Surges of Interest

There is a cliché in academic book reviews that always makes my eyes roll and my lips curl upwards a little. It is the moment when the reviewer talks of the current boom of studies on Ptolemy’s Geography, the burgeoning field of Italian farmhouse excavation reports, the explosion of scholarship in Roman provincial dress, exciting times for students of Flavian epic, a surge of interest in late antique epigram. It is of course perfectly understandable, and I have done it myself. The reviewer wants to be positive about the dynamism of the reviewed work’s subfield, which is probably also the reviewer’s subfield, and explain to relative outsiders – who are after all far more likely to read the review than the book – why they should be interested. The reviewer can also contextualise the work at hand by paying compliments to their friends and, sometimes, lamenting the inadequacy of those who aren’t. If the review is not entirely positive, it at least balances out some of the negatives with a vague optimism. It is not just reviewers: authors do this in their introductions all the time (again I have done it myself).

Of course, the subfield may really be burgeoning and the times exciting: it is the frequency of the commonplace that makes it amusing. Perhaps we don’t hear this from those in the more stagnant subfields (in that case, the rhetoric switches to that of the ‘strangely neglected topic’); perhaps an all-round increase in scholarly production has made lots of people feel that their subfield is booming. At any rate, there are ways of measuring the warmth of allegedly hot topics with relative ease, using the search functions of the digital version of Marouzeau’s Année Philologique, at least when it comes to authors (authors are probably easier than excavation reports or dress studies because they’ll be reliably and consistently tagged in online databases). This weekend I decided to indulge a curiosity I have had for a while and spend a little time looking for statistics of boom and bust in some of the authors that interest me. Another thing that prompted me to do this was an amusing but endless series of e-mails about the multilingualism of Classical scholarship on the Liverpool Classicists mailing-list, prompting much secondary comment on social media (the best take I have seen is this one); in any case, I thought it would be interesting to look at the linguistic breakdown of scholarly booms. 

I’m looking at Ammianus Marcellinus and Sidonius: late antiquity is one of the explosion sites. In a review a couple of years ago of Jenkins’ bibliography of Ammianus, I recalled E.A. Thompson’s reflection in the introduction of The Historical Work of Ammianus Marcellinus that for every reader of his author, there were probably a thousand readers of Sallust, Livy or Tacitus. I said then that this was probably never true, commenting on the ‘great deal of attention’ since and especially in the last 30 years. At any rate, I decided that those same three earlier Roman historians would serve as good comparanda for Ammianus, and interesting in themselves, and that Ammianus was a good comparandum for Sidonius (Sidonius differs from the others in that his verse as well as his prose survives). Here is my first table, of publications, excluding reviews, on the five authors per decade (which I count from 1 to 10, so the 1930s are 1931 to 1940). The green line indicates the overall publication trend in Classics – the total entries in Année Philologique divided by 500.

Since L’Année Philologique was launched in 1924, the 1920s is three years short, giving an artificial sense of a low base. Thereafter one can see a dip in the 1940s, no doubt the effect of war, and thereafter a steady increase in both total Classical scholarship and these authors, to a level between two to three times larger than pre-war. The decade from 2011 is also under-represented, since no 2020 publications and only some 2018 and 2019 ones have been registered (some items of mine from 2018 are not yet recorded); others from earlier in the decade may also be less likely to have been added. It will be interesting to see in a few years from now whether 2011-2020 really does mark a decline or just a stabilisation. (For the exact numbers and some qualifications on the data, see the appendix at the end of this post).

We can see that Tacitus has always been the most popular of the four historians and Livy has always second. That is perhaps understandable given the range of their works – Livy in seven Oxford volumes and Tacitus with five works in three volumes. Tacitus’ lead over Livy can be explained both by the virtually unanimous admiration for the former’s stylistic and intellectual brilliance and the latter’s limitations as a factual historical source. Sallust, bolstered slightly by pseudonymous works, was long placed third, but Ammianus, who began a long way behind, drew close to Sallust in the 1960s, overtook him in the 1990s, and has not relinquished his small lead. Sidonius until the 1980s exemplifies the marginal place of late antique authors, long behind Ammianus, but there really has been a boom in this case, so that in the last decade he has overtaken both Sallust and Ammianus. Once the 26 chapters of the Edinburgh Companion to Sidonius are added to the list for 2020, the lead may be even longer. I am very glad that Sidonius has his moment in the sun (though I hope Ammianus catches up next decade).

Let’s look at the same information in a slightly different way, this time looking at each author as a proportion of overall scholarly production per decade recorded in L'Année Philologique.

This has the advantage of smoothing out the unevenness caused by incomplete data in the first and last decades. It shows that interest in the three earlier historians has remained roughly at parity, with Livy becoming proportionately more and Sallust less popular; the growth of interest in Ammianus is proportionately almost fourfold and Sidonius well over tenfold. It also suggests, interestingly, that the percentage of scholarship on the historians grew in the 1940s – even if scholarship overall declined. Is this a wartime effect? (I have written elsewhere on the relevance of Sidonius in Second World War France, though there is no significant growth in interest in that period).

So there really has by any standards been a boom in interest in late antique authors! Let us break down the details of this further, by language. Here are publications on Ammianus per decade by language:

 

Publications are predominantly Germanophone before the war (and German-speaking scholars briefly take the lead again in the 1960s). Other than that the expansion is driven by growth in Anglophone and Italian scholarship, through French is not insignificant. Still, even now less than half the total items are in English. The apparent decline in languages other than English in the last decade will probably be mitigated when all the publications of 2018-2020 are listed, though the decline of German is stark. The growth of Spanish is also notable, though this is distorted by the fact that APh barely records Spanish-language scholarship before 1990. Looking in granular detail at the last decade, one finds that several Spanish and some Italian scholars are also writing articles in English (I originally looked to see if the decline of German reflected German scholars writing in English, but it seems that Ammianus is as much out of fashion in Germany-speaking lands as he is experiencing one of those ‘surges of interest’ in Spain). The most predominant ‘other’ language over the last century (after the canonical four plus Spanish) was Latin (29 items); there are a handful of items each in Dutch, Afrikaans, Czech, Russian, and Croatian.

Here is the pattern for Sidonius.

Scholarly production is limited and piecemeal from the 1920s to the 1970s, though for understandable reasons French is usually the lead language. The notable story is the growth of Italian scholarship. Franca Ela Consolino’s ‘Codice retorico’ (1974) and Isabella Gualandri’s Furtiva lectio (1979) are normally seen as the foundations for modern literary scholarship on Sidonius, but it is not until the 1990s that Italian takes the lead. In the last, highly productive decade of Sidonius scholarship, French is currently in second place, and English third.

***

A few thoughts. First of all, and unsurprisingly, sometimes scholarship really does boom/ surge/ explode. National trends or trends within a single academic culture can lead the way. Second, I do not propose here to get into the quarrels on the Classicists’ list, but this much seems clear: it may be that more and more classical scholarship will be written in English in the coming years, but it is very far from evident that this will inevitably be the case.

Appendix

Some caveats on the source information. L'Année Philologique is not comprehensive and omits many works (a comparison with Jenkins’ Ammianus bibliography or with the bibliography on sidonapol.org would be revealing here). The lack of Spanish works before 1990 seems implausible, for example. It has some deliberate omissions (introductions of edited books are not listed as separate articles, even if they are lengthy and significant contributions). Especially in the last decades of the twentieth century, the tagging of languages is not reliable (as shown here) and so I compiled my own lists; in more recent years, 9 works on Ammianus whose titles begin with Latin elements have been miscatalogued as being in Latin (I have not reallocated them in the tables above). In the older entries there are some doublets, mostly in the case of monographs that were in two or more successive issues because new reviews had appeared since the last issue. For reasons I could not understand, the same search sometimes produced marginally different results (numbers different by one or two), but not to an extent that made a serious difference.

For tables giving figures for the charts above, see here.

 

A variation on prose rhythm: verse in prose

One of the hobbies of Latinists – nearly as common as finding acrostics in poetry, but healthier and more plausible – is finding scraps of Latin verse in the midst of prose. I don’t mean quotations, but bits of prose that scan like lines or part lines of poetry, which in the complex quantitative metres of Latin is a lot harder than, say, an accidental pentameter in English (‘To boldly go where none has gone before’, as Star Trek didn't say). Notoriously the first line of Tacitus’ Annals is a rather awkward hexameter (I use macrons and breves for long and short syllables – scansion fonts are too complicated):

            Ūrbēm / Rōm(am) ā / prīncĭpĭ/ō // rēg/ēs hăbŭ/ērĕ

            The city of Rome from the beginning was governed by kings…

This is a theme of historical writing, as Sallust’s Jugurtha similarly began with a hexameter, in this case a spondeiazon:      

            Bēllūm / scrīptū/rūs // sūm / quōd pŏpŭ/lūs Rō/mānŭs…

            I am about to write the war that the Roman people…

And Livy’s massive history with most of a hexameter:

            Fāctū/rūsn(e) ŏpĕ/raē // prĕtĭ/ūm sīm / si…

            Whether I would be doing something worthwhile if…

And it is indicative, perhaps, of historiographical pretensions that the first emperor began the inscription of his deeds, the Res Gestae, with a hexameter (still metrical for most of the second line, indeed):

            Rērūm / gēstā/rūm // dīu/(i) Aūgūs/tī quĭbŭs / ōrbĕm

            tērrā/r(um) īmpĕrĭ/ō // pŏpŭ/lī Rō/mānī…  

Of the deeds achieved by the defied Augustus in which [he subdued] the world to the power of the Roman people

Recently, Tony Woodman (‘Numerosus Horatius?’, CQ 69 (2019), 911-12) spotted that another Augustan prose inscription, that commemorating the Secular Games of 17 bc (CIL 6.32323 = ILS 5050), referred to the poet Horace’s Carmen saeculare in metre – not the sapphics in which it was written, but another of his favoured metres, the first Asclepiad:

            cārmēn / cōmpŏsŭīt // Quīntŭs Hŏrā/tĭūs 

            Flaccus

            The poem was composed by Q. Horatius Flaccus 

Today I was discussing with colleagues software to scan prose and identify prose rhythm – a rather different matter, not least since Latin prose rhythm normally shuns poetic metres, and has less fixed rules. Still, electronic searches could identify many more instances of verse fragments in prose. In any case, the discussion inspires me to jot down a couple of other cases of verse in prose that I have spotted over the years.

In Seneca’s Apocolocyntosis 9, a proposal is made in the Olympian senate to accept the recently deified Claudius as a god: 

censeo uti divus Claudius ex hac die deus sit, ita uti ante eum qui optimo iure factus sit, eamque rem ād Mĕtă/mōrphō/sīs // Ŏvĭd/(i) ādĭcĭ/ēndăm

I propose that the deified Claudius from this day be a god, just as anybody before him who has been made one with full rights, and that this matter be added to Ovid’s Metamorphoses.

The jesting reference to Ovid’s epic of unnatural transformations is matched by the figure of the prose turning into the last five feet of a hexameter (scanning adicio, as is common, as adjicio).

Half a century later, in Tacitus’ Histories, the historian pronounces a notorious judgment on the emperor Galba (Hist. 1.54):

            …omnium consensu ‘căpāx / īmpĕrĭ/ī nĭs/(i) īmpĕr/āssĕt’.           

            By general consent capable of imperial rule – if he had never reigned.

This is a phalaecian hendecasyllable. In Tacitus’ day the first two syllables of the metre were normally both long, but its greatest Latin practitioner Catullus had allowed one of the two to be short. It is tempting to wonder whether we might not be dealing with a quotation from a poem.

Tacitus, though a famous orator, is not usually seen as an adherent of conventional prose rhythm – that is of the artistic rhythms at ends of clauses, differing from those of verse, that were imported from Greek into Roman oratory in the late republican period, and that spread into many other genres. History-writing, at least up to Tacitus, is not thought to be one of those genres. However, the recent article of Tom Keeline and Tyler Kirby, ‘Auceps syllabarum’, in Journal of Roman Studies 109 (2019), 161-204, uses electronic searching to look systematically at metrical prose rhythm across a great number of early imperial authors. While Tacitus shuns conventional artistic rhythms in the Annals and in most of the Histories, his Dialogue on orators has a statistically significant number of them, unsurprisingly for a famous orator; so does the Germania and the speeches in both the Agricola and the Histories. Keeline and Kirby do not find the Agricola outside the speeches significantly clausulated.

But there are dangers of looking statistically for prose rhythm, rather than reading the text. The rhetorical preface of the Agricola does read to me as clausulated, none less than the last phrase of the first paragraph: tam saeua et infesta uirtutibus tempora, so savage and hostile to virtues were the times. Not just the conventional clausula of the double cretic (long short long), but four cretics in a row:

            Tam / saēu(a) ĕt īn/fēstă uīr/tūtĭbūs/ tēmpŏră.

Tacitus spoke of fifteen years of literary silence under Domitian. This blog has been silent for a shorter period, of about a year, under circumstances trying for most of us. In any case, things will get better, and I will try to add further posts, extending this series on prose rhythm, in the coming weeks. 

Ammianus Marcellinus and funny names

I want to make an observation on a Latin usage, as found in Ammianus Marcellinus. I have not seen it commented on with regard either to Ammianus or to other authors (surely somebody must have done so, though?). The usage is a particular variation on the use of nomine (i.e. ‘by name’) alongside a personal name when that person is introduced for the first time: a very familiar construction, for example A Bear called Paddington: Ursus nomine Paddington. This is definition 3 in the Oxford Latin Dictionary.

Ammianus has dozens of occurrences of the ablative nomine both with place names and with personal names. As in English, it can occur at any point where a name is introduced for the first time. However, one might expect it to be more usual with unfamiliar names (so not ‘the city called Alexandria’), and for toponyms, so indeed it is: the usage clusters in the digression on Persia and the east, for example, is used for Syriac names within the Roman east (Meiacarire, Abarne), or for the barbarous names of unfamiliar rivers of northern Europe like the Main and the Neckar. Likewise, the 25 or so contemporaries who are introduced this way (out of 480 odd whom Ammianus names) often have odd foreign names. They include Persians (Nohodares), men of Germanic origin (Sandan, Bainobaudes, Rando, Viderichus), and North Africans (Stachao, Igmazen), and the perhaps slightly unusual slave name Apadaulus.

However, there are a few individuals who are introduced this way more than once, which may seem unexpected: Maurus (the soldier who crowned the emperor Julian with a torque in place of a diadem in Paris in early 360 at 20.4.18 and 31.10.21); Romanus (the corrupt count of Africa, at 27.9.1 and 29.5.2); and – no fewer than four times! – the Sarmatian general Victor (24.4.13, 24.6.13, 31.12.6, 31.13.9). What do these have in common? The answer is clearly that their names are also familiar adjectives or substantives meaning ‘(the) Roman’, ‘(the) Moor(ish)’ and ‘(the) victor(ious)’ respectively. Latin had no definite or indefinite article, and the distinction between capitals and minuscule letters was not used to distinguish names from other words, so we seemingly have here a usage of nomine to indicate that the word it follows is a personal name. Let us look at the examples of Maurus and Romanus:

sed cum id quoque turpe asseueraret,/ Maurus nomine quidam,/ postea comes/ qui rem male gessit apud Succorum angustias,/ Petulantium tunc hastatus,/ abstractum sibi torquem… capiti Iuliani imposuit./ (20.4.18)

successor Maurus nomine mittitur comes/… (31.10.21) 

quam rem militaris augebat socordia/ et aliena inuadendi cupiditas/ maximeque Romani nomine comitis. (27.9.2)

Zammac comiti nomine Romano acceptus (29.5.2)

   

‘But when Julian asserted that that too would be base [to wear his wife’s jewels as a diadem], a man called Maurus [not ‘a certain Moor’] (later the Count who fought badly at the pass of Succi, then standard bearer of the Petulantes) took off his torque… and put it on Julian’s head.’

‘Count Maurus [not ‘a Moorish general’] was sent to succeed him’

‘This was increased by the soldiers’ idleness and passion for taking over other people’s property, and particularly that of Count Romanus’ [not, ‘the Roman general]

‘Zammac, who was close to Count Romanus’ [not, ‘the Roman general]

In the case of Victor, the ambiguity would potentially not be so great, but nomine is used when he is called dux (24.4.13 and 24.6.13) or magister equitum (31.12.9) or comes (31.13.9). The two nouns victor and dux in apposition would not necessarily be normal Latin for ‘victorious general’ (Ammianus does not use uictor adjectivally), but they might lead readers to a momentary double take (perhaps there was also potential confusion with the regiment called the Victores?). There are of course plenty of cases where Romanus and Victor are mentioned without this use of nomine – when they are part of a list of names, when they have already been mentioned, or simply when the narrative can make it absolutely clear that we are dealing a personal name.

Once we have identified this usage it can also make sense of a bundle of further examples. At 16.6.1, comes Verissimus nomine is count Verissimus, not a very truthful general; at 18.3.2 the general Barbatio had a wife called Assyria, not an Assyrian wife, just as at 28.1.8 the former vicarius Chilo had a wife called Maxima, not an enormous wife. Julian greeted with a kiss Celsus the governor of Cilicia, not the tall governor of Cilicia (22.9.13). Count Theodosius summoned a man called Civilis to be vicarius of Britain, not a polite man or a civilian (27.8.10, a case where the danger is not so much of ambiguity but of temporary confusion). The name Iovianus would not offer any ambiguity – there is no use of nomine for the emperor of that name, for example – but when it is the name of a soldier (23.5.12), there was potential confusion because there was a regiment called the Ioviani (after whom, one presumes, the emperor Jovian had probably been named: his father was their former commander). The name of the German king Hortarius only requires nomine, one suspects, because it appears in the genitive where there is potential confusion with the verb form hortari (17.10.5).

One case may merit a bit more thought. Immediately after Julian’s acclamation in Paris, soldiers surrounded the palace because of a rumoured attempt on his life:

strepituque immani excubitores perculsi/ et tribuni et domesticorum comes Excubitor nomine/ ueritique uersabilis perfidiam militis/ euanuere metu mortis subitae dispalati

The guards were alarmed by the terrible noise, along with the tribunes and the Count of the Domestici called Excubitor, and fearing treachery from the flighty soldiers, they vanished, scattered by their fear of imminent death.

In a short article (‘Zu Ammian 20, 4, 21: Excubitor nomine’, Chiron 5 (1975), 493-4), Joachim Szidat suggested that the comes domesticorum Excubitor, an otherwise unattested person and otherwise unattested name, may not have been called Excubitor at all. Rather, the use of nomine here is a different one, he suggests: ‘nominally (but not in fact)’ (Oxford Latin Dictionary, type 16b). He was nominally an excubitor, that is an imperial guardsman, but in fact he ran off. This is certainly attractive. It helps also to deal with the fact that there are no examples of persons with that name. Unfortunately, however, there are two objections, and two possible alternatives.

First, this use of nomine is not found elsewhere in Ammianus. Secondly, we have just seen that it is a frequent habit of Ammianus to use nomine to distinguish names from nouns when there might be ambiguity, and this is just such a case. One might of course wonder whether both senses could be present – that the general really was called Excubitor but that Ammianus wanted to hint that really, he was no excubitor. Indeed I have sometimes wondered whether Romanus nomine comes carries an undertone of ‘this supposedly Roman general’. Plays on names are not absent from the work of Ammianus. However, one would have to suspect that the simplest explanation is the best: that this is a use of nomine to make it clear that an ambiguous word is a personal name. Szidat is probably wrong. There is another, perhaps slim, possibility: this is the only sentence in the Res gestae where personal name or noun excubitor appears, and it appears twice. Could it be that the unparalleled appearance of it as a personal name is a corruption caused by a scribe rewriting the unusual word he had written a few seconds earlier in place of a not dissimilar name? In which case, the name is lost.

Some of the cases where Ammianus places nomine by toponyms may also arise from this usage:  a castle called Sumere (25.6.4; not the word for ‘to take’) or the city named Dura, not a hard city (25.6.9).

Does this exist elsewhere in Latin? Ammianus is of course a remarkably likely author in whom to see such a phenomenon, featuring as he does a great many names, in a narrative context, and in an age where people were likely to be designated by only one name and distinctive markers like the Latin praenomen had dropped out of general use. But I looked at Tacitus, Symmachus, and Sidonius. Tacitus generally uses nomine alongside exotic names, but at Annals 2.39.1 note Agrippa Postumus’ freedman, nomine Clemens, Clement by name. Symmachus does not usually use nomine with personal names at all, but his three examples are all telling: Ep. 3.36 Pirata (not the pirate); 3.49 Sabinus (not the Sabine); 4.24 Florentinus (not the Florentine). In Sidonius only one example, in letter 4.12: lectorem... Constantem nomine (Constans the reader, not the constant reader).

Since I am in Munich, I had better go and see what the slips of the Thesaurus Linguae Latinae have to say on the matter...