II. Michael the Grammarian

Michael the Grammarian is the author of seven poems (comprising 248 verses) found in MS Vatican Library, Vat. Pal. gr. 367 (fols 140v–143r), copied in Cyprus ca. 1317–1320.Footnote ²² They have been edited by Silvio Giuseppe Mercati and Spyridon Lambros.Footnote ²³ We know nothing about his life, other than that he was a teacher (grammatikos) active in the 11th century. This dating is not absolutely certain, but is very likely, as suggested by the metrical characteristics of his verses (more on which below), the pronunciation of upsilon hinted at in our poem, and the probable identification of a certain Lykoleon vestes, on whose death Michael wrote a monody.Footnote ²⁴ From lines 20–21 of our poem (edited in the Appendix) we understand that the pronunciation of upsilon as /i/ (instead of a French ‘u’ or a German ‘ü’) might have been considered ‘foolish’ and ‘rustic’ by the inhabitants of the capital. We know that the change in the pronunciation of upsilon was a gradual process (with regional variations) that was only completed during the tenth and 11th centuries.Footnote ²⁵ As far as Lykoleon vestes is concerned, Lauxtermann observed that the title ‘vestes was only in use at the Byzantine court in the 100 years between the reigns of John Tzimiskes and Alexios Komnenos,’ that is 976 to 1081, and Lambros suggested that the Lykoleon of Michael’s monody is probably the same person as the Lykoleon mentioned in poem 68 by Christophoros Mitylenaios,Footnote ²⁶ who was born early in the 11th century. Furthermore, and as will be shown below, Michael seems to have known Christophoros’ poem 68, as well as poems 27 and 63, and this fact would also place him around or after the middle of the 11th century. Christophoros’ 145 poems are set in chronological order, with poem 68 dated to between 1043 and ca. 1045, the secure dates of poems 65 and 70.Footnote ²⁷

Apart from our poem and the monody mentioned above, Michael wrote about the vanity of life and about the Second Coming. He used a very common Byzantine metre, the prosodic dodecasyllable, which combined the old quantitative patterns of iambic trimeter with new accent regulations.Footnote ²⁸ Iambic verse was also long associated with invective and comic mockery, and Gregory of Nazianzus was well aware of this when he composed an aggressive and satirical poem against his fellow bishops.Footnote ²⁹ By the 11th century, the dodecasyllable had become the most versatile and neutral verse form, employed by authors for any occasion. However, it has been suggested that Byzantine poets of the 11th century ‘seem to have made a very conscious connection between form and content when they used dodecasyllables (‘iambs’) to ridicule people’.Footnote ³⁰

As Mercati argued, ‘the relative correctness’ of Michael’s verses suggests a date ‘not much later than the tenth–eleventh century’.Footnote ³¹ In the Byzantine dodecasyllable, there are no resolutions and, as a result, the number of syllables remains 12, with a strong caesura after the fifth or seventh syllable, as well as a stress accent on the penultimate.Footnote ³² The Byzantine metricians called these verses ‘pure iambs’.Footnote ³³ As far as prosody was concerned, Byzantine poets would sometimes ignore classical quantities, especially in dichrona (α, ι, υ).Footnote ³⁴ Since all feeling of quantity had been lost since at least Graeco-Roman times, no prosodic difference between the pronunciation of long and short syllables would be heard by the medieval period. Yet poets still maintained the formal prosodic structure of the ancient metre, even though ancient prosody rules were not strictly followed. This was a feature for the eyes only in what has been called ‘poetry for the eye’ (Augenpoesie), although Byzantine poems were composed for oral delivery and listening, not silent reading.

III. Noteworthy linguistic borrowings and intertextual allusions

The examples noted below demonstrate that Michael was well read and capable of subtle allusions. They are also significant for confirming his date, through his apparent acquaintance with poems by Christophoros Mitylenaios. In at least one case (ll. 68–69), Michael’s linguistic source helps to clarify the syntax and meaning of the poem (see below and note to the translation in the Appendix). Further debts to Byzantine school texts, such as Homer, the tragic poets and Aristophanes, are mentioned in notes to the translation.

It seems that Michael the Grammarian was aware of poems by Christophoros Mitylenaios, the most prominent poet of the 11th century.Footnote ³⁵ There are significant textual similarities between our poem and at least three of those by Christophoros (27, 63 and 68).Footnote ³⁶ Poem 68 is the one that refers to a certain Lykoleon, who is most likely the same Lykoleon on whom Michael wrote a monody. Line 11 of Christophoros’ poem (ἀνὴρ μοναστής, ἐγκρατοῦς β<ίου φίλος>, ‘a monastic man, a friend of chaste life’) was most likely the model for line 42 of our poem and certainly supports emending †μοναί† to μοναστής (at the same metrical position as in Christophoros’ poem). Poem 63 is yet another criticizing church figures. Christophoros mocks the entry into the clergy of ‘infinite numbers’ of laymen coming from all kinds of professions (and these include βου<κό>λ<ους>, ‘cowherds’, in l. 6, if Antonio Rocchi’s supplements are correct), without proper training, resulting in these priests mixing up their earlier professions with the liturgy’s words.Footnote ³⁷ A former sailor, for example, would say δϵῦ>τϵ δὴ πλϵύσωμϵν (‘come, let us set sail’) instead of δϵῦτϵ προσκυνήσωμϵν (‘come, let us worship’), and was ‘accustomed to shout this every day’ (ll. 23–26). Another, instead of saying προσέλθϵτϵ (‘draw near’) when calling the faithful to Holy Communion, would say: <φιλο>ιπολῖται, δϵῦτϵ … ϵἰς πότον· | ἡδὺς γὰρ οὗτος οἷνος, ἡδὺς ἐκτόπως (‘dear citizens, come and have a drink, for this wine is delicious, superbly delicious’, ll. 35–36). The phrase ἡδὺς ἐκτόπως occurs also in our poem (l. 61) and is possibly borrowed from Christophoros, whose mocking of priests substituting expressions associated with their former professions for the liturgical formulae they were supposed to recite also recalls the lines of our poem referring to the ‘foolish’ and ‘rustic’ pronunciation of upsilon (ll. 20–23), although the context here is purely linguistic. Other similarities with Christophoros include: lines 2–3 (of our poem) ἀφωνίας … τυγχάνϵις ∼ 4.3 (titled ‘On the monk Mourzoul Who Kept Silent’) ἄφωνος ἰχθὺς καὶ δοκϵῖς καὶ τυγχάνϵις (‘you seem to be, and are, a voiceless fish’); l. 49 = 27.40 (‘On the monk Niketas of Synada’) ϵὐφυὴς ὑπηρέτης | (‘the naturally gifted servant’); l. 57 ∼ 27.18 ἢ τίς ποθϵινὸς τοῖς κρατοῦσι δϵσπόταις (‘for whom the sovereign rulers long’). Michael’s apparent familiarity with these poems, apart from confirming his dating to the middle of the 11th century (or at least placing him after this time), associates him with a significant poet whose work also included satire and invective.Footnote ³⁸

Any borrowings from Gregory of Nazianzus, the ‘archpoet of Byzantium’ and the ‘Byzantine Homer’,Footnote ³⁹ would not be surprising at all. Still, it is worth mentioning that Michael appears to show some knowledge of Carmina I.2.32 (PG 37.916–27) (titled ‘Gnomic Distichs’), which has been considered to be of dubious authenticity:Footnote ⁴⁰ l. 41 μέγιστον ἐν βίῳ κλέος (‘whose fame is greatest in this life’) = Gregory’s l. 7, and l. 4 ἐκβιάζου μοι φύσιν ∼ Gregory’s l. 123 ἐκβιάζων τὴν φύσιν |. Michael’s awareness of another late antique author, Synesius of Cyrene, is more striking. The contexts are dissimilar, but the phrases are distinctive enough to suggest that Synesius’ Letter 154 (to the philosopher Hypatia) was in Michael’s mind when he wrote l. 78 ἀγροικίας μοι τοῦ θράσους ἡγουμένης, for which cf. Synesius, Letter 154 (p. 272.13 Garzya) ἀμαθίας ἡγουμένης τοῦ θράσους (‘ignorance leads them into effrontery’),Footnote ⁴¹ and also ll. 68–69 ὃν φθάσοι λίθος | λέξας τι χρηστὸν ϵἶτα καὶ πράξας μέγα, for which cf. Synesius, Letter 154 (p. 273.11–12) οὓς φθάσϵιϵν ἂν ἡ σκιὰ φθϵγξαμένη τι τῶν δϵόντων (‘a shadow would surpass these men in uttering anything to the point’). Interestingly, in the same paragraph of this letter we also find (p. 273.9–10) ἐν μϵσημβρίᾳ τοῦ βίου φιλοσοφϵῖν (‘have become philosophers in the middle of their lives’)Footnote ⁴² and (p. 273.14) σϵμνοπροσωποῦσιν ὑπὲρ τὰς Ξϵνοκράτους ϵἰκόνας (‘they assume a more solemn countenance than the statues of Xenocrates’), for which see ll. 50 ἐν μϵσημβρίᾳ βίου (‘in the middle of life’) and 82 σϵμνοπροσωπῶν (‘as I put on a solemn face’) of our poem. It is of interest to observe that in Synesius at this point there is also mention of them holding their beards, which also connects to l. 82 καὶ γϵνϵιάδα τρέφων (‘and as I grow my beard’). The same letter contains the proverbial expression βοῦν ἐπὶ γλώττης (‘bull on my tongue’, p. 274.3–4), which is also used in l. 2 of our poem. It is noteworthy that Synesius’ letters were used as models by Byzantine epistolographers and there are even scholia on them.Footnote ⁴³ Most of the borrowings or references mentioned above are immediately apparent or straightforward, but there is a lot more to be said about Polyphemus’ presence in our poem.

IV. The bishop of Philomelion as another Polyphemus

The bishop of Philomelion declares in l. 83 that he is a ‘giant Cyclops’, alluding to the Odyssey (see the note to the translation). The Cyclops, however, is not chosen merely as an exemplum of a giant. The structure of Michael’s poem, together with the bucolic and erotic context, suggests that he drew inspiration from Theocritus’ Idyll 11. The two poems are of comparable length (81 and 92 lines) and it is very clear that Polyphemus’ song to Galateia (Id. 11.19–79) corresponds to the bishop’s monologue about his life (ll. 18–87), the concluding five lines of which (ll. 88–92) correspond to the two-line epilogue of the Idyll (11.80–81), which, however, is again in the voice of the poet, not of the Cyclops. In both poems there is an introduction (Id. 11.1–18 and ll. 1–17 in our poem) in the authorial voice. The frame of the narrative in both poems is also striking. The Byzantine poem preserves a basic element of the ring composition apparent in Theocritus’ poem:Footnote ⁴⁴ in the introductory lines of Idyll 11, song is presented as the cure for love; the concluding two lines recapitulate this idea (Polyphemus treats his love with song). In Michael’s poem, the introductory lines end with the promise that, if the bishop sings of his life and achievements, he will be praised as great in encomia worthy of his character (ll. 16–17); the poem concludes with the bishop’s request to the poet to fulfil his promise and immortalize his deeds in verse. In my view, it is clear that Michael structured the entire poem based on Idyll 11, which inspired him to present the bishop as telling his own story. This approach results in a mock encomium that belongs to the same literary lineage as Lucian’s Parasite and Teacher of Rhetoric.Footnote ⁴⁵

It seems then that Michael wanted his audience to recall Idyll 11 and the image of the rustic Cyclops (for example, his goat herding and cheese-making, his gluttony and very large size) when hearing about the similar bishop. The allusive presence of the love-sick Polyphemus in the background would amplify the comic effect of the bishop’s self-mockery,Footnote ⁴⁶ though it does not determine its humour. Theocritus’ humour comes from the ironic undermining of the Homeric portrait of the monstrous Cyclops, while Michael’s comes from coarse satire. In order to ensure that his audience would not miss his allusion to Polyphemus, Michael creates a ‘bucolic’ setting early on (well before l. 83): the bishop says that early in his life he was numbered ἐν βουκόλοις (‘among the shepherds’, l. 26) and, like the goatherds of the bucolic world, occupied the lowest position in the social hierarchy. In the next line, the phrase πήραν ἐξηρτημένος (‘equipped with a knapsack’) may be meant to enhance this setting, as the phrase occurs only five times in earlier Greek literature, three of which are in Longus (Daphnis and Chloe 2.3, 3.1 and 4.14), another text which was used in Byzantium for bucolic imagery.Footnote ⁴⁷ Moreover, a word occurring earlier could also be taken as an allusion to Theocritus and his ancient scholia: the bishop speaks ἀγροίκως (‘rustically’, l. 21), and later (l. 78) he admits that his rustic nature (ἀγροικία) leads him to rashness. Thus, the three examples of the rustic pronunciation of upsilon as iota (ll. 20–22) may add another dimension to the bucolic scenery hinted at from the outset. In the prolegomena to the ancient scholia on Theocritus we read that bucolic poems express ‘the ways of rustics’ (τὰ τῶν ἀγροίκων ἤθη) and another scholion explains their Doric language as imitating ‘the speech of rustics’ (ἀγροίκων ὁμιλίας).Footnote ⁴⁸

Nevertheless, it should be clarified that ἀγροικία was a common concept in Byzantium. In the 11th century, ‘anything that is contemptible, from the perspective of the elite, is subsumed under the idea of ἀγροικία (literally ‘boorishness’).’Footnote ⁴⁹ It also occurs in other texts known to Michael, such as Christophoros Mitylenaios 27.41 ἀγροικίας τίς ϵὐσθϵνὴς καθαιρέτης; (‘who is the staunch annihilator of boorishness?’) and the works of Gregory of Nazianzus, where ἀγροικία is a recurring theme.Footnote ⁵⁰ As a result, and although it is most likely that Theocritus’ context informs this concept in our poem, Michael and his audience were already familiar with ἀγροικία and the animosity of the elite towards it. For the same reason, it may not be necessary to explain the bishop’s simplicity of mind; however, it is possible that Theocritus’ poetry influenced Michael’s perspective, at least as expressed in this poem. The rhetorical tradition ‘saw Theocritus’ poetry as a primary example of such “simplicity” (ἀφέλϵια)’.Footnote ⁵¹ In the learned commentary on Hermogenes written by John Sikelos, an early 11th-century schoolmaster, ‘simplicity’ is described as ‘childish and showing moral character and, as one could say, rustic’ (παιδικὴ καὶ ἠθικὴ καὶ ὡς ἄν τις φαίη ἀγροικική). It could be seen as the opposite of solemnity (σϵμνότης), not because it is inherently undignified (ἄσϵμνον), but because ‘the people are natural and unaffected’ (διὰ τὸ ἄπλαστον τῶν προσώπων).Footnote ⁵² Although neither Hermogenes nor Sikelos mentions the Cyclops in this context, Eustathius notes that Polyphemus’ calling the ram πέπων signifies an ‘uncomplicated and simple and somewhat childlike character’ (ἁπλοῦ … ἤθους καὶ ἀφϵλοῦς καὶ ὑπό τι νηπίου, Od. 9.447 (I 355.38 Stallbaum)). Richard Hunter writes that ‘Eustathius is here very clearly echoing the passage of Hermogenes about bucolic ἀφέλϵια’Footnote ⁵³ and what he does, a century after Michael Grammatikos, suggests that Michael too could be thinking of Polyphemus and the bishop in similar terms.

There are more possible links between our poem and bucolic poetry, though these are somewhat less certain. For example, μϵσημβρία βίου (‘in the middle of life’, l. 50) may be another hint at the bucolic genre; in the famous Idyll 7, ‘Thalysia’, the meeting of Lycidas with Simichidas takes place at the midpoint of their journey (l. 10) and at midday (μϵσαμέριον, l. 21).Footnote ⁵⁴ In any case, the image of Polyphemus in the poem extends beyond his bucolic profile. When the bishop refers to his excessive cheese consumption and large physique (ll. 29–32), these details hark back to the Homeric Cyclops (e.g. Od. 9.219, 246–49), although in Theocritus too Polyphemus talks about his production of a great quantity of milk and cheese to impress Galateia (Id. 11.34–37).Footnote ⁵⁵ And the explicit emphasis on gluttony in our poem owes more to Euripides’ Polyphemus, whose religion is his own gluttony. When the bishop says that he is a giant Cyclops, a lion devouring raw flesh, and that he honours his own belly above all (ll. 83–84), this last phrase recalls Eur. Cyc. 334–35: ‘I don’t sacrifice them [my livestock] to anyone except myself – not to the gods at all – but also to my stomach here, the greatest of divinities (τῇ μϵγίστῃ, γαστρὶ τῇδϵ, δαιμόνων).’Footnote ⁵⁶ This allusion to Cyclops is perhaps reinforced by κορδακισμοῖς in the next line (85) and the use of χρέμπτομαι a few lines above (77). Χρέμπτομαι, in the sense of ‘clear one’s throat, hawk and spit, cough’, is not a common word and its first occurrence is in Cyc. 626, and the κόρδαξ, an obscene dance performed by drunken persons, was associated with the comic stage and sometimes with satyric dance.Footnote ⁵⁷ The critical phrase from Cyclops, cited above in Greek, appears in Plutarch’s On the Failure of Oracles (435B),Footnote ⁵⁸ where Michael could have encountered it. However, the context described above and Michael’s evident interest in and engagement with Polyphemus literature strongly suggest direct knowledge of Euripides’ play. The Cyclops, the only satyr play to survive complete, is one of Euripides’ so-called alphabetic plays, which were not included in the school syllabus and are preserved in a single manuscript. There are very few traces of them being read before the early 14th century, and the allusion noted above is clear evidence of exceptional knowledge on Michael’s part.Footnote ⁵⁹

V. The rhetoric of a Byzantine mock encomium to oneself

In her thorough treatment of ‘the satirical eulogy in antiquity’, Tomarken asserts that ‘the overall pattern for these playful or “adoxographic” works remains that of the serious encomium.’Footnote ⁶⁰ This is not surprising, as encomium and invective share the same rhetorical structure. Encomium is certainly a component of our satire, but it serves as a foundation, not a restrictive framework that would limit the poet’s creative expression. Some modifications of the rules set by rhetorical treatises and model texts were, in any case, often necessary in order to accommodate the peculiarities of each occasion. Home town, family and upbringing come first, followed by the pursuits of the future bishop. A comparison is required (in both encomium and psogos)Footnote ⁶¹ and although there is no full rhetorical comparison with other bishops or villains here, the bishop admits (by way of comparison) that he was ‘an ox in everything’ (l. 35), inferior to a stone in speech and action (ll. 68–69) and that he was not even competent to herd geese (l. 70). He then goes on to praise (or ridicule, if we adopt the audience’s perspective) his daily life as bishop and the hypocrisy of the demureness suggested by his external appearance (l. 82), and again compares himself to a giant Cyclops and a lion devouring raw flesh (l. 83). The poem features a wide range of stock motifs from ancient invective:Footnote ⁶² embarrassing family origins, physical appearance, gluttony and drunkenness, hypocrisy in appearing virtuous, greed and extravagance, bribe-taking, pretentiousness, unacceptable sexual conduct, oratorical ineptitude, audacity and stupidity.

What is also clear in the poem is that Michael sought to reassure his audience from the outset that his work was, in fact, an attack on the scandalous lives of two hierarchs, and that any praise offered is ironic. To achieve this, he fully employs a common technique used in mock encomia: alerting his audience through passages of direct satire. The poem begins with a complaint: the bishop has either refused to respond or delayed in responding to a request from the narrator (l. 2). While we know nothing about this supposed correspondence, such complaints are typical in Byzantine epistolography. From the next line, the narrator is ready to drop his mask more than once: the bishop is a fool (l. 3), and we are left to wonder how someone with ‘stones for brains’ (l. 11), who provoked God’s wrath every time he invoked God’s name (l. 14), was elevated to the bishop’s throne. At the same time, the bishop is described as famous (l. 9) and must be proud of his homeland, parents and teachers (ll. 6–8). The poet-narrator promises, with mock admiration, to praise the bishop as a great man, provided that he hears about the bishop’s life (ll. 15–17). From the very first moment, the Byzantine poet aligns himself with his audience at a distance from the character whom he depicts in a comic light.Footnote ⁶³ Poet and audience take a critical view of the bishop’s scandalous behaviour and utter unfitness for the priesthood, let alone the church hierarchy.

Interestingly, it is not only the poet who drops his mask; the bishop does so as well. His monologue is full of self-deprecation, as he mocks his humble origins, his physique, his voice and his shameful deeds. In Robinson’s words (referring to Lucian’s Teacher of Rhetoric and later works), this is when ‘the irony of unconscious self-condemnation slips over into invective, keeping the reader aware of true values.’Footnote ⁶⁴ However, the bishop’s unexpected and incongruous self-deriding remarks also create a direct and unmistakable comic effect, to the point that they transform him into a comic figure. According to Tomarken, ‘[t]he unexpected element in such works, their thwarting of normal audience expectations, would serve to enhance the humor of the speeches and provide a novel form of entertainment.’Footnote ⁶⁵ Though maintaining the same jocular tone, the bishop occasionally adopts a serious tone, as though his achievements were worthy of admiration (see, for example, ll. 39, 80–81). He acknowledges his complete incompetence and his astonishment at his elevation to the episcopal throne (ll. 68–74), yet he does so as if his ignorance and sins did not diminish the praise he believes he deserves. In this poem, encomium and invective coexist within the same lines: ‘The crossing of boundaries and the mixing of forms are … particularly frequent in this type of writing.’Footnote ⁶⁶

Embedded in the bishop’s self-mockery is a mockery of the metropolitan Philippos (ll. 40–47 and 59–61), whose praise is full of irony and sexual innuendos. His action (πράξις) and his love of a practical and active life (ll. 43 and 45) are juxtaposed with contemplation (θϵωρία, l. 44) as if they conformed to spiritual contemplation, but the audience soon realizes his actions were sexual in nature, and that he was apparently well-endowed (l. 60). A few lines later, there is an amusing parody of ancient gestures of supplication (ll. 64–67), especially the gentle touching of the chin and beard. The first and best-known occurrences of these gestures are found in the Iliad, when Thetis beseeches Zeus.Footnote ⁶⁷ In our poem, one of the women the bishop provides for Philippos appears to beat up the metropolitan in a faux supplication until he agrees to appoint the bishop to Philomelion. She slaps him on the cheeks and pulls out his beard. The audience is invited to laugh, and portraying Philippos as another Zeus (both were entitled to sit on thrones) further amplifies the comic effect of the scene.

VI. A Byzantine reading of Idyll 11 as an ironic encomium?

Michael’s use of Idyll 11 as his model of a mock encomium raises the possibility that he understood it to be a mock encomium as well, delivered by Polyphemus himself. Although (as far as I am aware) this is not a possibility considered by modern scholarship, it may be worth highlighting a few aspects of Idyll 11 which support such a reading.Footnote ⁶⁸

First, Polyphemus’ monologue may have a different meaning from what its surface suggests and what seems to have been intended by Polyphemus himself. This has already been acknowledged by modern scholars. For example, according to Neil Hopkinson, Polyphemus ‘sees his song as a tour de force of persuasion, whereas we see a humorous incongruity in the rustic nature of his similes and enticements; where he sees flirtatious encouragement we see mockery (77–78)’.Footnote ⁶⁹ In Christophe Cusset’s words, ‘the self-description of the Cyclops is full of a naive irony.’Footnote ⁷⁰ Furthermore, one could argue that even what Robinson described as ‘the irony of unconscious self-condemnation’ that could ‘slip over into invective, keeping the reader aware of true values’ can be seen in Polyphemus’ acknowledgement of his physical ugliness, when ‘we find Polyphemus … poignantly, if comically (to the audience, anyway), adducing his physique as the reason Galatea flees his advances’:Footnote ⁷¹ the Cyclops suspects that Galateia does not love him because ‘a hairy brow stretches across my entire forehead, in one long length from one ear to the other; beneath it there is one eye, and over the lip a flat nose’ (Id. 11.31–33).Footnote ⁷²

It is at least possible that Michael (and a learned Byzantine audience) would feel the ‘comic clumsiness of the Cyclops of Idyll 11’: not the metrical clumsiness of the hexameters of Polyphemus’ love song, but the clumsiness of the song itself.Footnote ⁷³ Michael’s comic reading of Idyll 11 is likely to have been informed by Synesius, Letter 121, which is a major witness for Philoxenus of Cythera’s lost humorous dithyramb Cyclops or Galateia.Footnote ⁷⁴ This was the first treatment of the Cyclops in love and the source for all subsequent versions, including Theocritus’.Footnote ⁷⁵ In Synesius’ story (which most likely derived from first-hand knowledge of Philoxenus’ poem) Odysseus promises to help Polyphemus in his unsuccessful marine love if he lets him out of the cave. Odysseus claims that he is a sorcerer (γόης) and knows ‘incantations and binding charms and love spells’ (ἐπῳδὰς οἶδα καὶ καταδέσμους καὶ ἐρωτικὰς κατανάγκας) and would make Galateia compliant with many ‘enchantments’ (ἴυγξι). Only one thing worries him: the goat-stink of Polyphemus’ ‘fleecy blankets may be offensive to a girl who lives in luxury and washes many times a day’.Footnote ⁷⁶ Polyphemus laughs and dismisses Odysseus’ magical charms and pleas. James Hordern remarks that ‘[t]he narrative clearly plays on Odysseus’ reputation for persuasive rhetoric, doubly comic here because of his lack of success.’Footnote ⁷⁷ It is possible that Michael, who draws language from Synesius’ Letter 154, was also familiar with Letter 121, and that Philoxenus’ comic treatment of his subject offered a context for Michael’s own comic reading of Idyll 11. Further, Odysseus’ portrayal (in Philoxenus and Synesius) as a sorcerer associated with love magic and spells (ἴυγξι) is likely to have inspired the similar portrayal of the bishop in his successful pimping for the metropolitan (ἐξηπάτων, ἔκλϵπτον αὐτὰς ἐντέχνως | ταῖς ῥημάτων ἴυγξιν ὡς μάγων τέχναις, ‘whom I deceived by making arguments and whom I seized secretly and skilfully by using charming words as magic spells’, ll. 55–56).

VII. The poem in its historical, literary and educational context

Although less direct than the bishop’s self-mockery, the critique of Philippos may be the real message of the poem, given that Philippos of Amorion appears to have been a historical person.Footnote ⁷⁸ The bishop of Philomelion remains anonymous, though a suffragan bishop of Philomelion, under the metropolitan of Amorion, is recorded in notitiae episcopatuum of the ninth, tenth and 12th centuries.Footnote ⁷⁹ So, the protagonist of our poem may also have been a historical figure. The opening complaint about the bishop refusing or delaying a response to the narrator’s request could reflect real correspondence. However, it is impossible to determine how much of the content of this poem is based on actual events.Footnote ⁸⁰ What is certain is that Michael’s time was not free of ecclesiastical scandal and, more importantly, that some writers openly (if under the guise of humorous satire) criticized church figures. Magdalino has placed our poem in the context of 11th-century poems doing just this.Footnote ⁸¹ Other examples include poems written by Michael’s contemporary Christophoros Mitylenaios, whose work is likely to have been known to him (as shown above).Footnote ⁸² I have already mentioned Christophoros’ poem 63 mocking entry into the clergy without proper training by ‘infinite numbers’ of laymen coming from all kinds of professions.Footnote ⁸³ In another (poem 114) he ridicules the monk Andreas for collecting fake relics.Footnote ⁸⁴ Panagiotis Agapitos has referred to such texts as ‘clerical invective’.Footnote ⁸⁵ Magdalino claims that they ‘voice, for the first time in Byzantine history, a distinct lack of reverence for leading sections of the clergy’.Footnote ⁸⁶ He identifies two aspects of ‘the new humanism’ of the age: ‘reverence and nostalgia for the classics’ and ‘a more critical, secular attitude towards the sacred institutions of the Church and monasticism’.Footnote ⁸⁷ Our poem perfectly exemplifies this intellectual climate, blending both tendencies.

It is reasonable to assume that Michael expected his audience, or at least part of it, to be familiar with Idyll 11 and, as a result, able to recognize and appreciate his allusion. Theocritus’ poems were indeed read by Byzantine poets and authors, as evidenced by various references and allusions, such as those found in the poetry and prose of John Geometres (fl. second half of the tenth century)Footnote ⁸⁸ and in the four romance novels of the 12th century.Footnote ⁸⁹ In one of the latter, Nicetas Eugenianus’ Drosilla and Charicles, Charicles recalls Theocritus’ Cyclops (4.379–86),Footnote ⁹⁰ and later (at 6.503–46) there is a more extensive reworking of Idyll 11.Footnote ⁹¹ Further evidence of the Idylls’ popularity (especially Idylls 1–18)Footnote ⁹² can be found in the 12th century, for example, in Gregory of Corinth’s On Dialects, where they serve as the primary source for Doric.Footnote ⁹³ Additionally, an important manuscript (Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Ambros. C 222 inf.) contains a collection of poetry including works by Aeschylus, Aristophanes, Pindar, Hesiod, Lycophron, Oppian’s Halieutica, Dionysius Periegetes and Theocritus.Footnote ⁹⁴ While all other surviving manuscripts date from later periods than the Ambrosianus, it is clear that the transmission of Theocritus involved several manuscripts no longer extant. In fact, later scholarship on Theocritus indicates that scholars in the 13th and 14th centuries had access to copies of his work superior to any of those that have survived.Footnote ⁹⁵

More importantly, at least in the context of this article, the work of various Byzantine scholars and the contents of key manuscripts confirm that Theocritus was studied in schools. Notably, two teachers from the second half of the 13th century, Manuel Holobolos and John Pediasimos, both wrote scholia on the pattern poem Syrinx traditionally attributed to Theocritus.Footnote ⁹⁶ During the same period, Maximos Planudes copied Theocritus and made numerous adjustments to the text of Idylls 1–18.Footnote ⁹⁷ He also composed a humorous idyll imitating both Theocritus and Lucian’s satires. The two main manuscripts preserving this idyll, both dating from the 14th century, contain numerous scholia and were likely used for teaching. These manuscripts also transmit Theocritus, and in one of them, Planudes’ idyll is copied directly after Theocritus.Footnote ⁹⁸ Indeed, Planudes’ idyll was probably written for his students of Theocritus; its homoerotic elementsFootnote ⁹⁹ would make the most sense as a humorous satire of similar themes in Theocritus. It is tempting to suggest that the direct association between classical texts taught in the schools and the composition of Byzantine literary works may have been more common than previously recognized.Footnote ¹⁰⁰ This is poetry directly inspired by a school text and initially presented within the classroom.

As suggested above, Michael’s mock encomium, penned by a grammatikos and closely related to a school text, may have been linked to his teaching activities and presented to students or former pupils. While this remains a hypothesis, it is crucial to attempt to identify the original context of the poem, since, as Lauxtermann notes, Byzantine poems ‘are not written for eternity, but reflect a moment in time and deserve to be studied in their historical contexts’.Footnote ¹⁰¹ Michael Psellos agreed to write an encomium ‘in honour of the wisest Metropolitan of Melitene’, despite knowing very little about the man, intending to use the task as a way to teach his pupils the art of panegyrical discourse.Footnote ¹⁰² Michael the Grammarian’s intentions were probably less literary and more ethical; he seemed intent on castigating the low moral standards of the higher clergy, highlighting their hypocrisy and incompetence. Since antiquity, the educational value of satirical poetry has been recognized in the school environment.Footnote ¹⁰³ Even the mock encomium was tied to the school curriculum in ancient times.Footnote ¹⁰⁴ In Byzantium, parody was primarily produced within a school context and the Lucianic satires of the 11th and 12th centuries ‘most likely have their origin in some sort of school setting’.Footnote ¹⁰⁵ Aside from a school setting, other contexts, such as a theatron, could also be plausible for the performance of Michael’s poem. After all, a single poem could be used in different contexts. As mentioned earlier in this section, the possibility that this poem served as political satire directed at a specific individual should not be ruled out.

Beyond the poem’s satirical and didactic functions in Byzantine society, some striking similarities with a later text may shed light on thought patterns that would have resonated with a Byzantine audience, provoking laughter.Footnote ¹⁰⁶ The herdsman turned ambitious cleric, within a context rich with Theocritean resonances, also appears in a satirical poem written in the first half of the 14th century by John Catrares, a scholar and scribe connected to the literary circle around Demetrius Triclinius, who edited a collection of 27 idylls. In 222 octosyllables, Catrares criticizes a certain monk, Neophytos, for his greed and his ambition to become patriarch through illicit means, despite his questionable family background and superficial knowledge of classical literature.Footnote ¹⁰⁷ Neophytos (probably Bulgarian) was ridiculed for his use of Slavic words. He appeared ascetic to those who did not know him well (καί τις ἀσκητὴς ἂν δόξῃ | τοῖς οὐχὶ σαφῶς ϵἰδόσιν), but would do anything for money. In his youth, Neophytos herded goats, pigs and calves, while dancing and playing the pipe (ἐκορδάκιζϵ συρίττων). Theocritus is mentioned later in the poem, when Catrares notes that despite Neophytos’ ignorance of classical authors, ‘he only learnt the Bucolics of Theocritus, from which he picked up how to play the pipe and to say, “Hey up! my lambkins” and to milk the goats well’ (ll. 139–43). The knowledge of Theocritus in this context is ironic, serving the satirical purpose of a poem that seeks to ridicule a former herdsman. It does not suggest that ‘knowledge of Theocritus’ bucolic poems may well have been regarded as minimal in the education of a Greek,’ as Joan Burton argued.Footnote ¹⁰⁸ Nevertheless, we can reasonably assume that an educated Byzantine audience would have had some familiarity with Theocritus.

As Lynda Garland has observed, ‘a taste for abuse was an innate part of the Byzantine mentalité and a constituent of most Byzantine humor.’Footnote ¹⁰⁹ And, indeed, ‘the gap between their [priests’ and monks’] supernatural pretensions and their all too human failings was particularly inviting to humorists, and some of the funniest Byzantine satire was written at their expense.’Footnote ¹¹⁰ Inspired by Theocritus, Michael the Grammarian opted not to write a psogos of the bishop of Philomelion, but rather composed a witty mock encomium in the Lucianic tradition, where ironic self-praise is delivered by charlatans and conmen. The insect and spider encomia of Michael Psellos and Christophoros Mitylenaios, written around the same time, further demonstrate the paradoxical encomium’s resonance with Michael’s contemporaries, who were certainly familiar with Lucian’s works. Michael’s literary debt to Theocritus and his use of the ironic encomium were fundamental to his creative expression. It would be surprising if he employed these tropes without expecting his audience to recognize and fully appreciate their significance. Idyll 11 enriches our understanding of the poem’s structure and themes, while the mock encomium provides a framework for interpreting its ironic tone and its intended impact on the reader. Ultimately, a full appreciation of the poem requires recognizing its intricate network of hypertexts.