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i
James E. G. Zetzel
1
iv
1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.
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v
For Katharina
quod spiro et placeo, si placeo, tuum est
vi
Preface
viii Preface
Fraenkel’s review of the Harvard Servius in 1947. The debt of all students of
Roman scholarship to Wessner and Barwick—and indeed to the whole school of
Friedrich Ritschl and his academic descendants—is immense. Beginning in the
early 1980s, however, the subject came to life in new and different ways and has
continued to flourish. And while it would be redundant to recite here the names
of the many scholars whose recent work will be cited often below, I cannot offer a
list of acknowledgments without expressing my huge debt to the published work
of six scholars in particular, without which this book, and the field, would be im-
measurably poorer: Marc Baratin’s work on syntax in the grammarians and on
grammarians’ ideas about language in general; Mario De Nonno’s many articles on
the manuscripts and the organization of Roman scholarship; Carlotta Dionisotti’s
studies of the creation and history of glossaries; Louis Holtz’s explorations of
Donatus and his commentators; Robert Kaster’s investigations of the social and
intellectual world of ancient scholarship; and Vivien Law’s revelations of the com-
plicated history of early medieval grammar. I have gone back repeatedly to their
work, for which my admiration only increases with prolonged acquaintance. I am
lucky to have been able to learn from them.
I have, over the past few years, incurred other, more personal and immediate
debts. I am grateful to those generous scholars who have sent me copies of their
work; I can not name them all, but I am particularly grateful to Michael Herren
and Rolando Ferri for instruction in areas unfamiliar to me, and to Tommaso
Mari and Anna Reinikka for giving me copies of their dissertations, excellent
editions of grammatical texts which I hope will see print very soon. I am grateful
also for having had the chance to present parts of this work to audiences at the
Universities of Edinburgh, Oxford, and Pisa, as well as to the Seminar in Classical
Civilizations at Columbia.
Four institutions have also made it possible to complete this book. First is
Oxford University Press in the person of Stefan Vranka, who has put up with
delays and uncertainties, and who was willing to ransom this project from the
former American Philological Association which had originally commissioned
it; I greatly appreciate his confidence. Second is the Columbia University
Library, in particular the Interlibrary Loan Office, which has supplied
countless books and articles that were otherwise not readily available. Third
is the Stanwood Cockey Lodge Foundation of Columbia University, which
awarded me a generous subvention towards the cost of publication. And fi-
nally, the Wissenschaftskolleg zu Berlin, where I have spent wonderful months
as the spouse of a Fellow while revising and completing this book, and whose
librarians have been as generous and helpful as anyone who knows that re-
markable institution would expect.
I have had more than a little help from my friends. Bob Kaster and Gareth
Williams firmly but gently pointed out confusions and errors in an earlier draft of
Part I, as they have done for much of what I have written for a great many years.
Alessandro Garcea and Bob Kaster (again!) read the completed manuscript for
Oxford University Press and offered detailed and helpful suggestions. Readers of
ix
Preface ix
this book may not recognize how much they owe to such generous learning; I do.
Many errors, I am sure, remain, but they are all mine.
Finally, the dedication of this book expresses my debt and devotion to Katharina
Volk: she has read it, lived with it, and improved it almost as much as she has
improved my life.
November 20, 2017
x
xi
Contents
Abbreviations xvii
xii Contents
Contents xiii
xiv Contents
Contents xv
Abbreviations
xviii Abbreviations
1
The Face of Learning
1. Dickey (2007: 7); Pollock (2015: 22). See also Zetzel (2015) for an attempt to
define the role of philology in Rome.
4
He goes on to divide philology into four parts, which he labels Grammar, Exegesis,
Criticism, and Erudition.
Although Gräfenhan’s work is still valuable, his idea of philology is not what
is employed here: it is a tool not so much for studying texts as for studying every-
thing that is embedded in them, in an attempt to explain the entire mental life of
a people. As a result, his four subdivisions of philology rise up from morphology
and syntax, through commentary and criticism (itself moving up a ladder from
textual criticism to Higher Criticism) to reach the highest level, erudition (which
incorporates the study of writings about religion, law, geography, and history), in-
exorably leading the student towards a broader understanding of civilization and
culture. This ambitious understanding of philology as Kultur is very much of its
time; and while it is theoretically not unreasonable, it is, and always has been, un-
manageable in practice. Philology in Gräfenhan’s sense would comprise not only
the basic aids to reading and interpreting Latin literature, but, in addition to all
the branches of written erudition, it would, for most scholars, now include most
of Latin literature itself—a literature marked by its self-referential intertextuality
and by the prevalence of implicit commentary on or revision of earlier literature.
In that sense, to write a history of Roman philology would demand writing a his-
tory of Roman literature as well as of Roman culture. Those are certainly worth-
while projects, but they are not mine: there is quite enough philological writing
in a narrower sense—works that explicitly attempt to explain the Latin language
or particular Latin texts, and works that describe and illuminate the activities in-
volved in that kind of explanation—for more than one book. And the anatomy of
philology underlying this book is, for the most part, formal rather than theoret-
ical: my goal is to explain the frequently unfamiliar texts that embody specifically
philological activity, not the ideas about language that they reveal.
A large and austere body of such scholarship about language and literature
in Latin survives, largely in the shape it was given in late antiquity. The seven
volumes of Heinrich Keil’s Grammatici Latini; the bulky commentaries on Virgil
transmitted under the names of Servius and Tiberius Claudius Donatus; the nu-
merous smaller commentaries on Virgil, Horace, Lucan, Persius, Juvenal, Cicero,
and others, not to mention the many commentaries on the grammar of Aelius
Donatus composed between the fifth and ninth centuries; the two large corpora
of glossaries edited by Goetz and Lindsay, respectively; the dictionaries of Festus
and Nonius Marcellus and the encyclopedia of Isidore of Seville—all these, and
more, appear to most students of the classical Roman world as an unwieldy and
forbidding class of texts defined by being even more unappealing than they are
useful. At the same time, however, all students of Latin literature, particularly of
republican and Augustan literature, recognize how much we benefit from the sur-
vival of such works. Most of what we have of early Latin literature is preserved
by later Roman philological scholarship: most of the fragments of Varro come
from the dictionary of Nonius Marcellus; large numbers of quotations from early
epic and drama come from the longer form of Servius’ commentary on Virgil. To
take what is perhaps an extreme example, the eighth-century grammatical texts
5
2. The source of these quotations is much discussed and still uncertain; for a very
good discussion, see Taeger (1991) and 13.33 below.
6
3. For a clear discussion of these theoretical articulations, see Blank (2000), including
some very helpful charts.
9
grammarians like Servius, but of military officers, consuls, and other men of em-
inence. Philology in the Roman world was not just the province of philologists,
and many of the most interesting and important texts of Roman scholarship were
composed not for students or teachers, but for lettered people in general. The
correct interpretation (and pronunciation and reading) of texts was part of the
mental apparatus and intellectual activity of people of culture and social standing.
Writing about books, language, and literature; antiquarian studies involving words
and texts at least as much as ruins and buildings; and all the verbal arts and cul-
tural equipment necessary for participation in a world in which the proper use
of language was a prerequisite for success and distinction in the public forum—
these were not professional activities of scholars alone but normal parts of culti-
vated society.
Just as grammar is not the province of the grammaticus alone, moreover, so too
the forms of grammatical scholarship, even the most traditional and academic
of them, were not limited in subject or context to what we might think of as
grammar or philology. The earliest known Roman commentaries (to be discussed
in Chapter 2) are not devoted to literary texts, but to legal and religious works.
Indeed, in sheer bulk, legal commentary, culminating in the third-century ce
commentary on the Edict in eighty-three books (from which more than 1,600
quotations survive) by the jurist Ulpian, rivals in size and scope the remains of
literary commentary. There are also rhetorical commentaries, not just on literary
texts (such as that of Tiberius Donatus on the Aeneid), but also on texts that
themselves deal with rhetorical theory, such as Grillius’ commentary on Cicero’s
De inventione. The forms of scholarship were fungible and flexible; a text does not
need to be literary to need explanation.
Within this broad range of engagement with the study of texts, however, the
hard core of basic explanations of language remains central: the large number
of works designed to teach people Latin, or to help them with fairly elemen-
tary interpretation of texts, attests to the constant need for instruction in the
basics. Even elementary texts, however, show a certain amount of variety: the
ars grammatica and the commentary can be either descriptive (“This is what
people have written as correct Latin”) or normative (“This is what correct Latin
is, and what you should write or say yourself”). In school grammars, the norma-
tive clearly prevails: their primary audience is boys of about ten years old, who
may or may not (particularly in the fourth century ce or later, the period from
which most such extant texts survive) be native speakers of Latin. Commentaries
too, again largely from late antiquity in their extant form, necessarily straddle
the divide between the descriptive and the normative in a complex negotation
between the social position of the (humble) grammarian and the public world
to which his teaching provided access. It is striking, however, that many works
of grammar were not written by professional grammarians; indeed, some of the
most interesting and important such texts (those of Charisius and Diomedes in
particular) were written by men whose native language was Greek. Not surpris-
ingly, such works show a greater clarity in explaining some of the peculiarities of
10
Latin; perhaps equally unsurprising, at least in hindsight, is that these books were
greatly valued by other non-Latin speakers in the West, notably the Irish.
4. LIMITS
The historical narrative that follows this chapter begins with fragmentary evi-
dence derived from later sources; the end of my story is crowded with a large
number of texts that slide gradually from the Roman world of late antiquity into
the Christian worlds of Celts, Visigoths, Vandals, and Franks in the early Middle
Ages, the Carolingian period, and beyond. While the beginning is lost in obscu-
rity, there is no clear end. In contrast to the tradition of Greek scholarship, which
reaches a sudden and violent end in 1453, the tradition of Roman philology has
no sharp conclusion, just as the frontier between Roman culture and the cultures
of the early Middle Ages has no wall. In some sense, Roman philology was active
and productive until Donatus’ grammatical texts ceased to be a staple of European
education, some time after the Renaissance, and one could just as easily conclude
this account in the time of Alcuin and Charlemagne or extend it to Lorenzo Valla’s
Elegantiae. It is traditional to end histories of ancient scholarship with Priscian
and Cassiodorus in the sixth century: Priscian, because his vast grammar is the
last (and perhaps most original) great treatment of Latin grammar written within
a Roman empire; Cassiodorus, because his Institutes are the first major instruc-
tional text to incorporate the tradition of Roman education and scholarship into
a Christian context. One can also, quite legitimately, extend this story to Isidore
of Seville, writing in Visigothic Spain in the seventh century, but relying in his
Etymologiae on the same texts and methods as his Roman predecessors.
One particular stretching of my chronological framework, however,
deserves mention. The tradition of Roman grammar, particularly in the form of
commentaries on Donatus, remained active and creative until at least the ninth
century, and it would be unreasonable not to give some attention to the devel-
opment of that tradition. In terms of commentaries on literary texts, moreover,
there is no point in trying to distinguish commentaries written in late antiquity
from those written in the early Middle Ages (again, roughly up to the ninth cen-
tury): the form in which ancient commentary survives is frequently in the shape
of scholia organized in the ninth century, and one cannot talk about one end of
the tradition without talking about the other. In that case, however, I have given
relatively scant attention to any commentary that does not show independent
knowledge of the ancient world: the annotated manuscripts of Horace or Terence
are far too many and too repetitive to try to list; they are of interest to students
of medieval education, not students of ancient philology. I have said a few words
about such high medieval texts and have given some references to other works
that say more.
Even before the sixth century, however, the nature of Roman philology had
changed significantly, with Augustine and Jerome. The present volume will
deal with commentaries on secular texts and with the traditions of secular
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Paris. Comme si la cité avait dû revêtir, dès cette époque, le
caractère cosmopolite qui la distingue aujourd'hui, on y voyait,
alignés le long de la chaussée ou espacés des deux côtés dans les
champs, des tombeaux qui emmenaient la pensée aux extrémités
les plus opposées du monde ancien. Les inscriptions y parlaient les
deux langues de la civilisation, et le voyageur s'acheminait à travers
des avenues funéraires qui faisaient passer tour à tour sous ses
yeux les monuments du paganisme romain, les édicules étranges de
Mithra, et les chastes et sobres emblèmes de la foi chrétienne. Là
dormait, au milieu de plusieurs de ses successeurs, l'évêque de
Paris, saint Prudence, et l'on veut que les chrétiens des premiers
âges y aient possédé une catacombe où ils célébraient les sacrés
mystères, et qui s'élevait sur les ruines d'un ancien sanctuaire de
Diane, la déesse des forêts[317].
[316] Voir tome I, p. 103.
[317] Lebeuf, Histoire de la ville et de tout le diocèse de Paris, nouvelle édition,
Paris, 1883, t. I, pp. 228 et suiv.; Saintyves, Vie de sainte Geneviève, pp. 101, 130,
295; Franklin, dans Paris à travers les âges, IX, p. 2
Plus d'une fois, le regard de Clovis et de Clotilde s'était arrêté sur ce
tranquille horizon, des hauteurs duquel semblait descendre jusqu'à
eux, à travers le murmure des verdoyants ombrages, la solennelle
invitation de la mort. L'idée leur sourit d'y répondre en préparant là-
haut la place de leur dernière demeure, à l'abri d'un sanctuaire qui
serait le monument durable de leur foi commune, et qui dresserait
au-dessus de toute la vallée le signe glorieux de la résurrection.
Toujours le souvenir de Clotilde a été associé à celui de Clovis dans
l'histoire de cet édifice sacré[318]; il n'est guère douteux qu'elle en ait
suggéré la première idée au roi. Un chroniqueur parisien du huitième
siècle, dont les souvenirs locaux ont souvent une grande valeur
historique, attribue formellement cette initiative à Clotilde. Il est vrai
que, d'après lui, c'était dans la pensée du couple royal une église
votive, qui devait être bâtie si le roi revenait victorieux de la guerre
d'Aquitaine[319]. Ce qui est certain, c'est que la construction n'en fut
commencée que dans les dernières années, puisqu'elle n'était pas
achevée lorsque Clovis mourut.
[318] Grégoire de Tours, ii, 43: Basilica sanctorum Apostolorum quam cum
Chrodechilde regina ipse construxerat.—Le même, iv, 1: Nam basilicam illam ipsa
construxerat.
[319] Liber historiæ, c. 17.
Bientôt l'église surgit du sol, appuyée sur une crypte qui devait
recevoir les sépultures royales, et offrant aux regards l'aspect des
primitives basiliques. Elle pouvait avoir, nous dit un historien, deux
cents pieds de long sur cinquante à soixante de large[321]. L'intérieur
en était non voûté, mais lambrissé à la manière antique; de riches
mosaïques ainsi que des peintures murales en animaient les parois.
On y avait accès, du côté occidental, par un triple portique orné,
comme l'intérieur, de mosaïques et de peintures représentant des
scènes de l'Ancien et du Nouveau Testament[322]. A côté de l'église
s'élevèrent de spacieux bâtiments conventuels pour la demeure des
chanoines réguliers qui devaient la desservir. Un vaste territoire,
longeant les jardins du palais et allant d'un côté jusqu'à la Seine et
de l'autre jusqu'à la Bièvre, forma la seconde enceinte de cette
fondation vraiment royale. La plus grande partie en était occupée par
des closeries et des vignobles à travers lesquels circulaient
d'ombreux sentiers de noyers et d'amandiers chantés au douzième
siècle, en vers agréables, par le poète Jean de Hautefeuille. Le
douaire assigné au monastère était considérable: il comprenait
Nanterre, Rosny, Vanves, Fossigny, Choisy, et la terre connue sous
le nom de fief de Sainte-Clotilde[323].
[321] Viallon, Vie de Clovis le Grand, pp. 448 et suiv.
[322] Vita sanctæ Genovefæ, xi, 53 (Kohler): Miracula sanctæ Genovefæ; cf. du
Molinet, Histoire de sainte Geneviève et de son église royale et apostolique à
Paris, manuscrit de la bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, livre III, chap. ii.
[323] Du Molinet, o. c., livre III, chap. iii, suivi par les autres historiens de sainte
Geneviève. Le livre de du Molinet, resté inédit, est un travail excellent, qu'il n'y
aurait plus intérêt à publier toutefois, parce que la meilleure partie en a passé
depuis dans les travaux consacrés au même sujet.
Clovis ne vécut pas assez longtemps pour voir l'achèvement de
cette fondation grandiose; c'est Clotilde qui la mit sous toit et qui en
termina les dépendances[324]. Il paraîtrait toutefois, si l'on en croit le
chroniqueur parisien auquel nous avons déjà fait des emprunts, que
le roi put encore assister à la consécration de l'église. Cet écrivain
ajoute que Clovis pria le pape de lui envoyer des reliques des saints
Pierre et Paul, parce qu'il voulait en faire les patrons du nouveau
sanctuaire, et qu'à cette occasion il fit tenir au souverain pontife de
riches cadeaux[325]. C'est probablement alors aussi qu'il lui envoya
une superbe couronne d'or, garnie de pierres précieuses, qu'on
appelait «le Règne»[326]. Plusieurs historiens du moyen âge ont
parlé de cette couronne qui mérite une mention ici, puisqu'elle fut le
premier hommage de la royauté très chrétienne à l'Église
universelle.
[324] Vita sancti Genovefæ, xi, 53 (Kohler).
[325] C'est ce que dit une note d'un des manuscrits du Liber historiæ, c. 17. Dans
tous les cas, elle se trompe tout au moins sur le nom du pape, qu'elle appelle
Hormisdas. Hormisdas ne monta sur le trône de saint Pierre qu'en 514, trois ans
après la mort de Clovis. Peut-être faut-il garder le nom d'Hormisdas, et remplacer
celui de Clovis par celui de Clotilde?
[326] Eodem tempore venit regnus cum gemmis preciosis a rege Francorum
Cloduveum christianum, donum beato Petro apostolo. Liber Pontificalis, éd.
Duchesne, t. I, p. 271. Ce passage, écrit au sixième siècle, a passé en substance
dans le Vita sancti Remigii de Hincmar, Acta Sanctorum, p. 156, F, et de là dans
Sigebert de Gembloux, Chronicon (dom Bouquet, III, p. 337). M. l'abbé Duchesne
écrit à ce sujet, o. c., p. 274: «Clovis mourut trois ans avant l'avènement du pape
Hormisdas. Il est possible que l'envoi du regnus ou couronne votive, dont il est ici
question, ait souffert quelque retard. Du reste, le nom de Clovis n'est attesté ici
que par les manuscrits de la seconde édition; l'abrégé Félicien coupe la phrase
après Francorum.» Cf. A. de Valois, I, pp. 270 et 299; dans ce dernier passage, il
fait dire à ses sources que Clovis envoya la couronne qu'il avait reçue d'Anastase.