Athenodora Christian stone from Athen’s Panathenaic Stadium

Imagine living in Athens after the collapse of the Roman Empire and seeing the majestic ruins of the Parthenon, built on the Athenian Acropolis during the much earlier Athenian Empire.  Christians living in Athens 1500 years ago lived that experience of vanquished empires.  From then has survived an engraved stone for Athenodora.  Scholars describe the Athenodora stone as a funerary stele.[1]  With more imagination, you can sense an inscription on a dedication stone.  The Athenodora stone presents an all-encompassing perspective on historical loss within the maternal hope of a new Athenian Christian church.

Athenodora stone from Panhellenic Stadium, Athens

The inscription on the Athenodora stone seeks poetic reading.  Here’s the Athenodora inscription in a tight English translation respecting the structure of the ancient Greek phrases and lines:

+Athenodora the good, the Attic,
the wife of Thaumasios, the woman who loves god within,
who bore children and nurses infants,
the earth took her, the young, the mother
and holds her, leaving her children in want of milk. [2]

This text could be read straightforwardly as an epitaph for a woman named Athenodora.  The simple cross, sized like a letter, has the position of the first letter in the first line.  Nothing else on the stone explicitly indicates that Athenodora was a Christian.

Various features of the Athenodora inscription indicate that it isn’t a straight-forward epitaph.  The inscription is an epigram composed in iambic trimeter, a meter “not altogether frequent” in fourth-to-sixth-century Athens.  The woman’s name Athenodora (“gift of Athena”) is very unusual.  So to is Thaumasios (“the wonderful”).  The Athenodora epigram’s Greek word for “loving god within” is a “striking word” and “extremely rare.”  In Greek culture before Christianity, it is associated with “joy in or desire for divine possession,” meaning the indwelling of a god.[3]  In the era in which the Athenodora epigram was inscribed, epigrams were a literary genre of subtle and highly developed art.  The Athenodora epigram fits within that genre.

Athenodora can be more insightfully understood as a particular Christian church in Athens.  Athena was the patron god of Athens.  In Christian understanding, Mary the mother of Jesus was the first Christian disciple and figures the church as a particular human community in history.  For Christians in Athens, the gift of Athena was further fulfilled in history with the gift of Mary.  The death of Mary was also the beginning in history of particular Christian churches.  By the early medieval period, a church known as the Church of Theotokos Atheniotissa (the Mother of God, the Virgin of Athens) had been built within the Parthenon.  Early Christian inscriptions show veneration of the mother of God in the region of Athens.[4]  Mary has been particularized in local figures and local churches throughout the history of Christian communities.  So it was in the fifth or sixth century in Athens for a particular church led wonderfully in history by Thaumasios.

The Athenodora epigram has paratactic phrasing like an ancient Christian prayer.  A recent description describes the Athenodora epigram as “syntactically incoherent.”[5]  But consider the ancient Christian trisagion prayer:

Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us.

The Athenodora epigram features similarly elaborated paratactic characterization.[6]  Parataxis contributes to the Athendora epigram’s liturgical sense.

Church is at the center of the Athenodora epigram.  Its first two lines consist of four paratactic phrases that move from conventional local credits “good” and “Attic” to extraordinary descriptions evoking “wonderfully guided” and “bearing God within.”  The middle line of the epigram describes a particular church as a maternal figure creating and nourishing Christian disciples.  The last two lines of the epigram cry out like a psalm for that church.  In the psalms, sections of faith and praise alternate abruptly with cries of desolation.  A dedication to a church may well have sought to have disciples enter the church with thoughts of being in want of Christian nourishment.[7]  Mary, the mother of Jesus, died in history.  But particular Christian churches continue to be born and nourished.

The Athenodora stone’s figural design has been misleadingly associated with a classical pediment.  The epigram and figural design are engraved on the top surface (abacus) of an unfinished marble Ionic capital (capping part of an architectural column).  The figural design has been called an aetoma, or tympanum on an engraved pediment.  But those terms from classical architecture have only an abstract geometric relation to the Athenodora stone’s figural design.  An engraving on top of a re-purposed, partly finished Ionic capital doesn’t necessarily have a design meaningful in terms of a classical facade.  The Asclepiodote and Euphemia stones from about fifth-century Athens have triangular shapes on top.  The Asclepiodote stone’s molded triangular shape is quite like pediments common on the top of classical Attic tombstones.  The triangular shape on the Euphemia stone, like that on the Athenodora stone, is rather different.

The Athenodora stone’s figural design, like its epigram, gains meaning with extensive thought.  The figural design consists of a open-top triangle containing a four-petaled rosette symmetrically flanked by two figures that scholars have described as leaves.  Rosettes are infrequent in inscriptions from this period.[8]  Four-petal rosettes symmetrically flanked by two figures are surely even more rare.  However, the design in abstract is similar to early Christian images of two angels symmetrically bearing aloft a chi-rho symbol.  The rosette and flanking figures, whether they are leaves, doves, or angels, could be a simpler form of a common Christian design: some type of Christogram with two flanking figures.[9]

two angels bearing chi-rpo

The open-top triangle appears to be an intentional feature of the figural design on the Athenodora stone.  Carved volutes exist on the top and bottom surfaces of the stone.  The volutes were cut nearly flush with the side surfaces and with the back plain to make the stone roughly rectangular.  For the stone surface to hold the completed figural triangle, the stone would have to be at least 31% taller.  That’s inconsistent with a reasonable geometry for an Ionic capital and the presence of the volute carvings on the top and bottom of the stone.  Hence the triangle was originally engraved without the top angle.[10]

The figural triangle might represent a building with a central opening.  The Roman Parthenon had such an opening, called an oculus.  The oculus admitted light (and rain). On the Athenodora stone, the (partially complete) left and right sides of the triangle are carved as double lines (double incisions).  The bottom side of the triangle, in contrast, is only a single line.  That suggests interpreting the open top of the triangle as an oculus, the sides of the triangle as walls, and the bottom, a floor. A leading scholar of Roman archaeology has observed:

Christian Greeks in Late Antiquity transformed the monumental landscape by building churches while they respected, and even appropriated, the memory of earlier structures.[11]

That macro-context is relevant to the simple triangular figure on the Athenodora stone.  If you think of the triangle as a building, you can understand why it has an opening in the top and double lines for the sides.

The Athenodora stone makes best sense as a dedication stone for an early Christian church in Athens.  Its inscription is an epigram that subtly connects Athena to Mary, the mother God in Christian understanding, and to a particular Christian church in Athens.  Its figural design alludes to a building in which angels bear a representation of Christ.  The stone itself re-purposes and re-orients a partially carved Ionic capital.  Persons viewing the Athenodora stone are positioned in the heavens looking down upon the upper surface of that Ionic capital. The stone’s substance is fine-grained Pentelic marble.[12]  That white marble, which was used for the Parthenon, glistens with a golden hue in sunlight.  Amid reminders of the collapse of empires in post-Roman Athens, the Athenodora stone acknowledges losses and signals a place for a community to continue to grow.

The Athenodora stone is on display in the exhibition Heaven & Earth: Art of Byzantium from Greek Collections at the U.S. National Gallery of Art in Washington through March 2, 2014.  That exhibition includes stunningly beautiful objects.  The Athenodora stone isn’t stunningly beautiful.  But with some understanding, it generates wonder.

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This is Part II of a review of Heaven & Earth: Art of Byzantium from Greek Collections.

Read more:

Notes:

[1] “Funerary stele of Athenodora”  in Zavvou (2013); “An Early Christian Epitaph” in Rife (2004-9); “Grave Epigram for Athenodora” in Sironen (1997) p. 236 (no. 195).  The Athenodora stone was found in 1869 in excavations of the Panathenaic Stadium in Athens.  It is now held in the Epigraphic Museum (Athens), inv. no. EM 9940.

[2] Adapted from translation in Rife (2004-9) p. 268 (added lineation, made minor re-arrangement of some phrases, added initial cross).  Zavvou (2013) and Sironen (1997) p. 236 (no. 195) provide formally looser but substantively similar translations.

[3] The Greek word for “loving god within” is ΦΙΛΕΝΘΕΟΝ (φιλένθεος).  Rife (2004-9), p. 269-70, provides the information in the above paragraph and the quotations, except for the quoted name etymologies.  The etymology of Athenadora, a theophoric name, follows straightforwardly from the etymology for Theodore.  The ancient Greek root of Thaumasios is used in Matthew 21;15 (“amazing things”). The Greek phrase “the earth … holds her” and the bereavement of children echo phrases and themes from post-Classical literary elegiac verse.  Id. p. 270.

[4] See, e.g. Sironen (1997) nos. 328, 332, 333.  Women played important roles in the early Christian church.  For example, Paul of Tarus describes Phoebe as a deacon of the church at Kenchreai and praises her highly:

I commend to you our sister Phoebe, a deacon of the church at Kenchreai, so that you may welcome her in the Lord as is fitting for the saints and help her in whatever she may require from you, for she has been a benefactor of many and of myself as well.

Romans 16:1-2.  See also Acts 18:18.

[5] Zavvou (2013) p. 70.

[6] That parataxis is underscored in Greek through the repetition of an article (ΤΗΝ / την), in translation “the”.  An epigram for Euphemia, who was an honored Christian saint, has similar parataxis.  See Sironen (1997) no. 168 bis.

[7] The abstract architecture of church — a mainly or totally enclosed space that persons enter — should not be taken for granted.  In ancient Mayan culture, persons stood on top of open platforms to encounter gods.  See, e.g. the structures at Chichen Itza in Mexico. The abstract structure of churches parallels Christian understanding of maternal encounter with God.

[8] Sironen (1997) p. 217, comment on no. 168bis.

[9] That design isn’t exclusively Christian.  It’s found in a Buddhist sculpture in India 2200 years ago.  By 1500 years ago, it was probably widespread across Eurasia.  Leaves are associated with an after-life paradise in Greek culture before and after Christianity.  Leaves appear in various arrangements in Greek non-Christian and Christian epitaphs about the time of the Athenodora stone.  Triangles are infrequent, but among those triangles, rosettes commonly occur inside.  Consider, for example, the following three designs below from Attic epitaphs dated roughly to the sixth century.

ancient Greek Christian and Jewish figural epitaphs

Epitaph 1 (on the left above) apparently doesn’t have a coherent figural design.  Epitaph 2 (middle), thought to show two menorahs and thus indicate the burial of Jewish person, is somewhat similar to the design on the Athenodora stone.  However, even abstracting from the significance of the menorah, epitaph 2 isn’t amenable to the above interpretation of the Athenodora figural design.  Epitaph 3 (on the right above) provides an example of a Christogram with symmetric flanking figures that quite clearly appear to be leaves.  Epitaph 3 has a figural design like the four-petal rosette with symmetric, flanking figures in the Athenadora inscription.  That design conforms to a well-established Christian figural geometry.  In the Athenodora inscription, the four-petal rosette is rotated slightly counterclockwise from a vertically symmetric position.  I leave to others to ponder whether that makes it less likely to allude to a Christian cross.  The drawings of epitaphs 1 and 3 are from Bayet (1877), Pl. XVI, nos. 5 and 2.  The drawing of epitaph 2 is from Bayet (1878), Pl. III, no. 4.

[10] The dimensions of the stone are 37 cm by 36 cm by (11 to 12.5) cm.  I estimated with a graphical simulation the minimum additional length required to contain the completed triangle.  In general, the carving on the Athenodora stone is neither exact nor highly skilled.  The baseline of the triangle isn’t exactly square with an approximating rectangle for the stone.  The baselines of the letters aren’t quite straight.  Most obviously, the last two letters of the last verse did not fit on one line.  That’s a size misjudgment of about 10%.  A supposed size misjudgement of at least 31% (and likely more, assuming a reasonable top margin) seems to me to be a qualitatively different and much less plausible occurrence.  The person who composed the figural design may not have been the same person who carved the stone.  The person who carved the stone almost surely was not the same person who composed the epigram.

[11] Rife (2010) p. 431.  In Kenchreai, the port city for Corinth, a Christian basilica constructed roughly about 500 GC overlooked a massive Roman tomb.  Id. pp. 425-31.  With respect to the Athenodora stone, the opening on the top of the triangle is 48% of the base-line inner expanse of the triangle.  The diameter in the oculus of the Roman Parthenon is 19% of the diameter of the dome.  A triangle is a crude or highly abstract representation of a building.  An extraordinarily large oculus isn’t unreasonable within such a representation.  As noted in [10], the carving itself is neither exact nor highly skilled.

The most difficult issue for the interpretation above seems to me to be why the truncated triangle is pushed up against the top edge of the stone and the epigram is centered vertically on the stone.  An alternate interpretation: the figural design originally had a complete triangle, but after the carver placed the epigram in the middle of the stone, rather than at the very bottom, the complete triangle wouldn’t fit.  The carver then added as much of the figural design as would fit above.  That scenario seems to me less likely than the interpretation above for three reasons.  First, the epigram would be crowded at the lower level of the stone.  The importance of the epigram argues against it being crowded into the ground.  Second, if the epigram was carved first and mistakenly placed in the middle of the stone, accentuating that mistake by carving a figural design that purportedly is rightly interpreted as wrongly truncated makes no sense.  Third, this “mistake” interpretation doesn’t connect to other important aspects of the stone and doesn’t provide a meaningfully integrated understanding of the artifact.  Pushing the truncated triangle to the top edge and providing empty space on the lower part of the stone could have been meant to encourage viewers to complete the design beyond what was engraved on the stone.  Examples of such designs in literature are the Gospel of Mark, originally thought to have ended in media res at Mark 16:8, and Asterius of Amasea’s Euphemia ekphrasis.

[12] Rife (2004-9) p.  274.

[images] “Funerary stela, 6th century,” Epigraphic Museum, Athens; courtesy of the National Gallery of Art press office.  Side panel of a Christian sarcophagus made in Constantinople, c. 400, now held at the Le Grand Palais, Paris; thanks to Wikipedia and uploadalt.

References:

Bayet, Charles Marie. 1877. “Inscriptions chrétiennes de l’Attique (pl. XIV, XV, XVI).” Bulletin De Correspondance Hellénique 1 (1): 391-408 (note: the pdf version excludes the plates of drawings).

Bayet, Charles Marie. 1878. “Inscriptions chrétiennes de l’Attique (pl. II, III).” Bulletin De Correspondance Hellénique 2 (1): 162-170.

Rife, Joseph L.  2004-9.  “An Early Christian Epitaph from the Panathenaic Stadium in Context.” ΗΟΡΟΣ (Horos, published in Athens) 17-24 (2004-2009): 267-278.

Rife, Joseph L. 2010.  “Religion and society at Roman Kenchreai.”  Pp. 391-432 in Steven J. Friesen, Daniel N. Schowalter, and James C. Walters, eds. Corinth in Context: Comparative Studies in Religion and Society.  Leiden: Brill.

Sironen, Erkki. 1997. The late Roman and early Byzantine inscriptions of Athens and Attica: an edition with appendices on scripts, sepulchral formulae and occupations. Helsinki: Hakapaino Oy.

Zavvou, Eleni. 2013. “Funerary Stele of Athenodora.” Cat. 16 description, pp. 70-1 in Anastasia Drandaki, Demetra Papanikola-Bakirtze, and Anastasia Tourta. 2013. Heaven & earth: Art of Byzantium from Greek Collections.  Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports and the Benaki Museum, Athens.

medieval protest: Talavera clergy strongly opposed celibacy

On April 1st in fourteenth-century Spain, Don Gil, the Archbishop of Toledo, conveyed to the clergy of Talavera a mandate for celibacy. Talavera was a bustling provincial medieval trading town. The Talavera clergy were outraged at the imposition of celibacy.

The Archpriest of Talavera convened the clergy and with great anguish read the mandate. It was heart-wrenching:

With teardrops falling from eyes, he started on this speech
and said, “The Pope has given me this mandate to impart,
and I must read it to you, whether I want to or not,
although I read it to you now with rage deep in my heart.”

“The edict has arrived and this is what it has to say:
no priest or married man in Talavera situated
may keep a married woman or single girl as concubine;
and whosoever keeps one will be excommunicated.”

{ Llorando de sus ojos, començó esta razón,
diz: “El papa nos embía esta constitución,
hévoslo a dezir, que quiera o que non,
maguer que vos lo digo con ravia en coraçón.”

“Cartas eran venidas que dizen en esta manera:
que clérigo nin casado de toda Talavera
que non toviese mançeba cassada nin soltera,
cualquier que la toviese descomulgado era.” }[1]

The clergy left the address stiffened and blanched.

A group decided to draft a resolution of protest the very next day. They would appeal to the King in opposition to the Pope. The Archpriest reasoned:

Although we’re clergymen, we are his subjects by our birth,
and we have served him well, always been loyal in his eyes.
Besides, the King knows very well that we’re all carnal men.
Believe me, with such troubles as we have he’ll sympathize!

{ Que maguer que somos clérigos, somos sus naturales,
servimosle muy bien, fuémos sienpre leales
demás que sabe el rey que todos somos carnales;
quererse se ha adolesçer de aquestos nuestros males. }

He announced that he would renounce his holy orders before he would accept celibacy. Scarcely able to believe what the Pope had written, the Archpriest in grief echoed the Pope’s letter:

I call upon the Apostles and all those more worthy still,
with strong insistence, in such manner as our God well knows,
with eyes brimful of tears and with much sadness in my voice:
truly it is necessary for us to give up sweet pussy!

{ Demando los apóstolos e todo lo que más vale,
con grand afincamiento, assí como Dios sabe,
e con llorosos ojos e con dolor grande:
Nobis enim dimittere quoniam süave. }[2]

Great commotion seized the congregation of priests. The clergy’s treasurer sang praises of his Teresa:

How many times she causes ardent passions to subside!
And if I send her off, deep grief will never leave my side.

{ que faze muchas vezes rematar los ardores,
si de mí la parto nunca me dexarán dolores. }

He declared that he was as dedicated to his Teresa as Floris was to Blanchefleur and Tristan was to Isuelt. He also threatened physical violence against the Archbishop of Toledo. Choirmaster Sancho Muñoz added that God has forgiven the clergy’s crimes of sexual intimacy. He further explained that he keeps a maiden who is an orphan. He noted the clergy’s service to orphans and widows, and sarcastically exclaimed:

Then let’s abandon our good women! We can turn to whores!

{ dexemos a las buenas e a las malas vos tornad. }[3]

No man should have to resort to a whore. But many men have resorted to whores through the ages. A related poem observed that the pope ordered “peasants to work, soldiers to fight, and above all clergy to love {laborare rusticos, milites pugnare / jussit, at praecipue clericos amare}.”[4] How can clergy love under a mandate of celibacy?

loving couple on bed

About a century after the clergy of Talavera received the mandate on celibacy, a new Archpriest of Talavera addressed that problem of love. Alonso Martínez de Toledo’s account of the Archpriest of Talavera’s teaching was not just for self-abasing chivalric knights. The Archpriest of Talavera also taught for the Talavera clergy in the Book of True Love {Libro de buen amor}.[5]

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Notes:

[1] Juan Ruiz, Book of True Love {Libro de buen amor}, s. 1692-1693, Old Spanish text and English translation (modified insubstantially) from Daly (1978) pp. 428-9. All subsequent quotes are similarly from id., s. 1690-1709, unless otherwise noted.

The complaints of the Talavera clergy are included only in the Salamanca manuscript, one of only three manuscripts of the Libro de buen amor that have survived. In twelfth-century Europe, the first and second Lateran Councils required priests, deacons, and sub-deacons to be celibate. The early historical significance of April 1, as indicated here, is not well-recognized. On the importance of the Talavera clergy’s protest for understanding Libro de buen amor, Márquez Villanueva (2012) pp. 27-33.

[2] Id. s. 1700. Daly translates 1700d as “We must abandon Pussy: just because she’s sweet, she goes.” Daly has the text Nobis enim dimittere quon iam süave. Above I use the word quoniam for a simpler representation. Another version of the text is nobis est dimittere quoniam suave. Marchand (1999) p. 45, adapting slightly the reading of Raymond S. Willis. Marchand observed:

The priests have mispunctuated and misunderstood the Latin of the Archbishop’s letter, nobis est dimittere, quoniam suave ‘we must give up, for sweet …’ and make it read nobis est dimittere quoniam suave ‘we must give up sweet quoniam’.

Id. The Latin word quoniam is phonetically close to the Latin word cunnus, which means vagina. Vasvári (1984). With respect to Old French, quoniam could also be a pun for con {cunt} or qu’on y aime {in which one loves}. Marchand (1999) p. 44.

Juan Ruiz was drawing upon an existing parody of sacred scripture. The phrase quoniam suave appears in the Vulgate text for Psalm 134, verse 3 (Psalm 135 in RSV and similar translations). Simonatti (2003) n. 26; Wright (1841) p. 172. The phrase nobis est dimittere quoniam suave appears with a minor difference in the twelfth-century Latin poem About Priests’ Concubines {De Concubinis Sacerdotum} (wrongly attributed to Walter Map) v. 26. That poem expresses priests’ great love and need for their women and argues against denying priests the right to have a beloved woman-mate.

[3] Widows and orphans have historically been classes receiving special compassion and care. Prostitution, in contrast, has commonly been suppressed as a threat to good social order.

[4] The Priests’ Deliberation {Consultatio sacerdotum} (wrongly attributed to Walter Map) vv. 171-2, in Wright (1841) p. 179, my English translation. Consultatio sacerdotum, along with its companion pieces About the priests’ concubines {De Concubinis Sacerdotum} and About the priests’ convocation {De convocatione sacerdotum}, satirically present clergy arguing against celibacy. Here the poem engages in estate satire like in the medieval poem Richeut.

[5] Alonso Martínez de Toledo’s Archpriest of Talavera in Part 1, Ch. 4, explicitly refers to Libro de buen amor. Martínez de Toledo also explicitly describes himself as the Archpriest of Talavera. Naylor & Rank (2013).

[image] loving couple in bedroom; Zurich, 1305-1340, Cod. Pal. germ. 848, fol. 252r, Große Heidelberger Liederhandschrift (Codex Manesse), Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg.

References:

Daly, Saralyn R., trans. and Anthony N. Zahareas, ed. 1978. Juan Ruiz. The Book of True Love. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press.

Marchand, James W. 1999. “Quoniam, Wife of Bath’s Prologue D. 608.” Neuphilologische Mitteilungen. 100 (1): 43-49.

Márquez Villanueva, Francisco. 2012. “Juan Ruiz y el celibato eclesiástico.” Alicante: Biblioteca Virtual Miguel de Cervantes. Online.

Naylor, Eric W. and Jerry Rank, trans. 2013. The Archpriest of Talavera by Alonso Martínez de Toledo: dealing with the vices of wicked women and the complexions of men. Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies.

Simonatti, Selena, 2003. “L’ispirazione parodica del Libro de buen amor: alcuni esempi.” Artifara, n. 3 (luglio – dicembre 2003), sezione Addend.

Vasvári, Louise O. 1984. “An example of Parodia sacra in the Libro de buen amor: quoniam, pudenda.” La Corónica 12.2: 195-203.

Wright, Thomas, ed. 1841. Walter Map. The Latin poems commonly attributed to Walter Mapes. London: Printed for the Camden society, by J.B. Nichols and Son.

purple parchment, gold-lettered books across time and space

purple parchment from the Rossano Gospels

In Rome in 385 the Christian scholar Jerome offered advice to his student, the well-born maiden Eustochium.  Jerome condemned the ostentatious practices of elite Roman Christian women:

Today you may see women cramming their wardrobes with dresses, changing their gowns from day to day, and for all that unable to vanquish the moths.  Now and then one more scrupulous wears out a single dress; yet, while she appears in rags, her boxes are full.  Parchments are dyed purple, gold is melted into lettering, manuscripts are decked with jewels, while Christ lies at the door naked and dying.[1]

Elite women wearing luxurious clothes and rich jewelry have been a constant throughout history.  Purple parchment with gold lettering is less well-known.  However, a group of purple-parchment codices of the New Testament in Greek have survived from the sixth-century.  Other purple-parchment codices from subsequent centuries have also survived.

In mid-ninth-century Baghdad, the celebrated translator Hunayn ibn Ishaq referred to luxurious Greek books.  He described these books as containing portraits of philosophers in illustrations and words.  Hunayn described the books as:

works of the ancients in letters of purple, which is a red colour like wine, written with gold and silver, and letters written in gold, and designs written in other colours.  … Till the present day the Greeks {Byzantines} do this with their books and psalters, writing (them) with gold and silver in letters of these colours, with a picture of the wise man represented at the beginning. [2]

The reference to “letters of purple” is probably a corruption of pages of purple.  Hunayn plausibly was referring to purple-parchment books like those to which Jerome referred and like the purple-parchment codices that have survived from the sixth century.

In Spain about 1130, John of Seville included a mythic history in the introduction to his translation of Secret of Secrets from Arabic.  John of Seville described a certain translator searching for the book of Aristotle’s advice to Alexander the Great.  The translator searched among temples and philosophers.  He arrived at a temple of Hermes at which the sun was venerated.  There the translator attached himself to a learned old man.  After long entreaties, the old man finally revealed the book that the translator sought.  According to John, the book was written in gold letters.  Surviving Arabic manuscripts of Secret of Secrets do not mention gold lettering.[3]  Perhaps John added that detail based on his experience of sumptuous books.

Not only ideas traveled from ancient Rome to early Islamic Baghdad to early medieval Spain.  The specific physical form of sumptuous books was also communicated across large expanses of time and space.

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Notes:

[1] Jerome, Letter 22, To Eustochium, s. 32, from Latin trans. W.H. Fremantle (1892). In his preface to his translation of Job according to the Hebrew, Jerome declared:

Let those who want them have antique volumes, or books written on purple parchment in gold and silver ink, or in what the vulgar call “inch-high” letters, so that they are burdens rather than books, so long as they let me and mine have our wretched pamphlets and our copies not so much beautified, as corrected.

From Latin trans. Williams (2006) p. 181.

[2] From Muhammad b. al-Ansari, Kitab adab al-falasifah (MS. Escorial 760), quoting what Hunayn ibn Ishaq stated.  Trans. Dunlop (1952) p. 467-8, n. 2.  I’ve removed a “(?)” inserted after the word “design” (which seems to me a plausible translation) and excised the descriptive phrases in the text, “Hunain b. Ishaq said.”

[3] The Latin text and an English translation of John of Seville’s introduction is available in Williams (2003) Appendix 1.  John does not give the Arabic translator’s name:  “This book a certain translator, by the command of his emperor, sought with much effort.”  Id. p. 357. Surviving Arabic manuscripts of Secret of Secrets name the translator Yuhanna ibn al-Batrik (lived c. 750 – 815).  They also typically describe the philosopher Aesculapius as having built the temple.  Secret of Secrets, from Arabic trans. Ali (1920) p. 177.

[image] The parable of the Good Samaritan, folio 7v from the Rossano Gospels (6th century),

References:

Ali, Ismail, trans. 1920.  Kitab sirr al-asrar (The Book of the Secret of Secrets). Pp. 176-266 in Steele, Robert, ed. 1920. Opera hactenus inedita Rogeri Baconi.  Vol. 5. Secretum secretorum, cum glossis et notulis : Tractatus brevis et utilis ad declarandum quedam obscure dicta. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Dunlop, D. M. 1952.  “The Dīwān Attributed to Ibn Bājjah (Avempace).” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, Vol. 14,No. 3, Studies Presented to Vladimir Minorsky by His Colleagues and Friends, pp. 463-477.

Williams, Megan Hale. 2006. The monk and the book: Jerome and the making of Christian scholarship. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Williams, Steven J. 2003. The secret of secrets: the scholarly career of a pseudo-Aristotelian text in the Latin Middle Ages. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

sexual superheroes in the Perfumed Garden of Sensual Delight

The Perfumed Garden of Sensual Delight, an early-fifteenth-century Arabic text from North Africa, tells the story of three great sexual heroes.  A powerful king had seven beautiful, charming daughters.  They dressed in men’s clothes and fought in battle against men.  When the king died, the eldest daughter became ruler of the land.  But Zahra, the youngest daughter, was the most clever.  The daughters became renowned throughout the land.  Together they promised a long reign of matriarchy.

Zahra was an avid hunter.  One day when Zahra was out hunting with her slaves, she crossed paths with a horseman, Abu’l Hayja. Abu’l Hayja wasn’t sure if Zahra was a woman or a man.  He learned Zahra’s story from one of her slaves.  However, gazing upon Zahra’s hands, eyes, and figure, Abu’l Hayja fell in love with her.  They exchanged courtly rhymed prose.  Zahra refused Abu’l Hayja’s proposition for sexual union.  Then they parted.

After returning home, Abu’l Hayja decided to assail Zahra’s fortress palace.  He armed himself with his sword and rode off with his trusted slave Maymoun on the long day’s ride to Zahra’s palace.  Abu’l Hayja and Maymoun hid in a nearby cave.  That night, they heard noise and saw a light in the back of the cave.  Peering through a crevice, Abu’l Hayja saw Zahra frolicking lewdly with one hundred nymphs.  Abu’l Hayja then knew that he needed help.  He returned home and secured the help of his best friend, the Grand Vizier’s son Abu’l Hayloukh.  Abu’l Hayloukh was a much-honored warrior.  Abu’l Hayloukh brought along his most trusted slave Fallah.

The men returned to Zahra’s palace and sneaked in through the back of the cave.  They hid themselves in the palace’s inner room until night.  After nightfall, the girls entered to enjoy the elegant furnishing, lavish food and wine, and wanton revelry.  The men waited for the women to get somewhat inebriated.  Then armed and masked, the men stepped out from their hiding place and stood over the women reclining on cushions.  Zahra retained considerable wit despite the wine:

“And who might these night intruders be?” signed Zahra. “Have you sprung up from the ground or dropped down from the sky? What is it that you want?” {oh, these bothersome armed men!}

“A fuck,” demanded Abu’l Hayja. {men, always undertaking dangerous and unnecessary special operations}

“With whom?” {you ignorant man}

“With you.”

“How do you know me?” {you don’t actually know me}

“We met out hunting.” {tsh, I thought you’d turn out to be another creepy stalker}

“Who let you in here?”

“The Lord, in His Mercy.” {Lord have mercy on your pathetic soul!}

Zahra considered her position. She had by her side the girls — impregnable virgins one and all — and a companion, Mouna, who had never been aroused by a man in all her life. {they all enjoyed pleasures with each other}

“Why don’t I save myself and outsmart this gang by putting them to use?” she mused. {selfish, backstabbing of her fellow lesbians!}

“All right,” said she, “but only on my terms.”

“Accepted in advance,” they replied as one. {men, even armed men, are women’s pushovers}

“And if you fail, you will be my prisoners, to do with as I please.”

“Agreed.” {male penal fantasy triumphs over reality} [1]

Zahra unilaterally declared the terms of the wager.  She declared tasks that no ordinary men could perform.  Zahra commanded:

  • Abu’l Hayja:  “to deflower eighty of these virgins tonight, without coming once.”
  • Maymoun: have sex with Mouna for fifty nights in a row: “He can come if he wants to but he must not go limp.”
  • Abu’l Hayloukh: “you are going to stand in front of the women and girls for thirty days and thirty nights while maintaining a constant erection.”

In short, Zahra assigned the three men extraordinary labors of sexual servitude.[2]  Fallah, who perhaps was a eunich, was assigned the task of serving the women as a non-sexual servant.  If the men didn’t satisfy in these labors, Zahra would take all four men prisoners.

Abu’l Hayja successfully pushed through the eighty virgins.  “Everyone was highly impressed at this outstanding performance.”  That was not enough for Abu’l Hayja to receive his one true desire, Zahra.  All the men would fail if any one failed.

Indian painting of sexual instruction, c. 1725

What of Maymoun and his labor of displaying a continuous erection for thirty days?  This was prior to the modern development of erectile drugs.  Zahra viewed the event with eager anticipation:

Zahra was confident that they would soon be at her mercy and as each day passed and her anticipation grew, she seemed to become more radiant and lovely.  Until the twentieth day, when all that changed and she started getting worried.  On the thirtieth day, she burst into tears.  It was then that Abu’l Hayloukh discharged himself with honour and came to join his friend in a drunken feast of celebration.

It was a celebration feast with a crying non-bride and triumphant masturbation.

Zahra’s final hope was on Maymoun.  Every day she asked her companion Mouna about Maymoun.  Mouna again and again replied, “He gets stronger by the day.  I think they’re going to lick us!”  That didn’t buoy Zahra’s spirit.  Abu’l Hayja declared that he would kill Maymoun if he didn’t last the full fifty days and then add another ten.  The one who finally withdrew was Mouna:

Maymoun kept it up for fifty days and fifty nights at which point Mouna, worn out and exhausted, heaved a deep sigh of relief.  But when the fifty days had passed and he still kept going, she sent a distress call to Zahra.

“Mistress, he’s gone over the fifty days now but there’s no sign of him getting off me.  For God’s sake get me out of here!  I’ve been stretched apart so much I’m unable to sit down!”

However, not only did Maymoun carry on for the extra ten days but added a further ten of his own.  Everyone was enormously impressed.

Who wouldn’t be impressed with these three sexual heroes?  The story ends with an admirable display of brotherhood:

in the end, the four men took possession of everything in the palace — money, girls, women and servants — which they divided equally among themselves.

The four men were two freemen and two slaves.  One of the slaves, Fallah, did no sexual labor.  That didn’t matter.  They divided the winnings from their wager equally.  In the division of the women, Abu’l Hayja undoubtedly took Zahra.

This story of three sexual heroes is probably no more realistic than most representations in today’s media.  The story appears in the context of a chapter describing foods and drink to increase men’s sexual prowess.  The men in the story appear rather foolish.  But the story does show appreciation for men’s sexuality.[3]  That’s a starting point for appreciating men.

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Read more:

Notes:

[1] Muhammad ibn Muhammad al-Nafzawi, The Perfumed Garden of Sensual Delight, from Arabic trans. Colville (1999) p. 80.  Material in {} is my imagined spirit’s thoughts.  Id., translators n. 25, explains that “impregnable” translates the Arabic musaffahat.  That’s a ritual procedure in the Maghrib in which a young girl has small incisions made above her right knee, and she says an incantation.  That’s thought to make it physically impossible for a man’s penis to penetrate her vagina.  A few days before her marriage, another ritual undoes the effect.  In the post above, all subsequent quotes are from Ch. 21, trans. id.  Id., introduction, p. viii, describes The Perfumed Garden of Sensual Delight as “a practical guide for the ordinary married man.”  That’s ridiculous, as is readily apparent above.  Richard Burton’s alternate translation of the story is available online.

[2] Hercules (Heracles) reportedly undertook a similar labor. In a single night, Hercules had sex with forty-nine daughters of Thestius. Pausanias, Description of Greece 9.27.6. Other accounts indicate Hercules had sex with fifty daughters of Thestius over seven or fifty days. Cf. e.g. Diodorus Siculus, Library of History 4.29.2-3. While such labors may be sexual abuse of men, imposing these hardships is much less abusive than violence against men in medieval French fabliaux.

[3] While the men redeem themselves with their penises, their persons are not reduced to penises.

[image] Painting illustrating a sexual position; Kotah, Rajasthan, India, c. 1725; F.277, Walters Gallery.

Reference:

Colville, Jim, trans. 1999. Umar ibn Muḥammad Nafzāwī. The perfumed garden of sensual delight = Ar-rawd̲ al-ʻât̲ir fî nuzhatiʼl khât̲ir. London: Kegan Paul International.