father. Or if you are the one they call Hermes come from the sky, show me your light wings, and the lively soles of your shoes. How is it you wear the hair uncut falling along your neck? Can you be Phoibos himself come to me without harp, without bow, Phoibos shaking the locks of his unshorn hair unbound!

Here Nonnus continues the theme of genealogy and naming with another rhetorical category, the syncrisis, to which is equally referred in the rhetorical manuals.16 Thus he provides a comparison of Ampelus with three gods from Greek mythology: Eros, Hermes and Apollo. Each of these gods is presented together with his distinguishing attributes, Eros with bow and arrow, Hermes with winged sandals and Apollo with long hair, lyre and bow. What we get through this description, first and foremost, is the presentation of the three well-known gods of the Olympic pantheon and just at a second glance that of the young satyr himself. Here, Nonnus gives a portrait of Ampelus ex negativo. He himself does not have any individual characteristics; just by comparing him with other mythological figures his “picture” is created.17 So, clearly it is not Nonnus’ main interest to present Ampelus – who is hardly known in traditional mythology18 – as an independent and autonomous figure within his epic narrative. With this rhetorical technique applied here by the poet we can catch an early glimpse of the goal of both the Ampelus-episode and the whole of the Dionysiaca. It is not Ampelus but Dionysus who should be characterized here. This is particularly evident from the following verses, 208–11: Εἰ Κρονίδης με φύτευσε, σὺ δὲ χθονίης ἀπὸ φύτλης βουκεράων Σατύρων μινυώριον αἷμα κομίζεις, ἶσον ἐμοὶ βασίλευε, θεῷ βροτός· οὐ γὰρ ἐλέγξει οὐράνιον τεὸν εἶδος ᾿Ολύμπιον αἷμα Λυαίου.

210

If Cronides begat me, and you are from the mortal stock, if you have the short-living blood of the horned Satyrs, be kind at my side, a mortal with a god; for your looks will not disgrace the heavenly blood of Lyaios.

16 For Aphthonius and Hermogenes see Patillon 2008, 140–3 and 198–9, for Nicolaus Felten 1913, 59–63 and Kennedy 2003, 162–4 respectively. 17 Also the μή, applied three times within Dionysus’ speech (198, 202 and 206), underlines this negative argumentation. 18 See the few verses in Ov. F. 3.407–14: Ampelus, while gathering grapes, falls from an elm tree and is transformed into the constellation of vindemitor. The only other literary source for Ampelus is to be found in the Ps.-Clementines 5.15 where the satyr is part of a catalogue of male lovers of various gods; instead of narrating the stories the author practices only namedropping.

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Surprisingly, what is given here is not an answer to Εἰπέ in 198, therefore no resolution to the genealogical question of Ampelus, but a presentation of Dionysus. The god himself gives an unmistakable explanation of his own genealogy by naming himself Κρονίδης (208) and defining himself as θεός (210) having Ὀλύμπιον αἷμα (211) in contrast to the satyr who is χθονίης ἀπὸ φύτλης / βουκεράων Σατύρων, has got μινυώριον αἷμα (208–9) and is βροτός (210). Thus, the first answer to all the preceding rhetorical questions is not concerning Ampelus but the speaker Dionysus himself. The narrative aim of this speech is not to give an overall picture or a convincing and well documented genealogy of Ampelus. The poet does not stop with the description of the satyr, but turns towards the major theme of his epic which is the rise of the new god, the god of wine. Therefore, Ampelus is introduced not for his own sake but rather to characterize the god himself. The genealogical relation is clearly stated: Dionysus is son of Zeus, and Ampelus, although at first mortal, will “climb up the social ladder” and will reign together with Dionysus sharing the same hierarchical rank (210 ἶσον ἐμοὶ βασίλευε, θεῷ βροτός). There is a dependent relationship between the god and the satyr: by following the god and his flock Ampelus’ divineness can be guaranteed, and by seeking the company of Ampelus Dionysus will be able to obtain his special position within the Olympian community. Hence, our poet equals the god and his companion. Both resemble each other concerning their nature and character. Ampelus, as the future grape-vine, represents the most important aspect of Dionysus’ divine character. This is also stated in 211 by characterizing Ampelus’ εἶδος as οὐράνιον and Dionysus’ αἷμα as Ὀλύμπιον. Particularly, in the noun αἷμα lays the pivotal point for this passage. In a kind of word play Nonnus uses αἷμα three times within five lines and by this means he alludes evidently to the end of the Ampelus-episode. For whereas the word in 209 bears the meaning “blood”, the poet shifts its significance gradually in order to prefigure the quintessence of his narrative: with αἷμα in 211 he denotes the divine nature of Dionysus and in using the same word for the character of Ampelus (213) Nonnus refers to the satyr’s future shape, the grape-vine, into which he will be transformed through metamorphosis in 12.173–87. With the words γιγνώσκω τεὸν αἶμα Dionysus already implies the wine, the new drink which is about to come into the world.19 The genealogy that is given here is above all the genealogy of Dionysus. This is also proved by the ending of the speech, 212–6:

19 Nonnus already refers to the coming of the grape-vine in the portrait of Ampelus (10.175– 92) by characterizing the satyr’s hair as βότρυες εἱλικόεντες (182).

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Ἀλλὰ τί κικλήσκω σε μινυνθαδίης ἀπὸ φύτλης; Γινώσκω τεὸν αἷμα, καὶ εἰ κρύπτειν μενεαίνεις. ᾿Ηελίῳ σε λόχευσε παρευνηθεῖσα Σελήνη Ναρκίσσῳ χαρίεντι πανείκελον· αἰθέριον γάρ θέσκελον εἶδος ἔχεις, κεραῆς ἴνδαλμα Σελήνης.

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But why do I call you one of the creatures of a day? I recognize your blood even if you wish to hide it; Selene slept with Helios and brought you to birth wholly like the gracious Narcissos; for you have a like heavenly beauty, the image of horned Selene.

Here Dionysus gives the solution to the genealogical questions from the beginning by naming Helios and Selene as the parents of Ampelus. This genealogy is not attested elsewhere and the connection of the Sun god and the Moon goddess is a very rare tradition.20 The mentioning of Helios and Selene, of sun and moon, is another element of the contrastive Nonnian style just as well as the syncrisis of Ampelus and Narcissus at the very end of the speech. Nonnus starts here the encomium on the god of wine, spoken by the god of wine, Dionysus, in person, only at a second glance it is an encomium on Ampelus. Within the narrative framework of the Dionysiaca Ampelus is an important step of the god’s long journey to Olympus. However, the story created around him is a means to point out Dionysus’ divine nature as early as possible within the whole narrative.

2 Further Rhetorical Influences The applied rhetorical elements are reprised and further developed in the following speeches held by Dionysus in the Ampelus-episode. The genealogical theme can be found again at the beginning of the prayer to Zeus (10.292–320) where Dionysus is naming his father ὦ Φρύγιε Ζεῦ (292) and adds the mythos of Zagreus,21 the first Dionysus (293–7). The main point of the speech is the renunciation of all the power and of the divine status that could be provided by Zeus as well as the plea to spare Ampelus. Nonnus gives a whole catalogue of gods who should, instead of Dionysus, be supplied with the divine force coming from Zeus (298–308). Within this passage there again is genealogical

20 See Chrétien 1985, 145. 21 The story of Zagreus is extensively treated in Book 6 of the Dionysiaca. – For μῦθος as a rhetorical category see, for example, Nicolaus in Felten 1913, 6–11 and Kennedy 2003, 133–6. The most extensive μῦθος in the Ampelus-episode is the consolation speech to Dionysus delivered by Eros which comprises the story of Calamus and Carpus (11.369–481).

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information embedded. Dionysus refuses the thunderbolt of Zeus by referring to the tragic death of his mother Semele, 305–6 Καλὸν ἐμοὶ Σεμέλης στεροπὴν ἐλάχειαν ἀείρειν· / μητροφόνοι σπινθῆρες ἀτερπέες εἰσὶ κεραυνοῦ “A fine thing it would be for me to wield Semele’s minikin lightning! The sparks of thunderbolt that killed my mother are no pleasure to me”. At the end of the speech the speaker makes use of the syncrisis when comparing Ampelus to Ganymede (309–17) and himself to Zeus (318–20). If we look closely at this speech, we see that in employing these main rhetorical elements – i.e. genealogy, mythos and syncrisis – the poet creates a style that takes its effect out of contrasts. In the first instance, Dionysus delivers a hymn to Zeus following the traditional rhetorical and hymnic elements such as the proper name of the addressed god in the first line (292), the direct address through verbs in imperative form (292 νεῦσον, 300 δίδου, 302 δός, 309 εἰπέ and μὴ κρύπτε,22 320 ἀγάπαζε) as well as the subjunctive and optative mood (299 ἢν δ᾿ ἐθέλῃς, 314 μή μοι ἐνίψῃς and ἱλίκοις, 320 ἢν ἐθέλης).23 And the whole genealogical complex is, just as well, an essential element of the rhetorical technique of a hymn. But, as a matter of fact, Nonnus goes further. He plays here with the traditional hymnic patterns and shows a high level of autonomy and originality in composing his narrative. For instead of strictly following the common scheme of a hymn on Zeus he twists the argumentation and delivers a startling ending. In 318 he lets Dionysus undermine his father’s authority in claiming that Dionysus of mount Tmolos exceeds Zeus of mount Ida, Τμώλιος ᾿Ιδαίου πέλε φέρτερος. Here, the prayer to Zeus turns into a hymnic self-address of Dionysus. The poet makes use of common rhetorical elements in order to achieve his own poetical objective, namely the confirmation of Dionysus as a god of the Olympic pantheon. What is disposed both in Dionysus’ first speech and in his prayer to Zeus, namely the replacement of the father by his son, is fulfilled in Book 12 at the

22 The reader is already familiar with the request μὴ κρύπτε which is also to be found in Dionysus’ first speech (10.198). See also 8.214; 12.26; 18.344 and 40.566 as well as Pi. O. 7.92– 3 μὴ κρύπτε κοινόν / σπέρμ᾽ ἀπὸ Καλλιάνακτος. 23 For a definition of a hymn as an encomium on a god see Men. Rhet. 331.18 ἔπαινος δέ τις γίνεται, ὁτὲ μὲν εἰς θεούς, ὕμνους καλοῦμεν, καὶ τούτους αὖ διαιροῦμεν κατὰ θεὸν ἕκαστον. – Hymnical influences can also be traced in Dionysus’ first speech (10.196–216): the direct address to Ampelus (196 σε, 197 σε, 200 σε, 201 σέο, 202 σεῖο, 203 σύ, 206 σύ, 208 σύ, 211 τεόν, 212 σε, 213 τεόν, 214 σε), several verbs in imperative form (198 εἰπέ and μὴ κρύπτε, 204 δεῖξον), the εἰ-sentences (198, 203 and 208) and some verbs that occur regularly in hymnical contexts (202 καλέσσω, 212 κικλήσκω, 213 γιγνώσκω).

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very end of the Ampelus-story.24 In an extensive speech Dionysus celebrates the birth of the grape-vine as well as the divine nature of Ampelus and particularly of himself (12.207–89). The elements of rhetoric that are already familiar to the reader since Dionysus’ first speech are now reprised and dealt with in detail. Again naming, genealogy, syncrisis and ekphrasis are the main narrative techniques that the poet makes use of. In contrast to his first speech Dionysus now addresses Ampelus by name in the first line (207 Ἄμπελε) and again in 212 (Ἄμπελε); furthermore, he refers to his own genealogy in 222–3. The dominant technique is again the syncrisis, in 12.231–44 the god compares his recently generated plant with others – apple, fig, rose, daffodil, lily and hyacinth – and praises it for its unique versatility, 237 οὐ δύναται φυτὸν ἄλλο τεαῖς σταφυλῇσιν ἐρίζειν “but no other plant can rival your grapes”. What follows is another syncrisis, now on Dionysus himself, and a catalogue of gods, Apollo, Ares, Demeter and Athena (245–69). The advantages of the grape-vine and its product, the wine, resemble the priority over the other Olympian gods which is taken by Dionysus. By means of the new plant Dionysus gains his full divine status. Together with the drink he incorporates his former comrade Ampelus, 249–50 ἡδυπότην δέ / ἔνδον ἐμῆς κραδίης ὅλον Ἄμπελον αὐτὸν ἀείρω “I absorb all Ampelos to be at home in my heart by that delicious draught” and becomes ἀμπελόεις Διόνυσος (252). At the very end of the speech the syncrisis of the grape-vine and other fruits turns into an ekphrasis of the conditions under which the new plant can grow. All the surrounding plants are named servants (277 δμωίδες, 279 ἀμφιπόλων, 283 λάτρις) of the grape-vine which is sovereign over the whole flora (277 δέσποιναν, 284 ἑῷ βασιλῆι). In referring to the growth of the vine in the late summer season under the ardour of Helios Nonnus closes his narrative cycle. Both at the very beginning and at the end of the Ampelus-story the Sun god’s force colors the scene. In 10.141–4 Dionysus, seeking refuge of the Ἠελίοιο μεσημβρίζουσαν ἱμάσθλην (142), takes a bath in the stream of Pactolus. And here in 12.285 the μεσημβρίζουσαν … Φαέθοντος ἀπειλήν characterizes the ideal season of growth. The aim of the Ampelusepisode, the birth of the grape-vine, is now fulfilled.25 Together with his most important attribute Dionysus obtains his full divine and immortal status.

24 In his first speech in 10.196–216 Dionysus emerges clearly as a speaker. No less than five times he speaks of himself in the first person: 201 ἐγὼ τρομέω, 204 ἐμοί, 206 μοι, 208 με, 210 ἐμοὶ … θεῷ. 25 The alternative story of the genesis of the grape-vine which immediately follows Dionysus’ speech provides the birth of the wine as the cultic symbol of the god and therefore is a necessary completion (12.292–397). See Vian 1994a and 1995a.

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3 Himerius Again Divineness and immortality are attributed to both characters, Dionysus and Ampelus. At this point I would like to return to Himerius. With speech no. 8, one of the few private speeches of the orator, Himerius delivers a funeral speech on his son Rufinus26 in which there can be found thematic parallels to the two lamentations Dionysus is uttering on the death of Ampelus (11.255– 312 and 315–50). First of all, there is a similar relationship between the narrator and the praised person: in both cases there is a father-figure mourning the death of a beloved young man. Again, Nonnus shows his acquaintance with the rhetorical topoi. Dionysus grieves for the deceased Ampelus indicating that he has died much too early so that he even had not got the time to marry, 277–80: Μοῦνος ἐγὼ νέον ἔσχον ἀώριον· ἱμερόεις γάρ Ἄμπελος οὐ γάμον εἶδε βιοσσόον, οὐδ᾿ ἐπὶ παστῷ νυμφιδίην νέος οὗτος ἐμὴν ἔζευξεν ἀπήνην, ἀλλὰ θανὼν λίπε πένθος ἀπενθήτῳ Διονύσῳ.

280

I only have had a boy who died untimely. For lovely Ampelos knew no life-refreshing marriage; this youth never yoked my car for his ride to the bridal chamber: no, he died, and left grief for Dionysos who cannot grieve.

Likewise, Himerius laments his son for the missed wedding, 8.8 τί δὲ οὐχ ἡτοίμαζον αὐτῷ τὸν κάτω θάλαμον, ἐπειδὴ τὰς ἄνω παστάδας Ἐρινύων φθόνος ἐξήρπασεν; “Why was I not preparing a place beneath the earth where he could lie, since the envy of the Erinyes deprived him of a bed in this upper world on which he would have lain with a wife?”. Youth and agamy of the bemoaned person are rhetorical stock elements which are mentioned as well in Menander Rhetor’s treatise on the monody: ἐὰν δὲ νέος τύχῃ ὁ τελευτήσας, ἀπὸ τῆς ἡλικίας τὸν θρῆνον κινήσεις … καὶ ἀπὸ τῶν συμβάντων, ὅτι †ἀνύοντι† αὐτῷ ἔμελλε μετὰ μικρὸν ὁ θάλαμος, ἔμελλον αἱ παστάδες. If the deceased is young, you must base the lament on his age … and on the calamity that has happened – e.g. the bridal chamber, the alcove were soon to be made ready for him (?) (435.4 [2.16]).

26 See Penella 2007, 24–33.

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Εἶτα μετὰ τους τρεῖς χρόνους διαγράψεις τὴν ἐκφοράν, τὴν σύνοδον τῆς πόλεως· εἴθε μὲν οὖν προεπέμπετο εἰς θάλαμον, εἴθε μὲν οὖν εἰς ἀποδημίαν ἐξ ἧς ἔμελλεν ἐπανιέναι, εἴθε ἀκροασόμενοι λόγων αὐτοῦ συνεληλύθειμεν. After the “three periods”, you should describe the funeral, the gathering of the city. “Would that he were being led to his wedding, or on a journey whence he was to return, would that we had come together to hear him speak!” (436.13 [2.16]).27

This rhetorical topos is equally provided by authors of the novelistic genre, as for example by Achilles Tatius. In his novel Leucippe and Clitophon there can be found the tragic death of young Charicles together with two lamentation speeches, a first by his father and a second by his beloved Clinias.28 Our poet not only takes up stylistic elements of rhetoric, such as syncrisis and encomium, but builds up his narrative also with common motives and topoi as can be shown through another close look on Himerius. In his 8th oration the orator takes up another topos, the mountains as the location of the death of numerous mythic figures, 8.8 ὦ Κιθαιρῶνος ταῖς ἐμαῖς νενικημένου συμφοραῖς “Oh, how Cithaeron has been outdone by the misfortunes that I have suffered!”. The Cithaeron is the place of death for characters like Actaeon and Pentheus and it is specially associated with Dionysus. Moreover, the fate of mythic celebrities like Oedipus and Polynices are closely interconnected with this Greek mountain range.29 Nonnus ties in with this mythical and literary commonplace and lets Ampelus die in the mountains as well, 11.113–4:

27 English translations by Russell – Wilson 1981, 203 and 205 respectively. 28 Ach. Tat. 1.13.5 Πότε μοι, τέκνον, γαμεῖς; Πότε σου θύω τοὺς γάμους, ἱππεῦ καὶ νυμφίε; Νυμφίε μὲν ἀτελές, ἱππεῦ δὲ δυστυχές. τάφος μέν σοι, τέκνον, ὁ θάλαμος, γάμος δὲ ὁ θάνατος, θρῆνος δὲ ὁ ὑμέναιος, ὁ δὲ κωκυτὸς τῶν γάμων οὗτος ᾠδαί. (6) Ἄλλο σοι, τέκνον, προσεδόκων πῦρ ἀνάψαι· ἀλλὰ τοῦτο μὲν ἔσβεσεν ἡ πονερὰ Τύχη μετὰ σοῦ· ἀνάπτει δέ σοι δᾷδας κακῶν. Ὦ πονηρᾶς ταύτης δᾳδουχίας· ἡ νυμφική σοι δᾳδουχία ταφὴ γίνεται “Tell me, my son, when are you to marry? When am I to perform the nuptial sacrifice, O horseman and groom (frustrated bridegroom, and sorry horseman)? Your bridal bedding will be your tomb, my son, and death will be your wedding; your wedding march will be your dirge, and this lamentation will be your hymns. It was another kind of torch that I hoped to light for you, my son, but that one wretched Fortune extinguished along with you; she lights instead the torches of the doom. Ah, a miserable kind of torch-parade is that! Your nuptial torch-parade has turned into a funeral”, transl. Whitmarsh. – The two lamentations in the novel, like the two speeches held by Dionysus in the Ampelus-episode, are preceded by an extended narration of the death of the bemoaned character. In 1.12–4 of Tatius’ work a messenger illustrates the fall off a horse just as in 11.214–23 the narrator describes Ampelus’ fall off the bull. 29 See also Himerius 8.17 and 66.6. For the numerous tragic mythic fates around mount Cithaeron see Penella 2007, 96 n. 77.

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Καὶ θρασὺν εἰσορόωσα νέον θανατηφόρος Ἄτη οὔρεσιν ἀγρώσσοντος ἀποπλαγχθέντα Λυαίου … But Ate, the deathbringing spirit of Delusion, saw the bold youth straying on the mountains away from Lyaios during the hunt …

That both Himerius and Nonnus rely on the traditional rhetorical style can be seen in the final motive of Himerius’ lament on Rufinus, a motive which reoccurs in the Ampelus-episode. Himerius closes his 8th speech with the motive of immortality of the son through the father, 8.23: κοσμήσω σε καὶ ἐπιταφίοις ἀγῶσι, καὶ παραδώσω τῷ χρόνῳ τὸ σὸν ὄνομα, καὶ γενήσομαι τοῦ δαίμονος κατὰ τοῦτο γοῦν τὸ μέρος φιλονεικότερος, ἵνα ἔχῃ μὲν ἐκεῖνος τὸ σῶμα, τὴν δὲ ψυχὴν ὁ οὐρανός, τὴν δὲ δόξαν ἅπαντες ἄνθρωποι. I shall honor you with funeral competitions, I shall hand down your name to time, and I shall be more ambitious than the [evil] spirit at least to this end: that, if that spirit has your body and heaven your soul, your repute may be a possession of all humankind.

The same motive is provided by Nonnus, as we have seen, at the end of Dionysus’ first speech in 10.208–11. The god Dionysus brings immortality to Ampelus just as the orator Himerius brings fame to his son.

4 Conclusion The analysis has shown the persistency and the indelible power of ancient rhetoric in the genus of poetry. Nonnus is just one example for the “rhetorisation of poetry” which is distinctive for the age of Late Antiquity. Like the sophist Himerius, Nonnus, the poet, is an expert on the sophisticated literary code of the time. Of course, one cannot prove that Nonnus knew the works of Himerius and made deliberately reference to them, it is rather that both make use of the vast literary legacy of the past by applying their “patchwork-technique” to their newly created story. The rhetorical design of Dionysus’ first speech in the Dionysiaca has shown that its goal is not to present Ampelus in a particularly detailed and exhaustive way. The poet does not give any individual characteristics; the new figure is an overall reflection of its mythic predecessors. Instead, Nonnus focuses on Dionysus. In his speech Dionysus introduces himself, in referring to his father Zeus, notably as a god of the Olympian pantheon. The question of Ampelus’ genealogy is, at the same time, a question of the ancestry and

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parentage of Dionysus. And within this divine framework, Ampelus, the vine, is “the essence” of the god Dionysus. Hence, the encomium on Ampelus turns out to be a self-encomium of Dionysus.

Enrico Magnelli

Appositives in Nonnus’ Hexameter* 1 Aims and Methods There is still room, if not for great discoveries, at least for some little improvements in our knowledge of Nonnus’ verse technique (however commonplace this may sound). Much of what we know in this field stems from the groundbreaking researches of nineteenth-century German Hellenists, such as Arthur Ludwich, August Scheindler, Isidor Hilberg, and above all Heinrich Tiedke;1 both Paul Maas (in two characteristically brief but insightful articles, and later in his Griechische Metrik) and Albert Wifstrand (in his pivotal Von Kallimachos zu Nonnos) went several steps further;2 and even in recent times, after Keydell’s assessment,3 the work of some outstanding Nonnian scholars – among them Francis Vian and Gianfranco Agosti – made us better understand the poet’s metrical practice.4 Much is taken. Notwithstanding, something still abides:5 and I think that a study of the so-called “appositives” in Nonnus’ verse may shed some light on both the poet’s technique and the evolution of the Greek hexameter in Late Antiquity. With “appositives” I do not just mean enclitics and proclitics, but every kind of word with little prosodic weight and feeble semantic force, such as articles, prepositions, conjunctions, particles, and so on: words that Greek poets, in shaping their verse, did not treat as independent units, rather as part of a “metrical unit” (Wortbild in German, parola metrica in my native language) that they form together with “stronger” – and often, yet not always, longer – words like nouns, adjectives, or verbs.6 It is sometimes hard to say * I am deeply grateful to Konstantinos Spanoudakis, for his kind invitation to the Nonnus Conference, his support, and his great patience with my repeated delays in completing this paper; to Michael Paschalis, for his friendly hospitality in Crete; and to all the scholars who took part in the discussion offering valuable comments. All the remaining shortcomings are entirely mine. 1 Their works, along with many others, are conveniently listed by Keydell 1959, I, 29*–35*. 2 Maas 1923, 1927 (= 1973, 163–4 and 169–70 respectively), and 1929 (= 1962); Wifstrand 1933. 3 Keydell 1959, I, 35*–42*. 4 Cf. Vian 1976, L–LV; Agosti – Gonnelli 1995, esp. 341–8 and 394 f.; Vian 2003, 215–9; Agosti 2003, 175–210; 2004, 32–44; 2004a; 2010; also 2010a, 173–5. 5 Anyone wondering whether it is still worth to do research on Greek and Latin metre should bear in mind the famous line 65 of Tennyson’s Ulysses (“tho’ much is taken, much abides”). 6 Cantilena 1995, 11–28 provides the best assessment of this topic. On some points of detail see also Bulloch 1970, 259–63; Fantuzzi 1995, 228 n. 27; Magnelli 2002, 58 n. 5.

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whether a certain word be appositive or not. Different poets, all the more in different ages, may hold not the same view – better said, they may have a different feeling of rhythm and structure in their verses. Preverbs in tmesis, for instance, are treated as appositive by Callimachus but were probably regarded as independent units in the Homeric poems, where they often retain their ancient adverbial force.7 Even in the same century, language (especially poetical language) is not always consistent: semantics, syntax, and many other factors may interact in making a given word behave like an appositive in a given passage.8 In my analysis, I tried to be quite strict in defining metrical units: among appositives I counted proclitics, enclitics, articles, prepositions, conjunctions, negatives, and relative pronouns, but excluded many other kinds of pronouns like interrogatives, possessives, demonstratives, and nonenclitic forms of the personal pronoun. Furthermore, I do not count δή, μήν, θην,9 τοι, ποτε/ποκα, pronominal τις, enclitic forms of the personal pronouns, of εἰμί and of φημί, and adverbial τι among those appositives that “cannot absorb the force of a preceding prepositive, but can act only as a bridge”:10 this means that in e.g. Nonn. Dion. 8.184 καί οἱ κλῆρον ἔδωκε I assume that there is a word-break after οἱ and that καί οἱ κλῆρον is not a whole metrical unit (thus not offending against Meyer’s First Law, on which see below). With some hesitation, I decided to follow Cantilena in setting at three morae (mora = χρόνος πρῶτος, the length of a short syllable) the maximum length for any word that may count among appositives.11 This means that in Dion. 25.150 ὁππότε Κύπρις ἔην the words ὁππότε Κύπρις, in spite of syntax, is assumed not to form a metrical unit. There are many lines, in both Nonnian poems, beginning with ὁππότε, ἐξότε, εἰσόκε, ἀντίον etc. followed by a trochaic or dactylic word: I am far from sure that Nonnus did not feel such lines as exceptions to the rhythmical trends that we call Meyer’s First Law and Giseke’s Law,12 but I prefer not to have the total amount of violations altered by very uncertain evidence. 7 On this point, see Bulloch 1970, 260–2; Cantilena 1995, 26 f. 8 Devine – Stephens 1994, 285–375, show this effectively (they mainly focus on the iambic trimeter, but many theories of theirs hold true for the hexameter as well). 9 This is just an overall methodological principle. In fact, neither μήν nor θην are attested in Nonnus (on the former see below, n. 48). 10 To say it with Bulloch 1970, 262 n. 5 (continuative in my native language). Cf. Cantilena 1995, 21–4, with further references. 11 Cantilena 1995, 25. 12 For the former, cf. Dion. 25.222, 459, 27.276, 33.214, 36.431, 38.8, al., Par. 6.123, 17.64, 19.89; for the latter, Dion. 37.651, 694, 42.125 with Par. 5.59, 7.90. It must be said that in verses like Dion. 41.101 ὁππότε νόσφι γάμων, if ὁππότε were appositive we would have a huge metrical unit extending from the first longum to the masculine caesura.

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That the verse is built not of single words, but of metrical units, is well known: this holds true for Homer, for the Alexandrians, and for Late Antique poets too. Thus, for instance, in a line such as Nonn. Par. 5.58 Ἰησοῦν ἐδίωκον, ὅτι ζαθέῳ παρὰ νηῷ it is clear that ὅτι ζαθέῳ is a metrical unit and does not offend against Tiedke (– Meyer)’s Law, according to which words of shape ll or rl rarely end in the fifth longum.13 Likewise, Nonn. Dion. 3.14 ἀρτιφανής, καὶ γυμνὸν ἀπ᾿ εὐόδμοιο καλύπτρης has no real word-break after καί (καὶ γυμνόν being a metrical unit): thus the line does not offend against Hilberg’s Law, according to which a word-break after a spondaic second foot is avoided.14 Yet Nonnus’ treatment of the appositives appears to be less consistent than it may seem. Let us see how, and try to understand why. I will first deal with the metrical “laws”, or “bridges”, concerning the second foot of the hexameter: namely, Meyer’s First Law (words beginning in the first foot should not end with the “second trochee”, i.e. words of shape xlk should not end in the second foot), Giseke’s Law (words of shape xly should not end with the second foot),15 and, more briefly, Meyer’s Second Law (iambic words rarely stand before masculine caesura) and Hilberg’s Law. Then I will analyze the behaviour of appositives in the fourth foot, with reference to Hermann’s Bridge (word-break after the “fourth trochee” is strictly avoided), partly relying on a previous paper of mine. Finally, I will reconsider Nonnus’ use of final monosyllables – this is a well known feature of his verse technique, and I have no new data on it, but I think that it may help towards a better appreciation of the whole question.

2 The Second Foot of the Hexameter No Greek poet strictly respects Meyer’s First Law. Even the meticulous Callimachus infringes it twice with a single word in his hexameter hymns (HyAp. 41 πρῶκες ἔραζε πέσωσιν, HyDem. 91 ὡς δὲ Μίμαντι χιών),16 much more often 13 Maas 1962, 64; West 1982, 155 (on Par. 5.58 cf. Agosti 2003, 190). The rule was discovered by Tiedke 1873, 15–27, who nonetheless listed several exceptions in Nonnus’ poems. 14 Maas 1962, 62; West 1982, 155; Hollis 1990, 20. On Nonnus’ practice see Keydell 1959, I, 36* (some exceptions, yet very few and very light, are noted below). 15 Maas 1962, 63. Note that Giseke’s Law partially overlaps with Hilberg’s: Giseke 1864, 128 explicitly included “der bacchius […], der molossus […] und der dispondeus”. In fact, Hellenistic poets tend to avoid first hemistichs like Apoll. Rhod. 2.178 κεῖσ᾿ Ὁμονοίης ἱρόν, simultaneously offending against both rules (Magnelli 1995, 157 f.). 16 HyDem. 91 is not spurious, pace Maas 1956, 24 n. 2 = 1973, 93 n. 6: see Hopkinson 1984, 152.

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with a metrical unit such as Ἀκταίη τις (Hec. fr. 1 Hollis), ἐτμήγη δέ (Aet. fr. 20 Pf. = 22 Massimilla), etc.,17 and the same holds true for Theocritus, Aratus, and many other poets.18 Scholars used to assume that the latter instances are irrelevant,19 but I hope to have shown, in a paper eighteen years ago, that the question is a little more complex. As a matter of fact, Hellenistic poets (not only Callimachus) appear to consider such verbal structures as “milder” violations: they use verse-beginnings like ἀλλ᾿ οὐ φυκτὰ κέλευθα or ὄφρ᾿ αὐτός με τεῇσι (Apoll. Rhod. 1.246, 281) quite sparingly, though not so infrequently as χειμερίοιο ῥέεθρα or ἀλλ᾿ ἄρρηκτος ἄκαμπτος (Apoll. Rhod. 1.9, 63).20 Now, what about Nonnus? His practice has not been studied in detail – probably because Meyer’s Laws are not so relevant, for the Alexandrians at least, as Hermann’s Bridge or Naeke’s Law.21 Keydell’s treament is still the less concise one: Vocabula, quorum prima syllaba ante longum secundum posita est, ultimam in priore brevi dactyli secundi ante caesuram masculinam praeter 40, 399 nusquam, ante femininam raro collocatam habent. Vide locos a Ludwich2 455 sq. et Maas5 18 adnot. 4 allatos, quibus adde 8, 143 et 14, 372.22

Ludwich listed nineteen violations due to a single word in Dion. and two in Par.: Maas and Keydell added ten more passages from the longer poem. Yet Maas’ supplement also included some instances like Dion. 17.175 μὴ μετὰ τόσσα κάρηνα or 48.696 καὶ μετὰ θεῖον ἄγαλμα. There are much more. By a fresh scrutiny of the whole text of both Nonnian poems, I could ascertain that the lines featuring single-word violations of Meyer’s First Law are in fact 29 out of 21.280 in Dion. (all known to Ludwich, Maas, and Keydell) and 8 out of 3624 in Par.:23 17 Magnelli 1995, 143. 18 There is a full collection of data in Magnelli 1995. 19 Cf. West 1982, 155 n. 51; Hollis 1990, 19 f. and 138. 20 Magnelli 1995, 162–4. Scholars begin to pay attention to such nuances: cf. Floridi 2007, 29; Massimilla 2010, 55. 21 Cf. Magnelli 2002, 74–8. 22 Keydell 1959, I, 36* § 7, referring to Ludwich 1874 and Maas 1927. Note that 8.143 and 14.372 have been added to the list in the reprint of Maas’ paper among his Kleine Schriften (Maas 1973, 170 n. 6). 23 I.e. much more often than “about once in every two or three thousand lines” (Maas 1962, 63): “etwa alle 1000 Verse einmal” of the German edition (Maas 1929, 23) was a little closer to the truth. For the Dionysiaca I used the Budé edition (now happily completed); for the Paraphrase I relied on recent critical editions for Books 1 (De Stefani 2002), 2 (Livrea 2000), 4 (Caprara 2005), 5 (Agosti 2003), 6 (Franchi 2013), 13 (Greco 2004), 18 (Livrea 1989), and 20 (Accorinti 1996), on Scheindler 1881 for the rest. I do not include the spurious Dion. 17.73 and 48.909, and some more lines of uncertain authenticity (Dion. 23.180–1; 26.151; 41.50; Par. 19.13).

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Dion. 2.655 χαιτήεντα Λέοντα 2.673 οὐρανίοιο Δράκοντος 3.389 λαχνήεσσα λέαινα 5.139 τοξευτῆρος Ἔρωτος 5.599 αὐτοχάρακτον ἄγαλμα 7.67 ὣς φαμένοιο γέροντος 8.143 οἰστρηθεῖσα μύωπι 9.58 θλιβομένοιο γάλακτος 9.242 Ἡραίοιο γάλακτος (= 35.310) 10.107 νεκρὸν ἄθαπτον ἄδακρυν 12.34 πρωτογόνοιο Φάνητος 13.60 οἵ τε Μίδειαν ἔναιον 14.123 νόσφι μόθοιο λέοντες 14.305 Ἀστράεντα κέλευε 14.372 καὶ τυφλοῖσι πόδεσσι 14.422 βομβήεσσα μέλισσα 16.260 καὶ τρομεροῖσι πόδεσσιν 24.75 καὶ σφετέροισιν ἰόντες24 29.247 χεῖρας ὄρεξε Μάρωνι 33.84 ῥῖψε λέβητος ὕπερθε 33.329 καί σε θάλασσα φύλαξε 35.310 Ἡραίοιο γάλακτος (= 9.242) 37.550 ἀνθεμόεντα λέβητα 40.399 εἴτε Σάραπις ἔφυς 41.165 θεσμὰ Σόλωνος ἔχουσα 42.335 καὶ σκιεροῖσι γάμοισιν 43.287 θαρσύνοντες ἄνακτα 45.325 καὶ σφαλεροῖσι πόδεσσιν 48.270 ἀγρευτῆρος Ἔρωτος Par. 1.49 πρῶτος ἐμεῖο βέβηκεν 1.146 ἦμαρ ἐκεῖνο τέλεσσαν 10.38 ἠὲ περισσὸν ἔχοιεν

A further violation in the Paraphrase might be 12.22, if one retains the transmitted τοῦτο δ᾿ ἐκεῖνος ἔλεξε (δὲ κεῖνος Wernicke, followed by Scheindler: see Franchi 2013, 217). 24 Obelized by Keydell; “suspectum” according to Hopkinson 1994c; Peek’s (1969, 28) emendation καὶ σφετέροις τεκέεσσιν may well be right. See Hopkinson 1994c, 267 f., quoting earlier literature.

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17.87 ἀνδρομέοιο δίκαιε 18.86 πυρσὸν ἄκαπνον ἔχουσα 19.51 εἰ μὴ ἄνωθεν ἔην 19.58 πᾶς γὰρ ἑαυτὸν ἄνακτα 21.61 καὶ διεροῖσι πόδεσσι This gives figures of 0.14 % in Dion. and 0.22 % in Par.: as far as single words are concerned, Nonnus’ observance of this metrical rule is similar to Callimachus’ (2 lines out of 935 in the five hexameter hymns, i.e. 0.21 %), and quite stricter than, e.g., Aratus’ (8 out of 1153, i.e. 0.69 %), Apollonius’ (71 out of 5837 in the Argonautica, i.e. 1.22 %) and Theocritus’ (13 out of 604 in the nonparodic bucolic poems: 2.15 %).25 Add that some of these violations are probably due to imitation of a Hellenistic or Imperial source. For Dion. 2.655 Keydell rightly adduced Doroth. Sid. fr. 5.1 Stegemann (= p. 323 Pingree) Κριὸς χαιτήεις τε Λέων τόξοιό τε Ῥυτήρ, though the metrical structure is different;26 Dion. 2.673 οὐρανίοιο Δράκοντος may be due to the influence of Diophilus’ astrological poem, SH 391.7 οὐραν[ί]οιο Λέοντος (also echoed few lines earlier at Dion. 2.657 οὐρανίου τε Λέοντος, and again at 38.360);27 λαχνήεσσα at Dion. 3.389 has a parallel, or possibly a model, in [Opp.] Cyn. 3.274; lines beginning with quadrisyllabic forms of τοξευτήρ, like Dion. 5.139, already appear in Maximus’ Περὶ καταρχῶν (33, 62, 232);28 Dion. 7.67 comes from Quint. Smyr. 4.323; Dion. 14.422 probably echoes Theoc. 3.13 ἁ βομβεῦσα μέλισσα;29 Dion. 5.599 makes me think of Noss. AP 6.353.1 = HE 2819 Αὐτομέλιννα τέτυκται. Had we more hexameter poetry from the third century BC to the fourth CE, further parallels would surely come to light.30

25 All figures for the second foot in Hellenistic authors are based on the data collected in Magnelli 1995. 26 In Nonnus cf. also Dion. 20.257 χαιτήεις κεκόρυστο λέων. The phrase will resurface in the 12th century with Theodore Prodromus (Carm. hist. 6.70 f.) and Constantine Manasses (Chron. 252), probably under Nonnus’ influence. 27 See Knox 1988, 548; Agosti 2004, 817; cf. also Greg. Naz. Carm. 2.2.7.52 οὐρανίοιο Λόγοιο. On Diophilus’ (or Diophila’s) fragment, almost surely Hellenistic, see Barigazzi 1963; Lehnus 2001, 285–287; Massimilla 2010, 151. 28 Noted by Nicola Zito in his forthcoming (and eagerly awaited) Budé edition of Maximus’ poem. Nonnus’ τοξευτῆρος Ἔρωτος is later re-used by Colluthus, line 29 (Livrea 1968, 79). 29 Gerlaud 1994, 203, also recording Anon. APl. 74.2 (late, maybe even influenced by Nonnus). 30 I also toyed with the idea that Dion. 41.165 θεσμὰ Σόλωνος ἔχουσα (on whose meaning see Chuvin – Fayant 2006, 10) may owe something to Euphorion, who is known to have dealt with Solon and his voyages in the Near East (CA fr. 1 = 3 Lightfoot: discussion in Magnelli 2013, 183–5). But this remains mere speculation.

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Nonnus also has “Alexandrian”, but not entirely “Callimachean” standards in his observance of Meyer’s Second Law: an iambic word (I mean an independent word, not part of a metrical unit) before masculine caesura in the third foot occurs 218 times in Dion. (1.02 %) and 56 in Par. (1.54 %).31 This is in keeping with the major Hellenistic poets (Aratus 1.30 %, Apollonius 1.47 %, Theocritus 3.14 % in his bucolic poems but 2.09 % in the epic ones), not with Callimachus, who appears to be even stricter (0.32 % in the hexameter hymns, 0.18 % in his elegiac hexameters). As Keydell did not fail to notice, the only instance of simultaneous violation of both Meyer’s First and Second Laws in Dion. is 40.399: the one instance I could find in Par. is 19.51.32 Here also Nonnus appears to side with his Hellenistic forebears, who tended to avoid such lines (Callimachus has only one, the notorious HyDem. 91: see above).33 Violations of Meyer’s First Law caused by metrical units are another story. In my analysis of the whole Nonnian text, I realized that such violations appear to be quite frequent, surely more than I had expected – let me stress that evidence had never been collected before. I divided the instances into five sub-categories of metrical units: a. ending with δέ, like συμφυέες δὲ δράκοντες (Dion. 1.158), Κωρυκίου δὲ κάρηνα (1.258), etc.; b. ending with μέν, like νηπιάχῳ μὲν ἔειπεν (10.293), δεξιτερὴν μὲν ἔπαυσε (19.264), etc. (very few instances in both poems); c. ending with τε, like Θεσπιέων τε πόληα (4.336 = 13.70), Σιληνούς τε φύλασσε (19.311), etc.; d. ending with enclitic forms of the personal pronoun, like χειρὶ τεῇ με δάιξον (4.174), εἰ Βορέης σε δάμασσεν (11.457), etc.; e. other kinds of metrical units, like ὡς καὶ χθιζὰ τέλεσσεν (1.123), εἰ μὴ ζῆλος ἔχει σε (4.171), καὶ γλυκερήν περ ἐοῦσαν (6.322), etc. Needless to say, absolute exactness is hardly attainable. It is quite likely that at Dion. 39.300 the genuine text was Βακχιάδες δὲ φάλαγγες (the reading of some recentiores, accepted by both Simon 1999 and Agosti 2004) instead of Βακχιάδες τε φ. (L, retained by Keydell 1959 assuming that some lines are

31 Tiedke 1878, 64–66 discussed some violations of this rule. 32 On the former passage, Keydell was anticipated by Maas 1929, 23: “nur 40, 399 in einem ungriechischen Eigennamen”. But no proper name is involved in Par. 19.51 – add that in the fifth century CE Σάραπις was not so exotic a god in the Greek-speaking world, all the more for Nonnus, whose interest in Egyptian culture was deeper than scholars once used to assume (Gigli Piccardi 1998 has shown this effectively). 33 Magnelli 1995, 157 f.

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missing both before and after this one);34 but at Dion. 5.329, provided that we do not print νεβροφόνων ἐχάραξαν (Scaliger, followed by both Keydell 1959 and Hopkinson 1994d), should we read νεβροφόνον τε χάραξαν (L, printed by Chuvin 1976) or ν. τ᾿ ἐχάραξαν? The same applies to Dion. 44.182 ἀστεροπὴν δ᾿ ἐκάλεσσε (Scheindler 1880, 39 f., followed by Simon 2004: δὲ κάλεσσε L), to Par. 20.48 Μαγδαλινὴ δ᾿ ἐλέλειπτο (VP: δὲ λέλειπτο N, see Accorinti 1996, 167 f.), and to many other passages where it is hard to say whether Nonnus indeed wrote δέ / τε (against Meyer’s First Law) or δ᾿ ἐ- / τ᾿ ἐ-.35 Be this as it may, some three or even four dozens of doubtful instances are tolerable in more than 24.900 verses, and I trust that a number of faint trees will not be a serious obstacle to an acceptably clear view of the whole forest. Here are the data, for every single Book of the Dionysiaca (those of the Paraphrase are too short to have any statistical significance individually) and then for the full text of both poems. Meyer’s First Law (with appositives) vv.

Dion. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

534 712 444 463 621 388 368 418 321 430 521 397 568 437 421 405

(a)

(b)

(c)

(d)

(e)

total

δέ

μέν

τε

με etc.

al.

vv.

%

16 21 7 6 7 9 3 4 11 5 1 5 7 6 5 1

– – – – – – – – – 1 – – – 1 – –

– 2 – 1 2 2 – – – – – – 7 3 1 2

– – – 1 3 – – – – 4 3 1 – – – 1

1 – 1 5 1 3 1 3 1 2 4 1 1 1 2 2

17 23 8 13 13 14 4 7 12 12 8 7 15 11 8 6

3.18 3.23 1.80 2.81 2.09 3.61 1.09 1.67 3.74 2.79 1.53 1.76 2.64 2.52 1.90 1.48

34 Cf. also Keydell 1927, 431 (= 1982, 481). 35 Cf. Dion. 1.231, 5.105, 598, 8.371, 9.261, 13.28, 171, 249, 258, 347, 15.25, 18.102, and so on; also Par. 2.39, 6.29, 7.116, 8.88, 9.15, 76, 11.137, 12.16, 18.158. Similar cases are discussed by Cameron 1973, 266. It goes without saying that manuscripts cannot be relied on in such matters: cf. Keydell 1959, I, 15*, on elisions to be either restored or removed in the text of L (“quae omnia paucis locis exceptis in apparatu critico non notantur”: the Budé edition is usually more accurate on such details).

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vv.

17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 Dion. tot. Par.

(a)

(b)

(c)

(d)

(e)

total

δέ

μέν

τε

με etc.

al.

vv.

%

396 368 348 404 345 401 318 348 572 377 341 330 381 326 282 299 388 358 391 480 778 434 407 580 426 542 449 318 358 369 741 977

6 8 6 4 3 6 5 7 9 4 10 2 8 5 1 12 7 6 7 10 8 6 11 5 6 5 18 8 9 4 12 15

– – 1 – – – – – 2 – – – 1 – – – 1 1 – – 2 – – – – – – – – – – 1

– 1 1 – – – – – 1 4 – 1 – – – 1 1 – – 1 – – – 1 – – – – – – – –

1 – – 1 1 – – – 2 – – – – 1 – 1 2 3 – – – – – 1 1 1 – 1 – 3 2 1

5 1 4 – 2 3 2 1 6 1 – 1 4 2 3 3 1 5 3 2 1 3 – 3 3 6 1 2 2 1 11 5

12 10 12 5 6 9 7 8 20 9 10 4 13 8 4 17 12 15 10 13 11 9 11 10 10 12 19 11 11 8 25 22

3.03 2.72 3.49 1.24 1.74 2.24 2.20 2.30 3.50 2.39 2.93 1.21 3.41 2.45 1.42 5.68 3.09 4.19 2.56 2.71 1.41 2.07 2.71 1.72 2.35 2.21 4.23 3.46 3.08 2.17 3.37 2.25

21.280 3624

347 15

11 1

32 2

35 9

116 40

541 67

2.54 1.89

As we can see, there are remarkable differences in both the total number of violations in every single Book of the Dionysiaca (from 1.09 % in Book 7 up to an amazing 5.68 % in Book 32) and the distribution of sub-categories (compare the overwhelming predominance of type (a) in Books 1–3, 9, 27, 43 with the far more balanced Books 10, 25, 34, and 40). At any rate, the last part of the poem appears to be neither more “correct” nor more consistent than the

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first Books, so that no evolution of Nonnus’ practice can be detected in this field. Sub-category (a) is especially frequent in Books 1–2 of the Dionysiaca, i.e. the story of Typhoeus, where 12 instances out of 37 run lkkl δὲ γίγαντος.36 Other frequent (not to say formulaic) phrases include lkkl δὲ δράκοντ- (16×),37 lkkl δὲ φάλαγγ- (67×),38 lkkl τε τένοντ- (5× in the first thirteen Books),39 lkklk πόδεσσι (30×),40 and καί τινα μῦθον ἔειπε(ν)/ἔλεξε (17×).41 Yet it would be misleading to assume that this kind of Nonnian “formularity” is the main reason for so high a frequence of violations. Even excluding all the above mentioned instances (amounting to 145 lines in Dion. and 6 lines in Par.), there still remain 396 violations out of 21.035 lines in the Dionysiaca and 61 violations out of 3618 lines in the Paraphrase: this gives 1.88 % and 1.69 % respectively – far higher figures than Callimachus’ (0.75 %) or Apollonius’ (1.32 %).42 We can rather observe that, given the absence of certain typical phrases in the Paraphrase – no giants, very few snakes, and very few φάλαγγες in it –,43 Nonnus’ degree of observance of this particular incarnation of Meyer’s First Law is roughly the same in both poems: here is still another argument, if not a very heavy one, for single authorship of the two works ascribed to the poet from Panopolis.44

36 1.220, 244, 263, 291, 299, 521, 2.32, 60, 250, 380, 521, 542. Later in the poem at 25.512, 45.176, 48.49, cf. also 48.30 ὁπλοτέρους δὲ γίγαντας. 37 Dion. 1.158, 189, 266, 2.290, 370, 6.98, 136, 22.29, 33, 25.402, 501, 26.198, 32.139, 33.370, 375, 48.914. 38 Dion. 1.165, 224, 498, 2.54, 4.403, 5.33, 6.292, 337, 7.92, 13.56, 135, 206, 432, 14.5, 52, 340, 388, 18.81, 246, 20.25, 112, 22.347, 23.272, 24.102, 129, 173, 26.372, 27.19, 153, 164, 310, 29.258, 288, 30.8, 32.181, 226, 240, 276, 34.153, 271, 343, 348, 35.81, 97, 36.3, 97, 244, 38.136, 380, 39.183, 218, 300, 312, 43.92, 165, 253, 307, 343, 45.266, 47.534, 543, 594, 719, 48.32, 54, 192; Par. 7.183. Add six occurrences of lkkl τε φάλαγγ-: Dion. 13.45, 14.128, 26.149, 33.49; Par. 1.212, 4.60. 39 Dion. 2.396, 6.215, 220, 13.164, 420. 40 The passages from the Dionysiaca are conveniently collected in Peek Lex. III, 1391–96; add Par. 8.192, 13.46, 19.21, 40, 20.26. 41 Occurrences are listed in Peek Lex. III, 1058; never in the Paraphrase. 42 Magnelli 1995, 162. 43 No mention of δράκοντες apart from Moses’ snake in Book 3 (72 δακνομένων … ὄφιν δηλήμονα φωτῶν and 76 λυσιπόνου μίμημα δρακοντείοιο προσώπου). The three occurrences of φάλαγξ reported at n. 38 above are 1.212 ἀγγελικῆς τε φάλαγγος (a common image: see De Stefani 2002, 238 f.), 4.60 τετραπόδων τε φάλαγγες, and 7.183 ἀφνειῇ δὲ φάλαγγι (the wealthy Jews). 44 Very few scholars are still inclined to question it: the most notable exception is Sherry 1996, whose arguments have been effectively refuted by Agosti – Gonnelli 1995, 331–3, 341–7; Accorinti 1999, 493–5 and Agosti 2003, 196–205 (cf. also Livrea 2003, 447 n. 3; Caprara 2005, 71 f., and a valuable remark in Hollis 1994, 59).

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A good number of violations occur in two subsequent verses45 or in cluster-like sequences.46 This is not surprising, since it is well known that metrical peculiarities – even metrical oddities – tend to gather into clusters:47 but it corroborates the impression that Nonnus did not feel such lines as really unpleasant. Note also that simultaneous violation of both Meyer’s First and Second Laws, attested only once in each poem when the First Law is infringed by a single word (Dion. 40.399 and Par. 19.51: see above), is much more frequent with metrical units (γηραλέου δὲ Πίθου, εἰ μὴ τοῦτο γέρας, etc.): 21 occurrences in Dion., 10 in Par.48 How are we to explain this? No scholar will, I hope, infer that Nonnus regarded appositives as independent words. There are at least four arguments against so drastic a theory (all four, to be sure, are very well known to every specialist of Nonnian poetry): a. In Nonnus, short final syllables ending with a consonant may be lengthened by a following consonant provided that they are placed in a longum, very seldom when they are placed in a biceps. But the rule does not apply to μέν, γάρ, ὅς, μιν.49 b. Nonnus uses verses like Dion. 48.72 Θρηικίοις σκοπέλοις κεκορυθμένος· ἀμφὶ δὲ Βάκχῳ as four-word lines (versus tetracolos), thus regarding metrical units as equivalent to single words.50 c. Nonnus allows “unius syllabae longae vocabula, quae neque praepositiva sint neque postpositiva” (Keydell) to stand in the first, second, and fifth longum, albeit under certain conditions, and banishes them from the third, fourth, and sixth longum as well as from all the bicipitia.51 This rule does

45 Cf. Dion. 2.400–1 Πιερικῷ δὲ τένοντι … / ἀντολίης δὲ θέμεθλα, 13.432–3 Κυπριάδας δὲ φάλαγγας ἐκόσμεε Λίτρος ἀγήνωρ / εὐχαίτης τε Λάπηθος, 14.223–4 Σιλήνη τε Ῥόδη τε καὶ Ὠκυνόη καὶ Ἐρευθὼ / Ακρήτη τε Μέθη τε (a very Hesiodic passage); 16.141 f., 18.80 f., 19.311 f., 22.16 f., 25.378 f., 26.339 f., 27.281 f., 34.244 f. and 347 f. (on the latter, see also the following note), 46.218 f. 46 Dion. 9, ll. 141, 145, 148; 10, ll. 197, 200, 208, 214; 19, ll. 292, 297, 302; 22, ll. 26, 29, 33; 34, ll. 343, 347 f.; 35, ll. 81, 83, 88; 43, ll. 85, 92, 98; 47, ll. 277, 279, 286; Par. 6, ll. 13, 18, 21; 18, ll. 58, 64, 69. 47 Cf. e.g. Conte 1984, 111; Agosti 2003, 188–90. 48 Dion. 8.295, 17.67, 185, 19.40, 177, 21.224, 25.61, 260, 340 (σχέτλιοί εἰσι θεοί, ζηλήμονες: a close imitation of Od. 5.118), 424, 29.145, 34.245, 35.27, 37.44, 42.181, 437, 43.246, 47.277, 286, 498, 596; Par. 1.20 (emending the transmitted μήν into μέν with Lehrs: see De Stefani 2002, 122), 91, 3.139, 7.117, 145, 9.187, 10.24 = 28, 18.64, 19.46. Some of them were pointed out by Tiedke 1878, 64. 49 See Keydell 1959, I, 39*; Vian 1976, LIV. 50 See Agosti 2004, 42 f., with previous literature and an insightful analysis of Dion. 48.71–6. 51 See Wifstrand 1933, 55–64; Keydell 1959, I, 36* f.

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not apply to monosyllabic appositives – see also point (d) below, on Hilberg’s Law. d. Word-end after a spondaic second foot. Nonnus proves to observe Hilberg’s Law (see above) quite strictly: it is infringed thrice in the Dionysiaca, only once, as far as I could ascertain, in the Paraphrase – never simultaneously offending against Giseke’s Law: Dion. 6.327 πᾶσα πόλις, πᾶς δῆμος 15.418 πῇ Νέμεσις; πῇ Κύπρις; 42.140 (πῇ σέο θύρσοι /) ἀνδροφόνοι; πῇ φρικτὰ κεράατα; Par. 7.39 πῆ μοι ἔβη; ποῖ κεῖνος; Neither πᾶς nor πῇ/ποῖ are usually included among appositives: yet in these lines their structural and semantic link with the following word is very strong, and the preceding sense-pause enhances the word-break after the second longum almost overshadowing that after the second biceps. To sum up: very light violations, if at all52 – nothing in common with e.g. Archestr. SH 180.1 = fr. 50.1 Olson – Sens καὶ βατίδ᾿ ἑφθὴν ἔσθε or Nic. Th. 618 πάντα δὲ λίγδῳ θρύπτε. On the contrary, appositives forming a metrical unit with the following word are extremely frequent in that position. I counted 256 occurrences in Dion. and 57 in Par.: this shows that to Nonnus’ ear verses like Dion. 2.99 ἀμφοτέραις, μὴ Φοῖβον ἴδῃς, μὴ Πᾶνα νοήσω or 4.100 κλῆρον ἐμὸν καὶ δῶμα καὶ οὓς ποθέω γενετῆρας were perfectly acceptable and did not imply any real word-break after the second foot. Nobody, in other words, will doubt whether Nonnus knew what appositives were and how they could be used in the Greek hexameter. What we need to understand is his attitude towards Meyer’s First Law: better said, towards a particular kind of violations that Callimachus tended to dislike – while Nonnus himself, for his part, apparently did not care to avoid them. Before we seek for an answer, and cast an eye to the fourth and sixth feet of the hexameter, let us briefly examine Nonnus’ observance of Giseke’s Law. I found three single-word violations in Dion. (all probably due to imitation of earlier poetry)53 and only one in Par.:

52 It is not by chance, I think, that Maas (1962, 62) did not mention them, and Keydell (1959, I, 36*) resolutely wrote “Post biceps secundum, si una syllaba efficitur, nullum finitur vocabulum”. 53 Already listed by Keydell 1959, I, 36*, and Maas 1962, 63. Dion. 13.94 clearly imitates Il. 2.511 οἳ δ᾿ Ἀσπληδόνα ναῖον (Vian 1995, 218). Wifstrand 1933, 14 f. may be right in thinking

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Dion.

Par.

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13.94 οἵ τ᾿ Ἀσπληδόνος ἄστυ 13.466 οἵ τε Τορήβιον εὐρύ 26.55 οἵ τε Σεσίνδιον αἰπύ 9.73 καί μιν ἀνείρετο λαός

Once again, Nonnus appears to follow in the steps of Callimachus, whose only violation (and a very mild one) of this rule is AP 6.351.1 = Epigr. 34.1 Pf. τίν με, λεοντάγχ᾿ ὦνα: other Hellenistic poets are less fastidious.54 Things change if we take into account violations involving a metrical unit, such as Dion. 25.194 οἶδα καὶ Ἀρκάδα κάπρον or Par. 4.206 καὶ γὰρ ἐς ἱερὸν ἦμαρ. There are 91 lines of this kind in the Dionysiaca and 36 in the Paraphrase,55 i.e. 0.43 % and 0.99 % respectively. But here Nonnus’ practice need not trouble us: his figures are comparable to those of Callimachus (0.21 % in his hexameter hymns, 0.9 % in his elegiacs) and Theocritus’ bucolic poems (1 %). To find other evidence relevant to the main question, we have to leave the second foot and move to the other half of the Nonnian hexameter.

3 Appositives in the Fourth Foot and at Line-end Hermann’s Bridge (the well-known avoidance of word-break after the first short syllable of the fourth foot) is invariably respected by Nonnus,56 as it was by Callimachus and by many other refined poets of both Hellenistic and Impe-

that 13.466 and 26.55 (both brilliantly emended by Graefe: L has τετορύβιον and οἵ τ᾿ ἐς ἐσίνεον respectively) come from Dionysius’ Bassarica: it is all but certain that in Dion. 26.55– 59 Nonnus reworks Dionysius, see Livrea 1973, 54 and Hollis 1994, 55 f. 54 See Magnelli 1995, 162. On the Callimachean passage, involving a violation of Hilberg’s Law as well, cf. Hollis 1990, 20 n. 35; Magnelli 1995, 144 n. 43. 55 I include Dion. 11.123 ποῖον ἔχεις ποτὲ (Koechly, followed by Vian 1995 : τόδε L, retained by Keydell 1959) δῶρον ἀπ᾿ εὐθύρσοιο Λυαίου;. It must be said that some of these light violations are very, very light. Cf. Dion. 4.456 Γηγενέων τινὰ πέτρον ἐπῃώρησε καρήνῳ: I have followed the overall principle according to which the enclitic τις is postpositive, but syntax and sense rather join τινα with πέτρον, and it is quite hard to feel a real word-end between the two (the same at Dion. 17.50, 21.239, 34.65, 40.51, 133, 42.281; Par. 5.22, 7.168, 10.140). 56 Keydell 1959, I, 35*. The few alleged violations are easily emended: Dion. 6.366 δὲ βιήσατο L, δ᾿ ἐβιήσατο Hermann; 47.110 δὲ βαρύνετο L, δ᾿ ἐβαρύνετο Hermann; 19.66 ἔγειρον· ἀεθλοφόρῳ L, ἐγείρομεν· ἀθλοφόρῳ Canter; 38.212 πάις δὲ γενήτορα νύσσων L, πάις δ᾿ ἑὸν ἦτορ ἀμύσσων Maas; Par. 11.3 δὲ φατίζετο mss., δ’ ἐφατίζετο Hermann (cf. Scheindler 1880, 40).

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rial age.57 This said, what happens when an (alleged) word-break after the “fourth trochee” is either preceded or followed by one or more appositives? Gottfried Hermann himself, when he discovered the bridge that was to be named after him, did not fail to realize that appositives “hanc vim habent, ut prorsus non animadvertatur caesura trochaica”, and the acute Hermann Tiedke cursorily noted that in Nonnus “voces encliticae in permagno versuum numero quarti pedis caesuram tollunt trochaïcam”:58 but the topic was not studied until recent times. It was Fabrizio Gonnelli who opened up a new route asserting that Nonnus and other followers of the “modern” style of poetry in fact avoided verses of this kind.59 In a paper of few years ago,60 I tried to verify his assertion. I scrutinized the first five Books of the Iliad, Hesiod’s Theogony and Works & Days, Aratus, Apollonius of Rhodes, the five hexameter hymns by Callimachus, Theocritus’ non-parodic bucolic idylls (1 and 3–7) and his “epic” or narrative poems (13, 16, 17, 22, 24, 26),61 Nicander’s Theriaca and Alexipharmaca, Dionysius Periegetes, Oppian’s Halieutica, Triphiodorus, the “Orphic” Lithica – to sum up: the most important Hellenistic poets, and some of the most elegant Imperial ones –, and the whole text of the two Nonnian poems. In the present study, I have added six “Nonnian” poets (Christodorus, Pamprepius, Musaeus, Colluthus, Paul the Silentiary, John of Gaza). I divided the evidence into three types: a. –|w\w = word-break after the fourth longum and false word-break after the following short syllable, as in Il. 1.33 ὣς ἔφατ᾿· ἔδδεισεν δ᾿ ὁ γέρων | καὶ \ ἐπείθετο μύθῳ; b. –\w\w = false word-breaks after both the fourth longum and the following short syllable, as in Il. 1.324 εἰ δέ κε μὴ δώησιν, ἐγὼ \ δέ \ κεν αὐτὸς ἕλωμαι; c. –w\w = false word-break after the “fourth trochee” only, as in Il. 1.38 Κίλλάν τε ζαθέην, Τενέδοιό \ τε ἶφι ἀνάσσεις.

57 Aratus is the most blatant exception in the third century BC (Magnelli 2002, 76; further data in Magnelli 2008, 35 n. 8). On Imperial poetry see West 1982, 178 f.; Agosti – Gonnelli 1995, 325 and 383; Magnelli 2008, 35 n. 9. 58 Hermann 1805, 693; Tiedke 1873, 39. 59 In Agosti – Gonnelli 1995, 383: “la pratica moderna e nonniana evita al massimo anche questo tipo di infrazioni apparenti”. 60 Magnelli 2008. 61 On these categories see Fantuzzi 1995, 235 f.

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The following table shows the results of my scrutiny: The fourth foot (a) –|w\w vv. Il. 1–5 Hes. Th., Op. Arat. Apoll. Rhod. Call. Hy. 1–4, 6 Theoc. buc. epic. Nic. Th., Al. Dion. Per. Opp. Hal. Triphiod. [Orph.] Lith. Nonn. Dion. Par. Christod. Pampr. Musae. Colluth. Paul. Sil. Io. Gaz.

3359 1811 1153 5837 935 604 718 1582 1184 3506 691 774 21.280 3624 416 c. 269 343 394 1165 703

(b) –\w\w %

26 31 18 56 2 2 13 15 3 16 5 3 32 22 – – 2 – 5 2

0.77 1.71 1.56 0.96 0.21 0.33 1.81 0.95 0.25 0.46 0.72 0.39 0.15 0.61

0.58 0.43 0.28

(c) –w\w %

45 23 37 75 18 15 9 18 9 47 9 8 110 17 4 2 3 – 7 3

1.34 1.27 3.21 1.28 1.92 2.48 1.25 1.14 0.76 1.34 1.30 1.03 0.52 0.47 0.96 0.74 0.87 0.60 0.43

% 70 28 7 73 8 9 10 8 8 10 6 3 14 4 7 2 2 – 8 –

2.08 1.55 0.61 1.25 0.85 1.49 1.39 0.50 0.67 0.28 0.87 0.39 0.06 0.11 1.68 0.74 0.58 0.69

I am not sure that either fastidious Alexandrians like Callimachus or “modern” poets like Triphiodorus tend to avoid this kind of lines: but Nonnus surely does, at least with type (c). Down to the mid-fifth century CE (i.e. before the so-called “Nonnian school”) his figures are the lowest, except that of type (a) in the Paraphrase; and in type (c) the gap between him and the rest appears sensational.62 This may be due to the fact that lines of type (c), whose (false) word-break after the fourth trochee is not mitigated by any previous one (be it real or false), are those which more closely resemble real violations of Hermann’s Bridge. Note also that in Nonnus 17 occurrences of type (c) out of 18 belong to four very traditional syntactical structures: (i) οἷά περ / οἷά τε, 6× (Dion. 2.171; 8.4; 14.166; 31.191; 42.280; Par. 19.35); (ii) μετέπειτα δέ, 4× (Dion. 34.197; 37.554; Par. 13.35; 19.181); (iii) ἔοικε δέ, 3× (Dion. 13.220; 15.398; Par. 9.52); (iv) other trisyllabic verbs + δέ, 4× (ὕφαινε δέ, Dion. 6.152; ἔκειτο δέ, 38.13; ἔδυνε δέ, 39.342; ἔικτο δέ, 43.12). Only at Dion. 14.222 καὶ Καλύκη 62 Nonnian passages are listed in Magnelli 2008, 39 nn. 20–2.

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γελόωσα Βρύουσά τε, σύνδρομος αὔραις (quite Hesiodic a line, from a highly Hesiodic catalogue) the poet’s choice is a less common one. At any rate, this idiosyncrasy is a peculiar innovation of Nonnus’, not the development of any Alexandrian trend. Here, again, Nonnian appositives seem to cohere less closely with what follows or precedes them than one would expect. Finally, monosyllables at line-end. It is well known that when a verse ends with an “independent” monosyllable (i.e. neither itself appositive nor preceded by appositives), the monosyllable is often preceded by a choriambic word, by bucolic caesura, and by an uncontracted fourth biceps (not to offend against Naeke’s Law): in other words, the end of the line is shaped r|–r–|x. This practice is quite usual from Homer onwards, and largely predominant in the best Hellenistic poets: in Callimachus it apparently becomes a rule.63 It is also remarkable that, in Hellenistic age, refined authors like Callimachus, Apollonius, and Nicander tend to do the same when a verse ends with either an appositive monosyllable (Call. HyDem. 64 ποιησεῖς· θαμιναὶ γὰρ ἐς ὕστερον εἰλαπίναι τοι) or a monosyllable preceded by an appositive (ibid. 57 Δαμάτηρ δ᾿ ἄφατόν τι κοτέσσατο, γείνατο δ᾿ ἁ θεύς).64 Nonnus pushes this trend to the extreme: all his final monosyllables, including the postpositives μέν, δέ, and γάρ, are preceded by both bucolic caesura and a choriambic word (or metrical unit).65 Once again, the distinction between appositive and non-appositive words in the Nonnian hexameter is not so neat as it was in earlier Greek poetry.66 Nonnian poets follow in their masters’ steps. Final monosyllables belonging to a metrical unit appear five times in Pamprepius, seventeen times in Christodorus, eight times in Musaeus, twenty four times in John of Gaza 63 On Hellenistic authors see Magnelli 2002, 79 f.; some data on archaic hexameter poetry, together with a general assessment, can be consulted in Magnelli 2004a. 64 Discussion in Magnelli 2004a, 19–25 (whose table 1 is disfigured by serious misprints: a revised and expanded English version will appear in due course). 65 Plew 1867 collected all the passages. Cf. Maas 1927, 18 (= 1973, 170); Keydell 1959, I, 36*. The exceptions at Dion. 8.270 νεφεληγερέτα Ζεύς, 8.370 στεροπηγερέτα Ζεύς, 31.97 τὸν οὐράνιος τέκετο Ζεύς are due to Homeric imitation (Plew 1867, 849; Dion. 35.262 Δηριάδης δ᾿ ἐδίωκε τὸ δεύτερον. ἔγρετο δὲ Ζεύς, also cited by Keydell, is not irregular). 66 Here I will not deal with yet another peculiar use of appositives, i.e. bisyllabic postpositives placed in the third foot after masculine caesura: La Roche 1900, 219 noted Dion. 34.16 οὐ μὲν ἐγὼ κτείνω ποτὲ παρθένον and 35.170 ἀσπίδος, οὐ μελίης ποτὲ δεύεται, but there are many more instances (Dion. 1.533, 5.446, 11.307, 339, 13.461, 16.41, 39.93, see Peek Lex. III, 1388: ποτε never occurs in the third biceps in the Par.). Postpositives after third-foot caesura, apparently obscuring it, occur time and again in Hellenistic poetry (see Bulloch 1985, 215; further data and bibliography in Magnelli 2002, 71 n. 47), and there is copious evidence that in Greek metre “the appositive boundary meets the requirements both of the bridge (where full-word boundary is exceptional) and of the caesura and diaeresis (where full-word boundary is normal)” (Devine – Stephens 1978, 315).

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and twenty four again in Paul the Silentiary (note Soph. 851 f. and Amb. 179 f.), twice in Agathias’ hexameter proem (AP 4.3b = 2 Viansino),67 the only exception to the above mentioned rule being Musae. 76 νέην ἰδανήν θ᾿ ἀπαλήν τε.68

4 Eye vs Ear? Late Antique Perception of the Hexameter What are we to do with that? The main reason for Nonnus’ peculiar attitude is, I think, the evolution of Greek epic verse in Late Antiquity. Nonnus’ allegiance to the well established metrical “laws” of the Hellenistic hexameter (those named after Hermann, Meyer, Tiedke, Giseke, Hilberg, and Naeke) is indeed remarkable, but his true innovation, and the most distinctive feature of his verse technique, is the regulation of accent at both verse end and the third-foot caesura. As Gianfranco Agosti has rightly stressed in recent times,69 the scope of this metrical “revolution” was to make the hexameter more easy to recognize – not just more palatable – for an audience whose competence, if quite high indeed, was not so high as that of the poet himself. Scholars have long been wondering whether Nonnian hexameters were read in a traditional way, i.e. according to their quantitative pattern, or rather as prose, i.e. as two almost isosyllabic cola whose metrical status was only suggested by accent regulation at the caesura and the line-end.70 “Il would also seem […] unwise to reject on principle the possibility that some portions of the line could have been read with more regard for prosody than others”.71 Be this as it may, this

67 No occurrence at all in Colluthus. Paul also has six independent monosyllables at lineend (Soph. 208, 323, 719, 834; Amb. 66, 153); there are two in Christodorus (10, 320) and three in Musaeus (8, 246, 255), all eleven lines ending with a regular r|–r–|x. Pamprepius, Colluthus, and John of Gaza have none. 68 “But the closing rhythm is unique in Musaeus; perhaps therefore the second half of the line is a quotation from some lost poem” (Hopkinson 1994d, 153). Scheindler 1877, 177 held the same view: “wahrscheinlich ist der ganze Halbvers einem uns unbekannten Dichter entnommen”. 69 Agosti 2004, 35–40; 2004a, 63 f. 70 Wifstrand 1933, 34–6 championed the former theory. The latter was formulated by Jeffreys, whose illuminating discussion (1981, 315–9) has won much credit – deservedly, in my view: cf. Lauxtermann 1999, 71; Livrea 2000, 111; Agosti 2004, 37–40; 2004a, 64 (Miguélez Cavero 2008, 109 prefers a cautious ἐποχή). Steinrück 2008 modifies Wifstrand’s theory assuming that Nonnus made his verses identifiable through an oppositon between open and closed syllables, not between long and short vowels. 71 Jeffreys 1981, 318. Keydell 1961a (= 1982, 550) believed that “der Hexameter des Nonnos wurde also nach dem Wortaccent gelesen, aber mit künstlicher Dehnung der langen Silben” (italics mine).

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kind of verse appears to have been produced to fit the public’s ears. The traditional system of long and short syllables, together with its rhythmical principles conditioning word-breaks and word boundaries, remained “as a necessary authenticating feature”,72 but was perceived much more by the eyes than by the ears. Late Antique verse inscriptions, written in capital letters without accents or other reading signs, provide a clue to that. Poems on stone from the fourth to the sixth century CE often feature eisthesis and/or line division at the main caesura: such a mise en page, as Agosti himself has brilliantly demonstrated, was meant to aid the reader in identifying hexameters (and pentameters) and reading them properly.73 The ear trods new paths, and the eye, no longer assisted by his usual partner, probably begins to perceive the traditional structure of the hexameter as a purely visual matter. In the light of the evidence collected above, it is therefore reasonable to think that to Nonnus’ eye οὐρανίου δὲ Δράκοντος was quite different from οὐρανίοιο Δράκοντος, and, conversely, ἔικτο δὲ Δηιανείρῃ looked unpleasantly similar to ἴθυσε μάχη πεδίοιο. It is not easy to say whether this hold true for Nonnian poets too: to explain their metrical practice, we need further methodological caution. As we have seen above, they treat final monosyllables in the very same way as Nonnus does; they also share Nonnus’ distaste for false violations of Hermann’s Bridge (but Musaeus, Pamprepius, and possibly Paul the Silentiary offend against it in less light a way),74 though type (c), i.e. ἔκειτο δέ and the like, is not more infrequent than the other two types – no figure can rival Nonnus’ sensational 0.06/0.11 %. Does Nonnus’ “visual” perception of words and wordends affect his followers as well? Or are they just echoing and imitating the overall rhythm of his verses? I do not know. At any rate, poets belonging to the so-called “Nonnian school”75 may differ remarkably from each other. We can see this plain in their attitude towards Meyer’s First Law: 72 Jeffreys 1981, 314, with reference to Maas 1903, 303 (= 1973, 267). 73 Agosti 2010, with full discussion of the evidence (cf. also 2010a, 174 f.). 74 A famous violation is ὀψὲ δύοντα Βοώτην, a quotation from Od. 5.272, preserved by the codex unicus P at Paul Sil. Soph. 854 and conjectured by Canter at Musae. 213 for the transmitted ὄψομαι δύντα: both passages were emended into ὀψεδύοντα by Graefe and Friedländer (in Musaeus Livrea – Eleuteri 1982 accept the emendation: see Scheindler 1877, 164 f.; Nardelli 1985, 157 n. 11; Hopkinson 1994d, 166 f.; on Paul, De Stefani 2011, XXXIII n. 90). Another alleged violation in Paul Soph. 729 ἐς ὀξὺ κόρυμβον ἀνέρπει, is easily removed by Hermann’s ὀξυκόρυμβον: but no easy emendation is at hand for either Pampr. fr. 3.116 Livrea θύος δὲ μέμηλεν ἑκάστῳ or Musae. 295 βένθεα δ᾿ ἀστήρικτα καὶ ὑγρὰ θέμεθλα θαλάσσης (did anyone ever think of ὑγροθέμεθλα? Not that I deem it a likely conjecture). 75 A strong literary trend, not a real “school”: see, most recently, Miguélez Cavero 2008, 93– 6, 371–82, and passim.

283

Appositives in Nonnus’ Hexameter

Meyer’s First Law

Christod. Pampr. Musae. Colluth. Paul. Sil. Io. Gaz.

with single words

with appositives

vv.

vv.

%

vv.

%

416 c. 227 343 394 1165 703

– – 3 3 1 1

0.87 0.76 0.08 0.14

25 8 10 4 8 1

6.01 3.52 2.91 1.01 0.69 0.14

None of these authors infringes the rule very often with single words (Christodorus and Pamprepius not at all). Violations due to metrical units are frequent in Pamprepius, in Musaeus,76 and especially in Christodorus; Paul the Silentiary77 and John of Gaza, on the other hand, appear to avoid them far more strictly than Nonnus himself does (Colluthus’ low figure is also worth noting, though it may be due to mere chance; but Agathias has three occurrences in the eighty seven lines of his hexameter proem). Here too, as in other details of their metrical technique,78 “later” Nonnian poets – possibly the last ones, except George of Pisidia79 – prove even more fastidious than their great inspirer.

76 Add two doubtful instances: 12 ἀγγελίην τε φύλαξεν (εK, Livrea – Eleuteri 1982: τ᾿ ἐφυcett., Hopkinson 1994d); 219 εἰ ἐτεὸν δὲ θέλεις (α, Livrea – Eleuteri 1982: δ᾿ ἐθε- ELN, Hopkinson 1994d). 77 Note that both Friedländer 1912 and De Stefani 2011 read δ᾿ ἐτίναξεν (not δὲ τίν-) at Soph. 188 and δ᾿ ἐγέλασσεν (not δὲ γέλ-) at Amb. 159. 78 E.g. in their preference for feminine caesura, or in their scarce use of contracted bicipitia: cf. West 1982, 177 f. 79 In the ninety Nonnian hexameters of his De vita humana: see Gonnelli 1991, and Mary Whitby’s paper in this volume, p. 435 f.

V: Nonnus and Christianity

Filip Doroszewski

Judaic Orgies and Christ’s Bacchic Deeds: Dionysiac Terminology in Nonnus’ Paraphrase of St. John’s Gospel Although only one of the two poems written by Nonnus of Panopolis is devoted to Dionysus, namely the Dionysiaca, the terminology associated with this god appears also in the other – the hexameter Paraphrase of St. John’s Gospel. This phenomenon has already been recognized for a long time,1 but it was only by the end of the last century that serious questions began to be raised about Dionysiac terminology in the poem.2 So far, however, the issue has only been touched upon, and it still requires a more comprehensive analysis. The present paper will deal with the role Nonnus gives to Dionysiac terms and imagery in the Paraphrase (henceforth referred to as Par.). It makes no claim to be an exhaustive study of the subject, but attempts only to point out certain regularities in the way the Dionysiac elements occur in the poem. The first part of the paper will provide a concise analysis of selected passages of the Par. where the use of Dionysiac vocabulary and imagery seems particularly striking. It will be organized in two sections, dealing respectively with the actions of Jesus and the Jewish festivals as portrayed by Nonnus. The results of the analysis will be summarized in the second part, where some general conclusions will be drawn.

1 Christ’s Bacchic Deeds Among the passages of the Par. that carry Dionysiac overtones, one of the most important, if not the most important, is the Marriage at Cana (Par. 2.1–60),3 described by Kuiper (1918, 247) as composed ad antiquum tympanorum sonitum. Since these lines have been the subject of a detailed commentary by Livrea (2000) and, more recently, of an inspiring discussion by Shorrock (2011, 58– 71), in the present paper we shall restrict ourselves to a few observations on two shorter sections of the passage. These sections are: Par. 2.12–20 (= John

1 Heinsius 1627, 996. 2 Wójtowicz 1980, 136–41; Vian 1988, 453–4. 3 Livrea 2000, 84: “appare evidente che per Nonno le due soteriologie, quella dionisiaca e quella cristiana, trovano un punto di contatto cruciale proprio in questo miracolo a Cana”.

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2.3) which depicts the moment when the wine ran out, and Par. 2.35–8 which shows what John does not show – namely, the miracle itself: οἴνου δ᾽ ἡδυπότοιο θυώδεες ἀμφιφορῆες πάντες ἐγυμνώθησαν ἐπασσυτέροισι κυπέλλοις πινομένου, στυγνοὶ δὲ φιλακρήτῳ παρὰ παστῷ οἰνοχόοι δρηστῆρες ἀβακχεύτοιο τραπέζης ἀβρέκτοις παλάμῃσι μάτην ἥπτοντο κυπέλλων. ἡμιτελῆ δὲ γάμοιο μέθην καὶ ἄοινον ὀπώρην Χριστῷ καὶ δεδαῶτι συνέστιος ἔννεπε μήτηρ· χρηίζει γάμος οὗτος ἀλεξικάκου σέο φωνῆς· οὐ γὰρ ἐυρραθάμιγγος ἔχει χύσιν ἡδέος οἴνου. […] ἄφνω δ᾽ ἔπλετο θαῦμα, καὶ εἰς χύσιν αἴθοπος οἴνου χιονέην ἤμειψε φυὴν ἑτερόχροον ὕδωρ χεύματι φοινίσσοντι, καὶ ὑδροδόκου διὰ κόλπου ὕδατος ἀκρήτοιο φιλεύιος ἔπνεεν αὔρη.

15

20 35

All the fragrant amphorae were stripped of sweet-tasting wine, drunk cup after cup, one after another. And distraught, the wine-pouring ministers of the unbacchic table in vain grasped the cups with unwetted hands at the banquet of neat wine. His mother, a fellowbanqueter, addressed Christ, who already knew that the drunkenness of the conjugal union was half-done and the fruit of the vine was wineless, “This conjugal union needs your evil-averting voice because it does not have the flowing of bubbly sweet wine”. […] Suddenly a miracle happened, and into a flowing of ruddy wine the versicolored water changed its snowy nature with a reddening stream. Then through the water-containing hollow the evoe-loving breeze of unmixed water blew.4

In Par. 2.15 the tympana mentioned by Kuiper resound particularly loud because of the term ἀβάκχευτος “uninitiated in Bacchic orgies”. In the Dionysiaca (henceforth known as Dion.) Nonnus uses this adjective to describe those who do not know (and do not participate in) the Bacchic celebrations, or do not experience the Bacchic frenzy.5 In the Par. ἀβάκχευτος occurs only in this passage and refers to the wedding table. Since any form of the actual Dionysiac cult is out of the question here, ἀβάκχευτος could be understood as relating to an un-Bacchic, i.e. joyless atmosphere among the wedding guests, or to the lack of βάκχος,6 i.e. wine at the table. Yet it may seem puzzling why Nonnus, even though he could have used any other more neutrally-sounding word, did choose the one associated so closely with Dionysus. 4 All translations of the Paraphrasis are sourced from Sherry 1991, often adapted. 5 Vian 1990, 345. 6 Thus Lampe s.v. and Vian 1990, 345.

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To answer this question it may be helpful to remember that Nonnus was not the first Christian author to use the term ἀβάκχευτος. It had been done much earlier by his supposed countryman,7 Clement of Alexandria, who, in his Stromateis, quoted some lines from Euripides’ Bacchae putting them into Christ’s mouth (Euripides’ text in italics): The Saviour Himself, then, plainly initiates us into the mysteries, according to the words of the tragedy: Seeing those who see, he also gives the orgies (ὄργια). And if you ask, These orgies (ὄργια), what is their nature? You will hear again: It is forbidden to mortals uninitiated in the Bacchic rites (ἀβακχεύτοισιν) to know.8

The quotations in Clement’s passage come from the dialogue of Dionysus and Pentheus,9 where the captured god refuses to reveal the secrets of his rites. Thus, the passage brings the resemantisation of Dionysiac vocabulary: Bacchic ὄργια “orgies”, become an allusion to Christ’s teachings and ἀβάκχευτοι stand for those not yet acquainted with them. A very similar image appears in the final parts of Clement’s Protrepticus, where Kithairon, the mountain sacred to Dionysus, is opposed to Mount Sion, on the top of which “revel (βακχεύουσι) … the daughters of God … who celebrate the holy rites of the Word (τοῦ Λόγου … ὄργια), raising a sober choral dance (χορὸν σώφρονα)”.10 Here again ὄργια become an expressive metaphor for the “mysteries” of the Christian faith, while Bacchic frenzy represents the state of mind of the “initiated”.11 It is worth remembering that Clement, being the first Christian author known to us to use Dionysiac vocabulary in this way, was surely not the first Alexandrian writer to employ it in interpreting the Bible. There already existed a precedent set by Philo of Alexandria, a Jewish philosopher whose works had a great influence on Clement.12 Of course, in using Dionysiac metaphor to speak about the transcendent truth both Philo and Clement followed the Platonic tradition, since it was Plato who compared philosophy, understood as the path to the Good and the Beautiful, to Bacchic frenzy.13 This tradition was continued by the next generations of Plato’s followers, and Dionysiac metaphor became a

7 On Nonnus and Alexandria see Livrea 1987, 440; Gigli Piccardi 1993. 8 Clem. Strom. 4.25.162.3; transl. W. Wilson. 9 Eur. Bacc. 451–518. 10 Clem. Protr. 12.119.1; transl. W. Wilson. 11 On Dionysiac terminology in the final part of Clem. Protr. see Riedweg 1986, 148–58. 12 E.g. Ebr. 146 Χάριτος δ᾽ ἥτις ἂν πληρωθῇ ψυχή, γέγηθεν εὐθὺς καὶ μειδιᾷ καὶ ἀνορχεῖται βεβάκχευται γάρ, ὡς πολλοῖς τῶν ἀνοργιάστων μεθύειν καὶ παροινεῖν καὶ ἐξεστάναι ἂν δόξαι. On the metaphor of Bacchic frenzy and the term ὄργια in Philo, see Nikiprowetzky 1977, 23 nn. 130–2; Schuddeboom 2009, 154–7. On Philo’s influence on Clement see Van den Hoek 1988. 13 On the metaphor of Bacchic frenzy in Plato, see Nikiprowetzky 1977, 23 n. 133.

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widely accepted manner of speaking about mystical experiences.14 In the Neoplatonic thought, Bacchic frenzy was a state of perfection of the human soul.15 A particularly good example of this can be seen in a passage from Julian the Apostate’s oration to the cynic Herakleios, in which the term ἀβάκχευτος is used: However let Dionysus himself decide about these things, though I do indeed implore him to inspire my mind and yours with his own sacred frenzy (ἐκβακχεῦσαι) for the true knowledge of the gods, so that we may not by remaining too long uninspired (ἀβάκχευτοι) by him have to suffer the fate of Pentheus … For he in whom the abundance of life has not been perfected by the essential nature of Dionysus … he I say who has not been perfected by means of the Bacchic and divine frenzy (βακχείας) for the god, runs the risk that his life may … come to naught.16

Like Clement, Julian clearly refers here to that passage of Euripides’ Bacchae, where Pentheus is classified by Dionysus as ἀβάκχευτος. It suggests not only the popularity of the passage in antiquity, but also the fact that it has become a literary topos employed to portray the obstacles to communion with divinity. In fact, the evidence for that is provided by Nonnus’ contemporary, Theodoretus of Cyrus, who, when explaining the essential role of faith in the process of being “initiated” into divine truth, quotes line 472 of Euripides’ Bacchae “it is forbidden to mortals uninitiated in the Bacchic rites (ἀβακχεύτοισιν) to know”,17 the very same one which Clement puts in his Stromateis into Christ’s mouth. Taking all of this into account, it is not unreasonable to suppose that the term ἀβάκχευτος in Par. 2.15 may be interpreted not only as referring to the actual lack of wine or joy at the feast. As Livrea (2000) rightly observes, in his rendition of the Cana pericope, Nonnus focuses exclusively on the symbolic notion of the wine, which should be interpreted there as “immagine dello Πνεῦμα elargito in grazia ad un sacro convito, figuro del nuovo ordine messianico opposto alla vecchia legge giudaica, antitipo del sangue di Cristo come strumento della Sua passione e resurezzione, ed in ultima analisi identico al Cristo stesso”. If so, we may suppose that what in fact is presented by Nonnus in Par. 2.12–20 is a critical observation of the reality of Judaism: despite longing for salvation, alluded to by the adjective φιλάκρητος “fond of sheer wine”,18 Jews cannot achieve it. This is emphasized by two expressions ἡμι14 15 16 17 18

Nikiprowetzky 1977, 23: “il s’agit d’une phraséologie traditionelle depuis Platon”. Van den Berg 2001, 219–20. Jul. Or. 7.222a–b; transl. W. Cave Wright. Thdt. Cur. 1.86.; transl. W. Wilson. Caprara 2005, 324.

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τελὴς μέθη “partial inebriation” and ἄοινος ὀπώρη “wineless fruit” which allude to only partial communion with God and to the inability to make it complete.19 Only when the miracle happens, in Par. 2.35–8, the wedding’s sadness turns into sudden exhilaration. The new wine made out of water, a visible sign of a new order to come, is called ἄκρητον ὕδωρ “unmixed water”,20 which clearly indicates that this is exactly what the guests assembled at the wedding, which had been described as φιλ-άκρητος, expected. Moreover, at the end of his rendition of the Cana pericope, in Par. 2.62, Nonnus speaks about μεθυσφαλέων ὑμεναίων “reeling drunk wedding”. It seems very likely that in this way the poet implies that μέθη “inebriation”, previously incomplete, once the miracle was performed reached its fullness in every respect.21 At the same time, the passage from the old order to the new one is described in terms of falling into Bacchic frenzy. Leaving apart the widely discussed subject of similarities between Par. 2.35–8 and Dion. 14.411–7, where Dionysus turns the waters of a lake into wine,22 as well as the fact that the words φιλάκρητος, μέθη and ὀπώρη bear strong Dionysiac connotations in Nonnus’ longer epic,23 such conclusion may be drawn from the obvious interplay between the term ἀβάκχευτος and the ultra-Dionysiac adjective φιλεύιος “loving cries euoi!”.24 Until the miracle happens, the wedding table remains un-Bacchic, but as soon as the new wine of Christ appears, its smell alone provokes Bacchic cries. Thus, like Clement and Julian, Nonnus seems to employ intentionally the term ἀβάκχευτος to describe the state of being excluded from sharing in what is truly divine. And just as the afore-mentioned writers, he uses it within a broader metaphor where Dionysiac imagery alludes to the process of approaching God. Another passage where actions of Jesus and Bacchic-like frenzy seem to be closely connected is the failed attempt to arrest Jesus at the Feast of Tabernacles (Par. 7.177–82 = John 7.47–9). The attendants sent to capture him return empty-handed to the Pharisees and receive a sharp reprimand: 19 Cf. Livrea 2000, 178–81. 20 On this expression see Livrea 2000, 210–1. 21 Cf. Livrea 2000, 241. 22 Golega 1930, 71–7; Wójtowicz 1980, 133–4; Gerlaud 1994, 21 nn. 1–2; Livrea 2000, 85–6; Shorrock 2011, 68–9. 23 See Vian 1995, 259–60; Livrea 2000, 180 and 230. Μέθη is very frequent in the Dionysiaca, where it refers to both wine and drunkenness – the central themes of the poem – e.g. 12.199, 367, 376, 386; 14.412, 416; 15. 23, 26, 116; 16.255; etc. Methe, “Drunkenness”, is also the proper name of a follower of Dionysus, the wife of Staphylus “Grape”, and the mother of Botrys “Bunch of grapes”, e.g. Dion. 18.145, 205, 339; 19.4, 21, 42, 53; etc. 24 See Shorrock 2011, 69.

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καὶ θρασὺς εἶπεν ὅμιλος ἀκηλήτων Φαρισαίων· μὴ σφαλεραῖς πραπίδεσσι παρεπλάγχθητε καὶ ὑμεῖς πειθόμενοι κείνοιο νοήμασι; μή τις ἐς αὐτὸν ἡγεμόνων πίστευσεν ἢ ἀγχινόων Φαρισαίων, εἰ μὴ δήιος οὗτος ἀτάσθαλος ἐσμὸς ἀλήτης, ὃς νόμον ἀγνώσσων βακχεύεται ἔμπλεος ἀρῆς; And the bold crowd of uncharmable Pharisees said: “Perhaps with slipping minds you also were led astray, believing in that man’s thoughts? None of the leaders nor any of the ready-minded Pharisees believed in him, did they? None except this reckless erring swarm of people who, ignorant of the law, revel bacchicly full of curse”.

Unlike the wedding at Cana, where Dionysiac overtones may be prompted by the leading role of wine, here the form derived from βακχεύω “celebrate the mysteries of Bacchus” or “act like frenzy-stricken” should be taken rather as a manifestation of Nonnus’ licentia poetica. As such it may arouse legitimate curiosity as to the intentions of the poet. These may become clearer at a closer look at the context of the passage. The Pharisees who reject the teachings of Christ present themselves as ἀγχίνοοι “shrewd”, while the crowd following Jesus and enjoying his words in their opinion acts as in a Bacchic frenzy, that is unthinkingly. At the same time Nonnus describes the Pharisees as ἀκήλητοι “proof against enchantment”25 stressing their resistance against Jesus’ message. The poet refers to this resistance and to the evil nature of Jewish leaders in general in the preceding lines of the seventh Book, where they are described as faithless, erring in mind, jealous, unjust and even hostile to God.26 From this point of view the verses 7.177–82 are full of irony. The Pharisees, though convinced of their rationality, in fact reject the true wisdom embodied in Christ. So, despite the fact that the form βακχεύεται is meant by them as an insult to Jesus’ followers, the reader has no doubt that these latter are correct. Therefore, it seems possible that, as in the case of the wedding at Cana, where Dionysiac imagery refers to the process of approaching God, here too the Bacchic frenzy may be intended by Nonnus as an allusion to the fact that the enthusiastic crowd, though “being ignorant about the Law”, is at this particular moment much closer to God than the “shrewd” Pharisees.27

25 Caprara 2005, 150–1. 26 Par. 7.121 λαὸς ἄπιστος ἁμαρτινόων Φαρισαίων; 7.122 φθονεροί ἀρχιερῆες; 7.169 ἀδίκων … δημογερόντων; 7.172 ἀντιθέους ἱερῆας. 27 Cf. John Dam. Trisag. 6.41–2 Οὕτω δὲ καὶ ὁ θείῳ βεβακχευμένος πνεύματι τῶν ἑξακοσίων τριάκοντα θειότατος θίασος ὕμνησε.

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Perhaps, by stressing the seeming rationality of Pharisees and by using the term βακχεύεται with regard to the crowd, Nonnus even makes an allusion here to the doomed conflict between the two logics depicted in Euripides’ Bacchae: the human logic of an earthly authority and the logic of a divinity, irrational from the point of view of the former.28 Fighting against Jesus, the chief priests and Pharisees act like Pentheus who, relying on his common sense, refuses to participate in the Dionysus’ cult. In fact, they are doomed to failure and their attitude towards Jesus could be summed up with words put by Euripides into the mouth of the Bacchants condemning Pentheus, Bacc. 395 τὸ σοφὸν δ᾽ οὐ σοφία “wisdom is not what is wise”. Another place where Nonnus employs Dionysiac vocabulary in a way that brings to mind the afore-quoted passages of Clement, is the final part of the High Priestly Prayer of Jesus (Par. 17.88–92 = John 17.25–6a): οὔ σε, πάτερ, μάθε κόσμος· ἐγὼ δέ σε σύμφυτος ἔγνων. καί σε σοφὸς χορὸς οὗτος ἐμῶν δεδάηκεν ἑταίρων ἤθεσιν εὐσεβέεσσιν, ὅτι σφίσιν ὄργια μύθων ὑμετέρων ἀνέφηνα· καὶ ἔμπαλιν εἰσέτι δείξω, ὄφρα σε γινώσκωσι πολὺ πλέον

90

The world has not learned of You, Father. Being congenital with You I recognized You. And this wise chorus of my comrades knows You with pious manners, because I have revealed to them the mysteries of Your expressions. And contra-wise I will point them out still yet, in order that they recognize You much more.

Nonnus presents God’s teachings passed down from Jesus to the χορὸς σοφός “wise chorus” of his disciples as ὄργια μύθων “mysteries of words”. It is very tempting to juxtapose this passage with that of Protr. 12.119.1 where Clement tells of the χορὸς σώφρων “prudent chorus” preaching τοῦ Λόγου ὄργια “mysteries of the Word” at the top of Mount Sion. Like Clement, Nonnus employs the imagery characteristic of Dionysiac cult, namely ὄργια and the choral dance,29 to speak figuratively about the “mysteries” of Christian faith. The mystery metaphor is all the more evident here as Nonnus accumulates the vocabulary typical of the initiation into secret rites, namely ὄργια ἀναφαίνειν

28 Cf. the dialogue of Pentheus, Teiresias and Cadmus, Bacc. 215–369, esp. lines 309–13 ἀλλ’ ἐμοί, Πενθεῦ, πιθοῦ· / μὴ τὸ κράτος αὔχει δύναμιν ἀνθρώποις ἔχειν, / μηδ’, ἢν δοκῆις μέν, ἡ δὲ δόξα σου νοσῆι, / φρονεῖν δόκει τι· τὸν θεὸν δ’ ἐς γῆν δέχου / καὶ σπένδε καὶ βάκχευε καὶ στέφου κάρα. 29 E.g. Eur. Bacc. 482; Apoll. Rhod. 2.907; Max. Tyr. 24.5b; Polyaen. Strat. 1.1.1. On the connections between Dionysus and dance in the Dionysiaca, see Vian 1987a, 13. On orgia and dancing see Motte – Pirenne-Delforge 1992, 132; Livrea 2000, 304.

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“reveal the mysteries”,30 ὄργια δεικνύναι “show the mysteries”,31 and μανθάνειν “learn”,32 which in the context of mystery cults refers to the process of becoming acquainted with a hidden knowledge. Thus, Jesus is shown here as a mystagogue who initiates his disciples into the “mysteries” of his Father’s words, while all the others remain uninitiated, that is, not knowing God, or, at least, not as Jesus wished them to know Him.

2 Judaic Orgies Apart from the cases where Dionysiac imagery seems to illustrate the saving influence of Jesus’ actions, there are a number of passages in the Par. in which Nonnus applies terminology associated with Dionysus to Jewish religious festivals. This is particularly true of the passages referring to the Feast of the Passover but also of the sections describing the Feast of the Tabernacles and the Judaic rites mentioned in Jesus’ dialogue with the Samaritan Woman.33 Dionysiac terms already appear in Nonnus’ description of the First Passover, in Par. 2.110–5 (= John 2.23) and 4.204–5 (= ἐν τῇ ἑορτῇ from John 4.45): θεοδμήτῳ δ᾽ ἐπὶ νηῷ ἄχρις ἔην καὶ ἔδεθλα διέστιχεν Ἱροσολύμων εὐάζων ἔτι πάσχα, καὶ ἀρνοφάγων ἱερήων ὄργια μυστιπόλευε φιλόκροτα θυιὰς ἑορτή, πολλοὶ λύσσαν ἄπιστον ἐπετρέψαντο θυέλλαις Χριστοῦ πίστιν ἔχοντες ἐς οὔνομα· […] ἱερῆς ὅτε κῶμον ἑορτῆς μητέρες εὐσεβίης θιασώδεες ἤγαγον ὧραι·

2.110

115

4.205

30 E.g. Procl. Hy. 4.15 ὄργια καὶ τελετὰς ἱερῶν ἀναφαίνετε μύθων; Dio Chrys. Or. 4.101 τὰ τῆς ἡδονῆς ἀναφαίνων ὄργια; Orph. Hy. 54.10 ὄργια νυκτιφαῆ ἀναφαίνων; APApp. I.318.3 τελετὰς ἀνέφηνε καὶ ὄργια. Cf. Orph. Hy. 79.8 τελετὰς ἁγίας θνητοῖς ἀνέφηνας. 31 Arr. fr. 33.5 ὄργια δεικνύων; Paus. 4.2.6 ὄργια ἐπέδειξε. Cf. Ar. Ra. 1032 τελετάς κατέδειξε; Diod. Sic. 5.48.4 παραδεῖξαι τὴν τῶν μυστηρίων τελετήν; Orph. Hy. 76.7 τελετὰς θνητοῖς ἀνεδείξατε. 32 Diod. Sic. 3.65.6 τελετάς, ἃς ὕστερον Ὀρφέα τὸν Οἰάγρου μαθόντα παρὰ τοῦ πατρός; Philo Leg. 1.319 τὸ διδάσκειν καὶ τὸ μανθάνειν τελετὰς; Eudoc. Cypr. 2.13 μάθον ὄργια θηρὸς; AP 16.89.5 ὄργια μάνθανε σιγῆς; Thdt. Cur. 1.141.1 ταῦτα ἐκ τῆς Αἰγύπτου τὰ ὄργια μαθὼν. 33 For an interpretation of these rites from a different perspective see Caprara 1999 and 2005, 15–28.

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Next he was near the God-built temple, and he marched through the temple precincts of Jerusalem, evoeing still more the Pasch. And the Bacchic feast solemnized the rattling secret rites of the lamb-eating priests. Many turned their faithless madness over to the tempests and had faith in the name of Christ. […] When the carousing Hours, mothers of piety, brought the revel of the holy feast.

In the first passage the Jewish feast is referred to as θυιὰς ἑορτή the “possessed feast” and its celebrations are called ὄργια φιλόκροτα “noise-loving rites”. Moreover, the way in which these ὄργια are celebrated is expressed with the verb μυστιπολεύω, to “perform mysteries”. According to this image of an ecstatic festival, Jesus’ participation is described by the word εὐάζω “cry euai!”, and those who came to believe in Jesus during the feast are portrayed as shaking off their λύσσα “frenzy”. The picture of the feast in the second passage seems to be of a complementary character. The Passover celebration is shown there as κῶμος “revel”, and the time of the feast is personified as the Horai with the epithet θιασώδεες “belonging to a thiasos”. The Dionysiac, and to some extent the mystic colouring of these expressions, although easy to ignore or even to deny if they were dispersed, becomes much more evident as they are brought together and, in fact, it did not escape scholars’ attention.34 The term θυιάς is a frequent synonym for a maenad, also in the Dion.35 Similarly, the verb εὐάζω is a sort of terminus technicus for ritual crying in the Bacchic cult,36 and the word ὄργια, when employed with reference to cultic practices, has strong associations with Dionysus both in Greek literature and inscriptions,37 and in Nonnus’ other epic.38 It is worth noting that the expression ὄργια μυστιπόλευε occurs in the Dion. twice and it is precisely in such a context.39 The two other terms raise similar associations, of which the first is an extremely rare adjective φιλόκροτος “loving noise”, occurring in the HomHyPan 2 as an epithet of Pan, a member of Dionysus’ retinue, and containing the word κρότος “rattling noise” frequently found in the Dion.

34 Heinsius 1627, 996; Kuiper 1918, 247; Golega 1930, 63; Wójtowicz 1980, 138–140; Vian 1988, 408; Caprara 1999, 204–5; Livrea 2000, 303–6; Shorrock 2011, 75–6. 35 LSJ s.v. See also Dion. 17.90; 20.259; 36.273; 46.24,178; 47.664; etc. Livrea 2000, 305 suggests that Par. 2.113 may reflect Paus. 6.26.1–2 θεῶν δὲ ἐν τοῖς μάλιστα Διόνυσον σέβουσιν Ἠλεῖοι καὶ τὸν θεόν σφισιν ἐπιφοιτᾶν ἐς τῶν Θυίων τὴν ἑορτὴν λέγουσιν. […] ἔνθα τὴν ἑορτὴν ἄγουσι Θυῖα ὀνομάζοντες. 36 Livrea 2000, 303; Shorrock 2011, 76. 37 Motte – Pirenne-Delforge 1992, 128–130; Schuddeboom 2009, 183–5 and 227–30. 38 Wójtowicz 1980, 139–140; Vian 1988, 407 and 1994, 221. 39 Dion. 33.479 ὄργια μυστιπόλευεν ἀκοιμήτοιο Λυαίου; 48.774 ὄργια μυστιπόλευε γυναιμανέος σέο Βάκχου.

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in compounds referring to the noisiness typical of the Dionysiac sphere.40 The second one is λύσσα, known from the time of Euripides’ Bacchae as a madness seizing the enemies of the god of wine.41 As for the word κῶμος, although it may be applied to various kinds of exuberant processions to the accompaniment of music,42 it is very closely linked to Dionysus,43 and it is unsurprisingly so in the Dion. too.44 This is also true of θιασώδεες which occurs in the longer epic almost exclusively in reference to Dionysus.45 This compound adjective, not attested outside Nonnus’ poetry, includes the word θίασος referring to a group of people worshipping a god, especially Dionysus.46 Faced with such a number of potential Dionysiac allusions, one may raise a legitimate question about the reason for this accumulation. According to Wójtowicz (1980, 138–40), in Par. 2.110–5 Nonnus deprives the terms ὄργια and εὐάζω of any relation to a pagan cult, making them sound neutral. A similar conclusion is offered by Vian (1988, 408), who takes the passage as proving his theory that in the Par. the vocabulary associated with Dionysus and mystery cults is mainly an enjolivement littéraire of no greater importance. But, as we have attempted to show in the previous section of the present paper, the lack of relation to an actual Dionysus-cult does not necessarily make Dionysiac vocabulary unimportant or meaningless. If so, it is tempting to suppose that also in this very case Nonnus was guided by something more than care of poetic poikilia. When commenting on line Par. 2.112, Livrea (2000, 303) proposes the supposition that Nonnus describes the Jewish Passover with mystery terminology, such as μυστιπολεύω and ὄργια, in order to oppose it to the “true” Christian Passover. Since this suggestion may be helpful in also better understanding the role Nonnus gives to Dionysiac vocabulary in the description of the first Jewish Passover, it requires further elaboration. At first, it should be examined whether it is justified to talk about Nonnus’ polemical attitude towards the Jewish Passover in the passages Par. 2.110–5 and 4.204–5. What is particularly striking is the way Nonnus employs there the word ὄργια. It is worth remembering that within Early Christianity the positive use of ὄργια remains purely metaphorical, and the Greek Fathers do not apply this word to an actual cult practice, unless they mean reprehensible

40 περίκροτος Dion. 9.117; 10.223; 34.135; 43.102, 116; πολύκροτος 9.108; χαλκόκροτος 15.55; 24.153; 39.127; cf. φιλοκρόταλος Dion. 11.302; 20.37, 328; 27.225. See also Vian 1990, 304. 41 Eur. Bacc. 851, 977. See also Spanoudakis 2007, 45–6 and Shorrock 2011, 77–8. 42 LSJ s.v. 43 Minyard 1976, esp. 232–67. 44 See Vian 1995, 77, 87–8. 45 Wójtowicz 1980, 271; Caprara 2005, 292. 46 LSJ s.v. See also Versnel 1990, 119.

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pagan practices.47 It seems likely, therefore, that Nonnus, by calling the rites of the Jewish Passover ὄργια, wanted to evoke in the reader’s mind an association with pagan worship. Similar conclusions may be drawn also from other features of the feast as portrayed by the poet, namely its noisiness and frenzied exuberance.48 Special attention should be given in this context to the term κῶμος. It has unambiguously negative, pagan connotations both in the Septuagint and the New Testament,49 as well as in the Fathers’ writings.50 Moreover, some of the Fathers do not hesitate to establish a link between κῶμος and Jewish rituals. Ephrem the Syrian warns Christians not to celebrate the feasts by drinking and participating in κῶμος (μὴ κώμοις καὶ μέθαις) as the Jews and pagans do.51 Similarly, John Chrysostom asserts that the Jewish fasting is even far worse than drunkenness and κῶμος (μέθης καὶ κώμου παντὸς ἦσαν αἰσχρότεραι).52 Not less significant than κῶμος is the word λύσσα used here and elsewhere in the Par. as an equivalent for a state of mind characteristic of those who do not believe in Jesus.53 As a matter of fact, λύσσα is also a frequent theme in the Early Christian polemics against Jews as opposed to God.54 Nonnus’ polemical attitude may be also seen in the way he depicts the Jewish priests in Par. 2.112. 47 Although Motte – Pirenne-Delforge 1992, 139 (repeated by Schuddeboom 2009, XIII) suggest that “certains auteurs chrétiens … ont repris à leur compte un mot comme ὄργια pour désigner certaines de leurs célébrations”, they give no example of this use of the word. To my best knowledge, there is only one such case, namely Prud. Perist. 2.65 where a pagan prefect calls Christian rites orgia. 48 Livrea 2000, 305: “Pasqua giudaica … nella sua tumultuosa rumorisità rivela la sua natura tutta terrestre e deteriore, illica”. Cf. John Chrys. Jud. 4.7, PG 48.881–2 and 7.1, PG 48.915 who criticizes the blowing of trumpets at the Jewish festivals. 49 2 Macc. 6.4 τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἱερὸν ἀσωτίας καὶ κώμων ὑπὸ τῶν ἐθνῶν ἐπεπληροῦτο; Sap. 14.23– 4 ἢ γὰρ τεκνοφόνους τελετὰς ἢ κρύφια μυστήρια ἢ ἐμμανεῖς ἐξάλλων θεσμῶν κώμους ἄγοντες οὔτε βίους οὔτε γάμους καθαροὺς ἔτι φυλάσσουσιν; Gal. 5.21 φθόνοι, μέθαι, κῶμοι καὶ τὰ ὅμοια τούτοις, ἃ προλέγω ὑμῖν, καθὼς προεῖπον ὅτι οἱ τὰ τοιαῦτα πράσσοντες βασιλείαν θεοῦ οὐ κληρονομήσουσιν; see also Rom. 13.13; 1 Petr. 4.3. 50 E.g. Clem. Paed. 2.4.40.1 Ἀπέστω δὲ ἡμῖν τῆς λογικῆς εὐωχίας ὁ κῶμος, ἀλλὰ καὶ αἱ παννυχίδες αἱ μάταιοι ἐπὶ παροινίᾳ κομῶσαι· ὃ μὲν γάρ ἐστι μεθυστικὸς [αὐλὸς] ἄλυς, ἐρωτικῆς σχεδιαστὴς ἀδημονίας, ὁ κῶμος; John Chrys. Pan. Bab. PG 74.13 Σώφρων γὰρ ἀνὴρ καὶ ἐπιεικὴς καὶ σεμνὸς οὐκ ἂν ἀνάσχοιτο κώμου καὶ μέθης; Greg. Naz. Or. 40 Sanct. bapt. 25 Ἐὰν ἐπὶ κῶμον κληθῇς, μὴ ταχύνῃς.; Cyr. Ep. pasch. PG 77.949 Ἔργα δὲ νεκρῶν θεῖεν ἂν φιληδονίαι σαρκικαί, κῶμοι καὶ μέθαι. 51 Ephr. Comm. res. 52.14 Frantzoles. 52 John Chrys. Jud. 7.1, PG 48.916. 53 Livrea 2000, 305–6; Agosti 2003, 486; Caprara 2005, 150. 54 John Chrys. Sanct. Anast. PG 63.499 Ἰουδαῖοι … δῆμος μεμηνὼς καὶ λυσσῶν; Greg. Nyss. Nativ. 1132 ἔδει τὴν τῶν Ἰουδαίων … φανερωθῆναι λύσσαν; Thdt. Os.-Mal. PG 81.1760 τὴν κατὰ τοῦ Σωτῆρος ἡμῶν τῶν Ἰουδαίων λύτταν καὶ μανίαν.

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By calling them ἀρνοφάγοι “lamb-devouring” he seems to refer to Jesus as the Lamb of God and, at the same time, to criticize the Jewish blood sacrifice–the rite making Jews resemble pagans in Christian eyes.55 Taking all of this into account, it seems plausible that Nonnus indeed creates a negative image of the Jewish Passover, based largely on associations with a pagan – and more specifically Dionysiac – cult. This may become even clearer if one notes that Nonnus perpetuates these associations depicting the Jewish Passover and the other Jewish festivals in a similar manner on other occasions. Thus, in Par. 6.9 he calls the second Passover φιλόργιος ἑορτή “orgy-loving feast”. As for the third Jewish Passover he describes it as κῶμος in Par. 12.52 and ἀσίγητος ἑορτή “never silent feast” in Par. 11.227. The term ὄργια, along with other words that bring to mind the portrayal of the first Jewish Passover, returns also in Jesus’ words spoken to the Samaritan woman on behalf of the Jewish community (Par. 4.106–7 = John 4.22b): ἡμεῖς δ᾽ εὐαγέεσσιν ἀνάπτομεν ὄργια βωμοῖς μυστιπόλῳ, τόπερ ἴδμεν, ἀνευάζοντες ἰωῇ We kindle the mysteries at the holy altars by saying evoe-evoe with mystic solemnizing voice at what we know.

Once again, the term ὄργια, this time with the meaning of “sacrifices”, occurs in the context of Jewish worship. Its strong pagan connotations are additionally reinforced by the expression βωμοῖς ἀνάπτειν “offer up at the altars”.56 As for the term βωμός , it is a synonym for an altar of pagan gods in the Septuagint and in the New Testament.57 In the works of the Church Fathers, when employed in a non-metaphorical way, it has a pejorative meaning too, and refers almost exclusively to the pagan and Judaic altars.58 Combined with the verb ἀνάπτειν it is used in the phrase βωμὸν ἀνάπτειν “kindle an altar” which has strong pagan connotations, as witnessed by Christian writers, who use it in polemics against sacrificial rites of the Jews and Gentiles.59 This very phrase, in fact, occurs in Par. 13.1 with reference to the third Jewish Passover

55 Caprara 1999, 204–5; Livrea 2000, 303. 56 Caprara 2005, 223. 57 TDNT III, 182 n. 8. 58 Lampe s.v.; Greco 2004, 67–8. 59 E.g. Ps.-Chrys. Hom. in 2 Cor 12:19 PG 59.514 καὶ βωμοὶ ἀνήπτοντο, καὶ κνίσσα ἐμόλυνε, καὶ αἵματα ἐξεχεῖτο; Hom. Clem. 11.15.4 μεθύσκεσθε καὶ βωμοὺς ἀνάπτετε, ὧν ἡ κνίσα […] ἄγει εἰς τὸν τῆς ἐξουσίας αὐτῶν τόπον; Cyr. In xii proph. II.116 ἔθος γὰρ τοῖς πεπλανημένοις […] ἀνάπτειν βωμούς.

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and several times in the Dion. in connection with the cult of Zeus and Dionysus.60 Apart from the term ὄργια and allusions to pagan sacrificial cult, there is another link between Par. 4.106–7 and the first Jewish Passover, namely the words ἀνευάζω “utter cries eua!” and μυστιπόλος “solemnizing mysteries”. Ἀνευάζω, the term strongly associated with the cult of Dionysus in ancient Greek literature,61 with the Dion. at the head of it,62 recalls the word εὐάζω from the line Par. 2.112, while μυστιπόλος reminds us of the verb μυστιπολεύω occurring in Par. 2.113 and of the mystic colouring given there to the Jewish worship.63 The elements which coincide with the image of the first Jewish Passover can be also traced in Book seven of the Par., where Nonnus renders the Johannine account of the Feast of the Tabernacles. The feast is twice called κῶμος ἑορτῆς “revel of the feast” there, first in Par. 7.11 and then in 7.31. Of these two cases special attention should be given to the latter, since, when interpreted in context, it seems to be of value to our better understanding of Nonnus’ attitude to the Jewish festivals and of the role he gives to Dionysiac vocabulary in their descriptions. The poet, rendering John 7.8, writes, Par. 7.31–4: ὑμεῖς εὐκελάδοιο μετέλθετε κῶμον ἑορτῆς· οὔπω ἐγὼ κλισίας νεοπηγέας ἄρτι γεραίρων εἰς τελετὴν ὁσίην ἐπιβήσομαι. ἡμετέρου γὰρ οὔπω μοι τετέλεστο χρόνου δρόμος. You go after the revel of the sonorous feast. I will not yet enter into the holy rite to celebrate now the newly pitched tents. For the course of our time has not yet been fulfilled for me.

Jesus, refusing to join his brothers, calls the feast to which he sends them κῶμος ἑορτῆς and, presently, declares that the time has not yet come for Him to go up to the ὁσία τελετή “hallowed celebration”. As Caprara aptly pointed out, the latter – along with the adjective νεοπηγής “newly pitched” – should be understood as a reference to the new Feast of Tabernacles which will take place in the eschatological times.64 If so, it is tempting to assume that κῶμος ἑορτῆς and ὁσία τελετή do not refer, in fact, to the same event. Nonnus, in 60 Dion. 5.270; 7.166; 25.290; 44.101. See Vian 1990, 255. 61 Dion. Per. 579; Claud. AP 9.139; Lyc. 207; Arr. An. 5.2.7.5. 62 Caprara 2005, 225; Shorrock 2011, 76. 63 Livrea 2000, 304: “mystipolos […] sembra segnalare in ogni caso il distacco dalle pratiche ‘misteriche’ del giudaismo”. 64 Caprara 1999, 201 and 2005, 227.

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order to resolve the contradiction between Jesus’ refusal and his subsequent participation in the Feast of Tabernacles, seems to make a distinction in the above-mentioned passage between the Jewish feast and the celebration for which the proper time has not yet come. Thus, κῶμος ἑορτῆς appears as directly opposite to that future celebration and, therefore, as exposing the imperfection of the Jewish worship, as it seems to be in Par. 4.204–5. The Dionysiac connotations of the word κῶμος are reinforced, perhaps, by the adjective εὐκέλαδος “of melodious sound”, which occurs in both Eur. Bacc. 160 and Ar. Nub. 312 in the context of singing and dancing in honour of Dionysus. Another indirect, yet significant allusion to the cult of this god is to be found a little further, in Par. 7.140 (= John 7.37a) ἀλλ᾽ ὅτε λοίσθιον ἦλθε χοροστάδος ἦμαρ ἑορτῆς “when the last day of the feast celebrated with choral dance came”, where the second hemistich apparently reflects Call. Hec. fr. 85.2 H. Λιμναίῳ δὲ χοροστάδας ἦγον ἑορτάς “They celebrated festivals with dancing … to Dionysus of the Marshes”.65 Robertson, linking this fragment of Hecale with the Athenian feast of Anthesteria, argues that these dances were held on the last, i.e. on the third, day of the feast, and that is why Nonnus refers to Callimachus on the occasion of the last day of the Feast of Tabernacles.66 The choral dance is also alluded to a little earlier, in Par. 7.37, where the feast is called ἀρτιχόρευτος “recently celebrated in dance”. Furthermore, as in the case of the First Jewish Passover and the Jewish rituals mentioned by Jesus in his dialogue with the Samaritan woman, Nonnus establishes a link between the feast and the mystery rites, calling it μυστιπόλος ἑορτή “mysteries solemnizing feast” in Par. 7.50. As for dance as an element of religious ritual, it should be remembered that in Late Antiquity it is perceived by the Fathers as a highly suspicious practice. In an all-out struggle for his flock’s souls, John Chrysostom does not hesitate to interpret the Jews dancing at religious ceremonies as a proof of their extreme immorality.67 In Pseudo-Chrysostom’s commentary to John 7.14, which tells of Jesus coming to the Feast of Tabernacles, its author explicitly puts the Jewish and pagan feasts at the same level, presenting κῶμος, dancing and obscene songs as their common features.68 65 Transl. Hollis 1990, 20092. 66 Robertson 1993, 244 n.132. Hollis 1994, 58–9 observes that Nonnus reflects the same line of Hecale also in Dion. 27.307 Λιμναῖον μετὰ Βάκχον. 67 John Chrys. Jud. 1.2, PG 48.847 νῦν δὲ εἰς ἀσελγείας καὶ τὴν ἐσχάτην ἀκολασίαν, γυμνοῖς τοῖς ποσὶν ἐπὶ τῆς ἀγορᾶς ὀρχούμενοι. 68 Ps.-Chrys. Hom. in Jo. 7:14 PG 61.793 Μεσαζούσης δὲ τῆς ἑορτῆς ἀνέβη ὁ Ἰησοῦς εἰς τὸ ἱερόν. Ἑορτῆς δὲ λέγει, οὐ τῆς παρ᾽ Ἕλλησι καὶ Ἰουδαίοις γινομένης, ἔνθα μέθαι καὶ κῶμοι καὶ ᾄσματα πορνικά, καὶ θέλγιστρα καλλιφωνίας, καὶ ὀρχήσεις πολύστροφοι, ἀλλ᾽ ἑορτῆς ἁγίας πρεπούσης Χριστιανοῖς, ἔνθα οὐ μέθαι καὶ κῶμοι, ἀλλ’ εὐχαὶ καὶ ὑμνῳδίαι καὶ ἱκεσίαι.

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3 Conclusions The evidence set out in this study suggests that Dionysiac terminology and imagery play a dual role in the Par. First, it is employed by Nonnus in a purely figurative way to develop a metaphor of approaching God as falling into a Bacchic frenzy, as in the Cana pericope and in the case of the failed attempt to arrest Jesus at the Feast of the Tabernacles, or being initiated into Dionysiac mysteries, as in the final part of the High Priestly Prayer of Jesus. This function of Dionysiac elements in interpreting the Bible can be traced back to Alexandrian soil to Philo and Clement and, therefore, it may provide further evidence that Nonnus was closely attached to the cultural milieu of Alexandria. Secondly, it serves the poet to create a negative image of Jewish festivity. Nonnus, by portraying Jewish celebrations as orgiastic rites involving such elements as κῶμος, frenzy, noisiness, dancing, animal sacrifices, sacrificing on altars, and the ambience of the mystery cult, presents Jewish festivals as quasi-pagan revels of allusively Bacchic character rather than the feasts held in honour of the God. The evidence of the Church Fathers quoted in the present paper makes it clear that all the features Nonnus applies to Jewish festivals must have been perceived as reprehensible in the eyes of Christians at that time. Taking into consideration these precise roles, Dionysiac terminology and imagery in the Par. should be considered as playing an important part in the Nonnian exegesis of St. John’s Gospel, since it provides a between-the-lines commentary of deep theological issues as the new reality of salvation brought by Christ or the imperfection of Jewish worship. If so, Dionysiac vocabulary in the Par. can no longer be treated as an enjolivement littéraire, but must be seen as integral to Nonnus’ paraphrastic technique.

Claudia Greco

City and Landscape in Nonnus’ Paraphrase 12.51–69: Poetry and Exegesis The narrative of the Fourth Gospel takes place in a physical environment that is concretely defined in the first twelve chapters, describing Christ’s earthly activity in a chronological and geographical sequence, but also in the chapters that follow and in the so-called “Passion narrative”, where each episode is located in a limited setting (city, countryside, building). Johannine prose, for the most part, does not provide detailed descriptions of such places, whose theological contents thus appear in the undefined atmosphere of a spiritual space. Nonnus’ poetical and exegetical sensitivity develops the theological aspects of country and city landscapes, which assume a role in the paraphrase, according to his syncretistic culture. The aim of this article is to propose a reading of the passage about the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem (Par. 12.51–69 ~ John 12.12–5), where the presence of cities and nature is used by the poet for an interpretative purpose. The scene takes place just outside of the walls of Jerusalem, so that both the garden outside of the city and the city itself are represented. I give my own literal translation here: 51 ἀκροφανὴς δ᾽ ὅτε νύκτα λιπόσκιον ἔσχισεν ἠώς, λαός, ὃς ἀγχιπόροιο μετήιε κῶμον ἑορτῆς, φήμης εἰσαΐοντες, ὅτι ζαθέης ἀπὸ κώμης Ἰησοῦς ἐς ἔδεθλον ἐλεύσεται ̔ Ιροσολύμων, 55 ἤλυθον ἀντιόωντες· ἀπ’ εὐδένδροιο δὲ κήπου ἀκροκόμους φοίνικας ἐγυμνώσαντο κορύμβων. καὶ χλοεροὺς ὄρπηκας ἐς ἠέρα λαὸς ἑλίσσων 58 εὐφήμοις στομάτεσσιν ἀνέκλαγε σύνθροον ἠχώ. 61 καὶ πολὺν ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα κορυμβοφόροιο κελεύθου δίζυγα πομπὸν ἔχων καὶ ὀπίστερον ἐσμὸν ὁδίτην Ἰησοῦς πεφόρητο μέσος μιτρούμενος ἀνδρῶν, ἰθύνων ἀχάλινον ὄνον ταλαεργὸν ὁδίτην, 65 ἑζόμενος νώτοισιν ἀπειρήτοιο φορῆος, Ἡσαΐας τόπερ εἶπεν, ὅπως πληρούμενον εἴη· μητέρος ὑψιλόφου θύγατερ, μὴ δείδιθι Σιών· ἠνίδε ποικιλόδωρος ἄναξ τεὸς εἰς σὲ περήσει πῶλον ἔχων ταχύγουνον ὀπηδεύοντα τεκούσῃ.

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When dawn appeared high in the sky and broke the night which was losing its shadow, the people who had come looking for the revels of the neighbouring feast, having heard that Jesus was coming from the holy village to the land of Jerusalem, came to receive Him: from a well-wooded garden they stripped the leafy-crowned palms of their branches. And the people, turning the green saplings round in the air, cried together with a voice of praise. And having on both sides of the branches-holding way an abundant double conductor and a crowd walking behind, Jesus was carried in the middle and surrounded by a girdle of people, and guided an unbridled donkey, an enduring walker, sitting on the back of the inexperienced carrier, that is what Isaiah said, so that it would be accomplished: Do not be afraid, Sion, daughter of a high-crested mother: see, your king who brings various gifts enters into you with a speedy foul, which follows its mother.

John 12.12–5 (ed. Merk, 1992): 12. τῇ ἐπαύριον ὁ ὄχλος πολὺς ὁ ἐλθὼν εἰς τὴν ἑορτήν, ἀκούσαντες ὅτι ἔρχεται Ἰησοῦς εἰς Ἱεροσόλυμα, 13. ἔλαβον τὰ βαΐα τῶν φοινίκων καὶ ἐξῆλθον εἰς ὑπάντησιν αὐτῷ, καὶ ἐκραύγαζον (ὠσαννά, εὐλογημένος ὁ ἐρχόμενος ἐν ὀνόματι κυρίου, καὶ ὁ βασιλεὺς τοῦ Ἰσραήλ). 14. εὑρὼν δὲ ὁ Ἰησοῦς ὀνάριον ἐκάθισεν ἐπ᾽ αὐτό, καθώς ἐστιν γεγραμμένον· 15. μὴ φοβοῦ, θυγάτηρ Σιών· ἰδοὺ ὁ βασιλεύς σου ἔρχεται, καθήμενος ἐπὶ πῶλον ὄνου. 12. On the next day a great multitude had come to the feast. When they heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem, 13. they took the branches of the palm trees, and went out to meet him, and cried out, Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, the King of Israel! 14. Jesus, having found a young donkey, sat on it. As it is written, 15. Don’t be afraid, daughter of Zion. Behold, your King comes, sitting on a donkey’s colt. (translation: World English Bible)

1 The Frame: Bethany and Jerusalem in a Prophetic Context This episode is one of the introductory pericopae to the passion, and is attested also in the Synoptics, although with some significant differences.1 In the Johannine narrative, the entry into Jerusalem takes place after the raising of Lazarus, and on the day that follows the supper in Bethany,2 in the first part 1 A comparison between John and the Synoptic narrative (Mt 21.1–11, Mk 11.8–10, Lk 19.29– 40) is in Dodd 1966, 152–6, especially on the Old Testament quotations, and in Schnackenburg 1971, II, 467–72. 2 The structure of Par. 12: 1–16: arrival at Bethany and the anointment; 17–33: dialogue with Judas after his impious remark, and anticipation of Jesus’ death; 33–50: people gather to see Jesus coming and Lazarus risen from death. The Pharisees would kill Lazarus, as many people believed in Jesus because of him; 51–74a: triumphal entry into Jerusalem, according to the Scriptures; 74b–91a: in spite of the Pharisees, the crowd gathers, and the Hellenes ask Philip

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of the Gospel, which is structured according to chronological and geographical specifications that underline the theological meaning of each event. As it has often been noted, such indications of time and space are poetically elaborated by Nonnus in order to reveal their whole theological value.3 Here, the description of the scene is framed by the mention of the time of day, and by the distance between Bethany and Jerusalem; both aspects place the event in a setting of holiness, in the context of death and glory. It is morning. According to the paraphrastic expansion of the Gospel, the simple Johannine τῇ ἐπαύριον (12.12)4 is developed throughout the whole of v. 51 ἀκροφανὴς δ᾽ ὅτε νύκτα λιπόσκιον ἔσχισεν ἠώς, which provides the first descriptive element: daylight scatters the shadows of night, appearing high in the sky, thus putting the event and the landscape where it takes place in a luminous atmosphere, most appropriate to the arrival of the Lord.5 The image of Eos dispersing darkness is attested also in Dion. 3.18 πρώιος ἤιε Κάδμος, ὅτε ζόφον ἔσχισεν Ἠώς, and is an example of the Nonnian aesthetic taste for lines.6 The symbolic content is also meaningful:7 the chromatic effect of this picture shows how natural phenomena contribute to theological exegesis, and are thus a feature of the narrative itself. In the context of passion and resurrection, the role of light and colours is confirmed by another passage that is very close to the one in question: the arrest of Jesus in the garden near the brook

and Andrew to see Jesus; 91b–112a: Jesus’ answer, anticipating the hour of His glorification and death for the life of the world, and instructing on the way to follow Him; 112b–46: a voice from the sky sounds like thunder. Jesus anticipates the defeat of the Enemy. He concludes with the exhortation to remain in the light, and not to walk in the darkness; 149–66: people do not believe Him, as Isaiah prophesied; 167–75: nevertheless, some people believe in Him without showing it because of the Pharisees, as they preferred the glory of the world to the glory of God; 176–200: Jesus says that who believes in Him believes in the One who has sent Him; He has come as the light of the world; the Father’s commandment is eternal life; He says what the Father told Him. 3 An example related to the Last Supper and anticipating the passion is noted in Greco 2004, 67–70, ad Par. 13.1–3. 4 For the presence of this form in the Fourth Gospel, cf. Dodd 1966, 153 n. 3, where he notices that it occurs four times, in John 1.29, 35, 43, to mark the stages of the narrative, and in 6.22, to separate the narrative (1–21) from the dialogue that follows (22–59), while keeping their connection. 5 Another description of Jerusalem early in the morning in Par. 1.168–9 ἀκροφανὴς δροσερῇσι βολαῖς πορφύρετο Σιών, / Ἰησοῦς μετὰ νύκτα λιπόσκιον ἤθελε βαίνειν. See the commentary by De Stefani 2002, 216–7. 6 Gigli Piccardi 1985, 158, referring to the metaphoric use of the verb χαράσσω, which also occurs in a similar context, e.g. in Dion. 22.136 Ἀλλ᾽ ὅτε χιονόπεζα χαραξαμένη ζόφον Ἠώς. 7 Judas and the enemies of Jesus are openly identified with darkness and night, as it appears in 13.125 (~ John 13.30) νυκτὸς ὁδίτης referred to Judas, who is depicted with the same characteristics as Melaneus in Dion. 29.68–9: see Greco 2004, 23–5 and 156.

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Kedron. The soldiers led by Judas enter the garden where Jesus is praying; this is depicted as a typical locus amoenus, and they are holding lamps that shine in the darkness of the night (18.14). As Livrea (1989, 116) has shown, the soldiers represent unsteady and dark ὕλη, and he quotes the parallels in Syn. Hy. 1.94, 530 and the very significant 3.14 ῥήξας δ᾽ ὀρφναίαν ὕλαν, where the ray of the Sun has broken through the shadows of matter, which has some affinity with 12.51 ὅτε νύκτα λιπόσκιον ἔσχισεν ἠώς. An addition in Nonnus’ verses is the mention of Bethany (53), which is not present in John. The village from which Jesus starts out has a special holiness (v. 53 ζαθέης ἀπὸ κώμης) not only as the place of the miracle, but also for the resurrection message expressed by the anointing:8 Bethany is the necessary prelude to Jerusalem, just as the resurrection of Lazarus anticipates that of Jesus. This interpretation is well attested in homilies In ramos palmarum, and Nonnus may have had those texts in mind when he decided to open and close this episode by mentioning both holy places (53 Bethany and 66–9 the prophecy of Zech. 9.9 about Jerusalem). While Cyril of Alexandria’s comments on this passage have not survived in full, yet Athan. In ram. palm. (PG 26.1309b–14a) underlines the fulfillment of David’s words in the quotation (John 12.13) from Psalm 117.26 εὐλογημένος ὁ ἐρχόμενος ἐν ὀνόματι κυρίου· / εὐλογήκαμεν ὑμᾶς ἐξ οἴκου κυρίου. Lazarus’ resurrection is thus an anticipation of the world’s salvation.9 The same relationship can be found in Eulog. In ram. palm. PG 86.2913a–38b: the whole oration is a discussion about Jesus’ nature, starting from His passion. In particular, Eulogius marks the order of the events10 in II (2916b) Χθὲς ἡ Βηθανία ἑώρταζε, σήμερον πᾶσα ἡ Ἐκκλησία ἀπήλαυσε τῆς θεϊκῆς παρουσίας. In such exegetical literature, the starting point of the events in Bethany and the scriptural quotations are developed as an argument against the Jews and as comparison between the earthly and heavenly Jerusalem.11 8 For the baptismal value of the anointment by Mary of Bethany, sister of Lazarus, in 12.7–16 (~ John 12.1–3), see Greco 2008. 9 Athanasius follows Matthew’s narrative, but after Lazarus’ resurrection. 10 The entrance into Jerusalem follows the stay in Bethany and Lazarus’ resurrection, although in 2917c Eulogius quotes Lk 19.30 πῶλον νέον, ἐφ’ ᾧ οὐδεὶς ἀνθρώπων ἐκάθισε. 11 Athan. In ram. palm. PG 26.1309b–14a, quoting Gen. 49.8 and 10–1, notes that the prophecy does not mean that Judas is the hope of the people, but that the Saviour will come from it; in the exegesis of Zech. 9.9, he states, 1312c Καιρὸς οὖν εὐδοκίας ὁ παρών· δεῖ με τὴν ἔχθραν λῦσαι καὶ εἰρηνοποιῆσαι τὰ πάντα διὰ τοῦ σταυροῦ. Δεῖ τὴν νῦν Ἰερουσαλὴμ τέλος λαβεῖν, καὶ τὴν ἐξ ἐθνῶν Ἐκκλησίαν στηριχθῆναι. Quoting the Psalm, Eulog. In ram. palm. I, PG 86.2913a Πάλιν ἡ Ἐκκλησία χορεύει. Πάλιν ἡ πονηρὰ συναγωγὴ χηρεύει … πάλιν οἱ Ἰουδαῖοι μαίνονται· πάλιν οἱ πιστοὶ διασώζονται. See also Tit. Bostr. In ram. palm. PG 18.1264d–65a: the starting point is the resurrection of Lazarus, whom the Jews wanted to kill (John 12.10); in 1273b–d, quoting the Psalm, he concludes with an opposition between earthly and heavenly Jerusalem.

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In this regard, the possibility of a lacuna between 58 and 61 has been investigated by Koechly (1860, 8) and accepted by Scheindler (1881, ad loc.), because Nonnus omits the paraphrase of the Psalm.12 The hypothesis of a lacuna is unnecessary, not only because the poet is expressing the cries of joy in a different way (58 εὐφήμοις στομάτεσσιν ἀνέκλαγε σύνθροον ἠχώ), while he frequently omits parts of verses or whole verses from the Gospel, but also because he might have deliberately decided to exclude a quotation with such a strong Judaic connotation. Comparing the texts used by the Fathers in their exegetical writings, we notice that the same quotation seldom appears in the Johannine form ὠσαννά, εὐλογημένος ὁ ἐρχόμενος ἐν ὀνόματι κυρίου, with the addition of καὶ ὁ βασιλεὺς τοῦ Ἰσραήλ. As far as I can see,13 such an addition can be found in Jo. Chrys. In ram. palm. PG 61.715, who refers to Mt 21.9, but includes ὁ βασιλεὺς τοῦ Ἰσραήλ. His attitude is more favourable to the Jews: the crowd, through divine inspiration, realizes that Christ is a king, which means that some of them believed in Him. The patristic interpretation of the Old Testament quotations becomes thus a critical point, as they are of great interest in the whole Gospel of John, also defined as “the prophetic Gospel”.14 A systematic analysis of their poetical and theological use in Nonnus’ Paraphrase would be consequently a stimulating work, and for Book 12 in particular, as John 12 contains throughout a number of quotations from the prophets.15 In fact, the destination of the journey is Jerusalem, where Jesus is coming for the fourth time; all His visits to it come at critical moments of His mission and are in connection with Jewish feasts.16 As in John 12.12, no description of the city is provided by Nonnus, nor of the feast that the Jews

12 Bordatus added two verses, 59–60 εὐλογίῃσιν ἄναξ Ἰσραὴλ αἰνετὸς ἔστω / ἀθανάτου ὁ ἐν οὐνόματι κοσμήτορος ἥκων. 13 The reliability of lemmata is a major problem in the use of patristic literature, as in many cases we do not have modern editions, so no remark in this sense can be assumed as a definitive conclusion. Studies of the New Testament text in single Latin and Greek authors are available: e.g. Muncey 1959; Brooks 1992; Mullen 1997; Houghton 2008. A work on the lemmata in Cyril of Alexandria and in the writers of the Alexandrian tradition would be extremely useful for Nonnian studies, as considering only the Gospel’s manuscripts is an incomplete perspective. A most accurate survey on the Vorlage is in Agosti 2003, 229–39. Some examples and remarks in Greco, forthcoming. 14 According to Hanson 1991. The presence of the Scripture in John is studied also by Schuchard 1992. 15 John 12.15, 38, 40. I am preparing a paper on the Old Testament quotations in this passage: “Osservazioni su due citazioni veterotestamentarie in Nonn. Par. 12.58–69 (~ John 12.13–5)”. 16 Compare John 2.13; 5.1; 7.10; Threath 1991, 3: “In short, for John, Jerusalem is the place of the Gospel of Jesus”. Daise 2007 emphasizes the relationship between the “hour” of Jesus and the Judaic feasts. The bibliography on this subject is very rich: e.g. De Young 1960.

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(λαός) had come to celebrate. We have noticed the lack of Jewish connotation in the omission of the Psalm; here the poet seems to ignore the problem of the composition of the crowd:17 in other words, whether any of the Jews believed in Jesus. He may have been influenced by Cyril of Alexandria, who thinks that the people, by divine inspiration, believed that Jesus was king, but misunderstood the divine nature of his kingship.18 In the verses paraphrasing the quotation from Zech. 9.9 μητέρος ὑψιλόφου θύγατερ (67),19 the city appears as the place of Jesus’ glory and plan of salvation, and corresponds to the description of the heavenly palace, thus representing the projection in this world of the reign of God.20 There, the ποικιλόδωρος ἄναξ will bring His gifts of eternal life by His readily bestowed love (69 ταχύγουνον).21 This is the frame of space and time in which Nonnus locates the crowd’s acclamation of Jesus, and it takes place outside the city walls.

2 The Triumphal Entry As previously noticed, the symbolism of the garden and the anticipation of the willingly accepted passion, by means of the metaphor of crossing the brook Kedron, have already been well discussed by Livrea (1989) in his analytic commentary. Here too, at the moment of Jesus’ arrival at Jerusalem, the poet recreates an idyllic landscape with a few ecphrastic traits, taken from the Synoptic

17 On this matter, see Schnackenburg 1971, 468. 18 Cyr. In Jo. PG 74.77c–9a Εὐλογημένος δὲ λέγοντες ὁ Υἱός, οὐχ ὡς εὐλογίας τῆς παρὰ Πατρὸς τυχὼν … ἀλλ’ ὅτι εὐλογία ἡ Θεῷ πρέπουσα καὶ τῷ κατὰ φύσιν Κυρίῳ, προσάγεται παρ’ ἡμῶν, ἐπείπερ ἐλήλυθεν ἐν ὀνόματι Κυρίου … Εἰ γὰρ κύριοι καλοῦνταί τινες, οὐ φύσει, ἀλλὰ χάριτι ἔχουσι τὸ ἀξίωμα. 19 Nonnus attributes the citation to Isaiah (66 Ἡσαΐας τόπερ εἶπεν), maybe under the influence of other messianic passages in Isaiah, or more probably of the following prophecies in John 12.38 from Is. 53.1, and John 12.40 from Is. 6.9–10. It is also possible that he is in agreement with patristic commentaries, where Isaiah is considered the messianic prophet, the prophet of the Emmanuel: some remarks in Nardi 2010, 300–2. The problem of the appreciation of the prophets is more complex because of the different gnostic attitudes towards the Old Testament, as it is described in Filoramo – Gianotto 1982, while a textual assessment of the quotations from the prophet in gnostic coptic text is in Kasser 1975. An analysis on the Old Testament in Nonnus would be useful in this sense too. 20 See Agosti 2003, 38–47, and id. 1998. 21 For the quick help from God, see Par. 13.18 ταχυεργός, and Greco 2004, 81 ad loc. and, in the New Testament, e.g. Lk 18.7–8 ὁ δὲ Θεὸς οὐ μὴ ποιήσῃ τὴν ἐκδίκησιν τῶν ἐκλεκτῶν αὐτοῦ τῶν βοώντων αὐτῷ ἡμέρας καὶ νυκτός, καὶ μακροθυμεῖ ἐπ’ αὐτοῖς; λέγω ὐμῖν ὅτι ποιήσει τὴν ἐκδίκησιν αὐτῶν ἐν τάχει.

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narratives, that are a little more detailed at this point. According to Matthew and Mark, there were trees in that place: Mt 21.8 … ἄλλοι δὲ ἔκοπτον κλάδους ἀπὸ τῶν δένδρων καὶ ἐστρώννυον ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ, Mk 11.9 ἄλλοι δὲ στιβάδας, κόψαντες ἐκ τῶν ἀγρῶν. As in Par. 18.5 ἀγχιφανὴς ὅθι κῆπος ἐύχλοος, Nonnus emphasizes the green and pleasant landscape by the use of the attribute εὔδενδρος, which in Par. occurs also in 3.86, where it describes the paradise promised to believers.22 This is the natural and spiritual environment where, as in a procession, Jesus enters the city where His passion will take place.23 The narrative in John is less detailed than in the Synoptics, and literary criticism has underlined the significant differences.24 Nonnus describes the acclamation as that given to a king,25 and he embellishes the Johannine acclamation with palm branches,26 so that it recalls the triumphant arrivals of some emperors, bishops, and relics being carried in procession, so typical in Late Antique ceremonies of the kind.27 The enthusiastic crowd picks up a great deal of fronds (56 ἀκροκόμους φοίνικας ἐγυμνώσαντο κορύμβων). This detail might correspond to the presence of flowers in acclamation scenes in Late Antiquity,28 but it also indicates

22 Par. 3.85–6 ζωῆς οὐρανίης αἰώνιον εἰς χορὸν ἔλθῃ / ναίων ἄφθιτον οἶκον ἐν ἐυδένδρῳ παραδείσῳ. The adjective appears associated with holy places e.g. in Pind. O. 8.9 Πίσας εὔδενδρον ἐπ’ Ἀλφεῷ ἄλσος. In Dion. cf. 13.291; 27.145; 45.182. For the description of paradise as a locus amoenus in Christian literature, see Greg. Nyss. De Paradiso 84.1–16 Hörner, and in Late Antique prose Chor. Gaz. Oratio funebris in Mariam (VII) 15–7, and Greco 2010, 106–8. 23 Critics have noticed that the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem has close similarities to the entry of Dionysus into Athens in Dion. 47.5–39: see Accorinti 2004, 33–6 and Spanoudakis 2007, 84–5. 24 Among others, Freed 1961; Merode 1982; Paul 1971. Cyr. In Jo. 12.14, PG 74.80a compares the short version of John to the longer one in Matthew, as John provided only the details that are essential for the symbolic understanding of the theological meaning. 25 On 63 μιτρούμενος ἀνδρῶν and the representation of the disciples around Jesus as a crown see Accorinti 1996, 198–200, ad Y 88 μιτρωθεὶς ἐτάροισι. 26 The unusual Johannine expression τὰ βαΐα τῶν φοινίκων is discussed by Farmer 1952, 64– 5, who also remarks on the religious use of palms at the feast of Tabernacles (Lev. 23.40), their national Jewish connotation and presence in the triumph of Judas Maccabeus for the second dedication of the Temple (2 Macc. 10.1–9), and in the triumphal procession of Simon Maccabeus at the purification of the fortress near the Temple (1 Macc. 13.52). 27 See Holum 1982, 103–8, on the translation of the relics of St. Stephen to Constantinople, also quoting the acclamation and the popular joy when Porphyry, bishop of Gaza, came back in 402, according to Marc. Diac. V. Porph. 58. The iconography of Jesus’ triumphal entry is studied by Schiller 1972, 18–23. 28 A very similar image is in Coripp. In laud. Iust. 3.62–70, in particular 64 pratorum spoliatur honor.

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the theological symbolism given to the palm by Christian exegetes.29 Nonnus describes the plants in detail to bring attention to their role in the context of resurrection. Ἀκρόκομος (56) is a common attribute of the palm,30 and the branches are the young green shoots taken from the palm trees. The vocabulary used to define the different parts of the plant is quite specific, and in Dion. it is often associated with the grape.31 There might be an intentional choice to identify the two plants that express, respectively in Christian and Dionysian religions, the ideas of death and re-birth. In this sense, the adjective χλοερός becomes significant in its relation with the word χλόη, rendered by LSJ “the first green shoot of plants in spring”. Jesus makes his way in the middle of the crowd that is holding branches, in a procession that will become a part of the liturgy of Palm Sunday in Jerusalem.32 What follows, that is to say the representation of Jesus riding on the donkey, is a further concentration of symbols on the willingly accepted passion and the glory. Here, the description of the ὄνον (64) is influenced by the Synoptic narrative (Mt 21.2–16, Mk 11.1–11, Lk 19.28–46), which is more detailed than John: Jesus asks the disciples to go to the village, where they will find a little donkey with its mother, to unbridle them and bring the young one to Him: Lk 19.30 ὑπάγετε εἰς τὴν κατέναντι κώμην, ἐν ᾗ εἰσπορευόμενοι εὑρήσετε πῶλον δεδεμένον, ἐφ̓ ὃν οὐδεὶς πώποτε ἀνθρώπων ἐκάθισεν, καὶ λύσαντες αὐτὸν ἀγάγετε “Go your way into the village on the other side, in which, as you

29 The palm branches are a symbol of victory and resurrection in Amph. Bapt. 2 Ὧδε τῶν πατέρων οἱ φοίνικες τοῖς βαΐοις τῆς νίκης κατεστεμμένοι γλυκυτέρους τοὺς καρποὺς τῆς ἀγάπης κυπρίζουσιν, Eulog. In ram. palm. PG 86.2913a τὸν χιτῶνα τῆς ψυχῆς ἐξαλλάξωμεν· τὰ βαΐα ὡς νικηφόροι βαστάξωμεν. 30 In Dion. 15.112 ἀκροκόμου φοίνικος, with a further parallel in 11.502 στάχυν ἀκροκόμοισι περιφρίσσοντα κορύμβοις. Description of palms: Diod. Sic. 2.53.7 ἀκρόκομα δ’ ὄντα διαφόρους ἔχει τὰς ἀπὸ τῆς κόμης διαθέσεις, and Dion. Per. 1010 ἀκρόκομοι φοίνικες ἐπηρεφέες πεφύασιν, and Eusth. ad loc. ὅτι Βαβυλὼν ἡ Περσικὴ πολλοὺς ἀκροκόμους ἐπηρεφέας φέρει φοίνικας. 31 E.g., Dion. 12.186 χλοεροὺς ὄρπηκας ἐλίσσων, 15.47 ἁβροκόμων ὄρπηκας … κορύμβων, while κορυμβοφόρος is an attribute of Dionysus in 14.311, 15.131 and 18.3; see also 24.102 κορυμβοφόρους τε γυναῖκες. Χλοερός occurs 18x in Dion., e.g. 21.337 χλοεροῖσι … κορύμβοις and 44.127 χλοερῷ … κορύμβῳ. 32 Egeria 31.2–3 Et iam cum coeperit esse hora undecima, legitur ille locus de evangelio, ubi infantes cum ramis vel palmis occurrerunt Domino dicentes: Benedictus, qui venit in nomine Domini. Et statim levat se episcopus et omnis populus, porro inde de summo monte Oliveti totum pedibus itur. Nam totus populus ante ipsum cum ymnis vel antiphonis respondentes semper: Benedictus, qui venit in nomine Domini. Et quotquot sunt infantes in hisdem locis, usque etiam qui pedibus ambulare non possunt, quia teneri sunt, in collo illos parentes sui tenent, omnes ramos tenentes alii palmarum, alii olivarum; et sic deducetur episcopus in eo typo, quo tunc Dominus deductus est (a commentary in Natalucci 1991, 296–7).

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enter, you will find a colt tied, whereon no man ever yet sat. Untie it, and bring it” (transl. World English Bible). It is easy to notice how the attributes of ὄνον recall the Synoptic texts: 64 ἀχάλινον ~ λύσαντες αὐτόν (the same words in the three Gospels), while 65 ἀπειρήτοιο φορῆος ~ ἐφ̓ ὃν οὐδεὶς πώποτε ἀνθρώπων ἐκάθισεν occurs only in Luke. This is not just a way of completing the narrative, although Nonnus often collects and uses all the elements available in the tradition, especially to highlight the holiness of Jesus’ material body. The reason for this expansion from Luke is explained by the attributes at 64: the Homeric adjective ταλαεργός, often applied to mules,33 in Par. 19.220 is applied to Joseph of Arimathea, who carries the body of Christ to the sepulchre, and also Nicodemus, who receives His body after the crucifixion, is defined θεουδέι … φορῆι in 19.198;34 ἀχάλινος generally refers to animals, and to horses in particular,35 but in mystical contexts also to unavoidable destiny: this is so in Orph. Hy. 55.13 ἀχαλινώτοισιν ἀνάγκαις, which in our case is Jesus’ passion and death.36 The attribute seems apparently in contrast to the verb ἰθύνων, which would imply a control of the direction. This verb can describe the right direction given by the god to humans: e.g. Procl. Hy. 2.19–20 (to Aphrodite) κέκλυθι, καὶ πολύμοχθον ἐμὴν βιότοιο πορείην / ἰθύνοις, while in Par. 6.57 Jesus is defined ἰθύντορα κόσμου. The identification of the mother of the colt with the Synagogue and the colt as the new Christian people who still has to be instructed may well be implied,37 but the focus here seems on the patristic interpretation of donkeys and asses in general as the body subject to matter and sin, and in this case as the human body that Christ assumed with the incarnation.38 The exegesis of the following quotation from Zech. 9.9 further specifies the identification of the colt with Jesus’ mortal condi-

33 Il. 23.654, 662; Od. 4.636; Nonn. Dion. 37.705 ἡμίονον ταλαεργόν, see also Homerocentones II, 1223 ἅψατο δ᾽ ἡμιόνου ταλαεργοῦ with the commentary of Schembra 2007, 185–9. 34 Par. 19.220 ὅπῃ ταλαεργὸς Ἰωσήφ / Ἰησοῦν ἐκόμισσεν ἑῷ πεφορημένον ὤμῳ; 19.198 νεκρὸν ἀειζώοντα θεουδέι δῶκε φορῆι. 35 E.g. in Dion. 1.102; 11.70; 14.51; 28.14; 36.231. 36 See Gigli Piccardi 1983, 174 n. 38. 37 As it is in Cyril: In Zach. 4, PG 72.145c Ἐπανεπαύσατο γὰρ ὁ Χριστὸς τῷ νέῳ λαῷ, τουτέστι τῷ κεκλημένῳ πρὸς ἐπίγνωσιν ἀληθείας τῷ εἰδωλολατροῦντί ποτε. Οἷα γάρ τις ἦν πῶλος, οὔπω δεδαμασμένος, οὔτε μὴν εἰδὼς βαδίζειν ὀρθῶς· οὐ γάρ που τῷ θείῳ πεπαιδαγώγητο νόμῳ, In Lk 19.35 (PG 72.876c–7a) Ἄγεται ὁ πῶλος, δύω μαθητῶν ἀπεσταλμένων παρὰ Χριστοῦ· ὑπηρετοῦσι γὰρ πρὸς τοῦτο αὐτῷ δύο τάγματα, προφῆται καὶ ἀπόστολοι δι’ ὧν σαγηνεύεται εἰς πίστιν τὰ ἔθνη, ὧν ἐστι τύπος ὁ πῶλος, In Jo. 12.14 (PG 74.80b) πῶλον δὲ λέγει, τὸν ὄνον, ἐπειδὴ ὁ ἐξ ἐθνῶν λαὸς ἀγύμναστος ἦν τῆς εἰς εὐσεβείαν ἀγούσης πίστεως. 38 There is an excellent survey in Ciccarese 2002, 171–3: the passions of the material body are compared to a donkey in Hier. V. Hil. 5, PL 23.31 and to a horse in Orig. Hom. in Ies. N. 15.3.

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tion. It is clear that at this point Nonnus is influenced by the exegetical tradition of Zech. 1.8 Ἑώρακα τὴν νύκτα καὶ ἰδοὺ ἀνὴρ ἐπιβεβηκὼς ἐπὶ ἵππον πυρρόν, οὗτος εἱστήκει ἀνὰ μέσον τῶν δύο ὀρέων τῶν κατασκίων, where the red horse represents Jesus’ flesh, while the horseman is the Logos, according to Rev. 19.13 κέκληται τὸ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ ὁ Λόγος τοῦ Θεοῦ.39 The mountains in Zech. 1.8 are interpreted as Paradise or the heavenly Jerusalem by Eus. DE 6.15.12 ἐν ἑκατέροις γοῦν ὄρη κατάσκια λέλεκται, καὶ ἡγοῦμαι τοῦ παραδείσου τοῦ θεοῦ τυγχάνειν, ὃν ἐφύτευσεν ἐν Ἐδὲμ κατ’ ἀνατολάς, ἢ καὶ τῆς ἐπουρανίου Ἰηρουσαλὴμ … οὕτω τῆς τοῦ σωτῆρος ἡμῶν ἐνανθρωπήσεως καὶ σαρκός, ᾗ ἐπωχήσατο, δηλουμένης. This corresponds to the idyllic environment that Nonnus has painted at this point, to place the mystery of the incarnation and the expectation of the coming glory. The sense is that Jesus has the power over death and over His own fate: He consciously directs the donkey, which is the material body taken by the course of destiny according to this earthly world, to Jerusalem, where His passion will be accomplished; the donkey is an “inexperienced carrier” (ἀπειρήτοιο φορῆος, 65) because of its exclusive physical touching of the holy body of Christ, that is of the Logos and the new teaching it conveys.40

3 Conclusions In the poetical interpretation of the triumphal arrival of Jesus in Jerusalem, Nonnus has demonstrated a sensitive adaptation to his syncretistic intellectual and spiritual dimension of theological issues related with Jesus’ death and resurrection, implying Christological discussion of the incarnation of the Logos, and appears aware of the patristic interpretation of Old Testament passages in a messianic sense. He therefore develops the episode in the light of a rich symbolism, so that the single elements of nature, landscape and the village of Bethany and the city of Jeruslem become parts of a precious and glowing picture of the glorious event, but also the necessary preservers of the deepest spiritual meaning of the narrative itself.

39 The symbol of the horse related to the incarnation is explained by Ciccarese 2002, 291 and 308: the horse is the body, and is red with blood and white as sinless; the horseman is the preexisting Logos. The same exegesis is applied to Lk 5.34 (the good Samaritan), e.g. by Cyr. In Lk 5.34, PG 72.681b αὐτὸς γὰρ τὰς ἀσθενείας ἡμῶν ἔλαβε, καὶ τὰς νόσους ἐβάστασε. Διὰ τοῦτο εἶπεν, ὅτι τὸν τυχόντα τῆς θεραπείας ἐπὶ τὸ ἴδιον ὐποζύγιον ἐνεβίβασεν· ἐν ἑαυτῷ γὰρ ἠμᾶς ἔφερεν, ὅτι ἐσμὲν μέλη τοῦ σώματος αὐτοῦ. 40 As noticed in the exegesis of Cyril, the donkey cannot walk in the direction of the πίστις.

Robert Shorrock

A Classical Myth in a Christian World: Nonnus’ Ariadne Episode (Dion. 47.265–475) Ariadne auf Naxos composed by Richard Strauss (with libretto by Hugo von Hofmannsthal) had its world premiere, in revised form, at the Court Opera in Vienna on October 4, 1916. It is set in 18th century Vienna in the house of its wealthiest citizen amid preparations for a new opera seria, “Ariadne auf Naxos”, due to be performed that evening. This performance is itself then set to be followed by an Italian commedia dell’arte (by a rival theatre company) with fireworks in the garden to conclude the evening’s entertainment. Unfortunately the timings for opera and comic performance go badly awry. After much confusion it is decided that the only way of restoring order is if the serious opera and burlesque comedy are performed at the same time. As a result of the new arrangement, whilst the prima donna, in the role of Ariadne, laments her fate and awaits the arrival of death, the comedian Zerbinetta and her troupe attempt to lighten the tragic tone with slap-stick, song and dance – urging Ariadne not to embrace death, but another man. In the end of course it is neither man nor death that comes to the aid of Ariadne, but the god Dionysus. Although the complexity of the plot and the wilful transgression of generic boundaries did not immediately win over audiences (the original 1912 version of the opera underwent significant revision due to its unfavourable reception) it has subsequently become a highly-regarded part of the operatic repetoire. According to a recent critic, “Ariadne offers a complex amalgam of contrasting literary and musical styles, that at face value appear to undermine the overall coherence of the work … Strauss’s characteristic penchant for juxtaposing the trivial and the exalted made him the ideal match for Hofmannsthal’s chief aim in Ariadne, namely to ‘build on contrasts, to discover, above these contrasts, the harmony of the whole.’”1 The description of a work in which contrasting elements threaten to undermine the overall coherence of the whole suggests obvious parallels with descriptions of Nonnus’ Dionysiaca.2 In this article I want to look at the con-

1 Gilliam 2010, 125; see further Birkenhauer 2007, 347–57. 2 See Shorrock 2001, 17 n. 35: like Strauss’ opera, the Dionysiaca suffered from limited critical appreciation in the first half of the twentieth century.

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trasting elements at work (and play) in a single episode from Nonnus’ epic – his own version of Ariadne auf Naxos – in Dionysiaca 47. My analysis will focus on Nonnus’ creative engagement with the Classical literary tradition, but will also consider ways in which Nonnus’ Ariadne intersects with and locates itself within the contemporary Christian world of Late Antiquity. The extent to which Nonnus’ own work, like that of Strauss, manages to coordinate contrasting elements in order to achieve a “harmony of the whole” remains to be seen.

1 Readers and Viewers The story of Ariadne’s sojourn on the island of Naxos forms a self-contained episode in the penultimate Book of Nonnus’ epic. It amounts to just over 200 lines and falls into three separate “acts”. In the opening act (Dion. 47.265–94) Dionysus arrives on the island of Naxos to discover a sleeping Ariadne who does not yet know that she has been abandoned by her lover Theseus. Ariadne wakes up and realises that she has been deceived, but is not yet aware of the presence of Dionysus. The second act (Dion. 47.295–418) is devoted to the lamentation of Ariadne – as she bemoans her terrible fate and faithless lover. The final act (Dion. 47.419–75) sees Dionysus spring to the rescue and concludes with a joyous marriage and the fathering of many (unnamed) children. This is a story that would already have been well known to viewers and readers in Late Antiquity. From the visual perspective, the encounter between Dionysus and Ariadne was a scene that enjoyed great popularity throughout Late Antiquity on Roman sarcophagi and, in particular, on mosaics from Syria, Turkey, North Africa and Crete. Two examples of mosaics will give an indication of what a Late Antique viewer may have encountered. My first example is a mosaic of Dionysus and Ariadne from the Miho Museum, Kyoto, Japan. Although, regrettably, this piece lacks reliable provenance, it is probably from Syria, and dates from the third or fourth century CE.3 The central scene depicts Dionysus (with a nimbus around his head) at the moment that he first encounters the sleeping Ariadne. Ariadne, adorned with bracelets and ear-rings, lies on the ground as though reclining on a couch (she rests her left arm on a conveniently placed

3 See further Canivet – Darmon 1989. The mosaic has been signed in Greek: “Agroik(i)os, son of Pamphilos made this”.

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Fig. 1: Mosaic of Dionysus and Ariadne, third/fourth century CE, probably from Syria (Miho Museum, Japan).

stone).4 She is still asleep, as yet unaware that she is now no longer alone. She has in fact been approached by Dionysus, flanked by Maron (in the guise of Silenus) and a satyr complete with pan-pipes (who is in the process of emerging from behind a hill). The winged god Eros hovers behind Dionysus and points towards Ariadne. The presence of Eros and Dionysus’ notoriously lecherous companions (Maron’s thyrsus points directly torwards Ariadne) leaves us in no doubt as to how this scene is likely to unfold. Dionysus, although only naked to his midriff, holds his himation around his crotch in a manner that suggests his clothing is only a temporary measure. The Miho 4 The running wave pattern which borders the main scene may refer to the traditional location of the episode by the sea-shore.

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Fig. 2: Mosaic of Dionysus and Ariadne, third century CE (Chania, Crete).

mosaic neverthless preserves a certain modesty: Ariadne is respectably clothed – she wears a peplos and has a himation draped around her. Perhaps the only sign of erotic tension in her representation is her bare right foot that peeps out from beneath the himation, within touching distance of Maron’s own right foot. A second “Ariadne and Dionysus” mosaic comes from Chania on Crete (not far of course from the geographical location of the “real” island of Naxos).5 It dates from the third century CE and at first sight is very similar in composition to that of the Syrian mosaic. Ariadne reclines on the sea-shore and behind her stand the same three main figures: Dionysus in the centre, an elderly Silenus figure on the left and a young satyr to the right (in a similarly angled position suggesting forward movement). This time, however, there is no winged repre-

5 See now Sweetman 2013.

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sentation of Eros and the whole scene is presented without captions – the audience being left to work out for themselves who the figures are. One of the most noticeable differences between the two scenes is the more eroticised nature of the Chania mosaic. Ariadne is wrapped in a himation that is draped in a similar way to the Miho mosaic, but in this version she has dispensed entirely with her peplos and does nothing to disguise her nakedness. And whilst Maron and the satyr remain modestly attired, Dionysus has let go of the knotted himation that covered his crotch and lets it gape open (in a manner that echoes the same arrangement of Ariadne’s clothing) to reveal his naked body beneath. The implications for the future story of Ariadne and Dionysus are even more obvious than in the Miho mosaic. The Silenus figure also appears as a more obvious threat in this scene: Dionysus is depicted in the process of restraining Maron (with his arm barring the way) – no doubt from attempting his own assault on Ariadne. As if to confirm this suggestion, the tail of his himation appears draped somewhat alarmingly across the sleeping figure of Ariadne. Any remaining doubts about the nature of Dionysus’ intentions are dispelled by the depictions of a lion and a tiger within one of the decorative frames around the central scene. The two animals flank Dionysus and his followers and rush forwards in the same direction – in hot pursuit of two fleeing deer who themselves flank the foreground where Ariadne lies unawares. In providing a more explicit version of the encounter between Dionysus and Ariadne the Chania mosaic has shifted the narrative even closer to the moment of revelation – Dionysus in his disrobed form is now one step nearer to achieving his goal. Ariadne likewise in a state of undress is no longer asleep. She is depicted with her eyes open but, unlike the vewier of this scene, she is still unable to see what is coming. In both scenes viewers are given a privileged role as the only ones to have a full and knowing view of the scene.6 As such we are drawn away from a disinterested act of art-appreciation into a disturbing act of voyeurism. We look on with knowing eyes, aware that Ariadne’s life is soon – at any moment – to be turned on its head by the arrival of a god. All the while Ariadne remains trapped – caught in the moment of her discovery between Dionysus and the viewer (neither of whom she is able to see). Existing versions of the story of Ariadne and Dionysus also turn readers into voyeurs.7 The epic poet Soterichus of Oasis (Libya), writing under Dio-

6 In the Chania mosaic the notion of viewing is further cued by the two theatrical masks in the background, behind Dionysus and his followers. 7 For a discussion of possible sources used by Nonnus see Accorinti 2004, 496–8.

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cletian in the early fourth century CE, is listed in the Suda as the author of “The story of Ariadne” (τὰ κατὰ Ἀριάδνην) and this has been suggested as a likely source for Nonnus’ own account.8 It is also possible that Nonnus was influenced by the Dionysus of the Hellenistic Euphorion in this episode as elsewhere.9 Although it seems unlikely that Nonnus and the majority of his early readers had any real familiarity with Latin texts, Catullus 64 and Ovid should not be dismissed: whether or not one tries to argue that the Latin accounts are related to Nonnus’ narrative via a lost Hellenistic model, a knowledge of these surviving Latin texts may help to cast fresh light on Nonnus’ version both through similarities and differences.

2 Nonnus’ Ariadne auf Naxos In what follows I want to take a highly selective gallop through Nonnus’ epic rendition of the story of Ariadne on Naxos in order to highlight some of the aspects of the richly playful amalgam of themes, voices and textures that characterise this scene in particular and Nonnus more generally.10 After that I will turn to consider the location of the Ariadne episode within the wider context of the Late Antique world.

2.1 Dionysus Encounters Ariadne (47.265–94) In this introductory scene Dionysus arrives hot foot from Athens in a state of revelry (47.266 ἐκώμασεν). There, with Eros in tow, he “caught sight of (ἀθρήσας) Ariadne asleep and all alone he mixed love with wonder” (47.271– 3, 273 θαύματι μῖξεν ἔρωτα). It is noticeable right away that this scene clearly intersects with Late Antique visual traditions of the story of Dionysus and Ariadne that we touched upon above. As Gianfranco Agosti has pointed out with reference to other passages in the Dionysiaca, the reference to “wonder” (θαῦμα) suggests a clear link with the discourse of visual culture, encouraging us to be both readers and viewers.11 There follows a twenty-line speech by 8 He is also known as the author of a four-book epic on Dionysus (the Dionysiaca or Bassarica) that appears to have influenced Nonnus. 9 On Nonnus’ debt to Hellenistic poetry see Hollis 1994. 10 For detailed literary notes on this episode see the commentaries of Fayant 2000 and Accorinti 2004. 11 Note θάμβος as well as θαῦμα: Dionysus is described as speaking with amazed speech (γλώσσῃ θαμβαλέῃ) at 47.274, whilst at 47.311–12 we learn that “Eros himself wondered at the maiden” (παρθενικὴν δὲ αὐτὸς Ἔρως θάμβησεν).

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Dionysus (47.275–94) which “freezes” the scene at the very moment that Ariadne is encountered by Dionysus and his retinue. As a result our own attention is focused directly on the figure of Ariadne. Much like the viewers of the Chania and Miho mosaics we are drawn into a voyeuristic relationship with Ariadne who, still sleeping, remains unaware that she is being observed both by Dionysus and the readers of the Dionysiaca.12 The visual emphasis placed on this scene is itself enhanced by Dionysus’ efforts to plunge the episode into silence. In Catullus 64, of course, the arrival of the god Dionysus is accompanied by an extraordinary cacophony, 261–4 “Some beat drums with outstretched hands, or made a delicate ringing sound with polished bronze. Many blew on horns with hoarse-sounding booms, and the barbarian pipe shrieked with a frightful song”. Nonnus’ Dionysus opens his speech with an order for silence and stillness, 47.275–6: “Bassarids, do not shake the tambourines (βασσαρίδες, μὴ ῥόπτρα τινάξατε), let there be no crash of foot or pipe”; and again at 47.290–1 he orders, “Stay Bacchai, stand still Maron: don’t dance here; cease your singing”. This does not just contrast with the noisy tradition exemplified by Catullus 64, but is the very antithesis of the noisy Bacchic revelry which fills the proem to Book 1, 1.11 “shake the cymbals, Muses” (τινάξατε κύμβαλα, Μοῦσαι).13 It is notable, however, that Dionysus uses the cover of silence (as well as sleep) to rape both Nicaea and Aura.14 Following his call for silence Dionysus indulges in a playful game of identification: just who is the sleeping beauty who is lying before him? Dionysus runs through a list of seven possible goddesses, starting with Aphrodite and ending with Athena, rejecting each one in turn: it can’t be Aphrodite because she has no cestus, it can’t be the Grace Pasithea because she is wearing clothes, nor can it be Hebe since she has no goblet; it can’t be Selene because Endymion is not present, nor Thetis as she is not naked; it can’t be Artemis because of the long robe;15 nor Athena because she lacks spear and helmet. This catalogue should not simply be dismissed as some Late Antique rhetorical exercise. This teasing game of identification is reminiscent of the attempts of 12 Dionysus’ encounter with the “sleeping” (47.271 ὑπναλέην) Ariadne echoes his earlier rape of the Nicaea described at 16.293 as a “sleeping virgin” (παρθένον ὑπναλέην) and anticipates his rape of Aura at 48.632: “he stole the fruit of marriage from sleeping (ὑπναλέης) Aura”. 13 The negation of the normal Bacchic din is neatly underlined by the chiastic arrangement: Βασσαρίδες, μὴ ῥόπτρα τινάξατε … τινάξατε κύμβαλα, Μοῦσαι. 14 Nicaea at 16.265–6 “And sneaky Dionysus with noiseless boots crept without making a sound to his wedding with an artful placement of his feet”; Aura at 48.623 “[Dionysus] creeping on tip-toe, barefoot, without making a sound”. 15 Nonnus encourages the reader to engage in a literary and visual game of identification: Artemis is not described explicitly, but it is left to the reader to deduce her identity from one of her (Homeric) epithets – “shooter of arrows” (47.287 ἰοχέαιρεα).

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the poet to pin down Proteus in the proem to Book 1 (1.12–33): in both cases the endeavour to grasp the image is frustrated by multiple transformations. At the same time this scene poses a wider question about how one reads images when labels are not supplied (consider for example the lack of labels on the Chania mosaic). Here in fact is a master class in Late Antique art criticism – we see the process whereby possible identifications are considered and rejected because of the necessary visual cues – no cestus (therefore not Aphrodite), no helmet and spear (not Athena either). This is not simply a scene of intellectual art criticism. For Nonnus voyeurism and eroticism are closely connected. In this scene viewing is, of course, not an end in itself for Dionysus, but the first stage of his sexual conquest of the abandoned young woman. The Miho mosaic provided a clothed Ariadne and (relatively) decently-attired Dionysus, the Chania mosaic presented a more explicit image of a naked Ariadne and a god openly flaunting his manhood. Nonnus’ version appears to accord with the Miho mosaic in insisting on the clothed form of Ariadne, but frequent references within the identification scene to naked goddesses (47.281 “Who has put clothes on naked [ἀνείμονα]16 Charis”; 47.286 “she does not have a naked [γυμνόν] body”) inevitably heightens the erotic tone of the scene. In a sense then Nonnus supplies his readers with both versions of the scene: the draped and naked version of Ariadne. The imagined pleasures of voyeurism are balanced by a playful warning about the dangers of such actions. After the rejection of Thetis as a possible identification for the girl Dionysus says, “If it is right to say so [εἰ θέμις εἰπεῖν], Artemis is taking her rest from the toils of the hunt on Naxos, after wiping off her beast-slaying sweat in the sea” (47.286–8). Why, we might well ask, should there be any question about whether or not it is right to mention Artemis resting from hunt? A traditional answer would be that this is nothing more than an empty rhetorical formula. A more compelling solution can be found when one recalls what happens to those who spy on the goddess of the hunt: as Nonnus himself had described earlier in the epic, when Actaion caught sight of Artemis washing after the trials of the hunt he was torn to pieces by his own hunting dogs.17 Viewing, we are reminded, can be a dangerous thing. It is interesting to note that Dionysus’ main companions in the two mosaics we considered above also feature in Nonnus’ restaging of Ariadne auf Naxos. The winged god Eros has a prominent role to play both at the beginning and end of Nonnus’ account: as Dionysus arrives in Naxos, “around him bold Eros beat his wings” (47.267 πτερὰ πάλλεν) whilst in the closing section it is Eros who arranges the wedding chamber for Dionysus (47.456). In the Miho 16 For the use of ἀνείμων see Od. 3.348, Call. Aet. fr. 7.9 Pf. 17 Dion. 5.291–551.

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mosaic, as we have seen, the winged form of the god Eros takes the lead in pointing out Ariadne to Dionysus.18 Nonnus’ Dionysus himself tells about two other companions – Maron and Pan – who are present in his retinue, 47.291– 2 “stop, Maron – don’t dance here; cease your singing, dear Pan”. These two figures form an obvious fit with the bearded old man with receding hair-line and young satyr who flank Dionysus in both the Miho and Chania mosaics.19 The old man Maron (and more frequently his father Silenus) had a reputation for disolute behaviour. This may well help to explain why in the Chania mosaic Dionysus appears to be actively restraining the old man with his right hand from advancing any closer to Ariadne. As was noted above, the old man’s intentions are hinted at by the fact that his cloak is draped over the sleeping figure of Ariadne. Dionysus’ forceful command to Maron to stop (47.291 στῆθι, Μάρων) provides a neat verbal representation of what may well have been an established part of the visual tradition.20 After twenty lines during which Dionysus and readers have been able to spy on the sleeping Ariadne (as in the Chania mosaic) comes a twenty-five line section in which the spying continues,21 but this time Ariadne is awake (as in the Miho mosaic). Just as Nonnus provides both a draped and naked version of Ariadne so he provides sleeping Ariadne and Ariadne awake. After Dionysus has finished speaking, “the wretched [δειλή] lovelorn girl scattered sleep [ὕπνον ἀποσκεδάσασα] and rose up from the sand [ἀπὸ ψαμάθοιο]” (47.295–6). The description of her wakening reaction has much in common with the version presented in Catullus 64 (56–7), “then first awoken from sleep (excita somno) she sees herself, wretched girl (miseram), abandoned on the lonely sand (harena)”. Perhaps the most significant difference is that Catullus’ Ariadne actually sees Theseus and his swift fleet sailing away (53 Thesea 18 At 1.50 during the scene of Zeus and the abduction of Europa (ancestor of Ariadne) “little Eros” (βαιὸς Ἔρως) again plays a significant role, lifting Europa onto the back of the bull-god Zeus. It is possible that Nonnus’ literary version of this scene also intersected with existing visual representations (again possibly in the form of mosaics) 19 In the Chania mosaic the old man who accompanied Dionysus is, of course, explicitly labelled as “Maron”, whilst the figure labelled “satyr” hold pan-pipes in his hand. According to Nonnus, Maron was one of the sons of Silenus (14.96–9). 20 This imperative is used on two other occasions in Nonnus to imply a forceful prohibition. At 13.485 the priest of Zeus subdues the monstrous Typhon with the words “stop, wretch” (στῆθι, τάλαν); at 28.84 the warrior Clytius opens his challenge to the Indian Corymbasus by saying “stop, dog” (στῆθι, κύων). 21 Eros marvels at the sight of Ariadne and compares her to Aphrodite (47.311–3); the visual comparison is then reinforced by the narrator who reveals (in an Ovidian moment) that Ariadne’s grief has made her more beautiful and that in a contest (εἰς κρίσιν) laughter-loving Aphrodite would be beaten by mourning Ariadne and that eyes of Eros himself would be beaten by her tears (47.314–8).

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cedentem celeri cum classe tuetur ), whilst Nonnus’ Ariadne “saw neither fleet nor deceiving husband” (47.297).

2.2 Ariadne’s Lament (295–418) Ariadne’s lament, delivered – so she thinks – as a soliloquy, forms the the major part of Nonnus’ Ariadne auf Naxos.22 This central section opens with Ariadne’s description of a dream from which she has just woken – in which she was in the midst of her wedding to Theseus. Sleep and the world of her imagination give her access to a future that has been denied to her in “reality”. The future that she imagines for herself and Theseus is of course doubly a fantasy – this is not how Ariadne’s life will turn out, but not how Theseus will fare either. When Ariadne wakes up she reveals that she has been dreaming about her marriage to Theseus, 47.328–9 “Ah, what a sweet dream I had – but it/he has escaped my grasp and left me still a virgin” (ἔτι παρθένον). The implication here is that nothing happened during her night alone with Theseus – nor is she even allowed to imagine the scene in any detail since she wakes up mid-way through her dream. For H. J. Rose this detail was “a bit of orthodoxy on Nonnos’s part: a god’s bride must be virgin”.23 As such it follows the tradition of the myth set out in the Miho mosaic where Ariadne can still be seen in a modest state of dress, wearing her peplos under her himation). Catullus’ version of the story clearly points to a different outcome of the night that Theseus and Ariadne spent together. Ariadne seems to speak from fresh and bitter experience when she says that men’s promises are not to be trusted because, “as soon as the lust of a desiring mind has been sated, men do not give any thought to what they have said” (64.147–8).24 It is no doubt this version of the myth that the artist of the Chania mosaic had in mind when he depicted Ariadne reclining on the sea-shore sans peplos. We know full well what Dionysus’ intentions are, but we are led to understand that he is not the first to have encountered Ariadne on the sea-shore.25

22 It has been suggested that Nonnus has created an expanded version of an existing literary work (such as that of Soterichus) that was focused primarily on the lamentation of Ariadne: see Accorinti 2004, 497–8. Ariadne’s lament takes up a similarly significant part of Catullus 64 from 132–201 (nearly seventy lines or about one sixth of the whole poem). 23 Rose apud Rouse 1940, III, 395. 24 Note the description of Ariadne’s state of undress at 64.63–7. 25 Compare the description of Aura waking up to discover that she has been raped in her sleep at Dion. 48.652–5 “The bride started up from the act of sex; she shook off the limb-

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Rose’s suggestion that Nonnus has chosen the “orthodox” version of the myth in order to make Ariadne a suitable bride for Dionysus does not take account of the playful undercurrents that run through the scene. Ariadne’s expression of disappointment at the fact that she remains a virgin contrasts sharply and ironically with the reaction of other women in the epic.26 Both Nicaea and Aura furiously resist Dionysus’ attempts to seduce them and in the end the only way that Dionysus is able to satisfy his desire is to drug the young women with wine-adulterated water and then to rape them while they are asleep.27 In the case of Nicaea, having drunk the wine, “Eros saw her sleeping and pointed her out to Bacchus” (16.263),28 and in due course, “the virgin lost her virginity whilst sleeping” (16.282–3). Nicaea wakes up and realises what has happened; in Book 48 the huntress Aura is similarly drugged. She is then tied up and “married” to Dionysus, “and the wedding was like a dream” (48.639). Ironically then, whereas Aura and Nicaea lose their viginity in their sleep and wake up pregnant and distraught, Ariadne expresses disappointment that she has not been able to share the same experience. What Nonnus’ Ariadne does share is certain points of intersection with other “abandoned” figures from Greek mythology and literature. In her isolation she is left with no-one else to speak to but the rocks – “Tell me, rocks, [εἴπατε, πέτραι] tell me – unlucky in love – who snatched away the citizen of Athens?” (47.336–7) in the manner of Sophocles’ tragic hero Philoctetes, who at Phil. 936 f. makes a similar address to the harbours and headlands, the wild beasts and the jagged rocks (πέτραι) of Lemnos, in order to denounce the treachery of Neoptolemus, because he has no-one else to talk to.29 The connection between the two characters is not simply rooted in the fact that they both talk to inanimate objects: both have been abandoned on a deserted island (Naxos/Lemnos); both have been cruelly deceived (by Theseus/Neoptolemus);30 in the end both are rescued by a demi-god in a deus ex machina type

relaxing sleep that bore witness to a scene of love that she knew nothing of, seeing with amazement her bare breasts without the band to restrain them and the fold of her uncovered thigh”. 26 On virginity in Nonnus see Shorrock 2011, 62–3. 27 See Hadjittofi 2008. 28 Compare the the presentation of Eros in the Miho mosaic, where Eros points out the sleeping Ariadne to Dionysus. 29 Cat. 64.164–6 draws attention to the futility of speaking to inanimate objects: “But why should I complain in vain to the ingnorant winds … which are not nourished by sense and are neither able to hear or reply to the words that I have spoken?” 30 “He swore that he would take me home” says Philoctetes bitterly of Neoptolemus at Phil. 940.

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conclusion to the episode (Dionysus for Ariadne, Heracles for Philoctetes).31 Moreover both Ariadne and Philoctetes both feel and express feelings of isolation and abandonment, while all the time thay are unknowingly performing their grief before an internal audience of voyeurs/spies (Dionysus/Odysseus) and an external audience of theatre-goers and readers. It is well known that striking connections exist between Ariadne and Medea in both myth and literature (with particular reference to Catullus 64).32 The general parallels are well known: as Theseus relied on the help of Ariadne before taking her away from her homeland (and father) and abandoning her on Crete, so Jason relied on the help of Medea before taking her from her homeland (and father) and abandoning her at Corinth in preference for another wife.33 Nonnus’ Ariadne intersects most closely with the story of Medea in the detail of the “other wife”. In her desperate fantasy Ariadne contemplates entering Theseus’ house as a slave,34 and imagines herself working for Theseus’ new wife (47.391–3; 404–5), “for your blessed bride I will put up with weaving, like a slave, on the rattling loom … I will sing a lovely song for your wedding, concealing my jealousy for your new bride” (νεοζυγέος σέο νύμφης). Here the parallel with the murderous jealously felt by Medea lies closer to the surface than we might have cared to imagine: in Euripides’ play during Medea’s terrifying description of the vengeance she plans to unleash on Jason and his house she says that he will “never beget a son from his new bride (τῆς νεοζύγου νύμφης)” (Med. 804–5). After Euripides’ Medea, Nonnus’ Ariadne is the only character to use this phrase in the whole of extant literature. In the concluding lines of the lament, Ariadne has clearly not forgiven Theseus for leaving her on Naxos without consumating their relationship. She bitterly describes the oath of love that Theseus had sworn to her – not in the name of Hera (who was the goddess of marriage), but by Athena (who has nothing to do with marriage). As she ruefully declares, 47.418 τί Παλλάδι καὶ Κυθερείῃ; “what does Pallas have to do with Aphrodite?”. The irony here of course is that although she is unaware of it, she is about to make the transition 31 As noted by Rose apud Rouse 1940, III, 403 the description of Theseus as “club-bearing” (κορυνηφόρος) echoes descriptions of Heracles “as in many other details”. 32 For connections between Catullus’ Ariadne and Medea see Gaisser 2009, 151 f. 33 One might add that whilst Ariadne colludes with Theseus over the murder of her halfbrother, the minotaur, so Medea colludes with Jason over the murder of her brother Apsyrtus. 34 At 47.390–2 Ariadne says “receive me as your chambermaid, if you would like, and I will be your post-Cretan Ariadne, just like a captive”. As noted by Accorinti 2004, 552 this detail bears a striking resemblance to Catullus 64.160–3 “but you could have taken me into your house so that I might serve you as a slave, enjoying my work, washing your white feet with flowing water or spreading a purple blanket over your bed”.

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from the world of Athena to the world of Aphrodite, from Theseus’ reluctant virgin to Dionysus’ willing bride.35 This transition is in fact already anticipated within the text. As was noted earlier, Dionysus when comparing the sleeping Ariadne to various goddesses begins his list with Aphrodite (47.276),36 and ends with Athena (47.292). What does Athena have to do with Aphrodite? Without realising it, Ariadne has become the answer to her own question.

2.3 Dionysus to the Rescue (419–75) As soon as Ariadne’s lament is concluded, attention is shifted to Dionysus, “Bacchus was delighted [ἐπετέρπετο] to hear her lamenting in this way” (47.419). Dionysus’ reaction is on one level remarkable since there is no explicit concern for Ariadne’s emotional distress, but obvious enjoyment at the dramatic performance she has unwittingly delivered (an appropriate response, no doubt, for the god of theatre). This aesthetic reaction encourages us to reflect upon our own response as readers – since it is clearly not anxiety that we feel at Ariadne’s plight, as much as pleasure at the way her lament has been presented. The pleasures of this experience of reading function on different levels. On a “simple” narrative level we enjoy a privileged position as spectators in a story that we were not intended to see, watching a character who thinks that she is alone. When Ariadne says, “to whom can I flee? Which god will snatch me up and take me to Marathon …” (47.381–2) we are well aware that Dionysus is standing right behind Ariadne while she is speaking and we already know that the end of the story belongs to him. At the same time our view of Ariadne is significantly enriched by our knowledge of the episode from existing literary and visual traditions – the fact that we already “know” Ariadne from her appearance in, say, Catullus and the Miho and Chania mosaics. Dionysus himself appears to share in this readerly pleasure. Part of his delight in the experience of Ariadne’s lament was the fact that Dionysus already knew something about the story that Ariadne was describing, 47.420–1 “he had seen Athens [Κεκροπίην δ’ ἐνόησε] and knew the name of Theseus and his treacherous journey from Crete”.37 35 It is telling that “Aphrodite” (47.418 Κυθερείη) should be the last word spoken by Ariadne in this episode. Aphrodite herself is already described as being present on Naxos at the start of the episode, 47.268 Κυθέρεια προηγεμόνευε “Aphrodite led the way”. 36 At 47.311–3 Eros marvels at the sight of Ariadne and “thought that he was looking at a grieving Aphrodite”. 37 These lines follow on immediately from the description of Dionysus’ pleasure at hearing the lament (47.419) – it seems clear that Dionysus’ appreciation of the lament is closely related to his previous knowledge of the story of Theseus.

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The allusion to Athens as “Cecropia” serves to draw together both Dionysus and readers of the epic. Nonnus’ statement that Dionysus had seen Athens picks up explicitly on the opening of Ariadne’s lament, 47.322 “I saw Athens in my sleep” (Κεκροπίην ἐνόησα),38 and invites us to see Dionysus’ close engagement with Ariadne’s words.39 At the same time, it is possible that this recondite allusion to the city of Athens is intended to draw our attention to an earlier narrative about Ariadne and Dionysus. It is certainly worth noting that Cecropia (hardly a common word in either Latin or Greek poetry) crops up in the same sedes (at the start of the line) and in the same case (accusative) at Cat. 64.79 Cecropiam.40 Dionysus now appears before Ariadne in the form of a god, 47.421–2 “in front of the girl he shimmered in his divine form” (ἔνθεον εἶδος ἔχων). Although this detail has attracted little attention, it marks an important moment for Dionysus in his preparation for his elevation to the table of his father on Olympus. Only two other figures manifest themselves in this way in the Dionysiaca. The first is Zeus himself, whose divine appearance destroys Dionysus’ mother Semele, his mortal love: at 8.320 Semele jealously tells Zeus that since he appears to Hera as a god (ἔνθεον εἶδος ἔχων) he should appear to her in the same way. Dionysus, unlike his father, appears as a god to his mortal love, but without destroying her. The only other figure to appear as a god – once again using the same formulation (40.412 ἔνθεον εἶδος ἔχων) – is Heracles who makes an appearance in his own temple in Tyre to Dionysus, in a scene of hospitality that prefigures Dionysus’ own elevation to the table of Zeus on Olympus at the very end of the epic.41 Dionysus’ short (twenty-five-line) speech of “consolation” to Ariadne parallels the short (twenty-line) speech that he made to the sleeping Ariadne at the start of the episode and thus frames the central section of lamentation.

38 Note also her words towards the end of her speech when she begs an imaginary sailor to take her on board “so that I may see the city of Athens” (47.410 Κέκροπος ἄστυ). 39 Compare 47.321–2 τερπομένην … / Κεκροπίην ἐνόησα with 47.419–20 ἐπετέρπετο … / Κεκροπίην δ’ ἐνόησε. Here the parallel juxtaposition of τέρπομαι and Κεκροπίη supports the ms reading at 47.321 (τερπομένην) against Ludwich’s suggested emendation (μετερχομένην). 40 Catullus introduced this detail within a scene that began, 64.76 nam perhibent olim “for they say that once upon a time”. It is possible that this “Alexandrian footnote” refers readers back to an earlier Greek literary source: see Fordyce 1973, 276, on 64.1: “the Alexandrian scholar-poet stresses his dependence on tradition, though the tradition he follows may be an unusual one”. The only other two references in Catullus (in different metrical sedes and cases) appear at Cat. 64.83 Cecropiae, and, within the lament of Ariadne, at 64.172 Cecropiae. 41 Compare Par. 14.32 where Jesus asks: “Philip, I have been living here with you for all this time in mortal guise and in the form of god (ἔνθεον εἶδος ἔχων) conjoined with the unseen father and you have not seen my face?”

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Most striking is the way that it opens with an address to Ariadne as “virgin” (47.428 παρθένε) and ends with a description of her as the “bed-mate of Dionysus” (47.452 εὐνέτις … Διονύσου), the path of her destiny is thus neatly encapsulated within the arc of the speech. During his speech Dionysus pulls out the stops to demonstrate his superiority over all rivals: in place of a mortal, Ariadne will have a god for a husband, 47.430 ἀντὶ μινυνθαδίου πόσιν ἄφθιτον.42 Theseus is not as brave or as beautiful (47.432 εἰς ἀρετὴν καὶ κάλλος) as Dionysus; Theseus needed the help of a girl (47.437 θῆλυς) to kill the Minotaur; neither Athens nor Crete is like Olympus, nor is Minos like Zeus. Not even Perseus’ mother will be able to outshine Ariadne in heaven – since she will have her own constellation. Most importantly, Ariadne should put Theseus from her mind (47.429 μνῆστιν ἔα Θησῆος). Confirmation that Dionysus’ words have been persuasive can be measured by Ariadne’s reaction, 47.453–4 “the girl quivered with joy and cast all her memories of Theseus [μνῆστιν ὅλην Θησῆος] into the sea”.43 The emphasis placed on memory is not simply a stock theme for a lover who wants his beloved to put the past behind her but resonates clearly within the wider story of Theseus: Catullus’ Ariadne berates Theseus for his forgetfulness in leaving her alone on Naxos;44 it is Theseus’ further lack of memory (brought on by a curse from Ariadne) that causes his father to throw himself to his death when he sees his son’s ship on the horizon sailing with black sails.45 In the end Ariadne gets the wedding of her dreams – quite literally, since much of the imagery derives from Ariadne’s fantasy wedding with Theseus as she described within her lament. Dancing (χορός) accompanies both the real and the imagined wedding (47.324; 457); Eros adorns (ἐπεκόσμεε) the bridal chamber (47.456), just as Ariadne adorned (ἐπεκόσμεε) the altar in her dream (47.323); both weddings are decorated with spring petals (εἰαρινοῖσι πετήλοις: 47.325; 458); and in each case the bride has a crown (στέφος: 47.326; 467). The main difference of course between fantasy and reality is that Ariadne is able to make a conclusive move from the sphere of Athena to that of Aphrodite, 47.470–1 “The Golden Father consumated their union in the wedding chamber

42 In Book 48 when Dionysus is engaged in his conquest of Aura, Ariadne has cause to regret this: 48.540 “alas, that I did not have a mortal for a husband”. 43 In the following line, in a clear play on words, Ariadne accepts a promise of marriage from “her heavenly suitor” (47.455 οὐρανίου μνηστῆρος). 44 Cat. 64.135 immemor. 45 See Cat. 64.207–11; 248 mente immemori. When Dionysus departs from Naxos it is not a lack of memory that causes him to go, but quite the opposite, 47.473 “he remembered [ἐμνήσατο] his fecund mother Rheia”.

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and as husband he sowed the seed of many offspring”. The episode ends on a positive, if fugitive note, with Dionysus’ departure for the Greek mainland.

3 The Christian Perspective 3.1 The Christian Context of Late Antiquity This brief analysis of the Ariadne auf Naxos episode has foregrounded something of the range and sophistication of Nonnus’ narrative strategies. Alongside consideration of Nonnus’ rich and playful engagement with the literary tradition emphasis has also been placed on the importance of contemporary visual culture for our understanding of Nonnus’ epic. It should be apparent however that this analysis has thus far entirely ignored another aspect (perhaps the central defining aspect) of Late Antique society – namely the fact that the world of Late Antiquity is a world not just inhabited by Dionysus and Ariadne, but by Christ and Mary. On the surface it may appear that Nonnus’ Ariadne auf Naxos has no place within the Christian context of Late Antiquity; at certain points, however, that Christian context seems closer to the surface than we might have expected. We have, for example, already considered the closing lines of Ariadne’s lament when she makes her unwitting declaration that Athena and Aphrodite have nothing in common, 14: 47.415–8 “[Theseus] swore a wedding oath to undefiled [ἀχράντοιο] Athena, a goddess ignorant of marriage, instead of to Hera (who is known as the Marriage-maker). He swore an oath to Pallas – but what has this to do with Pallas and Cythereia (τί Παλλάδι καὶ Κυθερείῃ)?” My earlier discussion of these lines made no reference to that fact that Domenico Accorinti, in his commentary on this passage, compares Nonnus’ use of the double dative (τί Παλλάδι καὶ Κυθερείῃ) with “le espressioni evangeliche di origine ebraica τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί”.46 The question remains: how exactly should one deal with this detail? There are three possible reponses to this question. First (in keeping with traditional scholarship on the Dionysiaca) is to ignore the reference altogether; a second response is to acknowledge the correspondence, but to limit the connection between Nonnus and the New Testament at this point. We might, for example, say that the correspondence is purely grammatical or that we are dealing with a moment of superficial parody. I am suspicous, however, about attempts to define and control the 46 Accorinti 2004, 555. See also Mt 8.29 τί ἡμῖν καί σοι; Mk 1.24; Mk 5.7; Lk 4.34; Lk 8.28. For further discussion of the double dative see Smit 2006, 31.3.

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limits of such a correspondence without consideration of its wider potential resonance and think that it would be instructive to delve a little deeper. The question raised by Nonnus’ use of the double dative, then, is not what Athena has to do with Aphrodite, but what does the world of Christ have to do with the world of Dionysus. The context of the New Testament “double dative” (τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί) is, of course, the wedding at Cana at John 2.4 at the point when Mary informs Christ that the wine has run dry. It is a scene already familiar to Nonnus and his readers from Par. 2.21 τί μοι, γύναι, ἠέ σοι αὐτῇ; “Woman, what concern is this of mine or yours?”.47 It seems wholly appropriate that Ariadne, on the point of her marriage to Dionysus, should utter words that themselves come from the context of wedding – and particularly appropriate that those same words should have been provoked by a discussion about a lack of wine. The miracle of the wine jars provides a suitable parallel to the miraculous rescue of Ariadne by Dionysus, the god of wine. A further correspondence between Christian and Classical traditions may be discerned in Ariadne’s description of Athena as “undefiled/immaculate” (ἀχράντοιο) at 47.415. Although it occurs just four times in the Dionysiaca,48 it is a word with powerful resonance within Late Antique theological discussions on the virginal status of the mother of Christ.49 The adjective does not appear in John’s Gospel (or anywhere else within the New Testament), but occurs frequently in the Church Fathers where Christ is referred to as having been born “from the unsullied/immaculate [ἀχράντου] virgin [Mary]”.50 The adjective also occurs within Nonnus’ version of the wedding at Cana as part of his description of Mary at Par. 2.10 “The virgin [παρθενική] carrier of God, Christ’s mother, was herself present at the banquet and was participating in the wedding meal with unsullied [ἀχράντῳ] hand: child-bearing, in flight from the marriage bed [φυγόδεμνος], always following the path of maidenhood”. This description itself establishes a further striking connection between Mary and the goddess Athena, highlighting obvious similarities between them in terms

47 Another example of a double dative comes at 19.170, where Pan asks “what have tears to do with Dionysus” (τί δάκρυσι καὶ Διονύσῳ); for the potential overlap here between the spheres of Dionysus and Christ see Shorrock 2011, 100–5. 48 See 35.209 (describing the virgin Chalcomede); 41.383 (describing the laws of Solon); 42.509 (describing the laws of marriage). 49 See Shorrock 2011, 61–3. 50 See, for example, Athanasius Sermo major de fide 43.4, 48.4; Marcellus Expositio fidei 1.6.2; John Chrysostom Homo quidam descendebat 61.756.73; Didymus Caecus Commentarii in Zacchariam 4.233.5; see also John Damascene Epistula ad Theophilum imperatorem de sanctis et venerandis 95.348.44; Gregory of Nazianzus, Carm. 2.2.1.198.

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of their prized virginity.51 At Dion. 27.114 Athena is described in terms that closely resemble the depiction of Mary in the Paraphrase, παρθενικὴ φυγόδεμνος … Παλλὰς ἀμήτωρ “virginal, in flight from the wedding bed, Pallas who is not a mother/motherless”.52 The use of both the double dative and the adjective (ἄχραντος) help to encourage a dialogue between the wedding at Cena and the forthcoming wedding between Dionysus and Ariadne. It should also be recalled that these correspondences occur in a prominent position at the very end of Ariadne’s lament.53 Such micro-resonances may lead us to consider more widely the way that this familiar classical scene engages with the context of a Christian Late Antique world. Relationships between gods and mortal women had been the staple of the Greek mythological traditional and in this respect Nonnus’ presentation of Dionysus and Ariadne was no different. But in a Christian world, the presentation of a relationship between a god and a mortal woman takes on an inescapable topicality. In this respect Dionysus’ exhortation to Ariadne to forget about her mortal love Theseus and consider instead the pleasures and rewards of an immortal husband reads like a fantasy version of the Annunciation, 47.439; 444–6 “you will not say that Athens is greater than heaven … blessed girl (ὀλβίη), because leaving the inferior bed of Theseus you will look upon the bed of lovely Dionysus: what greater prayer could you wish for?”.54 Such resonance, however, is far from frivolous: Ariadne’s disappointment at her continued state of virginity represents a striking inversion of conventional models of Christian discourse. Arguments for the importance of the Late Antique context for our reading of the Ariadne auf Naxos episode are supported by Konstantinos Spanoudakis’

51 Mary’s virginal state is emphasised in the Paraphrase by a reference to her “always following the path of maidenhood” (ἀεὶ μεθέπουσα κορείην). The word κορείη “virginity/maidenhood” is unique to the Paraphrase, but is employed thirty-five times in the Dionysiaca (ten times alone in Book 48). It is found in earlier writers only in Gregory of Nazianzus (Carm. 1.2.1.707–11) and in a single epigram from the Greek Anthology (9.451.2). It reappears in three later writers who had clearly read Nonnus: Christodorus, Agathias and Paul Silentiarius (AP 2.1.365; 5.294.19; 5.217.1). 52 This passage is especially pertinent since the virgin Athena is here described as suckling Erechtheus. 53 The much-discussed line at 12.171, describing Dionysus and the tears that he sheds on behalf of mankind is itself the concluding line of a speech (by Atropus concerning the resurrection of Ampelus); see further Shorrock 2011, 101–2. 54 Compare the concluding lines of Zeus’s address to Semele at the very end of Book 7, vv. 367–8 “You are blessed (ὀλβίη) because you will bring forth a source of joy for gods and men, you have conceived a son who will make mortals forget their sorrows”; see further Shorrock 2011, 88 and Chuvin in this volume pp. 15–6.

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2007 article which made a compelling case for the interaction of Classical and Christian elements in the Icarius episode at the beginning of Book 47, an episode that immediately precedes the episode of Dionysus and Ariadne.55 It is important to realise that the context of Late Antiquity is not something that simply appears and disappears as specific allusions come and go, but it is there all the time.

3.2 Ariadne and Mary The Ariadne myth had itself already been caught up in Christian dialogue within the material culture of Late Antiquity long before Nonnus. The juxtaposed Classical/Christian textiles from a fourth century CE burial (now displayed at the Abegg Foundation in Switzerland) need little introduction.56 Alongside a textile depicting a naked Dionysus and Ariadne (flanked by other figures such as Pan and Silenus) was found a woven piece of silk depicting explicitly Christian scenes including the annunciation of Mary and the birth of Jesus.57 Although the fabrics are described as coming from a “Christian” burial, the juxtapositions of Christ and Dionysus and Mary and Ariadne inevitably challenge any comfortable ideas we might have about exactly what “Christian” might mean in this context. It is in this light that we might want to look again at the Miho mosaic of Dionysus and Ariadne. As noted above this mosaic lacks secure provenance, though this should not stop us from subjecting it to careful analysis. At some point in antiquity the mosaic panel underwent a physical transformation. To be precise a small number of tesserae were removed from the area of Dionysus’ chest and replaced with red tesserae designed to resemble a bloody wound – a clear reminiscence of the wound inflicted on Christ on the cross by a Roman soldier;58 at the same time a small vessel was set in Dionysus’ right hand, filled with the same blood-red tesserae. This act of “improvement” (whenever it was done) is particularly intriguing because of the inconclusive nature of the improvement. The scene is still recognisably Classical in form – and the figures still have their classical names, for example. At the same time, however, the wound in Dionysus’ side brings the figure of Christ directly into the picture. This new perspective also allows us to see existing features in a differ55 Spanoudakis 2007. 56 See Willers 1992; Bowersock 1994, 158. 57 See Bowersock 2006, 20 fig. 2.10 (image of Dionysus textile). 58 Ironically, the presentation of the wound is achieved through the metaphorical ‘wounding’ of the original mosaic.

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ent light: the halo around the head of Dionysus comes from the Classical tradition, but we are now also able to see it as part of the scene’s “Christian” iconography. In this transformed mosaic the wound has not turned Dionysus into Christ, but keeps the relationship between the two figures open – the existence of each figure now relies on the other: Dionysus resembles Christ just as Christ resembles Dionysus. The effect is at the same time both reassuring and disconcerting. This dynamic and provocative dialogue might itself neatly illustrate the relationship between the “Classical” Dionysiaca and the “Christian” Paraphrase – two complementary and contrasting parts of the same Late Antique world. It is important to recognise, however, that we do not need to see the wound on Dionysus’ side in order to acknowledge his relationship with Christ. For viewers and readers of Late Antiquity Dionysus is already caught up in a dialogue with the world of Christ, just as Christ is caught up in dialogue with Dionysus.59 Where Richard Strauss’s Ariadne auf Naxos confronted us with a provocative juxtaposition of opera seria and commedia dell’arte, Nonnus presents us with a similarly provocative juxtaposition of the worlds of Christ and Dionysus.60 Strauss’s Ariadne asks us to consider what burlesque has to do with opera seria; Nonnus asks a similar question of the relationship between the Classical tradition and the Christian world of Late Antiquity. In Strauss’ opera, the young composer did not wait around to find out how his new amalgamated play would be received and fled the house in despair before it had even been performed. Scholars from the early twentieth century used to imagine that Nonnus’ own biography ended in a similar way – with the poet abandoning his magnum opus just before it was ready for publication.61 It is up to today’s audience to show a little more faith.

59 Shorrock 2011, 116–9. 60 This is not to say that we should necessarily equate the Classical world with burlesque and the opera seria with the world of Christ. One could, for example, equally well maintain that the Classical tradition represented opera seria confronting the popular culture/burlesque of Christian discourse. 61 Shorrock 2001, 9 n. 6.

Konstantinos Spanoudakis

The Shield of Salvation: Dionysus’ Shield in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca 25.380–572* The long tradition of shield-descriptions is founded on Homer: in Iliad 18 Thetis hands over to her son Achilles a Hephaestus-fashioned shield whose decoration is described at length. The scenes depicted on the Homeric shield were widely believed to convey a second, hidden meaning (ὑπόνοια). This exact meaning was a matter of debate, but it was normally meant to be of theological significance with a particular view on the relationship between man and god or the universe. There developed a long tradition associating shield-ekphrasis with allegoric readings of their contents. Thus, Nonnus’ probably coeval Demo advanced a “universal” interpretation along these lines: πλατυτάτην τὴν ἀσπιδοποϊίαν περὶ θείων καὶ ἀνθρωπίνων εἶναι τῷ ποιητῇ διάλεξιν, i.e., as Philip Hardie has explained, an exposition of “the sum of things”.1 In contrast to this Homeric tradition, Christian allegory typically orientates itself in a new direction: to “see” Christ in new, mystical forms. Lausberg in her entry on allegory cites inter alia the comprehensive formulation of Rabanus Maurus (7th century) PL 108.148 allegoria est, cum verbis sive rebus mysticis praesentia Christi et Ecclesiae sacramenta signantur.2 The amalgam of these two independent traditions provides the fundamental framework for constructing the “hidden meaning” that the Shield of Dionysus conceals. As of yet, no coherent picture has been reconstructed from the four scenes of the Nonnian Shield. Yet, the possibility that the Shield is designed to be an allegory is corroborated by the facts that its contents make little or no sense when read at face value (see below Ia on Tylus); the Homeric Shield was broadly held to be an allegory; and such a “reading” is the prerogative of any form of art in Late Antiquity. Like its Homeric counterpart, Dionysus’ cosmic shield is fashioned by Hephaestus and is delivered to him by his mother Rhea through Attis (336–8). But in contrast to the Homeric shield this is not a weapon to be used in battle but a talisman. Its decoration consists of four scenes: the foundation of Thebes by Amphion and Zethus; the rapture of Ganymedes by Zeus eagle; the resurrection of Tylus; and the disgorgement of Cronus’ children through a ploy of Rhea. The discussion will commence with the longest scene, that of Tylus, then continue with the three minor scenes. * N.b.: * = in eadem versus sede. Verses of Dion. 25 are cited by the verse number alone. 1 Demo fr. 8A Ludwich ap. Eustath. Comm. Il. 1155.3; see Hardie 1985, 15 n. 33. 2 Lausberg 1998, 398–403, at 401.

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1 Tylus and the Snake 1.1 Solving the Riddle In Nonnus, the storyline of the Lydian legend of the resurrection of Tylus runs as follows: Tylus, a young man, is attacked by a ferocious snake/dragon as he blissfully walks on the banks of the river Hermus, and dies. His two sisters, Naias and Morie, terrified, watch the scene from afar and burst into tears. But Morie suddenly then comes across Damasen, a benevolent Giant, who when implored uproots a tree and kills the snake. At this point a female mate of the snake appears and procures an herb with which she revives the dead snake which then withdraws into its lair and disappears. Morie follows her example to revive Tylus whose physiological functions are restored in full. The legend is first known from the local historian Xanthus (FGrH 765 F 3), as reported in Pliny NH 25.14 Xanthus … tradit occisum draconis catulum revocatum ad vitam a parente herba, quam balim nominat, eademque Tylonem, quem draco occiderat, restitutum saluti. In Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Ant. Rom. 1.27.1 [FGrH 768 F 9]) Tyl(l)us is γηγενής. It has been suggested that Xanthus in his Lydiaca passed over the Heraclidae, the traditional rulers of Sardis, and began his story with Masnes, “the first Lydian but perhaps even the first man” long antedating Heracles.3 If Xanthus indeed claimed that Masnes was the first man and Tyl(l)us was earth-born, this would be a suggestive precedent to Nonnus’ allegory. Hanfmann (1958, 72) by surmising that Tylus is “a god who dies” reached the threshold of what will be argued to be Nonnus’ ploy with the paradisiacal potentially “divine” man who “falls” and “dies”. The Nonnian version of the Tylus story contains enigmatic adaptations of features of what seems to have been the original Lydian story, as well as many awkward, even illogical elements.4 In Xanthus, unlike Nonnus, Tylus kills a snake before he is killed by another snake. In Xanthus the snake is not revived by his serpent-mate, as in Nonnus, but by his “parent”. Nonnus also introduces two feminine characters not attested in the myth before him, Tylus’ sisters Naias and Morie. Then the dragon’s size appears to vary at different points in the narrative. Once the snake revives, he withdraws back into his lair totally oblivious of the preceding events. Nor is there word of Damasen or his tree anymore. The characters in the story appear and disappear without fully integrating with it. In addition Damasen bears from birth weapons, described in

3 Hanfmann 1958, 71 with reference to Bickerman 1952, 74. 4 The ensuing list is partly indebted to those who have noticed such elements: Vian 1990, 37–9; Espinar – Hernández de la Fuente 2002, 3; Agosti 2004, 129, 131.

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six verses (489–94), which will play no role whatsoever in the ensuing fight. He will instead eradicate a tree but again he does not use this as a ῥόπαλον (like Alpus in Dion. 45.200, and often Heracles) but as a spear, despite the fact that two coins from Sardis represent Mas(d)nes as holding a club. With this tree Damasen pierces the throat of the dragon. Immediately afterwards, in miraculous fashion, the eradicated tree acquires fresh roots, but when the dragon revives, he appears to move without impediment. Facing these difficulties B. V. Head, the editor primus of two Lydian coins attesting the myth, assumed that Nonnus used a lost source. Scholars more familiar with Nonnus such as Vian or Tissoni hold the narrative technique of Nonnus or his “sensibilità poetica” responsible. For Espinar and Hernández de la Fuente the incoherencies are healed by the πανακὲς φάρμακον of the contamination by Nonnus of the local Lydian story with other mythical traditions, partly unknown from elsewhere.5 Such manifold manipulation must serve the allegorical aim of the poet. Broadly, a story with an evil dragon attacking and killing a man (or a woman), then the man being brought back to life and the dragon being killed by a Saint has a typical Christian resonance as one of the most widespread metaphors of sin and salvation. In Act. Thom. 31–3, for example, a dragon later professing to be an agent of Satan ambushes and kills a sinful young man (31 ἐπιτηρησάμενος αὐτὸν ἑσπέρας διερχόμενον τύψας ἐθανάτωσα αὐτόν) after the young man has had intercourse with a beautiful young woman (the “sin”) whom the dragon loves; but the dragon is then forced by Thomas to suck the poison out of the young man’s body, who is revived. Subsequently the snake outbursts and dies. Such story patterns can be frequently found in Christian popular literature such as Lives of Saints.6 Our story, nonetheless, entails not a single but two interdependent resurrections: the snake resurrection is the type for the Tylus resurrection. The key to discovering the hidden meaning of the Tylus episode is, I suggest, John 3.14–5: καὶ καθὼς Μωϋσῆς ὕψωσεν τὸν ὄφιν ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ, οὕτως ὑψωθῆναι δεῖ τὸν υἱὸν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου, ἵνα πᾶς ὁ πιστεύων ἐν αὐτῷ ἔχῃ ζωὴν αἰώνιον. As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life.7

5 The references, in the order they occur, are: Head 1901, CXIII, cf. also Herter 1965, 190–1; Vian 1990, 39 and Tissoni 2005, 211; Espinar – Hernández de la Fuente 2002, 3. 6 A list is provided by R. Merkelbach, RAC IV (1959), 246–50 s.v. Drache. See also Adamik 2001. 7 Translation according to World English Bible.

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The verses are thus rendered by Nonnus, Par. 3.71–9: καὶ σκοπιῆς παρὰ πέζαν ἐρημάδος οἷά τε Μωσῆς δακνομένων ὕψωσεν ὄφιν δηλήμονα φωτῶν δουρατέης μεθέποντα τύπον ποιητὸν ἀκάνθης, οὕτω γυιοβόρων τελέων ἀλκτήρια νούσων καὶ πάις ἀνθρώποιο βροτοῖς ὑψούμενος ἔσται, λυσιπόνου μίμημα δρακοντείοιο προσώπου, ὄφρα μιν ὃς δέξοιτο νόου πειθήμονι θεσμῷ, ζωῆς κυδιάνειραν ἐσαθρήσειε γαλήνην, εἰς ὅσον εὐρυγένειος ἑλίσσεται ἔμπεδος αἰών.

72

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And just as in the region of the deserted look-out point Moses lifted the snake, a destroyer of bitten men, which follows the fabricated form of woody thistle, so also the son of man, by making remedies for limb-consuming illness, shall be lifted up for mortals, in imitation of the pain-loosening dragontine face, in order that whoever should receive him in the obedient place of the mind might look upon the ennobling tranquility of life, for as long as steadfast, broad-bearded aion keep winding around.8

The passage that immediately underlies John 3.14 is Num. 21.8: after the Israelites malign God and Moses, they were bitten in the desert by deadly snakes and many a people died. Moses prayed to the Lord on their behalf and the Lord decreed: “Make a serpent, and put it on a signal-staff, and it shall come to pass that whenever a serpent shall bite a man, everyone so bitten that looks upon it shall live. And Moses made a serpent of brass, and put it upon a signal-staff: and it came to pass that whenever a serpent bit a man, and he looked on the brazen serpent, he lived”. Livrea explains that this is “a passage which accounts for Nonnus’ treatment of the symbolic statement of the Gospel far better and more closely than John’s short sentence”.9 The Biblical passage also involves a double “resurrection”: the risen snake procures salvation to dying men. By looking at the image of the risen snake (i.e. of the risen Christ) man will be saved from death caused by a lethal snake; in Tylus’ case, by observing the risen snake, Tylus will also be saved from death caused by a lethal snake. In both cases the serpent from an agent of evil and death becomes an agent of life and redemption. Commentators of the Johannine verse often stress that the serpent who bites becomes the serpent who cures

8 Translation by Sherry 1991, adapted. 9 Translation and citation from Livrea 1988, 320–2, at 320 = 1991, II, 486–8, at 487, where there is an illuminating discussion of the Nonnian lines. De Stefani 1999, 339–40 adduces further evidence in support of 72 δηλήμονα (ληθήμονα Scheindler, al. al.).

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the bites.10 As the victory of Damasen, effected with the spear of a tree, saved the woodland from the virulent serpent, so Christ’s victory over Satan, effected with the spear of the tree/cross, saved the world from the lethal serpent/Satan. In Nonnus’ ingenious reading of the Tylus myth the snake before its resurrection is an incarnation of evil and sin, an incarnation of Satan, like the snake of Eden which caused the “fall” of man. By contrast the risen snake represents, as in John 3.14, the risen Christ. As a fallen man, Tylus looks like Adam, who introduced sin into the world; and through sin, death (Rom. 5.12). As a risen man, Tylus looks like Lazarus, commonly understood to represent “man” deadened through sin but saved by the benevolent might of God.11

1.2 The Death of Tylus This perspective sheds new light on a plethora of details and hidden meanings in the Tylus narrative, and helps explain everything that has seemed inexplicable so far. The reference to Pactolus, neighbour of Hermus, in 456 and the location of the incident near a thicket (473, 485 παρὰ λόχμῃ) sets the scene in an Eden-like environment, Gen. 2.10 ποταμὸς δ’ ἐκπορεύεται ἐξ Εδεμ ποτίζειν τὸν παράδεισον. In the next verse, the incident takes on aspects from the fall of man in a more concrete fashion. In 457 ἥψατο χειρὶ δράκοντος Nonnus employs the same verb as in Gen. 3.3 (God decrees) Οὐ φάγεσθε ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ οὐδὲ μὴ ἅψησθε αὐτοῦ, ἵνα μὴ ἀποθάνητε, whence also the death-by-contact theme is derived. At the same time, ἅπτομαι can denote an erotic touch.12 This may be significant for a snake attack which may be designed to resemble an act of love-making. Traits of the attacking serpent (457–9, 503, 509, 513) indicate that Nonnus envisages the Egyptian cobra raising her head, with bloodshot eyes and with a puffing hood.13 Cobras have the ability to considerably broaden their necks when attacking, in the form of a shield, which gives them their name in Greek

10 Cf. John Chrys. In Jo. PG 59.159 ὄφις ἔδακνε … καὶ ὄφις ἰᾶτο, Basil. Sel. Serm. xli PG 85.176b ὄφις ἔπληττε καὶ ὄφις ἰάτρευε, καὶ ὄφεως πάθος ἐθεράπευε, Epiph. Haer. 37.7. 11 Cf. Iren. Haer. 5.13.1, Orig. In Jo. 28.49 τὸν … ἡμαρτηκότα καὶ νεκρὸν γενόμενον … παλινδρομῆσαι ἐπὶ τὴν ζωήν; see Wiles 1960, 56–8. Also Par. 11.166 νεκρὸν ἀλήτην with Livrea 1993, 232. 12 Cf. Dion. 12.387, 35.33 ἥψατο πολλάκι μαζοῦ, 35.206, 48.396. 13 Cf. Nicander’s description in Ther. 167, 178, 179–80. On the identification of Nonnian snakes with the Egyptian cobra see Gigli Piccardi 2003, 154, on Dion. 1.268. The bite of the Egyptian aspis was considered incurable, see Bastianini – Gallazzi 2001, 222–3 (add Deut. 32.33).

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(ἀσπίς). Cyril presents in similar fashion the attacking snake of sin, In Jo. I.443.13 Pusey καὶ νῦν ἡμῖν ὡς ὄφις ὁ δι’ ἐναντίας ἐπιπηδᾷ, καὶ εἰς ὕψος αἴρει τὴν ἰοῦ γέμουσαν κεφαλήν. In visual art, the serpent of sin is often represented like a cobra, the deadliest of snakes (Greg. Nyss. In inscr. Ps. 2.15.79.2 τὸ ἐν τῷ γένει πικρότατον), by influence of the cobra’s role in Ps. 13.3, 139.4 ἠκόνησαν γλῶσσαν αὐτῶν ὠσεὶ ὄφεως, ἰὸς ἀσπίδων ὑπὸ τὰ χείλη αὐτῶν. Vian (1990, 265) remarked that “[f ]ace à Tylus, le serpent s’est comporté comme tout autre serpent nonnien”. It is true that the attack of the snake against Tylus presents conventional features, unlike the attacks against the snake’s victims in 472–80 or against Damasen, but certain aspects of it render Vian’s ascertainment only partially accurate. Unparalleled for a Nonnian or any other snake is the dispersal of darkness with its tail; the emphasis on skin to skin contact between the snake and its victim; the attack on the flank of the victim, and then a bite on its chin and cheek. Such unconventional proceedings have a highly symbolic value. In 459 ἰσχία φωτὸς ἱμάσσων Nonnus echoes Il. 20.170–1 οὐρῇ δὲ … ἰσχία … / μαστίεται, of a lion’s tail. But the flank is where Adam (Gen. 2.21–2) and Christ (John 19.34 ~ Par. 19.79) are “wounded”; Adam to make the creation of Eve possible, Christ on the cross in yet another symbolism of redemption. In Adam’s case the act was considered by the Fathers as a critical step towards corruption and fall, later cured by Christ with cathartic water and blood flowing from His own flank.14 At the same time, the snake’s tail is an antitype for Satan’s whip. Being scourged is a typical affliction from sin.15 In 460 ὁλκαίην ἐλέλιζε θυελλήεσσαν ὀμίχλην Nonnus varies the well attested motif of a snake-bite causing mist to the sight of the victim.16 But as Gigli Piccardi has admirably shown, the tenebrae dispersed by the snake’s tail are those which keep man in darkness, separate from God in light.17 This is the darkness of sin and death caused by the snake of sin: Euseb. PE 7.16.3 τὸν γοῦν κατάρξαντα τῆς πτώσεως … σκότους δὲ … ποιητὴν … δράκοντα καὶ ὄφιν

14 See Lampe s.v. πλευρά A2. On Eve’s role cf., characteristically, Amphil. Icon. In mul. pecc. 81 Datema γυνὴ, ἡ εὐόλισθος φύσις, τὸ πρῶτον δίκτυον τοῦ διαβόλου, ἡ τῆς πλάνης εἰσαγωγή, ἡ τῆς παραβάσεως διδάσκαλος … ἡ θανάτου πρόξενος, ἡ … ὅλον τὸν παράδεισον ἀπολέσασα. 15 Cf., in Nonnus, the Official’s son in Par. 4.214 παιδὸς ἱμασσομένοιο, Lazarus in Par. 11.9 ἱμάσσετο, next Vis. Doroth. 145, 150. For Satan’s whip cf. in Nonnus, beyond John, Par. 8.145 = 147 δαίμονος … ἱμάσθλης. 16 Cf. Apoll. Rhod. 4.1525 (Mopsus) κατ’ ὀφθαλμῶν ἀχλύς, Nic. Ther. 430. 17 See the evidence collected in Gigli Piccardi 1987, 140 n. 9. Cf. Macar. Aeg. Hom. 27.2 [ἁμαρτία] ἡ ὀμιχλώδης δύναμις, Ps.-Apollin. Met. Ps. 43.40 καὶ σκιερῇ θανάτοιο κατεκρύφθημεν ὀμίχλῃ, next OF 377F.14–6 (νέφος prohibiting vision of God).

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μέλανά τε καὶ ἑρπυστικόν.18 Θυελλήεσσαν aptly makes a point in context alluding to the θύελλα of sin. The image of the evil serpent as darkness wrapping everything around it is well attested in mystic contexts.19 Ὀμίχλη in the Par. renders John’s σκοτία, the spiritual darkness contrasted to the divine lux, 3.101, 8.4, 12.142. In an abhorrent kind of contact the snake actually slides on the body of Tylus: 461 καὶ βροτέῳ στεφανηδὸν ἐπὶ χροῒ νῶτα συνάπτων. Yet, it is precisely the gliding motion of the serpent that most effectively represents its evil nature after God’s curse in Gen. 3.14 ἐπὶ τῷ στήθει σου καὶ τῇ κοιλίᾳ πορεύσῃ. This seems to be Nonnus’ very Christian image of love-making symbolising carnal sin. In Christian ethics, sexual intercourse aiming at pleasure, not procreation, equals prostitution (πορνεία). The snake is an old symbol of libido. The snake of Eden, in particular, is associated with sexual temptation and prostitution: Clem. Protr. 111.1 (Adam) ὑποπίπτων ἡδονῇ (ὄφις ἀλληγορεῖται ἡδονὴ ἐπὶ γαστέρα ἕρπουσα … εἰς ὕλας στρεφομένη).20 Mary is seen in early iconography treading on a snake as a symbol of her immaculate conception – the Second Eve’s victory over temptation where the First Eve had failed.21 Clement even claims that κατὰ τὴν ἀκριβῆ τῶν Ἑβραίων φωνήν Eve’s name means “feminine snake” (Protr. 12.2). As a striking parallel, the assimilation of a licentious woman to a snake seducing man is explicit in Basil Caes. Serm. de contub. PG 30.816d: πάντες δὲ οἱ προφῆται … θηρίοις ἰοβόλοις παρεπλησίασαν τὸ γένος τῶν γυναικῶν, τὸ ἀπόλλον τὰς ψυχὰς τῶν ἀνθρώπων […] ἧς … τὸ φρόνημα δρακόντων, καὶ ἡ προαίρεσις ἑρπηστικῶν, καὶ τὸ βλέμμα πυρίπνουν, καὶ τὸ φίλημα ἰοβόλον· καὶ ἀγὼν αὐτῇ, ὅπως τῇ τῶν λόγων κολακείᾳ, καὶ τῇ

18 Cf. Cyr. De exit. an. PG 77.1081b οἱ ἁμαρτωλοὶ ἐν ζόφῳ θυέλλης, Ephr. Chers. De mir. Clem. Rom. PG 2.640b αἱ τῶν ἐμῶν ἁμαρτημάτων θύελλαι, Ps.-Macar. Hom. 2.55 (sinner) κλονεῖται τῷ δεινῷ ἀνέμῳ τῆς ἁμαρτίας πνέοντι. 19 See Gigli Piccardi 1987, 139 citing Syn. Hy. 1.89–91, Corp. Herm. 1.4 σκότος κατωφερὲς … φοβερόν τε καὶ στυγνόν, σκολιῶς ἐσπειραμένον, ὡς εἰκάσαι με with Nock – Festugière ad loc. Add Sethes ap. Hippolyt. Ref. 5.19.18 ὁ ὄφις … ὁ ἄνεμος τοῦ σκότους. It probably originates in the image of Time as a winged serpent in the Orphic Rhapsodic Theogony (West 1983, 70). 20 Cf. also Clem. Paed. 3.2.5.3 ὁ παλίμβολος ὄφις ἐκεῖνος … τὸν ἑαυτοῦ τῆς πλάνης ἐνερευξάμενος ἰὸν μετεσκεύασεν τὰς γυναῖκας εἰς πόρνας ὁ προαγωγὸς οὗτος δαίμων, Ps.-Apollin. Met. Ps. Proth. 100–1. Then Pisid. Hex. 763–4. Also Philo Leg. all. 2.72 ἀρχούσης καὶ δυναστευούσης ἡδονῆς, ἣν συμβολικῶς ὄφιν ὠνόμασε, 73 εἰκάσθη δὲ ὄφει ἡδονὴ διὰ τόδε· πολύπλοκος γὰρ καὶ ποικίλη ὥσπερ τοῦ ὄφεως ἡ κίνησις, οὕτω καὶ ἡδονῆς. See, further, Strauss 1947–48. 21 On Virgin Mary treading on a snake see, e.g., Warner 1976, 268–9.

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τῆς προσόψεως ἀπάτῃ, καὶ τῇ τοῦ φιλήματος προσβολῇ ἐκπτύσῃ τὸ θηρίον τὸν ἰὸν εἰς τὸν τοῦ ἀθλίου λάρυγγα. All the prophets … have likened the species of women to venomous beasts, which ruin the souls of men […] whose … mind is that of snakes, her disposition of serpents, her look fiery and her kiss venomous. Her only struggle is that the beast will inject its venom into the throat of the wretched victim, through cajoling words and deceitful appearance and through the attack of her kiss.22

Similarly, John Chrysostom In I Cor. PG 61.80 likens the conceivable image of sin to γυναῖκά τινα θηριόμορφον, βάρβαρον, πῦρ πνέουσαν … οἵας οἱ τῶν ἔξωθεν ποιηταὶ τὰς Σκύλλας ὑπογράφουσι. It is significant that συνάπτω (461) carries strong sexual connotations.23 The snake biting Tylus’ cheek and chin belongs to this context: these bites stand for virulent love bites. Στεφανηδόν also alludes to a well known image of the constrictions of sin and the embrace of death, which is so widespread in the representation of the snake of Eden coiling around the tree of knowledge, cf. also Greg. Nyss. De orat. domin. 284.9 Oehler ἐπειδὰν δὲ καὶ τούτοις ὁ ὄφις ἑαυτὸν ἐπειλίξῃ κτλ.24 The theme will be further developed in 466–7 with the “serpentine necklace of Hades”. Tylus’ heavy shoulders in 465 βαρυνομένων ὑπὲρ ὤμων describe common symptoms of a snake-bite,25 but the ulterior implication may be the burden of sin aggravating man, cf. in Par. 11.178 Lazarus’ βαρύδεσμον … καλύπτρην, and for the idea in primis Ps. 37.5 (αἱ ἀνομίαι μου) ὠσεὶ φορτίον βαρὺν ἐβαρύνθησαν ἐπ’ ἐμέ.26 Contrast resurrected Lazarus in Par. 11.175 κοῦφον … νεκρόν and resurrected Tylus in 551 χεῖρες ἐλαφρίζοντο. The image of a serpent as a necklace in 466–7 οὐραίαις ἑλίκεσσιν ἐμιτρώθη μέσος αὐχήν, / Ἄιδος ὅρμον ἔχων ὀφιώδεα is common in Nonnus, but it may again be allusive. In Dion. 15.82–3, 86 αὐχένιον φορέων ὀφιώδεος ὅρμον

22 Translation by the author. 23 Cf. Dion. 7.352–3 (Semele) αἰθερίῳ … / … συναπτομένη παρακοίτῃ, 13.330 τὸν … Κρονίωνι συναπτομένη τέκε Κίρκη, 40.325, 47.462, 48.197 Παλλήνην … συναπτομένην Διονύσῳ. See, further, Lampe s.v. συνάπτω IA4. 24 In the same context belongs Lazarus in John 11.44 δεδεμένος τοὺς πόδας καὶ τὰς χεῖρας κειρίαις. Outside Christianity cf. [Ceb.] Tab. 6.2 (Ἐπιθυμίαι καὶ Ἡδοναί) ἀναπηδῶσι … καὶ πλέκονται πρὸς ἕκαστον, εἶτα ἀπάγουσι; in Artemid. Onir. 2.13 (127.7 Pack) a serpent twined around a man is a sign of coming death. For this image in Nonnus cf. Dion. 26.195, 45.311–2. 25 Cf. Apoll. Rhod. 4.1526 (Mopsus) βεβαρηότα γυῖα, Nic. Ther. 248 βαρύθουσα, 789 γυῖα βαρύνονται, Nonn. Dion. 4.371 βαρυνόμενον of Cadmus wrestling with the snake of Dirce. 26 And the exegesis on it, Basil. Caes. Hom. Ps. PG 29.312b πρᾶξις … βαρύνουσα ἡμᾶς διὰ τῆς ἁμαρτίας, Cyr. Exp. Ps. PG 69.768a αὐτὸς δὲ ὁ Σατανᾶς βαρὺς ἦν, καὶ φορτίον παντὸς δυσαχθέστερον; and beyond: Cyr. In Mt fr. 149 τοὺς εἰδωλολάτρας τοὺς διὰ τοῦ διαβόλου καταφορτισθέντας καὶ τῷ πλήθει τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν καταβαρυνομένους.

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ἀκάνθης an Indian attempts to rape a maiden Bacchant, guarded by a snake, but eventually runs away with the snake around his neck; in Dion. 35.217 οὐρὴν … ἐπ’ αὐχένι φωτὸς ἑλίξας a snake defends the virginity of Chalcomede against Morrheus attempting to rape her.27 In such instances the motif of the serpent-necklace is associated, as a paradoxical but just retribution, with punishment for aggressive lust. Very much in context the snake-necklace seems to be a powerful representation of lust and carnal sin rising above man’s head to strangle him. Now a νέκυς, Tylus is ὁμοίιος ἔρνεϊ γαίης (468). In a well-known epic motif, a young man destined to die prematurely can be likened to a sprout, most conspicuously Achilles in Il. 18.56, 437 ἔρνεϊ ἶσος.28 But in all of these instances the comparison is with a living (or once living) young man; whereas in Nonnus the comparison is with Tylus’ corpse. The connotations of the image are further illuminated by the treatment of the arid branch of vine dissociated from Christ (John 15.6) dumped on barren earth and left to dry out like a desiccated branch, Par. 15.23 κείμενος ἀζαλέῳ ξηραίνεται ἶσα κορύμβῳ. Furthermore, the metaphor is associated with metamorphosis in Dion. 36.305 εἴκελος ἔρνεϊ γαίης as one of Dionysus’ transformations; and in Dion. 12.174–5 Ampelus, in the reverse order, is transformed into a serpent before he takes on his new shape as a vine. Ampelus’ mid-transformation into a serpent relates to the snake’s capacity for rejuvenation and resurrection. In Lucan, the witch Erichtho whips a fighter’s dead corpse into life with a serpent, BC 6.727 verberat inmotum vivo serpente cadaver. In Ex. 7.9 Aaron’s stick when dropped to the ground turns itself into a serpent. Closer to the context, Gnostic Saturninus (ap. Iren. Haer. 1.24.1 [fr. 14] ap. Hippol. Ref. 1.28.3) envisages an intermediary state in the creation of man in which he was wriggling like a worm until ἡ ἄνω δύναμις sent a spark of life which raised him upright. So the simile, obliquely assimilating Tylus to a serpent, becomes a vivid prefiguration of his resurrection. Compared to the attack against Tylus, the series of attacks committed by the dragon against his previous victims in the woodland are of a different nature but again highly symbolic. Vian compared them to a hurricane: “un cyclone qui se déchaîne au fond d’un gouffre, telle une terrestre Charybde”. Espinar and Hernández de la Fuente, on the other hand, compare them to the

27 For the Christian re-semantisation of the old Dionysiac guardian-snake, with reference to Act. Joh. 63–86, see Gerlaud 2005, 255; Hadjittofi 2008, 116. 28 Cf. also Il. 17.53, Call. Hec. fr. 48.7 Hollis (Hecale of her deceased twins), Quint. Smyr. 6.378. “[S]uch sentiments are often found on inscribed epitaphs for those who die young” Hollis 1990, 197.

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natural destruction caused by god-fighting monsters such as Typhon (Dion. 1.206–18, 2.644–9) and especially Alpus (Dion. 45.178 f.).29 It is far more likely that Nonnus has in mind Egyptian lore about fabulous dragons. Diodorus of Sicily (3.36.6) reports a story of hunting such a dragon at the time of Ptolemy Philadelphus where the motifs of supernatural ferocity and death feature prominently. The conceivable association of such features with the snake of Eden, the arch-symbol of evil attacking man relentlessly, would not come as a surprise: “[e]s lag nah, den bösesten Dämon den bösesten Ungeheuern nachzubilden” noted Esche for representations in visual art.30 But the victims of the dragon in Nonnus bear features which render them metaphors for the sinful or unredeemed man. The effect of these attacks is not dissimilar to that of Satan who οὐρανίης … / εἵργει πάντας ὁδοῖο (Greg. Naz. Carm. 1.1.6.61–2); or of the lustful woman, an incarnation of πορνεία, who is out at the crossroads to lure young men into her chamber of death in Prov. 7.13. In 472 οὐ γὰρ ἕνα πρήνιξεν ὁδοιπόρον οὐδὲ νομῆα the image of a victim falling or lying on the ground constitutes a πτῶσις, a typical symptom of sin. As a first class of victims the dragon θῆρας ἐδαίνυτο (474). This can be read as a metaphor for the “fallen” man who is reduced to the state of bestiality. After the fall, man is surrendered to his vices and subjected to death like the rest of the living creatures.31 It is Christ who saved man from beastly life; that is why, according to Cyril In Lk PG 72.488d, Christ was born in a manger. The second class of victims is whole trees: 474–6 ἕλκων / ἄστατον αὐτόρριζον … / δένδρεον εὐρώεντι κατέκρυφεν ἀνθερεῶνι. The qualification ἄστατον is unique to trees in Greek literature and seems generally awkward, but in Nonnus the adjective can describe an undecided mind (Dion. 11.96–7 ἄστατον … μενοινήν / διχθαδίην), or indeed unstable faith in Par. 14.1–2 μὴ νόος ὑμείων .. ἄστατος εἴη, / ἀλλὰ θεῷ καὶ ἐμοὶ πιστεύσατε. Men walking like trees is a metaphor known from the healing of the blind man at Bethsaida: Mk 8.24 τοὺς ἀνθρώπους … ὡς δένδρα ὁρῶ περιπατοῦντας. And trees not producing crops are a regular metaphor for the end of sinners, cf. Mt 3.10 πᾶν οὖν δέν-

29 Vian 1990, 265; Espinar – Hernández de la Fuente 2002, 2–3. 30 Esche 1957, 27–9, at 28. On serpent/Satan fighting man relentlessly see, e.g., Stockmeier 1966, 68–70. 31 Cf. Theophil. Ant. Autol. 2.16 οἱ δὲ ἅρπαγες καὶ φονεῖς καὶ ἄθεοι ἐοίκασιν … θηρίοις … (17) εἰς τύπον ἐγένοντο τά τε τετράποδα καὶ θηρία ἐνίων ἀνθρώπων τῶν τὸν θεὸν ἀγνοούντων καὶ ἀσεβούντων. Satan is capable of turning men into beasts: Greg. Nyss. V. Mos. 2.302 βοσκήματα … τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἀπέδειξε, οὓς ἡ κτηνώδης καὶ ἄλογος πρὸς τὴν ἀκολασίαν ὁρμὴ ἐκλαθέσθαι τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης ἀνέπεισε φύσεως. See, further, Lampe s.v. κτηνώδης; von Erffa 1989, 180–1; Marcovich on Clem. Protr. 3.1 ἄνδρες τινὲς οὐκ ἄνδρες, adding Iambl. Epist. 3.3 Dillon – Polleichtner.

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δρον μὴ ποιοῦν καρπὸν καλὸν ἐκκόπτεται καὶ εἰς πῦρ βάλλεται.32 The employment of ἕλκων, like that of ἑλκυσθέντα of the wayfarer in 478, is suggestive too, as this is the verbum proprium for the attraction exerted by Satan on his victims.33 Εὐρώεις is firmly associated with Hades (in Nonnus cf. Dion. 36.105), but is mostly used by Nonnus as a vehicle of allusion to Hades, qualifying in Dion. 26.107 Tectaphus’ underground chamber, and in 45.267 the subterranean prison of the maenads. The throat of the serpent represents a gateway to Hades, like that of the serpent of Dirce in Dion. 4.373–4. This chimes well with images of Hades with a gaping mouth in Is. 5.14 καὶ ἐπλάτυνεν ὁ ᾅδης τὴν ψυχὴν αὐτοῦ καὶ διήνοιξεν τὸ στόμα αὐτοῦ τοῦ μὴ διαλιπεῖν; Rom. 3.13 (Jews and gentiles) τάφος ἀνεῳγμένος ὁ λάρυγξ αὐτῶν. This is a widespread notion in popular Christian readings such as the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus 23.3 or Apoc. Baruch 4 (angel guides Baruch in Hades) ὁ μὲν δράκων ἐστὶν ὁ τὰ σώματα τῶν κακῶς τὸν βίον μετερχομένων ἐσθίων καὶ ὑπ’ αὐτῶν τρέφεται … (5) … ἡ κοιλία τούτου ὁ Ἅιδης ἐστίν. In 477 ἔμπαλιν αὐερύων βλοσυρὸν φύσημα γενείων the dragon-Satan bears yet another feature of a Phantasietier: it exhales fiery breaths like the Chimaera in Il. 6.182, or like the dragon described in Diod. Sic. 3.36.6. Nonnus, however, on the one hand seems to use Egyptian lore about the cobra allegedly spitting out a scorching breath,34 and on the other hand seems to have in mind alleged qualities of Satan (Eph. 6.16 τὰ βέλη τοῦ πονηροῦ [τὰ] πεπυρωμένα), unleashing the λαῖλαψ of sin (Basil. Caes. Hom. in princ. prov. PG 31.421a προσβολῇ δαίμονος, ὥσπερ τινὶ ἀγρίᾳ λαίλαπι). With βλοσυρὸν in this context cf. Par. 19.27 βλοσυροὶ δρηστῆρες ἐπέβρεμον (Crucify him!), but the usage may be best paralleled with the punishment of the ἄδικος in Ps.-Apollin. Met. Ps. 10.14 πῦρ καὶ θεῖον ὁμοῦ καὶ ἀμειδέος ἄσθμα θυέλλης/. The last enlisted victim is παλινδίνητον ὁδίτην (478) engorged ὅλον ἄνδρα (480). Ὁδίτης can be a generic description of “mortal”, since the earthbound character of humans differentiates them from gods, as, among others, the

32 Also Mt 7.17–20, Lk 3.9, 12.43–5, 13.6–9; see O. Hagenmeyer, RAC II (1954), 22 s.v. Baum. On αὐτόρριζον see infra on 480 ὅλον ἄνδρα. See below, p. 344. 33 Cf. Just. Dial. 116.1 ὁ διάβολος … πρὸς ἑαυτὸν ἕλκειν πάντας βουλόμενος, Basil. Caes. Hom. exh. ad sanct. bapt. PG 31.436a, Cyr. In Lk PG 72.852b ὁ ἀνθρώπινος νοῦς … εἰς φιληδονίας κοσμικὰς πίπτει … ἕλκοντός τινος … ἔργον δὲ τοῦτο τῷ Σατανᾷ. See, further, Lampe s.v. ἕλκω, ἑλκύω 3; s.v. ἑλκτικός 1. 34 Cf. Ael. NA 3.33 ἡ Λίβυσσα δ’ ἀσπὶς … τὸν πρὸς τὸ φύσημα αὐτῆς ἀντιβλέψαντα τυφλοῖ τὴν ὄψιν, Philon of Byblos FGrH 790 F 4 (Porphyry C. Christ. fr. 3 Nautin) ap. Euseb. PE 1.10.46 (Sanchuniathon claims) πνευματικώτατον γὰρ τὸ ζῷον … καὶ πυρῶδες. On the adflatus of the Libyan cobra see Gigli Piccardi 2003, 282, on Dion. 3.57. See, further, Foerster, TDNT V (1967), 570.

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Homeric formula ἄνθρωπος ὁδίτης (Il. 16.263, Od. 13.123) suggests. But ὁδίτης seems to be inspired by yet another NT metaphor for sin. The word is significant in a Christian context where the ὁδός “way of life”35 plays such an important role: he who on his way is snatched by the dragon is walking the ὁδὸς ἡ ἀπάγουσα εἰς τὴν ἀπώλειαν, not the ὁδὸς ἡ ἀπάγουσα εἰς τὴν ζωήν (Mt 7.13– 4). Παλινδίνητος is employed concerning the dead body of Ampelus tossed by the fierce bull that killed him in Dion. 11.220, and of a corpse tossed by an elephant in Dion. 26.324. Ὅλον ἄνδρα points to a formula of perdition and salvation in toto.36 The engorgement of the unstable tree αὐτόρριζον in 475 is an adaptation of this same notion.

1.3 Damasen’s Victory The snake is not going to prevail in the end. It may cause sorrow and fear, but Damasen will beat it. After Tylus’ death Morie terrified watches the scene from afar: 482 τηλόθι παπταίνουσα· φόβῳ δ’ ἐλελίζετο νύμφη. Her φόβος recalls the fear of the first created often represented in coeval art as hiding behind trees and bushes.37 This is the fear of death, omnipotent before Christ annihilated it. The snake coiling around Tylus’ head is described as θανάτου στέφος (484), for which one might compare, regarding coiling snakes, Dion. 1.201 στέφος, 44.110 στέμματι, but also Christ’s “crown” in Par. 19.7–8 ἀκάνθης / στέμμα, 22 στέφος, Greg. Naz. Carm. 1.2.34.204 στέφος δ’ ἀκανθῶν. The image symbolises the victory of Satan in the kingdom of death; an outcome that is to be reversed when Christ puts on an ἀκάνθινος στέφανος. Damasen is introduced in 486–94: ἠλιβάτῳ Δαμασῆνι συνήντεεν υἱέι Γαίης, ὃν πάρος αὐτογόνοισι τόκοις μαιώσατο μήτηρ ἐκ γενετῆς μεθέποντα δασύτριχα κύκλα γενείου. Τικτομένῳ δέ οἱ ἦεν Ἔρις τροφός· ἔγχεα δ’ αὐτῷ μαζὸς ἔην καὶ χύτλα φόνοι καὶ σπάργανα θώρηξ,

490

35 See BDAG s.v. ὁδός 3; Lampe s.v. ὁδός 1. Greg. Naz. Carm. 1.1.9.95 compares himself to an ὁδίτης. 36 Cf. John 7.23 ~ Par. 7.91 (89 σεσηπότα … νούσῳ) ζωγρήσας ὅλον ἄνδρα; Lazarus bound in sin in Par. 11.170 ὅλον δέμας; Greg. Naz. Carm. 1.1.8.43–4 ὅλον μ’ ὅλος ὄφρα σαώσῃ· / καὶ γὰρ ὅλος πέπτωκεν Ἀδάμ. 37 Cf. Greg. Nyss. De virg. 12.4 φύλλοις καὶ σκιαῖς ὑποκρύπτεσθαι, from Gen. 3.8 ἐκρύβησαν ὅ τε Αδαμ καὶ ἡ γυνὴ αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ προσώπου κυρίου τοῦ θεοῦ ἐν μέσῳ τοῦ ξύλου τοῦ παραδείσου; see von Erffa 1989, 221.

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καὶ δολιχῶν μελέων βεβαρημένος εὐρέι φόρτῳ νήπιος αἰχμάζων, βρέφος ἄλκιμον, αἰθέρι γείτων ἐκ γενετῆς δόρυ πάλλεν ὁμόγνιον, ἀρτιφανῆ δέ ὥπλισεν Εἰλείθυια λεχώιον ἀσπιδιώτην. [S]he met Damasen, a gigantic son of Earth, whom his mother once conceived of herself and brought forth by herself. From his birth, Quarrel was his nurse, spears his mother’s pap, carnage his bath, the corselet his swaddlings. Under the heavy weight of those long broad limbs, a warlike babe, he cast lances as a boy; touching the sky, from birth he shook a spear born with him; no sooner did he appear than Eileithyia armed the nursling with a shield.38

Damasen is sketched in a positive light throughout the episode, unlike all other Nonnian Giants. I will argue that Damasen is presented in this way so that he might bear features that cryptically assimilate him to Christ. Nonnus’ manipulation is very deft: he deploys well-known images of a supernatural baby such as Heracles, or of a paradoxical birth such as that of the goddess Athena. Such proceedings are not surprising for a mind trained to trace similarities my means of fanciful syncriseis. The approximation of Damasen ἠλίβατος (486) and Christ might be facilitated by the image of Christ as a Giant (Sun) making his way on the sky in Ps. 18.5–6. Already in 453 Damasen is suggestively introduced as δρακοντοφόνος, an immediate response to Satan, ἀνθρωποκτόνος.39 Before Nonnus, the adjective occurs only in the highly mystic Orph. Lith. 158 (dogs escorting wayfarers), whereas in Nonnus it qualifies only Cadmus (Dion. 5.35) and Damasen. Damasen is a son of Gaia (486, 453), quite aptly since Masnes is said to be a son of Ge in Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 1.27.1 (FGrH 768 F 9). At a secondary reading this may insinuate Christ’s recurrent self-designation in all Gospels as ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου – literally meaning “the human being”, a formulation retained in Par. 1.216, 3.70, al. As Adam is earthborn (Gen. 2.7), a son of virgin earth (Lampe s.v. Ἀδάμ A2), so is Christ as the last Adam: he assumed χοϊκὸν … σῶμα (Basil. Caes. Epist. 260.8).40 Damasen is said to have been born after an immaculate conception and a spontaneous birth (487); that is, in a way not affecting the virginity of his mother. However, his birth was monstrous. Straight from the womb he was born with a thick beard. His nurse was Eris. He was soon acquainted not with what babies are supposed to be acquainted – their mother’s breast or their swaddling clothes – but instead with arms, bloodshed and his corselet. He 38 All translations of the Dionysiaca are sourced from Rouse 1940. 39 John 8.44 ~ Par. 8.126 ἀνδροκτόνος; Greg. Naz. Carm. 1.1.7.74 ἀνδροφόνοιο. 40 See, further, Lampe s.v. γήινος 1; ibid. s.v. ἄρουρα 1 and H. Görgemanns, RAC Suppl. I (2001), 419 s.v. Anfang, for Virgin Mary allegorised as earth in which Jesus was bred.

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was νήπιος αἰχμάζων, βρέφος ἄλκιμον (492) as if another Heracles.41 Damasen was born armed with a lance and a shield, like the goddess Athena. And his dimensions were prodigious already as a baby reaching the sky (486 ἠλιβάτῳ, 492 αἰθέρι γείτων). These features may allude, in an exquisite and detached manner, to traditions about Christ’s birth and childhood. They toy with the paradox of a baby being born as a fully-grown god. In particular, they appear to be in dialogue with Cyril’s comment on the birth of Jesus, In Lk PG 72.508a: Ἦν μὲν γὰρ ἱκανὸς Θεὸς ὢν ὁ Λόγος, εἰς μέτρον ἀνδρὸς τελείου, καὶ ἐκ μήτρας εὐθὺς τὴν ἰδίαν ἀναβιβάσαι σάρκα· ἀλλ’ ἦν οὐ μακρὰν τερατοποιίας τὸ δρώμενον. Διὰ τοῦτο τοῖς τῆς ἀνθρωπότητος ἔθεσί τε καὶ νόμοις, τὸ κρατεῖν ἐδίδου καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς ἑαυτοῦ σαρκός. And though the Word as being God was surely capable of making his flesh spring forth at once from the womb unto the measure of the perfect man, yet this act would have been not far from miracle-mongering; and therefore he gave the habits and the laws of human nature power even over his own flesh.42

Ecce Nonnus. Within these parameters the individual features of this monstrosity acquire a symbolic power: Damasen’s baby-beard is a symbol of early theological wisdom. Luke 2.41–52 recounts the incident of the boy Jesus amazing the rabbis in the Temple ἐπὶ τῇ συνέσει … αὐτοῦ (2.47). On the other hand, Eris as a nurse of Damasen may quite aptly insinuate Christ as the Cause of Division: Lk 12.49–53 ~ Mt 10.34–5 οὐκ ἦλθον βαλεῖν εἰρήνην ἀλλὰ μάχαιραν. ἦλθον γὰρ διχάσαι ἄνθρωπον κατὰ τοῦ πατρὸς αὐτοῦ καὶ θυγατέρα κατὰ τῆς μητρὸς αὐτῆς κτλ.; Lk 11.23 ὁ μὴ ὢν μετ’ ἐμοῦ κατ’ ἐμοῦ ἐστιν, an attitude attacked by Porph. C. Christ. fr. 51 Harnack. Vian (1990, 39) considered the description of baby Damasen’s set of armour anachronistic and inexplicable; but arms, bloodshed and corselet (489–90) might seem to be an appropriate elaboration of Jesus’ own statement that his aim is not peace but a sword (Mt 10.34, cited above). Besides, the fight with Satan is an act of war in which man is at first beaten (Adam) but eventually prevails (Christ). For this battle, Damasen is equipped with the spiritual πανοπλία θεοῦ (Eph. 6.11–7). Battle imagery is recurrently associated with victory over Satan.

41 In Aeneas of Gaza Theophr. 63.18 Colonna Masnes/Damasen is Hellenised as Heracles, see Vian 1990, 37 n. 1. On Heracles and Christ, including their birth from a divine father and a mortal mother and the threats they faced as infants, see A. J. Malherbe, RAC XIV (1988), 569– 72 s.v. Herakles. 42 Translation by R. Payne Smith, adapted.

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Damasen’s birth, together with his spear and his acquirement of a shield as an infant, also convey a highly symbolic meaning. They are both conspicuous features of the virgin goddess Athena. The very image of Athena’s monstrous birth from the head of her father Zeus, together with her connate spear, was taken to symbolise her wisdom (e.g. in Procl. Hy. Ath. 1–4). Indicatively, the expression ἐκ γενετῆς, already Homeric (*Il. 24.284, *Od. 18.6), is used in Nonnus exclusively of Athena’s (*Dion. 24.284) and Damasen’s birth (488, 493). The symbolic power of such weaponry is explained by Iambl. In Tim. fr. 17 Dillon ap. Procl. In Tim. I.157.3: τὰς μὲν ἀσπίδας δυνάμεις εἶναι τίθεται, δι’ ἃς ἀπαθὲς καὶ ἄχραντον μένει τὸ θεῖον, ἄρρηκτον ἐν ἑαυτῷ φρουρὰν περιβεβλημένον, τὰ δὲ δόρατα δυνάμεις, καθ’ ἃς χωρεῖ διὰ πάντων ἀναφῶς καὶ δρᾷ εἰς πάντα, τὸ ἔνυλον ἀποκόπτον καὶ πᾶν τὸ γενεσιουργὸν εἶδος ἀμυνόμενον. ταῦτα δὲ πρώτως μὲν περὶ τὴν Ἀθηνᾶν ὁρᾶται. the shields must be powers through which the divine remains impassible and undefiled having thrown around itself an unbreakable defence, and the spears powers by virtue of which it passes through all things without contact and acts upon everything, while beating off the material and warding off the whole class of things concerned with generation.43

Such a symbolism might be seen to pertinently allude to Jesus. Σοφία was a prominent quality of baby Jesus: Lk 2.40 τὸ δὲ παιδίον ηὔξανεν καὶ ἐκραταιοῦτο πληρούμενον σοφίᾳ ~ 2.52; 1 Cor. 1.30 ὃς ἐγεννήθη σοφία ἡμῖν ἀπὸ θεοῦ. Cyril In Lk PG 72.508a had to comment that Jesus was born with perfect wisdom, but only revealed it gradually as his age progressed. Damasen cares for the community: he is an altruist who kills the dragon to save others. The wording in 499 οὐδὲ γίγας ἀμέλησε recalls Il. 13.419 ἀλλ’ οὐδ’ … ἑοῦ ἀμέλησεν ἑταίρου, where it is used of solidarity between comrades in battle. Damasen uproots a tree to use against the dragon: 499–500 ἀλλὰ πιέσσας / δένδρεον αὐτόπρεμνον ἀνέσπασε μητρὸς ἀρούρης. In this context the old theme of “mother” earth gains a new meaning from Gen. 2.9 καὶ ἐξανέτειλεν ὁ θεὸς ἔτι ἐκ τῆς γῆς πᾶν ξύλον, and it is particularly consequential for the kind of tree Nonnus may imply: the cross is a tree and, significantly, it is no other tree than the tree of sin transformed into a tree of redemption and

43 Translation by Dillon 1973.

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salvation.44 The Fathers often emphasise that Satan defeated Adam with the tree of Eden and that it is with the tree of the cross that Christ defeated Satan.45 The cross is a weapon of victory, an ὅπλον ἀχείρωτον (John Chrys. In Ps. [109] PG 55.274) and indeed a weapon in Christ’s hand to be used in his battle against Satan: John Chrys. Hom. 13.1 In Phil. PG 62.277 (ὁ σταυρός) σωτήριον ὅπλον, ἀσπὶς ἄμαχος, τῷ διαβόλῳ ἀντίπαλος. Stockmeier (1966, 75) observed that “[i]n der agonistischen Bildrede wird das Kreutz zur starken Waffe gegen Satan. Christus escheint also nicht durch das Kreutz gefesselt … es ist ihm vielmehr darin eine Waffe in die Hand gegeben für sein Kampf”, a weapon with which Christ cut the dragon’s head off (John Chrys. In Mt PG 58.537), a sword with which Christ pierced the dragon: John Chrys. De coem. et cruc. 2, PG 49.396 σταυρὸς τὸ κατὰ δαιμόνων τρόπαιον, ἡ κατὰ τῆς ἁμαρτίας μάχαιρα, τὸ ξίφος, ᾧ τὸν ὄφιν ἐκέντησεν ὁ Χριστός. Such images acquired topicality under the reign of Constantine. Euseb. V. Const. 3.3.1 describes a picture before the (bronze) royal gateway depicting the Christian emperor piercing a dragon’s head with the power of the cross. Coins from Constantinople dated to 327–337 show a dragon pierced by a labarum.46 At the duel Damasen performs much better that the dragon. The formulation of 501 ὠμοβόρου δὲ δράκοντος ἐναντία δόχμιος ἔστη is concise but rendered analytically by Vian “fit face au dragon … en l’abordant par le côte”, who compares the iconography of Heracles and hydra. Apparently, Damasen thus draws near the serpent with the aim of taking it by surprise, cf. the battle of Cadmus with the dragon guarding Dirce in Dion. 4.357 (ὄφις) λοξὰ φανείς. The effect of an attack by surprise is enhanced by the oxymoronic juxtaposition of ἐναντία and δόχμιος. This looks very similar to the way Christ defeated Satan, cf. Greg. Naz. Carm. 1.1.9.56 (Christ incarnated ὡς) καὶ πινυτὸν δοκέοντα ὄφιν σφήλειεν ἀέλπτως with Sykes 1997, 258 citing Greg. Nyss. Or. catech. 26 παρὰ τὸ ἐλπισθέν. The overall idea is that the cunning devil (πολύτροπος ἀρχὸς ἀγήνωρ in Par. 16.35, δολορραφής in 8.112) is outwitted by Christ with a con44 See Bauerreiss 1938; Stockmeier 1966, 221–3. For the evergreen tree of the cross cf., e.g., Aster. Soph. Comm. Ps. 14.2, 8, John Chrys. In illud: colleg. Judaei PG 59.526, In parab. de ficu PG 59.590 τὸ δένδρον τοῦ σταυροῦ, In ador. vener. crucis PG 62.750 ὁ γὰρ σταυρὸς τοῦ Χριστοῦ δένδρον ἐστὶν ἀθανασίας, φυτὸν ἀφθαρσίας, [In sanct. Pasch.] 37, Paul Sil. Soph. 882. 45 Cf. Iren. Haer. 5.17.3 uti, quemadmodum per lignum facti sumus debitores Deo, per lignum accipiamus nostri debiti remissionem, John Chrys. In Pasch. PG 52.767–8 δι’ ὧν ἡμᾶς κατεπάλαισεν ὁ διάβολος, διὰ τούτων αὐτοῦ περιεγένετο ὁ Χριστός, [De jejun.] PG 60.722 ἔδει δὲ τὸν Χριστὸν διὰ τοῦ ξύλου τὴν διὰ τοῦ ξύλου ἁμαρτίαν λῦσαι, Cyr. Jer. Catech. 13.19, Sophron. Anacr. 20.31–2. 46 See Heid 2002. On the cross as a weapon see Lampe s.v. σταυρός C2b “victory over the enemy”; S. Heid, RAC 21 (2006), 1118–21 s.v. Kreutz. On the coins see Cameron – Hall 1999, 255.

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quest by deception, a suitable retribution for the snake of Eden’s victory against Adam by means of deception. Ὠμοβόρου glances at traditional characterisations of Satan the man-killer. Ὠμός is a common qualification of him too.47 In the attack against Damasen (503–19) the description of the snake’s proceedings is very graphic. An idea about the literary appreciation of such a description may be gleaned by the scholium to Il. 22.95a2, where Hector is likened to a dreadful snake. The scholium points out the vividness of the simile (εἰκαστικὸς ὁ λόγος) and supplements it with further details, ὁ συριγμὸς σφόδρα φοβερὸς καὶ τὸ βλέμμα δεινὸν καὶ ὕφαιμοι οἱ ὀφθαλμοί. The aggressive disposition of the snake was naturally a feature of the local myth, but the initiative seems to have been on the part of Mas(d)nes so that the fight conceivably ended quickly. On a Lydian coin attesting the myth, Masdnes “se précipite contre un serpent dressé sur sa queue”.48 Therefore the details in the exposition of the serpent’s attack seem to be an elaboration of Nonnus. It is not a fortuitous description but is rather based on the notion of the dragon-Satan acting like the Jews in abusing, torturing and crucifying Christ. Jews were considered to be an “offspring of Satan” on the strength of Jesus’ verdict in John 8.44 ὑμεῖς ἐκ τοῦ πατρὸς τοῦ διαβόλου ἐστὲ καὶ τὰς ἐπιθυμίας τοῦ πατρὸς ὑμῶν θέλετε ποιεῖν.49 A direct comparison of Jews with snakes is repeatedly found in the NT, where Christ addresses them as a “brood of vipers”.50 Relying on these metaphors Nonnus models the aggression of the snake on the sacrilege acts of the Jews. The dragon is described as πρόμος εἱλικόεις (502 ~ Dion. 35.216 πρόμος ἀμφιέλικτος) not unlike the devil who is the prince of the demons (but has no power over Christ), ὁ ἄρχων τοῦ κόσμου τούτου.51 Damasen is also a πρόμος (499), so this is a battle between two princes. In the next verse, αὐχενίῃ σάλπιγγι μόθου συριγμὸν ἰάλλων, the “trumpet” of the snake heralds the commencement of the fight, as the trumpet does in Homeric battle (Tissoni 2005, 213). The hissing is a feature of the cobra

47 Cf. Didym. Alex. Fr. in Ps. 695a Mühlenberg ἀπὸ τῆς ὠμότητος αὐτοῦ τῆς τυραννικῆς, John Chrys. Adv. Jud. PG 48.848 Σατανικῆς ὠμότητος φθεγγόμενοι ῥήματα, Cyr. Comm. Is. PG 70.889c οἷά τις τύραννος ὠμός τε καὶ ἀλαζὼν … ὁ ἀλητήριος Σατανᾶς, [Cyr. Jer.] Myst. 1.4 Σατανᾷ … τῷ πονηρῷ καὶ ὠμοτάτῳ τυράννῳ. 48 Robert 1937, 157, cited by Chuvin 1991, 107. 49 See G. Stremberg, RAC XIX (2001), 224 s.v. Juden where further references. 50 Mt 3.7, 12.34, 23.33 ὄφεις, γεννήματα ἐχιδνῶν, Lk 3.7, then Or. Sib. 1.370–1 φοβερώτεροι ἑρπυστήρων / θηρῶν ἰοβόλων, a common metaphor until Germanus Const. II (13th century) Or. 1.233 ἐκ τῆς ὀφιώδους τῶν Ἰουδαίων φυλῆς. 51 John 12.31, 14.30, 16.11 ~ Par. 12.124 (ἀρχός), 14.121 ἀρχὸς ἀγήνωρ ~ 16.35. See Lampe s.v. διάβολος Β1; s.v. σατανᾶς 1b2.

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and a standard trait of Nonnian snakes,52 but also a Jewish reaction against Christ (Macar. Magn. cited on p. 352 n. 63) and one of the ways Satan uses to allure his victims.53 The length of the snake in 504 πεντηκονταπέλεθρος ὄφις (c. 1.5 km!) relies on popular lore about snakes-monsters but also glances at traditions about the dragon Satan in Rev. 12.3 δράκων μέγας πυρρός and 12.9 ὁ δράκων ὁ μέγας, ὁ ὄφις ὁ ἀρχαῖος, ὁ καλούμενος Διάβολος καὶ Σατανᾶς. The snake’s length is also stressed in 471 θῆρα πέλωρον, 497 ἄπλετον ἐρπηστῆρα, but its opponent is also enormous, 453 (Damasen) Χθονὸς ἄπλετον υἷα, 429 πέλωρ πρόμος, 486, 492 αἰθέρι γείτων, 512. The snake, however, is apparently of normal length when it attacks Tylus in 457, when it coils around Tylus’ neck in 466, when Damasen shakes it off in 514, and when, after its revival, it goes back into its subterranean lair in 538. This inconsistency is indicative of Nonnus’ introduction of different traditions into a single story. First, in highly evocative fashion the snake immobilises both Damasen’s feet: 505 διδύμους σφιγκτῆρι πόδας σφηκώσατο δεσμῷ. The motif is known from the serpent of Dirce fighting Cadmus in Dion. 4.369 πόδας μιτρούμενος, and from Dionysiac snakes coiling around the feet of Indians fleeing from battle in Dion. 36.175 (f.l. in 44.113); but the line may allude to the crucifixion (σφιγκτὴρ δεσμός implies “nail”) in which Nonnus insists upon the alleged fact that Jesus’ feet were nailed together on the cross, cf. Par. 19.95–7 ὁμοτρήτῳ δὲ πεπαρμένον ἄζυγι γόμφῳ / … μιῇ τετορημένον ὁρμῇ / ποσσὶν ὁμοπλεκέεσσιν, ἀκαμπέα δεσμὸν ὀλέθρου “pierced by the co-perforated unyokable nail … bored in one motion through his interlaced feet, an unbendable bond of destruction” (transl. Sherry 1991); for the wording comparable and revealing are Par. 18.61 (arrest anticipating crucifixion) Χριστὸν ἐπισφίγξαντες δεσμῷ, 113, 189, 19.31 (crucifixion) σφηκώσατε τοῦτον ὀλέθρῳ, 93–4 (χεῖρας) ἐπισφίγξαντες ἀνάγκῃ / … σιδηρείῳ τινὶ δεσμῷ.54 The resonant whipping of Damasen in 506 καὶ σκολιαῖς ἐλίκεσσι δέμας Δαμασῆνος ἱμάσσων glances at the whipping of Christ in Par. 19.4–5 ἀμοιβαίῃσι δὲ ῥιπαῖς / ῥιγεδανῇ Χριστοῖο δέμας φοίνιξεν ἱμάσθλῃ, with the whipped δέμας featuring in both cases. This was an act of cruelty and impiety (Greg. Nyss. De perf. Christ. 196.21 Jaeger

52 Cf., e.g., Dion. 25.538 ~ 12.327, 35.212, 36.171. See Vian 1995, 76. 53 Cf. Orig. Fr. in Lam. 57 Klostermann ὡς ὄφις ἐφ’ ἡμᾶς ἀφιεὶς τὰ συρίγματα, [John Chrys.] Hom. in Ps. (92.3) PG 55.614 Εὔα … δρακοντιαίων συρισμάτων ἀγαπήτρια, Anon. Contac. III.1.Ε.2 Maas θεοποιίας συρίζων ἀπάτην; see Lampe s.v. συρίζω 1. 54 See, further, D. Accorinti – E. Livrea ap. Livrea 1993, 210. On δεσμός “nail” cf. Schol. D Il. 18.379 δεσμοὺς· ἥλους, Hesych. δ 702 δεσμός· ἧλοι, Erbse on Schol. bT l.l. c.

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νῶτον πληγαῖς ἐκδιδόμενον, κριτήριον ἀσεβές, ἀπόφασις ἀπηνής). Σκολιός is a typical qualification of snakes, and indeed of the snake Satan.55 The dragon’s threatening gape in 507 χάσματι λυσσήεντι πύλας ὤιξεν ὀδόντων resurfaces in the attack against Tylus in 458 ἀφειδέι χάσματι λαιμοῦ. The image chimes well with traditions about the enemies of Christ.56 In his own description of Jesus’ trial and crucifixion, Nonnus pays close attention to the abusive mouth of the Jews: Par. 18.146 καὶ φθονεροῖς στομάτεσσιν ἀνίαχον ἀρχιερῆες, 19.1–2 αἰνομανῆ … / … ἀφραδέων στομάτων ἀλαλητόν, 55–6 λαοὶ δ’ ἀντιάχησαν … / νηρίθμοις στομάτεσσιν, 78 δολίοις στομάτεσσιν ἀνέκραγον. This is in conformity with contemporary Christian sources.57 Λυσσήεις is appropriate of the raging madness of the Jews (see below) and it recurrently comes up as a qualification of Satan in Gregory of Nazianzus.58 The description of the snake’s eyes in 508–9 ὄμματα σείων, / ὄμματα φοινιχθέντα (De Stefani 1996 : ὄμματα φόνου πνείοντα L : λοξὰ φόνου πνείοντα Falkenburg, Vian) combines features of an attacking serpent and of a maddened murderer. In particular, whirling eyes are an indication of fury with murderous intentions; they appear of Athamas in Dion. 10.21 ὀφθαλμοὺς μεθύοντας ἀπειλητῆρας ἐλίσσων, 23 ὄμματα φοινίσσοντο, or of the maddened daughters of Lamos murdering strangers in Dion. 9.42–3 ὑπὸ στροφάλιγγι δὲ ῥιπῆς / ὀφθαλμοὺς ἐλέλιζον. The bloodshot eye is a typical feature of a threatening snake, but also a traditional image of homicidal fury in a state of blind madness.59 These are recurrent features in descriptions of wrath; such was the wrathful frenzy of the Jews.60 Keeping to the same line the serpent spits venom on Damasen in 511 χλωρὸν ὀιστεύων δολιχόσκιον ἀφρὸν ὀδόντων. Its poisonous nature was

55 Cf. Is. 27.1 ἐπὶ τὸν δράκοντα ὄφιν σκολιόν, see Sykes 1997, 256, on Greg. Naz. Carm. 1.1.8.36 σκολιὸν … δράκοντα. 56 Cf. Is. 57.4 καὶ ἐπὶ τίνα ἠνοίξατε τὸ στόμα ἡμῶν; καὶ ἐπὶ τίνα ἐχαλάσατε τὴν γλῶσσαν ὑμῶν; (often cited by the Fathers), Rom. 3.13 τάφος ἀνεῳγμένος ὁ λάρυγξ αὐτῶν. 57 Cf. ACO Ephes. (431) I.1.6.81 οἱ … τῶν Ἰουδαίων καθηγηταὶ … ἀπύλωτον ἐπ’ αὐτῶι διοιγνύντες στόμα κτλ., Cyr. De S. trin. dial. 621d ἐπέθρῳσκον μὲν Ἰουδαῖοι … ἀνοιγνύντες δὲ ὥσπερ ἀπύλωτόν τε καὶ ἀκρατὲς τὸ στόμα αὐτῷ κτλ. 58 See Sykes 1997, 253, on Carm. 1.1.8.9 λυσσήεις … Ἀδὰμ βάλεν ἐκ παραδείσου. 59 Threatening snake: Eur. inc. fab. TrGF 870; Jacques 2002, 97, on Nic. Ther. 178. Homicidal fury: Eur. Her. 932–4, Virg. Aen. 4.643 sanguineam volvens aciem, Schol. Eur. Or. 256 τοὺς μαινομένους ὕφαιμον βλέπειν καὶ ταραχῶδες, Laokoon in Quint. Smyr. 12.404–12. See Fraenkel on Aesch. Ag. 1428; De Stefani 1996, 37. 60 Cf. Greg. Naz. Carm. 1.2.25 (Κατὰ θυμοῦ) 94 ὕφαιμον ὄμμα, καὶ θέσεις διάστροφοι, 100 αὐχὴν διοιδῶν, 102–3 λυσσῶδες ἄσθμα, καὶ φρύαγμ’ ἀσχημονοῦν, / μυκτὴρ πλατύς τε καὶ πνέων ὅλην ὕβριν provoking actions οὐδενὸς πλὴν δαίμονος (106). See, further, Spanoudakis 2007, 58.

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stressed already when attacking Tylus: 464 ἰοβόλοις γενύεσσιν, 483 ἰοβόλων … ὀδόντων. This may be again allusive. Nonnus has in mind the Egyptian cobra which, when in aggressive mood, can spit its venom even at a distance of two meters.61 Δολιχόσκιος is employed in this sense also in Dion. 2.612, 18.241, 36.180. The spitted venom can cause blindness (Dion. 4.379–80). But the ἀφρός on the mouth of the snake alludes to a well-known symptom of madness.62 Mt 27.30 καὶ ἐμπτύσαντες εἰς αὐτὸν … ἔτυπτον and Mk 14.19 ἐνέπτυον αὐτῷ report of the Roman soldiers under Pilate spitting in Christ’s face. But in the consciousness of early Christians, the Jews were solely responsible. Significantly, in well-founded pictorial language, enraged Jews, like snakes, spit their venom against Christ, cf. Rom. 3.13 ἰὸς ἀσπίδων ὑπὸ τὰ χείλη αὐτῶν (Ps. 139.4); Cyr. In Jo. II.116.19 ὁ δυσσεβὴς τῶν Ἰουδαίων λαὸς … ἀπυλώτῳ στόματι τὴν ἐκ τοῦ διαβόλου κακίαν ἠρεύγετο κατὰ Χριστοῦ.63 At the height of the snake’s insult he attacks Damasen’s head: 512–3 ὑψιλόφου δὲ Γίγαντος ἐπεσκίρτησε καρήνῳ / ὄρθιος ἀίξας μελέων ἐνοσίχθονι παλμῷ. The attack on Damasen’s head recalls the beating of Jesus’ head in the synoptics which Nonnus introduces in his rendition beyond John in Par. 19.15 παρηίδος ἄκρον χαράσσων (~ Dion. 25.463 παρηίδος ἄκρα χαράξας).64 John Chrys. In epist. ad Rom. hom. VIII PG 60.463 κἂν ἐπιπηδῆσαι θελήσῃ τὴν κεφαλὴν ἀποτέμωμεν ἐκείνου describes in similar graphic language the attack of serpent-Satan. Despite the raging attack Damasen will easily shake off the snake, 514 δρακοντείης ἀπεσείσατο φόρτον ἀκάνθης. Here ἀκάνθης toys with the senses “spine of serpent” and “thorn”: Nonnus uses ἄκανθα in both senses (Peek Lex. s.v.). In the former sense the act symbolises the abolishment of the kingship of Satan. In the latter sense it is an act pregnant with theological connotations, as ἄκανθα is a common symbol of excruciating sin and temptation.65 But most

61 See Gigli Piccardi 1998, 169–71. To judge by the frequency it appears, Nonnus was impressed by the spectacle, cf. Dion. 2.31, 5.147, 35.218–22, 36.180–2, 40.480, and already [Opp.] Cyn. 3.447–8. 62 Cf. Il. 15.607, Eur. Bacc. 1122, Her. 934, Athamas in Dion. 10.20 ἀφρὸν ἀκοντίζων χιονώδεα, μάρτυρα λύσσης with Chrétien 1985, 130–1. 63 Cf. also Or. Sib. 1.365–6 πτύσματα φαρμακόεντα / Ἰσραὴλ δώσει μυσαραῖς ἐνὶ χείλεσιν, [John Chrys.] In sanct. Johann. prec. PG 50.802 ἰὸς ἀσπίδων τοῖς Ἰουδαϊκοῖς ἐπικρύπτεται χείλεσι· γεννήματα γάρ εἰσιν ἐχιδνῶν, καὶ τούτων αἱ γλῶσσαι τυγχάνουσι δόλιαι, Macar. Magn. Apocr. 2.30.2 ἵνα μὴ πάλιν δρακόντιον ἰὸν ἀποσυρίσωσιν αἱ τῶν Ἰουδαίων γλῶτται. 64 Cf. Mt 27.30 ἔλαβον τὸν κάλαμον καὶ ἔτυπτον εἰς τὴν κεφαλὴν αὐτοῦ, Mk 14.19 ἔτυπτον αὐτοῦ τὴν κεφαλὴν καλάμῳ; see, further, Spanoudakis 2007, 47–8. 65 Cf. Philo Leg. all. 3.248 (ἀκάνθας) ἐν ἄφρονος ψυχῇ … τὰ κεντοῦντα καὶ τιτρώσκοντα αὐτὴν πάθη, Orig. In Lk fr. 157 τὰς βιωτικὰς μερίμνας καὶ ἡδονάς, αἵ εἰσιν αἱ ἀκάνθαι, Greg. Naz.

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importantly the ἄκανθα became the symbol par excellence of fall and desolation, after God’s curse in Gen. 3.17–8 ἐπικατάρατος ἡ γῆ ἐν τοῖς ἔργοις σου … (18) ἀκάνθας καὶ τριβόλους ἀνατελεῖ σοι.66 It is this ἄκανθα that Christ outdid by putting on a στέφανον ἐξ ἀκανθῶν (John 19.2 ~ Par. 19.7–8 ἀκάνθης / στέμμα); cf., explicitly, Cyr. Jer. Catech. 13.18 Ἔλαβε καταδίκην ὁ Ἀδάμ· [Gen. 3.17–8, cited above]. διὰ τοῦτο Ἰησοῦς λαμβάνει τὰς ἀκάνθας, ἵνα λύσῃ τὴν καταδίκην. The question is topical in view of 520 καὶ φυτὸν ἐρρίζωτο τὸ δεύτερον. Ἀπεσείσατο comes up regularly in analogous contexts in hexameters,67 but particularly important is its employment by the Fathers of shaking off temptation.68 As Damasen is attacked like Christ, he achieves his victory like Him. The moment Damasen shakes off the serpent his limbs are likened to rocks, 515 σκοπέλοισιν ἐοικότα γυῖα τινάσσων. To explain this Vian faute de mieux refers to Homeric passages such as Od. 17.463–4 (Antinous whirls a foot-stool at Odysseus) ὁ δ’ ἐστάθη ἠύτε πέτρη / ἔμπεδον, but these, unlike our line (n.b. τινάσσων), suggest the immobility or steadfastness of a character. The lurking metaphor would rather be that of Christ λίθος due to his firmness, an image “of refuge and salvation” (Sykes 1997, 259), to be further discussed below on 556–60 (pp. 367–8), where Cronus devours a swaddled stone instead of Zeus. Quite tellingly, Gregory of Nazianzus compares Christ’s fight with Satan to a steadfast sea-rock vainly beaten by the waves in Carm. 1.1.9.58–9 (Satan θεῷ) τῷ πέρι κάρτος ἔμελλεν ἑῆς ἄξειν κακότητος, / τρηχείην περὶ πέτραν ἁλίκτυπον ὥς τε θάλασσα. In John 2.19, 21 (~ Par. 2.102, 108) Christ, in a resurrectional metaphor, likens his body to the Jerusalem temple which he will destroy and make rise in three days, cf. Orig. C. Cels. 8.19. After Damasen has thrown off the serpent, and before his final victory by piercing it at the throat, he handles his “spear” (i.e. the eradicated tree) with his hand, 516–7 καὶ παλάμῃ τανύφυλλον ἑὴν ἐλέλιξεν ἀκωκήν, / ὀρθὸν ἀκοντίζων δρυόεν βέλος. Here vocabulary and the connotations of the “tree” Carm. 2.1.1.50, Greg. Nyss. V. Mos. 2.107 ἄκανθαι δ’ ἂν εἶεν αἱ ἁμαρτίαι, also [Clem.] Hom. 11.3.2 τὰς ἀκάνθας τῆς ἐπιθυμίας, Clem. Paed. 2.8.74.3, Orig. In Jo. 1.72. See Lampe s.v. ἄκανθα; Buchheit 1990, 57–60. 66 See von Erffa 1989, 107–9, 233; Agosti 2003, 414–7. Nonnus brilliantly employs this concept for the abolishment of the Sabbath rest in Par. 5.61 πάντες ἀεργηλοῖσιν ἐπέτρεπον ἔργον ἀκάνθαις. 67 Cf. Epimenid. OF 33.2, Call. Hec. fr. 28 Hollis, Apoll. Rhod. 1.129 (Heracles and the Erymanthian bull), Nonn. Dion. 11.217. 68 See Simelidis 2009, 131 citing inter alia Clem. Paed. 1.6.28.1, Greg. Naz. Or. 24.3 πάντα πόθον ἀπεσεισάμην. Cf. also Cyr. Comm. xii proph. I.627.9 Pusey (sin) ὁ Χριστὸς τοὺς οὕτως ἐπηχθισμένους πρὸς ἀπόθεσιν … ἐκάλει … οἱ μὲν τῇ πίστει … ἀπεσείσαντο τὸ φορτίον; in Nonnus, Par. 5.9 (ἀσθενῶν at Bethesda) ἀπεσείσατο λύματα νούσου, next Paul Sil. Soph. 1007.

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allude to Christ’s crucifixion/victory on the cross, cf. especially Par. 19.92–3 (φονῆες) εἰς δόρυ τετράπλευρον ἐπήορον ὑψόθι γαίης / ὄρθιον ἐξετάνυσσαν.69 With τανύφυλλον cf. also Par. 19.115–6 ὑψιφανῆ … / Ἰησοῦν, Christ. pat. 660 οὐρανοδρόμῳ ξύλῳ, and the lofty tree of the vision in Daniel 4.10. With ὄρθιον cf. also Par. 19.28 ἐπήορος ὄρθιος ἔστω (σταυρῷ), Christ. pat. 662 ὀρθός. With δρυόεν cf. also Par. 19.74 δουρατέου θανάτοιο … δεσμῷ. With ἑὴν ἐλέλιξεν ἀκωκήν cf. Par. 19.87 σταυρὸν ἔχων ἑόν.

1.4 The Raising of the Snake Right after the killing of the dragon, the tree with which Damasen kills it acquires fresh roots on the spot, 520 καὶ [“and immediately”] φυτὸν ἐρρίζωτο τὸ δεύτερον. Vian assumed that this paradox was a detail in the local Lydian myth. Tissoni, on the other hand, sees this as part of a climax of revivals, first of the tree, then of the snake, and lastly of Tylus.70 However, it may be a profound theological insight that lies behind this miracle. The tree of sin is eradicated and in its new form as the tree of salvation (the cross) it regains its roots when the “fall” is restored and the “dragon” is killed. The victory of Jesus constitutes a new starting point, a step towards the restoration of the paradisiacal spontaneous fertility in a γῆ καινή (Is. 65.17), an abolishment of the farmer’s curse and a regaining of the lost dominion over the earth and the fruits, cf. Iren. Haer. 5.33.3 quando et creatura renovata et liberata multitudinem fructificabit universae escae ex rore caeli et ex fertilitate terrae, and explicitly Cyr. Jer. Catech. 13.35 ἐνεφυτεύθη τοίνυν τὸ ξύλον τῆς ζωῆς ἐν τῇ γῇ, ἵνα ἀπολαύσῃ τῆς εὐλογίας ἡ καταραθεῖσα γῆ καὶ ἵνα λυθῶσιν οἱ νεκροί.71 In 521 ἕλιξ νέκυς, a paradox, obliquely describes a snake bound to rise, cf. 532 νέκυς αὐτοέλικτος ἐπάλλετο, and the σουδάριον of the risen Christ in Par. 20.32 μουναδὸν αὐτοέλικτον. In the next verses the serpent takes on the role of a νυμφίος sought by his “concubine”: 521–4 ἐξαπίνης δέ / θῆλυς ὄφις … / εὐνέτις ἀμφιέλικτος ἐδίζετο λοξὸν ἀκοίτην, / οἷα γυνὴ ποθέουσα νέκυν πόσιν. This feminine snake is cast as Mary Magdalene looking for Christ (her “bridegroom”) after His resurrection.72 The proleptic meaning of εὐνέτις

69 See, further on these Par. lines, D. Accorinti – E. Livrea ap. Livrea 1993, 202. 70 Vian 1990, 267; Tissoni 2005, 213. 71 See Daniélou 1950, 4 f., 31 f. For the role of the cross in the restoration of the earth’s fertility see Stockmeier 1966, 102–3. For the tree of Eden represented with roots in art see von Sybel 1919–20; Schiller 1972, 133–6. 72 For this notion cf. Aster. Soph. Hom. 6.18 (Fr. in Ps. fr. 5) ἡ Μαρία … ὡς ἐπὶ θάλαμον τὸν τάφον ἐπιζητεῖ τὸν νυμφίον, Cyr. Jer. Catech. 14.12 ἐζητεῖτο ὑπὸ τῶν ἀρίστων ἐκείνων

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ἀμφιέλικτος in the same verse has been expounded by Vian: the feminine snake is seeking for her mate “so as to embrace him”, like a woman is seeking for her husband who she thinks is dead. The uneasy train of thought chimes with Magdalene’s thoughts and acts esp. in John 20.16 καὶ προσέδραμεν ἅψασθαι αὐτοῦ ~ Par. 20.73. The facts that the feminine snake rushes rapidly and has “the rocks” as her destination (524 εἰς σκοπέλους, 526 εἰς ὄρος .. βοτανηφόρον) are also remindful of Magdalene rushing towards the rocky cave where Jesus’ body is deposited. That cave is expressly of rocks in the synoptics (Mk 15.46 ἐν μνημείῳ ὃ ἦν λελατομημένον ἐκ πέτρας, Mt 27.60). Nonnus insists upon this outside John.73 Much in context, 524 νέκυν πόσιν is lifted from *Greg. Naz. Carm. 2.1.51.2 of a newly wedded. In 528 ὀδυνήφατον … ποίην, 529 ἀλεξήτειραν ὀλέθρου, 540–1 φερέσβιον … ποίην / … βοτάνη ζείδωρος ἀκεσσιπόνοισι κορύμβοις the Διὸς ἄνθος restoring the serpent to life is qualified with characterisations used for wine in the Dionysiaca, and for resurrection in the Paraphrasis so as to bear uncanny associations with notions of salvation and resurrection.74 There is an affiliation between the plant of Zeus bringing life back to Tylus and the plant of Dionysus which sprang out of Ampelus’ body granting him immortality in Dion. 12.173– 87. Ὀδυνήφατος, used in Il. 11.846–7 ῥίζαν … / … ὀδυνήφατον of a medicinal root, qualifies wine in Dion. 17.372. It is normally associated with healing but in Dion. 35.70 ὀδυνήφατον ὕδωρ from φυσίζοον … πηγήν (69) with revival; the expression is repeated in Par. 5.10 of the waters of Bethesda where the adjective is associated with belief in eternal life. In Par. 4.242 ὀδυνήφατον ὥρην describes the moment the Official’s son is resuscitated, corresponding to βιοσσόος … ὥρη in the previous verse. Ἀλεξήτειρα is redemptive too: in Par. 15.51, ψυχὴν … ἀλεξήτειραν describes Christ’s soul given as ransom to save mankind. Φερέσβιος of a herb is appropriate since in the epic tradition it qualifies the earth, but in Nonnus it is a word of “coloritura soteriologica”, being a formulaic attribute to Christ in the Par.75 Ζείδωρος in Par. 4.54 characteristically describes the water of life (John 4.11 ὕδωρ ζῶν), in 6.108 εἰς θαλίην ζείδωρον the bread of life and in 12.98 a crop (καρπόν) – all metaphors of immortality. Finally, ἀκεσσίπονος is a word of the same stock: it qualifies salu-

καὶ ἀνδρείων γυναικῶν, ἐζητεῖτο ὁ νυμφίος. Magdalene often comes up in the exegesis of Cant. 3.1 Ἐπὶ κοίτην μου ἐν νυξὶν ἐζήτησα ὃν ἠγάπησεν ἡ ψυχή μου. 73 Cf. Par. 19.216–7 τύμβος … βαθυνομένης ἀπὸ πέτρης / γλυπτὸς ὅλος … ἐν εὐλάιγγι … τύμβῳ, 222, 20.5, 34 λιθογλυφέος κενεῶνος. 74 The question has been discussed by Espinar – Hernández de la Fuente 2002, 7–8. On wine and resurrection see ibid. 6; Shorrock 2011, 74. 75 E.g. Par. 6.99, 18.132. On soteriologic φερέσβιος see Livrea 1989, 174, on Par. 18.132. On resurrectional ὀδυνήφατος cf. Agosti 2004, 132, 526–7.

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tary wine in Dion. 7.86, 12.369, but it also comes up in wounded Hymenaeus’ healing by Dionysus in Dion. 29.163 and in the Par. only in the context of Lazarus’ resurrection in 11.99. In 529–31 the feminine snake brings the herb close to the nostrils of the dead snake and restores him to life: Καὶ νέκυος δασπλῆτος ἀλεξήτειραν ὀλέθρου ἀζαλέῳ μυκτῆρι συνήρμοσεν, ἰοβόλῳ δέ ζωὴν ἀνθεμόεσσαν ἀκινήτῳ πόρεν νεκρῷ. dropped the antidote of death into the dry nostril of the horrible dead, and gave life with the flower to the stark poisonous corpse.

The description of the dead snake as νέκυος δασπλῆτος employs an adjective which again characterizes a snake in Dion. 40.45 ὄφιν δασπλῆτα in imitation of Nic. Ther. 609, but one which in the Par. is typical of Christ’s opponents, thereby obliquely assimilating them to snakes.76 In 530 ἀζαλέῳ μυκτῆρι of the snake corresponds to *540 ζωοτόκῳ μυκτῆρι of Tylus. Ζωοτόκος is suggestive: in Dion. 26.191, 40.391 it qualifies a furrow receiving a seed to produce new life, and in Par. 5.109 the tombs of the dead waiting to be resurrected. The vivification of man is described in Gen. 2.7 ἐνεφύσησεν εἰς τὸ πρόσωπον πνοὴν ζωῆς, but in the Hebrew original and in alternative Greek translations God explicitly blows the vital spirit through the nostrils of the first-created, cf. Aquila καὶ ἐνεφύσησεν ἐν μυκτῆρσιν αὐτοῦ ἀναπνοὴν ζωῆς, Theodotion and Symmachus καὶ ἔπνευσεν εἰς τοὺς μυκτῆρας αὐτοῦ ἀναπνοὴν ζωῆς.77 Such proceedings were deemed laughable by antiChristian critics.78 Nonnus would be aware of these alternative renditions from Origen’s Hexapla. Therefore this detail seems to be a meaningful innovation: in the parallel story of Glaucus the “other snake” simply places the herb on the head: Hyg. De astr. 2.14.5 (fertur) in caput eius imposuisse. The new life dispensed on the snake is described in 531 as ζωὴν ἀνθεμόεσσαν “the means of life that consist in a herb” (Vian). The adjective glances

76 Cf. Par. 7.113 (hands of Jews seeking to arrest Christ), 18.60 (chiliarch arresting Christ) σὺν προμάχῳ δασπλῆτι with Livrea 1989, 139; 19.129 ἡμέτεροι δασπλῆτες … φονῆες; of their instruments in Par. 8.188 λᾶας … δασπλῆτας; of Satan “father” of the Jews in Par. 8.123 τέκνα δυσαντέος … τοκῆος. 77 Cf. also Orig. Fr. in Gen. D 22 Metzler περὶ μὲν οὖν τοῦ μυκτῆρας λέγεσθαι παρὰ τῷ Ἀκύλᾳ καὶ Συμμάχῳ, ἢ πρόσωπον παρὰ τοῖς Ἑβδομήκοντα τοῦ πεπλασμένου, εἰς ὃ ἐνεφύσησεν ὁ Θεὸς πνοὴν ζωῆς κτλ.; see Field 1875, 12–3. 78 Cf. Porph. Ad Gaur. 11.2 τὰ καταγέλαστα δὴ ταῦτα, ἃ καὶ λέγων ἄν τις αἰσχύνοιτο; also Celsus ap. Orig. C. Cels. 4.37.

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at 527 Διὸς ἄνθος, but in Homer (and later) it can qualify artistic representations in metal adorned with flowers.79 Schol. Q Od. 24.275 κρητῆρα … ἀνθεμόεντα render λαμπρὸν καὶ καινόν· μεταφορικῶς ἀπὸ τῶν ἀνθέων. One could envisage here an allusion to the bright new life granted to the snake as a καινὴ κτίσις. In 532–8 the gradual revival of the snake is described. When the snake begins moving it is still ἄπνοος (533) and its head recovers life only in 535. In 534 ἔχων αὐτόσσυτον οὐρήν the serpent begins life from its queue (like Tylus first moves his right foot in 546), a suggestive parallel to Lazarus’ bound feet, not impeding him to move miraculously in Par. 11.161 στείχων αὐτοκέλευθος ὁμοπλέκτῳ χθόνα ταρσῷ. The recovery of the snake’s breath in 535 καὶ ψυχραῖς γενύεσσι παλίνσοον ἆσθμα τιταίνων corresponds to Tylus in 550 νεοπνεύστοιο δὲ νεκροῦ. The expression significantly recalls Par. 5.100–1 γενέτης μεθέπει … / ζωήν, ἧς ἄπο πᾶσι βιοσσόον ἆσθμα τιταίνει, of God dispensing the breath of life to mortals. The jaws of the dead snake are ψυχραί primo obtutu because any snake is ψυχρόν/frigidus.80 Secondly, because anything associated with death is “frigid”, like e.g. dead Orontes in Dion. 17.308 ψυχροῖς μελέεσσιν. But again there may be more lurking in such a description: from a Christian perspective anything associated with sin (“death”) is “frigid” including the dragon of sin, cf. Orig. Sel. Ps. PG 12.1284d τὰ θεῖα … θερμά, τὰ δὲ τῆς ἁμαρτίας … πράγματα ψυχρά. Ἐκεῖ οἰκεῖ καὶ ὁ πολέμιος τῶν ἀνθρώπων δράκων, ὃς ὠνομάσθη ψυχρός. Οὐδὲν γὰρ τῶν ἐπὶ γῆς ζῶόν ἐστι ψυχρόν, ὡς ὁ δράκων. Πᾶσα οὖν ἁμαρτία ψυχρά ἐστι, Ps.-Apollin. Met. Ps. 73.27 ἔθλασας … κάρη κρυεροῦ … δράκοντος. This is a quality also shared by dead Tylus (544 ψυχρὸν … δέμας). After an indistinct βόμβεε in 536, the progressive recovery of the snake’s hissing in 537 συριγμὸν προχέων παλινάγρετον recalls Lazarus’ transition from the state of ἄναυδος (Par. 11.45 νεκρὸς ἄναυδος) to that of αὐδήεις (Par. 11.169 αὐδήεις νέκυς). Also Tylus, in much the same fashion, first moves his right foot and finally gains the faculty of sight and voice with which his resurrection is concluded, 557 φάος ὄμμασι, χείλεσι φωνή.81 Eventually, in 537–8 the resurrected serpent ὀψὲ δὲ βαίνων / νόστιμος ἀρχαίην ὑπεδύσατο φωλάδα χειήν. Ὀψέ is a Nonnian trademark concluding a miracle of redemption.82 Note that 79 Cf. Il. 23.885, Od. 3.440, 24.275, see LSJ s.v. II. 80 See Gow on Theoc. 15.58 τὸν ψυχρὸν ὄφιν. 81 See Vian 1990, 268. 82 Cf., of Christ’s resurrection, Par. 7.137 παλίνδρομον ὀψὲ νοῆσαι, next Par. 2.53, 4.124, and, of blind men healed, Dion. 25.291 ὄψιμον αἴγλην = Par. 9.43; of Lazarus Par. 11.163–4 ὄψιμον ἄλλην / … ἀρχήν and with the whole verse Leont. Const. In ram. palm. 241 (Lazarus) ἡ δὲ δέσποινα ψυχὴ τὴν ἀρχαίαν {προτέραν} [seclusi] μονὴν ἀπελάμβανεν.

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Christ too after his resurrection, following a way opposite to that of the snake, returns to His heavenly “home”, whence He came. The verses are meaningfully parallel to Christ’s “return” in Par. 2.105–7 νόστιμος … / ἀρχαίην παλίνορσος ἑὴν ἀνεδύσατο τιμήν / οὐρανίην, where, as here, ἀρχαίην equals προτέρην. Νόστιμος at the runover position is emphatic and is recurrent of Christ’s return to heaven in the Paraphrase.83 But the snake’s φωλὰς χειή may not be insignificant as this would constitute a reversal of the well known metaphor of a fallen soul ending in the burrows.84 It is certainly relevant that the motif recurs in the snake version for the discovery of vine in Dion. 12.319–28, where Gigli Piccardi (2003, 854–5) pointed out that the snake tasting the wine but vanishing into its lair “is only a reduplication of Dionysus”. The resurrection of Tylus is discussed in a paper exploring in detail the influence of Lazarus’ story on that of Tylus (Spanoudakis 2013a) and here it may only be briefly summarised as follows: features from the Lazarus story are integrated throughout the Tylus episode and, among others, account for the introduction of Tylus’ two sisters Naias and Morie corresponding to Martha and Maria. At the end of the narrative, numerous uncanny intertextual links bind together the passages describing the resurrections of Tylus and Lazarus. These reveal the intentio of the poet. Compared to Lazarus’, Tylus’ resurrection is more “corporeal” but nonetheless vested with the spirituality that Christian doctrine endowed the body. Finally, there are indications suggesting that the Par. passage may be prior to that in the Dion. We may now turn to the three minor scenes so as to gain the complete picture.

2 The ktisis of Thebes The first scene on the shield of Dionysus portrays Amphion and Zethus building the walls of Thebes. Its immediate model is Apollonius Rhodius Arg. 1.735– 41,85 one of the seven scenes decorating the cloak of Jason in his meeting with Hypsipyle, a gift of Athena, and the Apollonian equivalent to the Homeric Shield. In Apollonius, as in Nonnus, Zethus is toiling hard, whereas Amphion

83 Cf. Par. 2.105 (cited above), 13.4, 16.25, 32, 108–9, 20.41–3 ὅττι ταχὺς μετὰ πότμον … / … / νόστιμος ἐκ νεκύων ἀναβήσεται εἰς πόλον ἄστρων. See Accorinti 1996, 159–60. 84 Cf. Pl. Phd. 109b2, Philo Quis heres 85, Maxim. Tyr. 7.5e ἡ δὲ δειλὴ ψυχὴ κατορωρυγμένη ἐν σώματι, ὡς ἑρπετὸν νωθὲς εἰς φωλεόν, φιλεῖ τὸν φωλεόν, καὶ οὐδέποτε θέλει ἀπαλλαγῆναι αὐτοῦ, Syn. De insomn. 7.3 τοῖς χηραμοῖς τῆς γῆς ἐνδύεται, ῥοπῇ φυσικῇ φωλεῦον καὶ ὠθούμενον εἰς τὴν κατάγαιον χώραν. 85 See Vian 1990, 262; id. 2005, 102.

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plays the lyre, a contrast reflecting their type as representatives of active and contemplative life respectively, notoriously established in Euripides’ Antiope. But in Nonnus the scene may be read as an allegory for the creation of the world, a Neoplatonic appraisal of the relevant chapter in Genesis, but one in which the concept is profoundly Christian and would run contrary to the Neoplatonic conviction about the eternity of the world. The roles of Amphion and Zethus would correspond to the roles of God and Christ in the creation. The spirituality surrounding Thebes, the ancestral home of Dionysus, in Nonnus’ poem and its analogy to heavenly Jerusalem are helpful in this direction.86 By common perception in Christian exegesis the creation was a construction work87 with God performing the role of the magnus opifex (Par. 1.6 θεῷ τεχνήμονι κόσμου), Jesus performing the role of an ὑπουργός ministering the ineffable orders of God.88 This was a much discussed issue because it touches upon the question of Christ’s divinity. In the Council of Sirmium in 351 those denying that Christ acted as a minister of God in creation were anathematized (Symb. Sirm. I, Anath. 3). Nonnus is certainly aware of the image of God as a musician orchestrating the elements of the universe, like sounds, so as to bring them in harmony.89 The notion of cosmic harmony is widely received in patristic literature, but above all Nonnus is aware of the tradition associating the divine music with the act of creation, concisely expressed in 415 λυροδμήτοιο … Θήβης. These are expressly connected in Clem. Protr. 5.1–2. Τhe individual constituents sustaining Nonnus’ allegory are superbly wrought into the description of this scene. The seven gates of Thebes in 416– 7 ἑπταπόρων στοιχηδὸν ἀμοιβαίων πυλεώνων / κτιζομένων are often likened to the seven planets, and explicitly so in Dion. 5.63 f. The phrase στοιχηδὸν ἀμοιβαίων does not mean “in order, one after the other”, as it is usually understood, but “in order, one opposite the other”, i.e. in form of a circle, like the seven planets or a choir of singers. In Late Antiquity this construes a mystic

86 See Stegemann 1930, 230–6 (“Theben als Abbild der Himmelsstadt”). 87 In Nonnus cf. Par. 8.126–7, 17.14 οὔπω κτιζομένοιο θεμείλια πήγνυτο κόσμου, to be compared with 416–7 πυλεώνων / κτιζομένων. 88 Cf. Theophil. Ad Aut. 2.10, Orig. In Jo. 1.114, Euseb. HE 1.2.5 τὸν μὲν πατέρα καὶ ποιητὴν … βασιλικῷ νεύματι προστάττοντα, τὸν δὲ τούτῳ δευτερεύοντα θεῖον λόγον … ταῖς πατρικαῖς ἐπιτάξεσιν ὑπουργοῦντα; see von Erffa 1989, 41–2, 47–8. On Christ ὑπουργός see W. Theiler, RAC III (1957), 710–1 s.v. Demiurgos; Lampe s.v. ὑπουργός. 89 Developed from Plato’s Republic 617b, cf. Maxim. Tyr. 13.3g, Corp. Herm. 18.1 ὁ … κατὰ φύσιν μουσικὸς {θεός}; Clem. Protr. 88.3, of Christ healing man Euseb. DE 4.13.4 ~ Laud. Const. 14.4 οἷα τις μουσικὸς ἀνὴρ διὰ τῆς λύρας τὴν σοφίαν δεικνύμενος. See, further, J. Kollwitz, RAC III (1957), 8 s.v. Christusbild; J. Pépin, RAC XIII (1986), 598–600 s.v. Harmonie der Sphären.

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image (Csapo 2008, 263–4). The seven gates of Thebes are also likened to the seven strings of Amphion’s lyre, one for each gate: 428 μολπῆς ἑπτατόνοιο ~ 416 ἑπταπόρων.90 This insinuates the association of the seven-stringed instrument with the (Platonic) planetary system in which one Siren rests upon each planet (Rep. 617b6). The conception of the seven-stringed lyre as a “cosmic” instrument, indeed as an imago mundi, is well established. Eratosthenes Hermes CA 13 first simulated the cosmic music of the eight planets on the eightstringed lyre of Hermes.91 Indicative of the Christian appropriation of the lyre is that Clem. Paed. 3.11.59.2 (OF 1089) proposes among Christian seals a λύρα μουσική. Amphion is an apt agent for such an allegory, as his music held an emblematic place in Hellenic tradition and as such he is evoked in the second proem of the Dionysiaca (25.18–9). Orpheus’ and Amphion’s miracle-working music are expressly evoked in Macrob. Comm. Somn. Scip. 2.3.8 as recollections of the celestial music on earth. But above all Amphion’s music was associated with cosmogony. In Eur. Antiope TrGF 182a Amphion qua Orpheus sings a cosmogonic song, as he does in Philostr. Imag. 1.10.3. Thus, Clem. Protr. 1.1 mentions Amphion’s music as an immediate precedent of, and one of those now replaced by God’s “new harmony”. Let us now turn to the specifics: in 419–21 an enchanted rock is dancing on its whirling course: ἀμφὶ δὲ μολπῇ εἰς δρόμον αὐτοκύλιστος ἕλιξ ἐχόρευε κολώνη οἷά τε θελγομένη καὶ ἐν ἀσπίδι. at the tune a whole hill rolled along of itself as if bewitched and seemed to dance even on the shield.

This would insinuate the dance of the spheres as they move on (420 εἰς δρόμον), a concept mostly known from Pl. Tim. 40c2 χορείας δὲ τούτων αὐτῶν

90 Cf. Honest. AP 9.250.5–6 = GPh 2426–27, Philostr. Imag. 1.10.5 τὸ δὲ τεῖχος ἑπτάπυλον, ὅσοι τῆς λύρας οἱ τόνοι. Ἑπτάτονος is traditional of the lyre (5x in Dion.), see Livrea 1991, II, 492; Bernabé on OF 417F.I.3. 91 Cf. the probably Hellenistic Orphic Lyre OF 417F–20T, Alex. Ephes. Phaenomena SH 21.9– 10, 26 ἑπτάτονον κίθαριν, θεομήστορος εἰκόνα κόσμου, Philo De opif. mundi 126 λύρα μὲν γὰρ ἡ ἑπτάχορδος ἀναλογοῦσα τῇ τῶν πλανητῶν χορείᾳ τὰς ἐλλογίμους ἁρμονίας ἀποτελεῖ, Macrob. Sat. 1.19.15 ut lyra Apollinis chordarum septem tot caelestium sphaerarum motus praestat intellegi. The history of the motif is followed by West 1983, 30–2; cf. Bernabé on OF 417F.I.

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καὶ παραβολὰς ἀλλήλων καὶ {περὶ} τὰς τῶν κύκλων πρὸς ἑαυτοὺς ἐπανακυκλήσεις καὶ προχωρήσεις, expounded in Procl. In Tim. III.146.1 χορείας μὲν ἀκούσωμεν τὰς εὐτάκτους αὐτῶν καὶ ἐναρμονίους περιφορὰς … χορεύουσι γὰρ οἱ μίαν κίνησιν καὶ σύμφωνον περὶ τὸ αὐτὸ κινούμενοι.92 Αὐτοκύλιστος [Vian: ‑ον L] … κολώνη falls within tradition for Amphion’s building of Thebes,93 but it would well describe the automotive planets. In the same verse ἕλιξ would imply the revolution of the planets. Ιts employment of whirling motion is traditional (Il. 23.846, Nonn. Dion. 37.427); for the context cf. Nonn. Dion. 2.263 (αἰθέρος) ἕλικα δρόμον, of the globe 6.65 σφαῖραν ἑλισσομένην … εἰκόνα κόσμου.94 It is significant that whirling motion is a concept closely associated with the creation of the world.95 The enchanted rock follows the rhythm of Amphion’s music and gains motion in wondrous fashion: 422–3 σκιρτήματι παίζων / κωφὸς ἀκινήτης ἐλελίζετο παλμὸς ἐρίπνης. Κωφός, once needlessly changed into κοῦφος by Graefe whom Keydell followed, is usually rendered “silent” since the leap of the rock is depicted on the mute shield (Vian, Agosti). But what fascinates Nonnus’ mind is the self-generated motion of the inherently inert rock, now totally under the spell of Amphion’s music, so that κωφός should here mean “lifeless”: the normally unresponsive rock exhibits signs of life through miraculous external influence. This effects modo Nonniano an oxymoron (κωφὸς … παλμός), and together with ἀκινήτης a contrast to ἐλελίζετο, in a verse whose structure is as symmetrical as the music and the motion it portrays. In support of this interpretation cf. potissime Dion. 25.19 Ἀμφίων λίθον ἄπνοον εἰς δρόμον ἕλκει, Eustath. Comm. Od. 1682.49 ἐτείχισαν Θήβας τῶν λίθων … κηλουμένων ὁποῖα ἐμψύχων, καὶ κινουμένων.96 Amphion’s music is so melodious that the spectator of the scene would wish to place his ear on the silent lyre, so as to hear its sound, 424–8:

92 See Miller 1986; Csapo 2008, 264–6. 93 Cf. Honest. AP 9.250.4 = GPh 2425 πέτροι … αὐτόμολοι, Pherecyd. fr. 41c Fowler (Schol. A, D, Ge Il. 13.302) τοὺς λίθους … αὐτομάτως [-ους v.l.] ἐπέρχεσθαι, Armenid. fr. 2 F. (Schol. Apoll. Rhod. 1.740–1a). 94 Cf. also Arist. Metaph. 998a5 αἱ κινήσεις καὶ ἕλικες τοῦ οὐρανοῦ, Maneth. Apot. 2.29 ἑλισσομένων ἄστρων κατ’ ἀπείριτον οἷμον, 4.146 Σεληναίης … ἑλικοδρόμος ἀστήρ ~ Maxim. De ausp. 5.61. See, further, Stegemann 1930, 34. 95 Cf. OF 539, Cosm. Stras. 26–7r (Hermes) ἀρρήτῳ στροφάλιγγ[ι] ̣ π[α]λινδ̣ι[ … / οὐρανὸν ἐσφαίρωσεν; see Gigli Piccardi 2012, §36. 96 For this sense of κωφός, cf. e.g. Philo De frug. et inv. 123 ἀψύχου καὶ κωφῆς λίθου, Cyr. In xii proph. I.629.5 λίθος … κωφὴ καὶ ἀναίσθητος ὕλη ~ De S. trin. dial. 391d.

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σιγαλέῃ δὲ λύρῃ μεμελημένον ἄνδρα δοκεύων, κραιπνὸν ἀνακρούοντα μέλος ψευδήμονι πέτρῃ ἄγχι μολεῖν ἔσπευδες, ὅπως τεὸν οὖας ἐρείσας πυργοδόμῳ φόρμιγγι καὶ ὑμετέρην φρένα τέρψῃς, μολπῆς ἑπτατόνοιο λιθοσσόον ἦχον ἀκούων.

425

When you saw the man busy with his silent harp, striking up a quick tune on his makebelieve strings, you would quickly come closer to stretch your ear and delight your own heart with that harp which could build a wall, to hear the music of seven strings which could make the stones to move.

Now, the music produced by the motion of the spheres is unheard by man. Various reasons were produced to explain its inaudibility, the two most common being permanent habituation to it since birth, or human inability to perceive tremendous sounds.97 In Nonnus’ ploy the spectator of the scene, by placing his ear on Amphion’s lyre, desires to hear the unheard sounds of the cosmic music. So in 424 σιγαλέῃ … λύρῃ the lyre-universe is silent because its cosmic song cannot be heard. The rock-globe, on the other hand, is false (425 ψευδήμονι “belying its own self” Agosti) because it is a copy, the material realisation of the original noetic globe conceived by God. This is again a Platonic concept98 here recalled as a guide to interpret the relevant Genesis chapter. In his Platonic reading of the Genesis, Nonnus is preceded by Philo De opif. mundi 16 (God) “Therefore, when he had decided to construct this visible cosmos, he first marked out the intelligible cosmos, so that he could use it as a incorporeal and most god-like paradigm and so produce the corporeal cosmos, a younger likeness of an older model”.99 Amphion’s music is “quick” (425 κραιπνὸν … μέλος) because it is the great speed of the planets that produces their sounds.100 And 427 (ὅπως) ὑμετέρην φρένα τέρψῃς alludes to the superbly sweet sound of cosmic music: Cic. Somn. Scip. 10 tantus et tam dulcis

97 Cf. Basil. Caes. Hex. 3.3 διὰ τὴν ἐξ ἀρχῆς συνήθειαν πρὸς τὸν ψόφον ἐκ πρώτης γενέσεως συνεθισθέντες αὐτῷ, who copies Arist. De coel. 290b12 f., although Aristotle contested the claim, ibid. 30; cf. also Heraclit. QH 12.5. For the second explanation cf., e.g., Porph. VP 30 ἁρμονίας, ἧς ἡμᾶς μὴ ἀκούειν, διὰ σμικρότητα τῆς φύσεως, Macrob. Comm. Somn. Scip. 2.4.14, Sat. 1.22.7. See O’Meara 2007, 148–57. 98 Cf. Pl. Tim. 30c2–31a1 with Procl. In Tim. I.416.15 f., then Or. Chald. fr. 37.5–6, Alcin. Did. 12, Clem. Strom. 5.93.4–94.2. See I. Opelt, RAC V (1962), 1770–72 s.v. Erde. 99 Translation by D. T. Runia. 100 Cf. Pl. Rep. 617a7 f., Arist. De coel. 290b19 ἄστρων … φερομένων τῷ τάχει ταύτην φοράν, Cic. Somn. Scip. 11 hic vero tantus est totius mundi incitatissima conversione sonitus, Syn. Hy. 2.129, Livrea 1989, 120, on Par. 18.21 (lantern) εἴκελον ὀξέι κόσμῳ/.

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sonus; Basil. Caes. Hex. 3.3 (planets) τούτους δὲ … εὔηχόν τινα καὶ ἐναρμόνιον ἀποδιδόναι φθόγγον, ὥστε πᾶσαν τὴν ἐν μελῳδίαις ἡδονὴν ὑπερβάλλειν.101

3 Zeus and Ganymedes Only for the Ganymedes scene are we explicitly told about its placement on the shield: it is placed on the stars, 429 ὅπῃ χορὸς αἰόλος ἄστρων. The fact may be allusive as the vaults of Byzantine churches were often decorated with stars and with winged archangels and angels surrounding the Pantocrator. It may also be tacitly inferred that the other three scenes are situated on earth, at the centre of the shield. The theme, unlike all others, unfolds in two images: a decoration in Zeus’ αὐλή representing the rapture of Ganymedes by eagle Zeus, and Ganymedes serving nectar to Zeus on Olympus. Ganymedes’ voyage on the back of the eagle was usually understood to be symbolic and so it may be here: the sea represents Hades, a vast entity ready to swallow man. The choice of Hellespont as the scenery of the voyage and the reference to its eponymous heroine Helle (441) opportunely recall the latter’s fateful fall. For the Chaldean context (see below) it may be opportune to recall that materia is imagined as a long sluggish river (Or. chald. 163.5, Numen. fr. 3 des Pl.). Ganymedes represents man, terrified by the perils of the sea, but clinging fast on the saviour eagle. Zeus’ care (434) and love (440) of Ganymedes represent God’s providence for His offspring. In this sense Tissoni (2005, 210) compared Dt 32.11 in which God elevates his chosen one in the way an eagle lifts his offspring on his back. One might as well approach the salvation of the Jews out of Egypt, Ex. 19.4 ἀνέλαβον ὑμᾶς ὡσεὶ ἐπὶ πτερύγων ἀετῶν καὶ προσηγαγόμην ὑμᾶς πρὸς ἐμαυτόν. A suggestive parallel to the reading advanced here is the allegoric interpretation of the myth by Justin the Gnostic identifying the eagle with Naas and Ganymedes with Adam (Hippol. Ref. 5.26.34). Ganymedes also features in the last tablet of Harmonia serving nectar to the gods (Dion. 12.103–13). That scene prefigures Dionysus’ role on earth, nectar being the celestial protype for wine, and Ganymedes the type for Dionysus’ own apotheosis (Vian 1995, 65). In our scene, however, Ganymedes snatched away by the saviour eagle then serving the gods with nectar would have a prophetic character not for Dionysus, but for man; thanks to divine benevo101 See MacLachlan 1991. The pleasure from hearing the cosmic music would derive from a recollection of the sounds the soul heard when it rode the heavens, see O’Meara 2007, 157– 60.

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lence any man is now able to be lifted up and partake in the feast of gods on “Olympus”, a novel paradox pointed out with the oxymoron βουκόλος ἀστερόφοιτος (449), cf. Cyr. In Jo. II.618.27 “It was necessary then to confer on the nature of man the height of blessedness, and … to raise it even to the heavens themselves, and to make man a companion of the angels, and a partaker in their joys”.102 Ganymedes’ presence in the skies is precisely a symbol of sharing in divine life.103 The potential of such symbolic images is well illustrated by SGO 05/01/64, a funerary inscription from Smyrna apparently of the third century CE, about an ἄωρος saved into immortality. The young deceased is honoured by Zeus with his translation to the skies where he tacitly takes up the role of Ganymedes pouring nectar to the immortal gods.104 But epigrams such as the epitaph for Diomedes from Gdanmava in Lycaonia, suggest that the theme is adopted (and adapted) by the Christians: SGO 14/02/04.5–6 Χριστοῦ φίλος, ὃν θεὸς αὐτός / ἥρπασε (“wie in heidnischer Zeit Ganymed” edd.; see also below on 433 ἅρπαγι ταρσῷ). Following this line of interpretation, several individual points may now be unravelled. In 430 Διὸς ἔνδοθεν αὐλῆς, the term αὐλή may be allusive. In the Chaldean Oracles fr. 202 πανδεκτικὴ αὐλή is the place where risen souls are hosted by the Father (Procl. Exc. chald. 192.12). Significantly, in the Paraphrasis αὐλή can denote God’s abode, as well as the paradise in 14.8 πολυχανδέος ἔνδιον αὐλῆς.105 A number of scholars have understood 433 οἷα καὶ ἐν γραφίδεσσι κατάσχετος ἅρπαγι ταρσῷ as a reference to artistic representations of Ganymedes’ rapture from Zeus.106 Vian (1990, 263, and Agosti) rejected such a reading and rendered “méme en effigie, il semble prisonier”. The Ganymedes theme was popular in different forms of Late Antique art. The sentiment of Ganymedes in 435 τεθηπότα κοῦρον is salient in his representations in art. H. Sichtermann in his Ganymedes-entry in LIMC noted that “[d]ie Ergreifung des Ganymedes durch den Adler zeigt dann den Überfall auf einen Überraschten und Erschreckten in aller Deutlichkeit”. Also Zeus’ fear is visible in art: with Ganyme-

102 Translation by T. Randell. 103 Cf. Olympiod. In Gorg. 40.3 Γανυμήδης τις ἀνήγαγεν ἑαυτὸν πρὸς τὰ θεῖα, ὡς καὶ συνεστιᾶσθαι αὐτοῖς λέγεται καὶ οἰνοχοεῖν, ἀντὶ τοῦ ἀύλως καὶ θείως πολιτεύεσθαι πάσης δυσχερείας ἀπηλλαγμένον. For the symbolism of Ganymedes’ rapture see Chuvin 1986, 391; Agosti 1994, 188; id. 1995, 136–41; Gigli Piccardi 2003a, 377. 104 See Boyancé 1952, 286–9; and likewise in two Phrygian inscriptions, SGO 16/23/06.5–6 (278 CE), 16/46/01 (Imperial). 105 See Des Places 1971, 149–50, on Or. chald. l.c.; Livrea 1989, 147–8, on Par. 18.77. 106 “[J]ust as we see in pictures” Rouse following Marcellus; “come se pure in disegno” M. Maletta; “a direct comparison with plastic arts” Miguélez Cavero 2008, 433.

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des on the eagle’s back Zeus is “einzig und allein darauf bedacht, seine Sicherheit zu wahren, dessen wohl bewußt, daß ein erfolgreicher Widerstand seinen Sturz in die Tiefe zur Folge hätte”.107 It is noteworthy that Nonnus relies on the secular tradition of the Ganymedes myth envisaging it as a symbol of spiritual immortalisation, whereas Christian apologists consistently see it as an example of false apotheosis.108 The widespread decorative representations of Zeus and Ganymedes elicited the polemic of Christian apologists rejecting what they considered to be an emblematic image of moral dissipation corrupting youth.109 When Nonnus presents the image as a decoration in Zeus’ own dwelling and, in an unusual characterisation, points out this scene as “appropriate” (430 δαίδαλον ἅρμενον), he seems to be in dialogue (but not necessarily in opposition) with this view by insisting upon the spiritual interpretation of the myth. This perspective also helps clarify the reference in 433 as referring to representations of Ganymedes in art. Ἅρπαγι ταρσῷ in 433 may be allusive too. This clausular expression may not be aggressive (“rapacious”) but rather bear associations with salvation: it recurs of Ganymedes in Dion. 10.311, and in 24.80 it is used of eagle Zeus safely transferring his son Aiacos ἠεροφοίτην on the other side of Hydaspes. In particular, ἅρπαγι may allude to the mystic vox propria denoting man’s snatching away to God or heaven.110 Nonnus so uses it of Elias in Par. 1.91–2 δίφρου / ἅρπαγος Ἠλίας ἐλατὴρ πυρός. In 437–8 μὴ φονίοις ῥοθίοισι κατακρύπτοιτο θαλάσσης / ἠερόθεν προκάρηνος ὀλισθήσας Γανυμήδης, submersion in the perilous sea is an image of “death”. This version of “Hades” acquires a Chaldaic tinge: for φονίοις note that in Or. chald. 134 φόνος is a feature of the μισοφαῆ κόσμον … λάβρον ὕλης. With ῥοθίοισι cf. Or. chald. 186 (body) ῥόθιον κύτος ἡμῶν. The fear for a fall from the “air” down to the “sea” is again of Chaldaic character. It involves the notion of a swirling κρημνός which is typical of the Oracles, and contrasts to ethereal life, cf. 158.1, 164.1, and especially “Hades” receiving sinful souls in 163 “do not stoop below into the dark-gleaming world beneath which an abyss

107 H. Sichtermann, LIMC IV.1 (1988), 168 s.v. Ganymedes. Representations in Imperial and Late Antique art are surveyed in J. Engemann, RAC VIII (1972), 1037–43. 108 Cf. Clem. Protr. 49.1, Euseb. PE 5.34.6, Theodoret. Cur. 3.31. See J. Engemann, RAC VIII (1972), 1045. 109 Cf. Theodoret. Cur. 3.81 τὸν Δία ἐν ἀετοῦ σχήματι κατὰ τοῦ Γανυμήδους λυττῶντα … [83] ἔδει γὰρ … μηδένα ποτὲ μηδαμῇ τοιαύτας κατασκευάζειν εἰκόνας, τὸν δὲ παρὰ τὸν νόμον τι δρῶντα ζημιοῦσθαι θανάτῳ, Cyr. C. Jul. 6 PG 76.800a; see Engemann l.l. 1047. 110 Cf. 2 Cor 12.4 (ἄνθρωπος) ἡρπάγη εἰς τὸν παράδεισον, Rev. 12.5 ἡρπάσθη τὸ τέκνον αὐτῆς πρὸς τὸν θεόν, Melito Sard. De pasch. 784 (Christ) ἀφαρπάσας τὸν ἄνθρωπον εἰς τὰ ὑψηλὰ τῶν οὐρανῶν. See BDAG s.v. ἁρπάζω 2b; Lampe s.v. ἁρπάζω 6.

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… forever formless … precipitous … for ever revolving around its maimed depth”.111 Eudocia also seems to have had this in mind when Cyprian describes his life with devil (Cypr. 2.437–40 with Livrea 1993, 193–9) but the “Christianisation” of this image is not hard to imagine after Ps. 68.15–6 ῥυσθείην … ἐκ τοῦ βάθους τῶν ὑδάτων … μηδὲ καταπιέτω με βυθός. With κατακρύπτοιτο (~ Ps. καταπιέτω) one might compare the penchant of the Oracles for κατα- compounds within semantic range, such as κατάγειν, κατακλείειν, καταμιγνύναι, κατασύρειν, κατιέναι, and others.112 The verb implies underwater “burying”, like 476 (dragon) κατέκρυφεν, 558 (Cronus) ἔκρυφε. Ἠερόθεν προκάρηνος constitutes a paradoxical image not only of an abrupt fall but also of a lapse from God: in the Platonic and patristic tradition the upright head links man to heaven and God (Pl. Tim. 90a4). Apparently, it reverses the image of man sticking his head out of the “sea” in Pl. Phd. 109d2 ἐκδὺς καὶ ἀνακύψας ἐκ τῆς θαλάττης εἰς τὸν ἐνθάδε τόπον, of which Nonnus makes use in describing Peter swimming to reach Christ on the shore in Par. 21.45 κεφαλὴν εἰς ὕψος ἀείρων. Ὀλισθήσας in 438 is the vox propria for falling in the pit of perdition. For a Christian reading of this passage one might approach Clem. Protr. 27.1 (pagan theology) αὗται μὲν αἱ ὀλισθηραὶ … παρεκβάσεις τῆς ἀληθείας, καθέλκουσαι οὐρανόθεν τὸν ἄνθρωπον καὶ εἰς βάραθρον περιτρέπουσαι. Most revealing, though, are verses 447–50 where Hera shows the adolescent to Athena with her finger: παρεζομένῃ δὲ θεαίνῃ Παλλάδι δείκνυε κοῦρον, ὅτι γλυκὺ νέκταρ Ὀλύμπου βουκόλος ἀστερόφοιτος ἐῳνοχόει Γανυμήδης πάλλων χειρὶ κύπελλα, τά περ λάχε παρθένος Ἥβη. [S]he was pointing a finger at the boy, to show goddess Pallas who sat next her how a cowboy Ganymedes walked among the stars to pour out their wine, the sweet nectar of Olympos, and there he was handing the cups which were the lot of virgin Hebe.

Hera’s gesture is usually attributed to her envy of Ganymedes (cf. esp. Dion. 31.229, 251–4) like she is envious of Dionysus and of all of Zeus’ illegitimate offspring, leaning on 446–7 οἷα χολοωμένη … μάρτυρι μορφῇ / ψυχῆς ζῆλον ἔχουσα. But pointing a finger is never a gesture of envy and Hera’s description is branded by ecphrastic vivacity. The gesture clearly means more than that: John the Baptist points a finger at the agnus Dei in Par. 1.105 δάκτυλον

111 Translation by Majercik 1989. Cf. Psell. Exeg. Chald. 128.2 O’Meara. 112 See the Index verborum in Des Places 1971, 282.

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ὀρθώσας ἐπεδείκνυε μάρτυρι λαῷ (a verse indebted to representations of John the Baptist in art), and in similar wording Helios shows the prophetic tablets of Harmonia to Autumn in Dion. 12.31. This is the so-called gesture of the prophets, a solemn act stressing the consequence of the person or thing indicated, and its grave import for the future.113 Ganymedes the cowherd becomes part of the divine chorus, thus setting an example for the elevation of man to divine status. In much the same context a sister of Lazarus shows her rejoicing sister their resurrected brother, in an image from the church of St Sergius in Gaza (t.a.q. 536) described by Choricius Laud. Marc. 71 ἡ μὲν οὖν ὑποδείκνυσι τῇ πλησίον, ἡ δὲ πρὸς τὴν χαρὰν ἀνεπτέρωται.

4 Zeus’ Redemption The last scene (553–62) on the shield is the shortest of all: it features Cybele νεητόκος, Cronus and Zeus. Τhe myth of Cronus devouring his children until Cybele passed him a swaddled stone to engorge in place of baby Zeus is usually thought to be derived from Hes. Th. 485–97 and is viewed elsewhere in Nonnus as a rebirth.114 But in contrast to Hesiod, as M. L. West in his note on Hes. Th. 496 remarked, “Nonnus simplifies the story … and represents the stone itself as having emetic effect”. The episode was, however, also recounted in the Rhapsodic Theogony (OF 214F–5F) and at Nonnus’ time the Orphic version was generally regarded older than the Hesiodic one. The detail in the Nonnian version pointed out by M. L. West was apparently a feature in the version of the Rhapsodic Theogony (OF 215F.I, III) whence Nonnus would take it up.115 But what matters most for our purposes is that on Dionysus’ shield the scene may serve as an allegory for eschatological resurrection. The key-passage to “unlock” its hidden meaning is Rev. 12.4 ὁ δράκων ἕστηκεν ἐνώπιον τῆς γυναικὸς τῆς μελλούσης τεκεῖν, ἵνα ὅταν τέκῃ τὸ τέκνον αὐτῆς καταφάγῃ. Cronus, a god who castrated his father and swallowed all of his children until Zeus overthrew him, is a kind of Satan figure. He was as horrendous for the

113 See K. Groß, RAC VII (1969), 940–1 s.v. Finger (“der Gestus der Propheten”); De Stefani 2002, 176–7. 114 Cf. Dion. 12.47–51, 41.67–76, esp. 41.75 δισσοτόκους υἷας, 76 πορθμὸν τοκετοῦ (70 Εἰλείθυιαν). 115 For another possible trace of the Orphic version of this myth in Nonnus cf. Dion. 41.70– 1 λίθον … / … ἀκοντιστῆρα γενέθλης ~ OF 215III (< Rufin. Recogn. 10.19.2) lapis … trusit et coegit exire.

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Christians as he was for the Greeks.116 Although Cybele (553, 556) and Zeus (559) are mentioned by name, Cronus is left unnamed: he is apparently conceived as a nameless representation of evil. Cybele, on the other hand, a virgin goddess and mater deum (Jul. Mat. deor. 166a καὶ παρθένος ἀμήτωρ καὶ Διὸς σύνθωκος καὶ μήτηρ θεῶν ὄντως … πάντων), could be seen as a rival of the Virgin Mary θεοτόκος.117 Cybele’s image as νεητόκος holding the swaddled stone in her bosom (553–5) is typical in representations of the Virgin Mary with the newly-born Christ. Moreover, 554 μιμηλὴν ἀλόχευτον … λοχείην insinuates a miraculous birth such as that of Christ. Ἀλόχευτος always characterises miraculous births in Nonnus and it is a typical description of Christ’s birth, cf. ipsissimis verbis Ps.-Apollin. Met. Ps. Proth. 83 παρθενικῆς ἀλόχευτον … λοχείην, Neophyt. Incl. (11th/12th cent.) Lib. quinq. cap. 50.16, al. ἐν ἀλοχεύτῳ λοχείᾳ.118 Finally, Christ is a λίθος or a πέτρα.119 The Fathers attribute this metaphor to Christ’s firmness.120 It is certainly suggestive for the reading proposed here that many centuries after Nonnus, Michael Psellus, commenting on Greg. Naz. Or. 39.4 (Zeus) δεινὸν γὰρ ἦν ὡς παιδίον κλαυθμυρίζεσθαι τὸν ὡς λίθον καταποθέντα, retrospectively applied to Zeus what was commonly said about Christ λίθος, Theol. 66.37 Gautier (Cronus) στερρότητος γὰρ ἐν τῇ καταπόσει αἰσθόμενος, εἰς τὴν θείαν φύσιν τὴν ἀντιτυπίαν ἀνήγαγε, καὶ ᾠήθη δι’ αὐτὸ τοῦτο τὸ αἰσθέσθαι στερρότητος αὐτὸν καταπεπωκέναι τὸν Δία κτλ. In contemporary theology Hades is commonly perceived as the “intermediate place for all souls until final judgement”.121 A messianic image, particularly widespread in apocryphal literature,122 represents Christ going down to Hades to forcibly cause the “vomiting” of the dead. Thus Hades (the “dragon” of the 116 Cf. Dion. 2.337, 27.52 Κρόνον ὠμηστῆρα < Orph. Lith. 646; Cyr. Comm. Is. PG 70.989a Κρόνον … ὠμὸν … καὶ φιλαίματον, καὶ ἀνδροκτασιῶν ἐραστήν, Epiph. Anc. 105.2, Athan. C. gent. 11, Greg. Naz. Or. 4.121 (Cronus’ immorality). Pl. Rep. 377c had expelled the Hesiodic myth from his ideal city. 117 Cf. Fear 1996, 40; Borgeaud 1996, 172–81; G. Ristow, RAC XXII (2008), 600–1 s.v. Kybele. 118 Cf. also Greg. Naz. Carm. 1.2.1.648 ἄλοχόν τε λοχείην, 2.2.7.254 ἀλόχευτος, ἀμήτωρ, Theodoret. Quaest. Oct. 42 ἀσπάρτους καὶ ἀλοχεύτους ὠδῖνας. The notion appears as an insult to Dionysus in Pentheus’ discourse in Dion. 46.33 ἀλόχευτον … βρέφος. See Shorrock 2011, 153 n. 90. On the adj. used of miraculous births see Tissoni 1998, 297, on Dion. 46.33. 119 Cf. 1 Pt 2.4 λίθος ζῶν, Just. Dial. 113.6 λίθος καὶ πέτρα ἐν παραβολαῖς ὁ Χριστὸς διὰ τῶν προφητῶν ἐκηρύσσετο. See, further, Lampe s.v. λίθος B2; s.v. πέτρα 2a, b. 120 Cf. Barnab. 6.3, Orig. In Jo. 1.185 διὰ τὸ στερρόν, δι’ ὅπερ καὶ πέτρα λέγεται, Cyr. Ador. 3, Glaph. Ex. 3 πέτρᾳ παρεικονίζεται διὰ τὸ ἄθραυστον καὶ ἀκλόνητον. 121 Lampe s.v. ᾅδης C3. Cf., e.g., Iren. Haer. 5.31.2 (fr. 27) αἱ ψυχαὶ ἀπέρχονται εἰς τὸν τόπον τὸν ὡρισμένον αὐταῖς ἀπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ κἀκεῖ μέχρι τῆς ἀναστάσεως φοιτῶσι περιμένουσαι τὴν ἀνάστασιν. 122 Cf. Iren. Haer. 5.31.1 citing inter alia a fragment from apocryphal Jeremy descendit ad eos extrahere eos et salvare eos. Further testimonies are collected in Resch 1906, 320 f.

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Apocalypse) swallows the body of Christ but ends up disgorging all bodies (the πολύτεκνον … γενέθλην of 561), as Cyril of Jerusalem explicitly put it: Catech. 12.15 δέλεαρ τοίνυν τοῦ θανάτου γέγονε τὸ σῶμα, ἵνα ἐλπίσας καταπιεῖν ὁ δράκων ἐξεμέσῃ καὶ τοὺς ἤδη καταποθέντας. In a figurative picture Hades is imagined as vomiting the waiting dead: Epist. eccles. Lugd. et Vienn. ad eccl. Asiae et Phrygiae ap. Euseb. HE 5.2.6 (confessors save backsliders) … ἵνα ἀποπνιχθεὶς ὁ θὴρ οὓς πρότερον ᾤετο καταπεπωκέναι, ζῶντας ἐξεμέσῃ, Cyr. Hom. pasch. 5.1 καὶ τοὺς ἁλόντας ἀπήμεσε, τῇ τοῦ Σωτῆρος ἡμῶν ἰσχύι.123

5 Final Remarks The shield is delivered to Dionysus by Attis, whose name sounds like that of his Homeric counterpart, Thetis. Why Attis? By falling in love with a nymph, Attis fell into the world of senses going as deep as the cave of the nymphs, the depths of the hylic world (Jul. Mat. deor. 175a Ἄττις … θεὸς … μέχρι τῶν ἐσχάτων κατιών), but by castrating himself, i.e. by cutting off the parts associating him with the world of birth, he rejoined the divine chorus, Sallust. De deis et mundo 4.9 δυνάμεις γονίμους ἀφεὶς εἰς τὴν γένεσιν πάλιν συνάπτεται τοῖς θεοῖς. In context this might be thought to recall Mt 19.12 εἰσὶν εὐνοῦχοι οἵτινες εὐνούχισαν ἑαυτοὺς διὰ τὴν βασιλείαν τῶν οὐρανῶν.124 For the Naasenes Attis represents the resurrectional καινὸς ἄνθρωπος, neither male nor female (Hippol. Ref. 5.7.15). So Attis is a most appropriate figure to deliver the shield: he is a figure of salvation, a fallen god “saved” by his own acts, a type for the “new man”. It has been argued that the key-passage to unravel the hidden meaning of the Tylus episode is John 3.14. As is often the case, the Johannine verse is received by Nonnus under the influence of Cyril’s interpretation of it. Cyril, in a magisterial comment, interprets the verse in a “historical” perspective, In Jo. I.225.25: ὅλον δὲ πάλιν, ὡς ἐν τύπῳ τῷ πράγματι, τὸ τῆς ἐνανθρωπήσεως καταγράφει μυστήριον. ὄφις μὲν γὰρ τὴν πικρὰν καὶ ἀνθρωποκτόνον ἁμαρτίαν σημαίνει, ἣ καὶ σύμπαν τὸ ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς κατεβόσκετο γένος, πολυτρόπως

123 Cf. also Anon. AP 1.111.1 ὁ νεκρὸς Ἅιδης ἐξεμεῖ τεθνηκότας, Rom. Mel. Cant. 43.κ΄.4–5 κατελθὼν τῆς γαστρός μου καθήψατο· / ὅθεν ἐξεμέσω οὕσπερ κατέπιον πρώην, Pisid. In res. Chr. 52–3, Hex. 1785–86. A widely known type for this is Jonas saved ἐκ κοιλίας ᾅδου (Jon. 2.3). 124 According to a tradition young Origen practised this literally (Euseb. HE 6.8).

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τὴν ἀνθρώπου δάκνουσα ψυχήν, καὶ πολυειδῆ τῆς φαυλότητος τὸν ἰὸν ἐκχέουσα· ἦν δὲ οὐχ ἑτέρως ἡμᾶς τὴν οὕτω νικῶσαν διαφυγεῖν, εἰ μὴ διὰ μόνης τῆς ἐξ οὐρανῶν ἐπικουρίας. By this deed he, in turn, inscribes the whole mystery of the incarnation typologically. The snake signifies bitter and murderous sin which kept feeding on the entire earthly race, biting the human soul in numerous ways and pouring in the multifarious poison of wickedness. There was no way for us to escape such victorious sin except though help from heaven alone.125

This seems to be precisely the approach Nonnus adopts, and Cyril’s comment may be the conceptual nucleus of the Tylus episode. But Nonnus has developed the initial idea in a “complete” fashion by construing a series of episodes symbolically recounting the history of man to its eschatological end: the creation of the world, man’s placement in the paradise, his fall and salvation and the prospect of the final resurrection. Thus his original scenes move beyond the boundaries of their immediate context. This fluidity represents the reading possibilities of the Shield. The accumulative weight of the evidence produced makes it compelling to consider the proposed reading as at least part of the author’s intent. The least one can say is that a lot of water has gone under the bridge since Collart (1930, 114) was able to claim that the Nonnian Shield is only a rhetorical exercise, “a pure pretext for a meticulous ekphrasis”. It is true, if that is what Collart meant, that the description of the Shield is one of the most refined and elaborate parts of the whole epic. But it is unlikely that the four scenes portrayed are unconnected to one another because they are apparently conceived as a fragmented whole, like the images we see in coeval (“pagan” or) Christian art, derived from different Biblical contexts and juxtaposed under the drive of a common theme. And if the story symbolically recounted follows through the creation of the world down to the parousia then the thought that the four-scene Shield exudes the air of a cyclos, the decoration of early Byzantine churches depicting in sequence stories from the Old and New Testament, becomes attractive.126 The Shield is also an outstanding example of the historical consciousness of the poem, which is a paramount feature of it.127 In this

125 Translation by D. Maxwell. 126 See p. 363 for the placement of the Ganymedes scenes on the stars. Influence of a cyclos has been surmised for the tablets of Harmonia (Dion. 12.29–117) presaging the history of the world: Stegemann 1930, 161; Vian 1995, 60. 127 See Stegemann 1930, 159–99; Vian 1994, 226–7, 231 = 2005, 543–4, 548; id. 1995, 61: “il est manifeste que l’histoire universelle, depuis les origines jusq’à la célébration de la contemporaine Beyrouth, est sous-jacente tout au long des Dionysiaques”.

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case, though, history is not perceived as a chain of events but in a theological sense, as the realisation of the plan conceived by God for man. Above all, the Shield of Dionysus is strikingly portentous. A collection of images from the past is manipulated to foreshadow symbols and notions of a future world. The old myths gain a new meaning and a new life now read under a different but historically meaningful perspective. Intratextually the scenes depicted on the Shield associate Dionysus’ earthly accomplishments with the salvation of humanity and become a message of it. Intertextually they look forward to, and prophesy the arrival of a mightier god of salvation, one who will comprise and verify the validity of the old symbols and myths. This approach becomes possible by a “reading” of history that sees continuity in change, and has learned to discern the signs of coming Christ not only in the Jewish prophesies but also in the dowry of the Greco-Roman antiquity. The ekphrasis in question may thus become a reflection upon the whole epic concerned with an era in which notions and symbols key to Nonnus’ society acquired a meaning, and one which played its own role to the formation of Nonnus’ new world.

VI: The “School” of Nonnus

Claudio De Stefani

The End of the “Nonnian School”* dedicated to Gerda Koch (1915–2011)

The poetic production of the seventh century is marked an abrupt change in comparison with that of the previous century. After the flourishing of encomiastic poems and of refined epigrams in the age of Justinian and Justin II, and after the reign of Heraclius and his bard George Pisides, poetry goes through a difficult period: for roughly two centuries poetry in hexameters, as well as secular poetry, is almost silent. The disappearance of mundane subjects and the absolute supremacy of sacred themes in Byzantine poetry have been aptly described by Lauxtermann, among others, in his valuable book on the Byzantine epigram;1 here I will confine myself to a few remarks, before concentrating on the dying out of “Nonnian” poetry.2 The first crisis probably occurred in the late sixth century, when the violent atmosphere against pagans, which turned from judicial persecution (under Justinian) into pure pogroms (especially during the reigns of Tiberius and Maurice), which have been described so well by P. Chuvin (2009, 146–50), might have led poets to avoid any reference to paganism, unless they mentioned pagan cults only in order to blame them or to tax adversaries with paganism. This partly accounts for the predominance of sacred themes in the epigrams of the (few) poets of the age of Heraclius and the absence of pagan references, which were abundant in the poetry of the first half of the sixth century.3 * I wish to thank Enrico Magnelli, Gioacchino Strano, Francesco Valerio and Konstantinos Spanoudakis for help and suggestions. I am greatly indebted to Mary Whitby for improving my English. 1 Lauxtermann 2003, 131–2. 2 By “Nonnian” I mean the whole corpus of Late Antique hexameter poetry whose style and metre closely followed Nonnus of Panopolis: I am aware that “school of Nonnus” is a rather old-fashioned phrase, which perhaps attaches too much importance to the role of Nonnus as the ἀρχηγέτης of the “movement” of the Late Antique poets (a conception which probably goes back to Gottfried Hermann, see Miguélez Cavero 2008, 94). For a thorough examination of the problem, see Miguélez Cavero 2008, 93–96 (and passim). 3 The likeliest date for the anonymous poem in dodecasyllables on the labours of Heracles published by Knös in 1908, a versification of Apollodorus’ handbook, is, on account of its metre and prosody, the reign of Heraclius (see Knös 1908, 401–2; West 1982, 184 n. 72). On the other hand, the very choice of this mythological subject might be an indirect celebration of Heraclius, rather than evidence for the existence of pagan poetry in the early seventh century: see Pisid. In Bonum patr. 1–7, Heracl. 65–83, In Christi resurr. 106–11, In Sev. 69–71 (see Pertusi 1959, 265).

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Then, a major change took place in the ruling class of the empire, which traditionally supplied both the writers and the readers of poetry: “the older, leisured cultural elite quite simply lost its social prestige and its economic standing”, as John Haldon (1990, 426) has convincingly argued. The disappearance of a public was a fatal blow: if, in the sixth century, an elegant encomiastic poem would certainly have helped the author in getting into the emperor’s good graces,4 a century later it would hardly have found a suitable audience.5 Although such a dramatic social change would inevitably affect all literary culture in the course of the seventh century, one might still wonder why the Late Antique hexameter style died out abruptly, whereas iambic poetry survived almost without interruption during the whole history of Byzantine literature. In what follows I wish to scrutinize a few aspects of the disappearance of “Nonnian” hexameter poetry, and its fortuitous revival in the Byzantine literature of the Comnenian Renaissance: thus, I will examine the formal aspects of this change rather than its content. After all, one could have written about sacred themes in a Late Antique style – as indeed Pisides did, in both his De vita humana and a few of his epigrams: so, I think that the problem of the disappearance of the Late Antique style, especially of the Late Antique hexameters, seems to leave out of consideration the issue of the absence of secular themes – unless we suppose that the literate related “Nonnian” hexameter verses to paganism, a hypothesis for which, as far as I know, there is no evidence. But, first of all, altius repetamus, and let us begin with a few well known facts. The Late Antique poetic style, the paramount example of which is Nonnus and his imitators (up to the end of the sixth century CE), developed over the course of centuries. To a certain degree, already in Hellenistic poetry elements are present which will be found in abundance centuries later in Nonnian poetry: just think of the luxurious employment of epithets in Antipater of Sidon, or of the tetracola in Euphorion;6 not to mention the reduction of the hexameter-patterns to a few types or the proportional increase of dactyls or the trochaic caesura. Thus, the “Nonnian style” is the outcome of an age-long

4 Like Corippus, who probably obtained an imperial post as a result of his poem Iohannis (Av. Cameron 1976, 1), and Dioscorus, who allowed his petitions to be accompanied by poems (see e.g. Fournet 1999, 325) and became notary at Antinoupolis thanks to his verses (Fournet 2003, 71). 5 “Selection was based more than previously, it would appear, upon practical administrative, political and military ability”, Haldon 1990, 426. 6 In the first century AD, the hexameters of Quintus Sulpicius Maximus (GVI 1924 = IGUR 1336A) begin with a sollemn tetracolon; on tetracola in late epigraphical texts see Agosti 2005a, 3–4.

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development. On the contrary, the “new hexameter”, that is, the adaptation of the Hellenistic (or “Callimachean”) hexameter to word accent, is not fully attested before Nonnus. Subsequently the so-called “Nonnian school” followed the rules of the schoolmaster–more or less. The grounds for this success are to be seen in the Late Antique school, especially, as far as we can judge, the Egyptian-Gazan high-school. The papyri which transmit to us ethopoeae in a markedly Nonnian style, the use of poetic competitions, the habit of composing verses by means of Nonnian hemistichs (even when the poet lacked command of the language, as in the case of Dioscorus), all that suggests that the Late Antique poetic style was the outcome of a solid school education – and we know that Late Antique poets were, very often, γραμματικοί. A modern example might be the English school habit of translating Shakespeare or Milton into elegant Greek verses, which was in fashion until (at least) the sixties of the last century. That the devastations of the war against the Persians, first under the reign of Phocas, then under Heraclius, had upset the structure of the Byzantine eastern provinces to such an extent that school (and thus literature) became affected by them, is unlikely, though the events are difficult to reconstruct in detail, so that we should be very cautious in drawing conclusions.7 Certainly, the temporary fall of Syria, Palestine and Egypt into the hands of the Persians was a dramatic event, but apart from the fact that the enemy’s occupation was short, our sources imply that it was in essence a quick raid which plundered the provinces and deported many captives – already under the reign of Phocas;8 Persians left contingents which controlled the occupied territories, and which returned to Iran after the death of Chosroes II. Nevertheless, I think that the Persian war did have an influence, at least indirectly, on the decline of Late Antique literature, because it separated, if briefly, Palestine, Syria and Egypt from the capital: and all this happened when in Constantinople Pisides’

7 Clive Foss, in a series of fascinating articles and books, maintained that Persian aggression should be considered the main reason for the decline of social and cultural life in early Byzantine Anatolia: see especially Foss 1975; 1975a (coventrysation of Sardis); 1979, 103–5 (destruction of Ephesus). This view was in part accepted by Haldon 1990, 103: “it seems clear from both literary and archaeological evidence that it was the constant and regular devastation of the seventh century which hastened the end … of the towns of both Anatolia and the Balkans”. An accurate treatment of the last Persian-Roman war is offered by Kaegi 2003. 8 See, however, Foss 1975, 744–5 (referring to the destruction in Asia Minor): “these expeditions were not mere raids”; on the deportation of populations during the Persian-Roman wars cf. Morony 2004, especially (for the war between Heraclius and Chosroes II) p. 178.

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patriotic iambic epics developed in the excited climate of the totaler Krieg against Persia.9 Indeed, the popularity which the iambic poems of Pisides enjoyed should be considered a crucial moment for the decline of “Nonnian” hexameter poetry and, at the same time, an event which laid the foundations for Byzantine poetic output. It is true that hexameters were being turned little by little into iambics at least from the beginning of the sixth century, as Alan Cameron pointed out in a famous article on Late Antique wandering poets;10 but the production of Pisides seems to have exerted a great influence or even an impulse to this process.11 George Pisides, like Nonnus, was, as it seems, a resolute innovator. The well known analyses of Paul Maas give an insight into an interesting development in his verses: in comparison with the Hexaemeron, the dodecasyllabes of his panegyrics, which were earlier works, show a higher number of infractions of (future) standard rules of the verse – and the last parts of the Hexaemeron are more “correct” than the earlier ones.12 Although conclusions should be drawn very carefully, we might imagine that the standard dodecasyllable developed during the life of Pisides and that it should be considered, at least partly, as his own creation; indeed, a connoisseur like Maas wrote of “dem von Georgios Pisides nach dem Accentprinzip reformierten jambischen Vers”.13 And the fact that the first authors of dodecasyllabes 9 “An important element of George’s poetic role was to promote morale among the population of the capital”, Whitby 1998, 251. Scholars hold that his poems were publicly read, although we don't have evidence of public declamations of his works (Whitby ibid.). 10 Cameron 1965, 482. Cf. his remarks on Marianus of Eleutheropolis, as well as his mention of Helladius of Antinoupolis, Cyrus of Antinoupolis and Andronicus of Hermoupolis, and his subsequent statement: “when a Byzantine read hexameter verse, therefore, (a purely quantitative metre), they did not sound like verse at all. The iambic trimeter on the other hand could be easily adjusted to suit Byzantine pronunciation by regulating the number of syllables and making the stress accents occupy the position of the original long syllables – some quantitative iambic lines indeed automatically fulfilled these requirements”. This statement is important: we should not forget, however, that phonetic requirements had been operating in the language long since, and this does not allow us to see why hexameter production suddenly stopped. The main reasons are the cultural (and economical) change, the loss of the (culturally) most advanced provinces and, as far as we can see, the collapse of the school. 11 Pisides’ new iambic panegyrics completely replaced the old hexameter encomia by picking up and enlarging the traditional iambic proem (see below, p. 391), so that it became an autonomous poem (Frendo 1984, 163; id. 1986, 61). 12 Maas 1903, 289–90 (= 1973, 253–4). See also Romano 1985, 10, and Hilberg 1900, 154: “es ist sehr leicht möglich, dass Georgios Pisides hier thatsächlich sich einen oxytonischen Versausgang hat entschlüpfen lassen, denn so rigoros wie im Hexaëmeron war der Dichter in dieser Beziehung nicht immer und überall, am wenigsten in den kleinen Gedichten, welche Sternbach veröffentlicht hat”. 13 Maas 1901, 59 = 1973, 425.

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after Pisides, for instance the iambic Canons attributed to John Damascene, write regular verses (according to the rules “laid down” by Pisides), makes us guess that Pisides’ technique soon became established. Such a prescriptive tendency of Pisides, as well as his bent for giving fixed rules to the verse, also appears through his hexameter technique. It is usually admitted that he was the last poet who composed “Nonnian” hexameters, “novissimum artis Nonnianae sectatorem”, as Leo Sternbach (1893, 39) put it – this statement especially tallies with his poem De vita humana, most recently edited in a critical edition by Fabrizio Gonnelli.14 In fact, beyond Nonnus, we discern the influence of Paul the Silentiary, which might be responsible for Pisides’ breaking of a well known Nonnian rule, the avoidance of an oxytone before the penthemimeral caesura (v. 23) – Paul the Silentiary breaks this rule, as do a few epigraphical texts and ethopoeae.15 But the most striking feature of Pisides’ hexameters is the almost uniform occurrence of a proparoxytone before the trochaic caesura, which makes the rhythm monotonous and predictable: though already found in “Nonnian” hexameters,16 this rhythm should be considered typical of Pisides and a further example of his tendency towards rule-giving, which more conspicuously appears in his iambics.17 Furthermore, as Sternbach remarked, Pisides tends to increase the percentage of dactyls (almost all the feet are dactyls) – and this will also be the rule of highbrow Byzantine poetry, as we shall see. Are these verses to be considered Late Antique, apart from their unexceptionable metre? Yes and no, I would say. Both the style, which reminds us of the boldness of a Pamprepius or John of Gaza, but in a much more clumsy and abstruse way, and the oppressive atmosphere which hangs over these verses, full of mentions of the devil and of the vanity of the mundane life, make us think of certain gloomy Byzantine poems – we will shortly see one such composition. Let us come back to dodecasyllables. It is reasonable to think that, in comparison with Late Antique hexameters written in epic dialect and filled with Callimachean (and, generically, Hellenistic) reminiscences, the new iam-

14 Gonnelli 1991; translated into English and discussed by M. Whitby in this volume p. 436 f. 15 Breaking of Tiedke’s law in Silentiarius: Wifstrand 1933, 20; De Stefani 2011, XXXIV–XXXV; in Pisides: Gonnelli 1991, 131; Pisides’ imitations of Paul the Silentiary: Gonnelli 1991 ad Vit. hum. 33–5, 45, 54, 66, 87; De Stefani 2011 ad S. Soph. 436–7; in ethopoeae: see (e.g.) Keydell 1941, 49 (= 1982, 243). On Silentiarius’ imitation by Pisides see Whitby in this volume, esp. pp. 444 (metrics), 445, 447 (style). 16 Notably in the verses of the followers of Nonnus (and, among them, especially, I should say, in Silentiarius’ hexameters). 17 See also Epigr. 94 Sternb. (= 93 Tart.) Τρισσατίοις σελάεσσιν ἕνα σπινθῆρα τυπώσας / τρισσοφαοῦς θεότητος ἕνα σπινθῆρα διδάσκεις with the remarks of D’Ambrosi 2003, 126.

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bic verses, with their much more straightforward language, would have a much stronger impact on listeners.18 As a matter of fact, Theophanes (or his sources) inserted a good number of verses from the panegyrics of Pisides into his prose, almost whithout changing the word-order.19 Thus, the position of Pisides, who was the author both of a short poem in hexameter verses and of lengthy poems written in (almost) flawless dodecasyllables, is a unique one: he is the last Late Antique poet – apart from a minor instance, with which we will presently deal – and the first Byzantine. Although we don’t have significant poetic works composed during the “Dark Ages”, when Byzantium struggled for its own existence, so that we might reasonably surmise that the dying out of Late Antique poetry occurred during those dramatic years, still we should not forget that even before the collapse, when Heraclius restored the unity of the Eastern Roman empire, poetry had already, with Pisides, turned into a road which it would follow for centuries. The change had already occurred. When, during the last years of the reign of Heraclius, the provinces which the emperor had just recovered, were lost again, and this time, for good (I set aside the partial reconquests of the ninth-tenth centuries and of the Crusades), Byzantium was bereft of the territories which, traditionally, provided the empire with men of letters. Setting aside Egypt with its famous bent for poetry, suffice it to remember that the rhetors of Gaza proudly maintained that their city was the new Attica (Aen. Gaz. Ep. 18 Massa Positano): we can easily perceive how ruinous was the loss of those provinces for the cultural niveau of the empire – indeed, the description of the entry of ‘Omar the conqueror into Jerusalem ἐνδύμασιν ἠμφιεσμένος ἐρρυπωμένοις “dressed in dirty dress”, and biblically described by the bishop and poet Sophronius as τὸ βδέλυγμα τῆς ἐρημώσεως (Theoph. 339 De Boor) visually portrays the submission of the old, sophisticated culture to the new world represented by the Arabic conquerors. In fact, Sophronius’ poetic production can be considered the last breath of Late Antique hexameter poetry, supposing that at least one of the four epi18 Maas (1903, 302 = 1973, 266–7) acutely maintained that the reason of the disappearance of the hexameter must be the fact that, being read according to the word accent, and having no fixed number of syllables, it inevitably sounded like prose and, unlike the iambic verse of twelve syllables, could not fit the new system, based on verses consisting of a fixed number of syllables with two main word accents (viz. before the caesura and at verse end). It should be stressed, however, that the increasing percentage of holodactyls with a trochaic caesura and a proparoxyton before it was bound to produce a verse which worked in almost the same way as the dodecasyllable (see Appendix I, p. 394). With all due reverence to Maas, I think that many cultural reasons induced the Byzantines to drop the hexameter, not least its indisputable linguistical difficulty (in comparison with the iambic verse). 19 He expressly quotes him: καθὰ καὶ ὁ Πισίδιος Γεώργιος λέγει (298.17 De Boor).

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grams which the Greek Anthology ascribes to him, really was written by the bishop: according to the analysis of Alan Cameron (1983) in his valuable article “The Epigrams of Sophronius”, “there is no serious reason to doubt” that AP 1.123 was written by him. AP 1.123 is a poem on the church built on the Calvary in Jerusalem: Πέτρα τρισμακάριστε θεόσσυτον αἷμα λαχοῦσα, οὐρανίη γενεή σε πυρίπνοος ἀμφιπολεύει, καὶ χθονὸς ἐνναετῆρες ἀνάκτορες ὑμνοπολοῦσι. This is the only occurrence, among Sophronius’ genuine (or probably genuine) epigrams, of hexameters κατὰ στίχον (following the well known Late Antique usage, as Wifstrand brilliantly demonstrated) – the other instance, AP 7.680, was considered spurious by Cameron. Cameron (1983, 291) did not scrutinize the style of this epigram: he just remarked that “the style is more fluent than the long epigram on the Miracula and there are no metrical blemishes. But then three lines are too small a sample for fair comparison”. This text, however, is interesting, because these verses look decidedly Late Antique, or “Nonnian”: especially the first, which has a pattern which recalls a passage of Musaeus (whom I consider the model) and a verse end common to Musaeus and other Late Antique authors, like the Anonymous AP 1.10.8, the famous epigram on the Church of St. Polyeuctus: Musae. 30 Ἡρὼ μὲν χαρίεσσα, διοτρεφὲς αἷμα λαχοῦσα Anon. AP 1.10.8 τέτρατον ἐκ κείνων βασιλήϊον αἷμα λαχοῦσα Anon. AP 14.34.1 (= Achill. Tat. 2.14) νῆσος τις πόλις ἐστὶ φυτώνυμον αἷμα λαχοῦσα. The rest of this short poem does not substantially contradict my impression: surely the position of σε on line 2 is not classical,20 but Nonnus and his followers offer many an instance of this word order; I myself noted down a few such cases in the index of my edition of the ecphrastic poems of Paul the Silentiary – far from being a stamp of carelessness, it even gives the verse a sort of Late Antique flavour.21

20 See, however, e.g. Philit. fr. 7.1 Lightfoot ἐκ θυμοῦ κλαῦσαί με τὰ μέτρια. 21 See Paul. Sil. Soph. 135 σήμερον οὐ σακέων με φέρει κτύπος, οὐδ’ ἐπὶ νίκην (the model was perhaps Nonn. Dion. 4.192 εἰ μὲν ἐς ἀντολίην με φέρει πλώουσαν ἀκοίτης). Cf. Nonn. Dion. 1.479 γνήσιον ὑμνείων με νέον σκηπτοῦχον Ὀλύμπου; 2.130 εἰ δὲ γάμοις ἀδίκοις με βιήσε-

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I will not dwell on the style of the other poems, which have been carefully examined by Cameron: I just remark here that to the metrical blunders pointed out by Cameron in an epigram transmitted by the Vat. gr. 1607, which is the only one, apart from AP 1.123, which he for certain considers genuine, we should add an infringement of Naeke’s law – which Byzantines ignore, but Late Antique poets rarely violate: but it is a proper noun (Δαμασκόν, v. 3).22 On account of the correctness of his verses (although they are not on a level with, say, Agathias, as Cameron rightly stresses) and because of the imitation of a precise Late Antique model (Musaeus), we can consider Sophronius as still belonging to the Late Antique (or “Nonnian”) poets: probably the last one, along with Pisides.23 Nec mirum: he had received his education as the old world was still standing and, consequently, he was profoundly learned, as is also clear from his smooth Anacreontics. Let us now examine the presence of Late Antique, especially “Nonnian”, poetry, in the subsequent, Byzantine, centuries: the few instances which I will quote will prove to be instructive, I hope, for understanding the survival of that poetry in the Byzantine world. When Byzantium had won its struggle for existence, after enduring memorable sieges and losing almost all of its eastern territories, and rose again from the ashes of the seventh and eighth centuries, the cultural world had dramatically changed. Although Paul Lemerle, in his deservedly famous book, rightly pointed out that school education did not break off during the “Dark Ages”, that the closing of the university under Phocas and, above all, its alleged physical destruction under the iconoclast emperor Leo III should be considered no more than tendentious rumours,24 nonetheless, we in fact witness the almost complete disappearance of secular literature and a substantial

ται, εἶδος ἀμείψω; 4.143 δέχνυσο δειλαίην με συνέστιον· ἠιθέου δέ; 4.164 ἀλλὰ πάλιν τρομέω σε, καὶ εἰ κρύπτειν μενεαίνεις; 7.233 μὴ μία Μουσάων τις ἐμὸν πατρώιον ὕδωρ; 7.289 ζηλήμων Φαέθων με βιάζεται; 8.132 ἀλλὰ γυνὴ χθονίη με βιάζεται, ἧς χάριν εὐνῆς; 8.291–2 αἰδέομαι γάρ / κικλήσκειν Σεμέλης σε, etc. 22 A quick remark should be made on the text of AP 9.787.3, where the last part of the verse is missing: ἐνθάδε νῦν προσιὼν στῆσον, ξένε, σὸν πόδα (suppl. Bruck). In fact, as Dr Francesco Valerio pointed out to me, the first apographon of Pl (upon which Planudes himself, as it seems, wrote his corrections), Lond. Add. 16409 (= Q) f. 55v supplies the verse end – and it was Planudes who wrote the supplement (in a clearer ink: I checked a digital reproduction of the ms): πλαγκτους, from which form we can easily restore πλαγκτόν, which is in keeping with other words of the passage which all allude to the wandering of the wayfarer (ἀλωόμενος, ἀνέστιον ἴχνος ἐλάυνων, ὁδοιπορίης). 23 I mean simply that Nonnian hemistichs and iuncturae were apparently felt as natural, not, as in later Byzantine poetry, as an erudite embellishment. 24 Lemerle 1971, 78–9 and 89–94.

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indifference to careful style both in prose and in verse. As to our subject, it is at least likely that between 650 and 800 Late Antique poetry (or hexameter poetry tout court) did not arouse much curiosity among men of letters.25 Likewise, the first poetic productions of the so-called “ninth-century renaissance”, when Leo the Philosopher was appointed to fill a chair at the Magnaura, seem to confirm my sceptical view: just think of the trivial Homeric cento of Cometas (AP 15.40).26 More interest is aroused by his pupil, Constantine of Sicily, who is credited with reading Callimachus, as Paul Maas acutely demonstrated;27 however, it must be said that, on the whole, his distichs do not offer much more than a plain imitation of Homeric iuncturae: more affected phrases are rare.28 At any rate, I have the impression that, from now on, we should distinguish between texts which are utterly lacking in grammatical and metrical background, and texts which aim at imitating the ancient style: and, among the latter, between those which draw only on Homer (and Gregory of Nazianzus), and those which strive to imitate Late Antique poetry. The first text which I deal with is fairly early and is all the more interesting because it originated in a monastic milieu – which we might imagine rather indifferent to precious style and rare iuncturae. It is an acrostich glorifying Theodorus and Anatolius Studitae and is transmitted among the poems of Theodorus (it is obviously not by him): no. 124 Speck.29 It consists of 31 hexam-

25 Lemerle reports an interesting piece of evidence from the Life of Tarasius by Ignatius (ed. Heikel, Acta Societatis Scientiarum Fennicae 17, 1891, 391–439): according to this, Tarasius taught metre to Ignatius (who thanks him warmly for it), and among the metres, also ἡρώων ποιημάτων τὰ κράτιστα [Heikel, 423.8] (cf. Lemerle 1971, 103 n. 92). As Tarasius was probably born in 730, we have here some evidence about metrical competence before the “Studite” renaissance. But the passage of the Life does not tell us anything about which poetry Tarasius read with Ignatius: it is unlikely that it was Late Antique poetry. 26 It is difficult not to be sympathetic to Constantinus Rhodius’ (= J) harsh judgement (written in the margin of P): Ἄκοσμα ταῦτα τοῦ Κομητᾶ πάντ’ ἔπη. / Κομητά, Θερσίτης μὲν ἦσθα· πῶς δέ γε / Ἀχιλλέως πρόσωπον εἰσέδυς, τάλαν; / Ἄπαγε ταῦτα τῆς ἀμούσου καρδίας / καὶ βάλλε γ’ ἐς κόρακας ἢ κύφων ὕπερ / τὰ κοπρίας γέμοντα σαθρίαν ἔπη (however, on the literary qualities of Cometas’ poem see Caprara 2000). 27 Maas 1921, 302 = 1973, 419–20. It should be borne in mind, however, that Leo the Philosopher was also a reader of Callimachus: see De Stefani – Magnelli 2011, 562–3. 28 See for instance the distichs against Leo the Philosopher published in Matranga 1850, 555– 6, where one of the few remarkable phrases is the occurrence of the late (in poetry) φρικαλέος: καὶ μετὰ φρικαλέην γε θυηπολίην, μεγάλην τε, to be compared with IG XII 5 739.12 (the text was re-edited by Peek 1930, 13–22) φρικαλέον μύσταις ἱερὸν λόγον. 29 It is by Dionysius the Studite, who collected Theodorus’ poems and “edited” them: see Lauxtermann 2003, 70–2.

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eters first published by Eustratiades in 1918, then republished (with much more philological skill) by Silvio Giuseppe Mercati in 1953 (who also noticed the acrostich) and then by Paul Speck. I offer the text with an apparatus: I have checked the most important and ancient witness, Marc. gr. Z. 141 (= 487), XI century [= M in Speck]: the poem is on f. 259v, the last folium of the ms; I take the data of the other two witnesses, P1 (= Par. gr. 893, XIII cent.) and B (= Μονῆς Βλαττάδων Θεσσαλονίκης 26, XIV cent.), from Speck. Ἐπίγραμμα εἰς τὸν ὅσιον πατέρα ἡμῶν Θεόδωρον Δῶρον ἀειζώοιο Θεοῦ, μεγάλοιο ἄνακτος, ἱμερόεν, περίπυστον ἐπ’ εὐλαβέῃ βιότοιο, οὔνομα Θεύδωρος, ποίμνης ἡγεύμενος ἧκεν· νωλεμέως νυχίῃσι λιτῇς ἰδὲ τάξεσιν ἄλλαις ὑμνοπόλων Θεότευκτον ἀγήνορα ὦρσεν ἀοιδήν, Στουδίου ᾗ κλῄζουσιν ἀριπρεπέ’ ὄλβιον οἶκον, ἱρὸν Ἰωάννοιο, Χριστοῦ Προδρόμοιο σοφοῖο, ὅν κεν ἐπ’ ἐσθλοῖσι πλῆσεν πλείστῃς χαρίτεσσι, στερρῇς σωφροσύνῃσι καὶ ἁγνείης φαέεσσιν. Ἀλκιμόεντ’, ἀπέλεθρα παρέσχετο ἤθεα πᾶσιν νυκτινόμων παθέων αἴσχους ἀπάνευθεν ἐόντα· ἀγλαΐης φαέων δὲ ἀνάπλεα, πάμπαν ἀγητά τοῖσι μυϊσκομένοισι διδάγματα Θειοκέλευστα. Ὀκριόεντ’ ἀπόερσεν, ἀερσιπότητα δὲ εἷλεν λευγαλέου καμάτοιο, βαρυζυγέος δέ τε ἄχθους, ἴθματ’ ἔχειν πτερόεντα πρὸς οὐρανὸν ἀστερόεντα, ὡς ἄρα Χριστὸς ἔλεξε, βροτῶν πολύολβος ἀρωγός, ἱστίον ὀξυπόρον, περιδέξιον ἅλματι λαμπρῷ. Τοῦδ’ ἄπο ἄλλος ἔηκεν, Ἀνατόλιός τις ἀμύμων, ᾧ ἔνι ναιετάεσκεν ἀγαυὸν Θεῖον ἄημα, ἱκόμενος Λυδίηθε μετ’ ἄλλους ἡγεμονῆας. Οὗτος ἀριφραδέως δέμας ἤραρε νῷ Θεολαμπεῖ μαστεύων Χριστοῖο φαάντατα ἴχνια φαιδρά, οἷα Θεοῖο λάτρις πρήξει βιότητί τ’ ἀρίστῃ, πάσῃ ἐπ’ εὐλαβέῃ διαπρύσιος οἷος ὁ πρῶτος· ἀτρεκίην κραδίῃφι σὺν ἁγνείῃ φορέεσκε τρισσοφαοῦς Θεότητος ἐὼν πολύαινος ἐραστής, ῥωμαλέως τελέθων περ ἀγακλέα πᾶσαν ἐφετμήν ἴχνια παντοδαπῶν χαρίτων Θεοειδέος ὄλβου,

5

10

15

20

25

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δῶρον ἔχων ἀρετάς, περικαλλέα εἵματα λαμπρά, ἰσοφαῆ φύτλης Θεοειδέος οὐρανίοιο.

385 30

M P1 (1–8) B 1 ἀειζώοι M | μεγάλοι M 2 ἰμ- M | βιότοι M 3 Θεύδωρος Mercati: θειόδωρος M B: θειόδωορος P1 | ἧκεν Speck (cf. enim 19 ἔηκεν): ἧκα M P1 B: ἦκα Mercati 4 λιτῆς M | ἄλλες M 5–6 ita interpungendum: ἀοιδήν, / Στουδίου ᾗ κλῄζουσιν … οἶκον (Mercati), non ἀοιδήν / Στουδίου, (Speck) 6 ᾗ Mercati: ἣν M P1 B | κλήζουσιν M | ἀριπρεπ” M 7 Ἰωάννου mal. Valerio 8 ὅὐ M | ἐσθλοῖσι Mercati: ἐσθλοῖς M (ἑσθλ- M) P1 B (ἐσθλῆς cod. M falso trib. Speck) | an ἐπ’ ἐσθλαῖσι πλῆσεν (= ἐπίπλησεν) πλείστῃς χαρίτεσσι? | πλείστη M | χαρίτεσ/ι M 9 ἀγνείης M | φαέεσιν M 12 τ’ (pro δὲ) M 13 μυϊσκομένοις M | θειοκέλευστα Mercati: θειοεικέλευθα M: θειοεικέλευτα B 14 ὀκριόεντ’ M, de B ambig., vd. Speck: ὀκρυόεντ’ Mercati | ἀπώερσεν M | τ’ (pro δὲ) M | εἶλεν M 15 δέχετε pro δέ τε M | ἄχθος Eustratiades, Mercati 16 ἵθματ’ M | h. e. ἵνα ἔχοι vel ὥστε ἔχειν 18 ἵστον M | ὁξυπόρον M, ὀξύπορον B 19 ἀπὸ B 21 λυδίηθεν B | ἄλους M | ἡγεμονήας M 22 οὕτος M | ἀριφραδ..ος B 23 φαάντα M 24 θεοῖ M | λάτρης B | πρήξει scripsi : πήξει M, πράξει B | βίοττ M | ἀρίστη M 25 πάσῃ scripsi : πᾶσιν M B | h. e. εὐλαβείῃ 26 ἀτρεκείην M (hoc praet. Speck) | κραδίηφι M 27 αἰραστής M 28 ἁγακλέα M 29 θεοειδέος Mercati: θεοείδεος M B | ὅλβου M 30 περικαλλέα εἴματα M: περικαλλέο..αματα B: περικαλλέα ᾄσματα vel περικαλλέ’ ἀείσματα Mercati 31 θεοειδέος Mercati: θεοείδεος M B | οὐρανί..ο B

Mercati pointed out that the verses show “la preferenza per il dattilo (di moda presso Nonno e Nonniani), tanto che su 31 versi ben 17 hanno cinque dattili e 8 ne hanno quattro”.30 Now it should be stressed that such a tendency to prefer dactyls (admittedly, together with the well known Byzantine prosodic licences), is a typical feature of lofty Byzantine hexameter poetry (we will presently see an instance from Theodorus Prodromus), but is not in itself, I think, evidence for assuming that the author strove to imitate Late Antique poetry (in which dactyls predominate): it just means that he wanted to reproduce the characteristic rhythm of the verse. Instead, the evidence comes from the style. In fact, the very beginning of the poem features striking affinities with a Late Antique text (and the imitation, if authentic, would be far from trivial): Δῶρον ἀειζώοιο Θεοῦ, μεγάλοιο ἄνακτος I consider it likely that the incipit draws on the similar beginning of the Orphic Lithica: Δῶρον ἀλεξικάκοιο Διὸς θνητοῖσιν ὀπάσσαι. 30 Mercati 1953, 225 (= 1970, 600).

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Indeed, the fact that both verses are the beginning of the poems, and the similar allure, allows us to imagine that the author of the acrostich sealed his work with a reminiscence of another, Late Antique, incipit: a typical case of memoria incipitaria. If there were no further clue for postulating this dependence, we would reasonably think of a coincidence: but there is more. Speck (1968, 309) numbers ἅλματι λαμπρῷ (18) and τελέθων … ἐφετμάς (28) among the phrases which make “der Text des Epigramms … in vielen Einzelheiten nicht verständlich und auch grammatisch nicht eindeutig faßbar”.31 Now if we accept this opinion, we run the risk, I think, of misunderstanding the stylistical level of the poem: indeed, Nonnus scholars would easily identify a few well known iuncturae. For ἅλματι λαμπρῷ (18): the explicit line-end is not attested before Apollonid. AP 7.702.5 = GPh 1189 ἅλματι λάβρῳ, which is the most likely source, as the Byzantine pronunciation of λάβρος and λαμπρός was almost the same – although, as will be shown in Appendix III, the “glorious leap” draws upon a rich poetic tradition. Anyhow, similar phrases are typical of late poetry: Opp. Hal. 3.101, Or. Sib. 5.104, Orph. Hy. 55.23, Georg. Pis. Vit. hum. 86 ἅλματι κούφῳ; especially Nonn. Dion. 45.341 ἅλματι θερμῷ. Moreover, the whole verse is probably influenced by Nonn. Dion. 5.323–4 ὠκυπόρῳ δέ / ἔτρεχεν … ἅλματι χηλῆς. For τελέθων … ἐφετμήν (28): the verb here has an active meaning (= τελέω) as in Opp. Ap. Cyn. 4.149, and imitates a Nonnian phrase, P. 14.79 ἐμὰς τελέσειεν ἐφετμάς; 15.52–3 αἴ κεν ἐφετμάς / ἡμετέρας τελέσητε βιαρκέας. Lastly, μαστεύων … ἴχνια is a Nonnian iunctura: Nonn. Dion. 45.230 ἴχνια μαστεύοντες … Διονύσου 48.944 ἴχνια μαστεύουσα φιλοσκοπέλοιο Λυαίου. If we only compare the acrostich with the verses of poem 96 Speck, also transmitted among the Iambi of Theodorus Studites, and equally spurious, the issue of the competition would be dramatically unfavourable for the latter text. We just glance at it, in order to show how bad hexameters could be composed by a Studite monk (I have collated the most important ms for this text as well [M f. 257v]):

31 It should be emphasized that in one case the interpretation of Speck cannot be right: verses 4–5 should be understood “he raised the grand hymn created by God of the priests, by which they celebrate the glorious abode of Stoudios”. Speck rightly puts into his text the correction ᾗ instead of ἥν by Mercati, but links ἀοιδήν with Στουδίου and interprets ᾗ as and adverb “wie”, not as a pronoun referring to ἀοιδήν, misunderstanding Mercati's emendation and depriving the text of an elegant, indeed almost Hellenistic, word order.

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Εἰς μοναχούς, δακτυλικὸς καὶ ἐλεγεῖος Χαίρετε ἄνδρες ἀριστέες, τοῦ Ἀχιλῆος ὕπερθεν· κτεῖναι μὲν Ἕκτορα οὗτος κρατερὸν ξιφέρη, οἱ δέ, μοναζόντων θωρηξάμενοι πολιτείαν, χεῖρε λαβόντες ἄορ εὐπειθοῦς τῆς ὁσίας, σφάξατε τὸν Βελίαρ, σκότεος μεγαλαυχέα νοῦα· ἔνθεν ἀπήρκατε εἰς οὐρανὸν ἀθλοφόρως, δερματίδα προσαφέντες τἀνθάδε τὴν νεκρὰν μόνον.

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2 h. e. κτεῖνε, quod idem sonabat 3 θεωρηξάμενοι πολιτίαν M 5 μεγαλαύχεα M B 6 ἀπείρκατε M | ἀθλοφόρος M 7 ανθάδε M

The difference between the two texts, which stem from a similar cultural milieu, is remarkable: the author of the acrostich is well read; as to poem 96, Speck rightly pointed out its “Primitivität des Ausdrucks”32 (this time I completely agree with him).33 But the author of no. 124 Speck is not just more learned: by reproducing a rhythm and a series of verse ends which he evidently found in Late Antique texts, he also betrays a totally different taste. I will not dwell here on the most outstanding example of imitation of Nonnus in Byzantine poetry, the famous tenth-century epigram from Galakrenai, because a thorough analysis of these verses was provided by Ihor Ševčenko in 1987: Τύμβος ἐγὼν προλέγων βιοτήν, τρόπον, οὔνομα τοῦδε· Σύγκελλος Μιχαὴλ μοναχό[ς], σοφός, ὄλβιος ὧδε ἄχθος ἀπορρίψας, βεβαρηότα δεσμὸν ἀλύξας, ποσσὶν ἐλαφροτάτοισι διέστιχεν, ᾗχι χορεύει· πιστότατος θεράπων μεγαλήτορος ἀρχιερῆος Νικόλεω γεγαὼς πινυτόφρονος, ὅστις ἔτευξε τόνδε νεὼν ὑψίστῳ ἐπουρανίῳ βασιλῆϊ.

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32 At v. 2 the caesura breaks the pronoun οὗτος; likewise, as it seems, at v. 5 it breaks εὐπειθοῦς (εὐ|πειθοῦς). Notice also ξιφέρη and χεῖρε instead of χειρί. 33 Certainly, most of the metrical blemishes of this text are typical Byzantine features; hexameter: caesura after the third foot (1: see Scheidweiler 1952, 292–4 and below, p. 389 n. 38); pentameter: syllaba anceps before the caesura (4: see id., 294); the uniform presence of paroxytone at verse end is also a Byzantine rule; see Hanssen 1883, 226 on the avoidance of oxytone at the end of the pentameter.

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The inscription, an epitaph for Michael, the Synkellos by Nicolaos Mystikos, was found at Erenköy in 1943 and is a true “cento, made up of Nonnian elements”, as Ševčenko put it.34 Alan Cameron acutely proposed Alexander of Nicaea as the author of these lines – actually, they could also be by another poet, by whom Alexander himself was celebrated in an epigram transmitted in the Planudean Anthology: Gioacchino Strano has dealt with this subject quite recently.35 It appears that the metre too (more or less) follows Nonnus’ rules, with the exception of ἔτευξε and of the correption of the final vowel of ὑψίστῳ before ἐπουρανίῳ (both pointed out by Ševčenko) and γεγαώς (Ševčenko did not mention the presence of an oxytone word before penthemimeres). The conclusion which we can draw is that, although Byzantine poets were not able to write “pure” Nonnian verses, because, unlike their Late Antique colleagues, they were not taught at school how to compose them, careful observation of the models would sometimes enable them to produce imitations of a very high standard. Let us move further towards Comnenian age. Another instance of a kind of poetry which, in my opinion, betrays an acquaintance with Late Antique texts is the prefatory poem of the Chronicon of Constantinus Manasses: such a competence would not be surprising, if we merely recall the erudition of the poet (who boasts his wide readings in the first Book of the Hodoeporicon).36 Moreover, I have the impression that Manasses imitates Late Antique poetry in his Chronicon–I have collected a few instances in the apparatus fontium of my edition of Paul the Silentiary.37 Let us briefly examine the dedicatory poem: Δέχνυσο τοῖον δῶρον ἀφ’ ἡμετέροιο πόνοιο, ὀλβιόδωρε ἄνασσα, κυδίστη, ἀριστοτόκεια, νυὲ χαριτοπρόσωπε μεγασθενέων βασιλήων, ἣν πλέον ἀστράπτουσαν ἐϋβλεφάροιο σελήνης εἰς γάμον ὄλβιον ἤρατο νυμφιδίοις ἐπὶ λέκτροις πορφυρόπαις γόνος Αὐσονάνακτος καρτερόχειρος, Ἀνδρόνικος μεγάθυμος, ἐϋμμελίης πολεμιστής, ᾧ γέρα πρῶτα σεβαστοκρατορίης νεῖμ’ ὁ φυτεύσας. εἰς τοίνυν λυκάβαντας ἀπειρεσίους ἐλάσειας.

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34 Ševčenko 1987, 462. Along with Nonnian phrases, the author of the epitaph widely imitated the epigrams of the Greek Anthology, as Ševčenko noticed. 35 Strano 2008–09, 75–6. 36 Lampsidis 1984, 101–5 demonstrated Manasses’ authorship of this text, which Bekker considered spurious. 37 Cf. De Stefani 2011, especially ad Soph. 140, 429 f., 866 f., 1008, 1012 f., Amb. 195 f.

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As we see, although there are a few typical “Byzantine” features (false quantities; caesura after the third foot [5]; one verse without caesura and awkwardly tripartite [6], another is utterly ametrical [8]; Naeke’s law is twice violated and Hermann’s once),38 not to mention all the words which a Nonnian poet would never have placed in that part of the hexameter (e.g. ἀριστοτόκεια at the end of the line, or the elision νεῖμ’ ὁ φυτεύσας) – although, in my view, these are medieval, not Late Antique verses: still, I have a vague impression that reminiscences of Late Antique poetry shine through: notice, for example, the tetracolon at verse 2 (which reminds of the Orphic Hymns, but probably stems from Greg. Naz. Carm. 2.1.38.9 αἰῶνος πείρημα, μεγακλεές, ὀλβιόδωρε, also a tetracolon); the explicit ending of verse 3, which might derive from AP 1.98.2 μεγασθενέος στρατιάρχου (a sixth-century epigram); that of verse 5, which perhaps imitates Musae. 283 ἀριγνώτοις ἐνὶ λέκτροις;39 finally, the word λυκάβας, a Lieblingswort of Greek poetry from the third century CE on. This is not a remarkable text like the epitaph from Galakrenai or even the acrostich: it consists of verses which, far from being a deliberate and consummate imitation of Nonnian poetry, just pick up a few phrases or glosses; still, they are varnished with Late Antique poetic phrases, so that prima facie they look like a good imitation. Generalizing grossly, we would say that such a text recalls pre-Nonnian poetry, like Triphiodorus, which gave the impression of being Nonnian but, as Alan Cameron in the wake of Wifstrand demonstrated (and a papyrus confirmed),40 did not follow the rules of Nonnian poetry – with the obvious difference that poets like Triphiodorus composed correct and elegant Callimachean hexameters, whereas our Byzantine imitators just produce halting lines which they make more glamorous by inserting into them a few Late Antique phrases. A serious analysis of the imitations of Late Antique poetry cannot pass over Theodorus Prodromus, one of the most competent versifiers in Byzantine literature and perhaps the finest connoisseur of Nonnian poetry – along with Planudes, the scribe of the two most famous manuscripts of the Dionysiaca and of the Paraphrasis of St. John: I do not think it fortuitous that he lived at the height of the Comnenian age, when Byzantine poetry, as it seems, went through a period of classicising revival, which considerably diminished the influence of previous Byzantine authors (Constantinus Rhodius, Geometres, 38 On the caesura after the third foot as a peculiarity of Byzantine hexameters, see Scheidweiler 1952, 292–4. 39 See also Musae. 266 βαθυστρώτοις ἐνὶ λέκτροις (on Byzantine imitation of Musaeus, see Kost 1971, 70–2 and ad v. 22; 59; 74; 86–95; 174; 203–4; 224; 242; 267; 268–9). The explicit λέκτροις is not attested in poetry before the Hellenistic age. 40 Al. Cameron 1970a, 478–82.

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etc.) and brought back into vogue the ancient poets. I limit myself to quoting a few specimens of Prodromus’ poetry: it should be sufficient to illustrate his debt to Nonnus (or to Imperial poetry tout court).41 Before examining the first instance, Carm. hist. 56 b.40–8 Hörandner, it should be stressed that not every hexameter passage of Prodromus shows such a remarkable density of Nonnian echoes;42 indeed, the “Bacchic” enthusiasm which permeates these verses might be partly responsible for the imitation: φώνεε μογγιλάλος καὶ ἠχέτα φαίνετ’ ἄναυδος, χωλὸς δ’ ἆλτ’ ἐλάφοισι ταχυσκελέεσσιν ὁμοῖα καί τε γέρων κροτάλισσεν ἀμύμονα κόρδακα παίζων, σείετο πάντα μέλαθρα, θρόος δὲ λεὼν ἐκολῴα καί θ’ ἱερεῖς ἀλάλαζον ἐπ’ εὐαγέος δαπέδοιο ὀξέα γηρυόωντες· ὁ δ’ ἔνδοθι βόμβεε σηκός βόμβῳ ὑπὸ ζαθέῳ· ἀνὰ δ’ αἰθέρα ὤρνυτο δοῦπος· ὣς ἀγαθοὺς φιλέουσιν ἅπαν γένος, ὣς λαλαγοῦσιν, ὥς ῥα περικροτέουσιν ὁμιλαδὸν ἄλλοθεν ἄλλοι.

40

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41 ft. τανυσχελέεσσιν, cf. [Opp.] Cyn. 1.191 οἷα τανυκραίροισιν … ἐλάφοισι (et Nonn. Dion. 24.126 τανυκραίρων ἐλάφων) || 43 cf. Nonn. Dion. 45.328 σείετο πάντα θέμεθλα || 44 cf. Nonn. Dion. 22.14 Ἀδρυάδες δ’ ἀλάλαζον, ἐπ’ εὐπετάλοιο δὲ Νύμφη | cf. Nonn. Par. Jo. 18.97 ἐν εὐαγέεσσι μελάθροις || 45 cf. Musae. 107 ὁ δ’ ἔνδοθι θυμὸν ἰάνθη | βόμβεε, ἐπεβόμβεε pluries apud Nonnum || 48 cf. Nonn. Dion. 14.351 χερσὶ περικροτέουσα | Opp. Hal. 1.614 ὁμιλαδὸν ἄλλοθεν ἄλλοι

A further instance, Carm. 42.1–6 H., shows another, interesting feature of Prodromus’ engagement with Late Antique poetry: here I could not identify a single Nonnian verse closely imitated by him; however, almost every line ends with a word which is typical of Nonnian (or Late Antique) verse-ends.43 To be sure, Homeric and (generally) Hellenistic reminiscences are also present,44 but the Late Antique rhythm of these verse-ends, is, I think, undeniable: 41 One further instance of his remarkable reverence for Late Antique poetry will be dealt with below, pp. 395–6. On Prodromus’ knowledge of Nonnus, see Magnelli 2003, 182 (and passim); 2004, 192; 2010, 140 (and passim) and Spanoudakis 2013. As to Planudes, a glance at Pontani’s apparatus of the poem on Ptolemy’s Geography abundantly shows the extent of his imitatio Nonniana (see Pontani 2010, 197–9). 42 I quote, along with Nonnus, a few passages of earlier, Imperial poetry (Opp. and [Opp.]). 43 See also below, p. 396 n. 63, and Magnelli 2004, 184. 44 For instance, Prodromus took from Homer the iunctura φλογέων ὀχέων; αἴγλη at verse end is also Hellenistic, etc.

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Ἥλιε ἀστεράναξ, φαεσίμβροτε γίγαν ἀκάμα, ὄρφνης ἐννυχίης τε καὶ ἠματίης πάτερ αἴγλης, ὃς φλογέων ὀχέων ἐπιάλμενος ἡνιοχεύεις οἶμον ἐπ’ οὐρανίην,45 χρυσῆν περὶ μάστιγα46 σείων· ναὶ σὲ γὰρ οὔτι λέληθε ῥέγμα χθονίοιο γενέθλης, ὄμμα πέλοντα πέλωρον, ὕπνου ὑπ’ ἄδμητον ἀνάγκης. I end by offering an example of the influence of Late Antiquity on Byzantine poetry as regards the very structure of some works, I mean the alternation dodecasyllable/hexameter. In my edition of Paul the Silentiary I referred to the Late Antique habit of introducing the hexameters with an iambic proem, a well known fashion studied, among others, by Toivo Viljaamaa and Alan Cameron: I pointed out that these iambic prooemia are still fashionable in Byzantine literature, and produced a few instances.47 My impression is that such a habit is rather late, and emerges from the Comnenian age on: there is not any continuity with Late Antiquity. In any case, imitation stimulated poets to compose poetic works in which the dodecasyllables and the hexameters have the same number of lines – sometimes, the iambic proem is even longer. I here produce a couple more instances. In several manuscripts, the exegetical corpus to Lycophron’s Alexandra ends: Λυκόφρονος δύσφραστα πληρώσας ἔπη, ἐνθουσιασμοὺς παρθένου φοιβαστρίας, αἰνιγματωδῶς καὶ σοφῶς εἰρημένους, θεῷ τὸν αἶνον ὡς συνεργῷ προσφέρω.

1–2 A (54r) [260.20–3 Leone]

2 σαφῶς A

ἡ δόξα Χριστῷ τῷ συνεργῷ τοῦ τέλους. Λόγους ἀτερπεῖς πολλὰ μοχθήσας γράφεις ἀνιστορήτως βάρβαρα πλέξας ἔπη 45 Cf. Greg. Naz. Carm. 1.1.36.12 οὐρανίην οἶμον, Anon. AP 9. 811. 4 (a 6th century epigram). 46 This is also a Nonnian word in explicit of hexameter: Dion. 11.183 μάστιγα τιταίνων: to be sure, the quantity of the iota of μάστιγα made it impossible, for a Late Antique poet, to conceive a verse end like μάστιγα σείων (or πάλλων, etc.). But the Byzantine poet availed himself of the δίχρονος. 47 Viljamaa 1968, 68–71; Al. Cameron 1970; De Stefani 2011, XXX n. 67.

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γωλειά, γρώνας, οὖσα καὶ τυκίσματα σὺν Ὀρθάγῃ τε κρίμνα καὶ λυκοψίαν μόνον νέοις ἱδρῶτα, μωρὲ Λυκόφρον, οὐδὲν ἄλλο πλὴν ἢ κενοὶ λήρων λόγοι48. τήνδε Λυκοφρονέην τὴν βαρβαρόφωνον ἰυγήν Κλειοῦς τ’ ἀλλοπροσάλλοιο49 βάκχην καλλιέπειαν Τζέτζης Ἰσαάκιος ἐπεὶ φύγον ἐξερεείνας, παγκρατέι μεδέοντι πανέξοχον ὕμνον ὀφείλω.

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The first four verses are also transmitted by the most important manuscript of Lycophron, A (Marc. gr. 476, which I have checked); the second passage is just a metrical colophon; the text which concerns us is the third one, consisting of six dodecasyllables and four hexameters: it is transmitted by the manuscripts of the commentary of Tzetzes, and it is highly likely that not only the four hexameters, but also the six abusive dodecasyllables came from Tzetzes’ pen. It is a further example of the association of dodecasyllables and hexameters, and, once more the “iambic” part of the poem is longer. The same structure can be seen in a poem, also by Tzetzes, which precedes Eutecnius’ Paraphrase of Ps.-Oppian’s Cynegetica, 171.1 Papathomopoulos: Τὰς Ὀππιανοῦ τῆς κυνηγίας βίβλους ἐκ τῆς σκοτεινῆς τοῦ μέτρου δυσφωνίας εἰς πεζὸν εἶδος τοῦ λόγου μεθαρμόσας προὔθηκά σοι, μέγιστε Καῖσαρ, ἐνθάδε, θηρατικῆς μάθημα πάγκαλον τέχνης· ἐντυγχάνων οὖν εὐκόπως τῷ βιβλίῳ καὶ τὴν ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ συλλέγων εὐκαρπίαν πονῶν με πεῖθε μὴ κατοκνεῖν εἰς πόνους. Οὐδὲ σέθεν γεραρὴν ἰδ’ ἐρατὴν πυκτηΐδα ἡμιτελῆ παρέθηκα, σοφίης ὄρχαμ’ ὦσχε50, Ὀππιανὲ θρυλούμενε κλυτῆς εἵνεκ’ ἀοιδῆς, ἀλλ’ ἀνύσας θηησάμην σέο καλλιέπειαν.

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48 possis Λυκόφρον· / οὐδὲν ἄλλο πλὴν [ἢ] κενοὶ λήρων λόγοι 49 i. e. ἀλλοπροσάλλοῐο. 50 ὦσχε is strange: it probably means κλάδε, or ἔρνος (cf. Nic. Eug. Epithaph. Prodromi 48 ὦ σοφίης κυπάρυττε [Gallavotti 1935, 230]), but might be corrupted: Papathomopoulos quotes Ludwich’s ὄρχαμ’ ἐσθλέ. Perhaps ὄρχαμ’ ἐσθλῆς.

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But the most interesting example, which I had the privilege of talking over with Enrico Magnelli a long time ago, is the iambic and hexameter tetrasticha of Theodorus Prodromus on the life of Gregory of Nazianzus – we now have a recent edition by D’Ambrosi (2008). I quote the third tetrastich: Εἰς Γρηγόριον ἐκ πάσης χώρας τοὺς λόγους συλλέγοντα Καὶ τίς δέ σου πέφευγε τὴν πτῆσιν πόλις, μέλιττα μούσης; κηροπλαστεῖς γὰρ λόγους πτὰς εἰς Ἀλεξάδρειαν, εἰς Παλαιστίνην, εἰς τὰς Ἀθήνας, εἰς τὸ Βύζαντος πέδον. Γραμματικήν τ’ ἰδὲ μέτρα πολύτροπα θεσμά τε ῥήτρης, θευλογίην φυσικήν τε μαθηματικήν τε σοφίην, πάντα λόγοιο γένεθλα μετ’ ἠελίοις τριάκοντα Γρηγόριος δεδάηκε, φορεύμενος ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα. All the work is organized in this way. It is after all the old Late Antique technique of linking an iambic and a hexameter poem – we find this, for example, in Dioscorus of Aphroditopolis, although in a much less consistent way. It is at least possible that Byzantine men of letters noticed this feature in the works of the “Nonnian” poets (John of Gaza, Paul the Silentiary, etc.), and, by imitating it, offered, along with their Homerizing dactylic lines (of whose pure rhythm they were surely proud), a sort of precious Late Antique taste.51 But we are now in a very recent age, and it is better to stop here.

51 Theod. Prodr. Carm. hist. 56 H. associates a poem in dodecasyllables (poem [a]), one in hexameters (b), one in pentameters κατὰ στίχον (c), and one in anacreontics (d) on the same theme, the praise of Alexios Aristenos: I don’t know another example of such a metrical exploit, which should be ascribed, I think, to Prodromus’ metrical inventiveness (as a matter of fact, poem (a) speaks of στίχων καινὴν μάχην [47]) – apart from the extravagant poems by Euthymius Tornikes, on whose structure see Ciccolella 1991, 57–67.

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Appendix 1: On the Birth of Word Accent Rules in the Dodecasyllable As the celebrated artice by Paul Maas (1903) on the dodecasyllable pointed out, a typical feature of the Byzantine iamb is care about word accent before B5 and B7. It was mentioned above (p. 378) that such a reform of the verse can be traced back to Pisides. To be sure, a tendency to regulate word accent in some parts of the verse is already found in late Hellenistic and Imperial poetry,52 and it is a well known fact in Late Antique hexameters. Besides, Late Antique iambs, like Paul the Silentiary’s and John of Gaza’s, show a remarkable care over word accent before the main caesurae.53 But the application of these “rules” does not seem to be fully operating before Pisides: indeed, as his iambs, from the early Panegyrics to the Hexaemeron, show an increasing concern for word accent before B5 and B7 and at verse end, it would not be preposterous to think of him as the author who codified these rules by means of his metrical technique. But what is their significance? My impression is that they relate to a similar feature of Late Antique, and especially Pisides’, hexameters, that is the tendency to put a proparoxytone before trochaic caesura,54 exactly the kind of word accent which, according to the new “rules”, should be avoided before B5 in iambs. In other words, we could surmise that these two features, the avoidance of a proparoxytone before B5 in iambs and its regular occurrence before trochaic caesura in hexameters, meant to connote in oppositione the two verses, the only ones still frequently used and which the habit of composing encomia had tied together in a new literary genre. I hold the same opinion about the avoidance of proparoxytone before B7 in hexameters and its regular presence before B7 in iambs. Pisides’ (and his models’) “reformed hexameters” were doomed to failure, because Byzantines soon forgot how to compose them – although, as we shall presently see, a few specimens of similarly composed verses are scattered among the later production of the twelfth century. As to his “new” iamb, it became the most popular verse in Byzantine literature. Can we detect further examples of the kind of hexameters found in Pisides De vita humana in contemporary or earlier poetry? I have not carried out a thorough research, but these epigrams deserve attention:

52 See Maas 1909. 53 See De Stefani 2011, XXXII. 54 See above, p. 379.

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Anon. APl 45 Ῥητῆρες Θεόδωρον ἐμέλλομεν εἰς ἓν ἰόντες χρυσείαις γραφίδεσσιν ἀειμνήστοισι γεραίρειν, εἰ μὴ χρυσὸν ἔφευγε καὶ ἐν γραφίδεσσιν ἐόντα55 Anon. APl. 69 Ζήνωνα πτολίαρχος Ἰουλιανὸς βασιλῆα. Ζήνωνος παράκοιτιν Ἰουλιανὸς Ἀριάδνην56 Anon. APl. 122 Τοῦτον Ἀλέξανδρον, μεγαλήτορος υἷα Φιλίππου, δέρκεαι ἀρτιλόχευτον, Ὀλυμπιὰς ὅν ποτε μήτηρ καρτερόθυμον ἔτικτεν· ἀπ’ ὠδίνων δέ μιν Ἄρης ἔργα μόθων ἐδίδασκε, Τύχη δ’ ἐκέλευσεν ἀνάσσειν. Among the hexameter productions of the Comnenian age, we occasionally find sections of continuous verse which vaguely recall the Late Antique hexameters with a fixed proparoxytone before trochaic caesura.57 The solemn beginning of Theodorus Prodromus’ Συντακτήριοι Βυζαντίοις (Carm. hist. 79.1–4 H.) is a good instance: Χαῖρε, πόλις μεγάπυργε νεηγενὲς εὔπολι Ῥώμη, εὔκορε καλλιάνειρα, περίδρομε τείχεσι μακροῖς, εὐκραὲς εὐλοέτειρα φυτοτρόφε εὐπαράδεισε,58 ἠυκίων ἐρίταφρε, ἁλιστεφὲς ὄμμα πολήων.59 To be sure, these verses, though they might look primo obtutu like a careful imitation of Late Antique hexameters,60 are not comparable to Pisides’ poem, which is entirely built upon rigorous metrical rules – moreover, the presence 55 Between the fifth and the early seventh century: dating depends on the identification of Theodorus, see Beckby ad loc. 56 Composed during the reign of Zeno, 474–491. 57 A holodactylic hexameter of the age of Romanos III Argyros (1028–1034) with a proparoxytone before trochaic caesura, to which Magnelli draws my attention, might as well be mentioned here: Παρθένε σοι πολύαινε, ὃς ἤλπικε πάντα κατοθροῖ. To be sure, a single verse cannot be considered tout court Nonnian (as Lauritzen 2009 seems to assume), unless it is a cento (and this is not the case): but it certainly is an interesting instance. Note that hiatus at the trochaic caesura is classical, even Late Antique (see De Stefani ad Paul. Sil. Ambo 299). 58 Φυτοτρόφος recalls the Late Antique adj. φυτοσπόρος, cf. Nonn. Dion. 41.315 ῥίζα βίου, Κυθέρεια, φυτοσπόρε, μαῖα γενέθλης. 59 Cf. Nonn. Dion. 13.455 ἁλιστεφὲς οὖδας ἀρούρης. 60 Apart from the hiatus and the proparoxytone explicit (3).

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of an ‑ειρα noun before the main caesura is more a Homeric than a Late Antique usage.61 Nevertheless, it cannnot be denied that this passage gives an overall impression of Late Antique style;62 and the uniform proparoxytone before the trochaic caesura seems to be a deliberate choice of this most learned poet: after all, the first and last part of his poem recall the Late Antique encomia of the monuments of the Νέα Ῥώμη.63 But the most striking instance of Byzantine imitation of Pisides’ Late Antique hexameters can be found in a few passages of Nicetas Eugenianus’ Dros. et Char.: indeed, he was a friend and pupil of Prodromus, and his learned verses always betray the imitation of ancient poetry which is peculiar to the Comnenian age.64 Dros. et Char. 3.263–88 and 297–322 did not escape Maas’ astonishing learning and perspicacity:65 Φίλεε Βαρβιτίωνα, ἐύχροε πότνια Μυρτώ. Ἡ Ῥοδόπη ποτ’ ἄτιζε τὰ Κύπριδος ἀφρογενείης καί ῥ’ ἐς ὅλους λυκάβαντας ἐπῄνεε συμβιοτεύειν Ἀρτέμιδι, ποθέουσα κύνας ἐλάφους τε καὶ ἵππους, τοξοφόρος δονάκεσσιν ἀν’ οὔρεα μακρὰ βιβῶσα κτλ.66

265

61 Late Antique poets preferred the 4th metron, like their Hellenistic models – the end of the verse was obviously forbidden. See, however, the Nonnian parallel quoted at n. 58. 62 Theodorus Prodromus’ hexameters now and then show sections of continuous verse with a proparoxytone before the trochaic caesura: whether this was a choice of the author or is just chance, I cannot tell. In fact, Carm. hist. 79.1–4 seems to me the most remarkable passage, also on account of its Nonnian reminiscences. 63 Apart from a couple of explicits which sound Late Antique (cf. 18 πολυκτεάνων βασιλήων), I have the impression that the verses which celebrate St Sophia, besides imitating, as it seems, a few passages of the Ekphrasis of Paul the Silentiary (which Theodorus certainly knew, as imitations in other poems by him prove beyond any doubt), might hint at the famous anonymous epigram on the Chalke, cf. 25 πελώριον ὄμμασι θαῦμα ~ Anon. AP 9.656.3–5 θαῦμα … πάντεσσιν, ἐπεὶ … ἀσκεπὲς ἐφράσσαντο πελώριον ἔργον ἐᾶσαι. 64 See above, p. 389. 65 Maas 1903, 302–3 (= 1973, 267). 66 The wide range of Eugenianus’ reading can be appreciated thanks to the rich apparatus locorum of A. Giusti in Conca’s edition (Amsterdam 1990). It should be noticed that the two hexameter poems recited by Barbition (3.263–88 and 297–322) are introduced by a sort of proem in dodecasyllables (the metre of Dros. et Char.), the second one slightly reminiscent of Agathias’ iambic proem (AP 4.3), which is followed by a hexameter poem (AP 4.4): see Eugen. 3.290–1 ἀλλ’ ἐφάπτου κειμένης / τῆς τῶν συνήθων ποικίλης πανδαισίας (Agath. 34 εἶναι τοσαύτης ἡγεμὼν πανδαισίας); as to the following song of Barbition (297–322), it reminds me of the second part of Theocritus’ Φαρμακεύτριαι. Anyhow, I cautiously suggest that the whole passage could be considered a further example of the association of dodecasyllables and hexameters (admittedly, sandwiched in a continuous narration in dodecasyllables): see above, pp. 391–3.

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Dros. et Char. 6.205–35 is also a piece consisting of this kind of “Pisidean hexameters”; I quote the verses, adding an apparatus fontium with references (only) to Imperial poetry (most of the sources were identified by Giusti) and a few notes: Ἅδ’ ἐγὼ ἡ τρισάποτμος ἀπὸ σφετέροιο γενέθλου, ἅδ’ ἐγὼ ἡ πολύδακρυς ἀναλθέα πήματα μίμνω. Κεῖμαι δὲ φθινύθουσα διαμπερὲς ἐγγοόωσα· ὡς γὰρ μοῖρα μέλαινα δυσώνυμος ἀμφεπέκλωσεν, οὐδ’ ὀλοοῖο χόλοιο πεπαύσεται ἤματα πάντα. Αὐτὰρ ὃν ἡ δύστηνος ἔχον πάρος εἰσορόωσα ἐκ παθέων ἀνάπαυλαν ἐρωτοτόκου μελεδῶνος, ὃν ποθέεσκον ἄκριτα, Χαρικλῆς κεῖται ἀνάγκῃ ὀρφναίοις νεφέεσσιν ἐνειλυμένος θανάτοιο, κεῖται νεκρὸς ἄελπτος ἀπ’ ὄμματος ἡμετέροιο, τόν ῥα φάους ἀπέμερσε κακώνυμος, αἰὲν ἀτειρής Μοῖρα, μέλαινα, φέραλγος, ἀπ’ ἔγχεος Ἀραβίοιο. Χείλεα ἱμερόεντα, τὰ πολλάκις ἐξεφίλησα, πῦρ μαλερὸν κατέμαρψε καὶ αἰθαλόεντα φαάνθη· ὄμματα παμφανόωντα ἀείδακρυς ὄρφνα κάλυψε· βόστρυχον ἡλιόωντα μέλαν λύθρον ἐξεμίηνεν. Ὤμοι ἐγὼ πανάποτμος, ἀεὶ μογέουσα Δροσίλλα. Ἔτλην φύξιν ἄελπτον ἀπὸ σφετέροιο τοκῆος· μακρὸν δ’ ἐξεπέρησα βαρύβρομον οἶδμα θαλάσσης· λῃστὰς ὑπεξέφυγον ἀν’ οὔρεα μακρὰ βιβῶσα· αἲ αἴ, δακρυόεσσα Χαρικλέος εἵνεκα κούρου, δούλιον ἦμαρ ὄπωπα· βίῃ δέ τοι ἐστυφελίχθην κλοιός μ’ ἀμφεδάμαζε πυραγροφόροιο μέλημα· οὔρεϊ ὑψικορύμβῳ ἁμαξόθεν ἔκπεσον αὖθις, οἴδματι δ’ ἀμφεπέλασσα καὶ εἰναλίῃσι πέτρῃσι βένθεος ἀτρυγέτοιο καὶ ἀργαλέῃ στροφάλιγγι· φλοιός μ’ ἐξεσάωσεν ἀπὸ δρυὸς ὅς κεν ἐτύχθη. Ὤμοι ἐγὼ βαρύδακρυς εἵνεκα σεῖο, Χαρίκλεις, ὃν πάρος εἰσορόωσα διήνυον ὄλβιον ἦμαρ, νυνὶ δὲ κρυπτομένοιο πολὺν χρόνον ἄλγεα πάσχω, ἥλιον οὐκ ἐθέλουσα σελασφόρον ἀστέρα λεύσσειν.

205

210

215

220

225

230

211 cf. Diosc. 4.38 Fournet ἐρωτοτόκου μελεδῶνος | 222 cf. QS 4.453 σφετέροιο τοκῆος, f. v. | 223 cf. Nonn. Dion. 4.117 μὴ τρομέοις ἁλὸς οἶδμα βαρύβρομον (Giusti) | 224 versus, quem Conca corruptum habet (cf. p. 12), ft. sanus est: ad ἀν’ – βιβῶσα cf. 3.267 ἀν’ οὔρεα

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μακρὰ βιβῶσα; ad metrum autem cf. e.g. Hom. Il. 2.24 οὐ χρὴ παννύχιον εὕδειν βουληφόρον ἄνδρα (an imit. Jo. Geom. Carm. 41.10 [PG 106.927] = 61 van Opstall χεῖρας ὑπεξέφυγον ἆ τάλας, ἀδρανίης?) | 228 cf. [Opp.] Cyn. 2.92 ὕψι κόρυμβος | 230 cf. Musae. 294–5 φρικαλέας δονέουσα πολυστροφάλιγγας ἀέλλας / βένθεα δ’ ἀστήρικτα (Giusti)67

In addition to these texts, two more poems of Eugenianus should be mentioned, which were published by Gallavotti 1935, 229–33: the longest one is an epitaph for Prodromus, consisting of 99 verses; the other is an epithalamium, full of Theocritean echoes. Both of them are composed of the same kind of hexameters as those which make up the poems contained in his romance: thus, most of the verses show a proparoxytone before trochaic caesura – though here penthemimeres is also present. The epitaph is quite interesting, because of a remarkable reminiscence of Dioscorus of Aphroditopolis – like Dros. et Char. 6.211 (see above),68 but also because it imitates (v. 42) a passage of Theodorus which I have just quoted: ἦ ῥα, πόλις μεγάπυργε πολυκλεὲς ὀλβιόδαιμον, τοῦδε τέκνου γενέτειρα περιπροέχοντος ἁπάντων. Accordingly, I am tempted to surmise that Eugenianus, a pupil of Theodorus, composed his noteworthy “Late Antique”, Pisides-like hexameters in the wake of his master.69

Appendix 2: On the Replacement of Hexameters with Political Verses As we said above, Byzantines imitated the Late Antique habit of joining together iambic and hexameter poems. This might account for a scheme which is found in Byzantine poetry, especially, as it seems, among less sophisticated

67 Lastly, every Nonnus scholar would sense that Χαρικλέος εἵνεκα κούρου has a clear Late Antique sound, although it does not, as far as I know, imitate a particular imperial explicit. To the references of Conca – Giusti’s apparatus Hom. Il. 3.154 πολὺν χρόνον ἄλγεα πάσχειν (ad 234) and 3.255 ὥς κεν ἐτύχθη (ad 231) should be added. 68 See Diosc. 4.20 Fournet πολυήρατον εὖχος Ἐρώτων and the epitaph. 10 πολυήρατον εὖχος ἀνάκτων. Should we infer that Byzantines read his poems? 69 At verses 81–3 of Eugenianus’ poem Homer himself appreciates Prodromus’ skilfulness in composing hexameters: αὐτίκα πρῶτος Ὅμηρος ἐν ἀγκαλίδεσσι λάβοι σε / δεξιτερὴν φιλέων σου ἐνιδρυμένου ὑπένερθεν / ἄνδρα ἐν ἠρῴεσσι μέτροις προφερέστατον εἰδώς.

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poets, the association of an iambic poem with another written in political verses: Byzantines apparently felt the politikos stichos to be a practical, up-todate substitute for a verse which they found difficult to compose, and of similar length (the epic dialect, which hexameters required, might also be a deterrent). An example of this use from a poem of “Manganeios Prodromos” edited by Bernardinello (1975, 63 and 69) may suffice: Ἐγὼ δὲ τίνα σοι καινόν, ὦ καινουργὲ μονάρχα, καὶ ποῖον ὕμνον ᾄσομαι καὶ ποίαν εὐφημίαν ἐπὶ τῷ καινοτέρῳ σου τροπαίῳ μελετήσω; κτλ. … οὐ νήθω στήμονα φαιόν, οὐ κρόκην κεχρωσμένην

150

τὸ τῶν λόγων ὕφασμα λευκόν σοι φέρω· τὸ τοῦ κράτους ἔνδυμα λαμπρὸν εἰργάσω, οὐκ ἐκ συνήθους πορφύρας βεβαμμένον, οὐδ’ ἀπὸ λύθρων αὐτερύθρου κογχύλης κτλ.

155

… τοῖς ἀσθενοῦσι σὺ δοκεῖς εὐεξία, διψητικαῖς δὲ φιλοκάλων καρδίαις Ὑμηττὸς αὐτόχρημα νεκταροβλύτης. δέξαι καὶ τοῦτο προσηνῶς, ἡ συμπαθὴς καρδία, ὡς ἔδεσμα καρυκευτὸν τρωκτοῦ παρηλλαγμένου· οὐ γὰρ ἁπλῆν σοι τράπεζαν παρατιθέναι πρέπον κτλ.

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Appendix 3: On the Meaning of ἅλματι λαμπρῷ in [Theod. Stud.] Iamb. 124.18 Speck According to Paul Speck, [Theod. Stud.] Iamb. 124 contains a few awkward phrases, which he could not account for: “z. B. 18 ἅλματι; 19 ἔηκεν; 28 f. τελέθων”.70 Now, as we have seen above (p. 386), ἅλματι λαμπρῷ and τελέθων … ἐφετμήν are imitations of iuncturae which occur in Late Antique poetry; as to the form ἔηκεν (19), it should be explained as a sort of Zerdehnung of ἧκεν “came, arrived” (cf. 3 ἧκεν),71 a licence which Byzantine poets appar70 Speck 1968, 309; see above, p. 386. 71 Speck rightly translated “kam”. Should we read ἕηκεν?

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ently allowed themselves – though the only other instance of this kind which I can quote is Balsamon 29.15 and 36.2 Horna γεηρ-. Instead, let us examine the iunctura ἅλματι λαμπρῷ, which is by far the most interesting among the passages which Speck considered “nicht verständlich”. As pointed out above, it draws upon a Late Antique hexameter explicit: but what is its exact meaning? An illuminating passage is Syn. Hy. 1.708–14: δός με, φυγοῖσαν σώματος ἄταν, θοὸν ἅλμα βαλεῖν ἐπὶ σὰς αὐλάς, ἐπὶ σοὺς κόλπους, ὅθεν ἁ ψυχᾶς προρέει παγά. Thus, the “glorious leap” refers to the flight of the soul after death to paradise – a flight which is thought to be so quick72 that it is assimilated to a leap: the whole passage, however clumsy and strange it might sound, is a dense and vigorous sentence, which owes the image of the ἅλμα to a well established tradition.73 As Samuel Vollenweider pointed out, the theme of the “Sprung in die geistige Welt” usually refers in Synesius to the soul, as in our text, and in one case to Christ (Hy. 8.55–61).74 This metaphor has a few parallels in the Platonic and Neoplatonic tradition, as María José Zamora (ad Greg. Naz. Carm. 1.2.2.455) rightly pointed out, and is probably connected to the traditional conception of the soul as a winged essence, a topos carefully studied by Pierre Courcelle: such a philosophical background probably influenced the learned bishop.75 But it also was a purely poetic image, and as such it is found in epigraphical poetry before him: see e.g. GVI 1146.5–6 = IGUR 1329 (Rome, II–III AD) ψυχὴ μὲν πρὸς Ὄλυμπον ἀνήλλατο, σῶμα δὲ πρὸ[ς γῆν] καὶ λυθὲν ἐξεπόθη καὶ οὐδὲν ἔχω πλέον ὀστῶ[ν.

72 See Jo. Chrys. Pan. Dros. 2, PG 50.685 συμβήσεταί ποτε καὶ αὐτὸν ἴσως τῆς τοῦ θεοῦ φιλανθρωπίας καταξιούσης, τοιαῦτα ἅλλεσθαι ἅλματα, καὶ ἀθρόον πρὸς τὸν οὐρανὸν ἀναβῆναι. 73 The comparison of Christ to a sail which is, as far as I know, quite rare: see e.g. [Chrys.] Hom. 6, PG 64.22 = [Athan.] Qu. script. 105, PG 28.761 ὁ τῶν ψυχῶν κυβερνήτης Χριστός, καὶ στήσας τὸ ἰστίον τοῦ σταυροῦ. 74 Vollenweider 1985, 150. For Christ as the subject of the spiritual jump, see e.g. Greg. Naz. Carm. 1.1.3.31 ὅτ’ ἐκ χθονὸς ἆλτο σαωτήρ. 75 Courcelle 1975, 562–623. See Vollenweider 1985, 150 n. 147.

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A possible parallel for one of the verses of Synesius quoted above (711) could be GVI 1325.2–5 (Nicosia, Cyprus, II–III AD) τὸ δὲ σῶμα καλύπτει γαῖα λαβοῦσα γέρας τοῦθ’, ὃ δέδωκε πάλαι· ἡ γάρ μοι ψυχὴ μὲν ἐς αἰθέρα καὶ Διὸς αὐλάς, ὀστέα δ’ εἰς Ἀίδην ἄτροπος εἷλε νόμος. At v. 4 something like ἥλατο, or διέπτη,76 or ἦξε,77 should be understood.78 Along with [Theod. Stud.] Iamb. 124, two further Byzantine poetic passages which are likely to draw on the image of the soul’s flight to the paradise can be quoted – though they belong to a different context: Georg. Pis. Hex. 748–9 νῦν δὲ πρὸς αὐτὸν ἅλλεται (sc. ὁ νοῦς) πρὸς αἰθέρα / καὶ πτηνὸς ἀρθείς κτλ. and Jo. Geom. Carm. 211.17 van Opstall ποσὶ κούφοις ἅλμασιν αἰθέρα βαίνων.

Appendix 4: A Crux in Nicetas Eugenianus’ Poem on the Death of Theodorus Prodromus I reproduce the text of Gallavotti, vv. 62–4:79 ὀστᾶ, πῇθι (?) πύθεσθε, Ἐλισσαίου προορῶντος ἀγχόθι καὶ Προδρόμοιο νεηταφέος προτάθητε, καὶ τάχα κεν γαρύσαιτο, φάος δ’ ἐπὶ ὄμματα δέρκοι. The editor of the poem offered an interpretation of the passage, in which Prodromus’ grave, like Elisseus’, becomes a miraculous place: “è chiaro … che i vv. 62–64 alludono al miracolo fatto dal profeta Eliseo dopo la morte, di risuscitare un uomo morto messo casualmente a contatto con le sue ossa (come è raccontato nei Re IV, xiii, 21”.80 As to the crux πῇθι, I would suggest:

76 See e.g. SGO 17/08/04.4 (Sidyma, Lycia, imperial age) πνεύματος ἐκπταμένου, GVI 881.3– 4 (Athens, III AD?) γῆ σῶμα κρύπτει τῇδε γ’, ἀλλ’ ἐς αἰθέρα / ψυχὴ διέπτη καὶ σύνεστιν οἷς τὸ πρίν, Quint. Smyr. 7.42 ψυχή οἱ πεπότηται ἐς ἠέρα, σῶμα δ’ ἄνευθε / πῦρ ὀλοὸν κατέδαψε. 77 See e.g. Dittenberger’s supplement at GVI 1349.11 (Corfu, I BC) [αὔραις δ’ οὐραν]ίοισι μετάρσι[ος ἀίξασα]. 78 The image can be found as early as Sappho fr. 55.4 V., see Cavallini 1990. 79 On this poem see above, p. 398. 80 Gallavotti 1935, 229.

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ὀστᾶ, τίπτε πύθεσθε81; Ἐλισσαίου προορῶντος ἀγχόθι καὶ Προδρόμοιο νεηταφέος προτάθητε· καὶ τάχα κεν γαρύσαιτο82, φάος δ’ ἐπὶ ὄμματα83 δέρκοι.

81 Eugenianus might well scan πύθεσθε with ῠ, like the following γᾰρύσαιτο. 82 scil. ὁ Πρόδρομος. 83 scil. νεκρῶν.

Daria Gigli Piccardi

Poetic Inspiration in John of Gaza: Emotional Upheaval and Ecstasy in a Neoplatonic Poet The idea that poetry is born from contact with the Gods is prevalent in ancient culture, to such an extent that from the moment the idea appears to us in the invocations to the Muses in the Homeric poems to the παλαιὸς μῦθος which Plato refers to at a certain point in Laws (719c) and then to the later thinking of Proclus on the subject,1 it is possible to recreate a glossary which testifies to an authentic conviction that poetry constitutes indeed divine communication.2 The Muses give the poet his knowledge of truth, namely the σοφία which likens the poet to a prophet, an association of which Pindar was already fully aware.3 In this respect Plato merely pushed to its extreme limits a belief which had been shared by previous Greek poets, speaking about the contact with the gods in Ion (533d–f) in terms of ἐνθουσιασμός and in Phaedrus (245a) in terms of μανία.4 The terminology used to describe this particular form of possession is in essence taken from the Dionysiac sphere, that is the poets are ἔνθεοι καὶ κατεχόμενοι (Ion 533e), they behave ὥσπερ οἱ κορυβαντιῶντες (534a) they are ἔκφρονες and βακχεύουσι as if they were possessed Bacchants.5 Neither in this case is Plato innovative. He in fact embraces and elaborates on a tradition which emerges on various occasions in previous poets, from the frenetic sonority of Pindar’s Dionysiac Dithyramb, to Dionysus being called Μουσόμαντις by Aeschylus6 Edon. TrGF 60), and then to Archilochus’ extraordinary image οἴνῳ συγκεραυνωθεὶς φρένας (IEG 120) which renders the short circuit occurring in 1 On this subject see Sheppard 1980, 145 f. 2 On the theory of the poetic inspiration in Greek literature see Delatte 1934; Dodds 1951, 80– 2; Vicaire 1963; Tigerstedt 1970; Murray 1981; Moravcsik 1982; Verdenius 1983, 37–46; Velardi 1989, 99–113; Giuliano 2005, 137–218 on the poetic ἐνθουσιασμός in ancient Greek poetry and philosophy; Bing 2011, 10–48 on Callimachus and Hellenistic poetry. 3 Fr. 150 M. μαντεύεο, Μοῖσα, προφατεύσω δ’ ἐγώ, Pae. 6.6 (fr. 52 f. M.) ἀοίδιμον Πιερίδων προφάταν (cf. also Bacchyl. 9.3). In addiction to the classical monography of Duchemin 1955, see also Lanata 1963, 74 f.; Kambylis 1965, 37–46; Velardi 1989, 108 f.; Suárez de la Torre 1990, 347–58; Lavecchia 2000, 267 and Giuliano 2005, 165–7. 4 See also Apol. 22b–c. A very convincing analysis of Plato’s thinking about poetry is in Giuliano 2005 and Destrée – Herrmann 2011. 5 For the connection of the poetical inspiration with Dionysus see Giuliano 2005, 170 f.; see also Murray 1996, 6 f. 6 For Aeschylus as βακχεῖος ἄναξ cf. Ar. Frogs 1259; ibid. 340 the poetry is seen as ὄργια Μουσῶν.

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the poet’s mind when he is about to sing the Dithyramb.7 Socrates, too, figures in this category of Dionysiac fascination. In Alcibiades’ speech at the end of the Symposium (215a–c) the philosopher is compared to Silenos and Marsyas, reminding us that Plato considers the real μουσική to be philosophy itself. What Democritus contributed to this tradition can be reconstructed only in part, but the little indirect evidence available speaks about his idea of a poet who cannot exist or become great sine quodam adflatu quasi furoris (Cic. De or. 2.46.194 = 68 B 17 D–K).8 The polemic between water and wine poetics, debated by the Hellenistic poets, belongs to another story, masterfully analyzed by Athanasios Kambylis who underlines that in this milieu a completely secular outlook of wine prevails.9 Thus poet, wine, inebriation, divine frenzy and prophetic pneuma go hand in hand within a conceptual and lexical exchange which is rich in images. In this respect I like to remind of the fine passage in Longin. On the Sublime (13.2) where the process of imitation of the great figures of the past is referred to as the ἀτμὸν ἔνθεον which emerges from the χάσμα in the earth’s crust at Delphi, and permeates Pythia, bestowing upon her the gift of prophecy. Imitation is thus an ἐπίρροια which penetrates the souls of imitators. All this, however, should not lead us to think that the Greek poets put any particular emphasis on expressing the emotions connected to the onset of inspiration. The vision of poetry as a performing art made the poets more sensitive to the moment of communication with the audience, rather than to introspection. What seems to be of prime importance is the link, expressed by Plato in Ion (536a) as a magnet, which is established between the Muses, the poet, the performer and the audience.10 The reassuring property of poetry is thus commonly underlined.At most, Euripides specifies in the Suppliants (180– 4) that in order to transmit joy, the poet must χαίροντα τίκτειν (181). Agathon, too, in Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazousai 149 f. states that a writer’s behaviour must conform with what he writes. In substance poetry which is created to be listened to by an audience is necessarily destined to produce the theory of catharsis rather than a self-analysis on the part of the poet.11 The situation changes when cultural assumptions are produced which lead to the overcoming of the Platonic contempt for the μιμητικὴ τέχνη and 7 For the idea of poetical enthousiasmos before Plato see Giuliano 2005, 158–91. 8 See also 68 B 18 D–K (Clem. Strom. 6.168) ποιητὴς δὲ ἅσσα μὲν ἂν γράφῃ μετ’ ἐνθουσιασμοῦ καὶ ἱεροῦ πνεύματος, καλὰ κάρτα ἐστίν. On Democritus and poetry see Delatte 1934, 28 f.; Lanata 1963, 254 f.; Velardi 1989, 101 f.; Giuliano 2005, 178 f. 9 Kambylis 1965, 118 f. 10 On the emotional link between the poet and his audience see Plat. Rep. 605b–607a. 11 On this statement see also Bowra 1964, 2–3.

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so both Aristotle’s ἔνδον εἶδος and Seneca’s cogitata species, progressively end up by finding a metaphysical substance in Plotinus.12 Artistic creation is felt now in noetic terms. Drawing on εἴδη is equivalent to an act of intellectual vision, art becomes a guide to an ascent to the Nous. Moreover in a recent essay it has been showed13 that in a Neoplatonic context, φαντασία and ἐνθουσιασμός are firmly linked: Iamblichus and later Hermias14 with different shades of meaning, work out a theory of the function of φαντασία within which inspiration finds a place. The human power of φαντασία can be directly inspired by the intelligible gods. So, in view of these ideological assumptions, here just fleetingly outlined, the way of perceiving the poetic inspiration becomes almost a mystical act, at the same time inner anxiety and anagogic impulse, knowledge and quest for the νοητὸν κάλλος. Proclus pushes this tendency to its extreme consequences, so that in his speculation the boundaries separating poetry, religion and philosophy fall. Poetry’s allegorical interpretation is perceived as an initiation into the mysteries, myths are symbols of hidden truths, poetical experience is a mystical one. In his Hymn to the Muses, the books (and I do not believe that here Proclus is speaking only of sacred texts),15 emanate a light that saves mankind from matter, that makes the soul return to its place of origin and awakens the minds. Culture in this context is perceived in the terms of a sacred frenzy, 10–1: ἀλλά, θεαί, καὶ ἐμεῖο πολυπτοίητον ἐρωὴν παύσατε καὶ νοεροῖς με σοφῶν βακχεύσατε μύθοις. Come now, Goddesses, put an end to my turbulent impulse and infuse a sacred frenzy into me through the noetic words of the wise.

12 See Panofski 1973, 9–23. 13 See Sheppard 1997, 201–10 (especially 207–10). 14 Iambl. Myst 3.4 and Herm. In Phdr. 89.20 f. Lucarini – Moreschini. 15 I want to evoke the magic and divine atmosphere that surrounds the De Insomniis in the words of Syn. Ep. 154.97 ἔστι δὲ οὖ τῶν λόγων δίς που καὶ τρίς, ὥσπερ τις ἕτερος ὤν, ἐμαυτοῦ γέγονα μετὰ τῶν παρόντων ἀκροατής· καὶ νῦν ὁσάκις ἂν ἐπίω τὸ σύγγραμμα, θαυμαστή τις περὶ ἐμὲ διάθεσις γίνεται, καί τις ὀμφή με θεία περιχεῖται κατὰ τὴν ποίησιν. Cf. also Dion. 6.5 (the beauty of the humanae litterae) οὐ βαθύνεται πρὸς ὕλην, οὐδὲ ἐμβαπτίζει τὸν νοῦν ταῖς ἐσχάταις δυνάμεσιν, ἀλλὰ δίδωσιν ἀνανεῦσαι δι’ ἐλαχίστου, καὶ εἰς οὐσίαν ἀναδραμεῖν.

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For Proclus the poetic madness is a state of perfection of the human soul, it assures the unity that alone allows the contemplation of the intelligible world and the mythical counterpart of this unity is Dionysus.16 We must now enquire how this new way of feeling the poetic inspiration is experienced by the Late Antique poets and particularly by John of Gaza. Nonnus in the proem of the Dionysiaca gives life to a real scene of religious dress ceremony, conforming himself to the old adagio that says that, in order to sing Dionysus, it is necessary to become part of his thiasus. The instruments of Bacchic rites, which pass before the reader’s eyes, recall the same ecstatic and frenzied atmosphere that they have in the second Dithyramb of Pindar.17 But everything remains on a symbolic level: Proteus is the ποικιλία (1.13–5) and the poem’s subjects listed on the book-cover are presented through his metamorphoses (1.16–33); Marsyas (1.39–44) provides an opportunity to introduce Apollo into this phantasmagorical Bacchic proem, in order to avoid a dichotomy that makes more sense for us today than it would have done in ancient times.18 So in vain will we look in these opening lines for some hint of self analysis: the inebriety is all in gesture or in the fragrance of wine emanating from the nebris. The same happpens in the mid-poem proem, where Nonnus introduces the figures of Amphion-Pindar to speak of the magicOrphic power of poetry. Thebes personified dances her Bacchanal around the poet in order to persuade him to celebrate her in his verses, while a deeply ashamed Kithairon timidly presents the same request (25.11–7). But everything occurs on the level of myth and prosopopoeia, at most we notice the insistence, almost indeed an obsession, by which the subjects stimulate the poet’s imagination, as happens in the iambic proem of Pamprepius’ Descriptio diei autumnalis, where we read that λόγοι συντρέχουσι and ἕλκουσιν19 the poet’s mind (fr. 3.1–6). Moreover Nonnus represents himself involved in the war of Dionysus against the Indians, fighting with his spiritual weapons20 (25.264–70): but 16 See for instance Jul. Or. 7.222a–b. 17 See Privitera 1970, 122 f., and the commentary in Lavecchia 2000, 106 f.; besides Suárez De La Torre 1992. 18 The myth of Apollo and Marsyas was topical in a proemial context also in the rhetorical milieu: see the instances cited by Amato 2010, 39–40: Apul. Flor. 3, the fragment that comes from the προλαλιά of Procopius Gazaeus’ Descriptio imaginis (op. IX Amato) and Chor. Dial. 24.5. 19 The verb in this meaning is derived from the Platonic tradition: Plat. Rep. 533d2 where dialectic ἕλκει καὶ ἀνάγει the eye of the soul that is buried ἐν βορβόρῳ. Cf. also Jul. 8.12.172c: the rays of the sun ἕλξει καὶ ἀνάξει the souls of the philosophers towards the noetic world; Procl. Hy. 3.15 where we find the following invocation to the Muses: ἕλκετ’ ἐμὴν ψυχὴν παναλήμονα πρὸς φάος ἁγνόν. 20 For the analysis of this image in Nonnus see Gigli 2003, 49–50.

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which war is he speaking about? It seems to me that he hints at a personal fight and that the question here is not merely literary. But this would take us elsewhere. In accordance with this new spirit in which culture and ecstasy are closely connected, a special atmosphere surrounds the illustrious ancient characters described by Christodorus of Coptus in his Ekphrasis of the Statues of the Gymnasium called Zeuxippos.21 Poets, orators and philosophers, no less than prophets, are represented in the inspired attitude of creative ecstasy. These νοεροὶ σοφοὶ look up towards the sky. Their faces are contracted with the strain of meditation, their minds seized in a whirl of ideas, their hearts engaged in a secret conversation with the Muses, in a vain attempt to transmit their frenzy to the bronze. Homer’s mind is described as an ἄδυτον where the unspeakable mysteries of poetry are celebrated;22 Euripides is shown conversing with the Muses in the depths of his heart,23 while Sappho’s Muses are silent.24 Christodorus seems to feel that the unexpressed moment of the creative flow, that which renders the intellectual similar to a god, θεοείκελος, is more important than its expression through a material medium.25 Among the epic Late Antique poets John of Gaza26 is perhaps the one who lingered most on the moment of inspiration. He explored the psychological analysis of the emotions using new and refined diction and, despite starting

21 For the influence of Neoplatonic ideas on Christodorus’ poetry see Tissoni 2000, 37–44; there are further remarks about this subject in my review of this book in Prometheus 30 (2004), 91–5. 22 AP 2.347–50 ἐν δ’ ἄρα θυμῷ / σκεπτομένῳ μὲν ἔϊκτο· νόος δέ οἱ ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα / ἐξ ἀδύτων πεφόρητο πολυστρέπτοιο μενοινῆς, / Πιερικῆς Σειρῆνος ἀρήϊον ἔργον ὑφαίνων. 23 AP 2.32–3 Ἵστατο δ’ Εὐρίποιο φερώνυμος, ὡς δὲ δοκεύω, / λάθρη ὑπὸ κραδίην τραγικαῖς ὡμίλεε Μούσαις … . 24 AP 2.69–71 Πιερικὴ δὲ μέλισσα λιγύθροος ἕζετο Σαπφώ / Λεσβιὰς ἠρεμέουσα, μέλος δ’ εὔυμνον ὑφαίνειν / σιγαλέαις δοκέεσκεν ἀναψαμένη φρένα Μούσαις. 25 Cf. Plot. 1.6.8–9 and Procl. In Tim. 2.81c; on these important passages see Panofsky 1952, 21–3. 26 The only modern critical edition of Tabula mundi is yet Friedländer 1912. Several studies have been devoted to John’s poetry in the last years, in relation to his chronology (Bargellini 2008), to the nature and the structural moments of John’s ekphrasis (Bargellini 2006), to the occasion of his poem (Gigli 2006), to the mystic essence of John’s ekphrasis (Gigli 2005), to the public declamation of ekphrasis in Gaza (Renaut 2005 and Ciccolella 2006, 85 f.). This renewed interest for John fits in a revival of studies about Gaza and its School of rhetoric: see for instance Bitton-Ashkelony and Kofsky 2004; Saliou 2005; Penella 2009; Greco 2010; Amato 2010: his hypothesis (pp. 442 and 449) of a possible identification of the poet with John, the addressee of Proc. Ep. 5 and 149 Amato, is very convincing. In favour of a dating to the age of Anastasius there are also important remarks of historical-cultural nature: see Bargellini 2008, 85–6 and Gigli 2011, 293.

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from the entities traditionally involved in poetry, both in pagan and Christian milieu, nevertheless succeeded in obtaining undeniably original results. His Neoplatonic education, obtained in Alexandria,27 emerges clearly from the sixth of his Anacreontica (the dialogue between Zeus and Aphrodite on the theme of ἀπάθεια θεοῦ),28 from the allegorical interpretation of the cosmic entities painted on the vault and finally from the language which employs typically Neoplatonic epithets and formulae, such as νοερὸν φάος (2.235). We will consider three places in his work, essential to the understanding of this conceptual sphere: a. the λόγος ἐπιβατήριος which introduces the corpus of the Anacreontica; b. the iambic and hexametrical proems to the Tabula mundi and c. the description of Sophia and Arete in 1.66–95 of his ekphrasis. In the short introductory poem to John’s Anacreontica (1 Ciccolella), a metaphorical λόγος ἐπιβατήριος,29 we sense the atmosphere of the performance. The imagery is Pindaric: the Muse defined ἑκηβόλος30 has armed him and the poet aims to hit the target σκοπὸν τανύσκοπον (5), fulfilling the expectations of his audience. But at once a sensation of inebriety (10 μεμεθυσμένον) turns the real atmosphere into one of doubt-filled bewilderment, 7–21: ὁ χορὸς τίς ἐστιν οὗτος, ὁ σοφῆς βρύων μελίσσης; ἔλαθον πόδες με μᾶλλον μεμεθυσμένον λαβόντες Ἑλικῶνος εἰς τὸ μέσσον. Ὁ δ’ ἄναξ λόγων Ἀπόλλων Ἑλικωνίδες τε Μοῦσαι 27 For Alexandria as an attractive pole for the students in Late Antiquity see now Watts 2006, 204–31 and Renaut 2007. For Procopius in particular see the testimony of his pupil Choric. Or. fun. in Proc. 114.9 f. Greco. On Procopius’ relations with the School of Alexandria attested in his letters see Litsas 1980, 4–7. 28 On the compositional problems of this poem see Ciccolella 2000, 161–3 and 2006, 91–5. 29 On the meaning and the structure of this λόγος ἐπιβατήριος also in relation to the rules of this genre in Menander Rhetor (377.31 Russell – Wilson) see Ciccolella 2000, 127, who rightly underlines the similarity that exists between this proem and the one in Tabula mundi. 30 Anacr. 1.3 Μοῦσά με νῦν θώρηξεν ἑκηβόλος. This adjective is traditionally an epithet of Apollo, but in the Late Antique poetry and most of all in Nonnus’one, we witness a generalisation in the meaning and the use of this kind of epithets derived from the Apollonian sphere, called to denote a propulsive movement, here particularly in order to give voice to the anagogical power of poetry. See, in this regard, Gigli 2011a, 72 f. in relation to ἀφήτωρ in Theos. Tub. 16.7 Erbse (1.5.7 Beatrice). I suspect that the formulae coined by Nonnus with οἰστευτήρ, ἀκοντιστήρ plus the genitive, whose meaning I examined in Gigli 1985, 59–63, may have been born from this conceptual area.

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τροχαλὸν λαβόντες Ἑρμῆν κρίσιν εἰσφέρουσι τόλμῃ· τί πάθω, φίλοι, τί ῥέξω; Κραδίη, φύγοις τὸ τάρβος, ἔχε θάρσος εἰσδραμοῦσα, φιλίης πνέουσι Μούσης, νοερῶν λόγων κρατοῦσι, νοεροὺς λόγους κομίζοις. Whatever is this chorus Which is overflowing with the wise bee? My feet perhaps take me unaware And inebriated straight to Helicone. Apollo, lord of speeches, And the Muses of Helicone Together with the swift-minded Hermes Submit my boldness to judgment: What will happen to me, friends, what shall I do? Oh my heart, keep at bay panic, Come forward bravely, Give learned speeches To the lords of learned speeches, To those who emanate the friendly Muse.

The place envisaged is perhaps the Helicon and the audience is at the same time Apollo, the Muses and Hermes who have gathered together to judge him. In the end in an exchange of νοεροὶ λόγοι, an attitude of learned gallantry, typical of the Gazaean milieu, is achieved. Culture is expressed in terms of a charming effluvium: the bystanders “emanate the friendly Muse” (1.19 φιλίης πνέουσι Μούσης), the Muse flows sweetly (1.36 γλυκερὴ ῥέουσα Μοῦσα),31 beside the poet there is Orpheus (1.32–4), Phoebus arrives blowing his breath around the poet to make the strings of his lyre quiver (1.37–9 περί με πνέων ὁ Φοῖβος / χέλυν ἤλυθεν τινάσσειν / παλάμῃ σοφῇ μελίζων). Learning and magic interlace, intellectual and sonorous vibrations express an exhausting sensibility, the recurrent images of the bee and of honey give voice to a desire of ancient purity.32

31 Cf. Pind. N. 7.12 ῥοαῖσι Μοισᾶν, I. 7.19 ἐπέων ῥοαῖσιν. 32 On the metaphor of bee in John’s verses see Ciccolella 2000, 131 and 2006, 86 n. 19.

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If we turn now to the proems of the Tabula mundi, we find a very different tone, because the epic context leads to stronger images, to resounding neologisms laden with meaning. In the wake of Nonnus’ teaching, John learnedly interlaces myth and metaphor. An idea of poetic inspiration and work emerges from the two proems that has much to do with a sensation of suffering and enthusiasm, of frenzy and impulse towards heaven. This is no longer the question of πόνος as the product of artistic elaboration33 or of ἀγρυπνία as symbol of formal perfectionism,34 we are rather closer to the πόνος of the “delivery in the beauty” of Plato’s Symposium (212a), to the pains that human soul suffers in the unio mystica with the One, as underlined by Plotinus35 or yet to the πόνος as spiritual struggle and mental labour of Christian writers.36 The description of the figures painted on the dome of the winter-baths at Gaza, entitles John to conceive his ecphrastic poem as a journey towards the vault of heaven: I have already shown elsewhere the important consequences of this statement, which in a certain sense paves the way for the visionary mediaeval literature on the soul’s journey to the hereafter.37 Here it is sufficient to underline how akin the theme of travelling towards the heights is to the idea of poetry as anagogic impulse and enthusiasm. But let’s return to our topic. First it is necessary to underline the different approaches to the theme of poetic inspiration in the iambic proem and in the hexametrical one. As we know, the proem in iambics, equivalent to the προθεωρία of prose discourse, normally has a conversational tone, in that it is destined to establish the initial contact with the audience and to beg their encouragement, in view of the boldness and the difficulty of the subject to be developed, in other words it is the section assigned to the captatio benevolentiae.38 But even if we consider as topical the αὔξησις to which the poet resorts in order to exalt the risks of such an enterprise, we immediately notice something in these opening lines that goes beyond rhetoric. The reader experiences a new sensibility in the flow of images, 1.1–25:

33 On πόνος and ἐκπονεῖν as “literary toil” see Castelli 2001, 253–4. 34 I am certainly thinking of Call. Epigr. 27.4 Pf. = HE 1300. 35 Plotin. Enn. 5.3.17, 15 f. Ἢ ἔτι ἡ ψυχὴ ὠδίνει καὶ μᾶλλον. Ἴσως οὖν χρὴ αὐτὴν ἤδη γεννῆσαι ἀίξασαν πρὸς αὐτὸ πληρωθεῖσαν ὠδίνων. See also Syn. Hy. 9.10–1 θεοκύμονος γὰρ ἁγνά / σοφίας ἄχραντος ὠδίς. 36 Cf. φιλόπονος “learned” in Clem. Strom. 7.18 and in Athan. Decr. 27.1. 37 See Gigli Piccardi 2005. For the history of this topos in Latin literature from St. Augustine to the thirteenth century see the fundamental study of Carozzi 1994. 38 For the iambic proems in Late Antique poetry see Viljamaa 1968, 68–96; Cameron 1970, 119–29; Ciccolella 2000, 135.

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Ἆρ’ ἔστι συγγενές τι μόχθος καὶ λόγος. Αἰεὶ γάρ εἰσιν ἐκτόπως ἐπηρμένοι· τὸν ὕπνον ἐκτρέποντες ἐκ τῶν ὀμμάτων δάκνουσι καὶ πλήττουσι τὴν θυμηδίαν, ὡς ἐν θαλάσσῃ τῇ ζάλῃ τῆς καρδίας ἀνατρέποντες τὴν ταλαίπωρον φύσιν, καὶ δηγμὸς εὐθὺς ἐμπεσὼν μελῳδίας ἔκλυζε τὸν νοῦν τῷ σάλῳ τῆς φροντίδος.39 Ἐγὼ δ’ ἀγῶνα περιλαβὼν ταῖς ἐλπίσιν ἄλλον βαδίζειν τοῖς λόγοισιν ᾠόμην· ὃν νῦν παρῆκα δεσπόταις πεπεισμένος· ἀεροβατεῖν γάρ φασι καὶ τὴν εἰκόνα τὴν παντόμορφον κοσμικαῖς ἐξουσίαις40 ὡς ἐκ βίας πέμπουσιν ἐξωπλισμένον ἐνθουσιῶντα πᾶσαν ἐκφράζειν στίχοις, ἣν καλλίτεχνος ζωγράφος ζέων θράσει ἔγραψε συνθείς, καὶ μεθυσθεὶς τὰς φρένας ὥσπερ φιλάνθρωπός τις ἀνθρώπους γράφων ἐσωματοποίει41 τὴν ἀσώματον φύσιν. Ἀλλ’ ὦ θέατρον φαιδρὸν ἠττικισμένον, στήριγμα σεμνὸν τῆς δίκης καὶ τῶν λόγων, θερμὴν ποιοῦντες τοῖς κρότοις προθυμίαν μή με γράφοιτε πρὸς θράσος τόλμης γράφειν. Ἐγὼ γὰρ ἦλθον οὐ γραφεὺς τῆς εἰκόνος, μηδέν τι τολμῶν, ἀλλὰ τὴν τόλμαν φράσων.

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Labour and eloquence are profoundly rooted And are always exceptional and sublime. Keeping sleep from our eyes They bite and upset happiness, Disturbing our heart’s miserable nature As when a seastorm occours. The melody’s bite suddenly seizes And floods our mind with a storm of cares.

39 On the terms derived by φροντίζω in the meaning of a well thought and careful literary composition see Castelli 2001, 247–52. 40 For the so called cosmic powers see Ps.-Dionys. Areop. CH 8.1, 11.1 and EH 1.1.2. We have to note the complexity of word-arrangement in this phrase, so that the poet and his subject are interlaced in an inextricable way by Ringkomposition. 41 This verb is technical for personification of abstract notions (as also εἰδωλοποιεῖν): see Men. Rhet. 333.21 Russell – Wilson, Schol. Pind. O. 2.108e, Schol. Ar. Ach. 977. On this subject see Meijering 1987, 28 with n. 62 and Manieri 1998, 83 f.

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I intended to embrace another trial Walking through pedestrian speech, But now I have renounced in obedience to my teachers. They forced me, delirious and armed with verses, To rise into the air and to describe This entire image with all its cosmic powers. A skilful painter conceived it in his fiery Boldness and in his spiritual ebriety, Just as a Philanthropist, painting figures, Gives body to incorporeal nature. Oh illustrious theatre of Atticists! Noble bastion of justice and eloquence, Warm up my zeal with your applause And do not impute me to write with impudence. I come here not as the painter of this image – I dare not! – but as the writer of so much boldness.

In the first line marked with a Menandrian maxim,42 there is an equation μόχθος – λόγος, both defined akin and extraordinary, in short an outcome of exaltation ἐκτόπως ἐπηρμένοι.43 They seize the poet’s heart with the violence of a sea-storm, they derange the mind and cause the poet to lose his sleep, their bite (there is a particular insistence on the metaphor of δηγμός)44 displaces the serenity and floods the soul with cares. The traditional image of writing poetry as a sea voyage becomes here more specific: the wave, the sea-storm are called to express the power of the inspiration, as happens in Pindar.45 The language turns tragic46 in the attempt to infuse particular emphasis into the moment when the trouble of the λόγοι falls upon the poet. John is called by

42 Men. Sent. 640 ἆρ’ ἔστι συγγενές τι λύπη καὶ βίος. 43 Compare the sublime words, λόγους ἐπηρμένους, in Agath. AP 4.3.46; see also Eus. DE 6.13 ἡ τοῦ λόγου τοῦ θείου ἐπίβασις … ἐν διανοίαις … ἐπηρμέναις … τὸ φρόνημα. 44 The metaphor of δάκνειν in relation to pain is common in Greek literature: see the instances collected in Gigli Piccardi 1985, 80 n. 8. For δηγμός as mental suffering see SVF III.439, Philod. Mort. 25.35; δῆγμα in Aesch. Ag. 791 and 1164. 45 See Péron 1974, 239 f. who underlines the presence in Pindar of the metaphor of the wave in relation to the poetic inspiration: see Pind. O. 10.9–10 νῦν ψᾶφον ἑλισσομέναν / ὁπᾷ κῦμα κατακλύσσει ῥέον. 46 This metaphorical series is much beloved by Aeschylus in order to express the assault of the emotions (Péron 1974, 248 f.): cf., for instance, Cho. 183–4 κἀμοὶ προσέστη καρδίαν κλυδώνιον / χολῆς, Ag. 1121 f. ἐπὶ δὲ καρδίαν ἔδραμε κροκοβαφὴς / σταγών; or to describe the symptoms of madness: Prom. 883–6 ἔξω δὲ δρόμου φέρομαι λύσσης / πνεύματι μάργῳ γλώσσης ἀκρατής, / θολεροὶ δὲ λόγοι παίουσ’ εἰκῇ / στυγνῆς πρὸς κύμασιν ἄτης, Soph. Aj. 351–2 ἴδεσθέ μ’ οἷον ἄρτι κῦμα φοινίας ὑπὸ ζάλης / ἀμφίδρομον κυκλεῖται, Eur. Herc. 1091–92 ὡς ἐν κλύδωνι καὶ φρενῶν ταράγματι / πέπτωκα δεινῷ.

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his δεσπόται to describe in verse47 the image of the cosmic painting in Bacchic frenzy (15 ἐνθουσιῶντα), a condition also shared by the bold painter, defined μεθυσθείς, who conceived that extraordinary work.48 The excusatio for such a τόλμα and an appeal for applause conclude this iambic proem. Πῇ φέρομαι;. In this way the hexametrical proem begins: one after another all the divinities linked to poetic inspiration are evoked in a climax of images which have as a common denominator the anagogic impulse and the sensation of an overwhelming divine presence. First the sweet concert of the Sirens raises the poet into the air ἔμφρονι ῥοίζῳ (1.1), by a spiritual humming sound; then the plectrum of the Muses lashes John’s thoughts ἄρσενι κέντρῳ (1.3), with a vigorous stab, while he sets off towards the unfamiliar paths ξεῖνα κέλευθα (1.4) of the dome, where he becomes a πεζὸς ὁδίτης, dragged by the creative frenzy, λύσσαν ἔχων γονόεσσαν (1.5). In this succession of images the metaphor of the poet as a lyre is recognizable, a lyre that resounds at the touch of the Muses’ plectrum, just as the prophetical pneuma is the plectrum which gives voice to the prophet seen as a lyre.49 At this point Apollo intervenes and his action on the poet’s mind is described in a paroxysm of exaltation, 5–10: … αὐτὰρ Ἀπόλλων ἀμφιπεριπλέγδην50 δολιχῷ σκιρτήματι μύθων εἰς πόλον ἀστερόνωτον ἀκοντίζει με διώκων, καὶ φρενὶ βακχεύειν σοφίης ἐνοσίφρονι παλμῷ Φοῖβος ἐποτρύνων οὐ παύεται, ὄφρα χορεύων οὐρανίην πάγκοσμον ἀνυμνήσαιμι γενέθλην …

47 For ἀεροβατεῖν in this context see Gigli Piccardi 2005, 186–7. 48 I think we must recognize in this painter the metaphor of deus pictor seen in a Platonic way as the one who makes visible and corporeal the ideas (Plat. Parm. 132c–d, Tim. 48e and Phdr. 246b; cf. also Syn. Dion 5 ἔπειτα ὥσπερ ὁ θεὸς τῶν ἀφανῶν ἑαυτοῦ δυνάμεων εἰκόνας ἐμφανεῖς ὑπεστήσατο τῶν ἰδεῶν τὰ σώματα, αὕτως ἔχουσα κάλλος ψυχὴ καὶ γόνιμος οὖσα τῶν ἀρίστων, διαδόσιμον ἔχει μέχρι τῶν ἔξω τὴν δύναμιν). So becomes understandable the comparison ὡς φιλάνθρωπος (18). In fact the painter loves the objects of his artistic creation just as God creates the world as a sign of love. For the metaphor of deus pictor in antiquity and during the Middle Age see Curtius 1978, 544. 49 See Montanus ap. Epiph. Panar. 48.4.1 and Porph. fr. 349F Smith (Eus. PE 5.8.11–2) where we find the aulos by the same metaphorical meaning: see Lewy 2011, 45–7 and Gigli Piccardi 1985, 225 (cf. also Plut. Def. orac. 431b38). An involvement of the lyre in the noetic sphere emerges also from Pampr. fr. 3.8 ἑπτανόο[ι]ο λύρης ἀναβάλλεται ἠχώ. Cf. Syn. Hy. 9.47 f. ἴδε μοι βοῶσι νευρὰ / ἀκέλευστα καί τις ὀμφὰ / περί τ’ ἀμφί με ποτᾶται. The origin of this topic is the χρυσέα φόρμιγξ of Pind. P. 1. 50 In Gigli Piccardi 2012a, 368–71 I tried to defend the reading of P ἀμφὶ περιπλή(ι)γδην.

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Apollo envelops me with a long dancing rush of words And strikes me causing my ascent towards the starry vault. With a throb, the Mindshaker, Phoebus does not cease To fill my heart with enthusiasm, so that I can celebrate The heavenly descendants with my dance.

Apollo’s pressing intervention results in the poet being pushed towards heaven in a whirl of words. Verses 6–7 contain a complex image with Apollo ἐκηβόλος, armed with words instead of his traditional arrows that urge the poet towards heaven, a Pindaric image51 adapted to a cultural context in which art’s anagogic impulse is the more qualifying aspect. This poetic transport provoked by Apollo is in a certain way equivalent to the στροφάλιγξ that God causes around the cosmic axe in his creative effort, 21–2 σὺ γὰρ νωμήτορι κύκλῳ / ἀξονίην στροφάλιγγα θεηδόχον ἀμφιελίσσεις. So inspired poetry and divine action are felt parallel and the former imitates the latter:52 these ideological grounds cause the multiple meaning of the figures of Sophia and Arete described later. Continuing with the analysis of John’s verses, we discover that Apollo’s inner epiphany is drawn up in a decidedly Dionysiac way. Phoebus does not cease exhorting the poet βακχεύειν σοφίης ἐνοσίφρονι παλμῷ (1.8) “in order to celebrate his spiritual Bacchanals by a vibration able to shake his mind”, we may add, “like an earthquake”. The adjective ἐνοσίφρων is a hapax of John’s,53 clearly coined on ἐνοσίχθων which qualifies Poseidon in his property to shake the earth’s soil with his trident.54 The creation of this neologism for this context shows us all the upset felt by the poet at the moment of the assault of the poetic inspiration, in addition to the notion of Bacchic frenzy expressed by βακχεύειν. As regards παλμός, it is a Nonnian Lieblingswort, both in the meaning of an actual movement, in a poem dominated by gestures, as the Dionysiac one naturally is, and in a metaphorical meaning in the sense of a spiritual vibration divinely originated – I refer to those passages of the Paraphrasis of St. John’s Gospel where it occurs in order to define the movement of the Holy Spirit.55 It is interesting to remark the image of the dance, χορεύων, 51 For the Pindaric metaphor of the poet as an archer see Simpson 1969, 437–73; for its interesting re-use in Nonnus see Gigli Piccardi 2003, 49 f. 52 For these considerations see also Renaut 1999, 214. 53 For an analysis of John’s adjectivation and a list of hapaxes see Gigli Piccardi 2011, 302–3. 54 Ἐνοσίχθονι παλμῷ is a recurring Nonnian expression which appears in several passages of the Dionysiaca: see, for instance, 1.288, 2.41, 30.4, 36.99, 44.37 al. 55 See Par. 5.26 with the commentary of Agosti 2003, 355 f. It occurs also in Dion. 7.200 in relation to the divine impulse ἔμφρονι παλμῷ, which diverts Eros’ arrow to Zeus’ thigh, when he falls in love with Semele.

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by wich the poet qualifies his approach to the poem, an image – foreshadowed by σκίρτημα at 6 – that is naturally part of the Dionysiac atmosphere, but not only it. I think of the metaphor of dance that Plotinus uses to express the mystical impulse of the soul towards the upper entities in Enn. 1.8.2, 24 ἡ δὲ ἔξωθεν περὶ τοῦτον χορεύουσα ψυχὴ ἐπὶ αὐτὸν βλέπουσα καὶ τὸ εἴσω αὐτοῦ θεωμένη τὸν θεὸν δι᾽ αὐτοῦ βλέπει.56 So in a similar way John feels his approach towards the vault, in order to describe the cosmic personifications there depicted, as a mystical impetus that leads him around the truths to be known. The close connection between what is Dionysiac and what is Apollonian is confirmed some lines later by an original and bold expression which synthesizes this collaboration of divine forces, 14–8: Ἀλλὰ περισσονόων ἐγκύμονες εὐεπιάων, εὔϊα φοιβάζοντες ἀεξινόων ἀπὸ σίμβλων, πέμψατέ μοι πλώοντι σοφὸν πρυμναῖον ἀήτην: ἤδη γὰρ τρομέων ἐγκύμονος ὄμβρον ἀοιδῆς πείσματα φωνήεντα θοῆς ἀνέλυσα μελίσσης. You, who are full of illustrious eloquence, You, who inspire enthusiasm from mind-growing beehives, Send me, the seafarer, a wise stern wind. I have already untied the sound-bearing cables of the swift bee Trembling as I am before the shower of my pregnant song.

In the final invocation all the divinities who have been evoked in the proem, are described as εὔι ̈α φοιβάζοντες. Εὔϊα φοιβάζοντες is difficult to translate:57 it is as if John had conflated two contiguous but distinct elements in one single bold expression, where Apollonian prophetical inspiration and Dionysiac mystical cry, here a metaphor of poetry, are indissolubly united. In these lines the noetical dimension of John’s poetry is underlined by two rare compound epithets with the term νοῦς: περισσόνοος commonly refers to persons who excell in something:58 only here and in Nonn. Par. 7.105 ἴστε περισσονόῳ καὶ ἐμὲ ξυνήονι μύθῳ it refers to the word, in Nonnus to Christ’s word, in John to 56 On this metaphor in Plotinus see Ferwerda 1965, 183–6. Cf. “the dance among the discourses” at the beginning of “Georgius Grammaticus” Anacr. 9.1–4 σοφίης ἔλαμψεν ὥρη / χρόνιοι λόγοι δονοῦνται, / ὅθεν ὡς χρόνος κελεύει / πάλιν ἐν λόγοις χορεύω. 57 We may cite a passage from the treatise On Sublime 8.4, where regarding a pathos γενναῖον and μεγαλήγορον we read: ὥσπερ ὑπὸ μανίας τινὸς καὶ πνεύματος ἐνθουσιαστικῶς ἐκπνέον καὶ οἱονεὶ φοιβάζον τοὺς λόγους “it exhales as by the action of a transport and of an ecstatic breath and it seems to vivify the discourses by Phoebus’ inspiration”. 58 Cf. Opp. Hal. 3.12, Nonn. Dion. 5.222, 20.266, 26.139, 37.176.

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poetical word. ᾽Αεξίνοος is shared only by Proclus and Nonnus,59 but John’s lines show a clear dependance just on Proclus: in the Hymn to the Muses the philosopher’s soul is described, 3.16 ὑμετέρων βρίθουσαν ἀεξινόων ἀπὸ σίμβλων. What emerges from this passage is that in the poet’s mind poetry shares the noetical substance that is inborn in the divinities of the inspiration. The last considerations about poetic inspiration come from the description of two interesting figures, Sophia and Arete, who, having been summoned to sustain the Sun’s disk, sit either side of Helios. John describes them as strictly united: 66 διπλόον εἶδος, 67–8 διδύμη … / … γαλήνη according to the Platonic intellectualistic vision of virtue.60 He plans out his allegorical interpretation on different but superimposed levels, so that it is difficult to separate ethics, cosmology and culture. In fact these two figures take part in the vivifying role of Helios in the world, but they are indeed the ethical qualities necessary to life and they are actually seen as the indispensable principles to the literary creation. Sophia is seated on the right of the Sun61 and this indicates her privileged role in the group,62 she is dressed in white63 and that hints at the necessity of preserving the purity of the heart on the part of the poets.64 From her face 59 On the compound epithets shared only by Nonnus and Proclus see Gigli Piccardi 1985, 243. Cf., on the relevance of this imitation, Gigli 2006, 265–6. Nonnus uses this epithet only in Dion. 14.118–9 τοῖσι γέρας καὶ σκῆπτρον ἐπέτρεπεν Εἰραφιώτης / οὐρανίου κήρυκος, ἀεξινόοιο τοκῆος, in order to remark the natural transmission of a divine power from father to his sons. 60 See, for instance, Marin. VP 22 (Proclus achieved the knowledge of the noetic entities not by dialectics but by ecstasy) ἀρετὴν προσλαμβάνων, ἣν οὐκέτ’ ἄν τις φρόνησιν κυρίως ἐπονομάσειεν, σοφίαν δὲ μᾶλλον προσερεῖ. 61 The indication lies in the adjective περιδέξιος at 71, which like in Nonnus (see Gigli Piccardi 1985, 142–3) probably has a double meaning: “very dexterous” in relation to Sophia as ability, and something like “who is on the right side” (cf. Greg. Nyss. Cant. PG 44.768c). On the other hand at 84 Arete is described δίσκου λαιὸν ἔχουσα. 62 It is useful to recall that Athena is sitting on the right of Zeus in Pind. fr. 146 M. (δεξιὰν κατὰ χεῖρα πατρός) or equally Apollo in Call. HyAp. 29. For the Jewish-Christian milieu see for instance Ps. 110.1, Mark 14.62 and 16.19. 63 For the suggestion deriving from her superposition with the Moon (71–2 οἷα Σελήνη / ἀργυφέη) see Gigli Piccardi 2005, 188–9. For Hecate’s white dress symbolizing the new moon see Porph. fr. 359F.62 Smith (Eus. PE 3.11.32). 64 See 76–81: on these lines and their polemical tone directed presumably against John’s teachers in the School of rhetoric in Gaza see Gigli Piccardi 2006, 262–3 (cf. also the polemical portrait of the διδάσκαλος, characterized as τελχὶς καὶ βάσκανος and opposed to Socrates as the ideal σοφός in Syn. Dion 14b–c). The strong ethic dimension of John’s Sophia may be an echo of the sapiential texts of OT: see Sophia in Prov. 8 and particularly her long speech in 8.22 that exalts her creative role beside God. Cf. what John says about her in 1.130–1 in the passage that concludes the section dedicated to the Sun’s group: ἔνθεν πρωτογόνοιο νόου κρατέουσα θεμέθλων / σύνδρομος ὑψιμέδοντος, ὅλου κόσμοιο τιθήνη.

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she emanates the mysteries of the Muses Πιερικῆς ἤστραψε περίφρονος ὄργια Μούσης (74) and immediately afterwards she is called μαῖα θεορρήτων παμμείλιχος εὐεπιάων (μουσοτόκος Σοφίη at 132). Her role seems here that of an intermediary65 between the poet and the Gods, she is the one who takes care of the verses sent by the gods. So John becomes part of a long tradition, above all a Pindaric one,66 that considers poetry as a matter of an elitist knowledge, as the place of the truths revealed by the gods. Arete is dressed in red, which promotes a series of considerations about the suffering indispensable if the poet’s intent in its rush of creativity is to reach the peak of realization after a steep, tiring path, 1.87–94: Καὶ χροιὴ πέπλου μαντεύεται, ὅττι μενοινή μυρία μοχθήσασα μογοστόκος ἔμφρονι ῥιπῇ καὶ φρένα φοινίσσουσα πολυσπερέεσσι μερίμναις, ἤθεα πορφύρουσα τινάκτορι φοιτάδι μόχθῳ, εἰς ἀρετῆς λειμῶνας ἀνηβώωσα χορεύει, ἄκρον ἐπισφίγγουσα· συνερχομένη δὲ καρήνῳ ῥηϊδίως σκίρτησε γαληνιόωντι προσώπῳ, μόχθον ὅλον ῥίψασα, καὶ ἀμέλγεται ὄμπνιον αἴγλην. And the colour of her mantle means that the thought, After suffering greatly in its conscious, creative ardour, After staining the mind with blood caused by endless cares And inflaming its nature in exciting, mad labour, Dances, young again, in the meadows of virtue And reaches the summit. So Areté, arriving on high, Dances nimbly, her face serene, And throws off all the fatigue. Turning her eyes to heaven She sucks up the fertile brightness of the celestial lamp.

John re-writes the Hesiodic parable in WD 289–92 about the difficult path the Gods have placed in front of men in order to achieve Virtue. In Late Antique epic the image of the mountain of Arete is frequently reused: for instance in the ekphrasis of Achilles’ shield, Quintus of Smyrna (5.49–56) had described Arete as sitting on a palm on the top of the mountain, but the context there was clearly only ethical.67 In John’s verses we find very intense expressions to 65 Cf. the role of sophia in Synesius’ Hymns, which is called to define the intermediary nature between the Father and the Son and also between the Father and the world. See Di Pasquale Barbanti 1994, 121–3. 66 For the term σοφία applied to poetry as an art since Sol. IEG 13.52, but particularly in Pindar see Bowra 1964, 4 f. 67 See Byre 1982; Maciver 2007.

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underline the toil of the realization, which also concerns the literary creation, as we may infer from μογοστόκος at v. 88 “giving birth, creating with pain”. The poet’s thought suffers much pain ἔμφρονι ῥιπῇ in his mind’s impetuous outburst68 and stains the poet’s heart with blood τινάκτορι φοιτάδι μόχθῳ,69 where τινάκτωρ is another allusion to Poseidon the earthshaker, while φοιτάς to Dionysus.70 When μενοινή arrives at the top of the mountain, it may at last dance in the meadow of Virtue accompanied by Arete who joins in the dance with a quiet countenance.71 Close to our text is a passage of the proem of the Orphic Lithica, where the image of Virtue’s flowery meadow appears as forbidden to those who are ignorant and have their heart enveloped in a dark cloud, 79–81: ἀλλά σφιν νεφέλη πραπίδεσσι κελαινὴ ἀμφιπεριπλεχθεῖσα βαδιζέμεν ἀνθεμόεντα εἰς ἀρετῆς λειμῶνα πολυστεφάνου μεγαίρει. But the dark cloud which has enveloped our mind Prevents us from stepping into the flowery meadow of virtue.

This is about a symbol of ascent towards the transcendence and of regeneration, typical of an elitist vision of culture. Only at this moment can John’s Arete gaze at the sky in order to suck the sun’s fertile light, 94–5: turning her eyes to heaven, she sucks up the fertile brightness of the celestial lamp. The last image in this passage reveals the ultimate purpose of all creative labour, regarded as the result of Sophia – the ability in the sign of purity – and achieved through Arete – the cathartic virtue as essential to knowledge in according to the Platonic tradition72 – namely to become θεοείκελος, to come 68 Ῥιπή recalls the violence of the wind, but also the extraordinary metaphor of Pind. P. 1.10 τεαῖς ῥιπαῖσι κατασχόμενος, regarding the influence exerted by the lyre on the eagle sleeping on Zeus’ shield. 69 Synesius expresses the fiery burst of his heart with a similar terminology in Hy. 1.370–5 νῦν μοι κραδία / τοῖς σοῖς ὕμνοις / πιαινομένα, / ἐθόωσε νόον / πυρίαις ὁρμαῖς. 70 So are called the Bacchae in Eur. Bacc. 165. 71 We may read a similar scene with a slightly different meaning in Syn. Dion 11c–d: when man, tired for the mental strain, has arrived to the top of the cultural escalation ἡ Καλλιόπη παραλαβοῦσα ἥκοντας αὐχμοῦ πλέως, ἀνέπαυσέ τε εἰς ἀνθεινοὺς ἀγαγοῦσα λειμῶνας, ὡς μὴ διακναισθῆναι τῷ πόνῳ, 72 Cf., for instance, Plat. Phd. 67b, Rep. 7.518d, e. In Syn. Dion 9–10 the cathartic virtues together with reason have an important role in the gradual approach to culture. In the short portrait of Plato in the Ekphrasis of Christodorus of Coptus the virtues have a prominent position, AP 2.97–8 εἱστήκει δὲ Πλάτων θεοείκελος, ὁ πρὶν Ἀθήναις / δείξας κρυπτὰ κέλευθα θεοκράντων ἀρετάων.

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into contact with the divinity here felt as the νοερὸν φάος (2.235) which is the thread of the entire journey of the poet to the vault, so that he may gain access to the mystical dimension where art lives.73 In this spiritual dimension expressed by John of Gaza a cultural line is recognizable that passes through Pindar, Plato and finally Proclus. One of the most evident innovations in comparison with the Platonic reflections might be summarized in the point that poets are really ἔνθεοι καὶ κατεχόμενοι in the sign of Dionysus, but no longer ἔκφρονες, since inner inquiry on one hand and aspiration to the metaphysical dimension of the Nous on the other are coincident in the Neoplatonic philosophy. We may conclude by saying that an ἔμφρων ἐνθουσιασμός is no longer an oxymoron.

73 A similar idea about the necessity of suffering in order to ascend to the divinity (αἱ εἰς θεὸν ἀναδρομαί) comes up in Letter to Marcella 6–7 by Porphyry, who also insists elsewhere on this concept.

Delphine Lauritzen

Nonnus in Gaza The Expansion of Modern Poetry from Egypt to Palestine in the Early Sixth Century CE “Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves …” John Milton, Samson Agonistes1

The study of John of Gaza2 as a poet influenced by Nonnus of Panopolis is necessary to contextualize the expansion of Egyptian poetry in the sixth century CE Roman Empire. The first literary judgement on John’s Description already connected the two poets.3 However, the exact nature of this relation still needs to be explored, in order to understand how Nonnus’ poetry spread among the “Nonnians”, i.e. “Modern poets”.4 John of Gaza may have been among the first5 to promote Nonnus’ style outside Egypt.6 As such, he took an important step in the development of early Byzantine poetry.7

1 In fact, Nonnus experienced in Gaza a better fate than Samson. I would like to thank Peter Lauritzen for this reference which immediately came to his mind when he read the title as well as for checking the English of this essay. The remaining mistakes are mine. 2 Only the Description of the cosmic table (Ἔκφρασις τοῦ κοσμικοῦ πίνακος) is considered here, leaving aside the Anacreontics (ed. Ciccolella 2000, 117–73). References are made to the continuous numbering of the verses, together with the system of ed. Friedländer 1912, 135–164. 3 In the Renaissance, the famous humanist Iosephus Scaligerus compares John of Gaza to Nonnus, to the advantage of John, in a letter addressed to the young Claudius Salmasius, dated February 25, 1608 (Ep. 432: Heinsius 1627a, 792): “melior et castigatior poëta Nonno videtur”. Ten years later, Ianus Rutgersius underlines that John imitates Nonnus’ style, in the editio princeps of John of Gaza’s Description, ed. Rutgers 1618, 95–7. The link between Nonnus and John has been assumed ever since: “Johannes ist Schüler des Nonnos”, Friedländer 1912, 110. 4 Agathias Scholasticus refers to the νέοι, Hist. 4.23.5. We owe to several scholars that recent way of thinking, in particular Gianfranco Agosti’s work over the past fifteen years (see for instance Agosti 2007, 212 “si allude comunemente a una ‘scuola nonniana’, anche se è più opportune parlare di ‘seguaci dello stile moderno’”). The term “Nonnians” can be found passim, such as “Nonniani” in Gonnelli 2003, 9. The field of Nonnian studies is integrating this process. Miguélez Cavero 2008, 373, points out that “at present … the denomination ‘School of Nonnus’ (has) fall(en) into disuse, although ‘the so-called School of Nonnus’ is still applied to Graeco-Egyptian epic poetry in Late Antiquity”. 5 On the dates of John of Gaza, see Lauritzen, forthcoming (Introduction). 6 On Nonnus and Egypt, see Gigli Piccardi 1998. 7 As two preliminary views, see Lauritzen 2011a, 144–5 and ead. 2012.

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John’s creative process stands as a constant interaction between imitation and innovation. Although the two notions may appear somehow opposed, in here lies the complex and nuanced meaning of mimesis. It is a shame that, after over a century of scholarship on John of Gaza, the terms “imitator” or “follower” of Nonnus are meant as negative.8 Certainly, Nonnus stands as a source of inspiration for some of the following poets. Those authors who apply the new style to specific occasions have therefore been considered in a rather despising light.9 But successful adaptations can be made from a common technique. Nonnus holds the status of a model. There is a pre- and a post-Nonnian era. Nevertheless, his followers should not automatically be categorized as inferior poets.10 They vary the subject matter according to their milieu and the occasion. If some feel reluctant to compare them to the great Nonnus, let us at least try to judge them as original minds, each of them reacting in function of a specific context. The very fact that we are able to distinguish John’s from Nonnus’ verses supports the view of minimal but significant differences. Therefore mimesis is not statically “mimetic” in a restrictive sense but dynamically creative. The first feature Nonnus passed onto the Nonnians is a shape of verse which brings epic poetry to its most systematized level.11 From that point of view, John is clearly a Nonnian.12 A brief insight into the various types of hexameters which John re-uses is enough for our argument.13 John prefers dactyl to spondee in a proportion which reveals a definite Nonnian manner. His respect of the fifth foot dactyl is absolute. The first fourth feet of his hexameters are 83.16 % dactyls so that it puts him in the straight wake of Nonnus (85.21 % dactyls).14 Concerning the main break, the feminine caesura is dominant (trochaic 74.67 %) over the masculine (penthemimere 25.33 %). However, this proportion does not quite reach Nonnus’ heights (feminine 81.10 % vs masculine 18.90 %). 8 One can quote Thiele 1916, 1747: “… die Epideixis (zeigt) keine besondere poetische Begabung” and 1748: “Die Gemäldebeschreibung, 703 in Stil und Versmaß des Nonnos gehaltene Hexameter …”. 9 Thiele 1916, 1747, refers to John as a “poet of circumstances”: “Gelegenheitsdichter in Gaza”. 10 For a discussion on the notion of “minor” poets see Agosti 2007. 11 To quote only three essential studies on Nonnus’ hexameter, Keydell 1959, I, 35*–42*; Vian 1976, L–LV; Agosti 2004, 35–44. 12 For John’s hexameter, see Caiazzo 1987, 243–52, even though we do not systematically agree. 13 For a complete study of John’s metre, see Lauritzen, forthcoming (Introduction). 14 All the following percentages for Nonnus (based on the Paraphrase and the Dionysiaca together) are taken from Agosti 2004, 36.

Nonnus in Gaza

Feet 1–4

Nonn.

dddd = holodactyl. dsdd = spond. 2nd ddds = spond. 4th sddd = spond. 1st dsds = spond. 2–4th

38.07 % 23.32 % 14.45 % 8.54 % 8.97 %

> < > < >

30.72 % 26.45 % 12.66 % 10.38 % 8.39 %

ddsd = spond. 3rd sdds = spond. 1–4th dssd = spond. 2–3rd sdsd = spond. 1–3rd

3.56 % 2.16 % 0.43 % 0.50 %

< < <
Io. 30.72 %). He indeed uses both the spondee first (sddd) and the spondee second (dsdd) in percentages slightly superior to his model (Nonn. 8.54 % and 23.32 % < Io. 10.38 % and 26.45 %) even in the fourth spondee (ddds) is slightly inferior (Nonn. 14.45 % > Io. 12.66 %). The use of two spondees at the second and fourth feet of the verse (dsds) is nearly the same in both poets (Nonn. 8.97 % > Io. 8.39 %). More peculiar is the fact that John puts a spondee at the third foot (ddsd, dssd and sdsd) in a proportion (Io. total of 7.96 %) which marks a clear difference from his model (Nonn. 4.49 %). The less frequent types (less than 5 %) are slightly better represented in John (total of 10.8 %) than in Nonnus (6.65 %). This denotes that John’s hexameter is a little more flexible than his model. Moreover, one can observe that John reverses the order of Nonnus concerning the fourth and fifth most frequent types: sddd before dsds. This feature seems to go along with an increasing reluctance to the fourth foot spondee, as a general tendency in the evolution of the hexameter.

15 For the two ssdd forms IoGaz. 28 = Fried. 1.3 and 52 = Fried. 1.27. For the ssds single occurrence: IoGaz. 526 = Fried. 2.137.

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An interesting consequence of these proportions is that John’s hexameter proves to be slightly shorter on average than Nonnus’ one (15.92 syllables per verse against 16.26 for the Egyptian). Similar conclusions leading to the notion of “personal imitation” can be drawn from the detailed study of the combination of breaks, the position of certain types of words within the verse, as well as the position of stressed syllables. John follows the rules of prosody found in Nonnus, though, here again, with more flexibility. It is therefore obvious that John adopts Nonnus’ metrical technique. However, subtle variations allow us to detect a treatment of the hexameter which is his own, as a kind of a “poetic signature” which distinguishes him from his model as well as from other Nonnians. But metre is only the first step to establish the relation between John and Nonnus. It is further confirmed by his use of quotation. If John’s hexameter looks so much like Nonnus’ one, that may well be because it is made of many segments taken from the Egyptian’s verses. Thus, one finds identical metric patterns in both16. The fact is that John quotes Nonnus extensively. It is important to understand how and why he does it. John’s poem is not a meaningless succession of membra disiecta, nor randomly piled spolia stolen from a greater poet, but a re-construction, whose authorship belongs entirely to its new architect. One should distinguish between words which sound Nonnian because they have been used, sometimes nearly exclusively, by Nonnus, and the ones which in reality are not confined to him. Among hundreds of examples, when John of Gaza uses, once, the adjective λεχώϊος (403 = Fried. 2.14 λεχώϊα γούνατα Γαίης), that does not constitute an argument in favour of him imitating Nonnus. John is likely to have taken the word from Nonnus, who uses it often (23×, all in the Dionysiaca). However, it is not enough to detect any straightforward poetic affiliation, as this adjective is also found in other previous authors (Call. HyZeus 14; Apoll. Rhod. Arg. 2.1014). Therefore, neologisms – created by Nonnus, re-used by John, or created by the latter – are the most interesting forms to consider in order tracking the imitation process at word level. The phenomenon of lexical creation is one of the most striking features of John’s Description. He surely re-uses neologisms invented by Nonnus. However, he is not just a mere imitator of the lexicon of his predecessor.17 Instead, John imitates not only the result already obtained by Nonnus but also the dynamic logic which presides over the creation of neologisms.18 16 This brings one to reflect on the notion of cento, though this is not the place to debate if John can be considered a cento of Nonnus, in a broader sense of the term. 17 On Nonnus’ lexicon, the work of reference remains Peek Lex. 18 For recent studies of lexical creation, see Fayant 2003, 586–92 on Paulus Silentiarius, with a conclusion similar to ours: “Mais ces deux caractéristiques, diversité des modèles et soup-

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Tab.

IoGaz.’s neologisms

Nonnus’ neologisms re-used by IoGaz. in his Description

Earth

391 406 418 420

392 ῥοδεῶν- (poet.) = Nonn. Dion. 2.90 e.l.; e.c., 16.77 400 βιοσσόον = Nonn. 19×, semp. e.l. (Dion. 11×; Par. 8×) 407 φερεσταχ- = Nonn. Dion. 4× 409 ὀπισθοπόροισι = Nonn. 13× (Dion. 9×; Par. 4×) 414 φερεσταχ- cf. 407 422 φερεζώων = Nonn. Dion. 12.6 e.l.; Par. ε 99, π 106 e.l. 425 περίπλοκος (poet.) = Nonn. Dion. 26× semp. e.l. 429 παιδοκόμῳ (poet.) = Nonn. Dion. 29× 430 πολυρραθάμιγγος = Nonn. Dion. 7.174 e.l., 19.12 e.c. 437 συμφυέων (poet.) = Nonn. Dion. 5× semp. e.l. 437 φυσήτορι = Nonn. Dion. 30.70 e.l.

431 441 448 451

ἁβροπέτηλον μυριόκεντρα βραδύγουνος ἀμαλλοτόκεια (morph.)19 περίσσυτον τέκτηνε (morph.) ὠκυγένεθλον ἐπισταχύουσα

Sea

474 ἀντικάρηνος 477 ποντοβαφὴς

483 ὀξυέθειρα = Nonn. Dion. 14.368 e.l., 22.25; Par. τ.22 485 αὐτοχάρακτος = Nonn. Dion. 5.599 492 φιλόδροσος = Nonn. Dion. 1.357 494 φυσήτορι cf. 437

Storm

512 534 535 551 556 564 576 581 591

503 περίπλοκος cf. 425 517 κοιλαίνουσα (poet.) = Nonn. Dion. 9× 518 ἡδυβόλου = Nonn. Dion. 48.472

Rainbow

ἐπαυχμώωσαν (morph.) βρεμέθουσα (poet.) ἀνεμοθρόος καναχηδέος (morph.) νεοπτοίητον θεήτορα φλογερώνυχας πασσυδίην μιξόχροα

569 ῥοδώπιδος (poet.) = Nonn. Dion. 6× semp. e.l.

lesse dans leur utilisation, sont au nombre de celles qui définissent souvent l’art de Nonnos lui-même et c’est peut-être dans cette indépendance envers ses modèles, y compris Nonnos lui-même, que réside la plus grande fidélité de Paul à Nonnos” (p. 591–2) and Fayant 2013 on the Orphic Hymns. 19 Nonn. Dion. 5× ἀμαλλοτοκ-.

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Sun II

598 602 610 617 628 637 648 654 658 680 699 700

χιλιέτηρος (morph.) δολιχοδρόμον (poet.) αὐτοφαὴς (poet.) πουλυφόρου φιλήμερος δειδιόωσα (morph.) ἰθύσσων θεήτορες cf. 564 ἐνδοπαγῆ χαμαιφθιμένοιο πολυσταγὲς ῥοητόκον

World

711 πουλυφανὴς (corr.)

616 φιλέμποροι (poet.) = Nonn. Dion. 9.88, Par. β.76 624 θαμβαλέῃ (poet.) = Nonn. 21× (Dion. 15×; Par. 6×) 630 τιθηνήτειρα (poet.) = Nonn. Dion. 7× semp. e.l. 634 μελαγκρήδεμνος = Nonn. Par. ζ 67 641 ἀντίσκιος (poet.) = Nonn. Dion. 7.311 650 ῥοδώπιδος cf. 569 663 ῥοδεῶν- (poet.) cf. 392 677 ὀνειροτόκου = Nonn. Dion. 10.264 681 λιπότριχα (poet.) = Nonn. Dion. 4× semp. e.l. 683 νουσαλέης = Nonn. Par. 5× semp. e.l. 683 ἐπερρίπιζεν = Nonn. Dion. 30.187

Fig. 2: Neologisms in John of Gaza’s Description.20

The vocabulary of John of Gaza must have appeared innovative to his audience, for practically one verse out of five (62/343 = 18 %) contains a word identifiable as coming from Nonnus. The feature seals this specific type of poetry. On one hand, John imitates Nonnus in a direct way, by quoting words which the Egyptian invented.21 On the other hand, the surprise comes from the fact that more than half of the neologisms are created by John himself (31 words in 32 occurrences against 25 in 30 occurrences taken from Nonnus). On average, one finds a proper neologism of John every nine verses (32/343 = 9.33 %). Far from simply quoting Nonnus’ words, John, inspired by such an example, creates his own neologisms. The real process of imitation overcomes bare quotation. John imitates the type of words invented by his predecessor to fit holodactylic verses. Compound forms and especially compound adjectives are fa20 This chart is based on the second half of John’s Description and refers to the continuous numbering of the verses. To convert into Friedländer’s numbering, subtract 389 (ex: 392 = Friedländer 2.3). For Nonnus, the editions used are Vian (dir.) et alii 1976–2006 for the Dionysiaca and Scheindler 1881 for the Paraphrase or the volumes of Livrea (dir.) et alii 1989– when available. The neologisms which John is the only one to use in poetry are marked (poet.), specifically in hexameters (hex.), others which show a specific morphological form (morph.) and finally, for the sake of philological exactitude, words which were corrected in establishing the text (corr.). Moreover, e.l. is the abbreviation of eodem loco (same position in the verse), e.c. of eodem casu (same form), prop. of proprie (especially), semp. of semper (always). 21 Nonnus is the main source of John for the quotation of “rare words”. However, one finds references also to other authors.

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427

voured for that purpose. The percentage of those is equivalent in both authors, Nonnus 68 % (17/25 words) and John 71 % (22/31). The understanding of Nonnus’ lexical technique allows John to adapt it to his own purpose. The following example illustrates the impression conveyed by John of Gaza’s neologisms, Tab. 390–392 (Fried. 2.1–3): Καὶ ῥόδα μαρμαίροντα φίλης ἀνέτειλεν ἀκάνθης ἐς χάριν ἁβροπέτηλον ἀνοιγομένοιο κορύμβου ὀζομένου22 λειμῶνος ἐπιχθονίου ῥοδεῶνος. Arising from their brambles, roses are shining. The gracious bud delicately opens its petals, As the terrestrial meadow smells of roses.

In two consecutive verses, we find a neologism of John (the compound adjective ἁβροπέτηλος which remains a hapax in Greek poetry) and an adjective which Nonnus uses three times (ῥοδεών), here used as a noun.23 Therefore, John assumes the legacy of his model in forging words while building his own authorship. John also quotes expressions and entire verses from Nonnus. Each hexameter has at least one or even several references to the Egyptian.24 Although a proper study of Nonnus’ quotations cannot take place here, a few general remarks may be useful. John quotes both the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrase, even if the former (316 precisely identifiable quotations25) is quoted in absolute ten times more than the later (only 32 precisely identifiable quotations). If one takes into account the respective length of these two works, the discrepancy appears less striking. Relatively speaking, John quotes the Dionysiaca twice as much as the Paraphrase, with 1,7 % (316/20.246 verses) of John’ quotations compared to the total amount of the Dionysiaca and 0,87 % for the Paraphrase (32/3654 verses).

22 Corr. Lauritzen: ἀζομένου Friedländer. 23 John imitates three times the construction found in Nonn. Dion. 2.90 κονιομένου ῥοδεῶνος, at the same place of the verse: 111 (Fried. 1.86) ἀεξομένου ῥοδεῶνος ped. 3–6; 392 (Fried. 2.3) λειμῶνος ἐπιχθονίου ῥοδεῶνος ped. 2–6 (our example); 663 (Fried. 2.274) λειμῶνα χελιδονίου ῥοδεῶνος ped. 2–6. 24 Cameron 1993, 348: “Nonnus is echoed at practically every line”. 25 The followed method retains only exact references, that is to say, which appear only once in Nonnus (quotation ascertained) and that John reproduces without distorting them. This first range of results has to be nuanced by a complementary search which integrates the uncertain quotations, or in other terms, expressions that Nonnus himself re-uses more than once or that John transforms to a greater extend.

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However, the way John quotes Nonnus is at least as significant as the sheer number of references. As a representative example, one can compare the following verses: Ὦ πάτερ, ἀενάων ἐτέων αὐτόσπορε ποιμήν

Nonn. Dion. 7.73

Ὦ πάτερ, ἀχράντου λοχίης αὐτόσπορε ποιμήν Καὶ πολυδινήτων ἐτέων αὐτόσπορος Αἰών ἀενάων ἐτέων ἕλικα δρόμον ἡνιοχεύων

IoGaz. Tab. 49 (Fried. 1.24) IoGaz. Tab. 162 (Fried. 1.137) IoGaz. Tab. 716 (Fried. 2.327)

In his hexametric proem, John (49) paraphrases an entire verse of Nonnus (Dion. 7.73). Although he retains the general structure of the initial verse – which allows identifying the quotation – he changes the middle part (from the second foot to half of the fourth) and replaces ἀενάων ἐτέων by ἀχράντου λοχίης. The meaning is over determined. First, John chooses a verse referring to Aion in the Dionysiaca and places it at a key moment of his own poem, the invocation to the God of the Universe. The parallel between the two cosmic figures is reinforced by a second use of the same quotation, made around a hundred verses later, in the passage describing the figure of Aion (162). John quotes Dion. 7.73 from half of the third foot to the fifth foot included (ἐτέων αὐτόσπορος) and changes the name ποιμήν into Αἰών, thus providing an explicit meaning. But the complex game of quotation does not stop there. Only one word of the original verse had not yet been used (ἀενάων). John recalls it 660 lines after the first quotation, at the other end of the poem (716). Such a distance between the three re-uses by John of the initial verse of Nonnus raises a legitimate question: is John really expecting his audience to detect such an intricate and subtle set of references? For the first two uses (49 and 162) the answer is likely to be yes, as the two cosmic figures are not distant from each other in John’s Description. One can cast a doubt on the third one.26 However, it is possible to connect the three passages, as the one in the epilogue of the poem concerning the personification of Cosmos (716) is parallel to the hymn to the cosmic god in the proem (49) as well as linked to Aion (162). Moreover, John inserts a key reference for the content in the poetic frame of Nonnus’ verse. The expression ἀχράντου λοχίης (49) is only to be found in the Acts of the Council of Ephesus (ἀχράντοις λοχείαις)27. This casts a new light 26 The expression ἀενάων ἐτέων is not used in the same metrical position and there is another example of it being placed in the second-fourth feet in Nonn. Dion. 27.9. 27 ACO Ephes. 1.1.5.66.31 Ἀντιόχου ἐπισκόπου. Ὃν χθὲς ἀχράντοις λοχείαις σωτῆρα ἡμῖν ἡ ζωοτόκος ἡ καλλιτόκος ἡ μεγαλοτόκος ἡ φαεσφόρος ἡ ἐλπιδοφόρος ἡ θεοτόκος ἡ ξενοτόκος ἡ παρθενομήτωρ ὤδινε Μαρία.

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on John’s theological views. It seems like the poet consciously builds the figure of a “cosmic god” of his own. In order to do so, he borrows some features from Nonnus’ Aion and reworks them according to the Christianity prevalent in Gaza at this time, while the proem is also inspired by the Hymns of Proclus.28 However, it is difficult to estimate the balance between philosophy and theology, both present in the poem. Thus, John masters the possibilities offered by quotation: his system of finely reworked references manages to create an entirely new meaning. Moreover, the question of genre and the rules of poetic creation are not the same for Nonnus in Egypt around the middle of the fifth century and for John in Palestine in the first decades of the sixth. What makes John unique and immediately recognizable is that he writes an encomiastic ekphrasis of a work of art,29 in order to praise officials present in Gaza. Indeed, from the viewpoint of structure, Nonnus’ Dionysiaca and Paraphrase on one hand and John’s Description on the other have nothing in common. Two main features which characterize the Description are not found in Nonnus. First, the prologues point to the declamation of John’s Description.30 Here is one of the limits of Nonnus as a model. John employs iambic prologues not found in Nonnus but in other contemporary poets.31 However, Nonnus also proposes proems, in his Dionysiaca, but in hexameters, which John knows and imitates. Thus, the two initial hexametric proems of John (25–53 – Fried. prol. 1.1–28) borrow several themes and formulas from Nonnus.32 John’s intermediary iambic proem which describes the break of midday (386–389 – Fried. prol. 2.1–4) is followed by an intermediary hexametric proem on spring roses and lilies (390–395 – Fried. 2.1–6). There too, John creates his own variation by combining two types of proems, the epic tone of Nonnus adapted to more precise circumstances.

28 See Lauritzen, forthcoming (a). 29 On the fact that John’s Description belongs to the type of encomiastic ekphrasis while its ‘originality’ influences the very definition and practice of ekphraseis among following authors, see Lauritzen 2011 and 2013. 30 For an overview of public performance of ekphraseis in Gaza, see Renaut 2005. 31 Cameron 1970 gathers seven papyri plus the eponymous P. Ant. III 115 to conduct his study on iambic prologues combined with hexametric poems, most of them encomia. See also Lauritzen 2011, 71 and n. 26. 32 Among other features, one can mention the classical invocation to the Muse (Nonn. Dion. 1.1; 1.45 and 25.1; 25.264) and to the Muses (1.11 and 25.18) assisted by the Bacchae (1.34) which is reworked into a chorus of poetic figures involving the Sirens, the Muses and Apollo (IoGaz. Tab. 26–43 – Fried. 1.1–15). Similar parallels are found in the expression of the desired gift of inspiration, so as to announce the general topic and the first object of the speech, as well as in the use of vocabulary which reflects their respective poetics.

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Moreover, John does not imitate the content of Nonnus’ poems. The Dionysiaca is a narrative which deals with mythological material; the Description, instead, is an ekphrasis of allegorical figures. The topical disparity is striking. The Dionysiaca develop epic ventures of the wine god while the Paraphrase reworks a biblical text. The Description tells about the world depicted in the shape of about sixty personifications. Thus the nonnian hexameter can adapt to different content. Actually, John of Gaza appears more Nonnian than Nonnus himself. Somehow, his originality expresses itself in conforming to his model.33 Reducing the Description to a repetition, though highly elaborated, of words or passages taken from the Dionysiaca and from the Paraphrase oversimplifies what the process of mimesis really means. As a successor, John reveals the essence of Nonnus’ genius. Far from plagiarizing fragments or entire passages of his model, his technique reproduces and adapts according to his purpose, with the result being an innovative poem. The last step raises the question: why was Nonnus’ poetry exported in Gaza rather than elsewhere in the Empire at this very moment? Let us say that circumstances in early sixth century Gaza were favourable to such a move. Two points of view must be examined. First, Nonnian poetry needed authors composing in its way to allow it to spread. John of Gaza fitted the profile. He somehow read Nonnus’ works – perhaps directly in Alexandria34 – and he proved able to imitate the new style. Moreover, John is likely to have produced his poems in a specific milieu which saw the rise of several intellectual figures in the years 470–540 in the city of Gaza.35 The fact that he was a grammatikos speaks in favour of his literary ability. The presence in Gaza of a poet such as John was the necessary condition for the production of the Description; however, it would not have been sufficient in itself. Second, Nonnus’ poetry was imitated in Gaza because it encountered there an audience which could understand and appreciate it, perhaps also required

33 For a somehow comparable perspective on Dioscorus of Aphrodito see Agosti 2007, 220: “L’importanza dei suoi brogliacci risiede proprio nella loro esemplarità e banalità”, even if we do not agree with such a view regarding John of Gaza, who is a great poet in his own right. 34 We do not have any biographical evidence that John went and studied in Alexandria but it is possible, if not likely, to judge from the career of other authors of Gaza such as Aeneas or Procopius. The link between the intellectual life of Gaza and Alexandria is underlined in Renaut 2007. 35 The name “School of Gaza” (“Die Schule der Gaza”) was used for the first time by K. Stark in 1852 and reused in K. Seitz’s eponym thesis in 1892. For an overview of the most recent research on the authors of Gaza in the fifth and sixth century CE, see the Proceedings of the international conference held in Paris, May 23–25, 2013 (Amato – Corcella – Lauritzen [eds.] forthcoming).

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such sophistication for a specific occasion36. This last element pre-supposes that the Egyptian’s style was already famous. One can read in this perspective the passage of the initial iambic proem where John refers to the commission he received in the following terms (9–15 = Fried. prol. 1.9–15): Ἐγὼ δ᾽ ἀγῶνα περιλαβὼν ταῖς ἐλπίσιν ἄλλον βαδίζειν τοῖς λόγοισιν ᾠόμην ὃν νῦν παρῆκα δεσπόταις πεπεισμένος· ἀεροβατεῖν γάρ φασι καὶ τὴν εἰκόνα τὴν παντόμορφον κοσμικαῖς ἐξουσίαις ὡς ἐκ βίας πέμπουσιν ἐξωπλισμένον ἐνθουσιῶσαν37 πᾶσαν ἐκφράζειν στίχοις … While I was hoping for a contest, I thought my words would take another path Which I have now left aside on my Lords’ suggestion. For in the air they tell me to walk and the image Composed of all shapes of cosmic powers, They send me, like on a mission and fully armed, Drawing my inspiration from it, to describe all in verses.

John uses an etymologic figure to contrast the expression “to walk (on the ground) with (his) words” (βαδίζειν τοῖς λόγοισιν) with the verb created by Aristophanes (Clouds 225; 1503) based on the same verbal scheme “to walk in the air” (ἀεροβατεῖν)38. The author was hoping to enter a contest (ἀγών) in a way which, apparently, would have been quite different. Instead, he was given specific instructions on the subject (the cosmic image, τὴν εἰκόνα / τὴν παντόμορφον κοσμικαῖς ἐξουσίαις), the manner (a description, ἐκφράζειν) and style (in verses, στίχοις). So, ultimately, he had to compose in the modern style made fashionable by Nonnus. In this sense, the specific poetical manner might have been part of the conditions imposed, or rather, as John phrases it, “suggested” by those who commissioned the work. John calls his patrons “my Lords” (δεσπόται). As a simple civil servant, John is the subordinate of any representative of the local and imperial administration and finds himself honoured to please them with a declamation. But who commissioned the

36 On the audience of Gaza’s authors, see Ciccolella 2006. On the occasion of John’s declamation, see Gigli 2006. 37 Correction Lauritzen: ἐνθουσιῶντα Friedländer from Rutgers. 38 On the interpretation of the passage as referring to a plain speech in prose by opposition to an elevated poem in verses see Gigli Piccardi 2005, 186–7 and of the same author, in this volume, p. 413 n. 47 on ἀεροβατεῖν with the same reference.

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poem? In all probability, some members of the municipal elites chose John as the agonistic champion of the city. The key is the occasion for which the literary contest was set up and the poem commissioned. Contrary to other works in Gaza resorting to the same type – ekphrasis – but written in prose,39 John does not explicitly give the name of a person or of the people whom he might praise. The fact that the local patrons thought that modern poetry would please the audience may indicate people who travelled, perhaps specifically to Egypt, enough to have heard of the latest fashion. As regards the rank of the potential laudati, on default of their identity, one can find a parallel with two other speeches, one by Choricius, the other by John of Gaza himself, which establish a specific type of encomium dedicated to two officials.40 The occasion of John’s Description could have been an inspection tour of provincial governors, perhaps both the military δούξ of the whole region of Palestine and the civil praeses (ἄρχων) of the administrative district of Palestine I. It may have been in honour of such distinguish guests that the local notables organized this event according to “international” taste. John may be the only poet of Gaza to have reached us. Perhaps his Description was preserved because it was the only attempt to adapt Nonnus’ poetry in Gaza. Prose was primary there and one cannot say that Nonnus inspired a school of poetry in Gaza. Thus, John is a kind of an exception in this milieu and the philosophical aspect of his poems is also unique. John is not trying to build a Neoplatonic system, nor is he giving a precise Christian interpretation of the image, as seen earlier at Tab. 49 = Fried. 1.24. Neither Aion nor the reference to the Ephesus Council are specific or polemical. The first purpose of the poet is to fulfil his commitment in the best possible way, by making sure the patrons (the local elites), the recipients (the praised officials) and the audience (the previously mentioned people and the learned/upper classes in general) are pleased with the way he treated his subject in the manner of modern poetry. Therefore John was successful in adapting Nonnus’ technique according to his specific milieu. John, as the “Nonnus of Gaza”, achieved two goals of which he is unlikely to have been conscious. First, by propagating the Egyptian’s poetry outside its original soil, John turned Nonnus from a provincial poet into an international author who later acquired a widespread fame. It is, indeed, through his succes-

39 his 40 Or.

Procopius of Gaza in his Description of an image which is located in the city of Gaza ends ekphrasis with a proper encomium of the benefactor, named Timotheos. For a generic comparison of the two-folded laudandi praises in IoGaz. Anacr. 2 and Chor. 3, see Gascou 1998.

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sors that Nonnus grows into the literary landscape in the century following his floruit. A second view regards the posterity of John of Gaza himself. The Modern Poetry of the time did not only travel from Alexandria to Constantinople, but also stopped in Gaza. Moreover, the finest Byzantine collection of antique poetry did not mistake the relationship between the Egyptian and the poet of Gaza: the Palatine Anthology originally included the Paraphrase of Nonnus together with the Description of John.41 Therefore, the successors may not have surpassed their master, but the Nonnians offer various flowers blossoming from a unique plant. The poikilia dear to Nonnus seems to have spread onto all his descendants.

41 The Index Vetus of the Palatine Anthology (Heidelbergensis Palatinus 23, f. Ar) mentioned the Paraphrase of Nonnus as the opening text of the Palatine Anthology, though under the name “ἔκφρασις” instead of (e.g.) “μεταβολή” (see Livrea 2000, 113–4). This text is now lacking. John of Gaza’s Description takes place between Book 14 and Book 15 of the Anthology and is now preserved in the second tome dividing the original manuscript (Parisinus Supplementum graecum 384).

Mary Whitby

A Learned Spiritual Ladder?* Towards an Interpretation of George of Pisidia’s Hexameter Poem On Human Life In 1991 Fabrizio Gonnelli published a new edition with Italian translation, philological commentary and Index verborum of a ninety-line hexameter poem identified by Leo Sternbach as the work of George of Pisidia.1 Apart from a few epigrams, this is the only surviving work in hexameters from a poet best known for his iambic panegyrics celebrating the Emperor Heraclius’ victories over the Persians in the 620s, but, though George’s editor Agostino Pertusi remained hesitant,2 there can be no doubt about its authorship. In two of the four manuscripts in which it is found, representing two different branches of the tradition, it is juxtaposed with George’s longer iambic poem On the Vanity of Life (261 lines).3 These works are closely linked both thematically and in imagery,4 while the central section of On Human Life, which articulates the wonders of human anatomy, finds a close parallel in the central section of George’s major iambic poem, the Hexaemeron; the latter is also transmitted along with the two reflective poems on human life in the oldest extant manuscript.5 It is characteristic of George to rework imagery and themes over several

* I am most grateful to Konstantinos Spanoudakis for organizing a conference on Nonnus in May 2011 and inviting me to participate; his editorial comments have been perceptive and learned. I have benefited greatly from conversations with other scholars, and would like to thank in particular Phil Booth, Philip Hardie, Neil McLynn, Michael Paschalis, Rob Shorrock, Christos Simelidis and Nicola Zito. More particularly, Andrew Faulkner has greatly improved my discussions of line 23 and of Arete. 1 Sternbach 1893; Gonnelli 1991; reprinted with new Italian translation and notes: Tartaglia 1998. I am most grateful to Fabrizio Gonnelli for allowing me to reprint his text. A new edition is in preparation by W. Hörandner and A.-M. Taragna. 2 Pertusi 1959, 16 n. 3. 3 Monac. gr. 416 (s. XII) and Paris. gr. 1630 (s. XIV). Discussion: Gonnelli 1991, 118 f., stemma: 122; Tartaglia 1998, 30 f. 4 E.g. the instability of Fortune (De vit. 10–2, De van. 13–21), man’s bestiality which links him with the monstrous Minotaur in his underground labyrinth (De vit. 18–22, De van. 57–81), the delusive theatre of life (De vit. 67–77, De van. 89–105), deceitful dreams from which the dawn bird sharply awakens (De vit. 59–66, De van. 106–27), the bubble of delusion that rises high only to fall (De vit. 88–90, De van. 224–9). 5 On human life 31–51, cf. Hex. 604–758. All three poems appear together in Monac. gr. 416 (s. XII).

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poems6 and through this overlap, one poem can assist in the interpretation of another, as I shall argue is the case here. In addition, I want to suggest that similar and repeated line-ends are not indicative of the constraint George felt in writing hexameters, as Gonnelli proposed, but a further clue to the structure and meaning of the poem.7 I first give the full text of the poem in Gonnelli’s edition with an English translation and discuss its structure and argument, drawing attention to George’s shaping technique of verbal echoing. Then (2), drawing on Gonnelli’s excellent scholarship, I illustrate the Nonnian characteristics of its metre and language, arguing that imaginative compound epithets are carefully chosen to demonstrate George’s literary pedigree. In the next section (3) I suggest that these allegiances give a valuable indication of the poem’s intended meaning, and finally (4) I briefly consider what the poem suggests about the intellectual circles in which George moved at Heraclius’ court.

1 The Poem Ἄνδρες ἐγερσιγέλωτες, ὅσοι βιοπαίγμονι τέφρῃ ἀνθρακιὴν παθέεσσιν ἀνάπτετε, μίξατε πένθει χαρμοσύνην ἀγέλαστον, ἐπεὶ μετὰ τόξα γελώτων θυμοβόρος μελέεσσι κορύσσεται ἀσπιδιώτης. Ἄρεϊ σαρκοχίτωνι κακὴν μὴ τεύχετε νίκην, νίκην ψυχολέτειραν, ὅθι κρυφίοισι βελέμνοις ἐς κραδίην ζοφόεντες ὀϊστεύουσι φονῆες. λήγετε καγχαλόωντες ὀλεθροφόρῳ παρὰ τύφῳ· ὄγκον ἔχει πίπτοντα καὶ ἐς θρόνον ἐστὶν ὀλίσθου. ῥεῦμα τύχης ὁρόωντες ἐναντία τέμνετε ῥεῖθρα, δακρυόεν γελόωντες, ἐπὶ τροχόεντι κυλίνδρῳ ἀνδρομέης στροφάλιγγος, ὅθι στρεπτῇσι κελεύθοις ἐκ χθονὸς ὡς ἐγένοντο, πάλιν χθόνα μητέρα δύντες, ὡς αἰεὶ τελέθοντες ἑῆς λελάθοντο γενέθλης. οὐδέ τις ἀμπλακίης δνοφερὴν ἀπεκείρατο χαίτην,

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6 Recent illustration: Taragna 2009. For this reason, in my view On the Vanity of Life and On Human Life should be regarded as independent poems: cf. Tartaglia 1998, 31. Gonnelli (1995, 114 n. 4) thought they might be two parts of a single work. 7 Gonnelli 1991, 120. Cf. Taragna 2007, esp. 315–7 for the view that George typically proceeds by associative connections, and that a repeated line-end can be a structuring device. See Simelidis 2009, 52–4 on repetition in Gregory of Nazianzus and other Late Antique poets.

A Learned Spiritual Ladder?

οὐδὲ νόον μόρφωσεν ἀπ’ εὐαγέος μελεδώνης εἰκόνος ἀρχετύπου θεοσύνθετα μέτρα φυλάξας, ἀλλὰ νόθοις μελέεσσιν ἀνὴρ ἀνεμάξατο ταῦρον, οἶκον ἔχων ζοφόεντα βιοπλανέος λαβυρίνθου, εἰκόνα δὲ βροτέην ἐψεύσατο καὶ φρένα φάτνῃ πωλογενῆ μεθέηκε καὶ ἀμφικέρωτος ὁμοίην μορφὴν κτηνομέτωπον ἑῷ παρέμιξε καρήνῳ. ἀλλ’ ἄγε νῦν, Ἀρετή, βιοτέρμονος ἄνθεα φύτλης ἔννεπε πῶς χλοάοντα μαραίνεται οἷά τε χόρτος οὐτιδανὸν βλάστησε, μινυνθαδίοις δ’ ἐπὶ φύλλοις οἴχεται ὀξυθέριστα καὶ ἰσχνογένεθλα τακέντα· οὐδὲ γὰρ ὑπνώοντος ἔχει πλέον, εἰ δέ τι, κέρδος, οὐδὲ πάλιν παίζοντος ὅδε χρόνος· ἀλλὰ μεθ’ ἅλμην φλοισβοπόρου βιότοιο παλίρροον ἔρχεται οἶδμα, ῥεύμασιν ἀνδρομέοισι σάλον θανάτοιο κυλίνδον. ἔννεπε, τίς συνέπηξε καὶ ἥρμοσε χώματι σῶμα, ὀστέα δὲ σκλήρυνε καὶ ἄτρομα πήξατο βάθρα σαρκοφόροις δονάκεσσι, καὶ ἐς φλέβας αἷμα λοχεύσας εἰς ὀχετοὺς ἐτάνυσσεν ὅπως βιοθρέμμονος ὄμβρου ἀζαλέοις μελέεσσιν ἐπιστάζουσιν ἐέρσην; νεῦρα δὲ τίς ῥίζωσε καὶ ἔμπεδα πάντοθεν ἄρθρα ἀρμονίῃ συνέδησεν ὅπως δέμας, οἷά τε δένδρον, ἀνδρομέοις προτόνοισιν ἐρείδεται ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα; τίς δολιχὸν χολάδεσσι καὶ ἀγκύλον ἔργον ἑλίξας ἤπατος αἱμοτόκοιο τόνους πυρόεντας ἀνάπτει; τίς δὲ πάλιν στέρνοιο φυσίζωον ἥδρασε κῶνον, ὁλκοῖς δισσοχίτωσι χέων πυρόεσσαν ἐέρσην; πνεύμονι γὰρ κραδίη ῥιπίζεται, ὄφρα φυλάξῃ σύγχθονα σαρκὸς ἄλευρα καὶ ἐκ κροτάφων ἀπερύκοι καπνὸν ἀνερπύζοντα καὶ αἰθαλόεσσαν ὁμίχλην. τίς δὲ περὶ γλώσσῃ μὲν ἐπήξατο τεῖχος ὀδόντων ὄφρα λόγους προχέουσα λάλον φόρμιγγα σαλεύῃ, ὄμματα δὲ στίλβωσεν ἐν ὑγροχίτωνι καλύπτρῃ, φωτοχύτῳ σπινθῆρι σέλας βλεφάροισιν ἀνάψας; τίς δὲ νόῳ πτερόεντι ῥάκος παχύκλωστον ὑφήνας σάρκα φορεῖν ἐπένευσε; βαρυνομένην δὲ σαλεύσας ψυχὴν πῇ παρέβαψε δρακοντογόνων ἀπὸ λύθρων, οἷς πάρος ἀνδρολόχευτος ἐβάπτετο δύστοκος Εὔα, οὓς Μαρίης ἀπέμαξεν ἀπειρογάμοιο λοχείη

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ἀχράντοις σταγόνεσσι καὶ ἀμπλακίης μετὰ γῆρας ἄσπορον υἷα λόχευσε καὶ ἄσπορον ἥρπασεν Εὔαν· οὔνεκα γὰρ τοπάροιθε γυνὴ τεκνώσατο λύπας, παρθένος Εἰλείθυια μογοστόκον ἔσβεσε λύπην. ἔννεπέ μοι, βασίλεια, βίου ζοφόεντας ὀνείρους· πολλάκι γὰρ κνώσσοντα κενοῖς ἰνδάλμασιν ὕπνος φάσματι κοιρανίης ἀνεμώλιον ἥρπασεν ἄνδρα καὶ στρατιὴν ὑπέταξε καὶ ἄστατον ὄλβον ἀγείρας σκηπτροφορεῖν παρέπεισεν ἐπὶ πτωχῶν παλαμάων, ἀγλαΐην ἀνύπαρκτον ἐπὶ κροτάφοισι τανύσσας. τῷ δὲ μάτην θέλγοντι νόον μελέεσσι χυθέντα στυγνὴν ἠριγένειαν ἐπίσχεεν ὄρθριος ὄρνις· ἔνθεν ἐμοὶ σκιόεσσα βίου φιλοπαίγμονος αἴγλη σκηνοχαρὴς δοκέει τύπος, οἷά περ ἀνέρες ἄλλοι παιζόμενοι παίζοντες ἐν εὐτροχάλοισι θεήτροις ἄνδρα γελωτοκάρηνον ἐνιδρύσαντο θοώκῳ χλαίνῃ μὲν σχεδίῃ περιλαμπέα, παιζόμενον δὲ ὄλβῳ ἐπ’ ὀθνείῳ πενίην ὅτι δόξε καλύπτειν· τόν ῥα γέλως μόρφωσε βίου φορέοντα καλύπτρην, ὄλβιον, ὑψικάρηνον, ἕως μόνον ἕζετο παίζων ἀγλαΐην βιότοιο, κενῷ δ’ ἐπετέρπετο θώκῳ, ὃς ψαλίσιν τοπάροιθε τεμὼν ἀπεκείρατο χαίτην, ὃν δὲ νόον προέκερσεν ἀναιδέος εἵνεκα λύσσης. πολλάκι γὰρ κλέπτουσι τύχης ψυχάρπαγες ὄγκοι, θελξινόοις παγίδεσσι καὶ ἀκρατὲς ἅμμα βαλόντες γυμνὸν ἐχεφροσύνης πεπεδημένον ἥρπασαν ἄνδρα. εἰ δέ τις εὐσεβίης θεοβενθέος ἔδρακεν ὅρμους ἵσταται ἐν πελάγεσσι, καὶ ἐς βυθὸν ἴχνος ἐρείδει, οὐ τρομέων ζοφόεντας ἀεὶ πνείοντας ἀήτας. ταῦτα γὰρ ἠΰτ’ ὄναρ τὸν ἐμὸν βίον, οἷά περ αὔρη, κύμασιν ἀνδρομέοις περικίδναται ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα ἢ βιότῳ παίζοντι συνίπταται ἅλματι κούφῳ, ὕπνῳ ὀλισθήσαντα, συνεκλείψαντα θεήτρῳ, πομφόλυγος στροφάλιγγι πανείκελα, τῇ πάρα κέντρον ὀμβροτόκου ψεκάδος παρανίσταται ἄστατον ὕψος καὶ πάλιν αὐτοκύλιστον ἀπέρχεται ἔνθεν ἀνῆλθεν. Men who wake laughter, you who amidst the ashes of life’s play rekindle with the passions the glowing ember, mingle with grief unlaughing joyfulness, since amidst darts of laughter takes arms against your limbs a warrior who eats out the soul. Grant not to Ares in his cuirass of flesh vile victory,

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victory that destroys the soul, where with secret barbs shadowy slaughterers shoot to the heart. Cease your vaunting in destruction-bringing pride, its bulk precipitate, its throne of slipperiness. Seeing Fortune’s flux, cut the adverse streams, laughing through tears at the runaway roll of the human vortex, where with twisting paths just as they came into being from earth, men enter again their mother earth, forgetful of their birth, as if they were for ever. None cropped the murky hair of sin, none shaped the mind with unpolluted care guarding the God-built measures of the archetypal image, but with counterfeit limbs man took the imprint of a bull having as gloomy home the life-errant labyrinth, falsified mortal image and to the manger loosed his colt-like mind, and like the two-horned one mixed on his head the form of a beast’s brow. But come now, Virtue, tell how the budding flowers of the life-bounded race wither: like grass they grοw worthless, but on short-lived leaves are gone, swift-harvested and feeble generations wasted: no more profit has this time – if that indeed – than of one who sleeps nor yet again who plays. But after the saltiness of clamorous life comes the back-flowing swell that rolls o’er human streams the surge of death. Tell, who constructed and framed the body from earth, who hardened bones and fixed foundations firm for flesh-bearing canes, who engendering blood in veins spread it in conduits in order that they drip the dew of life-nurturing rain through arid limbs? Who rooted sinews and bound fast in harmony limbs firm on every front, so that the body like a tree sits sure at either side on human forestays? Who wound the long and curving work of intestines, and kindles the fiery tendons of the blood-engendering liver? And again who seated the life-breathing cone of the breast, pouring fiery dew through double-lined channels? For the heart is fanned by the lungs, to protect the flour of flesh cognate with earth and keep from the temples smoke that seeps up and sooty vapour. Who fixed about the tongue a wall of teeth, so that in pouring forth words it might vibrate the lyre of speech, and made eyes sparkle in their damp-lined sheath, with a spark that pours light, kindling a brilliance under the lids? Who by weaving for the winged mind a thick-spun rag consented that it wear flesh? But in anchoring the burdened soul he baptized it, as it were, heinously with serpent-generated gore

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in which Eve once was dipped, who bore with pain bedded with a man. But Mary’s childbed wiped clean this gore with drops immaculate, she who knew no man, and when sin grew old, bore son without seed and swept off Eve who from no seed was sown; for since of old woman brought pains to birth Virgin Eileithuia quenched pain of hard travail. Tell for me, queen, life’s shadowy dreams: for often fatuous man slumbering in vain illusion did sleep captivate with fantasy of dominance – put under him an army and, gathering unstable wealth, prevailed on him to wield a sceptre in his pauper’s hands, extending o’er his brows an insubstantial splendour. But for him who vainly beguiles a mind diffused o’er his limbs the daybreak bird holds out8 a hateful dawn; Hence for me the shadowy glitter of a life that loves play seems but a stage impression, as when other men being mocked by turn and mocking in rounded theatres seated on a throne a man with ridiculous face9 resplendent in improvised cloak, yet mocked because he thought to hide poverty with wealth not his. Him laughter shaped wearing the mantle of life prosperous and high-headed only while he sat presenting in play life’s splendour, but he took pleasure in an empty throne who earlier with scissors cut and sheared his hair yet before that cropped his mind in shameless frenzy. For oft do Fortune’s soul-snatching barbs seize with traps that charm the mind, and casting a noose of intemperance capture a man and fetter him reft of common sense. But if a man has looked to ports of God-deep piety he stands sure on the sea and plants his print upon the deep, not trembling at dark winds that always blow. For these things like a breeze scatter hither and thither o’er human waves my life, like a dream, or with light leap join in flight with the life of play, slipped with sleep, vanished with the stage, just like the twisting of a bubble, in which the centre of the rain-bearing drop rises up to unstable height and returns again self-propelled from whence it rose.

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As Gonnelli (1991, 119 f.) observed, by contrast with the much longer iambic work On the Vanity of Life, this poem is tightly constructed in three sections

8 Gonnelli 1991 conjectures ἐπήχεεν “re-echoed”. 9 Lampe s.v. translates “with a comedian’s mask”.

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around three distinct addressees. Lines 1–22 are addressed to foolish men in general who are called upon to abandon bestial passion and pride and remember their divine origins (“the God-built measures of the archetypal image”, 17). In the central section (23–58), George invokes Arete or Virtue (23) first to remind men how their mortal nature withers like that of leaves (23–30), and then to recall (with a stream of reiterated τίς clauses: 31, 36, 39, 41, 46, 50) who it was that constructed the human frame in all the detailed marvels of its anatomy. In the parallel passage in George’s Hexaemeron, the context is that only by understanding the wonders of his own body can man seek to comprehend the greater wonders of the universe,10 but that point is not made explicit here. Instead, George next links the anatomical excursus to his overall theme of man’s delusion and bestiality with a reference to original sin, 51–3: But in anchoring the burdened soul he [God] baptized it, as it were, heinously with serpent-generated gore in which Eve once was dipped, who bore with pain bedded with a man.

From this explicit allusion to the Genesis story George moves directly to a climactic passage describing how the Virgin Mary’s immaculate conception wiped out Eve’s sin (54–8). Here verbal play reinforces the message: Eve’s painful childbirth (53 δύστοκος Εὔα) is eradicated by the Virgin (56 ἥρπασεν Εὔαν), who bore Christ “without seed”, just as Eve herself had been created by God without seed (reiterated ἄσπορον, 56). The contrasting roles of Eve and the Virgin are summed up at 57 f., pointed by echoing line-ends λύπας / λύπην. Here the transferral to the Virgin of the name Eileithuia (58),11 the classical goddess who assists women in childbirth, suggests a further implicit analogy

10 Hex. 598 f., using the imagery of a child progressing through the different stages of education. Cf. On vanity 162–7 εἰ γὰρ μαθητιῶν τις ἐμφρόνως θέλοι / μαθεῖν ἑαυτόν, πᾶσαν ἔγνω τὴν φύσιν, / καὶ κοσμικὴν φρόνησιν εἰκότως ἔχει / – σμικρὸς γάρ ἐστι κόσμος ἀνθρώπου φύσις – / καὶ μηδὲν εἶναι σωφρόνως πεπεισμένος / ἄνω βαδίζει τῷ βεβηκέναι κάτω “For if a man who wishes to learn should wisely wish / to learn [about] himself, he knows the whole of nature, / and plausibly has universal understanding / – for man’s nature is a small universe – / and sensibly persuaded that he is nothing, / he mounts up by having stepped down”. Here the same point is made, but without detailed excursus on anatomy. 11 Μογοστόκος Εἰλείθυια is a Homeric line-end (Il. 16.187, 19.104; cf. HomHyAp. 97, 115), used at this point in the line at Nonn. Dion. 25.40 f. αὐχένα νύμφης / Γοργόνος Εἰλείθυια μογοστόκος ἔθρισεν ἅρπη “the sickle, an Eileithuia of birth-pangs, reaped the neck of the Gorgon bride”, of Perseus’ slaughter of the Gorgon. George sets himself apart from both Homer and Nonnus by juxtaposing the words Εἰλείθυια and μογοστόκος but not making them agree.

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between Eve and Pandora, the woman who in Hesiod opened the jar of troubles for mankind.12 I shall argue (below sec. 3) that this artfully constructed seven-and-a-half-line passage (51–8) is paralleled by an equally highlywrought eight-line passage at 23–30. These two passages frame and highlight the central series of questions on human anatomy.13 It is to the Virgin, invoked like an epic Muse as “queen”, ἔννεπέ μοι, βασίλεια,14 that George addresses the final section of the poem (59–90), where he returns to the opening theme of human delusion, this time evoked through dreams and theatrical shows. This passage ends with more metaphorical language when Fortune is depicted as a huntress who ensnares the mind (78– 80). It is marked off by verbal echoing, beginning and ending with a line opening πολλάκι γάρ (60, 78) and the line-end ἥρπασεν ἄνδρα (61, 80). The latter is tied to the climactic central passage on the Virgin Mary and Eve by its echo of ἥρπασεν Εὔαν (56), highlighting the human weakness that originated with Eve. There is more verbal patterning at 76 f. With the line-end ἀπεκείρατο χαίτην (76) referring to the shaved head of an impoverished actor playing king, George picks up and clarifies the powerful metaphor at 15 in the first section of the poem, “None cropped the murky hair of sin” (οὐδέ τις ἀμπλακίης δνοφερὴν ἀπεκείρατο χαίτην). The model for the line-end at 15 is Iliad 23.141 ξανθὴν ἀπεκείρατο χαίτην, where mourning Achilles cuts off a golden lock which he has dedicated to his home river, the Spercheus, and puts it in the hands of his dead friend Patroclus.15 Personified Sin’s hair is naturally not “golden” but “murky”, but what is the significance of the long hair of Sin here? Although Homer’s heroic Achaeans wore their hair long,16 already in Hesiod and Semonides long hair is associated with animals (the goat, the boar),17 and in Late

12 Hes. WD 47–105. Like Eve, Pandora too was created “without seed”, from earth and water: WD 61, 70. On Eve and Pandora see now Spanoudakis 2012 § 28. 13 Two of the four manuscripts in which the poem is transmitted break off at line 58; one breaks off at 49, but it is likely that a folio is lost. Only Paris gr. 1630, from a separate branch of the tradition, contains the whole poem: Gonnelli 1991, 121 f. 14 Cf. Od. 1.1 ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, Μοῦσα; Il. 2.761, not in this sedes; HomHyAphr. 1 Μοῦσά μοι ἔννεπε, with Faulkner 2008, 72 on the solemnity of this invocation; Nonn. Dion. 8.207 εἰπέ, πόθεν, βασίλεια (of Semele). George also uses ἔννεπε in the address to Arete (24, 31): see further sec. 3. 15 In this Homeric reminiscence, George allows third-foot masculine caesura, but not Homer’s third-foot spondee: see sec. 2.1 on metre. 16 Κάρη κομόωντες Ἀχαιοί, Il. 3.43, al. 17 WD 516 αἶγα … τανύτριχα, Semon. IEG 7.2 ἐξ ὑὸς τανύτριχος.

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Antiquity with barbarians, such as the Avars.18 In the Gospel story of the high priest’s servant who struck Jesus (John 18.22), Nonnus in his Paraphrase gives the servant the epithet “long-haired” to indicate his bestial and uncivilized character.19 So George here assimilates Sin to brutes and barbarians. As for cutting hair, in the Old Testament it is associated both with diminution of strength, as in the story of Samson and Delilah (Judg. 16.19), and with cleansing, as in the case of lepers (Lev. 14.8). In Late Antiquity monks adopted the tonsure as a symbol of the dedication of their lives to God. So this half line (15) takes us from the world of Homer to that of George’s contemporary society. Line 16, beginning οὐδὲ νόον “none shaped the mind with unpolluted care” is contrasted with and echoed by line 77, beginning ὃν δὲ νόον, where the actor’s mind is metaphorically cropped as well as his hair. So, as George draws his reflections to a close, he uses a kind of ring composition, returning to but reworking and clarifying language and ideas from the opening sequence of the poem. Finally, in a novel mutation of sea imagery, George recalls the miracle of Christ walking on the waters, 81–3: But if a man has looked to ports of God-deep piety he stands sure on the sea and plants his print upon the deep, not trembling at dark winds that always blow.

Yet, in a concluding coda (84–90), George admits that he is himself subject to the bubble of human delusion that the poem has set out to puncture. Repeated clausulae are a feature of Nonnus’ poetry, but Gonnelli (1991, 119 f.) rightly argued that George here uses Nonnus’ techniques to arrive at the antithesis of Nonnus’ expansive style. George’s poem is tightly constructed in three sections with correspondences between the first and last, while the central series of questions is highlighted by flanking highly-crafted passages of equal length (22–30, 51–58).

18 Cor. Laud. Just. praef. 4 illa colubrimodis Avarum gens dira capillis “that famed people, the Avars, dreadful with their snaky hair”, transl. Av. Cameron, with her note ad loc.; also 3.262, cf. Anon. AP 16.72.3 f. on Justin II. 19 Par. 18.108 Ἰησοῦς δ’ ἀγόρευε τανύτριχα λάτριν ἐλέγχων, with Livrea’s note ad loc; cf. John 18.22 f. “And when he had spoken thus, one of the officers (ὑπηρετῶν) which stood by struck Jesus with the palm of his hand, saying, Answerest thou the high priest so? And Jesus answered him …”.

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2 Some Nonnian Characteristics 2.1 Metre This structural rigour is reflected in George’s extremely stringent metre, which again caps Nonnus’ practice, as the figures below indicate:20

Forms of hexameter Lines with two spondees Wholly dactylic lines 2nd foot spondee 4th foot spondee 3rd foot fem. caesura

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9 13.03 % 38.07 % 32.72 % 26.98 % 81.10 %

9 13.61 % 35.7 % 29 % 23.91 % 79.95 %

6 13.95 % 26.1 % 41.6 % 24.3 % 85.03 %

6 3.3 % 55.5 % 23.3 % 13.3 % 84.5 %

Paul the Silentiary, writing in praise of Justinian’s restoration of the church of St Sophia in Constantinople in 562/3, is the closest model for George’s reduction of the permutations of dactyl and spondee from Nonnus’ nine to six, and for the high incidence of feminine caesura. George treats Paul as a new master:21 although their ekphrastic and panegyrical subject matter was very different, Paul’s learned hexameter poems (1029 lines on St Sophia and 304 lines on its ambo) were the most recent precedent for the large-scale treatment of Christian themes in Nonnian hexameters. But George is even more rigorous than Paul, for example in doubling Paul’s proportion of entirely dactylic lines. And he is extremely strict in regulating word accent: every line but one is accented on the penultimate syllable,22 while word-accent regularly falls three syllables before the feminine caesura and two syllables before the masculine.23

20 Figures for Nonnus from Agosti – Gonnelli 1995, 315; figures for Paul the Silentiary from Caiazza 1982. 21 Cf. Gonnelli 1991, 120: “evidentemente livre de chevet del buon declamatore di corte e patriarcato”. Both men held positions that brought them close to the emperor, Paul as a silentiary or official usher at meetings of the consistory, George as referendarius, secretary of the patriarch, who liaised with the imperial court and was responsible for transmitting and communicating documents: Rey 2003, 607 n. 2. 22 The exception is 71 παιζόμενον δέ, but Nonnus allows δέ at line-end preceded by bucolic caesura and a choriambic word, e.g. Dion. 34.332 μυρομένης δέ; cf. Keydell 1959, I, 36*, sec. 6; Maas 1962, § 138. In such cases δέ seems to be treated as an enclitic. (I thank Konstantinos Spanoudakis for this observation.) 23 One true exception in each case: line 49 has perispomenon σπινθῆρι before feminine caesura; also postpositive at 46 γλώσσῃ μέν before feminine caesura. Line 23 has Ἀρετή before

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As Gonnelli noted,24 this rigidity clearly indicates that the hexameter is only recognized as verse by the regular placing of word-accents. Most lines end strongly with a noun, twenty close with a verb or participle; other endings usually indicate a literary echo.25

2.2 Epithets Abundant use of luxuriant and often original compound epithets is a key feature of Nonnus’ style: Domenico Accorinti (1996, 52), in his commentary on Book 20 of the Paraphrase, noted that the fifteen adjectives of John’s Gospel chapter are increased to 159 in Nonnus’ version. These adjectives are not purely ornamental, but often introduce key elements of exegesis. George’s allegiance to this tradition is paraded in the opening lines of the poem, where in rich and compressed metaphorical language he warns foolish men to beware of the Devil who lurks amidst unbridled passions. George’s first epithet (1), ἐγερσιγέλωτες “laughter-rousing”, is likely to allude to an epigram of Paul the Silentiary AP 11.60.1–2: σπείσομεν οἰνοποτῆρες ἐγερσιγέλωτι Λυαίῳ, ὤσομεν ἀνδροφόνον φροντίδα ταῖς φιάλαις. We wine-drinkers will pour a libation to laughter-rousing Lyaios, we will thrust away man-killing care with our cups.

In its one earlier attestation ἐγερσίγελως refers to Aphrodite,26 and appears to be a variant on Homer’s φιλομμειδής “laughter-loving”.27 It may well have been Paul’s innovation to transfer the epithet to Dionysus/Lyaios, god of wine. But George reverses the earlier associations of the term: whereas his predecessors viewed Love and Wine positively as causes of laughter, George thinks of men who indulge in just such passions as themselves derisory. There is considerable evidence later in On human life to suggest that George was familiar with Paul the Silentiary’s Description of St Sophia,28 but we might be more

masculine caesura, against Nonnus’ practice: Gonnelli 1991, 131; however, Paul the Silentiary allows it, see De Stefani in this volume, p. 379. See further below, sec. 3. 24 1991, 131. Cf. Jeffreys 1981. 25 E.g. 38, 85 ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα is Homeric and Nonnian (Il. 2.476, 812; Nonnus, Dion. 37.559, al.). 26 Procl. In Crat. 183.38 = OF 260.4 ἐγερσιγέλωτ’ Ἀφροδίτην. Later in the Life of Stephen the Younger 41.7, Nic. Chon. p. 441.17. 27 Il. 3.424, Od. 8.362. 28 See further below, and cf. De Stefani, cited in n. 23 above.

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surprised that he was acquainted also with Paul’s epigrams, which evoke precisely the hedonistic culture to which George is opposed. In an epigram that George wrote to compliment the Patriarch Sergius on the riches of his library (106 Tartaglia), he urges those who look at it not to be disconcerted if they see thorns among the roses: 8 f. μηδὲν ταραχθῇς, εἰ θεωρεῖς ἐν ῥόδοις / καὶ τὰς ἀκάνθας. This is usually interpreted to mean that the library included secular works as well as theology. So George might indeed have had access to the epigrams of Agathias’ Cycle as this echo and correction of Paul suggests.29 This opening allusion to Paul asserts George’s literary pedigree, while at the same time differentiating him from Paul’s ethos. The compound βιοπαίγμονι (literally “life-playing”), also in the opening line, is extant only here.30 It is elucidated by a phrase in the last section of the poem when George returns to the theme of life as a play and speaks (at 67) of “the glitter of a life that loves play” (βίου φιλοπαίγμονος αἴγλη) at the same point in the line. The epithet φιλοπαίγμων used there is a Homeric hapax (Od. 23.134)31 adopted by later poets, especially epigrammatists,32 and by Nonnus who six times uses it at the same point in the line as George here.33 It is a small step from βίου φιλοπαίγμονος (67) to βιοπαίγμονι (1), and by creating this new compound – as I suggest he did – for the first line of his poem,34 George at once evokes his central theme of life as play or a play and asserts his place in the sequence of epic poets where Homer and Nonnus are key figures. The inventiveness and allusiveness of these two lines is sustained. There is a further new formation at 5, for example, Ἄρει σαρκοχίτωνι “Ares in his cuirass of flesh”, an evocative variant on Homer’s “bronze-clad Achaeans”,35 already anticipated by Nonnus’ phrase Ἄρει χαλκοχίτωνι (Dion. 21.320) at the same point in the line. Gonnelli noted sixteen hapax legomena, which is proba29 Line 16 ἀπ’ εὐαγέος μελεδώνης may be an echo (and reversal) of Agath. AP 5.273.3 ἡ μεγαλαυχήσασα καθ’ ἡμετέρης μελεδώνης (of a woman who scorned his love), both at lineend. The noun μελεδώνη is rare in the singular, except in the Hippocratic corpus. 30 Gonnelli’s index does not list it as a hapax, but TLG (consulted 28 September 2011) knows only this example. 31 Ἡμῖν ἡγείσθω φιλοπαίγμονος ὀρχηθμοῖο “let [the divine bard] give us the lead for the festive dance”, a sonorous spondeiazon and tetracolon. 32 E.g. Philod. AP 7.222.3, Honest. AP 11.32.1, Christod. AP 2.360; in this sedes, Orph. Hy. 11.6 φ. μολπῇ. 33 Dion. 14.411, 19.150, al., usually with noun at line-end in agreement, but cf. 33.218 δόλῳ φιλοπαίγμονι κούρη. 34 It is characteristic of the style of this poem to begin with a startling image, which is later explained by more straightforward use of related imagery: cf. sec. 1 above on 15 and 76. 35 E.g. Il. 1.371, 2.47, always genitive plural at line-end in Homer, except Il. 10.287.

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bly an under-estimate, and many epithets suggest allusions to or “corrections” of earlier authors, especially Paul the Silentiary. So the line-end of 34, βιοθρέμμονος ὄμβρου, uses an epithet from Aristophanes’ Clouds36 to “correct” Paul the Silentiary’s πύλας δηλήμονος ὄμβρου (Soph. 212):37 rain is not destructive but nurtures life, as already suggested by Soph. TrGF 246 ὀμπνίου νέφους.38 There are two further inventive βιο- compounds in George’s poem. At 19 he likens degenerate man to the mythical Minotaur living in his underground labyrinth, οἶκον ἔχων ζοφόεντα βιοπλανέος λαβυρίνθου. The compound βιοπλανής is known first in a fragment of Callimachus’ epyllion Hecale,39 in the sense “wandering to get a living”, as at Nonnus’ Paraphrase 13.123 where it is used of beggars.40 Nonnus uses βιοπλανής twice more in the Paraphrase, but with a more moral overtone in connection with sin (“making a mistake”).41 Apart from citations in grammarians (TLG s.v.), the word appears only here before George who, in applying it to his metaphorical labyrinth, surely plays on the two senses of πλάνης, of physical wandering and of error or deviation from the truth, suggested by its use in Nonnus’ Paraphrase. Τhe fourth βιο- compound, βιοτέρμονος is used in the context of the transience of mortal life at line 23 in the phrase “the flowers of the life-bounded race” (βιοτέρμονος ἄνθεα φύτλης), that is the prime of the short-lived human race. Once again, George seems to be offering a new sense for a rare word, based on the phrase βιότου τέρμα or τέρμα βίου, meaning “the end of life” (LSJ s.v. τέρμα II.2). The expression βιότου τέρμα is first extant in an epigram attributed to Simonides (IEG 20.9) which reflects on the shortness of life, and how the young in particular do not take this to heart, using the phrase (line 3) ὄφρα τις ἄνθος ἔχῃ πολυήρατον ἥβης “while a man has the most lovely flower of youth”. George’s phrase in 23 characteristically compresses the themes of the flower of youth and the limit of human life. In another epigram on a similar theme (IEG 19.1 f.), Simonides quotes Il. 6.146, which compares the generations 36 Clouds 570 Αἰθέρα σεμνότατον, βιοθρέμμονα πάντων (line-end in lyric dactyls). 37 There are other echoes of Paul the Silentiary’s Description in George’s poem: for the opening of line 8, cf. Soph. 166 ἔρχεο καγχαλόωσα (addressed to Old Rome), likewise with imperative; George again reverses Paul’s sentiment. Lines 53–6 on the Virgin Mary (discussed above) draw on language used by Paul in describing the Virgin, Soph. 434–7, 693 f. 38 See Hollis 1990, 295, on Call. Hec. fr. 111 (I thank Konstantinos Spanoudakis for this reference). 39 Fr. 163 Hollis οἶοί τε βιοπλανὲς ἀγρὸν ἀπ’ ἀγροῦ / φοιτῶσιν “such as visit field after field, wandering to get a living”, adverb (?), in the same sedes. 40 Ἢ ἵνα τι πτωχοῖσι βιοπλανέεσσιν ὀπάσσῃ. 41 Par. 15.73 ἦθος ἀλιτροβίοιο βιοπλανὲς εἴχετε κόσμου “[if] you had the life-errant character of the sinful-living universe”, 20.99 βιοπλανὲς ἄχθος ἀνάγκης “the life-errant burden of necessity”. It is not used in the Dionysiaca, but for George’s line end, cf. Dion. 47.433 ναετῆρα πεδοσκαφέος λαβυρίνθου; also 47.369.

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of men to those of leaves; I shall argue in section 3 below that George too had the Iliad passage in mind.42 The compound βιοτέρμων is attested before George only twice, each time in a verse astrological text, and in two further senses. In the first it is applied to wealth in the sense “life-long”,43 while at Ps.-Manetho 4.77, it occurs in the phrase βιοτέρμονος ὥρης “of the season marking the beginning of life”. It is clear that George knew this second text. In the same line that he uses βιοτέρμονος [Manetho] applies the epithet ἀμφίκερως to the moon: ἀμφίκερως Μήνη δ’ ὁπότ’ ἂν βιοτέρμονος ὥρης / … κρατέῃ. ᾿Αμφίκερως is not attested outside [Manetho],44 but George uses it two lines earlier in 21. In addition, the lineend of 21 ἀμφίκερωτος ὁμοίην is one of the few distinctly un-Nonnian lineends in George’s poem, concluding as it does with an adjective rather than a noun or verb, and with ὁμοίην constructed with genitive rather than dative.45 This indicates that George is at some pains to incorporate the unusual word ἀμφίκερως whose implications of duplicity and bestiality fit his context so well. The use of these two distinctive epithets strongly suggests that George had access to [Manetho], a text that has come down to us only in a single ninth-century manuscript.46 Throughout this poem, I suggest, George seeks out rare and new epithets, which assert his place in the inventive tradition of epic poetry from Homer through the Alexandrians to Nonnus and Paul the Silentiary. But the double allusion to a single line of the didactic [Manetho] in lines 21 and 23 is particularly distinctive, and, I suggest, may help unlock the thought of the whole poem.

3 Interpeting the Poem I suggested above (sec. 1) that lines 23–30 are an artfully-wrought transitional passage, parallel to 51–8 which acclaim the Virgin Mary’s defeat of human 42 I am most grateful to Andrew Faulkner for drawing the Simonides to my attention and suggesting this interpretation. 43 Antiochus of Athens (1st/2nd century CE) I.110.11 in Cat. Cod. Ast. (cited by LSJ) βιοτέρμονα πλοῦτον at line-end. 44 ᾿Αμφίκερως also with Μήνη (nom.) at [Manetho] 4.478, 1.306 (gen.); 4.274 ἀμφίκερω Ταύροιο, none in this sedes. 45 See LSJ s.v. B2, citing prose texts including Hippocrates for use with the genitive. 46 Laur. Plut. 28.27, from the so-called “philosophical collection”; Westerink (1986, LXXIII– LXXX) postulated that these texts derive ultimately from a Late Antique collection from a Neoplatonic milieu in Alexandria, that came to Constantinople between the seventh and ninth centuries, perhaps with Stephen of Alexandria (on whom see sec. 4 below); but Cavallo 2005

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suffering as represented by Eve. Arete is invoked at 23 f. with the phrase ἀλλ’ ἄγε νῦν, Ἀρετή, … / ἔννεπε, while the anatomical questions in the central section of the poem follow on a second imperative ἔννεπε at 31: so 23–30 are framed by these two imperatives addressed to Arete, as to a Muse.47 I first comment on the language of this passage. The opening phrase ἀλλ’ ἄγε νῦν is a clear Homeric reminiscence,48 imitated in verse before George only once at Apollonius Rhodius 1.832.49 The Homerism is signalled by a unique metrical anomaly, noted by Gonnelli.50 There follow eight lines of reflection (23–30) on the ephemeral nature of mortal life, which is initially likened to the flowering and withering of plant life. The locus classicus for this is, of course, the words of Glaucus to Diomedes in Iliad 6 (146–9).51 George points his allegiance to this much-reused topos with the opening Homeric phrase and, like Homer, devotes four lines to the comparison between men and leaves. His treatment is, however, far removed from the relatively simple language of Homer. Homer begins with a straightforward comparison “As are the generations of leaves, so also are those of men” (Il. 6.146 οἵη περ φύλλων γενεή, τοίη δὲ καὶ ἀνδρῶν). George characteristically evokes both ideas in his opening phrase (23) “the flowers of the life-bounded race” (βιοτέρμονος ἄνθεα φύτλης), where the adjective βιοτέρμονος as we have seen (sec. 2), derives from the didactic poet [Manetho]. The noun φύτλη “race” is Pindaric (O. 9.55, P. 9.33) and rare before imperial poetry where, however, it is often used, as here, of the human race;52 it is common in Nonnus and George’s line-end evokes Dion. 10.212 μινυνθαδίης ἀπὸ φύτλης “from the short-lived race”: George has substituted the more recherché βιοτέρμων to convey the same sense (see sec. 2 above). Nonnus combines φύτλης with Homer’s word (μινυνθάδιος) for his tragically short-lived heroes Achilles and Hector;53 George, however, transfers μινυνθάδιος to the leaves in 25, while

is doubtful. I thank Nicola Zito for these references. Simelidis 2009, 47 argues that Gregory of Nazianzus was also influenced by [Manetho]. 47 Note 14 above. 48 Il. 5.226, Od. 1.309 and passim. 49 Apoll. Rhod. 1.832 ἀλλ’ ἄγε νῦν ἐπὶ νῆα κιὼν ἑτάροισιν ἐνίσπες. 50 Note 23 above: the word (Ἀρετή), accented on the last syllable, immediately precedes the masculine caesura, itself rare in George (only 14 lines). 51 Also 21.464–6. Later treatments: Mimnermus IEG 2, Bacchyl. 5.63–7, etc. Il. 6.146 is quoted and praised by Simonides (IEG 19.1 f., cf above sec. 2) as “the finest line the Chian man said”: see Graziosi – Haubold 2010 ad loc. George has the theme also at On Vanity 86–8. 52 [Manetho] 6.263; Dion. Per. 1000; Opp. H. 4.34; Orph. Arg. 430; Procl. Hymn 2.11; and in a Judaeo-Christian context at [Apoll.] Met. Ps. 20.21, 34.36, 61.19, al. (I thank Andrew Faulkner for these last references.) 53 E.g. Iliad 1.352 of Achilles, 15.612 of Hector, both in this sedes.

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φύτλης (23) is echoed in the similar-sounding φύλλοις at the end of 25, to point the similarity between men and the leaves.54 In 26, the last line of the comparison, George hallmarks his personal version of the familiar theme with two new compound formations. The first, ὀξυθέριστα “swift-harvested”, continues the imagery of vegetation and may well have been suggested by his iambic treatment of the same theme in On the Vanity of Life 87 f. ὢ βλαστὸς ἔμπνους, οὗ τὸ κάλλος ὀξέως / σὺν τῷ θερισμῷ τοῦ χρόνου μαραίνεται “O breathing shoot, whose beauty is swiftly withered by time’s harvest”. The second, ἰσχνογένεθλα, is a bold compound based on the medical term ἰσχνός (“spare”, “lean”).55 In these passages Homer’s comparison between men and leaves is mystically understood: it represents the perennial cycle of death and rebirth as a natural law applied to man.56 But why does George invoke Arete as his Muse at this point? And why does he introduce the language of [Manetho] at 21 and 23 – even at the expense of his strict metrical rules – as a frame to this invocation, while also alluding to the Iliadic passage on human mortality? His intention, I suggest, is to indicate a shift from the world of epic poetry, evoked in the first part of the poem with allusions to warfare (e.g. 5 “Ares in his cuirass of flesh”) and monstrous beasts such as the Minotaur (18–22),57 to the genre of didactic. This didactic takes the form of the series of questions addressed to Arete, beginning at line 31. Didactic verse, as epitomized by Hesiod, was the second early poetic genre composed in hexameters. Hesiod too begins his Works and Days with a phrase invoking the Muses, using the sonorous ἐννέπετε, 1 f.: Μοῦσαι, Πιερίηθεν ἀοιδῇσι κλείουσαι, δεῦτε Δι’ ἐννέπετε σφέτερον πατέρ’ ὑμνείουσαι· Muses from Pieria, who glorify by songs, come to me, tell of Zeus your father in your singing.

54 Graziosi – Haubold (2010, 117), observe that Homer’s φύλλων puns on the similar-sounding word φῦλα “tribes”. George makes a similar pun. 55 Cf. Hexaemeron 1824 ἰσχνόφωνος ἐξ ἀσιτίας “weak-voiced from fasting”, of the Patriarch Sergius, with Ex. 4.10, 6.30 where it is applied to Moses’ speech impediment. Ἰσχνόφωνος and cognate words are used in a medical context by Hippocrates and Aristotle, as are the simple terms ἰσχνός and ἰσχνότης: LSJ s.v. The use of medical language is a distinctive feature of George’s style: Pertusi 1959, 41 f.; Frendo 1974; 1975, all commenting on George’s iambic poems. 56 I thank Konstantinos Spanoudakis for this observation. 57 Might the allusion to the Minotaur be intended to evoke the story of Ariadne, which is prominent at the end of Nonnus’ Dionysiaca? Or Europa and the bull in Dion. 1? Its use in this negative context would constitute a rejection of Nonnus’ type of mythological epic.

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And Hesiod too, in a famous passage, described the hard road to Arete by contrast with the easy route to Vice, WD 287–92:58 τὴν μέν τοι κακότητα καὶ ἰλαδόν ἐστιν ἑλέσθαι ῥηιδίως· λείη μὲν ὁδός, μάλα δ’ ἐγγύθι ναίει· τῆς δ’ ἀρετῆς ἱδρῶτα θεοὶ προπάροιθεν ἔθηκαν ἀθάνατοι· μακρὸς δὲ καὶ ὄρθιος οἶμος ἐς αὐτὴν καὶ τρηχὺς τὸ πρῶτον· ἐπὴν δ’ εἰς ἄκρον ἵκηται, ῥηιδίη δὴ ἔπειτα πέλει, χαλεπή περ ἐοῦσα. Vice can be got in abundance, easily: the road is smooth and she lives very near. But in front of Virtue the immortal gods set sweat; it is a long and steep path to her, and rough at first. But when one reaches the top, then it is easy, for all the difficulty.

This passage was extremely well known and repeatedly reworked in later epic and elsewhere.59 In an early lyric rendering, Simonides (PMG 579) presents Arete more explicitly as a personified divinity:60 ἐστί τις λόγος τὰν Ἀρετὰν ναίειν δυσαμβάτοισ’ ἐπὶ πέτραις, … οὐδὲ πάντων βλεφάροισι θνατῶν ἔσοπτος, ᾧ μὴ δακέθυμος ἱδρὼς ἐνδόθεν μόλῃ, ἵκῃ τ’ ἐς ἄκρον ἀνδρείας. There is a tale that Virtue dwells on high rocks, hard to climb … Not all men’s eyes may look upon her – only he who sheds heart-stinging sweat and reaches the summit of manly endeavour.61

58 Transl. M. L. West, adapted. 59 West 1978, ad loc.; Vian 1966, II, 203–5 and James – Lee 2000, 52–4 on Quint. Smyr. 5.49– 56 (where Virtue stands on top of a palm tree). 60 Cf. also Bacch. 13.175–81 for personified Arete, but there she ranges freely over land and sea. 61 Transl. M. L. West, adapted. I am extremely grateful to Andrew Faulkner for reminding me of this passage and for other perceptive comments on Arete.

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Arete is specifically connected with ascent to heaven at Nonnus, Dion. 20.94– 6, where his phrase ἀνέμβατον αἰθέρα evokes Simonides’ δυσαμβάτοισ’ ἐπὶ πέτραις: νόσφι πόνων οὐκ ἔστιν ἀνέμβατον αἰθέρα ναίειν· οὐ πέλε ῥηιδίη μακάρων ὁδός· ἐξ ἀρετῆς δὲ ἀτραπὸς Οὐλύμποιο θεόσσυτος εἰς πόλον ἕλκει. But without toil it is not possible to inhabit the inaccessible ether. The road of the blessed is not easy; but through Arete the path to Olympus marked by a god leads to the sky.

Here Dionysus is being urged to battle in a dream in which he has a vision of Discord. But the sixth-century Christian poets John of Gaza and Paul the Silentiary also adopt Hesiod’s image in the context of ascent to divine levels.62 Paul the Silentiary suggested that Justinian’s achievement in building St Sophia ensured that he would ascend easily to heaven without (in his case) piling Mt Ossa on Olympus, Soph. 306–10: ἀμβατὸν63 ἀνδρομέοισιν ὑπ’ ἴχνεσιν αἰθέρα τεύχων· ἀλλ’ ὅσοις μόχθοισιν ὑπέρτερον ἐλπίδος ἔργον ἐξανύσας ὀρέων μὲν ἐπεμβάδος οὔτι χατίζεις, ὥς κεν ἀναΐξειας ἐς οὐρανόν, εὐσεβίης δὲ ἰθυπόροις πτερύγεσσι πρὸς αἰθέρα δῖον ἐλαύνεις. … making the aether scalable by mortal steps. But by pious labours having accomplished a work beyond hope, you have no need at all of stepping on mountains in order to dart up to heaven, but on piety’s straight-faring wings you ride to the divine aether.

Here pious labour, rather than Arete ensures Justinian’s ascent to heaven.64 John of Gaza (Descr. 1.82–96) provides a much more elaborate reworking, in which personified Arete, paired with Sophia (Wisdom), is described as jettiso-

62 In a more frivolous reworking, Agathias opened an epigram about a house on top of a hill by quoting WD 289, ending with the thought that after toiling and sweating on the ascent, he has reached Arete’s chamber (AP 9.653). 63 The (rare) adjective used by Homer in his account of the Giants’ assault on heaven (Od. 11.316), in this sedes at Il. 6.434 (of Troy), but also reversing Simonides’ δυσαμβάτοισ’ ἐπὶ πέτραις (quoted above). 64 Cf. also Paul Sil. Soph. 963–6 where the Patriarch Eutychius is said to run easily over the rugged path of the four (cardinal) virtues.

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ning toil as she finally reaches the summit and drinks in the brightness of heavenly light.65 George may, like John of Gaza, have pictured Arete as a virgin, analogous to the Virgin Mary. In the famous story of Heracles’ Choice, said by Xenophon to derive from Socrates’ contemporary Prodicus, Virtue and Vice are presented as two women.66 Virtue is described in terms appropriate to the Virgin Mary: “… fair to see and of high bearing; and her limbs were adorned with purity, her eyes with modesty; sober was her figure and her robe was white” (22, transl. Marchant). And Aristotle, who may have drawn on Prodicus, invoked Arete as a virgin in the opening lines of his song for Hermias, 1–5:67 Ἀρετὰ πολύμοχθε γένει βροτείῳ, θήραμα κάλλιστον βίῳ, σᾶς πέρι, παρθένε, μορφᾶς καὶ θανεῖν ζηλωτὸς ἐν Ἑλλάδι πότμος καὶ πόνους τλῆναι μαλεροὺς ἀκάμαντας· O Virtue of great toil for humankind, the fairest quarry in life, for your shape, maiden, even to die is an enviable fate in Greece and to endure pains, consuming, unrelenting.

Finally in this connection, Andrew Faulkner draws to my attention to a line from Proclus’ Hymn to Athene, describing Athene’s virtues, 7.18: ἣ κράτος ἤραο σεμνὸν ἐγερσιβρότων ἀρετάων you who loved the revered power of the mortal-awaking virtues68

Here Proclus’ compound ἐγερσιβρότων is a hapax: could it have inspired George’s opening derogatory address, ἄνδρες ἐγερσιγέλωτες (1) to men who, far from aspiring to the tough route to Virtue, by contrast wallow in the passions? I suggest that George, simply by invoking Arete, alludes to this whole tradition of the hard path to Virtue. Arete’s first appearance in this context is 65 See, further, Gigli Piccardi in this volume p. 416 f. 66 Xen. Mem. 2.1.21–34, quoting the Hesiod passage. 67 PMG 842, Furley – Bremer 2001, 7.4, with useful commentary. I use the translation of Ford 2011, 2, which is devoted to a multi-faceted exploration of this text. Bowra 1938 argued that Aristotle drew on Prodicus. I thank Philip Hardie and Andrew Faulkner for bibliography. 68 Transl. van den Berg, who observes (2001, 295) that Proclus equates Athene with Arete.

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in Hesiod’s didactic poem. George introduces Arete at 23 with an opening phrase of Homeric reminiscence (ἀλλ’ ἄγε νῦν), but in conjunction with an explicit allusion to the didactic tradition as represented by [Manetho] in the words ἀμφικέρωτος (21) and βιοτέρμονος (23), which frame her name. He summons Arete first to recall human mortality in lines (24–8) crafted to evoke Homer’s famous comparison in Iliad 6 (146–9) between men and leaves, and then (31–51) to teach the individual marvels of human anatomy. Homer and Hesiod are set side by side as Arete embarks on her didactic message. As noted above (n. 10), in George’s Hexaemeron such excursus on human anatomy appears in the context of leading the mind from understanding man’s mortal constitution to a more perfect understanding of God. This, then, although unstated, is the intention behind the didactic passage in our poem, and the whole poem should be understood as a reflection on spiritual self-discipline and the attempt to raise oneself above the limitations of mortality towards God. George begins his poem with the folly of human passion, described in grand epic language and imagery. But didactic Arete first reminds men that they are mortal, drawing on Homer, then points the way to a closer approach to God through contemplation of the wonders of God’s creature man: this climaxes in the account of the Virgin’s obliteration of Eve (54–9). This recognition leads George, now uplifted by understanding of the marvels of God’s creation of man, to call upon the Christian Virgin herself as his new Muse (59 ἔννεπέ μοι, βασίλεια) in the last section of the poem to spell out the analogy between human life and a play or a dream. So for George the pagan Muse of classical learning has given place to the Christian Virgin, who by bearing Christ gave men hope of redemption. In lines 60–77 George sees plainly through the Virgin’s eyes that the transitory honours of mortal life are no more than a theatrical charade. The highly metaphorical language of the first section of the poem is now unravelled: the resplendent ruler in mask and fine clothes is but an impoverished actor with shorn hair, a gullible victim of “shameless frenzy” (76 f.).69 Yet pagan Fortune can still ensnare a man, unless he is firmly grounded in “God-deep piety” (78–82). This hunting metaphor returns us to the imagery of epic, associated in the opening lines of this poem with the failure of self-control, and in the coda George admits that he is still subject to the bubble of human delusion.

69 See Sec. 1 above on the ring composition of 76 f. and 15 f.

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4 George’s Milieu This technically sophisticated poem with its stringent metre, innovative epithets and dense construction represents a late flowering of the hexameter tradition refined by Nonnus. However, the closest parallel for its introspective and theological subject matter is the poetry of Gregory of Nazianzus who, like George, composed both in iambics and hexameters, but who chose to remain independent of Nonnus’ technical refinements.70 In three of the four extant manuscripts, George’s poem is transmitted after a selection of poems by Gregory,71 and a number of linguistic parallels suggest that George was familiar with Gregory’s poetry. Here I mention just one, Carm. 2.2.7.64–6: τέχνης ἥ τόδε πᾶν συνέπηξε καὶ ἁρμονίῃ συνέδησεν ὄφρα κε δερκομένοισιν ἀδερκέα φῶτες ἕλωσι of the art which constructed all this and bound it in harmony, so that men might capture things unseen through things seen

Gregory is describing how the wonder of things seen, in this case the heavenly bodies, can lead to comprehension of unseen marvels. Gregory’s choice of the verb συνέπηξε is paralleled at line 31 in George, ἔννεπε τίς συνέπηξε καὶ ἥρμοσε χώματι σῶμα “Tell, who constructed and framed the body from earth”, the first of the questions asked of Arete,72 where, I have argued, the context is the very similar one of progressing from the wonders of human anatomy to understanding of higher things. The verb is a Homeric hapax, used in a simile at Iliad 5.902 of fig-juice solidifying milk to make cheese (likened to Paion stanching the blood of wounded Ares).73 Thereafter it is rare in hexameter poetry74 and not used by Nonnus, though prose writers apply it to the formation of the human frame (LSJ s.v.). I think it likely that George knew this passage of Gregory.

70 Agosti – Gonnelli 1995; Cameron 2004, 333–9; Simelidis 2009, 54–7. 71 Gonnelli 1991, 121 f. 72 The verb is used at the same place in the line. Note also the parallel between Gregory’s ἁρμονίῃ and George’s ἥρμοσε. 73 Ὡς δ’ ὄτ’ ὀπὸς γάλα λευκὸν ἐπειγόμενος συνέπηξεν / ὑγρὸν ἐόν “As when the juice of the fig in white milk rapidly fixes that which was fluid before …” (transl. Lattimore). 74 Critias IEG B2.10 (middle, elegiacs), Theoc. 8.23 συνέπαξ’, Antiph. Byz. AP 9.415.3. At Hexaemeron 679 George uses the noun σύμπηξιν in a similar context.

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But the notion of an ascent beyond mortal passions towards God through contemplation of God’s likeness as manifest in man’s image was also topical in the seventh century, for example in the ascetic theology of Maximus the Confessor. So, in his treatise on the Lord’s Prayer (written before 630), Maximus writes: By emptying themselves of the passions, they [the pious] lay hold of the divine to the same degree as that to which, deliberately emptying Himself of His sublime glory, the Logos of God truly became man.75

And in Difficulty 10, challenging a passage from Gregory Nazianzus (Or. 21), which apparently implies man can ascend to God by reason and contemplation without ascetic struggle: Those who are rational in spirit should reflect on the body, … and by looking at the created order, eagerly hastening towards reason through reason … Thus ascending to the mountain of the divine Transfiguration …76

It was once thought that Maximus held a secular post in the imperial chancellery at the court of Heraclius in the second decade of the seventh century before he became a monk at Chrysopolis.77 But this view is now discredited in favour of the Palestinian background indicated by the contemporary Syriac Life of Maximus.78 However, Maximus had close links with Alexandria where he may have acquired his philosophical education in the circle of Stephen of Alexandria, the philosopher whom Heraclius brought to his court in the capital.79 This, then, is a possible route by which George may have come into contact with the ideas that underlie his poem. More work needs to be done in exploring these connections, but it seems clear that George, like Nonnus in his Paraphrase, was au fait with contemporary intellectual and theological debate, which engaged with the search of the individual to rise above the limitations of mortality. This is an innovative, highly crafted, carefully structured poem, shaped by symmetry, repetition, echoing and other linguistic devices. Typically of its author, it renews and

75 On the Lord’s prayer 1.97–106, transl. Louth 1996, 34; cf. p. 68. 76 Diff. PG 10.1132b–c discussing the Transfiguration, p. 111 f. Louth; cf. also 1173a, 1176b f. (Louth 1996, 136 f.) 77 Lackner 1971; Louth 1996, 5, 199 n. 11. The evidence derives from the 10th-c. Greek Life of Maximus. 78 Boudignon 2004, esp. 11–5. I thank Phil Booth for this reference. 79 Heraclius is complimented for his revival of philosophy (as well as history) in the elaborate dialogue between the two with which Theophylact Simocatta prefaced his work, esp. secs. 5–7.

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revitalizes hackneyed themes using highly metaphorical language. It engages in a confrontational manner with earlier hexameter poetry, and seeks to unite the genres of epic and didactic. George alludes explicitly to Homer, Hesiod, [Manetho], Gregory of Nazianzus, Nonnus – often the Paraphrase rather than the Dionysiaca – and in particular his immediate predecessor Paul the Silentiary whom he more than once deliberately “corrects”. It seems likely that he also knew the secular epigrams of Agathias’ Cycle, which he perhaps classed as the “thorns among the roses” in the rich library of his patron the Patriarch Sergius.

VII: Nonnus and the Modern World

Domenico Accorinti

Simone Weil, Reader of the Dionysiaca Le Christ a commencé sa vie publique en changeant l’eau en vin. Il l’a terminée en transformant le vin en sang. Il a ainsi marqué son affinité avec Dionysos. Aussi par la parole: “Je suis la vraie vigne”. S. Weil, Lettre à un religieux

1 Simone Weil and the Source grecque More than fifty years ago Pierre Savinel (1914–92),1 in a passionate lecture presented at the Section Guillaume Budé of Lyon on 3 May 1958 and later published in the Bulletin of the Association,2 claimed that Simone Weil (1909– 43), the famous French philosopher and mystic, is to be numbered parmi les grands hellénistes français, le mot helléniste n’étant pas à prendre au sens restreint de philologue mais au sens large de: lecteur génial des œuvres grecques, ayant atteint, à force de science et d’amour, à une lecture proprement créatrice.3

After such an assertion, the volumes so far published of the Gallimard edition of Weil’s Œuvres complètes testify, just through their indexes, the importance of ancient Greek texts for Weil’s thought.4 And if the penetrating article “L’Iliade ou le poème de la force” (1938–39) was already well-known to classicists,5 two monographs by Marie Cabaud Meaney and Fernando Rey Puente now

1 Among the other works of this French scholar (cf. Savinel 1962; 1967; 1984; 1986; 1988), mention should be made of his translation of The Jewish War by Flavius Josephus (37–c. 100 AD), for which Pierre Vidal-Naquet wrote his fascinating and provocative introduction “Du bon usage de la trahison” (Savinel 1977); see the reviews by Goukowsky 1977 and Hadot 1978. A revised edition of Vidal-Naquet’s essay was later published in an Italian translation, with an introduction by A. Momigliano (Vidal-Naquet 1980). 2 Savinel 1960. 3 Ibid., 123. 4 In citing Weil’s works, I shall follow the “Conventions éditoriales” of the complete edition, see OC VI/1, 53–7. 5 OC II/3, 227–53. An English critical edition of Weil’s essay, provided with an introduction and a commentary, has been published by Holoka 2003, see the reviews by Little 2004; Murnaghan 2004; Whitaker 2004. For a political reading of Weil’s work see Hammer – Kicey 2010.

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focus the debate on Weil’s Hellenism.6 They both, albeit from a different perspective, deal with her original approach and appropriation of such authors as Homer, Plato,7 the Pythagoreans, Aeschylus, and Sophocles with the aim of reconciling Greek culture and the essence of Christianity. We are indebted, however, to Michel Narcy, one of the team of specialists carrying out the complete edition of Weil’s works, for having cleared up the misunderstanding inherent in the title of Intuitions pré-chrétiennes.8 This is a collection of texts written by Simone Weil in Marseilles and in Casablanca during 1941–42, and posthumously (1951) published by the Dominican Père Perrin (1905–2002) and “le philosophe-paysan” Gustave Thibon (1903–2001).9 The title of this book, which, together with the companion volume La Source grecque (1953),10 is essential for understanding Weil’s interpretation of the génie grec, was chosen by the editors “parce qu’il exprime le mieux, semblet-il, l’idée centrale du livre”.11 It associated, in a theological perspective, her readings with the apologetic tradition inherited from the Church Fathers. On the contrary, according to Weil’s genuine outlook, Christian revelation is neither confined to just one specific culture nor to a definite historical period:

6 Cabaud Meaney 2007 (cf. Lampe 2009); Rey Puente 2007 (cf. Chenavier 2009). 7 On Weil’s Platonism see the collection of essays edited by Doering – Springsted 2004. 8 Narcy 2009. This essay was published in the special issue (72/4) of the Archives de philosophie devoted to “Simone Weil et la philosophie dans son histoire” (opened with a foreword by G. Petitdemange [563–4] and containing also Vetö 2009; Janiaud 2009; Gabellieri 2009; Petitdemange 2009). 9 IPC. On Joseph-Marie Perrin, reader of Simone Weil, see R. Chenavier in OC IV/1, 214–53. In August 1941 Gustave Thibon hosted Simone Weil at his farm in Saint-Marcel d’Ardèche, see Pétrement 1973, I, 347–57. Later on (1947) he published La Pesanteur et la grâce, a collection of Weil’s religious essays and aphorisms taken from the first eleven Cahiers (PG). On this philosopher see Chabanis 1967; Lemaire 1980; Barthelet 2012. The friendship that Simone Weil developed with Thibon inspired the film Le stelle inquiete by Emanuela Piovano (Italy–France, 2010, 87’). 10 This collection, assembled and edited by Weil’s mother, contains Weil’s translations from the Greek, essays (including “L’Iliade ou le poème de la force”) or fragments of essays concerning Greek thought. It was published in 1953 by Gallimard in the series “Espoir” run by Albert Camus (SG). The material that constitutes this book, as well as the one of IPC, has recently (2009) appeared in the second volume of the Écrits de Marseille (OC IV/2). On Weil’s interpretation of Greek thought see also Farinelli 2008. 11 IPC, 7 (“Note des éditeurs”). Later on Père Perrin himself admitted that the choice of the title misrepresented Weil’s ideas, see Cabaud Meaney 2007, 7 n. 20; Narcy 2009, 568 n. 16; Chenavier 2009, 248 n. 9.

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aux yeux de S. Weil, c’est moins l’Antiquité, ou toute autre civilisation antérieure à l’emprise de l’Occident chrétien, donc romain, qui est riche d’“intuitions pré-chrétiennes” que le christianisme qui l’est, riche, de vérités connues bien avant ou en dehors de lui.12

2 Under the Sign of Proteus The gifted pupil of Alain at the Lycée Henri IV,13 in writing in 1929 “De la perception ou l’aventure de Protée” for Alain’s journal Libres Propos,14 could not imagine that, some years later, she would chance on Nonnus, the very poet who in the proem of the Dionysiaca (1.13–33) chooses Proteus as the central symbol of his many-voiced poetry (poikilia) reflecting a many-sided vision of the world.15 That she had misinterpreted Nonnus’ poem, Marguerite Yourcenar was convinced. Thus, in the introduction to her own translation of two pieces from the Dionysiaca,16 she maintained that “les analogies parfois soulignées entre Les Dionysiaques et l’Apocalypse consistent surtout en lieux communs escha12 Narcy 2009, 580. Weil’s different approach to Greek thought was also stressed by the Italian philosopher Augusto Del Noce (1910–89): “Rispetto al rapporto tra pensiero greco e cristianesimo, essa inverte la posizione dei Padri della Chiesa e dei Dottori scolastici. Vedevano, questi, nel pensiero greco un’anticipazione del cristianesimo, la Weil invece assorbe il cristianesimo nel pensiero platonico” (Del Noce 1992, 274); cf. Di Salvatore 2010, 425. 13 On the French philosopher Émile-Auguste Chartier (1868–1951), commonly known under the nom de plume of Alain, and his influence on Weil’s writings, see Pétrement 1973, I, 63– 97 (ch. 2, “La rencontre avec Alain”); Nevin 1991, 39–56 (ch. 2, “Le Maître”). 14 The text, which appeared in Libres Propos 5 (20 May 1929) under the section “Essais”, has been published in the first volume of the complete edition of Weil’s works (OC I, 121–6), followed by some complementary texts, “Autour de ‘Protée’” (ibid., 127–39), and “Appendice II (Compléments sur ‘Protée’)” (ibid., 319–23). In this essay Weil takes the Homeric myth (Od. 4.450–9) as a metaphor of the “human adventure”: “Quand Ménélas se trouva devant Protée, il s’élança, dit le mythe homérique, et le saisit; mais aussitôt, Protée se fit lion, panthère, dragon, eau courante, arbre verdoyant. Il fallut que Ménélas domptât Protée, et le contraignît à prendre sa forme propre; alors Protée dit à Ménélas la vérité. Telle est l’aventure humaine” (OC I, 121). On Proteus cf. Weil’s “Notes intimes” in the first of the Cahiers (= K) dating back to 1933–35 and 1938 (?), K1, ms. 8 (OC VI/1, 140): “Tout homme est un Protée. L’amitié est la récompense de celui qui le tient embrassé, sans perdre confiance, jusqu’à ce qu’il ait pris forme humaine …”. 15 For the proem of the Dionysiaca see Bannert 2008; Accorinti 2009, 73–9; Shorrock 2011, 73, 120–1. 16 “Mort d’Ampelos, bien-aimé de Bacchus et sa transformation en esprit de la vigne” (12.117– 72, 193–205) and “Phaéton met en danger l’ordre du monde” (38.333–405), cf. Yourcenar 1979, 442–5. The first of these two passages had been previously published in Yourcenar 1969, 529– 30. On Yourcenar’s collection of translations from ancient Greek see Halley 2005, 485–502.

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tologiques courants à l’époque”.17 Then, referring to two works by Simone Weil, La Connaissance surnaturelle and Lettre à un religieux,18 she added in a note: Dans ces deux textes, composés à la fin de sa vie, le besoin passionné de retrouver partout la révélation spirituelle plonge souvent cette femme admirable dans une sorte de délire d’interprétation, comparable à celui de certains érudits du Moyen Âge s’acharnant à retrouver des préfigurations christiques dans la Fable de l’Antiquité. Elle trouve dans Nonnos surtout ce qu’elle y met.19

Even though the similarities between the Dionysiaca and the Apocalypse of St John, which Weil noticed both in her Cahier XVII, written in New York in late October–c. 10 November 1942,20 and in the letter she addressed in the same period to Father Couturier (before leaving New York for England on 10 November),21 should be read under the lens of her Christological perspective,22 it seems hasty to assume that Weil’s reading of Nonnus’ poem is only a figment of her imagination. Moreover, if it is true that the late Francis Vian did not mention the Apocalypse among Nonnus’ sources,23 we cannot rule out that the poet, in combining various traditions on Seth-Typhon to describe Typhon’s

17 Yourcenar 1979, 440. 18 CS, published in the fourth volume (2006) of the Cahiers in the complete edition for Gallimard (OC VI/4), and LR2 that has not yet appeared in this edition (it will be published in the first volume of the Écrits de New York et de Londres). 19 Yourcenar 1979, 440 n. 1. Gabellieri 2003, 386 n. 48 wrongly refers it to Weil’s antihistorical attitude towards Israel: “[…] M. Yourcenar voyant dans le récit de Nonnos appliqué à Israël un ‘délire d’interprétation’”, see also below, n. 78. 20 K17, ms. 36 (OC VI/4, 334): “[Comment s’explique la ressemblance entre l’Apocalypse et le poème de Nonnos? Nonnos a-t-il copié l’Apocalypse? Mais pourquoi? Ou l’Apocalypse est-elle d’inspiration orphique ou égyptienne?]”. According to the editorial conventions of the complete edition (see above, n. 4), “Les crochets gras [ ] sont utilisés lorsqu’ils sont de la main de Simone Weil” (OC VI/4, 66). 21 In this letter she spoke of “ressemblances très singulières”, see LR2, 82–3 (quoted below). On this text see Pétrement 1973, II, 435–6, 442; Blackburn 2004, 117–21; Weber 2010. 22 The most remarkable example is no doubt her interpretation of Prometheus as figura Christi in the Aeschylean Prometheus Bound: “L’histoire de Prométhée est comme la réfraction dans l’éternité de la passion du Christ. Prométhée est l’agneau égorgé depuis la fondation du monde” (IPC, 105–6 = OC IV/2, 241, with the note ad loc.). On Weil’s reading of Aeschylus’ Prometheus Bound see Cabaud Meaney 2007, 143–77 (ch. 6, “Prometheus Bound – An Apologetics of the Cross”). 23 OC VI/4, 498 n. 120 (referring to Vian 1976, ix–lxx).

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struggle against stars and constellations in the first Book of the Dionysiaca (163–257),24 may have echoed the dragon narrative of Ap. 12–3.25 Therefore Weil’s approach to Nonnus and his poem, far from being confined to mere quotations isolated from their context (as the author of Mémoires d’Hadrien did), must be considered from a different and more productive perspective. We can now trace its origin and development not only on the basis of the Intuitions pré-chrétiennes and the Cahiers written in Marseilles and New York,26 but also in the light, as we shall see, of a Cahier inédit. This notebook also offers the key for understanding the genesis of the chapter she later devoted to the Egyptian poet in Lettre à un religieux.

3 Simone Weil and Nonnus’ Poem When and where did Simone Weil become interested in the Dionysiaca? Most probably she discovered Nonnus in early 1942 in Marseilles, where she managed to escape from Vichy France.27 The proof is that, whereas no mention of the Dionysiaca and its author is made by Weil in the first eight Cahiers (1933– c. 2 March 1942), we find for the first time in Cahier IX (K9), dating back to c. 10–29 March 1942, both the name of Nonnus and an excerpt from Book 6 (ll. 165–8) concerning the birth of Zagreus (the son of Zeus and Persephone)

24 For an allegoric but unconvincing interpretation of the heavenly episode of the Typhonomachy see Komorowska 2004. 25 This is a passage that some years ago was widely discussed in its implications with the ideology of the emperor cult by van Henten 1994, esp. 191 (quoting Nonnus); cf. also Percer 1999, 145–6: “In the account of Nonnos [Dion. 1.137–2.712], Typhon wanted to gain the throne and scepter of Zeus, i.e., rule over heaven. Typhon rebelled against Zeus, and his rebellion involved an attack on the stars (cf. Dan. 8:10–11). Typhon stretched his hands upward and seized the various constellations, pulling them from their places and literally removing them from the sky. This action is certainly reminiscent of Rev. 12:4, where the dragon is depicted as sweeping a third of the stars (angels?) from heaven with his tail”. 26 The notebooks written by Simone Weil in New York were later copied by her parents, as Sylvie Weil, Simone’s niece, tenderly recalls in her autobiographical book: “J’aime lire Simone dans ces cahiers. Des phrases, des pensées qui, imprimées, ne m’intéressent guère, ou même me rebutent, je dois bien l’avouer, me touchent infiniment, copiées de la main de mes grandsparents, car je les vois assis face à face, à la grande table de bois qui est à présent chez moi, copiant à longueur de journée, de semaine, de mois. Je les vois, Bernard et Selma, que tous nous appelons Biri et Mime, penchés sur leur cahiers, lunettes sur le nez, comme deux bons vieux élèves […]” (Sylvie Weil 2009, 38–9). 27 On her arrival in Marseilles (shortly before 15 September 1940) see Pétrement 1973, II, 281.

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and his ascent to the heavenly throne of his father.28 These lines, translated by Weil herself, are followed by an account on the dismemberment of Zagreus by the Titans and his metamorphosis into various shapes: Dionysies de Nonnus VI, v. 165 [En grec, op. cit., vv. 165–168, puis traduction de S. W.:] [Proserpine, après l’union avec Zeus] enfanta Zagreus, nouveau-né cornu, qui tout seul monta au trône de Zeus au-dessus du ciel, et de sa petite main fit tournoyer l’éclair; et la foudre devint légère aux tendres bras du porteur nouveau-né. Les Titans tendent un piège à l’enfant au moyen d’un miroir où il se regarde sans se reconnaître (cf. Narcisse, et le narcisse de l’Hymne à Déméter ). Ils le tuent. Il se métamorphose alors en une multitude de formes (cf. Protée) et finalement en taureau. (Noter que le taureau fait partie essentielle du culte de Dionysos, et que d’après Plutarque le bœuf Apis représente Osiris.) Sous cette forme de taureau, il est tué par Junon. Le Soleil était alors dans le signe du Lion. (Nonnos donne toutes les indications sur la position des planètes. À copier pour savoir la date.)29

From what source did she derive her interest in Nonnus? It is well-known among scholars that Weil was influenced by the speculative theories on the Dravidian origin of the Phoenicians by the orientalist Charles Autran (1879– 1952).30 This comes out in two letters, one addressed to her brother André in March 1940,31 and the other to Boris Souvarine, written from Marseilles in February 1941.32 Furthermore, we know that she made use in Marseilles of the first volume (1941) of La Préhistoire du Christianisme.33 It is exactly in chapter 28 Ζαγρέα γειναμένη, κερόεν βρέφος, ὃς Διὸς ἕδρης / μοῦνος ἐπουρανίης ἐπεβήσατο· χειρὶ δὲ βαιῇ /ἀστεροπὴν ἐλέλιζε· νεηγενέος δὲ φορῆος / νηπιάχοις παλάμῃσιν ἐλαφρίζοντο κεραυνοί. 29 K 9, ms. 27 (OC VI/3, 174–5). The passage “Les Titans … Junon” is also quoted by Marchetti 2000, 255. 30 Cf. Autran 1935 and Autran 1937–39, to which the author himself refers in Autran 1938, I, 19 n. 5. For the much-discussed question in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries of the origin of the Phoenicians see Salles 1993. 31 Pétrement 1973, II, 260: “À propos de la Grèce, elle demande à son frère, dans l’une des lettres qu’elle envoya, s’il connaît la thèse d’Autran, selon laquelle les Phéniciens étaient des Dravidiens. ‘Ses arguments, qui sont philologiques, ne semblent pas méprisables, autant qu’on peut juger sans connaître les langues dravidiennes (…). Mais la thèse est bien séduisante – trop séduisante même – en ce sens qu’elle donne une explication extrêmement simple des analogies entre la pensée de la Grèce et celle de l’Inde’” (the quotation is taken from S, 221). This letter is now published in OC VII/1, 452–62 (for the quotation see 461 with nn. 1–3). 32 Jacquier 1998, 41–2: “J’oubliais qu’un certain Autran, tout aussi contemporain que les gens que vous me citez, est d’avis que les anciens Phéniciens, ceux qui ont colonisé la Méditerranée aux temps homériques, les inventeurs des lettres, non seulement ne sont pas des Hébreux, mais ne sont même pas des sémites. Il voit en eux des Dravidiens (race des Tamils de l’Inde), et dit s’appuyer sur des arguments de linguistique”. 33 Autran 1941–44, see R. Chenavier in OC IV/1, 240–1.

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4 (“Nourriture et boisson de vie”) of the Autour de l’Asie occidentale that Autran alludes to the Zagreus passage of Nonnus which Weil translates in K9, ms. 27: N’oublions pas, enfin, le Dionysos Zagreus qui, monté sur le trône de son “Père” Zeus, s’empare de la foudre et lutte contre les Titans.34

And to chapter 6 (“Le dieu mortel et la Crète-Égée préhellénique”) of this book, Weil previously referred, without mentioning the source, in the same K9, ms. 19–20, where she also mentioned the birth and sacrifice of Zagreus: Elle [la foudre] tue les Titans et fait naître Dionysos. Zagreus, fils de Proserpine, le nouveau-né qui lance la foudre, est le même que Dionysos, fils d’une femme mortelle. […] Les Titans foudroyés après avoir mangé la chair de Zagreus. (Où est-il question de “repas omophagique”?).35

I am inclined, therefore, to think that Autran’s book, where Nonnus is quoted a few times,36 was the starting point for Weil’s interest in the Dionysiaca. What edition of the Dionysiaca was to hand in Marseilles? Apropos of the astrological readings to which she turned her attention in the Carnet de Londres (K18), Florence de Lussy, the guiding spirit of Weil’s Œuvres complètes, in her introduction to the Connaissance surnaturelle writes: On sait que depuis février 1942, Simone Weil s’est évertuée à décrypter les mystères de l’astrologie, cette pseudo-science qui avait connu une expansion vertigineuse dans tout le monde méditerranéen et constituait une des expressions les mieux enracinées de la mentalité antique touchant le fatum et la fatalité astrale. Elle avait lu les Dionysiaques de

34 Autran 1941–44, I, 158. The author in a note (2) referred to Lobeck 1829, II, 552, where the Greek text of Nonnus, Dion. 6.165–7 is given. 35 K 9, mss. 19–20 (OC VI/3, 167–8). See the note of the editors in OC VI/3, 487–8 n. 48: “S. W. a lu – mais son souvenir s’est fait imprécis – les pages que Charles Autran a consacrées au ‘repas omophagique’ dans le chapitre ‘Le dieu mortel et la Crète-Égée préhellénique’ de son ouvrage La Préhistoire du christianisme, t. I, Payot, 1941”; cf. Autran 1941–44, I, 209: “Dionysos Zagreus, que Nonnos de Panopolis [Dion. 10.298] dénomme δεύτερος Ζεύς, le ‘deuxième Zeus’, et, en outre ὑέτιος c’est-a-dire ‘pluvieux’, a gardé du prototype archaïque les caractéristiques essentielles de Dieu suprême (Zeus en second), de ‘Fils’, de pluvieux, de taureau. Parmi ses rites figure une ōmophagie (c’est-à-dire une manducation à cru) d’un taureau mis en morceaux. C’est là aussi, du reste, l’un des rites attestés du culte du ‘dieu’ crétois. En Thrace également, dans le mystère orphique, le substitut de Dionysos était effectivement démembré et mangé”. 36 Cf. ibid., 23, 56 n. 3, 156 n. 4, 209 (quoted above), 210 n. 4, 213 n. 2. The last three quotations are from ch. 6, “Le dieu mortel et la Crète-Égée préhellénique”, see above.

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Nonnos, poème astrologique (déchiffré laborieusement à même le texte qu’en offrait l’édition Teubner) […].37

If it is undeniable that there is a close relation between the development of Weil’s interest in astrology in early 1942 and the reading of Nonnus, it is no less true that she did not read the difficult Greek of the Dionysiaca through Ludwich’s text, a critical edition without a translation. She resorted, as I shall show in this paper, to a more suitable edition she could find in the Marseilles Library.

4 Weil’s Unpublished “Nonnian” Notebook Among the unpublished manuscripts preserved in the Weil archives in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, there is a notebook, Cahier inédit VII (Ki7), which deals mainly with the Dionysiaca of Nonnus (mss. 44–64).38 This “cahier 37 OC VI/4, 33. See also OC VI/3, 489 n. 89: “S. W. a lu les Dionysiaques dans l’édition Teubner (2 vol., Leipzig, 1909 et 1911, éd. Arthur Ludwich)”. 38 I would like to express my gratitude both to Florence de Lussy, who gave me the precise reference to this Cahier inédit, and Marie Odile Germain from the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, who helped me to obtain the reproduction of the pages related to Nonnus. I also wish to thank Sylvie Weil for allowing me access to this unpublished notebook. Furthermore, I am grateful to Michel Narcy who read my paper and provided valuable comments and suggestions. Finally, I wish to thank Robert Chenavier for reading my essay and inviting me to contribute a paper for the Cahiers Simone Weil. The content of the notebook is described by Florence de Lussy (email, 10 April 2011) as follows: “1°) Ms. 1–4: Textes en devanâgarî. 2°) Ms. 6–3: Notes de lecture d’après Guénon. 3°) Ms. 38: Note brève sur ‘Force et vertu’. 4°) Ms. 40–43: Sur Phèdre et Le Banquet. 5°) Ms. 44–64: Notes d’après les Dionysiaques de Nonnos. 6°) Ms. 65: Compte d’années dans la Bible. 7°) Ms. 66–72: Notes sur le bien, le mal, la beauté mathématique. Notes sur Prométhée. 8°) Ms. 69 et 74: Inscription des signes du zodiaque (et des planètes) sur une circonférence. 9°) Ms. 76–82: Adresses américaines. 10°) Ms 91*: ‘Qu’est-ce que le mal?’ 11°) Ms. 92–112: Notes de lecture d’après Guénon. Extraits de textes de la pensée indienne; Mândukya-Up., Brahma-Sûtra, Gîtâ, Kêna-Up., Chandogya-Up. 12°) Ms 115*: ‘Messe dominicaine’. 13°) Ms. 121*–122*: Notes sur le Camp de Gurs, 1940–1941. 14°) Ms 140*–122*: Enquêtes sur les usines du Nord (fin déc. 1936 – début janvier 1937). Cf. O.C.II 2. 15°) Ms. 144*: Bibliographie religieuse: P. Lebreton; Desnoyers; Clérissac … Les numéros de feuillets suivis d’une astérisque indiquent que le cahier a été pris tête-bêche

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de travail”39 contains also “Prométhée” (mss. 69 and 72),40 two short texts accompanied by a zodiac figure, where Simone Weil, reconsidering Aeschylus’ Prometheus Bound, offers an impressive “astrological reading” of the Passion of Christ, the new Prometheus. Weil’s interpretation was no doubt influenced, as Robert Gaillardot writes in his introductory note, by the sixth Book of the Dionysiaca centred on the murder of Zagreus/Dionysus (169–205) and the vengeance of Zeus (206–388). Here Nonnus has also described the position of the planets (233–49) at the moment of the flood sent by Zeus to extinguish the world-wide conflagration: Les fruits de la lecture par Simone Weil du Prométhée enchaîné d’Eschyle, dont on trouve déjà maints échos en K6 et K7, sont ici d’une richesse et d’une intrication de sens incomparables. Par ailleurs, le poème astrologique des Dionysiaques, dont le chant VI est consacré au récit du meurtre de Zagreus et au déluge provoqué par la colère de Zeus, livre à Simone Weil une description minutieuse de la position des planètes au moment du déluge (vers 233–249). Elle décida donc de procéder, par analogie, à une lecture “astrologique” de la Passion du Christ. La crucifixion eut lieu sous l’ère du Bélier, le Soleil étant alors en “Exaltation”; le signe opposé de la Balance figure alors l’harmonie ou l’amour. Si l’on suit la grille d’interprétation de Simone Weil, Amour et Puissance sont alors “réconciliés”.41

The Nonnian section, written by Simone Weil in pencil and pen,42 presents a. Greek excerpts from the Dionysiaca, for the most part supplied with a translation into French; b. notes and remarks on the passages quoted; c. translation or summary of other episodes of Nonnus’ poem. Its content closely reflects both the Dionysiac material of the Cahiers IX (c. 10–29 March 1942) and X (c. 30 March–15 April 1942),43 with which it must be contemporary,44 and the astrological subject of the “Tableaux astrologiques de K8 et K9”,45 which bear (= a été retourné). La première utilisation de ce cahier a été pour l’enquête sur les usines du Nord. Il s’ensuit qu’il n’existe pas pour ce cahier d’unité chronologique. Vous y trouvez aussi bien des notes d’avant 1940 que des notes du début de 1941, puis des notes de 1942 … Sur le plat supérieur, ce cahier porte comme titre ‘Adresses’. Il s’agit des adresses américaines des ms. 76–82”. 39 See, for the definition of this term, OC IV/2, 345 and VI/1, 149–50. 40 Published as “Annexe II” in vol. 3 of the Cahiers (OC VI/3, 435–6). 41 OC VI/3, 435. 42 The mss. 44–7 are written in pencil and pen (sometimes the original writing in pencil has been covered by the ink, as well as in the case of Cahier XII, see OC VI/3, 375), the mss. 48– 64 only in pencil. 43 These notebooks contain numerous references to the myth of Dionysus, see the “Index des figures mythologiques”, s.v. “Dionysos” in vol. 3 of the Cahiers (OC VI/3, 663–4). 44 For instance, the final note of K 9, ms. 27 refers to Dion. 6.232–49, a passage that was later on copied by Simone Weil in the unpublished notebook, see below. 45 Published as “Annexe I” in vol. 3 of the Cahiers (OC VI/3, 431–4).

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vivid witness to Weil’s astrological research in that period (as well as the already mentioned “Prométhée”). This was primarily inspired by a re-reading of the Timaeus, Plato’s chief cosmological treatise, some passages of which she copiously annotated and translated in her copy of the Budé edition by Albert Rivaud (1925) until the last months of her life in London.46 Yet, some reminiscences and echoes from these reading notes appear in Cahiers XI (c. 15–26 April 1942), XII (c. 26 April–7 June 1942), XVI (the last ten October 1942), and XVII (late October–c. 10 November 1942),47 since Weil’s labyrinthine thought meanders through the pages of the Cahiers both in a continuous and discontinuous sequence.48 Indeed, the Nonnian stock of this Cahier inédit looks as if it were compiled by Simone Weil to provide an astrologically oriented anthology of the Dionysiaca for her own use. However, the selection she made of the passages of Nonnus to copy into her notebook is especially significant. It includes, besides the prélude cosmique49 of Book 12 (ll. 21, 32–4, 37–8, 91–5, 108), the astrological session of Astraios with Demeter in Book 6 (ll. 62, 74–7, 81–5),50 Aphrodite’s speech to Harmonia in Book 41 (ll. 332–5), and Greek excerpts from the three important episodes of cosmic disorder. These are, namely, the assault by Typhon (Books 1–2: 1.165–72, 177–83, 230–4, 245, 250–7, 488; 2.177–9, 185–7), the effects of the murder of Zagreus/Dionysus (Book 6: ll. 229–49), and the tragic flight of Phae-

46 Rivaud 1925. The text of Weil’s annotated copy of the Timaeus has been published, with an Avant-propos by M. Rashed, in vol. 2 of the Écrits de Marseille (OC IV/2, 461–545). 47 E.g. K11, ms. 38 (OC VI/3, 342); K12, ms. 34 (OC VI/3, 406); K16, mss. 84 (OC VI/4, 288) and 86 (OC VI/4, 290); K17, ms. 36 (OC VI/4, 334, quoted above). 48 See Florence de Lussy’s introduction to the first volume of the Cahiers: “La pensée de Simone Weil procède par éclats. C’est à dire qu’elle est à la fois continue et discontinue, discontinue par des effets de rupture, comme lorsqu’une vague portée à son comble explose avant de repartir pour un nouvel assaut; mais continue le plus souvent, même si cela est peu visible, car Simone Weil ne fournit pas – loin de là – tous les maillons de son raisonnement” (OC VI/1, 16); Arcangeli Marenzi 1966, 68: “La Weil ama lo spezzone, il razzo, il lampo. I suoi Cahiers sono spezzettati, turbinosi, eppure proprio in essi si coglie la parte più viva, più dinamica, più vivace, più attuale della sua parola […]”. 49 I borrow this expression from Vian 1993; cf. Vian 1995, 51–2. 50 Cf. Thomann 2008, 103: “One poetic description of an astrologer’s session with a customer is described in the Dionysiaka of Nonnos (fifth century). The astrologer Astraios first covered a table with dark dust. He then used a compass to draw a circle in which he inscribed a square and a figure with three equal sides and angles. The rather fantastic setting of the scene makes it difficult to judge how precise the poet’s concepts were. Did he have a horoscope in mind or, rather, a magical image that included representations of the planets? The least we can say is that the basic figure was a circle. If we take Nonnos’s words seriously – that horoscopes were drawn in sand or dust – the lack of preservation of such drawings cannot surprise us”.

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ton (Book 38: ll. 187, 234–5, 253, 268–71, 273–5 and passim), the only passages of the Dionysiaca in which the poet inserts a description of the zodiac.51 The same notebook also reveals, from the first page onwards, that Simone Weil did not read the Dionysiaca in the Teubner text by Arthur Ludwich,52 nor did she translate at first hand from the Greek text, as it has been thought. She approached Nonnus’ poem through the Firmin Didot edition published by the Count de Marcellus in 1856, a copy of which is in the Bibliothèque Municipale of Marseilles (signature 85738).53 In fact, all quotations from the Dionysiaca are taken from the Marcellus’ edition.54 Simone Weil, however, did not limit herself to copying the Greek lines of Nonnus into the notebook. She also tran-

51 Chuvin 1992, 36: “Nonnos évoque le zodiaque moins souvent que ne le ferait attendre l’importance de l’astrologie dans son œuvre. Trois épisodes où l’ordre du monde est bouleversé fournissent l’essentiel des références: la révolte de Typhée (chants I–II), les suites du meurtre de Zagreus (chant VI), la maladresse de Phaéthon (chant XXXVIII)”. For an astrological (much-discussed) interpretation of Nonnus’ poem see Stegemann 1930. 52 Ludwich 1909–11. This edition is not among the books owned by Simone Weil, as was ascertained, at my request, by Marie Odile Germain, Département des Manuscrits, Bibliothèque Nationale de France (email, 3 May 2011). 53 Marcellus 1856. No doubt this is the edition she used, though there is no evidence of it (e.g. reading notes) in the exemplar preserved in the Marseilles Library. I am grateful to Annie Prunet, Service références Bibliothèque de l’Alcazar, who kindly inspected it for me, giving further details of this copy: “Cet ouvrage est probablement un ex libris. La page de titre comporte un tampon du ‘cercle de l’Athénée’ (cercle de savants et érudits créé en 1828). Nous n’avons trouvé aucune annotation de Simone Weil ni quoi que se soit qui puisse attester que celle-ci l’ait consulté” (email, 5 March 2011). Michel Narcy adds the following comment: “Vous avez clairement démontré, par la mise en regard des traductions de Nonnos figurant sur le cahier inédit que vous citez, d’une part, et de celles des passages correspondants par Marcellus, d’autre part, que l’édition-traduction de ce dernier était la source de S. Weil, et la chronologie des Cahiers rend pratiquement certain qu’elle a utilisé l’exemplaire possédé par la Bibliothèque municipale de Marseille. (L’absence d’annotations de sa main sur cet exemplaire n’est pas une objection: cet exemplaire n’étant pas sa propriété, il est naturel que S. Weil se soit interdit d’y porter des annotations.) Cela indique qu’elle ne disposait pas, à Marseille, de l’édition Teubner, mais cela ne prouve pas que cette édition ne figurait pas dans sa bibliothèque à Paris (bien qu’il soit peu probable qu’elle y figurât). Nous ne connaissons pas l’intégralité de la bibliothèque de S. Weil” (email, 3 June 2011). On the Count de Marcellus (MarieLouis-Jean-André-Charles Demartin du Tyrac, 1795–1865), editor of Nonnus, see Rétat 1998; Van Steen 2010, 2: “His French translation of the Dionysiaca of Nonnus of Panopolis (fifth century CE) remains significant even today”. 54 Even Weil’s orthographic variation between “Nonnus” and “Nonnos” (see OC VI/3, 489 n. 89) must derive from ch. 3 of Marcellus’ introduction, see Marcellus 1856, iv–vi (“Le véritable nom du Poëte”). Michel Narcy rightly points out: “Puisqu’il est établi que S. Weil a utilisé l’édition de Marcellus, on ne peut que s’étonner de la voir inscrire comme titre, en tête du premier extrait qu’elle en copie dans ses cahiers (K9, ms. 27) Dionysies [see above]; l’ouvrage publié par Marcellus a bien pour titre Les Dionysiaques” (email, 3 June 2011).

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scribed both the French translation and the notes ad loc. by Marcellus, partly literally, partly altering and summarizing them. Here are a few examples.55 The notebook begins with an excerpt from the prélude cosmique of Book 12 (ll. 1–117), where Autumn arrives with the other Seasons at the palace of Helios and reads the enigmatic tablets of Harmonia. After the partial quotation of two lines (108 and 21), Simone Weil transcribes ll. 91–5 and 32–4,56 then adds the translation of the latter passage, which differs slightly from that of the Firmin Didot edition, and condenses Marcellus’ note on Phanes: ms. 44 L’Heure … (θεὰ φιλόβοτρυς [Dion. 12.108] déesse de l’automne?) (σταφυληκόμος Ὥρη [Dion. 12.21], |l’heure où naît le raisin| l’heure du raisin) … ὅπῃ πυρόεις Ὑπερίων σύμβολα μαντοσύνης ἀνεμώδεϊ πέφραδε [κούρῃ ᾗχι λέων ἐτέτυκτο σελασφόρος, ᾗχι καὶ αὐτὴ παρθένος ἀστερόεσσα νόθῃ ποικίλλετο [μορφῇ, οἴνοπα βότρυν ἔχουσα, θερειγενὲς ἄνθος [ὀπώρης. [Dion. 12.91–5] … κύρβιας Ἁρμονίης ἑτερόζυγας, αἷς ἔνι [κεῖται εἰν ἑνὶ θέσφατα πάντα, τάπερ πεπρωμένα [κόσμῳ πρωτογόνοιο Φάνητος ἐπέγραφε μαντιπόλος [χείρ. [Dion. 12.32–4] … les tables de l’Harmonie, divisées en séries (?) où reposent ensemble tous les arrêts tels que les a fixés pour le monde (ou: en ordre?) |la| et inscrits la main prophétique du premier né Phanès. Argonautiques (d’Orphée?)

Marcellus La déesse de l’automne l’Heure où naît le raisin

… les Tables de l’Harmonie, divisées en séries diverses, où reposent tous ensemble les arrêts du destin, tels que Phanès, le premier né, les a inscrits de sa main fatidique, et en a fixé par des nuances variées l’ordre respectif. […] Orphée nous donne, dans les Argonautiques, cette étymologie de son nom: (Φάνης de φαίνομαι):

55 Orthographic errors and details of accentuation in Weil’s transcription of the Greek text are in general ignored. 56 The ll. 37–8 will be quoted in the next page (ms. 45) of Weil’s notebook.

Simone Weil, Reader of the Dionysiaca

[ἔρως] ὅν ῥα φάνητα Ὁπλότεροι κλῄζουσι βροτοί· πρῶτος γὰρ [ἐφάνθη. v. 16. L’amour, que les hommes ensuite nommèrent Phanès; car il parut le premier. Vers cité par Diodore de Sicile; Phanès = Dionysos:

Τοὕνεκά μιν καλέουσι Φάνητά τε καὶ [Διόνυσον. [Diod. Sic. 1.11.3]

473

Ὅν ῥα φάνητα Ὁπλότεροι κλῄζουσι βροτοί· πρῶτος γὰρ [ἐφάνθη. (Orphée; Arg., v. 16.) “L’Amour, que les hommes plus tard nommèrent Phanès, parce qu’il avait été le premier à paraître.” Phanès est aussi l’un des noms de Bacchus, s’il faut en croire, sur tous ces mythes confus qui se contredisent ou se répètent, ce vers cité par Diodore de Sicile: Τοὕνεκά μιν καλέουσι Φάνητά τε καὶ [Διόνυσον. (Diod. Sic., liv. 1.) [Marcellus 1856, “Notes et commentaires”, 44]

A similar procedure is followed in the reading notes on Typhon’s assault in Book 1, in which Simone Weil freely varies and abridges Marcellus’ translation: ms. 47

Marcellus

Εὐπαλάμῳ δὲ φάλαγγι περὶ σφυρὸν ἄκρον [Ὀλύμπου τῇ μὲν ἐπισφίγγων κυνοσουρίδα, τῇ δὲ [πιέζων ἄξονι κεκλιμένης λοφίην ἀνεσείρασεν ἄρκτου Παρρασίης, ἑτέρῃ δὲ λαβὼν ἀνέκοπτε [Βοώτην, ἄλλῃ Φωσφόρον ἕλκε· μάτην δ᾿ ὑπὸ κυκλάδι [νύσσῃ πρώϊος αἰθερίης ἐπεσύρισεν ἦχος ἱμάσθλης. Εἴρυσεν Ἠριγένειαν· ἐρυκομένοιο δὲ ταύρου, ἄχρονος, ἡμιτέλεστος ἐλώφεεν ἱππότις Ὥρη· [Dion. 1.165–72] Il saisit d’une main Cynosure au bord inférieur du ciel; de l’autre déchire la crinière de l’ourse de Parrhasis penchée sur l’axe; d’une troisième, frappe le Bouvier. D’une 4e, traîne l’étoile du matin. Brave le bruit matinal du Fouet céleste. S’empare de l’Aurore. Arrête le Taureau. Rend l’Heure irrégulière.

Il saisit Cynosure au bord inférieur du ciel; il presse et déchire d’une autre la crinière de l’Ourse de Parrhasis penchée sur l’axe; d’une troisième, il frappe le Bouvier; d’une quatrième, il traîne l’étoile du matin. Il brave le bruit matinal du Fouet céleste dans le cercle de la sphère, et s’empare aussi de l’Aurore. Il arrête le Taureau; et la marche du coursier des Heures reste irrégulière et inachevée.

ms. 48

Marcellus

La Lune brille avec le Soleil. [cf. Dion. 1.175] De plus il va d’un pôle à l’autre (N – S) (I, 165 sqq …)

Et la Lune, se levant en plein jour, brille avec le Soleil.

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… λιπὼν πόλον, εἰς πόλον ἔστη. Καὶ δολιχῇ παλάμῃ δεδραγμένος ἡνιοχῆος νῶτα χαλαζήεντος ἐμάστιεν αἰγοκερῆος· καὶ διδύμους ἐπὶ πόντον ἀπ᾿ αἰθέρος ἰχθύας [ἕλκων κριὸν ἀνεστυφέλιξε, μεσόμφαλον ἄστρον [Ὀλύμπου, γείτονος εἰαρινοῖο πυραυγέος ὑψόθι κύκλου ἀμφιταλαντεύοντος ἰσόζυγον ἦμαρ ὁμίχλῃ. [Dion. 1.177–83] Passant d’un pôle à l’autre il atteint d’un bras allongé le Cocher, flagelle [le dos du Capricorne grêlant; |jette| tire de l’éther [dans la mer les deux Poissons; chasse le Bélier, |du| [centre de l’Olympe, où, voisin |et| d’en haut du cycle à [l’éclat du feu du printemps, il partage d’un éclat égal [le jour et la nuit.

Ce n’est pas assez: le géant passe du nord au midi, et quitte un pôle pour l’autre pôle; il atteint le Cocher d’un bras allongé; flagelle le Capricorne, père de la grêle; précipite les deux Poissons au sein des mers, et chasse le Bélier du centre de l’Olympe, là où, voisin et dominateur de l’orbite du printemps, cet astre partage d’une balance égale la nuit et le jour.

Thus, even though these “second-hand translations”57 do not reach the literary quality of other Weil translations,58 nor can they rival the labor limae devoted by Weil to Sophocles’ Antigone and Plato’s Timaeus,59 her rendering is nonetheless by no means a slavish transcription of Marcellus’ translation. In support of this, it will suffice to consider those passages in which Simone Weil attempts to explain the Greek text or finds the translation of her source obscure.

57 I use the expression by which the most famous native of Heraklion, Odysseas Elytis (1911– 96), denoted in Δεύτερη Γραφή (1976) his translations from Mayakovsky as mediated texts from the French, see Elytis 2007, 10: “Τέλος, μὲ κάθε ἐπιφύλαξη, ἀποπειράθηκα να μεταφράσω καὶ ποιήματα ἑνὸς Ρώσου, τοῦ Μαγιακόφσκι, ‘ἀπὸ δεύτερο χέρι’ φυσικά”. Cf. Loulakaki-Moore 2010, 190: “In Δεύτερη Γραφή Elytis marks the translations from Mayakovsky as mediated texts, or ‘second-hand translations’ from the French. This gesture, which is not new for Elytis, is in contrast to Seferis’ ‘camouflaged’ use of French translations”. 58 We may quote, for instance, the Greek texts assembled for Gustave Thibon, Père Perrin, and Joë Bousquet, see OC IV/2, 301–22. 59 Michel Narcy, in his “Avant-propos 1: Le domaine grec” to the first volume of the Cahiers, writes: “Ce n’est pas à la lettre, c’est au sens qu’elle s’attache: d’où sa sévérité à l’égard des traducteurs, et le soin qu’elle met elle-même à traduire certains passages, allant jusqu’à reprendre cinq à six fois la traduction de quelques vers de Sophocle ou, sur son exemplaire bilingue du Timée de Platon, à ‘caviarder’ des paragraphes entiers de la traduction pour

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In summarizing the attack of Typhon’s serpents (Dion. 1.184–202),60 she wrongly renders ὁ δέ (l. 193), which refers in the text to a horned serpent (l. 194 δράκων … κεράστης), by “un Bouc” (“he-goat”). The reason for this misunderstanding is that Marcellus translates ὁ δέ with “celui-ci”, without mentioning the serpent in his translation of the next line (194), and therefore she must have thought that Nonnus could be alluding with γλωχῖνι κεραίης (193) and ἰσοτύπου Ταύροιο (194) to a he-goat: ms. 49 [N. B. Les Signes ont-ils nommés à une époque où |l’| une [sic] équinoxe était dans la Balance?] Ses serpents … L’un saute sur le Dragon céleste, l’autre enchaîne une seconde fois Andromède déjà enchaînée, un Bouc de ses cornes attaque le Taureau et enroule les Hyades autour de son front; le Bouvier est entouré de serpents. Un autre se jette sur le Serpentaire. [cf. Dion. 1.184–202]

Marcellus

Typhée s’élève sur ses pieds et ses queues jusques auprès des nues; là, déployant la tribu tout entière de ses bras, il rembrunit l’éclat argenté d’un ciel sans nuages, sous l’ombre des armées tortueuses de ses serpents. L’un se dresse, parcourt la ligne du pôle arrondi et, sautant sur les reins du Dragon céleste, sonne la charge. L’autre se rapproche de la fille de Céphée. Puis, formant avec ses mains étoilées un cercle, pareil à l’autre, il oblique ses anneaux et serre d’une seconde chaîne Andromède enchaînée déjà. Celui-ci, armé de cornes aiguës, s’attaque au Taureau, qui par ses cornes lui ressemble; puis, la gueule entrouverte, il enroule autour de son front de bœuf les Hyades à l’image des cornes de la Lune; et le Bouvier se voit lié d’une ceinture tressée de serpents venimeux. Un Dragon plus audacieux encore,

retraduire en marge les passages litigieux” (OC VI/1, 21–2). On Weil’s translations cf. also Larthomas 2007, 117–8; Evans 2009, 20. 60 I give the text according to Vian’s edition: Ὁλκαίοις δὲ πόδεσσιν ἀνῃώρητο Τυφωεύς / ἀγχινεφής· πετάσας δὲ πολυσπερὲς ἔθνος ἀγοστῶν (185) / αἰθέρος ἀννεφέλοιο κατέσκεπεν ἄργυφον αἴγλην / αἰθύσσων ὀφίων σκολιὸν στρατόν. Ὧν ὁ μὲν αὐτῶν / ὄρθιος ἀξονίοιο διέτρεχεν ἄντυγα κύκλου, / οὐρανίου δὲ Δράκοντος ἐπεσκίρτησεν ἀκάνθῃ / ἄρεα συρίζων· ὁ δὲ Κηφέος ἐγγύθι κούρης (190) / ἀστραίαις παλάμῃσιν ἰσόζυγα κύκλον ἑλίξας, / δέσμιον Ἀνδρομέδην ἑτέρῳ σφηκώσατο δεσμῷ / λοξὸς ὑπὸ σπείρῃσιν· ὁ δὲ γλωχῖνι κεραίης / ἰσοτύπου Ταύροιο δράκων κυκλοῦτο κεράστης, / οἰστρήσας ἑλικηδὸν ὑπὲρ βοέοιο μετώπου (195) / ἀντιτύπους Ὑάδας, κεραῆς ἴνδαλμα Σελήνης, / οἰγομέναις γενύεσσιν. Ὁμοπλεκέων δὲ δρακόντων / ἰοβόλοι τελαμῶνες ἐμιτρώσαντο Βοώτην. / Καὶ θρασὺς ἄλλος ὄρουσεν, ἰδὼν Ὄφιν ἄλλον Ὀλύμπου, / πῆχυν ἐχιδνήεντα περισκαίρων Ὀφιούχου· (200) / καὶ Στεφάνῳ στέφος ἄλλο περιπλέξας Ἀριάδνης, / αὐχένα κυρτώσας, ἐλελίζετο γαστέρος ὁλκῷ.

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apercevant dans le ciel un autre reptile, jette ses bras monstrueux sur le Serpentaire; puis, il courbe sa tête, arrondit son ventre, et entrelace ainsi une couronne nouvelle autour de la couronne d’Ariadne.

In transcribing a passage in which Nonnus names the constellations that react against Typhon’s assault (1.251–7), she has trouble in understanding Marcellus’ “Hercule agenouillé” (cf. l. 256 γούνατι δ᾿ Εἰδώλοιο),61 and puts a question mark in brackets after “Hercule”: ms. 51

Marcellus

μεσσοφανη ἁμαξαίῳ δ᾿ ἐνὶ κύκλῳ μεσσοφανὴς διδύμῃσι δράκων μεμερισμένος [ἄρκτοις αἰθερίης ἐλέλιξε σελασφόρον ὁλκὸν ἁμάξης· γείτων δ᾿ Ἠριγόνης ἐλατὴρ ὁμόφοιτος [ἁμάξης· πήχεϊ μαρμαίροντι καλαύροπα πάλλε Βοώτης· γούνατι δ᾿ εἰδώλοιο καὶ ἀγχιπόρῳ παρὰ [κύκνῳ φόρμιγξ ἀστερόεσσα Διὸς μαντεύσατο νίκην. [Dion. 1.251–7] Dans ce cycle chariotique paraissant au milieu d … par les? Ourses, le dragon pousse le chariot étoilé dans sa marche éclatante. Voisin d’Erigone, le Bouvier, guide assidu du chariot, brandit d’un bras étincelant son aiguillon; auprès d’Hercule (?) agenouillé et de celui qui va auprès, le Cygne, la Lyre céleste prophétise la victoire de Zeus.

Le Dragon, que divisent les deux Ourses, et qui paraît entre elles, pousse le Chariot étoilé dans sa marche éclatante; et voisin d’Erigone, le Bouvier, guide assidu du Chariot, brandit, d’un bras étincelant, son aiguillon, tandis qu’auprès de l’Hercule agenouillé et du Cygne, son satellite, la Lyre céleste prophétise le triomphe de Jupiter.

Furthermore, other reading notes of this “cahier de travail” seem to intertwine with some reflections on the same subject we find in Weil’s published notebooks. This is the case of the excerpt from Book 6, closely bound to the already quoted extract on Zagreus in the Cahier IX. Thus, after a summary of the

61 For the constellation of Hercules or the “Kneeling Man” see H. J. Rose in Rouse 1940, I, 21 n. e: “A kneeling man, called now Hercules, but by the Greeks εἴδωλον ἄιστον, or Ἐγγόνασιν, Latinized as Engonasin”; Vian 1976 ad loc.: “Nonnos ne cite qu’ici l’Image ou l’Agenouillé (Ἐγγόνασιν) d’après Aratos, 63–70, 270”.

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Zagreus myth,62 she transcribes both Dion. 6.229–49 (ms. 53–4) and Marcellus’ translation (almost literally) of ll. 232–49: Καὶ τότε γαῖαν ἅπασαν ἐπέκλυσεν ὑέτιος Ζεύς, πυκνώσας νεφέεσσιν ὅλον πόλον· οὐρανίη γὰρ βρονταίοις πατάγοισι Διὸς μυκήσατο σάλπιγξ· ἀστε

(suite p. suivante)

VI, 232– ἀστέρες ὁππότε πάντες ἐνὶ σφετέροισι μελάθροις κεκριμένοι δρόμον εἶχον, ἐπεὶ τετράζυγι δίφρῳ Ἠέλιος σελάγιζε λεοντείων ἐπὶ νώτων, ἱππεύων ἑὸν οἶκον· ἐπιτροχόωσα δὲ δίφρῳ καρκίνον ὀκταπόδην, τριφυὴς κυκλοῦτο Σελήνη· καὶ δροσερὴν ὑπὸ πέζαν ἰσημερίῳ παρὰ κύκλῳ Κύπρις, ἀπὸ κριοῖο μεταστήσασα κεραίης, εἰαρινὸν δόμον εἶχεν, ἀχείμονα ταῦρον Ὀλύμπου, γείτων δ᾿ Ἠελίοιο, προάγγελον ἱστοβοῆος σκορπίον εἶχεν Ἄρης, μετρούμενον αἴθοπι ταύρῳ δόχμιος ἀντικέλευθον ὀπιπεύων Ἀφροδίτην· καὶ τελέων λυκάβαντα, δυωδεκάμηνος ὁδίτης, ἰχθύας ἀστερόεντας ἐπέτρεχεν ἀκρόνυχος Ζεύς, δεξιτερὴν τρίπλευρον ἔχων ἑλικώδεα Μήνην· καὶ Κρόνος ὄμβρια νῶτα διέστιχεν αἰγοκερῆος, φέγγεϊ παχνήεντι διάβροχος· ἀμφὶ δὲ φαιδρῇ παρθενικῇ πτερύγεσσιν ἔην ὑψούμενος Ἑρμῆς, ὅττι Δίκης δόμον εἶχε δικασπόλος … ms. 55

Marcellus

Voici quelles étaient à ce moment les positions qu’occupait dans son séjour respectif chaque planète. Le Soleil, guidant les quatre coursiers de son char dans le ciel, sa demeure, brillait sur le dos du Lion. La Lune à la triple nature atteignait de son disque les huit pattes de l’Écrevisse; Vénus sur sa route

Voici quelles étaient les positions qu’occupait en ce moment dans son séjour respectif chaque planète. Le Soleil, guidant les quatre coursiers de son char dans le ciel, sa demeure, brillait sur le dos du Lion; la Lune, à la triple nature, atteignait de son disque les huit pattes de l’Écrevisse; Vénus sur sa route

62 See ms. 52: “Zagreus. Les Titans poudrent son visage, et tandis qu’il se regarde au miroir, ils le tuent. Ses métamorphoses: jeune homme, Zeus à l’égide. Vieux et Cronos. Lion. Cheval. Dragon. Tigre. Taureau. Tué. Zeus irrité lance partout la foudre. Puis, pour pitié (?) envoie un déluge. [cf. Dion. 6.169–228] DATE”.

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humide, auprès du cercle équinoxial (équateur) venait d’échapper à la corne du Bélier pour fixer son séjour printanier loin des frimas; chez le Taureau de l’Olympe. Limitrophe (opposé au …) de ce Taureau brûlant, le Scorpion avant-coureur précédait le char de Mars voisin du Soleil qui épiait d’un regard oblique la marche opposée de Vénus. Jupiter, achevant sa carrière annuelle dans chacun des douze mois, et laissant à droite les trois anneaux de la Lune, touchait du bout de ses pieds les Poissons constellés, Saturne tout empreint d’une gelée brillante, passait pardessus le pluvieux Capricorne. Mercure, pour |passer| gagner le palais de la Justice où il rend ses arrêts, s’élevait sur ses ailes auprès de la Vierge étincelante.

humide, auprès du cercle équinoxial, venait d’échapper à la corne du Bélier, pour fixer son séjour printanier loin des frimas, chez le Taureau de l’Olympe; limitrophe de ce Taureau brûlant, le Scorpion avant-coureur précédait le char de Mars, voisin du Soleil, qui épiait d’un regard oblique la marche opposée de Vénus. Jupiter, achevant sa carrière annuelle dans chacun des douze mois, et laissant à droite les trois côtés des annéaux de la Lune, touchait du bout de ses pieds les Poissons constellés; Saturne, tout empreint d’une gelée brillante, passait par-dessus le pluvieux Capricorne; et Mercure, pour gagner le palais de la Justice où il rend ses arrêts, s’élevait sur ses ailes auprès de la Vierge étincelante.

She also draws four astrological figures (one of which on ms. 54, and the other three on ms. 55), the last of which represents the position of the planets in the zodiac and looks like that of the “Prométhée” (ms. 69, see above). There are two passages of this notebook, however, which we cannot gloss over, for, besides being linked with the other contemporary Cahier X, are of particular relevance for Weil’s religious eclecticism, and especially for her interest in Nonnus. They are the Indian origin of Dionysus and the location in the Arabian Nysa, near a place named Carmel (Dion. 20.298 ἐγγύθι Καρμήλοιο), of the struggle between the god and Lycurgus, as told by Homer (Il. 6.130– 40).63 The first contains a brief account of the syncretistic invocation of Diony63 For the story of Lycurgus in Nonnus (Dion. 20.149–21.169), see Hopkinson 1994c, 8–19, 41– 53. Chuvin 1991, 260–4, who points out that the mention of Mount Carmel “est la donnée la plus originale du texte de Nonnos” (261), favours the identification of Nysa with Beth Shean (Scythopolis) in the Jordan Valley, but his arguments do not convince Retsö 2003, 612: “There are very good arguments in favour of locating Carmel, i.e. the residence of Dionysus in the Levant according to Nonnus’ story, at Baalbek”; 620 n. 114: “The town Beth Shean/Scythopolis was named Nysa after a member of the royal house of the Seleucids. This has obviously given the pretext for associating Dionysus with the town, as is documented from coins. But there is no trace of the Lycurgus story from Scythopolis and the town is not in Arabia. That the town was not Jewish either is irrelevant, and Klein’s arguments against it (Altertumskunde 196) are still valid. Besides, Carmel in Nonnus is definitely not the mountain on the Palestinian coast, although an identification between the god of Baalbek and the one of Mount Carmel is not impossible”. According to Retsö 2003, 613, “Nonnus in his epic has preserved a unique piece of information about the Arabs in southern Syria going back to the fifth century BC. It shows the Arabs as connected with a ritual involving a struggle between a wine-drinking community

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sus to Heracles Astrochiton of Tyre in Book 40 (ll. 369–410), followed by a few notes that are not continuous one with the other: ms. 58 Invocation de Bacchus: Hercule Astrochiton, Soleil … on te nomme Bélus sur l’Euphrate, Ammon en Libye, Apis sur le Nil, Cronos en Arabie, Zeus en Assyrie. Sérapis. Temps. Phaéton. Mithra de Babylone. Apollon delphique [.] Gamos [cf. Dion. 40.369–402 and Marcellus’ translation] Dupuis Évhémère. Bacchus – Vishnou? L’Hydaspe avait nourri Zagreus. Bacchus, sorti du cœur de Zagreus. [cf. Dion. 24.44–9] Siva – Nicha? (cf. Tztzès [sic], comm. de Hésiode)64 Il. VI 13565

K10, ms. 37

Dans Nonnos, Dionysos fils de Sémélé est une réincarnation de Zagreus: Dionysos, Mélchisédech, Rāma, Kṛsn ̣ ̣a … sont-ce la même incarnation? Bacchus, Viṣnu … Origine indienne de Zagreus d’après Nonnos. Hermès, le juge (Nonnos), fonction médiatrice.66 [cf. Dion. 6.248–9]

and a group of warriors belonging to a divinity or a mythical hero who is subject to certain taboos, among which the abstention from wine drinking plays a central role. This taboo may be connected with the picture of the Dionysiac frenzy affecting the inhabitants of Nonnus’ Arabia”. 64 Cf. Marcellus 1856, “Notes et commentaires”, 102 n. 4 (on Dion. 24.46): “Le Bacchus indien. – Nonnos fait allusion ici à la tradition indienne. Ces nymphes, chargées de l’éducation de Bacchus, bien que disséminées dans toutes les contrées de l’Orient où fleurit la vigne, se retrouvent aussi dans les légendes du Gange et de l’Hydaspe. Les eaux du fleuve qui ont baigné l’homonyme du plus jeune Bacchus, Zagrée, ce sont les mêmes flots qui purifièrent Siva, le rénovateur, la troisième personne de la trinité hindoue: et le nom de Deva-Nicha, donné à la face rayonnante de cette divinité, n’est pas sans analogie avec le nom du dieu de Nyse”; 103 n. 5 (on Dion. 24.49): “Bacchus sorti du cœur de Zagrée. – Cette croyance indienne, ou égyptienne tout au moins, on la retrouve dans un passage de Tzetzès: Διόνυσον γάρ, τὸν καὶ Ζαγρέα καλούμενον, κτλ. (Tzetzès, Comment. sur Hésiode)”. For Dionysus-Shiva see Adrados 2003, 408–10; on the linguistic relation between Shiva and the name of the Indian town of Nysa, cf. Fortia d’Urban 1807, 248–9. Nonnus, however, does not mention this Indian town, see Chuvin 1991, 260: “Malgré la place que l’expédition indienne de Dionysos tient dans les Dionysiaques, Nonnos ne mentionne pas cette Nysa”. 65 It refers to the Lycurgus myth in Homer, Il. 6.130–40. Weil takes the quotation from Marcellus 1856, “Notes et commentaires”, 90 n. 15: “Chez Homère (Iliade, VI, 135), l’impiété de Lycurgue est bien plus marquée encore […]”. 66 K10, ms. 37 (OC VI/3, 276).

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Nevertheless, we can have an idea of Weil’s meandering thought and discover the source from which she probably derived the similarities between the Dionysiaca and the Apocalypse to which I have alluded. In fact, the name “Dupuis”, written after the passage relating to Heracles Astrochiton, refers to the note ad loc. in the Firmin Didot edition, where Marcellus quotes Charles François Dupuis (1742–1809). This is the author of the Origine de tous les Cultes, ou la Religion Universelle (1795),67 a chapter of which is entitled “Analyse du poëme de Nonnus, considéré principalement dans ses rapports avec la marche de la nature en général, et en particulier avec celle du Soleil”.68 According to the astronomical system of Dupuis, branded as “monstrueux” by Marcellus,69 Nonnus’ poem presents a striking relation with the path of Nature and the Sun. This would prove that “Bacchus est le soleil, et que le poëme des Dionysiaques est un poëme sur cet astre”.70 Dupuis himself also notes some resemblances between this poem and the Apocalypse in another chapter of his magnum opus, “Examen d’un ouvrage phrygien, Contenant la Doctrine Apocalyptique des initiés aux mystères de la Lumière et du Soleil Equinoxial de Printemps, sous le symbole de l’Agneau ou d’Aries, premier des douze Signes”.71 For instance, he compares the prophet John in ch. 4 with the astrologer Astraios in Book 6 of the Dionysiaca: En nous résumant, nous conclurrons, que les quatre figures d’animaux, que l’Hiérophante apperçoit dans le Ciel, ne doivent être cherchées ailleurs, que dans les Constellations, et principalement dans le Zodiaque, où circulent toutes les Planètes, qui dirigent la marche du temps et de la fatalité, dont le livre va s’ouvrir aux yeux du Prophète. Il est bon en effet d’observer, que le destin ou la fatalité résultoit de l’action combinée des sept Planètes avec les Etoiles fixes, et sur-tout avec les figures ou signes du Zodiaque. Aussi dans le poëme de Nonnus [Dion. 6.68], où l’on voit Cérès qui va consulter l’Astrologue

67 Dupuis 1795 (all quotations and page numbers refer to the edition in 3 vols. in–4°). In 1798, the author gave a condensed version, Abrégé de l’origine de tous les cultes (Dupuis 1798). On Dupuis see Rétat 1999, as well as other most recent articles published by Rétat and listed in http://lire.ish-lyon.cnrs.fr/spip.php?article31&lang=fr; Pauvros 2008. 68 Dupuis II, 27–98. The passage alluded to by Marcellus 1856, “Notes et commentaires”, 169 n. 26 (on Dion. 40.402, “Le dieu Gamos”), is the following: “Cet Hymne [374] est un morceau précieux sur le Soleil, qu’il est bon de consulter en original. On y remarque sur-tout la multiplicité des noms donnés à cet Astre [396], tels que ceux de Belus, d’Ammon, d’Apis, de Saturne, etc. de Sérapis [404], de Mithra, de Phaéton, de Temps, de Soleil, d’Apollon, d’Esculape, d’Æther différemment nuancé, enfin d’Astrochyton [413], ou de Dieu vêtu du manteau étoilé de la nuit. Nonnus donne la description du Dieu-soleil, Astrochyton, de son manteau et de sa barbe étoilée” (Dupuis II, 267 n. ppp [“Notes du tome second”]). 69 Marcellus 1856, xxxi. 70 Dupuis 1795, II, 98. 71 Dupuis 1795, III, 185–323.

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Astrée, celui-ci, commence par bien établir la Sphère sur ses points principaux, et il jette ensuite ses regards, dit le Poète, sur le Zodiaque et sur “les sept Planètes, et sur les fixes”. C’est ce que fait ici le Prophète Jean, qui jette d’abord les yeux sur le Ciel, en haut et en bas, comme Astrée, qui observe le Soleil au méridien inférieur, Mars au couchant, et qui consulte les points principaux que les Astrologues appeloient Centres, et sur lesquels Jean place les quatre signes, ou les quatre animaux, lion, taureau, etc. en mettant le Lion au méridien supérieur. Nous le verrons bientôt les jeter aussi sur le systême planétaire désigné dans le chapitre suivant, sous le nom de Livre aux sept Sceaux, d’où il tire, comme Astrée, des conjectures de ce qui va arriver.72

He also draws a parallel between the book of the seven seals in ch. 5 and the seven tablets of Harmonia in Book 41: Jean suit la même marche, en consultant dans les Cieux les destins de l’univers. Il désigne le livre de la fatalité et le ciel Planétaire, dans lequel étoient censés écrits les destins des hommes, par un grand livre fermé de sept sceaux, que tenoit le Dieu, dont le trône s’appuie sur le Ciel et sur le Zodiaque. Nonnus [Dion. 41.340] emploie une figure à-peuprès semblable, pour désigner le systême Planétaire, composé des sept Sphères, qui concourent à la formation du destin, et les sept étoiles, que l’on comparoît à sept Scribes ou sept plumes, qui écrivoient sur le Ciel des fixes les destins des mortels.73

Furthermore, he sees an analogy between the dragon/Satan of ch. 20 and Nonnus’ Typhon in Book 1: Dans les combats de Typhon contre Jupiter, décrits par Nonnus [Dion. 1.178–255], on voit aussi celui-ci attaquer le Ciel des Fixes, et livrer des combats contre différentes Constellations, soit du Zodiaque, telles que le Bélier, soit hors du Zodiaque, telles qu’Orion, Sirius, etc. Il n’est donc pas étonnant ici de voir la Baleine, Méduse, le Dragon, agens des ténèbres, s’unir contre l’Agneau de la Lumière, qui va triompher du mauvais Principe, et préparer la régénération de la Nature au Printemps. […] Non-seulement le Ciel, mais la Terre est le théâtre de ces combats; et, comme le Typhon de Nonnus, Satan attaque toute la Nature. Alors, dit l’Apocalypse, “Satan sera délié; il sortira de sa prison, séduira les Nations qui sont aux quatre coins du Monde, et il les assemblera pour combattre. Leur nombre égalera celui du sable de la mer. Je les vis se répandre sur la surface de la Terre, environner le camp des Saints et la Sainte Cité [Ap. 20.7–9]”.74

Since a copy of the first edition in quarto format of the Origine de tous les cultes, without the Atlas, was in the Bibliothèque Municipale of Marseilles (signatures 23360, 23361, and 23362),75 very likely Simone Weil had the chance 72 Ibid., 237–8. 73 Ibid., 242. 74 Ibid., 277. 75 The three volumes are missing from the library, as it was confirmed by Annie Prunet, Service références Bibliothèque de l’Alcazar: “Nous ne possédons pas le volume ‘Atlas’ qui

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to read this astronomical work. A passage of Cahier IX also reveals that she must have been deeply influenced by Dupuis’ theory of solar myths: L’interprétation des mythes comme mythes solaires et sidéraux, autant elle est absurde prise en elle-même, autant elle est vraie si on la considère comme vraie simultanément avec d’autres. Car elle est impliquée par ce que dit Platon de l’imitation de l’Âme du monde. La plaisanterie sur Napoléon mythe solaire est moins vide de sens qu’on ne croit. Car si Napoléon a eu 12 maréchaux, c’est sans doute parce qu’Arthur a eu 12 chevaliers et Charlemagne 12 pairs, fait dû à son tour à ce que le Christ a eu 12 apôtres. Et qui peut affirmer que le chiffre des apôtres du Christ est sans rapport avec les douze mois de l’année et les treize périodes de 2 000 ans dans le cycle équinoxial?76

In the second passage devoted to the battle of Dionysus with Lycurgus, the god, according to the version of the story told by Nonnus, throws himself into the “Erythraian sea” to escape the impious king (Dion. 20.353): ms. 59

K10, ms. 67

Bacchus dépasse Tyr, Byblos, le Liban. Monte vers l’Arabie. Passe à Nysa où règne Lycurgue qui lui fait la guerre. (à la tête des Arabes) Bacchus laisse son armée sous le Carmel et s’avance avec le seul appareil des festins. Lycurgue l’attaque. Les genoux de Bacchus fléchissent, il se réfugie au fond de la Mer Rouge. [cf. Dion. 20.143–353] Bacchus longe les flancs du Caucase, le dépasse, entre en Inde. (Hydaspe) [cf. Dion. 21.200–2]

[Λυκοῦργος [Lycourgos], ennemi de Dionysos, le contraint à se réfugier dans la mer Rouge. Nonnos. Ailleurs, roi thrace? – Nonnos en fait le roi de Nysa, roi des Arabes, au sud du mont Carmel – pain azyme.]77

aurait été contenu dans le in-4 et malheureusement les trois volumes correspondant aux cotes 23360, 23361, 23362 sont aussi manquants de notre collection. […] Nous ne pouvons donc affirmer quoi que ce soit sur une éventuelle consultation de cet ouvrage par Simone Weil en 1942: rien ne nous permet de même l’imaginer” (emails, 27 and 29 April 2011). Regarding this point, however, Michel Narcy does not share Prunet’s scepticism: “[M]ême si les trois volumes de l’Origine de tous les cultes de Dupuis ont disparu de la Bibliothèque municipale de Marseille, le seul fait qu’ils y aient figuré rend très plausible que S. Weil les y ait consultés, et je ne partage pas sur ce point le scepticisme de Mme Prunet” (email, 3 June 2011). 76 K9, ms. 29 (OC VI/3, 176), see also the note ad loc.: “La plaisanterie consiste à voir dans le nombre des maréchaux de l’Empire une allégorie des douze mois de l’année, et à en conclure que ni eux ni l’empereur n’ont existé. Sous le titre Comme quoi Napoléon n’a jamais existé fut effectivement publié au début du XIXe siècle un pastiche de la théorie de CharlesFrançois Dupuis (1742–1809), qui ramenait toute la mythologie à des allégories astronomiques”. 77 K10, ms. 67 (OC VI/3, 299).

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Here we find in embryo the idea she later developed in her much-discussed essays “Les trois fils de Noé et l’histoire de la civilisation méditerranéenne” (April 1942) and “Israël et les Gentils” (October 1942),78 namely the identification of the people (Israel) that chased Dionysus:79 “Les trois fils de Noé”

“Israël et les Gentils”

D’autre part, d’après Nonnos, il est question deux fois de l’Inde dans la tradition dionysiaque; Zagreus aurait été élevé près d’un fleuve indien nommé l’Hydaspe, et Dionysos serait allé faire une expédition en Inde. Soit dit en passant, il aurait rencontré au cours de ce voyage un roi impie qui aurait lancé son armée sur lui alors qu’il se trouvait sans armes, au sud du mont Carmel, et l’aurait forcé à se réfugier dans la mer Rouge. L’Iliade parle aussi de cet incident, mais sans le situer. S’agit-il d’Israël? Quoi qu’il en soit, la parenté de Dionysos avec Vishnou est évidente, et Dionysos se nomme aussi Bacchus. […] Pourtant le silence total d’Hérodote sur Israël reste très énigmatique. Il faut que ce peuple ait été regardé à cette époque comme sacrilège, comme quelque chose dont il ne fallait pas faire mention. Cela se conçoit si

Nonnos, un Égyptien peut-être chrétien du VIe siècle après l’ère chrétienne, accuse un peuple situé au sud du mont Carmel, qui doit être Israël, d’avoir attaqué par trahison Dionysos désarmé et de l’avoir forcé à se réfugier dans la mer Rouge. L’Iliade fait allusion à cette attaque, mais sans détails géographiques.80

78 The first essay, originally published in AD, 223–36, has been re-edited in the first volume (2008) of the Écrits de Marseille (OC IV/1, 375–86); the second one was collected in PSO, 47– 62. As to the dating of these two texts – some scholars think that both were composed in April 1942 –, Florence de Lussy kindly gave me the following explanations: “Le premier texte ‘Les trois fils de Noé’ est un texte de Marseille à dater d’avril 1942. En revanche, ‘Israël et les Gentils’ est à dater d’octobre 1942 et fut écrit, par conséquent, à New York. Bien que la documentation de S. W. pour ces deux textes présente une assez grande proximité, leur fonction et leur signification sont tout à fait différentes. Et le texte de New York est tout simplement une rédaction très enflée (et devenue par là un texte autonome) de la première question de la Lettre à un religieux” (email, 19 May 2011). For the criticism of Weil’s “syncretism” and her attitude towards Israel see J.-M. Perrin in Perrin – Thibon 1952, 64–80 (ch. 6, “Syncrétisme et catholicité”), esp. 66: “Qui lira ce texte [les ‘Fils de Noé’] avec son cœur en admirera le souffle et la beauté spirituels, la haute élévation d’âme; mais qui le lirait avec sa raison, en historien des religions, y relèverait mille absurdités; si Noé est la figure du Christ dans son sommeil, pourquoi ne l’est-il plus dans ses bénédictions? Si le destin religieux de l’humanité n’est pas confié à cette race, qu’est cela sinon une pauvre scène de famille?”; Cabaud Meaney 2007, 47– 9. On Weil as reader of the Old Testament cf. Bori 1993. 79 Cf. K10, ms. 69 (OC VI/3, 301): “Si Lycourgos, le persécuteur de Dionysos, était Israël?”. 80 PSO, 51.

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c’est lui qui était désigné sous le nom de Lycourgos, le roi qui se jeta en armes sur Dionysos désarmé. Mais après le retour d’exil et la reconstruction du Temple il y eut sûrement un changement.81

5 Nonnus in Weil’s Opinion Finally, a kind of summary of her approach to Nonnus’ poem is the chapter on the Dionysiaca in Lettre à un religieux. It is meaningful that this was inserted between those on the Graal Legend and Odin’s Rune, two examples, according to Weil, of an evident mixture of Christianity and non-Christian tradition:82 Les Dionysiaques de Nonnos, poème d’un Égyptien probablement chrétien du VIe siècle, mais où il n’est question que de dieux grecs et d’astrologie, et qui présente avec l’Apocalypse des ressemblances très singulières, ont dû être inspirées par une combinaison de même espèce. (N. B. Il y est question d’un roi Lycurgue, déjà nommé dans Homère, qui a attaqué par traîtrise Dionysos désarmé et l’a forcé à se réfugier au fond de la Mer Rouge. Il était roi des Arabes qui sont au sud du mont Carmel. Géographiquement, il ne peut guère s’agir que d’Israël. Si on admettait qu’Israël était regardé par les anciens comme un peuple maudit parce qu’ayant refusé la notion du Dieu médiateur, souffrant et rédempteur révélée à l’Égypte, on comprendrait ce qui autrement est inexplicable: à savoir qu’Hérodote, si avide de toutes les curiosités d’ordre religieux, n’ait jamais parlé d’Israël. Remarquer qu’Israël était prédestiné pour servir de berceau au Christ – mais aussi pour l’assassiner. Remarquer aussi que d’après de nombreux témoignages Dionysos est le même Dieu qu’Osiris. Si nous possédions la version égyptienne de l’histoire de Moïse, nous aurions peut-être des surprises …).83

Thus, Simone Weil, this gifted reader of Greek works, seems to share the opinion of those scholars, such as Joseph Golega, who asserted in the past that Nonnus was a representative figure of syncretism in Late Antique Egypt.84

81 OC IV/1, 383–4 and 386. 82 LR2, 82: “Remarquer que l’Église n’a jamais condamné les poèmes sur le Graal, malgré le mélange évident du christianisme avec une tradition non chrétienne”; 83–4: “La Rune d’Odin citée plus haut, si elle n’est pas antérieure à tout contact avec le christianisme, serait la trace d’un mélange analogue. Ce ne serait pas moins extraordinaire”. 83 Ibid., 82–3. 84 Golega 1930, 67, 81. For a discussion of literary and historical problems surrounding the work of this poet see Accorinti 2013.

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It is a pity that she does not ever mention in her writings the Paraphrase of St John’s Gospel, which Marcellus quotes in ch. 5 of his introduction.85 Why this strange omission? One can only conjecture that it was because she could not find Marcellus’ edition of the Paraphrase86 in the Marseilles Library, or because New York, London, and her own tragic fate were awaiting her. That she would have been capable of a stimulating reading of Nonnus’ Paraphrase is abundantly testified to by the numerous quotations from John’s Gospel scattered through her writings,87 and above all from Weil’s words I have chosen as an epigraph for this essay.88

Abbreviations AD CS IPC LR2 OC I II/3 IV/1 IV/2 VI/1 VI/2 VI/3

Attente de Dieu, Paris 1977. La Connaissance surnaturelle, Paris 1950. Intuitions pré-chrétiennes, Paris 1951 (repr. 1985). Lettre à un religieux [1951], Paris 1974. Œuvres complètes, ed. A. A. Devaux and F. de Lussy, Paris 1988–. Premiers écrits philosophiques, ed. G. Kahn and R. Kühn, 1988. Écrits historiques et politiques: Vers la guerre (1937–1940), ed. S. Fraisse, 1989. Écrits de Marseille (1940–1942): Philosophie, science, religion, questions politiques et sociales, ed. R. Chenavier, 2008. Écrits de Marseille (1941–1942): Grèce-Inde-Occitanie, ed. A. Castel-Bouchouchi and F. de Lussy, 2009. Cahiers (1933–septembre 1941), ed. A. Degrâces et al., 1994. Cahiers (septembre 1941–février 1942): La science et l’impensable, ed. A. Degrâces et al., 1997. Cahiers (février 1942–juin 1942): La porte du transcendant, ed. A. Degrâces et al., 2002.

85 Marcellus 1856, ix–xii (“Éducation de Nonnos. État des lettres en Égypte. Paraphrase de l’Évangile selon saint Jean”). 86 Marcellus 1861. 87 Cf., e.g., the index s.v. “Jean (Saint)” in OC IV/1–2 and VI/2–4. For Weil’s special interest in John’s Gospel see the introduction by J.-P. Lapierre to Lettre à un religieux: “Une élaboration de son œuvre lui aurait permis d’exprimer en termes précis et modernes des problèmes qui ont été trop vite réglés, dans l’histoire, par la force. Mais elle est à New York sans ses livres, et le temps presse. Qu’elle cite les travaux de L. Hermann, rencontré sur l’Atlantique, est sans doute secondaire; qu’elle cite saint Jean une vingtaine de fois ne l’est pas” (LR2, 9); F. de Lussy in OC VI/4, 13, 17, 20–2. 88 Cf. “Les trois fils de Noé et l’histoire de la civilisation méditerranéenne”: “Le vin était interdit au contraire aux prêtres d’Israël dans le service de Dieu. Mais le Christ, du début à la fin de sa vie publique, but du vin parmi les siens. Il se comparait au cep de la vigne, résidence symbolique de Dionysos aux yeux des Grecs. Son premier acte fut la transmutation de l’eau en vin; le dernier, la transmutation du vin en sang de Dieu” (OC IV/1, 377).

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Cahiers (juillet 1942–juillet 1943): La connaissance surnaturelle (Cahiers de New York et de Londres), ed. M.-A. Fourneyron, F. de Lussy and J. Riaud, 2006. Correspondance: Correspondance familiale, ed. R. Chenavier and A. A. Devaux, 2012. La Pesanteur et la grâce, Paris 1947. Pensées sans ordre concernant l’amour de Dieu, Paris 1962. Sur la science, Paris 1966. La Source grecque, Paris 1953.

Nina Aringer

The Hero’s Quest of Dionysus as Individuation of an Age Approaching the Dionysiaca under the Aspect of Jungian Archetypes and the Monomyth of Joseph Campbell Heroes, literary heroes in particular – what makes them so special and what differentiates them from the ordinary people? What does their real nature actually consist in, and how do they affect our minds, the audience, the readers of all the epics and sagas? Regarding the fact that this approach to the Dionysiaca is also made use of by directors of Hollywood blockbusters and authors of international bestsellers as well, it is quite an unusual title. However, this might be promising and provides us with a new approach to this often underestimated epic worth considering. Jungian studies on archetypes, for the first time applied to the Dionysiaca, can reveal some striking insights: the Dionysiaca, as other epic poems and stories, basically are a “story of the hero”, a well- known archetype of myth. With the stylization of the wine-god as a hero, Nonnus therefore pursues a common narrative pattern. The myth of the hero is mankind’s best-loved and widest-spread. This character is to be found in Ancient Classical Mythology, in Medieval times, in the fairy tales of the Far East and the Native Americans as well. The hero also appears in our individual dreams.1 Accordingly, we are linked through them to mythology, which is a manifestation of the collective unconscious.2 Countless heroes-stories, although fairly diverse in detail, have proved to be surprisingly similar in structure. The type of adventure, of actors and victories gained by them allow only few variations,3 regardless of whether they were developed by individuals or large groups and by peoples respectively. The wide-spread stories of these quests, or-the term applied by James Joyce-monomyths were particularly described by Joseph Campbell (1904–87).4 This American mythologist, writer and lecturer worked on Comparative Mythology and Comparative

1 Jung 1979, 110. 2 Kerényi 1954, 637 f. 3 Campbell 1999, 43. 4 The facts about Campbells life were taken from the home-page of the Joseph-CampbellFoundation. URL: http://www.jcf.org/new/index.php?categoryid=11 (30. 06. 2011).

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Religion. Campbell defined a classic sequence of actions that are found in important myths from around the world which have survived for thousands of years. His conception of myth and its relation to the human psyche are in part dependent on the pioneering work supplied by Sigmund Freud (particularly his Interpretation of Dreams,5 where he suggests parallels between fairy tales, myths and religion), but on the work of C. G. Jung in particular, whose studies greatly influenced him. In investigating hero’s quests Campbell obviously drew on the works of this Swiss psychiatrist (1875–1961), who described his archetypes in a similar way: he accordingly referred to an original model of a human being, a personality or a certain behavior, a symbol universally recognized, frequently appearing in the dreams and myths of virtually all cultures. Jung supposed that these archetypes reflect various aspects of the human soul, and that any personality is also made up of these characters so as to enable us to act our parts in our lives correspondingly. Having analysed his patients dreams, he concluded that dreams and myths are fed by some deeper source – that is mankind’s collective unconscious as he chose to call it. The hero is one of the archetypes of supreme importance: Different though they may be in many respect: Theseus, Aeneas, King Arthur, Perzival, Dr. Faustus, Indiana Jones and Harry Potter, to name but few, in some way they all follow the basic principles of a hero’s quest. In short: the hero starts in the ordinary world, and then receives a divine call to enter a world of unknown powers and events. The hero, who accepts the call to enter this strange world has to pass tasks and trials, either alone or being assisted. In the most intense versions of the narrative, he must survive a severe challenge, often with (supernatural) help. If the hero survives, his efforts may be rewarded with a great gift or “boon”. He must then decide whether to return to the ordinary world with this boon at his side. The typical hero is characterized by a miraculous but often humble birth, then by early signs of supernatural strength. The hero’s need to accomplish many tasks, his quick rise to power and his victorious fight against the powers of evil are other highly important features of his story. But also susceptibility to arrogance, fall through treachery or a heroic act of sacrifice are typical of the myth. Campbell, going deeper into detail, describes 17 stages or steps along this (ideal) journey. Very few myths contain all stages – some contain many of the stages, while others contain only a few or may deal with them in a somewhat different order; some may focus on only one. These stages may be organized in a number of ways, including division into three sections: Depar5 Freud 1948.

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ture (sometimes called Separation), Initiation, and Return. Departure deals with the hero’s adventure prior to the quest; Initiation deals with the hero’s many adventures along the way; and Return deals with the hero's return home with knowledge and powers acquired on the journey. These three phases belong also to the “rites of passage”, described firstly by Arnold van Gennep,6 meaning rituals making the transitional phase between childhood and full inclusion into a tribe or social group. The most of these stages identified by Campbell can also be found in the Dionysiaca. But also until today, the term monomyth is used in literature,7 and even the Star Wars Trilogy by George Lucas, a member of the Joseph Campbell-society, is based on the patterns of this quest. Thus, not only does our hero Bacchus undertake such a journey, but many others as well, as we can see in the following tables:8 Departure

Nonnian Dionysus

Harry Potter9

Call to Adventure

Need for a saviour: Aion begs Zeus to send Dionysus (7.1– 66).

Refusal of the Call

The Nonnian Dionysus does not refuse: Nonnus stresses the might and firmness of his god. Nevertheless Dionysus often seems disheartened and complains about his fate, which I want to suggest as an echo of this station. Dionysus gets a lot of support from his supernatural family like Mene, Thetis (these are benevolent mother-figures) or Hermes. The young Dionysus enters the field of venturing into a dangerous realm.

The evil Black Lord, who seemed to be overwhelmed, gains power again. The wizard world is in need of help. Hagrid informs the orphaned boy Harry Potter, that he is not only a wizard, but the “boy, who lives”. Harry cannot believe that.

Supernatural Aid

Crossing the First Threshold

Harry Potter gets a lot of help from his good friends on the one hand as well as from powerful wizards on the other, above all from Dumbledore. The young Harry crosses into the field of adventure, venturing into a dangerous realm.

6 Van Gennep 1909 passim. 7 See Vogler 2010. 8 For the left side of the table: Campbell 1999, 41 f. 9 I chose Harry Potter as a modern hero to show how easily this pattern can be used to describe any sort of quest. It makes no difference, wheter our hero is a little wizard, Aeneas, King Arthur or Luke Skywalker. All these myths show – more or less – the same stations.

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Departure

Nonnian Dionysus

Harry Potter 9

Belly of The Whale

The final separation from the Hero's known world and self: Zagreus dies through the strikes of the Titans, but resurrects even stronger and mightier (6.169–205).

For many of his tasks, Harry has to visit the sphere of the underworld e.g. cellars, deep waters, caves. He always comes out stronger and more determined.

Initiation Road of Trials

Dionysus has to undergo a series of tests and tasks, e.g. Indian fighters (13–40), Pentheus (44–46), etc. Meeting With The This is the point when the Goddess hero experiences a love that has the power and significance of the all-powerful, all encompassing, unconditional love that a fortunate infant may experience with his or her mother. But Dionysus is a motherless child: he therefore seeks in vain. Woman as Temptress The hero has to resist temptations leading to distraction from his or her quest (the temptations do not necessarily have to be represented by a woman). However, by not hesitating to do the task, Dionysus never feels a temptation to neglect his goals. Atonement with the Father The hero may well come up (the central point of the against a “father figure” who journey) must be beaten, persuaded or whose approval must be achieved in some way. Ultimately, by whatever means, the difficult relationship between the two must be reconciled. This person may well be a person in high authority or who has significant power in some way. It may also be a god or immortal of some kind. The father figure may even be

Harry has to undergo a series of tests and tasks, e.g. the triwizard tournament Harry is a motherless child: Firstly somehow attached to Hermione, he finally finds his female Alter Ego in Jinny Weasley

Harry often feels a kind of temptation to abandon his dangerous task.

Dumbledore, who was Harrys father-figure, dies and leaves the boy alone. Harry has to find his way alone. Finally he meets the dead headmaster again in a dream and can say good-bye.

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Initiation

Apotheosis

The Ultimate Boon

Return

something symbolic, such as an ideal or concept which acts as a directive to the Hero. By defeating the Giants (48.1–89) Dionysus becomes the real heir of Zeus. Dionysus gets a seat in Mount The final victory over the evil Olympus (48.974–8). Voldemort makes Harry Potter the most important wizard. In doing this, he justifies all hopes everybody has pinned on him. Before his apotheosis DionyHarry Potter brings no boon, sus sends firstly the wine and but he saves both worlds then in a climax his son Iak(wizard and muggle) chos to mankind, which is in desperate need for his help (48.948–68). This variation of the quest is not found in the Dionysiaca. Dionysus’ quest ends, when he reaches Mount Olympus and gives his son Iakchos to the world

In his dream or faint during the duel with Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter has to decide whether to come back and continue fighting or to stay in the hereafter.

– – –

Allthough Harry is tempted, he decides to come back and finish his fight. – – –

– –

– –

Refusal of the Return

The Magic Flight Rescue from Without The Crossing of the Return Threshold Master of Two Worlds Freedom to Live

Why does mankind feel a desire for such myths? Generally speaking, in virtually all cultures, the narrations of such hero’s quests become most relevant at biographical breakpoints (e.g. in adolescence or in confrontations with death), where the individual wants identification and assistance for decision in critical life situations.10 Like the hero, any individual is expected to find his or her way through the difficult developing stages of their personality in spite of all

10 Van Gennep 1909 passim.

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obstacles. In psychological respects, the hero’s character, though not identical with the ego, is the means through which the ego is given the power to find its way.11 The hero’s symbolic death hereby marks the achievement of maturity.12 This development is referred to with the Jungian term individuation. In analytical psychology individuation – as the name implies – is the process through which a person becomes his or her “true self”. During this period – often a lifelong process – the different aspects and components of the immature psyche become integrated into a well-functioning whole over a certain amount of time.13 But an individuation does not follow a strict pattern: there are per definitionem as many courses of this journey as individuals.14 The concept of the hero encapsulates a symbol of the separation of the grown-up Ego from the guidance of the parents, and such a process, including the loss of security and shelter which inseparably is connected with childhood, can be seen as a kind of feat. Consigned into situations of the daily life of ordinary people, many a decision will come easier, if mythology and tales of a hero’s achievement serve as guidance in crisis situations. Dionysus the god has but another side which enables him to serve as a symbol: His capability to reveal the unconscious. Being independent from age and social status, he is a god of transition, a god of metamorphosis, thus representing different phases in the lives of human beings. Furthermore taking a closer look at the Dionysiaca, we do not only find a hero, but also the nearly complete family of archetypes: – The (Divine) Child: Jung called it “potential future”.15 This archetype symbolizes the whole personality in its development from “primordial unconsciousness” to “ego consciousness” to “self”.16 – The Anima: The feminine image in a man’s psyche.17 – The Great Mother: The concept of mother goddess Though Dionysus is motherless, this figure plays a central part in the Dionysiaca. – The Hero – The Mentor: the hero, especially at the very beginning of his journey, is often in need of (supernatural) help. Without his numerous assistants Dionysus would never be able to accomplish his tasks. The character of the

11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Jung 1979, 128. Jung 1979, 112, 128. Von Franz 1979, 160 f. Rüf 1994, 191. Jung – Kerényi 1940, 102. Segal 1999, 8. See also Jung – Kerényi 1940. Von Franz 1979, 177 f.

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–

–

–

–

–

–

18 19 20 21

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mentor therefore represents the benevolent and protecting power of destiny.18 The Shadow: this archetyp represents the opposite of the ego image, often containing qualities the ego does not identify with, but which it possesses nonetheless. It consists of repressed weaknesses, shortcomings and instincts.19 The Trickster: this archetype and the culture hero are often combined. He is a god, goddess, spirit, man, woman or anthropomorphic animal, who plays tricks or otherwise disobeys normal rules and conventional behavior. He can also be seen as the first phase of the hero and represents the earliest and less developed period of his life.20 The Wise Old Man: he is antithetical to the divine child. In the individuation process, the archetype of the wise old man is late to emerge, and seen as an indication of the self. “If an individual has wrestled seriously enough and long enough with the anima (or animus) problem … the unconscious again changes its dominant character and appears in a new symbolic form … as a masculine initiator and guardian, a wise old man, a spirit of nature”.21 Rebirth: this archetype is especially displayed in Zagreus, but one can also find him in Bacchus’ resurrection out of the sea (after he fled from Lycurgus) or his cure of insanity. Shape-shifting: such characters represent the eternal change of the world. The reader of Nonnian verses will immediately think of Proteus as a symbol of typical Nonnian poikilia. But also the permanent change of Dionysus (and Zagreus) can be seen as a form of shape-shifting. Threshold Guardian: the threshold guardian is the first obstacle to the hero on his journey. The threshold is the gateway to the new world the hero must enter to change and grow. He is usually not the story's antagonist. Only after having passed this initial test, the hero will face the true contest and the arch-villain. Frequently, the threshold guardian is a henchman or an employee of the antagonist. If we think of Hera as Dionysus’ ultimate enemy, the Indians, who are incited by her, can play the role of powerful threshold guardians. The Herald: the role of the herald is to announce the challenge, which marks the beginning of the story of the hero’s journey. The herald is the

Campbell 1999, 75. Von Franz 1979, 168 f. Radin 1956 ap. Jung 1979, 112. Von Franz, 1979, 207 f.

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person or piece of information, which upsets the sleepy equilibrium in which the hero has lived before and starts the adventure. In the Dionysiaca, Iris, announcing Zeus’ demands calling Dionysus to the war against the Indians in order to reach the apotheosis, is in the role of the herald, but this role is played by many other characters too, like the various prophecies of Dionysus’ victory, for example. In his attempt to provide his readers with a maximum of identification, Nonnus has more or less obviously packed all archetypes into his characters more or less clearly: hero, child, trickster, rebirth are all displayed in the character of Dionysus – whereas anima, great mother, shadow, herald, threshold guardian and mentor appear as various antagonists of the god. Why is all this important for our epic? Until now, the Dionysiaca were mostly seen retrospectively: accordingly, Nonnus wanted to preserve the treasure of ancient mythology and create a sort of mythological encyclopedia,22 whose erudition additionally means a permanent test of the readers’ education.23 Through this common interpretation, the Dionysiaca are seen as a kind of a swan song of a sinking age. But by interpreting the Dionysiaca as a quest, we get a different view: the Dionysiaca are meant by their author as forwardlooking. With his enormous epic, Nonnus tries to offer Dionysus and his seeking for worship as a possible means of identification and help for the dawning changes of this age. Readers of the Dionysiaca can easily identify themselves with his character, and in doing so, they could get help to master scary developments and insecurities they have to cope with.24 Relating to the age of Late Antiquity the term “crisis” is appropriate in various aspects: people have to face the decline of the Roman Empire and of classical education, the fall of paganism and the rise of Christianity, to name just a few of them.25 People have to cope with a forfeiture of meaning of mythology26 and do not feel at home any longer in traditional ways of life. In times of such anxiety27 Dionysus is very well suited to meet these overarching needs: in general he is a “wandering” god and therefore predisposed for taking place in a hero’s journey. On the other hand, this pagan “wanderer” is also suitable for Christian needs, as this religion created its own term for

22 23 24 25 26 27

Liebeschuetz 1996, 83. Alan Cameron 2004, 339–44. Jung 1979, 124. See Brown 1995. Keydell 1961. Dodds 1965.

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homelessness and “being on the way” with the concept of “pilgrimage”.28 In Late Antiquity he (together with Herakles, another “wanderer”29) seems to unite all gods and to represent the world soul.30 Then, by being of partly human origin, he resembles the readers of the epic and makes it easy to identify with him. Nonnus stresses his human features and clearly avoids depicting him as a proper god.31 Furthermore, he is perfectly suited to symbolize the power of the unconscious self: if not integrated, the repressed unconscious parts of mind rise up and cause trouble. Dionysus, the god of metamorphosis and of transition is therefore an excellent role-model for an insecure individual or mankind, entering a new life-situation.32 Reading or listening to the Dionysiaca one can feel anxieties and dangers together with the hero, win against obstacles and frightening enemies, and reach the ultimate goal at last. Nonnus praises the treasure of antique myth but he does not stop at this: he offers the traditional stories as a valuable help for the tasks to come.33 With its Happy End, the epic finally encourages the reader not to be afraid of anything and indicates that everything will be all right in the end. Through Dionysus Nonnus presents his own optimistic view in times of decay.34 The Dionysiaca therefore could contribute to the development, or – to use a term of Jung – to the individuation of an age. The presentation of all archetypes suggests the great interest of the author for identification. He tries his best to make the dawning of the new age easier for his readers. This could be one reason for the surprisingly great success of a piece of literature which modern lecturers called the “bottom of the barrel”.35 But we have to emphasise one point: Nonnus did not do all that on purpose: he simply reacted unconsciously to an unexpressed need of his audience.36 28 Fuchs 1994, 9 f. 29 Special thanks are due to the anonymous reader, who pointed out various other parallels between Nonnus and his half brother: both are partly human and reach apotheosis in the end, both capable of “shape-shifting”, and both suffer from a hostile Hera. 30 Bowersock 1990, 41. 31 See Cavero 2009, 557 f. 32 Isler-Kerényi 2007, 223. 33 Cf. also Chuvin 1991. 34 Stegemann 1930, 105 f. 35 Trevor-Roper 1981, 358 (I thank Jane L. Lightfoot, who supplied this reference). 36 As pointed out by Enrico Livrea (Rethymno, May 2011), the Paraphrasis also seems to show similar structures: Jesus the Saviour has to pass trials in order to rescue mankind, who is in desperate need for his help. He is of humble but of very unusual birth, he gets help from his apostles, his miracles are beyond the laws of nature, he dies through treachery, but with his sacrifice he surrenders a great boon for mankind. Whereas Dionysus is a proper hero who fights and has intercourse with women, Jesus represents a different version of this archetype. Interpreting the Paraphrasis as a quest also has the advantage that we can draw the long

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In the following I would like to focus on two important archetypes: the anima and the shadow.

1 Dionysus – An Egyptian Cousin of Don Juan? Coping with the female element is an essential part of the monomyth. Jung called it “the masterpiece”.37 According to Campbell: “The ultimate adventure, when all the barriers … have been overcome … The meeting with the goddess (who is incarnate in every woman) is the final test of the talent of the hero …”.38 In the world of myth, the confrontation with female powers is shown as lying outside the hero, but in fact these powers symbolize his own intrinsic female elements the hero has to cope with.39 C. G. Jung called these female parts of a man’s soul “The anima”.40 This archetype can be identified as the totality of the unconscious feminine psychological qualities that a male possesses, like emotions, sensitivity and anticipation and especially the relationship to his own subconscious mind.41 This archetype is ambivalent, and can therefore appear as the good, but also as the evil.42 Accordingly, also Hera might form an expression of this important figure, as we will see later. As for the wine-god we have to consider that Dionysus somehow embodies both sexes. One the one hand this is a typical feature of the archetype trickster or the divine child.43 On the other hand Dionysus might be more independent of the integration of the female parts of his soul than an ordinary humanbeing. Dionysus has not only to cope with various enemies, but also with (a) female antagonist(s). And indeed, contacts with women accumulate for Dionysus after having defeated the Indians. Only Nicaea and, of course, his mother Semele appear before the Indian war. It seems as if, after his military victory, the young god has to prove himself in another way – as a lover or as a husband … But does Dionysus really pass this test? Is he able to integrate his female skills, is he able to overcome Hera’s wrath?

missing parallel between Nonnus’ two works, and thus the question of his personal belief (or a possible conversion) is no longer of importance. 37 Jung 2009, 31. 38 Campbell 1999, 326 f. 39 Campbell 1999, 326. 40 Jung 2009, 30. 41 Jung 1979, 177. 42 Jung 2009, 153. 43 Radin 1956, ap. Jung 1979, 177.

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It all starts with the mother: she is certainly of highest importance for the development of a boy’s growth, because her affection or rejection influences his vitality essentially.44 Let’s turn to Dionysus and his mother Semele: the beautiful girl catches the eye of Zeus, but she does not consent to the proposed love act.45 In doing so, she stands at the beginning of a sequence of refusing women, who – in the end – nevertheless have to suffer from a sexual assault. Nicaea, Pallene and Aura struggle violently but uselessly, Ariadne, who is in desperate love with another man, has at least to be convinced elaborately. So, by overwhelming Semele, his father Zeus acts as an indicator for Dionysus, and is in the following even outclassed by his son:46 when the wine-god fulfils his desire, which rarely finds mutual agreement, Dionysus cheats, ties up, rapes and abandons the abused women quickly afterwards. This is even more astonishing as Nonnus generally tries to cast a good light on his god and is definitely capable and willing to show an affectionate and mutual relationship, as can be seen in the case of Cadmus and Harmonia. But this mutual love is the exception: nearly every sexual relationship in the Dionysiaca lacks reciprocity.47 In describing his hero like this, Nonnus has perhaps unconsciously diagnosed a typical behaviour of a boy without a mother – Dionysus lacks a compassionate mother-figure. But in another respect he has too many mothers: because of his unusual birth – a typical feature of a hero or the divine child – Dionysus is clearly distinct from ordinary individuals. His father Zeus – in a remarkable change of sex – takes over the female role of giving birth, 7.80–1: Τίκτω ἐγὼ γενέτης, καὶ τλήσομαι ἄρσενι μηρῷ θηλυτέρας ὠδῖνας, ὅπως ὠδῖνα σαώσω. I am father and mother both; I shall suffer the woman’s pangs in my man’s thigh, that I may save the fruit of my pangs.48

Apart from that, the new born child is handed over to various surrogate mothers in order to avoid Hera’s wrath. In addition, Dionysus has actually not only one, but three different “biological” mothers: Persephone, Semele and finally Aura. We can see: many mothers, most of them unusual, none of them for a

44 45 46 47 48

Jung 2009, 32. Newbold 1998. Miguélez Cavero 2009, 572 f. Hadjittofi 2008, 116. Translations of the Dionysiaca are sourced from Rouse 1940.

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long period of time and in addition to that a number of foster mothers.49 This incidence cannot be without any consequences for the person: as a result of the “splitting” of his mother-figure, the anima in Dionysus is weakened, and he therefore has to suffer from a reduction of the female parts of his soul. This could be one of the reasons why in the Dionysiaca the hero is not able to find his female counterpart: he tumbles from one adored girl to another, all the time seeking the perfect mother, which he lost too soon during childhood. In addition he is of female appearance, which is often ridiculed by his opponents (e.g. Deriades in 39.53–73; Pentheus in 45.85–94). Dionysus’ androgyny does not fit into any masculine mould.50 His obsession with violent relationships (such as Aura and Nicaea) matches with this difficult mother-relationship: if we allow ourselves a psychological side-glance on the god, we could interpret the rapes of Nicaea and Aura as an expression of his love-hate relationship with his absent mother: the abandoned child, who cannot understand why his mother left him and therefore feels hurt by her, decides to take revenge on his mother’s consexuals.51 The loss of his mother influences the storyline of the Dionysiaca in another respect as well: because of his anger at his mother’s assumed betrayal, Dionysus has created two different mother-figures: he split up this role to free his beloved mother from unfavourable aspects and to “outsource” the bad maternal behaviour: the positive one of the two is Semele, who is literally praised to the skies, described as being good and nourishing, the other is Hera, being evil and unforgiving. The fact that the young Dionysus chooses a male first love, Jung would have regarded as a typical behaviour of a motherless boy: a young man, who lacks an adequate mother-relationship feels naturally attracted by male principle, because he is frightened by the female parts of his soul.52 During his journey, Dionysus is never able to establish a relationship with a woman at eye level. After this episode of homosexual experience with Ampelus, he starts as an inexperienced youngster, who is attracted by masculine women, who do not meet social role-behaviour. But their masculinity is also

49 Newbold (1998) suggests a different interpretation: he argues that the many foster mothers cause a surplus of female attachment figures and a lack of father. But for him this shortcoming is also directly associated with Dionysus’ affinity to rapes: because of his weak male identity a woman, who lives a life like a man and is proud of her manly body arouses the desire of the god. But on the other hand she also frightens him of course. 50 Miguélez Cavero 2009, 570. 51 I cordially thank Dr. Rita Skolek-Winnisch (Österreichische Gesellschaft für Analytische Psychologie – C. G. Jung-Gesellschaft) for her valuable suggestions. 52 Jung 2009, 83.

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a threat for him, which he must render harmless or even destroy. In the beginning very shy and barely daring to speak in front of a maiden, he quickly takes refuge to violence. Voyeurism, bondage, rape, and impregnating are his tools to take over control again, 42.138–43:53 Καὶ Βερόης σχεδὸν ἦλθε καὶ ἤθελε μῦθον ἐνίψαι, ἀλλὰ φόβῳ πεπέδητο … … ἆ μέγα θαῦμα, παρθένον ἔτρεμε Βάκχος, ὃν ἔτρεμε φῦλα Γιγάντων. He came near to Beroe and would have spoken a word, but fear held him fast … See a great miracle – Bacchos trembling before a maid, Bacchos before whom the tribes of the Giants trembled!

After Beroe, when he has to contain himself, and Ariadne, when he is successful through his art of persuasion (47.453 εἶπε παρηγορέων), Aura is Bacchus’ last human “love”: in this context, it is important to notice that the god, now clearly having reached maturity through war and fight, is in a comparable situation like with Nicaea. Aura can therefore be seen as a “scaled-up version”54 of the former. The two women are of the same type: both prefer living unmarried, love hunting in the woods, a very unusual territory for women in antiquity,55 and flee contact with men. In other words: both do not meet social role behavior.56 Nonnus stresses the point, that Aura is very proud of her unripe body and lives a male life.57 Dionysus acts exactly the same way:58 firstly by being very attracted by this self-confident woman, he cannot take the denial and soon turns to violence to have his desire fulfilled. We cannot see any development, quite the contrary is true: here the god even has the most detrimental effects on a woman’s life and totally destroys her existence. It feels like sheer mockery, when Aura after her rape, after her unwilling and painful birth and after her suicide undergoes a form of metamorphosis and turns into a fountain. The fates of female antagonists in the Dionysiaca are quite similar:59 unlimited love is followed by pain, death and immortality (as a sort of “conso-

53 Newbold 1998. 54 Lightfoot 1998, 296. 55 Detienne 1975, 25 f. 56 In general the Dionysiaca discourage women from taking new roles (see Miguélez Cavero 2009, 577 f.) 57 Schmiel 1993, 470–83 lists Aura’s various male features. 58 See also Newbold 1998. 59 Vian 1994.

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lation”, as it were).60 But this apotheosis is a mixed blessing. Though the woman is now lifted to divine heights on the one hand, she is on the other removed from the terrestrial sphere and has no more direct influence on the later. And the line is continued with Iakchos: again a motherless baby-boy is handed over to various stepmothers and nurses in a complicated re-pattering of Dionysus’ history.61 The author therefore denies a development in this respect too. To conclude: Dionysus does not change his approach when interacting with women, quite the contrary is true, his searching for a mother or a female companion stays unresolved.

2 The Shadow – Hera or the Wicked Stepmother As it was mentioned before, Hera stands for a mother-aspect for Dionysus. She represents the hard and unforgiving aspects of this character. Nevertheless, her main function in the epic is that of the shadow. The hero has to integrate this part of the unconscious mind consisting of repressed weaknesses, shortcomings, and instincts to go further in his individuation. This is surprising, because on the first glance, the shadow has to be of the opposite sex of the hero.62 But, as said before, the goddess Hera has got a double-role. For Nonnus, her mother-aspect was obviously too important to be abandoned. Facing the shadow plays again a central part in the developmental process of the hero, who has to integrate this part of the unconscious mind to go further in his individuation.63 In his development this marks the first central step. The most important task nevertheless consists of the confrontation with the anima.64 Hera is well suited to play the role of Dionysus’ ultimate enemy as she stands for his counterpart in many ways: she is a long-established goddess with massive power. She is well settled, not like the wine-god, who has to carve out his own place first. Hera stands for the approved and tested, Dionysus represents the unknown and new. She symbolises commitment to marriage and family, lives monogamously and is jealous of the extra-marital affairs of

60 Baeumer 2006, 35. 61 Lightfoot 1998, 305. 62 Von Franz 1979, 168. 63 Wischmann 2006, 11. 64 Jung 2009, 31: “Ist die Auseinandersetzung mit dem Schatten das Gesellenstück, so ist diejenige mit der Anima das Meisterstück”.

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her husband, Dionysus acts promiscuously and without any emotional ties. Nonnus shows Hera to a large extent as asexual, but she gets her satisfaction obviously through pursuit and humiliation of her enemies. When Hera uses female weapons (like in the Dios Apate 32.1–97) it is not for gaining lust, far from it she is coldly calculating in order to meet her requirements.65 Dionysus on the contrary often appears as excessively lustful and quite irresponsible, he appears as the typical seducer of married women.66 Both are deities for women, but Hera represents attributes of domestic virtues, whereas Bacchus stands for lust and ecstasy and is found on the opposite bottom of the scale. In the Dionysiaca, she even lacks her particular attributes, e.g. weapons of her own.67 Hera acts targeted and is definitely an actress, whereas Dionysus can generally be seen as a victim, who just responds to pressure.68 As a consequence, Hera stands behind most of Dionysus’ enemies (with primarily Pentheus as an exception), she misleads poor Semele (8.207 f.), she incites the Indians (e.g. 14.303 f. and 22.71 f.) and Lycurgus (20.182 f.), she drives Dionysus mad (32.98 f.). If he masters the integration of his repressed counterpart, the hero gets a valuable instrument of creation and empowerment.69 For this reason, Dionysus, in the end, predominantly has to win against Hera, who represents his own shortcomings. This happens step by step: tentatively, as Hera is forced to suckle Dionysus (35.319 f.) and to heal him thereby from the madness caused by her. So to speak in a reversal of the white foam, which indicates his madness (32.150 ἀφρὸν ἀκοντίζων χιονώδεα, μάρτυρα λύσσης) her milk is the cure.70 In other words, she must play a motherly role, and in doing so, changes their relationship essentially: she turns from a destroying to a caring, nursing and an even healing woman. This action marks a kind of turning-point. From this moment on Hera vanishes gradually out of the story and Dionysus, after his fight against the Indians and his first making friends with Hera, is seemingly free to make a better acquaintance with women. But this first reconciliation between Dionysus and Hera is still far from being considered as longlasting: so after the accomplished healing, she returns to Mount Olympus, because she cannot stand the victory of the unarmed Bacchants. The winegod on the other hand feels comfortable now and reassures his audience: οὐκέτι χώεται Ἥρη (35.347). 65 66 67 68 69 70

Miguélez Cavero 2009, 580. Kerényi 1994, 122 f. Miguélez Cavero 2009, 579 f. “Der Gott des verfolgten Lebens” (Kerényi 1961, 39). Rüf 1994, 207. Newbold 2000, 23.

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In Books 44–46 Nonnus tells the story of Pentheus. Here, Hera is not in spotlight. This fact is not surprising, as Pentheus marks a different shadowaspect for Dionysus: while Hera represents his divine opposite, the Theban cousin acts as Dionysus’ enemy in his human family: the wine-god has to carve out his place now in the palace of his grand-father and to win against an antagonist in his family. So, when Pentheus the tyrant is totally destroyed and Dionysus can therefore be worshiped even in the town of his mother and grand-father, the better part of his mission seems to be accomplished. But despite the decreed conciliation through Zeus during the Indian war, Hera continues to have her fingers in the pie, whenever Dionysus gets in trouble, for example, she incites the Argives, 47.478–80: … ἀπηρνήσαντο δὲ θύρσους, μή ποτε δηλήσαιτο Πελασγικὸν ἕδρανον Ἥρη ζηλήμων, βαρύμηνις ἐπιβρίθουσα Λυαίῳ they repudiated the thyrsus, lest Hera should be jealous and destroy her Pelasgian seat, if her heavy wrath should press hard on Lyaios.

and Perseus, 47.609–11: … καταιθύσσουσα δὲ Βάκχου ἀστεροπῆς μίμημα, θεόσσυτον ἁλλόμενον πῦρ, ῥῖψε κατὰ Βρομίοιο σελασφόρον αἴθοπα λόγχην. She dashed upon Bacchos like the lightning, a godsent leaping fire, and cast at Bromios her gleaming flashing lance.

But if we take a closer look something has changed. It seems as if Hera has lost a large part of her verve: when she incites Perseus in the shape of Melampus (47.533–66), the flashes thrown by her appear as without effect on Dionysus and he feels this. With new self-confidence he boasts, 47.613–5: Οὐ τόσον ἀστράπτουσαν ἔχεις ἀσίδηρον ἀκωκήν· οὐ δύνασαι κλονέειν με, καὶ εἰ λάχες ἔμπυρον αἰχμήν· οὐδέ με πημαίνει στεροπὴ Διός … Not so much of a flash you make in that blade of yours, with no iron; you cannot scare me, though your point is on fire! Even the lightning of Zeus does not hurt me.

The wine-god, who has been in desperate need for help during the epic several times, now obviously has advanced to a new position of independence. Even

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Zeus’ flashes mean no menace for him any more. In the final Gigantomachy in Book 48, Dionysus demonstrates this new self-confidence again. Not only that he fights all Giants alone, he generously even spares some enemies to be killed by his father, 48.87–9: Καί νύ κε πάντας ἔπεφνεν ἑῷ ῥηξήνορι θύρσῳ, ἀλλὰ παλινδίνητος ἑκὼν ἀνεχάζετο χάρμης, δυσμενέας ζώοντας ἑῷ γενετῆρι φυλάσσων. Indeed he would have slain all with his manbreaking thyrsus, if he had not retired of his own will out of the fray and left enemies alive for his Father.

Dionysus obviously has gone through a certain development with regard to his father.71 Nevertheless, Hera remains his enemy, and hero and villain are like two trains, which drive towards the other at full steam.72 After a considerable number of verses and conflicts with many opponents, the reader deservedly expects an enormous final combat, through which the conflict is settled once and for all. But in vain! The hasty ending (just a few verses) leaves the question unsolved: after the birth of Iacchus, surely a sort of climax,73 Dionysus is given his apotheosis and Nonnus does not speak a word about unforgiving Hera. An essential part of the monomyth is missing, because in a quest the hero has to overcome his ultimate enemy. How come that Dionysus accomplished his aims while Hera’s wrath is still continuing? A possible explanation, if one does not want to take the crudity of the epic as an excuse, could be the double-role of Hera: on the one hand she represents the shadow, but on the other the anima. Therefore there is no need to fight her, her (unwilling) turning to a nourishing mother and healer has bestowed her with enough positive features, to enable Dionysus to integrate her character. Though she remains his enemy, he can now turn to other women and she loses her menace for him. On the other hand, Hera’s position in the Greek pantheon also forbids a final combat: if the hero destroyed her, this victory would mean her vanishing. But naturally this cannot take place, Hera as Zeus’ wife cannot be beaten or killed. Nonnus’ possibilities of expression in this respect are limited due to mythological conditions. As a result, Nonnus could not write this part of his hero’s quest, he just leaves it out and therefore has to disappoint his readers.

71 Shorrock 2001, 199. 72 Vogler 2010, 144. 73 Schmiel 1993, 470.

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3 Conclusions Without knowing Freud and the achievements of modern psychology, the much-maligned Nonnus shows a noticeably high understanding of mental developments and processes. In showing that the wine-god has to master typical problems of every normal individual, his Dionysiaca therefore aim at supporting individuals or even people of a whole age in finding their way through the dangers and anxieties of an insecure life. Thinking of Nonnus as an particularly creative poet who combined characters given by conventional myth with figures newly created from archetypal features, the present attitude towards a closer investigation of that concept applied to the Dionysiaca can afford a better understanding of the poet’s designing characters.

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List of Figures p. p. p. p. p. p. p.

167: 168: 169: 170: 171: 172: 173:

p. p. p. p.

174: 183: 184: 186:

p. 315: p. 316:

Ivory diptych of Anastasios (detail), sixth century CE, St. Petersburg Wooden relief of a besieged city, fifth century CE, from Egypt (?), Berlin Ivory plaque with adventus of St Stephen’s relics (detail), fifth century CE, Trier Silk textile, sixth century CE, from Eastern Mediterranean, Dumbarton Oaks Alexandria, mosaic from the church of St John at Jerash, 531 AD Inscription from Oinoanda, general view and detail (a) Cylindric lantern, fourth/fifth century CE, from Egypt, St Petersbourg (b) Lamp basket, sixth century CE, from Nubia, Berlin Diptych of the consul Anastasios, lower panel, 517 AD, Paris Child sarcophagus with Dionysiac motifs, c. 140 AD, Munich Silenus (a) and Mystis (b) (?), Hanging of Dionysus, fourth century CE, Riggisberg Mosaic of Sheikh Zuweid, c. 350–450, Northern Sinai, now in the Ismailiya Museum, Egypt Mosaic of Dionysus and Ariadne, third/fourth century CE, from Syria (?), Miho Museum, Japan Mosaic of Dionysus and Ariadne, third century CE, Chania, Crete

Index of Greek Words or Phrases ἔπος 78, 80 ἐσσόμενος 41, 54 ἐτήτυμοι 205 εὐάζω 295−6, 299 εὔδενδρος 309 n. 22 εὐχή 78 ἐχέφρων 118

ἀβάκχευτος 288−91 ἄγαλμα 163 ἀεξίνοος 416 αἰόλος 112, 125, 135 ἀκρόκομος 309–10 ἅλμα 386, 399–401 ἀμαίευτος 15 n. 41 ἀμέριστος 245 ἄμοιρος 245 ἀμφίκερως 448, 454 ἀνευάζω 299 ἀνθεμόεις 356–7 ἀπείρητος 312 ἄρραφος χιτών 129 ἀρχέγονος 248–9 ἀστροχίτων 82, 83 ἀχάλινος 311 ἄχραντος 329–30

ἠώς

θαῦμα 154 θεηγόρα χεύματα 94 θεομάχοι 218 θεσμοφόρος 89 θεσπίζω see (προ)θεσπίζω θιασώδης 295−6 θοὴ νύξ 133–5 θυιάς 295 ἱερὸς λόγος 215 ἴνδαλμα 244 ἰσχνογένεθλα 450

βακχεύω 292−3 βιοθρέμμων 447 βιοπαίγμων 446 βιοπλανής 447 βιοτέρμων 447–8, 449, 454 βρέτας 163 δέρμα κολπούμενον αὔραις δέρματα φωκάων 107 δηγμός 412 διδάσκω 216 Διὸς νοῦν 238 διφυής 92 δρώμενα 216 ἐγερσίβροτος 453 ἐγερσίγελως 445–6, 453 ἐγερσίνοος 242 εἴδωλον 476 εἰκών 163, 244 ἐκήβολος 408, 414 ἔκφρων 403, 419 ἕλιξ 136, 361 ἔλπομαι 207–8 ἐνθουσιασμός 403–5 ἐνοσίφρων 414

303–6

107–8

καθαρμοί 219 κάλαθος 217 κεράστης 475 κιστοφόρος (κιττοφόρος) κλῦθι 90 κύρβις 52 κῶμος 295−301 κωφός 361 λίκνον 219 λῐτός 62–3 λύσσα 295−7 μάντις 41 μαστάριον 223–4 μαστεύω (ἴχνια) 386 μέθη 291 μέλλω 40–1 μέριμνα 203–4 μίμημα 244 μινυνθάδιος 449–50 μυστιπολεύω 295−6, 299 μυστιπόλος 299−300

218–20

542

Index of Greek Words or Phrases

νεβρίζων 226 νεβρίς 127–8 νεβρὶς ποικιλόνωτος 121–2 νεβροφόνος 87 νεοτευχής 207–8 νήπιος 40 n. 4 νυκτέλιος 221–2 νύσσα 247

ῥιπή 107–8, 109, 112, 114,

ὁδίτης 343–4 ὀδυνήφατος 355 ὀμίχλη 125 nn. 10 and 12, 130, 132, 134 n. 50, 135, 338–9 ὁμοίωσις θεῷ 245 ὀμφή 44, 45, 53 n. 50 ὀξυθέριστα 450 ὅρασις νοός 249 ὄργια 215, 289, 293−9 παλινδίνητος 247 παρηγορέω, παρήγορος 16 πέπλος ποικιλόνωτος 113–4, 116 ποικιλία 252–3 ποικιλόνωτος 125, 128; cf. πέπλος ποικιλόνωτος ποικίλος χιτών 113–4, 116 πολύτροπος 106, 111, 112 πολυώνυμος 86 πολυώνυμος ὕμνος 87 πόνος 410 (προ)θεσπίζω 48, 53–4

418

σαρκοχίτων 446 σελαγίζω 131–2 σῆμα 48 στικτὸν δέρμα 109, 112, 114 στροφάλιγξ 132 n. 40, 135–6 συναστράπτω 245 ταλαεργός 311 τάλαρος 218 τελέθω 386 τελετή 185–7, 215, 220, 299 τρίβικος 224 τρίγονος 92 τύπος 244 φᾶρος 126 φάσμα 244 φιάλη 224 φιλάκρητος 290−1 φιλεύιος 291 φιλόκροτος 295 φιλοπαίγμων 446 φιλόργιος 298 φοιβάζω 415 φρενοθελγής 242 φύτλη 449–50 χιτών 124–30 χλοερός 303, 310 χορεύω 414–5

Index of Passages Ach. Tat. 1.13.5

261 n. 28

ACO Ephes. 1.1.5.66.31

428–9

Aesch. Edon. TrGF 60 [Prom.] 24

403 125

Anonyma AP 9.656.21 153 Lyr. Adesp. CA 10 203 P. Ant. III 115 429 n. 31 Poem on Heracles’ labours 375 n. 3 See Apoc. Jo., Galakrenai epigram, Hom. Hy. Pan, Inscriptions, Theos. Tub. Aphthon. Prog. 5 8

29 30

Apoc. Jo. 12–3

465

Ps.-Apollin. Met. Ps. Proth. 1–2, 109–10 1–9 18–21 29–34 31 52–106 83 109–10 Met. Ps. 4.1, 10, 12 9.48 10.14 21.36–7 Apollonius Rhodius 1.725 f. 1.735–41 1.832

201 n. 31 201–3, 205 204–6 205 204 204 368 204 210 209 n. 59 343 209

128 358–9 449

2.1014 3.453–8 3.579–605 3.627–31 3.932–9 3.956–9

424 26 27 27 36 27

Archil. IEG 120

403

Ar. Nub. 312 570 Ran. 1259 Thesm. 149 f.

300 447 403 n. 6 404

Arist. PMG 842.1–5

453

Athan. In ram. palm. PG 26.1309b–14a

306

Callimachus Epigr. 27.4 Pf. Hec. fr. 85.2 Hollis 163 HyAp. 64 HyZeus 14

300 447 203 n. 42 424

Cat. 64.53 56–7 63–7 76 79 83 135 160–3 164–6 172 207–11 248 261–4

321–2 321 322 n. 24 326 n. 40 326 326 n. 40 327 n. 44 324 323 n. 29 326 n. 40 327 n. 45 327 n. 45 319

410 n. 34

Choric. Or. (Foerster – Richsteig) 1.23 155 n. 65 1.71 367

544

Index of Passages

6.15–7 7.14 (114.9 f. Greco)

309 n. 22 408 n. 27

Christod. AP 2.32–3 69–71 97–8 347–50

407 n. 23 407 n. 24 418 407 n. 22

Claudian Laud. Stil. 2.424–53

43, 51, 52

Clem. Strom. 4.25.162.3 Protr. 2.22.4 12.119.1 Corippus Laud. Just. praef. 4 3.64 Cyril Alex. In Jo. PG 74.77c–9a 80a 80b In Lk PG 72.508a 681b 876c–7a In Zach. PG 72.145c

289 217 289, 293

443 n. 18 309 n. 28

308 309 n. 24 311 n. 37 346 312 n. 39 311 n. 37 311 n. 37

Damascius In Phd. (Westerink) I.171 237 I.172.1 238 Democr. 68 B 17 D–K 18

404 404 n. 8

Demosth. De cor. 259–60 218 Diod. Sic. 1.11.3 2.53.7

473 310 n. 30

Dion. Per. 1010

310 n. 30

Diophil. SH 391.7

270

Doroth. Sid. fr. 5.1 Stegemann

270

Egeria 31.2–3

310

Ephr. Comm. res. 52.14 Frantzoles

297

Eulog. In ram. palm. PG 86.2913a–38b

306

Euph. CA 13

224

Euripides Bacc. 24 99–104 111 160 337–41 395 451–518 472 696–7 821–34 835 851–3 915–44 1064–75 1107–08 1116 1118–21 1141–42 1165–285 1291 1298–300 Cret. TrGF 472 (OF 567) Ion 716–7 1146–58 Med. 804–5

114 225 114 300 113 293 289 290 114 114 114 113 114 109, 113 115 115 115 115 117 113 117 222 221 125 324

Index of Passages

Melan. TrGF 486a Phoen. 176 1131–32 Suppl. 180–4

210 210 n.61 203 n.42

312 233

Eustath. Comm. Il. (v. d. Valk) III.97.25 134 Galakrenai epigram

Hermias In Phdr. (Lucarini – Moreschini) 89.20 f. 405 n. 14 Hes. WD 1–2 287–92

450 417, 451

Himer. Or. 8 66.6 68.9

260–2 261 n. 29. 252–3

404

Eus. DE 6.15.12 PE 3.7.4

Hom. Il. 5.194 5.902 6.130–40 6.146–9

387–8

Georg. Gramm. Anacr. (Ciccolella) 9.1–4 415 n. 56 Georg. Pisid. De vit. hum. 23–30 31 51–8 81–3 De van. 87–8 162–7 Hex. 598–9

448–50 455 441–2, 448 443 450 441 n. 10 441, 454

309 n. 22

Gregory of Tours Hist. Franc. 3.19 153 Heraclit. 22 B 14 D–K (fr. 87 Marc.)

6.218 23.141

207 455 478, 479 447–8, 449–50, 454 209 442

4.435–59 7.14–20 19.232–4 23.134

104–6 34–5 128–9 446

Od.

Greg. Naz. Carm. (PG 37) 1.1.1.22–3 (Arc. 22–3) 201 n. 31, 203 n. 42 1.1.9.58–9 353 2.1.38.9 389 2.2.7.64–6 455 Greg. Nyss. De Par. 84.1 Hörner

545

221

Homeric Hymn to Pan 2

295

Hor. Ars 133 448

197 201 n. 32

Iambl. Myst. 3.4

405 n. 14

Inscriptions GVI 1325.25 SEG 27.933 SGO 03.02.15 14.02.04 21.07.01 21.23.03 John Chrys. Jud. 7.1, PG 48.916 Hom. in Jo. 7:14 PG 61.793

401 157 155 n. 65 364 155 155 n. 65

297 300

546

Index of Passages

In ram. palm. PG 61.715 John Gaz. Anacr. 1.3 Ciccolella 1.7–21 1.19, 32–9 Ekphr. 1.1–15 (26–43) 1.1–25 1.3 (28) 1.5–10 1.9–15 (9–15) 1.14–8 1.24 (49) 1.27 (52) 1.82–96 1.86 (111) 1.87–94 1.130–1 1.132 1.137 (162) 2.1–3 (390–2) 2.14 (403) 2.137 (526) 2.274 (663) 2.327 (716) Jul. Or. 7.222a–b 8.172c Long. Subl. 8.4 13.2

Marin. V. Procl. 22

416 n. 60

307

408 n. 30 408–9 409 429 n. 32 410–3 423 n. 15 413–5 431 415 428 423 n. 15 452–3 427 n. 23 416–9 416 n. 64 417 428 427 424 423 n. 15 427 n. 23 428

290 406 n. 19

415 n. 57 404

Macrob. Comm. Somn. Scip. 1.12.12 Sat 1.8.7

236

Ps.-Manetho 4.77

448, 450, 454

Marcus Diac. V. Porph. 58 61

309 164 n. 108

235

Men. Rhet. (Russell – Wilson) 331.18 259 n. 23 435.4–5 260 436.13 261 Musaeus 76 213 295 New Testament John 2.3 2.19 2.23 3.14 4.22b 4.45 7.8 7.14 7.37a 7.47–9 12.10 12.12–5 12.38 12.40 17.25–6a 18.22 19.24 Luke 1.28 18.7–8 19.28–46 Mark 11.1–11 Matthew 21.1–16 Rev. 12.4 19.13

281 282 n. 74 282 n. 74

287−8 203 n. 42 294 335–7 298 294 299 300 300 291 306 303–11 passim 307, 308 307, 308 293 443 209 14–5 308 n. 21 304–10 passim 304–10 passim 304–10 passim 367 312

Nicetas Eug. Dros. et Char. 6.205–35 397–8 Poem on Death of Prodromus 62–4 401–2

Index of Passages

Nonnus Dion. 1.1–44 1.11 1.12–33 1.13–44 1.15 1.31 1.165–72 1.177–83 1.184–202 1.251–7 2.90 2.655 2.673 3.18 3.83–9, 93–7 3.124–30 3.259–83 3.279–81 3.389 3.425–6 4.36–63 4.77–176 4.357 5.287–551 5.323–4 5.329 5.599 6.15–108 6.145 f. 6.170 f. 6.174–205 6.229–49 7.67 7.73 7.80–1 7.99 7.200 7.318–33 7.367–8 9.72 9.111–31 9.307–9 10.141–4 10.175–92 10.196–216

98–101, 104, 106, 107 319 320 406 252 162 473 474 475 476 427 270 270 305 33–5, 37–8 35 103 103 270 14–5 28–9 30–3 348 109–12 386 272 270 49 246 59–61, 244 101 477–8 270 428 497 245 414 n. 55 102 330 n. 54 14–5 76 144 259 253–4, 256 n. 19 251–63 passim

10.212 10.292–320 11.113–4 11.214–23 11.255–312, 315–50 11.369–481 11.485–12.117 12.11–117 12.41 f. 12.70–81 12.97–102 12.107–13 12.171 12.207–89 12.292–397 14.118–9 14.411–7 14.422 16.263 16.282–3 16.403–5 17.374 18.89–92 18.160 19.104–5 19.170 19.319–32 20.94–6 20.143–353 21.111 21.320 25.11–7 25.176–9 25.264–7 25.274–6 25.281–91 25.297–302 25.380–572 25.384–412 26.366–78 27.9 27.114 28.284–7 29.68–9 32.1–97 34.226–9 35.11–6

547

449 257–8 261–2 261 n. 28 260 257 n. 21 49, 52 472 248 248 248 156–7 15, 330 n. 53 258–9 259 n. 25 416 n. 59 291 270 323 323 189 86 154–5 124, 128, 132 93 329 n. 47 107 452 482 144 446 406 148 202 n. 35 152 164–5 152 333–71 246 152–3 428 n. 26 330 64–5 305 501 146 146–7

548

Index of Passages

35.92–6 35.204–22 35.240–1 35.347 37.1–6 37.222–90 38.155–66 38.155–83 39.300 40.366–580 40.369–410 40.399 41.132–4 41.143 f. 41.165 41.263–400 41.295 f. 41.364 f. 41.375 42.138–43 43.246–7 44.191–216 44.212–3 44.214–6 44.218–52 44.255–77 47.5–39 47.265–475 47.453 47.478–80 47.609–11 47.613–5 48.87–9 48.540 48.590–600 48.652–5 48.689–98 48.834 48.883–6 48.884

147 n. 27 225 153 501 247 246 144–5 247 271 83 79–83, 479 271 15 243 270 n. 30 49, 52 125, 246 249 94 n. 86, 96 499 107 79, 84–90 88 84 84 84, 88 309 313–32 499 502 502 502 503 327 n. 42 36–7 322 n. 25 163–4 15 50 209 n. 59

1.20 1.40 1.55 1.103–5 1.105 1.132 1.168–9

249 245 245 149 n. 36 366–7 130 305

Par.

1.197 2.10 2.12−20 2.21 2.35−8 2.62 2.68 2.95 2.110–5 3.85–6 4.106–7 4.204–5 5.31–4 5.74–5 6.9 6.34–5 6.62 6.66–9 7.11 7.31–4 7.37 7.50 7.105 7.140 7.177–82 8.4 9.33 9.184 11.167 11.227 12.51–69 12.52 12.142 13.1 13.32 f. 13.48 13.52 13.55 13.68 13.78–81 13.85–97 13.100–9 13.123 13.125 14.9 14.32 15.23 17.88–92

249 329 287, 288, 290 329 288, 291 291 245 203 n. 42 294−8, 299 309 298−9 294−8, 300 149 n. 36 245 298 68 133, 134 n. 50 124–5, 128, 132 299 299 300 300 415 300 291–2 135 208 136 66 298 303–12 298 135–6 298 245 245 245 247 245 249 249 249 447 305 208 326 n. 41 341 293

Index of Passages

18.5 18.16–24 18.108 19.51 19.95–7 19.129–32 20.3 f. 20.82–4 20.88 21.139–43 21.142

309 159–60 443 271 350 209 131 130 149 n. 36 207 162

[Opp.] Cyn. 3.274

270

Orac. Chald. 163

365–6

Orph. Arg. 7–11 24 92 103–5 139 170–4 195 251–2 394–6 625–6 886 928–33 971 984–5 1044–48 1056–58 1094–99 1107–09 1165–66 1321–22 1338–39 1372

94 n. 90 61–2 62–4 56 64–5 65 66–7 67 67–8 68 68–9 69–70 70 57 70–1 71–2 72–3 74 57 74–5 75 75–6

Orph. Fr. (Bernabé) 6F 50 567T = Eur. Cret. TrGF 472 578F.28–30 217 Orph. Hy. Euche

77, 78, 85

549

OH 1.1 1.3 1.5 1.8 7.10 9.3, 6 10.18 29.8 30.1–2 30.4 36.5, 6, 9, 10 44.4 49.1–4 50.1, 2, 3 52.4 52.5 52.10 55.13 62.4 Orph. Lith. 1 63–5 79–81 Old Testament Ps. 1 2 116 (115).15 137 (136) See Septuagint Ov. Met. 1.1–4 1.544–67 1.738–46 1.747 3.163–4 3.178–80 3.197 3.203 3.242–6 3.249–50 3.194–205 6.382–400 6.412–674

85 86 85, 86 87 124 85 89 91 86, 91 86 87 89 214 89 87 89 87 311 89

385–6 56 418

200 200 208 n. 58 200

98, 104, 108–9 101 102 103 110 110 112 111 111 110 110 107 102

550

Index of Passages

6.671–3 8.730–7 8.846–74 8.879–84 11.260–5 12.171–535 12.555–76 15.808–15

102 102 102 102 102 101 102 50–1, 52

Pamprepius (Livrea) Fr. 3.1–6 3.116

406 282 n. 74

Paul. Nol. Carm. 7–9

200

Parm. 132c–d Phd. 67b Phdr. 245a 246b Rep. 533d2 518d, e Symp. 215a–c 212a Tim. 48e

413 n. 48 418 n. 72 403 413 n. 48 406 n. 19 418 n. 72 404 410 413 n. 48

Plotin. Enn. 1.8.2, 24 2.2.2, 5 4.3.11 4.4.16, 27

415 231 233 231

445

Plut. Def. orac. 431b38 De E Delph. 389a V. Alex. 2.6

413 n. 49 223–4 225

Pherec. Syr. 7 B 2 D–K

126

Porph. Marc. 6–7

419

Philo V. Mos. 2.38 2.40

198–9, 206 206

Paul. Sil. Soph. 212 306–10 729 854 Epigr. AP 11.60.1–2

447 452 282 n. 74 282 n. 74

Pind. O. 10.9–10 P. 1.1 1.10 Fr. (Maehler) 52f (Pae. 6.6) 70b (Dith. II) 146 150

412 n. 45 413 n. 49 418 n. 68 403 n. 3 406 416 n. 62 403 n. 3

Plato Ion 533d–f 536a

403 404

719c

403

Leg.

Proclus Hy. 2.19–20 3.10–1 3.16 7.18 In Remp. I.177.7–196.13 Kroll In Tim. II.407.25 Diehl III.80.20 f. 145.9 f. Theol. Plat. 2.6–7

311 405 416 453

233–4 237 236 236 245

Procop. Caes. De aed. 1.1.27

157–8

Procop. Gaz. Ep. (Amato) 5 and 149

407 n. 26

Index of Passages

Psellus Theol. 66.37 Gautier

368

Quint. Smyr. 5.49–56

417

Sedul. Ep. Mac. 1.85

200 n. 29 201 n. 31

Septuagint Gen. 2.7 Num. 21.8 Ps. 4.1, 5, 6 21.16–8 Zech. 1.8 9.9 Simonides IEG 19.1–2 20.9 PMG 579 Soph. Aj. Locr. TrGF 12 Phil. 936–7 940 Trach. 94, 132–3

Sophron. Jer. Epigr. AP 1.123 9.787.3

356 336 210 209 312 306–11 passim

447–8 447 451–2

1.708–14 3.14 9.10–1 9.47 f.

400 306 410 n. 35 413 n. 49

Theocritus 1.28 3.13 4.11

207 270 209

Theodoret. Cur. 1.86

290

Theod. Prodr. Carm. hist. (Hörandner) 42.1–6 390–1 56 393 n. 51 56b.40–8 390 79.1–4 395 Tetrast. Greg. Naz. 3 393 [Theod. Studites] Carm. (Speck) 96 386–7 124 383–5, 385–6

210 Theos. Tub. 16.7 Erbse 323 323 n. 30 125, 135 with n. 52

381 382 n. 22

Synesius Dion 5 6.5 9–10 11.3 14.3

413 n. 48 405 n. 15 418 n. 72 418 n. 71 416 n. 64

154.97 Garzya 1.370–5

408 n. 30

Tit. Bostr. In ram. palm. PG 18.1264d, 1273b 306 Triph. 209 f.

131

Tzetzes Poem on [Opp.] Cyn. 392 Poem on Lyc. Alexandra 391–2 Victorius Aleth. 1.44–6

200

405 n. 15

Virg. Aen. 1.1 1.8 Ecl. 6.3–5

108

418 n. 69

Xen. Mem. 2.1.21–34

453

Ep.

551

108 108

Hy.

General Index Acrobatic plays – in literature and art 145 Actaeon – in Nonnus and Ovid 109–12 – and Pentheus 112–21 Adjective(s) – feature of Nonnian style 426–7. See Lexical creation Aeschines – and oriental rites 218–9 Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound reconsidered by S. Weil 469 Agathias – Cycle and Georg. Pisid. 446, 457 Aion – and Horai 43 – in Nonnus and John Gaz. 428 – personification of 82 – and Phanes 42 Alain (Émile-Auguste Chartier) – tutor of S. Weil 463 Allegorical meaning – of Arete 417–9 – of Sophia 416–7. See Christ, Logos; Dionysus, as Logos Ambiguity – in Nonnian poetry and contemporary arts 149 Ambrosie – in Nonnus compared to Ovid’s Daphne 101 Ammon – shrine of – in Libya and Dodona 44 Ampelus – erômenos of Dionysus 498 – genealogy 253–7 – personified 187, 188 Amphion – and cosmic music 360–3 – founds Thebes with Zethus 358–9 Aphrodite – and Athena 324–5, 327–9 – speech to Harmonia 30–3, 470 – statue punished 163–4

Apollo – oracular deity 43, 45–6 Arabia – visited by Dionysus 80 Apocalypse of St John – and Dion. 464–5, 480–1, 484 archetypes – in Dion. 492–4 Arete – allegorical meaning 417–9 – in Hesiod 451, 453–4 – in John Gaz. 452–3 – in Nonnus 452 – in Simonides 451 – invoked in Georg. Pisid. 441, 449, 450, 453–4, 455 – and Virgin Mary 452–3 Argo – and ship carrying Magna Mater to Rome 57 Ariadne – awake 321 – clothed 316, 320–1 – lamentation of 314, 322, 324–8, 330 – naked 317, 320–1, 331 – sleeping 314, 317, 319, 321, 323, 325–6 – and Virgin Mary 331. See Medea; Philoctetes; Theseus Ariadne auf Naxos, opera see Strauss Aristaios – heals wounded allies of Dionysus 86 Art – reveals relation between One and Many 233–4 – Mosaics – Ariadne and Dionysus (Chania, Crete) 316–7, 319–22, 325 – Ariadne and Dionysus (Miho, Japan) 314–17, 319–23, 325, 331 – Mosaic from Sepphoris 154 – Other – Paris Psalter 129 – Trier ivory 147

554

General Index

– Wooden relief from Berlin 145. See ekphrasis; enargeia Asterios – and star of Ares 47 Astrology see Nonnus Artemis – affinity to Dionysus 88 – Dionysus’ prayer to – 84, 87–8 Asclepius – absent from Dion. 13 Astonishment – in Late Antique poetry and visual arts 154–5 Astraios – astrological session with Demeter 470, 480 – and Fates 46 – globe of 128 – in Hesiod 42 – patterned with Harmonia 49 Astrochiton see Heracles Astrochiton Athele – as Persephone 58–9 Athena – and Aphrodite 324–5, 327–9 – saves Dionysus’ heart 217 – suckling Erechtheus 330 n. 52 – weapons allegorised 347 Attis – figure of salvation 369 – oracular deity 44 Audience – defining the cultural milieu 430–2 – of Nonnus’ poems 162 Aura – and Dionysus 319, 322–3, 327, 499 – reaction after rape 163–4. See Peitho Autran, Charles – influence on S. Weil 466–7 Avars – long hair 443 Bacchants – surrounding Dionysus in art 190 Basket – in mysteries 216–20

177–81,

Beroe – arrow of desire 49 – oracle concerning 52 Berytus – law-school 40, 49. See Tyre Bethany – anticipates death and resurrection of Christ 304–6 – and Jerusalem 305–6, 312 Bull see Dionysus Byzantium – imitation of Late Antique poetry in Manasses Chronicon 388–9 – Theod. Prodr. 389–91 – Ps.-Theod. Studit. 385–6. See Galakrenai epigram; Leo Philosopher; Nicetas Eug. Cadmus – and crow 35 – departing with Harmonia 25 – described by Aphrodite–Peisinoe 30–3 – and Dionysus 41 – and Harmonia as Christian metaphor 17 – marriage to Harmonia 46, 47 – metamorphosis 40, 47 Caineus – as Argonaut 65–6 Calchas – model for seer Idmon 44, 46 Calliope – and Orpheus 93 Campbell, J. see Myth Cana – Dionysiac features of wedding at 287− 91 Celeus – hosts Demeter 93 n. 84. See Staphylus Chalcomede, Bacchant – ἄχραντος 329 – loved by Indian Morrheus 226 Christ – arrested in garden 305, 308 – descensus 368–9 – and Dionysus 331–2 – earthly mission 303 – holy body 312

General Index

– – – – – – – – – – – – –

human body 311–2 light of life 135 λίθος 353, 368 Logos 238–41, 246 as Prometheus 469 Resurrection of 130 rides donkey 310–2 takes Satan by surprise 348–9 ταχυεργός 308 n. 21 triumphal arrival as ἄναξ 305–8 ὑπουργός at Creation 359 walking the waters 443 wearing a chiton/shinning 129–32. See Damasen; Dionysus; Morning Star Christian poetry – reuse of literary past 162 Chronos – personified 43 Circular Movement – in cosmological descriptions 246 – in Neoplatonic aesthetics 233–4 – in Neoplatonism 231–2 – in Nonnus 246–8 – of soul after death 247 City – description of 150–1 – of Indians 151–2 Colt – carrying Jesus an inexperienced carrier 312 – mother of – as Synagogue 311 – tied 311 – symbol – of Christians 311 – of Jesus’ mortality 311–2 Crowd, welcoming Christ in Jerusalem – believes Christ to be a king 307–8 Combat, final see Hera, as shadow Combra – Egyptian – in Nonnus 337–8 Cone of darkness – origin and usage 133–6 Coptic textiles – and Nonnian poetry 147–9 Corybants – symbolism 182, 190 Cosmic deities 42–3. See Harmonia Cosmic music 360–3. See Lyre

555

“Cosmic preludes” – in Dion. 48–52 Couturier, Marie-Alain (Father) – correspondent of S. Weil 464 Cronus – Arabian 81 nn. 24, 27 – impersonation of evil 367–8 Cross – a tree 347–8, 353–4 – a weapon 348 Cybele – and Virgin Mary 368 Cyclops – symbolism 182, 190 Cyril of Alexandria – and Nonnus 130, 369–70 Damasen, Giant – as Christ 345–54. See Heracles Daphne see Ambrosie Dawn – carriage of 136 n. 54 – “tearing” darkness 125 – with an epithet of Apollo 131 Deities – scribal 51. See Cosmic deities Delphi – in Dion. 44–5 Dematerialization – aesthetic principle 159 Demeter – hosted by Celeus 93 n. 84. See Dionysus Determination – double 53 Dike – in Orph. Hy. 90 Dionysiac – ritual – allegorisation of 214 – Bacchic clothes and instruments 223–6 – objects related to – basket, casket or fan 217–220 – sacred toys 220 – snakes 218, 220, 225–6 – terminology 287−301 passim. See Cana; Frenzy; Orgies

556

General Index

Dionysiaca see Nonnus Dionysus – affairs with women 7–8, 497–500 – apotheosis 8–10, 503 – author of hymnic poetry 79, 83, 95 – in chiton/νεβρίς 127–8 – and Christ 329–332 – compared to Demeter 93 – court of 175–91 – death in form of bull 91, 92 – effeminate characteristics 496–500 – god of wine 445 – healing of Indian born blind 6, 164–6 – hero 494–5 – iconography in mosaics 142 with n. 10 – Indian origin 478 – κορυμβοφόρος 310 – Λικνίτης 219 – as Logos 235–8 – motherless child 497–8 – mythical childhood 218 – Νυκτίπολος 222 – nurses of 9 [see also Hipta, Ino, Mystis] – prayer to Zeus 257–8 – precursor of Christ 18 – prominent in Orphism 77 – shield of 6–7, 126, 333–71 – son of Zeus 255–9 – struggle with Lycurgus 478, 482, 484 – ταυρῶπις, sim. 85 – three Dionysi 92 – wins Apollo 93 – with Apollo inspires Orpheus 94. See Zagreus Dioscorus of Aphrodito – echoes in Byzantine poetry? 397–8 with n. 68 Dodecasyllable – inner metric 394. See Metre – Pisides, George Donkey, see Colt Draco – constellation 47, 48 Drunkenness – metaphor for communion 291 – part of Jewish and pagan festivals 297

Dupuis, Charles François – astronomical interpretation of Dion. 480–2 – influence on S. Weil 481–2 Egypt – origin of “Modern” poetry 421, 432–3 Eileithyia – and Virgin Mary 441 ekphrasis – encomiastic 429 – in Nonnus 151, 158, 159 – rhetoric of 252–3, 259 Elytis, Odysseas – translations of Mayakovsky 474 enargeia – ideological 150 encomium – in Aphrodite’s response to Harmonia (Dion. 4.77–176) 30 – double 432 – rhetoric of 252–4, 257–8, 261, 263 Erechtheus see Athena; Oeagrus Erinyes – Dionysus’ prayer to 89 Eros – companion of Dionysus 315, 317–8, 320–1, 323–5 Eve – and Pandora 442 – and Virgin Mary 441–2, 448–9, 454 Exegesis – theological vs explanation 196 Fates – house of 50 – in Nonnus and Homer 42 – scribes 51 – spinners 42, 46 – written 44, 47 Fawn skin – and disguise 107 – and human skin 107 – and metamorphosis 113–5 – in Nonnus 97–122 Fortune – huntress in Georg. Pisid. 442, 454

General Index

Frenzy, Bacchic – as communion with divinity – unbelief in Jesus as 297

289−92

Galakrenai Epigram – imitates Nonnus 387–8 Ganymedes – symbol of blissfulness 363–4 Garden, near Kedron – locus amoenus 305–6 – symbolic interpretation 308 George of Pisidia see Pisides, George Graal Legend – associated with Dion. by S. Weil 484 Gregory of Nazianzus – and Georg. Pisid. 455, 457 Hair – cutting of 443 – long 442–3 Harmonia – cosmic character 176 – departure from fatherland 25 – marriage to Cadmus 46, 47 – metamorphosis 40 – objects to marriage to Cadmus 28–9 – and Ophion 43 – palace of 49 – tablets of 49, 50, 472, 481. See Cadmus Healing see Dionysus Hecate – Dionysus’ prayer to 84, 85–6 Helios see Heracles Hera – as anima 496–500 – counter part of Dionysus 500–1 – instigates Titans to kill baby Dionysus 217, 223 – mother aspect 496–503 passim – as shadow 500–3 Heracles – affinity to Dionysus 83 – Choice of 453 – and Damasen/Christ 346 – Dionysus’ hymn to 79, 80–3 – Helios 79–83, 95 – as Melquart 80

557

– temple in Tyre 80 – twelve labours 82 – starry robe 82–3 with n. 41 – wrestiling with lion (?) 148–9 Heracles Astrochiton – hymn of Dionysus to 79–83, 86, 95, 478–9 – oracle by 44, 46, 49 – wears a star-studded robe 127, 130 Herb of life – resurrects Tylus 355–6 Hermes – Dionysus’ prayer to 89 – oracular deity 43 Hero – characteristics 487–9 – Jesus as 495 n. 36 – journey of 489–91 Hexameter see Metre Himerius – interaction of rhetoric and poetry 251– 3, 260–2 Hipta – Dionysus’ nurse 182–3 – as Mystis 214 Horai – on Tablets of Harmonia 49 horse – passions compared to donkey or – 311 n. 38. See Colt Hymnus – eponym of hymn killed by Nicaea 78 n. 7 Hyperion – consultation of – by Seasons 50 Iambic proem – introducing hexameters in Byzantine poetry 391–3 Icarius – classical and Christian interaction 331 Idmon – Calchas-figure 44, 46 Imitation – “personal –” of a poet by another 424. See Byzantium Indian war – rare in Late Antique iconography 147

558

General Index

Individuation – of Nonnus’ time through Dionysus 495 Ino – Dionysus’ nurse 218 – madness of 46 Inscriptions – image and text 155–7 – reading of 156–7 Inspiration – divine – and nature of translation 201, 204–7 – as topos 201–4 – divinities of – Dionysiac and Apollonian 414–6 – in John Gaz. 413 – poetic – in Christod. 407 – in Nonnus 406–7 – in Pamprepius 406 – in John Gaz. 407–19 Io – in Nonnus and Ovid 102–3 Irony see Pharisees Jerusalem – city of Passion 306–7 – description of 305 – earthly and heavenly 306, 312 – entry of Jesus into 304, 308–9, 312 – Judaic feasts in 307–8 – as palace in heaven 308 – in prophecy of Zech. 9.9 306. See Bethany – Jews – Landscape – Thebes Jews – abusive mouth 351 – patristic exegesis against 306 – as snakes 349 – Synagogue 311. See Colt; Jerusalem Jewish festivals – mystery terminology and 295−6, 299− 300 – noise in 295−7 – orgiastic 295−300. See Drunkenness

John of Gaza – metaphorical language in first Anacreontic 408–9 – and Nonnus 421–33 passim – and Pindar 408, 409, 412 – quotes Nonnus – neologisms 424–7 – expressions, (part of) verses 427–9. See Proem Joseph of Arimathea – ταλαεργός 311 Judas – as Melaneus 305 Jung, C. J. see Myth Justice – golden face of 210 Kedron – part of locus amoenus 306 – crossing of – metaphor of willing Passion 308. See Garden, near – Lamps – allegorisation of 159–60 Landscape – locus amoenus 308 – of heavenly Jerusalem 312 – as spiritual setting 303, 305–6, 312 Language – divine origin 204 Late Antiquity – time of crisis 494–5 Lazarus – anticipates Jesus’ resurrection 304, 306 – and Tylus 337, 358 Leo Philosopher – echoes Late Antique poetry 383 n. 28 Lexical creation – Nonnian characteristic 424–6 Light – combined/contrasted to darkness 131–3 – as imagery 202 n. 34 Literature – creation of – as toil and suffering 410–3 – and visual arts 141–3. See Poetry

General Index

Lycurgus (king of Arabia) – struggle with Dionysus 478, 482–3, 484 Lyre – symbol of cosmos 360 Magdalene see Mary Magdalene Manasses – imitates Late Antique poetry 388–9 Ps.-Manetho – and Georg. Pisid. 448, 449, 450, 454, 457 Manganeios Prodromos – poet 399 Marcellus, Count de (Marie-Louis-JeanAndré-Charles Demartin du Tyrac) – edition of Dion. source of S. Weil’s “Nonnian” notebook 471–9 – edition of Par. 485 Maron – companion of Dionysus 315–7, 319, 321. See Silenus Marsyas – in Nonnus and Ovid 107–8 Mary of Bethany – anointment by 306 Mary, Virgin – and Arete 452–3 – and Ariadne 331 – and Athena 328–31 – and Eileithyia 441 – and Eve 441–2, 448–9, 454 – invoked 442, 454 Mary Magdalene – meets disciples after Resurrection 130 Maximus of Ephesus – death 55 Maximus the Confessor – biography 456 – theology of 456 Medea – and Ariadne 324 Melaneus see Judas Melquart see Heracles Mene see Selene Metamorphosis – and poikilon eidos 97–108

559

– expresses multiple and sensible world 244 – multiple – in Nonnus and Ovid 100–3. See Cadmus Metre – appositives 265–83 – final monosyllables 280–1 – Giseke’s Law 276–7 – Hermann’s Bridge 277–80, 282 – Hilberg’s Law 276 – main caesura 280 n. 66 – Meyer’s First Law 267–75, 283 – Meyer’s Second Law 271 – Nonnian perception of hexameter 281–2 – proparoxytonon before trochaic caesura in hexameter 379, 395–8 – prosody of λῐτός 62–3; – types of hexameter 422–4 – Zerdehnung of ἧκεν 399. See Dodecasyllable; Iambic Proem; Political verse mimesis – dynamic process 422, 424, 426 Minos – in Dion. 6 Minotaur – symbol of bestiality 447, 450 Miracles see Christ; Dionysus Modern Poets – followers of Nonnus 421 Morning Star – symbolises Christ 130–1 Mosaics see Art, Mosaics Musaeus – addressee of Orph. Hy. 77, 92 Mysteries see Jewish festivals; Nonnus Mystis – Dionysus’ mystic nurse 182–5, 187, 211–27 Myth – J. Campbell 487–9 – C. J. Jung 488 Mythology – representations of – on domestic objects 142 n. 10

560

General Index

Neologism(s) – Nonnus’ – in John Gaz. 425–6 Neoplatonism – unity and multiplicity 230–1 Nicaea – and Dionysus 189–90, 191, 319, 323. See Hymnus Nicetas Eugenianus – imitates Pisides 396–8 – poem on the Death of Prodromus 401–2 Nicodemus – carries body of Christ 311 Night – and Dionysiac ritual 220–3 – literary aspects 123–37 passim – robe of 124–5, 128–9. See Cone of Darkness Nonnus – avoids descriptions of statues 163 – avoids ref.s to surviving polytheism in Dion. 13 – echoes Gospels in Dion. 14–5 – imitatio cum variatione 212, 227 – innovation in Dion. 212–3 – interest in astrology 127–8 – knowledge of mysteries 13, 220, 234, 287 f. – model for other poets 422 – poetry and real life 166 – quaestio nonniana 211 – “school” of 282–3. See Orphism; poikilia Dionysiaca – astrological portents in 47–8 – consistency 4, 5–7 – “hope” in 16–8 – nomina significantia 187–8, 190 – personifications in 175–81 – and Procl. Hy. 242–3 – proems and Ovid’s Met. 97–108 – vocabulary of solace in 16 Paraphrasis – Neoplatonic terminology in 245 – Nonnian authorship 274. See Sight Nostrils – breath of life into 356

Odin’s Rune – associated to Dion. by S. Weil 484 Oeagrus – artistic skills 94 – rival of Erechtheus in poetic competition 93 – warrior of Dionysus 94 Oenoanda – theological oracle 51 Olympias – as a Maenad 225 Olympus – destiny of Dionysus and Heracles 83 Ophion – and Harmonia 42, 49 – tablets of 50 Oracles – inscribed 51. See Harmonia, tablets Oracular Wisdom – in Neoplatonism 232–3 – in Nonnus 248–9 – internal and external use 248 Orgies – Bacchic – as Christian teaching 289, 293−4. See Jewish festivals Orpheus – author of poetry 79, 90, 92, 95 – in Dion. 79, 93–5, 96 – follower of Dionysus 95 – inventor 93–4, 95. See Calliope; Dionysus Orphic Arg. – dating 55–9, 76 Orphism – influences Nonnus 126–7, 136 Ovid – and Nonnus; see Actaeon; Ambrosie; Nonnus, Dionysiaca, proems; Io; Marsyas; Metamorphosis Palestine – expansion of “Modern” poetry 430–3 Palladium – transportation from Rome to Constantinople 59 Palm Sunday – liturgy of 310

421,

General Index

Palms – in Jesus’ entry in Jerusalem 309 – in Scriptures 309 n. 26 – symbolism 310 with n. 29 Pan – and Dionysus 321, 329, 331 Pandora – and Eve 442 Pantomime – in figurative arts 165–6 Paraphrase – ancient classification 197 – modern classification 197 n. 12, 199 n. 24. See Translation Paraphrasis see Nonnus Paul Silentiary – and Georg. Pisid. 444, 445–6, 447, 457 Peisinoe see Aphrodite Peitho – in amatory contexts 23 – and Aura 36–8 – and Cadmus 33, 35 – and narrative 23, 33–5, 36–8 – and silence 35 – Hermes’ wife 23. See Persuasion Pentheus – ἀβάκχευτος 289−90 – insults Dionysus 84, 88, 89. See Pharisees Pergamon – origin of Orph. Hy. 77 Persephone – Dionysus’ prayer to 84, 88–9 – horoscope 46, 48 – mother of Dionysus-Zagreus 88, 91–2 – persecutor of Pentheus 88–9 Personifications see Aion; Ampelus; Chronos; Nonnus, Dionysiaca Persuasion – and failure 22–3 – and Peitho 33–8 – and rhetorical techniques 28–33 – speeches of 21–3 – at turning-points in the narrative 21–2 Phaethon – representations in art 143–4 – tragic flight of 470–1

561

Phanes – author of oracles 42, 49, 50 Pharisees – acting like Pentheus 293 – hostile to Jesus and God 292 – ironically depicted 292 Philoctetes – and Ariadne 323–4 Phoenicia – visited by Dionysus 80 Pisides, George – circle of 455–6 – creator of Byzantine dodecasyllable 378–9, 394 – creator of “new” hexameter 379 – and Emperor Heraclius 435, 436, 456 – Hexaemeron 435, 441 – and John Gaz. 453 – line-ends 436, 441, 443, 445, 448, 449 – and Nonnus 443, 444–8, 455, 456, 457 – On Human Life – addressees 441, 442 – anatomical excursus 435, 441, 442, 449, 454 – didactic in 450–4 – epithets 445–8 – hapax legomena 446–7 – Homeric reminiscences 442, 446, 449 – interpretation of 448–54 – metre of 444–5 – Muses in 442, 449, 454 – structure of 440–3 – On the Vanity of Life 435–6, 440 – and Patriarch Sergius 446, 457 – themes and imagery 435–6, 442, 454 – verbal echoes 441–3. See Nicetas Eugenianus; Paul Silentiary Poetry – as divine communication and form of mania 403–4 – in noetic terms (John Gaz. and Proclus) 405–6 – as a performing art 404. See Art; Literature

562

General Index

poikilia – in Dion. 77, 83, 92 – in Nonnus’ successors 433 – See Proteus Political verse – replaces hexameters 398–9 Proclus see Nonnus, Dionysiaca Proem – in Nonnus and John Gaz. 429 progymnasmata – in rhetorical education 252–3 Prolepsis – in Homer and Nonnus 39–40 Proteus – symbol of poikilia 463 – in rhetoric 252–3 Pythagoreans – on creation of night 133 Pythia – voice of 45 Radiant perspective – in Nonnus and art 158 Rape – divine 49 Realism – ambiguous in descriptions 154 Resurrection see Christ; Tylus Rhea – oracular deity 44 Sabazios – cry saboi honouring 223 – oriental god 225 Satan – as snake 350, 357, 481 Satyrs – in Bacchic court 180–1, 190 Selene – Dionysus’ prayer to 79, 84–5, 89, 95 – Mene 84–5, 89 Semele – apotheosis 8–9 – arrow of desire 49 – blessing of 15–6, 330 – dies while pregnant 212 – dream and rape 53 – union with Zeus 326

Shield see Dionysus Sight – insistence on – in the Par. 149–50 Silenus – companion of Dionysus 315–7, 321, 331. See Maron Sin – frigid 357 – long hair of 442–3 – original 441 – metaphors for sinful man – beast 342 – (sterile) tree 342–3 Snake(s) – belt of Maenads 225–6 – symbol – of libido 339–40 – of resurrection 341. See Combra; Dionysiac ritual; Satan Sophia – allegorical meaning 416–7 Sophronius of Jerusalem – Epigrams 380–2 Soterichus of Oasis – poem about Ariadne 317, 322 Soul – flight of 399–401 – “falls” in burrows 358 spolia – in Late Antique art and literature 160–2 – reuse of 161 Staphylus – resurrection of 93 – compared to Celeus 93 Statues – description of – rare in Nonnus 163 – destruction of pagan – by Christians 164 Stephen of Alexandria – at court of Heraclius 456 Stephen, St. – translation of relics to Constantinople 309 n. 27 Strauss, Richard – Ariadne auf Naxos opera 313–14, 332

563

General Index

Syncretism – in hymns 80 n. 21, 81 syncrisis – in Dion. 255, 258–9, 261 Tabernalces – Jewish and Christian 299−300 Teiresias – interpreter of dreams 44, 47 Telete – in Dionysiac entourage 185–7 Thebes – foundation 358–9 – heavenly city 359 Theodorus Prodromus – poetry of 390–3 [Theodorus Studites] – Late Antique style 385–6, 386–7 Theseus – and Ariadne 321–5, 327–8, 330 Titans – murder Zagreus 91–2. See Hera Trajan’s Column – depicts Night 129 Translation – ancient theory 196–8, 206, 208 – distinction between μετάφρασις and παράφρασις 198 – interlingual “translation” vs intralingual “paraphrase” 196–7, 206 – literary and non-literary vs biblical 198 – question of fidelity 200, 205–7 – sensus de sensu 197–9 – special treatment of the Psalms 208–9 – verbum de verbo 197–9 Tree see Cross; Sin Tylus – resurrection of 334 – as Lazarus 337, 358 Typhon – struggle with Zeus 464–5, 470, 473, 475–6 Tyre – and Berytus in Dion. 10–2 – foundation of 46, 49 – temple of Heracles 80, 83

Virtue see Arete Visual aesthetics – in Nonnian poetry 157 Visual arts – influence on Nonnus’ poetry n. 36 – and real life 146, 166 – and religion 142

143, 149

War – scenes and iconography in Dion. 145– 6. See Indian War Water imagery – and prophecy 54 Weaponry – heroes shinning in 128 n. 28 – poetic topos 202. See Athena; Cross Weil, Simone 461–86 – absense of Par. in her writings 485 – Hellenism and Christianity in 462–4 – holds Dion. a syncretistic work 484 – identification of Lycurgus with Israel 483–4 – interest – in astrology 467–8, 469–70, 478 – in John’s Gospel 485 – translations of Plato and Sophocles 474 Winds – symbolism of Four 153 Wine – and divinity 238–9 – symbol of salvation 290−1. See Drunkenness women – and perdition of kingdom of God 339– 40. See Eve Yourcenar, Marguerite – criticism of S. Weil’s interpretation of Dion. 463–4, 465 Zagreus – baby Dionysus in Orphism 223 – Dionysus 88, 91–2 – myth of 244–6, 465–7, 469, 470, 476–7

564

General Index

– myth as philosophical allegory 235–7 – myth as progression from One to Many 244–5 – “passion” of 60–2 – prediction of birth of 46

Zethus see Amphion Zeus – Dionysus’ prayer to 84, 89–90 – and Fates 42, 51 – giver of oracles 41, 43, 46