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Jennifer V. Ebbeler
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DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197666555.001.0001
Acknowledgments vii
Abbreviations ix
Notes 197
Bibliography 273
Index of Locorum 303
Index of Rerum 309
Acknowledgments
within the Quotation Habit in the Imperial and Later Periods,” Byzantion
2019, 89: 331–58; “The Lament of the Virgin in the I Homeric Centos: An
Early Threnos,” in The Genres of Late Antique Christian Poetry, ed. F. Hadjittofi
and A. Lefteratou (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2020), 275– 92; “Deux chemins
d’apprentissage: le didactisme dans les Centons homériques,” in Poésie, bible et
théologie de l’Antiquité tardive au Moyen Âge (IVème-XVème s.), ed. M. Cutino
(Berlin: De Gruyter, 2020), 201–20. Meanwhile, three new books on Eudocia
have appeared: an Italian translation of the centos with commentary by Rocco
Schembra, Centoni Omerici: il Vangelo secondo Eudocia (Alessandria: dell’Orso,
2020); Brian Sower, In Her Own Words: The Life and Poetry of Aelia Eudocia
(Cambridge, MA: Centre of Hellenic Studies/ HUP, 2020); and Karl Olav
Sandnes’ Jesus the Epic Hero (Plymouth: Lexington Books, 2022) that tackles the
poem from a theological perspective. Although library closures during the pan-
demic made it difficult to consult the first in a timely manner, I did have access
to B. Sower’s book, which is almost identical to his 2008 dissertation without
updated materials. I saw K. O. Sandnes’ manuscript too late in the editing process.
While the research for this project was conducted mainly in Heidelberg, the
manuscript was completed several years later, 871 km to its northwest, across the
channel, in post-Brexit Cambridge. The text was polished between two residen-
tial moves and many hours of home-schooling in a third language. I dedicate this
book on our tenth (plus one) anniversary to my partner Oleg Brandt, who has
spent the past couple of years helping with parenting, listening patiently to all
I had to say about Late Antiquity and Eudocia, and learning how to bake a lemon
drizzle cake.
Abbreviations
For classical authors, see Oxford Classical Dictionary (OCD4); for biblical authors,
see mainly The SBL Handbook of Style2 by the Society of Biblical Literature and
G. W. H. Lampe, occasionally adapted; for repeated authors, editions, and translations,
see below. The translations of the Homerocentones is mine; other translations unless oth-
erwise stated are also mine.
Patchwork Poetry
One of the best known “centos” of modern poetry lies undoubtedly at the end
of T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, 1922. At the work’s majestic apocalyptic closure,
we read “What the Thunder said” followed by a series of literary fragments from
which Eliot’s own poetry and aesthetics are crafted:
The modern term for this kind of composition is “collage,” that is, a
poem that composes from lines drawn from other poems, with or without
interpolations, to make one’s “own.”1 Ultimately, both one’s “own” and the
“borrowed” lines matter. Eliot’s command of his models, for example, is as
important as the program of The Waste Land’s “interpolated” line 430, which
summarizes the literary and aesthetic agenda of this allusive and highly re-
flexive work constructed out of fragments and ruins. These are expressed in the
revelatory tone of the Upanishad, which, fused with both Isaiah and Dante’s
Purgatorio, grant the poem its overarching sacred and apocalyptic character,
while merging it with secular narratives, such as those of Nerval and Kyd,
and even a child’s nursery rhyme. Deconstructed here is traditional religion,
but not the quest for the spiritual. The poem reuses lines of texts that are em-
blematic of their mytho-religious and apocalyptic potential and plays with the
reader’s intertextual and cultural expectations. Although not all of the poem’s
parallel texts are immediately recognizable, the apocalyptic and prophetic tone
The Homeric Centos. Anna Lefteratou, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197666555.003.0001
2 The Homeric Centos
is nonetheless stark, not least because the quotes from the Bible and Dante’s
Purgatorio belong to the classics of Western apocalyptic imagery and litera-
ture. Additionally, the lines drawn from Nerval and Kyd, even if not instantly
discernible to all readers, nonetheless align the narrator of the poem (430) with
legendary medieval figures and are bound together by the poem’s well-known
nursery rhyme (426).
However, such cut-up techniques are used not only to recall grand themes.
Excerption and reuse have usually thrived in parody. Compare, for example, the
pastiche technique of T. S. Eliot’s finale to Thunder in the following short poem
What the Camel Said, 1948 entitled Pastitsio by Giorgos Seferis, the influential
translator of The Waste Land into Modern Greek:
By stitching together lines from other works, Seferis’ poem not only imitates
Eliot’s technique in The Waste Land, but also parodies the poem by transposing
it into a lighter, humorous register. Here Thunder does not speak; we no longer
encounter a shore and a fallen Fisher King, but rather, in the Turkish refrain, a
lazy camel driver in the aftermath of the 1922 catastrophe in Asia Minor. Seferis’
manner of appropriating the text resembles Eliot’s, but he uses it to parodic ef-
fect: subverting the lines of Lapathiotis’ elegy (which hint at the “loosening” of
heartache) he endows them with sharp sexual connotations. At the same time,
however, he relies on the line in Venezis’ novel to deepen the poem’s tone of the
poem and allude to a popular theme in Greek literature, that of “lost homelands.”2
This nostalgia for a greater past combined with the pettiness of the present echo
the stylistic differences not only between Seferis and his Greek models, but also
between his Pastitsio and Eliot’s finale.
These two poems serve as examples of the ways in which authoritative re-
ligious and secular narratives are revisited and intertextual appropriations—
at the level of thematic or literal quotation— prompts specific audience
responses. On the one hand, Eliot’s poem shows that a detailed knowledge of
Unweaving Crossweave Poems 3
all intertexts is not a prerequisite for comprehending his poem’s medieval and
apocalyptic under-and overtones. Lines from the Bible or Dante undoubtedly
reveal something of The Waste Land’s poetic vision and serve as an overarching
umbrella for the lesser known echoes in the poem. By contrast, the exoticism
of the citations in Romance languages (427–429, Italian, Latin, French), the
English archaisms (431), and the oracular tone of Sanskrit contribute to the re-
velatory texture of the base hypotexts.3 On the other hand, Seferis’ subversion
of Eliot’s finale shows that the technique of verbatim quotation or “pastiche”
can also be used to parodic ends. It also implies that intertextual appropria-
tion differs from verbatim quotation. In his poem, Seferis does not quote a
single line from The Waste Land. Instead, he transfers the text to another to-
nality,4 though The Waste Land remains the reader’s chief hypotext. The two
poems prove that the technique can be used either in a part of a larger compo-
sition, as in the case of Eliot, or in a shorter work whose entirety it, as in that
of Seferis, thereby indicating that the margin between technique and genre is
narrower than commonly thought. They also reveal that the reader plays a cru-
cial rule in identifying and generating meaning in poems constructed out of
poetic fragments. Most importantly, the reclamation of key, culturally loaded
hypertexts, such as the Bible, the Upanishads, or Dante by Eliot, and of Eliot
along with Ilias Venezis by Seferis, are of primary importance to our under-
standing of both the religious/spiritual and worldly concerns of these poems.
What traditional religion cannot offer to Eliot’s deconstructed and increasingly
secularized world, Eliot’s poetry cannot offer to Seferis’ description either of
the universe after the 1922 Destruction of Smyrna in the Greco-Turkish War
(1919–1922) and the Second World War.
The intertextual appropriation of culturally and religiously loaded texts, ver-
batim quotation, intergeneric dialogue, and audience response are all features
important to the literary analysis presented in this book, which, in fact, is an
unprecedented attempt to contextualize the First Edition of Homeric Centos
(hereafter, I HC), a biblical epic in Homeric hexameter, within the cultural mi-
lieu of Late Antiquity and with a regard for its intellectual, literary, and religious
aspects. Today, what today we call centos—κέντρωνες, or κέντρα—are poems,
typically, though not exclusively Christian in content, which are composed with
a technique that flourished from the third to the seventeenth century that evoked
stitching, weaving, and needlework.5 Their authors draw lines chiefly from
Virgil (in the Latin-speaking world) or from Homer (in the Greek-speaking
world) to compose new poems, both secular and Christian, which are known
as Virgilian and Homeric centos, respectively. Homeric Centos, the focus of this
analysis, “are poems made up entirely of verses lifted verbatim, with, occasion-
ally, only slight modification, from the Iliad and Odyssey.”6 Virgilian centos are
ones with lines copied verbatim from the Aeneid, Georgics or Eclogues. Homeric
4 The Homeric Centos
Cento refers to multilayered poems that are woven together with at least two
interlinked strands: the “wrap,” the biblical theme of the poem, and the “weft,”
the Homeric material reused to centonize the Bible, produce a composite textus,
a Homerokentron.
Today, more than thirty-three years since the publication of Michael Roberts’s
magisterial 1989 Jeweled Style, the number of studies on late antique poetry, both
Christian and secular, has exploded. Although most of these have focused prima-
rily on the Latin authors,7 some have also been devoted to the Greek ones, espe-
cially their chief representative, Nonnus of Panopolis.8 The time is thus ripe for
re-contextualizing the first edition of Homeric Centos within the framework of Late
Antiquity and re-evaluating it with an eye for the biblical poetry of that period.9
The present study aspires to examine the first and longest edition of the Homeric
centos, which date roughly to the first half of the fifth century, to peel back the
layers of its thick textual fabric and contextualize it within the literary and religious
milieu of Late Antiquity. By unpicking and unweaving the poem’s Homeric and
biblical strands,10 the present reading will show that the Homerocentones amount
to a biblical poem representative of the late antique reception of Homer and bib-
lical exegesis, and one which, intriguingly, reveals a distinct female focus.
To achieve its goals, the study combines traditional philological approaches11
with intertextual and narratological methodologies,12 taking into account
gender13 and historico- cultural dimensions,14 which have been routinely
examined in studies of late antique poetry but less so in cento poetry, especially
the Homerocentones. The analysis it offered opts for a holistic reading of the I HC
and opens new areas of study. On the one hand, in addition to Homer, namely
the Iliad, the Odyssey, the book looks at the reception of Homer in Late Antiquity,
both in and outside the classroom, and considers other important non-Homeric
classical intertexts in the I HC, the most prominent of which being didactic
poetry and drama. For this reason, each Homeric line is examined within its
broader late antique context. On the other hand, the analysis goes beyond the
biblical canon to examine the reception of the Old and the New Testaments in
two consecutive chapters and surveys the impact of Christian exegesis of se-
lect passages, of the apocryphal literature, and visual/material culture (as per
Roberts’ analysis) on the poem. It thus attempts to understand the challenges of
versifying the Old as opposed to the New Testament, the differences in the poetic
reception of the two Testaments, and the impact of the earlier Christian and the
fifth-century dogmatic debates on the I HC.15 Moreover, the approach followed
here examines the select passages with respect to Homer and the Bible not only
Unweaving Crossweave Poems 5
intertextually but also intratextually,16 thus illustrating both the poem’s seamless
approach to its topic and its overarching poetic design. Finally, the present study
considers from an intertextual and mainly gendered narratological perspec-
tive a selection of similar excerpts from the two major editions of the Homeric
centos, the I HC and the II HC, and demonstrates the many possibilities that the
Homeric text provided to those wishing to refashion biblical extracts which, in
fact, is pivotal to our understanding of the exegetical and poetic aspirations of
the I HC as well as its gendered focus and its possible attribution to the Empress
Eudocia (401–460 CE).
Although the book draws on all the methodologies mentioned above, each of
its chapters resort to those best suited to its focus on a particular topic, such as
the reception of Homer, the depiction of women, or the intertextual and exeget-
ical issues entangled in the transposition of the Old and the New Testaments into
Homeric hexameter. Thus Chapter 1 (“Homerocentones Biblici”), for example,
shows why the poem is no less Homeric than it is biblical, discusses the scholar-
ship bias that has led to the I HC’s classification with Homeric rather than with
biblical poetry, and scrutinizes arguments regarding its Homeric and biblical in-
tertextuality. Shown here is how the I HC, albeit representing the conventional
practice of Homeric reuse, goes beyond the classroom to echo the rhetorical
and highbrow reception of the epics, but also displays a distinctive taste for par-
ticular books that were not part of the canon. Insofar as biblical is concerned,
this chapter contextualizes one of the poem’s prefaces, the so-called Apologia by
Eudocia, within the context of both late antique biblical verse—above and be-
yond the short-lived Edict of Julian17—and the gradual Christianization of pagan
culture.18 In doing so, it argues that unlike other stark programmatic statements
that expand on Christian motivation, the Apologia balances between Homeric
style with biblical themes. Chapter 2 (“Mulierum virtutes”) discusses the female
perspective of the poem by comparing the I HC to the II HC and providing in-
depth studies of their eminent female characters. Women, both idealized and
not, it argues, are part of a re-oriented late antique religious and cultural focaliza-
tion. While the first part of the chapter demonstrates the importance of women in
the I HC vis-à-vis II HC, the second part examines the influence of Marian liter-
ature in general as well as its impact on elite women in the court of Theodosius II.
In its conclusion, Chapter 2 revisits the poem’s Eudocian authorship. Chapter 3
(“De fructu lignorum”) focuses on two illustrative Old Testament topics in the
Book of Genesis, the Creation and the Fall, and explores the exegetic and generic
stance of the poem’s opening. The argument here is that that the poem begins in
the didactic revelatory tone of the kind found in other hexametric revisions of
Genesis, such as the Sibylline Oracles and Gregory’s dogmatic poems, that are
part of a longer didactic Christian reception of Genesis. The didactic tone Old
Testament subsides but is typologically revisited in the prelude to the Savior’s
6 The Homeric Centos
In the sixth century, Isidore of Seville was acquainted with the definition of cento
as a poetic patchwork of various strands from Homer or Virgil into a single poetic
work (ex multis . . . in unum sarciunt) in the manner of cento (more centonario).
In the twelfth century the erudite Ioannes Tzetzes could even distinguish
The Homeric Centos. Anna Lefteratou, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197666555.003.0002
8 The Homeric Centos
between collage and parody:1 parody he says is about tweaking the content, pas-
tiche is about reuse. Although both are about reclaiming, the content, the effect
is different. This is also what we observed in the earlier reuse of prior models in
Eliot’s The Waste Land and Seferis’ revision in his Pastitsio. In paraphrasing the
Hermogenic corpus Tzetzes uses examples from Oppian alongside the Homeric
Centos, which shows his familiarity with a long tradition of reclaiming and
rewriting. The definition of cento in Isidore’s sixth-century explanation, comes
long after its first specimens first appeared, and Tzetzes’ theoretical underpin-
ning even later. With the exception of Ausonius᾽ programmatic theorization of
cento in his Carmen Nuptialis that will be discussed below, ancient grammarians
while aware of what more centonario /κέντρωνος δίκη meant, they seldomly felt
the need to provide a precise classification of it. Cento as a technique was part
of the ancient audience’s culture of excerption, quotation, and reuse which ap-
plied both on the reception of Homer and of the Bible. It pointed to a closer yet
not entirely different appropriation mode of culturally important works into
new works and evolved around the same principles of imitatio, aemulatio, and
variation, name creative imitation, competitive emulation, and inventive vari-
ation, of the classics.2 This chapter traces the evolution of Homeric centos into
Biblical centos and examines the ancient audiences’, as opposed to that of the
early modern editors’, reception of secular and Christian centos (Section 1.1),
the techniques of excerpting and reusing Homer in the Empire (Section 1.2),
and the apologetic motivation of the centonists within the context of classicizing
Christian poetic production (Section 1.3) in Greek and Latin.
Those who have been working on the Homeric Centos since the turn of the mil-
lennium are fortunate to have at their disposal a well-established text far more
complete than the earlier Teubneriana of the I HC in the Iviron 4464 manuscript
used by Mark Usher and the still useful edition of the II HC in the Paris. suppl. gr.
388 manuscript edited by André-Louis Rey.3 It was Rocco Schembra who took
on the Herculean task of meticulously editing all the available versions of the
Homeric Centos: a long version referred to in Schembra as the first (Conscriptio
Prima, I HC, 2354 lines); and a shorter one referred to as the second (Conscriptio
Secunda II HC, 1948 lines); and three very short versions: Conscriptio A (HCa,
622 lines), Conscriptio B (HCb, 653 lines), and Conscriptio Γ (HCc, 738 lines).4
He has thus made available for further study a difficult and elusive text that had
hitherto been poorly edited.5 Rey published the II HC in Paris. suppl. gr. 388 with
a French translation as well as useful, albeit brief notes. The 1999 Teubner edition
by Usher6 is based on Stephanus’ 1578 edition as well as a single manuscript from
Homerocentones biblici 9
the monastery of Iviron from Mt. Athos (Iviron 4464) that transmits only 1455 of
the 2354 lines of the I HC in Schembra.7
Our modern perception of centos as a liminal category, both as excerption
technique and also genre, emerge from their fate in the Byzantine and early
modern transmission. The compilers of the Byzantine manuscripts edit the
centos with the help of a variety of texts, which impacted their reception as ei-
ther Homeric appendices or Christian poems. In Byzantine manuscripts they are
inserted among a collection of epigrams (A),8 presented on their own (C, H), or
combined with other works, both Christian (e.g., Psellos, Theodoret in X), and
pagan (N, Ps.-Phocylides, Batrachomyomachia), and almost always together with
the Homeric citations from which they are derived (A, M). The editio princeps of
the I HC was published by Aldus Manutius in Venice between 1501 and 1504,
thirty years after the first 1488 edition of Homer by Demetrius Chalcocondyles,
and around the same time as the Aldine Homer of 1505. This testifies to the gen-
eral humanist interest in classical antiquity, but surprisingly, as Rocco Schembra
notes, Aldus Manutius published the I HC as an independent and autonomous
work alongside other Christian poems, not as an appendix to the Homeric
epics.9 These editions probably reflect influence of early modern Christian hu-
manism.10 Thus, editors of the seicento printed the Homerocentones mainly
alongside Christian works, such as Proba’s Cento and Nonnus’ Paraphrasis.11
In the next century, the rise of scientific reasoning, the religious debates, and
philological practice especially with respect to the Homeric Question, probably
contributed to the “Homericization” of the Centos.12 Accordingly, from the 1617
Jacob Stoer edition onward,13 the Homerocentones were published as appendices
to Homeric epics. In modern times, the 1999 edition of the I HC, which is the
current Teubner, is Usher’s revision of Henricus Stephanus’ edition of 1578. The
II HC has not been in the limelight. Edited in 1897 by Arthur Ludwich after an
earlier version of 1893, it included only Eudocia’s works cum testimoniis14 as well
as the fragmentary Blemyomachia.15. This overview of these early editions shows
just how difficult it is to classify them as either Homeric or biblical poems. By
contrast, for an ancient audience, centos were a malleable material, evocative
of centuries of Homeric excerption and reuse practice, or even plagiarism, still
firmly embedded in late antique poetics.16
are not paraphraseis of specific texts either, as for example Nonnus’ Paraphrasis
of St John’s Gospel or the Metaphrasis of the Psalms attributed to Apollinaris of
Laodicea. Proba’s Virgilian Cento, for example, recounts Genesis and the canon-
ical Gospels; the I HC, in turn, is comprised of translations in verse of parts of
Genesis and important passages from the canonical and apocryphal gospels.
Christian centos are classicizing poems that belong to the burgeoning genre of
classicizing poetry that often (but not solely) drew on biblical texts.27 The con-
tent of biblical centos varies: both Proba’s Cento and the I HC include narrations
of the Fall, the plan for Salvation, and the incarnation, ministry, passion, and
Resurrection of Jesus, while other editions of the Homeric Centos omit Genesis
and diverge significantly in the choice of and length of passages, especially with
respect to Jesus’ miracles they chose to narrate. We know that by the fifth cen-
tury, epic poetry—including centos—was composed in writing28 and performed
orally.29 The lack of book sections and the emphasis on self-contained episodes
in the Homeric Centos based on Gospel pericopes, highlighted for example by
typical introductory lines about the coming of dawn or the arrival of another
suppliant, as we shall see in Section 1.2.1.3, also betray the late antique taste for
shorter epyllion-like sections even within larger epic compositions that could
be performed in different time frames.30 Late Antiquity is famous for its pen-
chant for variation, ποικιλία, which, prima facie, may seem antithetical to the
formularity of Homeric epics, especially since the author of the I HC was prob-
ably a near contemporary of Nonnus, whose magnum opus, the Dionysiaca, is
the epitome of poikilia.31 Yet as I will show below, even when reusing the standard
Homeric constituents, such as Homeric verses and type scenes, these poems are
not archaic but late antique poetic compositions. This is because of their peculiar
relation to their source inspiration texts, Homer and the Bible. The transposition
of a biblical story into cento poetry simply added to the layers of intertextuality
inherent in the technique. The cento poem thus stands in dialogue with both the
texts (Homer or Virgil) that offer it verses for re-composition and their ancient
reception, as well as its theme text (the Bible) and its exegesis. Albeit a transposi-
tion, the recomposed cento poem is, in fact, a new poem, endowed with its own
intertextual affiliations and poetic and aesthetic aspirations.32 This complex in-
tertextual entanglement and the interplay between tradition, imitation, and in-
novation lie at the core of cento poetics and are typical of late antique poetry in
general, and of cento poetry in particular.
In a seminal article, Klaus Thraede coined the useful terms Usurpation and
Kontrastimitation to denote modes of adapting a verse into a new context. In
the case of Usurpation, reused lines are adapted to fit a new Christian context
without highlighting that adaptation. In that of Kontrastimitation, the “original”
line or set of lines are used to emphasize the disparity between themselves and
the new content, and often to suggest the superiority of the Christian vis-à-vis
12 The Homeric Centos
the pagan reading.33 The perception of these nuances, however, required a more
or less close knowledge of the original text.34 These texts were crafted from the
currency of Graeco-Roman paideia35 and addressed to those who shared it.
While adaptations, deployed either as imitationes and/or as aemulationes, are
found throughout ancient literature of various periods and diverse genres, Late
Antiquity provided fertile ground for the consolidation of this extreme tech-
nique of literary reuse and appropriation.36 Such self-conscious and highlighted
interchange between old and new illustrates the “cumulative aesthetic” of Late
Antiquity that also dominated material culture.37 According to Jaś Elsner this
cumulative aesthetic consisted of “a kind of creative syncretism of collected
fragments . . . an ‘aesthetics of discontinuity’ or ‘dissonant echoing’ in which the
different fragments are synthesized in a dense and textured play of repetition
and variation: not only do the seams show, but they are positively advertised.”38
The Arch of Constantine is probably the most expressive imperial monument
constructed out of architectural re-semanticized spolia—evidence either of
continuity and/or discontinuity—in a new context. The repurposing of pagan
temples and their transformation into churches is another: for example, the
Temple of Aphrodite in Aphrodisias was thoroughly disassembled and all its
materials reassembled to build the new Christian basilica. Similarly, with its
Kontrastimitation and Usurpation of classical and biblical narratives, the late an-
tique cento too participates in the self-conscious adaptation of the past to new
ends.39
At the intertextual level, and when seams do show, while being fully aware
that more nuanced terms have been proposed to differentiate between the
levels of allusive engagement,40 I have opted against inventing a new metalan-
guage specifically adapted to the needs centonic compositions. Certainly, lines
drawn verbatim from an original have a closer intertextual relationship with
their “source.” However, overemphasizing the debt of the Homerocentones to
Homer risks reading the poem as a compilation of Homeric formulae and down-
play the centos’ biblical and late antique context. For example, Usher wrote his
1998 monograph in a time when the Parryan paradigm was still reverberating
in Homeric studies: formulae were an important ingredient of archaic oral com-
position and the focal point of scholarly analysis.41 Academic interest recently
has moved beyond formularity and oral composition, even in Homeric studies,42
and centers instead on the conscious citation and repetition of earlier text. On
the other hand, the toolkit of intertextuality, especially when applied from its
application on Latin literature with its strong emulative tint, may prove less de-
tailed for the study of centos and partially assert their mythological rather than
biblical models.43 The amalgamation of a highly literary culture, the constrains
of oral performance, and above all the intercultural and interreligious dialogue
detected in Christian epic verse in Late Antiquity encourage holistic approaches
Homerocentones biblici 13
to this kind of poetry. Taking, for example, a departure from Ausonius’ or Proba’s
centonic compositions, with their abundance of self-reflexive material that I dis-
cuss below, may bias the expectations of a reader of Homeric centos. I have tried
instead to read the Homerocentones as a classicizing Homeric-inspired poem,
similar to Quintus of Smyrna’s Posthomerica and Nonnus’ Dionysiaca. It may
be that some centos invite more precise metalanguage than others, in particular
when these include more nuanced para-and meta-textual remarks.44 However,
not all centos are equally articulate about their authors or compositional tech-
nique. Furthermore, the plurality of centonic themes and excerption techniques
discussed above advise against a strict categorization. Centos are a flexible cate-
gory and addressing them as a specific field of late antique poetry may underplay
their contribution to the larger corpus of late epic poetry.
This study is based on the hypothesis that an ancient audience would have
read/heard a cento and a non-cento poem alike, aware of the more demanding
intertextual intricacies but nonetheless familiar with similar decoding inter-
and intra- textual approaches. While acknowledging the more theoretical
scholarly contributions, I will instead use the more standard terminology
in classics for denoting intertextual relations so as not to prioritize the rela-
tionship of the hypotext (Homer) with the hypertext (I HC) to the detriment
of other possible models. For exact references to specific verses and passages,
I use the term “allusion”; for less concrete but still text-based reminiscences,
I use the term “intertext”; broader evocations of other texts and themes I label
“echoes” or “reminiscences”; for references that allude to genre as well, I use
the term “intergeneric”; for formulae-related textual reminiscences, I use the
term “interformularity”; while for allusions within the same text I use the term
“intratextuality.”45 I also retain the terms Usurpation and Kontrastimitation
proposed by Kurt Thraede to illustrate the relationship of the hypertext, while
acknowledging the cento poem’s less than binary relation with its hypotext, as
argued by Aaron Pelttari.
Should a comprehensive definition of the cento technique be necessary, then
the following may serve as a preliminary definition. Cento is a late antique tech-
nique for composing chiefly literary/artistic works or poems out of phrases/lines
borrowed verbatim from one or more earlier “model” poems, sometimes with
the addition of consecutive or interpolating lines of the author’s own composi-
tion. The range of possible combinations and the reuse of the cento material to
serve a variety of ends (depending on length, theme, source material, and in-
tended genre, differences in quotation practice), suggest an intertextual com-
plexity that is characteristic of the cumulative poetics of Late Antiquity and
illustrate the taste for challenging, multi-layered and open-ended texts among
readers of the time. Christian centos adapt prose texts from the biblical canon
and beyond (including apocryphal narratives and biblical prose commentaries)
14 The Homeric Centos
Ancient audiences were well acquainted with the ideas of verbatim quotation, di-
rect borrowing, and reuse. Recent scholarship on the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite
shows that the poem—formulaic as it may be—revisits lines of the Iliad.46
Furthermore, quotation thrives in satire and comic revision: Aristophanes puts
together lines that he draws from famous dramatists and mixes with his own,47
while the Satyricon includes a poem constructed out of Virgilian lines48 that are
interpolated into the prose narrative. Working in a more serious vein, Chariton
of Aphrodisias combines two lines describing Helen and Penelope in his own de-
scription of Callirhoe as the faithful yet fatefully beautiful heroine of his novel.49
These techniques of re-appropriation paved the way for subsequent antique
centos, though the theorization of the cento technique did not occur until much
later. This early evidence of its use nonetheless illustrates the response anticipated
from the audience: Aristophanes’ spectators, for example, were expected to grasp
these allusions (at least in terms of style and meter), even if they were unable to
pinpoint the exact source of the quote. The ability to do so would become easier
from the Hellenistic era onward due to the systematization of the Graeco-Roman
educational system, which encouraged the re-use of classical literature and po-
etry, in particular (e.g., excerpts from Homer, Euripides, and Menander), in the
writing, arguing, performance, and discussion of complex philosophical, moral,
political, or aesthetic issues. Yet though the school system encouraged the mem-
orization, copying, and quotation of canonical poems, there was no technical
term for a poetic composition of this kind. All the same, the audience’s acquaint-
ance with the aforementioned quoting techniques indicates that ancient hearers
and readers knew at least their Homer or Virgil by heart.50
The terms later used to designate the procedure of extracting a Homeric line
and reusing it in another epic are κέντρον, κέντρων, or cento. The Greek noun τὸ
κέντρον means anything with a pointy edge (e.g., a goad, spear, sting, instrument
of torture, pin, or needle); the masculine noun ‘ὁ κέντρων᾽, used in the common
Byzantine phrase κέντρωνος δίκην or in Latin “more centonario” (“composed in
Homerocentones biblici 15
the manner of a cento”), denotes something or someone bearing the marks of the
κέντρον. This could be an animal, a human (slave), or a patchwork of elements,
often composed of textiles, such as rags, or even a poetic compilation. The Latin
cento is first used by Plautus in his Epidicus 455 as a literary metaphor for a patch-
work and is part of a longer tradition that metapoetically associates weaving
with poetry. Beginning with Penelope’s and Helen’s famous looms, and contin-
uing with the Ps.-Aristotelean Peplos, a prose work that brings together heroic
epitaphs,51 and the quilt imagery of Clement’s Stromateis (“Patchwork”)52 and
Optatian’s textile artwork, and even Theodoret’s dialogue Eranistes, alluding pre-
cisely to its mix-match nature, centos have long been associated with fabric, with
textus and texere, a metaphor used both by male and female poets.53
It is late in the second century that centonic poems begin to be more widely
attested. Irenaeus of Lyon, for example, writes a short cento on the twelfth labor
of Hercules by reusing several Homeric lines to exemplify the misunderstandings
that emerge from the pastiche quotation of the Bible by—in his view “heretical”—
exegetes.54 Tertullian, in turn, turns to a (mythological) cento to illustrate the
way in which exegetes of the Bible misinterpret its contents.55 Although Irenaeus
and Tertullian seem to use the cento as an analogue for misuse and misreading,56
by the late fourth and early fifth century, Jerome appears to be disturbed by the
fact that biblical misinterpretation resembles centonic pastiche and that some
exegetes are interpolating Virgilian or Homeric lines to support their interpre-
tation. Even Virgil and Homer, if deployed accordingly could be considered as
evoking a Christian message. This, he claims, runs the risk, especially in the un-
derstanding of the uneducated masses who are incapable of recognizing the de-
gree of textual reuse, manipulation, and distortion that is inevitable in this kind of
literary practice.57 Jerome’s argument is more subtle than that of his predecessors
in that it differentiates between technique (pastiche), content (intended Christian
meaning/exegesis), and misinterpretation (secular poetry used for exegesis).58
Another characteristic approach is that of the historian Socrates, who, in
discussing Julian’s School Edict in June 362, reports that the Emperor has found
worthy opponents in the two Apollinarii, father and son,59 as their work offers ev-
idence of the reverse phenomenon, namely, the stylistic classicization of Christian
poetry, and insists that training in classical paideia ought to be used for similar apol-
ogetic ends.60 Sozomen, probably writing after Socrates in the mid-fifth century,
by which time Christian poetry had already been more successfully classicized,
seems more open to the form.61 Although neither author mentions cento poems
in his history, both refer to revisions of biblical texts in hexameter, among other
meters, while Sozomen reports that Apollinaris, emulating Homer’s rhapsodies,
transposed the Ἑβραϊκὴν ἀρχαιολογίαν62 into 24 books. Socrates’ critique is in a
vein similar to Jerome’s, a warning against excess. Sozomen, by contrast, betrays a
fondness for these virtuoso revisions, and, interestingly, comments on the readerly
16 The Homeric Centos
habitus and subsequent expectations: as he points out, people are used to reading
heroic epic in hexameter, but not the Acts in the guise of Platonic dialogues.63 In
sum, what all these theologians and historians seem to worry about is the danger
(though, for some, like Sozomen, this means the excitement) that arises from the
aesthetic reclamation and re-or misinterpretation of earlier poetry by the average
(more or less, incompetent) reader due to their limited deductive abilities.64
In fact, the complexities of such a kind of poetry, as Aaron Pelttari wonder-
fully highlights, are typical of the versatility and intelligence expected by late an-
tique audiences, which were challenged by these open, fluid texts. As the cento was
theorized only later, its aims and techniques in an earlier period can be deduced
solely from the poems themselves, with Ausonius as the chief example. The famous
passage in his Preface to Carmen nuptialis defines the cento as a ludic, witty, and unse-
rious work, written as a pastime, and ridicules as inept the poet who draws more than
two consecutive lines from the “source” poem. One may recall here Seferis’ parody-
transposition of Eliot’s poem to a “lighter” tonality. This much-quoted definition of
the cento, elegant as it is, does not hold true for all late antique centos or even those
by Ausonius, most probably because the two-line limit was already a challenge.65 It is
particularly inapplicable to Christian centos, which include programmatic prefaces
and proems that, as we shall see, contain information on the style, aesthetics, and
ideological motives of classicizing poetry, but show less concern for Ausonian duos.
Sozomen’s testimony, however, demonstrates the popularity of classicizing po-
etry in the fifth century as well as its highly experimental quality, of which centos are
probably among the most adventurous specimens. Certainly Christians may have
known of earlier biblical hexametric poetry, such as that of the Hellenistc Jewish
poets Theodotus and Philo cited in Eusebius Evangelical Preparation 9.22 nad 37.
But cento was more daring. Isidore of Seville defines the cento in the seventh cen-
tury and shows an awareness of the difficulties of adapting Homer and Virgil.66
In the eighth century, the grammarian Heliodorus defines the noun “ὁ κέντρων”
as a song-patchwork (ἑρραμένην ᾠδήν) associated to a wrap (περιβόλαιον) in
his scholia on the first-century Dionysius Thrax, offering as an example his own
six-line Homeric cento—a poem on Echo’s alleged words to Pan when fleeing.
According to this commentator, cento is related, but not identical to the rhapsody,
which he uses as an overarching term for poetic compositions that involve making
wholes out of parts.67 A later scholiast on Aristophanes’ Clouds defines “κέντρων”
as a rag used for saddling donkeys, a meaning also found in the tenth-century Suda
lexicon.68 In the second half of the twelfth century, Eustathius goes so far as to for-
mulate a fascinating anachronism; noticing the formulaic character of Homeric
poetry, the erudite bishop—perhaps to the surprise of the modern, but not an-
cient Homeric scholar—concludes that it is like a textile, stitched together from
various lines by talented seamstresses—rhapsodes and centonists alike—who have
“woven” the various threads together (ῥάπτω +ᾠδή) into a poetic whole.69
Homerocentones biblici 17
As centos were popular throughout the Middle Ages (even the sister and
namesake of Eudocia, the sister of Empress Zoë Porphyrogenita, is credited with
writing one) and beyond, Eustathius’ observations are important for the modern
scholar, primarily for their information on the practice of Homeric centos in his
time.70 Although he claims that centos did not exist in Homer’s era (τὰ ὕστερον
Ὁμηρόκεντρα), he emphasizes the continuity between the archaic bard and the
cento poet. Surprisingly, Eustathius does not even mention the Christian con-
tent of centos, which was presumably unproblematic in his own time, as op-
posed for the poem’s modern editors. For Eustathius writing in a period of early
Humanism the biblical poems are part of an ongoing and seamless rhapsodic
tradition with a “Homeric” touch that adds to their stylistic appeal, thus coming
a long way since Irenaeus’ earlier denigration. Homer is part of the scholar’s pai-
deia, and centos happen to be one of its seams.
When a cento poet was faced with the task of transposing the Bible into Homeric
hexameter, they were backed by a long tradition of Homeric reception.71 Far
from randomly stitching together “relevant” Homeric lines “from memory,” the
selection of suitable lines for centos required a long process of reading, pains-
taking memorization,72 excerption, quotation, and commentary (on) the poet,
traces of which can be found in both pagan and Christian texts from the Imperial
era onward.73 Although not all lines used in Homeric centos are drawn from
prominent passages, most of those used to frame the re-composed Gospel would
arguably have been recognizable to the readers of the time due to the importance
of Homer to the elites and their shared paideia. Studying with a grammatikos,
their children would have learned to read and copy Homeric “maxims,” that
is, lines with gnomic and didactic content.74 They would also have consulted a
plethora of dictionaries, glossaries, anthologies, and mythographical handbooks
that facilitated the reading/teaching and memorization of the epics. Some lines,
such as several gnomae,75 would also have been available in other media and
used in non-Homer-related contexts, such as proverbs, for example. Others were
granted a second life after being counted among models for rhetorical genres
in the progymnasmata, demonstrating, as Rafaella Cribiore suggests, the entan-
glement of poetry and rhetorical prose and the importance of Homer to high
and late imperial declamation.76 In short, thorough knowledge of Homeric and
Homericizing language and style, shared between the poet and his/her audience,
enabled the deciphering and appreciation of the “new” cento poem.
One of the most characteristic examples of this kind, undeservedly omitted
from most discussions of Christian centos, is Dio’s speech to the Alexandrians,
18 The Homeric Centos
Oration 32, sections 82–85, which was recently analyzed in detail by Gilles
Tronchet.77 After quoting Iliad 23.368–372, the passage on the funeral games in
honor of Patroclus, the rhetor taunts his Alexandrian audience about their fond-
ness for spectacles.78 This is not the place to analyze in depth Dio’s passage,79
but simply to highlight the technical touches that are useful to the analysis of
the Christian cento. The passage is a humoristic reworking of the chariot race in
the funeral games, one that undermines the heroic Homeric context in order to
accommodate the gossipy Alexandrian crowd.80 Equally parodic is the mono-
logue of the horse, which borrows lines not only from the famous speech by one
of Achilles’ horses but also from the hero’s own periautologia, a speech of self-
praise, to Polydorus.81 The latter, which is quoted in ancient rhetorical manuals,
is here reworked to comic effect as Achilles’ horse impersonates their master.82
As far as the cento technique is concerned, there are several divergences from the
Ausonian aesthetic.83 The “Iliadic centos” are a blend of the Homeric and Dio’s
own text in a ratio of 36:6. The cento is constructed from chariot-related lines and
other evocative verses describing battle-scenes in which similes, formulaic lines,
and gnomic verses play a vital role. Ausonian duos are likewise transgressed as
three consecutive Homeric lines, quoted in 10–12,84 while two consecutive lines
are quoted elsewhere (e.g., 1–2, 5–6). These citations are aimed at an audience
that knows the Iliad well, but the repetitive formulae and the widespread use of
gnomic verses (e.g., 20) make the decipherment easier. It is in the same spirit that
certain famous passages are also condensed (31–32 ~ Il. 21.108 and 110) through
the omission of one line (Il. 21.109). These are what Sean Adams calls “composite
citations,”85 that is, quotations that summarize a given passage by giving the first
and last lines and often omitting some in between, though with the expectation
that the audience will recall the full passage. Of course, Dio would not have been
aware of Ausonius’ rules on the cento but his use of earlier imperial Homeric
quotation as an example is illuminating for our study of the reprise of Homer
in Late Antiquity with regards to readerly expectation and compositional conti-
nuity as it shows the fluidity of the technique.
It is within a similar cultural context that we need to understand the popu-
larity of the magical use of Homer in the so-called Homeromanteion, a collection
of Iliadic and Odyssean lines that were given as answers to specific requests for
consultation and assistance. The Homeric lines in the Homeromanteion are more
disconnected than those in cento poems and suggest a kind of bibliomancy: a
quasi-random, tarot-like approach to the Homeric text.86 Andromache Karanika
has tried to associate the Homeromanteion technique with that of the Homeric
Centos, arguing that the compositional technique and performative pragmatics
(with its focus on orality) of the former recall those of the latter. The content
and the theme of the Homeromanteion and the Homeric Centos, however, en-
courage quite different combinations,87 and Karanika’s presentation of Homer as
Homerocentones biblici 19
1.2.1.1 Formulaic Characterization
In general, characters in the I HC, as in Homer, tend to be introduced with ster-
eotypical clusters or word. Here we will focus on two illustrative cases: Jesus and
Judas. Presented as the subject of the poem, Christ is the being about whom
the poet’s heart wishes to sing in order to help their audience “recognize” the
one who is God and man alike: θεὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἄνδρα, a Homeric rendering of the
second and third chapters of the Nicene Creed.94 Already in the proem of the
20 The Homeric Centos
1.2.1.2 Formulaic Lines
If we move from characterization to lines that do not refer to character, we
may observe two trends. First, the I HC sometimes draws on a non-formulaic
Homeric line and turns it into a formulaic one; and second, it sometimes recycles
traditional formulae. I HC 919, for example, is a phrase that appears once in the
Iliad 20.58: γαῖαν ἀπειρεσίην ὀρέων τ’ αἰπεινὰ κάρηνα; but in the Archaic epic
γαῖα tends to be clustered together with the adjective ἀπείρων.101 Porphyry, a
late antique reader, provides a list of adjectives for describing the vastness of the
earth,102 but, for stylistic reasons, Quintus uses the rare adjective ἀπειρέσιος
more often than he does its synonyms ἀπείριτος and ἀπείρων.103 It appears,
therefore, that the selection of this particular line conforms to the late antique
predilection for variations in the original formulaic clusters, which, in turn, be-
come formulaic through repetition. Similarly, a line used once in Homer to de-
scribe gleaming copper weapons—Il. 19.36: αἴγλη δ’ οὐρανὸν ἷκε, γέλασσε δὲ
πᾶσα περὶ χθών—is reclaimed in an entirely new, and this time epiphanic, con-
text in I HC 290, where it is used for the Star of Bethlehem, and in I HC 460 for
the Epiphany. The II HC recycles the verse in a similar context, but also adds the
line to the scene of the Ascension, where Jesus appears seated next to his Father
in resplendent glory, and thus connects the three epiphanic moments.104 In this
way, the line became formulaic in the I HC and contributed to the inter-and
intratextuality generated by formulae across the editions of Homeric centos.
Homerocentones biblici 21
That said, Homeric formulae were also reused without alteration, as, for ex-
ample, was the line describing the arrival of multitudes: ὅσσά τε φύλλα καὶ
ἄνθεα γίγνεται ὥρῃ.105 Yet this is not merely a formulaic Homeric line, but one
that also appealed to imperial writers from Lucian to Synesius and beyond.106
In other words, it was a stereotypical line that became proverbial and, from the
Imperial era onward, could be used to adorn any learned reference to crowds
and multitudes. The verse for describing chattering crowds—ὧδε δέ τις εἴπεσκεν
ἰδὼν ἐς πλησίον ἄλλον—is used in Homer and the I HC more than once, and
also appears frequently in Homeric dictionaries, thereby becoming part of the
shared Homeric style.107 Formulaic in nature, the line was manipulated and al-
ready used three centuries prior to Eudocia, in Dio’s “Iliadic cento.”108
1.2.1.3 Typical Scenes
Mark Usher argued that the centonist patterned the “typical scenes” on the ma-
trix and logic of the Homeric ones, and that any variations that may appear are
the product of this accommodation.109 Indeed, the author of the I HC was well
aware of what a typical scene would be and used the Homeric material accord-
ingly. Yet, while they did adapt the Homeric, and often unavoidably stereotypical
material to the Christian theme, they did so in accordance with the late antique
aesthetics of poikilia. Several type-scenes—a messenger scene, a congregation
scene, a banquet/feasting scene, and most commonly, a supplication scene can
be found in Homeric centos.110 Here, I focus on the supplication scene, both be-
cause it is the most recurrent type as the ministry of Jesus includes ten miracles
of healing.
I break the supplication scene down to four thematic kernels: the opening/
arrival of Jesus at the place of healing, the suppliant’s appeal, Jesus’ reply and
the cure he effects, and the closure.111 There are three possible “introductions”
to these supplication scenes: one that stresses the coming of light, another that
underscores the midday context, and yet another that is based on the arrival of
an Odysseus-like beggar. Other, unsystematic introductions are possible as well.
For example, as Jesus arrives at dawn in Capernaum, a beggar approaches him
at I HC 635, 637 ~ Od. 2.1, 18.1: ἦμος δ’ ἠριγένεια φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος ἠώς.
The healing of the paralytic at the Portico of Solomon likewise takes place early
in the morning at I HC 702 ~ Od. 19.433: ἠέλιος μὲν ἔπειτα νέον προσέβαλλεν
ἀρούρας. The resurrection of Jaïrus’ daughter also takes place at dawn I HC 735
~ Il. 9.707: αὐτὰρ ἐπεί κε φανῇ καλὴ ῥοδοδάκτυλος ἠώς; similarly, Lazarus’ res-
urrection at I HC 1237~ Il. 11.735: εὖτε δὲ ἠέλιος φαέθων ὑπερέσχεθε γαίης. In
this last case, dawn is explicitly set in contrast to the darkness surrounding the
dead Lazarus.112 Midday is represented by Christ’s meeting with the Samaritan
woman, I HC 1053 ~ Il. 8.68: ἦμος δ’ ἠέλιος μέσον οὐρανὸν ἀμφιβεβήκει. The
settings of these events at dawn and midday highlight the epiphanic symbolism
22 The Homeric Centos
of these passages.113 Five out of ten narratives begin with a reference to the course
of the sun and light. This is not a mere reprise of possible Homeric openings
for the action that follows,114 but a tendency that can also be observed in the
practice of imperial and later quotation.115 Aside from its function as a temporal
marker, the light of the sun is also important to the symbolic interpretation of
these miracles. Dawn and midday both allude figuratively to the arrival of the
Messiah,116 which is why, on the day of the Crucifixion, the poet describes Dawn
as the first woman to mourn—a wonderful personification or prosopopoeia—
yet another feature typical of late antique poetry.117 When these episodes are
introduced with different lines, we should attribute this to the poet’s conscious
attempt to achieve poikilia through formularity.
A second typical opening for supplication scenes is the intertextual recollection
of Odysseus’ arrival at his palace in Ithaca disguised as a beggar that is alluded to
in several places across the poem, and which evokes the soul’s Platonizing quest
before its reunion with/return to Christ, the heavenly haven.118 It is within this
context that the paralytic at Capernaum is introduced as a common mendicant,
at I HC 637 ~ Od. 18.1: ἦλθε δ’ ἐπὶ πτωχὸς πανδήμιος, ὃς κατὰ ἄστυ;119 the blind
Bartimaeus as yet another lamenting beggar at I HC 852 ~ Od. 21.327: ἀλλος δ’
αὖτις πτωχὸς ἀνὴρ ἀλαλήμενος ἐλθών, and the demoniac from Gerasa as a vag-
abond, I HC 859 and 931 ~ Od. 21.327: ἀλλ’ ἄλλος τις πτωχὸς ἀνὴρ ἀλαλήμενος
ἐλθών.120 All these suppliants are described as addressing Jesus in a state of grief,
but their lamentations, though clearly possessing a formulaic core based on the
repetition of the imperative κλῦθι, are characterized by poikilia. The paralytic at
Capernaum cries out in I HC 659: κλῦθί μοι, ὃς χθιζὸς θεὸς ἤλυθες; addressing
Jesus in I HC 833, the man with the withered hand states: κλῦθι, ἄναξ, ὅτις ἐσσί·
πολύλλιστον δέ σ’ ἱκάνω; yet another variant is in the imperative as the blind
man’s utterance in Ι HC 868: κέκλυ⸣θι ⸢νῦν καὶ ἐμεῖο⸣, ⸤μάλιστα γὰρ ἄλγος
ἱκάνει.121 In addition, some of these beggars and suffering outcasts seem subtly
to “recognize” Jesus as a god through the recurrent formula for Christ—εἰ μὲν δὴ
θεός ἐσσι, θεοῖό τε ἔκλυες αὐδῆς—that is often used in the poem so as to high-
light a person’s implicit testimony that Jesus is the Lord.122 As in the allusions to
Homeric descriptions of dawn above, these slight variations indicate that despite
the formularity of the supplication scene, it is still subject to the aesthetics of
poikilia.
Christ’s response and the closure of these episodes present a similar stylistic
variation. To draw merely one example from the three Odyssean figures above—
as soon as the paralytic stops speaking, Jesus takes his right hand, delivers a
monologue,123 and the two spend the remaining time until evening in prayer.124
A reference to time—sunset—closes some of these miracles as well; the Wedding
at Cana, for example, ends with the participants falling asleep, as does the story
of the feeding of the multitude.125 Elsewhere, the blind man and the attending
Homerocentones biblici 23
crowds spend the entire day praising God.126 In the case of the paralytic, the
scene ends with an account of the astonished crowds and their comments, as in
the case of the Gerasene demoniac or the resurrection of Lazarus.127
That said, there are also exceptions that seemingly confirm the canon. Most
characteristically, the resurrection of the daughter of Jaïrus ends with a close-
up of the joy of the parents, an intimate and empathetic indoor scene,128 one
that stands in strong contrast to the outdoor, crowd-filled scenes of the other
miracles. Accordingly, the passage describing the healing of the Haimorrhoousa
ends with a snapshot of her weaving inside her chambers, which I shall discuss in
detail below.129
1.2.2 Gnomae
Another important and recognizable category of Homeric centos are lines that
are loaded with gnomic content and that fit the moralizing/didactic quality of
late antique epic and the reuse of Homer in particular as a paraenetic text.130
A characteristic instance of this type is the line describing the power of the divine
and the inability of mortals to “grasp” it: ἀργαλέος γάρ τ’ ἐστὶ θεὸς βροτῷ ἀνδρὶ
δαμῆναι.131 In the Odyssey, Menelaus ponders how he, a mortal, can subdue
the divine shape-shifter Proteus. Nonetheless, the passage has a long afterlife in
Platonic works, in which Socrates often associates his interlocutors to Proteus
and habitually compares the quest for truth to the capture of the polymorphous
Man of the Sea.132 In addition wise holy men in imperial literature are often asso-
ciated with Proteus,133 so that by the time the I HC was composed, a the(i)os aner
could be unproblematically likened to a seer. The line appears twice in the I HC,
first to describe Herod’s failure to seize and kill baby Jesus, and afterward in the
tirade of Pontius Pilate, who implicitly recognizes Jesus as God,134 contrasting
the two powerful statesmen. In both cases, the line amounts to a description of
the human inability to comprehend a divine epiphany and seemingly conforms
to the Platonic use of the passage to describe someone who becomes a victim of
the limitations of mortal knowledge.
Another famous gnomic phrase is the one uttered by the Samaritan Woman,
who asks Jesus about his origins by means of the periphrase, namely whether he
makes his descent from an oak or a stone: οὐ γὰρ ἀπὸ δρυός ἐσσι παλαιφάτου
οὐδ’ ἀπὸ πέτρης.135 The line is well known not only in its Homeric form—it
appears in the dialogue between the disguised beggar Odysseus and Penelope—
but also in its adaptation by Plato.136 It is a line, in other words, of proverbial
and metaphoric import, and was reclaimed as such by imperial writers such as
Plutarch.137 However, due to its reuse by Plato, the line had greater allegorical
appeal to Christian writers. So, for example, Clement of Alexandria used it to
24 The Homeric Centos
describe the implausibility of the pagan belief that mankind originated in oak
trees and stones, and thus inaugurated a tradition that continued throughout
Late Antiquity.138
1.2.3.1 Ekphrasis
Likewise, typical of later epic is the poem’s predilection for jeweled ekphraseis.139
Although ekphraseis already appear in Homer, ekphrastic passages became the
aesthetic beacons of Hellenistic and subsequent poetry. The description of a boat
in I HC 735–745 is an intriguing example of a meticulously crafted digression
that elaborates on a very brief passage in the Gospel,140 which is also inspired
from rhetorical manuals but with an interesting late tinge:
αὐτὰρ ἐπεί κε φανῇ καλὴ ῥοδοδάκτυλος ἠώς, 735 ~ Il. 9.707, from Diomedes’ exhortation
ἄκρον ἐπὶ ῥηγμῖνος ἁλὸς πολιοῖο θέεσκεν. 736 ~ Il. 20.229, Dardanus’ filly foals
τόφρα δὲ καρπαλίμως ἐξίκετο νηῦς εὐεργὴς 737 ~ Od. 12.166, Odysseus’ ship passing the Sirens
σπερχομένη· τοίων γὰρ ἐπείγετο χέρσ’ ἐρετάων 738 ~ Od. 13.115, the Phaeacian ship, Odysseus asleep
ἐν δ’ ἄνεμος πρῆσεν μέσον ἱστίον, ἀμφὶ δὲ κῦμα 739 ~ Il. 1.481, Odysseus’ boat returns from Chrysa
στείρῃ πορφύρεον μεγάλ’ ἴαχε νηὸς ἰούσης. 740 ~ Il. 1.482, ibid.; return of Chryseis to Chryses
ἡ δ’ ἔθεεν κατὰ κῦμα διαπρήσσουσα κέλευθον, 741 ~ Il. 1.483, ibid.
τώς κε μάλ’ ἀσφαλέως θέεν ἔμπεδον· οὐδέ κεν ἴρηξ 742 ~ Od. 13.86, the Phaeacian ship, Odysseus asleep
κίρκος ὁμαρτήσειεν, ἐλαφρότατος πετεηνῶν. 743 ~ Od. 13.87, ibid.
ὣς ἡ ῥίμφα θέουσα θαλάσσης κύματ’ ἔτεμνεν, 744 ~ Od. 13.88, ibid.
ἄνδρα φέρουσα θεῷ ἐναλίγκια μήδε’ ἔχοντα. 745 ~ Od. 13.89, ibid.
Thus, when the beautiful rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, | he ran along the seaside of the surging sea, |
when swiftly a beautifully crafted ship was sailing in, rapidly; | so much in haste the hands of the
rowers in haste; | the wind was blowing the middle sail, and from both sides |the stem the purple wave
was roaring as the boat went by. | And the boat was running against the waves making its way, | and
thus was sailing very safely indeed; not even a falcon | could keep up with it, the lightest of birds. |
Thus, it was sailing across the waves of the sea swiftly, | carrying a man with a god-like mind.
The first line introduces the pending miracle of the resurrection of Jaïrus’
daughter with the symbolic image of Dawn; next, it associates the young dead
woman with Chryseïs, who, like the resurrected daughter, is soon to be returned
to her parents, and Jesus with Odysseus, as a man of woes. On a structural level,
the passage is conspicuously packed with boat-related centos, inspired especially
from Odyssey 13, Odysseus’ return on board the Phaeacian ship. This is a popular
passage in the Progymnasmata, as a model on how to compose a propemptikos
logos (a farewell speech to someone being escorted away).141 The corresponding
passage from Odyssey begins with a four-line simile of the horse chariot,142
which is here replaced with one line 736, Dardanus foals, an image praised for its
ekphrastic power.143 The war–peace imagery in Homer are evoked by the chariot
versus the boat and allude to Odysseus’ war and sea woes, all now forgotten as
Homerocentones biblici 25
he sleeps blissfully on his way home. By contrast, the cento ekphrasis elaborates
on the description of the boat and gives details that increase the vividness of the
image by combining two sailing scenes together, Chryseïs’ and Odysseus’: the
rowers, the keel, the blown sail, the alliteration of rho to allude to the sea water at
I HC 740–742,144 add to the image of the speedy boat from the Odyssey,145 that
now resembles more a late antique description of the Christian ship, the symbol
of the cross.146
Another innovative touch is found in the symbolic description of the River
Jordan in I HC 447–452, which develops as follows:
ὣς εἰπὼν ὁ μὲν ἦρχ’, ὁ δ’ ἅμ’ ἕσπετο ἰσόθεος φώς. 447 ~ Il. 11.472, Menelaus and Ajax
ἐς ποταμὸν δ’ εἰλεῦντο βαθύρροον ἀργυροδίνην, 448 ~ Il. 21.8, Achilles steps into the Scamander
ἀλλ’ ὅτε δὴ πόρον ἷξεν ἐϋρρεῖος ποταμοῖο, 449 ~ Il. 14.433, Hector next to the Scamander
ὃς πολὺ κάλλιστος ποταμῶν ἐπὶ γαῖαν ἵησι, 450 ~ Od. 11.239, Enipeus in Thessaly
καί μιν⸥ ⸤ἀπο πρὸ φέρων λοῦσεν ποταμοῖο ῥοῇσι, 451 ~ Il. 16.679, Apollo rinses Sarpedon’s body
κρύπτων ἐν δίνῃσι βαθείῃσιν μεγάλῃσιν. 452 ~ Il. 21.239, Scamander hides the Trojans
So he (John the Baptist) started to speak and behind him followed the God(like) Man. | And they
stepped down into the deep crossing of the silver-streamed river; | but when He arrived at the ford of
the broad river, | which is the fairest river upon Earth | John brought Him forth and baptized him in
the river’s streams | submerging Him entirely in the deep whirlpools of the river.
The lines evoked here also appear in lists in the Scholia and rhetorical treatises;
their grouping suggests that they may have been used by readers as mnemonic
aids for improving their understanding of the Homeric text.147 The carefully
balanced passage (2:1:2) consists of a short ring-composition built around the
kathodos-anodos theme of Achilles’ battle in the Scamander.148 In lines 448–449,
both the hero’s descent into the river and his bloodthirstiness touch on the topos
of death through Kontrastimitation, since Jesus, unlike Achilles, accepts death
willingly for the sake of humanity. In contrast, Xanthus’ efforts to salvage some of
Achilles’ victims, as recounted in lines 451–452, resonate throughout Usurpation
along with the Christian baptismal imagery of the centos. Between these themes,
is line 450, which references the beauty of Enipeus, evokes the holiness of the
River Jordan and links it to Olympus. The selection of particular lines reveals the
poem’s conscious reclamation of Homer rather than other more popular options.
Eustathius, reports that some Christian centonists used a less famous river in
Elis, called Iardanos, due to the name’s similarity to that of the River Jordan,
Ἰορδάνης ποταμός.149
1.2.4 Similes
For late antique poets and audiences, similes were a means of achieving vivid-
ness, energeia and variation, poikilia.150 Homeric similes in the I HC are reworked
26 The Homeric Centos
with an eye toward variation but also toward their contemporary appropriation.
A typical example is the reuse of the simile of the wasp in Iliad 16 in the scene of
the Crucifixion below:
They surged out at once like wasps | at the roadside, which children tend to provoke, | always stirring
them up, as they take the road home. | Senseless ones; who committed a sin shared by many.
The Christian poem describes the assault on Jesus and compares the crowds
with Patroclus’ Myrmidons, who, after a long break, are deployed to fight with
Patroclus in command. The simile shows the Myrmidons swarming like wasps
trying to protect their offspring, fierce in their attack and fury.151 While bees and
wasps are used interchangeably elsewhere in Homer’s text to denote swarms of
armies, the imperial Life of Homer praises the poet for having depicted wrath
and a vengeful spirit at this particular moment through the image of wasps.152
Quintus of Smyrna too uses it no fewer than three times to describe fierce and
vindictive battles in the Posthomerica, thereby highlighting the simile’s ekphrastic
potential.153 The wasp is also the animal representing Archilochus’ iambic in-
vective to Gregory of Nazianzus,154 in which the Pharisees’ attack on Jesus, as
we shall see in Chapter 4,155 resembles his persecution by the High Priests. By
revisiting and quoting the full simile at length, then, the cento poem establishes a
link between the Homeric simile and its contemporary use in the invective.
A different kind of simile compares Judas to the solitary mountain lion, one
of the many beast similes used for the traitor. Comparisons with wild animals
highlight the resemblance of man’s and beast’s savagery. In our case, Jesus, as the
Lamb of God, is the herbivore victim of his carnivorous assailant. It is Achilles’
cruelty that is used to foil Judas, who is portrayed by Jesus as the raw-flesh-eating
lion (I HC 1475 ~ Il. 24.207: ὠμηστής) or seeking to devour his blood (I HC 1474
~ Il. 22.70: ὅς κ’ ἐμὸν αἷμα πιών). These lines are drawn from Priam’s monologue
from the wall of Troy: as he watches Hector’s murder by Achilles, he foretells the
sack of Troy and imagines his cadaver being devoured by his hounds. Another
line used to describe Judas’ swiftness in malice is a typical adjective used for
Achilles and his negative Iliadic foil, Dolon I HC 1487 ~ Il.10.316: ποδώκης.156
Judas then is a valiant opponent, ominous in his wrath like Achilles and dan-
gerous in his wickedness like the spy Dolon. Intratextually, the latter model,
the reader is reminded, was also used to describe the machinations of Juda’s in-
stigator, Satan, who like Dolon carries the very name of deceit, δόλος.157 Thus
Judas’ treason is introduced with lines that draw heavily on Achillean character-
istics that are perceived as negative, fierce, swift, and savage.
Homerocentones biblici 27
These comparisons prepare the ground for two longer lion similes in the scene
of the Last Supper. To describe Judas’ entry the poem uses a block of lines, origi-
nally belonging to Sarpedon’s aristeia. Juda arrives as a famished solitary moun-
tain lion: I HC 1527-1528 ~ Il. 12.299-300: βῆ ῥ’ ἴμεν ὥς τε λέων ὀρεσίτροφος,
ὅς τ’ ἐπιδευὴς | δηρὸν ἔῃ κρειῶν, κέλεται δέ ἑ θυμὸς ἀγήνωρ | μήλων πειρήσοντα
καὶ ἐς πυκινὸν δόμον ἐλθεῖ (“he went onward like some hill-kept lion, | who for
a long time has gone lacking meat, and the proud heart is urgent upon him, | to
get inside of a close steading and go for the sheepflocks”). This simile was pop-
ular in antiquity and deemed worthy of a hero,158 but in the Christian poem the
lion’s might is Csubverted. Here it is reclaimed to describe Judas’ treason and
wickedness since the reader knows that he has already plotted with the Pharisees
(I HC 1493). The negative connotations are furthered through allusions from
the Odyssey that give these lines its ominous tonality: both Menelaus and
Agamemnon compare the latter’s treacherous murder by Aegisthus upon his
homecoming to the slaughter of an ox in the safety of the stable. The victorious
king, the shepherd of people par excellence (Od. 4.532: ποιμὴν λαῶν), becomes
the prey—the shepherd becomes cattle (Od. 5.535, 11.118: ὣς . . . βοῦν ἐπὶ
φάτνῃ). The simile had a long tradition in the quotation practice of the Empire
as it encapsulated the untimely and treacherous death of a valiant hero in the
safety of his home.159 Though this line originally does not refer to any lions, the
centonist revises and relays it to the series of lion-related imagery used for Judas
above: instead of τίς (Od. 5.35) the I HC 1537 has λίς (“lion”).
αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δείπνησε καὶ ἤραρε θυμὸν ἐδωδῇ, 1536 ~ Od. 5.95 (Hermes) or 14.11 (Odysseus in disguise)
δειπνήσας ὡς λίς τε κατέκτανε βοῦν ἐπὶ φάτνῃ. 1537 ~ Od. 4.535 Agamemnon (nostoi) and 11.411 (Nekyia)
So when he dined and gladdened his heart with food | he killed him after feasting, like the lion the ox
in the manger.
This creative adaptation of the Homeric verse shows how important the lion
analogy is for the characterization of Judas. It also demonstrates the technique
through which the poet scans the Homeric material and collects lists of lion-
related lines, even “inventing” ones if these fit the scope aim: through Usurpation,
Judas appears cruel, like Achilles, ferocious, yet shrewd, like Dolon, and, above
all murderer, like Aegisthus. An additional deviation from the use of the simile
in the heroic context, where it underlines heroic valiance par excellence, is the
Christian reconceptualization of the theme of devouring: unlike the beast that
feasts on flesh and blood (αἷμα πιών . . . ὠμηστής) the blood Jesus’ especially
in the Last Supper scene is eucharistic. Thus, the banquet-related terminology
(δειπνήσε . . . δειπνήσας) in these lines would have stressed the paradox of Judas’
crime beyond his cruelty: even though he dined with Christ and communicated
his salvific flesh and blood, he nonetheless betrayed him, a crime greater than
28 The Homeric Centos
that of Aegisthus. Still, the blood Judas sheds would become salvific for man-
kind irrespective, or even because of, Judas’ betrayal. Through Kontrastimitation,
much unlike the heroic universe, in the Christianized lion simile the wild beast
does not prevail but the ox, the carnivore’s fierceness is overcome by the sacrifi-
cial Lamb of God.160
1.2.5 Ὀδυσσείας B’
The examples above show that the I HC is not a “Homeric” poem in the sense
of being an archaic epic, but a late antique revision of Homer transposed into a
classicizing Christian register. Homeric epics were part of the school curriculum,
but the practice of quoting them extended beyond the classroom. Below I will ex-
pand on the reception of Book 2 of the Odyssey that shows that the centonist was
revisiting themes and books familiar beyond the classroom, but certainly within
the parameters of composing a Christian poem. Book 2, which does not seem to
have been popular in the papyri, provides ample material both as quotation of
specific lines and thematically for banquets and assemblies in the Christian poem
and, above all, the background for discussing the themes of Jesus’ Sonship,161 his
nostos, and the matter of human sin, vividly embodied by Telemachus, Odysseus
and the suitors.
The I HC offers far more evidence on Homer’s late antique readers than on the
state of the Homeric text in its reader’s time. As Raffaella Cribiore has shown with
the help of evidence drawn chiefly from papyri, the most popular books among
ancient readers were Iliad 1–6, especially Books 1 and 2, followed by Books 5
and 6, and finally Book 11. Although the Odyssey is less frequently represented
in papyri as it was not a major focus of standard education, Cribiore’s findings
reveal a predilection for the Iliadic sequels in the Odyssey, namely, Books 4 and
11.162 If we compare the number of lines drawn from each book of the Iliad and/
or the Odyssey, for example, we can observe that at least 95 of the lines reused in
all editions of the Homeric Centos are in Book 1 of the Iliad and that some of these
are reused more than once. Second place goes to Books 2 and 24, with 89 and 91
centos, respectively, third goes to Books 5 and 9 with 72 and 77, respectively, and
fourth to Books 6, 8, 10, and 16, each of which provides the I HC with between 60
and 70 centos, some more than once. The least popular Iliadic book in the I HC
is Book 12, which supplies material for only 18 centos. As for the Odyssey, Book
4 is the most admired with 120 centos to its credit. Indeed, it is quoted even more
often than is the popular Iliadic Book 1. Second place falls to Book 2 with 81
quotations, while third goes to Books 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 19, each of which is cited be-
tween 60 and 70 times. The least popular is Book 21, which is the source of fewer
than 20 citations. While these numbers indicate the lines used at least once in the
Homerocentones biblici 29
course of a total of 6,315 lines, namely in all the editions of Homeric Centos, the
difference in the lines selected by individual editions is not massive.163 Despite
their schematic and abstract nature, these figures more or less chime with the
popularity of the Homeric poems and specific books in the Imperial period.164
Thus, the popularity of the first six and especially the first two books of the Iliad
and the popularity of Book 4 of the Odyssey are confirmed, though it may come as
a surprise that the second most popular Odyssean book is not Book 11, a sequel
to the Iliad, but rather Book 2, which is part of the Telemachy. The discrepancy
between Cribiore’s findings and Schembra’s observations makes this a good case
study of the approach used to analyze numerical information, but what needs
to be stressed is that these numbers should not be treated as precise, since given
the kind of composition that this is, it would be easy for lines to drop out during
their transmission. The close examination of the re-cycling of the Odyssey’s Book
2 below further illustrates that numbers are only one part of the story. It also
shows that specific narratives and their readership invited a more “personalized”
reading and excerption of Homer’s text that differs from that of the classroom.165
Noteworthy too is that 81 lines of the Odyssey’s Book 2 are quoted at least once
in all 6,315 lines of the Homeric Centos in Schembra’s edition. Of these, 66 are
reused at least once in the 2,354 lines of the I HC.166
(continued)
30 The Homeric Centos
45. 310 1,415 prt Ἀντίνο’, οὔ πως ἔστιν ὑπερφιάλοισι μεθ’ ὑμῖν Charact. Antinous/
δαίνυσθαί τ’ ἀκέοντα καὶ εὐφραίνεσθαι ἕκηλον Judas
46. 311 1,416
47. 323 1,746 οἱ δ’ ἐπελώβευον καὶ ἐκερτόμεον ἐπέεσσιν form./The suitors/
the assailants
48. 1,896 οἱ δ’ ἐπελώβευον καὶ ἐκερτόμεον ἐπέεσσιν
49. 324 1,752 ὧδε δέ τις εἴπεσκε νέων ὑπερηνορεόντων form./The suitor/ the
assailants
50. 1,901
51. 2,097
52. 331 1,949 ἄλλος δ’ αὖτ’ εἴπεσκε νέων ὑπερηνορεόντων form./ ibid.
53. 344 2,284 κληϊσταὶ δ’ ἔπεσαν σανίδες πυκινῶς ἀραρυῖαι Odysseus’ return/
Jesus’ Resurrection
54. 353 616 δώδεκα δ’ ἔμπλησον καὶ πώμασιν ἄρσον ἅπαντας The Cana Jars
55. 367 145 οἱ δέ τοι αὐτίκ’ ἰόντι κακὰ φράσσονται ὀπίσσω prolepsis
56. 372 267 θάρσει, μαῖ’, ἐπεὶ οὔ τοι ἄνευ θεοῦ ἥδε γε βουλή form./supplication
57. 1,329 θάρσει, μαῖ’, ἐπεὶ οὔ τοι ἄνευ θεοῦ ἥδε γε βουλή Ibid.
58. 376 2,208 ὡς ἂν μὴ κλαίουσα κατὰ χρόα καλὸν ἰάπτῃ Penelope/Magdalene
59. 379 619 αὐτίκ’ ἔπειτά οἱ οἶνον ἐν ἀμφιφορεῦσιν ἄφυσσεν The Cana Wedding
60. 384 2,236 καί ῥα ἑκάστῳ φωτὶ παρισταμένη φάτο μῦθον form./speech
61. 388 633 δύσετό τ’ ἠέλιος σκιόωντό τε πᾶσαι ἀγυιαί form./day-time
62. 397 1,607 οἱ δ’ εὕδειν ὤρνυντο κατὰ πτόλιν, οὐδ’ ἄρ’ ἔτι δἠν form./sleep
63. 398 2,608 εἵατ’, ἐπεί σφισιν ὕπνος ἐπὶ βλεφάροισιν ἔπιπτεν form./banquet-
sleep/at the Garden
of Gethsemane
64. 404 1,771 ἀλλ’ ἴομεν, μὴ δηθὰ διατρίβωμεν ὁδοῖο form./movement
65. 406 1,009 καρπαλίμως· ὁ δ’ ἔπειτα μετ’ ἴχνια βαῖνε θεοῖο Epiphany:
Telemachus/ Blind
66. 1,291 καρπαλίμως· ὁ δ’ ἔπειτα μετ’ ἴχνια βαῖνε θεοῖο Ibid. Lazarus
Aside from attesting to the popularity of this particular book in all editions of
the Homeric Centos, this does not tell us much about the use to which it was put,
but a closer look at the kind of lines recycled may help explain the predilection
for it across all editions. Book 2 contains useful formulaic lines for describing the
passage of time, for the time frame within which an action must be concluded,
and particularly for prolepsis in the form of prophecies. It also offers basic the-
matic staples such as verses for describing outdoor gatherings and indoor ban-
quet scenes, as well as some famous moralizing lines. In addition, it provides
32 The Homeric Centos