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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
2013 Leonora Neville
Lamentation, History, and Female
Authorship in Anna Komnene’s Alexiad
Leonora Neville
NE OF THE MOST commonly read and widely available
Byzantine histories is the Alexiad, a history of the emperor
Alexios Komnenos, who ruled 1081–1118, by
his daughter Anna Komnene (1083–1153). Anna’s first-hand
descriptions of the passage of the First Crusade are frequently
excerpted as expressing a paradigmatic ‘Byzantine view’ of the
crusades. Although it is perhaps the most frequently read
medieval Byzantine text, it is far from typical of Byzantine
histories. Anna’s work is invariably called a history and she describes
herself explicitly as writing a history. Yet in its title,
Alexiad, and frequent Homeric vocabulary and imagery, it
brings the archaic epics to mind.1 The characterization of
Alexios as a wily sea captain steering the empire through constant
storms with guile and courage strongly recalls Odysseus.2
Both in its epic cast and in other factors discussed below, Anna
did not adhere strictly to the rules of writing history and rather
seems to have played with the boundaries of the genre. The
1 A. Dyck, “Iliad and Alexiad: Anna Comnena’s Homeric Reminiscences,”
GRBS 27 (1985) 113–120. Anna’s husband, Nikephoros Bryennios, wrote a
history of the rise of Alexios Komnenos in which Alexios ends up seeming
less heroic than his political enemy Nikephoros Bryennios the elder (the
author’s grandfather). At the point where Alexios has defeated Bryennios
the elder, Nikephoros says that “another Iliad would be needed” to tell the
deeds of his grandfather properly. Anna, writing ostensibly to complete her
husband’s history, can be seen as taking up this challenge to write a second
Iliad, but one that extols Alexios rather than Bryennios the elder.
2 R. Macrides, “The Pen and the Sword: Who Wrote the Alexiad?” in T.
Gouma-Peterson (ed.), Anna Komnene and her Times (New York 2000) 68–69.
O
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
Alexiad is hence an unusual work that defies the expectations of
readers who anticipate another volume in the tradition of classicizing
Greek prose historiography. This genre did well in the
middle Byzantine period,3 and both medieval and modern
readers could easily develop a sense of what was normal for a
history in that era. Unsurprisingly therefore, not all readers
have liked the Alexiad. Its uneasy fit with its genre can cause
discomfort when Anna’s departures from normative style are
perceived as ‘mistakes’.
The twelfth century was a time of considerable literary
experimentation in which the boundaries of genres were
sometimes blurred, if not deliberately crossed. Constantine
Manasses’ verse chronicle of world history is a case in point.4
Homer and classical authors were the subject of intensified
study as more kinds of classical literature came to be more
widely read.5 As interest in classical forms grew, new texts were
written that masqueraded as ancient novels while offering commentary
on twelfth-century rituals and culture.6 Satire enjoyed
a revival and mock-epic poked fun at the pretensions of this
3 See bibliography in R. Macrides (ed.), History as Literature in Byzantium
(Farnham 2010).
4 I. Nilsson, “Discovering Literariness in the Past: Literature vs. History
in the Synopsis Chronike of Konstantinos Manasses,” in P. Odorico et al.
(eds.), L’écriture de la mémoire. La littérarité de l’historiographie (Paris 2006) 15–31,
and “Narrating Images in Byzantine Literature: The Ekphraseis of Konstantinos
Manasses,” JÖByz 55 (2005) 121–146.
5 A. Kaldellis, Hellenism in Byzantium: The Transformations of Greek Identity and
the Reception of the Classical Tradition (Cambridge 2007) 225–316; R. Beaton,
From Byzantium to Modern Greece  : Medieval Texts and their Modern Reception (Aldershot
2008); M. Mullett, Letters, Literacy and Literature in Byzantium (Aldershot
2007).
6 E. Jeffreys, Four Byzantine Novels (Liverpool 2012); P. Roilos, Amphoteroglossia:
A Poetics of the Twelfth-Century Medieval Greek Novel (Washington 2005);
R. Beaton, The Medieval Greek Romance (London 1996); S. MacAlister, Dreams
and Suicides: The Greek Novel from Antiquity to the Byzantine Empire (London
1996).
194 LAMENTATION, HISTORY, AND FEMALE AUTHORSHIP
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
Homer-venerating society.7 Despite its composition in this era
of literary experimentation, the Alexiad has been overwhelmingly
approached as a straightforward work of history, in part
because its richly detailed narrations of past events provide a
wealth of information for historians. Since nearly all of the
Alexiad consists in ostensibly accurate descriptions of events—
and since those events are of particular interest to historians—it
has been natural to read the Alexiad as a history, albeit an odd
history. Examining aspects of the Alexiad that seem uncharacteristic
of most Greek history writing can help situate the text
more firmly within its cultural context.
Perceptions and discussions of Anna’s departures from the
mannerisms and norms of historical writing are connected to
perceptions of her gender. Anna’s work is the only Greek text
written by a woman in her era.8 Had she written a history that
was indistinguishable in style from those of her male colleagues,
Anna’s status as a woman would be less interesting. Since she
wrote a highly idiosyncratic history, the question is open
whether her history is different because she was a woman
writer. Are her departures from normative style further
examples of the sort of literary experimentation of her male
contemporaries, or did her ‘woman’s voice’ affect her writing?
7 H. Hunger, Der byzantinische Katz-Mäuse-Krieg. Theodore Prodromus, Katomyomachia
(Graz 1968); B. Baldwin, Timarion (Detroit 1984); M. Alexiou,
“Literary Subversion and the Aristocracy in Twelfth-Century Byzantium: A
Stylistic Analysis of the Timarion,” BMGS 8 (1982) 29–45.
8 Anna also wrote the preface to her will, preserved among the writings of
Michael Italikos: S. Papaioannou, “Anna Komnene’s Will,” in D. Sullivan
et al. (eds.), Byzantine Religious Culture  : Studies in Honor of Alice-Mary Talbot
(Leiden 2012) 99–121. There were four Byzantine female hymnographers,
three in the ninth century and one in the fourteenth: M. Mavroudi,
“Learned Women of Byzantium and the Surviving Record,” in Byzantine
Religious Culture 64–65; E. Catafygiotou-Topping, “Women Hymnographers
in Byzantium,” Diptycha 3 (1982) 98–111; A. Silvas, “Kassia the Nun c.810–
c.865: An Appreciation,” in L. Garland (ed.), Byzantine Women: Varieties of Experience,
800–1200 (Aldershot 2006) 17–39. On medieval women writing in
Latin see J. Nelson, The Frankish World, 750–900 (London 1996) 183–197.
LEONORA NEVILLE 195
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
Anna’s gender has been an oblique factor in some analyses of
the Alexiad but has rarely been an overt part of the conversation
about her work.9 When her gender has been invoked it often
has allowed modern commentators’ assumptions about what
female history writing would be like to play into their analyses.
For Edward Gibbon female authorship was sufficient explanation
for what he perceived as bad style:10
Yet, instead of the simplicity of style and narrative which wins
our belief, an elaborate affectation of rhetoric and science betrays
on every page the vanity of a female author.
For the feminist historian Barbara Hill, Anna’s gender justified
reading her history as a call to female empowerment.11 For
James Howard-Johnston, Anna’s natural female interests and
capabilities meant that she must have gotten her military
material from another author.12 In each of these cases modern
readers have begun with an idea of what female authorship entailed
and used that idea as an interpretive tool. Both Hill and
Howard-Johnston have come under criticism for importing
modern preconceptions into their work.13
9 Some exceptions: D. Reinsch, “Women’s Literature in Byzantium? The
Case of Anna Komnene,” in Anna Komnene and her Times 83–105; T. GoumaPeterson,
“Gender and Power: Passage to the Maternal in Anna Komnene’s
Alexiad,” in Anna Komnene and her Times 107–124, and “Engendered Category
or Recognizable Life: Anna Komnene and her Alexiad,” ByzF 23 (1996) 25–
34.
10 The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (1788) ch. 48.
11 B. Hill, “Actions Speak Louder than Words: Anna Komnene’s Attempted
Usurpation,” in Anna Komnene and her Times 45–62, and “A Vindication
of the Rights of Women to Power by Anna Komnene,” ByzF 23
(1996) 45–53.
12 J. Howard-Johnston, “Anna Komnene and the Alexiad,” in M. Mullett
and D. Smythe (eds.), Alexios I Komnenos (Belfast 1996) 260–302.
13 Criticism of Hill has been informal and largely taken the form of lack
of enthusiasm for her ideas among other historians. Howard-Johnston’s
theory has been more robustly criticized in Macrides, in Anna Komnene and her
Times 63–81; Reinsch, in Anna Komnene and her Times 83–105; Leonora
Neville, Heroes and Romans in Twelfth-Century Byzantium: The Material for
196 LAMENTATION, HISTORY, AND FEMALE AUTHORSHIP
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
I too begin with an assumption: that Anna knew she was
unusual and developed her own ideas about what a history
written by a woman should look like. She knew that history was
written by men, and she can be counted on to have thought
through how her history might be different. The places where
Anna differs from the norms of the genre of historiography
may be places where she was consciously stepping out of the
role of the male historiographer. This essay seeks to explore
Anna’s gendered authorial voice in the Alexiad with a view to
understanding how Anna sought to negotiate her novel participation
in the male tradition of Greek history writing.
One area where Anna departed markedly from the conventions
of the genre is in her self-reflective expressions of personal
sadness. This emotionalism is a peculiarity of Anna’s writing
that has been irksome to many readers. In the course of her
history Anna punctuates her story with bursts of anguish at the
mention of the deaths of her husband Nikephoros Bryennios,
her betrothed Constantine Doukas, her brother Andronikos,
her mother, and her father. Although her expressions of personal
emotion take up only an extremely small portion of her
total text, they dominate both the beginning and ending of her
story.
Anna’s spates of self-centered expressive emotion are jarring
departures from dispassionate history. These bursts of feeling
have been distrusted as insincere by some readers and leave
others wondering why she got so worked up. Georgina Buckler,
in her book about Anna published in 1929, includes a subchapter
on “Her Self-Pity” in which the British historian tries
to figure out what had happened to make Anna so melancholic.
In Buckler’s view some traumatic event in Anna’s life
must have been behind such extravagant expressions of grief.
After surveying the known details of Anna’s life, Buckler is
unable to find anything that, in her view, would warrant the
sentiments. In answering her question of what caused Anna’s
___
History of Nikephoros Bryennios (Cambridge 2012) 182–193.
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
trauma she concludes that “after eight centuries we cannot tell
… and we cannot gauge the depth of feeling beneath her hysterical
bombast.”14 Many readers since Buckler have doubted
how Anna’s emotions could really have run so high when she
was discussing people who had died decades previously. Peter
Frankopan considered Anna’s expression of grief over the
death of her betrothed Constantine Doukas as sufficiently odd
to merit an explanatory note. Yet he is not able to come up
with a satisfying reason for Anna’s emotionalism based on
either natural affection or politics:15
her anguish is confusing, since she did marry someone else …
Constantine had been implicated in a plot against Alexios—
which makes her comments about him here … all the more
difficult to interpret.
Here and elsewhere Anna’s grief is seen as unreasonably disproportionate
to the problem. Her most extravagant emotional
display is reserved for her description of the deaths of her
parents, who both died of natural causes in old age.
One strand of thought, aiming perhaps to redeem Anna from
the charge of being hysterical and unreasonable, has seized on
the evidence for political dissention at the accession of Anna’s
brother to create a political narrative of Anna as deeply disappointed
and embittered by defeat. Hints in various later
sources are commonly woven together to create a story of
‘Anna’s failed coup’ in which she masterminded an effort to
seize power in the name of her husband Nikephoros Bryennios
in 1118 and suffered confinement to a monastery for the rest of
her life when the coup failed through Nikephoros’ lack of
nerve. While we can assume that Anna would have liked to be
14 G. Buckler, Anna Comnena, a Study (London 1929) 45–46. On Buckler
see C. Roueché, “Georgina Buckler: The Making of a British Byzantinist,”
in R. Beaton and C. Roueché (eds.), The Making of Byzantine History (Aldershot
1993) 174–196.
15 The Alexiad, transl. E. R. A. Sewter, revised and annotated P. Frankopan
(London 2004) 485.
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
empress (an assumption safe for just about every woman in the
empire), the surviving sources for John’s accession in 1118 do
not focus their attention on Anna’s ambition.16 It is the need to
explain Anna’s distressed state of mind in the Alexiad that provides
the chief impetus to seeing her as politically embittered.
This has led to unnecessarily political readings of her text.17
She did live in a lavishly endowed Constantinopolitan monastery
before her death, but we do not know when she entered
the monastery. Anna patronized and actively engaged a
vibrant community of male intellectuals throughout her life
and was tonsured as she was dying.18 She portrays herself at the
end of the Alexiad as suffering because she lives on in mourning,
after her loved ones have died, not because of political defeat.19
16 Niketas Choniates’ thirteenth-century history, the key source suggesting
that Anna’s ambition outstripped that of her husband, uses the inversion
and transgression of traditional gender and familial roles in Alexios’ household
to ground the opening of his history of Roman decline in a grotesque
locus of moral perversion. It is great writing, but hardly helpful for understanding
actual palace politics. See Neville, Heroes and Romans 16–24.
17 Sewter and Frankopan’s translation of the final lines of the Alexiad
(15.11.23) alludes to problems emanating from the palace, which I cannot
see in the Greek text: “To endure such suffering and to be treated in an
abominable way by people in the palace is more wretched than the troubles
of Niobe,” ἐπέπρω]το δὲ τοσαῦτα ὑπενεγκεῖν δεινὰ καὶ εἰσ[έτι καὶ ν]ῦ̣ν̣
ἄ̣λλά τα ἐξ ἀνθρώπων ἐπεγείρεσθαί µοι ἀφόρητα, [ὅπερ πολλῷ] δυστυχέστερον
καὶ τῶν τῆς Νιόβης κακῶν. For my translation see 207 below.
Throughout I have accepted the textual emendations of D. Reinsch and A.
Kambylis, Alexiad (Berlin 2001). On the reconstruction of the end of Book
15 see A. Kambylis, “Zu Anna Komnenes Alexias Buch XV 11, 5(82)–
24(60) Reinsch-Kambylis,” BZ 96 (2003) 169–192.
18 R. Browning, “An Unpublished Funeral Oration on Anna Comnena,”
PCPS 8 (1962) 5–10.
19 15.11.24, ἤρκει ἂν ἐπ’ ἀµφοῖν τοῖν βασι[λέοιν καὶ ἡ] τοῦ καίσαρος
συµφορὰ καὶ τὰ ἐκείνων [π]α̣θ̣ήµατα εἰς ἐκτριβὴν ἡµετέραν καὶ τῆς ψυχῆς
[καὶ] τοῦ [σώµατος·] νῦν δὲ ὥσπερ ποταµοί τινες ἐξ ὑψηλῶν ὀρῶν καταρρέοντες
µο[ρ]µ̣[ύρ]ο̣υ̣σί τε τὰ τῶν δυστυχηµάτων ῥε̣ύ̣µατα κ̣[α]ὶ̣ ὡς εἰς
µίαν χαράδραν συγκατακλύζο[υσι] τὴν ἐµὴν οἰκίαν. τέλος γοῦν ὁ λόγος
ἐχ[έ]τ[ω], µὴ καὶ ἀναγράφοντες τὰ λυπηρὰ πλ[έον] ἐµπικραινοίµεθα, “The
death of my Caesar and both of the rulers [Alexios and Eirene] and the
LEONORA NEVILLE 199
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
Rather than continue the search for some causal event
behind Anna’s emotionalism, we should accept the prima facie
explanation that it was affected and rather ask why Anna
would fake it. Buckler’s perhaps unconsciously gendered
critique of Anna’s “hysterical bombast” points to the feminine
nature of the discourse of lamentation. Looked at closely,
Anna’s expressions of grief are not random, but carefully align
her behavior with classical traditions of lamentation. The substance
of her “hysterical bombast” is lament, which classical
scholars have called “the female genre par excellence.”20 The
simple suggestion made here is that Anna is deliberately performing
one of the key rhetorical and ritual roles for Greek
women in lamenting the dead. This essay explores the extent to
which Anna’s personal intrusions into her history constitute
participation in traditions of female lamentation. If this is so,
then we can observe Anna performing within her history a traditional
Greek conception of female gender, and can answer
affirmatively that some of the unique qualities of her history
derive from her self-conception as a woman writer.21
___
grief over these events was enough for the destruction of my soul and body.
Now, just as some rivers rushing down from high mountains roar, so the
streams of misfortunes overwhelm the single riverbed, my house. The story
must have an end, lest writing about such painful things we may become
more bitter.”
20 A. Suter, “Lament in Euripides’ Trojan Women,” Mnemosyne 56 (2003)
18.
21 Another set of cultural constraints may have also influenced Anna’s decision
to adopt a tragic voice. At both the opening and the closing of her
work she presents herself as miserable and beset by countless troubles (prol.
4.1, 15.11.23–24). These sections frame the history with Anna’s autobiographical
and authorial self-presentation as a suffering, tragic figure. G. W.
Most “The Stranger’s Stratagem. Self-disclosure and Self-sufficiency in
Greek Culture,” JHS 109 (1989) 114–133, makes a persuasive and compelling
case that discussing one’s own life details with people outside one’s
family in anything other than a tale of woe was distasteful and potentially
dangerous in Greek culture. Concern not to appear boastful or to excite
resentment among the audience significantly constrained autobiographical
discourse and rendered the tale of woe the only acceptable form of self-
200 LAMENTATION, HISTORY, AND FEMALE AUTHORSHIP
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
Wailing women giving vent to grief through ritualized
gestures of irrationality constitute one of the most continuous
tropes in Mediterranean culture from the archaic period
through the twentieth century.22 In Anna’s reading of Homer
and Attic tragedy, this is what she saw good women doing.23
Mortal women in the classical literary tradition spend a disproportionate
amount of their time in lamentation. Lamentation
was associated with women in the classical world as an aspect
of emotion: “the lament gave vent to uncontrollable, because
essentially feminine, emotion … weeping was, in the classical
period, the prerogative of women.”24 The efforts of Athenian
men to legislate against excesses of lamentation have been interpreted
as at least in part an effort to limit women’s influence
in the public sphere, which in turn testifies to the power of
___
disclosure. Plutarch taught that self-praise is tolerable only when defending
oneself against a false accusation, when one has been insulted, or when one
has been unfortunate (Mor. 539). On this reasoning, Anna opened and
closed her work with a description of her own piteous state in order to be
able to talk freely about her own life. Most emphasizes that “to put anyone
into the position of listener was to some extent to exercise power over him,”
which established “a tense and complex discursive power struggle: if the
speaker praised himself, he aggravated his imposition upon the listener; the
former’s lament could make the latter feel stronger and thus restore a fragile
balance” (131). Anna’s adoption of a posture of extreme piteousness may
have been a strategy for rendering more palatable the autobiographical discourse
of a woman of extreme privilege. I explore this possibility in detail in
a chapter in Byzantine Authorship edited by Aglae Pizzone (forthcoming). I
thank Henry Maguire for bringing Most’s work to my attention.
22 J. Amelang, “Mourning Becomes Eclectic: Ritual Lament and the
Problem of Continuity,” P&P 187 (2005) 3–32; M. Alexiou, The Ritual
Lament in Greek Tradition (Cambridge 1974).
23 “As much recent work on the subject has convincingly shown, the
predominant, although not exclusive, speech genre assigned to female characters
in both archaic and classical literature is lamentation”: L. McClure,
Spoken like a Woman: Speech and Gender in Athenian Drama (Princeton 1999) 40.
24 N. Loraux, The Invention of Athens: The Funeral Oration in the Classical City
(Cambridge 1986) 45.
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
lamentation to motivate and disrupt.25
While Anna’s engagement with Homer and at least some
Attic tragedy cannot be doubted, her discourse of lamentation
owes much to later traditions as well. Her expressions of grieving
display the influence of Second Sophistic prose traditions of
monody composition and Christian traditions of monody. Her
association of women with mourning reflect eleventh- and
twelfth-century cultural practices as well. Our distinctions between
classical, Second Sophistic, and Christian literature may
not be helpful for understanding twelfth-century Greek authors
whose culture interacted seamlessly with all these traditions.
Classical characters were prominent in medieval rhetorical
training. Rhetorical exercises called on students to compose
character sketches using classical figures, such as Niobe, as
models.26 Menander Rhetor’s guidelines, including instructions
on how to write a monody, were highly influential in Byzantine
culture; he claims that his teaching on monody is modeled on
that of Homer.27 Gregory of Nyssa’s sermon on the widow of
25 The bibliography is large and nuanced: see N. Loraux, Mothers in
Mourning (Ithaca 1998), and The Mourning Voice: An Essay on Greek Tragedy
(Ithaca 2002); H. P. Foley, Female Acts in Greek Tragedy (Princeton 2001) 21–
55, and “The Politics of Tragic Lamentation,” in A. Sommerstein et al.
(eds.), Tragedy, Comedy and the Polis (Bari 1993) 101–143; L. Swift, The Hidden
Chorus: Echoes of Genre in Tragic Lyric (Oxford 2010) 299–366; K. Stears,
“Death Becomes Her: Gender and Athenian Death Ritual,” in S. Blundell
and M. Williamson (eds.), The Sacred and the Feminine in Ancient Greece (London
1998) 113–127; K. Hame, “Female Control of Funeral Rites in Greek
Tragedy: Klytaimestra, Medea, and Antigone,” CP 103 (2008) 1–15; Suter,
Mnemosyne 56 (2003) 1–28; C. Sourvinou-Inwood, “Gendering the Athenian
Funeral: Ritual Reality and Tragic Manipulations,” in D. Yatromanolakis
and P. Roilos (eds.), Greek Ritual Poetics (Cambridge 2004) 161–188;
McClure, Spoken like a Woman.
26 Hugo Rabe, Aphthonii Progymnasmata (Leipzig 1926) 35–37; G. Kennedy,
Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric (Atlanta 2003)
116–117; A. Pignani, Niceforo Basilace. Progimnasmi e Monodie (Naples 1983)
no. 41.
27 D. A. Russell and N. G. Wilson, Menander Rhetor (Oxford 1981) 200–
203.
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
Nain, whose grief moved Jesus to bring her son back to life,
adheres closely to Menander’s rules for a monody.28 Gregory’s
writing was much admired in the medieval period and was
studied and quoted by preachers of the twelfth century.29
Christian liturgical poems in which the Virgin laments the
death of her son Jesus “derived both their organization and
their images from the classical tradition.”30 Tenth-century
laments of the Virgin employ the temporal contrasts, antitheses,
and short rapid sentences that are recommended in the
Second Sophistic handbooks on character study.31
Anna may well have read Menander’s advice herself, but the
influence of the school he represented was so pervasive that she
would not have needed to. She may have picked up his ideas
about how to write lament by reading other authors influenced
by Menander. The audiences for the sermons modeled on
Gregory of Nyssa’s would have absorbed what was important
about a monody from appreciation of Gregory, without any
need to check his work against Menander’s instructions. The
Christian lamentation tradition was the form in which all those
who attended church services on Good Friday would have encountered
the rhetorical tropes of the late classical lamentation
tradition. Images of female saints painted in contexts associated
with burial in Byzantine churches provided a visual confirmation
of the continued association between women and
mourning.32 Anna knew the tradition of Christian lamentation
28 Luke 7:11–17; Gregory Nys. PG 44.220–221. Cf. H. Maguire, Art and
Eloquence in Byzantium (Princeton 1994) 95–96; Russell and Wilson, Menander
Rhetor 200–207.
29 Maguire, Art and Eloquence 96.
30 Maguire, Art and Eloquence 91. On the liturgical contexts of the laments
of the Virgin see N. P. Ševčenko, “The Service of the Virgin’s Lament
Revisited,” in L. Brubaker and M. Cunningham (eds.), The Cult of the Mother
of God in Byzantium (Farnham 2011) 247–262.
31 Maguire, Art and Eloquence 96–101.
32 “Just as painted bishops perpetually celebrated the eucharistic liturgy in
the church sanctuary, female saints such as Paraskeve, Kyriake, and Thekla,
painted on the walls of the narthex or in other funerary contexts, eternally
LEONORA NEVILLE 203
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
and presumably would have recognized the continuities between
this tradition and the classical texts she appears to have
read as well. She may not have acknowledged much of a
distinction between her culture and that of classical antiquity.
Although women and mourning were linked in twelfth-century
culture, Anna explicitly links her lamentation to classical
imagery of mourning women. She alludes to Euripides’ Hecuba,
in saying she too had a “double share of tears as the tragedian
says.”33 At the death of her brother she expresses a longing for
the ancient days when grief could turn one into a stone or bird
or tree, alluding to the stories of Niobe, Philomela, Procne, and
Daphne (15.5.4). She describes her mother’s grief at the approaching
death of Alexios in terms reminiscent of Sophocles.34
At the very end of the history, when grieving for her parents
and husband, Anna wonders how she did not die of grief and
invokes Electra’s words at the opening of Euripides’ Orestes that
there is “no suffering or God-sent affliction” that she cannot
bear.35 Contemplating the deaths of her parents and husband
she again wishes that she could turn to stone like Niobe
(15.11.23). Anna overtly characterizes her emotionalism with
the terminology of mourning and lamentation. Remembering
Alexios is a threnos (prol. 4.3), she sings a monody for Andronikos
(15.5.4). At the point of Alexios’ death Anna describes
___
watched over the bodies buried at their feet”: S. Gerstel, “Painted Sources
for Female Piety in Medieval Byzantium,” DOP 52 (1998) 89–111, at 102.
See also H. Maguire, “The Depiction of Sorrow in Middle Byzantine Art,”
DOP 31 (1977) 123–174.
33 Prol. 4.3, διπλᾶ κατὰ τὴν τραγῳδίαν κερδαίνουσα δάκρυα. Compare
Eur. Hec.518, διπλᾶ µε χρῄζεις δάκρυα κερδᾶναι, γύναι.
34 15.11.12, καί τοι ἀστακτὶ ταύτης κατέρρει τὸ δάκρυον. Compare
Soph. OC 1250–1251, ἀνδρῶν γε µοῦνος, ὦ πάτερ, δι’ ὄµµατος ἀστακτὶ
λείβων δάκρυον ὧδ’ ὁδοιπορεῖ.
35 15.11.21, ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἔστιν ἄρα, κατὰ τὴν τραγῳ[δίαν], πάθος καὶ ξυµφορὰ
θεήλατος, ἧς οὐκ ἂν ἄχθος [ἀρ]οίµην ἐγώ. Compare Eur. Or. 1–3, οὐκ
ἔστιν οὐδὲν δεινὸν ὧδ’ εἰπεῖν ἔπος οὐδὲ πάθος οὐδὲ ξυµφορὰ θεήλατος, ἧς
οὐκ ἂν ἄραιτ’ ἄχθος ἀνθρώπου φύσις.
204 LAMENTATION, HISTORY, AND FEMALE AUTHORSHIP
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
herself, her mother, and sisters as keening, wailing, and tearing
at themselves, unambiguously setting their response within
ancient traditions of Greek female lamentation.36 Anna’s references
to classical characters and explicit vocabulary of lamentation
signal her intention to align her discourse with archaic
and classical traditions of tragedy and specifically female lam-
entation.
Anna seems to imitate the emotional patterns and extremes
of classical texts most when describing her own grief; she
adheres more to the tradition represented by Menander when
writing about the dead. Menander advised the writer of a monody
on a young person to “base the lament on his age, on his
nature (he was gifted, the hopes he raised were great).”37 He
recommended drawing on contrasts between past and present
and describing the former appearance of the youth in life:
“What beauty he has lost—the bloom of his cheeks—the
tongue now silent! The soft beard wilted! The locks of hair no
longer to be gazed at!”38 These elements can be seen in Anna’s
laments for Constantine, Nikephoros, and Andronikos where
she describes their appearance. Her initial lament for her husband
dwells on his positive qualities and former beauty:39
36 15.11.17, γο[ερῶς κατῆρχε τῆς] θρηνῳδίας. συνεπεκώκυον δὲ καὶ αὐτὴ
π̣[άντων τῶν ἄλλων] καταφρονήσασα, καὶ συνεπένθουν καὶ [αἱ ἐµαὶ
ἀδελφαὶ] καὶ ἐσπάραττον ἑαυτὰς γοερὸν ἀνοιµώζουσ̣[αι, “wailing [Eirene]
started the lamentation. Distaining everything, I also lamented with her.
Also my sisters mourned together and rent themselves, wailing the shriek
aloud.” 15.11.19, ἡ δὲ συνεῖσα τοῦ πράγµατος καὶ τοῖς ὅλο[ις] ἀπαγορεύσασα
ἐκώκυσέ τε ἀθρόον µέγα κ[αὶ] διωλύγιον, “understanding the
situation and utterly worn out, Eirene shrieked a great continuous and
piercing wail.” On wailing and disordering clothing as part of the ritual
gestures of archaic lamentation see Sourvinou-Inwood, in Greek Ritual Poetics
167–169.
37 Russell and Wilson, Menander Rhetor 203.
38 Russell and Wilson, Menander Rhetor 204–207.
39 Prol. 4.1, ὢ οἷον ἡ Ῥωµαίων ἀπόλωλε βούλευµα· ὢ πείρας µὲν
ἀκριβεστάτης περὶ τὰ πράγµατα καὶ ὅσην ἐκεῖνος συνείλοχε, λόγων δὲ
ἐπιστήµης, ποικίλης δὲ σοφίας, λέγω δὴ τῆς θυραίας καὶ τῆς ἡµετέρας
αὐλῆς· ὢ καὶ χάριτος ἐπιτρεχούσης τοῖς µέλεσι καὶ εἴδους οὐκ ἀξίου
LEONORA NEVILLE 205
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
Oh! What a councilor is lost to the Romans! His accurate experiences
of matters that he gathered himself; his knowledge of
words, of varieties of wisdom, I say both private and public!
Grace spread throughout his limbs and his appearance was not
worthy of tyranny, as some say, but even more divine and bet-
ter.
In her monody for her betrothed Constantine Doukas, Anna
brings up his youthful beauty to heighten the contrast with his
early death:40
this youth was a work of art of nature and, so to speak, the pride
of God’s hands. If one only looked at him one would say he
flowed from the golden mythic race of Hellenes, so extraordinary
was his beauty.
In the description of the former beauty and greatness of the deceased,
Anna’s descriptions set up this contrast between former
happiness and current mourning. Her lament for her younger
brother Andronikos, who died in battle at a relatively young
age, also draws attention to his youthful graciousness:41
He was coming into the most gracious time of life; daring yet
wise, and in war he had both physical skills and excellent judgment.
Before his time he departed and, as no one expected, he
left us and sank down. Oh! Youth, and flower of body! How did
you then plummet down from nimble leaps on horses?
The lament over Andronikos displays a number of characteristics
common in both classical and more modern lamentation
traditions: contrast of past and present, imagery of light,
___
τυραννίδος, ὥς τινες λέγουσιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ θειοτέρας καὶ κρείττονος.
40 1.12.3, ὡς ἄγαλµα φύσεως ἦν ὁ νεανίας ἐκεῖνος καὶ Θεοῦ χειρῶν, ὡς
οὕτως εἰπεῖν, φιλοτίµηµα· εἰ γὰρ καὶ µόνον ἐθεάσατό τις αὐτόν, εἶπεν ἄν,
ὡς τοῦ παρ’ Ἕλλησι µυθευοµένου χρυσοῦ γένους ἀπορροή, οὕτως ἀµήχανον
εἶχε τὸ κάλλος.
41 15.5.4, ὃς εἰς τὸ χαριέστατον αὐτὸ τῆς ἡλικίας ἐληλυθώς, τόλµαν δὲ
συνετὴν καὶ χεῖρα δεξιὰν καὶ φρόνησιν περιττὴν ἐν πολέµοις ἔχων πρὸ
καιροῦ ᾤχετο καί, ὡς οὐκ ἄν τις ἤλπισεν, ἐξ ἡµῶν ἀπῆλθε καὶ κατέδυ. ὦ
νεότης καὶ ἀκµὴ σώµατος καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἵππων ἅλµατα κοῦφα ποῦ
ποτε κατερρεύσατε;
206 LAMENTATION, HISTORY, AND FEMALE AUTHORSHIP
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
antithetical imagery of high and low.42 In the lament for Andronikos
Anna also voices regret at the unexpectedness of
death and employs a direct second-person address to the dead,
a feature of ancient and modern laments that emphasizes the
contrast between the mourner and the dead.43
The tendency to talk about herself, her deeply piteous and
miserable state, and her unbearable grief align Anna’s expressions
of grieving with the classical traditions of female lamentation.44
Sophocles’ Electra turns attention to her own grief in
her first line “Ah me, wretched me!” (ἰώ µοί µοι δύστηνος, El.
77). Andromache bewails how Hector has left her a widow (Il.
24.725–745). Anna describes distant memories of her loved
ones as driving her to weeping and intense grief in the present.
At the memory of her husband: “I become filled in my soul
with vertigo and I wet my eyes with streams of tears.”45 Regarding
her betrothed: “at the memory of this youth I am
suffering in soul and my reasoning becomes confused … And I
am filled with tears remembering this youth after so many
years.”46 At the end of the monody for Andronikos Anna turns
attention from Andronikos to herself:47
42 Alexiou, Ritual Lament: past and present 165, light 187–189, antithetical
imagery 151–160.
43 Alexiou, Ritual Lament 171–177.
44 S. Murnaghan, “The Survivors’ Song: The Drama of Mourning in
Euripides’ Alcestis,” ICS 24 (1999) 107–116, interprets classical Athenian
drama as more about the experience of surviving death than about death
itself; cf. Alexiou, Ritual Lament 182–184.
45 Prol. 4.1, ἐγὼ δ’ ἐνταῦθα γενοµένη σκοτοδίνης ἐµπίπλαµαι τὴν ψυχὴν
καὶ ῥείθροις δακρύων περιτέγγω τοὺς ὀφθαλµούς.
46 1.12.3, πάλιν δὲ µεµνηµένη τοῦ νεανίσκου τούτου παθαίνοµαι τήν τε
ψυχὴν καὶ τοὺς λογισµοὺς συγχέοµαι … ἐγὼ δὲ µετὰ τοσούτους ἐνιαυτοὺς
µεµνηµένη τοῦ νεανίου τούτου δακρύων ἐµπίπλαµαι.
47 15.5.4, θαυµάζειν δὲ ἔστι πῶς οὐ γίνεταί τις καὶ νῦν καθάπερ καὶ
πάλαι, φησίν, ἢ λίθος ἢ ὄρνις ἢ δένδρον ἤ τι τῶν ἀψύχων ὑπὸ µεγάλων
κακῶν εἰς τὰ τοιαῦτα τὴν φύσιν ἀµείβων, εἴτε µῦθος τοῦτό ἐστιν εἴτε λόγος
ἀληθής. καὶ τάχα κρεῖττον ἂν εἴη πρὸς τὰ µηδὲν αἰσθανόµενα µεταµείβειν
τὴν φύσιν ἢ τοσαύτην αἴσθησιν δέχεσθαι τοῦ κακοῦ. εἰ γὰρ τοῦτ’ ἦν, τάχ’
LEONORA NEVILLE 207
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
But it is to marvel how one does not become a stone or bird or
tree or something else without a soul, just as they say happened
of old, changing nature in these ways in response to great evils
(whether it is a myth or some true story). And perhaps it would
be better to transform my nature into something without feeling
than to accept the feeling of so much evil. For if this were so,
then quickly these horrible things would render me a stone.
The focus of pity becomes Anna in her grief rather than her
dead kinsmen. Anna’s establishment of herself as the key object
of pity aligns her work with elements of the lamentation tradition
that stand outside Menander’s advice for prose composition.
Menander was training men to compose speeches that
would be appropriate for delivery at a funeral. Anna clearly
drew on his advice, but also centralized her own emotional
state in a way that conforms to traditions of female lamentation
in which the mourner focuses on her own pain.48
Similarly Anna expresses negative wishes for herself that
reflect the lamentation tradition in which the mourner wishes
she had not been born or had died earlier.49 At the end of her
story Anna regrets being still alive: “I am displeased only that
my soul remains in my body. And if I may not, as it seems, be
something adamantine or some other wondrous form and be
estranged from myself, may I be destroyed immediately.”50
The imagery of Niobe returns after describing the death of her
parents:51
___
ἄν µε λίθον ἀπέδειξε τὰ συµπεσόντα δεινά.
48 “It seems conventional, then, that the dead man is mourned for his loss
as a social figure, and for the role he played in the lives of his female
relatives. In order to express the importance of the loss, the women focus on
the consequences of death, and the suffering they experience as a result”:
Swift, The Hidden Chorus 308–309.
49 Alexiou, Ritual Lament 180–181.
50 15.11.22, ἠγανάκτουν τοῦτο µόνον ὅτι καὶ ἡ ψυχή µου [πα]ρῆν ἐν τῷ
σώµατι. καὶ εἰ µή, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀδα[µαντ]ίνη τίς ἦν ἢ ἄλλης τινὸς φύσεως
διάπλασις [ἐν ἐµοὶ θαυµ]α̣σ̣τ̣ὴ̣ καὶ ξενίζουσα, κἂν ἀπωλόµην εὐ[θύς.
51 15.11.23, Νιόβην [µὲν οὖν παρ]ά τινων τερατευοµένην ἀκούοµεν [τὴν
µορφὴν εἰ]ς λίθον µεταβαλοῦσαν διὰ πένθος [τῶν παίδων καὶ δῆ]τα καὶ
208 LAMENTATION, HISTORY, AND FEMALE AUTHORSHIP
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
From some we hear the fabulous story of Niobe, changed into a
stone from mourning for her children, but then even after the
transformation to soulless stone the suffering accompanied her
immortal being, insensible by nature. It appears that I am yet
more wretched than she, since even after these greatest and ultimate
calamities, I have remained thus having feeling. It would
have been better for me, it seems, to have been changed into a
soulless stone streaming rivers of tears. But still I remain, not insensate
to misfortunes. I must endure so many horrors and now
men may stir up yet other unbearable things which are more
unfortunate than even the ills of Niobe. For her terrible suffering
had an end after it came to this point.
Anna echoes the extreme cases in which the mourner claims
to be more unfortunate than the deceased: “Living I have died
a thousand deaths.”52 She wonders why she is still alive after
describing the death of Alexios:53
For why has he perished from the living and I am reckoned and
numbered among them? Why am I not cast down and yet have
my soul? Or why did he breathe his last and I did not breathe
___
µετὰ τὴν ἀµοιβὴν τὴν εἰς [ἄψυχον λίθον] παραπέµπουσαν τὸ πάθος ἀθά[νατον
οὖσαν ἅτ]ε̣ φύσιν ἀναίσθητον. ἐγώ δ’ ἄρα καὶ [ἔτι τληπα]θεστέρα
ἐκείνης, ὅτι καὶ µετὰ τὰς µεγίστας [καὶ ἐσχάτας] τῶν συµφορῶν µεµένηκα
οὕτως αἴσθη[σιν ἔχουσα]. κάλλιον ἦν ἄρα πρὸς πέτραν ἄψυχον ἀµει[φθεῖσάν]
µε ποταµοὺς ἀπορ<ρ>έειν δακρύων, ἔµενον [δὲ ὅµως οὐχ’] οὕτως
ἀναισθήτως ἔχουσα πρὸς τὰς συµ[φοράς. ἐπέπρω]το δὲ τοσαῦτα ὑπενεγκεῖν
δεινὰ καὶ εἰσ[έτι καὶ ν]ῦ̣ν̣ ἄ̣λλά τα ἐξ ἀνθρώπων ἐπεγείρεσθαί µοι ἀφόρητα,
[ὅπερ πολλῷ] δυστυχέστερον καὶ τῶν τῆς Νιόβης κακῶν. [ἐκείνῃ] µὲν µέχρι
τοῦδε φθάσαντα τὰ δεινὰ τῆς [φ]ύ̣σεως ἔληξεν.
52 15.11. 23, ζῶσα δὲ] µυρίους θανάτους ἀπέθανον.
53 15.11.21, πῶς γὰρ ἀπορρυέντος ἐκ̣[είνου] τοῖς βιοῦσιν ἐγὼ συντάττοµαι
καὶ συν[αριθµοῦµαι] ζῶσιν ἢ πῶς οὐ συνεπαφῆκα καὶ α̣ὐ̣[τὴ τὴν ἐµὴν]
ψυχήν, ἢ εὐθὺς ἐκπνεύσαντι συνεξέ̣π̣ν̣[ευσα] καὶ ἀναίσθητος ἀπωλόµην; εἰ
δὲ µὴ τ̣ο̣[ῦ]τ̣[ο ἐπε]πόνθειν̣, πῶς οὐκ ἀπό τινων ὑψηλῶν καὶ [µετε]ώρων
αὐτὴν ὤθησα ἢ κατὰ κυµάτων ἐν[έρριψα] ποντίων; συµφοραῖς µεγάλαις τὴν
ζωὴν [περι]έγραψα. ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἔστιν ἄρα, κατὰ τὴν τραγῳ[δίαν], πάθος καὶ
ξυµφορὰ θεήλατος, ἧς οὐκ ἂν ἄχθος [ἀρ]οίµην ἐγώ. οὕτω γάρ µε ὁ Θεὸς
συµφορῶν µεγάλων [πε]ποίηκε καταγώγιον. ἀπεβάλοµεν τοσοῦτον [φ]ωστῆρα
τῆς οἰκουµένης, τὸν µέγαν Ἀλέξιον· καὶ µὴν ἡ ψυχὴ τοῦ ταλαιπώρου
ἐπετρόπευε σώµατος.
LEONORA NEVILLE 209
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
my last along with him and insensibly be destroyed? If I was not
to have this, why did I not fall violently from some high mountain
or hurl myself into the waves of the sea? My life is defined
by the greatest misfortunes. As the tragedian says “there is no
suffering or god-sent affliction” which I cannot bear. Thus God
has made me the residence of great troubles. I have lost the light
of the world, the great Alexios, and yet my miserable soul guards
my body.
Anna even entertains denying that the death of Alexios took
place, wondering if she is dreaming it all.54 These negative
wishes for self and the focus on the piteous state of the woman
left in mourning fit the emotional patterns of mourning women
in tragedy.
Other imagery may derive more directly from Anna’s reading
of Homer. In lamenting the memory of her husband, she
uses a metaphor of a funeral pyre that burns continuously but
does not consume her although it chars her bones and soul:55
54 15.11.21, ἐγὼ µὲ̣[ν οὖν ἔτι καὶ νῦν ἀ]πιστῶ ἐµαυτῇ, εἴπερ ζῶ τε καὶ
γ[ράφω καὶ µνη]µονεύω θανάτου τοῦ αὐτοκράτο[ρος, καὶ θαµὰ] ἐπαφῶµαι
τῷ ὀφθαλµῷ, µήποτ’ ἄ̣[ρα οὐχ’ ὕπαρ, ἀλλ’ ὄ]ναρ ἐστὶ τὰ νῦν ὑφ’ ἡµῶν
ὑπαγορε̣υ̣ό̣[µενα, ἢ] δέ γε καὶ µὴ ὄναρ ἐστὶν ἀλλ’ ἔκστασίς [τις] καὶ
παρακοπὴ καὶ πάθος περὶ ἐµὲ θα[υµαστὸν] καὶ ἀλλόκοτον, “In fact I right
now do not believe in my own perception: whether I live and write and
remember the death of the emperor. I rub my eyes in wonder, as if perhaps
this is not real but these things are suggested by some dream, or perhaps not
even a dream but some strange and portentous entrancement, delirium, or
experience of my own.
55 Prol. 4.2, τὸ µέντοι πάθος τὸ περὶ τὸν καίσαρα καὶ ὁ κατ’ αὐτὸν
ἀνέλπιστος θάνατος αὐτῆς µου καθίκετο τῆς ψυχῆς καὶ ἐς βάθος τὸ τραῦµα
εἰργάσατο. καὶ ἡγοῦµαι τὰς προειληφυίας συµφορὰς πρὸς ταύτην τὴν
ἄπληστον συµφορὰν ψεκάδα ὡς ὄντως πρὸς ὅλον Ἀτλαντικὸν Πέλαγος ἢ
τοῦ Ἀδριαντικοῦ Πελάγους τὰ κύµατα. µᾶλλον δέ, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἦσαν ἐκεῖνα
τούτων προοίµια καί µε προκατελάµβανεν ὁ καπνὸς τοῦ καµινιαίου τούτου
πυρὸς καὶ ὁ καύσων ἐκεῖνος τῆς ἀρρήτου ταύτης φλογώσεως καὶ τὰ καθ’
ἡµέραν πυρσὰ τῆς ἀφάτου πυρκαϊᾶς. ὢ πυρὸς ἄνευ ὕλης ἀποτεφροῦντος,
πυρὸς ἐν ἀπορρήτοις δᾳδουχουµένου καὶ καίοντος µέν, µὴ καταφλέγοντος
δέ, καὶ τὴν καρδίαν µὲν περιφρύγοντος, δόξαν δὲ παρέχοντος, ὅτι οὐ
συνεφρύγηµεν, καίτοι µέχρις ὀστέων καὶ µυελῶν καὶ µερισµοῦ ψυχῆς τὰς
πυρακτώσεις δεξάµενοι.
210 LAMENTATION, HISTORY, AND FEMALE AUTHORSHIP
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The suffering about the unexpected death of the Caesar [Nikephoros]
reached to my soul and wrought to the depth of pain.
I hold all the misfortunes coming before this terrible misfortune
as but a drop of rain falling into the whole of the Atlantic or the
waves of the Adriatic. Rather it seems they were the prelude,
and the smoke from the furnace of this fire overwhelmed me,
that scorching heat of this unspeakable burning and the continuous
flames of the unutterable funeral pyre. Oh, fire that
turns to ash without matter! Fire illuminating the unspeakable!
Burning, but yet not consuming. Parching the heart, yet appearing
that we are not also burned, even though we receive firewounds
until the division of bones and marrow from the soul.
The burning of bones was not part of the medieval funerary
tradition. There is no unambiguous intertext, but the most
likely and memorable place a twelfth-century Constantinopolitan
would have encountered the word purakaia, funeral
pyre, is in the description of Hector’s funeral at the end of the
Iliad, which is a powerful piece of writing (to understate it). The
use of short antithetical images in the description of the fire
lends this passage something of the flavor of verse lamentations.
In her focus on her own misery and negative wishes for herself,
Anna’s lamentations conform to the sentiment, if not the
precise style, of the mourning women of Attic tragedy and the
Iliad. Where her lamentations seem to owe more to Second
Sophistic conventions of prose monody composition, they reflect
the pervasive influence of those conventions on medieval
Byzantine culture. Given Anna’s direct references to classical
figures such as Niobe and Hecuba, it seems that she intended
her lamentations to be seen as participating in the classical tradition
of lamentation.56
Lamentation is not expected in Greek histories. One reason
Anna’s expressions of grieving are distrusted and perceived as
disturbing may be that they are jarring departures from the
traditions of Greek history writing. The tradition of female
56 How well she succeeded in this goal is not of particular relevance to
our investigation.
LEONORA NEVILLE 211
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
lamentation has precious little overlap with the tradition of
dispassionate history writing. Thucydides and Xenophon’s
manner of ‘objectively’ writing about their own actions in a
detached third-person established a tradition of emotional
distance between the writer of history and his subject. The
distancing narrative voice of the historian is one of the key
characteristics that distinguish history from tragedy.57 Authors
like Polybius may appear in their histories to comment on the
direction of the argument, and may even indicate their opinions
regarding the course of events and the lessons to be drawn
from history, but they do not emote, let alone weep.
On a simple reading of Polybius’ attacks on his rivals, ‘tragic
history’ was taken for much of the twentieth century as a
particular kind of poorly-written history. This reading of
Polybius was dismissed by his closest reader in 196058 and
recently the call has gone out that “the assumption that only
bad historians ‘go tragic’ needs to be firmly dismissed”; rather
“tragic history is not a self-standing genre or a phase in a
genre’s development: it is more like a particular color in an
artist’s palette, used in specific places for a particular effect.”59
This particular color of tragic history is of a different substance
from Anna’s spates of grieving. Elsewhere Anna may try to
draw the audience into the pitch of her story and work to elicit
emotion from the audience. In the passages discussed above
however she does not aim to get the audience to grieve so
much as to grieve herself. Anna’s lamentations cannot be ex-
57 Historians present themselves as removed from the action: “in summary,
tragedy engages the emotions of the audience by direct enactment;
history sometimes does this, but the episodes in which this happens are
framed by the stabilizing narrative voice of the historian, who guides the
reader and suggests evaluations and explanations much more frequently
and explicitly than is possible in drama”: R. Rutherford, “Tragedy and
History,” in J. Marincola (ed.), A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography
(Malden 2007) 508.
58 F. W. Walbank, “History and Tragedy,” Historia 9 (1960) 216–234.
59 Rutherford, in Companion 514.
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plained as an attempt at the sort of pathos-inducing narration
that has been discussed as ‘tragic history’. They are rather
ahistorical moments in which action is suspended to focus
attention on the emotional response to death.60
Readers who have internalized the standards of practice of
the Greek historiographical tradition would naturally feel a
sense of disjuncture or impropriety at Anna’s outbursts of
grieving. In that modern history also has aimed at dispassionate
objectivity, we instinctively register a discord when Anna’s
weeping intrudes on the historical narrative.
Anna had read enough classical history for us to conclude
that she must have known that including overt personal grief in
a history was breaking the rules of the genre. And when we
look carefully, indeed, she says as much. In describing the
death of her younger brother Nikephoros she says: “suffering
forces me to sing a monody for him, but the law of history pulls
me back immediately.”61 At the mention of her betrothed
Constantine Doukas: “I hold back the tear and store it up ‘for
the proper place’ [Dem. 18.27], lest mixing my monodies with
historical narration, I confuse the history.”62 In another scene,
after describing Alexios’ narrow escape from capture after
being defeated by Robert Guiscard, Anna explains in a digression
that she would like to weep at the misfortunes of her
father. She recognizes however the impropriety of that re-
sponse:63
60 Suter highlights the ahistorical nature of lamentation: Mnemosyne 56
(2003) 18.
61 15.5.4, µονῳδεῖν µε τὸ ἐπὶ τούτῳ πάθος ἐκβιάζεται, ἀλλ’ ὁ τῆς ἱστορίας
νόµος ἐκεῖθεν αὖθις ἀπείργει.
62 1.12.3, πάλιν δὲ µεµνηµένη τοῦ νεανίσκου τούτου παθαίνοµαι τήν τε
ψυχὴν καὶ τοὺς λογισµοὺς συγχέοµαι, ἀνακόπτοµαι δὲ τὴν ἀµφὶ τοῦτον διήγησιν
φυλάττουσα πάντα καιρῷ τῷ προσήκοντι.
63 4.8.1, ἀλλ’ ἵνα µὴ ῥητορεία κοµψή τις ᾖ κατὰ τὸ µέρος ἐκεῖνο τῆς
ἱστορίας, ὥσπέρ τις ἀπαθὴς ἀδάµας καὶ λίθος παρατρέχω τὰς τοῦ πατρὸς
ξυµφοράς, ἅσπερ ἔδει κἀµὲ καθάπερ ἐκεῖνον τὸν ὁµηρικὸν νεανίσκον εἰς
ὅρκον προφέρειν· οὐδὲ γάρ εἰµι χείρων ἐκείνου τοῦ λέγοντος “οὐ µὰ Ζῆν’,
Ἀγέλαε, καὶ ἄλγεα πατρὸς ἐµοῖο” πρὸς τὸ εἶναι καὶ λέγεσθαι φιλοπάτωρ.
LEONORA NEVILLE 213
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
But since elaborate rhetoric has no place in this part of the
history, I summarize the suffering of my father like an unfeeling
and unbreakable stone … the sufferings of the father must be
left to me alone to honor and lament, while the history must
continue.
In each of these cases Anna both begins a lament and then
protests that she must stop lamenting in order proceed with
writing history. Thus she calls attention precisely to how
lamentation transgresses the rules of historiography. Anna was
fully cognizant that history has its ‘law’, nomos (15.5.4), and that
those laws forbade the expression of emotion.
So if she accepted that expressing emotion made for bad
history, why did she do it? One purpose of Anna’s participation
in the tradition of lamentation is that it was a discourse appropriate
and becoming for good women. When caught in the
act of the male gendered activity of history writing, her enactment
of female lamentation shows that indeed she was not an
aberrant woman. As Euripides’ Medea said, “women by nature
are given to weeping” (928). In weeping Anna did natural
womanly things and fulfilled culturally normative expectations
for her gender. The first explanation for her lamentations is
that they allowed her to conform to gender ideals for a good
Greek woman, wife, and daughter. In singing a dirge she was
behaving properly. In exercising the female role of lamentation,
Anna inhabits an acceptable and approved female part.
She has been accused of allowing ‘histrionic’ emotionalism to
mar the objectivity of her history by scholars who missed how
her expressive lamentations were the moments in which she
was properly playing her gender.
The models provided by Homer, Attic tragedy, and the
liturgical laments of the Virgin were certainly sufficient to
___
ἀλλὰ τὸ µὲν πάθος τὸ πατρικὸν ἐµοὶ µόνῃ καταλελείφθω καὶ θαυµάζειν καὶ
ὀλοφύρεσθαι, τὰ δὲ τῆς ἱστορίας ἐχέσθω. In full this passage supports the
conjecture (n.21 above) that Anna is concerned about being perceived as
boastful by her audience and deploys the discourse of personal misfortune
to guard against that outcome.
214 LAMENTATION, HISTORY, AND FEMALE AUTHORSHIP
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impress on Anna that lamentation was the form of speech most
appropriate to women. The medieval Greek tradition concurred
with the classical on this point. For both Mary and
Hecuba lamentation was a characteristically female activity
and the most appropriate discourse for a woman. Those in
Anna’s audience who had also read ancient tragedy would
have appreciated Anna’s efforts to write classical lamentations.
Those many however who knew only the Christian tradition of
Marian lamentation would still have appreciated Anna’s lamentations
as the times in which she was behaving properly.
In modeling her behavior on that of Hecuba, Niobe, or the
Widow of Nain, Anna was constrained to imitate them as they
had been portrayed by Euripides, Gregory of Nyssa, and the
other male writers of the Greek tradition. Since all of Anna’s
authorial models were men, her literary examples of women in
mourning were images of women’s voices as portrayed by male
writers. In the absence of alternatives, these remained Anna’s
models for describing female behavior. We have no indications
that she conceived of her literary models of female grieving as
somehow inauthentic because they had been written by men.
Rather, the examples of these male writers rhetorically performing
female voices, and to some extent thus enacting femininity,
may have helped Anna conceive of writing as an
activity in which it was possible to cross gender boundaries.
Michael Psellos constructed a rhetorical gender for himself that
drew on concepts of femininity. In a letter describing his reaction
to the birth of his grandson he calls himself female by
nature.64 Anna knew Psellos’ work well and may have read the
letter in which he presents himself as female, which had been
written to her maternal great-grandfather. Psellos’ ability to
play with the rhetorical construction of gender may have provided
a model for Anna’s own artfully-constructed self-presen-
tation.
Once Anna’s lamentations are understood as the occasions
64 S. Papaioannou, “Michael Psellos’ Rhetorical Gender,” BMGS 24
(2000) 133–146, at 137.
LEONORA NEVILLE 215
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Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 53 (2013) 192–218
when she was enacting proper female behavior, the maleness of
her rhetorical gender in other places becomes clearer. Anna
draws sharp and purposeful contrasts between her discourse of
lamentation and her discourse of history. The logic of history
contrasts with the irrationality of grief. Anna presents grief as a
natural, reflexive, response to death whereas history is a matter
of intellectual deliberation. She emphasizes how lamentation
stands outside of rational discourse by declaring grief to be unutterable.
In the image of the undying fire of her mourning for
Nikephoros, she uses vocabulary that emphasizes that grief and
rational spoken discourse are incompatible. The funeral pyre of
her grief is an “unspeakable burning” and an “unutterable
pyre,” a fire “illuminating the inexpressible.”65 Later, at the
memory of her betrothed Constantine, Anna’s “reasoning is
confused.”66 Grief is again a marker of irrationality at the death
of Alexios as Anna recalls that in her anguish she became
disdainful of reason and philosophy; she says she had become
mad.67 In these cases Anna’s historical discourse is interrupted
by lamentation that cannot be expressed through words. It cannot
be part of a logos because it is unspeakable, unutterable,
inexpressible, and destructive of reason.
While Anna associates grief with irrationality, she considers
history as discourse requiring reason. With the exception of the
final pages of the Alexiad, every time Anna engages in lamentation
she makes an explicit statement of her need or ability to
stop lamenting in order to return to history. After the opening
image of the funeral pyre of her grief for her husband, she
makes an explicit turn away from lamentation. Having acknowledged
her particular grief, she asserts that she will dry her
eyes to take up her task, and promises to pursue a “clearer and
65 Prol. 4.2, τῆς ἀρρήτου ταύτης φλογώσεως … τῆς ἀφάτου πυρκαϊᾶς …
πυρὸς ἐν ἀπορρήτοις δᾳδουχουµένου.
66 1.12.3, τοὺς λογισµοὺς συγχέοµαι.
67 15.11.15, φιλοσοφίας καὶ λόγου καταφρονήσασα;15.11.16, καὶ τότε δὴ
ᾐσθόµην ἔκφρονος ἐµαυ[τῆς γεγον]υίας.
216 LAMENTATION, HISTORY, AND FEMALE AUTHORSHIP
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more historical discourse” henceforth.68 This act of drying her
eyes and controlling her emotion to return to clear history is
repeated in her laments for Constantine and Andronikos. Regarding
Constantine, Anna both mourns and elaborates on her
ability to curtail her mourning:69
I hold back the narrative about him, guarding everything for a
fitting place … And I am filled with tears remembering this
youth after so many years. However I hold back the tear and
store it up ‘for the proper place’, lest mixing my monodies with
historical narration, I confuse the history.
Again Anna is forced by her pain to sing a monody for her
brother but is pulled back by the “law of history” (15.5.4). Here
she explicitly balances her need to express mourning with the
need to write historically.
Anna thus indicates that the heightened emotionalism of a
classical lamentation is something she can both start and stop.
The explicit drying of eyes should perhaps be seen as standing
testament to her control over her emotions. When Anna holds
back her tears, she exercises strength and self-control, both
paradigmatically masculine virtues. In presenting history as
requiring a rational and dispassionate voice, Anna implicitly
argues that history requires a masculine voice. In repeatedly
emphasizing her ability to dry her eyes and put her natural
emotions aside, she makes the case for her own ability to write
in a masculine fashion. When saying that she will hold back her
tears for Constantine “for the appropriate time,” she uses a line
from Demosthenes about doing everything in due course (τοὺς
ἐπικαίρους τῶν τόπων, 18.27). Demosthenes’ tag may have
been proverbial by the twelfth century, but it may yet be sig-
68 Prol. 4.3, ἀποψήσασα οὖν τὸ δάκρυον τῶν ὀµµάτων … ἄµεινον δὲ ὅθεν
σαφέστερός τε καὶ ἱστορικώτερος ὁ λόγος γενήσεται.
69 1.12.3, ἀνακόπτοµαι δὲ τὴν ἀµφὶ τοῦτον διήγησιν φυλάττουσα πάντα
καιρῷ τῷ προσήκοντι … ἐγὼ δὲ µετὰ τοσούτους ἐνιαυτοὺς µεµνηµένη τοῦ
νεανίου τούτου δακρύων ἐµπίπλαµαι, ἐπέχω δὲ ὅµως τὸ δάκρυον καὶ
ταµιεύω πρὸς τοὺς ἐπικαίρους τῶν τόπων, ἵνα µὴ τὰς µονῳδίας τῶν ἐµῶν
ἀναµιγνῦσα ταῖς ἱστορικαῖς διηγήσεσι τὴν ἱστορίαν συγχέοιµι.
LEONORA NEVILLE 217
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nificant that after the monody, Anna associates her actions
with those of a male public actor. Her self-description as drying
her eyes to take the straight road of history calls attention to
her ability to write dispassionate historical narration. Just as by
weeping Anna displays her proper performance of female
gender, by overtly and explicitly stopping her lamentations she
performs masculine self-control, dispassion, and rationality.
The one scene where Anna does not pull herself back from
lamentation is the final chapter of the Alexiad dealing with
Alexios’ death. She opens the chapter by remarking that henceforth,
since she needs to write about the death of the emperor,
she has a new “double task: to do history and tragedy at the
same time.” She must “on the one hand tell a history of his
agony, on the other sing a monody on what has wrung the
heart.” Anna goes on to say that her father often told her not to
write a history of his deeds but to sing threnodies and lamentations.70
Alexios, she reveals at the end of her long history,
never wanted a history about himself, but rather a monody. In
the pages that follow, history and tragedy are mixed unapologetically.
She goes “outside the bounds of history” again to talk
in detail about Alexios’ medical condition, using precise and
detailed medical vocabulary.71 As the final chapter progresses,
Anna, her two sisters, and her mother become increasingly
emotional as Alexios reaches his end, and the history becomes
a description of lamenting women. Here Anna does not restrain
lamentation to stay on the historical path but allows
history to give way entirely. The final paragraphs are pure
tragedy as she sings her father the monody he asked for. Like
70 15.11.1, διττόν µοι τὸν ἀγῶνα τοῦ λόγου τῆς προκειµένης ὑπαγορευούσης
ὑποθέσεως, ἱστορεῖν ἅµα καὶ τραγῳδεῖν τὰ ξυµπεσόντα τῷ
αὐτοκράτορι, ἱστορεῖν µὲν τοὺς ἀγῶνας, εἰς µονῳδίαν δὲ ἄγειν ὁπόσα τὴν
καρδίαν διεµασσήσατο … ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἀναµέµνηµαι καὶ λόγων τινῶν
πατρικῶν τῆς µὲν ἱστορίας ἀπαγόντων, εἰς δὲ τοὺς θρήνους καὶ τὰς ὀλοφύρσεις
παρακαλούντων.
71 15.11.2.34–35, θεσµοὺς ἱστορίας ὑπερεκπίπτειν ἔρχοµαι διηγησοµένη,
ὅπερ οὐ πάνυ τι βούλοµαι, τὴν τοῦ αὐτοκράτορος τελευτήν.
218 LAMENTATION, HISTORY, AND FEMALE AUTHORSHIP
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the Iliad, the Alexiad ends in lamentation.
In portraying herself as a writer for whom lamentation was a
natural, but controllable, impulse, I see Anna as asserting a
particularly female historical voice. As a woman—a natural,
good, non-transgressive woman—Anna grieved acutely and
participated in millennial traditions of female lamentation. Yet
as a capable woman-historian, she displayed her ability to recognize
the irrationality of grief and get it under control. Anna
marks the boundaries between the two discourses so carefully
in order to show us that she was in control of her emotions. We
can trust her when she writes historically because we witness
her drying her eyes to take up the masculine task of history
writing. The final, fully tragic, paragraphs of the Alexiad naturally
come across to us as self-pitying, yet the intention was
not to write self-pitying history but to sing a funeral lament in
which extravagant expressions of despair are required. It is
sadly ironic that a rhetorical strategy designed to gain our trust
has done so much to make Anna seem disingenuous.72
October, 2012 Department of History
Univ. of Wisconsin
Madison, WI 53706
LNeville@wisc.edu
72 I thank the audience of the 2011 Byzantine Studies Conference for
their insightful and helpful comments on an earlier draft of this essay.