Author and Audience in Latin Literature

The relationship between an author and his audience has received much critical attention from scholars in non-classical disciplines in recent years, yet the nature of much ancient literature and of its * publication' meant that audiences in ancient times were more immediate to their authors than in the modern world. This book contains essays by distinguished scholars on the various means by which Latin authors communicated effectively with their audiences. The authors and works covered are Cicero (as both orator and letter-writer), Catullus, Lucretius, Propertius, Horace's Odes, Virgil's Aeneid, Ovid's Metamorphoses, Senecan tragedy, Persius, Pliny's letters, Tacitus' Annals and medieval love lyric. Contributors have provided detailed analyses of particular passages in order to throw light on the many different ways in which authors catered for their audiences by fulfilling, manipulating and thwarting their expectations; and in an epilogue the editors have drawn together the issues raised by these contributions and have attempted to place them in an appropriate critical context. Author and audience in Latin literature is a sequel to the influential series of

essay-collections edited by Tony Woodman and David West and published by Cambridge University Press: Quality and pleasure in Latin poetry (1974), Creative imitation and Latin literature (1979) and Poetry and politics in the age of Augustus (1984).

Author and audience in Latin literature

Author and audience in Latin literature

EDITED BY

TONY WOODMAN UNIVERSITY OF DURHAM &

JONATHAN POWELL UNIVERSITY OF NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE

[CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Published by the Press Syndicate of the University of Cambridge The Pitt Building, Trumpington Street, Cambridge CB2 IRP 40 West 20th Street, New York, NY 10011-4211, USA 10 Stamford Road, Oakleigh, Victoria 3166, Australia © Cambridge University Press 1992 First published 1992 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress cataloguing in publication data Author and audience in Latin literature / edited by Tony Woodman and Jonathan Powell, p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and indexes. ISBN o 521 38307 2 (hardback) I. Latin literature — History and criticism. 2. Authors and readers — Rome - History. 3. Theater audiences - Rome - History. 4. Reader-response criticism. I. Woodman, A. J. (Anthony John). II. Powell, J. G. F. PA6OII.A8

1992

870.9'OQI—dc2o

91-27096

CIP

ISBN o 521 38307 2 hardback

Transferred to digital printing 2004

FOR

DAVID

WEST

Vellem rediret carmine callido laudare amicum doctus Horatius, aut ille posset ueritatis insatiabilis explicator Carus renasci: tertius eloquens si iunctus hospes Vergilius foret, turn forte possemus decoris uersibus ingeminare laudem docti sodalis, nomine praediti regis lyristae. redditus otio linquis professoris cathedram: tempore saepe tamen futuro interpretandis uatibus et mero scite bibendo des operam, neque mensas amicorum recusans uisere, nee metuens uetustae cornicis aeuum, quod sapientiam constanter auget non leuibus uiris; non rura nee dulces Camenas nee minuit citharam senectus. J.G.F.P.

CONTENTS

List of contributors Prologue 1

page xi xiii

THE O R A T O R AND THE READER: Manipulation and response in Cicero's Fifth Verrine R. G. M. NISBET

2

I

STRATAGEMS OF V A N I T Y : Cicero, Ad familiares 5.12 and Pliny's letters NIALL RUDD

3

18

'SHALL I COMPARE T H E E . . . ? ' : Catullus 68B and the limits of analogy D. C. FEENEY

4

33

ATOMS AND E L E P H A N T S : Lucretius 2.522—40 T. P. WISEMAN

5

IN MEMORIAM

45

GALLI: Propertius 1.21

IAN M. LE M. DUQUESNAY

6

THE POWER OF I M P L I C A T I O N : Horace's invitation to Maecenas {Odes 1.20) FRANCIS CAIRNS

7

84

THE VOICE OF V I R G I L : The pageant of Rome in Aeneid 6 G. P. GOOLD

8

52

no

FROM ORPHEUS TO ASS'S EARS: Ovid, Metamorphoses 10.1—11.193 D. E. HILL

I24

Contents 9

POET AND AUDIENCE IN SENECAN TRAGEDY: Phaedra 358-430 GORDON WILLIAMS

10

P E R SIU S' FIRST SATIRE: A re-examination J. G. F. POWELL

11

T38

I50

N E R O ' S ALIEN C A P I T A L : Tacitus as paradoxographer {Annals 15.36—7) TONY WOODMAN

I73

12 AMOR CLERICALIS P. G. WALSH

13

189

EPILOGUE

204

Notes Abbreviations and bibliography Indexes

216 260 274

CONTRIBUTORS

FRANCIS CAIRNS. Professor of Latin in the University of Leeds. Author of Generic composition in Greek and Roman poetry (1972), Tibullus: a Hellenistic poet at Rome (1979), Virgil}s Augustan epic (1989), and editor of the series ARC A IAN M. L E M. D U Q U E S N A Y . Lecturer in Classics in the University of Cambridge and Fellow of Jesus College. Author of several studies of republican and Augustan poetry

D. C. F E E N E Y . Associate Professor, Department of Classics, University of Wisconsin—Madison. Author of The gods in epic: poets and critics of the classical tradition (1991) G. P. Go OLD. Lampson Professor of Latin in Yale University. General Editor of the Loeb Classical Library, and editor and translator of Manilius (1977), Catullus (1983) and Propertius (1990) D. E. H I L L . Senior Lecturer in Classics in the University of Newcastle upon Tyne. Editor of Statius, Thebaid (1983) and author of Ovid: Metamorphoses 1—4 (1985) R. G. M. N I S B E T , F.B.A. Corpus Christi Professor of Latin in the University of Oxford 1970—92. Author of commentaries on Cicero, In Pisonem (1961) and, with Margaret Hubbard, on Horace, Odes 1 (1970) and 2 (1978) J. G. F. P O W E L L . Lecturer in Classics and from October 1992 Professor of Latin in the University of Newcastle upon Tyne. Author of commentaries on Cicero, Cato Maior (1988) and Laelius on friendship and The dream of Scipio (1990) N I A L L RUDD. Emeritus Professor of Latin in the University of Bristol. Author of The Satires of Horace (1966), Lines of enquiry (1976), Themes in Roman satire (1986) and Horace: Epistles Book II (1989)

Contributors P. G. W A L S H . Professor of Humanity in the University of Glasgow. Author of Livy: his historical aims and methods (1961), The Roman novel (1970) and Livy {Greece & Rome Survey, 1974), and also of commentaries on Livy Books 21 (1973) and 36 (1990) and of editions of Books 26—7 (1982) and 28—30 (1986). He has also written extensively on patristic and medieval authors: Paulinus of Nola (1966-7 and 1975), the Carmina Burana (1972 and 1976), Thomas Aquinas (1967), Andreas Capellanus (1982), George Buchanan (1983), William of Newburgh (1988) and Cassiodorus (1991) WILLIAMS. Thacher Professor of Latin in Yale University. Editor of Horace, Odes 3 (1969) and author of Tradition and originality in Roman poetry (1968), Horace {Greece & Rome Survey, 1972), Change and decline: Roman literature in the early empire (1978), Figures of thought in Roman poetry (1980) and Technique and ideas in the Aeneid (1983) GORDON

T. P. W I S E M A N , F.B.A. Professor of Classics in the University of Exeter. Author of Catullan questions (1969), New men in the Roman senate (1971), Cinna the poet and other Roman essays (1974), Clio s cosmetics (1979), and Catullus and his world (1985). His Roman studies: literary and historical was published in 1987 TONY WOODMAN. Professor of Latin in the University of Durham. Author of two volumes of commentary on Velleius Paterculus (1977 and 1983), of Rhetoric in classical historiography (1988), and, with R. H. Martin, of Tacitus: Annals 7/^(1989); with T. J. Luce he has also edited Tacitus and the Tacitean tradition

PROLOGUE

It is now almost twenty years since the publication of Quality and pleasure in Latin poetry, the first volume in what has become an occasional series. Although the present volume conforms to the general style of its three predecessors, readers will notice that there has been a change in the editorial team. The reason is that our publication is intended to honour one of the original editors, David West, who in 1992 retires from the University of Newcastle upon Tyne, where he has held the Chair of Latin since 1969. That the theme of this book is close to David West's heart will be recognised by all those who have come into contact with him, whether as students, colleagues, readers, auditors or friends. He has devoted most of his scholarly life to explaining Latin texts — and especially those of Lucretius, Horace and Virgil, each of whom is represented here — to modern audiences which have ranged from fellow professionals to sixthformers. Indeed several generations of sixth-formers will remember with (it is hoped) affection ' Latin Alive', the Latin residential course which was held in Newcastle at Easter in the 1970s and to which guest Latinists were invited if they were willing, and perhaps even able, to join ' Professor Occidens' in playing football with the students. Yet the title of this volume is of course disingenuous too. It evokes such modern mysteries as * audience-oriented criticism' and its companion 'reader-response criticism'; and followers of David West's career will be only too well aware of his scepticism about modern literary theory. Participants at a meeting of ' Seminar Boreas', which was his own precursor of the Liverpool Latin Seminar twenty years ago, will perhaps recall his memorable interruption of an unfortunate speaker on Virgil (' Must we listen to any more of this ?'); many others will recall the audience's applause when he intervened similarly at a paper on Horace at a Joint Meeting of the Hellenic and Roman Societies in Oxford in 1981. We trust that David West will not find too much to displease him in

Prologue the essays of our contributors, who, as usual, have been free to choose their own passages and to devise their own approach. They have tried to make their essays as wide as possible in their appeal, useful to both students and scholars alike; they have referred to other discussions and critiques as they have seen fit; and technical terms, except the most common, have been explained. We as editors have tried to summarise in an epilogue some of the issues involved in a Latin author's effective communication with his audience. A.J.W., J.G.F.P.

R. G. M. NISBET

THE O R A T O R AND THE READER Manipulation and response in Cicero's Fifth Verrine

The title of this book must not be taken too literally but needs interpretation by the reader. Though much Latin literature suggests the presence of an audience, it was recorded not on tape but papyrus. Speeches have a notably ambiguous status: they reconstruct the style and techniques of living oratory, but once they were issued to the world they were no longer spoken. Not even the content need be the same,1 for in his published versions Cicero added political manifestos (as in the Pro Sestio), omitted procedural technicalities (everywhere), or shifted his stance to suit a developing situation (as in the Catilinarians). He expanded some remarks against Piso into a comprehensive invective, he never spoke the famous Second Philippic, and the Pro Milone that failed is not the one that we have. The present essay deals with the Fifth Verrine, which purports to have been delivered in 70 B.C. at the trial of Verres for extortion as governor of Sicily, but as the defendant withdrew into exile after the first preliminaries, not a word was actually uttered. Even if Cicero had a draft of the speech ready for delivery, he would rewrite it in a triumphal spirit when he knew that he had won. He was now not so much persuading a jury as justifying a successful prosecution.2 A problem of presentation arises with any discussion of Cicero's speeches: the text goes on for so long that comment soon becomes diffuse. To meet this difficulty I shall concentrate on a fiftieth part of the Fifth Verrine, a page deploring the destruction of a Roman fleet by the pirates near Syracuse (5.92—5). Such a procedure may be acceptable to David West, who in his treatment of Lucretian imagery, Virgilian similes, and Horatian word-play has shown how to select significant examples with a general application.3 What is more, I shall discuss each sentence immediately after it has been quoted, even though this disrupts the continuity of the whole. Talk about literature too often loses sight of the words on the page, and the arrangement here adopted may persuade some readers to respond to the Latin as well as the comment. There will

R. G. M. NISBET

be few technical terms and no abstract theory,4 only concrete instances of the symbiotic relationship of orator and reader; but some general conclusions will be suggested at the end. O tempus miserum atque acerbum prouinciae Siciliae! o casum ilium multis innocentibus calamitosum atque funestum! o istius nequitiam ac turpitudinem singularem! (5*92) What a wretched and bitter moment for the province of Sicily! What a calamitous and deadly catastrophe it was for many innocent people! How unprecedented that man s profligacy and iniquity !

Cicero's reader would not skip and skim in the modern manner, aiming at no more than the general drift. He would declaim the passage aloud5 (or get a trained anagnostes to do so), mouthing the repeated o (an emotional word in Latin), and emphasising the parallelism of the three resonant clauses. This is the grand style of oratory (grande genus oradonis), designed to rush an audience into enthusiasm and action: the best reader would have been something of an orator himself, a person with grauitas and auctoritas as well as an understanding of style, who could at least hint at the orotundity of a great performer. In practice this was beyond most people: a Greek secretary, however literate, could not provide the timbre of a Roman senator;6 schoolboys might try out their voices, but Cicero's aims were not primarily educational; even a statesman would not imitate the delivery of a real oration7 when he was receiving no stimulus from an audience.8 Every reading of a speech, as of other works of literature, was to some extent a fresh occasion, like the staging of a play or the performance of a piece of music, and, quite apart from the degree of professionalism, different readers must have produced different effects. The rhythmical quality of Cicero's speeches must have been particularly difficult to recapture. At the end of most sentences he adopts a favoured metrical pattern, the so-called 'clausula',9 whether - ^ — x10 {atque funestum)) or - ^ - x (singularem), or - ^ — <J X {-inciae Siciliae

belongs to this type, with the first two short syllables of Siciliae substituted for a long). We cannot suppose that many Romans consciously thought in terms of long and short syllables (crotchets and quavers, as we might describe them), yet we hear of an audience applauding at a dichoreus or double-trochee in the clausula (- w - x): hoc dichoreo tantus clamor excitatus est ut admirabile esset (Cicero, Orator

214). Clearly the more receptive listeners found aesthetic pleasure in the rhythm; as Cicero rightly says, ' what music can be found sweeter than

The orator and the reader balanced speech, what poetry more harmonious than an artistically rounded period?' (De oratore 2.34 qui enim cantus moderata oratione dulcior inueniri potest? quod carmen artificiosa uerborum conclusione

aptius?). The movement of formal prose was an integral part of the meaning, the untranslatable quality that gave it its distinction and appeal, but the reader also had a contribution to make. If he proved inadequate, he could destroy a work as surely as a bad actor or musician. The following sentence also demands a reader with different expectations from our own: una atque eadem nox erat qua praetor amoris turpissimi flamma, classis populi Romani praedonum incendio conflagrabat. On one and the same night the Governor was on fire with the flame of an iniquitous passion, and the fleet of the Roman people with a conflagration kindled by pirates.

Reactions to literature can change very quickly, and twenty years later Cicero might seem to have crossed the line between the grand and the inflated;11 but some at least of the original readership must have appreciated hyperbole,12 and far-fetched analogy, and a metaphor that was not yet dead. In a world where houses were more combustible than our own and fire brigades less efficient, they could understand the horror of conflagration; Cicero himself was to play on such fears when he described the incendiarism of Catiline.13 The formal phrase classis populi Romani is designed to activate patriotic reflexes, as * Royal Navy' once did. Words for * pirate' like praedo suggested not the picturesque ruffians of our childhood, Long John Silver or Captain Hook, but vicious terrorists who threatened the lives and the livelihood of some of Cicero's own readership. As for Verres' iniquitous passion, we should not forget that many Romans had a strong sense of decorum,14 which is not the same as puritanism. Young men might be indulged within limits {Pro Caelio 39—50), but responsible persons, such as the reader is encouraged to think himself, would deplore anything that impaired the authority and efficiency of a provincial governor. adfertur nocte intempesta grauis huiusce mali nuntius Syracusas. At dead of night there is brought to Syracuse the heavy news of this disaster.

After his grandiose exclamations Cicero varies his tone: narratives were written in a simple style15 to produce credibility, though in the 3

R. G. M. NISBET

Verrines alleged fact and tendentious comment cannot easily be separated. Here the restrained solemnity is designed to affect the reader beyond the literal meaning of the words. The postponement of the subject adds to his suspense. He is encouraged to sense a contrast between the stillness of the night16 (more noticeable in ancient towns than in our own) and the ensuing hubbub, and to draw on his experience, or perhaps rather his reading, to produce a feeling of sympathetic involvement. Compare Xenophon on the destruction of the Athenian fleet at Aegospotami (Hellenica 2.2.3): 'It was night when the ship arrived with news of the disaster. A wailing ran from the Peiraeus to the city... During that night no one slept.' Or Demosthenes in the De corona on the fatal loss of Elatea (18.169), a m u c n quoted passage17 that must have been familiar to educated readers: 'It was evening when a messenger arrived with the news that Elatea had been captured... The generals were summoned, the trumpeter was ordered to attend. The city was full of commotion. The next day at dawn... the citizens went to the ecclesia.' So Macaulay on the relief of Londonderry {History of England, ch. 12): 'It was the twenty-eighth of July. The sun had just set: the evening sermon in the cathedral was over; and the heart-broken congregation had separated; when the sentinels on the tower saw the sails of three vessels coming up the Foyle.' A carefully worded narrative may give an impression of objectivity even while it is eliciting a subjective response. curritur ad praetorium quo istum ex illo praeclaro conuiuio reduxerant paulo ante mulieres cum cantu atque symphonia. There is a rush to the governor's residence, where Verres had been escortedfrom his fine dinner-party a short time before — by women, with singing, and a chorus of Greeks.

Any competent reader would see that praeclaro was ironic, but his expression might vary from the deadpan to the heavily sarcastic. He could be relied on to remember that Verres had pitched his marquees at the entrance to the Grand Harbour of Syracuse, south of the Arethusa fountain;18 here in his summer camp, as Cicero calls it (5.96 aestiua), he had entertained married women at lavish picnics. The ordinary Roman might have enjoyed aristocratic magnificence from afar,19 but Cicero has his eye on the more energetic members of the governing class, who would feel varying degrees of indignation or envy at the luxury of a superior whom in some cases they might hope to supplant. As Antonius is made to say in the De oratore, the orator should urge his audience towards love or hate, envy or goodwill, preferably by working on

The orator and the reader existing emotions, but if nothing is obvious, 'by sniffing out their feelings and expectations'.20 In this delightful spot, when his fleet sailed past to do battle with the pirates, Verres had taken the salute21 in sandals, wearing a purple cloak and ankle-length tunic, and propped up by one of his girl-friends: 5.86 stetit soleatus praetor populi Romani cum pallio purpureo tunicaque talari, muliercula nixus in litore. Quintilian cites this vivid scene as an instance of the realism (Ivccpyeia, sub oculos subiectio)22 that encourages the reader to visualise; though such pictures are evidence of literary power rather than actual knowledge, they were regarded as an effective method of persuasion. Quintilian adds that the reader could fill in details that have not been described: 'I for my part seem to see the face and eyes and unseemly blandishments of both of them, and the silent turning away and apprehensive modesty of the bystanders' (8.3.65 ego certe mihi cernere uideor et uultum et oculos et deformes utriusque blanditias et eorum qui aderant tacitam auersationem ac timidam uerecundiam).2* He advises the speaker not to imitate the inclination of Verres' body as he leans against the woman (11.3.90 non enim... inclinatio incumbentis in mulierculam Verris imitanda est); he is discouraging exaggerated gestures, but his warning shows his readiness to think of the episode in visual terms. All this suggests that the writer's imagination was understood more literally than sometimes nowadays, and that readers were expected to picture things that were not explicitly in the text.24 If that is so, every reader could provide a particular colouring of his own. In fact the details of this scene seem to be instances of the fibs (mendaciuncula) that Cicero regards as permissible in invective {De oratore 2.241); in the same spirit he will later describe how Verres' eyes were splashed by the victorious pirates' oars (5.100). It is entirely credible that the Governor wore a purple cloak in a Greek city (5.31,5.137 tu praetor in prouincia cum tunica pallioque purpureo uisus es); but it is not likely that Cicero had precise information about the particular occasion in so secluded a place. Informality of dress was a profitable theme in invective25 because it showed a disregard for social position and the dignity of office.26 The ordinary person might wear sandals without criticism, but Cicero's readers would expect better things of a praetor populi Romani (again the formal phrase) when they themselves had to endure a Roman summer in a clammy toga and tight boots.27 After his party Verres returned to his praetorium; a right-thinking Roman would understand what is not explicitly stated, that Government House required higher standards of behaviour. He would pick up the gibe in the apparently factual paulo ante: if it was nearly intempesta nox,

R. G. M. NISBET

' the unseasonable time of night', then Verres stayed up too late for a man with duties in the morning, reduxerant at first sight suggests a magistrate's escort of attendants and hangers-on, but by the time we reach the end of the sentence we see that this impression was misleading: the governor's procession has become more like a band of comissatores, young men who roamed the streets after a party in search of further pleasure. The postponed subject mulieres is meant to shock or amuse: respectable women would not be present on such occasions, so the reader on Cicero's wavelength (a man) could speak the word with scorn and astonishment. Singing was an expected part of the comissatio, but it had no place in a governor's escort; so cantu as well as mulieres might be emphasised with distaste. The Greek word symphonia refers to a group of musicians such as Verres had recently appropriated from a captured pirate-ship (5.64); a skilled speaker (perhaps not a Greek anagnostes) could pronounce the word in a knowing way to suggest the decadence of foreign culture. Cicero's readers are invited to construct a picture of the Governor rolling home; to share some fun with them about the follies of the great, especially when they were great no more, was an easy way of engaging their sympathy. Cleomenes, quamquam nox erat, tamen in publico esse non audet; includit se domi. Although it was night, Cleomenes does not venture to appear in public, but shuts himself indoors.

Cleomenes was the Syracusan commodore who in the flight from the pirates had led his squadron from the front (5.88—9); the point would amuse the more chauvinist Roman reader, just as Gilbert's Duke of Plaza Toro encouraged the least warlike Victorians in their contempt for south European armies. Such a reader might not reflect that because of their inexperience in seamanship, Roman navies had to rely heavily on the despised Greeks. In the ancient world leaders — even emperors — were expected to be visible, and it was easy to stir up comment on their disappearance; yet a dozen years later even Pompey barricaded himself in his house to escape the gangs of Clodius (Asconius 41 KiesslingSchoell). In fact no sensible person would face a hostile demonstration in the middle of the night, but though Cicero's quamquam is misleading, he could rely on most readers not to notice. neque aderat uxor quae consolari hominem in malis posset. Nor was the wife at hand who could comfort the fellow in his troubles.

The orator and the reader The implications of this sentence are more damaging than the surface meaning. The wife of Cleomenes was called Nike or ' Victory', an irony that cannot have escaped competent readers, though it is not brought out explicitly. Neither could they be unaware that she was the object of Verres' 'iniquitous passion'; they might not be too shocked by the relationship in itself (any more than Nelson's admirers by Lady Hamilton), but the promotion of Cleomenes to secure his absence could not be condoned.28 Here it is implied that Nike could not comfort her husband because she was comforting Verres instead.29 When Cicero is in a malicious mood, we must look not only at what he says but at what he stops short of saying: innuendo is recognised by the rhetorical theorists (they called it emphasis or signification^ and anybody who had followed the context could easily supply the unspoken thought. For such collaboration with the reader compare Demetrius (probably Cicero's contemporary): 'As Theophrastus says, one should not speak out everything in precise detail, but leave some things for the hearer to work out and understand for himself. When he grasps what you have not expressed, he will be more than your hearer, he will be a witness on your behalf, and more kindly disposed towards you, for you have given him the opportunity to exert his intelligence and he feels he has done so. To express everything as to a fool is to accuse your hearer of being one. ' 3 1 huius autem praeclari imperatoris ita erat seuera domi disciplina ut in re tanta et tarn graui nuntio nemo admitteretur, nemo esset qui auderet aut dormientem excitare aut interpellare uigilantem. (5-93) But our remarkable commander-in-chief kept such strict control over his household that in so great a crisis, with such heavy tidings to be reported, nobody was admitted, there was nobody who ventured either to rouse him while he slept or to interrupt him when he was awake.

huius imperatoris refers to Verres not Cleomenes, though the latter is described as imperator below. Moderns who exaggerate the admitted ambiguity of language might find confusion here, but words must not be taken in isolation: a competent reader would follow the context and see the function of huius and autem. He would understand the irony of imperatoris^ a word repeatedly attached to Verres (as well as of praeclari and disciplina): commanders were only acclaimed by this title when they had won an important victory. He would interpret Verres' somnolence as a lack of uigilantia (watchfulness, a prized Roman virtue); yet even in modern times, when communications are far better, persons in authority

R. G. M. NISBET

should not be wakened up if nothing can be done till day. When Cicero goes on to say interpellare uigilantem, the more alert reader would spot another innuendo: he is being tempted to suspect what is not in fact said, and may be quite untrue (for how could anybody know?), that Verres was up to no good with the commodore's wife. iam uero re ab omnibus cognita, concursabat urbe tota maxima multitudo. When in due course the matter was known to everybody, a huge crowd milled about over the whole city.

An ancient reader would understand the urban environment, and sympathise with the concern of the crowd. When public life is conducted in the open air, * a chill rumour' in Horace's phrase ' seeps from streetcorner to street-corner' {Satires 2.6.50 frigidus a rostris manat per compita rumor). If trouble came in the middle of the night, a publicspirited or curious citizen went outside to see what was happening, as when Propertius had a row with Cynthia (4.8.2). In the alleys of an old city a crowd soon built up, and Cicero needs only a few words to communicate a sense of crisis. It is unlikely that he had precise evidence for the details, but most readers would be content with an account that seemed plausible in the situation. Much ancient oratory, and history, is neither obviously true nor obviously false, but a reasonable guess at the sort of thing that might well have happened.32 non enim sicut antea erat semper consuetudo, praedonum aduentum significabat ignis e specula sublatus aut tumulo, sed flamma ex ipso incendio nauium et calamitatem acceptam et periculum reliquum nuntiabat. Contrary to the invariable previous practice the approach of the pirates was signalled not by the raising of fire on a watch-tower or hill, but flame from the actual burning of the ships announced both the disaster that had been suffered and the danger that remained.

Signalling by fire is attested in the historians (even if Aeschylus' beacon-speech was a fantasy), and flames in the night encourage the reader to visualise; compare Macaulay's line on the Armada ' And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle' (just as with our passage, burghers' appeals to the solid virtues of the expected readership). Here Cicero presents a more piquant drama: the disaster was signalled by the actual burning of the ships. This had taken place as evening fell (5.91) at Helorus, fifteen miles south of Syracuse: at the

The orator and the reader time the cause of the fire would not be clear (the pirate ships could themselves have been destroyed), and by the middle of the night, when the 'grave news' arrived, the flames might no longer be visible. One suspects a picturesque variation of stereotyped phrases like ' messenger of his own disaster'. But a sympathetic reader would be persuaded by the particularity of the detail, which suggests truthfulness to the uncritical: compare the Historia Augusta and Robinson Crusoe^ to name only secular texts. cum praetor quaereretur, et constaret neminem ei nuntiasse, fit ad domum eius cum clamore concursus atque impetus. When the Governor was looked for, and it was established that nobody had informed him, there is a mass rush to his residence accompanied by shouts.

In this whole passage Cicero does not simply narrate alleged facts: by the repetition of key words he encourages the reader to form an impression of turmoil. Thus concursus echoes curritur and concursabat above, and clamore is echoed by clamore below (for shouting was one of the more democratic elements in the Roman political process); note also the recurring references to night and fire. At first sight we might assume that the protesting crowd consisted of Syracusan Greeks: in fact they were Roman citizens, the only people allowed to live on the Insula (5.84) where the governor's residence was situated (4.118), merchants at serious risk from the pirates and natural allies of Cicero. This all becomes clear at the end of the paragraph, but the better-informed Roman would understand the situation from the start. The original readership of any ancient work might contribute to its interpretation facts that are less obvious to us. 33 turn iste excitatus, audit rem omnem a Timarchide, sagum sumit — lucebat iam fere... (5.94) Then wakened at last, he learns the whole business from TimarchideSy puts his uniform on (it was now more or less light) ...

Timarchides was a freedman of Verres, an agent (we are told) in some of his shadier transactions, who had been privileged to join him and Nike at his parties on the sea-front. Many readers would accept the suggestion (probably not a sincere one) that familiarity with Greeks should be discouraged; they would certainly feel it improper that a Roman governor should be briefed by such a person, though in many provinces this must have been inevitable. The more literate would appreciate the

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irony of the formal sagum sumit^ when it is the unwarlike Verres who is dressing for battle (a significant type of scene since the Iliad). The mention of daybreak (like turn... excitatus above) is not simply factual but underlines Verres' procrastination (fere perhaps betrays exaggeration). A civilian reader would not stop to ask what could be done about the pirates in the middle of the night. procedit in medium, uini somni stupri plenus. He steps forth, heavy with drink, sleep, and debauchery.

Cicero's ideal reader could convey by his voice the mock grandiloquence of procedit in medium-, when a Roman governor appeared, you knew he was there. The ancient world gave only erratic help with punctuation, and modern editions are often misleading; but an experienced reader would see that the clause ended at medium, before the deflating climax. A modern scholar will suspect a literary commonplace when a surprised army or general is said to be the worse for drink,35 but a Roman would think that a Roman defeat needed a particular explanation. As for Verres' * debauchery', the reader is being encouraged to construct a story out of isolated scenes that give the impression of corroborating one another: we are shown in turn the mixed parties on the shore (the only reliable detail), the girl-friend at the review of the fleet, women trooping to the praetorium after the symposium, Verres' reluctance to be disturbed at night, his exhaustion the morning after. Cicero was so pleased with his phrase uini somni stupri plenus that he applied it later both to Gabinius (Post reditum in senatu 13) and Clodius (De haruspicum responso 55); though this tells against the truth of the remark, most Romans would see nothing wrong with elaborating the case against a discredited enemy. excipitur ab omnibus eiusmodi clamore, ut ei Lampsaceni periculi similitudo uersaretur ante oculos; hoc etiam maius hoc uidebatur, quod in odio simili multitudo hominum haec erat maxima. He is received by everybody with shouting of such a kind that his similar danger at Lampsacus floated before his eyes; the present danger seemed all the greater because amid similar animosity the crowd of people on this occasion was greatest.

Nobody could have known what was floating before Verres' eyes, but most Roman readers would be happy to go along with speculations of this kind; similarly at 5.161, tow ex ore crudelitas eminebat^ they would 10

The orator and the reader see only psychological probability37 and convincing realism. Cicero expects people to recall that in his early career Verres was nearly burned alive by a mob at Lampsacus when on his way East to serve as a legatus (11.1.63-9). Such an episode from the defendant's past life38 could be thought to corroborate what happened at Syracuse; in fact Cicero's account of the latter may have been overdrawn to make it correspond with the former. turn istius actae commemorabantur, turn flagitiosa ilia conuiuia. Then his beach-parties were recounted, then those scandalous banquets.

Again Cicero is expecting the kind of reader who would resent Verres' ostentatious luxury, actae refers to sophisticated beach-parties;39 the word was a humorous substitution for the more normal acta, 'achievements'.40 The attitude to Cicero's puns must have varied from person to person, and generation to generation: thus 2.121 ius Verrinum ('Verrine justice' and 'hog-broth') was criticised in Tacitus {Dialogus 23.1) among other writers. But quite apart from questions of taste, other people's jokes present problems when they are read aloud. One has to see them coming,41 and this may not be easy if the work is unfamiliar; even then the reader has to be a master of timing. This is particularly the case with Cicero's jokes, which usually depend not on a comic situation but a felicitously unexpected phrase (as can be seen from the fact that they are much more successful in Latin than in English). All this shows once again how much Cicero relied on the contribution of the reader. turn appellabantur a multitudine mulieres nominatim. Then the crowd called out at the women by name.

The ideal reader, and the ideal reader's wife, would think that ladies should not be talked about (Thucydides 2.45.2); still less should they attract the barracking (conuicium) that characterised Roman 'popular justice'.42 He would recall that Cicero had named these people in his earlier descriptions of the picnics on the shore. There was Tertia (5.31, 40), the daughter of the mime-actor Isidorus and mistress of a musician from Rhodes: the particulars, which could be recited with disgust, would suggest that Cicero knows all. When he said that Verres valued his women less for their lineage than their merits (5.31), he relied on the reader to interpret the compliment nastily: the sardonic twist to a conventional motif was a kind of humour that appealed to the Romans.43 Apart from Nike, whom we have met already, there was also Pipa, the 11

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wife of Aeschrio (the name sounds disgraceful in Greek), whose affair with Verres was recounted in verses44 that circulated throughout Sicily (5.81). Readers with predictable attitudes would feel a blend of disapproval and glee; with luck some might be able to supply the lines, which were clearly unsuitable for quotation in a speech. turn quaerebant ex isto palam tot dies continuos per quos numquam uisus esset ubi fuisset quid egisset; turn imperator ab eo praepositus Cleomenes flagitabatur. Then they asked Verres to his face where he had been and what he had done for all those days on end through which he had never been seen. Then they shouted for the commander-in-chief he had appointed, Cleomenes.

The crowd's insolence to Verres is unexpected and may be fictitious : when a Roman magistrate appeared in public, he was supported by a fearsome display of imperium, in this case six stalwart lictors with canes and axes. If Cicero had actually delivered his speech, his disrespect for office might have disturbed a senatorial jury; but now that Verres was disgraced and in exile, readers from a wider milieu could enjoy an account of his discomfiture. They would appreciate the merciless scene where the crowd shouts * We want Cleomenes'; failure met with little sympathy in the Roman political world (or the Greek for that matter). The less subtle would find it hilarious to give a defeated Greek the majestic title of imperator, just as when years later Cicero called Clodia imperatrix {Pro Caelio 67). neque quicquam propius est factum quam ut illud Uticense exemplum [de Hadriano] transferretur Syracusas, ut duo sepulchra duorum praetorum improborum duabus in prouinciis constituerentur. As near as no matter the precedent of Utica was transferred to Syracusey so as for two burial-places for two wicked governors to be instituted in two provinces.

The reader is assumed to recall the episode of Utica in 83 B.C. when the crowd burned the governor Hadrianus in his own residence.45 I have deleted de Hadriano as an intrusive gloss that impairs the balance of Utica and Syracuse; contemporaries with political awareness could supply the name, and if anybody had forgotten it no harm would be done. It seems strange that Cicero condones this outrage against the governor of a province, but again the crowd consisted of Roman merchants, a class that 12

The orator and the reader he was trying to cultivate. At the end of the sentence there is a reminiscence of the tragedian Accius, video sepulcra duo duorum corporum, ' I see two sepulchres of two bodies' ; 46 the line was certainly familiar to Cicero, as he quotes it at Orator 156. The well-read reader would enjoy the pleasure of recognition, and feel well-disposed to an orator who took his culture for granted; the less learned would not feel slighted as there would be no reason for puzzlement. Much reminiscence in Latin literature works, or fails to work, in the same sort of way. uerum habita est a multitudine ratio temporis, habita tumultus, habita etiam dignitatis existimationisque communis, quod is est conuentus Syracusis ciuium Romanorum, ut non modo ilia prouincia uerum etiam hac re publica dignissimus existimetur. But the throng paid regard to the crisis, to the civil commotion, to the dignity and reputation of the community; for such is the Roman citizen body at Syracuse that it is regarded as a credit not only to the province of Sicily but to the Roman Republic as well.

Having appealed to his less scrupulous readers' baser emotions, Cicero is skilfully backtracking. He had seemed to advocate the incineration of a governor in his own praetorium^ but now he hastily explains that the Roman citizens at Syracuse were too responsible to do any such thing. His flattery of this community would win the sympathy, if not of the senatorial jury that he is purporting to address, at least of much of his original readership. confirmant ipsi se, cum hie etiam turn semisomnus stuperet arma capiunt, totum forum atque Insulam quae est urbis magna pars complent. (5-95) They draw courage from one another; when Verres was even then in a semi-somnolent stupor, they take up arms; they man the whole forum and Island, which comprises a large part of the city.

Again Cicero loads his narrative to win the co-operation of his readers. Many would identify with the Roman merchants who rallied to the defence of their interests; correspondingly they would deplore the irresponsibility of the governor, who was the right person to organise resistance. In other circumstances a leader can be praised for insouciance in the face of danger: Drake had time to finish the game, Wellington attended the Duchess of Richmond's ball, and the Romans could admire men of action who knew how to enjoy their otium. But as Verres lost his battle with the pirates, patriots would readily believe that he was half-

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asleep. In fact though he may well have been negligent in his preparation of the fleet, it is difficult to see that his conduct at the time of the battle made any practical difference. We can better understand Cicero's conspiracy with his reader if we compare a later piece of invective, the surviving fragment of Caelius' speech against C. Antonius, the uncle of Mark Antony; it is a commonplace that the original reader used earlier literature to interpret a text, but for us it is also legitimate to use a later parallel to illuminate a manner of writing. namque ipsum ofTendunt temulento sopore profligatum, totis praecordiis stertentem, ructuosos spiritus geminare, praeclarasque contubernales ab omnibus spondis transuersas incubare, et reliquas circumiacere passim, quae tamen exanimatae terrore hostium aduentu percepto, excitare Antonium conabantur, nomen inclamabant, frustra a ceruicibus tollebant; blandius alia ad aurem inuocabat, uehementius etiam nonnulla feriebat; quarum cum omnium uocem tactumque noscitaret, proximae cuiusque collum amplexu petebat; neque dormire excitatus neque uigilare ebrius poterat, sed semisomno sopore inter manus centurionum concubinarumque iactabatur. (Quintilian 4.2.123—4 = Malcovati, Oratorum Romanorum fragmenta edn 2 fr. 17, p. 483) They find the Governor prostrate in a drunken slumber, snoring with all his vitals, redoubling flatulent eructations, with his fine female tent-mates from all the camp-beds lying crosswise over him, and the rest of the women sprawling higgledy-piggledy around. Even so they were startled out of their wits when they perceived the onset of the enemy ; they tried to rouse Antonius, they shouted out his name; they made to lift him by the shoulders, in vain. One called coaxingly in his ear, others hit him quite vigorously, and as he recognised every one of them by voice and touch, he tried to put his arms round the neck of whoever was nearest; but he could neither sleep on being wakened nor stay awake as he was drunk, but in a semi-somnolent slumber was bundledfrom hand to hand by his centurions and concubines.

This fragment has a number of things in common with our passage from the Fifth Verrine. In both a provincial governor on trial for extortion is accused of negligence at the approach of an enemy. In both he is somnolent, drunk, and distracted by discreditable women. In Cicero the crowd tries to rouse the slumbering Verres, in Caelius the women try to 14

The orator and the reader rouse the slumbering Antonius: both passages emphasise words like dormire, uigilare, excitare. Caelius calls the camp-followers contubernales or tent-mates; so Cicero had referred in his speech to Mud contubernium muliebris militiae (5.104). In particular we may note cum semisomnus stuperet at the end of the Ciceronian passage and semisomno sopore at the end of Caelius' fragment. Alan Cameron has pointed out that the latter phrase is oddly tautologous (especially as sopore was used above), and he has conjectured semisomno stuporef1 his proposal is supported by the parallel in Cicero, which he does not record. All this tends to show that Caelius was imitating Cicero and going one better than his master, but his very exaggerations make clearer the conventions of invective. The more sensible readers of both speeches would see that some elements were overdrawn, but that would not seem to matter. A speech by Cicero was not just a manifesto but an entertainment. Rhetoric is the art of persuasion, and Cicero uses all its techniques on his original readers. He senses their views on incompetent governors, defeated commodores, and luxurious mistresses, and he works on their patriotic instincts, factional interest, moral convictions, envy, and sense of humour. Sometimes he will invoke prejudices that he does not himself hold (as notoriously in the Verrines in his disdain for Greek art), but he is not utterly cynical: an orator will write and speak best when he is swept along by his own eloquence {De oratore 2.189—90), and shares the emotions that he helps to generate. He does not work by consulting the text-books, though he has read them all, but by applying general principles imaginatively to particular situations: sometimes a circumstantial narrative will carry conviction, sometimes a self-evident fabrication will make his adversary ridiculous; more often he is content to exaggerate, selecting and slanting, making the more plausible points carry the less. There is no reason to believe that Verres was an innocent victim: parts of the Verrines are supported by details that could not have been invented without being refuted. But in other circumstances Cicero could have tilted the argument the other way: thus in the Pro Fonteio and Pro Flacco he stresses the unreliability of provincial witnesses, and in the Pro Murena and Pro Caelio he shows an indulgent attitude to the life of pleasure. He has no feeling that a prosecution should not be pressed too vehemently, or that Verres should be spared once he had admitted defeat. He is now playing not just to win a good case but to confirm his own position in the courts and public life. Beyond this immediate object Cicero has a larger aim, the creation of a prose classic comparable with anything in Greek oratory. His expected audience cannot be defined (expressions like 'the ideal reader' are vague

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at the best of times), but it would include a cultivated minority in future generations. The literary and political purposes of the work overlap: in the ancient world the literary public admired rhetorically effective arguments, while politically-minded persons expected an orator to delight {delectare) as well as to inform (docere) and to excite (mouere). But the Verrines are too long for purely practical needs, and though eloquence was appreciated in Roman courts, the degree of polish and elaboration would have been impossible for a speaker facing unexpected situations in the real world. If we consider the written works that we have and not the orations that might have been, Cicero's aims in the Verrines begin to seem more literary than political, and this is as true of the small-scale effects as of the larger design. It may be objected against the tenor of this chapter that an author's intentions cannot be gauged: we have only the text to go on, which we can interpret as we choose, and have no other access to the orator's mind. Certainly slips of the pen are possible, and unforeseen felicities, or ambiguities that have not been consciously designed. Yet oratory is so practical an art that even in its literary form the uncalculated elements are more marginal than in poetry: it is easier to talk of Cicero's purpose in the Verrines than of Virgil's in the Aeneid, let alone that of twentiethcentury writers, who have had an undue influence on contemporary discussion (modern critics read more Joyce than Johnson). We can bring to bear not only what we find in the text itself but our knowledge of the genre, the needs of the case, and human nature in general. Above all, we have enough of Cicero's writings to know what he was like: he had an astute mind and a lucid style, and it is not difficult to identify his overall aims and the means he adopted to achieve them. The notion of * intention' always raises problems of definition, as we do many things deliberately but without conscious reflection;48 but though on any particular occasion we may be mistaken, Cicero's purposes are in principle no more opaque than those of any living politician or colleague. Written words are symbols in ink that need a receiver to activate them; this is true of all literature, but oratory depends to an unusual extent on the living voice. What then could the reader contribute to the speech that was never spoken? At the most obvious level, a familiarity with literary Latin that Romans possessed in very different degrees; also, if possible, some acquaintance with the political and practical issues. Misunderstandings had to be avoided (easier for those who knew the language), non-existent punctuation supplied (some variation was possible), innuendo and irony expressed, allusions and parodies spotted, jokes seen and communicated. Blanks in the narrative might be filled in, 16

The orator and the reader for just as in interpreting a painting, we sometimes have to supply what is suggested rather than stated. If the reader had imagination, he could visualise select scenes in his own way, an aspect of reading that is too often neglected. Above all, the reader had to have some feeling for the sound and rhythm of formal prose, and be able to reproduce it out loud. But though the speech could not happen without him, he remained subordinate to the author. It is of the essence of oratory that the speaker should know what he is doing, and though we may fail to notice his sleight-of-hand, we can follow in its main lines what he is willing us to see.

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2

STRATAGEMS O F V A N I T Y Cicero, Ad familiares 5.12 and Pliny's letters

Behind David West's skills as a critic and translator lies an interest in the nuances of language. While it is more usual to study such nuances in poetry, the letters discussed below may remind anyone who needs reminding that in its rhetoric prose can be just as artful.

I

CICERO, AD FAMILIARES

5.12

Dear Lucceius, I see you have almost finished your account of the War of the Allies and the struggle between Marius and Sulla, and that you are now preparing for the next phase of your work. As I am passionately eager for fame (not just in the future but also now in my lifetime), I am writing to ask if you would be kind enough to ignore considerations of chronology and to pass at once to those events in which I played such a central role. May I suggest, in fact, a special volume devoted to my achievements, starting from the conspiracy of Catiline and concluding with my return from exile ? In view of our friendship, I can rely on you not only to record my deeds but also to glorify them. That period of my career has all the ingredients of great literature; and so its triumphs and disasters ought to be set forth to the fullest advantage. I do hope you will undertake this task; otherwise I shall have to do it myself. Then I shall feel inhibited from presenting the drama in its full colours, and the impact on posterity will be impaired. So please, as they say, 'pull out all the stops', and celebrate the glories and misfortunes of yours sincerely Marcus Cicero. 18

Stratagems of vanity Such a letter would have conveyed clearly and specifically enough what Cicero wanted. As a piece of persuasion, however, it would have had little force. If we keep it in mind, therefore, it may help us to appreciate the qualities of that elaborate piece, now classified as Ad familiares 5.12, which Cicero himself described as ualde bella {Ad Atticum 4.6.4). M. CICERO S.D. L. LUCCEIO Q.F.

Coram me tecum eadem haec agere saepe conantem deterruit pudor quidam paene subrusticus, quae nunc expromam absens audacius; epistula enim non erubescit. Ardeo cupiditate incredibili neque, ut ego arbitror, reprehendenda nomen ut nostrum scriptis illustretur et celebretur tuis. quod etsi mihi saepe ostendis te esse facturum, tamen ignoscas uelim huic festinationi meae. genus enim scriptorum tuorum, etsi erat semper a me uehementer exspectatum, tamen uicit opinionem meam meque ita uel cepit uel incendit ut cuperem quam celerrime res nostras monumentis commendari tuis. neque enim me solum commemoratio posteritatis ac spes quaedam immortalitatis rapit sed etiam ilia cupiditas ut uel auctoritate testimoni tui uel indicio beneuolentiae uel suauitate ingeni uiui perfruamur. Neque tamen haec cum scribebam eram nescius quantis oneribus premerere susceptarum rerum et iam institutarum. sed quia uidebam Italici belli et ciuilis historiam iam a te paene esse perfectam, dixeras autem mihi te reliquas res ordiri, deesse mihi nolui quin te admonerem ut cogitares coniunctene malles cum reliquis rebus nostra contexere an, ut multi Graeci fecerunt, Callisthenes Phocicum bellum, Timaeus Pyrrhi, Polybius Numantinum, qui omnes a perpetuis suis historiis ea quae dixi bella separauerunt, tu quoque item ciuilem coniurationem ab hostilibus externisque bellis seiungeres. equidem ad nostram laudem non multum uideo interesse, sed ad properationem meam quiddam interest non te exspectare dum ad locum uenias ac statim causam illam totam et tempus arripere; et simul, si uno in argumento unaque in persona mens tua tota uersabitur, cerno iam animo quanto omnia uberiora atque ornatiora futura sint. Neque tamen ignoro quam impudenter faciam qui primum tibi tantum oneris imponam (potest enim mihi denegare occupatio tua), deinde etiam ut ornes me postulem. quid si ilia

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3 tibi non tanto opere uidentur ornanda? sed tamen, qui semel uerecundiae finis transient, eum bene et nauiter oportet esse impudentem. itaque te plane etiam atque etiam rogo ut et ornes ea uehementius etiam quam fortasse sentis et in eo leges historiae neglegas gratiamque illam de qua suauissime quodam in prohoemio scripsisti, a qua te flecti non magis potuisse demonstras quam Herculem Xenophontium ilium a Voluptate, earn, si me tibi uehementius commendabit, ne aspernere amorique nostro plusculum etiam quam concedet ueritas largiare. Quod si te adducemus ut hoc suscipias, erit, ut mihi 4 persuadeo, materies digna facultate et copia tua. a principio enim coniurationis usque ad reditum nostrum uidetur mihi modicum quoddam corpus confici posse, in quo et ilia poteris uti ciuilium commutationum scientia uel in explicandis causis rerum nouarum uel in remediis incommodorum, cum et reprehendes ea quae uituperanda duces et quae placebunt exponendis rationibus comprobabis et, si liberius, ut consuesti, agendum putabis, multorum in nos perfidiam, insidias, proditionem notabis. multam etiam casus nostri uarietatem tibi in scribendo suppeditabunt plenam cuiusdam uoluptatis, quae uehementer animos hominum in legendo te scriptore tenere possit. nihil est enim aptius ad delectationem lectoris quam temporum uarietates fortunaeque uicissitudines. quae etsi nobis optabiles in experiendo non fuerunt, in legendo tamen erunt iucundae. habet enim praeteriti doloris secura recordatio 5 delectationem; ceteris uero nulla perfunctis propria molestia, casus autem alienos sine ullo dolore intuentibus, etiam ipsa misericordia est iucunda. quern enim nostrum ille moriens apud Mantineam Epaminondas non cum quadam miseratione delectat? qui turn denique sibi euelli iubet spiculum postea quam ei percontanti dictum est clipeum esse saluum, ut etiam in uulneris dolore aequo animo cum laude moreretur. cuius studium in legendo non erectum Themistocli fuga interituque retinetur? etenim ordo ipse annalium mediocriter nos retinet quasi enumeratione fastorum; at uiri saepe excellentis ancipites uariique casus habent admirationem, exspectationem, laetitiam, molestiam, spem, timorem; si uero exitu notabili concluduntur, expletur animus iucundissima lectionis uoluptate. 6 Quo mihi accident optatius si in hac sententia fueris, ut a continentibus tuis scriptis, in quibus perpetuam rerum gestarum 2O

Stratagems of vanity historiam complecteris, secernas hanc quasi .fabulam rerum euentorumque nostrorum. habet enim uarios actus multasque ^mut^>ationes et consiliorum et temporum. ac non uereor ne adsentatiuncula quadam aucupari tuam gratiam uidear cum hoc demonstrem, me a te potissimum ornari celebrarique uelle. neque enim tu is es qui quid sis nescias et qui non eos magis qui te non admirentur inuidos quam eos qui laudent adsentatores arbitrere; neque autem ego sum ita demens ut me sempiternae gloriae per eum commendari uelim qui non ipse quoque in me 7 commendando propriam ingeni gloriam consequatur. neque enim Alexander ille gratiae causa ab Apelle potissimum pingi et a Lysippo fingi uolebat, sed quod illorum artem cum ipsis turn etiam sibi gloriae fore putabat. atque illi artifices corporis simulacra ignotis nota faciebant, quae uel si nulla sint, nihilo sint tamen obscuriores clari uiri. nee minus est Spa<j)>tiates Agesilaus ille perhibendus, qui neque pictam neque fictam [tarn] imaginem suam passus est esse, quam qui in eo genere laborarunt. unus enim Xenophontis libellus in eo rege laudando facile omnis imagines omnium statuasque superauit. Atque hoc praestantius mihi fuerit et ad laetitiam animi et ad memoriae dignitatem si in tua scripta peruenero quam si in ceterorum quod non ingenium mihi solum suppeditatum fuerit tuum, sicut Timoleonti a Timaeo aut ab Herodoto Themistocli, sed etiam auctoritas clarissimi et spectatissimi uiri et in rei publicae maximis grauissimisque causis cogniti atque in primis probati, ut mihi non solum praeconium, quod, cum in Sigeum uenisset, Alexander ab Homero Achilli tributum esse dixit, sed etiam graue testimonium impertitum clari hominis magnique uideatur. placet enim Hector ille mihi Naeuianus, qui non tan turn 'laudari' se laetatur sed addit etiam 'a laudato uiro\ At the start (i) Cicero claims that he has frequently tried to broach the subject face to face, but has been deterred by pudor; here he can speak more courageously, as 'a letter doesn't blush' (epistula enim non erubescii). Now the Romans, like ourselves, acknowledged the halfpleasant embarrassment caused by compliments or congratulations: erubescere etiam cum ab aliis laudabimur decet, as Quintilian says

(i 1.1.22).1 The worry which pulls against the pleasure and so causes the embarrassment is presumably the fear of arousing inuidia. One doesn't wish to be thought a ' big-head'; and possibly one has a vaguer and more general unease about success and the dangers of hybris. But that kind of 21

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innocent blush is not in point here. Cicero is uncomfortable about what he is doing, and rightly so; but having admitted that his overtures cause him embarrassment he at once assures Lucceius that his motive is not discreditable {cupiditate... neque, ut ego arbitror, reprehendenda). Hence his pudor is not straightforward pudor, but pudor quidam. Is it rusticus? No, just subrusticus; and not even that, but paene subrusticus. Moreover, this very faint hint of rusticitas, which Tyrrell—Purser (1906) contrast with the frons urbana of Horace, Epistles 1. 9.11, may do him credit. If momentarily it recalls Cicero's small-town origins, is there anything wrong with that? The ways of the big city are sometimes oversophisticated (are they not?) and out of touch with Rome's best traditions. And now the confession. Preserving the warmth of erubescit, Cicero says ardeo cupiditate incredibili... nomen ut nostrum... illustretur et celebretur ('I am burning with unbelievable eagerness that my name should be made glorious and famous'). Given traditional upper-class ideas about laus,fama, and gloria, Cicero's desire was unusual only in its intensity.2 The letter, however, does not reveal his egotism in all its nakedness; for his wish is to be celebrated scriptis tuis, where tuis is the last word. So Cicero's request is simultaneously a compliment to Lucceius. In fact he is not, it appears, so much asking a favour as inviting his friend to collaborate in a common venture beneficial to both. It now transpires that Lucceius has already promised on several occasions to perform this service; the reason for this new urgency is the quality of Lucceius' writing — a quality which has surpassed Cicero's expectations. He is eager, then, not merely for posthumous glory, but also for the pleasure of enjoying while still alive ' the powerful support of Lucceius' judgement, the proof of his esteem, and the attractiveness of his literary talent'. Now since, barring accidents, Lucceius' history would eventually reach the 60s, he would sooner or later have to deal with Catiline's conspiracy. That is not what Cicero has in mind. After the flattery just quoted he is in a position to make a more daring proposal (2). But before presenting it he points to some weighty precedents. Callisthenes, Timaeus, and Polybius had all written special volumes, separate from their continuous historical narrative (perpetuis suis historiis)? Would Lucceius not consider doing the same? The function of the precedents is to offer Lucceius a place in a long and impressive cultural tradition — that of Hellenistic historiography. This exciting prospect might have been even more appealing if, as Shackleton Bailey has suggested, Lucceius was writing in Greek.4 22

Stratagems of vanity Once this proposal has been uttered, a further step becomes feasible. If a separate volume is to be devoted to Cicero's achievements, then the exact date of its publication will not materially affect the course of the main work. It could therefore be completed and given to the world before the narrative had reached 63 B.C. — not, of course, that it would matter much to Cicero's ultimate reputation, but it would do much to soothe his impatience. Furthermore (for, as we know, Cicero is also thinking of Lucceius' interests), a separate monograph would have an artistic advantage. Since the writer's attention would be concentrated on one theme and one personality, the account would be — what? Perhaps more compact and economical? Or perhaps more unified in the manner recommended by Aristotle ? But no. It would all be that much richer and more embellished {uberiora atque ornatiora).

Now it is time to draw back and take off the pressure. ' It's not that I'm unaware of my presumption in imposing so heavily on you (for your commitments may oblige you to turn me down) and in actually expecting you to heighten my achievements (for you may not think they deserve all that much to be heightened!). Still, anyone who oversteps the limits of modesty has to be well and truly shameless (3). And so I ask you frankly and urgently, please elaborate what I did, even more enthusiastically than you may perhaps feel to be justified; and in doing so disregard the rules of history. You wrote very charmingly in one of your prefaces about Partiality, making it clear that you could no more be seduced by her than Xenophon's Hercules was by Pleasure. Still, if she speaks somewhat warmly to you on my behalf, please don't reject her, and in view of your regard for me be even a little more generous than Truth allows. ' 5 By admitting his shamelessness Cicero seeks to palliate it, on the principle of qui s* accuse s* excuse* Then comes that long period starting with itaque rogo, which conveys in four different forms the same request, viz. * please do not feel bound to preserve a strict objectivity'. Since, like other historians, Lucceius had in a preface explicitly rejected bias, it is interesting to see how Cicero goes about undermining his principle. First, he makes a flattering reference to the preface in question; then he extends Lucceius' sexual allegory, arguing that by succumbing to the blandishments of Gratia the historian would merely be indulging his affectionate feelings for Cicero a little more generously than Veritas would sanction — a venial fault. What would be the scope of the work? Cicero has already given thought to that question (4): events from the beginning of Catiline's conspiracy to Cicero's return from exile (jeditum) would make up a fair-

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sized volume, and (though this is not stated) they would present a satisfactory curve from success to failure to success. Such a theme would be worthy of Lucceius' ability and his powers of expression. And not only is he a fluent writer, he is also a man of profound political insight. 'You will be able to display your acknowledged grasp of political changes,7 explaining the causes of the revolution and proposing remedies for its attendant disasters. You will criticise what in your view deserves blame, and praise what you approve of, supplying reasons in each case.' That sounds as if Lucceius is being given carte blanche. But the orientation assumed by Cicero is at once reaffirmed: ' if you feel called on to speak rather frankly, as is your way, you will condemn the disloyalty, the intrigues, and the treachery which many practised against me'. No mention of any possible hesitations or misjudgements on the consul's part. As well as giving scope for political analysis and moral judgement, the Ciceronian theme has a certain grandeur which, if presented by a brilliant writer, could have all the imaginative impact of a great drama. ' My experiences will provide your account with a great wealth of material, affording a certain kind of pleasure — one which, as long as you are the writer, could grip and retain people's attention as they read. For nothing delights the reader more than changes of circumstances and fortune — changes which, however unwelcome to me as I lived through them, will yet give me pleasure as I read of them. For it is agreeable to recall past sufferings in a spirit of detachment.' Others, who have been spared such misfortunes, enjoy feeling pity as they contemplate, for instance, the noble death of Epaminondas; their emotions are aroused by the exile and death of Themistocles (5).8 The mere record of events is of faint interest; but a great man's vicissitudes {uiri... excellentis... casus) bring surprise, suspense, joy, distress, hope, and fear. And when they end in a notable denouement the reader's mind feels the keenest pleasure.9 And so it would be preferable from my point of view if you could see your way to making a self-contained volume out of the story of my doings and experiences (6). That story forms a kind of drama (fabulam) containing various acts and numerous changes of intention and circumstance. Although celebrator and celebrand do not disappear (one notes, for instance, Cicero's effortless claim to be a uir excellens), the emphasis here is on the possibilities of the work itself. It will represent a powerful combination of two forces: Lucceius' vivid ability as a writer, and the orator's performance on the stage of public life. And the result will be something akin to tragic history, though in this case the drama will have a happy ending.10 24

Stratagems of vanity Now comes the longest and most consummate piece of flattery, beginning * there is no danger of giving the impression that I am angling for your favour with a bit of cheap flattery, when I confess my desire to be honoured and extolled by you above everyone else'. Of course not. After all, Lucceius is perfectly aware of his own standing. He regards people who do not admire him as jealous; those who praise him, however, are not flatterers; no no, they are merely recognising his worth. 11 Nor is Cicero such a fool as to entrust his immortal fame to someone who will not win fame for himself as a genius.12 He therefore invites Lucceius (7) to play Apelles or Lysippus to his Alexander, Xenophon to his Agesilaus, Timaeus to his Timoleon, Herodotus to his Themistocles, and (yes) Homer to his Achilles. And indeed the proposed collaboration will surpass all those exemplaria Graeca: for we know very little about the official status of those Greek writers; but if Lucceius takes on the job, Cicero will receive the tribute not only of a great writer but also of a great and famous public man. One would like to detect some hint of irony here, some awareness of the absurd gap between those Greek leaders and himself, to say nothing of the gap between those Greek artists and writers and the presumably competent Lucceius. But no. It is a striking case of optat ephippia bos.1* Not content with being Rome's greatest orator and man of letters, Cicero longs to be seen as one of her foremost men of action; and the result is ridiculous. After that, the letter rather falls away (8—10). If Lucceius proves unable to accede to the request (for it is unthinkable that he should refuse it), Cicero may perhaps be compelled to write about himself. That would involve certain drawbacks; for in such cases the writer has to exercise rather too much modesty (a difficulty which Cicero surely exaggerates), and he tends to omit points on which he was open to criticism (though Lucceius was not invited to dwell on his faults). Then Cicero, who must have been told about ring-composition, repeats his initial request and reaffirms his desire to become what is now a familiar cliche, a legend in his own lifetime. The tone of the foregoing remarks raises the question of fairness. It may be contended that middle-class British conventions about boasting are just conventions; that even in the days when they were more widely observed they sometimes involved the hypocrisy of mock modesty; and that in the last half-century they have, for deep-seated social reasons, been considerably eroded. One may therefore ask whether we are not judging Cicero by non-Roman standards; perhaps the ancients found nothing to object to in his self-congratulation. But this, it seems, was not the case. Quintilian, a most loyal supporter, maintains that Cicero's 25

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frequent references to his consulship can be seen as due no more to vanity than to the need for self-defence. That is the most Quintilian can d o ; and the majority of Cicero's readers would probably have thought it too much. Moreover, even Quintilian admits that Cicero was heavily criticised for an unjustified self-esteem: reprehensus est in hac pane non mediocriter Cicero (11.1.17). Later, Plutarch acknowledges circumstances when boasting is permissible - e.g. when one is under attack. But he says specifically that the Romans got fed up with Cicero's perpetual boasting about his consulship, and he stresses that Cicero did not boast out of necessity but out of vanity: aAAa \x\\v KCCI 'PcoiacxToi KiKEpcovi nev i8uo"xepocivov eyKconia£ovTi TTOAAGCKIS eauTou TOCS irepi KCCTIAIVCCV irpa^eis... 6 \xkv yap OUK ccvayKoa'cos ocAA uirep 6o£ns IXPTJTO TOTS ETTCCIVOIS... (De se ipsum

citra inuidiam laudando 540F).

It looks as if, in spite of his promises,14 Lucceius failed to deliver the goods. One would like to think that his failure was intentional. 2

PLINY'S LETTERS15

Pliny's virtues are familiar to all. He is revealed in his correspondence as a generous, civilised man; and, like Horace, he gives the impression of being pleasant to know. Perhaps the only disadvantage in knowing Pliny was that, whatever your faults, you were likely to appear in his letters as a moral paragon or a literary genius. Eulogies of this kind make rather tiresome reading, and indicate a lack of discrimination on Pliny's part.. But they may well have been sincere. When he comes to praise himself, however, Pliny's candour begins to waver, and that is the situation which concerns us here. In the case of a really complex person — one whose motives are unfathomable or whose self changes colour like a chameleon — such an enquiry would be useless. But Pliny was fundamentally a simple man, and his efforts to deceive himself are usually quite transparent. We begin with the second epistle of Book 1. Pliny has sent a speech to Maturus Arrianus, asking him to revise and correct it with a view to publication. The speech, written in a spirit of enthusiastic emulation (£r|Acp), has been modelled on Demosthenes and Calvus with touches of Cicero. After creating this degree of presumption in its favour (1—4), Pliny says (5—6) ' You mustn't think I am trying to persuade you to be kind to it by mentioning these features.' ' To make sure that you are the more rigorous,' he continues, 'I must tell you that my friends and I are...' (Keen ? No, that won't do. Let's say...) * not averse to publishing the speech (ai editione non abhorrere)...' (Will he think I'm trying to 26

Stratagems of vanity prejudice his decision? Better not make it too obvious...) * provided, of course, that you give your approval to what may perhaps be a misguided idea...' (But what if he says play safe and do nothing?...) ' The truth is that something has to be published: and I would like it to be this piece which is ready now...' (Does that sound a bit frivolous ? Make it clear that you're only joking...) 'Such is the prayer of laziness! Seriously, though, there are several reasons why I must publish, the main one being that my previous books are still in vogue...' (No, change that...) '... are said to be still in vogue, even though they no longer have the attraction of novelty...' (Which shows they must be pretty good stuff; better tone that down...) ' Of course this may just be flattery on the part of the booksellers. Well, let them flatter away as long as their deception encourages me to think well of my work!' In 3.18 Pliny again broaches the subject of publication. This time, however, the decision has already been taken, and it only remains to find a suitable motive. The speech in question (the panegyric on Trajan) has suffered from the usual limitations of time and place, and so Pliny regards it as his patriotic duty (bono ciui conuenientissimum) to expand it. The new version is a sincere tribute designed to confirm the emperor in his virtues and to hold him up as an example for future rulers to follow. (I wonder if that sounds a bit pompous. Perhaps some sort of gloss is needed.) 'The point is that giving instruction on the duties of an emperor, though a fine thing, is a heavy responsibility which borders on impertinence.' The present procedure, however, while no less helpful, is wholly unpretentious (Jiabet arrogantiae nihit). The recitation of the piece was a great success. Although there were no formal invitations and the weather was foul, the audience insisted on attending for three days. (Now it is time for second thoughts.) ' Should I take this as a compliment to myself or to literature ? I prefer to take it as a compliment to literature, which is now reviving after being almost extinct.' And what of the subject? Was its success due to Pliny's eloquence ? Not at all; it was due to the atmosphere of liberty created by the new emperor. Pliny's opinion of his own orations may be surmised from 4.5.' They say that when Aeschines, at the Rhodians' request, read his own speech and followed it with a speech of Demosthenes, each was greeted with tumultuous applause. I am not surprised that the works of such great men should have enjoyed this distinction, when I consider that a speech of mine was recently received by a learned audience with the same enthusiasm, the same approval, and even the same endurance throughout two consecutive days. And yet in my case there was no two-way 27

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comparison, no combat, as it were, to arouse their interest. The Rhodians, in addition to the intrinsic qualities of the speeches, were also excited by the challenge of comparing one with the other, whereas mine won approval without the advantage of a contest.' By now we have forgotten the tactful distinction between those * great men' and Pliny himself; in fact any difference is now in Pliny's favour. But the author, watchful as ever, realises he has been blowing his own horn rather too loudly, and so he contrives a careful diminuendo: I am simply giving you the facts, he implies; ' whether my success was deserved or not is a matter for you to judge when you have read the published version'. Pliny, one suspects, has already formed his opinion. In writing about Pliny's vanity, one has to bear in mind that he was used to praise. It was natural for people to compare him to Cicero. Thus Silius Proculus, an aspiring poet, when asking him to read his verses, reminded him that Cicero was wonderfully generous in encouraging poetic talent (3.15.1); and Martial in an epigram (10.19.16—17) asserted that his speeches could in future ages be ranked with Cicero's. The trouble was that, given the system of patronage, such tributes often had an ulterior motive. Proculus obtained praise and the promise of friendly criticism; Martial was given his fare back to Spain. Pliny assumed that both men were sincere. In Martial's case he says erat homo...qui plurimum in scribendo et sails haberet et fellis, nee candoris minus 'he was

a man who had a great deal of wit and venom in his writing, and no less sincerity' (3.21.1). Well, perhaps Martial was sincere, though, as Horace knew, one could never rely on any compliments that came from a needy client {Ars poetica 419—37). But his tribute received a somewhat patronising acknowledgement. ' He gave me the best he could. He would have given more had he been able' (3.21.6). In other words, had Martial been a greater poet Pliny would have been more adequately honoured. ' And yet, what greater tribute can be given to a person than praise, glory and immortality? You say his writings will not be immortal. Perhaps not, but he wrote with the intention that they should be.' Thus Martial receives a posthumous pat on the head. We hear nothing of Pliny as a poet until 4.14; and then his efforts are played down as ' amusements' (Jusus) — a sort of metrical doodling produced in the carriage or the bath or over dinner. Still, he thinks enough of them to send a collection to Plinius Paternus. They are light verse of a personal kind, ranging quite widely in theme and style. Some are a bit risque, but the Catullian defence is readily available (16.5—6): castum esse decetpium poetam \ ipsum, uersiculos nihil necesse est (' the holy

bard himself should be pure, but not necessarily his verses'). When it 28

Stratagems of vanity comes to assessing their quality, one should not be made to suffer in comparison with another. 'If a piece is perfect in its own kind, it ought not to be judged inferior to something different...' (But wait now; these are supposed to be just trifles, aren't they? So let's soften the point...) ' To provide a long preface excusing or commending bits of silliness is the worst silliness of all!' Whatever the poems were like, they won the praise of the young Sentius Augurinus, whom Pliny quotes in a later letter (4.27.4): Mine is the lightest verse — the kind of thing Catullus too and Calvus used to sing in earlier days. But what is that to me? For Pliny is my only pedigree.16 Pliny's letter gives a glowing account of the young man and his work which is ' the finest thing of its kind to appear for some years' (then the sober qualification) ' — unless I am biased by my regard for the author or by the fact that he has paid me a graceful compliment'. Not everyone was so delighted with Pliny's ineptiae. Some were puzzled as to how a respectable man could write and recite such pieces — a surprise which many of us would share, since the letters are not noticeably witty, nor do they show much interest in sex. Pliny says quite explicitly that he enjoys farces and bawdy verse (5.3.2). Yet the question also bothered Pontius Allifanus. In answer, Pliny reveals that he has had quite a long career as an unpublished poet (7.4). First there was a precocious attempt at a Greek tragedy (2); then some Latin elegies (3); there have also been experiments in epic, and now the poet has turned to hendecasyllables. The occasion of this decision is revealing (3—4). In Asinius Gallus' book on the relative merits of Pollio and Cicero Pliny came upon an erotic epigram reputedly written by Cicero on Tiro his secretary. This set him thinking: the greatest orators took pleasure, and indeed pride, in such compositions; why shouldn't he do the same? Experiment proved he had the required knack, so there followed a spate of erotic verse, which according to the author achieved immense popularity (9); some Greeks learned Latin just for the pleasure of reading it.17 (Now (10) it is time to recover the reader's good will.) ' But enough of this boasting (though raving is the poet's privilege!). Anyhow, I am not telling you my opinion, but that of other people18 — an opinion which I find very gratifying whether it be warranted or not. All I ask is that future generations should, rightly or wrongly, hold the same view.' Present popularity and future glory — those are the things most worth striving for. But there are always difficulties. First, the work you are 29

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most keen to publish may be unlikely to win favour. This problem is pondered in 1.8. Pliny had endowed a public library at Comum and had opened it with a splendid speech. At the moment his desire to advertise his own munificence is just balanced by the fear that his boasting may cause annoyance. But if anyone makes an encouraging noise we may be sure he will allow the oration to appear 'in deference to the wishes of his friends'. There is also the danger that others may not consider one's exploits worth recording. Pliny knows this; and to make sure of becoming a historic figure he is prepared to write history himself. But on the whole he is inclined to think that such tributes come better from other people. So he writes to Tacitus, reminding him of his courageous conduct in the prosecution of Baebius Massa. ' Be this action as it may,' he concludes, 'you will make it more widely known, and increase its fame and importance — not that I ask you to to beyond what actually happened; history ought not to exceed the truth, and truth is all that honourable deeds require' (7.33.10).19 So it is left to Tacitus to reconcile the claims of vanity and veracity, res olim dissociabiles. Pliny's generosity cannot be doubted, but the way he spoke of it strikes us as bizarre. Consider 1.19. Pliny is giving Romatius Firmus 300,000 sesterces to help him gain admission to the equestrian class. The donor's motives are carefully listed: Romatius came from the same town as Pliny, went to the same school, and was a companion of his boyhood; furthermore, Romatius' father was a close friend of Pliny's mother and uncle. Pliny then adds (3) ' The length of our friendship will ensure that you will not forget this favour. I need not remind you — as I would have to do if I didn't know that you would remember of your own accord — to employ the status which you have received through me with the utmost discretion, precisely because it has been received through me.' An equally piquant example is 2.4, where Pliny generously waives a debt owed to him by the orphan Calvina. After enumerating his past kindnesses, including a gift of 100,000 sesterces towards her dowry, he continues (3—4) ' You mustn't worry in case this present may be more than I can afford. Admittedly my means are only moderate, my position involves heavy expenses, and because of the state of my bits of property my income is as small as it is precarious...' (Now reassure her...) ' But what I lack in income I make up in thrift, which is, as it were, the source of my generosity.' (Still, she mustn't underrate her good fortune.) ' This generosity, however, must be carefully managed to prevent it drying up as a result of excessive open-handedness...' (Time for one more word of comfort...) 'But this careful management applies only to others; in your case my accounts will readily balance...' (final caution...) ' even if I 3°

Stratagems of vanity err on the side of extravagance.' In other words, ' Don't think I can't afford it, because I can't.' No doubt we feel one would have to be pretty desperate to endure such condescension. But Pliny took a different view. By indicating the sacrifices involved he felt he had enhanced the value of the gift and made sure it would be properly appreciated. Yet even allowing for this difference of attitude, Pliny's self-esteem is several degrees too warm. And one notes that every now and then his acts of altruism bring a return in hard cash. In 5.1 we hear of a certain Curianus who, after being disinherited by his mother, tried on her death to recover the money. Thanks to Pliny the other legatees returned a quarter of what they had received. Pliny, though not asked to do so, did the same. He now comments (10—11) 'Not only have I reaped the rewards of a good conscience, I have also enhanced my reputation; for, as a result of what I did, that very Curianus has remembered me in his will, thus paying a remarkable tribute to my action, which, unless I flatter myself, was in keeping with the old tradition' (cf. 8.2). This is really too much. We do not mind a man investing in honesty so long as he does not wave the dividends in our face. But Pliny, sharp as ever, has guessed our thoughts; so he proceeds to disarm us with candour (12—13):' I have written about this because I make a practice of telling you all my joys and sorrows as if you were my very self, and also because I thought it would be unfair to deprive so dear a friend of the pleasure I was feeling. Yes, pleasure; for I am not so much of a philosopher as to be indifferent to receiving some kind of token or reward for what I consider to have been a good deed.' One of Pliny's most agreeable qualities was his affection for young people. He was concerned for their welfare and gratified by their respect. This mutual regard provides the background for another display of that magic technique which enabled Pliny to have his cake and eat it (2.18). * Sitting, as in the old days, amongst the young men, I realise how much they respect me for my attainments. The other day the room was full, and they were talking noisily among themselves in the presence of several men of my own rank. I entered, and they at once became silent.' (Now the wand is flourished.) ' I would not mention this were it not for the fact that it reflects credit on them rather than me; also I wanted you to know that your nephews had every prospect of getting a sound education.' As a final example, let us take 3.11. Artemidorus, says Pliny, is apt to magnify the kindness of his friends. We now expect to hear just how the philosopher has exaggerated some minor service. But gradually a shift of emphasis can be detected (1). 'He goes round telling people about the 31

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good turn I did him, and giving an account of it which, though basically true, is more complimentary than I deserve.' By the time we reach the end of section 5 we have read eighty-three words about Pliny's kindnesses and fifteen about his friend's gratitude: admittedly I visited him at a dangerous time (21 words), admittedly too I gave him presents of money (26), moreover I did this at a critical period (36); yet I don't think I deserve his eulogies (15). So while the sentences are supposed to demonstrate Pliny's unworthiness, their relative length has the opposite effect. Most of Pliny's letters were written with a view to publication. As well as fostering a rather careful style this tended to stifle the writer's spontaneity. All in all one feels there is too much sweetness and light in the correspondence. We yearn for a few healthy prejudices, for the occasional crashing indiscretion, for the snarl of full-blooded hate. But perhaps this is asking too much. Pliny's was a simple friendly nature. He was fond of people and anxious to be liked. This made him reluctant to give offence. Moreover, his formative years were passed in a period of political chaos; before he was nine he had seen five different emperors, and during his twenties, when one is normally audax iuuenta, he lived in a society where a word out of place could lead to exile or death. So when Pliny came to write his letters he was determined never to appear in a bad light. His boasting and his humility were the positive and negative sides of this preoccupation. And when, as frequently happened, the two activities alternated in quick succession, they produced the kind of mental see-saw that we have been watching. In spite of the contrasts between their periods and the differences of scale between their achievements, the resemblances between Cicero and Pliny are plain enough — their success at the bar, their contributions to public life, their literary talents, their energy and sociability and (as we have touched on here) their vanity. In all the stratagems that we have been observing, they both show a keen awareness of their readers' reactions. For this reason the comments offered above are, I hope, suitable for inclusion in a collection of essays on the theme of author and audience.

D. C. FEENEY

3

'SHALL I COMPARE T H E E . . . ? ' Catullus 68B and the limits of analogy

'Probably the most extraordinary poem in Latin,' as Lyne describes it,1 this audacious piece of brilliance has attracted legions of critics.2 Here no attempt will be made to address each contested individual issue in the hallowed catalogue of notorious problems contained in the scholarly register on 'Catullus 68'; nor will I chase the chimaera of a 'full' reading. Rather, I propose to adopt a partial and oblique approach to this most oblique of poems, taking as my lead the obliquity embodied in the poem's most striking technical feature, obsessively deployed throughout - the simile.3 Similes, and the wider system of analogy-making of which they are the most overt example, saturate this poem.4 One may, in the first instance, refer the main example of the figure, the comparison between the beloved and Laodamia, to the analogical form of much Roman lovepoetry, in which one sees a compulsive mapping of lover and beloved onto the famous pairs of the (mythical or historical) past : 5 Propertius and Cynthia become Milanion and Atalanta (1.1.9—16); they become Varro and Leucadia, Catullus and Lesbia, Calvus and Quintilia, Gallus and Lycoris (2.34.85—94), Paris and Helen (2.15.13—14). Commonly only the beloved is thus analogised (with the reader often being prompted to fill in the missing half of the equation) :6 Cynthia is Ariadne or Andromeda (1.3.1—4); Ovid's Corinna is Semiramis and Lais (Amores 1.5.11—12), she is Helen, Leda, Amymone (Amoves 1.10.1—8).7 Such exempla have more in common with the figure of simile than may at first appear; they are themselves often classed with similes under the general heading of comparison by the ancient critics.8 If analogy-construction is a lover's itch, it is likewise intimately linked with the wedding-song, a form exploited elsewhere by Catullus himself (61 and 62), and one which lurks behind the epiphany of the beloved at the threshold of Allius' house, coniugis ut quondam... (68.73).° Comparison is the cardinal trope of hymenaeal, with mythic, or divine, models proposed for bride and groom,10 and with analogies from the 33

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world of nature.11 In Catullus' own wedding-songs we see Sapphic similes from nature (61.21—5, 34—5, 87—9, 102—5, 186—8; 62.39—58), and from myth (61.221—3), while the first simile of 61 says that Junia is coming to Manlius as Venus came to Paris in the beauty-contest on Mt Ida (61.16-20). In 68, Catullus' beloved is a goddess as she arrives (mea... Candida diua, 70, without a simile marker), and this hyperbole is straight away given a purchase in the forms of hymenaeal as her arrival is compared to the arrival of a bride, a moment which Catullus' own epithalamium, as we have just seen, compares to epiphany.12 Love-poetry's analogical bent, with a tangential input from weddingsong, provides, then, some kind of backdrop for the flood of similes which overtakes the poem as the beloved arrives at the house of Allius. No generic framework, however, can possibly be considered to account sufficiently for the strangeness and the pervasiveness of the analogies in this poem, since the rush of similes begins over twenty lines before the beloved arrives. The sheer volume of similes in 68 is something without comparison in ancient literature. A brief paraphrase may convey how little of the poem is outside the context of simile and analogy. I give 68B, indenting and italicising the similes, with a further indentation for the similes within the main simile, which compares the beloved's arrival to that of Laodamia: I cannot be silent, Muses, about Allius' help. I will tell you about it, and you will tell future generations (41—50). For you know how Venus scorched me, when / burnt as much as the Sicilian volcano and the springs at Thermopylae, and I kept weeping (51—6). Like a stream that comes down the hill to refresh the traveller,11* like the arrival of Castor and Pollux in a storm, that's what Allius9 help was like.

He made it possible for us to make love, providing a house and a housekeeper (57-69). My goddess arrived like Laodamia arriving at the house of Protesilaus. The loss of her husband taught her the penalty of neglecting sacrifice before she could sate her love (70—84). The Fates knew he would die if he went to Troy. Troy was then summoning all the leaders of Greece to avenge the rape of Helen — Troy, where my brother died (85—92). Alas, my brother, whose death has been a catastrophe for our house and for me. He is buried in Troy, where all the Greeks were then going (92—104). Because of this, Laodamia, you lost 34

* Shall I compare thee... ?' your marriage, sweeter than life and soul, so great was the eddy with which love's tide had sucked you into a barathrum, like the one the Greeks say was made by Hercules at Pheneus, at the time he was performing the labours that would win him divinity and an immortal bride. But your love was deeper than that barathrum (105—18). The late-born grandson is not as dear to the grandfather who can now rid himself of the threat posed by the distant relative who was going to inherit; nor does any dove delight as much in her mate, the dove who kisses more wantonly than the most promiscuous woman. You outdid those passions (119—30).

Yielding to her not at all, or hardly at all, was my love when she came to me with Cupid in attendance (131—4). Although she has other lovers, I will not be a bore about it. Even Juno put up with Jupiter s amours. But it is not fit that men should be compared with gods. And she was not even married to me anyway; it is enough for me if I'm her favourite (135—48). This poem is my thanks to you, Allius, to keep your family name alive; may you and your love be blessed, and house and housekeeper, and the source of all these good things, and, above all, my light (149—60). Overpowering in their bulk, with the Laodamia analogy governing the main run of the poem, these similes are, many of them, also extremely strange. The barathrum-simile is easily the most extraordinary, but the gleeful grandfather and the wantonly faithful dove are not far behind. Even from a poet with a keen zest for the striking simile, these examples are indeed remarkable.14 This dense and bizarre barrage of analogy leaves one with the sensation that similes are no added ornament to the poem, something additional to what the poem is saying. They are the poem, they are what the poem is saying, just as (uelut) the digressions of 64 are not movements away from the reality of the poem, but rather its very point. What actually happens in 68? A man provides a house, a woman arrives — the rest is analogy and reflection, nested within the expression of thanks to Allius. The poem confronts us urgently with the problem of what similes are, what kind of significance they construct. A brief consideration of the nature of simile is in order.15 Critics ancient and modern have tended to concentrate on the similitude involved in comparison, and the results are often powerful vindications 35

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of the figure's ability to synthesise emotional and intellectual apprehension of a point, as it forces the reader to strain after the correspondence between often disparate forms of experience or language.16 No one has demonstrated the illustrative and explanatory power of similes more cogently than the scholar whom we honour in this volume.17 In the analogical world of Lucretius' atomistic poem, in particular, the sheer intellectual power of the visions of similitude is overwhelming, and no one who has read David West on this poem can be in any doubt as to the enlightening force which this figure can command. None the less, critics ancient and modern have likewise concentrated on the dissimilarity which is inherent in simile. The ancient critics could divide simile into totum simile, impar, dissimile, and contrarium, recognising that rhetorical force may be gained from comparing, through contrast and inversion, like and unlike.18 The enquiries of modern critics have revealed the paradox (which is only initially so) that the fundamental nature of simile is itself rooted in the unlike. John Kerrigan's acute discussion of Shakespeare's use of comparison in the Sonnets takes as its starting-point the recognition that similitude depends on difference; for without difference there is identity, not similitude. 'Identity', writes Wallace Stevens, 'is the vanishing point of resemblance.' Burns's 'love' was 'like a red, red rose' because in most respects she wasn't. Everywhere in the Sonnets, Shakespeare writes with a keen sense of the difference in similitude.19 M. S. Silk, similarly, has denied that the logical basis, or pretext, for a literary image is necessarily to be equated with the interest or ' point' of the image. As has been repeatedly demonstrated, this interest characteristically derives from the unlikeness as much as from the likeness; and indeed without a sufficient unlikeness, all' point' in the true sense tends to disappear... 20 Silk's first example is an Iliadic simile, where the dying Gorgythion is compared to a poppy drooping its head (8.306—8).21 Indeed, a great many of the similes of the Iliad ' derive their power', as Taplin puts it, ' from an actual contrast with the world of war which they are compared to... Again and again pain and destruction and violent death are compared to fertile agriculture, creative craftsmanship, useful objects and tasks, scenes of peace and innocent delight. ' 22 If the dissimilarity 36

* Shall I compare thee... ?' between the things compared is often the point of the Iliad's similes, cumulatively constructing a disjunction between two realms of experience, the poet of the Odyssey, in a number of extraordinary passages, goes even further, and creates a complete inversion of similitude.23 His most striking venture is the simile with which he marks the moment when Odysseus and Telemachus embrace in the recognition-scene in Book 16. They cried shrilly, says the poet, and he shows the inadequacy of his simile to meet the surge of the human emotion by moving into the comparison in the comparative, saying that they wept more copiously than birds — birds, he goes on to say, who have had their young snatched away from them before their feathers have grown (16.216—18) — who have suffered, in other words, the exact opposite of Odysseus.24 Again, when Odysseus has heard Demodocus' song of the sack of Troy, he weeps like one of his own victims, like a woman falling on the corpse of her husband, who has died trying to defend his city and people, as the victors bash her on the back with their spears to drive her off to slavery (8.523—31).25 Finally, when Odysseus and Penelope at last acknowledge each other and embrace, Odysseus weeps (23.231—2). As glad a sight as land is to men whom Poseidon has wrecked at sea, of whom only a few step on to the land — that for her is how glad the sight of her husband was (2 3 3 -9). 2 6 The slippage between tenor and vehicle is, then, often more to the point than the match.27 In our poem, the radical slippage between tenor and vehicle in the base analogy has been often discussed: it is the discrepancy, as much as the fit, between Catullus/beloved and Protesilaus/Laodamia which generates the energy of the central portion of the poem.28 I will have something to say about the tussle between discrepancy and fit in this main analogy later on, but I would like to open up the problem by setting it in the wider context of the difficulty of analogy, following the invitation of the poem's manifold similes to reflect upon their paradoxical way of generating significance. The self-consciousness with which the similes draw attention to their mode of operation appears to intensify as the poem goes on. The first occurrence of simile is a doublet, which compares the heat of Catullus' passion, and also, perhaps, the flow of his tears, to two things which emit hot liquid: the volcano of Aetna, and the hot springs of Thermopylae (passion 52—4, tears 55—6). Only after reading on and seeing the importance of Hercules later in the poem is the reader likely to be in a position to catch the inversion involved in Catullus' comparison of his passion to the hot springs of Thermopylae: in Catullus' case, the springs are an illustration of the heat of his affliction before the relief of Allius 37

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came, whereas for Hercules the springs were themselves a relief, provided by Athene for him to bathe in after one of his toils.29 Many more contrasts with Hercules are to follow.30 After this two-line double simile, and two lines on Catullus' weeping, we have another two similes back to back, this time taking up nine lines (57—65). Like a stream coming down a hill, begins the first one, to relieve a parched traveller...; and at this point we confront the problem of what the tenor is to this simile's vehicle.31 Some take it to refer to what precedes, so as to illustrate Catullus' tears, and the relief which they bring; some take it to go together with the second simile, so as to refer to the help which Allius gave the afflicted lover; some take it to refer to both. Certainly some Homeric similes change their reference as the reader moves through them, and it has been suggested that the same thing happens here: the reader at first assumes that the water of the simile corresponds to the tears, but then readjusts as the second simile picks up. 32 Catullus' technique is radically more strange than this, however, since we are not dealing simply with a change of focus, but with an apparent fusion of opposites: the simile appears to be susceptible of referring either to the distress or to the relief of the distress. How may the identical words refer to two opposites? Yet it appears that they may indeed do so, for, in the division of opinion on the simile's reference, each group has grounds for its opinion.33 Even those readers who decide that the relief brought by the water cannot be the relief of weeping, since Catullus has stressed that he was only relieved by Allius, will have been, many of them, caught out by a first reading; for four lines (57-60) they will have been taking the simile to be referring to the opposite of what they finally decide it to be referring to; at the very least, they will have been uncertain as to what the simile was going to be revealed as meaning. The difficulty which a reader faces in deciding on the reference of this particular simile is not an isolated scholarly problem, but a difficulty which will recur constantly in the analogies of this poem. At this stage of the poem, the difficulty which readers face over this simile reinforces, in a different way, the point made by the opposing energies involved in the Thermopylae simile, where something which relieved Hercules was used to illustrate the nature of Catullus' pain before he received relief. The simile of the water coming down the hillside may do two quite different things, such is the dissembling power of simile, such is the dissimilitude at its core. The obliquity of simile's reference which Catullus highlights here is further accentuated if we reflect upon the fact that he has used two similes to refer to the same experience; once again, the brief first use of simile 38

* Shall I compare thee... ?' is a pointer to later complications, for the first use of simile occurs in a doublet (Catullus' pain is like Aetna and the springs of Thermopylae). The use of two similes to illustrate the same phenomenon is a device which one finds already in Homer, but it is markedly sporadic in later literature.34 In Homer, the use of double similes is often a matter of focalising, with the two similes offering us perspectives available to two different participants, as when the retreating Aias is first compared to a lion beset by herdsmen, and then to a donkey belaboured by boys in a wheatfield {Iliad 11.548—65).35 In Catullus' poem, where we move from one double simile to another, and finally to a culminating pair at the end of the Laodamia analogy (119—28), the reader is being alerted to the distancing and distorting power of simile: if the same thing can be compared to two different things, does this bring us closer to, or further from, does it clarify or obscure, the 'thing'? We return below to the major destabilisation of reference which is created by the final pair of similes (119—30), a destabilisation which is anticipated in a minor key by the difficulties encountered here, in the poem's first two pairs of similes, where we have been shown that one vehicle may have two tenors and one tenor may have two vehicles. Allius' help is now described: is clausum law patefecit limite campum (67). As his Candida diua arrives, and pauses on the threshold, Catullus launches into the prime comparison of his poem, comparing this arrival to that of the bride Laodamia at the doomed house of her husband, Protesilaus, juxtaposing the cognate names of the mythical pair (Protesilaeam Laodamia domum, 74) as he had juxtaposed the names of the Roman couple in his epithalamium, Iunia Manlio (61.16).36 The diua remains poised on this threshold for sixty lines, while the analogy embarks upon its obscurely illuminating course, generating its own clusters of similitude and analogy as it goes. As the reader moves through these sixty lines, and their sequel, the dissimilitude of analogical language makes its power increasingly felt, for the discordance between the tenor and vehicle claims our attention as much as the match.37 The beloved is like and (finally) not like a bride, she is like and (finally) not like a goddess; the adulterous relationship between her and Catullus is like and (finally) not like a marriage : There is a contrast between Laodamia, deeply in love, and Lesbia, something less than faithful, as between Laodamia the wife and Lesbia the mistress... In so far as Catullus can liken Lesbia to Laodamia, he thinks of her, or thought of her, as virtually a bride; but in so far as he faces reality, he plainly 39

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denies that there is any hint of a marriage between them: there is only the loose association of two polished and sophisticated people.38 Further, the obliquity of analogy asserts itself here, as it had earlier with the water simile which may refer at once to Catullus' tears and to the relief of Allius, for the Laodamia analogy likewise, but on a much greater scale, points to two referents, to the beloved, and to Catullus: 'the pining Laodamia is in many ways more apposite as a paradigm for the speaker himself; he is the lover truly characterized by passion and desire... Moreover, Laodamia's loss of her husband at Troy evokes the speaker's loss of his brother there. ' 39 The 'explanatory' and 'illustrative' myth is susceptible to the same slippages and dissimilitude as simile itself. This is true not simply in the terms used by the ancient rhetoricians, for whom exempla and simile belong together in the larger category of comparatio^ but also in terms of the more general link suggested by Burkert between metaphor and myth : metaphor is a basic trick of language to cover the unfamiliar with familiar words on account of partial similarity; in this sense, myth can be defined as a metaphor at tale level. The effect of metaphor is to widen the scope of the vocabulary, to keep the sign-system finite by a kind of generalization, to provide a context by analogy, while remaining conscious of the fact that this reference by metaphor is somewhat twisted, preliminary, tentative, one-sided. One could say as much about myth.41 One might add that reference by simile, signposted as it is with its overt words of analogy ('like', 'as', sicut, etc.), is even more openly 'twisted, preliminary, tentative, one-sided' than metaphor. Through the loss of Laodamia's husband at Troy we move to the loss of Catullus' brother there (89—100), and through Troy we come back to Laodamia (101—5). The depth of her passion introduces another simile, with yet another mythic analogy embedded within it, as we are told of the great eddy with which love's tide has sucked her into a barathrum, like the one the Greeks say was made by Hercules at Pheneus, at the time he was performing the labours that would win him divinity and an immortal bride (105—16).42 The bizarre pedantry of the simile, marshalled ostensibly to illustrate the most intense and poignant comparandum, the power of Laodamia's passion, shows the emotional distance between tenor and vehicle at its most extreme, while the learned detail, the concatenation of data, come to be almost a parody of the 40

* Shall I compare thee... ?' capacity of similes to take off on their own tangent as they create their own autonomous energy; this parodic quality refers back to the way in which the Laodamia analogy as a whole has itself taken off on precisely this kind of tangent. In a move which is characteristic of the similes at the end of the Laodamia analogy, where the failure of language to establish similitude is much more self-consciously marked than in the similes before the mythical exemplum, Catullus goes on to note the inadequacy of the simile he has provided for our ' enlightenment': the ' depth' of Laodamia's love and of the barathrum had appeared to be the only sure point of comparison, but even that is taken away from us at the conclusion by Catullus: sed tuus altus amor barathro fuit altior illo, 'but your deep love was deeper than that abyss' (117).43 The baffled reader is immediately enmeshed in another attempt to illustrate the love of Laodamia by analogy, in two dense juxtaposed similes, a doublet which picks up and accentuates the doubleness of the poem's first two simile pairs (Aetna and Thermopylae; the river coming downhill and the advent of Castor and Pollux). Two radically different areas of comparison are introduced side by side, human and animal, legalistic and natural, familial and sexual, as we are told that the late-born grandson is not as dear to the grandfather who can now rid himself of the threat posed by the distant relative who was going to inherit; nor does any dove delight as much in her mate, the dove who kisses more wantonly than the most promiscuous woman (119—28). The great difficulty which readers encounter in trying to harmonise these two similes into one reference is deftly caught by Catullus at the end, with his reminder that Laodamia alone is the one point of comparison for the two disparate analogies: sed tu horum magnos uicisti sola furores (129).44 The yoking of the gleeful grandfather to the passion of Laodamia is sometimes referred to the simile which Catullus uses in Poem 72, where he catches the disinterested, equal, ' masculine' nature of his previous regard for Lesbia by saying that he loved her non tantum ut uulgus amicam, \ sed pater ut gnatos diligit et generos ('not just as the mob loves its girlfriend, but as a father loves his sons and his sons-in-law', 3~4).45 In Poem 72, however, the simile, while certainly startling, is at least congruent with the new area of concern created by the poem and its companions; here in 68B, the slippage is much more radical, especially in the light of the simile's collocation with the dove who immediately follows. This wantonly faithful dove is a very odd creature, and the problematic nature of her worth as a comparison is highlighted by the word which Catullus chooses to describe her ' married' status, a word which alludes self-referentially to her very status as a point of 41

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comparison, compar he calls her (126), which as a noun is used to denote ' one of a pair', hence * husband/wife/mate'; but the word is primarily an adjective, the base of comparado, meaning ' similar, alike, resembling; matching, corresponding \ 4 6 compar, then, within the simile, to her mate, and compar without, to Laodamia. What kind of comparison is she ? Commentators note the proverbial fidelity of doves,47 yet the apparently natural direction of the simile towards marital fidelity is put oddly off-track when Catullus describes the dove as a more shameless kisser than the most wanton of women. This derailment of the simile has provoked some perplexed responses,48 yet it seems to catch at some of the dubiety which has built up concerning the orthodoxy of Laodamia's passion throughout the analogy;49 the effect is not only to anticipate the flaws in the assumed passion of Catullus' beloved, but also to capitalise upon the ambivalence which may flicker in hymenaeal's pictures of the sexual passion and attraction of the chaste, devout, virginal bride.50 The oddity is capped at the conclusion, when Catullus once more undoes the referential power of his simile by saying that Laodamia outdid these passions (129); the sum is weirdly self-contradictory, for we have, in the end, been told that the dove does not have as much passion as Laodamia, despite the fact that it is more shameless in its kissing than the most wanton woman. At the end of over twenty lines of attempts to find analogies for Laodamia's love, we are brought back to the realisation that Laodamia is herself' only' an analogy for the Candida diua: aut nihil aut paulo cui turn concedere digna \ lux mea se nostrum contulit in gremium (131—2).

Note that bald phrase aut nihil aut paulo, ' a curiously prosaic phrase, and a curiously unromantic notion', 'a curious modification'.51 Here Catullus once more highlights the dilemmas in which he has caught the scrupulous reader, as he deftly mocks (or gently sympathises with) the weighing and judging in which we have become involved in trying to descry the degrees and shades of similitude: 'my light was just like that... or just a little bit less... ' 52 And in what respect was the beloved like the analogy? At this point we note the studiedly uncommitted language which connects the beloved and Laodamia: she was ' worthy to yield to her not at all or only a little bit'. What is the point of comparison ? Only the actual arrival, strictly speaking, is the point of comparison, both at the beginning (73) and the end (131—2) of the comparison with Laodamia, while everything else we construct about the beloved is association, inference, analogy. Not even her passion, strictly speaking, is made the point of comparison: the Muses, and through them the 42

' Shall I compare thee... ?' readers, know all about Catullus' love (scitis, 52), but the beloved's is not related. The beloved herself is a gap, a vacancy to be filled with analogies; this is one of the reasons why I have followed Catullus in refusing so much as to give her a name, to label her ' Lesbia' (which is, after all, not her name anyway). Just as individual similes take off on their own path, so the basic analogy of the poem generates such an excess of power that it becomes overly adequate, smothering and supplanting the 'thing' it describes. The event is left in silence; although the whole poem is written so that Allius' studium will not be covered by a caeca nox (44), the event of Catullus' wondrous nox with his beloved will be left in silence {muta nocte, 145).53 To repeat a question I asked earlier, what actually happens in 68 ? What does the beloved actually do ? She arrives, and she affords the basis for comparison; and in the last verb used of her action on that night, Catullus collapses these two together. Three verbs only are used to describe the beloved's action in the portion of the poem which describes the night itself: she arrived, se...intulit (70-1); she checked her foot, plantam... constituit (71—2); and she se... contulit (132): 'brought herself, but also, fleetingly, 'compared herself'.54 In this way, the poem's minute insistence on the difficulty of simile as a figure carries through into more comprehensive reflections on the difficulty of catching experience in the mesh of words. The similes of the poem, in calling attention to their capacity to defer reference, provide the ground for questioning the referential power of the poet's description, in which the event itself remains resolutely undescribed. Metaphors have been defined as being potentially 'weapons directed against reality, instruments to break the referentiality of language',55 and this potential is even more powerful in the dissembling world of simile. Telling is not sufficient or adequate in this poem, and the poet is driven to create analogies, which themselves generate yet more analogies for their own ' explanation'; the experience is refracted into obliquity by poetry, by the very attempt to find analogies which will make it meaningful.56 This distancing effect of similitudinous language has its analogue in the densely allusive character of the poem, with its references to Homer, Callimachus, Euripides, Pindar.57 Conte, in his discussion of what he calls ' reflective allusionJ, speaks of how ' two items are juxtaposed and compared', and observes that ' the rhetorical figure that corresponds to it is the simile'.58 As he says, in the case both of simile and of reflective allusion the reader is involved in an analytical, intellectual operation which ' attracts the reader's attention to the literary nature of the reading matter'. 59 Part of this same phenomenon, we may observe in passing, is the clash between different stylistic levels and registers which one sees 43

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throughout the poem, especially in the similes themselves (Homeric, Alexandrian, Roman, neoteric); note the generic displacement brought about when Catullus speaks of Troy as the site of his elegiacally mourned brother's burial, non inter nota sepulcra (97) — the graves of Hector, and Achilles ? Catullus' most spectacular demonstration of the strange emotionally distancing effects of allusion comes at the point in the poem which many readers would wish to acknowledge as the most painful and heartfelt (just as his most spectacular demonstration of simile's distancing effect comes at the most poignant moment in the Laodamia analogy, with the barathrum simile). When he comes to his brother's death he alludes to, indeed quotes, himself, repeating, with only one word and one line altered, the verses he gives in 68A (20—4, 92—6).60 Moments like this are compelling testimony to the mystery in the power — artificial and distancing, emotional and immediate — of poetic language.61 The reader's baffled experience in trying to follow the poet's words becomes a mirror of the poet's own baffled experience in trying to discover words which will be adequate. The distance between our experience and his remains vast, as he had told us it would be (although readers will always try to bridge it): we are, after all, not addressed by Catullus, nor even by the Muses; we are addressed, as Catullus prophesied we would be, by a carta anus: sed dicam uobis, uos porro dicite multis milibus et facite haec carta loquatur anus.

44

(45~6)

T. P. WISEMAN

4

ATOMS AND ELEPHANTS Lucretius 2.522—40

To those who care both for poetry and for rational argument, the De rerum natura is indeed, as David West boldly declared, 'the greatest poem in Latin'. His elegant and indispensable book The imagery and poetry of Lucretius, described by its author as ' an attempt to challenge the vulgar error that the De Rerum Natura consists of oases of poetry in deserts of philosophy ' / brilliantly demonstrates that the philosophical subject-matter of this poem is not an impediment to the poetry, it is rather the stimulus for the impassioned observation and contentious contemplation of the material world which contribute so much to the poetic intensity of the work. But vulgar error is persistent, as Lucretius knew better than anyone; quare etiam atque etiam dicendum est. At 1.931—4 ( = 4.6—9), with characteristic clarity, Lucretius defines the nature of his work. He has earned the Muses' crown, he says, primum quod magnis doceo de rebus et artis religionum animum nodis exsoluere pergo, deinde quod obscura de re tarn lucida pango carmina, musaeo contingens cuncta lepore. The first reason is the importance of his subject, which frees the mind from the bonds of religion ;2 the second is the illuminating effect of his poetry, which touches everything with the Muses' charm.3 And there's a reason for it, as he immediately explains in the great simile of the honeyed cup (1.935—50 = 4.10—25). It is, of course, a multiple-correspondence simile :4 the doctors are Lucretius, the sick children are the public (uulgus), the honey is the poetry, the unpleasant medicine is the saving message of Epicurus. Since the edge of the cup is touched with honey (pras pocula circum \ contingunt), the first taste will be sweet. So the prefaces of all six books of Lucretius are composed with sumptuous poetic art, even to the extent 45

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of exploiting (in i and 5) concepts refuted in the body of the work. They have to be audience- and reader-friendly — all delicious Muse, and no hint yet of bitter doctrine. But what is to stop the audience drifting away, the reader laying the book aside, as soon as a Nunc age... or a Principio, quoniam... introduces the argument ? Does the child taste the medicine, pull a face, and put the cup down? No. The verb contingere is emphatically repeated, as Lucretius * touches' his poem with the sweetness of the Muses (1.934, 947 = 4.9, 22) and the doctors * touch' the medicine-cup with honey (1.938 = 4.13). I take it that the prefix implies a rather thorough 'touching'. 5 The child has to drink the whole thing down (perpotet, another significant prefix), so there must be enough honey on the rim to go on sweetening the draught right to the end. In the simile, the act of drinking is the act of hearing or reading; the child is 'cheated as far as the lips', and the audience or reader is taken in up to the point of understanding the content of the poetic message. That is, the children take the whole cupful of medicine through the honey on the rim, which is the only thing that keeps them drinking. Likewise, Lucretius' public receives his whole argument through the Muses' medium of delicious poetry. The first touch of the lips (the preface to each book) is pure honey; after that, it's bitter medicine sweetened as you taste it. Poetry is enjoyable; intellectual effort is hard work. Lucretius gives us both, mixed on the palate as we take what's good for us. His Muse is Calliope, the queen of epic, whose chariot he drives to victory and fame; Ennius and Empedocles are his honoured predecessors.6 The epic poet illustrates his argument not only with mythological set-pieces — Iphigeneia, the fall of Phaethon, the Trojan War (from Helen to the Horse in five lines) - but also by constantly 'putting the Epic style to vigorous and effective use'. 7 (One item that seems not to have been noticed is the portentous manner attributed to the hated uates: they enforce orthodoxy by threatening sinful rationalism with the punishment meted out to the rebellious Giants.8) But other Muses play their part as well — the tender Muse of pastoral,9 the sardonic Muse of satire,10 even Clio at her grimmest (not much honey left at the end to sweeten that passage)11 — and ail-pervasively there is Eloquence, who was known by honey on the lips ever since Homer. The whole drive of Lucretius' argument — the message and the mission, as Professor Kenney puts it — depends on the art of persuasion at every stage, by every means. He does not work just with 'purple passages'. The medicine and the honey are mingled throughout.12 46

Atoms and elephants Let us look at a passage in Book 2, in the middle of a dense argument on the shape of atoms. I borrow Bailey's schema to show how the argument develops:13 (a)

The variety of shapes and their effects on sensation: 333-477. 1. The atoms vary in shape: 333—80. 2. Different effects produced by different atomic shapes: 381-477.

(b)

The number of atomic shapes and of atoms of each shape: 478-580. 1. The number of different atomic shapes is not infinite: 478-521. 2. The number of atoms of each shape is infinite: 522—68. 3. Equilibrium of the forces of creation and destruction: 569—80.

(c)

The variety of atomic combinations and the differences within species: 581-729.

Here is the passage that begins item (b)2 (522—31): Quod quoniam docui, pergam conectere rem quae ex hoc apta fidem ducat, primordia rerum, inter se simili quae sunt perfecta figura, infinita cluere. etenim distantia cum sit formarum finita, necesse est quae similes sint esse infinitas aut summam materiai finitam constare, id quod non esse probaui uersibus ostendens corpuscula materiai ex infinito summam rerum usque tenere, undique protelo plagarum continuato.

525

530

It opens with exactly the same two lines that began the previous item, (b)i. There, the number of shapes of atoms was finite; here, the number of atoms of each shape is infinite. We must pay careful attention. Lucretius in his role as teacher {docui) keeps us alert and concentrating. Remember what we learnt in Book 1, that the universe is boundless: if there is only a finite number of atomic shapes, then it follows that there must be an infinite number of atoms within each category of shapes. The argument is tight, logical, and (at first) abstract. What is finite is the distantia formarum; what is infinite is the summa materiai. But now Lucretius refers to what he has not only proved but shown, and at this 47

T. P. WISEMAN

point, appropriately, the abstractions start to become visible. What he has just called, in his usual way, 'beginnings of things \ primordia rerum, are now ' little bodies', corpuscula, a word he has so far used only once, in the passage earlier in Book 2 where he proves that they travel much faster than light.14 But here the knock-on succession of colliding atoms that makes up the sum of things is described as ' a continuous oxen-team of blows \ protelum is a team of oxen harnessed in tandem. The speeding particles have become lumbering beasts before our eyes.15 The slide from abstract argument to visual image enables Lucretius to introduce his next point without making the transition explicit. He goes on: nam quod rara uides magis esse animalia quaedam fecundamque minus naturam cernis in illis, at regione locoque alio terrisque remotis multa licet genere esse in eo numerumque repleri;

535

Now that we have animals in mind, he can answer an objection: if the atoms of any particular shape really are infinite in number, then rare animals should not be rare at all (there being no shortage of the atoms of which they are composed). Well, perhaps they aren't rare. What's familiar to us (uides, cernis) isn't all that exists. Perhaps the rest of nature's supply of the beasts we think of as rare is to be found 'elsewhere, in another region, in distant lands'. For instance... sicut quadrupedum cum primis esse uidemus in genere anguimanus elephantos, India quorum milibus e multis uallo munitur eburno, ut penitus nequeat penetrari: tanta ferarum uis est, quarum nos perpauca exempla uidemus.

540

Here the epic Muse lends a little lepor, with the Ennian conjunction of quadrupes and elephanti, and the glorious epithet anguimanus}% That could be Ennian too, though Vahlen did not succeed in inserting it into the Annales by emendation. In extant literature, the word occurs only in Lucretius (twice) and in Lactantius, who no doubt remembered the Lucretian passages.17 As did Macaulay in his 'Prophecy of Capys', the last of the Lays of Ancient Rome, where at stanza 24 the seer predicts the war with Pyrrhus: The Greek shall come against thee, The conqueror of the East. Beside him stalks to battle The huge earth-shaking beast, 48

Atoms and elephants The beast on whom the castle With all its guards doth stand, The beast who hath between his eyes The serpent for a hand. Lucretius' proof of the global non-rarity of elephants was well described by one nineteenth-century commentator as 'an allusion to some traveller's tale worthy of Herodotus or Marco Polo'. 18 In the standard works — Sedlar on India and the classical world, Scullard on the elephant — you will look in vain for any reference to this palisade of elephant-tusks that barred all access to the Indian interior.19 Where Lucretius got it from we have no idea — Ctesias, perhaps, or more probably one of the less scrupulous Alexander-historians. Authors who dealt with India were proverbial as tellers of tall stories.20 This one may well have been invented to explain why it was that Alexander turned back, instead of pressing on eastwards to the outer Ocean. The reality, a mutiny in the Punjab, was too banal for the conqueror of the world. It is the casualness of the allusion that is so striking. Lucretius proves his point with a reference to something he can assume his audience knows about. But why should they? Why should something so exotic, which has escaped notice in all the rest of surviving literature, have been common knowledge in the mid-5os B.C.? Since the third century, the land route from the Mediterranean to India, through Bactria (Afghanistan) and over the Hindu Kush, was controlled by the Parthians. The first serious Roman incursion into their sphere of influence came in 65 B.C., when Pompey followed up his defeat of Mithridates and Tigranes, the kings of Pontus and Armenia, with a campaign into what is now Azerbaijan. Some of his men reached the Caspian, and brought him water from it to confirm Alexander's report of its sweetness. Pompey, the Roman Alexander, was very conscious of marching in the tracks of his great predecessor. According to Varro, who tells us about the Caspian water, Pompey's scouts discovered that a seven days' journey from India into the Bactrian country reaches the river Bactrus, a tributary of the Oxus, and that Indian merchandise can be conveyed from the Oxus across the Caspian to the Cyrus [in Azerbaijan], and thence with not more than five days' portage by land can reach Phasis in Pontus. (Essentially the same had been reported by Aristobulus in his history of Alexander over 200 years before.)21 This interest in commerce is 49

T. P. WISEMAN

confirmed by a strange story dating from three years later, when Q. Metellus Celer was proconsul of Cisalpine Gaul. A German chieftain sent him, as a present, some Indian traders who had supposedly been driven by storms north and then west around the circumambient Ocean, to be washed ashore on the coast of Germany (in our terms, presumably the North Sea or the Baltic). Metellus, who told the story to the historian Cornelius Nepos, had been one of Pompey's legates in the Caspian campaign; since the Caspian was believed to be a bay of the northern Ocean, perhaps he thought they had been on the Oxus route explored on that occasion.22 Glory, however, was more important than trade. Pompey's triumph proclaimed him a world-conqueror like Alexander. He wore Alexander's cloak, displayed a trophy of the oikoumene, and announced to the Roman People that he had extended the boundaries of their empire to the ends of the earth.23 Those who aspired to rival him would have to do spectacular things. Hence Caesar's crossing of the Channel and the Rhine — and Crassus' doomed ambition to reach India himself. There is no need to doubt the essential accuracy of Plutarch's report on Crassus:24 Extravagantly elated and corrupted by his flattering prospects, he considered not Syria and the Parthians as the termination of his good fortune; but intended to make the expedition of Lucullus against Tigranes, and of Pompey against Mithridates, appear only the sports of children. His design was to penetrate to the Bactrians, the Indians, the eastern Ocean, and in his hopes he had already swallowed up the East... While Caesar was subduing the west, the Gauls, the Germans and Britain, he attempted to penetrate to the Indian Ocean on the east, and to conquer all Asia. In 55 and 54 B.C., nobody knew what Ambiorix and the Eburones, and then Vercingetorix, were going to do to Caesar's glorious conquests; nor that Crassus' army would be wiped out by the Parthians when it had hardly got across the Euphrates. The confident expectations of the period are well expressed in Catullus' poem 11: Furi et Aureli, comites Catulli, siue in extremos penetrabit Indos... An indicative verb for a practical possibility — and Catullus' three-stanza travelogue moves from extremi Indi to ultimi Britannia from one end of the world to the other.25 50

Atoms and elephants It is not surprising to find that Clitarchus' romantic history of Alexander's conquests was popular reading in the late Republic. Clitarchus certainly dealt with India at length.26 Just so, Caesar had studied Eratosthenes and other Greek authors on the extent of Germany; and the item on elk-hunting which so dismays his modern admirers indicates the nature of the material the Roman imperialists had to depend on for their geographical knowledge.27 Their opponents too could find such texts useful. Not everyone approved of Crassus' gross ambition, and a Greek author's report of an impenetrable ivory palisade would help the opposition case. Lucretius, I think, reflects the atmosphere of this debate. His account of climatic variations in Book 6 exemplifies * the four winds and quarters of the sky' with four places recently visited by Roman armies: Britain, Egypt, Pontus, Gades.28 And here, in this complex argument about the shapes and infinity of atoms, he leads his audience to the conclusion he wants both by vivid imagery (protelo, anguimanus) and by appeal to a topical subject of public discussion. It is a reminder that he is a poet of his time, as well as for all time.

IAN M. LE M. DUQUESNAY

5

IN MEMORIAM GALLI Propertius 1.21

Tu, qui consortem properas euadere casum, miles, ab Etruscis saucius aggeribus, quid nostro gemitu turgentia lumina torques? pars ego sum uestrae proxima militiae. sic te seruato possint gaudere parentes, haec soror acta tuis sentiat e lacrimis: Gallum per medios eruptum Caesaris ensis, effugere ignotas non potuisse manus; et, quaecumque super dispersa inuenerit ossa montibus Etruscis, haec sciat esse mea. 5 6 7 9

5

10

ut post seruato MSS, om. mss; del. mss, Pucci. haec mss, Pucci, Beroaldus; ne MSS; nee mss. eruptum DuQuesnay; ereptum MSS; elapsum Markland. et MSS; at Ayrmann; sed Enk; nee Butler.

You, soldier, who, to avoid being a partner in my fate, are hastening wounded away from the Etruscan siegeworks, why, at the sound of my groaning, do you rollyour eyes so that they bulge? I am the one among your fellow-soldiers most closely related to you. On this condition I wish that your parents may be pleased at your safe return, namely that your sister should learn from your tearful account that this is what happened: Gallus, having broken out right through the midst of Caesar's blades, was not able to escape unknown / ignoble hands ; and, whatsoever bones she finds scattered over the surface in the Etruscan mountains, let her know that these are mine. THE PERUSINE WAR: SOME BACKGROUND 2

In 41—40 B.C. Italy witnessed at first hand some of the most serious and protracted fighting it ever experienced. Although the Perusine War is not generally considered a turning-point in history, it had a profound 52

In memoriam Galli effect on those who experienced it precisely because it was not confined to serving soldiers in distant lands but involved ordinary civilians, touched their families and their property and left its scars on a familiar landscape. The fullest extant account is provided by the Bellum civile of the second-century A.D. Greek historian Appian, but it reflects and seems closely to follow well informed, nearly contemporary sources.3 The special character of this war is stressed in a speech attributed to Octavian: It gives me no pleasure to fight civil wars, except under heavy necessity, or to wear away the citizens who remain, pitching them one against the other — all the more so since this war will not come to us by report from Macedonia or Thrace, but will take place in Italy itself, which, having become the battle ground, will suffer far more than the loss of men. (Appian, Bellum civile 5.28 (108)) The causes of the war and the ferocity of the fighting are not far to seek. After the defeat of Brutus and Cassius at Philippi at the end of 42 B.C., Octavian returned to Italy, charged with the settlement of the veterans who had fought in that campaign. To secure their support Caesar's heirs had promised them the lands of eighteen of the richest cities in Italy: this time there was to be a fitting reward and adequate pension for long years of military service. But those faced with dispossession had little more to lose and resisted vigorously. They were fighting for their livelihoods and the future of their children. For many, all they had was at stake. Eventually the dispossessed found a leader and a champion in L. Antonius, brother of the more famous M. Antonius and, of no less significance, one of the eponymous consuls of the year 41. 4 The forces ranged against them were led by Octavian as one of the triumuiri rei publicae constituendae. Both sides could claim to be fighting in the best interests of the res puhlica and to be its legitimate representatives. The war dragged on inconclusively through the summer of 41. It was central Italy which saw most of the fighting: Rome, Campania, Umbria and Etruria. Finally, in the autumn, Lucius Antonius gathered his forces into the naturally well fortified Etruscan city of Perusia, apparently hoping for reinforcements to arrive from the armies loyal to his brother which were stationed in Gaul. Appian describes Octavian's response as follows: Then Caesar [Octavian], with all speed and using his whole army, blockaded Perusia, encircling it with a palisade and ditch (xapocKi KOCI Toctpcp) which measured fifty-six stades [i.e. seven Roman miles] on account of the city being on a hill and making 53

IAN M. LE M. DUQUESNAY

long extensions as far as the Tiber so that nothing might be brought into Perusia. Lucius countered by fortifying the base of the hill with a further set of palisades and ditches. (Appian, Bellum civile 5.33 (129)) The various attempts by the Antonian generals to relieve the siege were blocked or repelled. Appian's account continues: [Octavian] returned to Perusia and constructed a palisade in front of the ditches and doubled their height and width to thirty feet in each direction. He also increased the height of the siegeworks and set up fifteen hundred wooden towers at intervals of sixty feet. He also had many battlements and other fortifications which faced two ways, both towards the besieged and against anyone who might attack from outside. This was all accomplished amidst many sorties and encounters. (Appian, Bellum civile 5.33 (133)) During the early stages, Lucius was able to get men through the besieging forces with relatively little difficulty.5 But when these massive and elaborate siegeworks were completed and reinforced, they began to have their intended effect. Food supplies began to run out, rationing was introduced and Lucius' forces were gradually starved into submission.6 As the death toll mounted and the famine worsened, increasingly desperate attempts were made to break through the besieging forces. There were some successes but not on a scale that enabled Lucius to break the siege.7 Finally their resistance began to crumble, and Appian continues : The guards began to relax their vigilance. As a result there were many desertions, and it was not only the rank and file who deserted but also some of the commanders. Octavian made a show of treating humanely those who surrendered to him. (Appian, Bellum civile 5.38 (156)) It was not long before Lucius' forces surrendered. Many of those who had supported him were already dead, killed in the fighting or from starvation. Others had escaped or deserted earlier. Many of those that remained were pardoned in a display of dementia and some were treated with ostentatious displays of honour and generosity. Large numbers, however, were killed or executed after the fall of Perusia, including most of the town council and the personal enemies of Octavian. The city itself was almost totally destroyed by fire. The truth of exactly what happened is obscured by the variety and vividness of the anecdotes. But there is no 54

In memoriam Galli doubt that memories of the events, each carrying a version of the truth, were vivid and long-lasting. The reason why, more than a decade later, Propertius took one of these events as the theme for one of his poems, is a question to which we shall return. THE POEM

Propertius rapidly establishes the generic identity of the poem and so evokes the whole network of conventions that underlies what follows. These conventions determine expectations, provide the reader with a framework of relevance and facilitate comprehension.8 The poem immediately identifies itself as an epitaph, the kind of poem written to commemorate and honour the dead.9 The opening line Tu, qui consortem properas euadere casum clearly aligns itself to such commonplace openings as: Tu, qui tendis iter properatim, siste parumper

(CE 1537.1)

Tu, qui carpis iter gressu properante, uiator.

(CE 1451.1)

In these examples, as in many more, the dead man speaks directly to the reader. The initial Tu, qui (with minor variations) is characteristic of Latin funerary inscriptions10 and Propertius may be recalling the language of real Roman inscriptions deliberately to underline the fact that his poem is for a historical individual and not simply a literary exercise. Conventionally the reader is identified as a passer-by or stranger11 who is in a hurry, and Propertius has again used the standard phrasing, as the following examples, again chosen from many, reveal.12 Adulescens, tarn etsi properas

(CE 848.1)

Cur tan turn properas?

(CE 513.2)

Tu, quisquis properas...

(CE 1591.1—2)

The rest of the line is more elevated in tone than the normal epitaph and less clearly formulaic, for although consors and euadere casum are both found in inscriptional epitaphs, they are equally at home in the most elevated poetry.13 Nevertheless, at first sight the whole line seems most easily understood as an elegant variation on the idea that death is the common lot of man and that for all his hustle and bustle the passer-by too must one day die.14 This shared mortality underlies many of the requests in epitaphs for attention or for pity, as in: 55

IAN M. LE M. DUQUESNAY

quisquis legis, doleas: deuites talia fata ualebis, hospes: ueiue, tibi iam m[ors uenit]

{CE 473.11) {CE 62.4)

Heus tu uiator lasse, qui me praetereis, cum diu ambulareis, tamen hoc ueniendum est tibi. {CE 119) si perlegisti, uenias licet et requiescas: haec domus, haec requies omnibus una manet. {CE 1097.2*-.) But the stylistic elevation of the phrasing seems somewhat overelaborate and more than adequate to express the commonplace. This is particularly true of consors. In its active sense it is prosaic and almost technical, used to describe persons who have a share in something (such as an inheritance) along with someone else, usually a close relative. In the passive sense of 'shared with another5 it is rare and poetic.15 The word leaves the reader with a slight puzzle, a first hint that the relationship between the speaker and the addressee may yet be more precisely defined.16 The second line springs a surprise and compels in retrospect a revaluation of the first. The reader has been deceived into thinking that the speaker is dead, but what follows shows that he cannot be: miles, ab Etruscis saucius aggeribus The dead in epitaphs commonly address their words to a stranger {hospes, €etv°s) or to a traveller {uiator, oSnris).17 Very occasionally, when the site of the tomb makes it appropriate, the addressee may be identified generically as a farmer, herdsman or, even, a sailor.18 But in such cases it is always implicit if not explicit that the dead person has no way of identifying an individual addressee. In this case, however, the speaker clearly recognises his addressee. Not only is he able to identify him as a miles but he knows precisely where he is coming from and the nature of the fighting in which he has been engaged. Epitaphs fairly often refer to the destination or route of the traveller, as in: quicumque Albana tendis properasque uiator

{CE 1055.1)

quicumque Nolana tendis per rura uiator

{CE 1056.1)

There are even Greek examples which appear to give a general indication of where the addressee is coming from:

In memoriam Galli ETTE OCOTOS T I S av*np ETTE §EVOS OCAAOOEV iAOcov

(GF1226.1)

whether you are a citizen or stranger coming from elsewhere . . . EI 5E Topcbvqv AEI'TTGOV EIS auTqv £pX6Otl A^ITTOAIV

if you leave Torone and come to Amphipolis

(AP

7.502.if.)

itself

But the formal similarities between these examples and Propertius' line serve only to keep the poem within the bounds of the conventions of the epitaph. The contrast with Propertius is striking and informative. His speaker can identify the miles as coming from the besieged city of Perusia only because he recognises him. The word agger is part of the technical military language: agger proprie dicitur terra ilia quae uallo facto propius

ponitur (Servius on Aeneid 10.24). This is a precise reference to the siegeworks described by Appian (xocpocKi KOU T&pcp), a temporary feature of the landscape. That this speaker is able to recognise transitory and impermanent features emerges even more clearly from his description of the miles as saucius. The pentameter thus forces the reader to reassess. For all that the language and conventions of the opening line suggest the type of epitaph in which the dead man addresses a passer-by, this poem belongs in fact to a different type, that which commemorates the dead by reporting their last moments and ultima uerba. Two examples may serve as illustration: Q AocKE6ai|i6vioi, TOV a p r | i o v ( W i v 6 TU|J(3OS FuAAlV UTTEp Gl/pECCS OUTOS EX£l 90l|J£VOV, av5pas os ApyEicov TpsTs EKTOCVE KCCI TO8E y 5 EITTEV

'T£0vcar|v XTrapTccs a£ia |ir|aa|i£vos.'

{AP 7.432)

Spartans, this tomb holds your warrior, Gyllis, who died for Thyrea: he killed three of the ATgives and spoke just this:' Let me die having done something worthy of Sparta.' 'YOTOCTIOV, OcoKcaa KAUTT} TTOAI, TOUTO 0Eavco

ETTTEV ES orrpuyETOV VUKTOC KaTEpxo|i£vr|' '01V01 lyoo 8uaTT|vos*

ATTEAAIXE, TTOTOV, OIJEUVE,

TTOTOV ETT' COKEITI vr|i iTEpas TTEAayos; ocuTap IpiEU QXESOOEV |i6pos lOTonrca. cbs O9EAOV y £ pl 9iAr] TT\V <JT\V X 6 ^P a A a p o u a a OCXVETV. '

(AP

7.735)

Phocaia, glorious city, this was the last thing Theano said as she went down into the boundless night: 'Poor, wretched me! What 57

IAN M. LE M. DUQUESNAY

sea, Apellichus my husband, what sea are you crossing in your swift ship ? But my death stands close at hand. If only I could die holding your hand in my own.'

In one major respect Propertius is innovating: for it is normal in this type of poem to set the scene with a simple narrative or description. But Propertius has preferred to make the setting itself into a dramatic encounter. Within this framework the conventions of the address to the passer-by are exploited to new effect.19 The reader's sense of surprise elegantly mirrors the shock experienced by the addressee, whose reactions are described in detail in the question of the next line : quid nostro gemitu turgentia lumina torques? Here too Propertius simultaneously evokes and modifies standard features in order to fit with the unusual scenario that he has in mind. References to gemitus and the like in epitaphs are usually attached to the mourners or even to the addressee rather than to the dead person. The transference here underlines the fact that this speaker is alive.20 The second part of the line is more complicated.21 In the standard epitaph, the speaker often follows his address to the traveller by requesting or commanding attention, as in: Adulescens tarn etsi properas, hoc te saxulum rogat ut se aspicias, deinde, quod scriptum est, legas. (Pacuvius in Aulus Gellius, Noctes Atticae 1.24.4) Tu qui secura spatiarus [ = spatiaris] mente, uiator, et nostri uoltus derigis inferieis. {CE 960.1—2)22 Something of this idea is present since the speaker clearly does want to attract the attention of the miles. But here the conventional background serves only to clarify what is implicit in the opening address. For any temptation to take torques as the equivalent of adtorques is precluded by the ablative nostro gemitu and the resulting lack of sense. Since the speaker has deliberately tried to attract the attention of the miles, it would be illogical of him to ask why the miles is now turning his eyes upon him rather than to recognise the gesture as the most natural way of complying with his implicit request.23 No better sense results from the assumption that torques is the equivalent of detorques, and that the line is in some way a reversal of or variation on the commonplace. For then we have to infer that the miles has been looking at the speaker previously and has looked away only at 58

In memoriam Galli the sound of the groaning for reasons that are unexplained by the text and the recoverable context, both literary and historical, and so must remain unclear.24 Any scenario based on this assumption fails to give proper weight to, and is inconsistent with, that implied by properas and by ab Etruscis... aggeribus. There is thus no alternative to taking the simple verb torques at face value.25 The phrase lumina or oculos torquere describes a physical action, namely the rapid or sudden movement of the eyes. It is simply a sign of loss of control and composure, which may be caused either by physical exertion or by a surge of strong emotion.26 Here the action is made especially vivid by the adjective turgentia ('bulging', 'popping') and given emphasis by the alliteration (turg- ~ torqu-). We can reconstruct the scene. The miles, who has been wounded in the fighting at Perusia, is moving as quickly as he can through the surrounding hills, hoping to reach home safely. He knows that there are brigands in the area and has perhaps encountered the corpses of those who had tried to escape before him and failed.27 Given his physical condition and his situation, he must be nervous. Then he hears a sound. Naturally, he is terrified: his eyes roll violently as the fear adds to the effects of his physical exertions and he tries to see who or what has made the sound. That rolling movement makes the eyes stand out in a face which is easily imagined as already gaunt from the effects of hunger endured at Perusia and drawn from the effects of the wound. The speaker's question conveys his surprise at the unintended, unexpected and, for him, unjustified response of the miles to his opening address. If we unpack his words, he means something like: 'I can see from the expression on your face that you were terrified by the sound I made but there really is no need to be.' The underlying convention reinforces the implicit reassurance and points up the unexpected and inappropriate response from the miles. Not only is this interpretation intelligible and consistent with the immediate context but it also allows full weight to the emphatic and colourful turgentia which on either of the alternative interpretations remains an unexplained and unintegrated ornamental detail.28 The speaker now continues by being more explicit about his identity: pars ego sum uestrae proxima militiae. Here again Propertius is shadowing the conventional sequence of topics in the epitaph, where the opening address to the passer-by and the request for attention are often followed by the declaration of identity, as in: 2 9

59

IAN M. LE M. DUQUESNAY

hospes, si non est lasso tibi forte molestum, oramus lecto nomine pauca legas. sum libertinis ego nata parentibus ambis pauperibus censu, moribus ingenuis.

(CE 1125.1—4)

paulum praeteriens nostro remoraris sepulchro dum festinato lumine pauca legis. Crescens hie ego sum: fueram spes magna parentum. (CE 1196.1-3) Tu qui secura spatiarus mente, uiator, et nostri uoltus derigis infereis, si quaeris quae sim, cinis en et tosta fauilla, ante obitus tristeis Heluia Prima fui.

(CE 960.1—4)

Mr) [xs Socos, KUSIOTE, irapEpxeo TU|J|3OV, OSTTCC,

aoTcriv 6cKotnr|Tois mxTcri, KeAeuOoirope* 56pKO(ievos 6* epeeive, ' TI'S T^ TTOOEV ; ' eApjioviav yap yvcoo-eat rjs yever] AanTreTou iv Msyapois" (AP 7.337.1—4) Do not, most noble wayfarer, quickly pass me by with tireless feet. But look and ask: ' Who are you and from where? ' For you shall know Harmonia, whose family is illustrious in Megara. In our poem, the effect is very different. The speaker does not identify himself by name, as if to a stranger. His words rather make it clear that he knows his addressee well and expects to be recognised in his turn, once the miles has recovered himself. His emphasis is upon the relationship that exists between them. The precise meaning of his words has been much disputed and the difficulty has perhaps arisen from an attempt on the part of Propertius to present his speaker as realistically multiplying his reassurances. The final word, militiae, picks up miles and makes it clear that the speaker is also a soldier rather than a brigand. 30 The effect of pars ego sum is to make it plain that the speaker had fought on the same side: he is not an enemy soldier.31 The superlative proxima with pars should ensure that we take militiae primarily as a collective noun equivalent to militum.32 The plural possessive adjective is difficult but serves to include the addressee among the milites who constitute the militia, without implying that he is their imperator.33 The meaning of proxima is also debated, but the only satisfactory sense is obtained by taking the word to denote a very close relationship, either of friendship or kinship: i.e. as the equivalent of proximus commilitonum. 60

In memoriam Galli The miles, as we have seen, is terrified that the sound he has heard indicates the presence of the enemy or of hostile strangers. The speaker is keen to reassure him that nothing could be further from the truth: not only is he a commilito but of all his commilitones he is the one with whom he has the closest ties. As the first movement of the poem closes we find that Propertius has completely reversed the normal situation in an epitaph where a dead man speaks to a total stranger (hospes, §e7vos): here a living man is speaking to a very close relative. The word proximo, thus picks up on the over-adequately poetic consortem, and refines and sustains the idea that a close relationship exists between the two men. But the exact nature of that relationship remains to intrigue the reader and carry him forward. The next couplet is the central one and pivotal to the structure of the whole poem. It is transmitted in all the major manuscripts thus : 35 sic te seruato ut possint gaudere parentes ne soror acta tuis sentiat e lacrimis. It is impossible to extract good sense from this.36 The difficulties presented by the hexameter evaporate with the deletion of ut: now seruato can be taken together with te as an ablative phrase dependent on gaudere?1 The phrasing conjures up the scene of the anticipated homecoming by echoing the formulaic language of greetings, as found, for example, at Plautus, Bacchides 456: saluom te aduenire gaudeoi or at Captiui 707: quern seruatum gaudeo. The subjunctive possint expresses the wish of the speaker and sic anticipates the condition on which that wish is conditional. Good wishes for the traveller are a stock theme in the epitaph.38 They are usually conditional and they frequently take the form of wishing the traveller a safe journey and arrival at his destination, as may be seen from the following: di uos bene faciant, amid, et uos, uiatores, habeatis deos propitios, qui Victorem publicum Fabianum a censibus p(opuli) R(omani) non praeteritis, salui eatis, salui redeatis. (CIL 6.2335) sis felix quicumque leges, te numina seruent.

{CE 233.8)

Tu, quicumque mei ueheris prope limina busti supprime festinum, quaeso, uiator, iter. perlege, sic numquam doleas pro funere acerbo: inuenies titulo nomina fixa meo. (CE m i . 1—4) 61

IAN M. LE M. DUQUESNAY aAAoc a u 'xprF" 11 !? X a V ? 'AWACOVIGC ' cos eOos eiircbv CTCO^OU TOV CTOCVTOO TTpos 5o[iov a|3Aa|3ecos-

(GV

1873.9—10)

But do you, having said, as is the custom, ' Rejoice, good Ammonia'', bring yourself safe and without harm to your own house. XTa AiKivia, X$T\O"XT\ xaTpe. OUTCOS TravTes ovaiaOs |3iou, Trapo8oi, ToSe afj|ja aOpauorov -rnpeiTe coKUjiopou VEKUOS.

(GV 1222)

Chian Licinia, good lady, rejoice. On this condition may you all enjoy life, passers-by, namely that you keep unbroken this tomb of one prematurely dead. TOOTCC |ioc6cov, co cjetve, Aeyois Trcrrpi TCO 6

CTOCUTOV\XT) TpUXeiV |iVr|CTa|i£VOV

(3tOTOU. '

Kai CTOI 8 6uo8tr|s Tpi(3ov 6A(3iov euxoiiai efvat y* €Ti Kai TEKVOIS CTOTCTI 9 i A o 9 p o a u v o i s . (GV

1151.19—22)

Having learned these things, stranger, please say to my father who buried me:' Dont wear yourself away remembering my life.' And for you I pray that your road may be blessed with an easy journey and that this may even extend to your loving children as well.

From these, and many more inscriptions like them, it is possible to see how rich this line is in allusions to standard themes of the epitaph: the wish for a safe return; the contrast with the fate of the dead and the wish that the addressee may fare better; the reciprocation of the good wishes conventionally requested by the dead (for gaudere serves as a translation of xatpsw39) and the extension of those good wishes to include the relatives of the addressee.40 All this helps to underline the implications in this very untypical poem and allows them to be recovered. The good wishes imply that the miles has himself shown good will, presumably by an indication that he is willing to help. But the emphatic te, which is implicitly contrasted with me, together with seruato serves to reassure the miles that the speaker himself is beyond saving: there can be no return home for him. Wounded as he is, the miles should try to save himself and think of his obligations to his parents rather than to his comrade. From the start the speaker has used the language and themes of the sepulchral epigram, and has spoken throughout, one might say, as if he were dead already. Now this gains a new significance, for it underlines the fact that there was 62

In memoriam Galli nothing the miles could have done to save him. All that he can do is try to carry out his comrade's final wish and that he can only do if he does manage to reach home. The wish is set out in the pentameter and again there are severe problems with the transmitted text. It is clear that we are faced with another conventional theme, the wish that the passer-by should take a message. Negative commands and wishes are not uncommon in themselves but are almost always prohibitions against harming the tomb. There is, however, one instance of an instruction not to take a message: Mr|8ev cnrrccyyeiAeias is Avnoxeiocv,

OSTTCC,

[xr\ TTCCAIV oipco^ri x 6 v|jaTa KaoraAiris, ouveKev l£a*nrivr|s Euoropyios eAAnrs nouaav, Oeopcov T Auaovicov lAiri'Soc |iavj;i5ir|v.

(AP

7.589.1—4)

You should take no message to Antioch, traveller, lest the streams of Castalia start lamenting over again, because suddenly Eustorgios left the Muse and his frustrated hope of learning Roman law. Leaving aside questions of taste and sentiment, there is an instructive contrast to be made: in this epigram of Agathias the fact of the youth's death is already known to the Castalian streams and they have already mourned for him. This serves to highlight the difficulty of the transmitted text in Propertius' poem. If the miles obeys the instruction, then the soror will not learn of the circumstances of the speaker's death or even, if et (9) is neither emended to at or sed nor taken to introduce a contrast, of the location of the body. 41 Yet if the speaker were anxious that any of his message should not reach the ears of any particular person, he had to hand the simple remedy of saying nothing. The reader might also be puzzled that Propertius has chosen not only to publicise the fact that the miles disregarded the express dying wishes of his comrade but has himself compounded that act of disrespect by making it the subject of a poem. The simplest solution is to emend ne to haec}2 The resulting phrase, haec... acta, has partial parallels in: Hospes] ad hoc tumulum dum perlegis [acta res]iste, aspice quam indi[gne sit data] uita mihi. (CE 502.1—2) Hospes ades paucis et perlege uersibus acta

(CE 1005.1)

In both cases the word acta anticipates the details of the speaker's life and death which are told in some detail.43 The addition of haec adds elegance and could have been prompted by the use of such a demonstrative to 63

IAN M. LE M. DUQUESNAY

anticipate direct speech which is typical of certain Greek epigrams.44 The very vagueness of haec... acta is rhetorically effective as it asserts the importance of and claims attention for what follows. In tuis...e lacrimis Propertius makes restrained allusion to another convention of the epitaph, namely that the speaker expects his death to occasion tears and distress.45 Elsewhere the point is made more elaborately: TOUT

I O T I V , Trapo8eiTa. cru 5

s BeniS EOTI PPOTOTCTIV

oiKTEipas |Ji6 A u y p a v KOCI SdcKpuai TT^V iAeeivpv T6i|ir|aas OCTTO aco[v] KOCVOCOV TtapoSeue TO OTJIIOC.

(SEG 3.543.6-8) So it is, traveller. And do you, as is right for mortals, pity my miserable self and with tears from your eyes honour my wretchedness and then pass by my tomb. Flet domus et cari lugunt sine fine parentes, abreptum fatis: contegor hoc titulo. quis non exempli doleatur mortis acerbae? si me uidisses aut si mea funera nosses, fudisses lacrimas, hospes, in ossa mea.

{CE 1173)

Just as the verb gaudere in the hexameter echoed the traditional xcaps f° r the dead and transferred it to the parents' welcome to the living miles, so sentiat transfers to the soror the injunction usually addressed to the traveller to 'know' or 'learn' (TCJOI, yvcoaeoci, disce, cognosce etc.) about the dead man or his death.46 But it is worth noting that there seems to be a particularly good parallel for sentiat in a Latin epitaph about a girl who died on the eve of her marriage : ... sponso matrique puella est] erepta atque patri. namque infanfdum heu cito uulnus] hie quoque inauditu sentiet ips[e procul. sed luctu raptam] desiderioque tenentes concelebfrauerunt funus pro patre propinqui. (CE 383.3—7) The meaning is less than clear, but it seems that the father was away at the time of her death and learned of what had happened by report.47 In both cases the verb seems to include both the idea of learning what has happened and of the emotional impact on the hearer.48 One question remains: whose soror is it? An important, if not wholly unambiguous, clue is provided by the two conventional motifs which lie behind the next two couplets: the last words of the dying person49 and 64

In memoriam Galli the request to the passer-by to take a message. The ultima uerba are normally spoken to a relative of the speaker and this feature is an important clue to the nature of the relationship between the speaker and the miles. But Propertius seems primarily to have in mind the request to the passer-by to take a message.50 This theme is not common in Latin epitaphs, but the following may be noted: Si lutus, si puluis | tardat te forte, | uiator, arida, siue | sitis nunc tibi iter | minuit, perlege, cum | in patria(m) tulerit te | dextera Fati, ut re | quietus queas dicere | saepe tuis: 'finibus Ita|liae monumentum | uidi Voberna, in quo | est Atini conditum | [corpus'... (CE 982) Many Greek epigrams, however, employ the theme, including some of the most famous and the best. 51 Q £ETV , ayyeAAeiv AOKESOUIJIOVIOIS STI TTJ8E KeijieOa, TOTS KEIVCOV TTEIOOHEVOI vo|ii|iois.

(AP

7.249)

Stranger tell the Spartans that here we lie, obedient to their traditions. (Simonides) KU^IKOV T^V EA0T)S, oAi'yos TTOVOS ITTTTOCKOV eupsTv

KCCI Ai5u|jr|V a 9 a v q s OVTI y a p r\ yEVEiy KCCI acpiv ocvi-qpov |i£v IpeTs ETTOS, £|iTra 5E AE^CCI TOOO*, OTl TOV K61VCOV COS* ETTEXCO KpiTlT|V.

{AP 7«52l)

If ever you come to Cy^icus, it will be little trouble to find Hippacus and Didyme ; for the family is in no way obscure. And you will give them a distressing message, but nevertheless you will tell them this, that here I hold their Critias. (Callimachus) Nod XiTO|iai, TTapoSTra, qn'Aco KOCTOCAE^OV OCKOI'TT), EUT av liiT^v AEUCTCTTIS TTOCTpiSa OEao-aAfnv * ' KOCTOOVE or\ irapaKoiTis, £X^1 5E ^lv Iv )(0ovi Tuii^os, aiaT, BoCTTropiris Iyyu6£v riiovos* aAAa laoi auToOi TEUXE K£vr|piov I y y u 0 i CTETO, 69P ava|ii|ivr|aKr) TTJS TTOTE Koupi6ir|s.'

{AP

7.569)

Yes, I beg you, traveller, tell my dear husband, whenever you see my homeland, Thessaly: ' Your wife is dead and a tomb holds her on land but, alas, near the shore of the Bosporus: but buildfor me there a cenotaph near you so that you may remember her who was once your wife.' (Agathias) 65

IAN M. LE M. DUQUESNAY

Two features of this type of epitaph are particularly relevant: first, they almost always commemorate someone who has died tragically away from home; and, secondly, the message is almost always to be delivered to a relative of the dead — usually, one may suppose, the one responsible for commissioning the epitaph. There are, however, difficulties in taking the person to whom the message is directed to be the sister of the speaker.52 In the first place it has to be inferred, from the contrast between the miles and the speaker, that the latter no longer has parents living. For if the sister were not the sole relative she would not be the one to be made responsible for the burial.53 That is a complicated and awkward inference to be expected to draw. Moreover, if we are to think of her as the speaker's sister, then there is no easy way to relate her to the miles. Finally, the exact nature of the relationship between the speaker and the miles will also remain inexplicable.54 The word-order very naturally allows, if it does not actually compel, an alternative interpretation.55 There are two words describing relations enclosed in this couplet between te and tuis, namely parentes and soror. Since there is no verbal indication to the contrary, it is natural to assume that they are all being characterised in terms of their relationship to the miles. The joy of the parents at the safe return of their son is then in contrast with the grief of their children, the miles and his sister, at the death of the speaker. Since we should expect the message to be delivered to a relation of the speaker, it necessarily follows that she is also the speaker's wife. As such she may very properly be expected to take responsibility for his burial. And the question of the relationship between the miles and the speaker is fully resolved: he is his brother-inlaw.56 In so far as the poem represents the ultima uerba of the speaker, they are addressed to a relative in accordance with the conventions. The next couplet contains the message and gives an account of how he died. The transmitted text reads: Gallum per medios ereptum Caesaris ensis effugere ignotas non potuisse manus. The first word at last identifies the speaker by name. The remainder of this line picks up and clarifies the allusion in the first couplet to Octavian's victorious siege of Perusia and confirms the implication of the second couplet that Gallus had fought there, with the miles, on the side of L. Antonius. It is therefore all the more striking that the elevated and deliberately poetic phrasing of per medios... Caesaris ensis sounds like a gracious tribute from the vanquished to the victor and is without 66

In memoriam Galli a hint of malice. There would have been some glory in being killed by a glorious opponent.57 With ereptum, the parallelism between the miles and Gallus gives way to contrast. The miles was wounded, apparently, during the course of the righting at Perusia or in the course of making his escape. Since Gallus simultaneously recognised the miles and the fact that he was wounded, it is natural to infer that the wound was a frontal one sustained while facing the enemy. The detail of the wound is significant: it encourages the reader to respond with feelings of both sympathy and admiration of his endurance and fortitude; it precludes the question of whether he could not have done more to assist Gallus; and it even provides justification for his leaving the battle and his standards.58 By contrast, ereptum emphasises the fact that Gallus escaped unscathed. It is very difficult not to see a parallel in the description of Aeneas, who announces himself to Dido as Troius Aeneas, Libycis ereptus ab undis {Aeneid 1.596). The word ereptus would seem to be used, in both cases, deliberately to recall the Homeric (!£)apTra£ecr0ai, and the rescue of favoured heroes by divine intervention.59 But it would be a parallel not without difficulties: Aeneas may reasonably be happy and even feel pride in having escaped the dreadful fate of drowning. Escape from a battle and even from certain death in battle is quite another thing. No reader of Aeneid 2 can be unaware of the care Virgil has taken to protect Aeneas from the charge of having deserted Troy in its hour of greatest need.60 Other Virgilian parallels only reinforce this point. Aeneas tells the Sibyl how: ilium [i.e. Anchises] ego per flammas et mille sequentia tela eripui his umeris medioque ex hoste recepi. {Aeneid 6.11 if.) It is to this that Helenus refers when he says: coniugio, Anchisa, Veneris dignate superbo cura deum, bis Pergameis erepte ruinis.

{Aeneid 3.475f.)

And it is the futility of this action of which Aeneas complains at the death of Anchises: hie me, pater optime, fessum deseris, heu! tantis nequiquam erepte periclis! {Aeneid 3.71 of.) But the point about the rescue of Anchises is that it illustrates the courage and pietas of Aeneas and reflects no dishonour upon the aged Anchises. When Anchises at first refused to leave Troy, Aeneas remonstrated with Venus: 67

IAN M. LE M. DUQUESNAY

hoc erat, alma parens, quod me per tela, per ignis eripis, ut mediis hostem in penetralibus utque Ascanium patremque meum iuxtaque Creusam alterum in alterius mactatos sanguine cernam? (Aeneid 2.664-7)61 If he cannot save his dependants, Aeneas would prefer to die gloriously in battle. It is in effect the same alternative that Nisus considers: quid faciat? qua ui iuuenem, quibus audeat armis eripere? an sese medios moriturus in hostis inferat et pulchram properet per uulnera mortem ? {Aeneid 9.399—401) An epitaph is not the place to cast doubt on a man's bravery, and so we must conclude that these heroic connotations must be rigorously excluded. And face to face with the wounded miles is surely not the place for Gallus to fudge or gloss his * escape' by cloaking it in some sort of self-glorifying heroisation. But ereptum makes a contrast not only with saucius, but also a second and more immediate contrast with the next line: effugere... non potuisse. It is clear that the account of Gallus' death is presented as a variation on a standard theme: having survived obvious danger and threat of death, he has been killed, just when he thought he was safe, by an unexpected danger. The theme has a distinguished history and goes back at least to Odyssey 11.399^, where the ghost of Agamemnon tells how he survived ten years of war against Troy and fighting against heroes, to return home victorious and be murdered in his own home by the degenerate Aegisthus and his wife Clytemnestra.62 The theme is popular with the writers of sepulchral epigrams, and a couple of examples will suffice : 63 vauTjyos yAauKoib cpuycov Tprrcovos ornreiAas AvOeus O6EICOTT|V OU cpuyev CCIVOAUKOV

FTriveioO Trapa x g v|Ja Y^P coAe-ro. 9EU TOCAOCV, OCJTIS NripetScov Nu|jupas ecrxes airtCTTOTepas.

(AP

7.550)

Shipwrecked, but having escaped the threats of sea-green Triton, Antheus did not escape the terrible Phthian wolf: for beside the stream of Peneus he was killed. Alas, poor wretch who found the Nymphs more treacherous than the Nereids. piyr|Aq vauTais Epi'cpcov Sucris ccAAa TTupcovi TTOUAU ycxArjvair| xEiPcn-os" Ix^poTepri, vfja y a p OCTTAOIT] TreTre8r||i6vou e^OacjEv avmos

68

In memoriam Galli Ar|iOT£cov Taxivq 8iKpoTos la XeT|ia 5e ^lv irpocpuyovTa yocArivccicp UTT oAeOpco SKTOCVOV a Auypf^s, SsiAe, Kaxop|iiair|S-

(AP

7.640)

The setting of the Kids sends a shiver through sailors, but to Pyron the calm was much more hostile than the storm. For, as he was trapped and becalmed, a swift, double-oared pirates' galley overtook his boat. He escaped the storm but they killed him in a calm that proved more deadly. Alas, poor wretch, what a grievous, evil harbour ! AP 7.640 exemplifies the blunter and much more common way of expressing the antithesis: * escaped ~ killed'. AP 7.550 provides a parallel for the euphemistic understatement ' escaped ~ did not escape' which would be expressed by ereptum ~ effugere... non potuisse. The word effugere deliberately echoes the formulaic (Trpo)cpuycbv normally used to express the idea of 'escape'. Here it is negated to express the other half of the standard antithesis. Inevitably, this form of expression in the pentameter highlights the fact that ereptum is a most unusual way to express the idea of 'escape': for eripere is an extremely common euphemism in the language of sepulchral epigram where it means ' snatch out of (life by death)' rather than 'escaped', 'was saved'. 64 While sharpness and point are at home in epigram, in epitaphs for those fallen in war it was normal to cultivate a simple and manly style and this convention makes the clever pointedness of the expression all the more striking.65 To sum up: the reader is expected to exclude the heroic connotations and take the participle as middle rather than strictly passive, corresponding to the reflexive verb se eripere 'to snatch oneself out of (danger)',' to save oneself'.66 The sense of the couplet can then be taken as parallel to that of the epigrams just quoted or of Livy 24.26.13: [uirgines] inter medios tot armatos aliquotiens integro corpore euaserunt tenentibusque, cum tot ac tarn ualidae eluctandae manus essent, sese eripuerunt. tandem uulneribus confectae, cum omnia replessent sanguine, exanimes corruerunt. It is clear that composers of epitaphs enjoyed the chance to exploit such pathos: acerbissima morte defuncti, qui cum ex incendio seminudus effugisset, posthabita cura salutis dum aliquit e flammis eripere conatur, ruina parietis oppressus. (ILS 8520) 69

IAN M. LE M. DUQUESNAY

The great emphasis given to the contrast between having escaped unscathed from Perusia and the failure to escape ignotas manus is to be put down simply to a desire to maximise the pathos and so secure a sympathetic response, both from the miles and his soror, to his subsequent request. Nevertheless, there are difficulties presented by ereptum which are more than just linguistic or stylistic. Potentially the most significant lies in the contrast with saucius and the implication that Gallus had none of the justification of the miles for abandoning the war. Desertion was viewed as a disgrace and Gallus clearly did not have the justification of being wounded.67 If ereptum is retained, the effect of the pentameter is to make the fate of Gallus an uncomfortably clear illustration of a traditional thought best known from Horace : 68 dulce et decorum est pro patria mori: mors et fugacem persequitur uirum nee parcit inbellis iuuentae poplitibus timidoque tergo.

{Odes 3.2.12—16)

Given Propertius' evident intention to provide a sympathetic and encomiastic account of Gallus' death, this line of interpretation must be resisted.69 The difficulties caused by ereptum are sufficient to justify consideration of the very simple alternative: eruptum.10 The verb erumpere is a standard part of the military vocabulary and used precisely to describe breaking through besieging forces.71 It is exactly appropriate to the strategy and aims of the besieged army of L. Antonius at Perusia, of which Gallus was a part, and even in the much abbreviated and glancing accounts of the war provided by our Latin sources the word erumpere is used on several occasions to summarise his tactics.72 It is also just the kind of word one would expect Propertius to put in the mouth of a soldier like Gallus. Parallels for the syntax and phrasing are easily found; for example:73 ad ipsius [i.e. Alexander] obsidionem omnes conuersi... ceterum cum delectis ipse [i.e. Alexander] egregium facinus ausus per medios erumpit hostes. (Livy 8.24.7—9) per medias stationes hostium erupere. per medios armatos erupit.

(Livy 35.11.10) (Curtius 10.6.24)

The sense too is just what is required. To attack besieging forces required great courage and tested military virtue to the full.74 The reader knows that in spite of repeated attempts Lucius' forces were never 70

In memoriam Galli successful on a large enough scale to break the siege, so he will easily suppose that Gallus found himself stranded and cut off after his personal victory in breaking through the lines, unable rather than unwilling to fight his way back to the main army. The contrast with the miles, whom we may also suppose to have fought his way out rather than simply deserted, is at least as effective as with ereptum. The point of the couplet then seems to be that Fortune had seemed to favour the brave and Gallus had fought his way through unscathed only to receive a fatal wound from a more unexpected and less worthy foe. The final manus contrasts indignantly with the elevated ensis, ignotas with the identifiable and noble name of Caesar, to enhance the pathos. The variation on the standard formulation of the Greek epigram is less obtrusively pointed but, again, at least as effective as with ereptum. The * escape' is indicated by a word which conveys vigorous action as a significant and even praiseworthy achievement, while the * death' is euphemistically presented as an innocent failure on the part of Gallus rather than as an achievement to be credited to the ignoti, a cause for sympathy and indignation rather than for reproach. Whichever reading is preferred, it perhaps needs to be emphasised that there is absolutely no evidence to support the widely held view that Gallus' death at the hands of brigands is in any way a cause for shame. 75 Brigandage and piracy were endemic in the ancient world. They had become more of a problem than usual in the decade following the death of Caesar, when the normal numbers were no doubt swollen by refugees from the proscriptions, the dispossessed, those whose livelihoods had been destroyed by the Perusine war itself and runaway slaves taking advantage of the chaos. 76 But at all periods, in both literary and inscriptional epitaphs, death at the hands of brigands is freely recorded. In all cases the purpose of the composer is evidently to inspire the reader with an enhanced sense of indignation and pity for the premature death which is being commemorated, as may be seen from the following, which, like Propertius 1.21, also use the message theme: 7 7 npos ere Aios Eeviou youvou|js8a, iron-pi Xccpivcp ayyeiAov 0r|Pr|v, covep, ITT AioAi'5a Mfjviv KOCI FTOAUVIKOV OACOAOTE, KCCI TO8E 9our|s,

&>S ou TOV 6oAiov KACUO|J€V CWI |i6pov, Kanrep UTTO GprjKcov 9O1V6V01 X6pos, aAAa TO KEI'VOU yT)pas iv apyaAerj KEI'JJEVOV 6p9ccvi'r). (AP 7.540) By Zeus Xenios we beg you, sir, report to our father Charinos in Aeolian Thebes, that Menis and Polynikos are dead and please

IAN M. LE M. DUQUESNAY

say this, that we do not lament our treacherous death, even though we were killed at the hands of Thracians, but his old age left wretched by the loss of his sons. EliTE, TTOTl OOl'cCV 6Ua|iTT£AoV T\V TT08 lKT|Ca

KCCI TTOXIV apxocfav, cS £eve, GauiaocKiav, (£>S Spupiov MaAeaTov avaarsipcov TTOT eT5es AaiiTTCovos T6V8* ITTI -rrcaSi Ta<pov Aep£ia, ov TTOT6 IJOOVOV eAov 5OXCO, O U 8 a

KACOTT6S ITTI ZirapTav 5Tav 6TT£iy6|ji£vov.

{AP 7 . 5 4 4 )

Tell them, stranger, if ever you come to Phthia, with its fine vines, and to the ancient city of Thaumacia, that once when you were going up through the deserted woodland of Malea, you saw this tomb for the son of Lampo, Derxias, whom once, as he hastened alone on his way to splendid Sparta, brigands killed, by treachery not in open fight.

Whichever reading is adopted, Gallus is relying upon the sympathy that his plight will arouse in both the soldier and in his wife to secure a favourable response to his second request: et, quaecumque super dispersa inuenerit ossa montibus Etruscis, haec sciat esse mea. The sequence of thought is well illustrated by a famous episode in Aeneid 6,78 where Aeneas in the underworld encounters those mortis honore carentes (333), whom the Sibyl describes as inops inhumataque turba (325). Palinurus, one of their number, tells Aeneas how he had fallen overboard and then, with enormous strength and courage, had swum for three days through stormy seas. On the fourth, he says: paulatim adnabam terrae; iam tuta tenebam, ni gens crudelis madida cum ueste grauatum prensantemque uncis manibus capita aspera montis ferro inuasisset praedamque ignara putasset. nunc me fluctus habet uersantque in litore uenti. zV/6.358-62) Without proper burial he cannot cross the Styx, and he asks Aeneas, if he is unable to take him along, to: eripe me his, inuicte, malis: aut tu mihi terram inice (namque potes) portusque require Velinos. (Aeneid 6.^6^{.) 72

In memoriam Galli The Sibyl quickly intervenes to assure him that he will receive his proper burial: sed cape dicta memor, duri solacia casus: nam tua finitimi, longe lateque per urbes prodigiis acti caelestibus, ossa piabunt et statuent tumulum et tumulo sollemnia mittent.

(Aeneid 6.^jjf.) The ancients had few horrors as great as that of not receiving proper burial. It is a common theme also in epitaphs, particularly in those intended for cenotaphs.79 Gallus, like Palinurus, uses the pathetic account of his death as a prelude to his request, which is addressed directly to the miles and indirectly to the soror, his own wife. Gallus speaks as if he too were already dead. All that concerns him now is that his body should be found and given proper burial. A famous letter of the younger Pliny provides an interesting parallel. He tells the story of a ghost that haunted a house until a philosopher had the courage to let himself be shown to the site of his unburied corpse. Then: inueniuntur ossa inserta catenis et implicita, quae corpus aeuo terraque putrefactum nuda et exesa reliquerat uinculis; collecta publice sepeliuntur. domus postea rite conditis manibus caruit. {Letters 7.27.11) In our epigram, the phrasing deliberately conjures up the dreadful plight of the unburied, for dispersa inuenerit ossa sounds like a deliberate inversion of the sepulchral formula inuenies ossa sepulta.80 The effect is reinforced by super, which is best taken adverbially with dispersa.81 In the language of sepulchral inscriptions, it appears most commonly in such formulae as: te terra obtestor leuiter super ossa residas.82 Here it is the

bones that lie upon the surface. But while this grisly picture conveys what will otherwise be in store for Gallus and thus adds to the pathos and to the urgency of his request, the words do not, strictly speaking, describe his fate but that of others.83 The demonstrative haec cannot be the grammatical antecedent of quaecumque, unless it is supposed that Gallus was the only person to have died in this area at this time, while escaping from Perusia.84 And it is, or at least it ought to be, literally unthinkable that Gallus should be saying that it does not matter to him whose bones his wife finds and buries. Burial is a duty she owes to him personally and we must suppose that his own proper burial is a matter of profound concern to him, as it is to any other Greek or Roman who ever expressed his views upon the subject.85 73

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The words montibus Etruscis pick up and reverse Etruscis... ab aggeribus and signal the closure of the poem. The final phrase, both in sciat and in haec.esse mea, deliberately echoes, without quite duplicating, the standard language of sepulchral inscriptions, such as: Adulescens, tarn et si properas | hie te saxsolus rogat ut se | aspicias, deinde ut quod scriptust | legas: hie sunt ossa Maeci Luci sita | Pilotimi uasculari. Hoc ego uolebam | nescius ni esses. Vale. [CIL 1.2.1209) Hoc qui scire cupis iaceant quae membra sepulchro (CE 1449.1) As the language shifts back to that normally associated with burial, the reader can be left to imagine the rest of the story for himself. The miles must be supposed to have memorised or somehow marked the spot, got home safely and delivered his message.86 As his sister is to be charged with the responsibility of finding Gallus and seeing to his burial, the closing words clarify finally the nature of the relationship that exists between the three. She must be the wife of Gallus, for this melancholy duty fell commonly and properly to a spouse. The poem thus commemorates the fortitude and the fides of the miles and the pietas of the wife, while also providing for Gallus a duri solacium casus.87 WHO WAS GALLUS?

A significant assumption underlies this question and the whole of the preceding analysis: namely, that Gallus was an historical person whom Propertius' readers could easily have identified and that they were intended to do so.88 The basis of this assumption is twofold. First, his death is set with great temporal and geographical precision in relation to an immediately recognisable historical event, the siege of Perusia. Second, the name of Gallus is familiar to the reader of Propertius' first book as that of an historical person. It would be immensely confusing, and show an uncharacteristic lack of imagination, if the poet had at this point chosen to confront us with a character of the same name who was not only a different person (as he must be) but wholly unconnected and completely fictional. If Propertius had wanted to write such a poem he could have left the speaker anonymous, used another common Roman name or signalled the fact by using a Greek name.89 Unfortunately, given the nature of the evidence, the modern reader is faced by a difficulty that the poet did not intend: for there is a strict limit on how far the modern reader can get in making a positive identification. 74

In memoriam Galli It has generally been supposed that he is identical with the relative of Propertius who is referred to in the poem which stands next to it in the collection and which serves in some way as a companion piece.90 Qualis et unde genus, qui sint mihi, Tulle, Penates, quaeris pro nostra semper amicitia. si Perusina tibi patriae sunt nota sepulchra, Italiae duris funera temporibus, cum Romana suos egit Discordia ciuis, (sic mihi praecipue, puluis Etrusca, dolor, tu proiecta mei perpessa es membra propinqui, tu nullo miseri contegis ossa solo), proxima supposito contingens Vmbria campo me genuit terris fertilis uberibus.

(1.22)

What is my status and whence my birth, where are my ancestral gods, you ask, Tullus, in the name of the friendship there has always been between us, Perusia is, of course, well known to you, the graveyard of your homeland, the site of Italy's destruction in those grim times when Roman Discord gripped her citizens {to me in this special way, Etruscan soil, do you cause grief: you have continued to tolerate the body of my kinsman lying neglected, you cover his bones with no earth, poor man) well, Umbria, where it lies very close [to Perusia] and shares a border on the low-lying plain, gave me birth, that land rich in fertile fields.91

The parallelism between the two poems is clearly significant, as we shall see. But it does not require or even allow the inference that Gallus and Propertius' propinquus are one and the same. The present tense of contegis (8), supported by the true perfect perpessa es, can only mean that Propertius' relative was never found. Although he met his death in similar circumstances to Gallus, his ultimate fate was crucially different: for he remained unburied. As most critics identify the two men, it is necessary to examine the possibility a little more closely. On this view, it is only when the reader comes to the next poem (1.22) that he finds he is required to amend radically the inferences drawn from reading 1.21. Poem 1.21 contained no sign of being composed for a cenotaph. It was natural to assume that Gallus' dying wishes were granted. Yet if he is the same person as the one alluded to in 1.22, they cannot have been. In spite of being required to make this radical adjustment, the reader is given no clue as to what did happen. Did the miles fail to return or to deliver his message? Is the 75

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whole scene a sentimental fiction? Why did the soror fail to carry out Gallus' wishes? The more one pursues the idea that the two men are identical, the deeper becomes the mire of speculation and the more improbable become the consequences. It is far simpler and less destructive of the integrity of each poem to assume that the two men are different people. The arrangement of the poems in the book does, however, seem designed to give a clue to Gallus' identity.92 As noted above, the name is familiar to Propertius' readers as that of a young friend and contemporary, a companion in the life of love. He is the addressee of four poems in the collection, a number equalled only by Propertius' main friend and patron, Volcacius Tullus. The poems to Gallus and Tullus are arranged in a deliberate pattern. Tullus receives the opening poem, Gallus the fifth, Tullus the sixth, and Gallus the tenth. Then, with less attention to symmetry, Gallus receives the thirteenth, Tullus the fourteenth, Gallus the twentieth and Tullus the twenty-second and closing poem. Standing between the final two poems is 1.21, linked to 1.20 by the name of Gallus and to 1.22 by its form, length and theme. The arrangement seems to require the conclusion that the two Galli are related.93 And the most simple, though not the only possible, inference is that the Gallus of 1.21 was the father of Propertius' young friend. In some ways this is the most important point to establish, since it affects the kind of purposes that might be attributed to Propertius in writing the poem. In any event, the evidence that bears on the identity is very limited and in many ways unsatisfactory. Any solution must be controversial. Part of the problem lies in the name itself: * the common and indistinctive cognomen begets despair, the implausible, or worse'. 94 Many wish to identify Propertius' Gallus as C. Cornelius Gallus, the friend and contemporary of Virgil and Asinius Pollio, who as the inventor of Roman love elegy was, without doubt, a major literary influence on Propertius.95 But the mass of learned and ingenious argument has so far failed to remove, or even fracture, the major obstacle to this solution. In the first of the poems addressed to him, as if to prevent misunderstanding, Propertius attributes to his friend Gallus nobilitas and priscae imagines (i.5.23f.). Propertius' Gallus, then, is nobilisi Cornelius Gallus was an eques Romanus. They cannot be the same person. And there are various other considerations concerning literary history, the career and physical movements of Cornelius Gallus, the way in which Gallus is portrayed by Propertius and the very nature of the Gallus poems themselves that would also make his identification problematic if not impossible to accept. There is no evidence that 76

In memoriam Galli Cornelius Gallus wrote any poetry after the end of the forties. There is clear evidence that Cornelius Gallus was in the East, playing a significant military and political role, throughout the period in which Propertius was writing the first book, while Propertius' Gallus seems to be of a similar age to Propertius, of similar tastes and pursuing a comparable life-style. Propertius claims to have witnessed his Gallus' love-making at a symposium and that has to be reinterpreted as a reference to what he has read in the poems of Cornelius Gallus. Having dismissed Cornelius Gallus, Syme proposed two alternatives: a Caninius Gallus or an Aelius Gallus. His own preference was for a Caninius Gallus and he suggested that he might be a putative son of the consul of 37 B.C. If the argument, that Propertius has so arranged his poems as to invite the inference that the Gallus of 1.21 is the father of his young friend, has weight, then this identification would be ruled out: for on the evidence of 1.21 his father had died in 40 B.C.96 An Aelius Gallus is, however, an attractive possibility. He could not be a son of the L. Aelius Gallus who became Prefect of Egypt a couple of years after the publication of Propertius Book 1, if the Gallus of 1.21 was his father. But nothing precludes his being a nephew.97 If he were just a few years younger than Tullus and not, like him, manifestly on the brink of a political or military career, it would be sufficient to account for the different tone Propertius adopts towards the two men and the different way in which they are represented in his poems.98 What makes this identification attractive are the other links that Propertius has with the family.99 In 3.12, he honours an Aelia Galla who is married to a Postumus. Postumus is most plausibly identified as a senatorial relative, the C. Propertius Postumus who is known from inscriptional evidence (and who may also be the Postumus of Horace, Odes 2.14). If the Gallus of Book 1 is the brother of this Aelia Galla, or even just a member of the same gens, it would come as no surprise to find that an earlier connection between the two families had existed. It would even be tempting to wonder whether Postumus could not be the son of the propinquus whose death is commemorated in poem 1.22.100 Additional scraps of evidence exist.101 Cicero alludes to an aborted legal action involving an Aelius Ligus and a Sextus Propertius over a will and an inheritance.102 Syme has made the attractive suggestion that the Paetus, whose death is the subject of 3.7, a long elegy much indebted to sepulchral epigram, might have been another Aelius.103 It would be helpful to know where the family was based. The name Aelius is too widely spread to allow any significance to attach to the fact that it is attested at Mevania, the birthplace of Propertius.104 Perhaps more 77

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weight can be given to the fact that the relevant branch of the family was particularly associated with Veii.105 For during the Perusine War, as the army of L. Antonius moved towards Perusia, it took refuge in Veii, which became for a while the site of a major, if indecisive, engagement. In the end Veii was taken by Octavian's forces and, perhaps, its lands were confiscated for the settlement of veterans.106 This may have been the moment that these Aelii declared for L. Antonius. The available evidence does not allow detailed conclusions. But the pieces seem to belong to the same puzzle, and the broad outlines of a coherent and self-consistent picture seem to emerge. Propertius himself came from Umbria. He was born at Mevania and owned a house in Asisium, which, if correctly identified, gave a ringside view of the siege at Perusia.107 His own family suffered in the war, losing at least one member and, perhaps as a direct consequence, much of its land.108 The uncle of the Tullus who is the addressee of 1.22 was L. Volcacius Tullus, the consul of 33 B.C. In 29 B.C. he left Rome as the proconsul of the province of Asia.109 The departure of his nephew to act as his legate seems to have acted as the stimulus to Propertius to gather and arrange the poems of Book i. 110 It was a valedictory donum from the poet to his most important amicus, and would serve to keep his name before the educated public in his absence.111 The Volcacii Tulli almost certainly came from Perusia.112 The implication of 1.22 is that they were involved in the fighting, on the side of L. Antonius. It seems reasonable to conclude that, in addition to their individual functions, the two poems at the end of Book 1 serve to remind readers of the links between the families of these three young men: Propertius, Gallus and Tullus. What binds their relationship is not just a common taste for literature. They come from the same part of Italy, and their lives have been touched with comparable, if not exactly similar, suffering in the course of the Perusine war.

PROPERTIUS, PERUSIA AND AUGUSTUS Current orthodoxy tends to favour the view that Propertius was at best unenthusiastic about Augustus and at worst implacably hostile. Many cite 1.21 and 22 in support of their views, finding in the experience of the Perusine War the biographical basis of his later attitude.113 But such a reading of these poems is far from inevitable. The first point to emphasise is that Book 1 contains no reference to any connection between Propertius and Octavian other than these 78

In memoriam Galli references to the Perusine War. Neither Octavian nor Maecenas appears as patron or dedicatee, as the latter does in Books 2 and 3 and the former in Book 4. Propertius therefore has absolutely no reason to concern himself with Octavian directly and was free to express himself as he wished without fear of offending the obligations such patronage might carry.114 But Propertius was not entirely free of obligations. He would reveal himself to be a poor amicus if he disregarded the interests of his dedicatees. It does need to be emphasised that he seems deliberately to associate his views on Perusia with those of both Tullus and Gallus. It may not have troubled Propertius personally what Octavian thought of his views and Octavian will hardly have troubled himself greatly over the views of some impoverished equestrian poet. But the views of the Volcacii Tulli and the Aelii Galli are a different matter. L. Volcacius Tullus, the uncle of Propertius' amicus, was the son of a nouus homo, who had been consul in 66 B.C.115 He had been praetor urbanus in 46 and governor of Cilicia in 45. 116 Clearly a Caesarian, he seems to have fought on the side of L. Antonius in the Perusine War. He may possibly have joined M. Antonius in the East, at least briefly.117 If so, he probably returned in the early rather than the late thirties. In 33, he was one of the eponymous consuls: the other was Octavian, holding his first consulship after the termination of the Triumvirate. The fact that so soon after Actium he was sent to govern Asia, which had been so strong in support of Antony, can only mean that that he enjoyed the complete confidence of Augustus. His loyalty was important and he was eager to demonstrate it. An inscription records that in the proconsulship of Volcacius Tullus, ' Asia voted at Smyrna... that a crown should be awarded to whoever suggested the greatest honours for the god [i.e. for Augustus] \ 1 1 8 It is difficult to suppose that Augustus could have viewed with equanimity a declaration on the eve of their departure that the Volcacii Tulli themselves nurtured or could at least be expected to condone feelings of hostility and grievance against the princeps. Neither can we reasonably suppose that such a revelation would have been at all welcome to the Volcacii Tulli themselves. Parallel, if not quite such immediately pressing, arguments could be produced concerning Gallus, if he was indeed an Aelius Gallus and a nephew of the future Prefect of Egypt. It must be worth reconsidering the way in which Propertius presents the Perusine War and asking whether it really does convey the hostility to Augustus that is generally assumed. Syme pronounced magisterially: 'Perusia was better forgotten.' 119 Not so. The evidence is against such 79

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a view. But there can be no doubt that the manner of its presentation was important. As we have already seen, the Perusine War made an exceptionally deep impression on contemporaries. The fighting had been fierce and many had died fighting to protect their lands and families. The city of Perusia had been burned to the ground and one may suppose that the great siegeworks continued to exist more than a decade later as a visible memorial to the fighting. It could not be forgotten. But it could be reinterpreted. History, as we all know, is written by the victors. Those vanquished who survive, and who have ambitions to flourish under their former enemies, have very good reasons for genuinely convincing themselves that the victor's version of events is more accurate than what they may have believed at the time. Our sources for the Perusine War make it quite clear that there did exist versions which held Octavian primarily responsible for the atrocities that happened.120 Some accused him of starting the war deliberately to serve his own ends; others even accused him of conspiring with L. Antonius in order to flush out his personal enemies and destroy them. In these hostile versions, Octavian is held directly responsible for the destruction of Perusia and for the slaughter that attended it. Some went so far as to say that he had ritually sacrificed three hundred senators, knights and town-councillors of Perusia at an altar dedicated to Divus Iulius on the Ides of March 40 B.C. But there was another version. When Augustus wrote his Autobiography he did not forget Perusia.121 He dealt with it at considerable length and his version was complex and subtle.122 Or so it appears. For Augustus' Autobiography no longer survives and its treatment of the Bellum Perusinum has to be inferred from the second-century Greek historian, Appian.123 L. Antonius is presented as a worthy man who is fighting for admirable ideals. The problem was simply that he had been duped by anti-Caesarians who wished to resurrect the wars that should have ended at Philippi into thinking that Octavian was aiming for tyranny. He is further discredited by being portrayed as the puppet of his brother's agent, Manius, and a woman half-crazed with jealousy, Fulvia, the wife of his brother. She is presented as being simply desperate to bring her husband back to Italy and away from the lures of Cleopatra. Yet it is highly significant that the ideals for which Lucius claimed to be fighting were fully represented in speeches dutifully Recorded' in the Autobiography. It should also be noted that the things for which Lucius claimed to have been fighting, libertas and the traditional constitution, 80

In memoriam Galli were exactly the things for which Octavian had himself claimed to be fighting in the next decade in the wars against Sextus Pompeius and M. Antonius.124 Those who had fought with Lucius against Octavian could now see themselves as having fought for the right reasons but against the wrong enemy. By the end of the thirties many had converted to being loyal supporters of Octavian and could see themselves fighting for the old causes under a new leader. From 35 B.C. onwards Octavian presented himself as willing and even eager to restore the traditional forms of government. In 33 B.C., for only the second time, Octavian gave his name to the year as consul. He distanced himself increasingly from the office of triumvir. At the end of 28 B.C., as a prelude to the restoration of the Republic, he rescinded the laws passed by the Triumvirs.125 Another aspect of the Perusine War was important to Octavian. At Philippi the glory of victory had gone to Antony, and Octavian was left with a question mark over his capacities as a military commander. But Appian's account of Perusia, probably based on Augustus' Autobiography, reveals an Octavian who is in every way a worthy heir to Julius Caesar. Once Lucius is trapped in Perusia, Octavian is in total control. He repeatedly exhibits Caesarian celeritas; he moves decisively and effectively to block the attempts to relieve Lucius; he demonstrates his pietas, his Caesarian dementia and his concern for justice. The great siegeworks were apparently described, if not actually constructed, in such a way as to recall the famous siegeworks constructed by Caesar at Alesia and described in Bellum Gallicum 7.126 Obviously Perusia was too important in building the reputation and image of Imperator Caesar Diui films to be neglected or forgotten.127 Other aspects of Perusia stood less obviously to the credit of Octavian. Many, including men of rank and influence, had been killed after the surrender of Perusia. The ancient city was burned to the ground. These facts were too well known to be denied and made too much of an impression to be forgotten. But the Augustan version had a defence to hand: it was the soldiers who took the initiative and did the killing, in ignorance or defiance of Octavian's own wishes, but giving vent to a righteous anger that they felt on behalf of their unjustly maligned commander. Octavian was not blamed for the killings, and the deaths were laid at other doors. He was held equally innocent of the destruction of the city. It was said, with great display of circumstantial detail, that one Cestius Macedonicus, a citizen of Perusia, went mad and set fire to his own house and so started the conflagration. The modern historian does not have to believe the Augustan version. But it is important to recognise what were the main lines of the official version of 81

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events at Perusia. That these are indeed preserved in some detail by Appian is confirmed by their appearance in the summary account provided by the pro-Augustan historian, Velleius Paterculus.128 It is now possible to evaluate better the way in which Propertius presents the Perusine War in 1.21 and 22. In the latter poem, the war is represented as a terrible tragedy, in which Propertius' own family and that of Tullus suffered, as combatants or as citizens of Perusia. There is no explicit mention of either Octavian or his forces. The responsibility for the war, and so for the consequent suffering, is attributed to Discordia. In effect Propertius is here quoting Virgil, Eclogues 1.7if.: en quo Discordia ciuis \ produxit miseros. Those words had been placed in the mouth of Meliboeus, the dispossessed farmer whose fate in part represents that of those who had opposed Octavian in the Perusine War. Even in that almost contemporary poem, Virgil had not blamed Octavian for the war but had presented him rather as a just benefactor, the only man capable of ameliorating the effects of Discordia}29 By the time Propertius is writing, the recent publication of the Georgics had established the impeccable Augustan credentials of Virgil.130 The allusion to Virgil seems designed to underline the Augustan orthodoxy of the present position of both Propertius and Tullus, whatever may have been the position taken by their respective families more than a decade earlier. The poem for Gallus (1.21) works in a similar way, although the precise mechanisms are different. As we have seen, it opens with reference to the Perusine War by means of allusion to the famous siegeworks (Etruscis... ab aggeribus, 2). The explicit reference to Octavian is elevated in its expression and encomiastic (per medios... Caesaris ensis, 7). Both references accord well with Augustus' own emphasis on his purely military achievements in the Autobiography. Gallus and his brother-in-law are designated simply as milites and not as the commanders which their social rank would more naturally suggest that they were.131 As a result they are portrayed as tragic and noble victims of the war but completely free from the responsibility for its outbreak or conduct. Gallus was killed: but the only thing we are told about the identity of his killers is that they were emphatically not Octavian's men. Augustus can bear no responsibility for Gallus' death. As we have seen, this is exactly the tactic adopted by the orthodox Augustan version. It is not my purpose to suggest that Propertius' primary intention was to promote actively the Augustan version of the Perusine War. The matter has warranted discussion only because critics have so persistently 82

In memoriam Galli misunderstood the implications of Propertius' representation. Once it is realised how precisely and neatly his account fits with Augustus' own, and that the positions enjoyed both by Volcacius Tullus as consul in 33 and proconsul in Asia in 29—28 and by Aelius Gallus as Prefect of Egypt in 27—26 testify beyond any doubt to their loyalty and Augustus' confidence in them, we can suppose that neither they, as Propertius' amici, nor Octavian will have been displeased at this reference to their earlier allegiance. It may be legitimate to go a little further. Throughout the thirties, Octavian had been keen to win over the nobiles who had previously opposed him and he had had some spectacular successes.132 Their support legitimised his position. We may recall perhaps the best known convert to his cause from the Perusine War. One of those who had taken arms against him then was Tiberius Claudius Nero, father of the future emperor.133 When he finally fled, his wife Livia was with him and pregnant with their child. In 38 B.C. she married Octavian. Her loyalty was of course beyond question. It would be interesting to know how far Livia's early experiences and connections accounted for the remarkably sympathetic portrayal of Lucius' ideals in the Autobiography. In the aftermath of Actium, Octavian continued to welcome those who had earlier opposed him. If a broader purpose is to be attributed to these poems of Propertius, we might note that they constitute in effect an advertisement of this policy by recalling the past allegiances of those now trusted and promoted to the highest office by the princeps. Or, to view the situation from another perspective, we might note that those who had previously fought in the name of libertas and the mos maiorum at Perusia are now willing to give their support to Octavian's restored Republic.134 Which slant is preferred matters little: but there is no room for a Propertius openly advertising hostility to Octavian and a lingering sense of grievance. It will also now be easier to see why Maecenas was ready to extend his patronage to Propertius for Book 2.

FRANCIS CAIRNS

THE P O W E R O F I M P L I C A T I O N Horace's invitation to Maecenas {Odes 1.20)

Vile potabis modicis Sabinum cantharis, Graeca quod ego ipse testa conditum leui, datus in theatro cum tibi plausus, care Maecenas eques, ut paterni fluminis ripae simul et iocosa redderet laudes tibi Vaticani montis imago. Caecubum et prelo domitam Caleno tu bibes uuam: mea nee Falernae temperant uites neque Formiani pocula colles.

5

10

You will drain from modest cups Sabine ordinaire I laid down myself and sealed in a Greek jar, when you got applause in the theatre, dear knight Maecenas, so the playful echo of your paternal river-bank along with Mount Vaticanus repeated the acclamations back to you. Caecuban you will drink and the grape tamed by the press of Cales: my wine-cups are not mixed of Falernian vines and the hills of Formiae. I

5

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INTRODUCTION

In Reading Horace1 David West treated Odes 1.20 as a non-erotic 'test case' in his deft arbitration between interpretations of Horace's Odes assuming ' realism' and those founded on * literary convention', and he 84

The power of implication described the ode as 'a fine poem' (137). But Odes 1.20 was not so well received in the major commentary on Odes Book 1 by Nisbet and Hubbard (1970). They wrote of it (246): Our poem has no exceptional literary merit. Horace tries hard to give his traditional topic a realistic and Roman flavour; the names of the wines, the applause in the theatre, and Maecenas's ancestral river... all add something that would not be found in a conventional Greek epigram. Yet the poem suffers by comparison with the epistle [i.e. Epistles 1.5]... the ode spends too much time on blatant flattery of Maecenas's ovation.2 The intervening twenty years have brought more general recognition of the care with which Hellenistic and Roman poets constructed their books, and of the key roles played in them by prologues, by poems marking internal divisions, and by epilogues. The consequences of Nisbet—Hubbard's evaluation have therefore become all the more serious, in that Odes 1.20 occupies a strategic position within the first book of odes. As the twentieth ode of a book containing thirty-eight odes it begins the book's second half, and can almost be seen as a second prologue; it is addressed, like the first ode, to Maecenas, and it rededicates the book to Horace's patron, as well as setting the tone for the subsequent odes. Odes 1.20 also has well-known links with Odes 1.1 over and above the identity of their addressee: both stress Maecenas' Etruscan origin,3 both (as has also emerged more clearly in the last twenty years) have literary-programmatic dimensions,4 and both place Horace qua lyric poet in the context of his Greek literary predecessors.5 So, if Odes 1.20 is faulty, Horace's failure extends beyond a single ode: he has also erred in judgement by placing Odes 1.20 in a prominent structural location, and so has detracted from the design of Book 1, and indeed of his whole lyric collection. The present essay will argue that Odes 1.20 is indeed a 'fine poem', several dimensions of which deserve closer attention than they have hitherto received. Exploration of these will draw heavily upon Nisbet and Hubbard's commentary, and on a few important articles on Odes 1.20 which appeared either just before or after it.6 I shall try to illustrate in Odes 1.20 some modes of communication between Roman poets and their contemporary audience, particularly its more learned and informed elements, which are less obvious to modern readers because they involve not explicit statements but rather hints at, allusions to, and tacit explorations of knowledge already shared by the ancient poet and his contemporary public. The implicit content of Odes 1.20 will turn out to 85

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have an unsurprising common thread — encomium of Maecenas which complements and confirms the ode's explicit praise of him. In handling Odes i.20 this essay will confront directly the problem of its merits, which publications after Nisbet—Hubbard (1970) have addressed only indirectly. The central dilemma is this: what can there be in this seemingly naive and straightforward ode which induced Horace to give it such structural prominence? If the answers have any value, the methodology which has produced them may be more broadly applicable.

2

THE INVITATION, THE SABINE WINE, AND THE LITERARY PROGRAMME

Various linked aspects of Odes 1.20 already handled in part by earlier commentators are vital for its understanding. In §§2—3 these will be reworked and enlarged before less well-charted territory is entered in §§4-^7. First the genre:7 Odes 1.20 is an invitation-poem, a uocatio ad cenam (or more specifically a uocatio ad uinum!), and as such a specialised kletikon.8 Other surviving uocationes* include Anthologia Palatina 11.44 (Philodemus; to be discussed in §3), Catullus 13, Horace's own Odes 1.17, 2.11 (also introducing the second half of an ode-book),10 3.811 and 3.29 (also addressed to Maecenas), 4.11 and 4.12, Horace's Epistles 1.5, ps.-Virgil, Copay Martial 5.78, 10.48 and 11.52, Juvenal 11 and Sidonius Apollinaris, Carmen 17. The brief generic account of Odes 1.20 at Cairns (1972) 241 offers a starting-point:12 Maecenas' superiority is demonstrated in two ways. First, Horace apologetically contrasts his own poverty with Maecenas' wealth at the beginning and at the end of the poem. Second, the core of the poem, which is sandwiched between the two apologetic invitations, is a reminiscence of a public demonstration in Maecenas' favour. The link between the two encomiastic ideas is a proof of Horace's sincerity as an encomiast. When Maecenas was applauded in the theatre Horace laid down a wine to commemorate the event; he now invites Maecenas to drink it with him. The humble Horace's poor commemorative wine is a proof of the sincerity of his feelings for Maecenas, since it shows that Maecenas' public success had an effect on Horace's private life. This account can bear expansion. The relative status of addressee and speaker13 is made clear not just in the wealth/poverty contrast and the 86

The power of implication acclamation but in Horace's emphasis on Maecenas' status as an eques (5).14 Roman readers of course also knew that Maecenas was Horace's patron and the dedicatee of the Odes. A humble note is signalled explicitly in the opening words of the ode: while potabis conveys the invitation, uile... Sabinum characterises it as the invitation of an inferior making his small offering to his superior. The topos of the ' poor offering of the humble donor' is frequent in ancient poetry,15 and it is often accompanied by a statement that the affection of the donor compensates for the low value of the gift.16 Here the pun-cum-anti thesis on uile I care, the first words of the first two stanzas respectively, suavely underlines this aspect of the invitation.17 At first sight, then, Horace appears to have handled the genre uocatio in a fairly straightforward way. The Sabine wine may naturally have been a poetic fiction. But it had to be a credible fiction (see especially §4 below), since Augustan readers would have wanted to make inferences from and about it. For example, Sabinum would have brought to mind Maecenas' gift to Horace of his Sabine property (see Appendix). An underlying motive for the invitation is thus hinted at, and Horace's gratitude to Maecenas is implied.18 The occasion for Horace's invitation is also delicately and aptly selected. The anniversary of a public honour received by the patron is to be commemorated: so the commemoration does credit both to patronus and to cliens. Because respectful affection for his patron is the dominant emotion of Odes 1.20, Horace abstains from the wit of one earlier uocatio, Catullus 13, where the addressee Fabullus is instructed to bring the whole dinner, one valuable item excepted, just as he shuns the mock vigour of his own invitation to Torquatus in Epistles 1.5, where the addressee is told: * if you don't like the wine I have to offer, bring your own' (4—6).19 Further generic sophistication comes in the last, controversial, stanza of Odes 1.20, where (cf. §7) the humble invitation of inferior to superior modulates into something more subtle, as a greater sense of equality between host and invitee emerges when Maecenas moves from the public arena into the private sphere.20 The Sabinum is uile. This adjective can, of course, mean 'cheap', both generally and as applied to wine.21 Does it mean this, and only this, here? Sabine was in fact a well-known and esteemed variety in antiquity.22 But there were two distinct types of Sabine (as of other wines): Galen distinguishes between a ' noble' (euyevris) Sabine wine and a lighter type, the 'weak' or 'watery' Sabine (onrovos, u6ocTco8r|s, IKXUTOS).23 None of these Greek terms is an exact equivalent of uilis, but uilis is a fair antonym of euysvris,' noble'. This suggests that uile Sabinum refers to ' light' Sabine wine (presumably a vin ordinaire) and not just to 87

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' cheap' Sabine wine. A light Sabine would of course also have been cheaper than a noble Sabine,24 but the advantage of taking uile in this way is that Horace will not then be saying to Maecenas: ' I am going to give you a cheap, i.e. a bad Sabine wine5, but 'I shall give you Sabine ordinaire.' There is, then, no insult in Horace's offer to Maecenas of the lighter wine; it simply means he is not as rich as Maecenas. Again, as recent scholarship has underlined,25 it is apt that Horace, the 'small', i.e. non-Pindaric, lyric poet, should offer his patron this ' small' Italian wine which is a symbol of his poetry. Its jarring in a Greek jar, whatever real practices this reflects,26 is a further obvious symbol for the dependence of Horace's own lyric poetry on Greek lyric: thus this second prologue ode has, appropriately, a literary-programmatic dimension.27 Again, a Roman reader would have made certain assumptions about the antecedents and handling of Horace's uile Sabinum.2S Horace stresses that he personally jarred it in an amphora, but he does not say that he had also made it with his own hands, or even that it was the produce of his Sabine farm. Readers would have taken his silence on these points to indicate that neither was the case. Horace may simply be assuming the Roman norm, i.e. that a negotiator had made the wine and then sold it to him.29 He may also be maintaining the fact (or fiction) later found at Epistles 1.14.23, where he says that his Sabine farm produced no wine. In antiquity certain wines could be allowed to age for a number of years before being put in amphora, but these were the valuable wines. Wines like Horace's uile Sabinum will have been sold off early in the year after manufacture to free the container in which they were made for the current year's production. It was the responsibility of the purchaser to lay down such wines, once bought, until he thought them ready for use. The sealing up and laying down in an amphora was the final stage of handling a wine in antiquity. The uile Sabinum, then, if it existed, was the grade of Sabine wine which Horace normally bought for his own consumption. How, we might ask, would Roman readers have expected Maecenas to respond to Horace's offer of this less than excellent wine? Would they have assumed that the great magnate, with his boundless wealth and known taste for luxury, would send Horace a polite ' thank you, but no thank you' ? If Horace had expected this, he would surely have avoided publishing the ode and so bringing discredit upon Maecenas and shame on himself. On the contrary, the Roman reader was certainly supposed to envisage a kindly acceptance on Maecenas' part. Hence, the uile Sabinum, by association with the celebrated Maecenas, his acclamation, and his approval of Horatian lyric, will become 'ennobled'. This process is 88

The power of implication reminiscent of the elevation among the nobiles fontes {Odes 3.13.13) of the fons Bandusiae, a spring of little intrinsic distinction, through its celebration in, and inspiration of, Horace's poetry.30 More significantly for Odes 1.20, the approval of Maecenas allows further literaryprogrammatic elements to insinuate themselves into the ode: poet and patron share their tastes in wine, and so, through the literary symbolism of the Sabine wine in its Greek jar, they can be supposed also to share their tastes in poetry. This point will have been taken easily by contemporaries: the topos of the shared literary tastes of dedicatee and poet is just one example of a general tendency on the part of poets to identify with their addressees,31 and this particular variant had been brilliantly exploited by Catullus in his programmatic dedicatory poem to Cornelius Nepos (i). 32 In addition Horace's readers would remember that Horace had imagined Maecenas enrolling him in the canon of lyric poets in Odes 1.1.35.

3

PHILOSOPHICAL BACKGROUND AND

IMITATIO

I return to the question why Horace's readers would have been so certain that Maecenas would accept his invitation. It is not sufficient to answer that Maecenas was Horace's patron, and that they were close friends. Another relevant factor, which also explains further their shared tastes, must be their common Epicurean background. Maecenas was an extremely conspicuous Epicurean,33 and Horace himself could, when it suited him, profess Epicurean principles.34 In the early 30s Horace's Epicurean emphases in the Satires had conveyed political overtones, particularly in implicit contrast to dogmatic Stoicism as associated with the ' Liberators', and to Pythagoreanism as linked with the Pompeians.35 It may be that such associations persisted, and that they help to explain the determination with which Horace exploits Epicureanism here. Odes 1.20 manifestly reflects the importance for Epicureans (and specifically for Maecenas) of anniversaries and their commemorations in social gettogethers, and also the Epicurean belief that on such occasions one should * laugh and philosophise'.36 Another essential concept for Epicureans was ccuTapKeicc ('self-sufficiency', 'independence'). This ideal demanded inter alia that, whereas one should not seek always to be without great variety and choice in food and drink etc., one should not become unhappy if such a wide selection was not available.37 In terms of ccuTapKEicc Horace's expectation that Maecenas will be content with the uile Sabinum thus chimes in with the known Epicurean bent of his patron 89

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and with his own poetic image as an Epicurean, modicis, which means * moderate' rather than * small',38 is part of the same Epicurean complex. There is yet more in the ode that is Epicurean.39 It is partly modelled on Anthologia Palatina 11.44,40 an epigrammatic invitation by the nearcontemporary Epicurean philosopher-poet Philodemus to his patron L. Calpurnius Piso, the consul of 58 B.C.: Aupiov eis AITT|V a e KccAiaSa, cpiATonre Fleicrcov, ££ ivonris eAKei liovo-ocptA'ps eTapos, eiKocSa 56nrvi£cov i v i a u a i o v si 5 oaroAeiyEis oudcrra KCCI Bponiou Xioyevfj TrpoTroaiv, aAA ETapous o y e i TTCcvaAT]6eas, aAA lirocKouaT) Oair|Kcov yairis TTOUAU neAixpoTepor T^V 5e TTOTE OTpeyris KOU Is r\[xkas 6|i|iaTa, nei'cicov, a^oiiev IK AITTJS eiKa8a 7rioTepr|v.

Tomorrow, dearest Piso, your friend dear to the Muses at three o'clock hales you to his humble cottage to dine you upon the anniversary of the Twentieth. You may be missing udders and draughts of Chios-born wine. But you II see sincere friends; but you II hear things by far sweeter than those in the land of Phaeacia. And if during it you should turn your eyes to me, Piso, my Twentieth from humble shall become richer.

The use of this model is a clear signal of the importance of Epicureanism for the ode. Horace's imitado has been studied most recently and in detail by Hiltbrunner (1972) and Gigante (1985), who have noted such shared motifs as cheap wine, commemoration, the poor dwelling (i.e. KaAiocs paralleling Sabinum in its other sense, * Sabine farm' — see Appendix), the humble circumstances, and so forth. The shared elements are so numerous and so close as to admit of only one explanation: Horace either had the Greek epigram before his eyes, or knew it by heart. Neither circumstance would be surprising, given Philodemus' close relationship with some of Horace's most distinguished poetic contemporaries.41 What needs stressing here is the ultimate reason why Horace chose Philodemus' epigram as a model. It is not just that Anthologia Palatina 11.44 is also a uocado; it is that Philodemus' epigram is also an invitation issued by one Epicurean to another to an Epicurean social event commemorating an anniversary. This was the parallelism which Horace wanted to convey through his imitation; and in §7 understanding of Maecenas' Epicurean links will reveal more of the subtleties of Horace's invitation to him. 90

The power of implication 4

THE ACCLAMATION: ITS OCCASION, S I G N I F I C A N C E , AND DATE

For all Horace's ingenuity in genre and imitatio as illustrated in §§2—3 and §7, he focuses primarily in Odes 1.20 on the 'historical' dimension, i.e. the occasion of the invitation, the addressee Maecenas, the acclamation of Maecenas (with its physical setting, the Theatre of Pompey42 and its topographical background, the Tiber and the Vatican Hill), and finally the wines of stanzas 1 and 3. Hence the implications of the historical dimension are more complex and contribute more to the understanding of the ode. In Odes 1.20 Horace mentions a specific occasion when Maecenas was acclaimed in the Theatre of Pompey. Odes 2.17.25 f. must refer to the same incident, and that ode carries the unmistakable implication that Maecenas had just recovered from an illness.43 Horace, so he says in Odes 1.20, laid down the uile Sabinum on this occasion. Now, whereas the wine may be imaginary, the acclamation cannot be. Moreover Horace makes much of the event: it is the core of the ode and occupies five and a half of its twelve lines (3—8). The temporally linked uile Sabinum (1) adds more emphasis. Why is the event so important? And why indeed does Horace seem to expect his readers to know about it and its context, or at least to recollect it or deduce something about it from the ode? Part of the solution must lie in the nature of certain acclamations in antiquity. A modern reader could easily think of the acclamation of Maecenas as a spontaneous demonstration of affection for him on the part of the populace, with no further significance; and it is true that, particularly in the more turbulent periods of the later republic, one of the standard ways in which the Roman plebs could make its views felt was by unrehearsed demonstrations, unanimous or otherwise, in favour of or against prominent individuals, during games or festivals or in theatres.44 Cicero {Pro Sestio 105—26) gives an account of such hissing, applause, and so forth. However another type of demonstration (often occurring in theatres)45 was neither spontaneous nor of limited significance.46 This type could even involve the organised chanting in unison of the honorand's praises. It amounted to official recognition and reinforcement of the status of important public figures and had stock political connotations. Studies of such acclamations, although drawing the greater part of their evidence from a later period,47 emphasise that officially sponsored demonstrations go back to the earliest empire, and indeed to the republic,48 and that their significance is similar in all eras.49 From the early empire (although later than the reign of Augustus) there is a good 91

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parallel for the acclamation of Maecenas in the acclamation of Germanicus which took place on the Capitol in A.D. 19, on a false report of his recovery from his last illness.50 If the acclamation of Maecenas fell into the formal category, it would have been organised to occur at a specific time and place, to forward a specific political purpose, and to be regarded as memorable. This would explain how Horace expected his readers to remember it, or at least to have heard tell of it. The very fact that Horace dates the acclamation of Maecenas reinforces the impression that it had some official status. An Augustan amphora inscription reads as follows:51 Ti. Claudio P. Quinctilio cos. ad. XIII k. Iun. uinum diffusum [i.e. 20 May 13 B.C.] quod natum est duobus Lentulis cos. [i.e. 18 B.C.] (CIL 15.4539 = ILS 8580) This text illustrates the two standard processes mentioned earlier: (i) the manufacture of the wine; (ii) the laying down of the wine in an amphora (in this case five years after manufacture, since it was a very good wine). The text also exemplifies the normal Roman practice of dating wines using one standard method, i.e. the consuls of the year. Interestingly, it dates in this way not just the year of manufacture but also the year of laying down in amphora. So when Horace dates his jarring in amphora of the uile Sabinum he is conforming with and alluding to Roman custom. However Horace uses not the consuls of the year but the acclamation of Maecenas for dating purposes, knowing full well that his readers would have been reminded of the consular method. What does this imply? Maecenas, as everyone knew, had remained by choice an eques, and thus was not eligible for the consulship; and indeed Horace emphasises his equestrian status in line 5. So Horace's primary intention will have been, not to allude to the consulship as an institution, but rather to give the impression that the acclamation was (like a consulship) a memorable, datable event which people could (or should) look back to as a fixed point of temporal reference. The way, then, in which Horace handles Maecenas' acclamation makes sense only if it had some formal status, and if readers could be expected to recollect it, or at least to work out when and why it happened. If this is correct, then the most attractive context for an acclamation of Maecenas in Rome is the period of his greatest public prominence, 31—29 B.C. This was the time when Maecenas was left in charge of Rome and Italy in Octavianus' absence.52 Maecenas was thus de facto what was later called praefectus urbi\ and indeed some sources anachronistically refer to him in language normally used of a praefectus.53 92

The power of implication To place Maecenas' illness, recovery, and acclamation in his 'city prefecture' would make these events parallel to the later illness and recovery of the praefectus urbi, C. Rutilius Gallicus, and the celebrations for it in A.D. 88. It has been pointed out that, by the Flavian period,' only the Emperor's recovery from illness could be the occasion of genuine public thanksgiving'.54 That is why Statius' soteria for Gallicus (his poem of thanksgiving for the recovery, Silvae 1.455) treats the celebrations mainly in private terms, and why it has little in common with Odes 1.20 except the concern of the urban populace. Even leaving Gallicus and Silvae 1.4 aside, it would make good sense if Maecenas was acclaimed by the urban populace while his de facto position was praefectus urbi. There is evidence that he was of a merciful disposition (or alternatively that he had tailored his persona to fit the regime's propaganda emphasis on dementia in its early years), and this may have brought him genuine popularity when he was most in the public eye, i.e. during his charge of Rome.56 Acclamation of Maecenas as praefectus urbi would also have introduced, most aptly from a contemporary viewpoint, the standard connotations of ancient acclamations, notably divine inspiration (made much of by the diui filius) and unanimity57 (i.e. concordia, one of the frequent political cliches of the late republic and early empire).58 The latter of these especially would have been relevant in the aftermath of Actium: the civil war did not end until the latter part of 30 B.C., pacification was still going on in the Gauls and elsewhere, and the conspiracy of the younger M. Aemilius Lepidus had just been crushed at Rome — by Maecenas. If the acclamation took place in 31—29 B.C., the idle Sabinum laid down then had to be drinkable59 by the time Odes 1.20 was written. Galen, quoted by Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae 1.27B, states unequivocally that Sabine wines were ready for drinking when they were seven years old, but were drinkable up to fifteen years old : 60 TTOCVTCOV

5E

TOUTCOV

6

Za(3TvOS

KOU9OT6pOS,

OTTO

ETGOV

ITTTOC iiriTriSeios iriveaOai

The Sabine is lighter than all these, and is suitable for drinking from seven years up to fifteen years.

The second stanza of Horace's Soracte ode, which apparently contradicts Galen on this point, need not in fact do so: dissolue frigus ligna super foco large reponens atque benignius 93

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deprome quadrimum Sabina o Thaliarche, merum diota.

{Odes 1.9.5—8)

Horace does not actually say that the wine here is Sabine, only the amphora. This admittedly literal reading would give Odes 1.9 a mixture of Greek and Roman elements which is the converse of that in Odes 1.20. In 1.20 a Sabine wine was laid down in a Greek amphora; in 1.9 an unidentified wine has been laid down in a Sabine amphora, which however is given the Greek name diota (cf. cantharis in Odes 1.20.2). Horace may thus be characterising the wine of 1.9 as Greek, particularly since the phrase * four-year old wine' has Theocritean parallels.61 This interpretation also fits the overall pattern of Odes 1.9, which has throughout a balance of Greek (coming from its Alcaic models) and Roman: set within sight of Italian Soracte (if.), it addresses 'Thaliarchus' (8), and exudes the atmosphere of the Greek lyric symposium. There is however another possibility about the wine of Odes 1.9. A further passage of Galen (10.484^, on which see also above, §2) tells a more complicated story about Sabine wine, suggesting that a idle Sabinum might mature sooner than seven years. Here Galen is distinguishing between younger, * watery' wines and older, stronger wines. He then says Sto KCCI OSTTOV ITCOV \% 6 Euyevqs la^Tvos OUK 67rnr|5eios... ('hence the "noble" Sabine is not fit to drink before six years') before going on to explain the term ' noble': euyevfj 5* 6vo|idc£co TOV ocucnripov (' by " noble " I mean the " dry " wine') and to note that the distinction applies not just to Sabine wine, but to certain other kinds too. 62 Galen's distinctions are by no means crystal clear. But he cannot be claiming that all sweet wines are 'watery', and that all dry wines are strong. It must simply be that in certain regions the * noble' wine is dry, which of course does not mean that the ' non-noble' wines of these same regions are sweet. The ' six years' for maturing a ' noble' Sabine of this passage (exclusive reckoning ?) can easily be reconciled with the ' seven years' (inclusive reckoning?) for maturing 'the Sabine' (i.e. a 'noble' Sabine?) of the first Galen passage. But presumably the specification 'noble Sabine' at 10.484^ implies that a 'watery' Sabine would be ready to drink before six years. How much earlier we do not know. If four years was possible, the wine at Odes 1.9.7^ might therefore be Sabine. As for the date of composition, or final adaptation, of Odes 1.20, the Odes were published as a three-book collection in 24/23 B.C. Nisbet— Hubbard (1970) xxvii—xxxvii argue that 'the first book for the most part is earlier than the second, and the second than the third' (xxviii). But they specify a fair number of exceptions 94

The power of implication (xxix—xxx). To the extent that Odes 1.20 is an internal 'second preface' to Book 1, it may be another exception, datable to the latter phase of composition, i.e. 25—23 B.C., when Book 1 and the entire collection were near their present shapes. A uile Sabinum laid down as late as 29 B.C. would probably have been ready to drink by 25 B.C. (particularly if the 'four-year-old' wine of Odes 1.9 was also Sabine). A fortiori that same uile Sabinum would have been drinkable if the date of laying down was earlier63 or the date of composition later. That also applies if the date of publication of the collection (24/23 B.C.), not the date of completion of 1.20, is the relevant factor. It must be said however that uile Sabinum does not point specifically to 31—29 B.C. as the period of Maecenas' acclamation. Horace clearly expected his readers to date the acclamation first, and then to fit the uile Sabinum in subsequently. Before we leave the acclamation, it should be observed that here too Maecenas' Epicureanism is involved. Macleod (1979) 24 = (1983) 228 pointed out that' the depreciation of public acclaim' was ' characteristic of Epicurus'.64 In the preceding generation Cicero had imagined Philodemus' patron, Piso, as speaking disparagingly qua Epicurean about such honours: inania sunt ista, mihi crede, delectamenta paene puerorum, captare plausus, uehi per urbem, conspici uelle. quibus ex rebus nihil est quod solidum tenere, nihil quod referre ad uoluptatem corporis possis. {In Pisonem 66) Macleod moved from this observation, via an exploration of the contrast which Horace creates in the final stanza between himself and Maecenas, to the notion that 'the praises of his friend's success include reservations about it' (1979) 25 = (1983) 229.65 Cairns (1972) 241 (quoted above §2) had already countered this sort of approach to Odes 1.20 by pointing out that Horace's private celebration guarantees the sincerity of his praise of Maecenas' public success; DuQuesnay, discussing the relationship between Horace and Maecenas, rightly points out that such interpretations rest on misunderstandings of the nature of Roman society.66 Hence I do not believe that Horace is in any way distancing himself from Maecenas' acclamation. Rather Horace is implying a different, but thoroughly Epicurean, position which wittily anticipates any objection that might be made to the acclamation of the Epicurean Maecenas on the basis of Epicurus' dismissal of public acclaim. Horace's implied ' Epicurean' position is that, although for a good Epicurean like Maecenas the plausus may not have created physical pleasure, the wine 95

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which commemorates the plausus (even if it is a uile Sabinum) will certainly do so! 5

SOME VERBAL AND CONCEPTUAL ELEGANCES?

At line 5 the reading with manuscript authority is care. Bentley preferred Lambinus' conjecture dare, which has also found favour recently with a number of scholars, including Nisbet and Hubbard.67 Others have reiterated support for care.68 There are advantages in both care and dare, and either provides a good antithesis to uile (i); 6 9 hence it is unlikely that there will ever be scholarly consensus about this problem. My own view is that the case for care is marginally stronger, even if the phrase care Maecenas eques remains in need of more explanation than it has received, dilecte Maecenas1® in Odes 2.20.7 and 91ATOCT6 FTeicrcov in Philodemus' epigram to Piso (i) 7 1 are especially persuasive in favour of care. Again, there are weaknesses in some of the arguments for dare. Nisbet—Hubbard (1970) 249 are wrong to deny that being an eques was 'a mark of high distinction5;72 and their claim that clarus 'was a word normally reserved for senators' is, in so far as it is true, 73 double-edged, particularly as the claim is expanded by Macleod (1979) 23 = (1983) 227. For it is not obvious that an eques who had remained one by choice would have thought it a compliment to be addressed in a published poem with an epithet linked with senators.74 I would not, then, emend care, but regard it as conveying affection for Maecenas explicitly. The interest in verbal elegance shown in uile/care is further exemplified in Odes 1.20 by another sophistication also involving uile: leui (3) is an anagram of uile (1), or, as a Roman might have seen it, reversing the syllables of either makes it the other.75 Difference of quantity (uTle/leut) is immaterial in such cases.76 Perhaps there is also an etymological aspect to uile: some MSS of Isidore, Origines 10.279 °ff er: uilis, a uilla; nullius enim urbanitatis est, which fits well the common perception that Sabinum (1) alludes to Horace's 'Sabine farm' (see §1 and Appendix). In another direction uile might hint at uillum, 'wine'. 77 A final piece of word play appears in conditum (3), datus (3) and redderet (7), and involves the ancient rhetorical and poetic device of combining simple and compound verbs.78 6

PATERNI FLUMINIS ~ VATICANI MONTIS'. THE ETRUSCAN CONNECTION

The similarities between Odes 1.20 and Odes 1.1 in their emphasis on Maecenas' Etruscan ancestry have already been mentioned (§1). In 1.1.1 96

The power of implication Maecenas is descended from the kings of Etruria. In 1.20.5^ the Tiber is his * paternal river'. It has been noted that the Tiber rises in the territory of Arezzo, Maecenas' home town, and there has been (probably correct) speculation that Maecenas claimed descent from the Etruscan kings, Tarchon or Tyrrhenus.79 But this is only the tip of the Etruscan iceberg in Odes 1.20. To begin with, by calling the Tiber Maecenas' paternum flumen, Horace is also taking up a position in a popular etymological controversy. There were several ancient theories about the name Tiberis or Thybris, some of which argued for a Latin or ' Aboriginal', rather than an Etruscan, origin for it. The dispute was alive in Horace's day. Varro writes: Sed de Tiberis nomine anceps historia. nam et suum Etruria et Latium suum esse credit {De lingua Latina 5.30). Horace is subscribing to the Etruscan origin theory, probably in the form attested in this same passage of Varro and elsewhere,80 i.e. that it was named after an Etruscan king of Veii (cf. atauis ...regibus, Odes 1.1.1). Indeed the phrase paternum flumen might even imply that this king (Thebris or Thybris or Tybris) was among Maecenas' royal Etruscan ancestors. Virgil in his Tuscum... Tiberim [Georgics 1.499) an(^ m s Tyrrhenum ad Thybrim (Aeneidj.242) is also patently espousing a version which made the name of the river Etruscan. Maecenas' poets were thus typically loyal to their patron's 'nationalistic' and royal pretensions in declaring the river 'Etruscan': Augustan literature has in general a pro-Etruscan bias, which may owe much to the influence of Maecenas, both as literary patron and as politician. What, then, is the role of the Vatican hill ? Why is it, and not another hill or hills, or indeed all the hills of Rome, said to have echoed the applause given to Maecenas? No doubt the topography of the Theatre of Pompey is significant; and Horace certainly wants to locate the acclamation there. This must in part be because it actually took place there. But given that the acclamation was probably an organised event (see §4), the fact that it was organised to occur there should also be significant. Not only had Cn. Pompeius Magnus built the theatre, but it continued to be associated with his family into the 30s. Manifestations in favour of the formerly proscribed aedile M. Oppius, orchestrated by Pompeians, had taken place there in 37 B.C.,81 as had demonstrations against M. Titius, the killer of Sex. Pompeius, around 35 B.C.82 The acclamation of Maecenas in the Theatre of Pompey may therefore have been intended in part to signal its purging from Pompeian associations. No doubt also, as commentators report, the fact that there was an echo in the area of the Vatican to some extent explains Horace's choice of it to echo Maecenas' acclamation. But Horace's imagination was not 97

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restricted in such ways; and in any case it is his conjunction of emphasis upon both the Tiber and the Vatican which needs to be explained.83 As every Roman knew, the Tiber had been the boundary between early Rome and the Etruscans, whose territory began on the other bank. When this concept is combined with a piece of evidence linking the Vatican, the Etruscans and the etymology of the word Vaticanus, a pattern emerges: Vaticanus collis appellatus est, quod eo potitus sit populus Romanus uatum responso expulsis Etruscis. (Paulus Festus 379 Lindsay) The story behind this passage is obscure, but even so it explains Horace's choice of the Vatican hill as the one to echo the acclaim for the Etruscan Maecenas. First of all the Vatican was originally an Etruscan hill, the beginning of their territory across the Tiber boundary. The fact that Maecenas has been acclaimed in Rome, and that the Vatican had echoed this acclaim, almost implies a return to the Etruscans of their lost territory. The phrase uatum responso, which etymologises Vaticanus, may point in further directions : 84 inter alia Horace may be emphasising his own poetic commemoration of the event as uates.85 Another possible factor is that the Tiber was a healing river, was worshipped as such, and was associated with the temple of Asclepius on the Insula Tiberina; many ex uoto tablets have been recovered from the waters of the Tiber.86 It might seem mere coincidence that the Tiber is called Maecenas' paternumflumen when echoing applause for his recovery from an illness, particularly since in Odes 2.17.22—4 Maecenas' cure is attributed to his birth-god Jupiter. But the Tiber in his healing role was linked too with Veiovis, whose cella was also sited on the Insula Tiberina'81 and Veiovis, the ancestral god of the Iulii,88 was most frequently identified with Jupiter.89

7

THE DILEMMA OF STANZA 3 : INVITATION OR NOT?

The final stanza of Odes 1.20 has been a battle-ground for interpreters, and the view of it which, through its advocacy by Nisbet and Hubbard, still appears to hold the field, may in part be responsible for the ode's low standing. The focus of the problem is bibes (10): is it a future of invitation, or a concessive future? Each is equally possible in terms of Latin grammar, and Nisbet—Hubbard (1970) ad loc, who accept the 98

The power of implication latter, understand bibes to mean 'you can drink' (i.e. 'in your own home'). So, according to them, Horace means ' You can drink Caecuban, Calenian, Falernian, and Formian, but I have none of them' (25of.). They adopt this interpretation in essence because they see no distinction between the two groupings of wines in stanza 3, Caecuban and Calenian in the first clause (9f.), Falernian and Formian Hills in the second clause (10—12). All these wines, they correctly state, are 'famous wines, much better than Sabinum' (250). Hence, they imply, Horace cannot be saying 'I am able to offer you Caecuban and Calenian, but I don't have Falernian and Hills of Formiae', because all these wines are of equal quality. Nisbet and Hubbard refer to their note on Odes 1.7.1 for parallels to the sentence structure required by their interpretation. The bibes problem, like the care/dare dispute, is unlikely to be resolved decisively. My own view, however, is that bibes is a future of invitation, and that Horace offers Caecuban and Calenian to Maecenas but not Falernian and Formian. If correct, this approach would enhance the ode, which in itself may be a further point in its favour. Precisely because my arguments cannot be decisive, I set them down in compressed form. (1) The linguistic 'parallels' offered by Nisbet—Hubbard (1970) on Odes 1.7.1 to support their interpretation of bibes as a concessive future are certainly of interest for the study of Horatian style in the Odes. But none is truly parallel to stanza 3 of Odes 1.20 — and they do not parallel one another. (2) potabis (i),pace Nisbet—Hubbard (1970) ad loc, is unequivocally a future of invitation meaning 'come and drink'. Their own parallels demonstrate this clearly.90 (3) The same word bibes (10) is used as a future of invitation at Horace, Epistles 1.5, in another uocatio^ this time addressed to Torquatus: uina bibes iterum Tauro diffusa palustris \ inter Minturnas Sinuessanumque Petrinum (4f.)- The periphrastic reference to the wine's manufacture there is reminiscent of the way the Calenian is described in prelo domitam Caleno \ tu bibes uuam, Odes i.2O.()(. (4) Odes 1.20, like many Horatian odes, is composed in 'ring' form, with uile... Sabinum (1) answered by Calenum etc. (9Q; and the two futures, potabis (1) and bibes (10), likewise answer each other.91 To make the first a future of invitation = 'you will drink', and the second a concessive future = 'you will not drink', is very difficult. (5) The polyptoton tibi (4), tibi (7), tu (10) (a figure imitating a characteristic early Greek lyric ornament),92 binds the ode grammatically and in sense, making it yet more unlikely that tu bibes could refer to a 99

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different occasion altogether. Again, the addition of the personal, affectionate, and possibly honorific,93 tu to bibes in 10 would have been inappropriate if bibes were not an invitation.94 (6) If Horace had contravened his readers' expectations in such a radical way (i.e. by making bibes mean in effect' you will not drink') at such an advanced stage in the poem, he might well have faced incomprehension. (7) While it is true that one of the commonplaces of the humble uocado is that the host should say what he cannot offer, or alternatively what the guest will miss by accepting his invitation,95 this expectation is in any case satisfied by lines nf., where Horace certainly says that Falernian and Formian are wines he cannot offer Maecenas. If, then, bibes, like potabis, is a future of invitation, so that in stanza 3 Maecenas is offered Caecuban and Calenian wine, but not Falernian or Formian, this feature would again recall Philodemus' epigram to Piso: like Philodemus, Horace would be stressing what he can and cannot give his patron; and Horace's offer of the better wines, Caecuban and Calenian, near the end of his ode would be a remote and oblique echo of Philodemus' more optimistic statement at the end of his epigram to Piso : a£o|jev IK Arrfjs ( = uile) eiKaSa moTepiiv, itself a conventional motif.96 But the scenario of stanza 3 still needs to be explained. Of course Horace is not untrue to his lyric persona in offering Maecenas Caecuban and Calenian: Horace drinks Caecuban elsewhere in the Odes (1.37.5,97 3.28.3) and he offers Calenian to 'Vergilius' at Odes 4.12.14-16. But Horace could as easily, qua lyric poet, have given Maecenas Falernian, since he himself drinks it at Odes 1.27.10 and 2.11.19. So inspection of parallels from the Odes does not explain why or how Horace might distinguish between the two groups of wines. What then is the scenario? It reveals itself more easily if the dilemma is taken in two parts: first, why are Caecuban and Calenian offered, and second, why are Falernian and Formian not offered too ? A minimal scenario, which takes us to uuam in 10, would be: Horace begins by saying to Maecenas: 'Come and drink my poor little Sabine wine. Its special sentimental association compensates for its quality.' Then he goes on: ' [but of course] I can offer you Caecuban and Calenian [too]', i.e. 'if you don't want to drink the Sabine all evening.' There are some obvious advantages in allowing that Horace offers Maecenas Caecuban and Calenian. In this way Odes 1.20, which, after all, supposedly reports Horace's association with his patron, a well-known member of contemporary Roman society, reflects more truly Horace's 100

The power of implication real position in that society, i.e. as perfectly able to afford good wines. In addition Odes 1.20 becomes a further expression of Horace's gratitude and indebtedness to Maecenas. Horace had become Maecenas' cliens in 38 B.C., and had received from him his Sabine farm before 31 B.C. (see Appendix). For all the professional poverty of poets, Horace could not publicly represent himself in 25—23 B.C. as so poor that he could give his patron only a uile Sabinum. That would have reflected badly on Maecenas, hinting that he was an ungenerous patronus, something which elsewhere the lyric Horace is at pains to deny. Horace says at Odes 2.18.14 that he is satis beatus unicis Sabinis, and so he does not ask his potens amicus(i.e. Maecenas) for more (i2f., see Appendix). Finally, by showing himself able to afford some of the luxury wines his patron liked, Horace is presenting at the end of the ode a greater appearance of being on a level with Maecenas, although not fully so, as we shall see below. This would have provided further confirmation that the ode is sincere in its sentiments: antiquity classified friendships in terms of relative status, considered equality, in one sense or another, to be a desirable feature of friendships, and linked equality in friendship with affection.98 But why does Horace then proclaim that he cannot offer Maecenas Falernian and ' Hills of Formiae' as well ? Unless this can be explained, nothing said about the Caecuban and Calenian can stand. One approach, which temporarily shelves the question whether or not the two pairs of wines are distinct qua wines, is to suppose that Horace is pointing out that the variety of excellent wines he can offer Maecenas at one time is limited, because, unlike him, he is not very wealthy. This explanation preserves the social distance between client and patron; and the modelling of Odes 1.20 upon Philodemus' epigram, along with Maecenas' conspicuous Epicureanism, hints that once more a philosophical concept underlies it. This is again ccuTapKeia (' self-sufficiency', ' independence'), which surfaced already in the uile Sabinum, where uile translated the Epicurean" technical term AITOS, used also by Philodemus at the beginning and end (1 and 8) of his epigram to Piso.100 A much quoted101 passage of Epicurus' Letter to Menoiceus may be relevant: Koci TT\V ccuTapKeiav 5E ccyaOov p e y a vofii^onev, o u x i v a TTOCVTCOS TOTS oAiyois X P ^ ^ OtpKcb|ie0a,

0

?

a

^

OTTCOS, l a v \xr\ excoiaev TOC TTOAAOC, TOTS o A i y o i s

7T6TT6tCT|i£VOl

yVT|CTlCOS OTl f|5ls 01 OCTTO Cf ITCOV: 'from seven years old'. All three wines which Horace has to offer Maecenas are, then,' healthy' wines, neither too old nor too young; indeed Galen commented specifically on the digestibility of Calenian (see above). The two wines which Horace cannot offer Maecenas are the older, less healthful wines. This distinction might help to characterise Horace as concerned about his patron's health; and such a concern would suit Maecenas' personality and interests. Maecenas, although fond of luxury, was obsessed with illness and death;104 and Epicurus, following in a well-established philosophical tradition, had held that simple and inexpensive meals lead to health and fortitude.105 All this is doubly relevant since the ode commemorates a celebration of Maecenas' recovery from illness. A possible extra reason for Horace to distinguish between the two classes of wines is the history of his relationship with Maecenas, which would have been known to many readers. Horace had entered the clientela of Maecenas around 38 B.C., having been on the losing side in the civil war, something again well known. If Horace had owned around 23 B.C. Falernian and Formian wines ready for drinking, with any implication that he had owned them since they were made, the wines and his ownership might have antedated Horace's entry into Maecenas' patronage. They would even more certainly have preceded Maecenas' gift to Horace of the Sabine farm. On the other hand Caecuban and Calenian, drinkable at under ten years, would have been laid down under Maecenas' patronage, and perhaps also after Horace had been given the Sabine farm. Is such tact on Horace's part unthinkable?

8

EPILOGUE

Latent implications of Horatian odes are particularly hard to unravel because of the paucity of surviving comparative material; the scant remains of early Greek and Hellenistic lyric and iamb, even if supplemented by earlier and later Roman lyric, form a lacunose background against which to study the Odes. This difficulty is compounded by Horace's thematic range: philosophy, past literature, contemporary life, and the semi-imaginary universes of the lyric lover, the poetic priest, and the city-state moralist, all these fall within his lyric 105

FRANCIS CAIRNS

compass. Of course spectacular new papyrus discoveries might help considerably; but failing these, progress may depend on extending greater interim tolerance to surmises about a single Horatian ode which cannot be * proved', but only advanced as plausible, particularly in the area studied in this essay, allusive communication between the poet and his audience. The hope must be that similar surmises can later be made equally plausibly about other odes, so that heuristic principles can be established.106 Naturally the normal constraints of scholarly judgement must be respected: but this method has already paid dividends. How, for example, could the discovery have been made that Horace likes to refer in a single ode to two related religious festivals, if Barr (1962) had not proposed on the basis of Odes 1.4 alone that this ode refers both to the sacrifice of Faunus held on 13 February at his temple on the Insula Tiberina and to the beginning of the dies parentales, the festival of the dead, on the same day? This hypothesis, at first apparently overbold,107 has subsequently been confirmed by the detection of parallel references to linked festivals in other odes.108 Similarly the sophistication of Horace's imitatio of literary predecessors was demonstrated in pioneering fashion by Hardie (1977). In addition to the known indebtedness of Odes i.yj to Alcaeus fr. 332 Lobel—Page, Hardie argued for major input from Pindar, Dithyrambs 2. This proposal may have seemed extravagant when it was made. It seems less so now, when the complexity of Horatian contamination and of Hellenistic and Roman arte allusiva, is better recognised.109 The most numerous contributions of this type to the understanding of Horace's Odes can of course be found in Nisbet— Hubbard (1970) and (1978), particularly where they link the lives, careers, and tastes of Horace's addressees with features of the odes honouring them. In this essay hypotheses about Odes 1.20 have appeared which aspire at the most to plausibility. Their ultimate confirmation or refutation lies in the future, in discoveries which will or will not be made about other Horatian odes. Their present support must derive from the convergence of their results with the best recent scholarship on Odes 1.20 and its Philodeman model. Gigante110 crystallised his interpretation of Philodemus' epigram to Piso (which had also been misprised)111 in the words: ' poesia e filosofia insieme danno un tono consistente e duraturo all'esile epigramma' (' poetry and philosophy together give the slender epigram a firm and enduring tone'). In the case of Horace Odes 1.20 we can probably add to philosophy and poetry ' etymology, oenology, topography, politics, and history'; but mutatis mutandis Gigante's words can also be applied to Odes 1.20. Equally just is Macleod's verdict 106

The power of implication about Odes 1.20:112 'its brevity denotes a concentration, not a lack, of thoughts \ Brief though the ode is, it says much more than it says.

A P P E N D I X : DID MAECENAS GIVE HORACE A

SABINE

FARM'? The view held since antiquity that Maecenas gave Horace his Sabine farm, an event usually dated on the basis of Epodes 1.3if. to before 31 B.C., has been challenged recently by Bradshaw (1989). Bradshaw points out that no unequivocal statement of such a gift can be found in Horace, and that the modern consensus is based solely on statements found in the Horatian scholia (Porphyrio on Epodes 1.31 and Odes 2.18.12—14, and ps.Acron on Odes 2.18.12). Bradshaw further notes that the scholiasts may simply be interpreting those texts of Horace. Undoubtedly he is correct in his assertions. However, it can still be argued that the scholiasts understood these Horatian passages correctly, aided no doubt by a tradition of interpretations perhaps going back to Horace's day. Odes 2.18 (as is explained by Nisbet—Hubbard (1978) 2876*".) purveys commonplace yoyos TTAOUTOU ('attack on wealth') material in terms which, although they contrast ' poor' Horace with his rich ' friend', compliment Maecenas throughout. The key passage for the Sabine farm is lines 9—14 (printed without punctuation to discourage assumptions about its structure): at fides et ingeni benigna uena est pauperemque diues me petit nihil supra deos lacesso nee potentem amicum largiora flagito satis beatus unicis Sabinis. As well as attacking the scholiasts' credibility in general, Bradshaw raises two specific doubts (i69fT.): first he questions the older understanding of unicis Sabinis as a reference to Horace's Sabine farm, and instead believes that we are ' bound to take Sabinis to mean "Sabine country"' (172); and second he thinks that thepotens amicus is not Maecenas, but that Horace is generalising. These two doubts will be addressed first. Nisbet-Hubbard (1978) 300 on unicis Sabinis are not helpful, and are now superseded by Bradshaw i7off. Bradshaw first discusses the controversy over Sabinis between M. Haupt and L. Miiller in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. In the course of this discussion Bradshaw offers two useful pieces of information: (1) (2)

'neuter singular estate names based on towns are very common' (171, cf. n. 20 for Ciceronian examples). Latin estate names derived from the names of peoples must be plural (as Lachmann and Haupt believed). Secure examples are Pliny, Epistles 5.6.45, Martial 7.31.11, and Juvenal 8.180 (i7off.).

But Bradshaw goes on to say that these writers are too late and too close together in time for their parallels to be decisive in favour of Sabinis meaning ' Sabine farm'. He then quotes, only to discount, part of Varro, Res rusticae 1.15 as a parallel from earlier 107

FRANCIS CAIRNS literature. However, if this Varro parallel is taken along with what precedes it, a different perspective emerges. The subject is boundaries and ways of marking them, and the speaker is Fundanius: ad uiam Salariam in agro Crustumino uidere licet locis aliquot coniunctos aggeres cum fossa, ne flumen agris noceat. aggeres faciunt sine fossa: eos quidam uocant muros, ut in agro Reatino. quartum fabrile saepimentum est nouissimum, maceria. huius fere species quattuor, quod fiunt e lapide, ut in agro Tusculano, quod e lateribus coctilibus, ut in agro Gallico, quod e lateribus crudis, ut in agro Sabino, quod ex terra et lapillis compositis in formis, ut in Hispania et agro Tarentino. Praeterea sine saeptis praedii satione [notis] arborum tutiores fiunt, ne familiae rixentur cum uicinis ac limites ex litibus iudicem quaerant. serum alii circum pinos, ut habet uxor in Sabinis, alii cupressos, ut ego habui in Vesuuio, alii ulmos, ut multi habent in Crustumino. [The italicised portion only is quoted by Bradshaw.] (Res rusticae 1.14.3—15.1) In Fundanius' account of different types of walling, various territories are referred to in the normal way, i.e. as ager x. Among the others in agro Sabino duly appears. When Fundanius moves on to trees as boundary markers, he talks first of his wife's practice and then of his own former practice before recounting what multi do. The contrast between the preceding in agro Sabino of 1.14.4 and in Sabinis, which he uses in speaking of his wife, suggests that the latter means * on Sabine farm'. Similarly in Vesuuio is most easily taken as 'on ^my estate on^ Vesuvius'. As for in Crustumino, this phrase can hardly refer to an estate in that area owned by multi. Presumably Fundanius would normally have said in agro Crustumino, as at 1.14.5. But he uses the shorter form in Crustumino precisely because he has already used the fuller form a short space before. Sabinis at Odes 2.18.14, then, must mean 'Sabine farm'. The other doubt raised by Bradshaw, about Horace's potens amicus, can be dealt with more succinctly. In itself Horace's text could of course bear Bradshaw's interpretation; and any reader of the Odes who had not grasped the relationship between Horace and Maecenas might have thought that Horace was generalising. But could any reader who was aware of their relationship not have identified Maecenas as Horace's potens amicus? If then Sabinis is the Sabine farm and potentem amicum is Maecenas, what is the logic of the passage? Horace claims to possess fides and ingenium (i.e. qualities of character and intellect, the latter specifically a poetic virtue) (Ai). For this reason, he says, the rich man (Bi) seeks him out, poor though he be. So (the asyndeton introduces Horace's conclusion) he asks nothing more (supra) (Ci) of the gods (Di). Obviously the gods gave him his fides and ingenium in the first place. The second half of the passage reproduces a parallel set of concepts in roughly inverse order, thus creating a chiastic structure. Horace does not ask his potens amicus (D2 and B2) for more (comparative largiord) (C2) because he is wealthy and happy (beatus) enough with his Sabine farm (A2). The adjectival phrase satis etc. has here an explanatory function. The parallel structure discovered in this passage reveals a minor subtlety as well as clinching the main point about the Sabine farm: the minor subtlety is that the diues blends with the potens amicus, who then becomes the equivalent of the gods, a nice piece of flattery of Maecenas, and one which draws on ancient etymological links between diues and diuus, between diuus and deus, and perhaps between deus and dare.113 But, more importantly, the parallelism shows that the Sabine farm was given to Horace by his potens amicus, since the corresponding fides and ingenium were gifts to Horace from the gods. 108

The power of implication The scholiasts, then, and the tradition which they presumably followed, understood Odes 2.18 (Epodes 1.3 if.) correctly. There is (pace Bradshaw) no criticism of Maecenas in Odes 2.18. Nisbet—Hubbard (1978) 290 have covered this matter fully. It should be said however that, paradoxically, nothing advanced above damages Bradshaw's final hypothesis, that Horace's Sabine farm may have been inherited by Horace from his father. This could well have been the case, and Maecenas may simply have obtained its restoration to Horace following a confiscation in the wake of Philippi, or prevented that confiscation in the first place. Such a favour by Maecenas to Horace would have been equivalent to the gift to him of the farm.

109

G. P. GOOLD

7

THE V O I C E O F V I R G I L The Pageant of Rome in Aeneid 6

The audience which enjoyed the privilege of hearing Virgil read his compositions has bequeathed a fascinating testimonial to his wonderful voice.1 We need not disbelieve the remark of Melissus, Maecenas' freedman, that he spoke hesitantly and almost like an uneducated man ;2 nor the Elder Seneca that his genius deserted him in prose.3 But when reciting his own poetry he became a different being, gifted with a voice of sweetness and magical charm. Julius Montanus was so far moved as to confess that he would have stolen some of Virgil's verses if he could only have stolen his voice, expression, and dramatic power as well, for what on the poet's lips sounded splendid became comparatively muted when another read them.4 VIRGILS RECITATIONS

It is possible that the voice of Virgil was first heard in a significant way in the autumn of 40 B.C., when to the nobles assembled in Rome for the marriage of Antony and Octavia he recited his epithalamium,5 the Fourth Eclogue. He had probably met Octavian and Maecenas before, but he certainly did so then, and was ever after held by them in the highest esteem. Nor need we doubt that this was fully returned: in lines 7 and 42 of the First Eclogue the poet unequivocally nails his colours to the mast as a supporter of Caesar's heir. Had the child prophesied turned out to be a man of Trajanic greatness, Virgil's poem would have been regarded as a brilliant prediction and a master-stroke of diplomacy, for the whole emphasis is shifted from the bridal pair to the child who is to reconcile the rival Caesarian leaders and, as the focus of admiration and loyalty of all Romans, unite them and inaugurate the establishment of a Golden Age. Though this was not to be, for Octavia bore Antony a daughter in 39, it was a dream that must have appealed to everyone present. The eclogue must have been published while hopes were still possible6 and certainly before they were shattered by Antony's rude no

The voice of Virgil dismissal of Octavia in 37, for then the fastidious Virgil would never have sanctioned the appearance of the Fourth Eclogue in its present form. Sufficiently established in Maecenas' circle to accompany him to Brundisium7 in 37, he will in these and following years have often read to discriminating ears, but we have precise evidence of one recitation important enough to be quoted in full: Georgica reverso post Actiacam victoriam Augusto atque Atellae reficiendarum faucium causa commoranti per continuum quadriduum legit, suscipiente Maecenate legendi vicem, quotiens interpellaretur ipse vocis offensione.8 When on his return after Actium Augustus stopped at Atella for treatment of his throat, Virgil read the Georgics to him over four successive days, Maecenas taking his turn at reading whenever the poet was forced to rest his voice.

It seems that Octavian (this took place in 29) will have specially requested the recitation, and can hardly have found the poem the pessimistic product it has appeared to recent commentators;9 it seems too that he both admired Virgil and counted him a friend, as clearly appears even from the tantalising scraps of their correspondence, Augustus (c. 25, from Spain) demanding to see any part of the Aeneid,10 and Virgil politely but firmly putting him off (ego vero frequentes a te litteras accipio attests the emperor's impatience).11 A long time afterwards, we are told by Donatus, when the material was at last ready, Virgil read to Augustus the first,12 fourth and sixth books, sed hunc notabili Octaviae adfectione, quae cum recitationi interesset, ad illos de filio suo versus 'tu Marcellus eris', defecisse fertur atque aegre focilata.13 the last with a shattering effect on Octavia, who was present; when he came to the passage about her son, they say that she fainted and was only with difficulty revived.

Servius differs in detail, but seems to refer to the same occasion: et constat hunc librum tanta pronuntiatione Augusto et Octaviae esse recitatum, ut fletu nimio imperaret silentium, nisi Vergilius finem esse dixisset.14 It is reported that this book was read to Augustus and Octavia so stirringly that because of the uncontrollable weeping he calledfor a halt, but Virgil said that he had reached the end. in

G. P. GO OLD

An interesting remark in Suetonius {Augustus 89.3) reveals that while the emperor encouraged aspiring writers by listening patiently to their recitations, he allowed his praises to be sung only a praestantissimis,' by the most outstanding'. But whom had he in mind? Horace? Propertius? But they did not sing his praises enough. Varius? No doubt, to judge from Horace, Epistles 2.1.247. But hardly a word of this esteemed poet survives, and perhaps Augustus realised that Virgil stood alone, quo non praestantior alter. He is the greatest of Augustus' encomiasts,15 and it is significant that after his death the emperor by-passed Maecenas in soliciting laudation from Horace and Propertius. The actual voice of Virgil is past recovery, but perhaps, by considering the effects the poet was trying to produce and the means he employed to produce them, we may come a little closer to recreating in our minds that divine sound.

PRONUNCIATION AND TYPOGRAPHY The first step to tuning our inward ear to the authentic voice of Virgil is to recognise that we, English-speakers living in the twentieth century, are not endowed by nature to pronounce Latin correctly. But a knowledge of our disabilities will prove helpful. Intonation is an aspect of spoken language that is so distinct that one can often tell whether people are speaking English or German or French or Italian even before one identifies any words; we have no means of knowing how Latin intonation sounded. It was scarcely identical with our own. And yet I have heard many a professor of Latin (myself on tape included) who thought himself to be accurately reproducing the poetry of Catullus et turn mirifice sperabat se esse locutum, uttering sounds which would have called forth a denunciation far stronger than that visited upon Arrius. Most of us instinctively say Chommoda. Had the Romans pronounced Latin as we do, h would have 'made position' with (i.e. would have lengthened the previous syllable when combined with) a preceding consonant, which it does not.16 Let me here merely advert to two respects in which the * recommended' pronunciation of Latin (acceptable though it may be as a practical pis aller) must be inaccurate. The diphthong ae11 was doubtless once pronounced as phonetic [ai]. But then it was so written (Kaisar, etc.). The spelling ae must reflect something different, an audible step along the progression to e: ai > ae > e. A natural prejudice inhibits changing the spelling of one's own name, so that the innovative spelling Caesar cannot possibly represent [kai] but 112

The voice of Virgil doubtless represents a fusion of a and e, quite different from a and i. About the consonantal u18 we learn on the authority of Nigidius Figulus19 that in pronouncing the sound the rounded lips were thrust forward: this reflects a significant step in the development of nonsyllabic u [w] through a narrowing and eventual closing of the aperture to the production of a bilabial and ultimately a labiodental fricative [v]. And that the resultant utterance had moved significantly towards the latter may be indicated by its use in alliteration to indicate vitality and viciousness: for example, Lucretius 1.72 vivida vis animi pervicit (the cutting edge of the intellect); Livy 5.48.9 vox, vae victis (the vindictive voice of Brennus); Suetonius, Julius 37.2 VENI * VIDI * VICI (invincibility); and in the Pageant 833 neu patriae validas in viscera vertite vins ('nor vent violent valour on the vitals of your land'). 20 This raises an important point. The vowel u and the consonant u are very different in nature: had ancient Romans possessed the advantages of modern typography, I cannot doubt that they would have embraced the distinguishing u and v as automatically as do the most doctrinaire of today's scholars a system of punctuation and capitalisation totally unknown to Cicero and Virgil. To attain real proximity to the original, one would have to follow the lead of James Henry in his Aeneidea and print ARMA VIRVMQVE CANO etc. without any punctuation. But we shall not make Latin more accessible to posterity by so putting back the clock. On the contrary, I should invoke (besides of course distinguishing between / and j) such typographical aids as can indicate the phonetic difference between the accusative omuls and the genitive omnis, the audibly distinct genitives of aer and aes, and, crucial to the correct understanding of 6.780, the syntactical difference between superum accusative and superum genitive.21 SOUND MAGIC IN VIRGIL That it is right to be on the alert for sound magic in Virgil the following well-known passages will show, for there can be no denying the deliberate accommodation of sound to sense: 8.596 quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum (horse's galloping), 2.313 exoritur clamorque virum clangorque tubarum (strident trumpets, cf. 11.192). Nor at 2.209—12 (fit sonitus spumante salo...), where alliteration of s reproduces the hissing of Laocoon's snakes, nor at 1.5 5f., where that of m reproduces the menacing winds of Aeolus. Hypermetric lines are also capable of creating sensational effects, like that of the cauldron boiling over at Georgics 1.295 or the rock poised over Tantalus' head at 6.602. 113

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But rhythm, too, is brought into service. Who cannot, from the dactyls of 2.724, picture the little boy trotting along at his father's side and having to hurry to keep up with him? dextrae se parvus lulus implicuit sequiturque patrem non passibus aequis. Again, it is in dactyls after a heavy stop that Laocoon's spear echoes and reverberates within the Trojan horse (2.52^): contorsit. stetit ilia tremens, uteroque recusso insonuere cavae gemitumque dedere cavernae. More subtle, but equally unmistakeable, are the heavy syllables which evoke the sinister atmosphere of the underworld in the passage 6.268-72 (ibant obscuri...) and the mounting tension of the rhythm at Georgics 4.485—91 (jamque pedem referens...) which is to be shattered by the shock (a stop in the fifth foot) of respexit, when Orpheus looks back. HEXAMETER RHYTHM

In the hands of composers less gifted than Virgil the hexameter tends to be regularly separated by the caesura into two movements. Virgil frequently imposes on this metrical basis a tripartite division determined by the sense: nunc age | Dardaniam prolem | quae deinde sequatur

(756)

et Capys | et Numitor | et qui te nomine reddet

(768)

Pometios | Castrumque Inui | Bolamque Coramque

(775)

Sometimes a fourth-foot caesura is almost obliterated: tuque prior | tu parce | genus qui ducis Olympo

(834)

Sometimes the effect of a tricolon crescendo is produced: accipiet | natosque pater | nova bella moventls

(820)

ingreditur | victorque viros | supereminet omnls

(856)

in tantum | spe toilet avos | nee Romula quondam

(876)

And in these cases he will commonly avoid monotony by the enjambment of the first word in the following line: quin et avo | comitem sese | Mavortius addet Romulus 114

The voice of Virgil Scipiadas | cladem Libyae | parvoque potentem Fabricium

(843 f.)

heu pietas | heu prisca fides | invictave bello dextera

(8?8f.)

Here it is worth noting that no less than 40 per cent of the verses in the Pageant are run over. Occasionally one encounters a sequence which, as the sounds echo in our ears, reminds us of some musical phrase struck elsewhere in the epic: Tiberine, videbis funera Compare : Lavinaque venit litora22 Tiberinaque longe ostia Sidicinaque juxta aequora

(7.727f.) Larinaque virgo

Tullaque

(ii.655f.) Tiberina fluenta

sanguine

(12.35^)

Conformably with his desire to vary the hexameter's rhythm Virgil can prescribe the most unexpected pauses between words which, on a hasty reading, one would instinctively take together.23 Consider these illustrations from the Aeneid: Iliad cineres et flamma extrema meorum, testor in occasu vestro nee tela nee ullas vitavisse vices, Danaum et si fata fuissent ut caderem meruisse manu.

(2.431—4)

The contorted word-order (for the construction is et, si fata fuissent ut Danaum manu caderem, meruisse) tempts one to embrace the vulgar punctuation (... vices Danaum, et...); but sense forbids vices to take the genitive and requires manu to have it: * I call you to witness, ye ruins of Ilium, that when ye fell I shunned no sword or peril and, had it been my fate to perish by a Grecian hand, that I had earned that fate.'

G. P. GOOLD

quid Thesea, magnum quid memorem Alciden?

(6.i22f.)

Even if should one know that Hercules is ever, Theseus never, called the Great, one needs a sensitive ear to recognise that for a proper climax the adjective must be applied to the second name. nunc age, qui reges, Erato, quae tempora, rerum quis Latio antiquo fuerit status,...

(7.37^)

That status, not tempora, governs rerum is proved by more than a score of passages in Latin attesting status rerum as a regular phrase ; 24 besides, status needs definition, tempora does not. By deciding upon an unusual word-order Virgil was no doubt aware that he was minimising the prosaic nature of the phrase. So too in the Pageant we encounter a passage requiring the most careful attention to sense to bring to life the voice of the poet. hie rem Romanam magno turbante tumultu sistet, eques sternet Poenos Gallumque rebellem,...

(858f.)

The pause after the first trochee is hard to parallel, but all the same is demanded by the sense, as is betrayed by some translators who actually call Marcellus 'a knight', he the Roman consul! Now a hundred passages in Livy25 inform us that critical battles were fought by the infantry, and only when the tide has turned were the cavalry sent in to convert advantage into victory. No Roman general ever stayed res Romana on a horse. On the contrary turn ad equites dictator advolat obtestans ut fesso jam pedite descendant ex equis et pugnam capessant. (2.20.10) consul ad ancipitem maxime pugnam advectus desilit ex equo et... (9-3I-Io) and, as for the role played by the cavalry, quos ubi effusos consul videt,... Aurunculeio imperat ut equites legionis quanto maximo impetu possit in hostem emittat: ita pecorum modo incompositos toto passim se campo fudisse ut sterrii obterique, priusquam instruantur, possint. (27.41.9) exiguum temporis aliqua forma pugnae fuit: fuga deinde effusa et fugientium passim caedes erat, equitibus dato signo ut conscenderent equos nee effugere quemquam sinerent. (40.28.5) 116

The voice of Virgil I seem to hear an expression of the sense in the unusual rhythm, Virgil suggesting, first, the parlous position of the Romans against the insurgents, with Marcellus just managing to hold the attack (at sistet, where one must pause), and then, the tide turning, the Roman cavalry with pent-up fury riding down the foe. At 883 reason establishes the construction as date spar gam lilia, purpureos /lores, et accumulem et fungar. In the first place it would be ridiculous for Anchises to ask to be given handfuls of flowers; rather, manibus plenis goes with spargam, for it is the one paying tribute who does the scattering in handfuls (so Suetonius, Caligula 42 ad captandas stipes, quas plenis ante eum manibus...turba fundebat). Secondly, the construction must follow the pattern of 4.683 date vulnera lymphis \ abluam: the alternative manibus date lilia plenis; spar gam flores involves a grotesque showering of Anchises, a confusing switch of person, and a harsh asyndeton. Pliny devotes a paragraph to purpurea lilia at Natural History 21.25. One of the commonest sound-effects in Virgil is alliteration: it is ubiquitous, notably in the last two feet (762 sanguine surget, 763 postuma proles, 767 gloria gentis) but not specially there (761 lucis loca, j6ypariter pietate). We are not to suppose that alliteration always represents some significant effect; it may simply endow the verse with an extra melody; and we should certainly be chasing chimaeras if we laboured to discover meaning in the alliteration of 843 parvoque potentem, 850 surgentia sidera, 892 fugiatque feratque. Rhyme in consecutive lines, e.g. 785 nubes 786 nepotes

812 subibit 813 movebit

843 potentem 844 serentem

855 opimis 856 omnls

was meant to be heard, as we may infer from the extraordinary paragraph at Georgics 1.393—423, even though it took two thousand years to discover the experiment with rhyme (5 unrhymed, abba, cddc, effe, —g—g—, hiih, 5 unrhymed). 26 I do not suggest that the rhyme affects the meaning; we are to regard it, like the rhyme of Gray's Elegy, as an enhancement of the verse melody. Elegant word-placement likewise is an extra richness of the poet's art, not an addition to his message: so in 888 the alliteration of ... lads... lustrant at caesura and verse-end and in 891 of LaurentTsque... Latini at beginning and end of the verse agreeably pleases the ear.

117

G. P. GOOLD SHIFT OF EXPRESSION

Virgil is constantly springing the unexpected on us. Our ears await a familiar sequence (A + B), but what we get is something different (A + Z). A typical example occurs at 2.56 Trojaque nunc staret, Priamique arx aha and now not the expected maneret, but maneres, which thus proclaims arx aha to be a vocative. Variations of this kind abound throughout the poet's work, in the Pageant illustrated by 756f. prolem... qui nepotes (change of case), 83of. socer... descendens, gener... instructus

(of tense of participle), 894!?. datur exitus... mittunt... Manes (of voice), 838f. eruet...Argos... Mycenas \ ipsumque Aeaciden (of place and person), and, ubiquitously, inflectional sound: 773 Nomentum et Gabios urbemque Fidenam; 856 ingreditur...supereminet; 873f. videbis...praeterlabere\ %q%{. pietas...fides...dextera. His love of variation often manifests itself in a shift of thought or perspective, 27 as 545 explebo numerum reddarque tenebris (' I will complete the tally of the dead and rejoin the shades below') and 8o6f. dubitamus ...extender e, shifted to metus... (nos) prohibet consistere.

Perhaps the poet's daring innovations in the use of words are partly inspired by this tendency to shift words from their strict meaning, as at 841 quis te... taciturn... relinquat (for tacendo relinquat), or from their strict referend, as at 810 primam (where the essential idea is primus}. Familiarity no doubt has blunted our perception of the double hypallage at 268 ibant obscuri sola sub nocte per umbram (for sub obscura nocte soli

ibant, Servius).28 These shifts and changes must have affected the quality of a recitation. Consider the Pageant, that is the speech of Anchises 756—853. Essentially it consists of a prophecy of the Romans that are to be, and we expect a series of verbs in the future indicative. We are not disappointed; we get 31 in all. But interspersed with them, covering the whole verbal spectrum, come exclamations (771 f., 826ff.), questions (779^, 8o6ff., 8i7f., 824f., 84iff.), imperatives (788f., 832fF., 85 iff.), presents (795*?., 8o4f., 809, 815f., 845^), and perfects (8oiff.). The variety of intonation, tempo, and delivery called for would provide a gifted reader with abundant scope to move an audience.29 THE MARCELLUS ADDITION

When Virgil embarked on the Aeneid and drafted a sketch of its contents he cannot have foreseen, still less included, the death of Marcellus, though from the start he must have envisaged his hero's visit to the 118

The voice of Virgil underworld. What happened is clear. By the year 23 the Pageant had been essentially completed, and it contained after 825 five verses commemorating the great Marcellus. After the young man's death these were moved to their present position (855—59), introduced by 854, and then continued by a question from Aeneas which naturally leads to the moving tribute which we now read. 854 'aspice, ut insignis spoliis Marcellus opimis 855 = '825a' ingreditur victorque viros supereminet omnls. hie rem Romanam magno turbante tumultu sistet, eques sternet Poenos Gallumque rebellem, tertiaque arma patri suspendet capta Quirino.' 859 = '825c' 887 119

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{Thus Father Anchises, and as they marvel, adds:^) ' Behold how Marcellus advances, graced with the spoils of the chief he slew, and towers triumphant over all! When the Roman state is reeling under a brutal shock, he will steady it, will ride down Carthaginians and the insurgent Gaul, and offer up to Father Quirinus a third suit of spoils.' {At this Aeneas said, for by that great man s side he saw a youth of passing beauty in resplendent arms, but with joyless mien and eyes downcast: ' Who, father, is he that thus attends the warrior on his way? Is it his son, or some other of his progeny s heroic line? What acclaim among his entourage! What majesty is his! But death! s dark shadow flickers mournfully about his head.' Then, as his tears well up, Father Anchises begins : ' My son, seek not to taste the bitter grief of your people; only a glimpse of him will fate give earth nor suffer him to stay long. Too powerful, ye gods above, ye deemed the Roman people, had these gifts of yours been lasting. What sobbing of the brave will the famed Field waft to Mars' mighty city! What a cortege will you behold, Father Tiber, as you glide past the new-built tomb! No youth of Trojan stock will ever raise his Latin ancestry so high in hope nor the land of Romulus ever boast of any son like this. Weep ye your loss of his-goodness, his chivalrous honour and his sword-arm unconquerable in the fight! In arms none had ever faced him unscathed, marched he on foot against his foe or dug with spurs the flanks of his foaming steed. Child of a nations sorrow, if only you could shatter the cruel barrier of fate! You are to be Marcellus. Grant me to scatter in handfuls lilies of purple blossom, and heap at least these gifts on my descendant9 s shade and perform an unavailing duty.' Thus they wander at large over the whole region in the wide airy plain, taking note of all.,^ The adaptation is made so skilfully that some scholars have passionately argued that the whole pageant was designed as we now read it30 — and it is true that in ending a grandiose parade with tears for a youth's premature death Virgil shows that compassion which moves us so much in the portrayal of Nisus and Euryalus, Pallas and Lausus, and Camilla: nevertheless, after the pageant proper and the inspiring finale tu 120

The voice of Virgil regere imperio the poet has come to a fitting end. Anchises' belated and unnatural notice of Marcellus at this point is unexplained; it depends for its justification on what is to come. In 882 the ^/-clause expresses an unfulfilled wish. This is a rare, but by no means unexampled,31 usage, which occurs earlier in this same book: 6.187 & nunc se nobis Hie aureus arbore ramus \ ostendat nemore in tanto!

It is quite natural that an expression like ' If only you were to marry me ...' expecting the apodosis 'I should be ineffably happy' should occasionally not be pursued to a grammatical completion, but be left in an ellipse, as a wish 'If only you were to marry me!' The happy consequences of the fulfilment cannot be adequately expressed and hence must be left to the imagination: the syntactical development is clearly seen in the regular Greek construction, ei yap with the optative. I should demur to Shackleton Bailey's insistence (1986) that si... rumpas is a condition followed by an aposiopesis: his own Virgilian examples of this figure (Aeneid 1.135, 2.100, 5.195), in all of which utterance proceeds with a sed, discourage the idea that 6.882 is a similar case. Besides, the examples of si in unfulfilled wishes cited above all refer, like 6.882, to a non-existent situation which is prayed for and, however vainly, desired : one could as well insist that every utinam-clause is an aposiopesis, i.e. a protasis with ellipse of a quam bene eveniat/ apodosis. Naturally the poet will have made an emphatic pause after rumpas to give force to his denouement, for ever since Aeneas first asked about the sad prince, Anchises had designedly held back his identity. Now he releases it; here is the young man who, when born, is to be Marcellus.32 Remarkable as are the audible touches of artistry that elevate Virgil's verses on Marcellus into high poetry, we must not overlook the dramatic genius displayed in the presentation of the young man's tragedy.33 Here we have for comparison the dignified and even elevated elegy by Propertius (3.18), doubtless composed immediately and first released in a public recitation. Propertius faced, as he was again to face in 4.11, the testing challenge of writing an elegy on someone who, though a court figure of importance, could not at death claim any outstanding achievement, indeed, could not claim any significant achievement at all. His poem, therefore, while containing an elaborate introduction specifying the place of Marcellus' death, and well-turned truisms about death's inevitability and the helplessness of wealth and privilege before it, and even the consolation that his soul has flown to heaven, gives us no idea what the youth was like; it may secure our admiration, but it does not engage our feelings. 121

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Virgil, on the other hand, ever the visionary, instinctively pictures the mature man that might have developed and by suggesting the greatness of that hypothetical figure is able to give Marcellus a personality lacking in the other poet and portray his loss much more vividly. Had he lived, the imperial court would have outshone heaven itself (870); his promise as a leader exceeded that of any other Latin or Roman (875-77); his dutifulness was exemplary, his honour equal to any ordeal, his military prowess a match for all (878). The last point is expanded in three graphic lines (879—81). All this on top of his skill in building up a tremendous climax by withholding until the very end the young man's name. THE GATES OF SLEEP Quae postquam Anchises natum per singula duxit incenditque animum famae venientis amore, exim bella viro memorat quae deinde gerenda, LaurentTsque docet populos urbemque Latini, et quo quemque modo fugiatque feratque laborem. Sunt geminae Somni portae, quarum altera fertur cornea, qua veris facilis datur exitus umbris, altera candenti perfecta nitens elephanto, sed falsa ad caelum mittunt insomnia Manes, his ibi turn natum Anchises unaque Sibyllam prosequitur dictis portaque emittit eburna.

888 890

895

After Anchises had led his son over every scene, kindling his soul with longing for the glory that was to be, he then tells of the wars that the hero next must wage, the Laurentine peoples and Latinus1 town, and how he is to face or flee each peril. Two gates of Sleep there are, whereof the one, they say, is horn and offers a ready exit to true shades, the other shining with sheen of polished ivory, but delusive are the dreams that through it issue upward from the world below. Thither Anchises, discoursing thus, escorts son and Sibyl, and sends them forth by the ivory gate. The close of the Pageant has baffled practically all commentators,34 and yet the enigma of Aeneas' dismissal by the ivory gate is capable of a sure solution. We may at once reject the thought that Virgil fumbled and did not intend precisely what he wrote. These Homeric verses have been 122

The voice of Virgil taken not from the Necyia but from a very different context of the Odyssey: this by itself shows purpose and deliberation. In fact their source is a speech of Penelope's,35 in which she speaks of her dream of Odysseus' vengeance as a delusion, whereas of course we know it to be (though she does not) an accurate prevision of the truth. This is precisely the situation here: the spectacle which Aeneas has witnessed is in no sense false — there can be no possible doubt that the poet intends the whole of the Pageant of Rome for absolute truth — but, for a reason which reflection will soon supply, it is a spectacle which Virgil is at pains to represent Aeneas as not understanding and to that extent a delusion.36 So at the end of Book 8: there the hero has just surveyed in wonder the emblazonment of Rome's glorious history on the shield (another fine example of Virgil's preternatural ability to transfigure a borrowing) which likewise is essentially an accurate prophecy, but, the poet emphasises, his pleasure in the shield is taken ' in ignorance of the reality' (8.730 rerum... ignarus). But why must Aeneas not retain beyond his sojourn in the underworld the knowledge he has learned there ? Because Virgil is determined to keep him strictly limited to the condition of a mortal: he is not to enjoy superhuman knowledge of the future. Consequently, although Virgil's plan for his epic calls for a visit to the underworld and a marvellous shield comparable to Achilles', if his dramatic purposes are to be successful he must somehow make plain that Aeneas gains from these scenes no knowledge or understanding beyond the capacity of a man who had not lived through them. It is significant that these insistences on Aeneas' human limitations occur at the very end of Books 6 and 8: the poet will have us know that immediately thereafter, from the very beginning of Books 7 and 9, Aeneas has only human powers to call upon in confronting the problems which face him.

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8

FROM O R P H E U S T O ASS'S EARS Ovid, Metamorphoses IO.I—11.193

Ovid's awareness of his audience is evident on almost every page. Sometimes, as when he wanted to compare the best parts of heaven with the smartest parts of Rome, he wondered whether the reader might disapprove: hie locus est quern, si uerbis audacia detur, haud timeam magni dixisse Palatia caeli. {Metamorphoses 1.175—6)

Sometimes, as when he describes how Deucalion and Pyrrha have happened to land on Parnassus during the flood, he pauses fussily to ensure that the audience has understood: (nam cetera texerat aequor) (1.318). Sometimes, as when he is about to tell how the stones thrown by Deucalion and Pyrrha will turn into men, he uses a parenthesis to acknowledge possible incredulity: (quis hoc credat, nisi sit pro teste uetustas?) (1.400), and it would be no hard task to add further examples and further categories. It seems especially promising, however, in pursuit of our theme, to turn to the story of Orpheus who, as a poet and a lover, must have had a special place in Ovid's affections and whose story also provided him with an obvious opportunity to vie with Virgil. Whenever a poet evokes the memory of a famous predecessor he must be thinking of his audience and appealing to them through a shared literary inheritance. And there is an extra reason for turning to Orpheus here: in May 1985, David West read to the A.G.M. of the Joint Association of Classical Teachers a paper entitled ' Orpheus and Eurydice'.1 In it he attacked the widespread belief that Ovid's version of the story was little more than a parody (and implicitly an inferior parody) of Virgil's treatment in the Georgics? Here, then, I wish to explore a little further than was possible in the scope of that paper not only what Ovid was not doing but what he was doing and, furthermore, to see what it has to say to our theme. For the sake of clarity, I shall be obliged to repeat some of the points David West has already made. 124

From Orpheus to ass's ears With characteristic insouciance, Ovid links the Orpheus story at the beginning of Book 10 to the last story of Book 9, by envisaging Hymen's journey from the happy marriage of Iphis and Ianthe to the doomed marriage of Orpheus and Eurydice. That Ovid is interested here in provoking a comparison with Virgil's account becomes immediately obvious. Everything that Virgil omits, Ovid dwells upon and everything that Virgil concentrates on, Ovid changes or omits: The wedding

Met. 10.1—8a

Events leading up to Eurydice's death

G. 4.453—9

The death itself

Met. io.8b-io

Lament by the nymphs and by Orpheus

G. 4.460—6

End of Orpheus' lament

Met. 10.11—12a

Detailed account of Orpheus' entry to the Underworld and the reactions of its inhabitants to the sight of Orpheus

G. 4.467-84

Brief account of entry, approach to Persephone and Pluto and detailed account of appeal to them followed by denial of an interest in the famous sights of the Underworld, full explanation of his problem, speculation on the role of love in the Underworld, appeal for Eurydice's return, a detailed description of the effect of Orpheus' poetry on the inhabitants of the Underworld. Eurydice, still limping from her wound, is summoned and Orpheus is allowed to take her up, provided he does not look back. Account of the journey up

Met. io.i2b~55

Both poets describe Orpheus' turning round {Georgics 4.485-498; Metamorphoses 10.56—63). But Virgil attributes Orpheus' mistake to dementia (though he calls it ignoscendd), while Ovid blames fear and excessive eagerness; Virgil's Eurydice rebukes her husband, but Ovid's is far more understanding. In Virgil, Eurydice vainly stretches forth her arms to Orpheus {Georgics 4.498) as he does, but too late, to her {Georgics 4.500—1) in words modelled on 7/zW 23.99—101; in Ovid, it is only Orpheus who stretches out (10.58). Detailed account of Eurydice's disappearance

G. 4.499-506

Both poets then give an account of Orpheus' mourning and unsuccessful attempt to return to the Underworld: Virgil is content with 125

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a few lines (Georgics 4.507—203), but Ovid devotes the rest of the book (after a brief account of his distress3 and some intervening details) to the tales that Orpheus tells in the passion of his grief {Metamorphoses 10.64—739). This is followed by: a detailed account of the Thracian women's enMet. 11.1—43 counter with Orpheus, his initial invulnerability to their attacks and a slow build-up to his eventual death at their hands The dismemberment itself4

G. 4.520b—22

Nature mourns for Orpheus

Met. 11.44—9

Then both poets relate the story of the head floating down the river (Georgics 4.523—7; Metamorphoses 11.50—53), but whereas Virgil's head cries out Eurydicen... | a miseram Eurydicen, Ovid's is content with flebile nescioquid. Virgil's account is over but Ovid goes on to relate: a snake's attack upon the head punished by Apollo, and Orpheus' happy reunion with Eurydice in the Underworld

Met. 11.54—66

All that this analysis does is to show how far Ovid has gone to answer and comment on the Virgilian model. It is, of course, hardly surprising that Orpheus, a lover and a poet, should appeal especially to Ovid5 and not unexpected that his story should prompt Ovid to a particular examination of his own attitudes to poetry and love. Furthermore, even as Ovid begins with: Hymenaeus...

Orphea nequiquam uoce uocatur

(10.2-3), t n e alliterative formula6 draws particular attention to a theme that will recur again and again, and must in any case be close to an artist's heart: whether his art really is 'in vain'. The description of the wedding is most instructive. It should be contrasted with that of Tereus and Procne (6.428—38), itself modelled on the ill-fated union of Aeneas and Dido (Aeneid 4.166—72). Of these three unions, it was that of Tereus and Procne that ended most disastrously and it is that wedding that is quite the most horrific. Here, it is appropriate to draw attention to two points in particular: for Tereus and Procne, non Hymenaeus adest (6.429), but for Orpheus and Eurydice, adfuitille [Hymenaeus] quidem (10.4); for Tereus and Procne, Eumenides tenuere faces defunere raptas (6.430), but for Orpheus and Eurydice, fax quoque, quam tenuit [Hymenaeus], lacrimoso stridula fumo \ usque fuit 126

From Orpheus to ass's ears nullosque inuenit motibus ignes. A reader attending only the Orpheus and Eurydice wedding might feel that total catastrophe was inevitable, but Ovid's readers have already attended the Tereus and Procne wedding and can see that on this occasion Hymenaeus is at least (quidem) present, and, while the torches may not be burning very well, they have not been snatched by Furies from funeral pyres. Most commentators have seen little more than parody in this section; and there is no doubt that there is humour in, for instance, substituting quam satis ad superas postquam Rhodopeius auras \ defleuit uates (IO.II—12) 7 for Virgil's: flerunt Rhodopeiae arces... ipse caua solans aegrum restudine amorem te, dulcis coniunx, te solo in litore secum, te uenienre die, te decedent canebat. {Georgics 4.461, 464—6)8 Similarly, many readers may agree with Anderson (1972) 475 : the decision to plead with the powers of the Underworld, stated in a self-consciously rhetorical ne non temptaret (12), sounds more like flamboyance than serious mourning. Whereas Virgil prudently avoided the challenge of reproducing the ineffable song by which Orpheus conquered death, Ovid deliberately contrives a pompous, unconvincing speech, full of witty sophistication, devoid of true emotion. And yet, while there is no doubt that Ovid cannot resist humour, the whole story does not produce the brittle feeling that Anderson's words would suggest. Whereas Virgil gives a somewhat lofty account, Ovid tries to get inside his character. His Orpheus, for instance, had had a naive and superficial faith that his poetry would provide him with the necessary patientia: posse pati uolui nee me temptasse negabo: uicit Amor

(10.25—6)

and now even hopes to overcome death itself. He has not yet fully appreciated what has happened, his reactions are immature; he wonders whether Amor is known in the Underworld (10.26—7), a n ^ Ovid himself adds a hilarious touch with a wonderful description of Tantalus, Ixion, Tityus' vultures, the Danaids, Sisyphus and even the Eumenides all pausing in their labours or weeping at the sound of Orpheus' song. Compare Ovid's treatment with Virgil's: 127

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quin ipsae stupuere domus atque intima Leti Tartara caeruleosque implexae crinibus anguis Eumenides, tenuitque inhians tria Cerberus ora, (Georgics 4.481—4) atque Ixionii uento rota constitit orbis. exsangues flebant animae; nee Tantalus undam captauit refugam, stupuitque Ixionis orbis. nee carpsere iecur uolucres, urnisque uacarunt Belides, inque tuo sedisti, Sisyphe, saxo. tune primum lacrimis uictarum carmine fama est Eumenidum maduisse genas...

(10.41—6)

Clearly, he is offering a witty description of an especially favourable reaction to poetry; he is also playing with his own readers' recollections of the Virgilian model, but he has omitted Cerberus9 and added Tantalus, Tityos, the Danaids and Sisyphus and, more importantly, undercut any solemnity with the apostrophe to Sisyphus and the grotesque alliteration of that line; but to poke fun at the traditional images of death is not to poke fun at death itself. Then Eurydice herself appears, still limping from the snake bite.10 The condition on which he may recover Eurydice is spelt out to him and the penalty for failure made clear (10.50—2); suddenly, the mood changes and the young couple are in real earnest, a point instantly made by the sudden dignity of Rhodopeius Orpheus:

hanc simul et legem Rhodopeius accipit Orpheus, ne flectat retro sua lumina, donee Auernas exierit ualles; aut inrita dona futura. carpitur adcliuis per muta silentia trames, arduus, obscurus, caligine densus opaca, nee procul afuerunt telluris margine summae: hie ne deficeret metuens auidusque uidendi flexit amans oculos, et protinus ilia relapsa est.

(10.50—7)

At this point, the awesome nature of their situation comes home to them; song gives way to muta silentia and the steep, dark and difficult path is tellingly described: arduusy obscurus, caligine densus opaca. Again, the

contrast with Virgil is instructive: iamque pedem referens casus euaserat omnes, redditaque Eurydice superas ueniebat ad auras pone sequens (namque hanc dederat Proserpina legem), cum subita incautum dementia cepit amantem, 128

From Orpheus to ass's ears ignoscenda quidem, scirent si ignoscere Manes: restitit, Eurydicenque suam iam luce sub ipsa immemor heu! uictusque animi respexit. ibi omnis effusus labor atque immitis rupta tyranni foedera, terque fragor stagnis auditus Auernis. ilia * quis et me' inquit ' miseram et te perdidit, Orpheu, quis tantus furor?...' {Georgics 4.485—95) Virgil omits the journey up and encounters the couple only as they are about to arrive safely (while the condition they must keep is introduced as a parenthesis); the failure is attributed to dementia, and Orpheus, though amantem is also incautum and immemor; when he looks back it is because he is uictus animi though we do not know by what or by whom; even Eurydice asks * quis tantus furor?' There is a great gulf between the tone of Virgil's cum subita incautum dementia cepit amantem where the amantem is the victim of an unexplained subita dementia, and of Ovid's flexit amans oculos, where amans goes some way to explain and excuse the fatal turning round. The point emerges even more clearly in the contrast between Virgil's uictusque animi respexit and Ovid's flexit amans oculos. The truth is that Virgil does not know why Orpheus turned round and nor does his Eurydice; his interest is primarily in the emotional reaction of the spectator and the incomprehension of Eurydice.12 But Ovid and his Eurydice are interested in Orpheus and how he could come to make so catastrophic a mistake. Virgil can offer only the cool comfort of ignoscenda quidem, scirent si ignoscere Manes, which is, significantly, not about his Eurydice's reaction (she is, as we have seen, quite sharply critical) but the reaction of the spectator and of the gods; Ovid's Eurydice, on the other hand, really does forgive the natural result of a heartfelt but immature love: bracchiaque intendens prendique et prendere certans nil nisi cedentes infelix arripit auras, iamque iterum moriens non est de coniuge quicquam questa suo (quid enim nisi se quereretur amatam?) supremumque 'uale', quod iam uix auribus ille acciperet, dixit reuolutaque rursus eodem est. (10.58—63) Virgil gives Orpheus' reaction to this second disaster dignity and elevation, especially by the similes of smoke and of the nightingale who has lost her nest: dixit et ex oculis subito, ceu fumus in auras commixtus tenuis, fugit diuersa, neque ilium 129

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prensantem nequiquam umbras et multa uolentem (Georgics 4.499—502) dicere praeterea uidit... and by the pathos of: quid faceret? quo se rapta bis coniuge ferret? quo fletu Manes, quae numina uoce moueret? (Georgics 4-5°4-5) But Ovid's Orpheus is very different; his reaction to the original disaster was the incomprehension of immaturity; the second disaster has, at last, brought full understanding but the reaction is still immature and marked as such by Ovid's very different similes; not smoke and the nightingale but the petrifactions, first of an unknown man terrified by the sight of Cerberus, and then of Olenos and Lethaea, she because she had boasted of her beauty, and he because he loved her too much to be kept from her.13 In Virgil, Orpheus' celibacy seems natural: nulla Venus, non ulli animum flexere hymenaei : solus Hyperboreas glacies Tanaimque niualem aruaque Riphaeis numquam uiduata pruinis lustrabat, raptam Eurydicen atque inrita Ditis (Georgics 4.516—20) dona querens... whereas in Ovid, the same reaction is made to seem excessive and neurotic : septem tamen ille diebus squalidus in ripa Cereris sine munere sedit; cura dolorque animi lacrimaeque alimenta fuere. esse deos Erebi crudeles questus, in altam se recipit Rhodopen pulsumque aquilonibus Haemum. tertius aequoreis inclusum Piscibus annum finierat Titan, omnemque refugerat Orpheus femineam Venerem, seu quod male cesserat illi, siue fidem dederat; multas tamen ardor habebat iungere se uati, multae doluere repulsae. (10.73—82) Note, in addition to the obvious symptoms of neurosis added by Ovid (73—7), that his Orpheus is celibate for three years, while in Virgil the mourning lasts only seven months (Georgics 4.507),14 and also that Ovid's omnemque refugerat Orpheus \ femineam

Venerem (79—80) re-

sponds puzzlingly to Virgil's nulla Venus (G. 4.516) until: ille etiam Thracum populis fuit auctor amorem in teneros transferre mares citraque iuuentam aetatis breue uer et primos carpere flores. (10.83—5) 130

From Orpheus to ass's ears Here we must surely conclude that the reasons offered for his celibacy in 80—1 are not to be regarded as legitimate. Orpheus now settles down on a hill to sing to his lyre, but first, seeking shade, he uses, in sixteen lines (10.90—105), his well-known power to attract a range of trees. Finally, there comes the cypress tree which prompts Ovid to tell the unhappy story of Cyparissus (10.106—42). This too is a story of love: Apollo's love for the boy Cyparissus, and the boy's love for a stag he has accidentally killed after which, in spite of Apollo's pleas, he pines away till transformed into the cypress tree that, to this day, is associated with death. Anderson (1972) 482—3 writes: The boy's wild grief at the death of the beast constitutes an obvious parody of Orpheus' inconsolable passion for Eurydice. As a whole then, the story provides a light and clever transition from Orpheus' grief to beloved pueri. However, although Apollo's love for Cyparissus must be part of the chain, Orpheus' own pederasty (10.83—5) has already provided the link to prepare for his undertaking, puerosque canamus | dilectos superis (10.152—3), and it is hard to see any respect in which Cyparissus' mourning parodies Orpheus' unless it is to compare excessive mourning for a lost wife with that for a lost stag. It seems more promising to note that, like every other story told or alluded to since the beginning of Book io, 15 i.e. Tityus (43), Ixion (43—4, see also 9.123—4 and 12.504—6), the Danaids (44—5, see also 4.462—3), Sisyphus (44, see also 13.30—2), Olenos and Lethaea (68—71), Orpheus' pederasty (83—5), the Heliades (91, see also 2.340—3), and Cybele and Attis (104—5),16 this story too includes the themes (specifically referred to either here or elsewhere in the poem) of unorthodox love and/or excessive mourning. Thus we are well prepared for Orpheus' promise that his tales will all be about some form of unnatural love: nunc opus est leuiore lyra, puerosque canamus dilectos superis inconcessisque puellas ignibus attonitas meruisse libidine poenam. (10.152—4) Even so, it is striking to find a poem on Jupiter's rape of Ganymede (155—61) in fulfilment of the supremely conventional prayer (ab loue, Musa parens... carmina nostra moue, 148—9). Is it fanciful to suppose that Orpheus' choice of subject still reflects his disturbed state of mind after his loss, so vividly described above (10.64—85)? The telling of Jove's pederasty is, of course, related to Orpheus' own immediate recourse to pederasty. He continues with a third story of divine 131

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pederasty, Apollo's love for Hyacinth. Here, he makes the connection with himself closer still by referring to Apollo as meus... genitor (10.167), but the real connection is the guilt and sorrow Apollo feels for accidentally killing his beloved (185—99) where Eurydice's rejection of Orpheus' guilt (61 quid enim nisi se quereretur amatam?) is echoed in

Apollo's: quae mea culpa tamen, nisi si lusisse uocari culpa potest, nisi culpa potest et amasse uocari?17 (10.200—1) With the aid of another tenuous link (Sparta was proud of Hyacinth but Amathus was not proud of its sons or its daughters, 217—23), Orpheus passes to the Cerastae (224-37) and the Propoetides (238-42). The horn-bearing Cerastae desecrated the altars of Iuppiter Hospes with the blood of strangers and were punished not by Jupiter himself, as one might have expected, but by Venus, who considered withdrawing from the whole region but eventually decided that it would be more just to punish only the guilty; this she did by transforming them from horned men into complete bulls. Immediately after come the Propoetides; they are coupled with the Cerastae not only by the geographical link outlined above but also by the fact that both groups challenge divine authority and both are punished by Venus. The Propoetides were punished for denying Venus' divinity by being made the first prostitutes and, with the loss of their pudor, were transformed into flint. Commentators make the point that this story is the reverse of the Pygmalion story: in one, women are turned to flint and, in the next, ivory is turned into a woman.18 There is more than this superficial cleverness, but let it suffice for the moment that the Propoetides continue a sequence of stories that involve unnatural conduct and intervention by Venus. Next, Orpheus continues with the story of Pygmalion, who is so disgusted by the conduct of the Propoetides that he shuns all sex (245—6), as Orpheus himself had shunned all sex with women after his loss of Eurydice, and throws himself instead into sculpture. He makes a beautiful ivory woman and falls in love with her; once again, we have unnatural abstinence and unnatural love but, on this occasion, Pygmalion worships at Venus' festival and is rewarded by her (whereas the Propoetides had refused to do so and had been punished for it): Pygmalion's ivory statue is transformed into a living woman whom he marries. While there is unnatural conduct in this story, its outcome is happy, perhaps because Pygmalion has managed to combine his art with a respect for Venus, a combination irresistible to Orpheus and to Ovid. 132

From Orpheus to ass's ears Their union was blessed with a daughter, Paphos, and a grandson, Cinyras, and Orpheus goes on to relate the story of Cinyras and his daughter, Myrrha, though not before a parody of the procul hinc introductory formula to mystery, especially Orphic,19 ceremonies: dira canam; procul hinc natae, procul este parentes, aut mea si uestras mulcebunt carmina mentes, desit in hac mihi parte fides, nee credite factum, uel, si credetis, facti quoque credite poenam. si tamen admissum sinit hoc natura uideri... gratulor huic terrae, quod abest regionibus illis, quae tantum genuere nefas... ... tanti noua non fuit arbor, ipse negat nocuisse tibi sua tela Cupido, Myrrha, facesque suas a crimine uindicat isto; stipite te Stygio tumidisque adflauit echidnis e tribus una soror... (10.300—4, 306—7, 310—14) So elaborate an introduction clearly warns the reader to expect something remarkable; note in particular that, whereas Venus has had an important role to play in the stories of the Cerastae, of the Propoetides and of Pygmalion, here Cupid specifically denies all responsibility,20 and, whereas the torches at Orpheus' wedding had merely smoked and spluttered (10.6-7), this affair was ignited by a brand from the Furies, like those at Tereus' wedding (6.430). Myrrha has fallen in love with her father, so that here, certainly, Orpheus has returned to his theme of unnatural love that must be punished. Furthermore, just as Pygmalion's innocent desires were fulfilled because he attended and prayed at a festival of Venus, so Myrrha's perverted desires could be fulfilled only because Cenchreis, her mother, had attended Ceres' festival. To do so she was obliged temporarily to absent herself from Cinyras' bed, thus rendering him vulnerable to the nurse's suggestion that he might like a temporary replacement. As the nurse guides Myrrha to her father's bed, Orpheus treats his readers to a magnificent catalogue of evil omens and cannot resist putting into the nurse's mouth as she slips the girl beside her father: accipe... | ista tua est> Cinyra (463—4). The crime is repeated on the following nights and, eventually, curiosity persuades Cinyras to bring in a lamp and so, in Orpheus' words: uidit \ et scelus et natam (473—4). She escapes his sword and prays to any god who will listen that her child (for she has, of course, conceived) be spared the punishment 133

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she deserves. As a result, numen... aliquod transforms her into a myrrh tree which, with some difficulty, is in due time delivered of Adonis, a baby boy of surpassing beauty. At this point, Orpheus returns to Venus who, accidentally grazed by Cupid's arrow, falls in love with Adonis. She even dresses like Diana21 to join him in the chase and warns him to avoid boars and other dangerous animals. She then tells him the story of Atalanta and Hippomenes beautifully and wittily; once again, we have a story where Venus takes control; she is faced by Atalanta's hesitation as to whether she should pick up the apple and so become Hippomenes' wife: an peteret uirgo uisa est dubitare: coegi tollere et adieci sublato pondera malo inpediique oneris pariter grauitate moraque.

(10.676—8)

Her narrative makes it plain both that she was largely responsible for the outcome and that the story is a pointed one: dignane cui grates ageret, cui turis honorem ferret, Adoni, fui? nee grates inmemor egit, nee mihi tura dedit. subitam conuertor in iram, contemptuque dolens, ne sim spernenda futuris, exemplo caueo meque ipsa exhortor in ambos.

(10.681—5)

Because the lovers had not thanked her, Venus punished them by enticing them to make love in Cybele's temple so that, for their desecration, Cybele would turn them into lions. Adonis, however, as Venus' earlier warning to him should have made us suspect, fails not from ingratitude to Venus but from disobedience to her. Ignoring her advice, he hunts a boar and is fatally gored by it. Her only consolation is to transform his blood into an anemone. Thus ends Book 10, and Orpheus' catalogue of loves, a catalogue that reveals how precarious love is: only Pygmalion has succeeded, through a combination of his art and his respect for Venus. Why then have Orpheus and Eurydice failed? Is his art not the equal of Pygmalion's, were they not both in love, and did he not show great respect for the gods? We turn to Book 11. The book opens with the women we left at 10.81—2, still angry at being rebuffed by Orpheus the mourning widower. They go from complaint to assault but, whatever rock or weapon they throw is enchanted by his wondrous songs and falls harmlessly upon the ground. Eventually, however, they turn to the wild, crazed music of the Berecyntian flute and the Bacchic orgy which drowns Orpheus' song22 134

From Orpheus to ass's ears so that their missiles do at last reach their target. The women then grasp a variety of weapons23 to dispatch and dismember Orpheus until his head, thrown into the river, is heard to sing not, as in Virgil, Eurydicen... | a miseram Eurydicen (Georgics 4.523—7) but, more simply \flebile nescioquid (11.50—3). That there is an element of parody in that change can hardly be denied; and yet we are bound to feel that Orpheus has learnt much from the catalogue of affairs he has sung to us; he is no longer the immature boy who lost his beloved because of youthful ardour and who responded to his loss so petulantly. It might, indeed, not be easy to know what he was saying now, and Ovid does not try.24 Instead, after yet another petrifaction,25 he tells us of Orpheus' return to the Underworld and his reunion with Eurydice : inuenit Eurydicen cupidisque amplectitur ulnis; hie modo coniunctis spatiantur passibus ambo, nunc praecedentem sequitur, nunc praeuius anteit Eurydicenque suam, iam tuto, respicit Orpheus.

(11.63—6)

Of course there is humour here as, indeed, there has been throughout. But is there not a more serious point too ? It is a vulgar assumption that has caused much misunderstanding of Ovid that verbal wit and sensitivity (like maiestas et amor) cannot dwell together. Orpheus had set out to challenge the Underworld with the power of love: uicit [sc. me] Amor, supera deus hie bene notus in ora est; an sit et hie dubito: sed et hie tamen auguror esse... (10.26-7)

and now his art and his love have indeed triumphed there; together they have achieved that most ancient and most primitive ambition, the conquest of death, though not, perhaps, precisely as they had hoped. And this happy scene is to be contrasted not just with Virgil's bleak end to the Orpheus story but also with his rather austere picture of Dido and Sychaeus reunited in the Underworld {Aeneid 6.450—74), a scene already conjured up at 10.49. Even the Ovidian enthusiast hesitates to set that sublime passage beside the cheerful reunion of Orpheus and Eurydice; and yet we must dare to hope with Ovid that if there is a place in the Underworld for the sad and passionate Dido and her Sychaeus, there may also be a place for those with a pure and uncomplicated love. This particular narrative is finally completed by Apollo, who punishes the frenzied women by turning them into oak trees (11.67—84); once again, as the language stresses, the punishment for insensitivity is to be turned into something hard : 135

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et conata femur maerenti plangere dextra robora percussit, pectus quoque robora fiunt, robora sunt umeri...

(11.81—3)

In a carmen perpetuum, there is a natural temptation to be drawn on and on, a temptation which, in an essay like this, must eventually be resisted. And yet, there is an epilogue to the Orpheus story which we should not omit. Bacchus too believes that the Thracian crimes need punishment and, just as Venus had originally thought to punish the Cerastae by withdrawing altogether (10.228—30), so Bacchus truly does punish the Thracians by withdrawing to Timolus and Pactolus (11.85—7). There all would have been well but for the absence of Silenus, who had been kidnapped by local rustics to take to Midas, their king. He, trained as he had been by Orpheus in the rites of Bacchus, took the opportunity presented by Silenus' presence to organise a ten-day festival. On the eleventh day he returned Silenus to Bacchus, who offered him a choice of reward (11.88-99). Midas, like Phaethon before him (2.44-52), chooses most unwisely. The story is familiar enough, but there is a particular feature of the way that Ovid tells it that deserves especial mention. For the first fifteen lines (11.106—20), Midas is delighted: the section begins: laetus abit gaudetgue malo Berecyntius heros26 and ends: gaudenti mensas posuere ministri \ exstructas dapibus nee tostae frugis

egentes, and it is the reference to food that introduces the context in which Midas will realise his folly: turn uero, siue ille sua Cerealia dextra munera contigerat, Cerealia dona rigebant, siue dapes auido conuellere dente parabat, lammina fulua dapes admoto dente premebat...

(11.121—4)

Once again, it is hardness that characterises the punishment, either the hardness of the gold itself or the uncomfortable effects of its hardness. He repents, is forgiven and sent to be cured by washing in the river (which is why, even to this day, according to Ovid, you can pan for gold in the Lydian rivers). Midas has learnt the folly of a lust for gold but he is still a fool (pingue sed ingenium mansit, 11.148), as was soon to be revealed when Pan challenged Apollo to a singing contest iudice sub Tmolo (11.156). This delightful pun, for the phrase is ambiguous as between the geographical situation and the judicial arrangements,27 prepares the way for Ovid's next tour deforce, the pastiche of Virgil's description of Atlas (Aeneid 4.246— 51), in which Virgil's subtle confusion between mountain and man is made deliberately and humorously grotesque: 136

From Orpheus to ass's ears monte suo senior iudex consedit et aures liberat arboribus: quercu coma caerula tantum cingitur, et pendent circum caua tempora glandes... ... post hunc sacer ora retorsit Tmolus ad os Phoebi: uultum sua silua secuta est. ( n . 157 — 9, 163-4) Of course, this delightfully cheerful passage suits the mood. This is not a contest like the ones most foolishly embarked on by Arachne (6.246°.) or Marsyas (6.3826°.) with catastrophic outcomes; nor is Midas guilty of an unnatural lust like so many of the doomed subjects of Book 10. Midas will be humiliated but he will not be destroyed. There is no way of knowing whether Ovid's pastiche of Virgil betrays a judgement akin to that of so many modern editors ; 28 what it most certainly does, as did his treatment of Virgil's Orpheus, is to remind us of Ovid's interest in how poetry should be received. Midas' stupid preference for Pan over Apollo is an affront; but Midas is a fool (pingue sed ingenium mansii) and not a knave and so his punishment is not destruction but to be given the ears of the ass, traditionally the least musical animal of all.29 So hazardous is life that even Orpheus' poetry and dedication to his love could only just overcome the obstacles before him, and even so with a price exacted. Love without art, art without love are doomed; and artistic insensitivity, even in the case of Orpheus' pupil, will not go unpunished. If there is one thing we have all learnt from our dedicatee it is to be a careful and attentive audience of the texts that we study. Neither he nor Orpheus can claim that every student and every colleague has entirely escaped the curse of ass's ears, but surely there can be no one who has known David West and not been alerted to the danger and helped to escape it.

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P O E T AND A U D I E N C E IN SENECAN T R A G E D Y Phaedra 358—430

Plautus (like his Greek predecessors) occasionally breaks the dramatic illusion and addresses the spectators directly in a gesture of comic inappropriateness.1 That is theatrical farce, and only has its place in a theatre — Plautus clearly did not envision his plays as being read. It is quite different with Seneca, and I want to use this auspicious occasion to examine his relationship with an audience.

In much of the poetry that was composed from the time of Catullus to the death of Horace, the reader/audience is an eavesdropper; he or she overhears a private conversation in which the poet speaks with another person or with himself. Such poetry is often overtly presented as confessional, so that what is revealed purports to be in some sense private to the poet. This is a form of composition peculiarly suited to the type of autobiographical love-poetry that Catullus invented. That poetic stance was adopted also by Propertius in Books 1—3, by Tibullus, and by Horace in Odes 1—3 (and in a few personal odes in Book 4). There are, of course, exceptions. Propertius 3.18, the funeral elegy for Marcellus, is, I suspect, to be envisioned as being actually delivered viva voce by the poet at the funeral ceremony; and that is why Marcellus' name does not occur in the text (and is only imported into it by emendation with great awkwardness).2 Similarly, I see Propertius 4.6, the poem designed to celebrate the battle of Actium at the ceremonies in the Palatine temple of Apollo in 16 B.C., as actually delivered by the poet in front of the temple. That is why he adopts the pose of priest celebrating a sacrifice at the beginning of the poem (the sacrifice is the poem that he is composing as he speaks) and the pose of celebrant at a symposiastic feast at the end (at which the kind of poetry that he is composing is also relevant); that movement followed the actual progression of the ceremonies themselves. 138

Poet and audience in Senecan tragedy Ovid introduced a major change here with his very earliest work. In the Amores the poet envisages an audience present in front of him, and he interacts with that audience by means of hints and winks and all the gestural repertory of a stand-up comic. This is the situation with all of Ovid's writings — with due adjustments made for different genres. The poet is a speaker who stands in a real sense detached from what he is saying and who communicates with the audience over the heads of his characters, whether those characters are mythic or friends or even the poet himself. That technique, transposed into the form of drama, is the situation that Seneca constructs in his tragedies, and I want to analyse it in a remarkable sequence of scenes from his Phaedra.

The Chorus has just performed a highly ornate ode, filled with mythological illustrations, on the power of love. At this moment the Nurse appears, and the Chorus questions her on the condition of Phaedra (358-86):

NUTR.

Altrix, profare quid feras; quonam in loco est regina? saeuis ecquis est flammis modus? Spes nulla tantum posse leniri malum, finisque flammis nullus insanis erit. torretur aestu tacito et inclusus quoque, quamuis tegatur, proditur uultu furor; erumpit oculis ignis et lassae genae lucem recusant; nil idem dubiae placet, artusque uarie iactat incertus dolor: nunc ut soluto labitur moriens gradu et uix labante sustinet collo caput; nunc se quieti reddit et, somni immemor, noctem querelis ducit; attolli iubet iterumque poni corpus et solui comas rursusque fingi. semper impatiens sui mutatur habitus, nulla iam Cereris subit cura aut salutis; incerto uadit pede, iam uiribus defecta; non idem uigor, non ora tinguens nitida purpureus rubor; populatur artus cura; iam gressus tremunt; tenerque nitidi corporis cecidit decor; et qui ferebant signa Phoebeae facis oculi nihil gentile nee patrium micant;

360

365

370

375

380 139

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lacrimae cadunt per ora et assiduo genae rore irrigantur, qualiter Tauri iugis tepido madescunt imbre percussae niues. Sed en! patescunt regiae fastigia. reclinis ipsa sedis auratae toro solitos amictus mente non sana abnuit.

385

CHORUS. Nurse, tell us your news. What is the queen s situation ? Is there any limiting the cruel fires? NURSE. There is no prospect that her enormous suffering can be soothed, and there will be no end to the insane fires. She is being scorched by an unheardfurnace, and the madness enclosed within, though it is concealed, is betrayed on her face; fire erupts from her eyes, and her exhausted pupils shun the light; never settling, she likes nothing long (365)^ and a shifting ache keeps her limbs jerking about. At one time, like a dying person, she sinks down, with her legs collapsing, and she scarce holds up her head as her neck gives way; at another time, she lies down to rest and, uninterested in sleep, draws out the night with moans. She orders her body to be raised up (370) and again to be put down, and her hair to be let loose and again to be plaited; unable to bear herself, she keeps having her clothes changed. No interest in food comes to her, nor in her health; she moves with hesitant step, now robbed of her strength ; gone is her old liveliness, (375) and the rosy warmth that suffused her glowing cheeks; anxiety is laying waste her limbs; her steps are tremulous; and the soft beauty of her glowing body has disappeared; and her eyes that bore the traces of the flame of Phoebus show no sign of the family s nor her father's gleam; (380) tears stream down her face and her cheeks are irrigated with a continuous dew, as on the ridges of the Taurus the snows become liquid when they are pounded by a warm rain. But seel the upper storey of the palace is being opened. She herself, lying back on the cushions of her gilded couch, (385) rejects her normal clothing, her mind quite out of its senses. The Chorus' simple questions in 358—9, for which they transfer from Horatian sapphic lyrics to the iambic senarii of dialogue, elicit an extraordinary speech from the Nurse. After answering the Chorus' questions in two lines, she launches on a detailed analysis of Phaedra's condition. In eleven and a half lines (362^73) she presents a careful psychological analysis; then, in the following ten and a half lines 140

Poet and audience in Senecan tragedy (373—83), she exhaustively enumerates the physical symptoms. The two analyses are arranged in a clever counterpoint, so that psychological symptoms are paralleled by corresponding physical symptoms, as far as possible. However, an exact parallel to Phaedra's constant dissatisfaction with her appearance was not available; instead, Seneca has cleverly substituted her catastrophic physical decline (375—80). For this reason the lines 377—8 should not be deleted as interpolated. Leo was the first to remove them, and Zwierlein supplies the reason that these two lines are 'a flat paraphrase of 374-76\ 3 But this is characteristic Senecan expansiveness: her former liveliness has gone, the colour has gone from her cheeks, her limbs are wasted, her legs shake, and the soft beauty of her glowing body has been lost, and her eyes show nothing of her Sun-God father's fire. The repetition of nitida... nitidi is deliberate; erotic writers use this adjective to express the sex-appeal of a healthy and well-endowed woman's body. Phaedra is no longer the sexually attractive woman that she used to be — and she is only too aware of that herself. This is an element that is totally missing from the Phaedra of Euripides, and it makes her tragically, even ironically, pathetic as she tries to excite the young man in Seneca's play. But, before we leave this textual problem, there is a further point to be made. The verb populatur (377) draws attention to itself by the striking and unusual force of the metaphor, derived from an army laying waste a countryside. The only other play in which the verb appears is Agamemnon 603, where it is used in its basic sense. But the verb is used three times in Phaedra. Zwierlein, in identifying 377—8 as interpolated, sees the same interpolator using the same verb in the choral ode 279—80.4 He depends on a more general theory that an interpolator expanded on Seneca's representation of Phaedra's Liebesglut ('ardour'). 5 The theory is too wide to discuss here, but these two instances should at least give us pause. It is true that both are repetitive in their contexts, but that is a basic feature of Seneca's tragic style, especially in choral odes. The word populatur, used by the Chorus of the effect of the poison injected by Cupid's arrow as a universal feature of love, is taken up in a precise way by the Nurse to express the special effect of Phaedra's starving herself. Repetition of striking metaphors in individual plays as a deliberate thematic link is frequent in Senecan tragedy.6 It is further important that the closest parallel to the use of the verb here is in Ovid (Medicamina Faciei Femineae 45 : formam populabitur aetas). In Phaedra

the third occurrence is most significant. The Messenger is approaching the climax of his enormous description of Hippolytus' death, as the young man is being dragged by his own horses over the rocky terrain 141

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(1094—6): auferunt dumi comas, \ et ora durus pulchra populatur lapis, \

peritque multo uulnere infelix decor (' the briars shear off his hair, and the hard rock devastates his handsome face, and his ill-starred beauty vanishes under many a wound'). The words echo the destruction of Phaedra's beauty in 377-8, and the irony is sharp that it is Phaedra, besotted by his beauty, who is the agent of its destruction, as of her own. This is parallel to the imagery of the hunter hunted (expressing Phaedra's pursuit of Hippolytus). But, to return to the Nurse's analysis, the question arises: To whom is this long speech really addressed? When Euripides sought to convey physical and psychological degeneration, as in the opening scene of his Medea, he did it in the form of a series of questions and answers between the Nurse and the Tutor, both of whom are vitally concerned with Medea's decline. That is, the world of the stage is closed and separate, and the audience is a privileged eavesdropper. But Seneca's audience is not isolated from the world of the characters; it is closer to being a participant, and long speeches frequently turn into soliloquies in which the poet directly operates on the audience. The Chorus' questions (358—9) were purely formal; nobody else happened to be available to trigger the Nurse's speech. Seneca was responding to the fascination with female distress as a literary theme, to which his much admired predecessor Ovid had made many conspicuous contributions throughout his works. The Nurse now ends her speech by calling attention to Phaedra herself now revealed on the balcony of the palace, and it is she who speaks (387-403).

Remouete, famulae, purpura atque auro inlitas uestes; procul sit muricis Tyrii rubor, quae fila ramis ultimi Seres legunt; breuis expeditos zona constringat sinus, ceruix monile uacua, nee niueus lapis deducat auris, Indici donum maris; odore crinis sparsus Assyrio uacet — sic temere iactae colla perfundant comae umerosque summos, cursibus motae citis uentos sequantur. laeua se pharetrae dabit, hastile uibret dextra Thessalicum manus — talis seueri mater Hippolyti fuit. 142

390

395

Poet and audience in Senecan tragedy qualis relictis frigidi Ponti plagis egit cateruas Atticum pulsans solum Tanaitis aut Maeotis et nodo comas coegit emisitque, lunata latus protecta pelta, talis in siluas ferar!

400

Strip from me, slaves, the purple and the garments threaded with gold; away with the red dye of the Tyrian shellfish, the threads that the most remote Chinese collect from branches; a narrow belt must catch up these free-flowing folds, (390) my throat must be free from a necklace, and no snowy gem must drag down my ears, a treasure from India's seas, my hair, set loose, must be without Assyrian perfume —yes, like this my hair, tossed at random, must sweep down my neck and over the top of my shoulders, and, streaming out as I race swiftly along, (395) it must trail out in the wind. My left hand shall devote itself to a quiver, my right hand must brandish a Thessalian spear — that was just what puritanical Hippolytus' mother was like! Like a woman from the Tanais or Maeotis, who, abandoning the flatlands of the frozen Black Sea, has driven her horde, thundering over the soil of Attica, (400) and has had her hair tied and streaming out, her side protected by a crescent shield, like that shall I race into the woods.

This carefully crafted speech gives a practical demonstration of some of what the Nurse has been saying. Three lines (387—9) order the removal of Phaedra's usual clothing. The next four lines (390—3) appear to give positive orders for her attire, but, after an injunction for a narrow belt to gird up her skirts, she reverts to the negative as necklace and earrings are to be removed and her hair, let loose, is not to be perfumed. The word sic (394) shows that the previous lines actually performed the letting-down of her hair, as she now shakes it freely and goes on to envisage how it will stream behind her as she races along. She now arms herself (396—7), and the transition from the future dabit to the iussive subjunctive uibret shows that she is to be imagined as actually taking up these weapons as she speaks. The next line (398) was deleted by Heinsius as an interpolation, and that lead was followed by Leo and Zwierlein (and others). The main reason is the supposed awkwardness of talis (398) followed by an uncoordinated qualis (399) that is, in fact, coordinated with a later talis (403).7 This seems certainly mistaken, but it needs further discussion. In his commentary on Phaedra of 1924 Kunst added the objection that Phaedra has no business blurting out the name of Hippolytus at this 143

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point. There would be some force to this argument if she is to be envisioned strictly as addressing her slaves (387 famulae). But, as is normal with Seneca, a major character may begin by addressing someone on stage; almost immediately, however, the speech becomes more of a soliloquy, as if there were no-one else present. This technique enables Seneca to communicate with his audience over the heads, as it were, of the characters; in particular, he uses the technique to reveal the real thoughts of a major character. As Phaedra goes detail by detail over her attire, the thought suddenly occurs to her that Antiope, the mother of Hippolytus, looked exactly as she, Phaedra, does now. This then forms a transition to an extraordinary simile in which she sees herself as an Amazon who has invaded the countryside of Attica with her band of followers — that will be how she will race into the woods. This simile is closely integrated with its context — the details are not just ornamental. For Phaedra to be an Amazon like Antiope, she must come from a faroff region like the plains of the Tanais. But she is, of course, also in Athens, so it will be the woods of Attica that she will actually race into. There are subtle thematic ironies here that are characteristic of Senecan rhetoric. Phaedra hopes that her likeness to Antiope will make Hippolytus fall in love with her; but Hippolytus, talking with the Nurse in the scene that follows, says (578—9): solamen unum matris amissae few I odisse quod iam feminas omnis licet (' I have one single consolation for the loss of my mother — that I can now hate women, one and all'). The Nurse has just illustrated the power of love by pointing out that even savage creatures like Amazons fall in love, but Hippolytus' devastating reply ironically picks up Phaedra's vain hope: while his mother was alive, Hippolytus had to feel love for one woman, but, with her dead, he is free to hate them all, without exception. That irony is available to the audience, not to the characters. A further irony picks up Phaedra's simile. When Hippolytus feels polluted because Phaedra has touched him, he screams (715—16): quis eluet me Tanais aut quae barbaris \ Maeotis undis Pontico incumbens mari (' What Tanais will wash me clean or what Maeotis, pressing upon the Pontic sea with its barbarian waves?'). Compounding these ironies is the fact that Hippolytus, holding the fainting Phaedra in his arms, in fact addresses her as ' Mother' (608), but does not make the slightest remark on her extraordinary garb. And, finally, in Phaedra's wish to look identical to Hippolytus' mother, there is the irony that, dressed as she is as a huntress, it is, of course, the hunter Hippolytus who is her quarry. 144

Poet and audience in Senecan tragedy So Phaedra's sudden recall of Hippolytus' mother in line 398 should not be deleted as an interpolation. It is a discreet evocation of the theme of incest for the benefit of the audience. There is always a distinct coyness in Seneca's treatment of sexual activity in all his works, from the tragedies to the Apocolocyntosis. The explicitness of Petronius is at the opposite extreme. Seneca seems both prurient and prudish; he is happy to indulge righteous indignation at sexual behaviour he condemns,8 but otherwise his approach is hinting and oblique. So the references to the anticipated pleasures of incest here. So too the treatment of Theseus in the play. For Seneca altered the usual version of the legend, in which Theseus is absent either in exile as a means of purification after a killing, or to consult the oracle at Delphi. In Seneca's Phaedra Theseus has gone (long enough ago to be now considered dead —218—21 and 596—9) with Pirithous to abduct Persephone from the Underworld. This may have been the version used by Sophocles in his Phaidra? The relationship between Theseus and Pirithous is hinted to be homosexual by Phaedra (91—2): profugus en I coniunx abest \ praestatque nuptae quam solet fidem (' See! my runaway husband is gone, and Theseus displays to his bride his usual faithfulness'). And again (96—8): per git furoris socius, haud ilium timor \ pudorue tenuit; stupra et illicitos toros \ Acheronte in imo quaerit Hippolyti pater (' On he marches, allied in lust; neither fear nor shame has held him back; the father of Hippolytus is after illicit sex and stolen affairs in the depths of Hades!'). She follows this up in 244: the Nurse says to her aderit maritus (' Your husband will be here'), and she replies sarcastically nempe Pirithoi comes (' You mean, of course, the companion of Pirithous'). Phaedra also hints delicately to Hippolytus himself that Theseus had actually been the catamite of Minos in Crete (654—6): tuaeque Phoebes uultus aut Phoebi mei, \ tuusue potius — talis, en! talisfuit \ cumplacuit hosti, sic tulit celsum caput (' He [Theseus] had the features of your Diana or of my Apollo — or your features, rather — like you, yes! like you he was when he gave pleasure to his enemy, so high he held his head'). The noun hosti is usually interpreted as Ariadne; but far more appropriate is the version of the legend told by Athenaeus (60IF) that Minos gave up his hostility to Athens because he fell in love with Theseus and that, in consequence, he gave Phaedra in marriage to Theseus.10 Again the obliquity of the phrasing is characteristic. But it needs a learned audience to catch the witty point. Finally, this approach may be used to resolve an intractable problem. In 824—8 the Chorus condemns Phaedra's manufacture of fake evidence against Hippolytus. Then suddenly they see a strange figure (829-34): 145

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sed iste quisnam est regium in uultu decus gerens et alto uertice attollens caput? ut ora iuueni paria Pirithoo gerit, ni languido pallore canderent genae staretque recta squalor incultus coma! en! ipse Theseus redditus terris adest. But who is that person who bears a kingly beauty in his face and who holds his head high upon his neck? How like to the young Pirithous is the face he bears, were his cheeks not ashen with the pallor of prison, and his hair stiff with unwashed dirt! Look! Theseus is here in person, restored to earth!

What is Pirithous doing here? Various emendations have been tried, in the absence of a satisfactory response; the cleverest was by Damste (1918) 198—9, who emended Pirithoo to Pittheo. Pittheus was the ruler of Troezen, and his daughter was Theseus' mother. So iuueni... Pittheo would mean 'Theseus'. This could be right: a careless copyist changed an unfamiliar into a familiar name. But for the Athenian Chorus to describe Theseus in Troezenian terms is very far-fetched; it would be different if the play were set in Troezen, as is Euripides' Hippolytus; but Seneca changed that himself to Athens. It only adds to the oddity to describe him in terms of his mother's father. The Senecan Chorus does not exercise this kind of Alexandrian obliquity when it speaks in senarii (nor does Seneca indulge in pointless mythological obscurity in senarii). If we retain Pirithoo, the Chorus recalls the last time they saw Theseus — he was with Pirithous. They remember him as just as handsome as the young Pirithous, and the word paria, meaning ' equivalent to' or ' mate of, invites the audience to use the ambiguity to speculate on the erotic relationship of Theseus to Pirithous.11 They were a fine, well-matched pair. The erotic interest of Theseus in Pirithous is as obliquely treated as Phaedra's hope that Hippolytus will be won over by the spice of mother—son incest. Seneca is communicating with his audience over the heads of his characters.

4

When Phaedra races off into the woods, the Chorus addresses the Nurse, and the scene takes an unexpected turn (404—30): CHORUS.

Sepone questus: non leuat miseros dolor; agreste placa uirginis numen deae.

146

405

Poet and audience in Senecan tragedy NUTR.

CHORUS. NURSE.

Regina nemorum, sola quae montes colis at una solis montibus coleris dea, conuerte tristes ominum in melius minas. o magna siluas inter et lucos dea, clarumque caeli sidus et noctis decus, cuius relucet mundus alterna uice, Hecate triformis, en! ades coeptis fauens. animum rigentem tristis Hippolyti doma: det faciles aures; mitiga pectus ferum : amare discat, mutuos ignes ferat; innecte mentem: toruus auersus ferox in iura Veneris redeat. hue uires tuas intende: sic te lucidi uultus ferant et nube rupta cornibus puris eas, sic te regentem frena nocturni aetheris detrahere numquam Thessali cantus queant nullusque de te gloriam pastor ferat. Ades inuocata, iam faue uotis, dea ipsum intueor sollemne uenerantem sacrum nullo latus comitante... quid dubitas? dedit tempus locumque casus, utendum artibus. trepidamus? haud est facile mandatum scelus audere, uerum iusta qui reges timet deponat, omne pellat ex animo decus : malus est minister regii imperii pudor.

410

415

420

425

430

Put aside your moaning; grief is no help to the afflicted. Win over the woodland divinity of the virgin goddess. Queen of the forests, you who alone cherish the mountains, and alone are revered as goddess by the lonely mountains, convert to the better the grim threats of the omens. O you who are a mighty goddess in the woods and groves, and a shining star in the heavens and the glory of the night, (410) by whose alternation (with the sun) the world lights up again, three-formed Hecate, look! be present to help this undertaking. Bend the unyielding will of grim Hippolytus: make him give ready ear (to my suggestions); soften his wild heart: make him learn to love, make him suffer shared passion; (415) ensnare his heart: savage, full of hate, cruel, make him duly come under the jurisdiction of Venus. To this purpose direct your power: and, in return, may a shining face bear you on and may you travel 147

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with crescent horns undimmed through broken cloud; in return, may Thessalian spells never be able to draw you down as you guide the reins of heaven by night, (420) and may no shepherd boast himself at your expense. [She catches sight of Hippolytus.] You are present to help me as I invoked you, now show favour to my prayers, goddess — I see the man himself performing his usual rites, with no companion at his side... What are you waiting for ? (425) Chance has provided time and place —you must use your clever tricks. Are we frightened? It is no easy thing to dare the crime commanded you, but he who fears despots must set aside justice, must expel all decency from his heart: morality is a poor servant of a tyrant's authority.

The Chorus' brief commands are a mere device to motivate the prayer that follows. This displays the combination of cleverness and wit that characterises all Seneca's writing. It is a formal prayer to the virgin Diana that purports to address her in all her guises (except that of goddess of childbirth - even Seneca's ingenuity could not make that relevant); this careful exhaustiveness is normal in such prayers, but here it has a hidden agenda. For there is a hilarious element in this solemn ritual: the Nurse is asking the virgin goddess, who shuns the male sex (except for her brother Apollo), to make Hippolytus, her devotee, fall in love with his stepmother. How could that possibly be made plausible ? Seneca achieves this by a witty metonymic movement of ideas. The Nurse addresses her first as the huntress, goddess of the woods, then as the moon-goddess, and finally as Hecate, the chthonic deity associated with the Underworld. But there is another aspect to Hecate that is not mentioned directly, only obliquely in lines 421—2: Hecate was the goddess of witchcraft, and witches were the favoured resort for disappointed lovers (in literature as well as in life) — in fact, the Una (Madam) regularly combined the talents and expertise of pimp and witch.12 Moreover, nurses were particularly prone to act as go-betweens.13 Seneca has made the hilarious inappropriateness plausibly appropriate by a sophisticated appeal to literary convention. But Seneca privileges his audience to that plausibility over the Nurse's head. She is no literary sophisticate; in fact, she places no further trust in the goddess, for she lapses straight into soliloquy, exhorting herself to be brave and cunning. I have translated ades (423) as an indicative: that is, the Nurse interprets the arrival of Hippolytus as a sign of the goddess's presence, and iam focuses the imperative faue (the good omen is certainly welcome, but real help is now needed). This is

148

Poet and audience in Senecan tragedy where she is unsophisticated; her sophistication lies in her adeptness at manipulating her superiors. In 1933 Friedrich put forward an ingenious defence for accepting the attribution of 404—5 to the Nurse, found in one branch of the MS tradition.14 He drew the consequence from this attribution that the lines are addressed to Phaedra and that it is therefore Phaedra who delivers the prayer to Diana. Then 425—6 become an order to the Nurse to go to work on Hippolytus, and the Nurse only speaks 427—30. The difficulties caused by this hypothesis in 423—30 are great, and it has not found much acceptance. Friedrich, however, starts from the observation that questus (404) cannot be addressed to the Nurse, since she has not been moaning, and that the word can only apply to Phaedra. But when Hippolytus catches sight of the Nurse, he says to her (431—3): quid hue seniles fessa moliris gradus, | o fida nutrix, turbidam frontem gerens \ et maesta uultu? (' Why are you wearily plying your aged steps hither, O devoted Nurse, displaying a care-worn brow and misery on your face?'). Friedrich's claim cannot stand, and, in fact, it becomes clear from Hippolytus' words that the Nurse's speech 360—83 was delivered not in a clinically objective style but in a tone of deep depression. Thus the whole hypothesis of Friedrich can be dismissed on the basis of the interpretation of the prayer put forward above; for only the Nurse can wittily be manipulated by Seneca into playing the part of a lena\ it is totally impossible with Phaedra, and Seneca's clever shaping of the prayer for the paradoxical purpose of enlisting the virgin Diana's assistance on behalf of a Una and in the interest of her enemy Venus would be ruined. In that brilliant invention, as in so much else that is the product of his fertile wit, Seneca speaks directly to his audience, though he uses the Nurse's voice.

149

J. G. F. POWELL

IO

PERSIUS' FIRST SATIRE A re-examination

Persius is generally taken to present greater than average difficulties of interpretation to the modern reader, and it is often said or implied that this is due to intrinsic obscurity. However, we can hardly be justified in asserting this until we have considered the question of his intended audience, and his intelligibility or otherwise from their point of view. If it appears that his original readers did not find him obscure, then we must conclude that our difficulties in reading him are due, not to any fault in him, but to the fact that we do not share his background of knowledge and ideas. If it appears that his contemporaries found him as obscure as we do, then and only then shall we be justified in condemning him to the flames for his unintelligibility, as St Jerome is said to have done.1 Persius was a Roman satirist writing under Nero. What we know of his life and personality comes from the ancient biography transmitted with the text of the satires: a document which, unlike some other ancient lives of poets, bears all the marks of authenticity and accuracy.2 He was a young man of aristocratic Etruscan descent, with strong intellectual leanings. He belonged to the upper classes of society, mixing on companionable terms with some of the most important men in Rome, though it seems that he was rather aloof from public life. He chose to write in the genre of satire, which traditionally included comment on contemporary life and society as an almost necessary ingredient, and is (at least ostensibly) aimed largely at the author's contemporaries and equals. Given all this, it seems likely, even before we open Persius' book, that he would have aimed primarily to entertain members of his own social class who shared his literary interests. Satire is a self-conscious genre. Roman satirists have a tendency to tell us precisely what classes of person they wish to have as readers — or not to have.3 Persius does this at the end of his first satire, in the following terms (lines 126-34): 150

Persius' first satire Inde uaporata lector mihi ferueat aure, non hie qui in crepidas Graiorum ludere gestit sordidus, et lusco qui possit dicere * lusce', sese aliquem credens, Italo quod honore supinus fregerit heminas Arreti aedilis iniquas, nee qui abaco numeros et secto in puluere metas scit risisse uafer, multum gaudere paratus si cynico barbam petulans nonaria uellat. his mane edictum, post prandia Callirhoen do.

130

I'd like my reader to effervesce from this [sc. my writing, with ear well steamed — not one who is aching to make cheap jokes at Greek bootsy the sort who is able to call a one-eyed man ' One-eye' to his face, who thinks he s somebody because he was once Town Clerk at AreffOy resting on the laurels of municipal office, and destroying short pint-measures; nor the man who is so clever that he knows how to laugh at the numbers on an abacus, or at cones drawn in the dust, prepared for great joy should a bold showgirl happen to pull a Cyvic s beard. For these my prescription is the Edict in the morning, and a good romantic novel after lunch.

Persius here excludes from his favoured audience the following types of person : (a) (b) (c) (d)

Those with a taste for crude xenophobic jokes. Those who enjoy making obvious insulting comments about personal appearance. Self-important local dignitaries. Those who make fun of intellectual pursuits, and like to see philosophers subjected to minor indignities.

For these — the crude, the self-important and the anti-intellectual — Persius prescribes the Praetor's Edict, a dry legal document to suit their literal-mindedness; and, for afternoon relaxation, Callirhoe* perhaps a tale of romantic adventure, to suit their unsophisticated and selfindulgent literary tastes. From this it follows that Persius aims to appeal to the sophisticated reader. He says that he wishes his reader to Effervesce' as a result of imbibing the strong, concentrated brew of his satires; in the previous line he had invited the discerning reader to judge whether he has come across anything * better boiled down' (decoctius). The reader should have his ear ' well steamed' (uaporata... aure). We might say * well syringed' :

J. G. F. POWELL

the meaning is that the ear should be alert and free of obstructions. All this is perfectly apt. Persius' brew is indeed concentrated: he moves quickly, and crowds a great deal of meaning into a few words. One must be alert in order to read him properly. But the alert reader is expected to grasp Persius' meaning immediately. Nobody can effervesce over a piece of writing whose meaning he has to work out laboriously. In other words, for the right sort of reader, Persius will not be obscure. Lest it be thought that, in the above discussion, I have fallen into the trap of taking a writer's humorous or ironical statements about his own work too literally, it should be pointed out that the passage actually performs in practice what it proclaims. None but the right sort of reader could laugh with Persius in the last few lines of this satire. One who really thought that jokes about Greek boots or abaci were the acme of humour would probably conclude, on reading this passage, that Persius was not for him. To enjoy the passage at all, one must have some measure of sympathy with Persius' disdain for crude physical humour, for municipal self-importance and for inverted snobbery or antiintellectualism. Let us, therefore, take it as established that Persius aimed to appeal to sophisticated Romans contemporary with himself. Do we actually know what contemporary Romans thought of his satires ? The answer is that, inevitably, we do not know much, but there is some evidence. The ancient Life tells us that Persius' contemporary Lucan ' could hardly restrain himself, as he read, from shouting aloud that Persius' compositions were true poems, while his own were merely trifles'. Unfortunately, it is not at all clear that this refers to the satires; Persius had apparently written other things that were never published. More relevantly, the Life says that as soon as Persius' book of satires was published, people began to admire it and to snap up copies of it. This popularity is also attested by Quintilian and Martial.5 Quintilian, at least, was not accustomed to mince words: if he had thought Persius obscure, he could easily have said so. Nor is there any evidence that these admirers of Persius' work were people with a special taste for obscurity, or that they themselves found his satires difficult to understand. This argument is admittedly negative; but it remains true that the only contemporary reactions to Persius that we happen to know about were uniformly enthusiastic. They are not the kind of reactions one would expect from readers who find an author's works impenetrable. However, sophisticated satire dates easily, and this is the root of the problem. There is no difficulty in supposing that Persius may have been clearly intelligible in his own generation, but less so thereafter; and yet the fact that his 152

Persius' first satire satires were preserved at all must indicate that later generations had at least some perception of his meaning and literary merits.

Persius' first satire is about literature and the relation of the author to his audience. I shall proceed to examine a number of passages from this satire which, taken purely by themselves, seem to present no major problems of interpretation: this is in order to show Persius at his best and clearest. First, here is the description of the ambitious poet preparing for his recitation (13-21): Scribimus inclusi, numeros ille, hie pede liber, grande aliquid quod pulmo animae praelargus anhelet: scilicet haec populo, pexusque togaque recenti et natalicia tandem cum sardonyche albus, sede leges celsa, liquido cum plasmate guttur mobile collueris, patranti fractus ocello: tune neque more probo uideas nee uoce serena ingentes trepidare Titos, cum carmina lumbum intrant et tremulo scalpuntur ubi intima uersu.

15

20

We re all at the writing game, locked away in our rooms: one writing verses, another unfettered in the matter of feet, producing something magnificent to be recited panting with great expenditure of bronchial air. You will read it, of course, to the public, sitting on an exalted seat, well combed, with a newly laundered toga and wearing at last your birthday sardonyx — all shining white, having first washed roundyour undulating throat with a practice tremolo or two: there you II be, exhausted, eyes rolling at the climax. Then you will see great strong Romans in the audience losing control of their voices — nothing dignified about it — all of a flutter as the poems get into their loins, each trembling line tickling the inmost parts as it goes.

There is not much obscurity here. There are a few trifling problems : some are puzzled by the sardonyx (a birthday present or an astrological birth-stone?), but the point is clear, that the poet at last has the chance to wear his flashy ring, albus, 'white 5, is interpreted by some to mean that the poet is pale with apprehension, but this spoils the rhetorical effect. The word surely refers to the visual impression of the dazzling 153

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figure on the platform, with the white toga, brilliant jewel, and doubtless also gleaming newly-oiled hair: not to any hint of pallor in the poet's face, for which, in any case, we should have expected pallidus. The phrase patranti fractus ocello hardly presents difficulty, patrare was the colloquial verb for sexual climax7 and it is unlikely that it had any other meaning in the ordinary Latin of Persius' time: in Lee's phrase, the poet has an 'orgasmic eye'. The Titi are simply big, strong Romans who should not be giving in to fits of swooning over poetry.8 In lines 30—40, Persius presents another version of the relationship of author and audience. This time the poet is dead, and his work is being recited posthumously at a dinner-party. (In quoting the following passage I have omitted one syntactically inessential line (34), which will be considered later.) ecce inter pocula quaerunt Romulidae saturi quid dia poemata narrent. hie aliquis, cui circum umeros hyacinthina laena est, rancidulum quiddam balba de nare locutus...

30

eliquat ac tenero supplantat uerba palato. adsensere uiri: nunc non cinis ille poetae felix? non leuior cippus nunc imprimit ossa? laudant conuiuae: nunc non e manibus illis, nunc non e tumulo fortunataque fauilla nascentur uiolae?

35

40

Look: Romulus' sated sons sit der their wine, asking, What news of Poetry divine? Then someone or other with a hyacinth-coloured shawl round his shoulders speaks some bit of rancid verse through a stuttering nostril [...] filtering out the words, tripping them up on his delicate palate. The brave company murmurs approval: now arent the ashes of that dead poet happy? Does not the tombstone now lie less heavily on his bones? The guests say it's marvellous: now will not violets grow from those remains, from the burial mound and its blessed ash ?

In the last extract we had a contrast between the physical size and strength of the Roman audience (the ingentes Titi) and their effeminate behaviour under the influence of poetry. Now the poet's admirers are transported into the world of epic by the grandiose language Romulidae saturi and dia poemata.9 Then, with abrupt bathos, the anonymous reciter is introduced. He affects delicacy in both voice and dress, and his 154

Persius' first satire rendition of the poet's lines is described in a staggering mixture of images — rancid verse, the stuttering nostril, filtering out the words and tripping them up on the palate. The effect is not logical, but it speaks volumes to anyone who has heard or can imagine such a recitation. The next passage also is brilliant. T o a modern reader it is likely to conjure up the technique of the cinema. At each burst of applause the camera ' cuts' to the graveyard, where the conventional images for posthumous blessedness are being rather disconcertingly actualised: the weight of the tombstone is lessened, and violets suddenly appear round the grave. Next, Persius introduces an imaginary objector, 10 who tries to reassert the value of poetic immortality. Here is his objection and Persius' reply (40—53): 'rides, 5 ait, 'et nimis uncis naribus indulges: an erit qui uelle recuset os populi meruisse, et cedro digna locutus linquere nee scombros metuentia carmina nee tus?' quisquis es, o modo quern ex aduerso dicere feci, non ego cum scribo, si forte quid aptius exit — quamquam haec rara auis est, si quid tamen aptius exit, laudari metuam; neque enim mihi cornea fibra est; sed recti finemque extremumque esse recuso 'euge' tuum et 'belle', nam 'belle' hoc excute totum: quid non in tus habet? non hie est Ilias Atti ebria ueratro? non siqua elegidia crudi dictarunt proceres? non quidquid denique lectis scribitur in citreis?

40

45

50

' You re laughing,9 he says, ' and giving too much freedom to your curling nostrils: or do you think there will be anyone who would refuse the ambition to deserve to live on men s lips, to speak words worthy of luxury binding, and to leave songs that fear neither mackerel nor incense?' — Whoever you are, the opponent I have just conjured into existence, let me tell you this: when I put pen to paper, if something happens to come out more or less right — though that's a rare occurrence, but still, if it does happen to come out right, Vm not afraid to get the credit; my heart isn't made of horn. But I do refuse to allow the be-all and end-all of quality to be your 'Bravo/' and 'Fine stuff!' Take that 'fine stuff' and shake it all out: is there anything it doesn't have inside? There's Attius Labeo's Iliad, high on hellebore. Little epigrams dictated by our noble lords when suffering from indigestion. In fact anything, 155

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provided it was written when sitting on an expensive citrus-wood couch.

* Speak words worthy of luxury binding', literally * worthy of cedaroil ' (which was used to preserve books from deterioration), is generally (and in all probability correctly) taken to parody Virgil's phrase about the great poets in the Elysian Fields, Phoebo digna locuti (' those who have spoken words worthy of Apollo'); 11 the allusion would be immediately obvious to a Roman audience brought up on Virgil. The fear of mackerel and incense is a satiric commonplace going back long before Persius:12 the ultimate fate of bad poetry is for the papyrus containing it to be used to wrap fish or spices. In line 46 I propose to read quamquam instead of the transmitted quando: 'since that's a rare occurrence' is puzzling, and ' although' makes much better sense, fibra for ' heart' is a mannerism of Persius ; 13 elsewhere it usually refers to the organs of animals used in divination. The image of shaking out the words of literary praise is less striking than it may appear at first sight, given that excutere was often used metaphorically, from Cicero onwards, to mean 'examine' or 'scrutinise'; 14 although Persius restores the full meaning of this moribund metaphor by adding 'is there anything it doesn't have inside?' When we shake out the container marked 'fine stuff', we find Attius Labeo's Iliad. This translation or adaptation of Homer was apparently popular in Persius' time; the scholiast says, maybe from overenthusiastic guesswork rather than from first-hand literary judgement, that it was written 'uersibus foedissimis'. It is, in any case, a constant butt in this satire. As a parallel case of a popular adaptation of Homer, one may instance the performance of the 'Homerists' in Petronius {Satyricon 59). The reference to hellebore could cause difficulty until we find out (from Pliny the Elder, Natural History 25.51) that hellebore was used by many writers and scholars to stimulate the brain: so whatever merit Labeo's work had was drug-induced. The commonly mentioned use as a cure for madness is not in question here. The reasons for the public's admiration of Labeo are not made clear; but Persius then passes explicitly to literary works that are accorded admiration not on account of their merit, but because of the social standing and influence of their authors: epigrams by dyspeptic noblemen, and indeed anything written by the rich (citrus-wood furniture being a token of luxury).15 Postponing consideration of the next passage, let us move to lines 83—91, where the scene has shifted to a lawcourt. Persius presents himself in the position of a juryman, a function which, as a member of the 156

Persius' first satire equestrian order, he would himself have been liable to perform. The advocates are infected by the desire for applause, and by the selfindulgence of stylistic ornament for its own sake : Nilne pudet capiti non posse pericula cano pellere, quin tepidum hoc optes audire ' decenter!' ? 4 fur es,' ait Pedio: Pedius quid? crimina rasis 85 librat in antithetis; doctas posuisse figuras laudatur: ' bellum hoc!' hoc bellum ? an, Romule, ceues ? men' moveat? quippe et cantet si naufragus, assem protulerim. cantas, cum fracta te in trabe pictum ex umero portes? uerum nee nocte paratum 90 plorabit, qui me uolet incuruasse querela. Does it not shame you at all that you cannot defend a man on trial for his grey-haired reputation, without hoping to hear that tepid ' Well said, sir/' ? You re a thief says the prosecutor to Pedius: what does Pedius say? He weighs the charges in clean-shaven antitheses; he is applauded for including learned figures of speech — ' That's pretty/' Pretty? Or is it Romulus going weak at the knees? Is that sort of thing to affect my verdict? No doubt I would bring out a penny if a shipwrecked beggar were to sing to me! Do you sing when carrying on your shoulders a picture of yourself in a broken ship? Whoever wants me to bend down and listen to his sad story will have to weep real tears, not ones prepared by midnight oil.

capiti has a double meaning, literally 'head', in transferred use 'civil status'. It is of course the former that carries the grey hairs, but the latter that the defendant in court may lose. A similar point is contained in the striking phrase 'clean-shaven antitheses', rasus, 'shaved', is used metaphorically of style to mean 'polished' (a parallel occurs in Quintilian; the image is from wood-carving).16 However, there is more to the word as it appears in this context. The defendant in court traditionally appeared sordidatus, dressed in mourning, unwashed and unshaven, to give an impression of sincere distress and to appeal to the sympathy of the jury. But the sophisticated rhetorical figures of the counsel's speech are far too well-groomed to inspire any such feeling; just as, if a beggar gave a polished operatic performance, we should not take his demands for charity seriously. The parallel with the singing beggar may also imply that the orator has an effeminate sing-song intonation, as criticised by Cicero and Quintilian.17 Persius is con157

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temptuous of those who are impressed by the orator's performance; in the phrase 'an, Romule, ceues?' he makes a similar point to the one already made in the recitation scenes above, that the audience's reaction to the delicacies of style is unmanly and unbefitting the status of Roman aristocrats.18 The passages so far examined contain nothing of any great difficulty. They contain a number of strokes of brilliance. One would hope that, taken by themselves, they could be relied on to rescue Persius from any suspicion of being a mere literary bungler; and this should increase our confidence when we come to attack the more problematic sections of this satire.

3 The satire begins as follows: O curas hominum! o quantum est in rebus inane! 'quis leget haec?' — min' tu istud ais? nemo hercule. — ' nemo ?' uel duo uel nemo. — * turpe et miserabile!' — quare ? ne mihi Polydamas et Troiades Labeonem praetulerint? nugae. non si quid turbida Roma eleuet, accedas examenue improbum in ilia castiges trutina, nee te quaesiueris extra: nam Romae quis non... a, si fas dicere! sed fas turn cum ad canitiem et nostrum istud uiuere triste aspexi, ac nucibus facimus quaecumque relictis, cum sapimus patruos: tune, tune... ignoscite, nolo... quid faciam? sed sum petulanti splene: cachinno.

5

10

Ah, the poor Human with his troubled mind! In his affairs what emptiness we find! ' Who s going to read that?' Is it me you re talking to? Nobody, of course. ''Nobody?' Well, perhaps two — probably nobody. ' Isn't that a great shame and a pity!' Why? Are you afraid that Polydamas and the Trojan dames may prefer Labeo to me ? Get along with you! Suppose muddled old Rome does make light of something, you wouldn't go19 and tinker with the pointer in that balance when it goes wrong, or look further than your own opinion; for at Rome everyone has... ah, were it but right to say it! But it is right, whenever I look at all that grey hair, the solemn way of life we call our own, all the things we have been doing 158

Persius' first satire since we gave up marbles?® our avuncular air of worldly wisdom — when I look at all that... Oh, excuse me. I won't say it!... Dear me, what am I going to do? My organ of laughter is playing up: I must have a cackle. In the first line (whether or not it is a quotation21) Persius strikes a pose of despair at the emptiness of human affairs. In the second line, the imaginary objector appears. He is concerned that Persius' writings may not reach a wide enough audience, but Persius professes unconcern. Polydamas and the Trojan dames represent Roman public opinion. The epic allusion would have caused no difficulty to a contemporary; the relevant passage of the Iliad was a famous one.22 It fits in with the mention of Labeo (who, as we have already seen, was the author of a popular adaptation of the Iliad), and it ironically magnifies the Roman public, as Persius does again several times in the satire. It is not clear whether it also conveys an impression that the Roman public is effeminate; it could simply be that Labeo's Iliad was popular with the ladies. Persius insists that we must not worry about the public's preference for Labeo. Rome is muddled in its judgement; its opinion is like a miscalibrated balance, which no sensible man would even try to put right. At Rome, everyone has... what? At the end of the satire, we learn the answer: ass's ears. The ear is important to Persius, since it is the vehicle of literary appreciation in a society where literature was predominantly matter for recitation.23 With us the use of this metaphor has become more or less restricted to music, and in the original story of Midas, the ass's ears were indeed awarded for ineptitude of musical judgement.24 The unwary modern reader might be inclined to take the ass's ears as merely a symbol for general stupidity, but this is clearly not the case either in the story of Midas or here in Persius: the question is specifically one of artistic appreciation, whether musical or literary. However, we have no business to know the secret yet. Persius checks himself; he wishes he could say it... yet why shouldn't he, when he looks at the ridiculous pretence of dignity and wisdom that he sees all around him ? But no: he checks himself again. In the end, despite all efforts to control himself, he breaks out in a helpless cackle. In the last two lines, the informality of structure perfectly conveys Persius' struggle to stop himself from revealing the dreaded secret. Commentators spoil them by trying to make them more grammatically coherent than they actually are. It appears that the normal interpretation25 connects tune tune with cachinno, and ignoscite with sed sum

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petulanti splene, leaving nolo, quid faciam? as a parenthesis within a parenthesis. How anyone could attempt to convey this sort of Chinesebox structure in reading aloud, is a mystery which never seems to be explained. To understand the passage properly, we should envisage it as an oral monologue. Then we shall naturally understand tune tune as picking up the turn of line 9, and assume that we are to supply fas dicere with it. ignoscite is a self-contained utterance and means simply 'excuse me'. noloy spoken in a tone of determination, refers to Persius' unwillingness to give away the secret. 26 The last line then refers simply to Persius' struggles with his laughter, an anticlimax which serves to sidetrack our attention from the point at issue. Finally Persius collects himself in time to proceed to the next paragraph, which I have already discussed. After line 21, Persius continues to address the poet (the one with the white toga and sardonyx ring) in these words, and a brief dialogue ensues (22-30):

tun', uetule, auriculis alienis colligis escas, auriculis quibus et dicas cute perditus ohe? — ' quo didicisse, nisi hoc fermentum et quae semel intus innata est, rupto iecore exierit caprificus? en pallor seniumque!' o mores! usque adeone scire tuum nihil est nisi te scire hoc sciat alter? — 'at pulchrum est digito monstrari et dicier hie est I ten' cirratorum centum dictata fuisse pro nihilo pendes?'

25

30

Fancy you, old boy, collecting titbits for other people's ears! [...] ' To what end should a man learn the art, unless this ferment, this seed once born inside him can burst through the breast and come out as a full-grown fig-tree? See how pale and tired Iam/'27 A pretty pass we \e come to: is your learning so worthless unless others learn that you have learnt it? ' Yet it is a fine thing to be pointed out with the finger, and to have men say, This is he! If you had been the daily lesson of a hundred curly-heads, would you count that worth nothing?' Line 23 presents one of the few really substantial difficulties in the satire. I have left it untranslated above. Since I am not confident that I understand any of the previous attempts to make sense of this line, I shall not attempt to rehearse them, but merely refer to the commentaries, where they may be found in all their diversity. 28 I must confess to 160

Persius' first satire surprise that great Latinists such as Madvig and Housman, who emend auriculis to articulis, should be content to suppose that et links articulis and cute, despite the presence of quibus and dicas. This may perhaps be a result of the belief in Persius' obscurity: people will believe him capable of doing things to the Latin language that would never be countenanced elsewhere. It is with some diffidence that I offer what I think is a new interpretation. tun', uetule, auriculis alienis colligis escas, auriculis quibus ?... et dicas cute perditus, ' ohe! quo didicisse... ?' Fancy you, old boy, collecting titbits for other people's ears — ears of what sort?... and then you say, pale and wasted,' Stop that! To what end should a man learn...?'

Previous interpretations assume that quibus is relative, referring to auriculis. Perhaps it is worth trying the alternative, which is to take it as interrogative.29 What (Persius asks, on this interpretation) are these ears that the poet is feeding with delicacies ? The answer, of course, is ' ass's ears', though we are not meant to know that yet. The passage constitutes another narrow escape from telling the secret. The question is left in mid-air, since Persius (on this reading) anticipates an interruption from the poet, telling him to stop saying whatever he was about to say. Clearly the poet would not want Persius to reveal the secret of the asininity of his audience; but in any case, Persius' words are sufficiently insulting to be met with a simple * Stop! That's enough!' The poet is described as cute perditus, wasted in complexion.30 On my interpretation this can easily be linked with en pallor seniumque, and both phrases may be taken to refer to the ill effects of the labours of composition. I only present this as a possibility for consideration. There is another possibility, namely that a line has dropped out of the text; in which case the problem is insoluble. Now to line 25. The fig-tree is a striking image, but causes no problem; the caprificus or wild fig was well known for growing through stones, and functions well as an image for the poetic inspiration trying to burst out. In line 29 the poet envisages, as the zenith of ambition, becoming a schoolboy's set text.31 Thence we proceed to the topic of the poet's posthumous fame, ecce inter pocula quaerunt...; this passage has already been discussed, with the exception of one line (34), which in the editions reads Phyllidas Hypsipylas, uatum et plorabile siquid. Here, I suppose, is another instance of the principle that anything is permissible 161

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in Persius. The last four words are held to mean ' and whatever else is woeful and belongs to the poets'. But the word order is very strange indeed. Why could Persius not have written quidquid plorabile uatum est? Further, there is an ambiguity in the construction, since instinct might lead the reader to take the genitive with siquid as a partitive one, giving the meaning 'whoever among the poets is woeful' (like Catullus' et quantum est hominum uenustiorum): this certainly does not cohere with Phyllidas Hypsipylas (the heroines are subjects, not authors). However, the reading uatum et plorabile siquid is not that of all manuscripts. The manuscript P has uanum instead of uatum^ and even without this evidence it would have been reasonable to conjecture that uatum conceals a neuter adjective co-ordinated with plorabile. uanum et plorabile siquid is to my mind already better than the received reading, but it is not perhaps ideal: can we do better by substituting another adjective for uanum} We can indeed: uarium (in palaeographical terms, hardly different from uanum). Readers of Virgil will remember uarium et mutabile semper femina?1 It is of distressed mythological women that Persius is here talking, and by a parody of the type already seen in cedro digna locuti, they become not uarium et mutabile but uarium et plorabile. For the purposes of translation, we may call upon Shakespeare's ' Frailty thy name is W o m a n ' , and render the line ' Phyllis or Hypsipyle or some other piece of lamentable frailty', plorabilis does not apparently occur before Persius: if it is a coinage of his, the parody helps to explain it. The unusual word order, with siquid after the adjectives, is to be accounted for by the need to preserve the metrical shape oiuarium et mutabile in the parody. In short, I contend that this emendation leaves behind no problems whatsoever, and gives the line a point that is very much in keeping with Persius' manner. In line 52 we were told that any literary work will be admired, provided it was written while sitting on an expensive inlaid couch. Persius then turns abruptly to address one of the literary aristocrats themselves; despite the abruptness the movement of thought is quite clear. The writings of the rich are bound to be admired; they cannot expect to hear the truth about themselves from their followers, who depend on them for patronage (53—68): calidum scis ponere sumen, scis comitem horridulum trita donare lacerna, et ' uerum,' inquis, ' a m o : uerum mihi dicite de m e ! ' qui pote? uis dicam? nugaris, cum tibi, calue, pinguis aqualiculus propenso sesquipede exstet! 162

55

Persius' first satire o lane, a tergo quern nulla ciconia pinsit, nee manus auriculas imitari mobilis albas, nee linguae quantum sitiat canis Apula tantae — uos, o patricius sanguis, quos uiuere fas est occipiti caeco, posticae occurrite sannae! 'quis populi sermo est?J quis enim, nisi carmina molli nunc demum numero fluere, ut per leue seueros effundat iunctura unguis? scit tendere uersum non secus ac si oculo rubricam derigat uno; siue opus in mores, in luxum, in prandia regum dicere, res grandes nostro dat Musa poetae.

60

65

You know how to serve hot roast pork, you know how to give a shivering client a second-hand cloak — and then you say, ' I love the truth! Tell me the truth about myself!* How can one? Do you really want me to tell you? You can t be serious, with that bald head of yours, and that fat belly sticking out a good eighteen inches! O Janus! whom no stork pecks at from behind, no hands skilled in imitating pale ears, no tongue as long as an Apulian dog s thirst — you gentlemen of patrician blood, privileged to live without eyes in the back of your heads, beware of grimaces to the rear! ' What do the people say?' What indeed, but that songs now flow at last with gentle measure, with joints so smooth that the critical fingernail slips off them? He knows how to aim a verse as straight as if he were lining up a chalk-line with one eye; or if it is necessary to speak aginst the morals of the time, against luxury, against the feasts of kings, the Muse gives our poet magnificent material.

There is a persistent idea that nugaris (line 56) refers to literature: 'You are a writer of trifles'. Maybe the literary aristocrat was actually a writer of trifles, but that is surely not what the word means here. As in another passage of Persius (5.169), it means 'You're talking nonsense5, 'You can't be serious'. That is to say, the aristocrat surely can't be serious in his request for the truth, since to tell the truth would involve drawing attention to his bald head and pot belly - which Persius does in exaggeratedly crude terms. Romans were apparently sensitive about baldness,33 so calue would be an unpardonable insult; and the belly is described using a term that would be, in strict usage, more appropriate to a pig.34 It should be noted that line 55 seems to parody a line of Plautus (Mostellaria 181) in which a girl who is being ' made up' asks for an honest opinion of her appearance. 163

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There follows an apostrophe to the god Janus. Persius here has in mind the conventions of ancient prayers, in which the god's name is followed by a clause defining his powers or characteristics. The feature of Janus which makes him relevant to the context, and which is referred to in the relative clause in lines 58-60, is (obviously enough) that he faces both ways, and thus has no back behind which malicious comments or impudent gestures might be made. When we first read * whom no stork pecks at from behind', we may indeed be inclined to take it literally; storks did on occasion haunt Roman temples,35 and the images of the gods may have been vulnerable to pecking by them. However, Jerome and the scholiast inform us 36 that ciconia was also the name of a derisive gesture, imitating the shape of a stork's head and neck with the hand. This brings it into the same category as the imitation of ass's ears37 with the fingers (though Persius avoids the direct mention of asses, perhaps in order not to forestall his final revelation concerning them) and the outstretched tongue 'as long as an Apulian dog's thirst'. 38 Lines 61-2, taken on their own as printed, seem on the face of it to be reasonably clear: the aristocrats are being warned to look out for mocking grimaces behind them, and not to take on trust everything that is said to their faces. But what is the logical movement of the passage ? The exclamation 0 Ianey with its accompanying relative clause, seems to hang in mid-air: one would have expected something along the lines of ' O Janus, how stupid they are!' 39 Another difficulty becomes apparent if one looks more closely at lines 61—2. fas est means ' it is right for you', 'you are allowed', 'you are privileged'. After a reminder that the aristocrats are privileged not to be able to see behind them, one would expect the message to be ' Why do you look behind you, when you will not like what you see there?' Instead of which, Persius seems to be saying the opposite: that the aristocrats shouldlook behind them, so as to meet the grimaces head-on {occurrite). There would be little point in a deliberate defeat of expectations here. Both these problems would be removed by a small textual change: occurrere (exclamatory infinitive) instead of occurrite. The meaning would then be: ' O Janus!... to think of you gentlemen of patrician blood,40 who are privileged to live without eyes in the back of your heads, going out of your way to meet grimaces to the rear!' The point would be similar to the one already made above : that the aristocrats are foolish to try to find out what people think of them. The passage thus becomes much more coherent. The next section (69—82) presents the modern reader with real difficulties, because he is largely in the dark as to the exact nature of Persius' literary criticism; it would be much easier to see our way 164

Persius' first satire through it if, in the first place, we had access to the works of the poets that Persius is attacking, and in the second place, if we had a clearer idea of the canons of criticism by which he judges them. Both of these things would of course have been available to a contemporary of the author; as for us, we can only do our best. Ecce modo heroas sensus adferre uidemus nugari solitos Graece, nee ponere lucum artifices, nee rus saturum laudare, ubi corbes et focus et porci et fumosa Parilia feno, unde Remus, sulcoque terens dentalia, Quincti, cum trepida ante boues dictatorem induit uxor et tua aratra domum lictor tulit... euge poeta! est nunc Brisaei quern uenosus liber Acci, sunt quos Pacuuiusque et uerrucosa moretur Antiopa aerumnis cor luctificabile fulta? hos pueris monitus patres infundere lippos cum uideas, quaerisne unde haec sartago loquendi uenerit in linguas, unde istud dedecus in quo trossulus exsultat tibi per subsellia leuis?

70

75

80

Look, now we even see*1 heroic sentiments coming from those who used to trifle in Greek, not craftsmen enough to describe a grove or praise the rich countryside, where there are baskets and a hearth andpigs and the feast of Pales smoky with hay, where Remus came from, and you, Quinctius, wearing down your ploughshare in the furrow, when your wife, trembling, invested you as dictator in front of the oxen, and the lictor took your plough home... Bravo, poet! Is there now anyone who is detained by Accius, that Dionysiac devotee, and his varicose book, or Pacuvius and his warty Antiope, with her dolorous heart that resteth on tribulation? When you see the morals that bleary fathers pour into their children these days, can you wonder where this stylistic risotto comes from that they all have ready on their tongues? Or that disgraceful business of Roman knights, good men and smooth, jumping about all over the benches when you speak?

It is perhaps easiest to start at the end. The Roman knights jumping about on the benches belong to the lawcourt scene (already discussed). However, the preceding complaint about the 'stylistic risotto' seems more likely to refer to what precedes. The connection of bad style with bad morals is a familar theme in the literature of the first century A.D. There has been no previous mention of parental advice to children, and 165

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it seems best to take hos pueris monitus as vaguely deictic, * the moral advice they give to their children these days'. 43 The sartago loquendi, however, is presumably exemplified by the contemporary poetry that Persius is criticising in this passage. From euge poeta to cor luctificabile fulta is presumably a piece of sarcastic congratulation of the contemporary poets. Bravo! The new poets have beaten the old classics hollow: nobody now cares for Accius and Pacuvius, who by comparison appear ridiculously antiquated and verbose. The new poetry itself, one must unavoidably conclude, is represented by the excursus on Rome's agricultural past: the heroic sentiments which we now see coming from those who used only to trifle in Greek. The tone of ironical praise {euge poeta /) forbids us to suppose that nee ponere lucum \ artifices, nee rus saturum laudare is to be taken as a direct statement that these poets are now no good at describing the countryside; it is possible that nee... artifices gathers a past meaning from solitos, and that the phrase hooks closely on to 'who used to trifle in Greek' (as in the translation above). If this were thought unsatisfactory, one could perhaps consider reading nuncu instead of nee in both lines 70 and 71, thus giving the meaning 'now craftsmen enough...' (meant, of course, ironically). The modern reader may be pardoned if he is unable to see, at first glance, what precisely is wrong with the epic poetry that forms the object of Persius' criticism; particularly since the satirist does not quote it directly, but merely summarises what one may suppose to have been its salient features. However, after looking more closely, one may hazard a conjecture or two as to what Persius found objectionable in it. Some of the phraseology is Virgilian pastiche (and may have come under criticism simply for being pastiche); but the baskets and pigs belong to a lower stylistic register than was normally permitted in serious poetry. Not that pigs could not be mentioned in poetry, but they would at least have had to be sues rather than porci. This would not be simply a matter of artificial and pedantic canons of propriety, but of a genuine discomfort at the use of these words in what was meant to be dignified poetry; rather as if the words ' chuck it in the bin' were to be introduced into a passage of Miltonic verse. Even for a modern reader, the domestic scene of Cincinnatus' wife, all in a flutter as she brings the dictator's toga and invests him with it as the plough-oxen stand by, is poised on the knifeedge between the sublime and the ridiculous, and probably for Persius fell definitely into the latter category. The mixture of styles, and the deliberate emphasis on homely details in what is meant to be an elevated epic, may at least constitute some of the characteristics of the stylistic risotto of which Persius complains. 166

Persius' first satire In lines 92—106, after the lawcourt scene, Persius returns to the subject of poetry: rather abruptly, as if being recalled from a digression. In the passage that follows, supposing that one leaves aside the question of the authorship of the verses quoted in 93—5 and 99—102 (Nero or not, it hardly matters for the present purpose),45 there is perhaps only one major problem, i.e. lines 96-^7. These two lines seem to be best interpreted as a comparison of modern poetry with the Aeneid to the disadvantage of the latter, just as it was compared with Accius and Pacuvius in 76—8. The modern epics are so smooth and polished that they make the Aeneid itself look like an old cork-oak.46 Apparently corktrees stunt their own growth by strangling themselves with their own cork, and this is presumably the import of spumosum et cortice pingui and uegrandi subere. But I fail to see much sense in coctum. coquere has, certainly, a more general meaning than our ' cook'; used of wood, it means * to season' (by smoking),47 and in general refers to any form of heating and drying carried out with a purpose; but I doubt whether coctum here could just mean * dried up'. The right reading may well be tortum, 'twisted5. 'sed numeris decor est et iunctura addita crudis.' — cludere sic uersum didicit Berecyntius Attis et qui caeruleum dirimebat Nerea delphin: sic cos tarn longo subduximus Appennino. arma uirum, nonne hoc spumosum et cortice pingui, ut ramale uetus uegrandi subere tortum? quidnam igitur tenerum et laxa ceruice legendum? torua Mimalloneis implerunt cornua bombis, et raptum uitulo caput ablatura superbo Bassaris et lyncem Maenasflexuracorymbis euhion ingeminant, reparabilis adsonat echo. haec fierent, si testiculi uena ulla paterni uiueret in nobis? summa delumbe saliua hoc natat in labris, et in udo est Maenas et Attis: nee pluteum caedit nee demorsos sapit ungues.

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' But we have given polish and smooth joints to our crude verses? Yes, that was how * Berecynthian Attis' learnt to end a line, and the ' dolphin who divided blue Nereus \- that was how ' we stole a rib of the long Appennine\ 'Arms and the man' seems so frothy (Jby comparison), doesnt it, with fat bark like an old branch grown twisted with stunted cork. So what counts as delicate and fit for recitation with relaxed shoulders ? 167

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' They filled the savage horns with Mimallonean hummings: the Bassarid preparing to remove the stolen head from the proud calf, the Maenad soon to steer the lynx with clusters of ivy-berries for reinsy redouble their cries of EuhoeJ', the repeatable echo adds its sound.9 Would these things happen at all if any vein of our fathers9 testicles still lived in us? It swims emasculated on the lips, floating on the saliva, and the Maenad and Attis get wet: no sign of fists thumping the desk, no sign of bitten nails.

The criticism in this passage is much more explicit and clearer than in the previous one. The poetry which Persius pillories is decadent, affected, effeminate, and lacking in poetic seriousness (the thumping of the desk belongs to the agonies of composition, not, as we might be tempted to take it, to moral preaching). Lack of space forbids dilation on this topic: the main points are to be found in the commentaries, although the difference between this pastiche and the real Dionysiac poetry of Catullus, Virgil or Ovid, whose qualities it imitates and exaggerates, is not always very clearly indicated. At this point, in a passage clearly modelled on Horace, Satires 2.i.6off., Persius' imaginary interlocutor obtrudes himself for the last time 'sed quid opus teneras mordaci radere uero auriculas? uide, sis, ne maiorum tibi forte limina frigescant: sonat hie de nare canina littera.' — per me equidem sint omnia protinus alba: no nil moror: euge omnes! omnes bene! mirae eritis res! hoc iuuat? 'hie,' inquis, 'ueto quisquam faxit oletum.' pinge duos angues: pueri, sacer est locus, extra meiite! discedo? secuit Lucilius urbem, te Lupe, te Muci, et genuinum fregit in illis; 115 omne uafer uitium ridenti Flaccus amico tangit, et admissus circum praecordia ludit, callidus excusso populum suspendere naso; me muttire nefas? nee clam? nee cum scrobe? nusquam? hie tamen infodiam. uidi, uidi ipse, libelle: 120 auriculas asini quis non habet? hoc ego opertum, hoc ridere meum, tarn nil, nulla tibi uendo Iliade. 168

Persius' first satire ' But what need is there to scrape delicate ears with biting truth? Take care, wont you, that the portals of your elders and betters don t go cold on you: there s a sound of snarling here!' Oh, as far as I'm concerned let everything be as white as snow straightaway : I don't mind; hurray for everybody! Well done all! How wonderful you all are! Is that better? 'No ordure to be deposited here, by order,' you say. Paint a couple of snakes: it's consecrated ground, boys, better piss outside. So I've got to go, have I? Luciliusfloggedthe city, Lupus and Mucius and all, and broke his back tooth on them; cunning Horace, as his friend laughs, nails all his faults, and once let in he plays round the heart, well practised at suspending the public from his observant nose; am I not allowed to mutter a word? Not even in secret? Not even if I bury it in a ditch? Nowhere? I'll bury it here, whatever you say. I've seen it, I've seen it myself — Dear diary ...the whole lot of them have asses' ears! Well, that's my secret; it's nothing, but I won't sell you the right to laugh at it for any Iliad. After all this criticism of the cultured aristocracy, and in particular of their poetry, Persius' friend is justifiably anxious that the satirist may become persona non grata. The snarling may come from the watchdog or even from Persius' elders themselves. In the Latin it is canina \ littera: the * canine letter' was R, because it sounded like a dog's growling:48 here it is used actually to mean a dog's growling. Persius professes compliance, but his irony is obvious and does not pass muster with the interlocutor. The satirist's activities are seen as a public nuisance, equivalent to the deposition of dirt or the violation of a sacred spot. The snakes were a standard symbol to show that a place was under religious protection: examples have been found at Pompeii.49 discedo is surely a question: 'I've got to go, have I? 50 Lucilius and Horace spoke their mind: why shouldn't Persius? The epigrammatic descriptions of Persius' two satiric predecessors are justly famous. Like many literary-critical comments in ancient literature, they are often taken out of context; but they have a definite rhetorical purpose, which is to lead up to the climax i me muttire nefas?' So Persius at length cannot contain himself any longer, and just as in the myth Midas' barber whispered the secret of the king's ears into a hole in the ground, Persius decides to bury his secret — or rather, to confide it to his book. He reserves to himself the right to laugh at it, and would not sell it for — we expect' any sum of money' (cf. Petronius, Satyricon 52.3 meum enim intellegere nulla pecunia uendo) but Persius gives the 169

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phrase a characteristic twist by substituting 'any Iliad', presumably another allusion to the popularity of Attius Labeo. Thus we come to the final paragraph of the satire (123—6): ... audaci quicumque adflate Cratino iratum Eupolidem praegrandi cum sene palles, aspice et haec, si forte aliquid decoctius audis. inde uaporata lector mihi ferueat aure...

125

... Whoever you are, inspired by bold Cratinus, pale (?) over angry Eupolis and the Grand Old Man himself, take a look at this, and see whether you ever hear anything better boiled down. I'd like my reader to effervesce from it...

Persius wishes to be judged by those expert in Old Comedy, just as Horace traced the descent of Roman satire to the same source {Satires 1.4.iff.). The Grand Old Man is doubtless Aristophanes, palles presents a problem. It is a favourite word with Persius, but elsewhere he uses it in more obvious senses than here.51 It is supposed by some to mean that the favoured reader is pale with study of the old comedians, but it seems inappropriate here to emphasise that reading the comedians calls for intense academic study; one would expect, rather, a reference to the sophistication it imparts. Others think it means that a comedian such as the angry Eupolis should make his readers turn pale with fright at his anger. But surely no Roman reader of Eupolis was ever in this state; only those whom he attacked in fifth-century Athens would have cause to be afraid of him. I incline to believe that palles is simply wrong, and that we should correct it to calles: 'you who are well up in Eupolis and the Grand Old Man'.52 calleo is a verb corresponding to callidus, 'clever' or 'sophisticated', precisely the right description for the readers that Persius hopes for - the readers with well-syringed, discriminating, and non-asinine ears. Thus Persius answers the interlocutor's question ' quis leget haec?\ posed at the beginning of the satire.

Persius makes demands on his readers. Explicitly, he requires them to be persons of taste and discrimination. Implicitly, he expects them to be acquainted with the contemporary literary scene (which his original readers of course would be: he could take that for granted). He indulges on occasion in flights of verbal virtuosity. His extravagant images and abrupt transitions demand alertness in the reader. There are difficulties about the division of the dialogue between the satirist and his imaginary 170

Persius' first satire opponents; but this is simply a matter of punctuation, nowadays a problem for the editor rather than the reader, and for the ancient reader not essentially more obtrusive than in the case of some ancient drama.53 Persius' vocabulary sometimes goes outside the normal range familiar to modern readers of Latin literature: from the first satire one may instance veratrum, aqualiculus, sartago, trossulus, oletum, nonaria. The first three of these are ordinary and colloquial, trossulus occurs, both with and without explanation, in other first-century A.D. writers, oletum (meaning * excrement') is rare, and the precise meaning ofnonaria is lost; but there is no reason to assume that any of these words would have been unfamiliar to Persius' original audience, and even if they were, the occasional unfamiliar word is hardly a problem for an intelligent reader. None of this constitutes a ground for stigmatising Persius as obscure. After all, few comic or satirical writers take much care to explain their meaning to an imagined audience in a foreign country, two thousand years in the future. Horace and Juvenal perhaps seem easier only because more effort has been expended on elucidating them. It may be objected that in this discussion I have resorted freely to emendation of the text in order to smooth out the difficulties in this satire. It is all very well, it may be said, to claim that Persius is easy to understand, when one has first emended away all the problematic passages. To this I make a threefold reply. First, the passages I discussed at the beginning, on which I chiefly based my claim that Persius is intelligible, involved no emendation at all. Other passages of the same level of clarity could be produced from the other satires — passages which, taken precisely as they stand in the manuscript tradition, are such as to convince any reasonably receptive reader that Persius is a very good writer indeed. Secondly, I have been quite ready to admit that the meaning of some passages is difficult to recover, though there is no reason to suspect the text, simply because we are not in possession of the requisite information or background. Thirdly, I do not believe that one should be willing to accept nonsense or dubious Latin in the text of an author, merely because of a general prejudice to the effect that the author is difficult. One cannot paint apotropaic snakes over a text and say that emendation is forbidden. The chances of Persius' text having survived in the manuscript tradition with no error whatsoever are rather small. Each individual point has to be considered on its merits. Let it not be thought that I am making exaggerated claims for the literary qualities of Persius. His was relatively speaking a minor talent; but his virtues are still often underestimated. He tends to suffer by comparison with the other extant Roman satirists: he is liable to be 171

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criticised for lacking both the humanity of Horace and the power of Juvenal. The structure of his satires is often denigrated, though it is disputable whether the line of thought is any more difficult to follow in Persius than in some of Horace's satires. He is even said to lack humour, but that can only be by those who have failed to appreciate his peculiar brand of irony and whimsicality. He must be read on his own terms as a product of his own time and social class. A sensitive and dyspeptic Tuscan aristocrat can hardly be expected to write with the complacent expansiveness of Horace; and Persius was not, perhaps, sufficiently interested in the wider world around him to produce a vivid denunciation of it in the style of Juvenal. Even so, he has something in common with both his fellow-satirists, and in some ways provides an essential link between them: he owes much to Horace, and Juvenal owes much to him. But the main reason for reading him is that he is enjoyable; and for those who do not enjoy reading him, there is always (if one may so put it) the Edict in the morning, and Callirhoe after lunch.

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I I

NERO'S ALIEN C A P I T A L Tacitus as paradoxographer {Annals 15.36—7)

THE CONTEXT

According to Tacitus' narrative of A.D. 64, the centrepiece of which will be the Great Fire of Rome (38—41), Nero began the year with a keen desire to go on a concert tour of Greece (33.2).1 Feeling that he needed some preliminary experience, however, the emperor decided to give a practice performance in Naples, because of its resemblance to a genuinely Greek city. The Neapolitan theatre was packed (33.3), and Suetonius tells us that Nero was captivated by the rhythmic applause of some visitors from Alexandria, whose techniques were subsequently taught to equites and others on the emperor's insistence {Nero 20.3). When Nero had completed his performance (of which Tacitus pointedly omits all mention), and the crowds had dispersed, the theatre promptly fell to the ground (34.1). Most people interpreted the collapse as a sinister omen (triste), but the emperor himself looked on the bright side and interpreted his escape as providential (prouidum). Then, having duly composed his own Te Deum in thanksgiving, he proceeded on his way to Beneventum for the gladiatorial games of one Vatinius, during which a distinguished ex-consul, Silanus Torquatus, was forced to commit suicide for being a descendant of Augustus like Nero himself (35.1). A charge had been trumped up that he was set on revolution (35.2); and although Nero maintained that the man was indeed guilty, he also said that he as emperor would have shown dementia if Silanus had given him the chance (35.3). On this cynical note Tacitus then passes on to the episode which leads up to the Fire and which is the subject of this discussion (36-^7). THE TEXT

Nee multo post omissa in praesens Achaia (causae in incerto fuere) urbem reuisit, prouincias Orientis, maxime 173

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Aegyptum, secretis imaginationibus agitans. dehinc edicto testificatus non longam sui absentiam et cuncta in re publica perinde immota ac prospera fore, super ea profectione adiit Capitolium. illic ueneratus deos, cum Vestae quoque templum inisset, repente cunctos per artus tremens (seu numine exterrente seu facinorum recordatione numquam timore uacuus) deseruit inceptum, cunctas sibi curas amore patriae leuiores dictitans: uidisse maestos ciuium uultus, audire secretas querimonias, quod tantum itineris aditurus esset, cuius ne modicos quidem egressus tolerarent, sueti aduersum fortuita aspectu principis refoueri: ergo, ut in priuatis necessitudinibus proxima pignora praeualerent, ita populum Romanum uim plurimam habere parendumque retinenti. Haec atque talia plebi uolentia fuere, uoluptatum cupidine et (quae praecipua cura est) rei frumentariae angustias, si abesset, metuenti. senatus et primores in incerto erant procul an coram atrocior haberetur. — dehinc (quae natura magnis timoribus) deterius credebant quod 37 euenerat. — ipse, quo fidem adquireret nihil usquam perinde laetum sibi, publicis locis struere conuiuia totaque urbe quasi domo uti; et celeberrimae luxu famaque epulae fuere quas a Tigellino paratas ut exemplum referam, ne saepius eadem prodigentia narranda sit. Igitur in stagno Agrippae fabricatus est ratem, cui superpositum conuiuium nauium aliarum tractu moueretur. naues auro et ebore distinctae, remigesque exoleti per aetates et scientiam libidinum componebantur. uolucris et feras diuersis e terris et animalia maris Oceano abusque petiuerat. crepidinibus stagni lupanaria adstabant inlustribus feminis completa, et contra scorta uisebantur nudis corporibus. iam gestus motusque obsceni; et, postquam tenebrae incedebant, quantum iuxta nemoris et circumiecta tecta consonare cantu et luminibus clarescere. ipse per licita atque inlicita foedatus nihil flagitii reliquerat quo corruptior ageret, nisi paucos post dies uni ex illo contaminatorum grege (nomen Pythagorae fuit) in modum sollemnium coniugiorum denupsisset: inditum imperatori flammeum, e said about it5 (2.35.1).10 The stagnum, on which Tigellinus' banquet takes place (37.2), is assumed to be a man-made reservoir serving the Thermae Agrippae. Whether it too, like the baths, was actually dignified with the name of its founder (as Tacitus implies) seems unknown,11 but Tacitus no doubt relished pointing the contrast between the engineering of Agrippa, Nero's own great-grandfather, and that of Tigellinus, Nero's henchman: the one was intended for use and regular enjoyment, the other exclusively for irregular pleasures. Now pleasure-boats or cumbae had already been mentioned by Cicero and Seneca in connection with the infamous resort of Baiae;12 but cumbae are small, light-weight craft, and those of Baiae in particular are mentioned by Juvenal precisely because of their fragility.13 Tigellinus' construction, by contrast, was evidently massive; and whereas one might expect the construction of gigantic pontoons to meet a military emergency, as Livy describes (21.27.5 * ratesque fabricatae in quibus equi uirique et alia onera traicerentur'), no such justification was provided by the large-scale conuiuium which Tacitus goes out of his way to report, emphasising by his language the paradoxical nature of Tigellinus' feat: superponere, when used of building, would more normally suggest dry land.14 There are two aspects to Tigellinus' construction. By holding on water a party which more naturally would be held on land, he reveals that he and his emperor are victims of the same syndrome as those rich Romans of the late republic and early empire whose passion for building houses over the sea was attacked by moralising authors as tyrannical, hybristic and an affront to nature. ' In their sickness they need unnatural fakes of sea or land out of their proper places to delight them', says a speaker whose words are reported by the elder Seneca.15 Such men are the Roman counterparts of the Persian kings, who in Herodotus' narrative build bridges over rivers or over the sea and eventually pay the penalty for their hybris by an untimely death.16 Yet not every case of building over water is a symptom of hybris in Herodotus' narrative: he tells his readers about the Paeonians, who lived in the area of Thrace and Macedonia and ' actually (KCCI) dwelt on the lake [of Prasias] as follows: platforms are supported on tall piles and stand right in the middle of the lake' (5.16.1). Such behaviour naturally has remarkable consequences ('to prevent their babies from tumbling out, they tie a string to their feet'), and Herodotus mentions the Paeonians' customs because they are the reverse of normal behaviour and hence typical of foreign peoples. So too the Egyptians are remarkable because 'they have reversed all the 177

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customs and habits of other men' (2.35.2), and the Scythians 'are completely opposed to adopting the customs of other peoples, but especially those of the Greeks' (4.76.i).17 Hence Tacitus' account of Tigellinus' water-borne conuiuium not only suggests that such behaviour is morally defective but also that it is unnatural and foreign. And indeed, since the effect of the pontoon is to produce an island in the middle of Agrippa's lake, we should remember that islands attracted the particular attention of writers like Herodotus;18 and, since Tigellinus' construction was also capable offloatingalong (moueretur), it is tempting to recall in particular the floating island about which Herodotus was told in Egypt (2.156.2—6) and which was later ridiculed by Lucian in his parody True history (1.40).19 Tacitus tells us nothing about the aesthetic appeal of the pontoon, which we are obliged to infer from his description of the aliae naues as 'auro et ebore distinctae'. If mere tugs, whose function was utilitarian, were decorated with ivory, 'a conventional symbol of regal magnificence ' and ' often combined with gold ',20 then the ratis itself must surely have been even more exotic.21 The ships' crews are also paradoxical: they are male pathics (exoleti)22 as much as rowers (remiges); they are evidently chosen for their scientia libidinum rather than their scientia naualis; and the plural per aetates suggests that the criterion for inclusion was age at least as much as it was fitness.23 When Virgil in the Aeneid wished to emphasise that the Trojans have at last reached home, he contrasted the wild animals (ferae, monstra) of Circe's promontory, which Aeneas and his men successfully avoid (7.10—24), with the birds which enjoy their natural habitat at the mouth of the Tiber (7.32-3): uariae circumque supraque adsuetae ripis uolucres et fluminis alueo. Tacitus, on the other hand, here adopts an opposite technique in order to emphasise that the world created by Tigellinus in Rome was alien and unnatural (37.2). There was an abundance of birds and wild animals from a variety of other lands (' diuersis e terris'); and, since stagnum usually implies fresh water,24 even the aquatic creatures are out of place, since they come all the way from the salt sea: 'Oceano abusque'. This last is a most unusual phrase. The distance from which the creatures have been brought is underlined by the uncommon preposition abusque, which itself is further emphasised by being placed after its noun.25 And when Tacitus elsewhere refers to Oceanus in his own person (as opposed to in reported speech), he means a specific sea such as the English 178

Nero's alien capital Channel or the North Sea;26 only here does he use Oceanus without qualification, evidently referring to the sea or great river which, according to ancient legend, encircled the world but about which even Herodotus expressed some scepticism on several occasions.27 Facing each other on the banks of Agrippa's lake were upper-class women and low-class prostitutes (37.3). Normally the former would be parading themselves, behaviour to which inlustribus perhaps partly alludes; but scorta uisebantur suggests that the feminae are indoors, as the reference to their housing implies ('lupanaria adstabant... completa'). Conversely, the nakedness of the scorta would normally mean that they were out of sight; yet it is they who are on display {uisebantur). These paradoxes and reversals lead to another. Since the scorta are naked ('nudis corporibus'), the suggestion is that the feminae are clothed;28 and, since the feminae are also inlustres, there is a contrast between their presumed haute couture and their incongruous surroundings (lupanaria).29 Indeed Tacitus' choice of the term lupanaria, rather than (say) fornices or Suetonius' deuersoriae tabernae (Nero 27.3), is itself revealing: it suggests that the aristocratic women were playing the role of lupae^ which, being a slang word, is therefore indicative of low-class behaviour31 rather than the sophisticated dalliance associated with the more socially acceptable meretrices. As the original meaning of lupa is of course * she-wolf, there is a further implication of the adoption of animal behaviour. In particular, lycanthropy (if that is the right term) is * the ultimate symbol' of barbarian as opposed to civilised man, and Suetonius makes a similar point about Nero himself, when, ' covered in the skin of a wild animal, he was released from a cave and attacked the sexual organs of men and women who had been bound to stakes' (Nero 29).32 If the women are seen in terms of animals, it is only natural that they should be surrounded by groves (' quantum iuxta nemoris'), which more normally would be associated with life outside the boundaries of a city.33 And whereas Suetonius says conventionally that Nero's banquets lasted from midday till midnight (Nero 27.2), Tacitus says that, when darkness fell, the area echoed with song and blazed with lights, as if the revellers turned night into day. The reversal of day and night is a well known symptom of decadent and luxurious living : 34 it was a characteristic of the hedonist author Petronius (16.8.1 'illi dies per somnum, nox officiis et oblectamentis uitae transigebatur') and a point of pride with the later emperor Elagabalus (Historia Augusta 17.28.6 'transegit et dierum actus noctibus et nocturnos diebus, aestimans hoc inter instrumenta luxuriae'). A whole letter was devoted to the subject by the younger Seneca, who regarded the habit as an inversion of nature: the phrase contra naturam 179

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runs as a refrain through significant portions of his letter (122.5—9). since such behaviour was unnatural, it was therefore also suitable for attribution to foreign peoples, for whom luxury was itself regarded as a defining characteristic.35 Herodotus tells the story of King Mycerinus, who,fyyturning night into day, hoped to turn six years into twelve in order to frustrate an oracle:' He had many lamps made, and would light them in the evening and drink and make merry; by day or night he never ceased from revelling, roaming in the marsh country and the groves and wherever he had heard of the likeliest places of pleasure' (2.133.4).36 Phylarchus, a historian of the third century B.C., alleged that the reversal of day and night was practised by some of the people of Colophon in Asia,37 and as a motif it is perhaps taken to its paradoxical extreme once again by Lucian, who describes a land which enjoys neither day nor night but a kind of continuous twilight {True history 2.12).38 As the climax of his description, as of the preceding paragraph (above, p. 176), Tacitus introduces the emperor himself (37.4 ipse), using a polar expression (' per licita atque inlicita foedatus') to embrace every possible vice except that which is described in the final episode of all {nisi... ). 39 This nwz-clause is a calculated exercise in paradox and suspense, uni is separated from its governing verb by three word-groups: ex Mo contaminatorum grege, where grege keeps alive the animalism oilupanaria above and this time associates it with men ; 40 nomen Pythagorae fuity which is perhaps intended to be ironical in view of the famous philosopher's recommendation that one should abstain from sexual intercourse altogether;41 and in modum sollemnium coniugiorum^ which looks forward to the details of the following sentence. Up to this point there is no indication that Tacitus is not about to complete the sentence with an expression such as puellam conciliasset, perhaps describing an episode like the bizarre under-age marriage portrayed in an early scene of Petronius' novel (25—6). Tacitus' actual verb denupsisset therefore comes as a shock: unlike his ' marriage' on another occasion, when Nero adopted the male role and his boyfriend Sporus the female,42 on the present occasion the emperor is playing the role of the woman — a role which is worked out in all its paradoxical detail in Tacitus' penultimate sentence. In keeping with his desire for a military reputation, Nero had accumulated nine salutations as 'imperator' by A.D. 64, and it is by this title that he is described here; but since ' the most tangible indication of the way the Emperor and his subjects regarded his role was his dress ', 43 Tacitus' juxtaposition of the title with the bridal veil (Jlammeum) could scarcely be more pointed or paradoxical. Any such reversal of roles was 180

Nero's alien capital regarded as an affront to nature, as Seneca makes clear {Letters 122.7 'non uidentur tibi contra naturam uiuere qui commutant cum feminis uestem?'), and a precisely analogous point to Tacitus' is made by Juvenal when describing the homosexual marriage of one Gracchus, who as a priest once carried the sacred shields of Mars but who now wears the bridal veil (2.124—6).44 Gracchus too, like Nero, bestows a dowry (2.117—18); and Juvenal makes much of his inability to bear children (2.137—8), something to which, in the case of Nero, Tacitus makes only a brief, though telling, allusion ('genialis torus'). 45 These and other details of Tacitus' penultimate sentence are all in keeping with a Roman bride and hence with Nero's unnatural adoption of that role; but Roman brides were not expected to have sexual intercourse in public, something which Ovid associates with animals (Ars amatoria 2.615—16). This final atrocity {denique) was, however, nevertheless accomplished by Nero, who therefore went even beyond the exchange of male and female roles (hence ' etiam in femina') and practised sex in a manner more normally associated with foreigners and barbarians.46 Herodotus tells us that in the Caucasus men and women have intercourse openly 'like animals^(1.203.2), and the same practice is attributed to the Mossynoeci on the shores of the Black Sea by both Xenophon and Apollonius, and to the Irish by Strabo (who adds incest for good measure).47 Predictably the motif recurs in Lucian's parody {True history 2.19), and it is combined with its animal aspect by Herodotus when he says that in a certain part of Egypt a woman was seen mating with a goat 'openly' (2.46.4). Hence Nero's behaviour, as described by Tacitus, is not only foreign but also serves to keep alive the suggestions of animalism in lupanaria and grege earlier.

THE SUB-TEXT: AUTHOR AND AUDIENCE Although Tigellinus' revels are described also by Dio (62.15.1-6), he concentrates on the construction of the pontoon and on the heterosexual couplings which took place by the lakeside. Only Tacitus describes the revels in terms of a series of reversals, the sheer number of which suggests that he intends to describe Rome as if it were an alien place. Reversals, as we have seen, are the standard method by which ancient authors described foreign countries and peoples. And, since Tacitus also presents the revels as the sequel to the incident in the temple of Vesta, his precise suggestion would seem to be that Nero himself turned Rome into a foreign city to compensate for the eastern tour which he had been 181

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obliged to call off. But can we go further, and identify any particular foreign city at which Tacitus may be hinting? Later in his narrative of A.D. 64 Tacitus sarcastically implies that Nero's new house, under construction after the Great Fire, was almost co-extensive with the city of Rome itself: Tacitus refers to ' the parts of the city which were superfluous to the house' (43.1 'urbis quae domui supererant').48 Now this statement is a fruitful source of irony. Nero in a speech at the start of his reign had promised that he would keep his domus separate from the res publica (13.4.2 'discretam domum et rem publicam') and had implied that he would follow in Augustus' footsteps (13.4.1), an implication which, in Suetonius' version, is made explicit: ' He declared that he would rule according to the principles of Augustus' {Nero 10.1). Yet Nero's house after the Fire, so far from being separate from the res publica, not only takes over practically the whole city but also represents a reversal of Augustus' behaviour, who had opened up his own house to the public (Velleius 2.81.3 'publids se usibus destinare professus est'). Yet these ironies become directly relevant only after the Fire: what is curious, therefore, is that Tacitus should make a very similar point here at 37.1 before the Fire: ' totaque urbe quasi domo uti'. It is however interesting to recall that, according to the geographer Strabo (17.1.8), successive Ptolemies had so extended the royal residence at Alexandria that it came to occupy a large area of the city, which was actually called 'The Palaces' (TCX pocai'Aeicc). This area was connected to the headland of Lochias by 'The Inner Palaces', in which, says Strabo, there were 'groves and numerous lodges of various types' (17.1.9).49 According to the Memoirs of Ptolemy Euergetes, this same area also contained a zoo, established by Ptolemy Philadelphus, which exhibited exotic birds and animals.50 Alexandria had an artificial harbour called Cibotus, which, though placed by Strabo in the west of the city, is located in the eastern Palaces area by a papyrus of 13 B.C.51 And though I can find no evidence that parties were held actually in this harbour, we are told by Callixenus, a historian of the second century B.C., that Ptolemy Philopator constructed a massive royal barge, with an assortment of cabins, the largest of which could hold twenty couches and was decorated with gold and ivory, and saloons for holding dinner parties.52 This accumulation of details suggests that, if Tacitus is not describing Alexandria here, he is at least describing a city very like it. At this point in the argument it is necessary to recall the observation (which has often been made) that Tacitus' description of Nero's entourage as Mo contaminatorum grege (37.4) is an allusion to Horace, Odes 1.37.6—10: 182

Nero's alien capital Capitolio regina dementis ruinas funus et imperio parabat contaminato cum grege turpium, morbo uirorum. Horace was referring to the eunuchs who were conventionally associated with Egypt in the ancient world; 54 and in his ode their leader, being a woman (regina), is an appropriate analogue to Nero, who in his wedding to Pythagoras adopts the female role. Yet Cleopatra was not only a woman but queen of, precisely, Alexandria. Similarly Tacitus' account of Nero's wedding ends with the words nox operit, which are borrowed from the fourth book of Virgil's Aeneid?h There Aeneas says that, as often as night covers the earth (351—2 'quotiens... | nox operit terras'), he dreams he must seek a foreign kingdom (350 'et nos fas extera quaerere regna'). Aeneas' words may well seem significant enough in themselves, but we must also remember that this is his last speech to Dido — another queen ' reigning on the African continent' and regarded by many scholars as an allegory of Cleopatra.56 And it was Cleopatra, we recall, who famously used a Ptolemaic barge for her meeting with Mark Antony. According to Plutarch's account (Antony 26.1—2, 4), it had a gilded poop and purple sails; Cleopatra herself reclined beneath a canopy spangled with gold; and, when Antony arrived on board for dinner, what most astonished him was * the multitude of lights,... [which] were let down and displayed on all sides at once'. And though the meeting between the two took place at Tarsus in Cilicia, it seems safe to assume that the barge itself had voyaged there from its base at Alexandria.57 Tacitus' allusions to Virgil and especially Horace strongly support the suggestion that the author is providing a ' metonymical' description of Alexandria ; 58 and that we as his audience are intended to recognise the description seems confirmed by what we are told at the very beginning of the episode. At 36.1 Tacitus said that, of all the eastern provinces which Nero had proposed to visit, it was ''particularly Egypt' (' maxime Aegyptum') which he had in mind. Now we know from other authors that Alexandria was rumoured to be Nero's planned destination during the final days of his life;59 but Suetonius also tells us that it was Alexandria which the emperor proposed to visit in the present year, A.D. 64, until he was deterred by the frightening incident in the temple of Vesta {Nero 19.1, cf. 35.5). Clearly it is this Alexandrian trip to which Tacitus refers with his mention of Egypt; but what is interesting is the way he presents the proposal as part of Nero's 'private fantasisings' 183

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('secretis imaginationibus'). If it was a private fantasy of the emperor's, there was no onus upon Tacitus to refer to it ; 60 but, by doing so, he has activated the coded sub-text which the audience is meant to elicit from the description which follows at 37.2—4. Such a procedure is very much in Tacitus' manner.61 Earlier in this same book he has encouraged his readers to see the foreign campaigns of A.D. 62—3 in terms of the famous disaster which the Romans suffered at the hands of the Samnites several centuries previously at the Caudine Forks and which had been described in Book 9 of Livy. Tacitus records a rumour that, as a result of the leadership of the commander (Paetus), ' sub iugum missas legiones' (15.2), just as had famously happened in 321 B.C., when, according to Livy,' primi consules... sub iugum missi... turn deinceps singulae legiones' (9.6.1). Tacitus says that when the troops of the commander-in-chief (Corbulo) met those of Paetus, * uix prae fletu usurpata consalutatio' (15.4), which recalls the Capuans' report to their senate about the Romans after the Caudine disaster: in Livy's words 'non reddere salutem salutantibus... prae metu potuisse' (9.6.12). And when Tacitus makes the Parthian envoys boast to Nero that their possession of Armenia was gained 'non sine ignominia Romana' (24.1), that recalls Livy's authorial description of the Caudine episode as one of 'Romanae ignominiae' (9.15.10). All these allusions to Livy and his account of the Caudine tragedy have been activated earlier at 13.2, where Tacitus had depicted Paetus' troops as actually calling to mind that very same event {Caudinae) — a depiction which itself constitutes an allusion to Livy (35.11.3 'Caudinaeque cladis memoria non animis modo sed prope oculis obuersabatur').62 If Tacitus here at 36—7 has used similar techniques to prompt his audience to believe that Nero transformed Rome into Alexandria, the transformation is not simply a literary yew d* esprit but plays a significant part in the author's presentation of the emperor. Alexandria was an essentially ambiguous city, half Greek and half Egyptian.63 Its Greekness not only provided a potential target for the prejudice of Tacitus' audience but also meant that the city could be represented as the object of Nero's personal enthusiasm and devotion, since his love of all things Greek was notorious.64 On the other hand, the city's Egyptian character meant that it was at the same time genuinely alien in a sense that Greece itself was not. In this respect too it was target for popular prejudice, since 'Egyptians generally were regarded by the Romans with hatred and contempt'.65 Indeed Tacitus' allusion to Horace's Cleopatra ode may be intended to awaken thoughts of the propaganda of the late republic, in which it was alleged that Mark Antony proposed to stay with Cleopatra 184

Nero's alien capital in Alexandria and transfer the capital thither from Rome.66 This propaganda in its turn continued the taunts directed against Antony in 44 B.C. by Cicero, who in his second Philippic, for example, had accused him of a homosexual marriage in very similar terms to those used by Tacitus about Nero (44) :67 sumpsisti uirilem, quam statim muliebrem togam reddidisti. primo uulgare scortum, certa flagitii merces (nee ea parua); sed cito Curio interuenit, qui te..., tamquam stolam dedisset, in matrimonio stabili et certo collocauit. It was of course the battle of Actium in 31 B.C. between Antony and the future Augustus which ensured that Alexandria, where Antony committed suicide a year later, would not become the capital of the empire. There is thus considerable irony in the notion that Nero, descended equally from both men, should proclaim himself a follower of Augustus (above, p. 182) but at the same time, having killed his relative Torquatus for enjoying Augustan ancestry too (p. 173), should be depicted at the end of the Julian dynasty as adopting an overtly 'Antonian5 lifestyle and as transforming Rome into Antony's hated Egyptian city. Yet the popular Roman hatred for Alexandria does not mean that Nero himself did not share the same attitude to its Egyptian character. One of the features which distinguishes Tacitus' portrayal of the emperor is a complex of metaphors by which he is presented as an aggressor attacking his own city.68 These metaphors start right at the beginning of Tacitus' narrative of the reign (13.25.1—2) but are particularly prominent in Book 15. For example, after hinting strongly that the Fire at Rome was started by Nero himself (38-7),69 Tacitus says that he Maid Italy waste' and 'looted the temples in the City' (45.1 'peruastata Italia... spoliatis in urbe templis'). From the standpoint of a Roman audience these metaphors identify Nero as a foreign aggressor, as is made clear by a passage of indirect speech in which Calpurnius Piso says that Nero 'built his house from the spoils of the citizens' (52.1 ' spoliis ciuium exstructa domo'); but the metaphors inevitably carry the further implication that Nero himself viewed Rome as a foreign city, which nothing prevented him from sacking. In terms of the analogy which I have been pursuing, Alexandria was the only foreign city in the whole empire which had this dual capacity of attracting Nero's favouritism and hatred in equal measure, a city to be decorated or destroyed according to his changing whim. Thus, when Tacitus depicts Nero as transforming Rome into Alexandria, he is not merely illustrating 185

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the emperor's exorbitant compensation for his frustrated wanderlust70 but is also underlining still further the schizophrenic element in the emperor's personality which we observed at the end of the preceding paragraph. Since Rome's transformation into an alien capital has depended upon numerous reversals of situation and behaviour, as we have seen, it is at least arguable that Tacitus' authorial role has also changed: from that of historian in chapter 36 to that of paradoxographer in chapter 37.71 Earlier in the Annals, for example, Tacitus had gone out of his way to scorn the technicalities of engineering as unworthy of inclusion in historiography proper (13.31.1); but feats of construction form a staple ingredient of paradoxographical narratives such as that of Herodotus, and Tacitus here provides an account, albeit brief, of the construction of Tigellinus' remarkable party pontoon. The exceptional nature of the account is reflected in Tacitus' use of language, for in this single sentence we meet superponere, which he does not employ elsewhere, tractus, which he does not employ elsewhere in the sense of' traction' or * towing', and moueri, which in its simple form and primary sense he again seems not to employ elsewhere.72 Yet at the same time none of these words is unusual in itself. Tacitus has evidently adopted one of the main techniques of producing an impression of * otherness', which is * to describe practices which are abominable (to us) in an altogether neutral fashion, even using technical vocabulary, as if they were the simplest and most common practices in the world'. 73 Another example resides in the parenthetical reference to Pythagoras' name. The primary function of the reference is to guarantee the genuineness of an incident which otherwise seems beyond belief; but this in its turn implies the privileged stance of the paradoxographer, who has specialised knowledge and for whom naming is an activity which characterises his role.74 This explains why ancient historians, including Tacitus, tend to mention names in ethnographical or foreign contexts.75 Yet it is the actual wedding of Pythagoras to Nero which provides the most notable example of all. Earlier in the Annals (11.27) Tacitus had described a solemn wedding ceremony (termed nuptiarum sollemnia: 11.26.3) involving Messalina, wife of the emperor Claudius, and C. Silius, consul designate: Haud sum ignarus fabulosum uisum iri tan turn ullis mortalium securitatis fuisse in ciuitate omnium gnara et nihil reticente, nedum consulem designatum cum uxore principis praedicta die, adhibitis qui obsignarent, uelut suscipiendorum liberorum 186

Nero's alien capital causa conuenisse, atque illam audisse auspicum uerba, subisse Livy 8.16.9, 25.24.2, etc.

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36 Aulus Gellius comments on Cicero's words in this passage: tanti motus horrorisque sunt ut non narrari quae gesta sunt sed rem geri prorsus uideas (10.3.10). 37 For physical appearance as an indication of character (effictio^ characterismus) see Rhet. Her. 4.63; Evans (1969) 40-4. In oratory characters are presented as unambiguously good or bad; cf. Russell (1990). 38 For arguments ex ante acta uita see Volkmann (1885) 369-75; Stroh (1975) 251 n. 48. 39 Griffin (1985) 91. 40 actae in fact is Philippson's conjecture for acta of the manuscripts (cf. 5.63 in acta cum mulierculis iacebat ebrius and 5.82); it is needed to balance conuiuia (cf. Cic. Cael. 35 accusatores...Baias actas conuiuia... iactant). The person who miscopied the word must have been an incompetent reader who could not see a joke. 41 Quint. 1.1.34 sequentia intuenti prior a dicenda sunt, et quod difficillimum est diuidenda intentio animi, ut aliud uoce aliud oculis agatur; Lucian, Adv. Ind. 2. 42 Usener (1900); Fraenkel (1961); Lintott (1968) 6—10. 43 Plass (1988) 30-1. 44 For such pasquinades see Cic. QF 2.3.2 cum omnium maledicta, uersus denique obscenissimi in Clodium et Clodiam dicerentur; Veyne (1983) 13—15; Richlin (1983) 94-6. 45 Verr. 11.1.70; Livy, Per. 86; Lintott (1968) 8-9. 46 Accius 655 Ribbeck (TRF9) = inc. 33 Warmington (Remains of Old Latin 2.574). 47 Cameron (1966). 48 Sheppard (1987) 94-113.

2

S T R A T A G E M S OF V A N I T Y

1 Cf. 8ET y a p !pv0piav braivounevov (' one ought to blush when praised'), Plut. Mor. 547B. 2 See Earl (1967) chapters 1—3. 3 'The distinction between "panegyric" and "history" was accepted in the Hellenistic world; it was observed by Polybius when he wrote of Philopoemen', Balsdon (1964) 203. Polybius (10.21.5—8) says he wrote about Philopoemen in three books which did not form part of his history. These books summarised and exaggerated Philopoemen's achievements (\XET ccu^rjaecos) in the manner of an encomium (lyxcoiJuacrnKos). The present history (icrropia) distributes praise and blame impartially (KOIVOS WV ITTOCIVOU KOCI yoyou). It aims at a true account (£r|TET TOV aAnGfj onroXoyiCTiiov) and supplies reasons for the author's judgements. Now Cicero certainly wants to be treated fulsomely (2-3) and dramatically (6); but at the same time he wants to receive that treatment in a historia, a work in which Lucceius will explain causes and mete out reasoned judgements (4 and 8). So it will have to be a historia with the rules bent, a biased, in fact to some degree a bogus historia. Similarly, speaking of his own writings about his consulship in Latin and Greek, Cicero says non eyxcouiacrnKa sunt haec sedivropiKOL (Att. 1.19.10). Cicero realises that encomia are already a devalued currency; here he is seeking to devalue historiae. So his blushes are fully justified. 4 Shackleton Bailey (1977) 318. 5 This section is naturally brought into controversies about Cicero's, the Romans', and indeed the ancients' conception of historical accuracy; see Brunt (1979) and Woodman (1988) and the works to which they refer, non nostrum... tantas 218

Notes to pages 23—30

6 7 8

9

10 11

componere lites, but a few brief points suggest themselves: (1) Cicero does not sum up in a systematic comprehensive statement his thoughts about history, any more than he does about philosophy or religion. (2) In most passages he is thinking of history not (or not primarily) in the sense of what happened in the past but rather as historiography, and historiography as seen by the writer as distinct from the researcher (though how far he distinguished the two is debatable). (3) This, however, does not mean that he lacked any sense of historical truth; see, e.g., the distinction between truth and fiction as acknowledged in De leg. 1.4—5. (4) If one asks what is meant by * partiality' and ' prejudice' on the part of a writer, the answer can only be given in terms of truth and falsehood, however complex and difficult those concepts may be. So even in those passages where Cicero adopts the writer's perspective he is still dealing indirectly with 'the facts'. The mot is Shackleton Bailey's (1982) 40. Presumably Cicero has in mind the kind of discussion described in De rep. 1.44—5 and 65—9. Reading interim (Ferrarius) for reditu. There was more than one version of the supposed return of Themistocles' body to Athens (see Gomme (1959) on Thuc. 1.138.6). But Cicero, who elsewhere acknowledges Themistocles' death {Brut. 43; Att. 9.10.3; De am. 42), could hardly have referred thus to his 'return' without some further explanation. A certain awkwardness remains, however, in that we might have expected Cicero to mention someone who, like himself, was exiled and returned alive. If interituque is right, perhaps the corruption was due to the scribe's awareness of this point. As Cicero is just about to speak of his own experiences, to translate exitu as 'death' seems inappropriate, though it was of course regularly used in that sense, e.g. clarissimorum hominum nostrae ciuitatis grauissimos exitus in Consolatione collegimus {De div. 2.22). For 'tragic history' see the studies of Ullman (1942), Brink (i960), and Walbank (i960) = (1985) 224-41. One thinks of Aristotle's amusing account of the high-souled man in NEy Book 4,

12 Cf. Hor. Epist. 2.1.239—50 and the notes of Brink (1982). 13 Hor. Epist. 1.14.43 ('the ox longs for the saddle'). 14 See section 1 of the present letter (also 9), and cf. Att. 4.6.4. Atticus promised his support, Att. 4.9.2. 15 This is a revised version of a piece called ' Humble self-esteem: a mannerism of the Younger Pliny', which appeared in Classical News and Views 7 (1963). The editors of the periodical have kindly allowed me to reuse it. 16 I have not tried to render the next four lines, because I am not sure of their meaning. 17 This is presumably based on something said by a Greek. Juvenal could have supplied a suitable comment. 18 This ploy (' I'm only reporting what others say') was proscribed by Plutarch {Mor. 546E). 19 Cf. 9.33.11. For the rhetorical' heightening' of historical facts see also Lucius Verus' letter to Fronto in the Loeb edn of Fronto, vol. 11, 196.

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3

SHALL I COMPARE T H E E . . . ?

For their comments, criticisms, and suggestions, I gladly thank T. B. McKiernan, C. A. Martindale, and A. J. Woodman. 1 Lyne (1980) 52; I would differ only in removing the 'probably'. 2 The topos of apology for adding to the bibliography is therefore a heartfelt one. Readers will find a way into the labyrinth in Harrauer (1979) 95-8, and Holoka (1985) 228—35. For my present purposes, I have found the following studies particularly stimulating or helpful: Macleod (1974) 82—8; Lyne (1980) 52—60; Williams (1980) 50-61; Tuplin (1981); Hubbard (1984). 3 Cf. Tuplin (1981) 135, on the significance of the barathrum simile: 'But, granted that it is oblique, is not that the manner of the whole poem ?' 4 'It is remarkable that similes occupy no less than 64 of the 120 lines of LXVIII B', Lee (1990) 174 (the total will vary according to one's definitions). On the links between simile and analogy, see Quint. 5.11.34, with McCall (1969) 210. One of McCalFs most interesting findings is to show that the ancient critics did not have our preoccupation with the formal distinctions between simile and other forms of comparison: 'in purpose, in sphere and method of use, and in content simile differs not at all from other figures of comparison', McCall (1969) 259. Some modern critics concur: see Booth (1979) 53. 5 I thank D. F. Kennedy for giving me this lead, and for referring me to Barthes' lugubrious meditations on the lover's bent for constructing analogies: 'Le sujet s'identifie douloureusement a n'importe quelle personne (ou n'importe quel personnage) qui occupe dans la structure amoureuse la meme position que lui', Barthes (1977) 153. A line of Ovid provides a motto for this gambit: omnibus historiis se meus aptat amor {Am. 2.4.44). 6 Williams (1980) 62-94. 7 See McKeown (1989) ad loc. Note how Ovid reveals the essential passivity of the beloved's role in this process when he explodes the analogies in Am. 1.10: 'You were like Helen, Leda, Amymone, but not any more. Why have / changed, you ask? (cur sim mutatus, quaeris?).' Not 'Why have you changed...?' 8 Quint. 5.11.1-2, with Lausberg (i960) 232, McCall (1969) 187-90. 9 Few will follow Heath (1988) when (after a dismayingly reductive 'demonstration' that Catullus is not really married to his beloved) he declares ' I can see no reason to believe... that Catullus assimilates his relationship to Lesbia to marriage at any point in this poem' (118). More on this below. 10 In Sappho's hymenaeals the groom is compared to Achilles and Ares (frr. 105 (b), i n Lobel—Page), bride and groom (possibly) to Andromache and Hector (fr. 44): see Page (1955) 71—4; Lieberg (1962) 19; Burnett (1983) 219—20; and, generally on such comparisons in hymenaeal, Costa (1973) on Sen. Med. 75ft0. 11 Sappho frr. 105(a) and (c), and especially 115, where the need to make comparison is explicitly invoked (' To what, dear bridegroom, may I well compare you ? To a slender sapling I compare you above all % tr. Page (1955) 123). See Seaford (1986) 52-3. 12 I hope that my use of' beloved' rather than ' Lesbia' is not irritating; I aim to show further on why we should not glide over the anonymity of the Candida diua. 13 I return below to the problem of the reference of this simile. 14 Poem 17 is perhaps the most exuberant example outside 68; the flower at the end

22O

Notes to pages 35—7

15

16 17 18 19

20

21

22

23

24

25

of 11 will head most readers' list of memorable Catullan similes. Those with the stomach for it may look again at 97.7—8. Similes are virtually always discussed with metaphor rather than alone, and the following introductory bibliography therefore tends to concentrate on metaphor: Shibles (1971); Silk (1974); Ricoeur (1978); Sacks (1979); Cooper (1986); Kittay (1987). The debate over the relationship between metaphor and simile is one which I may skirt here, since analogies of one kind or another are at issue all the way through this poem. So Ruthven (1969) 9 on the 'intimation of unsuspected harmony on the far side of disparity'. Not only in his articles on similes themselves (West (1969^) and (1970)), but in his work on Horace (1967), and Lucretius (1969a) and (1975). Lausberg (i960) 230—4. Kerrigan (1986) 23. When Lausberg (i960) 231, commenting on Quintilian's categories of simile/dissimile (5.11.7), says 'Jedes simile hat (wegen des Mangels volliger Identitat) auch ein dissimile in sich', he is saying more, so far as I discover, than any ancient critic actually claimed. Silk (1974) 5; he goes on to quote Johnson on a passage of Dryden: 'there is so much likeness in the initial comparison that there is no illustration'. Perhaps the first systematic discussion of this feature of simile is to be found in Richards (1936) 120--7; the enigmatic collocation of'same' and 'different' forms the main basis of the analysis of metaphor given by Ricoeur (1978): 'in metaphor, resemblance can be construed as the site of the clash between sameness and difference' (196). The most extreme statement of the weakness of seeing only the similar in simile comes from Cooper (1986) 143:' To say that a simile states a similarity or asserts a likeness is misleading to the point of outright falsity. Similes, in fact, are non-literal utterances, indulgence in which requires as much explanation as does that in metaphor.' Silk (1974) 5: 'Plainly, the point of similarity (the tilt of the man's head and the poppy's head) makes possible a fine sensory effect. But equally plainly, that single point is outweighed in interest by the points of dissimilarity, the contrast. The poppy is alive and flourishing in a peaceful garden; Gorgythion is dead on the battlefield.' Taplin (1980) 15; cf. Porter (1972); Macleod (1982) 48-9; and the preliminary remarks on contrast in Frankel (1921) 105-6. Ricks (1963) 127-31 has an interesting discussion of some similes in Paradise Lost where Milton 'uses an unlikeness between the things compared'. Moulton (1977) 128—34; Foley (1978). The Iliadhas only one simile quite like this, when Priam's arrival to supplicate Achilles for the corpse of his son is compared to that of a man who has killed someone and runs for refuge to the house of a rich man (24.480—4): see Macleod (1982) ad loc. Macleod (1982) 4 9 : ' The simile intensifies the joy of the moment by pointing to what might have been instead.' A discussion of this simile with students in a Classical Studies seminar at Bristol led to a further conclusion concerning the dimension of loss captured at this moment of recognition: twenty years of filial and parental experience have indeed been lost. This moment of unanalysable power is acknowledged by Virgil, when he has Aeneas say that not even the soldier of harsh Ulysses would be able to refrain from weeping if he heard the story of the sack of Troy (Aen. 2.6—8). 221

Notes to pages 37-41 26 On this magnificent moment, see Moulton (1977) 129—30, Foley (1978) 24—6 and, especially, Winkler (1989) 161. Those who enjoy Apollonius Rhodius' wit will find much to relish in his deadpan version of the contrast-simile (4.1337—43). 27 'Tenor' and 'vehicle' are the terms coined by Richards (1936) to describe, respectively, the thing compared and the thing to which it is compared. His usage is, in fact, rather inconsistent; for some criticisms, see Kittay (1987) 16-17, 24-6. 28 On this discrepancy, see, e.g., Macleod (1974) 83—8; Lyne (1980) 59—60; Williams (1980) 50-61; Tuplin (1981) 117-18; Hubbard (1984) 34. Heath (1988), in his dogged insistence that' Lesbia is not a bride', and that Catullus never imagined he was married to her, misses the point so entirely that one is at a loss how to begin countering him; would he maintain as stoutly that Gorgythion was not a poppy? 29 Peisander fr. 9A Davies. Robson (1972) would read Trachinia for Trinacria in line 53, thus making another Herculean link, but it is difficult to see what the heat of the Trachinian crag would be. 30 Tuplin (1981) 133—6. 31 Shipton (1983) 872 n. 11 collects the many discussions on the problem. 32 So Sarkissian (1983) 49 n. 36, citing such Iliadic similes as 17.722-34. 33 Sarkissian, ibid.: 'None of the arguments advanced on either side of the question prevent our understanding the simile to modify both the tears and the auxilium.' 34 Homer: Moulton (1977) 19—27; note that Homer does not have similes back to back, but moves from one to the other with some connecting material. Rarity in later literature: Williams (1980) 52. I do not find any examples in Apollonius or Virgil; note Sil. It. 1.461^72, 5.384-400, 7.139—45; Stat. Theb. 6.596-601. 35 Cf. //. 17.53-69, where the first simile for Euphorbus' death gives us what his father might feel (a young olive has been carefully nurtured by a man, only to be uprooted in a storm), and the second gives us the point of view of Menelaus, his killer: a lion breaks a bull's neck and laps up its blood and its guts. Horace has a similar movement in his paired similes at the beginning of Odes 4.4: Williams (1968) 752—3. 36 The juxtaposition appears to look at the title of the Protesilaodamia of Catullus' predecessor, Laevius, a poem which, one suspects, lurks behind much of this section: that poem had a doorkeeper (fr. 16 Morel), some jokes and laughter which it is very tempting to read as the Fescennines of a marriage-procession (fr. 15), and anxious meditations from Laodamia about the possible infidelity of her absent husband (fr. 18). 37 I may be curt here, since this discordance has been well analysed, from various different angles, in the discussions cited in n. 28 above. 38 Macleod (1974) 85-6. 39 Hubbard (1984) 34; cf. Macleod (1974) 83-4; Williams (1980) 55, 59; Tuplin (1981) 118, 135-6; Sarkissian (1983) 26, 30 (though I cannot accept Sarkissian's interpretation of cui in 131). 40 Above, n. 8. 41 Burkert (1979) 28. 42 On this simile, and on the importance of the oblique analogies manufactured by the startling figure of Hercules, see the discussion of Tuplin (1981). 43 Williams (1980) 56. Compare the way in which Virgil, at Aen. 2.496, uses rum sic ' when a comparison is made with something that is inadequate to give the full force of the thing illustrated', as Austin (1964) ad loc. puts it, giving further examples. 44 I have much sympathy with attempts to blend the two similes into a composite picture of 'intense physical passion and deep spiritual unity and constancy' 222

Notes to pages 41—3

45 46 47 48

49 50

51 52

53

54 55 56

57 58 59

(Sarkissian (1983) 30; cf. Williams (1980) 57). I wish to stress, however, how very difficult Catullus is making it for us to achieve this blending — a difficulty accentuated by the fact that one may also see reference to Catullus' feeling for his brother leaking into (or out of) the grandfather simile: Williams, ibid. Love in this poem is, after all, double {duplex, 51). Reference to Poem 72 in, e.g., Sarkissian (1983) 30. The definitions are those of OLD. Prop. 2.15.27—8; Plin. NH 10.104. Macleod (1974) 86: 'Perhaps it is because its passion is truer that it seeks kisses more shamelessly than a woman of easy morals'; Williams (1980) 57—8:' But in the second comparison a note is struck by (128) multiuola, which recalls the various allusions to adultery and unfaithfulness; that has, however, nothing to do with Laudamia (who was uniuira not multiuola), and it seems for the moment to be something that just naturally slipped off the poet's tongue.' Van Sickle (1980); Tuplin (1981) 131-2; Sarkissian (1983) 18; Allen (1986). The clearest example of such dubiety is in 66.15—22, where Catullus' and Callimachus' lock speculates pruriently about the tears of the newly-wed. See Burnett (1983) 216-19 on the preparation for marriage in Sappho's circle:' One had to be both pure and desirable, and the balance was not easy to keep, for chastity was provocative' (216). The larger issue of the ambivalence of the mythical paradigm in hymenaeal is also relevant in this context. Burnett (1983) 220 n. 6 disagrees with interpretations of Sapphic hymenaeal which seek to find a cloud in comparisons of the groom to Hector or Achilles; however we decide to read these passages, it seems hard to deny that Catullus will have found the uncontrollability of such analogies a fruitful starting-point for his paradigms of Protesilaus and Laodamia. Fordyce (1961) and Ellis (1889) ad loc. This adroit touch anticipates the more comprehensive undermining of the reader's analogical interpretations after the final analogy of the poem, where Catullus blandly tells us that it is, after all, not right for men to be compared to gods (atqui nee diuis homines componier aequum est, 141). If, that is, one accepts, as most editors do, Heyse's muta for the transmitted mira; for a discussion, see Streuli (1969) 80-5 (who himself decides for mira). Contrast the legitimate marriage of Manlius and Iunia, quoniam palam \ quod cupis cupis, et bonum \ non abscondis amorem, 61.196—8. For this sense of conferv, see OLD s.v. 14. Harries (1979) 78. An interesting parallel to these conclusions is to be found in Colin MacCabe's discussion of the passage in which Milton describes Satan's movements in Hell {Paradise Lost, 1.283—312):' The entire sequence produces a continual changing of perspective, common to Milton's description of Hell in which metaphor and simile follow one another so quickly that there is no question of a basic description which the equivalences or comparisons elaborate. Instead the description simply becomes the passage through these comparisons and equivalences, a transport, to give metaphor its original force, of language': MacCabe (1988) 437. And, it may be, Laevius, and Euphorion: Tuplin (1981). Conte (1986) 67. Conte (1986) 68. Cf. Williams (1980) 62 on the extreme rarity of Catullan extended similes in Propertius and Tibullus: ' The figure of extended simile was too heavy

223

Notes to pages 44—9 and ornate, too distracting, to be used in love-poetry that purported to be personal statement.' 60 Sarkissian (1983) 23: 'It is disconcerting that what should be a passionate, almost involuntary outburst on Catullus' part is largely mere repetition of what we have already heard.' See Sarkissian's n. 67 for references to the desperate expedient of excision adopted by so many scholars. I realise that this way of looking at the repetition implies a view about the relationship of 68A and B, but this is no place to enter into that maze. 61 I see in a positive light, then, the qualities of the poem which lead Lyne (1980) 52 to speak of 'laboured artificiality vying with sublimity'. 4

ATOMS AND E L E P H A N T S

1 West (1969a) vii, 17 {bis). 2 For religio and religare, see Lactant. Inst. 4.28.3 and 13 (citing this passage); there is also religione refrenatus at Lucr. 5.114. Cf. West (1969a) 59 on superstitio super ins tans. 3 Cf. Amory (1969) 153^: 'If Lucretius says that he will touch cuncta with poetic grace, he does not mean that he will embroider the work as a whole with a few splendid passages here and there, but that every detail, perhaps for him every word and letter, will have an aroma from the sweet honey of the Muses.' 4 West (1969a) 74—8; cf. West (1969^) on Virgil. 5 Godwin (1986) 13 translates it as (respectively) 'coats' and 'smears'. 6 6.92-5, cf. 47; 1.117-19, cf - 9 2 9 f -; i-7i6-337 West (1969a) 29 and his ch. 3 passim. Iphigeneia: 1.84-100. Phaethon: 5.396-405. Trojan War: 1.473^7. 8 5.114—21, 160—3, with 1.80—2, 102—11 (scelus at 1.82 and 5.118). For gigantomachy in epic, see Hardie (1986) 85—97, cf. 209—13 on Lucretius. 9 E.g. 1.257-HS1, 2.352-65, 4.586-9 (Pan), 5.925-52; see in general Gillis (1967). 10 E.g. 2.22-58, 3.48—58, 4.1121^70, 5.999—1101, etc.; see in general Dudley (1965). 11 6.1141—1286, cf. Thuc. 2.47—54; West (1979). 12 Iliad 1.247-9 (Nestor), cf. Cic. Div. 1.78 (Plato). Kenney (1977) 32-6; 'the message and the mission' is the title of his ch. 4. 13 Bailey (1947) 858-95. 14 2.153—64. corpora (prima, genitalia, etc.) is used at 1.58—61 and elsewhere, but that is more abstract (cf. 1.302—4) and less vivid than the use of the diminutive. 15 The same image at 4.190 (cf. plaga 188): successive lightning-flashes as a' goaded oxteam '. 16 Enn. Ann. 236 Skutsch (Aul. Gell. Noct. An. 18.5.2). 17 Lucr. 5.1303, Lactant. De opificio 5.12. Cf. Skutsch (1985) 740 on fr. 611 (Isid. Orig. 10.270) and Vahlen's emendation of tenuimus. 18 Lee (1884) 186. Most commentaries pass over it in silence. 19 Palisade: West (1969a) 21. India: Sedlar (1980), cf. Dihle (1964), Schmitthenner (1979). Elephants: Scullard (1974). 20 See for instance Theopompus, FGrH 115 F 381; Strabo 3.1.9 (70) on pseudologoi; Arrian, Anab. 5.4.3. Ctesias: FGrH 688 T I I , F 45—52. 21 Varro ap. Plin. iW/6.51—2 (trans. H. Rackham, slightly adapted); cf. Aristobulus, FGrH 139 F 20. In fact the Oxus (Amu Darya) flows into the Aral Sea, not the Caspian. 224

Notes to pages 50-5 22 Nepos fr. 7 Peter (ap. Plin. NH 2.170, Pomp. Mela 3.5.44). Metellus under Pompey: Dio 36.54.2—4. Caspian: Strabo 2.5.18 (121), etc. 23 App. Mith. 117, Dio 37.21.2, Diod. Sic. 40.4; Nicolet (1988) 45—55. 24 Plut. Crass. 16.2, Comp. Nic. Crass. 4.2 (trans. J. and W. Langhorne). Cf. also Comp. Nic. Crass. 2.6: to make the Caspian or the Indian Ocean the boundary of the Roman empire (ibid. 4.4, Bactria a Roman province). 25 Cat. 11.1—12, cf. 29.12 on Britain {ultima occidentis insuld). 26 FGrH 137 F 17—28. Rome: Cic. Leg. 1.7 (L. Sisenna), Fam. 2.10.3 (M. Caelius); cf. Brut. 42 (rhetorice et tragice ornare). 27 Caes. BG 6.24.2; 6.27 on alcae. See in general Morgan (1980); Rawson (1985) 258-66; Nicolet (1988) 82-95. 28 6.1106—13. Cf. Cat. 29.18—20 on Pontus, western Spain and Britain; Gabinius' army reached Alexandria in the spring of 5 5.

5

IN MEMORIAM

GALLI

1 The text appears in significantly different versions in all modern editions: see Barber (i960); Camps (1961); Richardson (1977); Hanslik (1979); Fedeli (1984). The text as printed here was independently constituted but is (eruptum apart) identical to Goold (1990) and Paley (1872). The fullest apparatus is provided by Hanslik. Further conjectures are listed in Smyth (1970) 26f. I have used MSS to denote the major manuscripts which bear witness to the archetype, and mss to denote manuscript readings which may well be early conjectures and none of which has been identified as a possible witness to the important lost manuscript of Valla; names are those of identifiable critics who first or independently made a conjecture. One may note, without attaching significance to the fact, that Pucci did know the Valla manuscript. On the manuscript tradition see Butrica (1984), whose findings are accepted by Tarrant (1983) 324—6 but not by Goold (1988). 2 The following account is designed to foreground what seems potentially relevant to Propertius 1.21. For a full narrative, see Carter (1970) 101—12; Gabba (1971); Wallmann (1975); Kienast (1982) 36—43; Wallmann (1989) 79—135. The most important sources are App. BC 5.12—34; Dio 48.5-14; Livy, Per. 125^; Velleius Paterculus 2.74.2^; Suet. Aug. i3f., 96.3; Plut. Ant. 30.1. 3 The nature of the sources used by Appian is controversial: see below, n. 123. 4 The dispossessed included Propertius* family. 5 See App. BC 5.32 (128). 6 App. {BC 5.34 (135)) stresses that neither the city nor Lucius was well prepared for a siege; Dio (48.14.2), on the contrary, that they were well supplied. 7 For night sorties, see App. BC 5.34 (136) and 35 (143) (and compare Aeneas Tacticus 23). For a detailed account of the last major attempt to break the siege, see App. BC 5.36-7 (145—55). I assume these are all described exempli gratia. 8 Many of the assumptions that underlie the following analysis are explained in Hirsch (1967); Cairns (1972), DuQuesnay (1981) 53-62; Sperber-Wilson (1986). The bibliography on this poem is extensive: see Harrauer (1973); Fedeli—Pinnotti (1985); Viparelli (1987). Fedeli (1980) provides an excellent commentary, but where so much is controversial I have preferred to go over the ground independently. My conclusions are often in agreement with those of Helm (1952). The more recent interpretations of Camps (1961), Williams (1968) 172—85, 225

Notes to pages 55—8

9

10

11 12

13

14

15 16 17 18

19

20

Richardson (1976), Stahl (1985) 99—129 and Giangrande (1986) differ very strikingly both from one another and from my own. Standard works on the epitaph are: Lier (1903—4); Lattimore (1962). I have cited examples from standard collections: AP 7, CE and G V (see below, p. 260, for these abbreviations). On the affinities with Greek epigrams, see Schulz-Vanheyden (1970) 24—8; Davis (1971) 210; Fedeli (1980) 4876°.; Giangrande (1986) 228. There is nothing to indicate that it was composed as if for a cenotaph, as suggested by Rothstein (1966) 201; Butler—Barber (1933) 186: see Leo (i960) 201; Sluiter (1955) 189; Fedeli (1980) 485. Discussion of this last point is often confused by the unwarranted assumption that Gallus is the propinquus of 1.22. See Helm (1952) 273; Reitzenstein (1975) 7of. Colafrancesco-Massaro (1986) reveal twenty examples of this opening. All statements about lexical usage in CE have now been checked against this excellent concordance. See Lattimore (1962) 230—6; Rothstein (1966) 202; Camps (1961) 98; Fedeli (1980) 487. The favoured word is properare: there are 8 examples in CE (plus 2 of properatim), of which 2 are used with the infinitive and most occur in the opening couplet. For