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The end of Augustan literature: Ovid's Epistulae ex Ponto IV

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The end of Augustan literature: Ovid's Epistulae ex Ponto IV

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Content 1 THE END OF AUGUSTAN LITERATURE: OVID’S EPISTULAE EX PONTO IV CHRISTIAN LEHMANN CLASSICS UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA AUGUST 2018 This dissertation is submitted to the Faculty of the University of Southern California Graduate School in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy 2 Acknowledgements It is a pleasure to record here those individuals and institutions that have supported my work. In the spring of 2008 I had my first Ovid seminar with Benjamin Eldon Stevens at Bard College in which, for the first time, I read the complete works. Our class was in a second story room that jutted out of the building such that it had windows on three sides, and as the snows of the Hudson Valley retreated and spring emerged, we found ourselves reading about Ovid in Tomis. I am pleased that ten years later I am defending a dissertation on Ovid. Thanks to my committee. Had I not taken a seminar on the Aeneid with A. J. Boyle, inspiring reader, intellectual bastion, and jovial critic, I never would have thought I might become a Latinist. Writing under him has truly been an ideal working situation where the criticisms are often accompanied with banter and the praise is hard earned. I extend my most sincere gratitude to him for chairing my committee. Stefano Rebeggiano generously entered my committee at the last second after an unforseen development necessitated a change, and I thank him for taking time out of his leave to come to my assistance. After I started my PhD in Comparative Literature at USC, I read the Metamorphoses with Heather James in a memorable seminar on Ovid’s legacy throughout English literature. I am very pleased she agreed to serve on my committee: she and Tony Boyle form the ring-composition of my education at USC. Thanks to my fellow graduate students and academic peers. The participants in the ASCSA Summer Session 2016 reminded me of the joy that comes from being on surrounded my smart people with different interests every day for six weeks. The conversations I had with my fellow USC classicists deserve mention, Rob Matera, Scott Lepisto, Matt Chaldekas, Elke Nash, and Beau Henson. However, special honors go to Hannah Čulík-Baird and Kayla Dang. When I returned to USC to become a classicist they had both arrived in the intervening year and their 3 immediate friendship, constant companionship, and willingness to adventure physically and intellectually fills me with joy. I would like to thank my grandparents, Donna and Darlas Lehmann for their support and conversation every week during our phone calls. I am grateful that even though I ended up a classicist, my father, Clayton Lehmann, also a classicist, never pushed me in that direction. My mother, Erika Lehmann, never hesitated to give her complete love and support to whatever I pursued. I thank my sister for also becoming my friend after I moved to Los Angeles to live closer to her (and attend graduate school). To Jovita and Vivek, Dev, Rebeka, and Julian, thank you for providing me with a home-away-from-home. Miranda Butler has enriched my life in countless ways over the last two years, and I thank her for her love and laughter and great big brain. The University of Southern California’s support during my graduate career has been generous. The excellent ILL staff at the library made research much easier than it may otherwise have been. Generous travel stipends from the Department of Classics enabled me to present my work at a variety of conferences. I would like to thank the participants of “Globalizing Ovid” (Shanghai), the SCS (Toronto and Boston), “Pacific Rim Roman Literature Seminar” (San Diego), and the Classical Association (Edinburgh), for their careful engagement with my materials. The USC Beaumont Endowed Dissertation Fellowship and Travel award funded my travel to “Arachne VII” (Gothenberg), but more importantly gave me a year in which to dedicate myself completely to my writing. It is fitting here to acknowledge and thank Ryan Prijic for always knowing what to do and how to do it. He keeps USC Classics up and running. Finally, cheers to Sunday Night, without those weekly conversations, Classics would have seemed a far more sober place. Thank you to the BrewCo, Mom’s, and the various porches 4 and stoops that gave us a place to sit. All the participants gave me countless benefits, but a few deserve particular note. Brian Walters taught me to admire the academic book. Craig Russell wrote a mock classics exam for me that continues to stimulate my thoughts about the ancient world. Carl Evans and Rhiannon Knol were constant reminders that loyalty comes in many different forms. My sister, Hilary Lehmann, was steadfast in her encouragement and criticism. But it gives me the greatest happiness to conclude this page with the name of the truest friend— and astute copy-editor—, one whom Ovid might call carissimus, Alex Lessie. 5 TABLE OF CONTENTS Introduction 6-12 Chapter One: The Architecture of Epistulae ex Ponto 4 13-65 Part One: The Structure 13-20 Part Two: 4.1 and 4.2 as Programmatic Poems 21-31 Part Three: Diachronic Progression 31-38 Part Four: Symmetrical Arrangement 38-64 Conclusion 64-65 Chapter Two: Ovid and the Politics of Succession 66-134 Part One: Sextus Pompeius 68-83 Part Two: The Right to Clementia 84-94 Part Three: Kings and Consuls 95-125 Part Four: Skirmishes on the Edge of Empire 125-131 Conclusion 132-134 Chapter Three : Ovid and the Matronae of Rome 135-205 Part One: The Widower 137-148 Part Two: The Wife 148-190 Part Three: The Widows 191-205 Conclusion 205 Chapter Four: The Sacred Rites of Poets 206-273 Part One: A Gathering of Poets 207-226 Part Two: Sacra Poetarum 226-232 Part Three: Poetic Community 233-244 Part Four: Letters to Poets 245-271 Conclusion 271-273 Chapter Five: The Function and Meaning of Pont. 4.16 274-341 Part One: Structures and Catalogues 274-293 Part Two: The Catalogue of Pont. 4.16 293-338 Part Three: The Stakes of Pont. 4.16 339-341 Epilogue 342-345 Bibliography 346-359 6 Introduction Using the term “the Augustan Age” is only possible from hindsight. It is certainly not a term used by anyone who actually lived during the period that dates roughly from the death of Caesar (15 March 44 BCE) to the death of Augustus (19 August 14 CE). 1 As with any such dating, however, there is flexibility on either end, and it might be tempting to consider 27 BCE a more fitting start date as it was when Octavian becomes Augustus. I am much less interested in thinking about Augustan literature in terms of dates than in terms of literary production. What sets the period apart in terms of genre and style; form and content; reading, performance, and publication? One obvious genre is Latin love elegy, which in modern scholarship has moved away from attempts at Greek Quellenforschung to explorations of Roman originality. 2 The elegiac couplet develops into the smooth, contained sense-unit, that we see most frequently in Ovid. 3 It is with “publication” that this study begins. I agree with Elaine Fantham when she suggests that “the poetry book is in some sense the key to the new form and power of poetry in the Augustan age,” and that “[t]his is perhaps the first generation at Rome in which it is appropriate to talk confidently about the intender reader” (emphasis mine). 4 This intended reader, in my view, should be thought of as an “ideal” reader rather than a patron. In the first section of his survey to Latin literature after Augustus, Gian Biagio Conte, et al., provided the subtitle “The End of Patronage.” The death of Maecenas and the loss of his shrewd mediation between the political powers and the intellectual elite created a rift that would be healed only occasionally and then only temporarily. The crisis in patronage is already manifest with Tiberius, who does 1 Indeed, even Horace’s famous tua, Caesar, aetas; “your age, Caesar” (Odes 4.15.4) could, at best, only be seen as anticipatory since Horace died (8 BCE) twenty-two years before Augustus (14 CE). See Breed 2004. 2 See the essays in Thorsen 2013. 3 See the still excellent study by Platnauer 1951. 4 Fantham 1996: 64. 7 not even appear to address the problem of organizing a program of cultural hegemony. 5 Whether one agrees with Conte or not, and I do not, many others have taken this same approach. For Martin Helzle, patronage was key for understanding the background of Ovid’s ex Ponto poetry. 6 Although I think that such studies have often gone too far with the “ah-ha” effect of poetic analysis and patronage—leading to a resistance toward the polysemous readings—, I am, nevertheless, aware of their importance for considering the mechanics behind poetic production. 7 But none of Ovid’s work, both in Rome and in Tomis, can persuasively be argued to have been created as a result of a patron-client connection. In this study, in contrast, I have deliberately eschewed the language of patronage, a practice which will be most apparent in my discussions of Ovid’s relationships with both Sextus Pompeius and Germanicus. Certainly, we can describe the social circles in which Ovid moved and the cultural and financial assistance he gained from his association with Messalla Corvinus, Paullus Fabius Maximus, and the like, but he is hardly beholden to them. In fact, the poetry which is most clearly “patronized” has been lost to us, largely because such poetry is ephemeral, poems such as the funeral dirge he wrote for Corvinus or the epithalamium for Maximus and Marcia. 8 Such descriptions are largely lacking in Pont. 4, creating yet another difference between it and his earlier work. Instead, he fills the book with descriptions of political activities and displays of poetic loyalty even after Augustus has died. 5 Conte 1999: 401. 6 Helzle 1989: 22. 7 For studies focused on patronage, see Culpepper Stroup 2010 and 2013; Damon 1997; Gold 1982; White 1993; Williams 1990; and Wiseman 1982. 8 The former, Pont. 1.7.30; the latter, Pont. 1.2.131. 8 This brings us to my first and most emphatic point. When I title this dissertation “The End of Augustan Literature,” I mean that it is a study that begins with the end of Augustus’ life. 9 Ovid organizes the entirety of Pont. 4 around the year 14 CE and it probably appeared some time after 17 CE. 10 Four letters to the consul of that year, Sextus Pompeius, make him the main addressee (1, 4, 5, 15), and Augustus’ death is mentioned specifically in 4.6, 4.9. and 4.13. I reject the idea that any of the poems in the book must be dated to when Ovid seems to have set them. This is a deliberate poetry book constructed by a master poet who has learned from his fellow Augustan writers and himself about the different strategies involved with publishing a poetry book. This is a volume of poetry built by a poet who had already sent a deliberately- constructed three-volume set to Rome (Pont. 1-3), a poet, we may almost say, who has come out of retirement to offer his final perspective on poetry and Rome in a finale that he orchestrates to coincide with his reworking of the Fasti. While this study focuses primarily on the elegiac poetry book, there will be constant references to the interaction between Pont. 4 and the Fasti, since I see both as working alongside each other; we are asked to use one to elucidate the other and vice-versa. This is why I try not to say “exilic Ovid,” and prefer “late” or “Tomitan Ovid.” There is not a single monolithic project Ovid attempts that begins in 8 CE. Rather, one must examine each volume (or collected volume) he sends as a separate response to specific changes. 11 Thus, 9 I am guilty of saying “literature” rather than “poetry” given that this dissertation is about Ovid and not Ovid and Livy, which would more accurately define the subject, and I can offer little defense beyond euphony and that Ovid’s Pont. 4 marks a shift in all genres of writing. Livy died in 17 CE according to Jerome, our only source as so often. In the 199 th Olympiad he dates both Ovid and Livy’s death. 10 Wheeler 1965: xxxiv-xxxv usefully summarizes the likely publication of Ovid’s material from Tomis. Ovid was exiled in 8 CE. By his reckoning, Tr. 1 was composed during the winter of 8-9; Tr. 2 in 9, Tr. 3 in 9-10; Tr. 4 in 10- 11; Tr. 5 in 11-12. Pont. 1-3 were composed between 12-13 and Pont. 4 in 13-16. These are useful dates drawn from internal references in Ovid’s poems, but we should not be too quick to say that Ovid was not writing some of this material simultaneously. After all, the poet did not just write the poems and send them off for publication at once, despite what he might say. 11 There are several ways to read the Tristia, either all separately, or 1-3, 4, 5, or 1-4, 5. There is no one way to read the Epistulae ex Ponto. 1-3, 4. 9 Pont. 4 is both a response to everything he has written before from Tomis—Ibis included—and a separate response to Pont. 1-3, and its own creation. 12 This dissertation is not a commentary on Pont. 4 so much as a cultural, political, and poetic study of a single book of Latin poetry embedded in its context. There is currently no model for this practice for either Ovid’s Tristia or Epistulae ex Ponto. The predominant mode consists of exegetical diachronic commentaries. 13 There are, however, several examples of book- length studies of individual poetry books in Putnam 1986 (Horace Odes IV), Johnson 2004 (Horace Odes IV), Schlegel 2005 (Horace Satires I), and McCarter 2015 (on Horace’s first book of Epistles), and the best, Bartsch 2015 (on Persius’ Satires). 14 There are three commentaries on Pont. 4. that I have consulted frequently and that have made my work possible. For the manuscript tradition, see Mark Akrigg’s 1985 University of Toronto dissertation “The Last Poems of Ovid,” which, while hazarding more conjectures than I find comfortable, has an apparatus criticus that supercedes Owen’s OCT, Richmond’s Teubner, and Wheeler’s Loeb. Martin Helzle’s Publii Ovidii Nasonis Epistularum ex Ponto liber IV: A Commentary on Poems 1 to 7 and 16 (1985) has been indispensable to me, even while I disagree with much that he has to say. Nevertheless, engaging with his ideas has forced me to be more specific with my own. The earliest commentary that I consulted is Geyza Némethy’s slim Latin volume on the four books of the Epistulae ex Ponto from 1915. My dissertation begins with the Augustan poetry book, and my first chapter is an extended study of Epistulae ex Ponto IV as a sophisticated libellus that marries form and content. 12 It goes without saying that it is also a response to his entire poetic career. Details of this will be found within individual chapters. One might even consider Pont. 4 to be a sort of “revision” to, or even “disavowal” of, Pont. 1-3 given the new interests and addressees. 13 A few studies exist for Ovid’s Roman works but none that tackle a single book of the Amores, as far as I know. Sharrock, 1994 (Ars 2); Fulkerson 2005 (Heroides); Lindheim 2003 (Heroides). 14 Naturally, there are individual chapters and articles dedicated to the topic, but I am considering full scale monographs, here. 10 I put forth a rigorous defense to the charges that have been laid against it, namely, that it was put together by a later editor, or—worse—that it is a hodge-podge miscellany of work that was lying around after Ovid died. I identify the dominant organizing trend to be politics and poetics, which Ovid introduces via two introductory and programmatic poems. The first, to Sextus Pompeius, the consul of 14 CE, introduces the political arc in the book, most of which clusters around its first half. The second poem, to Cornelius Severus, introduces the poetic arc that unfolds primarily across the second half of the book. These elements come together most prominently in Pont. 4.8 (the middle poem) to the poet/prince Germanicus. In this chapter, I also briefly discuss each of the sixteen poems to (re)-familiarize the reader with their content. My second chapter is a detailed study of the political arc that 4.1 introduces. I examine each of the poems that might be termed political: 4.1, 4.4, 4.5, 4.6, 4.7, 4.9, and 4.15. I suggest a primary focus in the book is on transitions of power, since the book is centered around the death of Augustus in 14 CE and the consulship of Sextus Pompeius in that year. In fact, Pompeius is the primary recipient of poems 4.1, 4.4, 4.5, 4.15. I discuss the power of the consulship during this period of time and focus particularly on the ritualized inauguration parade. I also look at 4.7 and 4.9, which might be labeled the “battle poems,” since they describe campaigns near Ovid’s home on the Black Sea and therefore concern the martial aspect of Roman political life on the borders of its empire. Chapter three is an exhaustive investigation of Ovid’s representation of women in Pont. 4 that originates in the surprising lack of women in the book including, most noticeably, his wife. I begin by asking why this is and, over the course of the chapter, conclude that it is because the political influence of the those who supported Augustus and Germanicus is impossible to gauge in the immediate aftermath of 14 CE. Ovid may be trying to lessen the importance of his wife in 11 his works as time goes on. I end the chapter by looking into Ovid’s portrayal of Livia and Marcia. Since Livia-in-Ovid is a well-documented subject of research, I attempt to think about both figures by using cultural gossip (found in Tacitus and Suetonius) that Ovid accesses. 15 In this chapter, I also present the first full-scale study of 4.11 to Gallio and describe the way in which it shows Ovid thinking about genealogy and marriages, since the subject is Gallio’s recent widowerhood, probable remarriage, and hope for children. Chapter four complements the second and offers a unified reading of all the poetry epistles: 4.2, 4.3, 4.8, 4.10, 4.12-14. I describe the ways in which Ovid charges the language of poetic craft with a sacred quality. While poetry has been connected to the divine since Hesiod, Ovid’s concern is to balance the sacred quality with a sort of communal poetic engagement, namely reading, writing, editing, and listening to poetry. This work is especially necessary because Ovid is not in Rome to help other poets personally as he was guided in his youth. He distances himself from the claims of others that they are the first to do something involving poetry (creating a new genre, bringing a poetic quality from Greece, etc.), which makes Latin poetry almost egalitarian; to be a poet is to engage in communia sacra under Ovid’s new approach. Chapter five is my most straightforward act of “close-reading” in that I spend an entire chapter on one poem, 4.16. This conclusion to Pont. 4 has been raided by prosopographers and writers of Latin Literature surveys, but much of its poetic brilliance has not been recognized. The poem is an extended list of poets with whom Ovid has interacted over time, but especially after the famous poets of Ovid’s youth have died. Ovid defies the Roman cultural value that disdains 15 Substantial studies of Livia include Purcell 1986; Herbert-Brown 1994: chapter four; Johnson 1997; and the full- scale monograph Luisi and Berrino 2010. Careful is Severy 2003: 232-242. See also Jenkins 2009 on the presentation of Livia in the Consolatio ad Liviam. Most recently, Thakur 2014 has looked at Livia throughout Ovid’s career. Barrett 2002 remains the best biography in English. 12 listing living people, a value he upheld in his earlier work, and uses the space in this last poem to glorify his peers. Finally, let me say that Ovid went into exile as a relegatus in the winter of 8 CE, and we cannot say for certain the reason why. Some will dispute this claim, but the burden of proof has proven weightier than they can shoulder. 16 Even a hardliner position does not negate the pages that follow, and I state it here so that the reader might know my stance outright. 17 16 Pace Fitton Brown 1985. This article has something of an infamous reputation among those who work on Tomitan Ovid. 17 A similar sentiment in Habinek 1998: 218 “Throughout this essay I have written as if Ovid did in fact go to Tomis, but the ideological force of his depiction of the Tomitans and of himself would not be categorically different if the whole project were fictitious.” 13 Chapter One The Architecture of Epistulae ex Ponto IV In this chapter, I will first show that Ovid’s Epistulae ex Ponto 4 has a sophisticated structure that is in dialogue with its Augustan poetry book predecessors, particularly the fourth books of Propertius and Horace. 18 I will argue for three levels of organization: sequential, recessed, and synchronic. Simultaneously, I move beyond the structure to its import. I offer an interpretation of the book wherein we see ramifications on poetry and Roman political life that will stem from the transfer of power from Augustus to Tiberius. Part One The Structure Latinists have long been interested in the structure of the Roman poetry book, but not every book has received equal attention. 19 Pont. 4 has a coherent and elegant structure that is based upon recognizable patterns such as paired poems, repetition, introductory programmatic 18 The poetry books of other poets have taken sequence seriously, but Ovid’s Pont. 4 has been ill-served. The “Cambridge Greek and Latin Commentaries” present a fine microcosm of the issue. The editors of Propertius 4, Horace’s Epistles, and Horace Odes 4 all dedicate a section to structure; the only volume on Ovid’s exile poetry mentions it in passing. Propertius 4, Hutchinson 2006: 16-21; Coutelle 2015: 32-36 on the history of various approaches. Horace Epistles, Mayer 1994: 49-51. Horace Odes 4, Thomas 2011: 7-10, Ovid Pont. 1, Tissol 2014. Tissol does acknowledge “he arranges the poems of Ex. P. 1-3 by addressee” (p. 1). For other poets, Putnam 1986: 24-30 on general organizing principles of a poetry book; Fraenkel 1957: 410 and passim ch. 9. For an exploration of the structure of Pont. 1-3 see, most recently, Gaertner 2005: 2-5, table on 3. All who work on the structure of Pont. 1-3 owe much to the formative work of Froesch’s 1968 Bonn dissertation on the three books as “Gedichtsammlung.” He takes a step that I never would, namely, to move Pont. 2.5 to book three in order to maintain a “perfect” symmetry of three ten book collections. I find it more critically invigorating to take the poems as they come to us. 19 While structure has always intrigued, its heyday was the 1970s and 1980s. Barchiesi 2005: 320 playfully described the period: “The Search for the Perfect Book has been the masterplot of research on Roman poetry in the 1970s and 1980s.” I think he mischaracterizes at least some structuralists when he writes that “The geometric perfection is reminiscent of Mondrian and his rise: those readers want from Propertius and Horace the ancient counterpart to abstract art, concentration on structure as a statement of avant-garde” (pp. 320-321). This clever analogy discredits those who aim to see the way a poetry book invites its readers to engage it on a variety of thematic levels. Vergil’s Eclogues dominates the conversation (Van Sickle 2004 is an update of his 1978 book and includes a 29 page introduction of criticism between the original publication and the second edition). Notably, a single article tends to stimulate further discussion. An interesting example is the third book of Propertius. See the conversation unfold: Woolley 1967, Courtney 1970, Jacobson 1976. Woolley tried to identify a recessed panel structure [also called “interlocking”] and the others argued for a linear development. There has been an exciting development in prose collections recently around Pliny’s Epistulae by Gibson and Morello 2012: ch. 2 “Reading a book: Letters, Book 6” pp. 36-73 and ch. 8 “How to read the collection” pp. 234-264. For a reading of the history of poetry books in the West from Vergil to Sylvia Plath, see the essays in Fraistat 1986. 14 poems, and a concluding epilogue. 20 Form always has meaning, and the book itself contains meaning based on how one interprets both the progression through the book and the reflections upon re-reading. 21 The same set of poems in a different order would have a different meaning. 22 The strength of a collection lies in its coherence. 23 The critics of Ovid’s exile who concern themselves with structure have a problem with the fourth book. We read the following by Harry Evans in one of the formative analyses of Ovid’s “Books from Exile:” P.4 as a collection is unfinished and incomplete. After our study of earlier collections, it is in some ways disappointing to end a survey of Ovid’s books from exile with P.4. Despite the quality and interest of many of its individual elegies, the artistry and organization of earlier collections are missing here. Yet our recognition of what Ovid did not live to finish reveals more clearly what he did achieve in earlier books. 24 On the contrary, in his last book, Ovid attempts a different mode of organization and asks more of his readers in Pont. 4 than he had previously. 25 Pont. 1-3 was obviously organized around addressees, but now Ovid uses a variety of other organizing tools. The rewards of such engagement are greater than the merely aesthetic. Contrary to Ovid’s own assertions, in Pont. 4, 20 Putnam 1986: 25 “the linear and the cyclical [ways of reading a poetry book] put special stress on the beginning and concluding poems of a sequence. The former must be programmatic and outline, in however idiosyncratic a manner, what is to follow; the latter, in its act of closure, must summarize the preceding poetic performance.” Such a bald statement need not be taken as a rule for all poetry books, although in this case, as in Horace Odes IV—the subject of Putnam’s study—it does. 21 Mayer 1994: 51 “linear progression of thought” in Horace’s Epistles. Hutchinson 2011: 16 “The design of [Propertius] book 4 must be seen as dynamic; it moves purposefully as it develops.” 22 Putnam 1986: 24 describes the benefit of such reading as “how the friction of poem against poem in context can help expand on previous interpretations and generate new approaches both to individual lyrics and to the book as a whole.” 23 Hutchinson 2008: 2 “when there are many poems within one book, the meanings can multiply more dramatically, as individual poems relate to each other and a larger structure, and the reading of the book becomes a dynamic process.” 24 Evans 1983: 170. 25 Fantham 1996: 64 “the very composition of a poetry book implies awareness that there are expert readers and desire that these connoisseurs should have continued access to the poems and devote repeated attention to them.” Van Sickle 2004: 24 (on the Eclogues) “Evidently we are dealing no longer with simple sequence or variation but with an intrinsic order in a highly integrated system—a comprehensive design in the poetic text. This will require a new and higher order of discipline from interpreters.” 15 we read a poet at the height of his powers. 26 A poet who uses his abilities to reflect upon the traditions of poetry that lay behind him and to prognosticate about the future of poetic production and consumption. A comment such as Evans’ has remained the norm and has discouraged others from seeking coherence in Pont. 4. Six years later, Helzle convinces himself, “[d]espite the existence of these ordering principles, there are serious arguments against the view that Ovid arranged ex Ponto IV himself.” 27 It is useful to examine Helzle’s argument more thoroughly and to respond to his criticisms because he paradoxically offers a much more rigorous defense of the collection than refutation. 28 After rejecting the notion that there might be a chronological pattern, Helzle observes that 16 is obviously an epilogue. He suggests that it shares similarities with Am. 1.15 and 3.15 but does not elaborate. 29 In Am. 1.15, Ovid presents himself as the only living poet along with immortal poets of the past. Am. 3.15 mentions a much briefer catalogue, Vergil and Catullus, and is focused on the fame they bring to their birth places. There is no mention of living poets. Ovid 26 Syme 1978: 163 “Advancing in dexterity as well as confidence, Ovid in Book IV achieves novel affects in a variety of tones and modes.” Ovid frequently mentions his linguistic lapses but with a verve that belies his assertions. Claassen 2008, a collection of her earlier articles, argues most assiduously against this stance. 27 Helzle 1989: 33. 28 His major difficulties, chronology, lack of symmetry, and lack of a poem about his wife arose again in his 2003 German commentary, where he concluded the book was posthumous. Helzle 2003: 45 “Ich bleibe deshalb weiterhin bei der Ansicht, daß Buch vier posthum von Brutus oder Fabia, also mit gutem Einfühlungsvermögen in die Arbeitsweise des Dichters, herausgegeben wurde.” [For these reasons I maintain still the view that book four was posthumously arranged by Brutus or Fabia [his name for Ovid’s wife], albeit with a good sense of the poet’s method]. I admire his willingness to ascribe poetic ability to Ovid’s wife, but nevertheless disagree that any but the poet constructed the book. Nagle 1980: 161fn.82 is adamant that the collection is posthumous. Claassen 2008: 96 “a collection consciously arranged by the poet, or by an editor, and not a mere posthumous residue of rather inferior poems, as has sometimes been supposed.” 29 Helzle 1989: 31 “Poem 16 can be considered as an epilogue because of its similarities with Am. I 15 and III 15.” Akrigg 1985: 6 sees the similarities belonging to the realm of metapoetics. “If the sixteenth and final poem of EP IV is considered a sphragis-poem, as is indicated by Nasonis in the opening line, we are left with a fifteen-poem book of which the first and last poems are addressed to Sextus Pompeius, and in which the middle poem is addressed to Germanicus through his client Suillius. The same structural outline of 1-8-15 appears in Amores I and III—the opening and closing poems of both books are concerned with Ovid's verse, while the eighth poem of each book stands somewhat apart from the other poems.” 16 inverts this structure in Pont. 4.16 and celebrates poets who are currently alive while presenting himself as dead. 30 In Pont. 4.16, Ovid introduces the figure of invidus. Precedent exists for this final appearance of a jealous man invide (4.16.1) who becomes abstracted into envy itself, Livor (4.6.47). 31 There are Ovidian precedents. 32 Pont. 4.15 concerns Ovid’s debt to Sextus and his slavish place in his household and his inability to write on a different topic than relocation. 4.16 is about poetic power and the vituperation of envy. Similarly, there are also Horatian echoes. Odes 2.19 describes Horace’s enslavement to Bacchus and the lyric mode while 2.20, the final poem, is about poetic immortality and the denial of envy (invidia 2.20.4). 33 Helzle next observes that the collection is framed by poems to Sextus Pompeius with a concluding epilogue. This, as he is aware, closely follows Horatian patterns. Epistles 1.1 and 1.19 each address Maecenas; 1.20 is an epilogue. Odes 1.1 and 3.29 are to Maecenas; 3.30 is an epilogue. And, according to one of the many patterns in Vergil’s Eclogues, the tenth poem acts as an epilogue. 34 Helzle has other arguments for thinking the book lacks a final hand. “In the first place, book IV with its 930 verses is longer than all the other books from exile which usually comprise 700-800 verses.” 35 Length is not a problem. The collection is supposed to feel and sound 30 Helzle 1989: 180. “Ovid is reversing a traditional motif in a way which is characteristic of the exile-poetry.” 31 The Latin text I use is Richmond’s Teubner except where I note an exception. The texts of other Latin writers come mainly from the OCT. Translations are my own, unless specified otherwise. 32 On livor as closural device: Ars 1.15.1, 38. It also appears at Rem. 389: rumpere, livor edax; “burst, devouring envy,” which is, in turn, based upon Vergil Ecl. 7.26: invidia rumpantur ut ilia Codro; “in order for envy to burst Codro’s innards.” The passage from Vergil concerns a poetic contest that Ovid abstracts into any external force. 33 Mayer 1994: 50. 34 Boyle 1976: 16 observes a “triadic structure” in which “Eclogue 10 acts as the concluding poem in this triadic sequence.” He continues: “The indisputable role of Eclogue 10 as the conclusion of the Eclogues book…highlights a feature of the book commonly overlooked: its predominantly linear movement. It cannot be too strongly emphasized that the Eclogues are intended to be read in the order in which they are arranged.” 35 Helzle 1989: 33. Tr. 2 does not seem to bother him, although it comes in at a mere 578 lines. The length of book four causes most scholars a moment of hesitation. Syme 1978: 156fn.3 “Therefore Ovid survived to publish Book IV or perhaps at least to arrange it. The contrary view is sometimes expressed. Thus W. Kraus, RE XVIII, 1966: 17 different. Ovid misled his reader at the end of the first collection that postmodo collectas utcumque sine ordine iunxi: / hoc opus electum ne mihi forte putes; “afterward I somehow joined together the collected poems without an order, lest you perhaps think that I organized this work” (Pont. 3.9.53-54). 36 We do not necessarily even expect a fourth book. 37 But the fact that one follows, and that the last thing we read from Ovid was a reference to structure, means we should be poised to think harder about the organization of the new book. There is a further reason for the length. Ovid shows interest in the effect of rhythmic changes in the number of lines. Going beyond merely alternating lengths, he exercises careful control over how many lines we encounter at a time. He is not as interested in strict numerological ordering as Vergil, but in rough approximations of length. 38 Below is a table showing the number of poems and lines in the four books of the Epistulae ex Ponto in the y-axis. The highlighted boxes indicate poems of over 80 lines. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 total 1 80 150 94 58 86 54 70 74 56 44 766 2 68 126 100 34 76 38 84 76 80 52 28 762 3 166 110 108 114 58 60 40 24 56 736 4 36 50 58 50 46 50 54 90 134 84 22 50 50 62 42 52 930 ‘kein Zweifel’. And, indeed, the length of the book might be relevant: longer by nearly a quarter than the other three” (italics mine). Green 2005: 350 struggles with the number of lines but makes the same point. “[Pont. 4] differs in several important respects from its predecessors. To begin with, it is longer. Sixteen separate elegies, totaling 880 [sic] lines, far exceed the contents of any other individual book.” His comments are not concerned with the question of Ovid’s role in structuring the book. 36 We find another who doth protest too much in Pliny 1.1.1: Frequenter hortatus es, ut epistulas, si quas paulo curatius scripsissem, colligerem, publicaremque. collegi non servato temporis ordine—neque enim historiam componebam—, sed ut quaeque in manus venerat; “You’ve often encouraged me to gather and publish the letters which I have written with a little more care. I have done so—but without slavishly obeying linear time—for I was not putting together a history but gathered them as they had come into my hand.” Syme 1985: 176 seems to have first observed it. Gibson and Morello 2012: 259-263 find further evidence of Pliny thinking about the Epistulae ex Ponto as he composes his publication. Tissol 2014: 94 finds another echo between Pont. 1.3.15-16 and Pliny Letters 5.16.11. 37 There is a Propertian precedent for an unexpected fourth book. Hutchinson 2006: 8 Propertius’s fourth book “is also preceded by what looks like emphatic closure to the series of P.’s books: at the close of book 3 the affair with Cynthia which was the basis of the series is said to be at an end…The contemporary reader was left to wonder what would come next.” 38 Numerological: see Van Sickle 2004: 21. We also see Vergil engage with enormously different line numbers and not numerology in the Aeneid: 1: 756; 2: 804; 3: 718; 4: 705; 5: 871; 6: 901; 7: 817; 9: 818; 10: 908; 11: 915; 12: 952. 18 In the first three books, Ovid puts the poems that have 100+ lines in the first half of the book. In all three, the first poem is longer than the last. Both of these organizing principles are distorted in Pont. 4. Ovid is developing an interest in rhythmic alternations of poems that combine to create thematic demarcations in the collections. 1-7 range between 36 and 58 lines and constitute a unit. The even poems in the sequence each have exactly 50 lines. These poems are Ovid setting up the collection: themes of consulship, poetic production, friendship, and audience. The three middle poems (8-10) have 90, 134, and 84 lines respectively, with the longest poem notably in the middle. These poems encapsulate the idea of politics and poets: 8, to Suillius (and Germanicus), mixes the two; 9, to Graecinus, is about the consulship; 10, to Tuticanus concerns poetics. The 22 lines of poem 11 dramatically mark the shift into the dénouement of the collection. Finally, the last five poems (11-16) create an average of 51 lines, with the particularly elegant last three: 62, 42, 52; in which the average of 62 and 42 is 52. These poems concern Ovid’s “career” as a Getic poet and his ultimate silence. When one recalls that Ovid at this period is also re-engaging with his Fasti the complaint about length loses further traction. 39 Note the range of length in the books of that poem. 1: 724, 2: 864, 3: 884, 4: 954, 5: 734, 6: 812. Not only is the longest book the centerpiece, but the range is more extreme than that in Pont.4. Ovid’s previous collection similarly fails as a model: Tr. 1: 628, 2: 578, 3: 788, 4: 678, 5: 750. 40 Helzle’s complaint, we can now see, stems from a false 39 This is most obvious in the similarities between Pont. 4.8 and the proem to Fasti 1. On the reworking, see Green 2004: 15-23 and the articles by Fantham 2006 and Myers 2014. A signal marker of Ovid’s exilic experience influencing content in the Fasti appears at 1.389-90: exta canum vidi Triviae libare Sapaeos / et quicumque tuas accolit, Haeme, nives; “I have seen the Sapaei sacrifice dogs’ guts to Trivia, and whoever lives near your snows, Mount Haemon.” See Green 2004: 179-180. Ovid also mentions Haemon in Pont. 4.5.5. 40 The greatest “range” in book length in the Fasti is between books 4 (954 lines) and 1 (724 lines) for a total gap of 230. The longest book in the Tristia is 3 (788 lines) and the shortest is 2 (578 lines) for a total gap of 210. Pont. 4 is the longest book in the Epistulae ex Ponto at 930 lines. The shortest book in the collection is 3 (736 lines) for a total gap of 194. Thus, the range is not noticeably greater. 19 sense of patterns. He wants Pont. 4 to operate similarly to Pont. 1-3, but there is, ultimately, a lack of patterns to discern about length. 41 It is not just in length that the book feels and sounds different. In addition to the new addressees, there is also a striking poetic development. Ovid dramatically increases the number of pentameter endings of more than two syllables, a feature many have criticized. 42 It might seem at first that this is a sign of a “defect,” i.e. Ovid did not have time to edit them out, but these polysyllabic endings add to the idea that this book is just a little more foreign to educated Roman ears, a fitting posture for a poet claiming to be losing his Latinity. 43 Helzle next hesitates because of “the long period of time covered by the poems in this collection.” 44 Time is not a problem. The period between 13-16/17 CE saw the death of Augustus, the accession of Tiberius, Germanicus’ rising popularity and public presence (awarded a triumph in 15 that he celebrated 26 May 17 CE), and the chaos of shifting political alliances in a post-Augustan environment. Ovid waits, often having to rely upon news that is delayed and perhaps unverified. The picture is greater because Ovid expands his world view politically and 41 Horatian precedent also detracts, though in the inverse. Carm. 1: 1,097; 2: 572; 3: 1,231; 4: 610. Propertian precedent is occluded by the status of book 2 (if it was one book or two). Book 1: 706; book 3: 988; book 4: 952, but books 3 and 4 particularly indicates that books of lines numbering in the 900s are acceptable. 42 Helzle 1989: 67 provides data and a brief summary of the criticism, following Benedum, J. 1968. Studien zur Dichtkunst des späten Ovid. Diss. Giessen. p. 133: F. 5.582 (fluminibus), 6.660 (funeribus). Tr.1 (3 examples), 2 (6), 3 (3), 4 (2), 5 (1). Pont. 1 (4), 2 (7), 3 (3), 4 (17). Note that Pont. 4 has ten more examples of polysyllabic endings than Pont. 2 which is the collection with the second most examples 43 For a positive interpretation of the polysyllabic pentameter endings see Claassen 2008: 96 “This characteristic appears as deliberate innovation towards the end of the poet’s career.” And, similarly, “Longer words placed in this prominent position are key nominals relating to the exiled poet’s circumstances…The innovation appears therefore as the beginning of a consciously new direction, conveying a greater intensity of thought and pointing words for special effect. Such a concentration of this innovative usage points to Ex P. 4 as being a collection consciously arranged by the poet, or by an editor, and not a mere posthumous residue of rather inferior poems, as has sometimes been supposed.” Helzle 1989: 67: “The poet’s purpose in using polysyllabic pentameter endings in the exile-poetry seems, however, to be not only emphatic use of certain words in final position, but also a conscious return to the technically less polished verse of his predecessors.” 44 Helzle 1989: 33. 20 poetically while simultaneously re-working the Fasti. Ambition takes time, and Pont. 4 strives after new and much different feats than his previous work. Another matter to consider is the precedent established by Horace and Propertius for belated fourth books, by which I mean books that appear after a significant amount of time has passed from the last collection. 45 Propertius 1 was published between 27-26 BCE, book 2 around 25 BCE, and book 3 between 23-22 BCE. Book 4 did not appear for at least another six years, sometime after 16 BCE. 46 Horace Odes 1-3 dates to 23 BCE, and the fourth book to 13 BCE: a ten-year difference. 47 The four years since the publication of Pont. 1-3 in 13 CE no longer seems like such a long time. 48 Also, Ovid is working on the Fasti. These previous scholars have not taken into account that Ovid is working on two poems simultaneously. In each case, the poets have taken up new poetic aims (under different political climates) in the fourth books. They have taken time to observe immediate change before commiting their reactions to the book. 49 In what follows, I present three sections detailing the structure of Pont. 4. First, I show that the book opens with paired programmatic poems that introduce the two alternating themes of poetry and politics. Then, I look at the diachronic narrative that Ovid develops. Finally, I discuss the symmetrical composition of the book as a series of recessed panels that treats 4.16 as an epilogue. 45 In comparing the last books of collections, I am inspired by Leach 1978, wherein she examines “collections of ten” in Vergil, Horace, and Tibullus. 46 The dates are Hutchinson 2006: 8. Richardson 2006 (1977): 8 differs only in dating book 1 to 29 or early 28 BCE. The changed political climate most prominently concerns issues of an heir after the death of Marcellus in 23 BCE and Augustus’ adoption of Gaius and Lucius Caesar in 17. 47 Thomas 2011: Odes 1-3 p.1, Odes 4 p.5-7. 48 For 17 CE, Helzle 1989: 175. The clearest resource for the dating is Wheeler 1965: xxxiii-xxxvvii. Rate of production is obfuscated by such comments as Fränkel 1945: 140 “at the average rate of about one volume a year, or one acceptable elegy a month.” Obviously, a poet is not a treadmill. 49 There may be an inverse relationship with Prop. 4 as well. In that book, suddenly women speak at great length. In Ovid’s fourth book, women largely vanish. 21 Part Two 4.1 and 4.2 as Programmatic Poems I offer a reading of Pont. 4.1 as a programmatic poem (or prologue) in response to Helzle: “The lack of a clear prologue-poem, however, is an extremely important factor. If ex Ponto IV had been edited by Ovid himself, one would expect a prologue to introduce the additional book.” 50 It does make sense as a prologue provided one observes that the first and second poems form a unit. Both introduce the new types of figures that will be prominent in the collection, politician and poet, and therefore set up a deliberate juxtaposition of dominant themes. Similarly, we shall see two major rituals enacted: that of the consular ceremony and that of poetic creation. The first poem is to a potential patron, the second poem to a poet and long- established friend. The most important precedent from which Ovid derives this strategy is Horace’s fourth book of Odes. Richard Thomas explains: [Odes 4.2] continues the theoretical movement of C. 4.1. Where that poem had treated resistance to and acquiescence in the worlds of love and erotic lyric, 4.2 introduces and explores the theme of encomium and competence in encomium. Together the two poems prepare the reader for an alternation between these two themes throughout the book. 51 Several similarities invite us to read 4.1 and 4.2 together, and I want to emphasize that neither poem is limited in scope to the subject which it programmatically introduces. Thus, we will find poetics in 4.1 and politics in 4.2, even though the dominant interests are reversed. Neither poem mentions Ovid’s name. This absence is unparalleled in Ovid’s exilic writings. 52 Because Ovid does not name himself, both poems emphasize the addressees and the way in 50 Helzle 1989: 35. On prologues, or opening poems, Fantham 1996: 64-65 “The self-contained collection required special care in arrangement. Roman books had no table of contents, and the roll made it difficult to reach an inner unit without first surveying the opening poem. Hence the opening poem should be designed to announce the contents of the volume.” 51 Thomas 2011: 103. 52 The longest he has delayed naming himself in a book of the Epistulae ex Ponto thus far was 2.2.2. He names himself as the first word of Pont. 1.1.1 In 3.1 he names himself in the third line. In Pont. 4 he waits until 4.3.10. 22 which they understand who the writer is and Ovid’s relationship to them. Second, each poem ends with a different conceptual use of opus (work) in the last half of the last pentameter. sic ego pars rerum non ultima, Sexte, tuarum, / tutelaeque feror munus opusque tuae; “so I am not the last of your possessions, Sextus. I am said to be the gift and work of your protection” (4.1.35- 36). Ovid’s posture of himself as a slave or a piece of property of Sextus is a dominant theme in the poems to that man. 53 The poet himself is an opus. In 4.2, Ovid uses the word in a markedly different tone. sacraque Musarum merito cole, quodque legamus, / huc aliquod curae mitte recentis opus; “cultivate the rites of the Muses, as is right, and so that I might read it, send me some work of your recent attention” (4.2.49-50). Here opus means the product of poetic creation. The poem is an opus. By ending these two programmatic poems with the same word, Ovid nicely delineates the dominant themes to come: the poet as the work of a craftsman and the poem as the work of a poet. The latter, notably, is sacred (sacraque Musarum) and stands in opposition to the realm of “things” (pars rerum non ultima). We find poetic and political resonances from the first line of the first poem of Pont. 4. Accipe, Pompei, deductum carmen ab illo, / debitor est vitae qui tibi, Sexte, suae; “receive, Sextus Pompeius, a thin-spun song, from that man who owes his life to you” (Pont. 4.1.1-2). This is a new addressee; he did not appear in Pont. 1-3. This novelty underscores the dramatic shift away from the unity of the first three books. The striking nomen of Pompeius—with its resonances of a Pompey—puts the reader in mind of Pont. 1.1 and its addressee Brutus who shared a similarly provocative name. 54 In Pont 4.1, Ovid narrows the tension by adding Sextus in 53 In the last poem to Pompeius, 4.15, Ovid writes that he belongs to him as if purchased in the slave market (4.15.41-42). 54 Put most succinctly by Hinds 2007: 208 “Nomen omen, says the suspicious-minded Ovidian; ‘nonsense’, says the prosopographer.” Oliensis 1997: 181 writing mainly on the Tristia and on the absence of names, notes in passing, “relegating his friends to a shadowy absence, the exiled poet presents himself to the reader over and over again. This economy is inverted with some precision in the Epistulae ex Ponto, where Ovid no sooner publishes the name of his addressee (one ‘Brutus’—the name, redolent of tyrannicide and dissimulating silence, cannot fail to speak here) then 23 the second line. It no longer rings with the tone of Pompey the Great, but his son, Sextus Pompey, the last opponent of Octavian and Antony. The name thus forces us to think about dynastic politics and the fact that Octavian was not Augustus when they fought. For the re- reader, who knows his importance to the collection, Pompeius’ name gains even more force since Ovid uses a unique form of address: the nomen as the second word of the couplet and the praenomen as the penultimate. 55 I suggest that Ovid is playing, at this moment, with tensions between Republican ideals and Augustan/imperial transformations—which we shall see play out particularly with reference to the changing presentation of the consulship. 56 The next phrase opens up the poetic sphere. The resonances that deductum carmen has with Callimachus’ Aetia, Vergil, and Ovid himself are well known. 57 A thin-spun song is a programmatic marker for a poem that has been crafted to fit into an intertextual tradition and that invites intellectual and ludic engagement. 58 Ovid opens up the entire semantic range of deductus at this moment and invites us to see how it plays out through the rest of the book to come. It is also a word that emphatically declares the poetic craft that scaffolds the book. 59 Ovid is concerned with testimony throughout book four. 60 When he hands over his deductum carmen, to Pompeius, it is almost as though he is giving him a witness on his behalf. he offers to erase his own.” In a review of Gaertner’s 2005 commentary, Barchiessi 2007: 457 calls the effect a “surface tension” and questions whether there is not “an embarrassing supply of people named Brutus” available to choose for one poem. 55 The only other time Ovid uses two names in a salutation is 2.8 when he addresses Cotta Maximus with both names in the second line. Cotta, unlike Pompeius, was already known from 1.5, 1.9, 2.3. 56 Pompeius’ ancestor receives unexpected recognition in a catalogue of strong warriors who humbled themselves at 4.3.41-43. I discuss this at much greater length in Chapter 2. For a biography of the son of Pompey, see Welch 2012. 57 Helzle, 1989: 40-41. Gaertner 2005: 214 on deducere in general. 58 OLD s.v. deduco 4 “to draw out (a thread in spinning), spin. b (fig.) to compose (literary work), ‘spin’; to tell the story of, describe.” 59 It should be clear from this that I disagree with Helzle 1989: 35 when he claims that the carmen “refers only to this particular poem rather than the whole collection.” 60 For example, he says of that Vestalis will be a witness (testis) for him because he has been to the Black Sea region (4.7.4). 24 another use of deductus. 61 After all, not only does Pompeius spend a lot of time in the old Republican Forum (because of consular-ceremonies), but Ovid also twice emphasizes that he basically lives right next to Augustus’ Forum (4.5.10, 4.15.16). Therefore, his poem can also be brought into Rome to testify. There is also the transparent irony that Ovid’s poems have been “brought back” to Rome while Ovid has not been. 62 Not only does this resonate with Ovid’s request in poems 8, 12, 13, 14, and 15 that he be allowed to relocate, it also helps explain some of the themes we see play out in the book, particularly the separate battles of Vestalis and Flaccus. Along these formal lines, we see deductus appear in the specific context of Graecinus undergoing the ceremony of taking up the consulship: at cum Tarpeias esses deductus in arces; “and when you are led to the Tarpeian heights” (4.9.29). 63 The most provocative layer of meaning is the metapoetic. Ovid had already written one deductum carmen a decade earlier wherein he beseeches the gods: primaque ab origine mundi / ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen; “lead my continuous song down from the earliest beginning of the world to my time” (Met. 1.3-4). We now have a marvelous approach to interpreting Ovid’s words to Pompeius. Ovid suggests that he is gifting Pompeius another poem about change. This version will be a continuation of the Metamorphoses, and in it he will document the transformations of Roman society and himself. Ovid makes it explicit that his song is not done. His time has not yet been brought out and the poem is truly continuous. He is bringing his poetry, again, ad mea tempora (exilii). After all, he must add the death of Augustus 61 OLD, s.v. 10d “to bring (before a court, magistrate, etc.); also, to bring (as a witness).” 62 Ibid, s.v. 10a “to bring (a person, army) back with one to Rome.” 63 Ibid, s.v. 10e “to install (in a position of honour, authority).” It is tempting to add here that one kind of deductus we do not see is the bringing of a wife into the household, which underscores the ironic place of wives in Pont. 4 (OLD s.v. deduco 10b “to bring home in procession as one’s bride”). 25 to that poem. We are, therefore, invited to read Pont. 4 as continuing the project Ovid began in the Metamorphoses and in a different way than we read Tristia and Pont. 1-3. The greatest transformation will be of his own poetic precedent when, in the last poem of the book, he celebrates his contemporary poets over traditional canons and himself. 64 He will also transform Pompeius from a figure who has not yet become a consul into a consul (between poems 1, 4, 5, 15); simultaneously, he turns Pompeius from an unsuspecting reader into an ideal reader. Pompeius is a perfect lens through which we can gain a better understanding of these two types of reading. As I mentioned, deductum carmen is a phrase for crafting sophisticated poetry that frequently relies on a knowledge of earlier poetry in order to appreciate its depths. It is not just a tapestry that tells one story, but rather a tapestry that references previous tapestries. Therefore, the best way to understand the metaphor of deductum carmen is that the critic turns the tapestry over and looks at the knots and chaos that are behind the perfect image on the front of the tapestry. In this case, Ovid’s most rigorous engagement is with Vergil’s sixth Eclogue. He invites us to make the comparison by making his debt to Vergil obvious. 65 In the sixth Eclogue, Vergil’s Bucolic persona, Tityrus, received a programmatic genre command from Apollo: cum canerem reges et proelia, Cynthius aurem / vellit et admonuit: ‘pastorem, Tityre, pinguis / pascere oportet ovis, deductum dicere carmen; “when I was setting out to sing kings and battles, Cynthius [Apollo] plucked my ear and advised: ‘Tityrus, a shepherd ought to pasture fat sheep and to compose a thin-spun song’” (Ecl. 6.3-5). 66 This form of 64 This transformation forms the focus of my fifth chapter. 65 Ovid writes this way. Because Ovid liked a phrase of Vergil, Gallio informs us via Seneca Rhetor, itaque fecisse illum quod in multis aliis versibus Vergilii fecerat, non subripiendi causa, sed palam mutuandi, hoc animo ut vellet agnosci; “he did to it what he had done to many other verses of Vergil, it was not his intention to plagiarize, but he wanted the obvious transformation to be recognized” (Sen. Suas. 3.7). 66 The plucking of the ear has an interesting afterlife. In the Copa, from the Appendix Vergiliana, we have the final line from the mistress of the tavern: Mors aurem vellens ‘vivite’ ait, ‘venio;’ “Death is plucking at my ear declaring ‘Live, I am coming.’” For the startling effect of plucking an ear, consider Phaedrus’ fable of the man imitating an oinking pig. Someone challenges the imitation and brings a real pig hidden under his cloak. In order to make the pig 26 recusatio became traditional (e.g. Prop. 3.1), whereby a poet starts to sing epic materials and then is interrupted. Ovid used it in Am. 1.1, which he references later at Am. 2.18.13-16. In Pont. 4, Ovid continues the practice. He declares that his poetry is a deductum carmen in 4.1 and then makes it clear in 4.2 that Severus will be one of the “other” poets who sing the great deeds, the reges et proelia, one might say. 67 What we see, then, is that Ovid combines the two poems to say what is usually stated in one. 4.1 is also programmatic because it reflects upon the power of the dedication and is self- conscious of its placement as the first poem. qui seu non prohibes a me tua nomina poni, / accedet meritis haec quoque summa tuis; “if you permit me to put down your name, this first place will be added to your merits” (Pont. 4.1.3-4). By translating summa as “first place” I aim to suggest how Ovid makes a subtle pun about the construction of the poetry book. First, there is the literal idea that Pompeius’ name will be at the top of the page. 68 Summa means both highest, and therefore first, and last. Since Pompeius frames the collection (with 4.16 as an epilogue) this summa describes the structure of the book. Further, as the first dedicatee, Pompeius becomes the de facto dedicatee, which is the highest honor. Summa can also mean final, and so Ovid indicates that this will be the last honor for Pompeius because it will be the last book Ovid writes and Pompeius will be the last person to receive a book-honor from Ovid. 69 When one reflects upon “sing” (this can be read as a grotesque poetic performance) he tweaks the ear: pervellit aurem (Phaed. 5.5.32). The allusion in the Copa to Vergil is observed by Henderson 2002: 263, but in his customary style which makes understanding his interpretation difficult. 67 He calls Severus: vates magnorum maxime regum; “the greatest poet of great kings” (4.2.1). I expand upon this idea in chapter four. The irony, of course, is that Ovid will write about reges et proelia, only they will be Vestalis— a minor regional warrior and his aristeia. Even Ovid’s epic writings are thin-spun. 68 Vergil is a parallel for the physical appearance of a name at the top of the page: …nec Phoebo gratior ulla est / quam sibi quae Vari praescripsit pagina nomen; “no other page is more pleasing to Phoebus than the one with Varus’ name at the top” (Ecl.6.11-12). 69 Ovid uses summa in this way at Fasti 6.797-798: tempus Iuleis cras est natale Kalendis: / Pierides, coeptis addite summa meis; “tomorrow’s time is the birth of Julius’ kalends; Pierides! Add this capstone to my beginnings.” C.f. Barchiesi 1997: 266 “addite summa indicates that the poet is asking for a full and proper conclusion.” Littlewood 2006: 232 translates: “You Muses, add an epilogue to the work which I began.” She points out that Quintilian uses the expression summus liber for his last book (Inst. 3.8.42). He says that “giving advice” will be the subject of his 27 the word, book four gains a greater sense of finality and pathos. Literary precedent has the final word. Horace’s programmatic beginning to his own epistolary project used summa in a similar sense with a dedicatee, Maecenas. prima dicte mihi, summa dicende Camena; “[Maecenas] you were mentioned in my first Camena and will be mentioned in my last” (Epist. 1.1.1). And when one recalls that Maecenas appeared in poems 1 and 19 of the Epistles with a metaliterary epilogue, we find even more support for Ovid’s construction of book four. This wordplay also subtly introduces the mixed theme of politics and poetry for the reader who has completed the book and is thinking about it synchronically. In the fourth poem, which anticipates Pompeius’ accession to the consulship, Ovid writes: purpura Pompeium summi velabit honoris; “the purple of the highest office will shroud Pompeius” (Pont. 4.4.25). Ovid explicitly raises the question for Pompeius and the readers of book 4: what is the real high honor? To appear as the addressee of a book by Ovid or to be the consul of Rome (under Augustus)? As the book rolls, we will find that both can be equally ambiguous. 70 This prologue poem shares several affinities with the proem to the Fasti that Ovid reworked alongside the composition and organization of book four. Accipe followed by the chance that Pompeius might frown upon the work (trahis vultus 4.1.5) parallels the opening lines of Fasti 1: excipe pacato, Caesar Germanice, voltu / hoc opus; “receive, O Caesar Germanicus, this work with a friendly visage” (F. 1.3-4). In both, Ovid describes the poem as an officium: last book: destinatus est mihi hic locus duodecimo, qui summus futurus est, libro. Quintilian also uses the expression at 9.4.146 to say he will discuss the difference between Greek and Latin in his last book: sed quae sit differentia nostri Graecique sermonis explicabit summus liber. He keeps both promises. 70 Summus appears in both spheres, poetry and politics, continually. In 4.8.70 it appears as the glory Germanicus could have obtained in poetry: gloria Pieridum summa futurus eras; “you would have been the greatest glory of the Pierides.” In the next poem, about two consular brothers, the word is applied to the consulship explicitly. With caustic irony, Ovid observes that the honor is multiplied because it comes from Augustus. qui quamquam est ingens, et nullum Martia summo / altius imperium consule Roma videt, / multiplicat tamen hunc gravitas auctoris honorem; “although the honor is great and Martial Rome witnesses no form of rule higher than the highest consulship, nevertheless the importance of the auctor enhances the honor” (4.9.65-67). 28 officioque, levem non aversatus honorem, / en tibi devoto numine dexter ades; “don’t hate this small honor and be favorably present at the duty devoted to your godhead” (F. 1.5-6). sit precor officio non gravis ira pio; “I pray that you are not horribly angry at a pious duty” (Pont. 4.1.8). Ovid’s use of pium officium is essentially a gloss on the pentameter in the Fasti. Also, his request that Pompeius not be angry is synonymous with asking Germanicus to be favorably present, given both formulations invoke the language of supplication to a god. Ovid tells Pompeius that he has often accidentally written his name in wax. ipse mihi placuit mendis in talibus error, / et vix invita facta litura manu est; “the error itself in such defects was pleasing, and my hand was barely willing to erase the blemish” (4.1.13-14). Error is a marked term in Ovid’s poetry after Tr. 2.207 where he famously blamed his ruin upon “carmen et error” (a song and a mistake). The reader who is sensitive to error in Ovid recognizes its careful placement in its three uses throughout book four at the beginning, middle, end: 4.1, 4.8, 4.15. In the pivotal letter to Suillius and Germanicus, Ovid asks his step son-in-law to investigate his character. sive velis qui sint mores inquirere nostri, / errorem misero detrahe, labe carent; “or if you wish to inquire into what my character is like, remove the error from a man of misfortune and it [my character] is unbesmirched” (4.8.19-20). Ovid has moved away from the idea that a carmen had anything to do with his punishment. He is now putting full emphasis on the error. In the penultimate poem Ovid claims that Pompeius is either the proof or aid of his error (4.15.25-26). The couplet, 4.1.13-14, is more than just a marker of theme for the collection to follow; it also shares the tone of the other opening poems. The use of “litura” (blemishes) supports the placement of this poem. Ovid has already mentioned them in the programmatic introductory 29 poems of Tr. 1.1.13 and 3.1.15. 71 Ovid, is perhaps winking at the line-counting reader when he puts the litura in line 14. These liturae open up a sphere of the poetics that the next poem more fully explores. About Pont 4.2 Helzle writes: “In this programmatic poem Ovid is working on two levels. On the one hand, by using Cornelius Severus as a foil for his own poetry, he pays a compliment to his contemporary and presents himself as an uninspired failure. On the other hand, he obliquely asserts the continuing artistry in his own works without detracting from the positive picture drawn of Severus.” 72 His discussion throughout clearly provides the basis for his assertion that it is a programmatic poem about poetics. Instead of recapitulating his findings, I want to nuance the metapoetic nature of this poem because it sets up the stark difference between the first and second poems. In the first place, I will point to the way in which the opening line generates a different response in the reader than the opening of 4.1. Secondly, I shall show how Ovid engages with a broad tradition of other poets. Quod legis o vates magnorum maxime regum, venit ab intonsis usque, Severe, Getis; cuius adhuc nomen nostros tacuisse libellos, si modo permittis dicere vera, pudet. orba tamen numeris cessavit epistula numquam ire per alternas officiosa vices. What you read, Severus, greatest vates of great kings, comes all the way from the unshorn Getae. Thus far, it shames me that my poetry books have been silent about your name—if you permit me to speak truly. Nevertheless, letters without meter have never ceased to go dutifully between us. (Pont. 4.2.1-6) 71 neve liturarum pudeat; “don’t be ashamed of blemishes” (Tr. 1.1.13). littera suffusas quod habet maculosa lituras; “the letters are splotchy with spreading blemishes” (Tr. 3.1.15). Such splotches are a trope of letter writing. C.f. Her. 3.3.3 Briseis to Achilles. quascumque adspicies, lacrimae fecere lituras; “whatever blotches you see, tears have made them.” 72 Helzle 1989: 61. 30 These opening lines underscore the connection between 4.1 and 4.2 through minor echoes. Both men are named in the second line as the penultimate word in the vocative (Sexte 4.1.2; Severe 4.2.2). In the second couplet, we receive further confirmation of this careful composition because both concern silence and shame about hiding names. Each poem has a form of nomen in the third line (nomina 4.1.3; nomen 4.2.3), which makes sure that we are thinking closely about the use of names throughout the book, especially because Ovid does not name himself. Poetic concepts suffuse these opening three couplets. The first line introduces the tension between poetry and politics when Ovid gives Severus the superlative maxime and leaves the kings merely great, magnorum, thereby elevating the poetic above the political. Helzle suggests that the intonsi Getae refers to barbaric tribes and even early Romans—his parallel with King Numa (F. 6.264: intonsi…Numae) is persuasive. He suggests that Ovid is thus alluding to Severus’ poetic content. 73 I think that we can additionally consider the way in which Ovid is archaizing his own poetry, particularly through polysyllabic pentameter endings, of which the Alcinoo in line 10 is the first in Pont. 4. This feature belongs to earlier poets, such as Ennius, whose Annales Ovid himself calls hairy (albeit there are no pentameters in the epic poem): Annales—nihil est hirsutius illis—; “The Annals. There is nothing shaggier than them” (Tr. 2.259). A word that we might be tempted to read as ethnographic has become metapoetic. Similarly, Severus’ own name can apply to older generations as well as to a particular literary style given that it alludes to a “severe” style. 74 In the third line, Ovid provides further evidence that this book is a finished collection when he calls his previous books libellos (Pont. 4.2.3). This means that the quod in quod legis 73 Helzle 1989: 64. 74 OLD s.v. severus 4. 31 that began the poem means libellus, a word that, at least since Catullus 1, indicates a finely crafted book meant for publication. 75 Most importantly, Ovid makes it clear that he has been maintaining a whole other life made up of prose communications. This means that these particular poems belong specifically to this book because Ovid organized them to go together when he decided that there would be a fourth book of Epistulae ex Ponto. Part Three Diachronic Progression A diachronic (linear, chronological, continuous) reading of Pont. 4 creates an experience that is more about Ovid’s personal development rather than a reflection upon the tenets of the Roman experience, which we encounter when we read synchronically. There are three major ways of dividing the book as we move linearly through it: around “pivots,” clusters of poems of similar length, and in dramatic movements. These divisions are never clear-cut and there is always blurring between them because some are structural and some are based on content. This does not mean that there are not other connections to trace and that await discovery. Scholars have found “pivoting” poems in Propertius’ and Horace’s fourth books. 76 What one looks for specifically is a “proem in the middle.” As Alison Keith has observed about Propertius’s fourth book, “[t]he central elegy 4.6 functions as a ‘proem in the middle’ and provides a forum for reflection on the politics and poetics of Propertius’ final collection.” 77 Pont. 4.8 has recently received similar treatment. 78 For my part, I consider 4.6 to be the most important 75 For the various investigations into the libellus, see Culpepper Stroup 2010: Chapter 3 “Where? Libellus: polished and published.” 76 Coutelle 2015: 34 on Prop. 4 “ Les élégies 1. 6. et 11 seraient les pivots sur lesquels tournent les élégies étiologiques (2, 4, 9 et 10) et les élégies érotiques (3, 5, 7 et 8). In fn.39, on the same page, he writes: “De même que 4.1-8-15 dans le livre IV des Odes d’Horace.” 77 Keith 2013: 112. 78 Galasso 2008. 32 pivot because Ovid reports the deaths of Augustus and Paullus Fabius Maximus, which means, for the linear reader, that the rest of the poems that follow “take place” in a post-Augustan, or Tiberian, world. 4.10 also acts as a pivot because it removes us from the realm of politically connected addressees that made up 4.5-4.9 and places us firmly in the realm of friends for the rest of the reading experience. Another potential way of reading in a chronological order is by focusing on poems of the same length and “extracting” them. 79 This is not to say that interesting explorations of line numbers have not been pursued. 80 It is worthwhile to remind ourselves of the division of length in Pont. 4. One can also find a numerological structure in Pont. 4 organized around triads. Poems 1-3=144 lines; 4-6=146 lines; 7-8=144 lines; 9=134 lines; 10-12=156 lines; 13-15=154 lines; 16 is an epilogue. This creates an interlocking structure. Poems 1-3 pair with 10-12 for 300 lines; poems 4-6 with 13-15 for 300 lines. (7-9 and 16 make 330 lines). Although I do not pursue the ramifications of such a reading in this chapter, I raise the point to show that the poem contains a variety of structures and has many untapped levels of engagement. In order to show that not 79 Ovid practices using the same number of lines more than any other Augustan elegist. In Amores 2, poems 5 and 6 have 62 lines; and 7, 8, 12, 13, 15 have 28 lines. In book 3, poems 3, 4, and 10 have 48 lines. In Tristia 1, poems 8 and 10 have 50 lines; in book 3, poems 7 and 12 have 54 lines; in 5, poems 6 and 14 have 46 lines, and 8 and 9 have 38 lines. Tibullus 1 has poems 1 and 8 with 78 lines and 4 and 9 with 84. Propertius comes the closest to Ovid (again, I leave book 2 out): In book 1, poems 2, 5, 18 have 32 lines; 10, 11 have 30; 4 and 17 have 30; 6 and 13 have 36. Most interesting is that 21 and 22, the last two poems, both have 10 lines. In book 3, poems 1 and 12 have 38 lines; 6, 17, 22 have 42 lines; 7, 11 have 72 lines; 14, 18, 21 have 34 lines; 16 and 20 have 30 lines. Book three has an additional wonderfully curious engagement with numbers. It has almost a continuous sequence of poems from 18 lines to 52 lines. Poem:lines. 25:18, 24:20; 4:22; 23:24; 2:26; 19:28; 16, 20:30; 10:32; 14, 18, 21: 34; no 36; 1, 12:38; 8:40; 6, 17, 22:42; no 46; 5:48; no 50; 3:52. Horace, far more than the elegists, has certain numerological preferences. In Odes 1, poems 4, 6, 10, 13, 14, 24, 25, 31, 36 have 20 lines; 5, 8, 18, 19, 21, 32, 33, 34, have 16 lines. In Odes 2, poems 2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 20 have 24 lines. In Odes 3, poems 13, 15, 17, 18, 20, 28, 30 have 16 lines. In Odes 4, he moves away from this high frequency. Poems 1 and 5 have 40 lines, 7, 12, 13 have 28 lines; 9 and 14 have 52 lines. The entry point to begin an analysis that involves studying poems of certain line numbers together is the point where there is a “run” of poems of the same length because they would appear to take up the same space on the book-roll. 80 Following Skutsch’s publication in 1963 of a symmetrical pattern in Propertius’ Monobiblos, Habinek 1982 offered a reading dependent on the number of lines in the whole book and argued that it contained the same number of lines as the lunar year. 33 everything is structural, note the breakdown if one pursues fours. 1-4=194; 5-8=240; 9-12=290; 13-16=206. I turn now to poems of the same length. It is immediately clear that we can make out three broad sections based on the middle three poems of greater length. A curious feature of the book is the number of poems that are exactly 50 lines long, a number that the eye could easily make out in reading a book-roll. 81 When one “extracts” these fifty-liners, a core narrative about Ovid’s poetic abilities emerges. Additionally, no one recipient dominates. In 4.2, Ovid tells Severus that his creativity has dried up. Even if Homer were in this land, he would become Getic: crede mihi, factus et ille Getes (4.2.22). In 4.4, Ovid tries to imagine the consular ceremony of Pompeius but ends up wishing he would spare a thought for him. Then in 4.6 (the new central poem), Augustus dies and Ovid 81 Regardless of how one comes down on the debate about ancient readers counting lines, it seems obvious that one gains a general sense of length based on the appearance of a poem on the page. Consider Van Sickle 1980: 5-6 “The roll imposes linear movement through or back. No skipping around or dipping in. But it also permits gradual change in the field of study, losing one, gaining one column. At any one time, several columns may spread open: thus, if their height were a ‘normal’ 25-45 lines, two columns would present to the eyes 50 or 90 verses…If three columns were open (very likely), they could present 75-135 verses; and if there were four columns, the presentment could be 100-180 verses.” Poem Addressee Length 1 Sextus Pompeius 36 2 Cornelius Severus 50 3 Faithless friend 58 4 Sextus Pompeius 50 5 Leves elegi 46 6 Brutus 50 7 Vestalis, Iulius 54 8 Suillius / Germanicus 90 9 Graecinus (and Flaccus) 134 10 Albinovanus Pedo 84 11 Gallio, Junius 22 12 Tuticanus 50 13 Carus 50 14 Tuticanus 62 15 Sextus Pompeius 42 16 Invide / Livor 52 34 says he has sent Brutus a poem about it (lines 17-18). In 4.12 Ovid reminds Tuticanus of his poetic abilities as a young poet living in Rome and playfully changes the vowel lengths in his name in order to fit it into the elegiac meter, thereby creating a playfully incorrect Latin. This experience of going metrically rogue leads to Ovid’s declaration in 4.13 that he has written a poem in Getic and that he is practically a Getic poet, now. That is, what he said in 4.2 would happen has now happened. Ovid has shifted in this sequence from a Roman poet to a Getic poet. Although the poetic narrative is strongest in this sequence, we still have a slight reminder of the political realm through 4.4, 4.6, and 4.13 because the poem Ovid has sent to Rome in 4.6 seems to be the same as he translates and recites in 4.13: both are about Augustus’ death and katasterism. This fits in with 4.4 because there Ovid mentioned that the still-living Augustus was the recipient of Pompeius’ prayers (4.4.38-39). 82 This “shorthand” of Pont. 4 can be discussed in greater detail by looking at the whole book. I turn now to “dramatic movements” and consider the collection as divided by poems 1-7, 8-10, and 11-16. As I described above, these divisions are also marked by poem length as seen in the above diagram. 83 Poems 1-7. This movement concerns two different events in Rome: Sextus’ rise and the death of powerful figures in the Augustan regime. These poems are focused on the year 14 CE. We see Ovid show the power of the poet to commemorate as he says very little about the deeds of Augustus and Fabius Maximus when describing their deaths in 4.6. This paucity of praise 82 All of these issues are detailed in my second and fourth chapters. 83 Another division, that I pursue in chapter 4, emerges from the way in which Ovid carefully spaces three poems in order to delineate the terms of a new kind of relationship between poets: 2, 8, 13 (each spaced around five other poems). Together, they introduce and expand the idea of sacrality between poets: sacraque Musarum merito cole (4.2.49); prosit opemque ferat communia sacra tueri (4.8.80); communia foedera sacri (4.13.44). 35 contrasts baldly with the hyperbolic panegyric of Vestalis’ heroic exploits in 4.7. We can understand poems 2, 4, 6 to be patterned thematic markers as each has 50 lines. In each case, the theme is the development Ovid’s new poetic voice. He struggles to write in 2; he narrates an event at which he was not present in 4; he claims to have written a poem on Augustus’ katasterism in 6. 1. To Sextus Pompeius. We are here introduced to the main Rome-centric figure and the start of the poetry-book as slave/possession theme. Ovid has brought his poetry into Rome. 2. To Cornelius Severus. We are introduced to the difficulty that Ovid has in writing and his old age. He claims that writing has no pleasure. However, we see after this point that Ovid actually begins to write quite a bit and brag about the new poems. 3. To a traitorous friend. This poem begins the theme of the anxiety of friendship and Ovid’s exploration of loyalty. 4. To Sextus Pompeius. Ovid describes his consular ceremony. We here see poetry used to document Roman political theater. 5. To Elegies. Ovid again uses Pompeius as an excuse to send his poetry into Rome. This time, we see the poems actually penetrate the city and dissimulate who and what they are. 6. To Brutus. We learn of the death of Augustus and Fabius Maximus and Ovid replaces Marcia at the latter’s funeral. Ovid uses elegy in its original function of lament. Ovid claims to have written a new poem, De Caelite. 7. To Vestalis. Ovid documents the relatively low-level Vestalis’ martial activities in Moesia. This heroizing of someone who was not a general shows Ovid’s awareness of the front lines of battles happening on Rome’s periphery. Poems 8-10 36 This middle movement contains the three longest poems of the collection. It is simultaneously the most politically fractious and poetically ambitious. In it, Ovid mediates the new Germanican circle of support. 84 It is also explicitly about poetic creation under, for, and by Germanicus. The four addressees (Germanicus is embedded in 4.8) each represents a different social stratum. The poems all contain reference to the veracity of Ovid’s claims about where he lives. In these poems, Ovid places poetic creation on the level of religious ritual. 8. To Suillius. Ovid uses his familial connection to Suillius (his step son-in-law and an ambitious political player) in order to triangulate a connection to Germanicus. This is the first of the poems to begin Ovid’s alignment with Germanicus’ faction and it is also the first poem (in Pont. 4) in which he asks for relocation. The power of poetry and the connections between poets take on a religious resonance. 9. To Graecinus. Graecinus appears in the middle of Pont. 4, a position he also occupied in Pont 1 (6/10) and 2 (6/11). 85 This is one of the rare appearances by a politician in the back- half of Pont. 4 and this theme is underscored when Ovid writes at length about Graecinus’ brother Flaccus who had campaigned near Tomis. Both men were consuls in successive years. Graecinus in 16 and his brother in 17. The emphasis is on Ovid’s ability to create political descriptions without witnessing them and to guarantee the truth of the descriptions of his own location. 10. To Albinovanus Pedo. While Ovid does not mention the Germanicus connection, Tacitus makes it clear that Pedo was on campaign with him (Tacitus Ann. 1.60.2). Seneca the Elder provides the longest scrap of his poetry to survive, which describes a military water- 84 This is the main reading of the new recipients by Syme 1978. 85 This is also the placement of Graecinus in Ovid’s Amores. 2.10 (of 19 poems), another indication of Ovidian self- awareness about book construction. 37 crossing (Suas. 1.15). In response to 4.2, Ovid now finds relief in writing, as when he says that the reason for writing a long catalogue of rivers was specifically because it allowed him to forget his frustration at living among the Getae (4.10.65-70). This is Ovid’s new-found solution to his resignation that a return is likely impossible. Poems 11-16 This third broad movement creates a mise-en-abyme of Ovid’s entire poetic career; only he is a Getic poet instead of a Roman one. In these poems, he mediates his Roman self and his Getic self. His concern is his own past as a poet and other poets’ future careers. The theme of friendship is strong throughout and the tone of nostalgia dominates. This is a sequence of defiant farewell. 11. This short poem to Junius Gallio recalls Ovid’s moment of banishment and bridges the events of the previous six to eight years, as it is about a “present tense” moment, namely, the death of Gallio’s wife and his likely remarriage. The dominant themes are ideas of marriage and loyalty. Of particular difficulty is the tonal range in the short poem. Ovid is challenging the reader to read carefully—a theme that the subsequent poems develop. 12. To Tuticanus. Like the poem to Gallio, this elegy features a drastic shift in tone from his jocular description of trying to fit Tuticanus’ unmetrical name into verse form to a meditation on amicitia. Germanicus is presented (4.12.40) as a princeps. 13. To Carus. Like the previous poem, this sets up a discourse of amicitia. Both of these men are called sodalis and are close to Germanicus. Carus is the tutor of his sons (4.13.47-48). Ovid relates that he is performing poem in Getic to a wildly receptive audience. This is the first time the locals have appreciated his talents. The content of the poem, Ovid’s personal take on the deification of Augustus, is ambiguous material at best. 38 14. To Tuticanus. There is a malicious reader (malus interpres 4.14.41) who maligns Ovid and turns the people against him after his successful performance in 4.13. This is similar in its entirety to Ovid’s exile for his poetry. Ovid offers a defense for his actions similar to Tr. 2. Augustus and the Getae are both bad readers. 86 15. To Pompeius. This poem, the last of the recessed panel sequence before the epilogue of 4.16, shows the conclusion of Ovid’s relationship with Pompeius. He is both friend (amice 4.15.32) and owner (4.15.14 pars…census…tui). This poem epitomizes the ambiguity of their relationship throughout the book. 16. To Invidus/Livor. This capstone to all of Ovid’s poetry concludes with his body on display having been lacerated by envy. He presents himself as a poet-martyr and is no longer able to endure as he had declared he would in 4.12. Rather, he surrenders himself for the sake of all the other Roman poets who live on, immortalized because Ovid catalogues them and their work. Part Four Symmetrical Arrangement Helzle complains about a range of new addressees and a lack of an ordering principle, especially “symmetrical arrangement.” 87 New addressees are not a problem. They are used to further the dramatic architecture of the book. More importantly, symmetrical arrangement is present, although only recognizable upon re-reading. A chart will explain that compares my structure with Helzle’s. I show recessed panels based on shared themes; Helzle shows an attempt at paired addressees. 88 Such a structure worked well for Pont. 1-3. And while the frame of 86 Tr. 2.345-346: Ovid claims Augustus has misread him. 87 Helzle 1989: 34. 88 Helzle’s mode of organization is based on the analyses of Froesch 1968 and the use of addressees to organize the book. This, in turn, is based on Skutsch 1963 who suggested interlocking order was important for understanding Propertius’ Monobiblos; he limited himself to the middle poems, 6-14. Otis 1965 expanded Skutsch’s two page “note” to forty-four pages on the same issue and he affirmed the following structure: 1-19, 2-15, 3-16, 4-17, 5-18. 39 Pompeius-Pompeius signals to us to look for structure, the fact that Ovid does not follow with other onomastic connections shows that he wants us to think about how else the poems are connected. We are primed to see symmetry from Pont. 1-3. The charts of Evans 1983: 111 (on the left) and Gaertner 2005: 3 (on the right) make this clear. Evans’ chart serves to emphasize that some friends are more important than others, as seen in his use of all-caps. 89 It is also immediately clear that the frame of Brutus and of Fabius Maximus 89 Evans 1983: 111. 40 indicates that all three books belong together and in the form they appear. There is no need for transposition, as William Anderson recognized: Froesch, “Ovids Epistulae,” presents an elaborate diagram of symmetry on the basis of patterning of the addressees of the elegies, p. 143. It is to be noted that, in order to make the symmetry “perfect,” Froesch proposes to move 2.11 to a new position after 3.4. That would have the added “value” of making each of the three books a decade. Such are the temptations of symmetry. 90 With this in mind, I turn to the recessed panels of Pont. 4 Helzle 91 Lehmann (1) Sextus Pompeius (2) Severus (3) perfidus (4) Sextus Pompeius (5) Sextus Pompeius (6) Brutus (7)Vestalis (8)) Suillius (and Germanicus) (9) Graecinus (and Flaccus) (10) Pedo (11) Gallio (12) Tuticanus (13) Carus (14) Tuticanus (15) Sextus Pompeius (16) invidus First a clarification. Helzle’s commentary, Wheeler in his Loeb, the Teubner of Richmond, and the dissertation of Akrigg all say that the addressee of 4.5 is Sextus Pompeius. 90 Anderson 1986: 65fn.23. Froesch does not even convince Helzle 2003: 41 “Lediglich die Umstellung von II 11 überzeugt nicht.” [the transposition of 2.11 simply fails to persuade]. He unfortunately persuades Richmond in his Teubner. Green 2005 330-331 is eloquently perturbed by the whole affair: “I remain inherently suspicious on principle of such violent changes when their object is to remove anomalies from a previously conceived structural pattern (ring-composition generates its own circular arguments)…Besides, if a transposition be conceded, either II.9 (to Cotys) or II.10 (to Macer) could equally well be the displaced item: there is nothing to make Rufus the inevitable choice. Such radical arbitrary revision is wholly unjustified in a standard text.” 91 Helzle 1989: 33. Poem Addressee 1 Sextus Pompeius 2 Cornelius Severus 3 Faithless friend 4 Sextus Pompeius 5 Leves elegi 6 Brutus 7 Vestalis, Iulius 8 Suillius / Germanicus 9 Graecinus / Flaccus 10 Albinovanus Pedo 11 Gallio, Junius 12 Tuticanus 13 Carus 14 Tuticanus 15 Sextus Pompeius 16 Invide / Livor 41 This is misleading and prevents a proper understanding of the structure of the book. The addressee is the elegiac poem itself. Ite, leves elegi, doctas ad consulis aures; “Go forth, light elegiacs, to the learned ears of the consul” (4.5.1). 92 Pompeius is merely a destination, much like Rome was in Tr. 1.1 and similar to how the elegies in that poem addressed an old man who gave them a tour. In Pont. 4.5, Pompeius becomes an embedded addressee. Recessed frames (treating 4.16 as an epilogue). Treating a final poem as an epilogue has precedent in Horace Epistles 1.20, Odes 3.30 and Vergil Eclogues 10. Recessed frames or panels (omphalic, onion-skin, concentric, chiastic, interlocked) is a manner of organization in which paired poems are set up along a folded axis. Vergil’s Eclogues provides a fine example. 93 In this case, we see pairings that are clear from a numerological level. The combination invites comparison, at which point we see greater subtlety in the interaction of the poems and can better interpret the book as a whole. Part of the benefit of reading pairs of poems lies in the Roman practice of reading through a scroll. It is easy to imagine the forward motion through the scroll. I would argue that the re-rolling is just as important. The reader has the poems in his or her hand and works backward, perhaps mentally refreshing himself or herself on the contents. In what follows, I trace the way in which the recessed panels of Pont. 4 are paired by noting their similarities. I then focus upon what we learn from these poems at the thematic and interpretive levels. 1-15: Pompeius as ambiguous patron; Ovid as object 4.1 and 4.15 are addressed to Sextus Pompeius as a patron. In both, Ovid makes claims to be the property of Pompeius. By 4.15, we see that their relationship has, ostensibly, become 92 There is nothing unusual about poets addressing their poems or books. Catullus 42; Horace Serm. 1.20; Ov. Tr. 1.1. 93 Boyle 1976: 12-16. 42 more intimate. Ovid calls him only by his praenomen “Sextus” (4.15.3, 18) and even calls him a mitis amice; “kind friend” (4.15.32). He has angled away from the political aspects of Pompeius. 94 In 4.1, Ovid calls him both by Sextus (4.1.2, 35) and Pompeius (4.1.1). A comparison of the opening lines in each poem forefronts the Ovidian narrative of the dramatically changed relationship with Pompeius that has taken place over the “historical” time of the poetic sequence. In 4.1, we learn that Ovid (unnamed): debitor est vitae qui tibi, Sexte, suae; “owes his life to you, Sextus” (4.1.2). By the end of the dramatic action of the collection, Ovid (now named 4.15.2) asks that anyone who has not heard of him: Caesaribus vitam, Sexto debere salutem / me sciat; “learn that I owe my life to the Caesars and my well-being to Sextus” (4.15.3-4). The similar location and linguistic echo of “owe” and “life” asks us to compare these two poems. By changing the debt of life to the debt of health with regards to Sextus, Ovid emphasizes that a change has occurred in the second half of the book in which he now owes his life to the Caesars (Augustus and Tiberius). 95 We also see in these two poems Ovid’s use of hyperbolic declarations concerning the power of his memory. In this case, Ovid uses a mythological and linguistic pattern to connect the poems. da mihi (si quid ea est) hebetantem pectora Lethen, / oblitus potero non tamen esse tui; “give me, if there is such a thing, heart-dulling Lethe and I shall nevertheless be unable to forget you” (4.1.17-18). Compare: seu tamen effectus habitura est gratia, seu me / dura iubet gelido Parca sub axe mori, / semper inoblita repetam tua munera mente; “nevertheless, whether you succeed in using your influence or a hard Fate command me to die under a frozen pole, I will 94 Helzle 1989: 44 observes (with evidence) that using the praenomen is “usually intimate.” 95 We also see the combination in 4.5. Ovid sends his elegies to visit Pompeius and directs them to say that: vivit adhuc vitamque tibi debere fatetur; “he yet lives and confesses that he owes his life to you” (4.5.31). This poem belongs to the first half, before the introduction of Germanicus in 4.8. 43 always recall your duty with an unforgetful mind” (4.15.35-37). 96 In both cases, an allusion to mythological metaphor—Lethe and the Parcae—prefaces a negated form of oblitus. Both examples contain a tamen clause which gives them similar resonance. It is important to note that these are the only uses of negated oblitus in ex Ponto. The two poems, therefore, provoke us as readers to consider what forgetfulness is and how it is combated. In both poems—unique to Pont. 4—Ovid issues a prayer, oro (4.1.19; 4.15.27). More importantly, in both he says that Pompeius is his auxilium. The word seems to lack ambiguity in 4.1 when Ovid says that Pompeius’s clemency is a good thing. clementia…/ auxilium vitae fertque feretque meae; “clemency brings and will bring aid to my life” (4.1.25-26). By the time we come to 4.15 the issue has become uncertain. 97 erroris nam tu vix est discernere nostri / sis argumentum maius an auxilium; “it is difficult to say whether you are more the proof or aid of my mistake” (4.15.25-26). 98 The most important connection is the way in which Ovid talks about himself as Pompeius’s property. sic ego sum rerum non ultima, Sexte, tuarum / tutelaeque feror munus opusque tuae; “thus I am not the last of your things, Sextus, and I am said to be the duty and work of your protection” (4.1.35-36). 99 In 4.15, he commands: inter opes et me, parvam rem, pone paternas; / pars ego sum census quantulacumque tui; “put me—a small thing—among your inherited wealth; I am a part, however small, of your property” (4.15.13-14). There is a conceptual development. In the earlier poem, Ovid says he is rumored (feror) to be an object 96 dura Parca reads almost like a formulaic epithet. Statius uses the phrase for Phaethon in a simile: pius ille quidem et formidine cauta / sed iuvenem durae prohibebant discere Parcae; “he was indeed pious and careful of dangers, but the Hard Fates forbade the young man to learn” (Th. 6.324-325). 97 I discuss the importance of this appearance of clementia in the next chapter. 98 Note how Ovid draws attention to this moment via the run of four monosyllabic words nam tu vix est and the spondaic first four feet. This line also gains attention because this is one of the seventeen times when Ovid ends a pentameter with a non-bi-syllabic word. 99 This line is another connection to 4.15.37 when Ovid cannot forget Pompeius’ munera. 44 whereas in the second he simply is (ego sum). In both poems, Ovid presents himself as an object, even a possession, of Pompeius. 100 He draws poetic attention to this fact by employing litotes in 4.1, non ultima, and a metrical pun in 4.15: the very large quintasyllabic, and poetically rare, quantulacumque. 101 He playfully says that he is a very small thing with a very large word. Ovid’s first use of the term also came in a fifteenth poem, and he invites us to remember this use by means of stichometric intertextuality. 102 In Amores 3.15, Ovid, talking about a hypothetical figure in the future who sees the walls of Sulmo, Ovid’s hometown, has that man declare: ‘Quae tantum’ dicat ‘potuistis ferre poetam, / quantulacumque estis, vos ego magna voco’; “you who could create such a poet, however small you might be, I say you are great” (Am. 3.15.13-14). Ovid, I argue, in the letter to Pompeius is declaring himself small because he knows that he is great. Finally, line 4.15.14 reflects in two ways on Ovid’s career: first it frames book 4 as a distinct entity, but it also asks us to return to the very beginning of Ovid’s career to see how far he has come poetically (from the Amores to the Epistulae ex Ponto) and physically (from Sulmo to Tomis). 2-14: poet friends: Cornelius Severus and Tuticanus 4.2 and 4.14 are addressed to poet-friends. Cornelius Severus (4.2) is an older poet to whom Ovid has already written (1.8). They share an interest in gardening, and Ovid makes it clear he knows Severus on both a personal and literary level. 4.14 is Ovid’s second letter to Tuticanus. In 4.2, Ovid insists that he is struggling to write. In 4.14, he is writing in Getic. The two poems form the book-ends of his narrative of becoming a Getic poet. 100 One way to understand this is that Ovid is talking about himself as his works and he therefore is asking for Pompeius to guard his poetry book. 101 The word is used only by Ovid in the Augustan period and only once in Imperial Latin at Mart. Epig.11.14.2. 102 Hinds 1998: 92 fn.10. Wills 1996: 159 fn.82 calls it “allusion by line-number.” Vergil employs this method in naming Maecenas in the Georgics: 1.2, 2.41, 3.41, 4.2. The most famous example is that of Aen. 10.475 (vaginaque cava fulgentem deripit ensem) and Met. 10.475 (pendent nitidum vagina deripit ensem). 45 To properly understand why these two in particular are paired, one must recognize that this is the second poem to Cornelius Severus. Ovid had previously written to him in Pont. 1.8. 103 My observation that these two poems are both second poems to poet-friends adds to this evidence. Structure aids interpretation. With Severus, Ovid points to the beginning of his Pontic project. With the second letter to Tuticanus, Ovid draws attention to Pont. 4’s unique status as a separate book but part of a collected whole. It should be considered both with and apart from the unified collection of Pont. 1-3. The most common argument that 1.8 is not written to the poet Cornelius Severus is that Ovid claims: cuius adhuc nomen nostros tacuisse libellos, / si modo permittis dicere vera, pudet; “it shames me that up until now my books have kept your name silent; if you’ll permit me to tell the truth” (4.2.3-4). Ovid accesses a technicality of adhuc. I would suggest that he adds the adhuc with a wink. That is “up until now…the second poem!” We are invited to see that this Severus is the same because, in both cases, Ovid names him in the middle of the pentameter’s second hemistich (1.8.2, 4.2.2). I would suggest that what Ovid means when he says that his books have kept silent about Severus’ nomen is that he has not emphasized Severus’ reputation and accomplishments. We learn nothing about Severus in 1.8 except where he goes in Rome and where he is from (1.8.65-68). Ovid underscores his apology when he hails Severus in 4.8 as o vates magnorum maxime regum; “greatest vates of great kings” (4.2.1). This greeting is all about Severus and his work. In 1.8, it had all been about Ovid: pars animae magna, Severe, meae; “Severus, great part of my soul” (1.8.2). Ovid marks his apology by making Severus superlative, maxime, in 4.2 and suppressing his own name. 104 103 This is the general consensus adopted by the latest commentators: Helzle 1989: 59-60; Gaertner 2005: 428-429; Tissol 2014: 148. Gaertner presents other views and argues against them. 104 On Ovid’s interest in these two levels of nomen, see Martelli 2013: 190 who points to this poem as revealing the ways in which Ovid provides public fame for his private addressees. 46 Ovid is asserting that his books have kept out Severus’ name. When one reads the poems via recessive panels, we discover a systematic punning on these two senses of nomen based on the way he opens his letter to Tuticanus in 4.14: Haec tibi mittuntur, quem sum modo carmine questus / non aptum numeris nomen habere meis; “These things are sent to you, about whom I recently complained in a poem that your name is not fit for my meter” (4.14.1-2). 105 Both poems begin with meta-poetic jokes about names in verse. The literal name of Tuticanus and the reputation of Severus. The connection deepens. Ovid mentions that they have never stopped writing prose letters orba…numeris (4.2.5). This is one of very few times that Ovid mentions the realities of communication between Rome and Tomis and raises the questions about what they are talking about in those letters. Thus, these two poems invite us to think about secrecy and openness, particularly with regard to readership. 106 We who read the entire collection are taunted with not having access to certain circles of communication. Ovid makes it clear that there are multiple levels of approach to his poems. He invites the readers to become part of an “insider” group in 4.14 since only the reader of 4.12 knows that Ovid is referring to Tuticanus. The most important way in which the two poems belong together in a recessed pair is on the “narrative” level that develops between them. Ovid, in a beautifully tragic formulation in his letter to Severus laments his lack of an audience. Not only is his Muse sullen, but there is no joy in writing anymore. This is either because he has gained no profit or because he lacks an audience: sive quod in tenebris numeroses ponere gestus, / quodque legas nulli scribere carmen, idem est; “or that writing a poem you can read to no one is like dancing in the dark” (4.2.33- 105 Modo in this case is a temporal marker that supports the structure of the collection. 4.14 must follow 4.12 to make conceptual sense for the diachronic reader. 106 This tension is what Martelli 2013 focuses on in her sixth chapter about Ovid’s Epistulae ex Ponto. She succinctly observes that (especially Pont. 1-3) “the spotlight on publication confronts us with the novel dilemma of having to decide what kind of ‘public’ Ovid’s letters are trying to reach” (188). 47 34). 107 Then he transforms into a Getic poet and performer (4.12, 4.13). In 4.14, we learn that his writing is harming him again and, worse: at malus interpres populi mihi concitat iram, / inque novum crimen carmina nostra vocat; “a wicked interpreter rouses the anger of the people against me and charges my poetry with a novel accusation” (4.14.40-41). The two poems perfectly pair in that they are the “before and after” of Ovid’s poetic Getic career. The idea that Ovid has had an ill-willed recipient of his poetry inverts his wish at the end of his letter to Severus that he send some of his poems to Tomis to help ease Ovid’s suffering (4.2.49-50). 3-13. The Worst of Friends, the Best of Friends 4.3 and 4.13 are inversions. 4.3 is to a man who used to be a great friend but is now an enemy (perfide 4.3.17). Carus in 4.13, on the other hand, is an undoubted sodalis (4.13.1). In 4.3, Ovid delivers a lecture on the fickleness of fortune. In 4.13, his fortunes are looking up as he has gained unexpected fame in Tomis for his Getic poem. A popular approach in the analysis of Pont. 4 has been through a lens of amicitia. 108 Where these critics look at a whole range of linguistic markers to find the theme throughout the book, it is only in these two poems that Ovid actually uses the word. He draws further attention to this quintasyllabic word by using it to end the pentameter. 109 To the ungrateful friend, Ovid declares: ille ego sum, quamquam non vis audire, vetusta / paene puer puero iunctus amicitia; “I am that one who, although you don’t wish to hear it, was joined to you almost since boyhood by long-standing friendship” (4.3.11-12). The enjambment (rare for late Ovid), 110 the “p” 107 The translation is Green 2005: ad loc. 108 The main approach for Helzle 1989 and Williams 1994: ch. 3. 109 Ovid is developing ideas he first presented in Tr. 4.5 where he wrote to a sodalis and also placed amicitia at the pentameter line ending (4.5.24). These are the only three instances of such a placement in Ovid. Intriguingly for the reception of the exile poems, it is Martial’s preferred placement, out of ten appearances of the word, nine appear in this location. (Epig. 3.36.8, 4.67.2, 5.19.8, 9.14.2, 9.84.4, 9.99.6, 10.13.4, 10.44.10, 11.44.2). It is the second word of 9.2.1. 110 Helzle 1989: 119 “Ovid uses this feature more sparingly in his later years…in Pont. IV six [examples].” 48 alliteration in the pentameter, the polyptoton puer puero, 111 and the quintasyllabic amicitia all point to the ways in which Ovid draws attention to this couplet. It is important to understand that this amicitia is defined by their relationship as adolescents. He was the first to hear the serious and playful thoughts of the addressee (4.3.13-14). Then he declares: ille ego convictor densoque domesticus usu, / ille ego iudiciis unica Musa tuis; “I was an intimate and lived in close association. I was a unique Muse according to your judgement” (4.3.16). Not only is convictor extremely rare (in poetry only twice before in Horace’s satires: 1.4.96, 1.6.47) but this use of Musa is strange. Musa here does not mean “poet.” 112 Rather, it is the source of inspiration. 113 Ovid re-introduces Musa in 4.13 via a slippage between inspiration and the outcome on the page: et mea Musa potest, proprio deprensa colore, / insignis vitiis forsitan esse suis; “my Muse, revealed by her own tone, may perhaps by her own faults be recognized” (4.13.13-14). The reader of 4.13 is thus invited to go back and reconsider 4.3 and see that Ovid’s poetry was always judged to be singular. In 4.3, it is clear both from the recollection of shared poetic studies in their youth and the learned exempla that follow (37-48) that Ovid might be disgusted with this former friend, but he nevertheless respects his abilities and knowledge. In the envoi to his great friend, Carus, Ovid builds on these ideas. The poems create a dynamic comparison between a poet who has remained true to the communia sacra (sacred rites of poetic production) and one who betrayed it thoroughly. 111 Ibid.: 94. Ovid also has puero…puer polyptoton in his first letter to Tuticanus (4.12.20). In fact, 4.3 pairs well with all the friend-poet poems. This hints at the richness of other structures and poetic interconnections waiting to be explored. 112 Ibid.: 95 interprets it to mean “poet.” 113 Ovid’s poetry is itself a source of inspiration, as we see in the case of Sabinus who “answers” Ovid’s Heroides (Am. 2.18.27-34). 49 As in previous poems, Ovid puns relentlessly on nomen. He begins 4.3 by arguing that he will not name an enemy because this will have the power of making him famous. conqueror, an taceam; “do I complain or keep silent?” (4.3.1). Ovid’s ultimate decision not to name the foe exhibits his power over the nomina of the collection. The unnamed enemy therefore becomes pluralized: anyone from Ovid’s earlier years can recognize him or herself in the portrayal. They know who they are. In contrast, we have the celebration of the positive and loyal friends in the back half of the book, and Carus is the most celebrated. Not only does Ovid celebrate Carus’ nomen, he also gives it onomastic treatment: O mihi non dubios inter memorande sodales, / qui quod es id vere, Care, vocaris, ave; “oh you memorable man among undoubted companions, you who are truly called what you are—Carus— greetings” (4.13.1-2). Ovid’s forceful placement of sodales at the end of the very first line reinforces the strongly pointed comparison with 4.3 and the man who is no longer a sodalis. There is extra attention on Carus’ name. This etymologically resonant name truly “must be remembered” memorande. How much more powerful, then, is the utter lack of naming in 4.3— and the attention Ovid gave to not mentioning it: nomine non utar, ne commendere querella, / quaeraturque tibi carmine fama meo “I won’t use your name lest the complaint commend you and fame follow you from my poem” (4.3.3-4). Intriguingly we indirectly find Carus’ name in 4.3. sive fui numquam carus, simulasse fateris, / seu non fingebas, inveniere levis; “if I was never beloved, then you confess that you faked [our friendship]; but if you did not act insincerely, you shall be found to be fickle [since you are not a loyal friend]” (4.3.19-20). After reading the collection and working our way through it again, we can re-translate this as “if I was never a Carus” that is, the best and most 50 loyal friend. The adjective in 4.3 becomes the addressee in 4.13, the example of someone who is truly dear. 4.4-4.12. Politics or Poetry In many ways, this recessed pair forms the most crucial juxtaposition, which makes sense because it is the central pair. It best enacts the dynamic between the asymmetrical relationship that Ovid the poet has with Pompeius as a political figure and potential patron who is not well- known to Ovid and the symmetrical relationship he has with a fellow poet, Tuticanus, whom he has known for years. These two poems are further carefully set into comparison by both being 50 lines long—the only pairing that has the same number of lines. In Pont. 4.4 Fama visits Ovid while he is walking on a beach. She relates that Pompeius is about to undergo induction as Consul. Ovid then imagines the ceremony and describes it as though he is present. The poem freely uses future tense verbs throughout. 114 It is primarily a poem of the imagined future. This use of an imagined (but ultimately unknown) future that is highly complimentary to a relatively unknown recipient contrasts sharply with the established relationship that he describes having with Tuticanus. Ovid writes a “future history” of the consulship ceremony for Pompeius. With Tuticanus, we see a poetic “past history” of the private friendship and literary experiences of the poets. The two poems juxtapose the political theater and trappings of public Roman life and the consuls’ debt to the imperial family with the largely apolitical relationship between poets. With Pompeius he described the proximus annus “upcoming year” (4.4.19). With Tuticanus, he calls upon tot annorum seriem “a succession of so many years” (4.12.21). Beyond this, he goes into great detail about Tuticanus’ attentive 114 erit (4.18); reseraveris (23); erit (24); velabit (25); erunt (34); excipient (35); intendent (36); hilaraverit (37); tulerit (38); egeris (39); dabit (40); repetes (41); cernar (42); poterunt (43); videbo (45); aspiciet (46); fatebor (50). 51 correction of his manuscripts—ironic given the way in which the poem begins. This leads Ovid to reflect upon their past with past-tense verbs. 115 The description of the accession to the consulship in 4.4 accords with Roman practice. It is, in all ways, “by the book.” 116 Ovid goes out of his way in his first poem to Tuticanus to break the established laws (of poetry). He draws attention to the way in which he controls both political (lex, officio) and poetic (lex pedis) spheres. lex pedis officio fortunaque nominis obstat / quaque meos adeas est via nulla modos; “the law of meter and the chance of your name prevents the duty [of being named]; there is no way for you to enter my meter” (4.12.5-6). He then lengthens and shortens syllables at whim to fit his friend’s name in his verse. The base scansion is trochaic: Tūtĭcānŭs. et pudeat, si te, qua syllaba parte moratur, artius adpellem Tūtĭcănumque vocem. Et potes in versūm Tŭtĭcānī more venire, fiat ut e longa syllaba prima breuis, aut producatur 117 quae nunc correptius exit et sit porrecta longa secunda mora. And I’d be embarrassed if, in that place where the syllable is long, I shorten it and call you Tūtĭcănus [shortening the “a” to form a dactyl]. You could enter my verse as Tŭtĭcānī [shortening the “u” to the two shorts of a dactyl] so that the first long syllable becomes short; or so that which is now short be lengthened and the second syllable become long from an extended delay [Tūtīcānŭs, lengthening the “i” to form a spondee]. (Pont. 4.12.9-14) 115 fuisti (23); regerem (24); correxi (25); facta…est (26); perdocuere (28). 116 Helzle 1989: 107 “by presenting a view of the consulate which appears in to be in line with the official version Ovid may well be underlining his loyalty to the regime.” While I disagree with Helzle’s conclusion about Ovid’s loyalty, he is right in calling attention to the punctilious description at this point. 117 Akrigg 1985: 376 adopts producatur, equally well represented in the manuscripts, over ut ducatur, which Richmond prints. Wheeler 1965 also opts for producatur. 52 There is nothing in Latin prose like this passage, much less Latin poetry before Ovid, and very little after. 118 Ovid shows his awareness of the changing landscape of technical terms when he uses longa and brevis in addition to correptius, the former appear in Cicero; Gellius uses the latter and not the former. 119 This is self-consciously meta-poetic to a degree never before attempted and with astonishing ramifications when we pair this with the first consular poem, 4.5. Ovid is so in control of Latinitas, that he can transform the vowel lengths—all while acknowledging he may be mocked. But by getting in front of the mockery, he emphasizes that he can go to any length to mention a name. And so, while Pompeius is becoming a consul, thanks in large part to Augustus, and has become a cog in the system of Roman politics, Ovid sits on the periphery gleefully dismantling the basic elements of Roman communication. Without recognizing the recessed panel structure, the impact of our reading of these poems would be greatly lessened. Ovid expands upon the difference between politics and poetry through a discussion of authority. The highest power for poets is the Muse; for the presumptive consul, the Gods and Caesar: egeris et meritas superis cum Caesare grates / qui causam, facias cur ita saepe, dabit; “you will have given deserved thanks to the gods along with Caesar—who will give a reason why you should do so often” (4.4.39-40). 120 Pompeius, it is clear, might seem to be in control, 118 Gellius 2.17 is the closest. Here he investigates some comments by Cicero (Orator 159) on the ways in which prefixes affect vowel length either by lengthening or shortening. In poetry, Hor. Sat. 1.5.87 mentions his inability to include the name of a town due to its metrical shortcomings but does not break any rules to include it. Martial 9.11, on the name of his beloved, Ĕărĭŭs—a name impossible to fit into the hendecasyllables of his poem, playfully says that the Greeks had no problem changing vowel length but that Roman poets are more exacting. 119 For both, a form of producere means lengthening. Gell. 2.17.2: produci. Cic. Orat. 159: indoctus dicimus brevi prima littera, insanus producta; inhumanus brevi, infelix longa; “we say indoctus with a short “i,” insanus with a long “i,” inhumanus with a short and infelix with a long.” Gellius shows the range of vocabulary available to discuss this issue when he says that the prepositions in and con lengthen in front of the first letters of sapiens and felix but in all other cases they are short: in aliis autem omnibus correpte pronuntiari. This is his summary of Cicero. Gellius then actually quotes Cicero’s own passage that he had just summarized: in ceteris omnibus breviter. Gellius’ deliberate use of correpte instead of breviter implies a changed preference in the nomenclature for vowel length. 120 Similarly, the gods and Caesars will be present at the sacrifice on the Tarpeian rock (4.4.29-34). There is another way to read the sentence. Namely, that Tiberius will act through the consuls and Ovid is aware of this. Such is 53 but he owes his position to Caesar. Far from this being a moment of praise for the Republican status of the consulship, we have instead a moment in which Ovid reveals the mechanisms of power at Rome. Ovid pointedly contrasts his relationship with Tuticanus and the latter’s with the muses. tu bonus hortator, tu duxque comesque fuisti / cum regerem tenera frena novella manu; “you were a noble encourager and my leader and companion when I was guiding the new reins with a soft hand” (4.12.23-24). 121 Here we see that Ovid has set up a rough parallel, of sorts. As Pompeius will be to Caesar, so Ovid was to Tuticanus. They both give thanks. But Ovid adds the crucial comes (companion) to indicate that he and Tuticanus were simultaneously equals. There is also the sense that poets do things together whereas we only see Pompeius in isolation— nowhere does his co-consul appear. It is as if Ovid has deliberately isolated him from his counterpart. 122 There is also the issue of hierarchies between mortals and divinites. Caesar is equated with the gods in 4.4 and he gives his underling, Pompeius, things to do (causam…dabit). 123 In 4.12 there is a poetic hierarchy: dignam Maeoniis Phaeacida condere Tacitus’ reading: nam Tiberius cuncta per consules incipiebat; “indeed, Tiberius began everything through the consuls” (Ann. 1.7). 121 Ovid likes the combination of dux and comes for poetic interaction. He had previously used it to describe the way in which he guided his step-daughter’s poetry and his own relationship with his muse: duxque comesque fui; “I was the leader and companion” (Tr. 3.7.18). tu dux et comes es; “you [Muse] are the leader and companion” (Tr. 4.10.119). 122 Finally, there are two linguistic markers. In both poems, Ovid offers a rhetorical gesture. Pont. 4.4 begins with a tricolon of the hyperbolic formula: “no X is so Y that…” His opening couplet discusses rain. nulla dies adeo est australibus umida nimbis, / non intermissis ut fluat imber aquis; “no day is so wet from southern rainstorms that rain pours forth uninterrupted” (4.4.1-2). In his poem to Tuticanus, Ovid offers a rhetorical “sooner shall X than Y.” et tepidus Boreas et sit praefrigidus Auster; “[sooner] would Boreas be warm and Auster [south wind] be frigid” (4.12.35). These are the only two times in Pont. 4 that we have uses of “the south;” that they occur in these two poems that are already so well paired underscores the deliberate connection. The issue finds further support when 4.12 quotes the concluding phrase of 4.4. haec tua pertulerit si quis mihi verba, fatebor / protinus exilium mollius esse meum; “if anyone reports these words of yours to me, at once I will confess that my exile is easier” (4.4.49-50). Ovid completes the couplet I quoted above about Boreas and Auster with this pentameter. et tepidus Boreas et sit praefrigidus Auster / et possit fatum mollius esse meum; “[sooner] would Boreas be warm and Auster be frigid; and my fate be able to be easier” (4.12.35-36). I also tentatively contrast the quadrasyllabic australibus in 4.4.1 and the quadrasyllabic adjective, praefrigidus, Ovid uses to modify Auster in 4.12.36. 123 meritas superis cum Caesare grates (4.4.39). grates in the plural especially refers to thanks given to gods. OLD s.v. grates. 54 chartis / cum te Pieriae perdocuere deae; “the Pierian goddesses thoroughly taught you to write a Phaeacis worthy of Homer’s pages” (4.12.28). 124 The only beings above poets are the muses; they owe nothing to the gods. 4.5-4.11. Time to Destination Pont. 4.5 and 4.11 seem, at first glance, ill-paired. Once one realizes that the critical editions of Ovid have misrepresented Pont. 4.5, however, the relationship falls into place. The addressee of 4.5 is not Sextus Pompeius but the elegy itself. Ovid personifies his elegies in 5 and sends them into Rome to watch Pompeius’ consul-induction ceremony. In 4.11, he tells Gallio that he will not write and send a consolatio on the death of his wife—even though Gallio never said he wanted one. It is distinctly about not sending a piece of literature while sending that very piece of literature. The two poems reflect upon sending (or not sending) poems to Rome. They are also the only poems in Pont. 4 to state how long such a journey takes, and it is noticeable that the time is different in each case. In both poems, the recipient is educated: Ite, leves elegi, doctas ad consulis aures; “Go, light elegies, to the learned ears of the consul” (4.5.1); sed neque solari prudentem stultior ausim / verbaque doctorum nota referre tibi; “I, rather witless, would not dare to console a sage man and send to you the familiar words of the learned” (4.11.11-12). In what, we might ask, is Pompeius learned? 125 The adjective has dominant overtones of poetic learnedness, none of which we saw emphasized in 4.1 and 4.4. I would suggest that the answer lies in the beginning of the hexameter. The learned reader is one who recognizes the trope that Ovid accesses here. He is 124 The use of condere is particularly striking since it means to found a city as well as to write. Its most pointed appearance in literature is at the end of the Aeneid. C.f. James 1995. Dux, of course, is also pointed since it frequently refers to the Emperor. 125 Horace Epist. 1.19.1-3 credits Maecenas with the quality. Prisco si credis, Maecenas docte, Cratino, / nulla placere diu nec vivere carmina possunt, / quae scribuntur aquae potoribus. “Learned Maecenas, if you believe Cratinus of old, no poems can live very long which were written by water drinkers.” 55 writing a propempticon and specifically one that he has written twice before. 126 Ovid had previously sent poems to Rome in Tr. 1.1, where they were rejected from the various public libraries and Tr. 3.1, where they had a tour of Augustan Rome. The learned reader, however, is not one whose knowledge is limited to Ovid’s oeuvre. Rather, one who knows the tradition of poetry. In this case, as we have already seen throughout Pont. 4, Horace is a model. In Epist. 1.20, Horace had sent his liber into Rome. By doing so, he makes a pun on the noun lĭber (book) and the adjective līber (free). The published book (lĭber) is a free (līber) slave, a pun echoed by Ovid in Tristia 1.1 (1-2, 15-16, 57-8), where, ironically, it is the book that is free (to go to Rome) while the master is not. 127 The elegies, being nimble (leves), have a similar freedom to gambol across icy Thrace and cloudy Haemon into Rome (4.5.3-6) How much more striking, then, that Ovid sends his free elegies to Rome in order to place both them and himself in someone else’s hands: cum tamen a turba rerum requieverit harum, / ad vos mansuetas porriget ille manus; “nevertheless, when he [Pompeius] will take a break from the crowd of these affairs, then he will extend his kindly hands to you” (4.5.27-28). 128 This, combined with Ovid’s promise to be Pompeius’ slave (mancipii 4.5.40) for all time, indicates that Ovid is rewriting the relationship of his previous poetry collections. What seems to happen when poems go to Rome is that they become the possession of another, and it is unknown if they will be protected or not. Such are the anxieties of a poet sending his last collection to Rome. The paired poem emphasizes that Ovid is unwilling to send poetry to the learned Gallio. Ovid calls Gallio prudens and himself stultior and hides behind a pretence of witlessness in order 126 Helzle 1989: 125 on doctus; 121-122 on the propempticon. 127 Fitzgerald 2000: 30. The metrical length is not an impediment to the pun. See Quint. 9.3.69-70 who is not a fan of this kind of metrical joke and calls it: etiam in iocis frigidum; “lifeless, even in jokes.” The examples he gives are to be avoided, not copied. The only author he quotes directly as enjoying this kind of pun is Ovid. Cur ego non dicam Fūria, te, fŭriam? “Why should I not name you, Furia, a Fury?” 128 Helzle 1989: 133. “One has to bear in mind that Pompeius has shaken the couplets’ hands (28). Ovid’s ‘children’ (29) are thus literally manu capti.” 56 to speak freely. He signals that Gallio (and anyone else who would be prudens) should be on the lookout for this kind of reading. Gallio is capable of understanding Ovid’s position since he also knows him from old. Not only is their close relationship confirmed by Seneca the Elder, but his training in rhetorical schools would have guaranteed his knowledge of generic conventions. 129 The two poems, therefore, enact a miniature paradigm of what it means to read poetry carefully. Where it seems that Ovid demeans himself before Pompeius by making himself a slave to him, Ovid compliments Gallio’s wisdom but still refuses to console him. 130 Through this pairing, we realize that Ovid is drawing attention to the changing dynamics of poetic-production. Ideally, he should be sending poetry to his friends, but in this new-world, he is sending them to politicians. He should be writing about and comforting those who have felt loss; instead he sends panegyric. He should actually be at his friend’s side, but he is in exile. Both letters concern issues of temporality and specifically engage with the reworked proem to the Fasti. First, in 4.5 Ovid uses the phrase Iane biceps “two-Headed Janus” to address Janus’ opening of the year (4.5.23). He only elsewhere uses this phrase at Fasti 1.65. Then, in 4.11, Ovid describes the tradition whereby limits are placed on the time a widower can mourn. temporis officium est solacia dicere certi; “the offering of consolation is the duty of a fixed time” (4.11.17). We might expect the fixed time to be calendrical, but Ovid subtly subverts this expectation. The time for consolation is limited: dum dolor in cursu est et petit aeger opem “while sorrow is present and the grieving person seeks assistance” (4.11.18). This type of time is deeply personal. This topic also appears near the beginning of the Fasti. Romulus established the first calendar with 10 months. Speculating on this, Ovid suggests that: per totidem menses a 129 Gallio is a frequent participant in Seneca Rhetor’s recollections. For his familiarity with Ovid’s poetry cf. Suas. 3.6-7. 130 Ovid might be drawing a connection between Pompeius’ consulship (consul<consilium) and consolatio. That is, he shows how consolatio is a type of consilium. 57 funere coniugis uxor / sustinet in vidua tristia signa domo; “for the same [10] number of months after the death of her husband, a wife wears sad weeds in her widowed home” (F. 1.35-36). This type of keeping time is regulated and calendrical. The two poems’ subtle allusions to the preface of the Fasti anticipate the extended references in the central poem Pont. 4.8. Finally, both poems reveal Ovid’s interest in physical proximity. He has already mentioned that it takes a long time for materials to travel a great distance. Usually a year passes. 131 Ovid maintains this concept with his friend Gallio. dum tua pervenit, dum littera nostra recurrens / tot maria ac terras permeat, annus abit; “a year goes by while your letter is coming and mine is returning over so many lands and seas” (4.11.15-16). There is a consistent conceptualization of time. Ovid distorts this in 4.5 when he insists that his elegies can get to Rome much faster. luce minus decima dominam venietis in urbem / ut festinatum non faciatis iter; “although you don’t rush, you will enter the mistress city before the tenth day” (4.5.7-8). 132 There is an indefinite amount of time that passes while the elegies pass through Thrace and over the Ionian Sea (4.5.5-6), but certainly it does not take five months to do so. Ovid deliberately stretches temporalities. 133 4.6-4.10. Dating a letter The poems that Ovid addresses to Brutus (4.6) and Albinovanus Pedo (4.10) create a complicated representation of Rome and Tomis. We understand that these poems belong together 131 In a previous poem, to Rufinus, we learn: dum venit huc rumor properataque carmina fiunt / factaque eunt ad vos, annus abisse potest; “when a rumor comes here and rushed poems are made, a year can go by before they, once crafted, go to you” (3.4.59-60). Two things happen in the year. The poem is made and sent. 132 The description of the city as domina remakes the capital as a mistress of the slaves that are Ovid’s works. They were free only so long as they were on the road. 133 Helzle 1986: 127 observes “Nine days is a leisurely pace for the journey from Brundisium to Rome which could easily be done in five days (Plut. Cato Maior 14,4).” He points to Horace and his friends taking fifteen days in Sat. 1.5 going between Rome and Brundisium as “ostentatiously slow.” 58 because Ovid indicates the “slippery” time of composition in the first lines of both. 134 In 4.6, he makes it clear that he is writing in his the sixth year in Tomis. in Scythia nobis quinquennis Olympias acta est / iam tempus lustri transit in alterius; “a five-year Olympiad has passed with me in Scythia; and now time is passing into another lustrum” (4.6.5-6). Ovid’s bilingual time- telling (Greek Olympias and Roman lustra) reminds us of the fact that he is in a region that speaks neither, a point underscored in the opening of 4.10. haec mihi Cimmerio bis tertia ducitur aestas / litore pellitos inter agenda Getas “this, the sixth summer, is passing that I must endure on the Cimmerian shore among the skin-wearing Getae” (4.10.1-2). Cimmerius appeared once before in Ovid, at Metamorphoses 11.592, where it is said that Sleep’s cave is near the region. The rarity of the word acts to exotify 4.6’s simple Scythia. The main result of pairing these poems, however, is that it allows Ovid to point to the artificiality of the construction of the poetry book. 4.6 takes place sometime after 19 August 14 BCE, the day Augustus died. But 4.10 takes place as the summer of that year is beginning. 135 The juxtaposition of these poems allows us to see the book’s awareness of our desire to read a chronological narrative, a desire which it refuses to satisfy. 136 Two linguistic echoes also yoke the poems. Ovid uses a form of liquidus in each poem— the only occurrences in Pont. 4. He draws attention to the way in which it can be used literally and metaphorically. To Brutus, Ovid insists: te quoque idem liquido possum iurare precari; “I am able to swear with a clear conscience that you pray for the same thing” (4.6.21). Here Ovid 134 Writing about Pliny’s letters, Gibson and Morello 2012: 250 observe: “The slipperiness of epistolary time, combined with the possibilities offered by a poetic model of book design, helps Pliny convey a loose chronology for the work, a vague sense both of quasi-historical record and of forward movement through life.” 135 Syme 1978: 88 “summer of 14.” Evans 1985: 162-163 observes that by writing in Summer and taking pleasure in the break-up of ice, Ovid is leaving behind the relentless winter of Tomis. 136 Thus, when at 4.13.40 he tells Carus that he is in his sixth winter (sexta…bruma), this would be the winter of 14 CE and therefore after the death of Augustus. 4.10 maintains a sense of chronology. The summer we saw in poem 10 is a self-conscious break. It is all the more marked because we recognize that summer as emerging in the last days of Augustus’ reign. 59 uses liquido metaphorically in what is almost standard legalese. 137 Such a use fits Brutus, a lawyer, quite well. Ovid accesses the literal meaning of this word—clear liquid—when listing his tour-de-force catalogue of rivers in 4.10. cumque Borysthenio liquidissimus amne Dyraspes / et tacite peragens lene Melanthus iter; “and with the Borysthenes, the clearest river Dyraspes and the Melanthus quietly run their gentle course” (4.10.53-54). Ovid’s use here of lene also accesses 4.6 because it only otherwise appears in that poem. lenem te miseris genuit natura nec ulli / mitius ingenium quam tibi, Brute, dedit; “nature made you gentle to the miserable and gave to no other a more soothing genius, O Brutus” (4.6.27-28). Such linguistic cues work together to create a connection between these two poems. Another example is the adjective tinctus. Ovid uses it metaphorically in 4.6 and literally in 4.10. When Brutus lawyers, he does so venomously: cum tibi suscepta est legis vindicta severae, / verba velut tinctum singula virus habent; “when you have undertaken the defense of harsh laws, it is like each of your words has a poisonous tincture” (4.6.33-34). Words as weapons are nothing new. 138 Words dipped in poison are new. The readers of Ovid’s Pontic material are familiar both with the metaphor and the more common interest that Ovid takes in the poisonous arrows that the Getae use. 139 The only other place that Ovid uses a form of tinctus in Pont. 4 is when he describes Tomis: hic agri infrondes, hic spicula tincta venenis; “here the fields are leafless; here the arrows are tinctured in poison” (4.10.31). Through the metaphor, Ovid makes Brutus’ style of oratory both martial and Scythian. 140 137 Helzle 1989: 148-149. It appears only in Ovid among the Augustans and may, therefore, be considered a remnant of Ovid’s legal training. Cf. Tr. 4.10.34-35 and Kenney 1969. 138 Helzle 1989: 151. Add to his list Hor. Sat. 1.3.99ff. 139 We see this most clearly in Pont. 3.8 where Ovid sends Fabius Maximus Scythian arrows (although here they are not poisoned) and says that they are “the pens, the books” of the region: calamos…libellos (3.8.21). For the other instances of poisoned arrows, see Tr. 3.10.63*, 4.1.77, 5.7.16, 5.10.22. Pont. 1.2.16, 3.1.26*, 3.3.106*, 4.7.11, 4.9.83. The * indicates that the arrows are modified with a form of tinctus. 140 Helzle 1989: 151 misses part of the point when he writes: “velut introduces the unusually metaphorical participle tinctum (which is to be taken predicatively) which Ovid employs in order to produce the aesthetically pleasing 60 As a capstone, these two poems belong together because they are unique in their presentation of extending love: nam cum praestiteris verum mihi semper amorem, / hic tamen adverso tempore crevit amor; “for although you always extended true love to me, nevertheless in this difficult time love has increased” (4.6.23). Helzle, citing the TLL, says that “amorem praestare seems to be a unique phrase.” 141 But we, in fact, find it in the paired poem: sed praestandus amor, res non operosa volenti; “but love must be extended, it’s not difficult for someone who is willing” (4.10.81). The former poem talks about this special kind of love in the past and the latter in the future. 4.7-4.9. Eye-Witnesses of the Periphery For Helzle, 4.9 belongs with 4.8 as central poems because they are both long and contain embedded addresses. 142 Pont. 4.9 certainly does connect to 4.8, as well as to many other poems, but maintains its importance as a recessed panel. Ovid accomplishes this in a unique way. Both feature men who were in his region on campaign: Vestalis and Flaccus, the former as a primus pilus and the latter as a commander. He reminds his addressee, Graecinus, that his brother, Flaccus, campaigned on the Getic front and can therefore testify that Ovid is truthful in his description of daily life. Ovid connects the two as men who have been on the periphery, where he lives, but who move freely throughout the Roman Empire. Ovid tells Vestalis: aspicis en praesens, quali iaceamus in arvo, / nec me testis eris falsa solere queri; “you have seen with your own eyes upon what sort of land I lie; you will witness that I am not accustomed to complain about falsehoods” (4.7.3-4). He next delineates particulars: Vestalis knows that the Black Sea freezes, that wine stands upright, that wagons cross the Hister, interlaced word order AbaBv.” Ovid could use any adjective to maintain this aesthetic. The word choice matters for reason of interpretation. 141 Helzle 1989: 149. 142 Helzle 1989: 32-33. 61 and that the arrows carry poison (4.7.7-12). In 4.9, Flaccus’ recent campaigns in the region guarantee that he can bear witness to Ovid’s veracity. Ovid asks Graecinus to cross-examine his own brother: quaere loci faciem Scythicique incommoda caeli / et, quam vicino terrear hoste, roga; “inquire about the appearance of the countryside and the inhospitality of the Scythian sky, and ask how I am frightened by neighboring enemies” (4.9.81-82). It is a strange moment that makes the most sense if we understand that Ovid is setting up Flaccus to be the point of comparison with Vestalis. Once we perform this work, we can better see how Ovid sets in motion a crafty exposé of Roman reality. Both Vestalis and Flaccus came to the western shore of the Black Sea to wage war. The battles are remarkably similar and both seem to have occurred in the general uprising of 12 CE. 143 In both cases, the city that the warrior fights for had been captured: non negat Aegisos, quae te subeunte recepta / sensit in ingenio nil opis esse loci; “Aegisos does not deny it. She, regained after your [Vestalis’] approach, realized the brilliance of its location was useless” (4.7.21-22); hic raptam Troesmin celeri virtute recepit; “he [Flaccus] regained captured- Troesmis with swift strength” (4.9.79). In both cases Ovid uses a form of recipio and other descriptions to make clear that these battles are for territory that had been lost by Rome. Another shared theme is the river dyed red with blood. non negat hoc Hister, cuius tua dextera quondam / puniceam Getico sanguine fecit aquam; “the Hister does not deny it; your right hand turned her water red with Getic blood” (4.7.19-20). Flaccus’s martial prowess had a similarly sanguinary effect. infecitque fero sanguine Danuvium; “he dyed the Danube with savage blood” (4.9.80). The focus on the river being dyed is subtly metapoetic, as river-flow is a 143 Syme 1978: 81-83. Pont. 1.8 to Severus also mentions the capture of Aegisos. 62 common metaphor for writing poetry. 144 It is also a traditionally laudatory symbol. 145 As the men transform the color of the river, so too does Ovid transform their physical feats into a poetic one. The theme of an “eye-witness” creates a strong connection between the two poems, even when Ovid undermines his own arguments by writing about battles at which he was not present. But we can also compare Vestalis in 4.7 to Graecinus in 4.9, thereby showing that the former poem helps us think about the entirety of 4.9 and not just the selection about Flaccus. A linguistic echo invites us to compare Vestalis’ feats to Graecinus’ accession to the consulship. One way in which we see this play out is Ovid’s use of signa (battle-standards, decoration). He uses the word only three times in Pont. 4 and takes advantage of two particular meanings: battle standard and curule decoration. donec fluminea devecta Vitellius unda / intulit exposito milite signa Getis; “until Vitellius, with his force disembarked, brought his standards, carried down the streaming waters, against the Getae” (4.7.27-28). In these lines, Ovid uses two military phrases, intulit signa and exposito milite. 146 If Ovid were present at Graecinus’ induction, he declares signa quoque in sella nossem formata curuli; “I would also examine the decoration carved into the curule chair” (4.9.27). 147 These two paired poems act as the final frame around what is perhaps the most significant poem in the collection, 4.8 to Suillius, and, through him, Germanicus. 144 See Helzle 1989: 70 for examples. Jones 2005: chapter 4 “The River that talks: Rivers and Poetic Speech” pp. 51- 69, esp. 54ff. 145 The most obvious reference is the allusion to book 21 of the Iliad. When Achilles plunges into the Xanthus (Scamander) and slaughters Trojans, the river reddens with blood: ἐρυθαίνετο δ᾽ αἵματι ὕδωρ (Il. 21.21). 146 Helzle 1989: 168. 147 The only other time Ovid uses a form of this word is 4.5.18 where it referred to the decoration of the curule chair of Pompeius. aut reget ille suos dicendo iura Quirites, / conspicuum signis cum premet altus ebur; “or he will be ruling his people by telling them the laws while sitting on the high ivory conspicuous with its decoration” (4.5.17- 18). Poem 7 is two away from 5 and two away from 9. We then see the way in which the structure shows that the signa of 7 are strongly set in opposition to those on the chair. 63 4.8. Of Central Importance Ovid’s poem to Suillius and Germanicus has garnered the most attention in scholarship on Pont. 4. 148 It acts as a pivot between the first half of the collection and the second, between political activities and poetic ones. Structurally, the poem acts as the lynchpin of the major themes of Pont. 4 as it centralizes and brings together the major dynamics and ideas that permeate the collection: center and periphery, politics and poetics, consuls and citizens, civilization and barbarism, and Ovid as independent creator and dependent subservient. The poem first connects to the idea of Ovid as a debtor and in doing so strengthens the tripartite structure I have already noted with forms of error appearing in 4.1, 4.8, and 4.15. We saw in 4.1 and 4.15 that Ovid claimed to owe his life and health in various ways to Pompeius. In 4.8, Ovid changes the terms slightly: ut iam nil praestes, animi sum factus amici / debitor, et meritum velle iuvare voco; “and though you now offer nothing, I am indebted to your kindly attitude. I say that the will to do well is a merit” (4.8.5-6). Far more significantly, the poem teases out the possibilities of Germanicus’ potential as a poet, but it is a potential that was cut short because of political duties: quod nisi te nomen tantum ad maiora vocasset, / gloria Pieridum summa futurus eras; “but if a wonderful name had not called you to greater things, you would have been the greatest glory of the Pierian Muses” (4.8.69-70). 149 It seems that, according to Ovid, Germanicus was able to master both for a time, but now, even though war demands his full attention, he still finds time for poetry. nam modo bella geris, numeris modo verba coerces, / quodque aliis opus est, hoc tibi lusus erit; “for now you are waging war, now forcing words into meter; what takes effort [lit. is a work] for others 148 Fantham 1986 focuses on its relationship with Fasti 1. Galasso 2008 examines 4.8 as a proem in the middle. McGowan 2009: chapter 4 looks at how it creates a distinction between emperor-cult and the rites of poets. Martelli 2013: 205-208 examines the letter in terms of public and private levels of access. 149 This may well refer to Germanicus’ unfinished “translation” of Aratus’ Phaenomena. 64 will be a game for you” (4.8.73-74). 150 Germanicus is unlike any other figure in the collection: protean, adaptive, gentle, fierce, loyal, estranged. And like Menelaus (or Aristeus) approaching Proteus Ovid constantly feints and offers new approaches toward Germanicus, never settling on one idea. The image with which he concludes, however, is apt: it is Apollo suited to both bow or lyre. utque nec ad citharam nec ad arcum segnis Apollo est, sed venit ad sacras nervus uterque manus, sic tibi nec docti desunt nec principis artes, mixta sed est animo cum Iove Musa tuo. And just as Apollo is not slow to wield the lyre or the bow, but either cord comes to his sacred hands, so you do not lack the arts of a learned man or a prince but the Muse melds with Jove in your mind. (Pont. 4.8.75-78) This is poem that can endure the pressure that the careful structure of Pont. 4 places upon it. It is here that all the elements combine and meld, mixta, and Germanicus is the addressee who receives it and is honored by it. Conclusion The architecture of Epistulae ex Ponto 4 has been briefly discussed over time, most notably by Martin Helzle. For this reason I engage with his work most thoroughly, but only in response, not in attack. He was the first to formulate a series of questions about the structure and for that deserves our debt. In this chapter, I have shown that Pont. 4 is rigorously structured in complicated ways 150 The periphrasis for writing poetry also accesses a more common use of coerceo, namely to restrain an animal with the reins, an idiom Ovid had used in the Metamorphoses. hac Arethusa tenus; geminos dea fertilis angues / curribus admovit frenisque coercuit ora; “slender Arethusa [finished]; the goddess of fertility hitched her two snakes to the chariot and restrained their mouths with the reins” (Met. 5.642-643). I emphasize this because a more common metaphor for writing poetry is to take the reins or release them. Ovid released them in Pont. 4.2.23 (studiis quoque frena remisi). In the poem to Tuticanus, on the other hand, Ovid recollects fondly how Tuticanus guided him: cum regerem tenera frena novella manu; “when I was leading the new reins with a tender hand” (4.12.24). 65 based on patterns, numbers, and addressees. The patterns I explored revealed a systematic exploration of political and poetic themes in the late Augustan and early Tiberian periods. The diachronic progression of the book emphasizes the shift from the political realm in the first half to personal and poetic changes in the second. In addition to systematic changes, Ovid also wrote a personal drama of his transition into a Getic poet. He did this through a novel invention, namely, writing it in poems of the same length. This narrative becomes visible only upon extraction of these poems. I offered a preliminary reading of recessed panels to show the range of Ovidian interests in the collection. It is not always politics and poetry. Panels are connected not by names (his previous strategy) but by shared themes within the poems. Ultimately, by reading through the collection in a variety of ways, we are able to recognize that Pont. 4 is not an accidental collection of poems left over after the poet’s death but rather a dynamic collection that enables us to see that, for Ovid, his poetry and his life are the same thing. Begging for his life, and by extension requesting a safer place of exile, is to beg for his poetry to be taken care of and brought to Rome. 151 151 There are a few other minor points to make about the structure. First, marks of closure: 4.16.47: the address to Livor shows pattern of Am. 1.15; as does a catalogue of poets. Ovid also uses two strategies to draw the book to a close which shows him as a poetic entity. He names himself in Pont. 4 at 4.3.10, 4.6.2, 4.8.34, and 4.9.2. However, when bringing his book to a close, he names himself in the last three: 4.14.14, 4.15.2, 4.16.1. Ovid uses the same strategy in mentioning the Muse. 4.13.13, 4.14.32, 4.15.40, 4.16.45. Ovid and the Muse go quiet at the same time. 66 Chapter Two Ovid and the Politics of Succession It is the rare scholar who considers Ovid to be a political theorist. 152 In the last book of the Epistulae ex Ponto, Ovid begins to contemplate and document the central institutions of government and the changes they undergo after the death of Augustus: coeperat Augustus deceptae ignoscere culpae: / spem nostram terras deseruitque simul; “Augustus had begun to forgive my elusive offense; he deserted my hope and the lands at the same time” (Pont. 4.6.15- 16). Everything that happens in Pont. 4 must be understood in light of this distich. Ovid’s last book is a forceful reflection on the last days of Augustus and the first years of Tiberius and his focus is particularly narrowed on ideas of the passing of political power, whether of the principate, the consulship, or even, as we will see in chapter 5, preeminent poets. But the poet does not turn dry chronicler. His work is still filled with ambiguity, craft, metapoetic reflections, and wit. The references to people and battles are often veiled and polyvalent. Ovid could make his references clear, but often his strategy is more cryptic, a fact which invites polyphonic readings. What sets many of the references apart is the brimming undercurrent of fear, distrust, and anger toward dynastic politics. In this chapter, I will not argue for either a pro- or anti- stance toward either Tiberius or Augustus. Rather, I see Ovid mount a critique against the hypocrisy of disguising a changed government behind Republican trappings. 152 Millar 1993 is an exception. He examines Ovid’s approach to the triumph, the consulship, and the imperial household. I agree with his method but differ from his conclusion (repeated throughout the article), that the voice we hear from exile is that of “an outraged loyalist whom the regime has rejected and was never to accept back” (1 c.f. 6, 10). More thoroughly, Sanjay Thakur in his 2008 Michigan dissertation “Ovid and the Language of Succession” took the poet seriously as someone who was cognizant of the politics of his time, although he focuses largely on Imperial aspects such as the changing nature of the domus. Compare Hardie 1997: 193 “The first question of Metamorphoses 15, the question of succession, remains the hardest to answer. As we have seen, it is also the issue that most tightly binds together the concerns of princeps and poet. The last books of the Metamorphoses offer a variety of models for succession.” Ovid is obviously concerned with ideas of succession from the period of his life close to the time of his exile. Was this focus at the end of the Metamorphoses a product of revision in exile or might it even have been one of the reasons for his exile? 67 We can see Ovid’s focus on the dynastic change by a brief discussion of his Getic poem. In 4.13 he claims to have translated and performed his earlier poem, de Caelite (first mentioned in 4.6.17 when Ovid says he sent it to Brutus), in Getic. 153 In the poem he taught that Augustus’ body was mortal and godhead divine and then he described Tiberius: esse parem virtute patri, qui frena rogatus / saepe recusati ceperit imperii; “he was equal to the virtue of his father, the one who, having been asked, took up the reins of empire so often refused” (4.13.27-28). Ovid is aware of the Tiberian performance of reluctance toward becoming emperor as documented by Suetonius and Tacitus. 154 Ovid’s performance could potentially be seen as supporting the nascent dynasty, except he undermines it in the next poem. 155 Ovid, just like Tiberius, also refused exceptionalism. The locals, for some reason, honored him with a wreath. tempora sacrata mea sunt velata corona, / publicus invito quam favor inposuit; “my brow was wreathed with a sacred crown, which public favor put upon unwilling me” (4.14.56). 156 The effect is a pastiche of Tiberius’s first moments of imperial power. With this important focalization on the events of 14 CE, we can turn toward the entire poetry book. I first offer a literary study of Sextus Pompeius to understand better why it is that Ovid chooses this particular figure as the chief recipient of Pont. 4. Then, I investigate the ramifications of applying the political slogan of clementia to a private citizen. In the third part, I look at the representation of kings and consuls in the book. A short analysis of the battles of 153 See most recently Stevens 2009. Evans 1983: 163-165 not surprisingly sees the poem as a strengthened form of requesting assistance. Williams 1994: 91-94 provides extensive evidence, unironically, that the poem could not exist. 154 Tac. 1.11-13. Suet. Tib. 24. Suetonius especially documents the hypocrisy of Tiberius’ stance: tandem quasi coactus et querens miseram et onerosam iniungi sibi servitutem, recepit imperium; “at last, as though compelled and complaining that a terrible and heavy slavery was put upon him, he accepted the empire. Velleius Paterculus mentions the refusal as well: diutius recusare principatum (124.2). 155 Habinek 1998: 160 “The reference to the Getic poem provides an indirect means for Ovid to indicate his own loyalty to the new regime, indeed to suggest his willingness to make a special effort to mark the occasion of Tiberius’ accession to power.” 156 sacrata corona has the flavor of Germanicus who uses it to describe the constellation of the Garland: Clara Ariadnaeo sacrata est igne Corona; “the bright crown dedicated to Ariadne’s flame” (Arat. 71). 68 Aegisos and Troesmis follows. I conclude by analyzing Ovid’s decision to write a book after Augustus’ death and how that fits in with the projects of other poets. Structure is once more our guide. The explicitly political poems are framed by the outside letters to Sextus Pompeius (1 and 15). Within this frame there is a diachronic progression. 4.4 is set in late 13 CE and 4.5 in the first half of 14 CE. Both concern Pompeius’ consulship. In 4.6 we learn of the death of Augustus. 4.7 and 4.9 act together, and, I will reiterate, that they are also paired in recessed panels with the theme of eye-witnesses. Both concern recent battles on the edges of the empire. 4.9 finishes the diachronic narrative by describing the successive consulships of the brothers Graecinus and Flaccus in 16 and 17 CE respectively. Part One Sextus Pompeius Just as Ovid’s construction of Pont. 4 is no accident neither are his addressees. One question that has not garnered enough attention is “why Sextus Pompeius?” 157 I have already suggested that part of the attraction to him is the onomastic valences both of Pompeius, in general, and Sextus Pompeius, in particular. By making the primary (because of frequency and placement in the first poem) addressee Pompeius, Ovid clusters his book around the events of 14 CE, a watershed year because of the death of Augustus. 158 There is a difference between when a poem is written and the time at which it is said to take place. In the case of Pont. 4, there is no need for us to think that Ovid wrote the poems that allude to Pompeius’ consulship (4.4, 4.5) in or even around 14 CE. 159 It is more productive to suppose that Ovid has chosen this consular year to center his poetry around more for what happened during it than for who was consul. Not 157 Syme 1978: 156-162 is the only critic to look at the variety of sources around Pompeius, but a re-examination is called for. Helzle 1989: 38-40 is perfunctory. He focuses on Pompeius as potential patron. 158 This centering is deliberate as Pompeius is the only one to be addressed in both the first and second halves of the book. 159 Helzle 1989: 40 “The fact that he was consul in 14 and therefore in favour must have made his amicitia all the more desirable” (40). 69 only did Augustus die but he also conducted his last census. Further, the politically powerful, and former Ovidian addressee (Pont. 1.2, 3.3, 3.8), Paulus Fabius Maximus also died. Pompeius’ name has come down to us most frequently as a formulaic temporal marker: Pompeio et Appuleio consulibus; “in the year when Pompeius and Appuleius were consuls.” 160 In what follows, I look briefly at what we know about Pompeius from other sources before analyzing closely his appearances in Valerius Maximus, where I argue that Maximus may well exhibit some familiarity with at least parts of Pont. 4. The last date Augustus mentions in the Res Gestae is 14 CE when he conducts a census with Tiberius: et te]rtium consulari cum imperio lustrum conlega Tib(erio) Cae[sare filio] m[eo feci], Sex(to) Pompeio et Sex(to) Appuleio co(n)s(ulibus); “when Sextus Pompeius and Sextus Appuleius were consuls, I performed a third census with consular authority, along with my son Tiberius Caesar as a colleague” (RG 8.4). 161 Immediately we become aware of the weakened force of the consulship. Augustus can just take up the authority it entails and choose his own colleague, thereby relegating the actual consuls to mere temporal markers. In fact, he gained this power from the consuls themselves when they passed a law giving Tiberius special permission to conduct the census (and rule the provinces) alongside his adoptive father. 162 Augustus’ explicit delineation of Tiberius as his “son” gives further immediacy to the overlooked fact that he was also related to both of the consuls. 163 This is a family unit. The historical record was kind enough to neglect Appuleius, but Pompeius became the subject of some unflattering anecdotes. 160 Its formulaic nature is supported by the sources. All the Latin references to this date place Pompeius first. Dio switches them (56.29.2). 161 I use the text of Cooley 2009. Brackets indicate supplements to the damaged text; parentheses are used to fill out abbreviations. In Greek we read the date as: “Σέξτωι Πομπηίωι καὶ Σέξτωι Ἀππουληίωι ὑπατοις.” 4,937,000 individual Roman citizens were counted. 162 Suet. Tib. 21.1. 163 Along with the prodigies that accompanied Augustus’ death, the people, according to Dio, thought it too much of a coincidence that the consuls were related in some way to Augustus. Dio 56.29.5: ἐκεῖνοί τε γὰρ συγγενεῖς πῃ τοῦ Αὐγούστου ὄντες ἦρχον; “for the ones holding the consulship were, in some way, related to Augustus.” Syme 1986: 70 Cassius Dio initially refers to Sextus Pompeius temporally: ἐν ᾧ Σέξτος τε Ἀπουλέιος καὶ Σέξτος Πομπήιος ὑπάτευσαν. “in the year when Sextus Appuleius and Sextus Pompeius were consuls” (56.29.2). His last anecdote about Pompeius belongs to a sequence of portents that anticipated the difference in ruling style between Augustus and Tiberius. Once the latter had begun to show his true colors, people re-examined the circumstances surrounding Augustus’ death. They discovered yet another prodigy. When Augustus’ body was being borne along, Pompeius rushed to it, was struck on the leg, and μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ φοράδην ἀνεκομίσθη. “was brought back on the litter with him [Augustus’ dead body]” (56.45.2). This anecdote sets Pompeius apart from his co-consul, Appuleius. Velleius Paterculus uses him only as a date: 164 in sua resolutus initia Pompeio Apuleioque consulibus septuagesimo et sexto anno animam caelestem caelo reddidit; “dissolved into his original elements, Augustus died during the consulship of Pompeius and Apuleius, and in his seventy-sixth year he gave his divine soul back to heaven” (Vell. 2.123.2). 165 The description of the katasterism is peculiarly similar among several authors. 166 Paterculus toes the 414 “Sex. Pompeius presents an entertaining item in genealogy…The consul of 14 was, like his colleague, related to Caesar Augustus, so a sporadic notice attests. Through which family can be only guesswork.” Appuleius “was a great-grandson of Ancharia, his [C. Octavius=Augustus’ father] first wife” (p. 418). The difficulty lies in whether one believes Sextus Pompeius (cos. 14) is the son of Pompeius Magnus Pius the son of Pompey the Great or if, like Syme, Pompeius’ grandfather was the cousin of Pompey the Great (414). 164 Velleius Paterculus’ interest in 14 CE is marked as well by the emphasis that he gives to himself and his brother receiving the praetorship in that year by the wish of Augustus (2.124.3). Millar 1993: 5 makes use of Paterculus’ life in comparison with Ovid. “Looking in another direction, we could see Velleius as the successful counterpart to Ovid, his older contemporary, that is as the Italian domi nobilis who followed the career which Ovid rejected, reached the Senate, wrote what at the relevant moment (just before the fall of Sejanus) seemed to be required by the regime, and left descendants who rose to the consulship.” 165 Velleius may well leave off the first name of the consuls to avoid a build-up of sexto since he has to use it in Augustus’ age. 166 Between Ovid, Velleius, and Manilius. nam patris Augusti docui mortale fuisse / corpus, in aetherias numen abisse domos; “I taught that the body of father Augustus was mortal, but his godhead went to the heavenly dwellings” (Pont. 4.13.25-26). post redditum caelo patrem et corpus eius humanis honoribus, numen divinis honoratum; “after his father returned to heaven, his body honored with mortal honors and his godhead with divine, [Tiberius got to work]” (Vell. 2.124.3). Manilius writes about the inhabitants of the Milky Way and speculates that heroes’ souls go there: an fortes animae dignataque nomina caelo / corporibus resoluta suis terraeque remissa / huc migrant ex orbe suumque habitantia caelum / aetherios vivunt annos mundoque fruuntur? “or perhaps the brave souls, and lineages worthy of heaven are released from their bodies and sent away from the earth; then they travel 71 official party line concerning the deification. 167 This makes sense as a Tiberian partisan, but it also lets us see how closely Ovid has his finger pressed to the pulse of Rome. 168 For Suetonius, Pompeius is an afterthought: obiit in cubiculo eodem, quo pater Octavius, duobus Sextis, Pompeio et Appuleio, cons. “Augustus died in the same bedroom as his father Octavius in the consulship of the two Sextuses: Pompeius and Appuleius” (Suet. Aug. 100). 169 By dying in his father’s bed, all of Augustus’ accomplishments and his great empire-building become erased. It is as though Octavian never left home to become Augustus. The next brief mention concerns Pompeius’ (or his son’s) house, which Caligula stole. Seneca the Younger viewed Pompeius as an exemplum for the vagaries of life rather than as a consul. In De Tranquillitate Animi, he informs his interlocutor, the conveniently named Serenus, that there is but an hour’s space between being a tyrant and a suppliant. His first exemplum is unexpected, since it is not Croesus or any of the expected exemplary rich: locuples es: numquid divitior Pompeio? cui cum Gaius, vetus cognatus, hopes novus, aperuisset Caesaris domum ut suam cluderet, defuit panis, aqua. cum tot flumina possideret in suo orientia, in suo cadentia, mendicavit stillicidia; fame ac siti periit in palatio cognati, dum illi heres publicum funus esurienti locat. here out of the earth and dwelling in their own heaven, they live out the heavenly years and enjoy the universe” (Manil. 1.758-761). 167 On Emperor worship, Gradel 2002 and Millar 1986: 53-55 on his cult in the provinces. Taylor 1975 remains useful, especially chapters nine “The Deification of Augustus” (pp. 224-238) and ten “The Development of Augustus’ Divinity” (pp. 239-246). 168 Velleius fits into the model which Gabba 1984: 80 has described as belonging to a new type of politician made possible by the Principate: “Within the senatorial class there were of course those to whom the traditions of the republican aristocracy were alien and who had never shared in the senatorial monopoly of the writing of history. Their traditions were different and it was precisely the civil wars and the Principate which had allowed them to move…to the highest levels of society. Their social ambitions were entirely legitimate and they were skillful at inserting themselves in the new order. They did not idealize the past and they were entirely satisfied with the new regime.” 169 It is interesting that Suetonius incorporates what is almost a short-hand for referring to 14 CE “in the year of the two Sextuses.” This is similar to the idiomatic way that Augustus and Ovid refer to 43 BCE. Ovid was born: cum cecidit fato consul uterque pari; “when both consuls fell by the same fate” (Tr. 4.10.6). Augustus became consul: cum [consul uterqu]e in bel[lo ceci]disset “when both consuls had fallen in battle” (RG. 1.4). I draw attention to this not to say there is an explicit connection but to show the way in which coincidence can be used as a short-hand reference. For a careful argument that Ovid wrote Tr. 4.10 with Augustus’ Res Gestae in mind, see Fairweather 1987: 193-196. 72 You are wealthy. So? Are you any richer than Pompeius? Yet he lacked bread and water when Gaius [Caligula]—an old relation but a new type of host—offered him the house of Caesar in order that he might close his own. Although he owned so many rivers flowing into his own land—and originating in his own land—he begged for a drop of water. He died of hunger and of thirst in the palace of his relative, even while his heir [Gaius] was arranging a public funeral for the starving man. (Sen. Tranq. 11.10) It is worthwhile pursuing Seneca’s anecdote about the house because he is showing that history repeats itself. 170 In this case, we are concerned with Antony living in the house of Pompeius’ namesake. 171 As Shakespeare put it: “Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house: / But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, / Remain in't as thou mayst” (Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra 2.6.31-34). So Pompeius to Antony. The house, in this case, is the so-called domus rostrata, named because Pompey the Great had decorated his house with the keels of his conquered enemies. 172 This house, however, was located on the Carinae. 173 After being in Antony’s hands, we next find it in Tiberius’ hands. 174 Pompeian houses are, then, famous exempla throughout history, and Ovid accesses these stories when he reminds Pompeius where his house is located. 175 Ovid and Seneca share an interest in the location of these homes and their 170 On home-ownership, particularly the vagaries thereof in the late Republic, see Rawson 1976. 171 For details of this house, I am indebted to Welch 2012: 245 and 258fns.114, 115, and 116. 172 Found in this form only in the Historia Augustae. Gord. 3.3.6: in domo rostrata Cn. Pompei; “in the domus rostrata of Gnaeus Pompey.” Cicero attests to it earlier lamenting Antony’s take-over. Phil. 2.68: an tu, illa vestibulo rostra [spolia] cum adspexisti, domum tuam te introire putas? Fieri non potest; “but when you see the beaks in the vestibule, do you think that you enter your own home? That is not possible.” 173 A witticism accompanies the house. When Sextus Pompeius Pius met with the Triumvirs on his command ship, he wished them welcome: cum in navi Caesaremque et Antonium cena exciperet, dixit in carinis suis se cenam dare, referens hoc dictum ad loci nomen, in quo paterna domus ab Antonio possidebatur; “when he [Pompeius] invited Caesar and Antony to dine on his ship, he said that he was giving them dinner ‘on his own Carinae,’ referring to the neighborhood where his father’s house lay currently in possession of Antony” (Vell. Pat. 2.77.1). Other references include: Suet. Gram. 15; Cic. Phil. 2.75 on Pompeius’ children trying to get their home back; Phil. 13.10-12. 174 Romam reversus deducto in forum filio Druso statim e Carinis ac Pompeiana domo Esquilias in hortos Maecenatianos transmigravit; “following his return to Rome and his introduction of his son Drusus to the Forum, he straightaway moved out of the Carinae and Pompey’s house to the Esquiline and the Gardens of Maecenas” (Suet. Tib. 15.1). 175 Syme 1978: 162 argues that the person in Seneca’s anecdote is a son of Ovid’s addressee. I see no reason why this must be so (c.f. Syme 1986: 414fn.72). The problem is that Valerius Maximus mentions Pompeius’ death 73 Pompeian owners, which indicates a certain interest in powerful political families that are not part of the imperial domus. Let us begin with the issue of Pompeius’ wealth. Other than Seneca, Ovid is our only attestation. We hear of his great landholdings in Campania, Sicily, and Macedonia (meaning he is literally locuples—Seneca’s first word). 176 Then there is Seneca’s explicit reference to the rivers on Pompeius’ lands. Here is where I think that there might be evidence that Seneca is drawing on Ovid. When he has his poetry declare his loyalty to Pompeius in 4.5, Ovid ends on a list of adynata. Mountains will lose their leaves (41); seas their ships (42); and: fluminaque in fontes cursu reditura supino; “rivers flow back to their sources with their course reversed” (44). While waters flowing back on themselves is an extremely common adynatum, there is no reason to deny it additional meaning to one who is known for having good river flow in his lands. Even if Seneca’s Pompeius is not Ovid’s, a point I am willing to concede, both men are interested in the same family, and we see Seneca draw upon similar themes in Ovid. The similarities are, I think, too specific to be accidental. Seneca may well have access to Ovid’s work that he cannot allude to explicitly but that nevertheless could have influenced his thinking. Where, then, does this get us? It seems to me that Ovid’s two references to Pompeius’ house are a subtle warning—not a threat—of the consequences that can accompany helping him, (4.7.ext.2) and his work was finished in 31 CE. Caligula was not emperor until 37 CE. Seneca does point out that Pompeius is old (vetus). Regardless, the point about Pompeian houses holds, as the house may well be the same one. 176 Concrete evidence appears at the end of the Pompeian narrative in 4.15. Ovid counts himself a part of Pompeius’ estate: quam tua Trinacria est regnataque terra Philippo, / quam domus Augusto continuata Foro, / quam tua, rus oculis domini, Campania, gratum, / quaeque relicta tibi, Sexte, vel empta tenes / tam tuus en ego sum; “as Trinacria and the lands of Philippi are yours to rule, as your house which abuts the Augustan Forum, as your Campanian holdings—a rural area dear to your eyes—and whatever else there is which you hold by inheritance or purchase, so I am yours” (4.15.15-19). On his wealth: addita praeterea vitae quoque multa tuendae / munera, ne proprias attenuaret opes; “add that he also gave many additional gifts to protect my life and prevent his own wealth from drying up” (4.5.37-38). 74 namely the loss (ruina, lapsa) of the house. 177 Such a connection comes easily when we keep in mind the ease with which houses are taken. In 4.5 we read: protinus inde domus vobis Pompeia petatur: / non est Augusto iunctior ulla foro; “straightaway [elegies] seek the Pompeian house— no other is closer to the Augustan Forum” (Pont. 4.5.9-10). Then in 4.15.16: domus Augusto continuata foro; “the house continuous with the Augustan Forum.” The iterated location emphasizes that this is not the domus rostrata of Pompey the Great. That one, again, was on the Carinae. We may be able to locate this house. Depending on how much Ovid knows—and it is likely he knows a great deal—about the construction of the Augustan Forum, he would know that Augustus deliberately made his forum asymmetrical in order to let the neighbors keep their land. 178 Perhaps Pompeius is one of these neighbors. Finally, I would suggest that it is this very house that Gaius takes over as part of his building projects in Rome’s center. 179 Thus, even if the Pompeius in Seneca’s story is an otherwise unattested son of Sextus Pompeius, it is still a family home. 180 Such then is Pompeius in Seneca. We turn now to Tacitus’ treatment. Tacitus’ Pompeius is a sycophantic toady of Tiberius. He leads the list in Tacitus’ evisceration of the cowardice of the magistrates: at Romae ruere in servitium consules, patres, eques. quanto quis inlustrior, tanto magis falsi ac festinantes, vultuque composito, ne laeti excessu principis neu tristiores primordio, lacrimas gaudium, questus adulationem miscebant. Sex. Pompeius et Sex. Appuleius consules primi in verba Tiberii Caesaris iuravere. But in Rome, the consuls, senators, and knights rushed into slavery. The more illustrious the individual, the greater his 177 The loss of a house is a favorite Ovidian motif for disaster in the exilic poetry: c.f. Tr. 2.121-122, Pont. 1.9.13- 14. Gaertner 2005: 276-277 notes parallels to ruin as a collapsing building in Cic. Red. Sen. 18l; Lucr. 4.942; and Sen. Epist. 30.2. 178 Suet. Aug. 65.2: forum angustius fecit non ausus extorquere possessoribus proximas domos; “he made his Forum narrow because he did not dare to dispossess the closest homes from their owners.” 179 Among which were the completion of the Temple of Augustus (Suet. Cal. 21) and foundations for a house on the Capitoline (22). 180 Seneca’s remark that Gaius and Pompeius are relatives (cognatus) is as hard to pin down as Dio’s reference to the relation of Augustus to Pompeius and Appuleius. But the families are still connected. 75 hypocrisy and hurry. With composed faces—lest they seem happy by the death of the emperor or too anxious at the inauguration of another—they mixed tears with joy and complaint with compliment. The consuls Sextus Pompeius and Sextus Appuleius were the first to swear fealty to Tiberius Caesar. (Ann. 1.7) Tacitus turns Pompeius into an active agent who represents the worst of the new type of senator, one who pursues personal glory (and survival) rather than the glory of Rome. For Tacitus, the consulship of Pompeius and Appuleius is strikingly different from any previous one precisely because they swear the oath of fealty to Augustus. The consulship is no longer the highest office. The length of their consulship is also remarkable since these two rule for the whole year in a period when suffecti were the norm. 181 This phenomenon lends a patina of continuity over the radical change that was the switch from the Augustan Principate experiment to a hereditary monarchy. Sextus next appears in book three in 21 CE when we learn that he has been maligning Manius Lepidus and insulting his poverty before the Senate and Tiberius in order to prevent Lepidus from going into Asia as a governor. He failed. Pompeius had his turn as proconsul in Asia in 25, which brings us to Valerius Maximus. Between these two authors, the stakes are high. Will Pompeius be remembered as a kind assistant to the needy or as an ambitious and petty politician? Valerius, although chatty enough about figures from the past, relates surprisingly little information about contemporary issues or himself. In fact, the only personal anecdote he tells concerns his patron, our Sextus Pompeius. In 25 CE Pompeius became the governor of Asia. 182 181 Between the years 1 and 19 CE, only 14 lacked suffecti. See Syme 1986: 457-458 for the years 1-14 and Syme 1981: 189 for the years 15-19. As he put it: “The consuls holding office in the ten years 5 to 14 are much more remunerative than those of the preceding nine. By a coincidence seldom vouchsafed to enumeration, they add up to thirty-one” (1986: 97). 182 Syme 1978: 160-161 for detailed explanation of the governorship. 76 Valerius accompanied him and describes a dying woman’s request to have Pompeius witness her suicide (Val. Max. 2.6.8). Although I will be discussing the likely Valerian response to Ovid’s portrait of Pompeius in greater detail, there is another starting point, namely, that these two authors are the earliest (surviving) in their respective genres (prose and poetry) to use the phrase domus augusta. 183 Both authors struggle with the redefinition of the Augustan house and household during the early Tiberian period. The benefits of comparing Ovid and Valerius Maximus are two-fold. 184 First, this is an opportunity see how two figures, one in prose and one in poetry, offer their gratitude for friendship with the same man. The difference is that Valerius had physical proximity to Pompeius while Ovid never claimed propinquity. Second, the sheer number of similarities between the two authors indicates either that the elements included are proverbial or that Valerius is borrowing specifically from Ovid in order to “out-friendship” him. As I have indicated, Pompeius is primarily a temporal marker or victim of undignified anecdotes. Only in Ovid and Valerius Maximus does he gain other, positive, qualities—in strong contrast to the malignant sycophant painted by Tacitus. Part of the reason for coincidence lies in following the tropes and idioms of amicitia. 185 Of greater interest is the order in which the 183 Millar 1993; Wardle 2000. The phrase appears in Pont. 2.2.74, where it refers to the imperial family; Val. Max. 2.8.7 about the physical structure of the house, and 8.15 praef. 7, where he calls the domus a templum. 184 The idea of thinking about Valerius responding to Ovid is not intuitive because the prose author seems to display no explicit knowledge of Latin poets aside from Ennius’ tomb. Bloomer 1992: 235 “Valerius does not allude to the Roman poets, nor does he quote Latin verse.” As I argue below, there are, in fact, many subtle allusions to Latin poetry in Valerius. There is an intriguing, but ultimately unprovable, theory about how Valerius would have accessed Ovid’s exilic works. Skidmore 1996: 116-117 has argued that Ovid’s recipient Cotta Maximus was originally named Valerius Maximus and that the author Valerius Maximus was a relative. “It is very likely that he was indeed a patrician Valerius, related to Messalla Corvinus and Cotta Maximus.” Thus, he would have access to the letters Ovid sent back to Rome, and like all the first readers of the exilic material kept his knowledge implicit. 185 The basic study of amicitia remains Brunt 1965. The ties of amicitia form the basis of Helzle’s 1989 study of Pont. 4. See also the bibliographical note in White 1993: 270. I am most sympathetic to the careful analysis of Wilcox 2012 (on Seneca) and Williams 2012 (on various authors and funerary inscriptions). 77 elements are deployed and the extension from personal relationship to an eternal one. Both men start with education and end by denouncing Livor. But first, their journeys: Ovid went into exile by boat. He crossed the Adriatic to Corinth, crossed the Isthmus, and boarded the Minerva from Cenchrea to Samothrace (Tr. 1.10.1-20). This route would have taken him between the mainland of Greece and the large island of Ceos (modern Kea). From Samothrace, he crossed into Tempyra and made his way overland to Tomis while his ship brought his belongings by sea through the Hellespont (lines 21-32). When Pompeius and Valerius travelled, we can infer that they took a similar route. In the only personal anecdote in the entire Dicta et Facta, Pompeius says that the custom of state-sanctioned suicide came from Greece to Massilia: 186 quod illam etiam in insula Cea servari animadverti, quo tempore Asiam cum Sex. Pompeio petens Iulidem oppidum intravi; “I saw that this was also observed on the island Ceos in the town of Iulis back when I went to Asia with Sextus Pompeius” (Val. Max. 2.6.8). Perhaps the reason Valerius breaks his usual practice of not disclosing personal anecdotes at this moment is to signal the competition over the journey. It is as though he is writing back to Ovid and saying: “you travelled alone, but I went with one whom you counted a benefactor and who did not visit you.” In both texts, Pompeius is set apart for his eloquence. What, in Ovid, is a light compliment becomes, in Valerius, a superlative supported with evidence. Ovid says that his elegies will find Pompeius addressing the Senate, but once he is done then he will listen to them: hos ubi facundo tua vox hilaraverit ore, / utque solet, tulerit prospera verba dies; “when your [Pompeius] voice, from an eloquent mouth, will have gladdened them—as is customary—the 186 On this being the only personal anecdote, Walker 2004: 58fn.89. 78 day will lift up prosperous words” (Pont. 4.4.37-38). 187 We have no idea what Pompeius’ address is about. On the other hand, Valerius is clear, although he does not quote his subject. On Ceos, Pompeius and Valerius visit a 90-year-old woman who wants to commit suicide and have them witness. Pompeius tries to dissuade her with an impressive speech, but she insists: venit itaque ad eam facundissimoque sermone, qui ore eius quasi e beato quodam eloquentiae fonte manabat; “he approached her and gave the most eloquent [facundissimoque] speech, which flowed from his mouth as though from some blessed spring of eloquence [eloquentiae]” (Val. Max. 2.6.8). First, facundia is related to facio. It is speech that generates results. Hence Ovid uses it because he wants Pompeius to accomplish his return and Valerius because Pompeius wanted to dissuade the woman from suicide. Pursuing the theme of Valerius competing with Ovid over the literary presentation of Pompeius helps explain Valerius’ shift into the metaphor of the blessed spring, which he adopts from Cicero. 188 The most famous spring that concerned speech in antiquity was the Hippocrene which was, of course, the source of poetic inspiration. In a small way, then, we can see Valerius elaborating on Ovid’s portrayal of Pompeius and turning him into a direct descendent of Cicero and maybe even something of a poet. Both men are concerned with the effect of putting Pompeius’ name before the public. Ovid was afraid that Pompeius would frown upon the appearance of his name in a poem: idque 187 Helzle 1989: 117 points out the “close parallel” but concludes weakly that the two writers “are using the same encomiastic topos of praising their common patron’s eloquentia.” The compliment places Pompeius among the rarefied of Ovid’s recipients who are noted for eloquence: Fabius Maximus (Pont. 1.2.67; 2.2.51; 2.3.75); Germanicus (Pont. 2.5.55); Salanus (Pont. 2.5.69); Cotta Maximus (Pont. 3.5.16); and Graecinus (Pont. 3.9.47). It is a quality of politicians and academics, not—noticeably—of poets. It is not necessarily a positive quality. Ulysses had it: non formosus erat, sed erat facundus Ulixes; “Ulysses was not pretty, but he was eloquent” (Ars 2.123). 188 The phrase, fons eloquentiae is an adaptation of Cicero’s description of Socrates being at the origin of philosophers: iam ab illo fonte et capiti Socrate; “[Schools of philosophy originating from] that spring and head, Socrates (de Orat. 1.42). In the Brutus 322, Cicero actually uses the phrase fons perfectae eloquentiae; “spring of perfect eloquence” to define the study of literature. Valerius’ use of os so close to fons might well be a gloss on the Ciceronian phrases. We certainly find such an adaptation later in Fronto when, in the programmatic ad Marc. 4.3 he describes Cicero: qui caput atque fons Romanae eloquentiae cluet; “who was known as the head and spring of Roman eloquence.” Interestingly, the manuscripts carry both eloquentiae and facundiae. 79 sinas oro, nec fastidita repellas / verba, nec officio crimen inesse putes; “I pray that you accept my words and not cast them aside disdained; don’t think that in this tribute there is a crime” (Pont. 4.1.19-20). 189 Valerius, defending his decision to compare Pompeius to Alexander, uses similar language: ego vero gravissimo crimini sim obnoxius, constantis et benignae amicitiae exempla sine ulla eius mentione transgressus; “I should truly be guilty of a most serious crime, if I listed examples of firm and kind friendship without mention of him” (Val. Max. 4.7.ext.2). We see the expected Valerian superlative (gravissimo crimini) responding to Ovid’s neutral crimen. Ovid is worried that Pompeius will find him guilty of the crime, but for Valerius, the issue is moral and inwardly-directed. He would find himself guilty. Pompeius was also a source of wealth and protection for both men: a quo omnium commodorum incrementa ultro oblata cepi, per quem tutior adversus casus steti; “From him I received an unexpected growth of all benefits; through him I stood more safely against chance” (Val. Max. 4.7.ext.2). Ovid had earlier combined these two concepts: nec mihi munificas arca negavit opes; “Your money-box never denied me liberal assistance” (Pont. 4.1.24). That poem ends with Ovid creating a frame-narrative around works of art. The builder of such works, he asserts, protects them. Pompeius is the protector of Ovid. (tuetur 4.1.28; tutelae 4.1.36). The major difference, of course, is that Valerius emphasizes that Pompeius guarded him from chance, casus. Ovid, on the other hand, frequently chooses to characterize his exile as just such a casus. 190 Thus, I would propose, Valerius Maximus hints that his relationship with Pompeius is more successful. 191 189 This association of crime and not naming also appears in Pont. 4.11 to Gallio: Gallio, crimen erit vix excusabile nobis, / carmine te nomen non habuisse meo; “Gallio, it will be a hard-to-forgive crime if your name has no place in my poem” (4.11.1-2). 190 Examples include Tr. 1.5.45; Pont.1.3.62, 1.5.55, 1.6.2, 2.10.20. For a full list, see Gaertner 2005: 335. 191 Millar 1993: 4 uses Valerius Maximus a little but overlooks these moments when he declares that “[o]ne limiting factor in any attempt to locate the Dicta et Facta within the formulation of early Imperial ideology is the fact that the 80 Valerius even goes so far as to signal his engagement with Ovid, and specifically his more intimate relationship with Pompeius, when he compares their relationship to one of parents: cuius in animo velut in parentum amantissimorum pectore laetior vitae meae status viguit, tristior adquievit; “in his spirit [animo]—like in the heart of the most loving parents—the happier moments of my life were increased and the sad moments were lessened” (Val. Max. 4.7.ext.2). On its own, Valerius’ use of tristior is unremarkable. Combined with laetior, however, we see a competition. Valerius uses comparatives where Ovid, earlier, had used the neutral adjective. In a programmatic self-analysis of his subject matter, Ovid had said in the closing poem of Pont. 1-3: laeta fere laetus cecini, cano tristia tristis; “when I was happy, I generally sang happy things, sad I now sing sad things” (Pont. 3.9.35). Valerius presents his relationship as one that would never have allowed the singing of Tristia. Immediately after this, Valerius credits Pompeius with his education in grand terms: qui studia nostra ductu et auspiciis suis lucidiora et alacriora reddidit; “by his leadership and favor he made my education more brilliant and lively” (Val. Max. 4.7.ext.2). The role of poetic and academic guide in Ovid belongs to poets. He tells his step-daughter, Perilla, that he first discovered her genius: hoc ego Pegasidas deduxi primus ad undas; “I first led it [your genius] to Pegasean waters” (Tr. 3.7.15). A few lines later he says: utque pater natae duxque comesque fui; “as a father to his daughter, I was your guide and companion” (3.7.18). 192 In this case, we see Valerius elevating Pompeius’ status as a teacher rather than a politician. In stark contrast to Ovid, he constantly emphasizes the generosity of mind, spirit, and resources over political author hardly reveals anything of himself, whether as regards geographical origin, social standing or life history.” The details that he does give permit us to use his text precisely as Millar wished he could. 192 Other examples: Ovid’s relationship with Macer. te duce magnificas Asiae perspeximus urbes; / Trinacris est oculis te duce visa meis; “under your leadership, we investigated the glorious cities of Asia; under your leadership my eyes beheld Sicily” (Pont. 2.10.21-22). Tuticanus, in 4.12 is similarly described: tu duxque comesque fuisti; “you were my guide and companion” (4.12.24). 81 connection. His glowing and admiring tone contrasts sharply with Ovid’s assertions of his indebtedness to Pompeius. Valerius ends his remembrance with an Ovidan denunciation of envy: itaque pavi invidiam quorundam optimi amici iactura, videlicet quia fructu torseram, non quidem meo merito, gratiam meam, quantacumque fuit, cum his, qui ea uti voluerunt, partitus. verum nulla tam modesta felicitas est, quae malignitatis dentes vitare possit. et quo secessu quosdam fugeris aut quibus infulis misericordiae permulseris, ne alienis malis perinde ac bonis suis laetentur et gestiant? With the loss of my best friend I have satiated the envy of certain people—probably because I was torturing them with my good fortune. I don’t deserve this. I shared my influence, however much there was, with those who wanted to use it. But no happiness is so modest that it is able to avoid the teeth of malice. And in what retreat could you escape certain people or with what fillets of compassion could you soften them, so that they do not rejoice and exult in the misfortunes of others as though they were their own good fortune? (Val. Max. 4.7.ext.2) This passage reads like a précis of Ovid’s exile poetry with striking similarities to the fourth book in general. 193 To begin with, the phrase “loss of my best friend” (optimi amici 193 It is also full of poetic reminiscences. fructu torseram recalls Horace’s assertion that a lack of study will give rise to torture from love or envy: si non intendes animum studiis et rebus honestis, invidia vel amore vigil torquebere; “if you do not put effort into study and honest affairs, when awake you will be tormented either by envy or love” (Epist. 1.2.35-37). The last sentence, with its statement that people treat another’s misfortune as their own happiness, is a twist on Epicureanism as portrayed by Lucretius’ descriptions of ataraxia. DRN 2 famously opens with the idea that it is pleasant to look at another’s suffering and know that you are free of those same worries (2.1-4). Valerius changes the philosophy and says that there are men who take pleasure in the suffering of others, not in their own lack. We are primed to consider Lucretius because of his peculiar use of the “fillets of compassion” (quibus infulis misericordiae). These recall Iphigenia at Aulis. Part of the trappings of her sacrifice are fillets: cui simul infula virgineos circumdata comptus; “once the fillet had been bound around her virgin hair” (DRN 1.87). These are the most famous fillets in literary history. Ovid’s one use of the term applies them in a similar sacrificial context, only he plays on the tradition and makes it Iphigenia sacrificing among the Taurians. spargit aqua captos lustrali Graia sacerdos, / ambiat ut fulvas infula longa comas; “the Greek priestess sprinkled the captives with purifying water to ready their blond hair for the long fillet” (Pont. 3.2.73-74). In Tr. 4.4.78 she is the one wearing a vitta. All literary fillets are indebted to Homer’s priest Chryseis who carries the fillets of Apollo: στέμματ᾽ ἔχων ἐν χερσὶν ἑκηβόλου Ἀπόλλωνος (Il. 1.14). Fillets and compassion also make an appearance in Hyginus’ fable of Ino when Phrixus puts them on voluntarily. itaque cum ad aram cum infulis esset adductus, satelles misericordia adulescentis Inus Athamanti consilium patefecit; “and so when he was led down to the altar wearing fillets, the servant, out of compassion for the young man, revealed Inus’ plot to Athamas” (Hyg. Fab. 2.3). 82 iactura) finds its origin in Ovid’s lament to Gallio, a particularly good friend who mourned Ovid’s destruction: rapti iactura amici; “loss of your stolen friend” (4.11.5). 194 Valerius has substituted best (optimi) for Ovid’s destroyed (rapti), but otherwise the phrase is unique to these two men. The idea of envy as a devouring force also comes from Latin poetry, and perhaps from Ovid in particular since the various elements that appear in Valerius’ characterization combine his uses of the metaphor. The first book of the Amores began with a complaint against Livor edax; “devouring envy” (Am. 1.15.1). 195 In the Remedia Amoris Ovid gloats about his success: rumpere, Livor edax; “explode, devouring envy” (Rem. 389). The ending of Amores 1.15 clinches the connection: pascitur in vivis Livor; post fata quiescit, / cum suus ex merito quemque tuetur honos; “envy is fed with the living; it rests after death when a man’s own esteem protects him properly” (Am. 1.15.39-40). This truism is challenged by the different reports of Pompeius by Tacitus and Valerius. In fact, one way of considering Valerius’ presentation of his friend is an attempt to ensure his esteem remains high. For Ovid, envy is fed (livor pascitur) with the living. Valerius has fed (pavi invidiam) envy. Valerius adds a poeticism to Ovid’s precedent of devouring envy when he adapts Horace to come up with the phrase “teeth of malice” (malignitatis dentes). 196 I would argue that Valerius 194 The poem is also remarkable for sharing with Pont. 4.1 and Valerius the theme of the crime of silencing a name: Gallio, crimen erit vix excusabile nobis, / carmine te nomen non habuisse meo; “Gallio, it will be a hard-to-forgive crime if your name has no place in my poem” (4.11.1-2). 195 McKeown 1989: 389-390 argues that Horace brings the conceit into Latin literature from Callimachus and provides a lengthy list of parallels. 196 Horace’s envy has teeth in Serm. 2.1.77-78: invidia et fragili quaerens inlidere dentem / offendet solido; “and envy, seeking to sink her teeth into something fragile, shall crunch something solid.” This devouring envy differs slightly from the one that appears at length in the Metamorphoses. carpitque et carpitur una / suppliciumque suum est; “she tears and is torn; she is her own punishment” (Met. 2.781-782). Seneca Rhetor is important for this idiom because it hints that the language of biting teeth is an idiom for critique. Seneca reports that Gallio once spoke out against Labiensus in support of Maecenus’ freedman, Bathyllus: in quo suspicietis adulescentis animum illos dentes ad mordendum provocantis; “[a speech] in which you will admire the spirit of a young man challenging those teeth to bite” (Contr. 10 praef. 8). 83 goes beyond mere poeticism and actually signals his engagement with Ovid. 197 He takes the metaphor of pasco from Ovid’s application of it to livor and applies it to invidia. In adapting this primarily poetic motif, Valerius shortens the distance between his life and his work, which is also a distinctly poetic move. Ovid himself conflates livor and invidia most noticeably at the final stage of his poetic output: Invide, quid laceras Nasonis carmina rapti? “Envy, why do you ravage the wounds of stolen Naso?” (4.16.1). Ovid complains in the same register as Valerius when the latter lamented that it is impossible to be so modest as to avoid the teeth of malice. Valerius’s second point, however, that there is no retreat (quo secessu) in which one can escape (fugeris), particularly underscores Ovid’s plight. The ends of the world should be a place to escape the envious, and Ovid tries to convince envy to stop attacking him because he has lost everything: ergo summotum patria proscindere, Livor, / desine, neu cineres sparge, cruente, meos. / omnia perdidimus; “therefore, envy, stop flaying one far removed from his homeland and do not, bloodthirsty one, scatter my ashes. I have lost everything” (4.16.47-49). Both men complain in a similar manner, and by comparing the two of them, we gain a clearer understanding of both. While Pompeius is a central figure in both the passage of Valerius and the book of Ovid, it is only in the former that he is both a close friend—transcending the political bonds of amicitia— and patron. It was their connection that brought about a situation in which Valerius had the ability to feed the envy of others. Ovid, by contrast, treats Pompeius not as a pure friend but as a patron, keeping him at an arm’s length. It is not his relationship that causes envy but his poetic abilities. 197 Valerius may well have gotten the idea from Pont. 3.4.74-75: scripta placent a morte fere, quia laedere vivos / livor et iniusto carpere dente solet; “in general, writings come to favor after death since envy is used to wounding the living and biting with a wicked tooth.” 84 By reading Valerius against Ovid, we become more aware of the political nature of Ovid’s poetry and can now turn to his representation of particular political activities. I begin with Pompeius’ clementia and Ovid’s adaptation of this major Augustan slogan. Part Two The Right to Clementia Pompeius receives four poems in Pont. 4. 1 and 15 act as frames, and 4 and 5 explore the consulship. I begin with 4.1 and 4.15 because they allow us to glimpse a notable political figure without with the trappings of the consulship but still in possession of political power. Pont. 4.1 seems, on its surface, to lack any overt political engagement. But the addressee’s name prompts us to look for political angles in the poem, and we find a key word near the end of it: nunc quoque nil subitis clementia territa fatis / auxilium vitae fertque feretque meae; “your clemency was not at all terrified by my sudden misfortune and extends, and will extend, aid to my life” (Pont. 4.1.25-26). The word clementia is rare in Ovid, appearing once in the Metamorphoses, five times in the Tristia, and four times in the Epistulae ex Ponto, once in each book. 198 Only in Pont. 4.1 does it not apply to a ruler. The word’s rarity means that it can 198 Met. 8.56-57 by Scylla contemplating a betrayal of her father and country: quamvis saepe utile vinci / victoris placidi fecit clementia multis; “on the other hand, for many people the clementia of a peaceful victor has often made it advantageous to be defeated.” In the Tristia, its first appearance is programmatic and paradoxical. Ovid prays that the anger of Caesar (Caesaris ira, Tr. 2.124) lessen. This same Caesar had a surprising level of clemency: cuius in eventu poenae clementia tanta est, / venerit ut nostro lenior illa metu; “his clemency in the outcome of my punishment is such that it [the punishment] was less than I feared” (125-126). The lines juxtapose the ira Caesaris and the clementia Caesaris. Alexander showed clemency to Porus (Tr. 3.5.39). Later, Ovid thinks that he can get a better place of exile if someone asks Augustus on his behalf because: quantaque in Augusto clementia; “so great is Augustus’ clemency” (Tr. 4.4.53). Later in that same book Ovid wonders: ipsaque delictis victa est clementia nostris; “his clemency itself was conquered by my offenses” (Tr. 4.8.39). The clemency next belongs to Augustus as a god: saepe refert, sit quanta dei clementia; “often he [Ovid] remembers how great the clemency of the god is” (Tr. 5.4.19). Ovid remembers Augustus’ clemency in Pont. 1.2.59 (Augusti…clementia). In book two, Ovid repeats himself from Tr. 4.8: victa tamen vitio est huius clementia nostro, / venit et ad vires ira coacta suas; “nevertheless his clemency was conquered by my defect, and his anger was forced into its full strength” (Pont. 2.2.119-120). Here again anger and clemency are juxtaposed, and his fault is so great that it overpowers Augustus’ willpower (coacta). The two elements are even more closely aligned in the next book: quanta sit in media clementia Caesaris ira, / si nescis, ex me certior esse potes; “how great is the clemency of Caesar in the middle of his anger? If you don’t know, you can be more certain from my example” (Pont. 3.6.7). The answer is ambiguous. The next, and last, use is in Pont. 4.1. 85 support more rigorous interpretation because Ovid carefully controls the ways in which we encounter it. 199 Clementia undergoes a very specific transformation in its Roman context that has been well-studied. 200 Susanna Braund observes: what under the Republic was the clementia populi Romani, directed towards defeated peoples or provincial subjects and dispensed by individual generals or governors, becomes a political slogan during the civil wars as Julius Caesar expands the concept of clementia, and ultimately morphs into a more or less standard attribute of the princeps, so that by the fourth century an emperor might readily be addressed as Clementia Tua. 201 Seneca’s definition in De Clementia responds to a situation established over the course of imperial rule from the time of Ovid. Therefore, when Seneca says that “everyone knows” what clementia means, it is because the meaning has ossified: atqui hoc omnes intellegunt clementia esse, quae se flectit citra id quod merito constitui posset; “however, everybody understands that clemency consists of pulling back from what could deservedly be imposed” (Clem. 2.3.2). 202 When Ovid uses the word, in contrast, there is no such immediate understanding. We should therefore consider more carefully Ovid’s role in the changing use of the term. When he writes about clementia, he responds to Augustus’ own pleasure in the quality. In a famous passage of the Res Gestae, Augustus says he was rewarded for returning power to the senate and people: quo pro merito meo senat[us consulto Au]gust[us appe]llatus sum et laureis postes aedium mearum v[estiti] publ[ice coronaq]ue 199 In this I differ from the analysis of Dowling 2006: 109-122 where she focuses on a myriad of moments in the exile where clemency is implied through a series of not-always-persuasive synonymous moments. While I agree with her conclusion that “the clementia Caesaris is an even greater illusion under Augustus than it was under Caesar. It is the ira Caesaris that triumphs in the end…” her use of the poetry as a source for this conclusion is unpersuasive. 200 Especially Dowling 2006 and Braund 2009. 201 Braund 2009: 34. 202 Text and translation by Braund 2009: 142-143. I use her text and translation in all other quotations of the De Clem. 86 civica super ianuam meam fixa est, [et clu]peus [aureu]s in [c]uria Iulia positus, quem mihi senatum pop[ulumq]ue Rom[anu]m dare virtutis clement[iaequ]e iustitiae et pieta[tis caus]sa testatu[m] est pe[r e]ius clupei [inscription]em. For this service, I was named Augustus by senatorial decree, and the doorposts of my house were publicly clothed with laurels, and a civic crown was fastened above my doorway, and a golden shield was set up in the Julian senate house; through an inscription on this shield the fact was declared that the Roman senate and people were giving it to me because of my valour, clemency, justice, and piety. 203 (RG 34.2) Ovid is obviously aware of Augustus’ pride in this description. In Tr. 3.1 his book-roll innocently stumbles upon Augustus’ house and sees the corona civica (querna corona, line 36), the laurels (velatur ianua lauro, 39), and a possible reference to the shield (fulgentibus armis, 33) on the door posts. It is the corona civica that is particularly important because it was given to Caesar specifically for his acts of clementia. 204 One result of the entire Pontic project is that we see, at great length and iteration, Ovid not being saved. When Ovid applies the quality of clemency to Pompeius, he is reacting to a vastly changed political situation, one that he has documented over the course of his exilic poetry. Ovid’s assertions about clemency in Tr. 2 act almost like a precursor to Seneca’s definition: cuius in eventu poenae clementia tanta est, / venerit ut nostro lenior illa metu; “his clemency in the outcome of my punishment is such that it [the punishment] was less than I feared” (Tr. 2.125-126). Over time, however, when Ovid’s situation remains unmitigated, his 203 Text and translation Cooley 2009: 98. 204 Braund 2009: 43 “By the exercise of clementia the emperor has the capacity and opportunity to save someone from death—and that exercise of clementia is recognized by the award of the corona civica.” Dio 53.16.4 reports that the crown of oak leaves (τὸ τὸν στέφανον τὸν δρύινον) indicates that Augustus saved the citizens (τοὺς πολίτας σώζοντι). For a discussion of the material evidence on coins and sculpture, see Dowling 2006: ch. 2 “Augustan Visual Propaganda and Roman Response,” and Zanker 1988: 92-98 especially the gold coins (p. 93 fig. 76) that display an eagle holding the corona civica awarded ob cives servatos; “on account of saving the citizens.” Zanker argues that the corona appears with other family members “as a token of dynastic succession” (93). Pollini 1993 on the Gemma Augustea. 87 support of Augustus’ clemency weakens to the point that anger takes over: victa tamen vitio est huius clementia nostro, / venit et ad vires ira coacta suas; “nevertheless his clemency was conquered by my defect, and his anger was forced into its full strength” (Pont. 2.2.119-120). 205 In the next book, it becomes ambiguous and provocative: quanta sit in media clementia Caesaris ira, / si nescis, ex me certior esse potes; “how great is the clemency of Caesar in the middle of his anger? If you don’t know, know from my example” (Pont. 3.6.7). The answer, for those who have read through Ovid’s exilic material is that Caesar’s clemency is not very great in his anger. 206 For Pompeius unexpectedly to possess clementia indicates a radical shift away from the previous books of exile in which Ovid said that his status as a relegatus, as opposed to an exul, was owed to Caesar’s clemency. But now, in Pont. 4, Augustus does not have clementia anymore for the very literal reason that he is dead. Ovid must transfer the hope, and it is significant that he does not pass it on to Tiberius but to a citizen. 207 The prominent placement in the first poem of the book underscores Ovid’s re-presentation of the political powers. His small act is a powerful rebellion against, and refusal of, imperial authority. This is all the more provocative because, as Melissa Dowling has noted, “Tiberius maintained a policy of clemency in the first decade of his reign, not only in imagery but in actual practice.” 208 In 4.15, Ovid returns to the broad idea of clemency, but not in its strict political terminology, although the poem is full of peculiar political resonances. It is structurally simple. 205 When anger overwhelms the mind, Seneca says, clementia cannot be present: clementia est temperantia animi in potestate ulciscendi; “clemency is ‘restraint of the mind when it is able to take revenge’” (Clem. 2.3.1). 206 Dowling 2006: ch. 2 “From the Crudelitas of Octavian to the Clementia of the Principate” neatly summarizes Augustus’ deliberate portrayal of himself as a clement ruler rather than as the butcher of Perusia. 207 Dowling 2006: 120 “Here Ovid uses the noun in a letter ostensibly addressed to a private friend for his kindness but actually in a public poem, making a transition between the public and private uses of clementia.” 208 Dowling 2006: 170. What she calls “actual practice” relies too much on the senatus consultum de Gnaio Pisone Patre. She slips between thinking it is propagandistic or documentary, but her use of the imagery is apt. 88 In lines 1-26 Ovid asserts that he is a piece of property that Pompeius owns and he should pray that the property be in a better place. In lines 27-42 he apologizes for the repetitious nature of his poetry and says that Pompeius’ loyalty will last forever if his Muse passes out of the Getic land. In this poem, Ovid only uses Sextus (3, 18). The use of just the praenomen indicates that he is deliberately separating his friend from the politically fraught nomen of Pompeius. The poem is nicely structured around assertions of Pompeius’ influence. We read similar things in line three and in 41, the penultimate line (a form of salus appears in each). The careful structure of the poem invites a rigorous analysis; there are no accidents. The poem opens with a reminder that Ovid was relegated—not exiled. This is a forceful act of closure because this is the second to last poem and the word is highly charged: 209 si quis adhuc usquam nostri non inmemor extat, quidve relegatus Naso requirit agam, Caesaribus vitam, Sexto debere salutem me sciat: a superis hic mihi primus erit. If anyone anywhere still remembers me and asks how I, Naso the relegated, am doing, let him know that I owe my life to the Caesars and my health to Sextus. He will be first after the gods. (Pont. 4.15.1-4) By calling himself a relegatus, Ovid throws us into the political arena, and we are compelled to remember Ovid’s full length of exile and exilic writing starting in the Tristia. He then explains how he is doing with the technicality that he owes his life (vitam) to the Caesars and his health/well-being (salutem) to Pompeius. 210 There is an epistolary pun here. Ovid owes 209 On the difference between exul and relegatus see Ingleheart 2010: 145-155 (on Tr. 2.131-138). She observes (p.153) that Ovid uses forms of relego 10 times in the exile poetry and describes himself as an exul 26 times and exilium 20 times. “He uses the terms interchangeably…far more often than he stresses the difference between the punishments.” 210 This is a provocative position to take since in 4.6 (to Brutus) we had read that Ovid did not know to whom he could entrust his safety after the death of Fabius Maximus: iam timeo nostram cuiquam mandare salutem: / ipsum morte tua concidit auxilium; “now [with Fabius Maximus dead] I am afraid to entrust my security to anyone; 89 the latter salutem because he is addressing the letter to him. Salutem + verb of sending is a common epistolary formula used frequently by Ovid throughout the Epistulae ex Ponto. 211 The pun emphasizes that Ovid is explicitly addressing nothing to the Caesars. The difference between vita and salus moves us into the realm of clemency. We have already seen that Augustus’ claim to clementia is based on his saving of defeated Roman lives, and Ovid is being a strict literalist here. Yes, he still has his life. But harsh living is not clemency. Therefore, Pompeius truly possesses clemency because he makes Ovid’s well-being possible. This is also a rewriting of his earlier assertion at the start of Pont. 4 that he owed his life to Sextus (debitor est vitae, 4.1.2). 212 The plural Caesaribus is one of Ovid’s very few acknowledgements of Tiberius’ inheritance of the throne. This helps explain the new differentiation. Ovid has kept his life during the transition of power, and he insists that Pompeius has maintained loyalty (to him) as well. Ovid next compares the kindnesses of Pompeius to him in a classic list: they are as many as Pomegranate seeds, African grain, Greek olives, and Sicilian bees (7-10). Abruptly, Ovid’s register changes: confiteor: testere licet. signate, Quirites: nil opus est legum viribus, ipse loquor. inter opes et me, parvam rem, pone paternas; pars ego sum census quantulacumque tui. I confess: it is right for you to bear witness. Apply your seal, Quirites! There is no need for the force of law—I myself say it. Put me, a small thing, among your inherited wealth; I am counted as yours, however small I be. (Pont. 4.15.11-14). protection itself vanished with your death” (Pont. 4.6.13-14). That he decides upon Sextus Pompeius shows that the poems in Pont. 4 are deliberately structured in the order in which we encounter them. 211 Gaertner 2005: 224 offers a brief discussion (on Pont. 1.3.1). 212 In 4.5 Ovid had his elegies report to Pompeius: vivit adhuc vitamque tibi debere fatetur, / quam prius a miti Caesare munus habet; “he still lives and confesses that he owes his life to you, which earlier he had as a gift from gentle Caesar” (4.5.31-32). Ovid as a munus was a theme in 4.1 and 4.15. This poem mediates those others and keeps the reader uncertain about the power distribution in Rome. 90 The passage is intensely political, from the first word. Ovid’s confession (confiteor) belongs to the formal sense of confessio imperii, the defeated’s vocal acknowledgement of defeat. Ovid had used it previously in a playful sense in Amores 1.2 when he admits Cupid’s defeat of him, a passage deliberately evoked at this moment: en ego confiteor! tua sum nova praeda, Cupido; / porrigimus victas ad tua iura manus; “I confess it! I am your new booty, Cupid; I extend my conquered hands to your laws” (Am. 1.2.19-20). 213 Ovid frequently reverses the tropes of the exclusus amator in his exile poetry, and here, Ovid also adapts his relationship to Cupid. 214 Now, rather than being the praeda Cupidinis, he is the parva res of Pompeius. We should also associate the confissio imperii with clementia because both concern the behavior of the conquered to the defeated. Ennius is an early witness: qui vincit non est victor nisi victus fatetur; “the one who wins is not the victor unless the defeated admits it” (Ann. 513 Sk.). 215 There is similar wordplay in the Metamorphoses between victor and victus: quamvis saepe utile vinci / victoris placidi fecit clementia multis; “on the other hand, for many people the clementia of a peaceful victor has often made it advantageous to be defeated” (Met. 8.56-57). When Ovid asserts his submission to Pompeius, he denies the Caesars that victory, which is a change from the first book of Pontic epistles where the Princeps was slow to punish, quick to reward. Qui vicit semper, victis ut parcere posset; “he who always wins so that he can spare the defeated” (Pont. 1.2.122). Ovid surrenders to Pompeius, thereby giving him the authority of clementia. testere licet. The subject of testere is Pompeius. Ovid is beginning to make a legal agreement with him as he signs himself over as a piece of property. He also draws on two different aspects of Roman culture: poetry and the law. licet antestari is the technical term for 213 See McKeown 1989: 43-44. 214 Labate 1987. 215 Skutsch 1985: 667 “The very frequency of the phrase victum se fateri (confiteri) proves that it implies the notion which is made explicit here: that only the admission of defeat by the conquered makes victory complete.” 91 summoning someone to court as a witness. In the Twelve Tables it is recorded, on the first table, that: si in ius vocat, <ito>. ni it, antestamino. igitur em capito; “if plaintiff summons defendant to court, he shall go. If he does not go, plaintiff shall call witness thereto. Then only shall he take defendant by force” (Tables 1.1). 216 By leaving off the ante, Ovid avoids the archaism of antestor, while his use of licet recalls Horace. The reason that we have this portion of the Twelve Tables is that Porphyrio preserves it in his commentary on Horace Serm. 1.9.76: et licet antestari. This line appears near the end of the satire when Horace is asked to witness that the “boor,” who has been annoying him for the entire poem, failed to go to court. 217 By reminding us about Horace, Ovid reminds us of the setting of Serm. 1.9: it is a walk around Rome that ends near the law courts. It is a poem rooted firmly in the center of Rome where Ovid cannot go. The reason for this legal reminder is to underscore the lack of legal protection Ovid has in exile. signate, Quirites. To stamp a seal is a technical term for a witness’s statement. 218 Ovid’s use of Quirites is a jolt to the reader as it marks the third subject change in one hexameter. The abruptness demands that we linger on the passage and consider what it is, exactly, that Ovid wants the Quirites to witness. Is it Ovid? His poem? His book? By creating ambiguity, Ovid does not let the reader entertain certainty about what the poet wants. He forces the reader to decide; he empowers the Roman citizen. Hence, his decision to call upon the Quirites is provocative. It is not an innocent term denoting Roman citizens but a radical assertion of his rights as a Roman to ask for help. When Ovid uses the imperative plus vocative construction, he is, perhaps, accessing the political aspect of Quirites, which he likely learned more about by studying Varro while 216 I use the Latin text and translation from Warmington’s Loeb Edition, Remains of Old Latin vol. 3. 217 The interpretation of the ending is often debated. For recent discussions, see Cairns 2005, Ferriss-Hill 2011, and Gowers 2012 ad loc. 218 OLD s.v. signo 8b. 92 researching the Fasti. 219 Varro writes about the Quirites twice: first (LL 6.86-88) when describing the language that the censor uses to summon the citizens. This is all the more interesting for us because Ovid uses the term census in line 14. At this point, the citizens are requested to come to the assembly by an assistant to the consul. Once they have gathered, the consul requests them to come to the centuriate assembly: ‘Omnes Quirites, ite ad conventionem huc ad iudices.’ Dein consul eloquitur ad exercitum: ‘Impero qua convenit ad comitia centuriata;’ “‘All Quirites, come to the meeting and to the judges.’ Then the consul tells the army: ‘I command you to gather in the centuriate assembly” (6.88). This is an institution for citizens in which the consul is the highest power. By calling upon the Quirites, Ovid writes as though he is still living in the Republic. 220 The nature of the law and witnesses continues in the next line. nil opus est legum viribus, ipse loquor. On the surface, Ovid signals that he is a voluntary witness and is speaking on his own account. Quintilian, describing the nature of witnesses in book five, says the following: et quoniam duo genera sunt testium, aut voluntariorum aut eorum quibus in iudiciis publicis lege denuntiari solet; “there are two kinds of witnesses: voluntary and those for whom it is demanded by law that they be in the public court” (Quint. 5.7.9). In this case, Ovidian alliteration guides our analysis. Ovid is juxtaposing the written force of legal law (legum) with spoken, verbal, authority (loquor), which in turn places us within a sphere of formal discourse in contrast to 219 While Ovid uses Quirites throughout his entire career, it is in the Fasti that it appears most frequently, especially the second book where Ovid offers various etymologies for Quirinus (F. 2.475-480). 220 Ovid’s Fasti supports the Republican nature of this appeal. Near the end of Fasti 2, Ovid tells the story of how Brutus laments the rape and subsequent suicide of Lucretia. He stands over her body and swears (iuro, 2.841) vengeance against the Tarquins. Then he calls the citizens: Brutus clamore Quirites / concitat et regis facta nefanda refert. / Tarquinius cum prole fugit: capit annua consul / iura: dies regnis illa suprema fuit; “Brutus rouses the Quirites with a shout and reports the criminal actions of the king. Tarquin flees with his descendants. A consul rules for a year; that was the last day of the monarchy” (F. 2.849-852). Quoted by Akrigg 1985: 433 quoting Ehwald’s Kritische Beiträge zu Ovids Epistulae ex Ponto.The technical term for what Brutus does here is quiritare according to Varro: quiritare dicitur is qui Quiritum fidem clamans inplorat; “one is said to quiritare who, calling out, requests the loyalty of the Quirites” (LL 6.68). Ovid also owes something to Prop. 4.1.13 where the Quirites are summoned by a bucina: bucina cogebat priscos ad verba Quirites; “a horn called the ancient Quirites to debate.” 93 spoken. 221 But, of course, we must be reminded of who stands behind the authority of the courts at this point, namely, the imperial family. Thus, even though it should be the consuls—and Pompeius’ consulship of 14 is no exception—Ovid nevertheless insists upon the more informal authority of everyday speech that is, in many ways, more trustworthy than legal formulae. This rich couplet moves through a variety of technical language, confiteor, testere, signate, legum, to end on the an utterly unmarked verb, loquor, that becomes marked by its very pedestrianism. Ovid’s next allusion to Pompeius’ mercy—not his strict clementia—appears when he calls him a friend and uses the formula da veniam: da veniam vitio, mitis amice, meo; “forgive my defect, gentle friend” (Pont. 4.15.32). This is the last mention of Ovid’s vitium. But the placement of vitio as the third word is familiar from a similar passage we have already seen: victa tamen vitio est huius clementia nostro, / venit et ad vires ira coacta suas; “nevertheless his clemency was conquered by my defect, and his anger was forced into its full strength” (Pont. 2.2.119-120). Ovid is asking Pompeius, here, to do what Augustus and Tiberius could not, to forgive him. This is a private act; hence, the shift away from clementia at the same moment he calls Pompeius a gentle friend. The poem ends with a difficult image. If Ovid’s Muse passes out of the land, the world will learn of their relationship: teque meae causam servatoremque salutis / meque tuum libra norit et aere minus; “it [the world] will learn that you are the reason and the salvation of my health, and that I am yours as if from the scales and bronze” (Pont. 4.15.41-42). Line 41, especially the phrase servatoremque salutis places us firmly in the competitive language of clementia; servatorem is in direct conflict with Augustus’ slogan explaining his receipt of the 221 For a perspective on the nature of loquor (and cano, dico, cantus) see Habinek 2005: 59-74 especially 72. His general conclusion is that dico refers to “oratorical” speech and loquor to “everyday” (73). 94 corona civica: ob civis servatos. The last line is difficult, especially the minus. 222 Wheeler 1965 translates: “I am yours almost as if the scales and bronze had bought me.” Green 2005: “I—no need for formal purchase!—am yours.” Nevertheless, the context seems clear, Ovid is comparing himself to a piece of purchased property. 223 I would add to this that Ovid is also reminding us of his earlier declaration that Pompeius would testify on his behalf. Again, we find a possible connection in the Twelve Tables, lending support to the argument that Ovid is particularly building his poem on a self-conscious reflection of the origin of Roman law at a period when it had never been more different now that Tiberius is emperor: qui se sierit testarier libripensve fuerit, ni testimonium fatiatur, inprobus intestabilisque esto; “anyone who permitted himself to bear witness or who held the scales and who does not deliver the testimony [upon request], let him be both shameless and incapable of being a witness in the future” (Tables 8.22). With this passage in mind, we can see that the distich concludes the subtext of Pompeius’ witness on this poem. In raising the elements of mancipatio (per aes et libram) in this last line, we are also allowed to understand the Quirites as well because the ceremony of mancipium required five Roman citizen witnesses. 224 Ovid says “as if” because he is not present at the “sale.” But the main point is that Ovid ensures that there are witnesses of 222 Akrigg 1985: 442-446 explains the problem and offers a brief history of attempts to explain the passage along with refutations of those attempts. He “with reluctance” prints magis in the sense of “I am yours even more than I would be if I had been acquired through mancipatio” (444). magis is in a few minor manuscripts. 223 Coleman 1990: 572 enigmatically writes: “Ovid exploits any situation which is at odds with the formal context in which the jargon is properly employed: so, when the exile pleads for delivery from his miseries, potential melodrama is exploded by incongruous legal terminology: Pont. 4.15.42…; recognition that Ovid envisages his delivery from exile in terms of the ancient rites of traditio and mancipatio supports the lectio difficilior, and Ovid’s abject pose in reducing his own status to that of his patron’s chattel is rescued from groveling servility by the linguistic parody.” 224 Muirhead 1999: 53 “Mancipation is described by Gaius but with particular reference to the conveyance of movable res mancipi, as a pretended sale in presence of five citizens as witnesses and a libripens holding a pair of copper scales. The transferee, with one hand on the thing being purchased, and using certain words of style, declared it his by purchase with an as (which he held in his other hand) and the scales (hoc aere aeneaque libra); and simultaneously he struck the scales with the coin, which he then handed to the transferrer as figurative of price” (Gaius 1.121). 95 what he has done and he reminds Pompeius, with his last words addressed to him, that he must defend Ovid or inprobus intestabilisque esto. The use of Quirites, I argue, puts us in mind of certain consular practices, and I turn now to Ovid’s steady investigation of the changing nature of the consulship under Augustus and Tiberius. Part Three Kings and Consuls Ovid registers his interest in the history of Roman rulers when he places the poem that mentions ancient kings second in the poetry book. It opens immediately with those kings: Quod legis, o vates magnorum maxime regum, / venit ab intonsis usque, Severe, Getis; “What you are reading, Severus, O greatest poet of great kings, comes all the way from the longhaired Getic region” (4.2.1-2). Ovid does not elaborate upon the subject matter of Severus’ poem. Given the content of Ovid’s Fasti, however, we might read this superlative as highly complimentary. Ovid himself has written about the kings of Rome, but his adjective for Severus indicates that he is doing so better—or at much greater length if we read a pun in the adjective. 225 There is a provocation here as well. Both men are students, we see, of the last time Rome had a dynasty and are therefore better able to understand the risks to Roman life engendered by the Tiberian inheritance and dynastic politics in general. 226 225 Romulus, the first king, is treated at the greatest length in Fasti 1. His contrast with the second king, Numa, is the focus of F. 1.27-44. Romulus’ founding of Rome is the subject of F. 4.806-862 on Rome’s birthday. Ancus Marcus, the fourth king, earns a mention near the very end of the poem (F. 6.803). Servius Tullius, the sixth king, dedicates a temple to Mater Matuta (F. 6.479-480). The last, and seventh, king is Tarquinius Superbus (F. 2.685-852). Ovid describes his flight and the introduction of the Republic. Only Tullus Hostilius (third) and Lucius Priscus (fifth) fail to make an impression in Ovid’s Fasti. 226 One might think about the other great “author” of kings, Augustus himself, who, in the exedrae of the Forum Augustum, had prominently displayed images of Romulus and other summi viri. See Zanker 1988: 210-215; Pollini 2012: 22; and the full-scale study Geiger 2008. That we should assume the presence of the seven Roman kings is, as Geiger 2008: 105fn.184 says, “based on more than common sense. There, too, Romulus had a statue of his own in the row of the kings in addition to his statue carrying the spolia opima in the central niche, so that there existed an almost complete correspondence between the Alban and the Roman kings.” There is another reference to these kings by Manilius in his list of Milky Way inhabitants. Romanique viri, quorum iam maxima turba est, / Tarquinioque minus reges; “and there are the Roman men, their throng is now the greatest, but Tarquin is left out of the kings” (Man. 1.777-779). Geiger 2008: 127 argues that Manilius is describing the statues of the Augustan Forum. 96 In the next poem, Ovid continues his movement through political history by subtle word choices. He points to the fractious moment in political history when Marius broke with tradition and held five successive consulships between 104 and 100 BCE. He tells his addressee, a former friend who has turned on him, that fortune cannot be depended upon. He provides a pretty traditional, albeit short, catalogue of exempla beginning with “Croesus’ wealth” (4.3.37-38). 227 Then he relates the fate of Dionysius II who, although he had been tyrant of Syracuse, had to become a schoolteacher in Corinth (4.3.39-40). 228 Both examples concern foreigners and take place in a distant past. Croesus ruled Lydia until his defeat by Cyrus the Great in 546 BCE, and Dionysius was Tyrant until 344 BCE. Most importantly, they are both monarchs: one, a king, from the very distant past and the other, a tyrant, from the relatively more recent historical past. Their monarchies were just as famous as their downfalls. Ovid then leaps forward in time and place to Rome at the start of the first century BCE. The presentation of these four figures is chiastic, with Croesus before Dionysius (temporally AB) and Magnus before Marius (temporally BA). 229 Because the list is so carefully structured, we can press our interpretation of the figures involved. He has given two couplets to the Greek examples, the paucity of which is dramatically overshadowed by the doubling of space given to the Roman exempla. Where both foreign examples were about monarchies, both Roman 227 For a much more ambitious catalogue of the same subject, see Manilius 4.1-121. 228 Akrigg 1985: 189 “The Greek examples may have been a traditional pairing: Croesus and Dionysius are mentioned together at Lucian Gall. 23 as notable instances of personal catastrophe.” The choice of Dionysius may have another resonance beyond what I discuss above, namely his connection with Syracuse. In 4.15.15 we hear of Pompeius’ property in Trinacria=Sicily and in 4.16.25 there is the Sicilian author, Trinacriusque…Auctor. 229 I also observe a geographical progression. Creosus is the farthest east in Lydia; Dionysius II moves from Sicily to the east in Corinth. Pompey the Great ends up in Egypt. Marius’ geographic references are to Jugurtha, even farther west in North Africa in Numidia, and the Cimbri in Jutland (north of Italy). His low point was hiding in the rushes of Minturna (between Rome and Naples). As Akrigg 1985: 193-194 points out Ovid is unique in making this moment the low point since both Manilius 4.47-49 and Juvenal 10.276-277 make it his arrival in Carthage. But, as I argue, Ovid wants the narrative to end near Rome. Thus, the locations form a large circle around Rome. I suspect that Manilius gets the pairing Pompey and Marius from Ovid, although we cannot know for certain. Juvenal most likely gets it from Manilius. Both poets put Marius first. Man. 4.45-49 (Marius), 50-55 (Pompey). Juv. 10.276—282 (Marius), 283-288 (Pompey). 97 examples concern abuses of the consulship. Ovid implies that the groundwork for tyrannical behavior may lie in consular abuse: quid fuerat Magno maius? tamen ille rogavit summissa fugiens voce clientis opem, cuique viro totus terrarum paruit orbis …………………………….. ille Iugurthino clarus Cimbroque triumpho, quo victrix totiens consule Roma fuit, in caeno Marius iacuit cannaque palustri, pertulit et tanto multa pudenda viro. What was greater than Magnus? Yet that man, in exile, begged for the aid of a client with a submissive voice. The entire globe obeyed that man… 230 That man, famed for his triumph over Jugurtha and Cimbri, under whom as consul (so many times) Rome was victorious (so many times), Marius lay in the mud and reeds of the swamp and endured many things shameful for such a man.” (Pont. 4.3.41-48) Bringing up a subject like Pompey the Great is bold in a collection explicitly addressed to his descendant. Ovid contrasts the maius of Pompey with the summissa to show how far he has fallen. 231 The next two couplets are particularly important, as emphasized by their placement at the end of the list of exempla, and the number of proper nouns (four). Ovid roots this last exemplum in historical locations and with historical people. But why Marius? Ovid has never shown an interest in him before. I propose that the answer is Ovid’s new-found interest in theorizing about the institution of the consulship under Tiberius; hence, the focus on the consulship in 14, the year of transition (4.4 and 4.5), and 16/17, when two brothers followed each other (4.9). He is particularly interested in repeated consulships. 232 230 This line has disappeared from the manuscripts or been unmetrically replaced or is omitted entirely. See Richmond 1990: 88. Helzle 1989: 101 has a brief discussion and offers the sense “and the man whom the entire world obeyed had no place to go.” 231 As with totiens in line 46, the line is ambiguous: summissa…voce clientis opem; “with a submissive voice for the aid of a client,” or “with the submissive voice of a client for aid.” 232 Helzle 1989: 101 suggests that Ovid’s consul totiens is possibly echoing Livy 25.6.21: servorum legionibus Ti. Sempronius consul totiens iam cum hoste signis conlatis pugnavit; “Tiberius Sempronius [Gracchus] with his legions of slaves—a consul so often—fought [so often] under the battle standards.” Sempronius was consul twice 98 Marius was first consul in 107 BCE. It was in 104, however, that the true Marian revolution took place because from 104-100 he held successive consulships for the unprecedented period of five years. Ovid draws attention to the year 104 when he points out Marius’ triumph after defeating Jugurtha. According to Velleius Paterculus, Marius led Jugurtha in parade during the ceremony for the consulship on 1 January 104 (Vell. 2.12). Marius’ consulships were famous, and Ovid can take it for granted that his readers would be aware of the history to which he is refering. 233 Marius fought and defeated the German tribes of the Cimbri in 101. It was because of this victory, and that over the Teutoni in the same year, that he gained his sixth consulship (and fifth in a row) for the year 100 (Vell. 2.12.4). 234 There were no great foreign victories in 100. We can see that Ovid draws special attention to the two triumphs. The triumphus Iugurthinus is the only mention of a triumph in Pont. 4, but this is only surprising when we remember that Ovid had twice written about Tiberius’ Pannonian triumph. But Pont. 2.1 focused on Germanicus’ role in the triumph of 12 CE, while a mention of Varus’ defeat (in altis proelia silvis, 2.1.39) reminds us why the original triumph in 9 CE was not held. Pont. 3.4 is an extended apology for that very (215 and 213), which makes it more tempting to take totiens with cum hoste pugnavit. If Helzle is correct about the echo, and I think he is, Ovid is making a profound comparison between Marius and Sempronius because the latter had armies of slaves who were given freedom, whereas the former had permitted the non-propertied to join the army. Ovid might be emphasizing his desire that we think about Livy at this moment because of his use of canna which echoes Cannae—where Rome suffered its worst defeat in 216 at the hands of Hannibal. Livy devotes the passage under discussion to the army’s complaints after that battle. The speaker voicing these complaints says that no one can be ashamed for having fled Cannae because even the consul fled (unde consul cum equitibus septuaginta fugit, 25.6.13). 233 One way to know this is to look at the language Velleius Paterculus uses. His phrase is almost a short-hand reference. After Marius’ consulship of 104, the people decide to entrust more command to him. tum multiplicati consulatus eius; “then came his repeated consulships” (Vell. 2.12.3). 234 Juv. 10.281 says at this moment Marius had a “triumphal soul” (animam…opimam, c.f. the spolia opima that were in the Augustan Forum). He calls the triumphal chariot Teutonic (de Teutonico…curru, line 282). 99 poem. It could not have been very good, he insists, because he was not present to get the details right. 235 The term triumphus also contains an implicit critique of Ovid’s contemporary political situation. It is well known that after Lucius Cornelius Balbus celebrated a triumph in 19 BCE no one celebrated a triumph who was not a part of the imperial family. 236 Book four emphasizes this because this moment in Pont. 4.3 is the only occasion that Ovid references even the idea of a triumph. This singular occurrence is set into stark contrast with the preceding books, especially two and three in which triumphs of Tiberius and Germanicus (the only remaining heirs) are described. 237 Mary Beard encapsulates the changed ritual landscape: “the traditional triumph is now history, its descriptions—including those set pieces which dominate our <evidence> for the ceremony—are inevitably retrospective reconstructs and re-inventions.” 238 Ovid’s reference to Marius, then, can be read as a reflection upon an age before Caesarian and Pompeian pomp set in motion the transformations of an age-old Republican phenomenon. Primed by Pont. 4.1 to think about clementia as an imperial virtue, 4.2 to think about kings, and 4.3 to consider Republican 235 For a general discussion of these poems see Evans 1983: 138-139 (2.1); 131-133 (3.4). Millar 1993: 10-13 analyzes the “triumphal” poems: Tr. 4.2, Pont. 2.1, 3.4. He argues that they “are another reminder of the fact, only partially modified by the arrival of monarchy, that Rome was a traditional public stage on which the actors (now including the female members of the Imperial house) played out their roles in public, in the open air, before an audience made up of the populus Romanus.” He does not, I think, make enough of the fact that Ovid invents a triumph over Germania in Tr. 4.2 that never actually occurred. The poem, anticipating a Triumph in 10 CE, seems to make a mockery of the Varian disaster at the Teutoburg Forest in 9 CE, which he mentions at Tr. 4.2.33 and Pont. 2.1.39. See also Lowrie 2009: 265-275. 236 It becomes commonplace. Beard 2004: 117. 237 And anticipated as in Tr. 4.2. The point is forcefully underscored by the placement of Germanicus’ triumph at the start of book two and its emphasis throughout the book: Huc quoque Caesarei pervenit fama triumphi; “The rumor of Caesar’s triumph has arrived here” (Pont. 2.1.1). This is the triumph he shared with Tiberius for victory against the Dalmatians in 9 CE but did not celebrate until 23 October 12 CE. There is debate about whose triumph Ovid is describing here. Galasso 1995: 95 prefers Tiberius. Helzle 2003: 249 similarly decides on Tiberius. Neither consider Germanicus. Wheeler 1965: 318-319 takes it as Germanicus’ triumph. For the use of Caesar to mean, ambiguously, either Tiberius, Germanicus, or Augustus see Pont. 4.8.23=Germanicus. 4.9.125=Tiberius. 4.9.128=Augustus. Ovid mentions Tiberius’ triumph over Germania on 16 January 13 CE in Pont. 3.3.86. Pont. 3.4 contains a long meta- poetic reflection on writing a triumph poem. 238 Beard 2004: 117. 100 consuls, we are now equipped to move forward in history to the consulship of 14 CE, the year when an experiment became a dynasty. In contrast to Marius consul totiens, no one in Pont. 4 holds multiple consulships. Ovid emphasizes this by writing twice about Sextus Pompeius’ extraordinary year-long consulship of 14 CE, mentioning Graecinus’ suffect consulship of 16 CE, and finally alluding to Flaccus as consul ordinarius in 17. There is a concurrent description of the consular investiture ceremony in Fasti 1.63-88. 239 The presence of this description in the reworked proem to the Fasti shows that Ovid is thinking deeply about the public nature of the ceremony in terms of a public performance and the way in which the calendar is organized at this point in his life. The consular ceremony is deeply ingrained in Roman experiences of time and political identity. Ovid’s investigation into this ceremony, at such great length and frequency, indicates the importance he places upon the changes it undergoes in the early days of a dynasty. He begins with ecce and says that Janus announces this will be an auspicious (faustum) year for Germanicus (63-64). 240 He bids Janus to be propitious to leaders, the senate, and the people: dexter ades ducibus, quorum secura labore otia terra ferax, otia pontus habet: dexter ades patribusque tuis populoque Quirini, et resera nutu candida templa tuo. 239 Although all of Ovid’s descriptions of the investiture ceremony are imaginary, he nonetheless has become the main source for scholars writing about the ceremony. Pina Polo 2011a: 250 at least acknowledges that there is a potential problem with excavating Ovid’s later text in order to reconstruct earlier ceremonies. 240 Green 2004: 58 notes that there has been a suggestion that Ovid “is alluding to a specific year, here, to a decree of the Senate awarding Germanicus a triumph against the Germans, passed on 1 st January, A.D. 15.” This was celebrated on May 26, 17 CE (Syme 1978: 24). C.f. Ehrenberg and Jones 1955: 41 “Fast. Ost. [VII k. Iun. Germ]anic. Caes[a]r [triumphavi]t ex German.” Other possibilities include a “setting” of 12 CE because this was the first (of two) occasion when Germanicus was consul. Thus, the consular ceremony that follows the Germanican invocation explains the faustum. Another contender is Germanicus’ consulship (with Tiberius) in 18 CE. But had Ovid wanted us to associate it with a particular year, rather than with a generalization that asks us to think more broadly, he would have given us more specific references. 101 Favor the leaders—through their labor the bountiful land and sea has untroubled leisure. Favor your senators and the people of the Quirinal hill. Open the gleaming temples with your nod. (F.1.67-70) This is charged language. 241 The leaders (ducibus) can be taken in several ways. The surface meaning—the “innocent” meaning—would be the imperial family. 242 But there is the less innocent meaning given that Ovid will soon use dux to mean intellectual and scientific leaders when he will say astronomers reach the skies “properly.” Reflection, not war, is the proper way to achieve glory: nos quoque sub ducibus caelum metabimur illis; “we will measure the skies under those leaders” (F. 1.309). In a world where katasterism has become expected of leaders, it is highly provocative to say that the right way to reach the skies is through study rather than deification. To praise such figures is also to invite others to look into the sky where, scientifically, the deified rulers will not be found. Ovid’s next prayer, for the senators and citizens, is likewise a taunt. 243 We have already discussed the valences of Quirites, and we are invited to do so again with populoque Quirini. 244 These are the people who answer the call for aid and who vote. They are explicitly the Roman citizens involved in electing magistrates, but their power—under the imperial system—is largely 241 secura in 67 is a poignant word for an exile who finds the periphery of the empire to be extremely dangerous and fraught. A place where the land is not ferax but ferox. Cf. scilicet hac etiam, qua nulla ferocior ora est; “even here, there is no shore more savage” (Pont. 3.2.99). 242 Ovid uses dux for the emperor frequently. As Green 2004: 280 (on F. 1.613 augeat imperium nostri ducis) observes “dux is a semi-official title of the Emperor Augustus—cf. e.g. Ars 3.391, Hor. Carm. 1.2.52…and is particularly common in addresses to Tiberius.” 243 Green 2004: 60 interestingly notes that line 69 “appears to be an (unparalleled) poetic means of expressing the official formula Senatui Populoque Romano.” 244 In explaining the derivation of the Quirinal Hill, Varro writes: collis Quirinalis, quod ibi Quirini fanum. sunt qui a Quiritibus, qui cum Tatio Curibus venerunt ad Romam, quod ibi habuerint castra; “the Quirinal hill is called that because there was a shrine to Quirinus [deified Romulus] there. But there are those who say it is named from the Quirites, because those who came to Rome with Tatius from Cures [a Sabine region] set up their camp in that place” (LL 5.51). 102 symbolic since, after 14 CE, their role was diminished as Tiberius took control. 245 The inherent logic of the passage is ambiguous. Leaders (whether military or scientific) are concerned with work (labor) and the sea and land. Janus, the god, opens the temples. What is there for the senators and the people to do? Ovid asks that Janus favor them, but why? Perhaps it is to keep them from harm during chaotic transitions. In lines 71-74, Ovid notes that law courts are shuttered on this auspicious day and then moves on to the consular ceremony (processus consularis) itself (75-88). 246 The entire experience is a sensory extravaganza: the smell and shine of odiferous fires (cernis odoratis ut luceat ignibus aether, 75); the sound of saffron (also a smell) crackling (sonet, 75), which also contains the idea of taste since saffron is a spice. There is even touch (vestibus intactis, 79; et nova conspicuum pondera sentit ebur, 82). For a poet on the edges of the Black Sea, the waves of nostalgia are palpable. He remembers the celebrations so clearly. 247 Ovid’s focus on the ceremony, as opposed to the new consul, challenges the reader to investigate the passage more closely. 245 Tacitus famously said of the period: de comitiis consularibus, quae tum primum illo principe ac deinceps fuere, vix quicquam firmare ausim; “about the consular elections, which were held for the first time under that Princeps, and would be thenceforth, I can hardly be certain about anything” (Ann. 1.81). 246 The introductory essay to this part of his commentary on Fasti 1 by Green 2004: 61-63 is nuanced. He particularly observes that the elements the poet seems to praise in the ceremony are later brought under scrutiny. “When Ovid later reminisces of the Golden Age of divine worship before the import of foreign incense (337-48n.), how are we to view the foreign saffron of this ceremony (76). How can Ovid’s subsequent empathy for the suffering of animals and his criticism of live sacrifice (349-456n.) be reconciled with the animal sacrifice involved in this ceremony (83-4)? What emerges during Book 1 is that the positive interpretation of Roman ritual procedure expressed in 75-88 is only one of a series of competing views in operation. On one level therefore, the specific elements of ritual highlighted in this section serve as thematic signposts to other parts of Book 1” (p. 63). 247 Contrast Green 2004: 62 “the passage is noteworthy for the way in which all the human participants in the ceremony are marginalized: the only direct reference to humans in the entire section is populus [line 80].” Saying human participants are marginalized overlooks the fact that such a sensory experience is predicated on human perception. There is another populus in line 88 (a populo). I would add that the livida turba in line 74 is the transition into the consular scene. However, Green, ad loc. prints lingua instead, which, while it has some textual, support lacks an Ovidian touch, especially if we take livida turba (74) as the subject of the second person verbs in the description (e.g. cernis, 75), since we will also find bruising and crowds in the consular scenes in Pont. 4.9.21: nec querulus, turba quamvis eliderer, essem; “nor would I complain even if I were bruised by the crowd.” 103 Next comes the procession (79-80), the consuls sitting on the curule chairs (81-82), and the sacrifices (83-84). The final couplet reveals that this focus on the consular ceremony is overlooked by Jupiter: Iuppiter arce sua totum cum spectet in orbem, / nil nisi Romanum quod tueatur habet; “when Jupiter observes the whole world from his citadel, there is nothing except what is Roman to protect” (85-86). There are two levels of interpretation. This is Jupiter watching the procession from the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus on the Capitoline. It is also Jupiter looking over the oikoumene from heaven, and hence the whole world is Roman. 248 But on the less innocent side lies the interpretation that this Jupiter is Augustus and he is watching the ceremony that he has puppeteered and that when he looks down from his heavenly seat, he only guards what he considers Roman. 249 We, visualizing an abandoned poet, alone and unprotected, on the edge of empire, are left with the pathetic image of a Roman no longer considered Roman. From the Fasti, we see that the vitality of the consulship is at the very center of Roman life even if the consul himself is not important. Thus, when we turn to the consular poems in Pont. 4, we should be surprised by the stark contrast established. The tone is still celebratory, but the energy and decadant sensory saturation are gone. Instead we can almost hear the mechanical grind of the gears of Republican ceremony at work. Ovid celebrates the consulship, but by doing so, he challenges what it has become under the emperors. Ovid gives the reader notice to compare the Fasti description with his first consular poem, Pont. 4.4, by using ecce. At first the word seems too general, but when we observe that it 248 Compare: Romanae spatium est Urbis et orbis idem; “the space of the city of Rome and of the world are the same” (F. 2.684). 249 Ovid frequently conflates Augustus and Jupiter. Examples include Pont. 1.2.126 where Augustus wields Jupiter’s thunderbolt. More immediately pertinent: hic socium summo cum Iove nomen habet; “he [Octavian] has in common the name [Augustus] with highest Jove” (Fasti 1.608). See Gaertner 2005: 12-14 “Emperor Worship.” 104 appears only once in the Epistulae ex Ponto, we identify the way Ovid uses it as a conduit between the passages, and once we have begun to compare them, we find several other linguistic echoes and subtle distortions: ecce domo patriaque carens oculisque meorum, / naufragus in Getici litoris actus aquas; “behold, without home, fatherland or the presence of my friends, I was driven shipwrecked across the seas to Getic shores” (4.4.7-8). After situating himself on the sea- shore, he makes the image even more vivid: nam mihi, cum fulva solus spatiarer harena, visa est a tergo pinna dedisse sonum. respicio, neque erat corpus, quod cernere possem, verba tamen sunt haec aure recepta mea: ‘en ego laetarum venio tibi nuntia rerum, Fama, per inmensas aere lapsa vias: consule Pompeio, quo non tibi carior alter, candidus et felix proximus annus erit!' For, as I was strolling alone along the yellow shore there seemed to be the sound of wings from behind. I looked back, but there was no body that I was able to see. But my ear heard these words. “See, I, Fama, am come as a message of joyous things, having crossed huge distances in the air. Next year will be bright and lucky through Pompeius’ consulship—no one is more dear to you!” (Pont. 4.4.11-18) By introducing the whole consulship of Pompeius as a Fama, Ovid indicates that the description of the ceremony is anticipatory and guesswork. 250 Fama only knows that Pompeius has been elected. It is important not to fall into the trap of thinking that just because the subject matter anticipates the actual consulship of Pompeius than the time it was written in is necessarily before the consulship. 251 Especially because, ironically, the year of Pompeius’ consulship will be 250 Hardie 2012: 159 “In the exile poetry Fama is one of the tricks that Ovid has up his sleeve to console himself with the illusion that he can still, somehow, be present in Rome.” Hardie focuses on Ovid’s “frequent flirtations with absent presences.” We also remember that Pont. 2.1 deployed Fama to describe a Triumph. Thus, she becomes associated with political descriptions. Ovid also imagines that Fama loquax has informed King Cotys about his presence nearby (Pont. 2.9.3). 251 Helzle 1989: 105 attempts to date the poem: “the present poem may well have been written in the autumn of A. D. 13 (October) since the poet had probably received the news by then and presumably wanted his work to arrive at 105 anything but happy as it will witness the deaths both of Augustus and Paulus Fabius Maximus and, we might remember, Pompeius will break his leg, a very inauspicious event. Ovid has carefully structured the poems so that 4.4 anticipates the consulship, 4.5 describes the consulship, and 4.6 contains the deaths. All three document the same candidus et felix annus of 14 CE. Several minor linguistic repetitions invite comparison, which will soon be shored up by explicit references. First, Ovid had said only Janus among the gods could look behind his back (tua terga, F. 66). Fama appears to Ovid from behind (a terga, Pont. 4.4.12). Both are an announcement: nuntiat (F. 1.63), nuntia (Pont. 4.4.15). Ovid also combines the frame from the Fasti that the year will be auspicious (faustum) and the temples white (candida) with his announcement in 4.4 that the next year will be happy and white (candidus et felix). These minor echoes lay the foundation for much stronger connections. The beginning of the consular ceremony compels us to keep thinking about Fasti 1: ergo ubi, Iane biceps, longum reseraveris annum; “therefore, Two-Formed Janus, when you will have unlocked the long year…” (Pont. 4.4.23) has its parallel Iane Biceps at Fasti 1.65 and resera at line 70. 252 It is like we are hearing this again, which we are. All the way back to the Amores: ducuntur niveae populo plaudente iuvencae, white heifers are led to the people’s applause quas aluit campis herba Falisca suis whom Faliscan grasses fed on their fields. (Am. 3.13.15-16) colla boves niveos certae praebere securi, white bulls extend their necks to the unerring ax Rome in time for 1 st January.” I am fundamentally opposed to this manner of interpretation. There are only termini post quem for Pont. 4. A poem need not be written when it declares it was written. While Helzle properly points out that there is a tradition of “Konsulatsgedicht” and provides several examples (e.g. Stati. Silv. 4.1, Sidonius Apollinaris 2, Claudian 1, 7, 8, 17, 21, 22, 24, see pp. 105-107)—including interesting selections from Cicero’s letters (although the connections are rather too broad to be persuasive as deliberate touchstones), I prefer not to read the poem as generically indebted. It is problematic that Ovid is the earliest poetic source for this so-called genre. 252 The longum in the Pontic letter is also important because Pompeius, unlike most of the consuls at the time, served the full year. The echo is part of a systematic tone of redundancy throughout the poem, particularly evident in Ovid’s unusually frequent use of the re- prefix in the passage describing Fama’s visit: respicio (13), recepta (14), replevit (19), reseraveris (23), repetes (41). 106 quos aluit campis herba Falisca suis whom Faliscan grasses fed on their fields. (Pont. 4.4.31-32) colla rudes operum praebent ferienda iuvenci, unbroken cattle extend their necks to be cut quos aluit campis herba Falisca suis whom Faliscan grasses fed on their fields. (F. 1.83-84) The three passages are all interwoven, as I seek to show with my underlining. The effect of this, especially the nearly identical pentameters, reveals that the ceremony involving the sacrifice of cows is largely unchanged from Ovid’s earliest published works to his most recent (unpublished at the time of composition). 253 The ceremony clings to the defining traditions of the Roman state. Ovid, the most original of poets, goes out of his way to generate a feeling of familiar performance in the religious ceremony. There seems to be a concern that what was traditional under the Republic and even—to a certain extent—under Augustus might become mere script, even theater, under Tiberius. Purple vestments are repeated (Pont. 4.4.25, F. 1.81); the Tarpeian epithet is applied to the destination of the parade (Pont. 4.4.29, F. 1.79). These careful repetitions prime us for the payoff. In the Fasti, the next couplet after the Faliscan grasses describes Jupiter looking down upon the world. Ovid maintains this pattern: cumque deos omnes, tum quos impensius aequos / esse tibi cupias cum Iove Caesar erunt; “along with all the other gods whom you will desire to be favorable to you, Jove and Caesar will especially be the subject of this wish” (Pont. 4.4.33-34). This passage reads like a gloss on the Fasti where Jupiter appeared alone. Clearly, Pompeius is only in this position because of Augustus, and it is ironic that he will pray for Augustus’ favor (aequos) in a year in which so much misfortune will occur. 254 253 Are we to hear any echo of Vergil’s origin of the downfall of man occurring after humans slaughtered cattle for their meat? et ante / impia quam caesis gens est epulata iuvencis; “and before the impious race feasted upon slaughtered cattle” (G. 2.536-537). 254 It is possible that Ovid thinks Pompeius was successful on his behalf and that the prayer for Augustus to be levelheaded was working. This reading finds support in Pont. 4.6.15 when Ovid says Augustus had begun to forgive him: coeperat Augustus deceptae ignoscere culpae; “Augustus had begun to forgive my elusive offense.” 107 Francisco Pina Polo has placed proper emphasis on the role of the consul as a religious leader. He notes that, in addition to performing auspices and expelling prodigies, the consuls, newly invested with imperium, had to make community prayers. “The first public ceremony conducted by the consuls consisted of visiting the temple of Jupiter in the Capitolium to make their vows, pleading to the supreme divinity of the Roman pantheon for the welfare of the community.” 255 When Ovid includes Caesar in this ceremony in Pont. 4, he underscores how drastically events have changed since the rise of Augustus. The Roman pantheon now does not just include the Caesars but is dominated by them. They are the new gods that one must pray to in order to guarantee the welfare both of the community and of the consuls themselves, who increasingly owe their honor to the favor of the Emperor. Where the Fasti offered sensory saturation, Ovid’s description in Pont. 4 focuses on the verbal and political. Pompeius will go to the Senate (curia…patres, 35) and they will hear his speeches. He will be eloquent (facundo…ore, 37) and they will delight in his prayers of gratitude to the gods and Caesar (superis cum Caesare, 39). After this, he will go home. The sense of hope and joy the poem is intended to convey is undermined because the events of 14 CE are known to any reader who will encounter the collection. After all, he or she will read it after its publication, which is clearly after the death of Augustus and Paullus Fabius Maximus in that year. 256 In Pont. 4.4 Fama comes from a long way off (per immensas…vias, line 16). In 4.5 Ovid sends his elegies a long distance (longa via est, 3). 257 There is also a tasteless joke in this line. Any student of Latin literature is familiar with puns on pes as metrical foot and body part. But in 255 Pina Polo 2011b: 98. 256 There is something of a diachronic pattern. Pont. 4.4 anticipates the consulship, 4.5 shows the consulship in action, and 4.6 contains the death of Augustus. 257 Another verbal pattern emerges both poems contain an excess of re-verbs: requiret (11), requieverit (27), requiret (29), reddere (30), referre (33), referatur (39), reditura (43). 108 no other case can it be stated that the recipient of such a poem has a broken leg. 258 These elegies have much in common with those of Tr. 1.1, particularly in that both are requested to go among the people, in populo (Tr. 1.1.17, Pont. 4.5.11). 259 But in contrast to Tristia 1, where Ovid does not mind if anyone knows whose poems they are, now he wants them to go among the people in disguise: si quis, ut in populo, qui sitis et unde, requiret, / nomina decepta quaelibet aure ferat, “if anyone, as happens in crowds, asks who you are and where you come from, let him hear whatever name with a tricked ear” (Pont. 4.5.11-12). 260 Ovid, by asking his elegies to tell a lie, is deliberately undermining the purity of this year, candidus, which he had celebrated in the previous poem. Only Pompeius, with his learned ears (doctas…aures, line 1), gets to know the truth. 261 The political valences begin early. Ovid sends the poems overland, and they cross Thrace and come to the dominam urbem, “the Mistress City” (7). Straightaway they are instructed to go to Pompeius’ house (domus…Pompeia) which is hard by the Augustan Forum, non est Augusto iunctior ulla foro; “no other house is closer to the Augustan Forum” (9-10). It is at this point that Ovid asks that they go tell lies among the people (11-14). 262 The figura etymologica in dominam…domus makes us question the power of Pompeius, as does his proximity to the very heart of Rome. From there we see the series of offices that he performs. He settles lawsuits for the Quirites (17), sits on a sella curulis (18), and gives out financial contracts (19-20). He even gives speeches to the Senate in the Temple of Julius Caesar (in Iulia templa 21-22). This temple 258 Ovid says about his elegies: nec vos pedibus proceditis aequis, “nor do you go on level feet” (4.5.3). We learn of Pompeius’ broken leg in Dio 56.45.2. 259 The way was also long at Tr. 1.1.127: longa via est, propera. 260 This phrase might make us reconsider Fama’s speech in 4.4.15: verba tamen sunt haec aure recepta mea. 261 The decepta aure also makes us think about Ovid’s deceptae…culpae in the next poem (4.6.15). 262 His pointedly untrue claim that verba minus certe ficta timoris habent, “surely, lies have less of fear” (4.5.14) combined with decepta…aure point us to Met. 7.821-822 where Cephalus says: vocibus ambiguis deceptam praebuit aurem / nescio quis; “someone heard my ambiguious words with a tricked ear.” 109 is obviously supposed to be the new Curia begun by Caesar and finished by Octavian (RG 19.1), but this reference to Julius marks Ovid’s sudden shift away from consular independence even as the power of the consul is emphasized. 263 In that temple, de tanto dignis consule rebus aget, “he will be doing things worthy of so great a consul” (22). The greatness is immediately undermined by an Ovidian alternative. It is as if the mention of the first deified Caesar reminds the poet that all these consular activities lack their former authority. The reference to the temple transitions us into dynastic politics, as Ovid refers to the highest ranked members of the imperial family. aut feret Augusto solitam natoque salutem, deque parum noto consulet officio. tempus ab his vacuum Caesar Germanicus omne auferet: a magnis hunc colit ille deis. Or he will be offering the customary greeting to Augustus and his son, and he will be asking for advice about his little-known duty. Caesar Germanicus will consume all the time which he spares from those ones [Augustus and Tiberius]: he attends him after those great gods. (Pont. 4.5.23-26) The meritae grates of 4.4.39 become solita salus; everything is iterative. But the most important line is 24. The verb, consulet with de means to ask about, rather than give advice about. The irony here is that Pompeius—who is the consul in the previous couplet—receives consultation. Again, figura etymologica draws our attention. The two forms, noun and verb, appear within three lines and both lines begin with the preposition de. de + consule (22); deque + consulet (24). This type of wordplay may well recall for the keen-eared Roman reader the two different ways in which Romans—or at least Varro—understood the consul’s origin: consul nominatus qui consuleret populum et senatum, nisi illinc potius unde Accius ait in Bruto: qui 263 It is also a reminder of how small the political center of Rome is and how dominant the building projects of the imperial family have become. The new Curia had been built between the Roman Forum and the Julian Forum. 110 recte consulat, consul cluat; 264 “he is called consul who consults the people and the senate unless it is the other way around as Accius says in the Brutus: ‘let the one who gives good counsel be called consul’” (LL 5.80). If Ovid is remembering this passage, it is all the more provocative because Varro had suggested that the consul derived his name from his activity of consulting the people and the Senate. But in Ovid’s passage, Pompeius is consulting the emperor and his heir. Augustus and Tiberius are squeezed into one couplet; Germanicus, on the other hand, receives a couplet unto himself and an honorific name in the nominative. The only other time that we find the iunctura in Ovid of Caesar Germanicus is in the dedication of the Fasti 1.3. 265 It fills two and a half feet. Tiberius, as an unnamed disyllabic natus, is emphatically denied his Caesarian qualification. Ovid acknowledges his power in line 24 but does what he can to minimize his role. The rest of the poem concerns the elegies’ conversation once the throng (turba, Pont. 27) has withdrawn; Ovid places his entire trust in the judgement of Pompeius (27- 46) in terms similar to those in Pont. 4.1. The next poem, Pont. 4.6, relates the deaths of Augustus and Paulus Fabius Maximus. 4.7 is a heroic elegy to a Roman hero who fought well at a local battle. 4.8 is to Suillius, and, indirectly, to Germanicus. None of these poems are concerned with consular ceremonies. In 4.9 we suddenly return to the consulship for the third time in what is the last overtly political poem. Where 4.4 and 4.5 showed Pompeius’ ceremony, and then rule, while Augustus is still alive, matters change after we learn that Augustus has died in 4.6. The next consulship that Ovid describes is that of Graecinus (suff. cos. 16), to whom Ovid has previously written but whose 264 Boyle 2006: 257fn.45 cluat is Scaliger’s emendation of the manuscript reading ciat. Warmington 1961 (fr. 41) prints siet. Fortunately, the verb bears little upon my argument. 265 There is also a calendar joke. Germanicus takes tempus omne in 4.5. If he accepted Ovid’s Fasti, he literally has taken tempus omne not given to the Caesars since the Fasti did not treat July (Julius Caesar’s month) or August (with Augustus’ birthday). 111 political aspirations went unnoticed (Pont. 1.6, 2.6). From the very start of 4.9, the focus is on the political. The emphasis on Graecinus’ and then Flaccus’ consulships reveals Ovid’s awareness of Roman political life. The years 16 and 17 CE, in which the brothers held their consulships, form a frame with Pompeius’ consulship of 14 CE. We might then consider that the poem contains a reflection on the first two-and-a-half years Tiberius’ rule and the dynastic result. The year 16 CE began with two consuls, Sisenna Statilius and Lucius Scribonius Libo and ended with two others, Graecinus and Vibius Rufus. The two suffect consuls, Graecinus and Rufus offer the reader of the Epistulae ex Ponto an opportunity to consider Ovidian choice. Both men were likely earlier recipients of Ovid’s letters: Rufus in Pont. 2.11, a poem without political purchase 266 and Graecinus in 1.6 and 2.6. Graecinus has the added advantage of being related to Flaccus, who has recently campaigned in Moesia. Ovid can, therefore, discuss both brothers. Ovid’s decision to write to a consul alongside the extended description of the consular ceremony makes it clear that he wants us to think about the consulship during this period of time, which was one of difficulty for Tiberius as he struggled to consolidate his rule at home and to tamp down rebellious senators at home and armies revolting in the provinces. 267 The most famous cause for concern was led by a certain Libo, to whose actions Tacitus devotes five chapters (Ann. 2.27-32); his brother (or he) was the consul before Graecinus’ suffecture in 16 CE. According to Suetonius (Tib. 25), it was the consul Lucius Scribonius Libo who was plotting a revolution against the emperor (res novas clam moliebatur). Tiberius took a couple of precautions. He was never alone with Libo, and he did not let him use the real 266 Syme 1978: 79 and 84-85 discussed Vibius as a possibility. After arguing against several possibilities, he notes: “there is nothing against the orator C. Vibius Rufus (suff. 16), even though the common cognomen discourages” (p. 79). 267 In addition to Libo, there were mutinies of the army in Illyricum and Germany, and Agrippa Postumus’ slave, Clemens, was gathering a band to avenge his death, c.f. Suet. Tib. 25. 112 sacrificial knife. Suetonius leaves out his death. Tacitus (Ann. 2.31) describes the death, a suicide. But, according to Tacitus, it is Drusus Libo who plots the revolution (moliri res novas, 27). A hundred or so years later, Cassius Dio ascribes the revolution to Lucius Scribonius Libo: Λούκιον Σκριβώνιον Λίβωνα, νεανίσκον εὐπατρίδην δόξαντά τι νεωτερίζειν, “Lucius Scriboius Libo, a well-born young man planning a revolution” (Dio 57.15.4). 268 He adds the suicide. 269 Perhaps also at play is the fact that Graecinus’ brother Flaccus voted for a day of thanksgiving (supplicationum dies, Ann. 2.32) along with several others, upon Libo’s death. An earlier, frequent addressee in Pont. 1-3, Cotta Messalinus, was also involved; he put forward a proposal that Libo’s imago not be part of the funeral processions of his relatives (ibid.). By focusing on Graecinus, and explicitly the time when he takes office, Ovid narrows in on a year when Tiberius’ rule was unestablished. By picking these brothers, he also asks us to wonder if they followed each other out of shared genealogy. As Francesca Martelli has observed, for two brothers to follow one another “makes the system of consular appointments under imperial rule resemble the hereditary dynamics of succession inherent to the imperial dynasty.” 270 This is true insofar as dynastic decisions are dependent on declaring an heir. We find an interesting parallel in Tacitus when he records that Tiberius removed the power of voting from the Campus (where we recall the Quirites gathered for elections) to the Senate and put forward four candidates in 14 CE (Ann. 1.15). Ovid comments explicitly, and paradoxically, on such a change when he describes the consulship as the highest office, but one which is owed to someone else: 268 Dio is playing a little game of figura etymologica here with νεανίσκον and νεωτερίζειν. 269 Other appearances include Velleius Paterculus, but the text is corrupt. 2.129.2 might refer to Libo. See also 2.130.3. Dio 57.15 covers the same material but conflates the brothers. Seneca Ep. 70.10, a letter about when to commit suicide, focuses on Drusus Libo’s suicide and says his family abandoned him. See Syme 1986: 256-260 and “Tables” 14 and 15 for genealogy. Millar 1993: 4 (following Jane Bellemore) finds Libo to be important to understand Valerius Maximus (9.11. ext. 4) where Maximus fires off an invective against an unnamed rebel. 270 Martelli 2013: 203. 113 sic tu bis fueris consul, bis consul et ille, inque domo binus conspicietur honor. qui quamquam est ingens, et nullum Martia summo altius imperium consule Roma videt, 271 multiplicat tamen hunc gravitas auctoris honorem, et maiestatem res data dantis habet. So you will be consul twice, twice will he be consul as well, and in your house a double honor will be obvious. Although it [honor of the consulship] is huge, and Martial Rome sees no power greater than the highest consulship, nevertheless the dignity of its author increases this esteem, and the gift holds the maiestas of the giver. (Pont. 4.9.63-68) The chiastic construction of line 63 (tu, consul | consul, ille) mimics the idea of repetition in the consulship that Ovid emphasizes. These are repetitions of each other. Both Fergus Millar and Francesca Martelli emphasize Ovid’s use of auctor and the way in which this passage underscores the public/private nature of the imperial household. 272 Ovid is punning on auctoritas with auctoris, but, as is so often the case, his puns are polyvalent. Etymologically auctor means one who grows or originates a thing. It comes from augeo. It can even mean a father, which lends a continued sense of nepotism to Flaccus’ position. 273 The question thus arises: is Ovid the auctor of the honor of his addressees or the emperor? He, in this poem, has written Flaccus into the position and therefore handed him the honor. The word cheekily shows Ovid drawing attention to the ways in which Rome’s imperial family are literally writing Rome. Ovid has positioned himself in a written battle over Rome against the imperial 271 Martia Roma last appeared in Pont. 1.8.24 when Ovid wrote to Severus about King Cotys’ recapture of Aegisos. Thus, when this phrase reappears in a poem that will go on to describe Flaccus’ recapture of Troesmis, we see Ovid asking us to think about the ways in which Rome always seems to be at war. 272 Millar 1993: 14 “The language is unambiguous: the Emperor is the auctor of the honor, and the consulship itself is a gift (res data) which partakes of the maiestas of the giver.” Martelli 2013: 203 remarks upon “the imperial privatization of the mechanisms of public office.” 273 mihi Tantalus auctor, “Tantalus is my father” (Met. 6.172). Ovid earlier called Vergil an auctor: et tamen ille tuae felix Aeneidos auctor, “nevertheless, that lucky author of your Aeneid” (Tr. 2.533). See Ingleheart 2010: 384. Note that the possessive refers to Augustus. Ovid’s most sustained pun on augeo is with augustus and augurium in Fasti 1.609-613. An auctor is also one who has auctoritas. 114 family. Whose Rome will survive? Who has the authority to write Rome? Ovid has, in the Epistulae ex Ponto, become a metaphorical nomenclator. He describes the structures in Rome, and the fact that historians and religious scholars today still excavate his Fasti and Pont. 4.4, 4.5, 4.9 to “understand” Roman religious and political practice underscores the ways in which he has been victorious. Ovid’s poetic career began with him as an author (auctor) making selections. qui modo Naso fueramus quinque libelli, / tres sumus; hoc illi praetulit auctor opus; “we who were once the five books of Naso are now three; the author prefers this work to that” (Am. ep. 1-2). 274 Now, he shows how the imperial family also makes choices about what belongs in the “work” that is Rome. This metaliterary reading gains support when one notices that Ovid only otherwise uses auctor in Pont. 4 to describe authors. 275 Finally, Ovid has used a similar line-ending in describing Phoebus and Hyacinthus in the Metamorphoses. After Hyacinthus died, a beautiful purple flower bloomed: non satis hoc Phoebo est (is enim fuit auctor honoris): / ipse suos gemitus foliis inscribit, et AI AI / flos habet inscriptum, funestaque littera ducta est; “but this was not enough for Phoebus, who was the author of the honor; he inscribed his groans upon the petals, and the flower had the inscription AI AI and funereal letters were brought forth” (Met. 10.214-216). By echoing this moment in the Metamorphoses, Ovid draws attention to the ambiguity of being the recipient of the honor of an author. Yes, Ovid seems to be saying, Graecinus and Flaccus are honored, but at what cost? For Hyacinthus, the honor consists in becoming a symbol. 274 McKeown 1989: 5 “auctor: a paradoxical term to use in announcing the reduction of the collection; cf. Schol. Bern. Verg. Georg. 1.27 auctor ab augendo dictus.” I would also note the sexual pun with opus (orgasm) which is necessary for propagation (Adams 1982: 157). 275 4.13.11: prodent auctorem vires; “a vigorous style will reveal the author.” 4.14.40: obfuit auctori nec fera lingua suo; “the savage tongue did not harm its author.” 4.16.25-26: Trinacriusque suae Perseidos auctor, et auctor / Tantalidae reduces Tyndaridosque Lupus; “Trinacrius, the author of his Perseid, and Lupus, the author of the return of Tyndarus’ daughter with the son of Tantalus.” 115 Ovid’s declaration that Rome sees no higher power than the consulship, followed by a form of maiestas reminds us that Pont. 4.9 has been politically charged from its first lines: missaque, di faciant, auroram occurrat ad illam, / bis senos fascis quae tibi prima dabit; “the greeting has been sent; may the gods grant that it arrives on that dawn which will give you the twelve fasces for the first time” (Pont. 4.9.3-4). The fasces belong strictly to Ovid’s late exile, appearing only in the Fasti and the Epistulae ex Ponto. 276 It should be remembered that when Ovid uses fasces as a short-hand for the representation of magisterial power, there is a literal presence of 12 lictors who carry the bundles of rods and an axe. Thus, when Ovid later (25-28) asserts that he will get close enough to inspect the details of the curule chair, he is essentially penetrating the personal guard of Graecinus the consul. As we have seen so often, however, what we have here is a moment when Ovid is asking us to open the Fasti alongside Pont. 4 in order to bring mutually enriching interpretations to both. In this case, we find ourselves in Fasti 5 and the debate over how May acquired her name. Polyhymnia asserts (and her sisters Clio and Thalia agree) that May is named from Maiestas who attends the curule chair: illa datos fasces commendat eburque curule; “she recommends the offered fasces and the curule chair” (F. 5.51). Although Ovid has already discussed the trapping of the office (F. 1.81ff), Maiestas was not present. Now, in the second half of the poem, we learn that, at least according to a few of the Muses, she is. When we have read Pont. 4, we can add to the discordant voices of the other Muses that of the poet of Pont. 4.9 where we learn that maiestas comes not from the office itself but from the sponsor of that office. 277 276 F. 1.81 (along with the curule chair), 3.781, 5.51 (along with the curule chair), and Pont. 4.9.42 (along with the curule chair). 277 Maiestas is ambiguous since it means dignity, majesty, and grandeur, but a crimen maiestatis is a charge of treason. 116 It is Ovid’s habit, when describing the consular procession, to use the periphrasis of Tarpeiae arces instead of Capitolia. 278 This allows him to access a certain provocation because it is a constant reminder that the same site used for governing was also used for throwing traitors to their deaths (for another kind of maiestas, treason). Thus, there is always a macabre irony in his descriptions of the consular procession. The one time in the Epistulae ex Ponto that he does use the proper noun is here with Graecinus: sine me tanges Capitolia consul; “without me you, a consul, will reach the Capitoline” (5). There is no ambiguity. Ovid is not playing around anymore. The issue of the consulship is front and center. Ovid also offers a personal detail about his social status. His equestrian family was a staple of his arguments for return in the Tristia, but in the Pontic material it appears only in this poem and when he reminds Suillius of his unblemished background: 279 dumque latus sancti cingit tibi turba senatus, / consulis ante pedes ire iuberer eques; “and while the throng of holy senators gathers at your side, I, a knight, will be ordered to go before the feet of the consul” (Pont. 4.9.17-18). These two lines reveal the traditional, Republican, social hierarchy: consul, senate, knights. This social order is reinforced by the passive voice, iuberer, the word placement of each status in a marked position at the beginning or end of the line, and the irony of a knight (one on horseback) being instead at the feet of the consul. The passive voice continues when Ovid says he would be happy to receive bruises from such moments: nec querulus, turba quamvis eliderer, essem, / sed foret a populo tum mihi dulce premi; “nor would I complain even if I were bruised by the crowd. It would be a pleasure for me to be battered by the people” (Pont. 4.9.21-22). Ovid now presents the fourth social status at the 278 Pont. 2.1.57, 4.4.29, 4.8.42, 4.9.29. 279 Notably at Tr. 2.89-90 and 541-542 when Ovid says he avoided censure under Augustus’ eyes during the transvectio equitum. See Ingleheart 2010: 114-115 (on lines 89-90). Ovid tells Suillius about his ublemished pedigree in Pont. 4.8.17-18, which is the same line placement as in the next poem. 117 accession parade, the people. Ovid’s decision to call both the senators and the people a throng (turba) underscores the levels of social mixing at this moment. In the next couplet, he calls the whole affair a densa…turba (24). Eventually, however, they make their imagined way to the ceremony. Ovid says he would pay close attention to the detail: quoque magis noris, quam me vulgaria tangant, / spectarem, quailis purpura te tegeret; “so that you might know better how small details affect me, I would examine what sort of purple covers you…” (Pont. 4.9.25-26). This moment contains an unexpected rupture with the history of poetry. Previous poets had claimed the mark of good poetry was to avoid that which is vulgaris, but now Ovid claims that he will pay particular attention to that which is ordinary. Horace had repeatedly denied his association with what was common. odi profanum vulgus et arceo; “I hate and ward off the uninitiated crowd” (Carm. 3.1.1). Unless he is the one to give it to the people: hunc ego, non alio dictum prius ore, Latinus / vulgavi fidicen; “I, the Latin lyre-player, have popularized him [Alcaeus] in words spoken by no earlier mouth” (Epist. 1.19.32-33). 280 And, in another ninth poem in another fourth book (to which Ovid’s Pont. 4.9 might gently allude) Horace writes: ne forte credas interitura quae / longe sonantem natus ad Aufidum / non ante vulgatas per artes / verba loquor socianda chordis; “don’t think that I, born near the resounding Aufidus, am singing words that will die, words which are connected to the lyre through skills not widely known before” (Carm. 4.9.1-4). The ironic lesson we learn from Horace is that if you succeed in writing about esoterica, those things that are not well known will become popular if you are a good poet. 281 280 For a brief analysis of this passage from the Epistles, see McCarter 2015: 251-252 who sees issues of publication and audience preference in the passage. 281 An excellent example of this popularizing of esoterica can be found in the reception of Ovid. When the daughters of Minyas gather to tell their stories in book four of the Metamorphoses, the first story chosen is that of Pyramus and 118 The most important precedent when it comes to “vulgarity” is Vergil’s third Georgic. This is because that poem also connects the literary with the political sphere. Ovid’s use of the proem to Georgics 3 creates a strong reminder of the very different political moments of each poem’s composition: the one before Octavian was Augustus and the other when Tiberius is emperor. 282 The linear reader of the Epistulae ex Ponto might already have his or her scroll unrolled to that poem in order to check on a reference in Pont. 4.8. Ovid told Germanicus he would not honor him with a temple: nec tibi de Pario statuam, Germanice, templum / marmore; “I will not build you a temple of Parian marble, Germanicus” (Pont. 4.8.31). The similarity with Vergil’s proem is transparent: et viridi in campo templum de marmore ponam; “and I will establish a temple of marble on the green plain” (G. 3.13). This transparent reference primes us to think about the relationship between the Georgics passage and Pont. 4. In particular, I believe that Ovid takes several non-intuitive steps to connect the consular ceremony to the Georgics passage in order to celebrate the Republican institution over the new imperial dynastic tradition. Ovid is adapting the performative elements of Roman political life that Vergil had projected forward and is presenting them as though they have come about in their own peculiar way. He steps back from Vergil’s special performance for Octavian to bring the focus back to the everyday consular honor. Thisbe because it was not well known: quoniam vulgaris fabula non est; “because that story was not well known” (Met. 4.53). Its parodic retelling in Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream made the story of a wall with a chink even more famous, as did its more modern retelling in the 1960 musical The Fantasticks. The myth’s Wikipedia page is thorough and continually being added to, particularly with adaptations in other languages and media, including music and television. 282 On the dating of Georgics 3, Thomas 1988a: 1 “from external and internal evidence it is likely that the Georgics occupied Virgil for seven years and was completed in 29 B.C.” External evidence: Vergil read the complete work to Octavian at Atella in 29 BCE (Donatus Vita 27). Octavian did not receive the name Augustus until January 16, 27 BCE (RG 34.2, see Cooley 2009: 261). Discussion of this proem is extensive. See recent treatments in Meban 2008, for the relationship between Vergil’s temple and literal temple-building practices and Lowrie 2009: 150-157 for an analysis of how “[a]ll participants—poet, reader, and prince—at all levels of representation in all media meet in a common cause” (157). 119 The first reference comes early and establishes the connection. Vergil refuses to write about common topics: cetera, quae vacuas tenuissent carmine mentes, / omnia iam vulgata; “the rest are all entirely well-known, the ones which might have seized idle imaginations with a song” (G. 3.3-4). Vergil then lists a series of Alexandrian novelties. As Thomas notes: “the Vergilian novelty is that it is Callimachean themes that have become commonplace.” 283 The things Ovid goes on to describe are all maturations of themes found in Vergil, whose stated achievement in Georgics 3 was to to be the first (primus) to bring the Muses to Italy (deducta vertice Musas, G. 3.10-11). He aims to be a victor (9, 17). Contrast this boastful attitude to Ovid’s humble and imagined presence at the ceremony of Graecinus. Vergil then develops the imagery of the temple, including its location (13) and what is in it: in medio mihi Caesar erit templumque tenebit; “I will put Caesar in the middle, and he will hold a temple” (16). Vergil’s statement is proleptic, anticipatory. Ovid appears to have these lines in mind when he describes Graecinus’ march up the Tarpeian slope, particularly in line 32: at cum Tarpeias esses deductus in arces, dum caderet iussu victima sacra tuo, me quoque secreto grates sibi magnus agentem audisset, media qui sedet aede, deus. And when you had been led to the Tarpeian summit, and while sacred sacrifices fell at your order, the mighty god had heard me, also, giving thanks to him in secret, the god who sits in the middle temple. (Pont. 4.9.29-32) I will not deny that there might be a connection between the Vergil’s Muses (deducta vertice Musas) and Graecinus (deductus in arces), in that both are a source of inspiration and that Vergil brought his Muses into Italy and Graecinus is likewise led by some force into the center of Rome. Instead, especially given the common use of deductus for a consular ceremony, I think 283 Thomas 1988b: 38. We come to expect this normalizing of esoterica based on our observations on Horace. 120 Ovid uses it primarily as one of a series of words to create a systematic pattern that binds the two poems together. In this case, the focus is the idea of a god seated in the middle. Again, Vergil’s verbs were all future tense (erit, tenebit) and Ovid’s verb is present tense (sedet). On the one hand, Ovid’s deus magnus is clearly supposed to be Jupiter Maximus. 284 But I think there is room, on the other hand, to see this as a reference to where Augustus, and later Tiberius, would sit with respect to the consuls. Suetonius relates an interesting seating arrangement from which we can extrapolate. After being awarded the Pannonian triumph (but delaying it because of the Varus disaster), Tiberius cloaks himself in the praetexta and a laurel crown and goes to a tribunal in the Saepta where: medius inter duos consules cum Augusto simul sedit; “he at once sat with Augustus in between the two consuls.” (Suet. Tib. 17.2). We find similar testimony in Dio. In 19 BCE, Augustus received outstanding new powers: καὶ τὴν ἐξουσίαν τὴν μὲν τῶν τιμητῶν ἐς τὸν αὐτὸν χρόνον τὴν δὲ τῶν ὑπάτων διὰ βίου ἔλαβεν, ὥστε καὶ ταῖς δώδεκα ῥάβδοις ἀεὶ καὶ πανταχοῦ χρῆσθαι, καὶ ἐν μέσῳ τῶν ἀεὶ ὑπατευόντων ἐπὶ τοῦ ἀρχικοῦ δίφρου καθίζεσθαι. He gained the power of the censor for the same amount of time [five years], and the power of consul-for-life, so that he could always and everywhere use the twelve fasces, and always sit in between the consuls upon a curule chair. (Dio 54.10.5) 285 284 Earlier in his career, Ovid had used a similar phrase. eris magni victor in arce Iovis; “you will be victorious in the citadel of Jupiter Maximus” (Ars. 2.540). There, he was saying that if a lover endures a rival, it will be like achieving a triumph. 285 For a discussion of this passage, see Hurlet 2011: 328 “The mere fact of sitting between the two consuls and having the right to use the twelve fasces always and everywhere (even in Rome) made of Augustus a dignitary with all the external appearances of a consul but without the title.” Thus, the consulship is, in a way, still the highest power since it is a power secretly wielded by Augustus. Concerning curule chairs and Dio, the historian tells a funny story about a certain Rufus (possibly Ovid’s addressee of Pont. 2.11). In 16 CE he stole Julius Caesar’s favorite curule chair and married Cicero’s wife. This, Dio comments, he did thinking the wife would make him an orator and the chair a Caesar: σεμνυνόμενος ἐφ᾽ ἑκατέρῳ ὥσπερ ἢ διὰ τὴν γυναῖκα ῥήτωρ ἢ διὰ τὸν δίφρον Καῖσαρ ἐσόμενος. “being proud of both as if he would become a rhetor through the wife and a Caesar through the chair” (Dio 57.15.6). 121 This passage underscores Ovid’s decision to show the consulships of someone in 14 CE and someone later. There is the tacit question: has anything changed? The answer, given the nearly identical descriptions, is that the position has lost some of its authority. A dynasty has begun. Seating arrangements lead us to a second, far more playful interaction between the two poems via an etymological pun. After Vergil writes about the temple, he declares his exuberant intentions: illi victor ego et Tyrio conspectus in ostro / centum quadriiugos agitabo ad flumina currus; “for him, I, the victor, splendid in Tyrian purple, will drive one hundred four-horse chariots down to the river” (G. 3.17-18). The imagery is ostentatiously triumphal as Vergil institutes new games in honor of Octavian. But Ovid re-works the scene when he describes the sella curulis in his final poems. The first connection is with the ancient etymology of the sella curulis. As Aulus Gellius relates, it appears to come from currus, chariot. In a very significant chapter of Gellius, where he asks what pedari senatores are, he arrives at the answer that those senators who have held a curule magistracy, and have therefore sat on the curule seat, are allowed to drive a chariot to the senate: senatores enim dicit in veterum aetate, qui curulem magistratum gessissent, curru solitos honoris gratia in curiam vehi, in quo curru sella esset, super quam considerent, quae ob eam causam “curulis” appellaretur; “he [Gavius Bassus] says that in the old days senators who had held a curule magistracy were accustomed to go into the Curia in a chariot as a mark of honor; in this chariot there was a seat on which they sat. For this reason, the seat was called curulis” (NA 3.18.4). But the senators who have not yet achieved such a magistracy are called pedari because they have to go on foot. He then adds that some knights are also called pedari, those who are not senators because of finance but have still held office (NA 3.18.5). 286 Ovid takes Vergil’s purple 286 It is tempting to read much from this description into Ovid’s provocative line ante pedes, it is almost as though he is one of these equestrians who has held a curule magistracy, which, while he was a decemvir, he never had. 122 raiment and his chariot race (ostro, currus) and translates them into the consular ceremony. This adaptation is more evident when we observe that Vergil will be conspicuous in his purple, Tyrio conspectus in ostro. Ovid describes the ceremony three times, and purple appears in all of the descriptions. 287 He describes the duties of the consuls three times as well, and only in Pont. 4.9 does he not use a form of conspicuus, an idea which is clearly marked in Vergil. However, by reading the passages together, we can triangulate that meaning: et nova conspicuum pondera sentit ebur and the splendid ivory chair feels a new weight (F. 1: 82) aut reget ille suos dicendo iura Quirites, or he’ll rule his Quirities by pronouncing conspicuum signis cum premet altus ebur judgements while sitting high on the ivory chair (Pont. 4.5.17-18) splendid with signs signa quoque in sella nossem formata curuli I’d study the signs carved into the curule chair: et totum Numidiae sculptile dentis opus the whole work sculpted from Numidian ivory (Pont. 4.9.27-28) The chair in 4.9 is distractingly fancy. So distracting, in fact, that we might miss the fact that no one is sitting in it. In his previous descriptions of the chair, it was used as a chair. Now, however, in 4.9, Ovid admires what is on the chair, not who. The only one sitting anywhere is the Deus Magnus. The rest of Graecinus’ duties are familiar with those we saw Pomponius perform: He supervises the courts (43-44); gives out contracts (45-46), and he addresses the senate (47-48). 288 Ovid adapts this idea of turning such pomp into imperial display from Vergil. His purple was Tyrian (G. 17) and the parade of conquered nations that fills lines 23-48 is a testament to 287 F. 1.81: nova purpura fulgent. Pont. 4.4.25: purpura. 4.9.26 qualis purpura. 288 These are the same three activities Pompeius performs in 4.5, and Ovid marks the similarity with key words. Court: iura Quirites (4.5.17) and populo…iura (4.9.43). Contracts: reditus…ad hastam (4.5.19) and reditus hastae (4.9.45) in both cases the following pentameter concerns the fidelity with which the contracts are given. Senate: patres (4.5.21) and senatu (4.9.47). 123 Octavian’s victories. Ovid has adapted Vergil’s programmatic description of a Triumph to show that, in a certain way, his extravaganza has come to pass. Vergil’s wish at the end of the proem to Georgics 3 also comes into play with the conclusion to Pont. 4.9. Vergil wishes to tell of Caesar’s battles: mox tamen ardentis accingar dicere pugnas / Caesaris et nomen fama tot ferre per annos, / Tithoni prima quot abest ab origine Caesar; “nevertheless, I will soon gird myself to tell of the blazing battles of Caesar and to bring the name [lineage] of Caesar down, famous, through so many years, as many as there are separating Caesar from the first beginning of Tithonus” (G. 3.46-48). Ovid engages with the proem in Georgics 3 in order to offer an “update” on the nomen Caesaris. Vergil died before he could see what happened to the name of Caesar; the only Caesars he wrote about were Julius and Augustus. Ovid, on the other hand, by mediating Pont. 4.9 through the proem, destabilizes the idea of genealogy. Ovid ends this poem by telling Augustus what happened to him: et tamen haec tangent aliquando Caesaris aures: nil illi toto quod fit in orbe latet. tu certe scis haec, superis adscite, videsque, Caesar, ut est oculis subdita terra tuis, tu nostras audis inter convexa locatus sidera, sollicito quas damus ore, preces. perveniant istuc et carmina forsitan illa quae de te misi caelite facta novo! auguror his igitur flecti tua numina nec tu inmerito nomen mite Parentis habes. Nevertheless, someday these things will reach the ears of Caesar; nothing that happens in the whole world is hidden from him. You certainly know these things [that I pray to my altar], Caesar, received by the gods, because you see the earth placed under your eyes. You, placed in the stars’ bend, listen to my prayers, which I give with an apprehensive lip. Perhaps even those poems reached you there, which I sent about you, the new constellation! I augur that toward these your godhead will bend and you do not have, undeserved, the gentle name of Parent. (Pont. 4.9.125-134) 124 This passage has generally been understood to be a prayer, especially because of the anaphora of tu in hymnic contexts. 289 A few oddities create an opportunity to press harder on the poem. First, it falls into two parts. In 125-130, Caesar sees and hears Ovid’s fidelity and prayers. In 131-134, Caesar has, perhaps, heard Ovid’s poem. Ovid uses a strange periphrasis to describe Augustus’ translation to the heavens. Ascisco (adscite, line 127) often refers to “admission to the citizenship or to the Senate.” 290 Augustus, it seems, has been elected to the great senate in heaven, on the one hand, and has left the house of the Caesarians on the other. 291 In the second part of the passage, concerned with Ovid’s poem, we find Augustus remembered fondly as Pater Patriae. But we also see the relationship between names and divinity in the pun between numen and nomen. The intimacy of the second person singular throughout these nine lines concluding with nomen mite Parentis habes powerfully reminds the reader of Ovid’s lengthy treatment of the phrase in the Fasti. 292 Here, however, when Tiberius is also a pater (of Drusus, line 110), we find even Ovid remembering Augustus fondly, albeit still sarcastically. Ovid’s placement of Pater Patriae at the end of the poem may also recall Augustus’ own conclusion to the Res Gestae where the climax, section 35, describes the honor. However, because of its placement, Ovid asks Augustus to be the father of his poems; he ironically ascribes to him the quality which 289 Akrigg 1985: 321. 290 I owe this reference to Akrigg 1985: 321. See OLD s.v. ascisco 1b. It also means to be adopted into another family (1c). Seneca Ag. 812-813 uses a similar metaphor for Hercules’ apotheosis with adlego: tuus ille bis seno meruit labore / allegi caelo magnus Alcides; “that one of yours, mighty Alcides, deserved to be elected to heaven based on his twelve labours (812-813). It is tempting to think that Seneca may be drawing upon Ovid here, especially because Ovid has used bis senos at the start of his poem and the metaphor of katasterism came at the end. Thus, Seneca may be drawing upon his predecessor’s treatment of imperial power in his description of Hercules’ deification. 291 I think that Ovid may also be drawing on a piece of local gossip in crafting this conclusion that shows the deified Augustus listening to Ovid’s poem. According to Dio (57.14.1-2) in 15 CE, Tiberius still had not distributed Augustus’ legacy. At a funeral, one day, a man bent down and whispered something in the corpse’s ear. Asked what he had said, he replied that he gave the corpse a message for Augustus that the legacy had not been distributed. Tiberius put him to death and told him to tell Augustus himself. But he then distributed the debt of 260 sesterces to each citizen. 292 F. 2.119-144. See Robinson 2011: 135-157. On p. 139 he discusses various interpretations. 125 the author himself so frequently takes up. 293 All of this is contained in the prominent verb auguror (4.9.133) which introduces the idea of a Parens but also caps the metaphor of auctor back in line 67. 294 Ovid, in this conclusion, shows that he has sung about Augustus up to, including, and after his death. He has continued Vergil’s work. But the attitude in the Georgics, whereby poet and ruler bring each other mutual fame through their respective accomplishments, sits far from Ovid’s position in Pont. 4. In fact, as the unity of the proem in Georgics 3 “rewrites” the problems with human sacrifice at the end of Georgics 2, so do we find that iteration throughout Ovid of the consular ceremony makes us hesitate to assert whether his position is entirely positive or negative. Rather, it seems best to balance the line and say that, while he is highly admiring of the consulship as an institution, he worries about its continued efficiacy and honor in a changing political environmet. Part Four Skirmishes on the Edge of Empire In this brief section, I want to consider the peculiar choice of addressing a poem to Vestalis. As I argued in chapter one, both this poem and the section in Pont. 4.9 about Flaccus allow Ovid to call upon witnesses to testify to the veracity of his descriptions of the region. The reason that both men are in the region, however, is because of an uprising. Thus, the early Tiberian (and late Augustan) world in which Ovid is writing is one of fracturing edges. In his chapter on Ovid’s exile poetry, Thomas Habinek has argued that “[b]y personalizing and rendering immediate the threat they [barbarian peoples] pose, Ovid invites his 293 For Ovid as the parent of his poems, see Davisson 1984b and Helzle 1989: 121. 294 Augurare is also etymologically related to augeo and, therefore, auctor and auctoritas. See s.v. augeo in de Vaan, M. ed. 2013. Etymological Dictionary of Latin and the other Italic Languages. Leiden: Brill. 126 reader to reflect on the instability of Roman rule throughout the region.” 295 He is careful throughout his chapter not to side with either “pro-” or “anti-” Augustan approaches, which fits with my argument that the critique in Pont. 4 is of dynastic politics irrespective of personal attitudes toward either Augustus or Tiberius. Had Ovid been interested in panegyric, he would describe the pacified elements on the periphery. But instead, we constantly encounter dangers to himself and, on two memorable occasions, uprisings requiring Roman military assistance. Syme greeted Pont. 4.7 exuberantly: “Ovid now acquires unexpected value. The events are nowhere else on even the faintest record.” 296 Williams greeted it skeptically: “Ovid is simply not to be trusted…we must take P. 4.7 to be fundamentally ironic.” 297 I have no problem disbelieving Vestalis’ heroism, but I do think that the point is more than mere irony. It is fiercely political. Continuing our theme of considering the imperial politics of Pont. 4 to be operating in thematic communion with Georgics 3, we find a clustering of poems in Pont. 4 that directly build on the Georgic proem. In 4.8, Ovid swears he would give no temple to Germanicus. In 4.9, we see Ovid writing the late history of Augustus, but this does not include his battles. In 4.7, we are now equipped to see the ardens pugna Vestalii, the very promise Vergil had made to Octavian (G. 3.46). He gives to an otherwise unknown man the entire weight of Rome’s greatest poet, the effect of which is an emphatic denial of the heroizing action of the imperial family. 298 Even though they are the ones getting the triumphs, Ovid implies, other warriors are as 295 Habinek 1998: 159. 296 Syme 1978: 82. 297 Williams 1994: 41 “If, however, we adopt a more critical approach by taking full account of the exaggerations and literary conceits which pervade Ovid’s account of Vestalis’ heroism, our confidence in him [Ovid] is diminished. And as soon as his portrayal ofVestalis is seen to be incredible, what faith can we have in the portrayal of his environment (5-12)? The answer is that Ovid is simply not to be trusted on either count, and the further consequence is that we must take P. 4.7 to be fundamentally ironic.” 298 Vestalis is a man who is distinctly not from a family at the center of power. Ovid wants us to know that he is descended from Donnus (progenies…Donni, 29). Donnus’ son was Cottius, a client-king of the Alpes Cottiae. Cottius’ son is this Vestalis. Syme 1978: 82. CIL 5.7231 records an inscription from the Arch at Susa dedicated by Cottius to Augustus. 127 deserving. According to my interpretation, the message from 4.7 and Flaccus in 4.9 is that Rome is being attacked from its edges and Ovid contributes an atmosphere of paranoia and fear that the imperial message seeks to combate by offering triumphs to its leaders. Throughout the Tristia and Pont. 1-3, Ovid greatest concern is with his own body. He deploys it metonymically so that when he is attacked, the entire Roman civic body is under attack. A representative example occurs in Tr. 2.195-200, which contains a brief catalogue of local tribes that are constantly raiding Tomis. Ovid programmatically states: haec est Ausonio sub iure novissima vixque / haeret in imperii margine terra tui; “this is the most distant land under Ausonian [Italian] law and scarcely remains attached to the edge of your empire” (2.199- 200). Ovid argues that, as a citizen (civis, 204) he should not be within reach of a barbarian’s might: fas prohibet Latio quemquam de sanguine natum / Caesaribus salvis barbara vincula pati; “Right forbids anyone born of Latin blood to endure barbarian chains while the Caesars are healthy (2.205-206). 299 Ingleheart rightly points out the comparison with Augustus’ RG 30-31 in which the emperor claims that (30) the Pannonian region was conquered under him and Tiberius and (31.2) ambassadors came from the Black Sea region. 300 It seems, then, that in Pont. 4 Ovid deliberately undermines the (admittedly not-so-earnest) triumphal poems of the earlier volumes: Tr. 4.2, Pont. 2.1, 3.4. Although the triumph was awarded to Tiberius, Ovid undermines his ability to bring peace when he dedicates two poems to two different (albeit related) conflicts. In Pont. 4.7 Ovid celebrates the primus pilus, a certain Vestalis, in an unnamed Roman legion. He acted to recapture the city of Aegisos from the Getae who recently captured it. 301 299 Other examples include: Tr. 3.11.13-14 Ovid surrounded on all sides; 4.1.73-74-86 Ovid has to wear a helmet and shield and keep guard; 5.2.32 enemy hands try to kill Ovid; 5.10.15-28 the city is on a little hill and badly defended and the shepherd has to wear a helmet; Pont. 1.2.13-14 Ovid is surrounded by enemies and the patria pax seems to be stolen from him; 3.9.4 Ovid is surrounded by enemies. 300 Ingleheart 2010: 194. 301 Aegisos is today known as Tulcea. It is in Romania on the southwest edge of the Danube delta. It is 138 km (~86 miles) directly north of Tomis (Constanța). 128 Scholars have assumed that this battle is the same one with which Ovid has previously dealt in Pont. 1.8.11-24. 302 But there he claimed the recapture was due to a king (regem, 16; rex…fortissime, 21). 303 I prefer that we see this poem as representing a later battle, one that takes place sometime after 14 CE. Ovid’s language is careful: Sithonio regi ferus interceperat illam / hostis et ereptas victor habebat opes; “a wild enemy had cut it off from the Sithonian king, and victorious held its captured wealth” (4.7.25-26). This Thracian king is, according to the narrative of the Pontic books, probably Cotys. We see that he has again lost the city, which he previously retook. Now it is necessary for the city to be retaken, and this time it is to be done by Romans. The blatant heroizing of Vestalis has tended to overshadow the figure I would argue is actually the most important in the poem, Vitellius. 4.7 has 54 lines. In the very middle (line 27) this figure appears: donec fluminea devecta Vitellius unda / intulit exposito milite signa Getis; “[and held its captured wealth] until Vitellius, with his force disembarked, brought his standards, carried down the streaming waters, against the Getae” (4.7.27-28). On both sides of this couplet, the poem flamboyantly celebrates Vestalis. But without Vitellius’ action, there would be no recapture of the wealth. Unfortunately, we cannot say for certain which Vitellius this is. Most accept that it is P. Vitellius who served under Germanicus. 304 I agree, especially because in 15 CE Vitellius campaigned in Germany with Germanicus (Tac. Ann. 1.70). Thus, like Pedo (Ann. 1.60.2) he is part of Germanicus’ retinue. Carus (Pont. 4.13) is the tutor to his children, and Ovid even suggests that he write a poem about Germanicus’ achievements (4.13.45-46). By drawing attention to Vitellius’ actions in a battle that we cannot date, but in a book firmly set in Tiberius’ 302 The date of the battle is around 12 CE based on Pont. 1.8.28 (quattor autumnos), which is when Ovid claims to be writing that letter. 303 Taken by Gaertner 2005: 439 to be Cotys, the recipient of Pont. 2.9. 304 So Helzle 1989: 168 and Syme 1978: 90. Akrigg 1985: 252-253 argues against certainty. 129 reign, Ovid is able to multiply the discord his poems record. Ovid describes a battle in Moesia, but he uses the name of someone who is (better?) associated with a campaign in the modern Netherlands. 305 These battles are won by minor warriors associated with Germanicus. Ovid celebrates the individual under the imperial family. One last point about Vestalis. As a reward for his heroics, he is made an administrator. Intriguingly, Ovid characterizes his duties in similar manner to those of the consul: missus es Euxinas quoniam, Vestalis, ad undas, / ut positis reddas iura sub axe locis; “because you were sent to the Black Sea, Vestalis, in order to return law to the places under the pole [you can testify to the kind of land this is]” (4.7.1-2). 306 We have already seen Pompeius dispensing justice (reget…iura, 4.5.17) and moving through the poetry book, Graecinus will do the same (reddentem…iura, 4.9.43). This increases the sense that, in Pont. 4, Ovid is deliberately concerning himself with the administration of the empire and praising the officials in the east who are keeping the empire together. In addition to the (second?) battle of Aegisos, Troesmis was also captured. 307 Flaccus quelled this rebellion (4.9.75-80). Again, dating is difficult. However, Tacitus is of some help. Writing about the year 19 CE and the need to bring the Thracian King Rhescuporis to Rome, Tacitus informs us that Flaccus was sent to deceive the king: Pomponium Flaccum, veterem stipendiis et arta cum rege amicitia eoque accommodatiorem ad fallendum, ob id maxime 305 Ironically, Vitellius’ nautical experiences have better success in Ovid than in the Annals where Germanicus orders him to disembark two legions and to march on land in order to lighten the ships. Unfortunately, a flood occurs and many of the men drown (Ann. 1.70). 306 More of the Georgics appears here. Vergils concludes book four with the poet reflecting that he sang of fields while Caesar waged war and brought laws to the people: victorque volentis / per populos dat iura; “victorious, he administered laws among a willing people” (G. 4.561-562). 307 Troesmis is in modern Turcoaia, a region in Romania. Ruins of a fortification have been found there with evidence that it was called Iglița. A report, with preliminary excavation findings, can be found in Romanian (with an English abstract and color plates) in Alexandrescu and Gugl 2014. Troesmis is 68.3 km (42.4 miles) west of Tulcea (Aegisos) and 161 km (100 miles) from Constanța. Akrigg 1985: 310 declares the distance from Aegisos to be 160 km, which is wrong. He also wrongly identifies Troesmis with modern Galați, Romania. 130 Moesiae praefecit; “he [Tiberius] gave command of Moesia to Pomponius Flaccus, an experienced campaigner, but mostly because his close friendship with the king made him more suitable for deceiving him” (Ann. 1.66). 308 The king in question here is Rhescuporis, and it is worthwhile to recall the situation. Around 12 CE, the Thracian king, Rhoemetalces, died. 309 He had ruled the entire kingdom (omnem eam nationem) but when he died, Augustus divided it between his brother and his son (quo defuncto Augustus partem Thraecum Rhescuporidi fratri eius, partem filio Cotyi permisit, 1.64). Tacitus relates that Cotys got all that was good and fertile and Rhescuporis all that was savage and next to the enemy. We do not know where the boundaries of these kingdoms are, but I believe that Ovid tries to imply that his place of exile is closer to Rhescuporis’ than Cotys’ given the frequent descriptions of his exilic location as savage and next to the enemy. Ovid could easily have said in Pont. 1.8 that the rex who took back Aegisos was Cotys, but he allows an ambiguity. The Getae likely took advantage of the period of disquiet between the death of Rhoemetalces and the appointment of new kings to make their attack at which point, in 12/13 CE, both Vitellius and Flaccus come to the Black Sea in order to deal with both Getan invasions and the quarrel between uncle and nephew. 310 Nothing can be said for certain, but I think that one might reasonably argue that Flaccus’ energetic compaigning in Moesia led Tiberius to decide to honor him with the consulship. Perhaps he was delayed in returning to Rome in 16, and so Tiberius gave the suffect consulship to his brother in 16 to hold the position until he arrived to be consul ordinarius in 17. 308 Velleius Paterculus mentions Flaccus’ role but ostentatiously avoids mention of a trick by emphasizing his deeds were done properly: opera…quae recte facienda sunt (Vell. Pat. 1.129.1). 309 Based on the fact that Ovid writes 2.9 to Cotys as a king and Pont. 1-3 are published around 13 CE. It has been assumed that Ovid takes immediate advantage to write to a newly-established king whose loyalties to Augustus are untested. 310 We can only speculate, but one nagging result of Ovid’s use of Cotys is to remind the knowing reader of another brewing conflict between nephew and uncle, that of Germanicus and Tiberius. 131 It is at this point that Tacitus’ strange comment about a friendship between Flaccus and Rhescuporis becomes important. Ovid seemed to prefer Cotys, based on a letter to him in 2.9, but we can perhaps see a shift in the winds when Cotys receives no more mention. Can it be that Troesmis was given over to Rhescuporis’ jurisdiction with Vestalis as a local Roman representative? We cannot come down too strongly on the side of fact or fiction, because, as always, what we have is Ovid’s created world. We can only explore the pressure points of his representation. In this case, regardless of whether we come down on one side or the other, the fact that Ovid points to regional conflicts is a provocation, especially, if one is to believe Tacitus that Tiberius feared such conflicts: nihil aeque Tiberium anxium habebat quam ne composita turbarentur; “nothing gripped Tiberius with as much anxiety as the disturbance of his settlements” (Ann. 1.65). Ovid’s decision to return to old battles (or to describe current ones) in Pont. 4, along with the report of Augustus’ death, anticipates regional events that Tacitus knows about, events which coincide with dynastic change. Soon after the appointment of the two kings, Rhescuporis started to attack Cotys and take his lands (Ann. 1.64). When Augustus was alive, he did so hesitantly because he feared punishment: enimvero audita mutatione principis immittere latronum globos, excindere castella, causas bello; “but when a change in Princeps was heard, he sent bands of robbers and burned fortified settlements thereby providing reasons for war” (Ann. 1.64). With such a passage in mind, it is easy to imagine that these brigands are the Getan invaders and the castella are Aegisos and Troesmis. Part of the end of Augustan literature is an emphatic distrust of the pax Romana and the celebration of otium that the Augustan poets celebrated. 132 Conclusion Throughout this chapter, I have been arguing that Pont. 4 can be read as a powerful response to Tiberius’ accession to emperor and the creation of a dynastic landscape. I have so far offered a reading of Ovid’s most political poems in the collection. In conclusion, I want to consider the personal ramifications of Ovid’s decision to publish a book after Augustus’ death. Throughout the exilic corpus, Ovid has emphasized his premature ageing under the stresses of exile. The motif first appears in Tr. 4.1: nunc senior gladioque latus scutoque sinistram, / canitiem galeae subicioque meam; “now, rather older, I place a sword on my hip and a shield on my left arm; I cover my gray hair with a helmet” (Tr. 4.1.73-74). 311 The bite of this line is augmented by recalling the Amores. He told Atticus that old men should neither fight nor love: turpe senex miles, turpe senilis amor; “an old soldier is embarrassing; so is the love of an old man” (Am. 1.9.4). In Tr. 4.8, Ovid bitterly modifies a Horatian motif: iam mea cycneas imitantur tempora plumas, / inficit et nigras alba senecta comas; “now my brow mimics a swan’s plumage; white old age dyes my dark hair” (Tr. 4.8.1-2). In a triumphant conclusion to the second book of his Odes, Horace declares he will not die but be transformed into a swan and fly the length of the Roman Empire, including Colchis and Scythia: Iam iam residunt cruribus asperae / pelles et album mutor in alitem / superne nascunturque leves / per digitos umerosque plumae; “now already the hard skin is settling around my shins and I am changing into a white swan above, and light plumage sprouts between my fingers and shoulders” (Hor. Carm. 2.20.9- 12). 312 Ovid’s iam and cycneas (for albus ales) and plumas all come from Horace, but, where 311 It is so prevalent a motif in Tr. 4 that Evans 1983: 74 subtitles his analysis of the book “Old Age in Exile.” 312 Nisbet and Hubbard 1978: 332-337 discuss the literary significance of a swan, particularly in relation to the swan song and Greek parallels. Harrison 2017: 13 makes an Ennian argument rather than a Pindaric. “H.’s metamorphosis into a swan of eternal fame is both a literalisation of Ennius’ ‘flying on the lips of men’ and a version of his supposed transformation into a peacock.” 133 Horace actually imagines a transformation (mutor), Ovid can just imitate (imitantur) the effect. He is achingly earth-bound as he rejects metaphor at this stage. Ovid’s lines are still poetically energized as he borrows a phrase from Propertius’ third book when the poet says he enjoyed poetry and wild living when he was young, but in old age, he will turn his head to natural science: atque ubi iam Venerem gravis interceperit aetas, / sparserit et nigras alba senecta comas, / tum mihi naturae libeat perdiscere mores; “but when heavy age will have cut me off from Venus and scattered white old age upon my black hair, then I will be free to investigate the laws of nature” (Prop. 3.5.23-25). Ovid has borrowed almost an entire pentameter (et nigras alba senecta comas), but where Propertius’ verb was future perfect (sparserit), Ovid’s is present (inficit). The process is happening even as he writes (and we read). There is no complete transformation. Later, he tells us he is fifty years old (decem lustris, Tr. 4.8.33), an age about which he will be more specific in his autobiography. 313 In Tr. 4.10, Ovid explicitly makes his age political when he aligns his birthday with the metaphorical “rebirth” of Octavian: editus hic ego sum, nec non, ut tempora noris, / cum cecidit fato consul uterque pari; “I was born there [Sulmo]; you can know the time, it was when both consuls died the same death” (Tr. 4.10.5-6). The year is 43 BCE. Augustus also opened his biography with it: p]opulus autem eodem anno me consulem, cum [consul uterqu]e in bel[lo ceci]disset, et triumvirum rei publicae constituend[ae creavit]; “in this same year, moreover, the people appointed me consul, after both consuls had fallen in war, and triumvir for settling the state” (RG 1.4). Ovid aligns his own life-span with that of Octavian. 314 In Pont. 4, Ovid abandons the frailty of his body. Like the metaphorical boxer who should have been allowed to retire but is forced back to the ring, Ovid comes out with one more book and a revision of the 313 Ovid also describes his aging at Pont. 1.4, 1.5, and 1.10. 314 See the reading of Fairweather 1987 arguing that Ovid’s poem is based on early circulations of Augustus’ RG. 134 Fasti. His old age is not a hindrance but a triumph. He has outlived Augustus. He has seen more of Roman life and the empire’s environs than any other poet and lived to write about it in a volume of poetry that documents the politics of early Tiberian Rome and its Moesian province. The cost, as we will see in the very last line of the collection, is great: it is his entire corpus upon which there is no room for another wound: non habet in nobis iam nova plaga locum (Pont. 4.16.52). 135 Chapter Three Ovid and the Matronae of Rome For Antiquity, Ovid was lascivious. 315 In the last years of his life, Ovid saw himself as a friend, a poet, and a husband, a man whose former virility has flagged. This chapter focuses particularly on Ovid as a husband and on his changing views from exile with regard to marriage. His stance is dramatically altered from the days of the Ars Amatoria, and we will find him thinking about marriage as a socially important practice that ties different family groups and class statuses together. Marriage is not an erotic focus but a social one. We see Ovid’s awareness of a network of female associations that operates in a separate—but concomitant—sphere from the nexus of relationships between men. This is his view through the Tristia and Pont. 1-3. But strangely, and I will argue, significantly, in the fourth book of the Pontic epistles we find a radical displacement of women that coincides with an increase of widows and an abandonment of the female network, which breaks down after having thrived since the Republic. 316 As in the previous chapter, the most important moments in Pont. 4 are the deaths of Augustus and Paullus Fabius Maximus. For the purposes of this chapter, the importance of these deaths lies in the widows that they leave behind. Ovid does mention Livia, but is, I will argue, ostentatiously silent about the role of Marcia. I will ultimately propose that Ovid has reduced the importance of his wife’s role in his life out of an unprecedented fear of uncertainty about the power dynamics in 315 Quint. 4.1.77.4: …Ovidius lascivere in Metamorphosesin…; see also 10.1.88.5, 93.3 where we learn that Quintilian thinks Ovid is more lascivious than both Tiibullus and Propertius. Lascivus was previously the adjective for Catullus (Prop. 2.34.87 and Ov. Tr. 2.427). It is not merely an adjective describing literary style: self-indulgent per Russell’s Loeb translation in 2001. The word always contains overtones of a lack of restraint (in sexual matters) and mischievousness. OLD. s.v. lascivus 3 and 4. 316 I have put in bold the appearances of explicit women in Pont. 4. In the Epistulae ex Ponto, Ovid’s wife appears most often, eight times: 1.2.50ff, 1.4, 1.8 (also mentions her daughter); 2.10, 2.1; 3.1, 3.7; a vague allusion in 4.8. Livia is the second most frequent, garnering seven appearances: 1.4.55; 2.2.69ff, 2.8.29ff; 3.1.114, 3.3.87, 4.9.107, 4.13.29. He references the mothers of Cotta (2.3.98) and Graecinus (2.6.15); the wives of Graecinus (2.6.15), Germanicus (2.8.45), and the dead wife and hypothetical new wife of Gallio (4.11.8, 22). Other imperial women appear: Atia Minor (1.2.139); Marcia (1.2.138; 3.1.78). Finally, there are appearances by Claudia Quinta (1.2.142) and Iphigenia (3.2.55), who are elite women prominent in the historical and the cultural imagination. 136 the early days of an empire ruled by Tiberius and the role of women whose power remains untested in this new environment. Many other figures who populated the Epistulae ex Ponto in its first three books vanish in the fourth. The brothers Cotta Maximus and Messalinus, who between them received eight letters, are gone, along with the poet-friends Rufinus and Atticus, who had each received two letters. 317 The most glaring omission is Ovid’s most frequent addressee, his wife. This chapter proceeds in three parts. In part one, I analyze the relatively overlooked Pont. 4.11 to Gallio on the occasion of the death of his wife. I argue that its length (the shortest poem of Ovid’s exile), placement, and tone act together to invite the reader to think about the way it underscores the theme of remarriage and makes this a point of interest in Pont. 4. This, in turn, emphasizes figures who do not remarry in the collection. It also opens itself up to comparison with contemporary marriage policies of both Augustus and Tiberius, and the idea of the family in the early empire. In the much longer second part, I first describe the female networks of elite women that I see Ovid trying to access. I underscore the political power of female members of powerful families. I argue that Ovid shows an awareness of the ways in which female networks, largely a holdover from the Republic, no longer operate so clearly in a dynastic empire. I then connect this to his changing presentation of his relationship with his wife over the entire course of exile. In my third, and final, section, I offer an experimental analysis of the powerful imperial widows, Marcia and Livia, in light of contemporary anecdotes that surrounded their actions in order to show that Ovid takes part in the writing of history by re-writing famous stories about them. Ultimately, I will argue that an analysis of the women in (or suppressed from) Pont. 4 317 Syme 1978: 156 explains “the poet’s aim is now directed more and more towards the entourage of Germanicus.” Helzle 1989: 29 “he tried his luck with the highly popular Germanicus.” While I agree that there is much more of a Germanicus focus, I will be arguing that he is not the only reason for the differences in Pont. 4. 137 reveals a sustained attempt to show how Roman life will be different—and uncertain—under Tiberius. Ovid is, after all, a poet who has lived under two watershed transitions of government, the shift from triumviral politics to Augustan experiment and the shift now to an established dynasty. Ovid looks back from Pont. 4 to the relative clarity of the Republic and even to the age of Augustus, which he can now consider as complete. Part One The Widower Gallio appears suddenly in the eleventh poem of Pont. 4. 318 We have not previously encountered him. Among the many rewards of paying close attention to this poem is the way in which it reveals the differences between the relationships of husbands and wives and those of male friends. Ovid highlights Gallio’s position as a widower by dedicating an entire poem to him that details the recent death of his wife and concludes with a hope that Gallio may already be re- married. This, in turn, indicates that Ovid has deliberately de-emphasized two prominent women in this poetry collection who are also widows, namely, Marcia and Livia. Such would be the impression of a reader moving through the collection diachronically as Ovid essentially ignores these women when he reports the deaths of Paullus Fabius Maximus and Augustus in Pont. 4.6. Junius Gallio’s origins are unknown. 319 At some point he came to Rome and befriended Ovid during their early oratorical training at a time when Octavian’s star was rising. Seneca the Elder provides the evidence for this friendship in the third Suasoria. 320 At some point Gallio 318 Syme 1978: 80-81. Evans 1983: 191fn.13. The most thorough treatment of Gallio is a 33 page 1866 Marburg dissertation in Latin by Bernhardus Schmidt called “De Junio Gallione Rhetore.” It is available in its entirety on Google Books. 319 Bloomer 1997: 209 assumes that he came from Spain, which fits into his thesis that Seneca Rhetor uses his prefaces to elevate his Spanish amici. The index erroneously conflates Pater Gallio with his adopted son who was consul in 56 CE. 320 Hoc autem dicebat Gallio Nasoni suo valde placuisse; itaque fecisse illum quod in multis aliis versibus Vergilii feceret, non subripiendi causa, sed palam mutuandi, hoc animo ut vellet agnosci; “Gallio said that his friend Naso liked the phrase a lot [plena deo], and so he did with it what he had done with many other verses of Vergil [adopted 138 adopted Seneca the Elder’s oldest son, Novatus, who was the judge of Paul in Corinth as reported in Acts 18.12-17. 321 This suggests that Ovid’s wish for him to remarry and be happy either had not been fulfilled or that Gallio had not produced offspring. Perhaps he chose to adopt in order to have an heir. 322 He was well-connected at court: Tacitus and Seneca the Elder indicate that he interacted with Tiberius until the emperor exiled him in 32 CE. 323 Unlike Ovid, Gallio had a choice and went to Lesbos. Tiberius immediately recalled him and placed him under house-arrest because his exile had become a vacation. 324 Unfortunately, we cannot say for certain where Gallio would have been in the period of the composition of Pont. 4, either geographically or politically. Gallio was, perhaps, even better connected culturally. He was well-respected by his peers and a highly skilled orator. Seneca the Elder ranks him among the first quartet of speakers alongside Latro, Fuscus, and Albucius (Contr. 10 praef. 13). 325 We do not know when this it]: not because he stole it, but because he wanted his obvious borrowing to be recognized” (Sen. Rhet. Suas. 3.7). Gallio is a central figure in Seneca Rhetor’s works, appearing in no fewer than 31 separate anecdotes. 321 His birth name was Lucius Annaeus Novatus. Upon adoption, the date of which is unknown, he became Lucius Junius Gallio Annaeanus. He was a consul suffectus in 56 CE and the recipient of (his brother) Seneca the Younger’s treatises De Ira and De Vita Beata. Only Schmidt 1866: 12 explicitly notes that this adoption is a supposition based on strong evidence: ex antiquis scriptoribus nullus quidem expressis verbis narravit, Gallionem Senecae rhetoris filium adoptasse; “none of the ancient writers explicitly states that Gallio adopted the son of Seneca Rhetor.” 322 Lindsay 2009: 156 “Iunius Gallio had in fact been exhorted to remarry by Ovid (Pont. 4.2 [sic]) and seems to have preferred the idea of adoption to solve his orbitas…Many similar arrangements should be expected in a community where late male marriage was in any case the norm.” 323 Suas. 3.7 says Tiberius enjoyed Gallio’s use of plena deo (the same phrase Ovid liked to use, above fn.319). In the Annals we learn that Gallio had suggested that honorably discharged members of the Praetorian guard be given honorary seats in the first fourteen rows of the theatre. Tiberius disliked the suggestion and sarcastically suggested that Gallio either knew more than the divine Augustus or he was a partisan of Sejanus and was fomenting discord (Tac. Ann. 6.3, c.f. Dio 58.18.3). 324 Dio 58.18.4 finds this house-arrest similar to that of Asinius Gallus two years earlier. Partly this is out of the similarity of their names, but the association also suggests that they may have been better acquainted than is otherwise known. After all, the two men had much in common. Gallio was a great rhetor and Gallus was the son of the famous Republican orator, historian, and memoirist Asinius Pollio. 325 Although Quintilian and Tacitus thought less of him. The former enters him in the catalogue of oratorical writers and refers to him as pater Gallio, “the elder Gallio,” and does not think much of his contribution (Inst. 3.1.21). He later (9.2.91) quotes Seneca Rhetor (Cont. 2.3.6) remembering a response of pater Gallio which Quintilian considered remissius (rather half-hearted). The latter denigrates the tinnitus Gallionis (Dial. 26.1). Tacitus compares his style (and that of Maecenas) to a courtesan’s clothing: fucatis et meretriciis vestibus (ibid.). 139 opinion began. Is Gallio, like Brutus (the addressee of Pont. 4.6), an established public speaker around 14 CE? Ovid does not say and makes no allusion to his career, instead fore-fronting the passage of time and Gallio’s remarriage. Before I examine the poem itself, it is important to understand its placement in book four in order to appreciate Ovid’s structural craft as he draws on poetic predecessors and internal book-cohesion to decide on the placement. As I showed in chapter one, a major precedent for a delayed fourth book is Propertius, and I think part of the placement of Gallio’s letter in eleventh position is Propertius 4.11 in which a dead wife, Cornelia—unlike the unnamed wife of Gallio— speaks at great length from the grave to her husband, Paullus, about marriage and familial duty. 326 Cornelia was well-connected to Augustus as the daughter of his second wife Scribonia. 327 Given the complicated and convoluted nature of marriages that surrounded those close to the imperial family, it is, perhaps, ironic that Carm. 4.11 is put in the mouth of Cornelia and is the last poem in Propertius’ collection. The capstone of the book is, then, a matrona who speaks from beyond the grave at the great length of 102 lines. 328 Propertius uses her to ventriloquize a—not necessarily hers or Propertius’—perspective on Augustus’ recent changes to marriage laws. 329 One of the most interesting things she has to say, as it pertains to Gallio’s wife, is on the subject of remarriage. Ovid ends his poem with a prognostication that Gallio is possibly already remarried. Cornelia tells her children not to bother their new stepmother in case their 326 I wonder, as well, if we are not to think of her love for her Paullus when we come to the funeral of Paullus Fabius Maximus and Ovid’s elision of Marcia’s presence there. 327 Octavian’s first wife, Clodia Pulchra, tends to be forgotten, e.g. by Hutchinson 2006: 230. Suetonius Augustus 62 relates that they never lived together. Dio 48.5.3 goes farther and says that Octavian swore an oath that he did not have sex with her. Hallett 1985 offer an ingenious reading of Augustus’ Res Gestae alongside Prop. 4.11, which she justifies based on Cornelia’s connection to Augustus. 328 In the collection, only 4.1 is longer with 150 lines. 329 Hutchinson 2006: 230, 248 s.v. caelibis. 140 father remarries (85-90). And if he does not, out of love for Cornelia, then the children are to care for their father. Few have offered any comment on the content of Pont. 4.11, and references to the poem tend only to appear in prosopography. 330 Here it is in its entirety: Gallio, crimen erit vix excusabile nobis carmine te nomen non habuisse meo. tu quoque enim, memini, caelesti cuspide facta fovisti lacrimis vulnera nostra tuis. 5 atque utinam rapti iactura laesus amici sensisses ultra, quod quererere, nihil. non ita dis placuit, qui te spoliare pudica coniuge crudeles non habuere nefas. nuntia nam luctus mihi nuper epistula venit 10 lectaque cum lacrimis sunt tua damna meis. sed neque solari prudentem stultior ausim verbaque doctorum nota referre tibi, finitumque tuum, si non ratione, dolorem ipsa iam pridem suspicor esse mora. 15 dum tua pervenit, dum littera nostra recurrens tot maria ac terras permeat, annus abit. temporis officium est solacia dicere certi, dum dolor in cursu est et petit aeger opem, at cum longa dies sedavit vulnera mentis, 20 intempestive qui movet illa, novat. adde quod (atque utinam verum mihi venerit omen) coniugio felix iam potes esse novo. Gallio, it will be hard to excuse the crime done to us if your name were absent from my song. I recall that with your tears you also warmed my wounds made by the heavenly spear. [5] If only you, wounded by the loss of a ravished friend, had to feel nothing else to complain about. But such was not the Gods’ wish; cruel, they thought it no crime to strip you of your chaste wife. Recently a grief-inducing message arrived, [10] and I wept to read of your loss. But I, a more foolish man would not dare comfort an experienced man by sending you learned men’s commonplaces. I suspect that your sorrow is long over, if not by reason then by the length of time that has passed. [15] For while your letter comes, and mine returns, crossing so many seas and lands, a year goes by. To say comforting things is a duty belonging to a fixed time: while sorrow runs its course and the sick man seeks aid. Once a long 330 Trapp 2003 includes it in his anthology of Greek and Latin letters as an example of a consolatio. 141 period of time has soothed the wounds of the mind, [20] the one who agitates them out of time renews them. Besides this (would that my omen might be true!) you might already be blessed [fertile] in a new marriage! The poem is elegantly structured, using sonic framing devices: vulnera appears in the fourth line and in the fourth line from the end. Line two contains nomen; the penultimate omen. One might also hear the slight rhyme in vix and felix, a point underscored by the proximity of iam (a temporal word) to felix and the fact that vix is the first word of temporality. The poem begins with separations in the first distich. Ovid and Gallio occur separately, both temporally and spatially: Gallio is the first word and meo the last. Gallio cried for him in lines 3-4 back when both were in Rome; Ovid weeps over the letter in lines 9-10, when he is in Tomis. By contextualizing both sets of tears, Ovid makes the moment personal for the two of them, but also invites the reader to understand the situation as well. A more cynical reader recognizes that Ovid immediately conflates his exile with the death of Gallio’s wife. Both Ovid and Gallio’s wife suffer violent removals. 331 Ovid, when establishing his history with Gallio, offers an empty wish: atque utinam rapti iactura laesus amici / sensisses ultra, quod quererere, nihil; “If only you, wounded by the loss of a ravished friend, had to feel nothing else to complain about” (4.11.5-6). Gallio’s wife, in turn, has been stripped, spoliare, from her husband: non ita dis placuit, qui te spoliare pudica / coniuge crudeles non habuere nefas; “but such was not the Gods’ wish; cruel, they thought it no crime to strip you of your chaste wife” (4.11.7-8). In both cases, Gallio is the one who has been punished by the loss first of his friend and then of his wife. The circumstances are external to Gallio. He becomes a double 331 Besides violent removal and the fact that both couplets are adjacent, Ovid further equates himself with the death of Gallio’s wife by means of external divine agents. He describes his own wounds as having been caused by a caelesti cuspide “a celestial spear” (4.11.3) and she had been despoiled by the gods (dis), who did not think it improper (nefas) (4.11.7-8). 142 victim. Of greater interest is the way in which questions of marriage, and especially the idealism of marriage, arise with the description of Gallio’s wives. The tragic opening is complicated by the way in which his wife has been rendered a spolium of the gods. Ovid’s decision to underscore her chastity (pudica) offers a hint why the gods would want her and offers the poet the opportunity to reflect subtly on Roman marital idealism. 332 The enjambment of pudica and coniuge strengthens the adjective in the reader’s mind, and he or she might recall it two poems later, in Pont. 4.13, when Ovid describes a poem he wrote celebrating Augustus after his death. Among other things, Ovid teachers the audience: esse pudicarum te Vestam, Livia, matrum; “that you, Livia, were the Vesta of chaste mothers” (4.13.29). 333 These are the only two uses of the adjective pudica in book four. 334 The juxtaposition allows for an interpretation that depends on reading the poems against each other. This is a provocative example of how productive it can be to read an elegantly composed poetry book. When Ovid says that Livia is the Vesta of chaste mothers, we have a possible answer to how Gallio’s wife died, namely, in childbirth. When Gallio does not have his own children (as 332 Pudica is a marked ideal. Treggiari 1991: 233 “castitas, stainless purity, has cult associations and relates to physical and mental integrity; pudicitia connotes rather the conscience which keeps a person from shameful actions.” She continues, “The pudica was often univira.” Thus, we might conclude, Gallio had been the first, and only, husband to his recently departed wife. On the literary front, Rudd 1976 has offered a reading of Aeneid 4 and Dido’s loss of pudor along the lines of the ideal of the univira. See esp. pp. 42-48. He concludes, “one might reasonably say that Dido reveres the old ideal of univiratus and cannot abandon it without remorse” (48). 333 Ovid is, perhaps, here alluding to Livia’s important role among the Vestals. 334 Pudicus, and its nominative pudicitia are key words of the period, especially in moral legislation. See Cantarella 1981: 151-155 and Treggiari 1991: 105-107. Intriguing for the case of Ovid is Treggiari’s idea that “[t]ried chastity in a woman who had been married could be a qualification for remarriage” (106). The Tiberian exemplist, Valerius Maximus, provides the best evidence for changing ideas. He does not hesitate to celebrate the women of the past who were content with one marriage and were rewarded with a “crown of chastity” corona pudicitiae (Val. Max. 2.1.3). Valerius’ examples of widows are particularly peculiar given the era in which he lived, as in each case the widow never remarries. In 4.6.4, Julia is distraught by the idea of the death of Pompey the Great. 4.6.5 relates Porcia’s suicide after learning of Brutus’ death at Philippi. Perhaps the most provocative example occurs at 4.3.3 when Valerius celebrates Antonia Minor, the wife of Tiberius’ brother Drusus, who did not remarry after her husband’s death. All of these instances are part of the conservative idealism of the univiratus, the one who has been married only once. See Treggiari 1991: ch. 8 “Coniugalis Amor” pp. 229-261. 143 seems likely) he adopts, thereby negating one of the key reasons for marriage. 335 The chiasmus, pudicarum te Vestam, Livia, matrum, gently emphasizes that while Livia might be the Vesta of chaste mothers, she herself is not pudica. She had married Tiberius Claudius Nero and her son from that marriage, Tiberius, becomes emperor in Pont. 4. This poem, especially given its length, dedicates a lot of space to time. 336 In lines 1-8 Ovid is describing events that are far in the past. His own experience was marked by memini (4.11.3) and the death of Gallio’s wife was in the perfect, placuit (4.11.7). His use of nuper in line nine shifts the poem to a mimetic “real-time” representation of his reaction to the letter and his interest in temporality in general. One reason for this is that Ovid is writing a form of consolatio, in which a common topos is that time heals wounds. Ovid shows his generic awareness directly in a couplet that contains another commonplace of consolation: that you can reason your way out of sorrow. In lines 13-14, he claims: finitumque tuum, si non ratione, dolorem / ipsa iam pridem suspicor esse mora; “I suspect that your sorrow is long over—if not by reason then by the length of time that has passed.” Similarly, Ovid shows that the healing following a long period of time is not permanent; it can be reawakened, or, like a scab, picked open. Ovid’s letter will awaken the pain in Gallio. 337 What does time have to do with women? In the next couplet (lines 15-16) Ovid says that it takes a year for a letter to move back and forth between the two correspondents. There is a joke 335 Such an observation is also partly seen in the fact that Gallio adopted one of Seneca’s (likely adult) children. It is true that men who had their own children could also adopt those from other families. The most prominent example of this is Scipio Aemilianus, who was the son of Lucius Aemilius Paulus and was adopted by the priest Scipio Africanus (who was the son of the famous general Scipio Africanus) who had no children. This adoption helped keep the family line alive. See Gardner 1998: chapter two “Into the Familia: The Practice of Adoption” pp. 114-208. On the Scipios and other dynastic adoptions, see esp. 139-140 and Val. Max. 5.10.2 for the story that emphasizes the tragic irony: both of Aemilius Paulus’ sons that he did not put out for adoption died prematurely. 336 Temporal markers: nuper (9), finitum (13), iam pridem (14), dum 2x (15), annus abit (16), temporis…certi (17), dum (18), cum longa dies (19), intempestive (20), iam (22). 337 Cicero offers a parallel idea when he declares that time increases sorrow. See ad Att. 3.15.2. 144 between men, I suggest, whereby Ovid conceives of their epistolary interaction as an act of birth, and the period of time as the period of gestation. While he is writing this book, he is also engaged with the Fasti, and at the outset he wittily relates that for Romulus a year was ten months (F. 1.27-28) because that is how long a fetus gestated: quod satis est, utero matris dum prodeat infans, / hoc anno statuit temporis esse satis; “he decreed that what was good enough for a child to come out of the mother’s womb was good enough for the time of a year” (F. 1.33- 34). 338 This connection suggests that the period of time is 10 months for a letter to pass back and forth between the two men. Further support for Ovid interacting with this portion of the Fasti comes in the next lines about consolation. temporis officium est solacia dicere certi, dum dolor in cursu est et petit aeger opem, at cum longa dies sedavit vulnera mentis, intempestive qui movet illa, novat. To say comforting things is a duty belonging to a fixed time: while sorrow runs its course and sick man seeks aid. Once a long period of time has soothed the wounds of the mind, the one who agitates them out of time renews them. (Pont. 4.11.17-20) In Pont. 4.11, widowhood follows (a possible) gestation. The time periods are general. In the proem to Fasti 1, widowhood, and specifically the length of time appropriate to grieve, literally follows birth. After Romulus’ ten-month system, he writes the following: per totidem menses a funere coniugis uxor / sustinet in vidua tristia signa domo; “a wife, for the same number of months after her husband’s death, bears the sorrowful signs in her widowed house” (F. 1.35-36). Ten months to give birth; ten months to grieve. It seems appropriate for us to 338 It was normal for Romans to consider gestation a 10-month process (Ecl. 4.61), but no one else makes the Romulan connection. See Green 2004: 47-48. The cognitive leap between letter and child is not difficult. For Ovid, his letters are frequently his children (although he is always a single father): e.g. Tr. 1.7.35, Pont. 4.4.29 parens ego vester. Davisson 1984b. 145 conflate these passages and conclude that it is appropriate for Gallio to mourn for ten months. But if it takes ten months for a letter to go back and forth, then—to matter what—Ovid’s letter will be intempestive. Ovid then shifts the topic away from Gallio outward to the political sphere by engaging with an earlier poem of his own at this point. Ovid frames 4.11 with explicit references to four couplets from Tristia 2, which in turn encourages the reader to think about people who have been unjustly punished and their punishers. The poem opens “Gallio, it will be hard to excuse the crime (crimen) if your name were absent from my song (carmen).” One need not look far for other examples of this concatenation of carmen and crimen. 339 Ovid obviously delights in the pun between charge and song. As early as the Ars he has made the connection and, in fact, quotes these lines nearly verbatim in the Tristia when he makes his rebuttal to the perceived charges from the Emperor. 340 Ovid has already made the connection from Tomis in Tristia 2 in what has become one of the most famous half-lines of Latin verse, when he “explained” the charges laid against him. perdiderint cum me duo crimina, carmen et error, alterius facti culpa silenda mihi: nam non sum tanti, renovem ut tua vulnera, Caesar, quem nimio plus est indoluisse semel. Although two crimes damned me: a song and an error, silence must be maintained about my fault in the latter. For I am not so bold as to renew your wounds, Caesar; to sorrow once is more than enough. (Tr. 2.207-210) 339 McGowan 2009: 55-61 dedicates a great deal of attention to Ovid’s deliberate conflation of the two words. I am sympathetic to his interpretation that it is an Ovidian creation to show that writing poetry is a criminal activity. “It is in keeping with the very close attention the poet pays to the representation of his legal status in exile for him to point out here that the writing of poetry has been turned into cause for criminal action under Augustus” (57-58). 340 nos venerem tutam concessaque furta canemus, / inque meo nullum carmine crimen erit; “I shall sing chaste affairs and permitted deception; there will be no crime in my song” (Ars 1.33-34). In the Tristia he changes only the first half of the hexameter: nil nisi legitimum concessaque furta canemus, / inque meo nullum carmine crimen erit; “I shall sing nothing except what is legal and permitted deception; there will be no crime in my song” (Tr. 2.249- 250). Ingleheart 2010: 232 discusses various interpretations of the change. 146 This passage from the Tristia has been recycled twice in Ovid’s poem to Gallio in which he uses it as a framing device and therefore draws attention to it. We are already primed to compare the beginning and the end of the poem because of the framing use of vulnera in the fourth line and in the fourth line from the end. The first couplet from the passage in the Tristia raises the idea of the crime in the song in the hexameter and then insists that he has to maintain a silence about the error. In the opening couplet of Pont. 4.11 Ovid inverts the scenario and turns silence itself into a crime. Of course, there is no actual crime in not naming Gallio; Ovid is making a joke. But the consequence of this humorous re-appropriation of the legal system to talk about friendship is that Ovid has made himself the arbiter of crime and punishment. He has taken the place of Augustus and now is the one who tells what is a crime. Ovid is now both prosecutor and defendant. He controls the language of politics. In lines 19-20 Ovid says he does not want to awaken wounds by recalling the past to Gallio. This is exactly what he says to Augustus as well. His use of the verb novat and noun vulnera recalls the renovem tua vulnera of the Tristia. In lines 5-6, Ovid wishes that Gallio had never had anything else to suffer over and then proceeds to relate that his hope has failed because Gallio’s wife recently died. This comment illustrates precisely the sentiment he expresses to Augustus that “to sorrow once is more than enough” (Tr. 2.210). Ovid is again comparing himself to the emperor. By sending the reader back to Tristia 2, Pont. 4.11 invites a reassessment of that poem and its presentation of Ovid and Augustus’ relationship. In retrospect we see that, as Ovid presents it, the poet and the prince had had an uneasy truce: Ovid would maintain his silence about some things and hope for reprieve. 341 He could rationalize Augustus’ behavior 341 This stance fits Philip Hardie’s reading of the end of the Metamorphoses. Hardie 1997: 182 “Ovid’s final triumph is to reverse the expected dependence of poet on princeps, as chronicler and panegyrist. In an ineluctable collusion between artist and ruler we finally see the prince of poets foist on his master a poetics of principate.” 147 howevermuch he might thrash against the yoke of his punishment. Under the new political order of Tiberius there is no such truce. Punishment is arbitrary. It is to make this comparison that Ovid draws our attention to the two passages using echoing language. Why might Ovid have framed this peculiar elegy with two marked couplets in his previous poem? I want to suggest, by way of conclusion, that Ovid’s poem is a reminder of his potency as a literary figure. Until his death, he will always be sending poems out that are untimely for people. With Pont. 4.11 he has sent a poem that reflects upon time and space, social operations, and political change. It is also a poem about marriage, and Ovid’s fulsome prayer at the end hints at his current attitude toward the institution: adde quod (atque utinam verum mihi venerit omen) / coniugio felix iam potes esse novo; “besides this (would that my omen might be true!) you are might already be blessed [fertile] with a new marriage! (4.11.21-22). 342 The use of a wish marked by utinam in line 21 relates this passage to Ovid’s initial wish that Gallio not suffer more (utinam 4.11.5). This is a third framing device that reveals the careful craft of the poem. The art shows the artifice. 343 The emphasis is on the state of Gallio’s happiness, not whether he is married or not. This makes him like the Ovid of book four who is also married but whose 342 This line echoes poetic precedent for celebrating a new marriage. coniugium novum appeared in Catullus who, in the wedding hymn, 63, bids his audience: ac domum dominam voca / coniugis cupidam novi; “summon home the mistress who longs for her new husband” (63.31-32). Later, in 68b, he writes about Laodamia’s reaction to losing her husband. She was forced to part from him before their first year of marriage was over, and she committed suicide after Protesilaus’ death, thereby maintaining her pudicitia: coniugis ante coacta novi dimittere collum; “she was forced to release the neck of her new husband” (68b.81). Ovid himself has earlier considered the idea in the Amores. In describing dawn, he compares its ruddy blush first to Aurora, Tithoni coniuge, the wife of Tithonus (Am. 2.5.35) and then to sponso visa puella novo; “a girl seen by her new fiancé” (Am. 2.5.36). A final example comes from the Metamorphoses when Hercules and Deianira are returning to Tiryns. She is described as his “nova…coniuge” (Met. 9.103). These examples of a characteristic epithet nuance Ovid’s hope that his friend will be happy in a new marriage, giving the reader space to question that happiness. The mythological examples imply that marriages are not necessarily happy despite how joyous both parties are in the start. Myth tells us how something ends. In a peculiar way, then, the poem that began as a consolatio ends as an epithalamium. The hope for happiness in a new marriage might carry with it the idea that the wife has survived the first year which, in turn, can mean has born a first child and not died in childbirth. 343 The choice of the noun omen is particularly fitting here because it is half of a formula meaning marriage omens: prima omina (OLD s.v. omen 1.c; Aen. 1.346). 148 marriage is portrayed in a vastly different way than in the previous books of the Epistulae ex Ponto. 344 Gallio’s happiness, it turns out, may not depend on his wife after all, but on whether or not he has children. The choice of felix carries with it connotations of fertility, especially vegetative. 345 More importantly, when Ovid wishes for a verum omen, he references the auspex whose duty it was to seek and record omens for the marriage. 346 This auspex congratulated the couple first. Next, the guests cried feliciter. 347 Thus, Ovid’s final couplet seems to re-enacts the marriage ceremony. 348 Part Two The Wife Ovid had three wives of which the first two marriages were short. 349 The third, to the wife he had when he went into exile, is more complicated. This marriage has also drawn a fair amount of scholarly attention, which has resulted in a peculiar practice based on (the insupportable) idea that she has either a Fabian origin or connection. These critics therefore call the wife Fabia, a 344 Ovid implies a certain hurry to the remarriage which may ironically reflect the Lex Papia Poppaea which allowed widowers (or the divorced) to wait longer before remarriage (Barrett 2002: 124). The laws instituted by Augustus concerning marriage, known collectively as the leges Iuliae date to 18-17 BCE. The Lex Papia Poppaea, was only four years old at the time of this letter, having been instituted in 9 CE. See Suet. Aug. 34.1; Tac. Ann. 3.25, 28; Livy Epit. 59; Dio 56.1-9.3 (a lengthy speech put in the mouth of Augustus to the equestrians detailing his sorrow that they are not propagating); 56.10.3 contains mention of the actual law and the detail that the consuls who introduced it were, ironically, bachelors. A good brief summary can be found in Severy 2003: 200-201. 345 OLD s.v. felix 1.a, b. 346 Treggiari 1991:164. 347 Treggiari 1991: 165 and n.49. 348 The felix also connects this (social and personal) poems with 4.4 and the political consulship since Ovid had previously used felix there to refer to the upcoming year. candidus et felix proximus annus erit; “the coming year will be glorious and blessed.” But 14 CE, he knows, was anything but happy. 349 Ovid’s first marriage took place when he was barely a boy: paene…puero (Tr. 4.10.69). She was unworthy and unhelpful (nec digna nec utilis) but she soon died. Ovid liked his second (blameless) wife (sine crimine, 71) but she also died. The third is still living. The veracity of these wives is difficult, since Ovid may very well be connecting his marital history with Augustus’ own. Much of Tr. 4.10 can be seen as a response to Augustus’ own (auto)biography as well as generalities in funeral epitaphs. See Fairweather 1987. She notes that Ovid’s second wife (sine crimine) is found in Cornelia’s autobiography in Prop. 4.11.45; it was conventional of faithful wives. 149 practice I do not follow, as it forces a reading on Ovid that he obviously did not intend when he chose not to name her. This is, in effect, the critic writing the poetry. 350 In Tr. 5.2.37, Ovid instructs his wife to take courage and approach Augustus: accede rogaque, “approach and ask,” but he does not provide any instruction. In the Epistulae ex Ponto, however, he is much more careful. One of his strategies is, over time, to establish her close connection to the elite women that surround Augustus, women such as Marcia, Atia, and Livia herself. In this section, I will explore the way in which Ovid deploys his wife along a network of female acquaintances in order to try and achieve an amelioration of his suffering. 351 i. Amicitiae Muliebris This practice of men deploying women on their behalf is rooted in the Republic. Some conversations happen one-on-one, some publicly, and some happen somewhere in between. For example, we might imagine one optimal situation for female interaction occurring at one of the female-only banquets Livia hosted, such as the one she held alongside Julia in 9 BCE celebrating Tiberius’ ovatio (Dio 55.2.4), or that she held after the dedication of her eponymous Porticus in 7 BCE while Tiberius hosted the men (Dio 55.8.2). 352 Such moments were ideal for women to 350 The practice is entrenched. Helzle 1989b. Larosa 2013. Barrett 2002: 135. Even in 1925, Wheeler was trying to combat it. Her association with the Fabian domus “does not prove that her name was Fabia, but merely that she was connected with or dependent on the Fabii” (27). In the most recent commentary, on Pont. 3, Formicola 2017: 48 follows the practice of associating her with the Fabian gens. Thakur 2014: 198 uses “Mrs. Naso,” which is included in the title of Helzle 1989b: “Mr. and Mrs. Ovid.” This practice seems particularly gauche, but there is no suitable substitute as uxor/coniunx Nasonis is also unsatisfying. Gaertner 2005: 216 suggests she is the daughter of a cliens Fabii. Tissol 2014: 90 admits the connection is unclear. In her novelization of Ovid’s exile, Benita Kane Jaro calls her Pinaria (Jaro, B. 2009. Betray the Night: a Novel about Ovid. Mundelein, IL.: Bolchazy-Carducci). 351 I owe the idea of female networks and initial interest to Krishni Burns’ paper “Heard but preferably not seen: The subversion of women’s social networks in the very late Republic” at the SCS 2016, San Francisco. Welch 2012: 258n.113 refers to women acting as “binding links” between men. 352 A third example. After Augustus’ death, Livia wanted to throw a banquet in honor of her dedication of a statue of her husband and invite the Senate, the Equestrians, and their wives. Tiberius made it go to a vote in the Senate (where it passed, indicative of her power) with the concession that the company would not be mixed. He hosted the men, she the women (Dio 58.12.5). 150 engage in the sort of communal judgement of assessing one another’s clothing, behavior, speech, and husbands that I will describe below. More specifically, in the collection of the first three books of the Epistulae ex Ponto, Ovid’s wife is most useful to him as an agent and conduit to other people. He uses her in 1.2 and 3.1 to gain access to a system of female agents and provides more specific advice than he had done in the Tristia. 353 His strategy changes over time as Livia becomes increasingly powerful in Augustus’ last days and her influence increasingly uncertain after the death of Rome’s first emperor. Ovid could draw upon political precedent and example for appealing for a reprieve from exile, such as calling upon Augustus directly (Tr. 2) for release or for intercession from any of his many powerfully connected male friends. Another strategy is his attempt to send his wife to Augustus directly, then to access him through Livia or through Marcia to Livia to Augustus. Ovid is attempting to make use of a pattern of male behavior common in the Republic. 354 Cicero 353 The power of well-connected women to influence decisions has not had a full-scale study, but some work has begun: c.f. Bauman 1992, most notably. Severy 2003: 30-31 looks at various beneficia women performed. “The letters of Cicero reveal women collecting and selectively distributing political or even military information. Women also brokered influence with their politically active male relatives and friends…In practice, the competent aristocratic matron thus played an important role in the social and political life of the late republic.” Her main point is that a Roman would still have viewed these figures as acting “privately” because they were not publicly commemorated. Ovid is publicly (by publishing) commemorating his wife, and thus part of his boldness in making his request is to publicize these female networks. Later Severy comments: “these informal networks came to be of even greater importance during the imperial period, when power was concentrated in the hands of even fewer persons” (236). 354 Dixon 1981 “Women’s Role in Patronage and Politics at Rome 80-44 B.C.” argues that “the absence of a clear distinction between the political and social areas of Roman life, coupled with the position occupied by influential matrons within the patronage network, necessarily involved the women of the political elite in the complex politics of the last half-century of the Republic” (91). Looking at Cicero’s letters, she notes that “his assumption is, clearly, that wives and close female relations can, if they wish, alter the political actions of leading men at Rome” (97). Cluett 1998 “Roman Women and Triumviral Politics 43-37 BC” picks up where Dixon had left off. He writes: “[i]n spite of earlier episodes of both female intervention and social upheaval, our sources suggest that the tumultuous years after Caesar’s assassination witnessed female political activity of unprecedented nature and variety, from social protest to diplomatic negotiation.” He draws attention to three spheres: “protest and appeal to the triumvirs,” e.g. Julia and Turia; “direct exercise of political and military power,” e.g. Hortensia and Fulvia; and “assistance in diplomatic negotiations,” e.g. Julia, Mucia, and Octavia (69-70). He later offers the succinct description of network patterns. An important source for the power of a matrona came from “her access to other women of her own class and, through these women, to influence with their husbands and other male kin” (73). Macmullen 1986 “Women’s Power in the Principate” shifts the description forward. His women are drawn from those who “had access to the emperor himself and belonged therefore to a peculiar category. They are recorded as his other and better self in the handling of ordinary government business; if not better, then at least highly effective and not much concerned to 151 had also attempted to access such a network in 47 BCE when he tried getting his wife, Terentia, to approach Antony’s mistress Volumnia (Cytheris), a former mime actress, on his behalf: Volumnia debuit in te officiosior esse quam fuit et id ipsum quod fecit potuit diligentius facere et cautius; “Volumnia should have been more helpful to you than she was; and what she did do she could have done more attentively and cautiously” (ad Fam. 14.16). 355 This wonderful sentence helps frame, and provide precedent for, what Ovid wants his wife to do. A man wants something from another man but does not want to ask directly. Therefore, the man sends his wife to a woman who is connected to the other man. Another example comes from the imperial period. Livia died in 29 CE, and her son did not attend her funeral. Tiberius then wrote a letter justifying his behavior and diminishing her honors: quin et parte eiusdem epistulae increpuit amicitias muliebris. Fufium consulem oblique perstringens. is gratia Augustae floruerat, aptus adliciendis feminarum animis; “moreover, in part of the same letter, he [Tiberius] complained about her womanly friendships. This was an oblique attack on the consul Fufius. He flourished because of the favor of Augusta [Livia]; he was well-equipped [aptus] to win over women” (Ann. 5.2.7). Fufius’ equipment was his wife, hide the fact. They took care of their own in a way specially Roman: that is, for payment in cash or credit, they could supply praetorian prefectures, consulships, governorships, procuratorships, and lesser offices, favors, pardons, and judicial decisions sometimes tantamount to murder on behalf of their adherents. That is power” (434). This piece shows its age because it was written before the publication of the Senatus Consultum de Cn. Pisone Patre which revealed much about the workings of women (Livia) in imperial matters. MacMullen goes from the time of Augustus to Elagabalus. The pattern that emerges is funnel shaped. First movement between many powerful figures was valued, then access to the triumvirs; finally, only those who could get the emperor’s ear were sought after. 355 Treggiari 2007: 121 discusses the letter. She notes that Volumnia/Cytheris had earlier traveled with Antony and his mother, who had to pretend the former actress was a daughter-in-law. Therefore, “it cannot have been social suicide for Terentia to pay a call on her. It should have been a good way to approach the susceptible Antonius.” See also Cicero’s letter to Papirius Paetus where he ends up at a dinner with, and seated next to, Volumnia/Cytheris (ad Fam. 9.26). This letter, dated to 46 BCE (a year earlier) indicates the failure of the attempt, perhaps. In 44 BCE, he approaches Antony through the more common male-networks, writing to his former host at that party, Volumnius Eutrapelus, via letters sent through Tiro (ad Att. 15.8) and avoiding Antony’s fellow consul, Dolabella (and Cicero’s former son-in-law). 152 Mutilia Prisca, who had access to Livia. 356 In fact, Ovid had every reason to think that this approach would work for him. As Sanjay Thakur has pointed out, the relatively recently uncovered Senatus Consultum de Cn. Pisone Patre shows that “Plancina’s success illustrates that Ovid’s desire for his wife to patronize Livia was not an empty one.” 357 Piso was under investigation for the death of Germanicus. Before the outcome of the trial was reached, he committed suicide. His wife, Plancina, was under investigation but was spared because Tiberius intervened upon the request of his mother: et pro Plancina rogatu matris suae deprecatus sit, quam ob rem ea mater sua inpetrari vellet, iustissumas ab ea causas sibi expositas acceperit; “and he [Tiberius] interceded on behalf of Plancina at the request of his mother. He had received very fair reasons from her about why she wanted to obtain this” (SCPP 113-116). 358 The Senatus Consultum was decreed on 10 December 20 CE, which places it in a similar time period as some letters of Ovid’s Pont. 4. But it is still a very different world than 14 CE, around which so much of Pont. 4 operates, and so we are perhaps witnessing a gap in time when it as unclear what Livia’s role and power would be under her son’s rule. 359 356 Bauman 1992: 137 discusses the episode, although not the Latin. I take his discussion of Mutilia Prisca to be an oblique explanation of aptus. We learn about a negative use of female networks through Mutilia Prisca. Tacitus (Ann. 4.12) informs us that Mutilia tried to use her connections to Livia to cause disharmony between Livia and Agrippina. Sejanus had access to Mutilia via her lover Iulius Postumus. The story of Mutilia and Fufius deserves elaboration. Dio 58.4.6 relates that Fufius was charged with maiestas against Tiberius and committed suicide. His wife, the same Mutilia, brought a hidden dagger into the senate and committed suicide on the floor there. The most famous example of what I am calling a negative network comes from Tac. Ann. 1.5 when Fabius Maximus tells his wife, Marcia, that Augustus was planning to pardon his grandson Agrippa Postumus; she then relates this to Livia and all three men wind up dead. Dixon 1981: 95 describing “a less respectable chain of communication” looks to Sallust’s (Cat. 23, 26) presentation of Fulvia in disclosing the Catilinarian plot. She notes “Fulvia’s function as the intermediary who persuaded one party to action and negotiated with the other the terms of the exchange is the conventional one employed in more everyday arrangements.” 357 Thakur 2014: 187-188. 358 For a full English translation, see Griffin 1997. She adds: “[t]he decree gives the most striking confirmation of the powerful position occupied by Livia…Not only is it clear from ll. 113-115 that Tacitus was right to attribute the acquittal of Plancina to Livia and to indicate that her influence in this matter was openly acknowledged by the emperor and others (Ann. 3.15; 17), but the senate itself acknowledges that her power in the state generally was based on the beneficia (presumably both of money and influence) which she conferred on people of all strata of society and that this gave her a deserved claim on favours from the senate” (p. 256). 359 Another example of Livian intercession (though not via a female network) comes from Sallustius Crispus’ (the keeper of the emperor’s secrets, imperatorum secreta) appeal to Livia to intercede with Tiberius when it seemed that 153 Ovid is doing the same thing; he wants to get close to Augustus, but direct address has thus far accomplished nothing. He also hedges his bets; not only does he go through Paullus Fabius Maximus but he also, in Pont. 1.2, implicitly sends his wife to Fabius Maximus’ wife, Marcia, to add pressure. Later, in Pont. 3.1, he will send his wife directly to Livia after having established her credentials. Further, the ways in which Volumnia fell short in Cicero’s estimation are all elements in Ovid’s warnings to his wife, especially the advice to be circumspect. Ultimately, though, despite Ovid’s political savvy, either his strategy was off, he misjudged the situation, or his crime was too terrible to forgive. Before Pont. 4, Ovid’s wife had received nine letters, of which seven were in the Tristia, in which she was the only identifiable character apart from Perilla, Augustus, and Ovid himself. 360 In the Epistulae ex Ponto, she receives only two letters directly including the programmatic 3.1, but is discussed in five letters. 361 One can trace in these Pontic epistles an intricate portrait of a marriage that moves from mutual affection in Pont. 1.4, largely a holdover in tone from the Tristia, to the subtlest of references in Pont. 4.8, when Ovid uses riddling language in order to avoid mentioning his direct connection to her. This creates a puzzle for the reader to solve, and the only way to solve the riddle is to have read all of the Epistulae ex Ponto. In the first four books of the Tristia, Ovid’s interest in his wife is largely limited to rendering her loyalty heroic. But in an early passage from Tristia 1 he wondered whether her probity was inherent or if she had learned it from Livia: femina seu princeps omnes tibi culta per annos / te docet exemplum coniugis esse bonae, / adsimilemque sui longa adsuetudine fecit; “or the female Princeps—in whose circle you’ve moved for so many years—teaches you to be the he might make public the arcana domus. This whole affair may well have something to do with Agrippa Postumus (Tac. Ann. 1.6.1-3; Barrett 2002: 69). 360 Tr. 1.6, 3.3, 4.3, 5.2, 5.5, 5.11, 5.14 (last letter). Pont. 1.4, 3.1. 361 Pont. 1.2, 1.8, 2.10, 2.11, 3.7. 154 example of a good wife; and she makes you similar to herself from a long intimacy” (Tr. 1.6.25- 27). 362 Livia’s power has only increased in the period following this poem, and Ovid has had to change his tactic as a result. In 5.2, however, he begins a new line of thought. His wife might have the power to help relocate Ovid, he observes bitterly: esset, quae debet, si tibi cura mei; “if you had the concern for me which you should have” (Tr. 5.2.34). At this point, he asks her to approach Augustus, deus, and to intercede on his behalf for the very first time. Ovid does not develop this idea of intercession in the rest of the poems of the Tristia. Such approaches are doomed to failure, and we see him try a new approach in the Epistulae ex Ponto. After the programmatic Pont. 1.1 to Brutus, he expands upon the theme of intercession when writing to Paullus Fabius Maximus and establishes his wife as a conduit to a network of women, all of whom have the ears of the ruling classes. He then continues through the rest of the Epistulae ex Ponto to mediate her proximity to the ruling classes. 363 Has she, as Helzle has imaginatively, though not very persuasively, argued joined Ovid in exile? 364 Have Ovid’s 362 For the phrase femina princeps see Thakur 2014: 186. This poem is Ovid’s praise of his wife, and some powerful friends, after they prevented a hostile takeover of his wealth. 363 Before I investigate the poems about Ovid’s wife in greater detail, I want to lay out schematically her appearances throughout the Epistulae ex Ponto. A * indicates that she is the recipient. Book one 1.2: Her first appearance in this long letter to Fabius Maximus; we learn of the circumstances of Ovid and his wife’s marriage and her connections to Atia and Marcia. *1.4. A romantic letter; Ovid longs to see and hold her. 1.8. To the poet Severus. Ovid has daydreams of Rome and remembers his wife and biological daughter (who is the step-daughter of his wife). This is a different girl than his step-daughter Perilla from Tr. 3.7 and who appears very briefly in 4.8. Book two 2.10 Ovid’s wife is somehow related to the recipient Macer. No details. 2.11 Ovid’s wife is the niece of the addressee Rufus and she is highly laudable. Book three *3.1 This is the longest letter in the collection and focuses on Ovid directing his wife’s requests for his aid. 3.7 Ovid addresses his friends collectively and calls his wife timid and inexperienced. Book four 4.8 Ovid uses riddling language to provide a familial connection via his step-daughter. He uses her as a conduit to directly speak with someone else but does not provide any characterization of his wife. 364 Helzle 1989b: 190. 155 feelings cooled toward her? 365 Is she useless, given the death of Augustus and Fabius Maximus? Or, as I will argue, is he seeking to protect her and distance her from himself since, under the new regime, it becomes too dangerous to make associations with powerful houses, especially given Ovid’s distance from Rome and the uncertainty surrounding the question of who wields authority. We hear the similarities most clearly when Ovid is instructing his wife in how to approach Livia, whom he calls a femina princeps (Pont. 3.1.125) for the second time. 366 She is therefore a perfect substitute for Augustus. He tells her to wait for the perfect moment to approach her: 367 tum tibi di faciant adeundi copia fiat, profectura aliquid tum tua verba putes. si quid aget maius, differ tua coepta caveque spem festinando praecipitare meam Then the gods might give you the opportunity to approach her; then you might think that your words will have some consequence. If she is doing something more important, hold off your endeavor and be careful that you do not destroy my hope because of haste. (Pont. 3.1.137-140) Ovid goes on at length to the end of the poem (3.1.165) with further instructions. What I want to emphasize is that Ovid is sending his wife to Livia. The pattern is a man asks a woman to approach another woman to approach a man with the original request. I will now proceed more systematically through the four books of the Epistulae ex Ponto to trace the way in which Ovid deploys his wife in various ways to make such contact. 365 Akrigg 1985: 9 “The fact that Ovid chose not to address any verse epistle to his wife during his final years at Tomis may well reflect a cooling in his attitude towards her.” 366 He had previously done so in Tr. 1.6.25. These two poems therefore form a frame around Ovid’s attempt to use his wife to approach the imperial household. 367 Ovid’s concern with the proper time to approach Livia may well reflect the way in which Livia took on duties of the salutatio from her husband, events that were entered into the public record (Dio 57.12.2). 156 ii. Uxor Nasonis Ovid’s wife makes her first appearance in the Epistulae ex Ponto in the second poem. In Pont. 1.2 Ovid writes an impressively complimentary letter to Fabius Maximus. Near the end, Ovid justifies his right to address Fabius Maximus by showing his close connection to the Fabian domus. 368 In particular, he focuses on the way in which men and women interact socially and the ways in which families are united. As I will show, marriage is the major motif throughout. Ovid perfunctorily states that he was present at various convivia (1.2.129-130). He then moves to discuss the ways in which literary arts connect the two men. Ovid wrote and performed an epithalamium for Fabius Maximus and his wife, Marcia (1.2.131-132), and the two men praised each other’s works at recitationes (1.2.133-135). In the first two connections, which one might call convivia et carmina, Ovid introduces his theme with ille ego in the hexameter. He uses it once more in a pentameter before launching into an unexpected theme of female approbation: ille ego sum qui te colui, quem festa solebat inter convivas mensa videre tuos, ille ego qui duxi vestros Hymenaeon ad ignes et cecini fausto carmina digna toro, cuius te solitum memini laudare libellos exceptis domino qui nocuere suo, cui tua nonnumquam miranti scripta legebas, ille ego, de vestra cui data nupta domo est. hanc probat et primo dilectam semper ab aevo est inter comites Marcia censa suas, inque suis habuit matertera Caesaris ante, quarum iudicio siqua probata, proba est. ipsa sua melior fama laudantibus istis Claudia divina non eguisset ope. I am that one who socialized with you, whom the feast tables were used to seeing at your parties. I am that one who led Hymenaeus to 368 Ovid’s use of domus is unexpectedly pointed. Severy 2003: 214 “In particular, the earliest surviving examples of the use of the term domus Augusta occur in Ovid’s poetry. He began to employ the Latin word for a physical house, domus, in reference to the family of Augustus in the revisions of the Fasti…and then even more frequently in the Tristia…and the Letters from Pontus…Thus, the term “domus Augusta” developed at the end of Augustus’ and the beginning of Tiberius’ principate.” 157 your fires and sang a song worthy of your prosperous bed. [I am the one], I remember, whose books you used to praise—except those which hurt their master, and the one to whom, admiring, you sometimes read your writings. I am that one to whom a wife was given from your household. Marcia approves of her and has always loved her from an early age and counts her among her companions. Even before this, Caesar’s [Augustus’] aunt [Atia Minor] considered her among her companions: if anyone is approved by their judgement, she is approved. She who was better than her reputation, Claudia [Quinta], would not have needed divine aid with their praise. (Pont. 1.2.136-142) As is typical for an ascending tricolon, the last element is the longest and has the most emphasis. Beginning the section in the pentameter also sets it apart, as does the level of specificity. When Ovid says he was at the convivia, he only uses generic terms. When he mentions singing the epithalamium for Fabius Maximus, he uses the metaphorical proper noun Hymenaeon (1.2.131). In this final element, Ovid includes three proper names, all of which indicate women of the highest order: Marcia, Augustus’ aunt (Atia Minor), and Claudia. 369 The names elegantly move back through Roman history with Marcia being the youngest and Claudia part of Roman historical legend and cultural imagination. 370 We see a network of women connected by ties of blood, social standing, and moral reputation. Marcia was the daughter of Atia Minor and therefore the maternal cousin of Augustus, since Atia Minor was the younger sister of Atia Maior, Augustus’ mother. 371 Here is a simplified genealogy. 369 Ovid openly disguises the fact that he has introduced matronae into his poetry when he reminds Fabius Maximus that he enjoyed Ovid’s poetry: exceptis domino qui nocuere suo; “except for those ones which hurt their master” (1.2.134). These are, of course, the Ars, as Ovid continually states, although we need not trust him too far on this point. In those poems, he had told the noble women that his poetry was not for them (Ars 1.31-32, Rem. 386). When Ovid now talks about these noble women, he finally brings them into the fold of his poetry. 370 Claudia Quinta is something of a generic reference. Cicero (Pro Caelio 34) cites her as a model. Ovid (F. 4.305- 328) tells her story, as does Livy (29.14.12). 371 Syme 1986: 403 for a description of the genealogy. See also Table 27. 158 Marcus Atius-------Julia Minor | ------------------------------------- | | G. Octavius ----Atia Maior Atia Minor----L. M. Philippus | | Livia---Octavian Marcia---P. F. Maximus Whether Ovid’s wife is related to the Fabian family or a friend cannot be stated decisively. 372 It is a reasonable conclusion that Ovid himself was approved of by the household. After all, it was Ovid who was chosen to receive such an esteemed wife from such a well-connected household. 373 The passage also exposes one of the social circles within the imperial household, that of Marcia’s companions (est inter comites Marcia censa suas). We can construct a Venn diagram of sorts in which Marcia is the connection between Livia and Ovid’s wife, but the latter two do not share the same circle. Reading these lines, we see that the questions of what “approval” means for men and for women, and what finds approval, become prominent. Based on this passage, we see Ovid gesture toward a phenomenon of female judgement of other females. We read along as Ovid describes a way of understanding female interaction. The passage presents us with an image of how each 372 Helzle 1989: 134 argues that she was a member of the Fabii through her first marriage from which she has a daughter, Perilla. Gaertner 2005: 216 prefers her to be a friend and “a daughter of one of Fabius Maximus’ clients.” I fail to understand the interest in connecting Ovid’s wife with Fabius Maximus since he makes it clear that her real connection is to Atia Minor and Marcia. She would have belonged to their home long before she went into Maximus’ (likely alongside Marcia). 373 This is a case of “marrying up.” Ovid is setting himself apart from aristocratic marriage practices. Severy 2003: 63 “In the late republic and triumviral period, aristocratic marriages were often used to create alliances between powerful houses.” Ovid and his wife cannot, in actuality, be too far apart, socially, because, as Treggiari 1991: 89 observes “[d]isparity of birth in a husband or wife was something to be avoided by all classes.” Ovid is thoroughly concerned with presenting himself as an equestrian throughout his exile, e.g. Tr. 2.89-90. Ovid's wife Marcia Livia 159 gender behaves towards itself and what quality each one judges. Men, on the one hand, write poetry and read it with each other and praise ability in recitatio, as Ovid implies they do when he reminds Fabius Maximus that he had praised (laudare) Ovid’s poetry and Ovid, in turn, admired (miranti) his writings (1.2.133, 135). Women, on the other hand, judge one another’s probity: their social standing and moral reputation. 374 Ovid elevates the Fabian and the imperial houses by turning them into subjects. In the first subordinate sentence, Ovid is an indirect object and his wife the direct object of Marcia. Ovid’s wife is the object of several verbs and adjectives that imply subjective appreciation: probat, dilectam, censa. We realize, through this verbal cluster, that Ovid shows that his wife is heavily scrutinized, and that importantly she has passed the tests that have been placed before her. 375 The idea of tests is raised by the peculiar example of Claudia Quinta, whom Ovid chooses as the mythological comparative exemplum. She is a strange choice for several reasons. First, Ovid’s choices of exemplarity for his wife are usually Greek; Penelope and Laodamia are the most frequent. As we saw in the previous chapter, when Ovid chooses examples from Roman 374 In one of Julia’s jokes, Macrobius provides a compelling evocation about what this judgement might look like. At a gladiatorial event, the entourages of Julia and Livia come under scrutiny, which indicates that one was judged by one’s companions. Thus, for Ovid’s wife to belong to Marcia’s circle further underscores her appropriateness as a matrona: Notum et illud. averterant in se populum in spectaculo gladiatorum Livia et Iulia comitatus dissimilitudine: quippe cingentibus Liviam gravibus viris, haec iuventutis et quidem luxuriosae grege circumsedebatur. admonuit pater scripto, videret quantum inter duas principes feminas interesset. eleganter illa rescripsit: ‘et hi mecum senes fient;’ “The following incident became notorious too. At a set of gladiatorial games the very different entourages of Livia and Julia caught the people’s attention, with men of weight and standing gathered around Livia, while Julia was surrounded by a gaggle of youths of decidedly dandified appearance. Her father slipped her a note pointing out the difference between the two first ladies—to which she nicely wrote back, ‘These young men will grow old with me, too’” (Macrob. Sat. 2.6. Trans. Robert A. Kaster, Loeb). For more on Julia’s jokes, see Richlin 2014: 81-109. We can add this anecdote to the list of public occasions when women would meet together and have the opportunity to judge one another but also to have private, gender-isolated, conversations. We see here that men can judge women for their beauty, just as women can judge men for their poetry. The anecdote shows Julia’s awareness that her public behavior is up for scrutiny. 375 There may be a darker reading to all this scrutiny. Ovid has placed his wife under a sort of panoptic surveillance. He has male relatives who report on her doings, these women are watching her, and he himself is constantly writing at her. In essence, Ovid is controlling his wife’s sexuality from the outside, ensuring that she does not take another sexual partner. 160 history the effect is rarely benign. In this case we see Ovid cleverly pointing his reader to the Fasti. As scholars have observed, the version of Claudia needing divine aid comes from Ovid’s own version of the legend at Fasti 4.293-326, rather than from Livy or other Republican sources. 376 While I agree with the general consensus that Ovid is referring to his own Claudia Quinta and will be returning to that idea in below, I think it intriguing that he does not provide a gloss on who he means. Such a lack of specificity invites exploration. We do not know what he means about divine aid without the Fasti as a companion text, in a similar way that we had to read the Fasti and Pont. 4.4 and 4.5 together in the previous chapter. 377 Claudia is a provocative exemplum at this historical moment because her name draws attention to Tiberius, whom Suetonius would later introduce as doubly descended from the Claudians. 378 Suetonius even tells the story of Claudia Quinta (Tib. 2.3). Ovid has created a seemingly innocuous and complimentary list: Marcia, Atia, Claudia, but in so doing has marked the dynasty of autocratic leadership in Rome: Atia was the mother of Marcia and the aunt of Augustus. Claudia was the distant ancestor of Tiberius. Ovid has marked, for the first time, the new elite family dynasty. Ovid’s personal list invites the reader to think about imperial dynamics and the web-like confusion they create. The “simple” choice of a wife for a poet turns out to be 376 Gaertner 2005: 217-218 (on Pont. 1.2.141-142). Fantham 1998: 144-146 (on F. 4.255-349), 153-154 (on F. 4.293-326). 377 Livy 24.14.12 has Claudia among a throng of other women who all receive Cybele from Cornelius Scipio. The gods have no role. Propertius 4.11.51-52 implies a divine aid but is not specific: tu quae tardam movisti fune Cybeben / Claudia, turritae rara ministra deae; “you, Claudia, rare attendant of the turreted goddess, who moved the delayed Cybele with a rope.” It is only in the Fasti that Claudia is given a specific prayer. 378 ex hac stirpe Tiberius Caesar genus trahit, et quidem utrumque: patrernum a Tiberio Nerone, maternum ab Appio Pulchro, qui ambo Appi Caeci filii fuerunt; “Tiberius’ filiation came from this stock, and indeed, from both sides: his father’s from Tiberius Nero and his mother’s from Appius Pulcher, both of whom were the sons of Appius Caecus” (Suet. Tib. 3.1). 161 about dynastic lineage. All of this ambiguity is short-lived, however, once one comes to the reference to divine aid in the next line. It is productive now to think further about the relationship between this reference and the Fasti. As mentioned above, Ovid has created a reference in Pont. 1.2 that can only be understood by “researching” it in the Fasti. This connection is more specific because in both Fasti 4.305 and Pont. 1.2.142 Ovid starts the line with Claudia’s name. He establishes a rich dynamic between the two collections by making the reference in Pont. 1.2 dependent on the Fasti for a deeper understanding of the Pont. 1.2 passage and making the Fasti more politically aligned with contemporary events, a phenomenon that culminates in the conclusion of book six, which I discuss below. A.J. Boyle has observed the parallels between Ovid’s exile and the whole Magna Mater episode in Fasti 4, “in which Claudia Quinta seems a transparent marker for Ovid, and whose triumph over injustice is achieved not through the agency of Rome’s centre but its periphery, as Cybele reverses the Ovidian journey to the Black Sea to establish Claudia’s innocence at Rome. Cybele’s temple on the Palatine flanked Augustus’ house.” 379 Boyle’s main point reveals how clever Ovid is with his reference in Pont. 1.2. Via allusion and parallelism, Ovid says that his wife’s probity—and by implication the probity of Marcia and Atia—rests upon Ovid’s successful recall to Rome. This is a case of an argument caught in a loop. Ovid’s wife is like Claudia and Ovid like the Cybele. If Ovid is not recalled, then that (must) mean that his wife is unchaste. But she is chaste and so Ovid must be recalled. This way of requesting relief is far more subtle than his other requests for relocation and has interesting implications for the audience of the letters. Is the moment a request to his wife for aid? Is Fabius Maximus supposed to judge Ovid’s wife or 379 Boyle and Woodward 2000: xlii. On this last point, one can recall how Ovid’s interest in Pompeius’ house focused on its proximity to the Forum of Augustus. 162 help her? Is the larger circle of friends, most of whom are poets and might enjoy this sort of literary historical game, supposed to detect an irony? Claudia Quinta had Magna Mater to pray to for aid; Ovid’s wife has only the new gods to pray to, and they do not come to her aid. Ovid provides a subtle but worrisome observation about the nature of probity in this new age that deepens our understanding about the changing roles of what one might term central tenets of pietas. When Claudia needed proof of chastity, having been wounded by an unjust rumor, she had a goddess to appeal to. When Ovid says that Claudia would not have needed a goddess’ aid if Atia and Marcia had been around, he implies that these imperial women have replaced the gods as judges in cases of morality and, even more provocatively, their word is equal to the divine. The supplicant no longer needs to be innocent; she or he just needs the imperial house to declare innocence. These themes and tensions come to a powerful conclusion in the final couplets of the letter: nos quoque praeteritos sine labe peregimus annos: proxima pars vitae transilienda meae. sed, de me ut sileam, coniunx mea sarcina vestra est: non potes hanc salva dissimulare fide. confugit haec ad vos, vestras amplectitur aras (iure venit cultos ad sibi quisque deos), flensque rogat, precibus lenito Caesare vestris busta sui fiant ut propiora viri. I also lived the gone-by years without defect; the most recent part of my life must be passed over in silence. But enough about me; my wife is your burden and you cannot ignore her without violating your faithfulness. She flees to you and embraces your altar. (Each person rightly comes to the altars of the gods she worships). Weeping, she requests that, with Caesar placated by your tears, her husband’s tomb might be brought nearer. (Pont. 1.2.143-150) 163 These eight lines elegantly parallel the previous seven as Ovid develops the role that his wife will play. Ovid turns away from the connections that his wife has with other women—now that he has established her status—and draws attention to the duty Fabius Maximus has as a result of his connection (fide) with Ovid. He then paints a different picture of duty. Probity was something that women decided for other women; fides, on the other hand, depends on action (not only judgement) between men. In his poetry from Tomis, Ovid frequently reminds his readers of his carmen et error. 380 At this point in the poem the decision is peculiar. The pentameter, proxima pars vitae transilienda meae, echoes what Ovid said about his error in Tristia 2.208, another pentameter, alterius facti culpa silenda mihi. The similar line endings allow us to understand that Ovid is referring indirectly to his carmen et error. But, as always, any declaration of silence compels the reader to question the text more closely. When Ovid says that the most recent part of his life must be passed over, he implies that he was exiled for something that had recently happened, more for the error than the carmen. Ovid transitions from himself to his wife’s approach to Fabius Maximus with a poetically and linguistically marked couplet: sed, de me ut sileam, coniunx mea sarcina vestra est: / non potes hanc salva dissimulare fide; “but enough about me, my wife is your burden and you cannot ignore her without violating your faithfulness” (1.2.145-146). Gaertner has observed that “salva fide is a legal formula (‘without violating one’s loyalty’), which is uttered by the judge when vowing to observe both the truth and the laws.” 381 He has suggested that the phrase “is likely to refer back to the fact that Ovid’s wife is the daughter of one of Fabius Maximus’ clients [his 380 In particular he refers to the Ars by name in Pont. 1.1.12; 2.2.105; 2.9.73, 76; 2.10.12; 2.11.2; 3.3.38, 70. 381 Gaertner 2005: 219. 164 personal theory] or that Ovid is in a client-like relationship to the addressee.” 382 Neither of these options seems satisfactory to me as they are both too passive. These lines reveal the public nature of the Epistulae ex Ponto; he has brought the names of powerful figures into his letters where anyone can see them. Given how honorable the Fabian name is, he is forcing his addressee’s hand. If Fabius Maximus ignores Ovid’s wife, the public will know and judge, and therefore Fabius Maximus’ public reputation for fides will be tarnished. Ovid has already called upon Fabius Maximus through their social connection and he now does so through a legal phrase. Ovid’s word choice also recalls his younger and pre-poet days for anyone that knew him or who has read Tristia 4.10. There, he describes his early governmental duties the experience of which surely endowed him with some knowledge of the law, even if not full expertise. 383 Further, Ovid is friends with many lawyers, and phrases like this can be read as winks to them. The recourse to legal language helps move Ovid away from the most recent part of his life that he has just declared he must be silent about. In a sense, he “proves” to Fabius Maximus his unblemished past. What interests me most about the phrase is how it connects to the way that Ovid describes his wife. Gaertner has pointed out that her introduction is an elegant parallelism (AaBb). 384 This elegance is offset by the peculiar word choice of sarcina. The meaning, at first, seems clear. His wife is a metaphorical burden upon Fabius Maximus. 385 When we look to Ovid’s predecessors, though, we see that he is fascinatingly triangulating the idea from Horace 382 Gaertner 2005: 220. 383 The standard citation for Ovid and his legal knowledge is Keeney 1969. Gaertner 2005: 27fn.116 has collected the examples in Pont. 1 of legal language and has notes ad loc. 384 Gaertner 2005: 219. 385 Ibid.: Gaertner offers a defense of his choice to move away from this meaning. “Of course, poets and prose authors generally use far more frequently onus for ‘burden’…Here, Ovid may have preferred sarcina because, unlike onus, it points to a visually imaginable object of everyday life and only connotes, but does not denote ‘burden’: consequently, the fact that Ovid’s wife is a burden for Fabius Maximus is slightly extenuated.” 165 and Propertius, who both use it one time. 386 These precedents, we shall see, can be read as programmatic fore-runners for various Ovidian themes in the Pontic project: writing letters, wives, and sending books at the proper time. The example that concerns epistolary themes and wives comes from Propertius. In 4.3, Propertius writes a haunting, yet wickedly funny, letter from the point of view of a wife to her husband on campaign. One of Arethusa’s complaints is that she cannot be with her husband on campaign. She worries about him and does not know what his surroundings look like and therefore imagines them throughout the poem. He has been reported to be gaunt and pale (4.3.27). Ovid shares the quality of gauntness, but he has made sure his readers know what his surroundings look like. 387 In addition to the poetically rare word sarcina, there is another reason to think that Ovid is referring to Propertius’ poem. Pont. 1.145-146 is the couplet with sarcina and the salva fide. We find sarcina and fida in lines 45-46 of Propertius’ poem, thereby making Ovid’s lines a quasi-numerical quotation, off by 100 lines exactly. Earlier in the literary tradition, Arethusa had described her wish to be a sarcina: Romanis utinam patuissent castra puellis! / essem militiae sarcina fida tuae; “if only the military camps were open to Roman girls! I would be the faithful burden of your army” (Prop. 4.3.45-46). 388 Ovid has already indicated his knowledge of Propertius’ poem when he wrote to his wife and quoted her speech to him at his departure into 386 Ibid.: Gaertner recognizes the precedents but leaves them undiscussed. 387 Ovid’s gauntness (gracilis) is especially prominent in Pont. 1.4 (to his wife) and 1.10. I think that there is space to consider this letter of Propertius’ as a “response,” almost, to Ovid himself. Thus, much like Sabinus had the male addressees of the Heroides “write back,” this previous letter by Arethusa can be seen as a response to Ovid, as a perspective of what his wife would write. 388 Hutchinson 2006: 110 emphasizes the importance of the word and, I think, is correct about its tone. “Sarcina, the Roman soldier’s pack of equipment, is effectively kept for the start of the half-line; it conveys abject devotion through a prosy word and a startling metaphor: person and pack are fused…it is a self-consciously touching moment.” There is also a great pun on castra puellis with the “camp” castra being one “r” away from casta “chaste” which is a more fitting word for Roman girls. Especially ironic is the use of “faithful” fida when she is basically requesting to be a camp prostitute, when she says she wants to be a sarcina for the army. Note that Arethusa, properly a matrona, characterizes herself as a puella. 166 exile: te sequar et coniunx exulis exul ero. / et mihi facta via est, et me capit ultima tellus: / accedam profugae sarcina parva rati; “I will follow you and I will be the exiled wife of an exile. A road has been made for me and the ends of the earth have room for me. I will add a small burden to your exiled ship” (Tr. 1.3.82-84). 389 Ovid’s wife, like Arethusa, wants to follow her husband. Note the artistic way in which she speaks: chiastic word order, profugae sarcina parva rati, aBbA, which is also interlocked. Thus, from the beginning of writing his letters about exile, his wife has been figured as a sarcina through knowledge of Propertius’ poem. By connecting Ovid’s wife to Arethusa (and his various Heroines) we see another sort of female network, namely literary precedent. While Ovid’s wife was never able to “burden” his ship, she can (more productively) burden Fabius Maximus to whom she must plead on Ovid’s behalf. The other major source upon which Ovid draws takes us down a different path in which sarcina develops a more literary sense. Based on the close relationship between Ovid and his wife and Ovid and his writing I want to suggest that Ovid, by entrusting his wife to Fabius Maximus, may also be entrusting his writings to him. Ovid gets this metaphorical use from Horace. Epistles 1.13 is a very funny and very strange poem. In it, Horace entrusts Vinnius with a small collection of poems (carmina) for Augustus. But they are not in Rome. What follows is Vinnius’ journey depicted as an epic cross-country march. Roland Mayer has convincingly proposed that the poem is a self-conscious meditation on how to approach figures of elevated status. “So this epistle looks at another facet of a social issue, tactful handling of the great, and above all the danger of presuming upon one’s relationship with them.” 390 Such a description 389 The image of a girl being a small burden is a long-standing one for Ovid. It first appears in Heroides 3 when Briseis writes to Achilles that she will not be a great burden (sarcina magna) to the fleet (Her. 3.68). It is worth pointing out that all three poems are the third in a sequence. There may also be a slight joke here about pregnancy. Macrobius relates that Julia responded to people who wondered that her children resembled Agrippa despite her profligacy by saying that: numquam enim nisi navi plena tollo vectorem; “unless the ship is full, I never take on a passenger” (Macrob. Sat. 2.5.9). 390 Mayer 1994: 205. 167 could easily be applied to Pont. 1.2, and indeed, in addition to thematic coincidence, there is also linguistic coincidence: si te forte meae gravis uret sarcina chartae, / abicito; “if, by chance, the heavy burden of my writings burns you, throw them down” (Epist. 1.13.6-7). Horace offers Vinnius this advice in order to prevent him from arriving before Augustus with a disgruntled attitude and disheveled visage. Ovid had earlier called his poetry a sarcina near the end of the programmatic opening poem of the Tristia: et si quae subeunt, tecum, liber, omnia ferres, / sarcina laturo magna futurus eras; “and if, book, you were to carry all the things which have happened with you, you would become a heavy burden for the one who will carry you” (Tr. 1.1.125-126). Ovid is playing another literary game at this moment. His wife, while real, is also solely a literary creation. Therefore, when Ovid entrusts his wife to Fabius Maximus, one can read this moment as Ovid entrusting his literary representation of her to him. Pont. 1.2, which mentions Ovid’s wife for the first time in the Pontic project, provides the reader with a little bit of her backstory. We have to wait until Pont. 1.4 to see how Ovid treats his wife directly when he writes his first poem to her in the new collection. The poem is largely about Ovid: his extreme aging and his body (white hair and wrinkles, 1.4.1-10), weakness (1.4.11-20) and suffering (worse than Jason, 1.4.21-46). He turns to his wife, whom he calls fidissima coniunx, “most faithful wife” (1.4.45), at the end and claims that it is likely she has also aged (1.4.48). 391 He concludes the poem with a prayer: o ego di faciant talem te cernere possim, caraque mutatis oscula ferre comis, amplectique meis corpus non pingue lacertis, et ‘gracile hoc fecit’ dicere ‘cura mei’. et narrare meos flenti flens ipse labores, sperato numquam conloquioque frui, turaque Caesaribus cum coniuge Caesare digna, 391 In many ways, this poem epitomizes what Suzanne Dixon has called the “sentimental ideal of the Roman family,” which carries with it the expectation of affection within marriage. (Dixon 1991: 99-113). 168 dis veris, memori debita 392 ferre manu. Memnonis hanc utinam lenito principe mater quam primum roseo provocet ore diem. O, may the Gods make it so that I might be able to see you so; to kiss your changed hair tenderly; to embrace your thin body in my arms and to say “concern for me has made you slender;” and, both of us in tears, to tell you my struggles, to enjoy a never-hoped-for conversation, and to give owed incense from a mindful hand to true/real gods: the Caesars and the wife worthy of a Caesar. May the mother of Memnon [Aurora], after the Princeps is mollified, summon this day with her rosy lips as quickly as possible. (Pont. 1.4.49-58) The passage alludes to the homecoming scene in Odyssey 23 where Odysseus and Penelope stay awake all night exchanging tales: τερπέσθην μύθοισι, πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἐνέποντε; “the two delighted in tales; speaking to one another” (Od. 23.301). 393 It seems likely that Ovid expects his wife to recognize the allusion, thereby providing the reader with a glimpse into her intelligence. What I want to focus on is the juxtaposition of the imperial family and Ovid’s wife. Ovid is using this moment to address his wife in a hypothetical scenario that allows him to present an image of the imperial family’s divinity for the benefit of the wider readership. Ovid begins and ends the passage with reference to the gods. The gods (di) in line 49 are generic. The Caesarian gods in lines 55-56 are much more complicated. Ovid provocatively calls them “true/real gods” (dis veris). Does this mean that the gods in line 49 are not genuine? Are they “true” because they are alive? The last god is Aurora, the goddess of dawn, obliquely described in her role as a mother. The juxtaposition of principe mater in line 57 is grammatically about Augustus and Aurora, but it also reminds us of Tiberius’ mother, Livia, who entered the poem as a wife worthy of Caesar (coniuge Caesare digna). Digna acts doubly to compliment Livia and to 392 The language here is provocative: what is being remembered? What is Ovid’s debt? 393 Gaertner 2005: 298-300 also finds references to Ovid’s own work and to that of Tibullus. 169 remind the audience that in order to fulfill her worth, she left another marriage. 394 After all, Livia’s first marriage was to Tiberius Claudius Nero with whom she had Tiberius, while Augustus had been married twice before. The passage also tells us something important about Ovid’s poetic imagination and the way in which he can imagine alternative realities and use the factual situation to make the unraveling of the fantasy all the more tragic. The lenito principe in the penultimate line closely echoes lenito Caesare of the penultimate line of Pont. 1.2: flensque rogat, precibus lenito Caesare vestris / busta sui fiant ut propiora viri; “weeping, she requests that, with Caesar placated by your tears, her husband’s tomb might be brought nearer” (Pont. 1.2.149-150). Hence, the fantasy Ovid projects is one in which his wife’s cura has had his hoped-for effect, namely, Ovid’s return from exile. In the space between the reality of the situation (1.2) and the projected future (1.4), we see Ovid imagining the successful deployment of part of the female network whereby his wife has interceded on his behalf and accomplished his returrn. I argue that this imagined-future takes advantage of the female network because of the strong presence of Livia explicitly as the coniunx Caesaris and implicitly as the mother of Tiberius. Ovid next briefly mentions his wife when he tells Severus that he imagines himself in Rome: nunc mihi cum cara coniuge nata subit; “now my daughter appears before me along with my dear wife” (Pont. 1.8.32). 395 But he says nothing about her behavior or actions. It is a passive 394 Thakur 2014: 189fn.57 argues that “in the exile literature the word [dignus] comes to represent the worthiness of successors and appropriate relations between family members.” His discussion is in response to Tr. 2.162 quae, nisi te, nullo coniuge digna fuit; “she [Livia] who was worthy of no husband except for you.” 395 His phrase cum cara coniuge also appeared in 1.2.50 where Ovid mentally traveled to Rome. Perhaps this is the same daughter as the one Ovid mentions in the last book of the Fasti in whose marital prospects he was invested: est mihi, sitque, precor, nostris diuturnior annis, / filia, qua felix sospite semper ero. / hanc ego cum vellem genero dare, tempora taedis / apta requirebam, quaeque cavenda forent; “I have a daughter (I pray she may outlive me). I will always be happy while she is safe. When I wished to give her to a son-in-law, I looked into which times were suitable for marriage and which were to be avoided” (F. 6.219-22) Littlewood 2006:70-71 takes this filia to be Perilla, the step-daughter Ovid addresses in Tr. 3.7. In Tr. 1.3.20-21 we learn that at the time of Ovid’s exile, his daughter (nata) was in Libya. We learn in Tr. 4.10.75-76 that his daughter (filia) was twice pregnant with different men. She would be the same figure married to Suillius in Pont. 4.8, although this may well be her second marriage. 170 memory. He is silent about her until the end of the second book and the start of the third, where she features in three poems in a row and acts to bridge books two and three. In 2.10, a letter to Macer, Ovid uses his wife in a slightly different way to create a bond between two men. 396 In Amores 2.18 Ovid had already written to Macer and urged him to add themes of Amor to his epic poem about material Homer left out. Ovid also mentions that poem in the ex Ponto in order to prove their literary connection (Pont. 2.10.13-14). He provides three reasons that Macer should not let his interest (cura) in Ovid wane: quam tu vel longi debes convictibus aevi, / vel mea quod coniunx non aliena tibi est, / vel studiis; “You owe me this care because of the intimacy of long years, or because my wife is no stranger to you, or because of our [poetry] studies” (Pont. 2.10.9-11). In the rest of the letter, Ovid focuses only on the length of their intimacy—they toured Asia together in their youth—and poetic studies. The one-line mention of his wife becomes, therefore, a peculiarity, even while the litotes, non aliena, lends her prominence. She is displaced by the prominence of male solidarity. 397 Their personal relationship may just be that Macer has been to Ovid’s house for recitationes and said “salve,” or that he is now sleeping with her. 398 We cannot know. In this case, Ovid chooses not to detail the In Tr. 5.5.19 Ovid prays that illa domo nataque sua patriaque fruatur; “may she [wife] enjoy the house, her daughter, and the fatherland.” The possessive adjective implies Ovid’s stepdaughter. The fact that Ovid does not always differentiate should not preclude the idea that he sometimes considers Perilla his own daughter, but it should also not preclude that he has a daughter of his own from a previous marriage, a daughter like the one in Libya and who was twice married. This would mean that the daughter in Fasti 6, Tr. 1.3, and Tr. 4.10 is his biological daughter and that Perilla is the step-daughter in Tr. 5.5 Tr. 3.7, Pont. 4.8. The daughter in 1.8.32 remains ambiguous. 396 Williams 1994: 42-48 analyzes the poem’s generic tensions and the “facts” it purports to relay. 397 Helzle 2003: 393 has observed that “Alienus ist jemand, zu dem man keinerlei persönliche Beziehung hat” [Alienus is anyone with whom one has no personal relationship]. He interestingly observes, but does not expand upon, its wider role in erotic relationships. He proposes that Macer is a client to Fabius Maximus and that is how he knows Ovid’s wife. (394). 398 Claassen 2008: 58 “Verse 10…could be construed as a hint that Macer has taken over the exile’s conjugal role, but there is no other indication of such a suspicion. The tone is candid rather than bland, indicating relationship rather than intrigue.” We are used to seeing Ovid celebrate his wife’s chastity. Here, however, she receives no epithet. 171 relationship, a decision he draws attention to in the next poem when he provides specific ways in which his wife is related to Rufus. Ovid addresses his uncle-in-law in the last letter of book two. 399 The letter is only twenty- eight lines long and ten of these lines are about Ovid’s wife. Ovid names Rufus the addressee in the first line but holds back his land of origin until the very last line when we learn that he is maxima Fundani gloria, Rufe, soli; “Rufus, greatest glory of the Fundi’s land” (Pont. 2.11.28). The irony of this statement is for modernity: no one knows for certain who Rufus was, although some take a strong stance. 400 The poem begins with a generic introduction and promise not to forget the addressee’s loyalty. Ovid will also not forget the two “services” (meritum) that Rufus provided: tears and solace (Pont. 2.11.9, 11). The next part of the poem, on the other hand, is very specific about Rufus’ relationship to Ovid’s wife. The following passage seems to assert that his wife still has her probity, that is to say her chastity and imperial approval, but as I will argue, the terms of his wife’s probitas are in a process of redefinition: sponte quidem per seque mea est laudabilis uxor, admonitu melior fit tamen illa tuo. namque quod Hermionae Castor fuit, Hector Iuli, hoc ego te laetor coniugis esse meae; quae, ne dissimilis tibi sit, probitate laborat seque tui vita sanguinis esse probat. ergo, quod fuerat stimulis factura sine ullis, plenius auctorem te quoque nancta facit. acer et ad palmae per se cursurus honores, si tamen horteris, fortius ibit equus. 399 There is a fair amount of controversy in the placement of this letter. Richmond’s Teubner of 1990 adopts Froesch’s suggestion that 2.11 properly belongs after 3.6. Galasso 1995: 36 rightly, I think, views this transposition skeptically. I hope that my argument below about how this poem acts to transition into the third book supports her statement that “Inoltre, 2, 11 introduce adeguatamente la tematica della seguente, 3, 1, vale a dire i doveri della moglie di Ovidio verso il marito esule.” [2.11 adequately introduces the theme of the wife’s duties to her exiled husband in the following poem, 3.1]. 400 Galasso 1995: 35 recognizes the dangers of severe prosopographical games. Syme 1978:79, 84-87 insists that Ovid is writing to C. Vibius Rufus, the consul suffectus of 16. Helzle 2003: 403 agrees. 172 Even though my wife is praiseworthy for her own sake and on her own accord, nevertheless she becomes better by your guidance. What Castor was for Hermione and Hector for Iulus, I am happy that you are this for my wife [i.e. her uncle]. She works so that she can resemble you in probity, and she demonstrates that she is of your bloodline by her life. Therefore, that which she would do without the spur, she does more energetically having you as her supporter. Although the swift horse would gallop to the glory of the palm on his own accord, nevertheless, if you were to urge him on, he would run more boldly. (Pont. 2.11.13-22) Sponte and per seque mean the same thing, but the latter is used to mark the beginning and close of the passage. 401 Ovid uses per se (in lines 13 and 21) to connect the horse simile even more closely with his wife, which I shall discuss further below. He strongly emphasizes the connection as well because two of the three comparatives (melior in 14 and plenius in 20) apply to his wife and one (fortius in 22) to the horse. It is always a question of how we are to read the letter in terms of subject matter (in this case Ovid’s wife), addressee (Rufus), or composer (Ovid). There is a sense of urgency in this passage revealed in the three comparatives; there is also a sense of the need for aid. His wife cannot gain leniency for Ovid on her own, and he is losing faith in her willingness to fight for his return, which the metaphor of the spur implies. This infuses the passage with a sense of frustration and the need constantly to change tactics. Ovid, for all that people propose that his pleas are redundant (c.f. Pont. 3.7), is actually quite insistent in how he formulates his appeals. We might best read the letter as an exhortation to Rufus himself. Ovid’s wife, after all, has become the standard for probitas through Ovid’s writings. Now, suddenly, he says this unknown character Rufus is even better known for this quality. Even if he is unknown only to us and Ovid’s readers would have known exactly who was meant, that does not change the fact that probitas is mutable. Once Ovid has asserted that both his wife and 401 Helzle 2003: 406. 173 Rufus possess the quality, for them not to act on his behalf would lessen their social capital, which he had given. There is the implicit threat that what Ovid can give, through his writings, he can also take away via their inaction. Ovid’s comparison of Rufus to Hector and Castor acts to transition to the simile of the spurred horse, since both mythological figures are famously connected to horses. Hector’s most recognizable epithet in the Iliad (and, in fact, the last word of that poem) is ἱππόδαμος, “breaker of horses.” In a scrap of papyrus we find the Dioskouroi, Castor and his brother Pollux, in a poem of Alcman’s that specifies their connection to horses. ]σ̣ιοῖσι π̣[ᾶσι κἀνθρώποισί τ᾿ αἰδ]οιεστάτοι ν[αί]ο̣ι̣σι νέ[ρθεν γᾶς ἀειζώοι σι]όδματο[ν τ]έγος Κά[στωρ τε πώλων ὠκέων] δματῆ[ρε]ς [ἱ]ππότα[ι σοφοὶ καὶ Πωλυδεύκης] κυδρός: “Most worthy of reverence from all gods and men, they dwell in a god-built home (beneath the earth, always alive?), Castor—tamers of swift steeds, skilled horsemen—and glorious Polydeuces” (P. Oxy. 2389 fr. 3(a)3-7=Alcman 2). 402 In Fasti 5, Ovid delineates the Dioscuri with epithets for horseman and boxer: Tyndaridae fratres, hic eques, ille pugil; “the brothers of Helen, the horseman and the pugilist” (F. 5.700). Later, Martial will access the same resonances of fighter and tamer. Castora de Polluce Gabinia fecit Achillan: / πὺξ ὰγαθός fuerat, nunc erit ἱππόδαμος; “Gabina made Achillas a Castor [knight] from Pollux [pugilist]; he had been a good fist-fighter, but now he will be a horse- tamer” (Mart. 7.57.1-2). Martial translates the Latin words (eques and pugil) back into Greek. Ovid’s mythological filiation heroizes his wife and Rufus, but more emphatically he shifts the male figures’ equine association to the domestic sphere. 403 Ovid is craftily using these 402 Text and translation Cambell Loeb: Greek Lyric II. 403 Or at the very least moves them into an epic discourse. Ovid says his wife does not need a goad (stimulis, Pont. 2.11.19), but she will act more assiduously under Rufus. Vergil’s Sibyl is “tamed” by Apollo when he comes to her in Aen. 6 and is, at first, not tamed (nondum patiens, 6.77) but later we see Apollo violently guide her with the reins and goad: ea frena furenti / concutit et stimulos sub pectore vertit Apollo; “and Apollo lashed the reins against the raging Sibyl and twisted the goad under her breast” (6.101). Amata is similarly driven by Allecto: reginam Allecto stimulis agit undique Bacchi; “Allecto drives the queen everywhere with the goad of Bacchus” (Aen. 7.405). 174 “tamers of horses” to describe Rufus’ training of his wife. 404 But, with characteristic Ovidian wit, he has reversed a metaphor. Traditionally, in erotic poetry, when women have been compared to horses, it is regarding a husband taming his wife, or a male desiring subject subduing a female resisting object. The Greek verb δαμάζω means both to marry and to tame a horse. Nisbet and Hubbard suggest Anacreon’s “Thracian filly” as a prototype for the metaphor of desire. 405 This metaphor of a girl like a race horse seems to enter Latin literature with Lucilius: ante ego te vacuam atque animosam / Tessalam ut indomitam frenis subigamque domemque; “before now you were free and spirited like an untamed Thessalian filly. Let me break and tame you to the bridle” (Lucil. 1041-1042). In that poem, and in Horace Odes 2.5 and 3.11, the woman is either inexperienced or too young for the yoke and is usually swift. 406 Ovid’s wife, on the other hand, is 404 The great irony in this stance is that marrying a young girl is frequently likened to taming a horse. C.f. LSJ s.v. δαμάζω I, II. 405 Nisbet and Hubbard 1978:78. πῶλε Θρῃκίη, τί δή με λοξὸν ὄμμασι βλέπουσα νηλέως φεύγεις, δοκεῖς δέ μ᾿ οὐδὲν εἰδέναι σοφόν; ἴσθι τοι, καλῶς μὲν ἄν τοι τὸν χαλινὸν ἐμβάλοιμι, ἡνίας δ᾿ ἔχων στρέφοιμί σ᾿ ἀμφὶ τέρματα δρόμου· νῦν δὲ λειμῶνάς τε βόσκεαι κοῦφά τε σκιρτῶσα παίζεις, δεξιὸν γὰρ ἱπποπείρην οὐκ ἔχεις ἐπεμβάτην. Thracian filly, why do you look at me from the corner of your eye and flee stubbornly from me, supposing that I have no skill? Let me tell you, I could neatly put the bridle on you and with the reins in my hand wheel you round the turnpost of the racecourse; instead, you graze in the meadows and frisk and frolic lightly, since you have no skilled horseman to ride you. (Anacreon 417 =Heraclit. Alleg. Hom. 5. Text and translation from Cambell’s Loeb: Greek Lyric II). 406 Odes 2.5.1-9 Horace tells someone (himself?) to give up on a young girl who cannot endure the yoke and who gambols about the field. Macleod 1997: 94-96 briefly discusses this poem’s relation to Anacreon’s. In 3.11.7-12 Horace wants to woo Lyde with music. She, however, is frolicking like a filly and knows nothing of marriage (nuptiarum expers, 11). In Prop. 1.1, Atalanta is tamed by Melanion. She is specifically marked out as fast: ergo velocem potuit domuisse puellam; “therefore he was able to dominate the swift girl” (1.1.15). Another use appears in Prop. 2.34.47-51 which compares a man needing to be inured to the hardships of love to the taming of a bull. sed non ante gravi taurus succumbit aratro, / cornua quam validis haeserit in laqueis, / nec tu tam duros per te patieris amores: / trux tamen a nobis ante domandus eris; “but the bull will not submit to the heavy plow before his horns stick in the strong halter. Nor will you endure loves so strong on your own. No, not before, wild one, you are tamed by us.” In Archaic Greek Poetry, a boy can also be likened to a horse, but not for the same reasons of loving freedom. Theognis 1267-1270 says that as a horse forgets its rider for the next man with barley, so does a boy forget 175 already married. But even though Ovid has succeeded in “taming” her—in the poem she knows the way to run the race—she needs additional goading. It is like she needs to be “re-trained.” This is where Rufus comes in. He can do what Ovid cannot. He is the greater “horseman.” So, what would be an erotic discussion were these two men much younger has become, instead, talk between family members about a wife and an uncle. In his equine predecessors, the filly is often characterized as running freely in a field. The male desires to curb this freedom and offer a specific track to run. Ovid’s wife is running. He has done what Anacreon and Lucilius pleaded for. But she is not running boldly enough. Here enters the irony. He wants her as enthusiastic as a young girl, but she must stay within the social boundaries of a matrona and maintain her pudicitia. 407 iii. Scripta Coniunx 408 I just translated: ergo, quod fuerat stimulis factura sine ullis, / plenius auctorem te quoque nancta facit as “therefore, that which she would do without the spur, she does more energetically having you as her supporter,” taking auctorem as supporter. While this accords with the commentaries, it is, nevertheless, a bit disingenuous. 409 Ovid draws our attention to the word by playing with the etymology of auctor, which comes from augeo “increase,” when he puts it next to a word meaning “larger,” plenius. 410 A more Ovidian way of translating the his lover when another man comes by. In a wonderful moment of irony in Euripides’ Hippolytus, Phaedra cries out that she wishes she were among the Enetic horses beloved by Hippolytus (228-231). The irony is that Hippolytus literally breaks horses, not women. 407 There also seems to be a metapoetic reading, namely, that horses coming to the turning posts is used by poets to mark a book’s conclusion. This goaded horse simile occurs at the end of book two and book three opens with a long letter to Ovid’s wife that has a completely different tone. For horses (chariot racing) and poetry, c.f. Lucr. 6.92-95, Verg. G. 2.541-542. Pindar uses it at O. 6.22-24 (mules), 9.80. Ovid plays on the theme at the end of Ars 3 when he unyokes swans from the chariot. 408 I adapt the phrase scripta coniunx from the work that has been done on the scripta puella by Wyke 1987 and Ingleheart 2012. 409 Galasso 1995: 446 “auctorem: «Istigatore»; «sostenitore». 410 Observed with further evidence by Helzle 2003: ad loc. Plenus “vollständig” (OLD 13a) spielt m.E. mit der Etymologie von auctor (Isid. Orig. X 2 auctor ab augendo dictus). Ovid’s interest in the etymological wordplay at this time in his life is further evidence by the extended association between augor and Romulus in F. 1.609-616 176 couplet would be “therefore, that which she would do without the spur, she does more energetically having you as her author.” On one level, this would mean that Ovid has encouraged her in his writing. But it has had no results. If Rufus were to write [to] her, that would lead to new outcomes. On the other hand, Ovid’s wife only exists in his writing. He has literally written her into existence. At this point, he says, “maybe it would be better if you wrote her.” Ovid registers his wife’s fictionality for the benefit of the audience at this particular moment because the next poem will be his most elaborate construction of his wife. Pont. 3.1 is the longest poem of the Epistulae ex Ponto and has generated a great deal of attention and commentary. 411 The reading most helpful to my understanding of the poem is Davisson’s article, which draws attention to the way in which Ovid “scripts” his wife’s performance and how he writes to her as though he is again a praeceptor. 412 Because the poem is fairly well known (for the material from Tomis) I will limit my discussion here to the ways in which her presentation develops diachronically from the first three books. After twenty-eight lines detailing his displeasure with the discomforts of Tomis—familiar material to all who have read this far—, Ovid unexpectedly turns to his wife, who in the whole poem never receives the epithets of honor we might expect. He considers it no great wonder that he wants to be relocated, but: te magis est mirum non hoc evincere, coniunx; “it is a greater marvel that you, wife, are not accomplishing this” (3.1.31). He is worried that she does not know what to do, and offers advice similar to Cato the Elder’s rem tene approach to oratory: quid facias, quaeris: quaeras hoc scilicet ipsum, invenies, vere si reperire voles. velle parum est: cupias, ut re potiaris, oportet, et faciat somnos haec tibi cura breves. 411 Colakis 1987, Davisson 1984a, Larosa 2013 all dedicate significant attention to the poem. Besides Pont. 4.8, it is the most commented upon poem from the Pontic poems. 412 Davisson 1984a, but see as well Colakis 1987. 177 You ask what you are to do? Ask yourself this very thing! You will find it, but only if you truly want to discover it. To want is not enough. You must desire to obtain the result and this care should disturb your short sleep. (Pont. 3.1.33-36) Ultimately, the poem will end with Ovid’s instructions on how his wife should approach Livia, lines which we have already seen. For the reader who remembers the second book, this moment will have added importance. In Pont. 2.8 (to Cotta Maximus) Ovid had offered a prayer: “tu quoque, conveniens ingenti nupta marito, / accipe non dura supplicis aure preces; “you [Livia], also, a wife appropriate for a great husband, receive suppliant prayers with a kind ear” (Pont. 2.8.43-44). Ostensibly, this prayer is for his wishes only in 2.8, but the reader carries the lines through to the next book of poetry. 413 This sententious and condescending advice accomplishes little other than showing off Ovid’s poetic prowess. It just expresses frustration and offers philosophical—rather than concrete—advice. But Ovid also shows his hand to the reader who recognizes the proverb velle parum est as a reference to a partial line from the Metamorphoses when Scylla (the daughter of Nisus, not the neighbor of Charybdis) performs a distraught soliloquy about whether to betray her father to Minos. For Davisson, this self-quotation means that Ovid’s wife resembles an Ovidian lover, and she offers this as support that Ovid shrouds himself with the authority of a praeceptor. 414 I do not disagree with this statement, but I think it is always important to think about why Ovid points us to specific intertexts, especially when they are in his own work. The case of Scylla seems particularly pointed. Book eight of the Metamorphoses opens with the story. Minos, king of Crete, has besieged Nisus who rules over Megara. Nisus’ daughter 413 Thakur 2014: 197 “Supplicis (44) represents Livia once again as a conduit to Augustus.” While I certainly think this is so, I also think that Ovid is at some pains to separate Livia from Augustus and hint that she may have power of her own. 414 Davisson 1984a: 328. 178 spends her days in a teichoskopeia topos and falls in love with Minos. She decides to betray her father and give his power (stored in a lock of his hair) to Minos who, she expects, will carry her away. But since she is not Medea, she acts before guaranteeing her departure and is spurned by Minos. Here she is, fully resolved to betray her father and her home: coepta placent, et stat sententia tradere mecum dotalem patriam finemque inponere bello; verum velle parum est! aditus custodia servat, claustraque portarum genitor tenet: hunc ego solum infelix timeo, solus mea vota moratur. di facerent, sine patre forem! sibi quisque profecto est deus: ignavis precibus Fortuna repugnat. What a wonderful start! My scheme is to hand over myself and offer my fatherland as a dowry and to put an end to the war. But to want is not enough. There are sentries at the entrance. My father has the keys for the gates. I, wretched, fear him alone. He alone delays my undertaking. If only the gods made me fatherless! Surely everyone is her own god! Fortune scorns spineless prayers. (Met. 8.67-73) This is the kind of figure Ovid’s echo evokes: one who rushes to act, who takes initiative and rushes forward without thought of consequence. Ovidian irony runs rampant. Is he to be Minos? Or is he a Nisus? Is she betraying him for someone else? Or is she betraying her own people for him? Scylla provides a model for Ovid’s wife, an exemplum he has already written and published. It follows therefore, that he has also provided a warning in the conclusion to the story. It turns out, then, that his wife must be as brave as Scylla, but a little more circumspect. Because of Minos’ rejection of her, Scylla becomes a negative exemplum for approaching someone at the wrong time, and this is why, perhaps, Ovid spends six lines near the end of the poem telling his wife when the right time to approach Livia is (Pont. 3.1.137-142, above p. 155). Ovid’s use of the proverb is a turning point in the Pontic epistle because it seems to jolt Ovid awake and to make him realize that he needs to act as well. It is as if he remembers Scylla 179 himself at this moment. He proceeds to offer specific advice rather than vague exhortation and implicit instruction to other addressees, such as we have already seen in Pont. 2.10 and 2.11. As I sought to show with Fabius Maximus and Rufus, when Ovid attributes positive characteristics to someone, his writings consequently pressure that person to behave in a prescribed manner or risk losing that attribution even more emphatically than if it had never been applied. In the earlier books, this was a tacit tactic. Now, it becomes an explicit threat: magna tibi imposita est nostris persona libellis: coniugis exemplum diceris esse bonae. hanc cave degeneres; ut sint praeconia nostra vera, vide Famae quod tuearis opus. 415 ut nihil ipse querar, tacito me Fama queretur, quae debet fuerit ni tibi cura mei. A great character has been established for you in my books: you are said to be the exemplum of a good wife. Take care lest you are unworthy of this. In order that my pronouncements are true, see to it that you protect the work of Fame. Although I myself complain about nothing, Fame will complain while I am silent, if the care which you owe me is not present. (Pont. 3.1.43-48) 416 This passage explicitly reveals that Ovid thinks of his writings as a form of social coercion. A passage like this strays far from the sphere of mutual affection Ovid painted in the earlier books. Instead, Ovid scripts and prescribes his wife’s moral and social behavior. He has been writing who she is and, along the way, crafting her as an exemplum for other women to follow. 417 This is underscored by the fact that when Ovid says that: coniugis exemplum diceris esse bonae “you are said to be the exemplum of a good wife,” he is, in fact, doubly quoting 415 I here adopt the manuscript reading. Richmond 1990: 56 prints Heinsius’ conjecture onus. 416 Line 48 is a strong echo of Tr. 5.2.34: esset, quae debet, si tibi cura mei; “if you had the concern for me which you should have” (Tr. 5.2.34) This echo guides my translation which otherwise might take Fama as the antecedent of quae as Wheeler 1925 does. 417 Davisson 1984a: 336 makes the keen observation that “this poem [Tr. 5.14] is less reproachful and is not explicit about the necessity of living up to a role, as is evident from the contrast between quanta tibi dederim nostris monumenta libellis (Trist. 5.14.1) and Magna tibi imposita est nostris persona libellis (Pont. 3.1.43).” 180 himself. It was by Ovid that she was said to be so: te docet exemplum coniugis esse bonae, “she [Livia] teaches you to be the example of a good wife” (Tr. 1.6.26). Later in Tristia 4, he had followed up on this idea before encouraging her to start thinking about acting on his behalf: sed magis in curam nostri consurge tuendi, / exemplumque mihi coniugis esto bonae; “but rise up more against the trouble of my protection; be for me the example of a good wife” (Tr. 4.3.71- 72). Ovid has turned a coniunx bona into a formula. To behave like a Livia, to dedicate oneself entirely to a husband’s cause (and use any means necessary), is to be a good wife. Ovid’s wife must become Livian. Ovid also indicates that there is another power besides his own compositions. Fama and Ovid have a tumultuous relationship, but here she is on his side. 418 They have a separate contract from that of Ovid and his wife. Ovid indicates that he is in control of what is said about his wife: only while he writes her good name does she have a good name. He does not even have to say anything negative; if he falls silent, the rumors will spread about her. In fact, the only time in this poem that Ovid gives his wife an unconditional positive adjective is when he expands on the theme that he has placed her in front of the Roman people to be scrutinized, although even here it is in the future tense and so does not apply to her as she is: quicquid ages igitur, scaena spectabere magna, / et pia non parvis testibus uxor eris; “whatever, then, you will do, you will be viewed on a great stage, and many will testify that you are a loyal wife” (3.1.59-60). Ovid’s scripting of his wife creates a contract between the two of them in which he is the playwright and director and she the actress. 419 The terms are distinctly unfair. He 418 For an interesting approach to the literary history of Fama see Hardie, P. 2012. Rumour and Renown. Representations of Fama in Western Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. More recently, Guastella, G. 2017. Word of Mouth. Fama and its Personifications in Art and Literature from Ancient Rome to the Middle Ages. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 419 This is the central premise of Davisson 1984a. Note the prominent use of imposita persona in line 43. Persona is both a name for a character in a play and another word for mask. OLD s.v. persona 1 and 2. 181 says that whatever she does the testimony will be that she was loyal, therefore, she must work on his behalf. She cannot do whatever she wants; Ovid is forcing her hand. Further evidence that he is writing her as he would a role for a play comes from the marked scaena spectabere. Just what kind of performance would this be? Is it some sort of unprecedented fabula praetexta about a contemporary woman? Interestingly, Ovid has made reference to the fact that his works were being staged by an enterprising impresario in Tristia 2.517-519. 420 And, in an interesting aside that connects this current passage with Claudia Quinta, he had said in the Fasti that her story is testified by the stage (scaena testificata, F. 4.326). Ovid has transformed his earlier poems to and about his wife into a new theatrical production. Similarly, he is himself on display: exposuit memet populo Fortuna videndum, / et plus notitiae, quam fuit ante, dedit; “Fortune has exposed me to be seen by the people and gives me more celebrity than I had before” (Pont. 3.1.49-50). Ovid has paradoxically asserted that once he has left Rome, his fame increases even though he is not there to cultivate and perform his poetry. This literary and theatrical threat is underscored when Ovid inserts his bête noire, Envy. 421 Everyone who reads about Ovid’s wife, he says, questions if she is really so great; many women (non paucae) are especially on the lookout for her failings (Pont. 3.1.62-64). These are the women we imagined earlier being present at the banquets of Livia or in the company of either Livia or Julia at the gladiatorial games. And so he warns her: quarum tu praesta ne livor dicere possit / ‘haec est pro miseri lenta salute viri;’ “you play your part lest Envy can say ‘she is the one who is slow to act on behalf of the well-being of her miserable husband’” (Pont. 3.1.65-66). Like Fama in line 47 who complained on Ovid’s behalf, now his actual enemy, livor, 420 Ingleheart 2008. She does not discuss the Epistulae ex Ponto. 421 Larosa 2013: 78 collects all the examples in Ovid. She also observes that livor is present in all the different writings of Ovid. 182 feels some element of pity for Ovid (miseri…viri). This is a world turned upside-down as a result of his wife’s supposed lack of enthusiasm to obtain his restoration. Ovid next asks his wife to help him draw the chariot, which, for a poet, is a metaphor for writing as much as anything else, and recalls Pont. 2.11.13-22 (3.1.67-68). 422 As the subject matter, she has the chance to guide the way the narrative develops. His most interesting articulation of their relationship and why she should work on his behalf comes a few lines later: exigit hoc socialis amor foedusque maritum: / moribus hoc, coniunx, exigis ipsa tuis; “allied love demands this as does the marriage contract: you yourself, wife, demand this with your character” (3.1.73-74). The couplet is remarkable, and Ovid’s construction of it attracts the reader’s attention. There is polyptoton with the verb exigo, repetition with hoc; chiasmus aBBa (socialis amor foedusque maritum); alliteration over the line break maritum / moribus. Larosa has noted, but not discussed, the parallel passages for all of these words and phrases, but I would like to look more closely at the two phrases that are inextricably linked through the literary figure of chiasmus. 423 A marriage contract, foedus maritum, seems clear; the language is straightforward. But a quick glance at the OLD reveals that the sense of foedus with marriage is a distinctly poetic usage. 424 I want to suggest that the reference may be to children, or at the very least sexual intercourse, which is supported by the passages from the Thebaid and Metamorphoses where the 422 The locus classicus is Verg. Georg. 1.514. Ovid uses it as early as Ars 1.39-40. See also Lucr. 6.47. 423 Larosa 2013: 85-86. The most intriguing afterlife of the phrase foedus maritum is in Statius’ Thebaid when, in book twelve, Hippolyte appears with Theseus in the heart of Athens. The image is distinctly a Roman triumph, and it is for this reason, perhaps, that Statius uses the language of the foedus maritum: nec non populos in semet agebat / Hippolyte, iam blanda genas patiensque mariti / foederis…/ atque hosti veniat paritura marito; “Hippolyte also draws the people to herself: now her eyes are charming, and she is submissive to the marriage contract…/ and [the Athenian women marvel] that she comes to bear children for an enemy husband” (Theb. 12.533-535, 539). Patiens echoes the language of bulls enduring the yoke, i.e. she has been broken (e.g. Tr. 4.6.1-2). 424 No prose examples. OLD s.v. foedus 3. An interesting synonym, foedus coniugiale appears at Met. 11.742-744 with respect to Alcestis and Ceyx. fatis obnoxius isdem / tunc quoque mansit amor nec coniugiale solutum / foedus in alitibus: coeunt fiuntque parentes; “afflicted with the same fate, now, as birds, their love remained and their marriage contract did not dissolve: they procreate and become parents.” 183 contract is followed by a reference to children. It therefore acts in a similar way to pignus, wherein children are part of the marriage contact. 425 Similarly, “allied love” socialis amor, seems straightforward. The phrase is unique to Ovid and Larosa suggests that it emphasizes the reciprocal nature of their relationship and “that it expresses well the sense of mutuality upon which the marriage bond rests.” 426 This seems accurate, and I would add that if the foedus is the children forming a bond, then the amor is the fact that they actually like each other. This is neither a marriage of convenience nor power, rather it is built out of mutual affection. Together the two phrases encapsulate two very different spheres of Roman life. The first is the unwritten law of social behavior and the second the written law. Yet both are on display. 427 The poem indicates that “the marriage contract” has become something worth thinking about under the reign of Augustus and Tiberius, a provocative stance given both men’s history of marriage and their policing of Roman married life. 428 Ovid indicates that he considers socialis in terms of alliance because he immediately says that his wife needs to behave in a certain way because of what she owes to Marcia. These next two couplets act as a capstone to the current train of thought before Ovid transitions to the next argument: 425 Treggiari 1991: 429. Examples include Prop. 4.11.73 (Cornelia): nunc tibi commendo communia pignora natos; “now I entrust our common pledges, our children, to you;” Ovid Fasti 3.218 (Sabine women): inque sinu natos, pignora cara, tenent; “and in their laps they hold their children, dear pledges.” 426 Laroso 2013: 85 “Il nesso socialis amor è presente solo in Ovidio e conosce alter due occorrenze che arricchiscono socialis dell’ulteriore significato di ‘reciproco’ e che ben esprimono il senso di mutualità alla base del vincolo matrimoniale.” Ovid has used the phrase twice before. To his wife in Tristia 5.14.27-28, he said that socialis amor occurred when she stood firmly at his side while Jupiter thundered above. Even earlier, at Met. 7.800 it is how Cephalus describes his relationship with Procris, a most problematic reference given that he killed his wife because she rustled the bushes outside where he was sun-bathing. Of course, she never would have been there except for a rumor that told him he was cheating on her for the second time. 427 Ovid considers a foedus to be public as is clear from Tr. 3.6.1 in which he writes to a beloved, carissime, friend that he cannot hide—even should he wish—their “bond of friendship” foedus amicitiae. Everyone, he declares, has seen it, and it was better known as a byword for friendship than the two individuals (5-6). 428 For the leges Iuliae, see p.147fn.344. 184 hoc domui debes, de qua censeris, ut illam non magis officiis quam probitate colas. cuncta licet facias, nisi eris laudablilis uxor, non poterit credi Marcia culta tibi. You owe this to the house, from which you derive your social rank, to cultivate it no more out of duty than out of propriety. Although you can do all these things, unless you are a laudable wife, it will not be believed that you are part of Marcia’s inner circle [culta]. (Pont. 3.1.75-78) These lines are framed by two words which require particular attention. Censeris contains its political sense of taking a census just as much as it contains its social sense of being judged. 429 Only, where a typical census takes into account property and wealth because it concerns the man, in this case we see that the female census takes into account social and moral behavior and the family with which the censured associates. Women are ranked in a hierarchy of virtue compared to the male hierarchy of wealth. This is the same process that we saw in Pont. 1.2 when Ovid first introduced his wife to the Epistulae ex Ponto and said she was approved by Marcia (Marcia censa, 1.2.138). When Ovid follows censeris with two different forms of colo (to revere, cultivate, worship) he moves into the linguistic register of religion and friendship. 430 I translate each use differently, but the dominant meaning in the passage is that his wife might lose the status she gains from belonging to Marica’s inner circle, which Ovid established in Pont. 1.2. The “inner circle” of Marcia with which the current passage ends shows the extent to which Ovid’s wife is the subject of public gossip. It is the public who will ultimately pass judgement. It seems to be a positive thing for his wife to appear to belong to, and cultivate, the 429 OLD s.v. censeo 6 “(of the censor at Rome or in the Provinces) To register or enroll at a census, assess.” 8 “To appraise, value, assess.” 430 OLD s.v. colo 6 “To make the object of religious observances, etc., worship.” s.v. 10b “to cultivate, keep up (friendship or other ties).” An important parallel for this use comes from Livia’s friendship with another Marcia, the daughter of Cremutius Cordus: non dubito quin Iuliae Augustae, quam familiariter coluisti, magis tibi placeat exemplum; “I do not doubt that the example of Julia Augusta, who was your very good friend, will please you more” (Sen. ad Marc. 4.1). 185 society of Marcia because it is her opinion that “defines” how the public interprets Ovid’s wife’s behavior, as we saw in Pont. 1.2. Ovid is again showing the resources that these powerfully connected women can deploy. It is a mistake to think that the domus of line 75 refers only to the masculine members of the Fabian household, since this is explicitly a female world that Ovid describes. When Ovid goes out of his way to mark his wife as laudable (laudabilis uxor), he raises the tacit comparison of Marcia’s status as a wife, which we shall explore below. This emphasis on contractual obligation is intriguing. It seems to set up a world of black and white relationships in which each party behaves in a certain way to achieve a set of expected outcomes. Larosa interestingly observes that exigo, in the couplet defining his relationship with his wife, belongs to the language of finance. 431 Ovid represents his relationship with his wife as one in which his poetic representation of her takes on the form of payment for services rendered: Ovid provides “fame” and his wife is suitably payed to go and gain an audience on his behalf. She is sent on an errand. As he develops this idea he moves away from the language of socialis. First of all, he declares that she owes him gratia for service (meritis 80). She is paying him back “with interest” (faenore 81). But he has one more favor: pro nostris ut sis ambitiosa malis; “you, wage a campaign for my sufferings” (84). When Ovid asks his wife to be “ambitious” on his behalf, he is asking her to make a public spectacle of herself, which is hardly appropriate for a woman of refined social behavior. 432 Ovid goes on to express confidence in her efforts and the belief that his exhortations will have no ill effect upon her. He compares himself to a trumpeter (Pont. 3.1.91) and has now replaced Rufus in a role similar to that which he had given him in Pont. 2.11. Her chastity is 431 Larosa 2013: 85 “exigo appartiene al linguaggio finanziario, così come praesto (v. 71), refero (v. 72), debeo (vv. 75 e 80), redo (v. 81). C.f. OLD s.v. exigo 8b “(pass. w. abl..) to be valued (for), have one’s reputation based (on). 432 Ambitiosus comes from ambio which belongs to the political sphere as it is the public gathering of support for a candidate. OLD s.v. ambio 2 and 3. 186 testified to for all time (Pont. 3.1.93-94). The poem ends with Ovid’s instructions to her about how and when to approach Livia (Pont. 3.1.129-166). As the poem turns to focus on Livia, we understand how Ovid has used his wife to shift the focus away from her and toward the femina princeps (Pont. 3.1.125). This is successful deployment of a female figure. Ovid has re- triangulated a relationship between his wife and Livia. 433 When the time comes for his wife to approach Livia, though, Ovid says she will approach the face of Juno (vultum Iunonis, Pont. 3.1.145). He presents her only in her divine form. The theme of instruction to his wife, if we are to judge by the “narrative progression” through the book, ends with her last mention in 3.7 to all his friends, in which a new resigned tone dominates, although it is postured and the humor is as black as Ovid’s ever gets. He spends the first six lines saying that his friends are tired of his repeated complaints and then promises (7- 8) to change his tone and stop hoping for his friends to help him (9-10). His wife then appears for the last time. nec gravis uxori dicar, quae scilicet in me, quam proba, tam timida est experiensque parum. hoc quoque, Naso, feres: etenim peiora tulisti. iam tibi sentiri sarcina nulla potest. I will not be called a problem for my wife. She, obviously, is as honest to me as she is timid and lacking in enterprise. Naso! You will endure this as well: indeed, you have endured worse. You will now feel no burden. (Pont. 3.7.11-14). When Ovid’s wife entered the Pontic project, it was under the celebration of her approval by Marcia and her circle (Pont. 1.2.136-142). Specifically, he had said that anyone approved by them was honest (quarum iudicio siqua probata, proba est, 1.2.140). That was the first use of 433 Ovid is changing tactics. In Tr. 5.2, he asked his wife to approach Augustus. Now he asks her to approach Livia. This shift underscores Ovid’s decision to try to access female networks. 187 proba in the Pontic letters, and this is the last. We have circled back but with a significant difference. In Pont. 1.2, Ovid’s wife was judged by Marcia and other elite women. Those figures are all gone now. Instead, only Ovid judges his wife in front of his male associates. This quatrain also wraps up the sentiments we saw in Pont. 2.11, where he encouraged Rufus to goad his niece to be a bit swifter and more energetic on Ovid’s behalf. Now he has accepted that she is timid. Experiens is exceedingly rare, but in the two poetic appearances before this it has come to define humanity. 434 In Horace (Epist. 1.17.42) it refers to a client who pursues as much as he can. In the Metamorphoses it is presented as a summation of mankind, which resembles rocks since they come from rocks. They are, then, experiensque laborum; “used to hard work” (Met. 1.414). The Horatian precedent might be at play here, but I think that there is also a paradox in Ovid’s sentiment. Too much enterprise could be unseemly, which in turn would decrease his wife’s social capital that comes from her approved behavior. I wonder if Ovid has not realized that he has, perhaps, placed his wife in a very difficult situation. Ovid’s self-apostrophe in lines 13-14 represents a programmatic shift in the presentation of his wife. As I discussed above, she introduces herself in the Tristia as sarcina (Tr. 1.3.84) and Ovid describes her, in her first appearance in the Epistulae ex Ponto as a sarcina (Pont. 1.2.145). Now, in the last poem to linger on his wife, Ovid tells himself that he will feel no more burden and sarcina makes its last appearance in his poetry (Pont. 3.7.14). 435 What this means, for those who are reading the four book collection diachronically, is that he will no longer discuss his wife and feel distressed by her inability to aid him. It is also, perhaps more poignantly, an 434 In prose it appears only in Cicero (Verr. 2.3.28.2, Cluen. 23.10, ad Fam. 4.3.3.5) and Livy (5.37.1.4, 29.35.12.3). After Ovid, it appears once in Valerius Flaccus (Arg. 2.33). 435 The gravis in 3.7.11 may well act, along with sarcina in line 14 to more strongly recall Horace’s Epist. 1.13.6: gravis…sarcina. 188 acknowledgement that he will never see his wife again. But grammatically, his wife could also be the antecedent of tibi, in which case he says he will no longer be a burden to her. iv. A Distant Relation There is not a lot to say about Ovid’s wife in Pont. 4. She appears only as a nearly unrecognizable framing device in the central poem, 4.8 to Suillius, who, after some parsing of language, we realize is his step-son-in-law. 436 I suggested in the early poems of the first three books that Ovid uses his wife as a conduit to access a recognizable—but not advertised— network of women with great influence in the court. The way in which Ovid talks about his wife underscores the dramatic change that book four, as a whole, displays in contrast to Pont. 1-3. The circumstances of this letter are the same as all others in the fourth book; it is placed in a period of intense transition as Tiberius becomes emperor. Ovid uses his wife to obtain aid from Suillius who has the ear of Germanicus. Suillius has sent Ovid a letter purportedly asserting his willingness to petition the gods (superos) on Ovid’s behalf (Pont. 4.8.3). Ovid bolsters this offer with evidence that there is more reason for it than goodwill. ius aliquod faciunt affinia vincula nobis, quae semper maneant inlabefacta precor. nam tibi quae coniunx, eadem mihi filia paene est, et, quae te generum, me vocat illa virum. ei mihi, si lectis vultum tu versibus istis ducis et affinem te pudet esse meum. Our familial ties create some bond which I pray may always remain unshaken. The same woman who is your wife is almost my daughter. She who calls you son-in-law, that one calls me husband. Alas, if you frown when you read these verses and feel ashamed by our kinship. (Pont. 4.8.9-14) 436 Syme 1978: 89-90 details his career. Like Gallio, he also fell afoul of Tiberius and was exiled in 24 CE for bribery and returned after the death of Tiberius. 189 The two forms of affinis form a framing device as the most generic term for anyone who is related somehow by marriage, while the internal couplet details this relationship. 437 Despite Ovid’s insistence, he does not necessarily have the rights he claims. 438 The construction is elegant while retaining a strange restraint of specificity. Ovid never directly calls his wife a wife. She is, instead, only referred to by pronouns. She is also not directly referred to as a mother; instead Ovid appears to have the closest relationship with the daughter. 439 What she does have, however, is a stronger connection to Suillius than Ovid has. Ovid distances himself a bit from his wife in order to emphasize her connection to Suillius because she has the stronger connection to his step-daughter, given that Perilla is her biological daughter. He perhaps never knew Suillius personally as the marriage likely happened when he was in exile. 440 There is no discussion of the chastity of women in this passage. Instead, Ovid calls upon a law, ius, that is created between men as a result of the women in their lives. Their wives form a network by which he approaches Suillius. He no longer asks them to act as a mediator and denies them agency by circumventing both figures. He uses them only as access points. Ovid uses this connection as a frame to end the poem. After having used his wife to address Suillius, he turns to Germanicus for a lengthy address. Ovid then abruptly ends the 437 Treggiari 1991: 107-119. 438 Ibid.: 412 “The Romans conceptualized the structure of the family (both agnatic and cognatic and affines) stretching up, down, and sideways from each individual. In normal practice, it was siblings, perhaps coeval cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparent, and grandchildren who would, at various stages of an individual’s life, constitute an inner group. Such people had a claim on affection, social duty, inheritance, and commemoration.” 439 Perilla, the addressee of Tr. 3.7, is an attractive identification given the focus of Pont. 4.8 on metapoetics and the fact that Ovid’s poem about and to Perilla concerns her poetic compositions. We might imagine her reading this poem over her husband’s shoulders and finding something very different within than he finds. 440 Greene 2005 offers two different dates. “Not later than AD 16” (241). “c. AD 12” (361). Wheeler 1925: 28 ends his disquisition on Ovid’s exile with her marriage. “Sometime in the interval of about six years between the composition of Tr. iii. 7 and P. iv. 8 she married the accomplished but shifty politician Suillius.” P. Suillius Rufus is known primarily through Tacitus’ Annales. Syme 1978: 89 suggests he was quaestor for Germanicus in 15 CE. This would place him among the members of Germanicus’ circle that are so prominent in Pont. 4. Interestingly, later he falls afoul of Seneca the Younger who prosecutes him and sends him into exile a second time (Ann. 13.42-43). Suillius, for his part, accuses Seneca of much wrongdoing as well. 190 poem: tangat ut hoc votum caelestia, care Suilli, / numina, pro socero paene precare tuo; “that this prayer might reach Heaven, dear Suillius, pray to the gods on behalf of the one who is nearly your father-in-law” (Pont. 4.8.89-90). In his final reference to familial connections, Ovid has elided his wife and daughter by using only the male familial terminology. He has used her for his purposes and with this letter has essentially introduced himself to Suillius and thus no longer needs her. The new unit is strictly the way in which Ovid, Perilla(?), and Suillius are connected. What we see here is a conservative form of the female network, in fact not even the network. Ovid uses his wife and daughter, together, to excuse his approach to Suillius and then goes through him to Germanicus. The way Ovid describes his wife raises the final question with which I conclude this section. After the affection in books one and two, he begins to shift away from his praise and begins criticizing her and insulting her as ineffectual. This changing perspective culminates in 4.8 when Ovid has no time to spare for her and eventually erases her. The question remains: what is the purpose behind this narrative? 441 The deaths of Augustus and Fabius Maximus would not necessarily block Ovid’s wife’s access to their houses because the female network is still operative; Marcia and Livia are alive, even thriving. But, the political climate after the death of Augustus in 14 CE has created an environment that even Ovid is unsure about. He always understood the tenor of the Augustan regime—even as he perhaps prodded too forcefully and was exiled. Under Augustus, Ovid’s body (literary and physical) was the collateral he staked on his various gambles. Now, excessive attention on his wife might attract the attentions of Tiberius and Marcia and Livia—a dangerous triumvirate if we are to believe later gossip. What I will show in the next section is that it is not 441 Helzle: 1989b speculated that she moved to Tomis and therefore Ovid has no need to mention her. 191 just Tacitean dislike that crafted a narrative of suspicion around the transition of power to Tiberius. Ovid was probably even more fully aware of such an atmosphere since he was writing through the period. 442 Part Three The Widows We turn now to the presentation of the imperial women in Ovid’s exile. 443 This is a topic that has garnered a great deal of attention. Rather than take the broad diachronic approach I used with Ovid’s wife, in this section I focus more strictly on Pont. 4. Livia, in particular, has benefited from generous scholarship. 444 Patricia Johnson’s 1997 article, “Ovid’s Livia in Exile,” remains a model for the approach to Ovid’s treatment of Livia. She is careful to discuss the reasons behind ambiguous presentation. She largely focuses on the way in which Livia appears as a “model” wife. I want to take a much different tack to this question than has been attempted and to introduce these women in order to argue for Ovid’s awareness of the Roman rumor mill. In the case of Marcia, I will explore his presentation of her at the end of his life with her presence at her husband’s funeral as recorded by Tacitus. For Livia, I will compare his poetry with scurrilous verses that draw attention to the relationship between Tiberius and his mother that Suetonius (Tib. 59) records and Tacitus (1.72) mentions. 445 442 Another great historian also wrote through the period, but Livy (d. 17 CE) leaves nothing about these details. 443 Given the arguments for Ovidian partisanship as either Tiberian or Germanican, it is surprising that Germanicus’ wife, Agrippina, has no presence in Ovid’s poetry. Perhaps Ovid did not want to offend Germanicus by writing about his wife, or he wanted to focus on Germanicus as a poet. After all, the homosocial world of male poets that exists in Pont. 4 is emphatically without wives. Or, since Ovidian women who appear are open to censure as the poet exposes them to the public, he then treats Agrippina like his own wife and keeps her out of the public eye. 444 Substantial studies include Purcell 1986; Herbert-Brown 1994: chapter four; Johnson 1997; and the full-scale monograph Luisi and Berrino 2010. Careful is Severy 2003: 232-242. See also Jenkins 2009 on the presentation of Livia in the Consolatio ad Liviam. Most recently, Thakur 2014 has looked at Livia throughout Ovid’s career. Barrett 2002 remains the best biography in English. 445 Purcell 1983: 94 offers a warning; “aspects of the public image were quickly appropriated by the satirical tradition; it is from such claims that the rumours which abound in the rich gossipy layers of Suetonius and Dio draw their appropriateness—who can judge their veracity.” 192 i. Ventriloquizing Marcia Ovid has something of a fascination with Marcia. She is placed prominently in the conclusion of the Fasti and appears twice in the Epistulae ex Ponto. I have already discussed her presence in Pont. 1.2 and 3.1 with regard to Ovid’s wife, and it is worthwhile to return to this latter case as a reminder before we move on: cuncta licet facias, nisi eris laudablilis uxor, / non poterit credi Marcia culta tibi; “although you can do all these things, unless you are a laudable wife, it will not be believed that you are part of Marcia’s inner circle” (3.1.75-78). This exchange creates an asymmetrical relationship. It does not last because Ovid drops his wife from the narrative immediately. Marcia is more problematically removed because he actually steals her voice from a funeral and claims her words as his own. In Pont. 4.6, addressed to the Brutus who was the recipient of the first poem of Pont. 1 and the last poem of Pont. 3, Ovid abruptly stops talking to his addressee. Lines 9-14 form a surprising apostrophe to Paullus Fabius Maximus, who had recently died. Equally unexpected, lines 15-16 document the death of Augustus. This poem, therefore, implicitly introduces two widows. Both of them, Marcia and Livia, respectively, go unmentioned, which might seem peculiar given that Ovid has not really hesitated in his earlier work to write about these women and to use their names. Once we have read through the book past 4.11 in which Gallio, a widower, receives a great deal of attention, this absence of widows is even more striking. By not mentioning the widows, one could argue that Ovid is being respectful, since it is cruel to bring up a loss after time has passed because the wound can be reopened (e.g. Pont. 4.11.19-20). But given the context another explanation is more likely, namely, that Ovid is making himself a singular mourner of both figures. He becomes, in a way, a stand in. The effect of making himself the widow-substitute of these dead men is problematic given Ovid’s relationship with both 193 figures in his earlier work. Fabius Maximus, as we saw in chapter two, was a trusted confidant in whose intellect and literary cunning Ovid placed a great deal of faith. Augustus, on the other hand, was never much praised for these qualities. Ovid draws subtle attention to Marcia by means of an unmarked quotation: occidis ante preces, causamque ego, Maxime, mortis / (nec fuero tanti) me reor esse tuae; “you die before my prayers; I think that I am the cause of your death, Maximus, (although I will not have been of such great worth)” (Pont. 4.6.11-12). Both Syme and Helzle notice the parallel with Tacitus, although only Helzle comments on it. Tacitus writes: auditos in funere eius Marciae gemitus semet incusantis quod causa exiti marito fuisset; “at his funeral, the groans of Marcia were heard accusing herself for being the cause of her husband’s death” (Ann. 1.5). According to Helzle: “it would be in keeping with Ovid’s allusiveness…if he made use of some anecdotal information on which Tacitus seems to fall back as well since he treats the story as rumor. In this Ovid’s [sic] case adaptation of what Marcia allegedly said is quite pointed.” 446 I agree with all of this but differ from Helzle’s interpretation of the ventriloquism: “This self-incriminating public gesture, whether merely conventional or pointed, serves as a tribute, maybe even a consolation to Marcia. By taking the blame on himself, Ovid may be trying to relieve his patron’s widow.” 447 Such a view neglects Ovid’s presentation of Marcia over time while also being culturally unsound given the highly scripted activities of women at a funeral. The question also arises how Ovid imagines he caused the death of his friend. For Helzle it is a rhetorical move, but I think there is more concrete evidence. The only answer is the letters that he sent and the aid that he requested and said he had received. 446 Helzle 1989: 145-146. It is also interesting that in this context Tacitus refers to another rumor in which Augustus died because his wife poisoned him. (Dio 56.30.1-2, Tac. Ann. 1.5). 447 Ibid.: 146. 194 According to Tacitus, Augustus, worried about his worsening health, began thinking about forgiving Agrippa Postumus, whom he had exiled to Planasia. He went with Fabius Maximus to visit him. The meeting went well: quod Maximum uxori Marciae aperuisse, illam Liviae. gnarum id Caesari; neque multo post extincto Maximo, dubium an quaesita morte; “Maximus revealed this to his wife Marcia, and she to Livia. This became known to Caesar. Not long after, Maximus was dead—it is uncertain if it was suicide” (Ann. 1.5). As I have mentioned, this passage reveals much about (negative) female networks; Fabius Maximus likely did not want the fact that he told his wife to reach Augustus. It also potentially implicates Augustus as an agent in Fabius Maximus’ death, since he was the culmination of the report. But while Augustus might want the meeting kept secret, it is unlikely that he would kill his friend over it. Cui bono? Livia. Fabius Maximus supported Agrippa’s recall. With Agrippa out of the way, and Augustus in ill health, Livia has much more power to influence the succession of her son, Tiberius. 448 Ovid’s blame is less clear. One possible reason for Ovid to draw attention to this moment is that he is presenting himself as an Agrippa Postumus and that Fabius Maximus was helping him be recalled. 449 Ovid, therefore, re-writes history to draw attention to himself and his own 448 It must be pointed out that we know of Marcia’s involvement in this sequence of events only from Tacitus. We learn from Pliny the Elder (34.3 on the fortunes of Augustus) that a Fabius seems to have betrayed him while Livia and Tiberius plotted against him: abdicatio Postumi Agrippae post adoptionem, desiderium post relegationem, inde suspicio in Fabium arcanorumque proditionem, hinc uxoris et Tiberii cogitationes, suprema eius cura; “His last worries were the disavowal of Agrippa Postumus after his adoption, and the regret that came after his relegation; then his suspicion against Fabius and the surrender of his secrets; then the plots of his wife and Tiberius.” In Plutarch’s essay on “Talkativeness,” there is a bungled version of this story. Fulvius (Φούλβιος) overhears Augustus lamenting his misfortunes concerning the succession and his consideration to recall Postumus. Then the network kicks into gear: ταῦτ᾿ ὁ Φούλβιος ἀκούσας ἐξήνεγκε πρὸς τὴν ἑαυτοῦ γυναῖκα, πρὸς δὲ Λιβίαν ἐκείνη, Λιβία δὲ καθήψατο πικρῶς Καίσαρος. “Fulvius relayed what he had heard to his wife; she to Livia, and Livia sharply scolded Caesar” (de Garr. 508a-b). At the next morning’s salutatio, Fulvius greets Caesar who responds “goodbye” (ὑγίαιν). Fulvius then leaves and tells his wife that he will kill himself. She, in turn rebukes his loose tongue one last time and then kills herself in front of her husband. Barrett 2002: 63 suggests that the suicide was inspired by Arria (who died in 42 CE alongside her husband Caecina Paetus). I am most intrigued by Fulvius’ wife’s rebuke that he is the one with the loose tongue when it was she who told Livia. It is almost as though she has no other choice once she learns any new information. 449 In his appendix of suppositions for Ovid’s exile from 1437-1963, Thibault 1964: 125-129 details no fewer than 17 hypothoses aligning Ovid somehow with an Agrippa conspiracy. The earliest was in 1773. 195 plight. But he might also be more literal. Throughout Pont. 1-3, he addresses the powerfully placed man three times (1.2, 3.3, 3.8). He dares to name him and draw attention to their long history together. Ovid might be saying that he is to blame because he also revealed something secret. Something that we cannot see in the poems today. This would also explain why his wife suddenly drops out of the narrative in Pont. 4. His silence offers protection. Ovid’s ambiguous presentation of Marcia is clear from the way he ends the Fasti, which he is reworking simultaneously. The last scene of the Fasti is dedicated to Marcia and appears to be a tribute, but the praise of Marcia turns out to be rather more problematic. 450 Critics have continued to think that Ovid praises her. 451 However, given the end of the Fasti and the passage under discussion, it is hard to agree that Ovid is a partisan of Marcia. Ovid’s last conversation in the Fasti is with the Pierides on June 30: tempus Iuleis cras est natale Kalendis: Pierides, coeptis addite summa meis. dicite, Pierides, quis vos addixerit isti cui dedit invitas victa noverca manus. sic ego. sic Clio: ‘clari monimenta Philippi aspicis, unde trahit Marcia casta genus, Marcia, sacrifico deductum nomen ab Anco, in qua par facies nobilitate sua. par animo quoque forma suo respondet; in illa et genus et facies ingeniumque simul. 450 Some confusion arises as to which Marcia this is because everyone has the same name. Barchiesi 1997: 267 aptly describes the situation. “The genealogy of the founder is a knot of stories and compliments.” There is general consensus that the Philip discussed here is the son (suff. 38 BCE) of his father with the same name (cos. 56 BCE). Philip the younger had a sister named Marcia (who married Cato the Younger and Hortensius). He married an Atia, which was also the name of his mother. Their daughter was Marcia who married Fabius Maximus. Only Richardson 1977: 81 thinks that the Philip and Marcia are the older generation. This leads him (p.359fn.8) to doubt Ovid’s genealogy. But why would Ovid have any interest in that older generation when his primary concern is with those figures currently powerful in the regime? For the ambiguity of Ovid’s praise of Marcia, see Boyle and Woodard 2000: li-lii; 310-311; Boyle 2003: 51-53, 270-271. Newlands 1995: 213 rightly states “[i]ts allusive nature should warn us, however, of its complexity of thought.” 451 Tissol 2014: 90 is the latest. “she receives an impressive tribute at F. 6.803-10.” The communis opinio has not changed since Syme 1978: 145 “Ovid had already paid handsome tribute in the Fasti.” 146 “Philippus’ temple was in fact dedicated on the last day of June. That gave Ovid an opportunity to bring in Marcia (and also Caesar’s aunt). She is not merely a name. Birth, beauty, and character are extolled.” Syme 1986: 404 “he extolled in Marcia a generous endowment.” C.f. Helzle 1989: 148 where he writes that Fasti 6.810 is: “a passage encomiastic of Fabius Maximus’ wife Marcia.” 196 nec, quod laudamus formam, tu turpe putaris: laudamus magnas hac quoque parte deas. nupta fuit quondam matertera Caesaris illi: o decus, o sacra femina digna domo!’ sic cecinit Clio, doctae adsensere sorores; adnuit Alcides increpuitque lyram. Tomorrow is the birth of Julius’ Kalends. Pierides, add this final touch to what I have begun. Tell me, Pierides, who joined you with that one [Hercules] who received the surrender of a conquered stepmother [Juno]. That is what I said. This Clio: “You see the monument of famous Philip from whom chaste Marcia is descended. Marcia, her name comes from Ancus the priest. Her beauty matches her nobility. Her form is equal to her mind. In her are lineage and beauty and brilliance equal. Don’t think it disgraceful that we praise her form; we praise great goddesses for it as well. Caesar’s aunt [Atia Minor] was once married to that man [Philip]. O glory, o woman worthy of that sacred house!” This is what Clio sang. The learned sisters agreed. Hercules nodded and thwacked his lyre. (F. 6.797-812) The passage is a little opaque and made the more so by omissions. Adding to the opacity are laudatory epitaphic topoi. 452 Ovid is describing the temple of Hercules and the Muses (Hercules Musarum) which he avoids saying directly. 453 He ascribes the activity of combining Hercules and the Muses to Philip. But Philip, on 30 June 29 BCE, merely conducted a 452 Much of the laudatory language is reminiscent of our earliest epitaphs, especially the Scipionic. First, the interest in genealogy, second the various characteristics selected for praise: par animo quoque forma suo respondet; in illa / et genus et facies ingeniumque simul. “Her beauty matches her nobility. Her form is equal to her brain. In her are lineage and beauty and brilliance equal” is similar to Lucius Scipio Barbatus’ epitaph: [L. Corneli]o Cn. f. Scipio Cornelius Lucius Scipio Barbatus Gnaivod patre / prognatus, fortis vir sapiensque, quoius forma virtutei parisuma | fuit, consol censor aidilis quei fuit apud vos Taurasia Cisauna / Samnio cepit, subigit omne Loucanam opsidesque abdoucit; “Lucius Cornelius Scipio, son of Gnaeus. Lucius Cornelius Scipio Long-beard, Gnaeus’ begotten son, a valiant gentleman and wise, whose fine form matched his bravery surpassing well, was aedile, consul and censor among you; he took Taurasia and Cisauna, in fact Samnium; he overcame all the Lucanian land and brought hostages therefrom” (Text and trans. Warmington, Loeb). 453 All of this will be discussed at much greater length in the next chapter. Sources for the temple, besides this passage include: Suet. Aug. 29.5: multaque a multis tunc exstructa sunt, sicut a Marcio Philippo aedes Hercules Musarum; “many men built at that time many structures, like the shrine of Hercules of the Muses by Marcius Philippus.” This passage is often used to support a date for the restoration in 29 BCE, although I find no reason for a such a strong consensus. Boyle 2003: 269 at least nuances the date with “c. 29 bce.” See also Eumenius Paneg. 9.7, Cic. Arch. 11 and 27 (next fn.). Pliny HN 35.36 and Livy 38.9.13 describe the dedications of art. For visual evidence, see the Severan Plan (reproduced in Richardson 1977: 360) and the coins of Q. Pomponius Musa (Richardson 1977: 358). 197 restoration (that included adding a portico) of a temple that was built sometime around 180 BCE by Marcus Fulvius Nobilior after his conquest over Ambracia. 454 The metapoetic importance of the temple is well-known. 455 I am more interested in two other questions: when can we date this passage? why are there so many women in it with so many different roles? The question of Ovid’s revision of the Fasti has largely been limited to book one. 456 There is some evidence for revision in later books, but largely the sixth book is thought to have been left alone. 457 Although she ultimately concludes that “book 6 may have been left virtually unrevised,” Elaine Fantham does present the suggestion that “[t]here is intermittent evidence of late material in book 6, such as the final panel in honour of Marcia, wife of Fabius Maximus, from 799-812.” 458 I agree that this passage is likely to be either a late addition or, better, a final completion. 459 In the first place, whenever Ovid mentions Marcia in the Epistulae ex Ponto it is always in close proximity to the house of the Fabii. Here, in the Fasti, in contrast, Marcia’s 454 The dating of the original temple lacks consensus. Richardson 1977: 355 “we may accept a date of 185-180 B.C. as likely.” Boyle and Woodard 2000: 310 “its construction dates to 179 BC during his tenure as censor.” Littlewood 2006: 229 “[t]he circular temple of Hercules Musarum was built by M. Fulvius Nobilior in 189 BC on his return from campaign in Ambracia, for which he had a triumph in 187 BC.” She specifies (p. 230) that the temple “celebrated its natalis only in 178 BC.”Evidence comes from Cic. Arch. 27 (that Fulvius dedicated his spoils to the Muses; Fulvius non dubitavit Martis manubias Musis consecrare), but he mentions no building other than a set of general “shrines to the muses” (Musarum delubra). Livy 40.51 states that Nobilior built a portico ad fanum Herculis in his censorship of 179 BCE. Evidence for 179 comes from Eumenius. Aedem Herculis Musarum in circo Flaminio Fuluius ille Nobilior ex pecunia censoria fecit; “The famous Fulvius Nobilior built the shrine of Hercules Musarum, in the Circus Flaminius, using the censorial funds” (Paneg. Lat. 9.7.3). Richardson 1977: 355 calls this, without argument, “a clearly erroneous assertion.” Only Boyle 2003: 270 observes that “[t]he dies natalis of June 30 in Ovid is not noted by the calendars and cannot be the original dedication date, since June had only 29 days before Caesar’s reformation of the calendar. It is clearly the dedication date of Philippus’ restoration.” How fitting for Ovid to end his calendrical poem with a calendrical obfuscation. 455 Littlewood 2006: 229-231 provides the basic history of the building. See Barchiesi 1997: 269-271 for a reading of Ovid’s historical elision. “The lack of a direct indication of continuity shows that an antiquarian interest (an important theme in the Fasti) can not only reinterpret the past but can also make it unreadable by erasing its tracks.” See also the important contribution of Newlands 1995: 209-236, Boyle 2003: 269-271, and Heslin 2015. 456 See Green 2004: 15-26. 457 Littlewood 2006: 199 on lines 6.655-666 states “[w]hilst Ovid did not revise his Fasti comprehensively beyond Book 1, he appears to have tweaked almost every passage which contained some allusion to exile.” 458 Fantham 2006: 414. 459 Possible evidence for this is ring composition. In F. 1.15 Ovid asks Germanicus: adnue conanti per laudes ire tuorum; “approve [lit. nod at] of one trying to go through your honors.” The last line of the poem (6.812) shows Hercles doing just that: adnuit Alcides. 198 marriage goes utterly unmentioned; perhaps because he is more interested in the relations of wives to other women than to their husbands. 460 Instead, for the first time, Ovid describes Marcia as though she were unmarried. He emphasizes her lineage from the priest Ancus and, in order to provide a frame, the marriage of Atia to Philip. 461 Both women in this passage also recall their presence in Pont. 1.2.138-139 especially given that the phrase matertera Caesaris appears only in these two locations in Ovid. Even Juno is described as a noverca which, by definition, marks her as a wife just as much as a stepmother. Ovid’s elision of Marcia’s marriage is all the more glaring because of the weighty presence of Fabius Maximus in the Fasti. He is easily the most present and praised mortal. 462 In fact, her list of accomplishments would be even greater for being a noble wife. But Ovid does not allow her that honor. I would argue that this passage comes after the death of Fabius Maximus, when rumors about Marcia’s role in her husband’s death were already in the air—regardless, it would certainly continue to be read after Fabius Maximus’ death. This is another form of silencing Marcia similar to his stealing her voice from her husband’s funeral. One further observation: by ignoring her marriage, he also ignores her progeny. In this case the silence may be significant since her daughter, Numantia, married Sextus Appuleius, the consul with Sextus Pompeius in 14 CE, the year Augustus and Fabius died. 463 460 This observation is uncharacteristically overlooked by Newlands 1995 (p. 232) who writes as though Fabius were present in the scene. She is otherwise excellent on Ovid’s use of marked omission. 461 This marriage receives particular emphasis because Ovid introduces Philip in line 801, writes seven lines about Marcia and beauty, and comes back to him with the pronoun illi in line 809, which begins with the idea of marriage, nupta. 462 Barchiesi 1997: 267 “He is certainly the political protagonist with most space in the Fasti (except, of course, the imperial family). He is the center of attention when Ovid praises the gens Fabia and its powerful cognomen Maximus.” See also pp.144-152 on the genealogy. 463 Critics have frequently pointed to Propertius 4.11 as a deliberate model for Ovid’s practices of poetic closure. In particular, Cornelia’s role as a mother and wife. This makes Marcia’s lack of husband and children all the more striking. Barchiesi 1997: 267. Newlands 1995: 223-224 looks at Cornelia hopes for a future stepmother in comparison with Juno. Littlewood 2006: 232 “Verbal similarities in Ovid’s line draw the reader’s attention to Marcia’s affinities with Propertius’ Cornelia, who is distinguished, like Marcia, by her nobility and virtue.” Littlewood unfortunately rejects one of her most interesting comments and one which, given my argument for rewriting, makes the decision to allude to Propertius all the more compelling. “It might be added, in conclusion, that Marcia’s husband, Paullus Fabius Maximus, and Cornelia’s son, L. Aemilius Paullus, were both eventually 199 We can now return to the question of why Ovid claims to be the cause of Fabius Maximus’ death and what the point of competing over that role is. On the one hand, the ventriloquizing reminds the knowing reader of Marcia and therefore makes her present without mentioning her. On the other hand, Ovid can make his own political position the cause. The argument rests on the relationship between Fabius Maximus and Augustus. When, in historical time, Ovid was first writing to Fabius Maximus in Pont. 1.2, which dates to 13 CE, Maximus was encouraging Augustus to recall his banished adopted son, and biological grandson, Agrippa Posthumus in order to have an heir. 464 At this meeting, Augustus began to relent in his anger toward Agrippa. Marcia, according to the rumor-mill of the Empire, learned of this meeting, reported her husband to Livia and thence Fabius Maximus and Augustus died, and, with no time lost, Agrippa was murdered. 465 The comparison to Agrippa Postumus pairs disconcertingly well with Ovid. The former was exiled in 7 CE for having a temper, speaking badly about Livia as a stepmother, and charging Augustus with criminal misappropriation of his inheritance. When he did not change, he was disinherited and sent into exile on Planasia. 466 Ovid signposts this connection when he turns from blaming himself for the death of Fabius Maximus, who was his hope for return, to the idea that Augustus had begun to forgive him: iam timeo nostram cuiquam mandare salutem: / ipsum morte tua concidit auxilium. / coeperat Augustus deceptae ignoscere culpae; “now [with destroyed in political intrigues directed against Tiberius in AD 14 and AD 8 respectively, although this contributes nothing to Ovid’s poetics of closure, since both misfortunes occurred nearly a decade after each poem was written.” While Propertius did not rewrite, Ovid was able to take what was a coincidence in Propertius into pattern in the Fasti. 464 “Men even believed that the frail septuagenarian, accompanied by his intimate, Paullus Fabius Maximus, had made a voyage by sea to visit Agrippa Postumus in secret.” Syme 2002: 433. Dio 56.30. 465 Ann. 1.5 on the meeting; 1.6.1-3 on the death; Suet. Tib. 22. 466 Dio 55.32. One also learns here that Agrippa liked to dally away his days in fishing. Perhaps, for the conspiracy- theorist, this is a connection to the “author” of the Halieutica? According to Suetonius he was first sent to Surrentum (Aug. 55.1). After a while, Agrippa became more deranged and was sent to Planasia (55.4). See also Tib. 15.2 on the joint adoption of Tiberius and Agrippa and of Tiberius’ adoption of Germanicus. 200 Fabius Maximus dead] I am afraid to entrust my security to anyone; protection itself vanished with your death. Augustus had begun to forgive an elusive fault” (Pont. 4.6.13-15). 467 The lack of a possessive permits the reader to read the statement on several levels and raises the significant question: whose mistake? Ovid’s comes first to mind, but the poet has not marked it as such. Rather we can think that Augustus has begun to forgive his own mistake that he committed in error—and certainly Ovid believes Augustus had erred. On the other hand, if the mistake is Ovid’s, he uses an implicit analogy to question why, if Augustus could forgive Agrippa, could he not forgive Ovid? Ultimately, by reading Ovid’s wife alongside Marcia, we see the way in which Ovid has radically changed his approach to writing about women over the course of his career. Marcia is no “heroine” and his wife no Corinna. These are specific women situated in a specific time and place and social milieu. Ovid’s final writing is not as a lascivious poet but as a poet husband concerned about the future of Rome. ii. Livia: Wife, Widow, Mother, and Priestess In the final passage of the Fasti that I discussed above, Ovid does not say Hercules’ name. Instead he uses enjambed pronouns: isti / cui (F. 6.799-800). He also does not say Juno’s name. He calls her a victa noverca; “conquered stepmother” (6.800). Earlier, in the Ars, he referred to the same moment of Juno acquiescing to Hercules’ deification: ille, fatigata praebendo monstra noverca, / qui meruit caelum, quod prior ipse tulit; “that one [Hercules] was 467 deceptae culpae is difficult. Akrigg 1985: 231-232 “Being unable to explain deceptae, I have conjectured detectae.” Helzle 1989: 147 translates as “a misguided offence.” It seems that ambiguity is deliberate. Is it Ovid who was misguided in committing the offence or being charged? In the previous poem we read of Pompeius’ decepta…aure (4.5.11), which I translated as “tricked ear.” Ovid has a long-standing interest in the nature of deception. It first appeared in a context about a girlfriend deceiving her lover of her other lovers and affairs so that the poet not suffer. As he says—deploying emphatic polyptoton—: ut sua per nostram redimat periuria poenam, / victima deceptus decipientis ero; “so that she can atone for her lies through my punishment, I, deceived, will be a victim of the deceiver” (Am. 3.3.21-22). 201 received because his step-mother was tired of sending out monsters; he deserved heaven because he had earlier carried it” (Ars. 2.217-218). She is also his stepmother in the Metamorphoses (Met. 9.135, 181). When Hercules receives his place in heaven, she seems to accept it: adsensere dei; coniunx quoque regia visa est; “the gods agreed. Even the royal wife seemed to agree” (Met. 9.259). The line also recalls the agreement of the Pierides at the end of the Fasti and we might wonder about just how much they are in accord, as a result. I want to draw special attention to the way in which Juno fails, in every case, to prevent her step-son from ascending. She is a stepmother, but she is also a generically failed stepmother. Ovid’s frequent comparisons of Jupiter and Juno to Augustus and Livia make the connection more interesting. Patricia Johnson has shown how Ovid creates the connection and also how he asks the reader to consider the Fasti and the Epistulae ex Ponto together. 468 In his long letter to his wife, he writes about Livia that: quae veneris formam, mores Iunonis habendo / sola est caelesti digna reperta toro; “she has the form of Venus and the character of Juno and only she has been found worthy of the divine bed” (Pont. 3.1.117-118). 469 Later in the same poem, Ovid uses different language: Augustum numen adora / progeniemque piam participemque tori; “worship the godhead of Augustus and his pious son and bed-mate” (3.1.163-164). 470 In the first book of the Fasti, we read: sola toro magni digna reperta Iovis; “only she was found worth of great Jove” (F. 1.650). These passages underscore Livia’s role as a wife, and there has been much discussion about the “obvious factual inaccuracy” of Ovid’s description of Livia’s singular status because both she and Augustus were married more than once, although it is Augustus who 468 Johnson 1997: 417. 469 This uncomfortable combination of beauty and intelligence builds off of Marcia’s beauty (forma/facies) and intelligence (animo/ingenium) in the conclusion to F. 6. 470 The strong alliteration of “p” lends a slightly sarcastic edge to line 164. Thakur 2014: 199 “Livia’s place at the end of the couplet reinforces the bond between her and her son, her and her husband, and between her son and Augustus. The group forms a triad, united and indivisible.” I suggest that my reading of sarcasm in the alliteration undermines some of Thakur’s language of the indivisible. 202 is like Jove, not Octavian. 471 Both gain their mythological analogies once they are married. Again, I do not want to re-tread this particular well-covered ground but rather to consider the final passage of the Fasti with an understanding that Juno and Livia are frequently conflated. What I want to suggest is that Livia is, in fact, a more successful noverca than Juno. 472 Ovid presents the latter figure as frequently failing to prevent her step-son from entering Heaven. Livia, on the other hand, is notably successful, which is something that Ovid knows with the accession of Tiberius after the death of Augustus. Hence, my argument that this final passage is composed after the death of Augustus and added to the skeleton of the Fasti that Ovid brought from Rome. Livia is a successful stepmother because she succeeds in privileging her own children over her step-children, especially Agrippa Postumus. 473 She is less successful at the other roles Ovid assigns her: mother and priestess. 474 Ovid is at odds with historical rumor. Suetonius relates one piece of popular verse that a poet, upset at the extravagances of Tiberius, composed: asper et immitis, breviter vis omnia dicam? / Dispeream, si te mater amare potest; “vicious and hard man, do you want me to say it all briefly? I’m at a loss if your mother is able to love you” (Suet. Tib. 59=Courtney VP 11a). Tacitus also records, for the year 15 CE, that these “popular verses” (carmina…vulgata) were spreading and making Tiberius mad because they were unsigned and 471 Green 2004: 298; Johnson 1997: 410. To these, I would add that Ovid is drawing attention to the fact that Tiberius is not a blood-relation of Augustus. Ovid’s ostentatiously false compliment furthers his interest in representations of the ideal of the univira. 472 Livia as a noverca is most famously Tacitean. She first appears when Tacitus is discussing the deaths of her step- children. Tacitus blames their deaths on: novercae Liviae dolus “the trick of their stepmother Livia” (Ann. 1.3.3). The death of Agrippa Postumus was also blamed on Tiberius and Livia’s novercalibus odiis “stepmotherly hate” (1.6.2). See Barrett 2001 on this question and the generic nature of this version of stepmothers. 473 Livia’s familial status is, in comparison with Marcia, refreshingly straightforward. Before 14 CE and the death of Augustus, she is the (third) wife of Augustus and mother of Tiberius (who is Augustus’ step-son). She is grandmother of Germanicus (on the Julian side; he is the grandson of Octavia) and Drusus (the son of her son Tiberius). When Augustus adopts Tiberius he makes Tiberius adopt Germanicus, and Livia becomes doubly the grandmother of Germanicus. Soon after Augustus’ death her name changes to Julia Augusta. On these matters, Bauman 1992: 130-131 and Thakur 2014: 203fn.103. 474 Johnson 1997: 404fn.11 highlights the neglect of this topic. 203 attacked his savagery and discordem cum matre animum; “spirit at odds with his mother” (Tac. Ann. 1.72.4). How surprising, then, that when we encounter Livia in Pont. 4, she appears twice. When Ovid describes his (supposed) lararium, there is a figurine of Augustus and: stant pariter natusque pius coniunxque sacerdos / numina iam facto non leviora deo; “equally stand the pious son and priestess wife, gods not unequal to the one made a god” (Pont. 4.9.107-108). And later, when describing the contents of the poem he read in Getic, he taught that esse pudicarum te Vestam, Livia, matrum, / ambiguum nato dignior anne viro; “you, Livia, were the Vesta of chaste mothers; it is uncertain whether you are more worthy of your son or your husband” (4.13.30). The material from Tacitus and Suetonius implies a fairly well-known antagonism between mother and son, but Ovid elides that and pointedly describes Livia in glowing terms as a mother and wife. 475 This latter quotation is particularly important because it is the last word Ovid has on the subject of Livia and women in the Pontic material. Both poems are firmly in the period after the death of Augustus and the accession of Tiberius. The former presents Livia as a priestess for the cult of her husband of which her son is a worshiper (pius). Here again, Ovid shows his clear- eyed awareness of post 14 CE events since Livia was actually appointed chief priestess for Divus Augustus. 476 The second is more interesting. The ambiguity, I would argue, is whether Livia is more worthy to be like her husband, and hence a goddess—which was already happening in the provinces while she was alive—or is like her son and be a mortal. 477 Other differences are on the style of ruling: who is she more fit to rule beside, or be more effective as a co-ruler? I think the 475 Thakur 2014: 176 interestingly observes that “[o]nly upon the announcement of Tiberius’ victories in Pannonia and publication of Augustus’ heir on imperial coinage does Ovid respond by focusing on Livia’s role as Tiberius’ mother…Ovid positions Livia as the binding figure between Augustus and Tiberius.” 476 Dio 56.46.1: ἱέρειάν τε τὴν Λιουίαν τὴν Ἰουλίαν τε καὶ Αὔγουσταν ἤδη καλουμένην ἀπέδειξαν. “And they appointed Livia, called Julia and Augusta, the priestess.” Vel. Pat. 2.75.3: ad deos sacerdotem; “priestess to the God.” Taylor 1930: 230. Barrett 2002: 159-162. 477 On Livia’s early deification in the provinces see Bauman 1992: 127. 204 most prominent ambiguity, however, is the inverse question. Is the son or the father more worthy of her? The answer is the son because she machinated his rise to power. Finally, there is the sense that Ovid might be taking a greater risk in referring to Livia as a priestess. As quoted above, Ovid asserts that he has a lararium in his home and that there one can find Tiberius as a pious son and Livia as a “priestess wife” coniunxque sacerdos. Such a statement goes against the picture we have from the historians. While one can suggest that this is a moment when Ovid might be out of step with what is actually happening in Rome and is just guessing, it is better to give him credit. In this case, we can look at the testimony of Suetonius: tulit etiam perindigne actum in senatu, ut titulis suis quasi ‘Augusti,’ ita et ‘Liviae filius’ adiceretur. quare non ‘parentem patriae’ appellari, non ullum insignem honorem recipere publice passus est He [Tiberius] was also very upset by a decree of the senate that ‘son of Augustus” and even “son of Livia” be added to his titles. Therefore, he neither allowed her to be called ‘Parent of the Fatherland’ nor to receive any other distinguished public honor” (Suet. Tib. 50.2-3). 478 Ovid potentially challenges Tiberius both by allotting Livia the honors he does and by calling him the son of Augustus. In either case, he is using Livia for his own ends at this point and asserting her potency in the new regime. The same paragraph of Suetonius also helps us understand that Ovid is taking a risk in pairing Livia and Vesta. Tiberius forbade Livia from important matters and did so especially after she had rallied the people to put out a fire at the temple of Vesta. The first idea is particularly pertinent given my focus on Livia’s role in governing: sed et frequenter admonuit, maioribus nec feminae convenientibus negotiis abstineret; “and he frequently admonished her to abstain from important business or business 478 Similar is Tac. Ann. 1.14. See also Vel. Pat. 130.5 who ostentatiously asserts that relations were good between mother and son. 205 unsuited for a woman (Suet. Tib. 50.3). This is the very business which, I have been arguing, Ovid was counting on when he established his wife as part of the elite inner circle in the hope that she would earn him a reprieve. Conclusion In this chapter, I have shown that Ovid’s women differ drastically in the fourth book of the Epistulae ex Ponto from the first three books and especially from the Tristia. In arguing this, I have added support for the cohesion of book four and its relatively late date. My central claim is that Ovid changes his presentation of his wife because of the transition of power from Augustus to Tiberius. By examining two relatively unknown women and two women who were key players in political decisions, I have tried to show that Ovid’s thinking is systematic. Gallio’s wives are silent and Pont. 4.11 serves largely as a provocation to consider what the role of marriage, remarriage, and children is in Roman society. Ovid’s wife experiences the culmination of the dramatic narrative that Ovid has written from the start of his journey to exile to this, his last moment. Marcia and Livia are at the head of a network of female associates that Ovid tried to access through his wife in Pont. 1.2 and 3.1. This type of network, however, is strongly rooted in Republican traditions and when Ovid witnesses the death of Augustus, he also comes to terms with the fact that the Republic will never be restored and so abandons atavistic political processes. The idea of networks and alliances will come to the fore again in my next chapter when I discuss Ovid’s interest in poetic community and ritualized behavior. 206 Chapter Four The Sacred Rites of Poets When Persius wrote the prologue to his Satires in the middle of the first century CE, Latin literature was ready for a new voice. In the very middle of this poem, line 7 of 14, after rejecting traditional muses and before claiming that hunger, not industriousness, drives poetry, we read: ipse semipaganus / ad sacra vatum carmen adfero nostrum; “I, part bumpkin, bring my song to the rites/shrines of the vates” (Pers. prol. 6-7). The prologue is obviously sophisticated and metapoetic, but I think that there is also a deep sincerity. When Persius brings his poems (carmen nostrum) to the rites of the vates—and sacra can mean both rites and a shrine—he explicitly says that he is going to enter into a tradition of poetry in which the very act of writing is, in and of itself, a sacred endeavor. There is a powerful sense of belonging in the first person plural nostrum. He is including others in his poetry. Persius did not invent the sacra. Instead, he is drawing upon a rich tradition that goes as far back as Hesiod. My interest, however, is the development of the metaphor under the Augustan poets, and its richest manifestation in Ovid’s Tomitan literature. In this chapter, I will be arguing that it is Ovid who has the greatest impact for defining the sacra, which he began to do only after leaving Rome. It is on the shores of the Black Sea, balanced on the periphery of the empire and as far from the center of poetic production as he can be, that he has the revelation that, wherever the poet is, there is the center of power. The definition of sacra vatum is not fixed, but Ovid, more than any other poet, philosophizes about what poetry does, and his view changes over time. This makes sense for a poet whose major predecessors and teachers have died, and who is not in Rome to cultivate a future generation of poets. Nevertheless, he does leave behind the Epistulae ex Ponto 4 which contains some of his final thoughts on poetry, alongside those in the Fasti. This chapter will proceed in four parts. In 207 the first, I will look at the sacra as a physical location where poets gathered in Rome, focusing on the Collegium Poetarum and the Temple of Hercules Musarum and Ovid’s nostalgic reminiscences of poetic gatherings. In the second, I will investigate the literary tradition that considers poetry to be sacra and that Ovid inherits and adapts. In the third part I discuss Ovid’s vision of poetic community and communal poetic activity. In the fourth, I offer a unified reading of Ovid’s letters to poets (Pont. 4.2, 3, 10, 12, 13, 14) to highlight the narrative of poetic resurrection that develops over the course of the book. Part One A Gathering of Poets It is a truism that the great poets of Republican Rome did not come from the city of Rome but to it. Livius Andronicus came from Tarentum; Ennius, with his three hearts, Greek, Oscan, and Latin, was Oscan. 479 Accius was Umbrian. Ovid was fully aware of the phenomenon, and when he concluded his first work he drew upon it: Mantua Vergilio, gaudet Verona Catullo; / Paelignae dicar gloria gentis ego; “Mantua praises Vergil, Verona Catullus. I will be called the glory of the Paelignian race” (Am. 3.15.7-8). 480 These poets all share the singular quality of having come to Rome and found their fame there. Of the early poets, it seems that we can speak somewhat specifically about the way in which they socialized in collegia, which may or may not have continued up to Ovid’s time. 481 Ovid’s interest in such places increases dramatically in his 479 Quintus Ennius tria corda habere sese dicebat, quod loqui Graece et Osce et Latine sciret; “Quintus Ennius used to say that he had three hearts because he knew how to speak Greek, Oscan, and Latin” (Aul. Gel. NA 17.17.1). 480 The theme of poets and their birthplaces appears elsewhere. Martial 1.61 is the most extravagant with nine locations and fourteen writers, and he plays with the theme in 8.73 and 14.195, which is an adaptation of Am. 3.15.7. 481 Labate 1987: 106-108 in particular. He takes the idea of Ovid’s involvement in a collegium for granted. Green 2005: 342 (on Pont. 3.4) follows him. “When he laments the diminution of his talent, one reason, clearly, is the absence of mutual literary criticism and informed feedback.” Natoli 2017 offers two chapters in his recent book on “Speech Loss in the Exile Literature” (chs. 3, 4). While he treats the two bodies of poetic letters as one—a move with which I disagree strongly, and I disagree entirely with the notion of speech loss, he does come to similar conclusions as I will in this chapter about Ovid’s sense of loss with respect to his poetic communities. I came to his book after I had already written my chapter, but I will mark when our thinking is coincident or where we slightly diverge. Drawing on the work of Gurd 2012 and “literary revision,” Natoli argues that Ovid is attempting, in his poetry, “to reestablish a presence in a community of revision” (131). 208 exile, and his focus on poetic groups culminates in Pont. 4 and the Fasti, particularly in the sense that poets share certain sacra in common. In this section, I will explore those sacra as though they were physical locations. When he was still living in Rome, the Temple of Hercules Musarum and Philip’s Portico, likely sites for such gatherings, earned mention only as a place where one could buy a wig. From Tomis, it concludes the Fasti (F. 6.797-812). 482 i. The Collegium Poetarum The question of the Collegium Poetarum arises periodically. 483 The discussions largely revolve around the relative social status, wealth, and definitions of scribae, poetae and histriones. There is also a concern for location. What interests me, however, and what is pertinent to this chapter, is the very fact that writers of any sort were gathering together to do more than just recite poetry. They were a guild, which implies an organized internal structure and ritualized activity when gathered. Was this recitation? Voting? Dining? Was this the opportunity to introduce a new work for feedback or competition? 484 Whatever the activity, it is 482 Ars 3.163-168. Ovid is specific about the statue of Hercules and the Muses: palam venire videmus / Herculis ante oculis virgineumque chorum; “we see it sold openly in front of the eyes of Hercules and the maiden chorus.” 483 The modern discussion began when Sihler 1905 proposed re-examining the extremely fragmentary evidence for the Collegium. Crowther 1973 followed. He was then ignored by Horsfall in 1976. The conversation continues with Heslin 2015: 230-237. 484 On literary competition, see Vitr. 7 praef. 4 for Ptolemy establishing a competition after finishing the Alexandrian Museum: itaque Musis et Apollini ludos dedicavit et, quemadmodum athletarum, sic communium scriptorum victoribus praemia et honores constituit; “then he [Ptolemy] dedicated a set of games to the Muses and to Apollo and, just as with athletics, so did he establish prizes and honors for the winners of the same writings [genre?].” Horace Epist. 2.2.91-94 relates a poetic competition between himself and an elegist in a temple: carmina compono, hic elegos: mirabile visu / caelatumque novem Musis opus. Aspice primum / quanto cum fastu, quanto molimine circum / spectemus vacuam Romanis vatibus aedem; “I compose lyrics and he elegies. Marvelous to see! A work polished by the nine Muses. First, see with what contempt, with what vehemence, we stare around us in the temple open to Roman vates.” For vacuam as “open to” see Brink 1982: 321. Heslin 2015: 235 “Others, starting with Bentley, have seen the mention of the nine Muses as a clear allusion to the Temple of Hercules Musarum. The goddesses participate in a metaphor whereby the work of the poets is compared to engraved, three-dimensional art, which may recall the physical representations of the Muses that Fulvius had brought back from Ambracia.” Heslin also (p. 234) points out that Satires 1.10 contains a reference to a poetic competition held in a temple: in aede sonent certantia iudice Tarpa; “the contests resound in the temple with Tarpa as a judge” (Serm. 1.10.38). Porphyry saw this as the temple of the Muses: in aede Musarum, ubi poetae carmina sua recitabant; “in the temple of the Muses, where poets used to chant their poems” (Porph. ad loc.). Pompey the Great appointed Tarpa to decide what plays to put on in his theater (Cic. Fam. 7.1.1). 209 very different from that which we find in the private recitatio of Pliny the Younger or the public explication of texts by the Grammarians. 485 The two most frequently discussed passages relating to the idea of the Collegium Poetarum come from the moral exemplist Valerius Maximus and the epitomizer Festus. 486 is (Accius) Iulio Caesari amplissimo ac florentissimo viro in collegium poetarum venienti numquam adsurrexit, non maiestatis eius immemor, sed quod in comparatione communium studiorum aliquanto se superiorem esse confideret. Quapropter insolentiae crimine caruit, quia ibi voluminum, non imaginum certamina exercebantur. Accius never stood up when Julius Caesar [the poet Julius Strabo]—a most distinguished and prosperous man—came into the Collegium Poetarum. It was not because he was ignorant of Strabo’s worth, but because he was confident that he would be considered superior in any comparison of their common study. Further, he lacked a charge of arrogance because at that time contests were waged over volumes not ancestral masks. (Val. Max. 3.7.11) itaque cum Livius Andronicus bello Punico secondo scripsisset carmen, quod a virginibus est cantatum, quia prosperius respublica populi Romani geri coepta est, publice adtributa est ei in Aventino aedis Minervae, in qua liceret scribis histrionibusque consistere ac dona ponere, in honorem Livi, quia is et scribebat fabulas et agebat. During the period of the Second Punic War, Livius Andronicus wrote a hymn 487 which the maidens sang, because the Republic of 485 Pliny Epist. 5.3.11. Suetonius describes Octavius Lampadio publicly reading and commenting on Naevius’ Punic War while Vargunteius did the same for Ennius’ Annales. Their aim was to make these texts accessible to the public: legendo commentandoque etiam ceteris nota facerent, “they made them known to the rest [the public] by reading them and commenting on them” (Suet. Gramm. 2). These grammarians recited works that were little known either by their dead friends (defunctorum amicorum) or others. A short, and provocative, introduction to the recitatio and public space is Dupont 1997. Her emphasis on honor and reciprocity may go a bit farther than I might necessarily (there is no sense of enjoyment), but her point that “[e]ach listener is also a potential lector” is apt even when she uses it to discuss Roman elites (53-54). 486 Other evidence includes an unnumbered piece of epigraphy on a travertine slab that describes P. Cornelius Surus as a mag[ister] scr[ibarum] poetar[um]. Jory 1968: 125 dates it between Caesar and Augustus. Horsfall 1976: 88- 91 has a fuller discussion. The phrase schola poetarum appears twice in Martial (3.20.8, 4.61.3), which most take to be a reference to the Collegium Poetarum. 487 Livy 27.37.1-7 suggests it was written in response to a portent after stones had fallen from the sky at Veii and the Minturneans said there was a river of blood in their gate, but most of all because a hermaphrodite had been born who was as large as a four-year old. As a result: decrevere item pontifices ut virgines ter novenae per urbem euntes 210 the Roman People was beginning to be governed more successfully, the shrine of Minerva on the Aventine was allotted to him at public expense. Here clerks and actors were able to gather and make offerings in honor of Livius since he both wrote plays and acted in them. (Festus 446-448L) It is attractive for this temple to be the same as the Collegium Poetarum, but this seems impossible and there is no need for it. One reason in favor of the theory is that this temple is on the Aventine, where many guilds were located. 488 Another solution is that the Collegium Poetarum was moved for reasons of size and/or wealth. 489 Or, there was a collegium located in the temple, but it was different from the gatherings of actors and scribes. 490 I suggest that what began with Livius and state-sponsorship becomes, by the time of Accius, less of a civic institution and more of a formal collegium—that is an institution run by members for members without state oversight or expected civic responsibilities. 491 Interestingly enough, Ovid may well associate the two gathering places, the Temple of Hercules Musarum and the temple of Minerva, as well. When he begins his “countdown,” one of carmen canerent. id cum in Iouis Statoris aede discerent conditum ab Liuio poeta carmen, tacta de caelo aedis in Aventino Iunonis reginae; “the pontiffs likewise ordered that twenty-seven maidens sing a hymn as they walked through the city. While they were learning the hymn in the temple of Jupiter Stator, a hymn which Livius the poet wrote, lightning struck the temple of Queen Juno on the Aventine” (27.37.7). This last act perhaps explains the decision to give Livius a temple on the Aventine. 488 Horsfall 1976: 80; Ovid Fasti 3.821ff. The most careful review of the evidence is Jory 1970. See also the brief discussion by Mignone 2016: 96-98. 489 Such is the view of Heslin 2015: 232 “I therefore infer that the collegium moved its seat from the Temple of Minerva to Fulvius’ temple at some point before the death of Accius.” Earlier (p. 231) “I think it is a more economical hypothesis to posit a single institution that made small changes to its name and to its meeting place as it evolved over the centuries in an effort to improve its image…Other scholars may prefer to imagine separate collegia, and that would not make an enormous difference to the overall argument…provided that the reader accepts that there was an important practical connection between the poets of Rome, their professional association(s), and the Temple of Hercules Musarum.” 490 Caldelli 2012: 162 “È assai probabile che all’inizio del I secolo a.C. la aedes Hercules Musarum fosse la sede del collegium poetarum, una associazione diversa dall’antico collegium scribarum histrionumque ma forse identica al collegium scr(ibarum) poetar(um) noto per la prima età augustea, epoca a cui risale il restauro della aedes per mano del fratellastro di Augusto, Filippo.” 491 These poetic gatherings were probably not the sort that were closed in 64 BCE by Caesar, especially given that they existed in ancient times. Suet. Caes. 42.2.3: cuncta collegia praeter antiquitus constituta distraxit; “he closed all the collegia except those that were founded in ancient times.” The reinstitution of these collegia was one of the first acts of Clodius as Tribune in 58 BCE, and he deployed them like gangs (Dio 38.13). 211 several acts of closure to the Fasti, he chooses June 19 th , the dies natalis of the Minerva’s Aventine temple, for the first one. 492 iam sex et totidem luces de mense supersunt, huic unum numero tu tamen adde diem. sol abit a Geminis, et Cancri signa rubescunt: coepit Aventina Pallas in arce coli. Already six and as many moons of the month remain. Add one day to this number. The sun leaves Gemini and the constellation of Cancer reddens. Pallas begins to be worshiped on the top of the Aventine. (F. 6.725-728) This countdown culminates in the temple of Hercules Musarum. Thus, Ovid brackets the ending of his poem with a history of literary monuments: from the temple of Minerva which was given to Livius to the re-dedication of the Hercules Musarum by Fabius Maximus. ii. The Temple of Hercules Musarum From Ovid, we learn nothing about what this temple looked like, but a fragment of the Severan plan (frag. 33) does offer some insight. It lay northwest of the Portico of Octavia and north of the Circus Flaminius. 493 Further details come from later sources. Eumenius the third century CE 492 Boyle 2003: 242 “Towards the end of Fasti 6…Ovid’s narrator draws attention to a temple associated both with poetry and with the Roman plebs…He will end the Fasti with a temple even more associated with poetics: that of Hercules Musarum, probable meeting-place of the Collegium Poetarum and the site of Ennian poetics and the first attested written Fasti.” Littlewood 2006: 213 “this is the first of five allusions to the approaching end of June.” She further observes that “[a]lthough the Fasti Praenestini gives the temple’s natalis as 19 March, 19 June is the natalis marked in the Fasti Esquilini and Amiternini.” A new dedicatory date for the restoration of Augustus seems likely. Among many temples he restored, Augustus interestingly names two temples on the Aventine which are important for Livy’s expansion on Livius’ poem. Aedes Minervae et Iunonis Reginae…feci; “I built the temples of Minerva and Queen Juno” (Aug. RG 19.2). Although the latter may well be the aedis that the Portico of Octavia surrounded, but given the context it is more likely the one on the Aventine. 493 Heslin 2015: 189 contains a clear plan of the area overlaying the modern city. On p. 200 he presents a plan of the Portico of Philippus. When Ovid’s third book of Tristia tours Rome and visits the three libraries, the second is the Portico of Octavia: altera templa peto, vicino iuncta theatro: / haec quoque erant pedibus non adeunda meis; “I seek another temple, the one joined to a nearby theater. These also were not to be approached by my feet” (Tr. 3.1.69-70). The plural templa appears predicated upon altera. But another reason for the plural now presents itself. Perhaps Ovid’s poems are walking around the region where the Temple of the Muses stood alongside the Portico of Octavia which enclosed the temple of Jupitor Stator (Vitr. 3.2.5: est in portico Metelli Iovis Statoris. Macr. Sat. 3.4.2: est in Circo Flaminio Iovis Statoris [delubrum]). Regardless, Ovid’s poems are in the vicinity of the Temple of Hercules Musarum, but the fact that he makes no noise about it indicates, perhaps, that his nostalgia for it has not yet arisen. 212 panegyricist is the major literary source for the temple’s location, appearance, and funding, while Servius, commenting on Vergil’s invocation to the Muses, explains the name. 494 Aedem Herculis Musarum in circo Flaminio Fulvius ille Nobilior ex pecunia censoria fecit non id modo secutus quod ipse litteris et summi poetae amicitia duceretur, sed quod in Graecia cum esset imperator acceperat Heraclen Musageten esse, id est, comitem ducemque Musarum, 495 idemque primus novem signa, hoc est omnium Camenarum ex Ambraciensi oppido translata sub tutela fortissimi numinis consecravit, ut res est, quia mutuis opibus et praemiis iuvari ornarique deberent: Musarum quies defensione Herculis et virtus Herculis [et] voce Musarum. The famous Fulvius Nobilior built the temple of Hercules Musarum in the circus Flaminius using censorial funds. 496 He did this not only because he was led from his own interest in literature and out of friendship with the best poets, but also because when he was the general in Greece he had heard that there was a Herakles Musagetes—that is, a companion and leader of the Muses. The same man was the first to dedicate the nine statues of all the Camenae 497 after having brought them from the city of Ambracia, and dedicated them under the protection of the strongest godhead, because, as the story goes, they would help and adorn each other with mutual wealth and rewards: the quietude of the Muses by the defense of Hercules, and the courage of Hercules by the voice of the Muses. (Eumenius 9.7.3) sane musas multi novem, multi septem dixerunt. his Numa aediculam aeneam brevem fecerat, quam postea de caelo tactam et in aede Honoris et Virtutis conlocatam Fulvius Nobilior in aedem Herculis transtulit, unde aedes Herculis et Musarum appellatur. Certainly, many say that there were nine Muses, many that there were seven. Numa had set up a small bronze shrine to them [the Camenae? the Muses], which was later struck by lightning and Fulvius Nobilior moved it from where it was located in the Shrine to Honor and Virtue to the Temple of Hercules. For this reason, it is called the Temple of Hercules and the Muses. 494 While frequently cited, these passages are rarely reproduced. Sciarrino 2004 is a rare, and welcome, exception. 495 The dux comesque here becomes commonplace in Ovid, as we will see. 496 This is similar to Livius receiving his temple at public expense. 497 A problem with this story is that the Camenae were native Italian nymphs. Eumenius likely makes a mistake, perhaps because there were images of both in his time. 213 (Serv. 1.8) 498 Inside the Portico there were pictures, such as a sequence illustrating the Trojan War: bellumque Iliacum pluribus tabulis, quod est Romae in Philippi porticibus; “[Theorus also painted] the Trojan War in many paintings which is now in Rome in the Portico of Philip” (Pliny NH 35.144). Additionally, there were paintings by Amphilus: a Dionysus, a youthful Alexander, and Hippolytum tauro emisso expavescentem; “Hippolytus alarmed by the charging bull” (35.114). There was a sculpture of Helen by Zeuxis (35.66) as well as the Muses by the same artist: fecit et figlina opera, quae sola in Ambracia relicta sunt, cum inde Musas Fulvius Nobilior Romam transferret; “he [Zeuxis] also made clay sculptures, which were the only things left in Ambracia after Fulvius Nobilior moved the Muses from there to Rome” (ibid.). 499 Alongside mythical and legendary figures, there could be statues of poets: notatum ab auctoribus et L. Accium poetam in Camenarum aede maxima forma statuam sibi posuisse, cum brevis admodum fuisset; “writers have noted that Accius, the poet, set up a statue of himself in the shrine of the Camenae. It was very large, although he was quite short” (HN 34.19.1). Statues of Roman poets are surprisingly common. 500 Ennius’ stood on the tomb of the Scipios: et Romae extra portam Capenam in Scipionum monumento tres statuae sunt: quarum duae P. et L. Scipionum dicuntur esse, tertia poetae Q. Ennii; “and in Rome, outside the Porta 498 Servius’ his has as its antecedent Muses, but he seems to nod when he thinks that the shrine was dedicated to the Muses and not the Camenae. Or, in his fourth century idiom, Muses and Camenae are interchangeable. 499 I wonder if the final couplet of Ovid’s Fasti might be a visual representation of the statue group with Hercules holding his lyre and the Muses gathered around him: sic cecinit Clio, doctae adsensere sorores; / adnuit Alcides increpuitque lyram; “so Clio sang, and her learned sisters agreed. Hercules nodded and thwacked his lyre” (6.811- 812). 500 Tissol 2005: 106 explores many of the passages in a discussion of Tr. 1.7 and the supposed damnatio of Ovid. Pliny the Younger is a key source for understanding such busts in the later first century CE. Epist. 1.16.8 Pliny tells Clarus that had Saturninus belonged to the previous generation (inter eos quos numquam vidimus floruisset) then the current generation would collect his books and busts (non solum libros eius verum etiam imagines conquireremus). In 3.7.8 Pliny says that the many houses of Silius Italicus were full of books, statues, and busts (multum ubique librorum, multum statuarum, multum imaginum). A striking example at 4.28.1 indicates that busts were painted and copied when someone wanted to decorate a new library. 214 Capena, there are three statues on the Tomb of the Scipios. Two are Publius and Lucius Scipio and the third is of the poet Quintus Ennius” (Livy 38.56). Livy goes on to say that there is a fair amount of disagreement about identification. 501 Libraries held busts of Vergil and Livy, which Caligula wanted removed (Suet. Gaius 34.4). Horace’s satiric anecdote of a bad poet, Fannius, implies the honors that a bust provides. Fannius gave away his poetry and a bust: 502 beatus Fannius ultro / delatis capsis et imagine; “happy Fannius, with his donated book-boxes and his bust” (Serm. 1.4.21-22). 503 I see no reason not to suppose busts of Ovid were in Rome. In fact, we might even imagine them being set up in a meeting place of the poets as well as in private libraries, although these could very well be interchangeable. Ovid likely alludes to such a place in his first book of the Tristia: Siquis habes nostri similes in imagine vultus, deme meis hederas, Bacchica serta, comis. ista decent laetos felicia signa poetas: temporibus non est apta corona meis. If anyone of you have a bust similar to my face, snatch the ivy—a Bacchic garland—from my hair. Those happy markers are fitting joyful poets. A crown does not suit my brow. (Tr. 1.7.1-4) Ovid’s addressee is generic, but what interests me is that he imagines the figure interacting with his bust. A part of him is still in Rome. The main thrust of the poem, of course, 501 Ennius’ epitaph also attests to his bust: aspicite o cives senis Enni imaginis formam; “behold, citizens, the form of the bust of old Ennius” (Cic. Tusc. 1.15.34). 502 The usual word for a bust placed in a library is an imago, the same word used for a funerary mask. Thus, Valerius Maximus’ story of Accius gains a marvelous irony: quapropter insolentiae crimine caruit, quia ibi voluminum, non imaginum certamina exercebantur; “further, he lacked a charge of arrogance because at that time contests were waged over volumes not ancestral masks” (Val. Max. 3.7.11). With these stories of poet busts, we see that the contests are now about imagines after all. And Accius started it. 503 Porphyrio really admired this line but seems to get it wrong: urbanissima amaritudine hoc dicitur. sensus autem est: o beatum Fannium, cuius imago et capsae cum libris in bibliothecas ultro receptae sint; “this is said with the most urbane bitterness. Moreover, the sense is: o fortunate Fannius, whose bust and book-boxes (with books) were placed in libraries” (ad loc.). He misses the difference between receptae and Horace’s delatis. In the latter, Fannius does the placing. Tissol 2005: 107 reminds us, at the time the only library would have been that of Asinius Pollio in the Atrium Libertatis, but we are to imagine public and private libraries, the latter of which were much more common. See Bruce 1986 for villa libraries. 215 is that Ovid argues that this bust (and the ring on a friend’s finger with his image) are not the real imago Nasonis but rather his poetry, and the Metamophoses more specifically (carmina maior imago / sunt mea, 11-12). Ovid is distraught that he is no longer physically present with his friends but takes some small solace in the fact that his poetry stays behind with them. The statue of Accius accords well with the story from Valerius Maximus about Accius’ behavior in the Collegium Poetarum, and it is clear from reading Ovid’s Tomitan material that one of the things he misses most is the poetic community that surrounded him, although what precisely he misses will change over time. We get a glimpse of that community in Tr. 4.10 when he describes his early encounters with poets a generation or two before him. It is possible that these meetings would have taken place in the Temple of Hercules Musarum, but we should not neglect the many other venues such as bars and houses available for recitation: 504 saepe suas volucres legit mihi grandior aevo, quaeque necet serpens, quae iuvet herba, Macer. saepe suos solitus recitare Propertius ignes iure sodalicii, quo mihi iunctus erat. Ponticus heroo, Bassus quoque clarus iambis dulcia convictus membra fuere mei. et tenuit nostras numerosus Horatius aures, dum ferit Ausonia carmina culta lyra. Vergilium vidi tantum, nec avara Tibullo tempus amicitiae fata dedere meae. successor fuit hic tibi, Galle, Propertius illi; quartus ab his serie temporis ipse fui. Often Macer—older than me—would read to me to me about the birds, and which snakes harmed and which herbs helped. Often Propertius gave a recitatio of his flames according to the law of the sodales by which we had been bound. Ponticus, famous for epic, and Bassus, famous for iambics, were also pleasant members of my group. Many-metered Horace captivated our ears when he strummed his elegant songs on the Ausonian lyre. I only saw 504 See above p. 209fn.485 on recitationes at Pliny the Younger’s house and the Grammarians’ public explications of texts. Petronius text is replete with performances. In Satyr. 89-90, the public stones Eumolpus when he recites lines on the destruction of Troy in order to explicate a painting in a portico. In 91, Eumolpus recites in the bath and in 92 explains that he was beaten up for it. In 109 he recites on a boat. 216 Vergil. Covetous fate did not give much time to Tibullus for my friendship. He was the successor to you, Gallus and Propertius to him. I myself was the fourth after these in the series of time. (Tr. 4.10.43-54). If we try to imagine this recollection in the physical environs in Rome, we see Macer as a frequent performer giving informal performances. Propertius’ recitationes of his flames may well be his response to early criticism/feedback of the Monobiblos. The collegium is divided into cliques, such that Ponticus and Bassus can be labeled convictus membra mei, “members of my group.” Horace’s performances were memorable. 505 And Vergil came to the gatherings but did not perform any longer, or Ovid missed it. Vergilium vidi tantum means “I only saw Vergil,” not “I saw Vergil only once.” This may indicate that, like Accius, he associated with the younger members but did not necessarily perform for them or respond to their work. iii. A Temple for Germanicus The very real Temple of Hercules Musarum, and its physical environs, finds a strong parallel in the metaliterary temples of several Roman writers who seem to draw upon it to construct their “imaginary temples.” 506 The most famous of these monuments is Vergil’s promise to Octavian in the proem to Georgics 3. primus ego in patriam mecum, modo vita supersit, / 505 Horace gives us an impression of his own recitation in Satires 1.4: nec recito cuiquam nisi amicis idque coactus, / non ubivis coramve quibuslibet. in medio qui / scripta foro recitent, sunt multi quique lavantes: / suave locus voci resonat conclusus. inanis / hoc iuvat, haud illud quaerentis, num sine sensu, / tempore num faciant alieno; “I don’t give recitations unless urged on by my friends; and then not any old place or in front of whoever-you-will. There are those who read their work in the middle of the forum! There are many who do it while bathing! Speaking resonates with a sweet voice when it is enclosed. This gives joy to idiots, to those who scarcely ask whether they do it without prudence or at a bad time” (Serm. 1.4.73-78). Horace’s contempt for those writers (he would not call them poets) who recite in the forum reveals an awareness of performance space and time. His ideal may well be the formal occasions in the Temple of Hercules Musarum. 506 The phrase is the title of Heslin 2015: ch. 6. “Many of the programmatic and metaliterary passages in Augustan poetry involve imaginary temples that bear features of the Portico of Philippus. In some cases the poet describes a fictional version of a sanctuary very like it; in other cases the poet likens himself to the priest of the muses in their new home; in still others the poet alludes to the art that was displayed there” (255). I agree with this observation but am unmoved by his interpretation: “The reason for this should now be clear: the Portico of Philippus embodied a demand from Augustus for a new national epic as well as a blueprint for it, and in return a promise to support literary culture at Rome” (ibid.). 217 Aonio rediens deducam vertice Musas; “I will be the first, if I survive, to lead the Muses down from the Aonian peak into my homeland” (G. 3.10-11). Then, sounding perhaps like a Hercules Musagetes himself, Vergil promises a temple: et viridi in campo templum de marmore ponam; “I will set up a marble temple on the green Campus” (13). Such moments are clearly in Ovid’s mind when he tells Germanicus that he will not build him such a monument: nec tibi de Pario statuam, Germanice, templum marmore: carpsit opes illa ruina meas. templa domus facient vobis urbesque beatae; Naso suis opibus, carmine gratus erit. I will not build you a temple out of Parian marble, Germanicus; that destruction devoured my resources. Houses and rich cities will make you temples, Naso will give thanks with his riches—poetry. (Pont. 4.8.31-35) The passage is playful, as Ovid deliberately misreads the metapoetic nature of these imaginary temples. He naively supposes that the temples are real and says: “they’re expensive. I can’t afford one. But at least I can give a poem.” He obviously knows that the whole point is that these poems are the metaphorical temple. Ovid’s posture of humility stands in stark contrast with Vergil’s claims of primacy. In fact, this may well be one of the defining characteristics of what I am terming the “end of Augustan literature,” namely, the forceful abandonment of “primus- language” for a poetics of community. 507 iv. Consortes Studii Can we be more specific about what else poets did when they gathered together? In addition to poetic competitions, they conducted various rituals that were closely connected to poetry. Ovid has a particular nostalgia for these moments, and, at a key point of transition from 507 On the notion of primus language, see Meban 2008. 218 the Tristia to the Epistulae ex Ponto, in Tr. 5.3 dedicates 58 lines to remembering a celebration of Bacchus, the Liberalia (c.f. F. 3.713-790). We may imagine the location of this event taking place in the Temple of Hercules Musarum, which would be fitting since there was a famous painting of Dionysus in the Portico. The poem is broadly organized on chiastic lines focusing on poetic language. It opens with Ovid remembering his time in Rome (memini, 5) and ends with his hope that those still in Rome remember him (inter vos nomen habete meum, 58). Then Ovid describes the poetic pursuit (in studiis, 10) and being part of a chorus (Pieridumque choro, 10) near the end he reminds his friends of their common pursuit (consortes studii, 47) and his presence in the chorus (chori, 52). He mentions being a cultor of bacchus (e sacris cultoribus, 15) and later Dionysus notices that a cultor is missing (cultor abest, 34). In almost the very middle of the poem, Ovid calls himself a vates (31). Visually it looks like this: memini, 5 in studiis, 10, Pieridumque choro, 10 e sacris cultoribus, 15 vates 31. cultor abest, 34 consortes studii, 47, chori, 52 inter vos nomen habete meum, 58 The poet opens with lines reminiscent of Tr. 1.7: Illa dies haec est, qua te celebrare poetae, si modo non fallunt tempora, Bacche, solent, festaque odoratis innectunt tempora sertis, et dicunt laudes ad tua vina tuas. This is the day—if the time does not deceive me—on which poets usually celebrate you, Bacchus; they bind their rejoicing brows with fragrant garlands and speak your praises at your wine. (Tr. 5.3.1-4) 219 This is the ideal description that Ovid lamented losing in Tr. 1.7. These are the happy poets (laetos poetas, 1.7.3). Ovid’s pun on tempus in 5.3.2-3 (both time and brow) also invites us to revisit Tr. 1.7.4: temporibus non est apta corona meis; and translate it as “a crown does not suit my time,” i.e. since I am in exile. I would also think that the various puns on tempus would be a constant reminder, to those in the know, that Ovid is working on a poem about time while in exile, a poem he may have begun to show to certain friends prior to his banishment. Ovid continues by poignantly remembering when he was physically present at the celebration: inter quos memini, dum me mea fata sinebant, / non invisa tibi pars ego saepe fui; “I remember that I was often among them, while my fate allowed me; you did not begrudge me the role I often took” (Tr. 5.3.5-6). Ovid then laments the location of his exile before making a claim that I think points even more strongly to his participation in a group of poets at the Temple of Hercules Musarum: quique prius mollem vacuamque laboribus egi / in studiis vitam Pieridumque choro; “I who earlier had an easy life free from work engaged in studia and the chorus of the Muses” (9-10). Even if the poets are not celebrating Bacchus in a specific and identifiable location, this passage implies that he did spend time surrounded by the Muses. I would like to suggest that the Pieridum chorus can be understood as the Muses in the Temple of Hercules Musarum and that Ovid is remembering poetic pursuits alongside his peers. In fact, it is just such study that I think Valerius Maximus’ anecdote points to when it mentions Accius’ opinion of himself in relation to Strabo of their common study (communium studiorum). A few lines later, Ovid insists that, because he worshipped Bacchus, Bacchus should have supported him: tu tamen e sacris hederae cultoribus unum / numine debueras sustinuisse tuo; “nevertheless, with your divinity you should have supported one of the sacred worshipers of your 220 ivy” (15-16). Ovid characterizes himself at this moment as one of many like-minded figures. These are the poetae and the chorus. After a brief interlude about the Parcae, Ovid makes his most emphatic statement about the relationship between himself, other poets, and Bacchus: ut tamen audisti percussum fulmine vatem, admonitu matris condoluisse potes, et potes aspiciens circum tua sacra poetas: “nescioquis nostri” dicere “cultor abest.” When you heard that a vates was struck by lightning, you might have felt sorry for him being reminded of your mother, and, looking upon the poets around your rites, you might have said “some worshiper of mine is missing.” (Tr. 5.3.31-34) The sacra intrigue. On the one hand, it could merely be wine—compare the ad tua vina in line three. It could also be the cakes that were eaten to celebrate the Liberalia. Given the density of poetic terminology in this poem, however, it is more tempting to consider the sacra to be the action of writing poetry. 508 I would like to go a step further and suggest that it may also refer to some kind of group performance. Ovid’s use of chorus earlier, and again in line 52, implies communal action. This may well be the singing of traditional hymns. Thus, to be present at sacra is to keep the memory of a poem alive by ritually reciting it. Ovid, for the first time in exile, describes himself as a vates, a move that sets Tr. 5 apart from the previous four books and anticpates the next project. 509 A pattern seems to emerge in this 508 McGowan 2009: 145 comes to a similar conclusion. “These sacra refer, on one level, to the religious rites or sacred mysteries associated with the celebration of the Liberalia. In Ovid’s poem, however, they are cast expressly in relation to his fellow poets and can be connected to the writing of verse as a sacred undertaking or sacra.” 509 Ibid.: 144 points out that previously Ovid has used the word for Homer (Tr. 1.6.21) and Sappho (Tr. 3.7.20). In Tr. 3.14.7 it refers to a friend back in Rome. At Tr. 4.4.17-18 and 4.10.42 he uses it for his poetic predecessors. McGowan writes “Ovid’s appearance alone as vates in Tr. 5.3 is something new and, in fact, perfectly apt for a poem written to honor the god of the collegium poetarum and so concerned with poets and poetry from the start” (ibid.). He does not elaborate on his use of the phrase Collegium Poetarum. Newman 1967 offers a general survey of the term vates, but largely neglects Ovid’s Tomitan work. 221 poem: a vates is a poeta but a poeta is not necessarily a vates. 510 Both, however, are cultores hederae. It seems to me that poeta designates a person who writes and performs poetry: perhaps professionally but also perhaps just as a hobby. A vates, on the other hand, indicates a level of excellence that surpasses mere workmanship and hobby. 511 It implies an immortality of reputation alongside a relationship with the divine; it indicates a leader of and guide of other poets, but also a critic. A poeta concerns himself with poetry but a vates with other poets and (divine) forces greater than himself; he is more advanced. Importantly, these figures are all gathered together because they identify as poets. This is in line with the idea that they are part of a collegium—they all have shared interests. Ovid, more than any other writer, cares about what vates means, and he has been developing and nuancing his definition since the first poem of his first published collection, when he asserted himself as a Pieridum vates; “vates of the Pierides” (Am. 1.1.6), a moment which, in light of the argument I am presenting here, may indicate his entry into the Temple of Hecules Musarum. Those first five books of Amores may well have acted as an audition of sorts. But Ovid’s use of vates in Tomis seems more focused. McGowan may well be correct when he 510 The difference between a poeta and a vates either interests scholars or irritates them, a reaction epitomized in commentaries to a programmatic passage in Vergil’s Eclogues. In the very middle of Ecl. 9 (surely no accident) Lycidas tells Moeris he is a poet, not a vates: et me fecere poetam / Pierides, sunt et mihi carmina. me quoque dicunt / vatem pastores; sed non ego credulus illis;” “the Pierides made me a poet, and I do have songs. The shepherds also call me a vates, but I do not believe them” (Ecl. 9.32-34). He does not believe them because in his own mind he sounds nothing like Cinna or Varius but rather like a goose (35-36). Williams 1979: 127 observes about vatem “an inspired poet, something more than poeta.” Clausen 1994: ad loc. “Much, too much perhaps, has been made of the distinction between poeta and uates… Certainly too much has been made of it as far as V. is concerned, since for him the distinction was hardly more than an expedient, the solution to a particular literary problem, that is, his need for another, more elevated word meaning 'poet'.” Coleman 1977: 214 (on Ecl. 7.28 uati…futuro) “contrasts with the more modest poeta…The Greek loan words poietes and poiema were already established in Latin before Ennius. uates, the native Latin word…has religious and prophetic as well as poetic associations…Hence the more prestigious connotations that uates sometimes has in contrast to poeta e.g. Prop. 2.10.19, Hor. Carm. 1.1.35.” I think more could be made of the native Latin word in a similar way as Camenae versus Musae. In the Eclogues, it is the Greek Pierides who call Lycidas a poeta and the native shepherds name him a vates. Is it Lycus who makes too much of a distinction? 511 Ovid’s differentiation of vates and poeta in lines 31 and 33 in a 58 line poem may well owe something to Vergil’s ninth Eclogue in which the same differentiation occurs in lines 32 and 34 in a 68 line poem. 222 suggests that Ovid is attempting “to construct an exilic version of the sacred seer re-introduced into Roman poetry by Vergil in the Eclogues, appropriated by Horace to clarify and elevate his poetic project in the Odes, and used as a source of newfound dignity for Propertius in his final book of poems.” 512 In the case of this poem, Ovid’s self-elevation helps serve his aim of communicating directly with Bacchus in his appeal that he intercede on his behalf with Caesar’s divine power (Caesareum numen, Tr. 5.3.46). What, then, is a cultor? On the one hand, Ovid is making a complicated reference to the Fasti. One of the elements of his portrayal of the Liberalia is an investigation into why the toga virilis is given on that day. One of his speculations is that in the old days everyone came from the countryside to the city to watch the shows conducted by Bacchus. an quia, cum colerent prisci studiosius agros; “or because back when the older generation cultivated the fields more assiduously…” (F. 3.779). Ovid’s, and the other poets’, studies, which he repeats twice, as well as the double use of cultor, supports the idea that Ovid is citing the Fasti. The effect is that the poets belong to the ethos of an older generation engaged in assiduous [poetic] labor. 513 On the other hand, Ovid may be borrowing the idea of the cultor from Horace. In Odes 1.34, Horace describes his abrupt abandonment of his Epicureanism because he has seen lightning fall from an empty sky. The content of the poem, thus, closely relates to Ovid’s own predicament in exile because he was struck by a sudden bolt of Jupiter’s. In fact, only three lines 512 McGowan 2009: 143. He continues: “he uses the term with a palpable urgency in his exile poetry, I believe, both to call attention to his affinity with earlier Augustan poets and to counterbalance the emperor’s own title of iustus princeps” (ibid.). Vergil re-introduced the term following its condemnation by Ennius who had asserted that the ancient verses were sung by vates: scripsere alii rem, / quos olim Fauni vatesque canebant; “others have written about the matter in verses which the fauns and vates sang” (Ann. 206-207 Sk.). Lucretius feared their sorcerous potential more than he spurned the quality of their verse when he claimed that the Epicurean student will lose his way: vatum / terriloquis victus dictis; “overcome by the terrifying utterances of the vates” (Lucr. 1.102-103). These are two of the earliest appearances of the word and we can easily see how it connects poetry with eldritch forces lost in hoary mists. Over time, the vates becomes associated with poetic excellence, as in Ovid’s use in Tr. 4.10. 513 After all, plowing a field is a poetic metaphor. E.g. Pont. 3.2.90 when Iphigenia writes a letter: “ad fratrem scriptas exarat illa notas; “she plows written letters to her brother.” The metaphor dates back (at least) to Pindar who says that Poets are the plowmen of the Muses: Πιερίδων ἀρόταις (Nem. 6.32). C.f. OLD s.v. aro 1d. 223 before he calls himself a cultor, he had described that very moment (percussum fulmine, Tr. 5.3.31). Horace’s poem begins: parcus deorum cultor et infrequens, / insanientis dum sapientiae / consultus erro; “I was a scanty worshiper of the gods, and very rarely; I wander focusing on insane knowledge” (Carm. 1.34.1-3). 514 Ovid boldly takes the word from Horace and applies it to his fellow poets. But unlike Horace, he was an avid cultor and is absent only reluctantly. Tr. 5.3 ends with Ovid’s most emphatic exploration of the effect of his absence on both himself and his fellow poets: vos quoque, consortes studii, pia turba, poetae, haec eadem sumpto quisque rogate mero. atque aliquis vestrum, Nasonis nomine dicto, opponat lacrimis pocula mixta suis, admonitusque mei, cum circumspexerit omnes, dicat “ubi est nostri pars modo Naso chori?” idque ita, si vestrum merui candore favorem, nullaque iudicio littera laesa meo est, si, veterum digne veneror cum scripta virorum, proxima non illis esse minora reor. sic igitur dextro faciatis Apolline carmen: quod licet, inter vos nomen habete meum. And all of you, poets, colleagues in study, a pious throng, each of you, with unmixed wine, ask for these same things. And let one of you all, with the name Naso uttered, raise a glass mixing in his tears. And, remembering me, after looking around at everyone, let him say: “where is Naso who was once part of our chorus?” Do this if I earned your goodwill with my sincerity, if no books were wounded by my judgement. If, although rightly revering the writings of our predecessors, I nonetheless consider more recent writings no less than them. So, then, write poetry with Apollo’s approval: because it is permitted, hold my name among yourselves. (Tr. 5.3.47-58) 514 Nisbet and Hubbard 1970: 379 “cultor: the word in this period is rare and grandiloquent.” Arruns, before slaying Camilla, in the Aeneid uses it in addressing a prayer to Apollo (Aen. 11.788). Perhaps Horace’s parcus is a pun on the Parcae, the goddesses of fate. The pun has force because the poem ends with the vicissitudes of fortune. hinc apicem rapax / Fortuna cum stridore acuto / sustulit, hic posuisse gaudet; “with a sharp shriek, rapacious Fortune snatches the crown from him and rejoices to set it on another” (Carm. 1.34.13-15). This would partially support Ovid’s engagement with Horace in Tr. 5.3 because of its interlude about the dura Parca. 224 These are some of the saddest lines Ovid ever wrote. 515 The sorrow builds up from the sharp contrast of the second person plural of the worshipers back in Rome (vos, rogate, vestrum, vestrum, vos, faciatis, habete) with Ovid’s first person singular (mei, meo, meum, merui, reor) and the double use of his own name. The absence of Bacchus also lends a sincerity to the passage. Ovid takes language he had previously used of the god and applies it to the human participants: admonitu (32) becomes admonitus (51) and aspiciens circum (33) becomes circumspexerit (51). More specifically, Bacchus just recognizes that some worshiper is missing (nescioquis…cultor, 34) but Ovid’s companions ask after him specifically. When they do, it is the only appearance of the first-person plural, but since it is the poets back in Rome speaking, Ovid is left out: “ubi est nostri pars modo Naso chori?” Ovid can no longer engage in the ritualized community of Rome, and so he seeks another way to remain a part of their chorus. 516 Again, much of the language points to poetic production. When one of the poets asks where Ovid is, he specifically says that he belonged to the chorus (chori), which echoes the Pieridumque choro in line 10. This allows us to recognize that Ovid’s absence is as noticeable as if one of the statues of the nine muses had suddenly disappeared. When Ovid calls them consortes studii he establishes that all of them share the same range of cultural competencies, which he specifies in the final lines to be textual. That they are a pia turba sets them apart from Horace’s profanum volgus (Carm. 3.1.1) and marks them as elite. 515 McGowan 2009: 145 “the poem constructs a bibulous gathering that starts with singing (4) and ends with crying (50). 516 Curtis 2017: 130 “For Horace and Propertius, when choreia intersects with their own authorial identity it works as a metaphor that foregrounds a central question of Augustan literature: the role of the poet within an overlapping and ever-expanding set of communities and constituencies. The chorus is a space where group and individual are in a state of constant negotiation…the chorus cannot exist without the individual nor the individual without the group.” She points to two types of “communities and constituencies,” that of “civic community” whereby the poet begins speaking to and for a “Roman collective” and the chorus as “a poetic tradition, in other words a canon…the chorus situates the individual poet’s voice in relation to the literary tradition to which he aspires to join” (131). That tradition could either be Greek lyric or the “developing tradition of poetry in Rome” (ibid.). 225 Ovid’s specific concern is that he did not criticize anyone to the extent that their work was discredited. He is deeply concerned for his contemporary Roman poets. In an almost revolutionary poetic-act, he paints a positive picture of a throng of fellow poets. Instead of whittling down the participants in poetry to a canonical few, as he had done in Tr. 4.10, he embraces all those who belong to his community. We will see the culmination of this action in my next chapter which examines Pont. 4.16 and his catalogue of contemporary poets. This manner of poetic judgement is exactly what the Collegium Poetarum is supposed to allow. In a crucial couplet he elevates these contemporaries: si, veterum digne veneror cum scripta virorum, / proxima non illis esse minora reor; “if, although rightly revering the writings of our predecessors, I nonetheless consider more recent writings no less than them” (Tr. 5.3.55-56). Ovid situates himself among a generation of poets enormously different from his predecessors, Horace in particular. An individual still writes inspired poetry, hence Apollo’s favor in line 57, but he does so as part of a group. This makes the final line so much more tragic: inter vos nomen habete meum. The possessive adjective sits, isolated, at the end of the line while he entrusts his nomen, which is not limited to his name but also includes his reputation, to his fellow poets in Rome. Even if one is unwilling to float my speculation that Ovid is imagining this scene to be taking place in the Temple of Hercules Musarum, I hope that he or she will recognize that this poem describes ritualized behavior that is repeated and imbued with social and cultural significance, behavior that one would expect to find in a collegium, and perhaps even in the Collegium Poetarum. To end this section, let us return briefly to Persius: ipse semipaganus / ad sacra vatum carmen adfero nostrum; “I, part bumpkin, bring my song to the rites/shrines of the vates” (Pers. 226 pro. 6-7). Having established the importance of Rome for the sacra, especially the role of the Temple of Hercules Musarum and the choral aspect of the collegium, we are in a better position to understand Persius’ semipaganus. He is an urbane poet, he is not necessarily a Roman one; he maintains his outsider status. Yet he will come to the city anyway. His declaration, when we are thinking about the physical space in Rome, is so much more brazen than we might first think. He is, after all, the first (according to the literary tradition that we have) to advertise his arrival in Rome and on the Roman scene of poetic production since Ovid lamented his exodus. Part Two Sacra Poetarum We have just looked at the potential physical spaces for the poets to gather and discussed what they might do there: spaces like libraries, temples, houses, bars, and ships; activities like recitation, listening and reading, critique and competition. In this section, I examine the metaphorical resonances of sacra with respect to poetry by focusing particularly on the precedents Ovid draws upon, distances himself from, and elaborates on. At the end of the programmatic Pont. 4.2, Ovid has two final requests for Cornelius Severus: sacraque Musarum merito cole, quodque legamus, / huc aliquod curae mitte recentis opus; “worship the rites of the Muses, as is proper, and send some product of your recent care for me to read” (Pont. 4.2.49-50). This conclusion modifies that of Tr. 5.3. In fact, it redefines the ending of the earlier poem. To write, perhaps specifically to write among a community, is to perform the sacra Musarum. Ovid has discovered a way to maintain fellowship with these poets by sending them work and requesting theirs in turn. 517 He has not invented this use of sacra, however, as it has appeared 517 Natoli 2017: 133 “reminiscences of the exile about past communities of revision can also be found throughout the exile literature and frequently they are deployed to exhort members of those communities to reconnect and to include the exile in their circle in the present, as well.” He continues this idea later. “After reminding the addressees of past poetic interaction, the exile then turns to the purpose of the letter: to urge them to continue that same interaction and to foster a community of revision with the newly exiled poet” (136). Natoli’s point is slightly 227 often before. But as with so many ideas, he has taken what was highly elevated language for the individual and given it to the poetic community; he has democratized it without demeaning it. i. Horace Odi profanum vulgus et arceo. favete linguis: carmina non prius audita Musarum sacerdos virginibus puerisque canto. I hate and ward off the uninitiated crowd. Hold your tongues. To the maidens and the boys I, the priest of the Muses, am chanting poems never heard before. (Carm. 3.1.1-4) This first example, programmatic and frequently commented upon, introduces the major themes that we will see especially regarding poets who somehow belong to similar social and cultural groups. When Horace says that he is a sacerdos Musarum, I interpret his role as one similar to Severus performing the sacra Musarum. I would also like to suggest that Horace is explicitly joining himself to the poets associated with the Temple of Hercules Musarum. 518 His audience most likely forms a chorus, but we might also recall Ovid’s attendance at Horatian performances. 519 Later, Horace will suggest that the brave men before Agamemnon were forgotten because he had a Homer while they faded carent quia vate sacro; “because they lacked a sacred vates” (Carm. 4.9.28.) Observe the primus-language in non prius. weakened in that he is writing about Tuticanus in Pont. 4.12 and by that point Ovid is no new exile. He misses any nuance in the passage of time. 518 Although few will follow me there. Nisbet and Rudd 2004: 8 brush off the idea. “At Rome there was an aedes Herculis Musarum, but the Muses had no independent Priesthood (contrast Greece) and Horace’s reference is entirely literary.” 519 Nisbet and Rudd 2004: 8 “the collocation of virgines and pueri seems to suggest that H is training a choir.” For a more in-depth analysis of this passage, see Curtis 2017: 135-137 228 ii. Propertius Responding to the first three books of Horace’s Odes, Propertius comes out strongly in favor of this new sacral language surrounding the poet: 520 Callimachi Manes et Coi sacra Philitae, in vestrum, quaeso, me sinite ire nemus. Primus ego ingredior puro de fonte sacerdos Itala per Graios orgia ferre choros. Shades of Callimachus and rites of Coan Philetas, I ask that you not forbid me from entering your grove. I, a priest, am the first to advance from the pure fountain to produce Italian ceremonies through Greek choral dances. (Prop. 3.1.1-4) Like Horace, Propertius is trying to claim primacy—his sacerdos and primus echo Horace’s sacerdos and non prius. Propertius is asking to join the chorus of Callimachus and Philetas, whose permission he requests to enter the grove, even as he says he will bring Italian ceremonies. He is offering a cultural mélange but also asking to be part of a canon. In his Actian poem, 4.6, Propertius gives us the first articulation of what will become so familiar in Ovid: sacra facit vates: sint ora faventia sacris, / et cadat ante meos icta iuvenca focos; “the vates performs the rites: let the mouths be silent at the rites, and let a heifer fall stricken at my hearth” (Prop. 4.6.1-2). 521 The call for silence recalls Horace’s favete linguis. Denotatively, a priest is conducting a sacrifice in front of a group of worshipers; metaphorically, the poet is performing his song (sacra) in front of an audience. 522 520 Curtis 2017: 139 “Propertius 3 reacts to many aspects of Horace’s lyric collection; chief among his concerns is reclaiming a voice of ritual, collective authority from the lyric back to the elegiac domain.” 521 This metaphor for sacra has developed over the course of Prop. 4 from the literal meaning in 4.1.69 when Propertius declares that part of the subject of book four would be the rites, holy days, and ancient names: sacra diesque canam et cognomina Prisca locorum. 522 This is what Vergil is doing in the proem to Georgics 3 when he fuses the sacrificial and triumphal processions with his promise of a temple. Also pertinent is Habinek 2005: 226-227 who connects the vates’ poetic abilities with their ability to interpret entrails and prodigies by looking at a variety of passages in Livy and Vergil G. 3.490-491: inde neque impositis ardent altaria fibris, / nec response potest consultus reddere vates; “the altars do not blaze, 229 iii. Manilius aggredior primusque novis Helicona movere cantibus et viridi nutantis vertice silvas, hospita sacra ferens nulli memorata priorum. I advance and am the first to disturb the nodding woods on the green peak of Helicon, bearing alien rites told by none before me. (Man. 1.4-6) Manilius is unmoved by Ovid’s intervention in the language of sacrality. His metapoetic forerunners are Horace and Propertius; note the emphasis on being the first (primus, novis, nulli memorata priorum). His aggredior recalls Propertius’ ingredior, just as his woods recall Propertius’ nemus. The marriage of Greek topography with Latin literary antecedents fits the earlier model as well. Finally, he adapts Propertius’ Italia orgia ferre with sacra ferens. This is the language of revelation. Strikingly, it is also something of a lie because not only had Aratus said these things before but so had Cicero. But, if sacra means poetry, then this particular poet is bringing a poem never seen before. iv. Germanicus’ Aratea Ab Iove principium magno deduxit Aratus, carminis at nobis, genitor, tu maximus auctor, te veneror, tibi sacra fero doctique laboris primitias. probat ipse deum rectorque satorque. Aratus led out the beginning from great Jove, but I honor you— greatest author, founder—in my song; I bring you sacra and the first fruits of learned labor. The guide and sower of the gods himself approves. (Germ. Arat. 1-4) Unfortunately, dating Germanicus’ only surviving poem is difficult, although I would argue for its composition occurring during the period of literary transition that occurs after although entrails have been heaped upon them; the vates, when consulted, are powerless to respond” (trans. Habinek). 230 Augustus’ death. 523 After all, he mentions the death and deification of Rome’s first emperor (German. Arat. 558-560). The passage is indebted to previous programmatic openings—and may very well owe something to Ovid’s new proem to the Fasti. While Germanicus does not claim primacy explicitly, his emphatic statement that he is beginning from a new place, and his dedication of first fruits, indicates his awareness of the trope of primus-language. Germanicus takes full advantage of the range of meanings sacra conveys. Like Propertius and Ovid, he will describe rites and sacred activities, but his poem itself is also a sacra. Like those poets, who advertise their learning, Germanicus states that his work is the result of learned labor. The poem indicates that Ovid’s assertions that Germanicus “would have been the highest glory of the Pierides” if duty had not called him away, may be more than mere praise. 524 v. Ovid in Rome I want to look very briefly at a few instances of sacra meaning poetry in Ovid’s Ars Amatoria 3 in order to establish a baseline so that we can see how he moves away from his predecessors and from himself when he is in exile. What we shall find is a poet who has absorbed the Augustan poetic interest in creating a sacred language around poetry but who has not yet adopted it. In fact, he is rather cynical about the whole process. Ovid, always self-aware of the ongoing progess of Latin literary history and his role in it, is, in his early confident Roman works, much more of an insouciant commentator than the poet we see in Tomis. In the third book of the Ars Amatoria, Ovid turns his attention to the women of Rome. In a famous passage depicting the Augustan building project as a series of locations where women should go to be seen, Ovid makes an unexpected detour into literary history. Partly this creates a 523 Germanicus’ poem awaits literary appreciation. Gain 1976: provides a text, translation, and notes that are mostly limited to textual matters. About authorship, Gain concludes: “My opinion is that the evidence does not allow one to say whether the author was Tiberius or Germanicus” (20). See Possanza 2004 for a study of the text as a translation. 524 gloria Pieridum summa futurus eras (Pont. 4.8.70). 231 parallel between imperial and poetic monumentality, and partly it allows the poet to critique an emperor who pays such attention to buildings while letting poets go unhonored: quid petitur sacris, nisi tantum fama, poetis? hoc votum nostri summa laboris habet. cura deum fuerant olim regumque poetae: praemiaque antiqui magna tulere chori. sanctaque maiestas et erat venerabile nomen vatibus, et largae saepe dabantur opes. Ennius emeruit, Calabris in montibus ortus, contiguus poni, Scipio magne, tibi. nunc ederae sine honore iacent, operataque doctis cura vigil Musis nomen inertis habet. What do sacred poets seek, except fame alone? This undertaking is the height of our effort. It used to be that poets were the care of gods and kings, and ancient choirs earned great rewards. 525 The vates held a sacred authority and honorable name, and they were often given huge wealth. Ennius, born in the Calabrian hills, earned the right to be by your side, great Scipio. 526 Now the ivy lies without honor and the care devoted to the learned Muses has the name of laziness. (Ars 3.403-412) Ovid’s snapshot of Roman literary history is actually discordant with Ennius’ own, and he challenges the reader to make the connection by emphatically including his predecessor’s name. He claims that back in Ennius’ time (olim, 405) the vates were honored and specifically that they held an honorable name (venerabile nomen / vatibus, 407-408). But Ennius had famously condemned the vates: scripsere alii rem, / vorsibus quos olim Fauni vatesque canebant, “others have written about the matter in verses which once the Fauns and vates sang” (Ann. 206-207 Sk.). 527 More importantly, Ennius was the first (ante hunc) who was dicti 525 This may very well refer to Livius receiving a temple for his choral song. 526 This refers to the tomb of the Scipios and the bust of Ennius set up beside the men. Gibson 2003: 268 observes the poet’s confidence. “Where other writers are cautious about the identity of the statue found next to those of the Scipios, the praeceptor shows no doubts about a story which so well suits his arguments about the past respect shown poets.” 527 The lines survive primarily via Cicero. Brut. 71 contains the fullest quotation: quos olim Fauni vatesque canebant / cum neque Musarum scopulos / nec dicti studiosus quisquam erat ante hunc; “which once the fauns and vates sang, when the Muses’ peaks [had been reached] nor was anyone studying speech before me.” 76 Faunis 232 studiosus; “a student of speech/diction/style” (Ann. 209 Sk.). His studiosus finds its update in Ovid’s operataque doctis / cura… Musis; “care devoted to the learned Muses.” This is not poetry that comes directly via inspiration from the Muses but by cultivating the muses, by studying a poetic tradition. Ovid’s modifier of poeta with sacer acts to introduce and partially define vates a few lines later. This shows that he understands, and is entering into the cultural discource of, his predecessors and contemporaries about poets (poetis, 402) and vates (vatibus, 408). His use of a chorus (chori, 406) marks his specific entry point. In two couplets, we have three key markers for someone engaged in poetic production (writing, performance, and reception). In fact, we might say that we move from the most general, those who write poetry, to the more specific, those who perform ensemble poetry, to the most specific, the poet prophet. The vates comes last in this miniature lesson on poetic terms The playfulness of Ovid’s approach to the sacred quality of poetry achieves its ironic height a few hundred lines later. Transitioning to the ways in which a woman (ostensibly only freedwomen, as he explicitly says his words are not for a Roman citizen bride) can trick her husband or guardian and communicate with her lover, Ovid instructs them to attend his sacred teachings: ut fallas, ad mea sacra veni; “so that you may deceive, come to my rites” (Ars 3.616). Here Ovid’s learned teaching constitutes the sacra. His poetry is explicitly about what he, as an individual, contributes. There is no sense in reading the Ars Amatoria that he considers himself annumerat Ennius; “Ennius counted Naevius among the fauns.” Orat. 157 scripsere alii rem (on Ennius using scripsere rather than scripserunt). 171 explains that Ennius’ words were scornful: ergo Ennio licuit vetera contemnenti dicere: versibus quos olim Fauni vatesque vanebant; “therefore, Ennius can say, scorning the ancients: in verses which the Fauns and vates sang.” Div. 1.114 versibus quos olim Fauni vatesque canebant. Varro LL 7.36 versibus quos olim Fauni vatesque canebant. Varro adds that Faunus comes from fori “to speak” the events to come arguing that they are prophets. He importantly adds that: antiqui poetas vates appellabant a versibus viendis; “ancient writers called poets vates from “weaving verses.” Quint. 9.4.115 says that poetry arose before rules of meter were known and that this idea lies behind Ennius’ fauni vatesque canebant. 233 part of a poetic community. This is consistent throughout his Roman poetry, but as we have already seen in Tr. 5.3, one of the cultural interactions for which he feels the greatest sense of loss is that community. In transitioning to his final project, the Epistulae ex Ponto, we will see him begin to articulate this loss more explicitly as he nuances exactly what it is that he has lost and tries to describe what is lost if poets do not rally together. Part Three Poetic Community One of the impressions a reader gains from reading the Pontic material closely and with the goal of uncovering Ovid’s sense of community, is just how much he celebrates the fact that poets have various things in common and share the same pursuits. For Ovid to articulate this is nothing short of a poetic revolution because it elides the primacy of the poet engaged in writing as a sacred act, the primacy which we saw in all his predecessors, contemporaries, and even himself when he was in Rome. Ovid rewrites his experience in Rome from the vantage point of nostalgic reflection as he endows his Roman experience with a sense of reciprocity between the poets who lived there and himself. i. communia studia The first hint of this new direction of thought comes midway through the Tristia. Ovid sends a poem to Perilla, his step-daughter who is a budding poet. In this poem, Ovid shrugs off the intense malaise he has felt in exile and realizes that his circumstances will not change. Therefore, he decides to return to the Muses: et tamen ad Musas, quamvis nocuere, reverti aptaque in alternos cogere verba pedes. “tu quoque” dic “studiis communibus ecquid inhaeres, doctaque non patrio carmina more canis?” [Tell her] nevertheless, I have returned to the Muses, although they wounded me, and am setting words to meter in alternate feet. Say 234 “are you also sticking to our common pursuits singing learned songs in a different way than your father? (Tr. 3.7.9-13) Studiis communibus is Ovid’s first attempt to describe the community in which he took part in back in Rome, and we have already seen him develop it in the consortes studii (Tr. 5.3.47). It is also, crucially, the element that Accius saw in a comparison with Strabo, communium studiorum (Val. Max. 3.7.11). It is significant that he addresses first, a woman, and second, someone younger. This means that, fundamentally, the ability to follow a common pursuit is not limited to any one gender or age. 528 Further, this is a moment of emergence from sorrow. Ovid has returned to writing poetry—an overt lie given that two complete books of Tristia came before this. One way of answering this inconsistency is to recognize that Ovid is returning to the Muses in order to encourage other poets and be encouraged in return. Ovid will continue to come back to these lines and this passage as he develops his ideal of the poetic community, so that when he describes Germanicus’ composition in Pont. 4.8 he will use a similar phrase: numeris modo verba coerces; “now you fit words to meter” (4.8.73). A crucial element of this poetic culture is that one needs a human teacher. Thus, even though the poetic community involves elements of the divine, whether by worship or attribution, it is even more important to have a companion and leader; inspiration is not enough because that belongs to the realm of primus-language: hoc ego Pegasidas deduxi primus ad undas, ne male fecundae vena periret aquae; primus id aspexi teneris in virginis annis, utque pater natae duxque comesque fui. I was the first to lead it [your genius, ingenium] to the waters of Pegasus lest the vein of eloquent water unfortunately dry up. I was 528 But perhaps class is still a limiting factor. Thus, Persius’ self-description as a semipaganus is a striking intervention. 235 the first to see it in your young maindenhood, and, like a father to a daughter, I was your leader and companion.” (Tr. 3.7.15-18) Much of this language will become more familiar to us over time, from the waters of Pegasus (e.g Pont. 4.2.17) to the more important duxque comesque (e.g. Tr. 4.10.119, Pont. 4.12.23). 529 While it may seem that Ovid sets himself up for primacy, primus (lines 15, 17), he is crucially not the first to perform a poetic action. Rather, he was the first to help nurture another poet and to bring her to the fountain rather than, in contrast to Propertius, first approaching the fountain alone. This runs in a similar tone to the phrase duxque comesque, which encompasses both hierarchy and equality. Ovid next encourages Perilla to put aside any fear she may have that writing poetry is dangerous, a fear generated from Ovid’s own fate: ergo desidiae remove, doctissima, causas, / inque bonas artes et tua sacra redi; “therefore, set aside the reasons for idleness, most learned girl, and return to the noble arts and your rites” (Tr. 3.7.31-32). Ovid has generalized the sacra to such an extent that even an apprentice poet takes part in them. The very act of creating poetry is now, in and of itself, a sacred act. We are far removed from the elite world of the sacra of his predecessors. If it is surprising that men and women can have similar pursuits, it is perhaps even more so that a foreign king can share in them. Pont. 2.9 introduces Cotys, a king of Thrace, to whom Ovid extends a request for protection in his neighboring land of Tomis. 530 He grounds his appeal in Cotys’ literary ambitions. In fact, no king has ever so dedicated himself to the liberal arts 529 The longevity of the phrase is evident from Eumenius 9.7.3 (comitem ducemque Musarum), above p. 212 530 Cotys appears as well in Tac. Ann. 2.64-64 where we learn about the fates of the Thracian lands. After Rhoemetalces died, Augustus split the kingdom between Rhescuporis (his brother) and Cotys (his son). Rhescuporis began to annex his nephew’s land, slowly under Augustus and with greater rapacity under Tiberius. He then attacked outright, jailed Cotys, and ordered him to death. I have already discussed the incident in chapter two with particular regard to Pomponius Flaccus. 236 (ingenuas…artes, Pont. 2.9.47): nec regum quisquam magis est instructus ab illis, / mitibus aut studiis tempora plura dedit; “no king is more learned about them, or has given more time to their gentle pursuit” (49-50). 531 All this prefaces Ovid’s most dramatic pronouncement, namely that Cotys should help him because they are similar men. Cotys does not waste his idleness in sleep but presses along the Pierian path to the stars (lucida Pieria tendis in astra via, 62). And this creates the connection: haec quoque res aliquid tecum mihi foederis adfert: eiusdem sacri cultor uterque sumus. ad vatem vates orantia bracchia tendo, terra sit exiliis ut tua fida meis. This thing also creates something of a bond between us: both of us are worshipers of the same rite. Vates to vates, I stretch out my supplicating arms that your land may be loyal to me in exile. (Pont. 2.9.63-66) Again, we find a cluster of key words: sacri, cultor, vates. 532 Before Ovid’s letter, Cotys would not have known that he was in an alliance with Ovid. But because of the nature of Ovid’s restructuring of the sacra vatum, he now finds himself in a semi-formal bond (foederis) with the poet. The foedus between the two is particularly strong because it is between a king and the citizen of another country. Ovid has been thinking in similar language already in Pont. 2, as when he wrote to Salanus, a figure he was only loosely associated with: modico tibi iunctus ab usu; “we were joined by a moderate familiarity” (Pont. 2.5.7). But while Salanus and Ovid have only a slight connection, his addressee is much more closely allied with Germanicus: te iuvenum princeps, cui 531 Ovid’s mitibus may find a compliment in Tacitus who notes that: ipsorumque regum ingenia, illi mite et amoenum, huic atrox avidum et societatis impatiens erat; “the innate character of the two kings was such that in the one [Cotys] it was gentle and pleasant. In the other it was savage, greedy, and intolerant of connection” (Ann. 2.64.2). 532 The polyptoton vatem vates occurs again in reference to Ovid and Germanicus. Pont. 4.8.67: non potes officium vatis contemnere vates; “you, a vates are not able to spurn the duty of a vates.” F. 1.25: si licet et fas est, vates rege vatis habenas; “if it is right and permitted, you, vates, control the reins of a vates.” 237 dat Germania nomen, / participem studii Caesar habere solet. / tu comes antiquus, tu primis iunctus ab annis; “Caesar, the prince of the youth, to whom Germany gave her name, is used to having you as a companion in study; you, a companion of old, are connected from the earliest years (2.5.41-43). Similar to the operations I analyzed in the previous chapter with regard to female networks, here we see Ovid consolidate a relationship with Germanicus by triangulating it via Salanus. Ovid sets Salanus apart as a teacher of literary craft. He is similar to Ovid as a dux but Salanus is also a companion (comes, 43) as Ovid was to Perilla. These two men are similar in that they help induct others into their spheres of knowledge. Ovid underscores their connection a few lines later: scilicet ingeniis aliqua est concordia iunctis, et servat studii foedera quisque sui: … tu quoque Pieridum studio, studiose, teneris ingenioque faves, ingeniose, meo. distat opus nostrum, sed fontibus exit ab isdem artis et ingenuae cultor uterque sumus. Obviously, there is some concord in our shared spirits, and each of us protects the bonds of his pursuit…You, zealous, are held by the pursuit of the Pierides and, genius, you encourage my genius. Our works differ, but it comes from the same fonts and we are both worshipers of the liberal arts. (Pont. 2.5.59-60, 63-66) With Salanus, Ovid extends his definition of community to encompass orators in addition to poets. The key words that combine sacrality with literary pursuit are there, especially cultor. Ovid further invites us to see a triangulation with Cotys because he uses the same hemiepes ending (cultor uterque sumus) with both men in similar line-placement (2.5.66, 2.9.64). This allegiance culminates near the end of the poem when Ovid explains that the reason for his new approach is that poetry must be preserved: iure igitur studio confinia carmina vestro / et commilitii sacra tuenda putas; “therefore, you rightly think that my poetry is related to your 238 pursuit and the rites of our shared campaign must be protected” (71-72). Ovid’s neologism, commilitium, denotes that this alliance is one that now operates in the military sphere. 533 This foedus leads us to the final articulation of the sacred bond between poets in Ovid’s important letter to the poet Carus, Pont. 4.13. After describing his performance of a poem in Getic, he turns to his friend and asks for help: at tu, per studii communia foedera sacri, / per non vile tibi nomen amicitiae… “but you, by the common bond of our sacred studies, by the name of friendship that is not common in your eyes…” (4.13.43-44). Ovid goes on to ask for aid. I am most interested in the slight change in emphasis at this point. The study itself is still sacred, but now what they have in common is the contract. This places them on equal footing; their relationship becomes somehow more legalistic than sacred. The language of the foedus has already appeared, in Pont. 2.5.60 (studii foedera) and 2.9.63 where there is a foederis between Cotys and Ovid. But even in this second example, where he says they are both worshipers of the same sacred rite (eiusdem sacri cultor uterque sumus, line 61), he has not yet settled on an interpretation. There is a general sense that the act of writing is what unites them, and in turn that they exchange writings. But in this last example with Carus, Ovid extends the expectations from a purely literary sphere to that of political activity on behalf of the other. In this last moment, the sacred rites are not allowed to exist in a vacuum. They must lead the participant to action. Who, then, or what, is the enemy that threatens this band of literary brothers? On the one hand, it is Ovid’s perpetual foe, livor, and time. On the other hand, it is a political environment that sees its greatest writers exiled. It is, however, in the penultimate poem of Pont. 2 that we find Ovid’s first articulation of his solution: the communal rites of poets. 533 Helzle 2003: 334 “Das wort commilitium findet man zuerst hier.” Helzle also finds an affinity between the communia sacra and this passage. Interestingly, commilitium seems to be a word belonging to the early first century CE as one next finds attestations in Manilius (commilitio, 1.782); Valerius Maximus (commilitium, 9.3 ext. 3.6); and Velleius Paterculus (commilitio, 2.29.5.2). 239 ii. communia sacra We have so far seen Ovid begin to articulate a cultural phenomenon and poetic lifestyle wherein poets and literary figures are by and large equal in status and engaged in equal pursuits. Their study is shared, and their goals are aligned. In articulating this, Ovid breaks away from one of the chief hall-marks of his predecessors, who saw themselves in terms of primus language. He creates a sacred bond between members of the poetic community to which he belongs, even when he is not present with them in person. 534 Beginning in Pont. 2.10, Ovid uses a rather unusual phrase for the first time, and he will come back to it once more in each of the successive books. We find the communia sacra in Epistulae ex Ponto 2.10.17, 3.4.67, and 4.8.81. 535 In each case, he is developing the sense of poetic community that we saw him begin to negotiate in the Tristia and that will develop over Pont. 4, culminating in 4.16. 536 Let us begin with Pont. 2.10, a letter to Macer, Ovid’s friend from Amores 2.18. Who he was precisely can likely not be known. 537 Ovid opens with his anxiety that Macer might not 534 Rand 1925: 105-106 “[In the Epistulae ex Ponto] Ovid dwells several times on the sacred bond that unites fellow poets…There are reflections on immortality in the letters from the Pontus, but the poet is less interested in his own immortality than in that which his power of song can confer.” 535 The uniqueness of the phrase has been observed but has not ignited the imagination of critics. Nagle 1980: 145 “the evocation of communia sacra is not unique here [Pont. 3.4], and it usually is linked with a request for some kind of assistance, as if as a reminder of Ovid’s own right to claim it. Ovid’s tendentious use of this phrase suggests that it is his own invention, an extrapolation from the commonplace of poetry as sacra.” Evans 1983: 151 does not think much of it. “Because external circumstances have reduced him to this much lower function [not writing a poetic book, but merely sending letters], his appeals to the communia sacra of poets become more pathetic. If this phrase were Ovid’s own invention, a variation of the commonplace of poetry as sacred, his sarcastic references to himself as “vates” throughout the collection …underscore the extent of his decline from the higher calling of his earlier career.” Galasso 1995: 425-426 makes the connection to the sacerdos Musarum and the Collegium Poetarum. Further, she notes that this is an expression of solidarity among poets. “L'idea della solidarietà dei poeti in quanto tali, con una ripresa di spunti già oraziani” (425). 536 There is not room here to fully explore the ramifications of Gurd 2012 on this idea, but we can point to a generality drawn from his chapter on Horace, which restates his conclusions on Cicero’s community of revision. “In Cicero, revision appeared as a process of friendly collaboration through which community could be instantiated…The Ciceronian text was a charter and a site for civic debate; Horace’s seems more like a law, the instrument and the product of constant discipline. Not collaboration but mortification was the chief characteristic of literary genesis in Horace” (77). We shall find that while Ovid leans more toward the Ciceronian mode, his chief contribution is to make the act of textual engagement sacred. 537 Green 2005: 329 “the traveling companion of Ovid's youth must perforce remain anonymous.” Syme 1978: 73 “Identity is clear. He is none other than Pompeius Macer.” See also Helzle 2003: 391. 240 remember who he is: ecquid ab impressae cognoscis imagine cerae / haec tibi Nasonem scribere verba, Macer? “do you recognize from the stamp in the pressed wax that Naso writes these words to you, Macer? (Pont. 2.10.1-2). He thinks that Macer did well to write material that Homer left out because it meant he was unharmed while Ovid has been wounded (Pont. 2.10.13- 15). This reference to their shared studies (studiis, 11) acts to introduce the communia sacra: sunt tamen inter se communia sacra poetis diversum quamvis quisque sequamur iter. quorum te memorem, quamquam procul absumus, esse suspicor et casus velle levare meos. Nevertheless, there are rites communal for poets among themselves although we each follow a different path. I suppose you are mindful of these things and that you wish to alleviate my misfortunes, although we are far apart. (Pont. 2.10.17-20) As with Salanus the orator, Macer follows a different path than Ovid, although this difference is a matter of poetic topic rather than literary genre: Macer writes about Homeric (Greek) matters and likely does so in hexameters, while Ovid’s material is rather more focused on a Roman cultural context and his own biographical experience and is in elegiac couplets. This though does not matter since they are both poets. Ovid offers a novel argument that the distance between them does not matter (quamquam procul absumus; “although we are far apart”) because the communia sacra transcend geographic distance. Macer is a significant choice for Ovid because his name is one of the few that one finds throughout Ovid’s entire career. Thus, for the first articulation of the communia sacra, Ovid can rightly say that Macer is mindful of their shared rites because they have shared them since the Amores. Macer a character who will make his final appearance in Pont. 4.16.6 alongside Pedo. This association strengthens my argument that Ovid thinks of the rites as being literary pursuits. 241 Ovid’s statement that they follow different paths (diversum iter, line 18) acts as a playful transition to Ovid’s memory of the time they traveled around Sicily and Asia together, that is, a memory of when they followed the same path. It was under Macer’s guidance (te duce, 21-22) that Ovid saw the sites. Ovid’s performance of the memory culminates in the last line of the poem when he asks Macer to remember him: redde vicem, et, quoniam regio felicior ista est, / istic me memori pectore semper habe; “pay me back in kind and, because that territory is happier, hold me there always in your mindful heart” (Pont. 2.10.51-52). The poignancy of this request originates in the elegant structure of the letter. Ovid opens by wondering if Macer remembers him at all, then paints an elegant memory-portrait of their time together, then ends on the image of them being separated by an enormous geographical range. But memory, combined with their shared literary pursuits, creates bonds between the two men that bring them together. 538 The phrase next appears in Pont. 3.4 to Rufinus. 539 This 114-line poem opens with Ovid entrusting a triumphal poem he has written to Rufinus and others in Rome. He is worried that it might not be very successful because he was not present (17-36), does not know who was involved or what places were conquered (39-40), and interest in the topic has likely abated because it took a long time for Ovid’s poem to get to Rome (51-64). Ovid then shifts topics slightly to discuss poetic communities and an ethics of readership (65-82). From here he transitions yet again to argue that even Vergil would have struggled with the material, and 538 Natoli 2017: 141 “the main reason for the exile’s focus on poetic circles was his concern with memory and, in particular, his memory.” 539 Syme 1978: 86 suggests that he is Vibius Rufinus a son of C. Vibius Rufinus (suff. 16 CE). This conjecture rests on much speculation. There is the added advantage that Rufinus was a poet whose material recalls the older Macer: “nothing forbids identification with the Vibius Rufinus who wrote about trees and herbs and flowers” (ibid.). 242 Ovid’s elegiac couplet cannot support such an overtly militant topic (83-86). He then prophesies that another triumph is imminent over Germany (87-114). I very much doubt that the poem Ovid describes ever existed. The tone, on the whole, is playful, almost like he is writing the poem for the entertainment of his friends back in Rome. He has, after all, never really gone in for the sort of panegyrical poem he describes, and he certainly never cared about the veracity of triumphal descriptions. He advised a man trying to impress a girl at a triumphal parade to “make it up,” if he did not know who was being led (Ars 1.227-228). Ovid’s elaborate “predictive” triumph in the first book of the Ars is a provocative allusion to make, as he continually renounces those three books throughout his exile and blames them for causing it. Any triumphal description, especially of a triumph that did not happen, inevitably recalls this moment in the Ars. And for Ovid to be writing to fellow poets familiar with his work, the idea is even more marked. My main interest in the poem does not lie in the two triumphs but in the middle of the poem when Ovid dwells for a moment on the ethics of being part of a poetic community: deprecor hoc: vatum contra sua carmina ne quis dicta putet! pro se Musa locuta mea est. sunt mihi vobiscum communia sacra, poetae, in vestro miseris si licet esse choro, magnaque pars animae mecum vixistis, amici: hac ego vos absens nunc quoque parte colo. sint igitur vestro mea commendata favore carmina, non possum pro quibus ipse loqui. scripta placent a morte fere, quia laedere vivos livor et iniusto carpere dente solet. This I swear: let no vates think I say these things against his poetry; my Muse speaks for herself. Poets, there are between you all and me communia sacra, if those who are miserable can be a part of your chorus. You, friends, have all lived with me as a great part of my spirit. I, although separate from this part, now worship you all. Therefore, may my poetry be entrusted to your favor; I myself am unable to speak on its behalf. Writings generally are 243 pleasing after a death because Envy usually wounds the living and rips with an unjust tooth. (Pont. 3.4.65-74) The sentiment in this passage evolves from Tr. 5.3, especially the mixing of vates and poeta, the presence of chorality, and Ovid’s assertion that he is not attacking the poetry of anyone else. This last point, in particular, articulates the ethics of community that is inherent in the poetic community Ovid is interested in creating at this point. We are a far cry from the poetic competitions described by Horace. What we find in this passage with its rich layering of religious language, is a poet striving to articulate what it is precisely that he is missing in exile. Partly it is the immediacy of the moment. When he says many poets have written about a triumph, he is describing a cultural reality, as it is surely the case that we have lost enormous swaths of ephemeral poetry that existed in antiquity. It is also in this passage that we begin to see the ways in which the communia sacra are tied to ideas of mortality. There is almost the sense in these lines that the rites are something one does while living in preparation for one’s death. Ovid is asking for his work to be protected, but this does not just mean that it stays intact. Rather, he is asking that it be read after he has died. To engage with a poet’s writings after that poet is no longer a living part of the community is to enact the communal rites. In Pont. 2.10, Ovid introduced the communia sacra as a form of memory and poetic creation that tied him to Macer. In Pont. 3.4, he extended the phrase to include an ethics of readership among the poetic community in Rome. In Pont. 4 he will use a variety of linguistically charged phrases, but communia sacra only once when he is addressing Germanicus. Thus, we watch as Ovid makes sure that the reader knows what the sacra are that he uses even though, in the ostensible setting of the epistolary letter, Germanicus might have no 244 idea what they means—much like Cotys would not have known of his foedus until Ovid informed him of it. The point is not for Germanicus alone, however, but for the reader of the entire body of Tomita literature. In Pont. 4.8, Ovid offers an extended appeal to Germanicus as a literary figure. He calls him a vates (67) and claims he had the potential to be the highest glory of the Pierides (70). He then says that they share the same pursuits and therefore he should help Ovid out of Tomis: quae quoniam nec nos unda submovit ab illa, ungula Gorgonei quam cava fecit equi, prosit opemque ferat communia sacra tueri atque isdem studiis inposuisse manum. And since she [the Muse] has not removed me from that fountain [the Hippocrene] which the hollow hoof of the Gorgonean horse [Pegasus] made, let it profit me and bring assistance to uphold the communia sacra and to have put my hand to the same study. (Pont. 4.8.79-82) These lines are far from Ovid’s most elegant phrasing, and the sentiment leaves something to be desired. The awkwardness of the poetic allusion to the Hippocrene is slightly lessened by the fact that Ovid is forcing an allusion to Fasti 3 and the creation of the spring. If, on March seventh, you look up at the night sky, you will see Pegasus’ neck: Gorgonei colla videbis equi (F. 3.450). This steed made the spring when it was bucking wildly at the feeling of a bridle: iamque indignanti nova frena receperat ore / cum levis Aonias ungula fodit aquas; “and he had received a new bit in an indignant mouth when a light hoof dug out the Aonian well” (F. 3.455-456). Partly we are tasked with remembering the Fasti because of the range of allusions throughout Pont. 4.8 to, particularly, Ovid’s re-writing of the proem to the Fasti. We thus find that his engagement is with the whole poem. This studied interaction with his own literary texts is an example of what someone engaged in communia sacra might well appreciate. For the reader of Pont. 4, the engagement 245 with the Fasti passage would also bring to mind Ovid’s poem to Severus in which Ovid had said his poet friend drank at the Aonian spring: cui bibitur felicius Aonius fons; “by whom the Aonian spring is more happily drunk” (Pont. 4.2.47). The ungula in 4.8 sends us to Fasti 3 where the Aonias takes us back to the Epistulae ex Ponto 4. Further, in all three passages, we have a different water word which underscores the deliberately composed nature of the lines. Pointedly, Ovid says that the Muse has not removed (submovit) him from the Hippocrene. Unlike his removal from Rome by the emperor, the other most powerful force in Ovid’s life, poetry, has not abandoned him. Poetic alliance transcends politics and geography. Part Four Letters to Poets I argued in my first chapter on structure that an important way to consider the construction of the fourth book of the Epistulae ex Ponto is to recognize that the first two poems act as programmatic introductions to two prominent structuring themes, namely, politics and poetry. In my second chapter, I performed a sustained reading of the political poems that Pont. 4.1, addressed to Sextus Pompeius, introduces. In this section, I want to consider the poems to poets in Pont. 4: 4.2 to Severus, 4.3 to an unnamed detractor, 4.10 to Albinovanus Pedo, 4.12 and 4.14 to Tuticanus, and 4.13 to Carus. I focus on the biographies and writings of several of these poets in much greater detail in the next chapter because of their placement in the catalogue in Pont. 4.16. In this section, I wish merely to offer brief analyses of these poems in order to begin answering the question of why Ovid is so interested in imbuing poetry with a sacred quality. i. Cornelius Severus We do not need to press the text with any force for Pont. 4.2 to reveal its concentrated focus on poetics. From the first line Severus is named the greatest vates: o vates magnorum 246 maxime regum; “greatest vates of great kings” (4.2.1). The interlocked grammatical units (AbaB) and chiastic noun-adjective placement (AbbA) underscores Ovid’s poetic artistry. Ovid claims that sending verse to such a poet is like adding leaves to the forest (frondes erat addere silvis; 13). Ovid’s use of silvis recalls the common Roman poetic trope of the silva being the stuff of poetry. 540 In the next lines, he claims—in an elaborate metaphor—that his poetic talent has dried up and: carmen vena pauperiore fluit; “my song flows in a narrower vein” (20). 541 Of course, the playful irony of using a pentasyllabic word to describe paucity takes the wind out of the sails of his argument. We next come to Ovid’s frustration at not being able to compose fluently: da veniam fasso, studiis quoque frena remisi ducitur et digitis littera rara meis. impetus ille sacer qui vatum pectora nutrit, qui prius in nobis esse solebat, abest. vix venit ad partes, vix sumptae Musa tabellae inponit pigras paene coacta manus Forgive the penitent, I have dropped the reins of my pursuits, and it is the rare letter that is drawn by my fingers. That sacred urge, which nourishes the hearts of vates, which earlier used to be in us, is gone. The Muse barely does her part, and with my tablets assembled, she scarcely puts a slow hand upon them, she almost needs to be compelled. (Pont. 4.2.23-28) 540 The Romans here develop a concept already present in Greek ὕλη. Butler 2011: 17-18 on Orpheus in the Metamorphoses. “The woods, of course, could hardly be lacking from this story—the woods that bewitch all who enter into confusion, error, repetition, recursiveness. No one moves through the woods quickly, or in a straight line; something always happens here. But let us remember—and the point is not unrelated—that for ancient poets, the woods (silva in Latin, hulē in Greek) also figured the very stuff of literary production, the timber of which poems were made, including everything from subject “matter” to literary models to rough notes to the waxed wooden tablets on which poets composed. It is, in this regard, no accident that a wood gathers around Orpheus, product of his song, but also source of the stories he tells. Enter the woods and we are in the poet’s workshop.” Ovid’s question in lines 4.239-40 may thus be seen as a gloss on this use. Quaque infelicia perdam / otia materia; “with what material am I to waste my unfortunate leisure?” Quint. 10.3.17 calls a writer’s rough draft a silva. The most obvious literary reference is Statius’ Silvae. Also significant is the famous intertext between Ennius Ann. 175-79 Sk. and Vergil Aen. 6.179-182 which both describe men chopping down trees. See the discussion in Hinds 1998 12-13. Natoli 2017: 118-119 also discusses these passages. Helzle 1989: 69 notes that Ovid’s phrase about leaves is proverbial and appears in Hor. Sat. 1.10.34 and Ovid Am. 2.10.13. It may be of interest that Amores 2.10 is addressed to Graecinus who will receive a letter in Pont. 1.6, 2.6, and 4.9. Helzle (ibid.) speculates that: “The present passage would be all the more striking if Severus had compiled a collection of occasional verse entitled Silvae.” 541 This recalls Ovid’s desire in Tr. 3.7 not to allow Perilla’s talent to dry up. 247 Here we find much of the language I have been tracing in this chapter, only in the negative. Ovid no longer pursues his studium; the poetic drive is considered sacred, but it no longer drives him. The nobis in line 26 is pointed since the plural refers to both Severus and Ovid, but only Severus still has it. Finally, there is the role of the Muse who always before compelled Ovid to write, but now she needs compulsion. Line 29 acts as a lynchpin for the Pontic collection as a whole: da veniam fasso looks backward to 1.7.22 to Messalinus, da veniam lasso. The other half of the line, studiis quoque frena remisi, looks forward to 4.12.24: regerem tenera frena novella manu. Thus, we begin to see how Ovid is able to interconnect his project and ask us to see how circumstances have changed over the course of his time in Tomis. In lines 29-38 Ovid laments not having an audience, an idea that may very well recall the Collegium Poetarum and wonders sarcastically if he must read to the locals. The poem ends with lines we have already seen, a request that Severus send him some recent work and thereby fulfill the sacra Musarum (49). This poem, then, acting as the programmatic introduction to the theme of poetic creation that is woven throughout Pont. 4, shows us Ovid at the nadir of his hope for his abilities. Over the course of the book, we will chart his rising hopes. But first he expresses his frustration at an unnamed friend who has betrayed him. ii. Person Unnamed Conquerar, an taceam? “am I to complain or stay silent? (Pont. 4.3.1). So begins the last of Ovid’s “complaint” poems from exile, which returns us to a commonplace of the Tristia. 542 542 Called a “letter of reproach” and identified as a genre by Akrigg 1980: 178. He notes that each book, except the second, of the Tristia carries one such poem, 1.8, 3.11, 4.9, 5.8, and that the extended complaint of the Ibis shows the genre at its most elaborate. 248 The poem recounts how a friend from Ovid’s youth has betrayed him. Ovid argues that the former friend should not mock him because fortune is fickle. The poet refuses to name the friend lest he inadvertently make him famous. Ovid’s main charge is significant: the former friend denies him: dissimulas etiam, nec me vis nosse videri, / quisque sit, audito nomine, Naso, rogas; “you play ignorant and are unwilling to appear to know me; upon hearing my name, you ask ‘who is this Naso?’” (Pont. 4.3.9-10). For the poet who cares deeply that his name be remembered by his community, no betrayal could hurt more. 543 While we cannot say for certain who this man is, there are internal clues that indicate he is at the very least a literary acquaintance. Take, for instance, the parallels between the present poem and Pont. 2.4: ille ego sum, quamquam non vis audire, vetusta paene puer puero iunctus amicitia, ille ego qui primus tua seria nosse solebam et tibi iucundis primus adesse iocis, ille ego convictor densoque domesticus usu, ille ego iudiciis unica Musa tuis. I am that one, although you are unwilling to hear it, who was joined, still yet a boy to boy, in a long-established friendship. I am that one who first used to know your serious things and who was first to attend your jokes. I was the companion and lodged in the same house in close quarters. I was the unique Muse, according to your judgement. (Pont. 4.3.11-16) Lines 13-14 and 16 closely resemble others in a letter to Atticus: seria multa mihi tecum conlata recordor, nec data iucundis tempora pauca iocis. saepe citae longis visae sermonibus horae, 543 Recall the end of Tr. 5.3.58 when, in the very last line, Ovid beseeched inter vos nomen habete meum; “all of you, hold/consider my name.” In the same poem, Ovid’s name was uttered. Nasonis nomine dicto (5.3.49). This denial of Ovid’s name finds, perhaps, a cultural echo in the story of Peter’s denial of Jesus. That the story appears in the four main Gospels underscores its importance. Matt. 26:33-35, Mark 14.29-31; Luke 22:33-34; John 13:36-38. 249 saepe fuit brevior quam mea verba dies. saepe tuas venit factum modo carmen ad auris et nova iudicio subdita Musa tuo est. I remember many serious things we shared, and no small amount of time did we give to jokes. Often the hours seemed to go by quickly in long discussions, often the day was shorter than my words. Often a just-finished song came to your ears, and a new Muse was submitted to your judgement. (Pont. 2.4.9-14) Seria in the hexameter and iucundis…iocis in the pentameter in both passages form the first connection along with the anaphoric structure (ille ego vs. seria). The unica Musa finds a parallel in nova Musa (where nova means novel) along with forms of iudicium in the dative. However, these verbal connections should not lead us to conclude that Ovid is writing about his friend Atticus in Pont. 4.3, however tempting that may be. 544 Instead he is setting up this false friend as a generic stand-in who is the antithesis of the true poet friends described throughout the Epistulae ex Ponto and especially in book 4. There is an important distinction to make. In Pont. 4.3.13-14, Ovid uses primus language to describe his relationship with the unnamed friend. Further, their friendship was long- established (11-12). Thus, the betrayal is even more tragic. Not only did he break the friendship, but he went against the sacred bond that poets are supposed to have. By explicitly undermining the power of primus language—it does not matter that the friend was the first, he still betrayed Ovid—, Ovid opens a space for communal language in which temporal hierarchies are less important. A slight indication of the distinction between types of friends lies in Ovid’s use of carus: sive fui numquam carus, simulasse fateris; “if I was never “dear,” you confess that you lied” 544 Helzle 1989: 85 “rather than proving that the present addressee is Atticus, it [the linguistic parallels] merely suggests that this man had been a sodalis, possibly with an interest in poetry.” I am arguing more strongly for the connection to a fellow poet. 250 (Pont. 4.3.19). This is the name of a significant friend, Carus, who is addressed via punning on his name in 4.13.1-2. He is named in the nominative in 4.16.7; these are the only two moments in the Epistulae ex Ponto that the nominative form of the word appears. More concretely, Ovid’s paene puer puero (4.3.12) is later echoed in a poem to Tuticanus: tibi carmina mittam, / paene mihi puero cognite paene puer; “I will send you poems, you who were known to me when we were both nearly boys” (4.12.20). 545 Thus, we see, this poem to an unnamed former friend looks both forwards and backwards to specific poet-friends of Ovid’s. It ties the Pontic project together. The poem may also contain an allusion to the Fasti’s new preface, a gesture that would align it with Ovid’s interest in Germanicus. To maintain friendship, Ovid says, he only needs to receive some words from his friend. This, of course, reminds us of the sacra Musarum with Severus: si mihi rebus opem nullam factisque ferebas, / venisset verbis charta notata tribus; “if you brought me no assistance in money or in actions, a piece of paper marked with “the three words” might have come” (Pont. 4.3.25-26). This is something of a literary mystery. 546 Some have suggested that the tria verba means “a short letter.” 547 Closer is Helzle’s second suggestion that it forms an allusion to the formula at the beginning of a Roman letter. 548 However, I hear a specifically Ovidian echo in the three words. At the start of the Fasti, Ovid reminds the reader that all days are not the same: ille nefastus erit, per quem tria verba silentur: / fastus erit per 545 This is the same period of time that Ovid married his first wife: paene mihi puero nec digna nec utilis uxor / est data; “when I was scarcely a boy, an unworthy and useless wife was given to me” (Tr. 4.10.69-70). 546 Dr. Alexander Lessie has suggested to me, in conversation, that one solution is in Ovid’s own text. After Ovid says that the unnamed ex-friend could have sent three words, he begins the following pentameter with three words: vix equidem credo; “I can hardly believe it” (Pont. 4.3.27). That is all the friend needed to say, but instead he is insulting Ovid in his disgrace. The circumstances are vaguely reminiscent of the fallen friendship in Bob Dylan’s “Positively 4th Street” if Ovid were to have been recalled. “I know the reason, that you talked behind my back / I used to be among the crowd you're in with / do you take me for such a fool, to think I'd make contact / with the one who tries to hide what he don't know to begin with?” 547 Helzle 1989: 96, Akrigg 1980: 186 “a few words.” 548 Helzle 1989: 97. Thus, Nom. Dat. salutem. Pliny Epist. 1.16.2 tells Fabius Iustus to send him a letter that at least says: si vales, bene est; ego valeo; “if you are well, that’s good. I am well.” Pliny says that is all he needs to hear. 251 quem lege licebit agi; “that day will be nefastus on which the three words are silent. That day will be fastus when it will be permitted to conduct court proceedings” (F. 1.47-48). Now, it is well attested that these three words are do, dico, and addico, although how to translate them varies. 549 Ovid seems to be drawing directly on Varro at this moment with the idiom lege agi: itaque non potest agi: necesse est aliquo <eorum> uti verbo, cum lege qui<d> peragitur; “therefore no action can be taken, for it is necessary to use some one of these words, when anything is settled in due legal form” (LL 6.30). 550 The power of this reference stems from the fact that Pont. 4.3 is largely a legal argument on Ovid’s behalf against the betrayal by his friend. He declares: nam nisi iusta tua est, iusta querella mea est; “for if your complaint is not just, my complaint is” (22). We might also hear in his dic aliquam (21) one of the three words (dico). Defense of himself against a crime, and a charge against his friend for a crime, permeates the letter (crimen in 23 and 24). In summary, Pont. 4.3 shows the “negative exemplum” of a former friend who has betrayed Ovid’s trust. He is likely a poet-friend, given the similarity in language to several other poems that feature poet-friends. The poem therefore continues the narrative from 4.2 about the relationship between poets in Rome and Ovid in Tomis being one grounded on shared literary writings. After Ovid requests Severus honor the sacra Musarum, he gives us an example of what happens when someone refuses to send any words to Ovid. 549 Macrob. Sat. 1.16.14; Varro LL 6.30. Translations of the terms vary. The Loeb for Macrobius: “I grant,” “I declare,” and “I assign.” For Varro: “I give,” “I pronounce,” I assign.” Boyle and Woodard 2000: 167 “I give,” “I deliver,” and “I award.” 550 Text and translation, Robert Kaster, Loeb. Macrobius similarly writes: comitiales sunt quibus cum populo agi licet, et fastis quidem lege agi potest, cum populo non potest, comitialibus utrumque potest. “Assembly days [comitiales] are those on which matters can be brought before the people for their action; on days of legal business matters can be brought before a judge but not before the people, whereas on assembly days both can be done” (Macrob. Sat. 1.16.14). 252 iii. Albinovanus Pedo We have already remarked upon Germanicus’ appearance as a poet (and patron) in Pont. 4.8. From there, the next poet addressed is Pedo in Pont. 4.10. Pedo’s explicit poetic project is a rendering of the Theseus myth (Thesea carmine, 4.10.71), but Ovid’s poem is about much more than that. I argue that it begins his own poetic resurgence. Ovid opens with a temporal identification: it is his sixth summer in Tomis (1-2). He then says that time wears out everything except for his life (3-8). This lament leads to an extended comparison between his travails and Ulysses’ pleasant—in contrast—experiences (9-30). He then describes Tomis (31-34). After this, he produces a powerful shift in tone and says that an accuser reports that Pedo doubts the veracity of his descriptions (35-36). 551 This leads to a tour de force of a catalogue of rivers (42-58) that he uses to explain why the Black Sea freezes (37- 64). This catalogue includes the astonishing line 47 which contains five rivers: huc Lycus, huc Sagaris Peniusque Hypanisque Calesque / influit. The five dactyls create an onrush and the a fourth foot elision (que-Hyp) mimics the flowing together of the rivers. The first and last rivers are disyllabic and the three middle rivers trisyllabic. There is a particularly strong mingling of consonants. The “l,” “c,” and “s” in Lycus all show up in Cales; the “p,” and “n” and “s” in Penius flow forward into Hypanis. The repetition first of huc and then of enclitic -que ensures that we see these rivers all as rivers, even though they have different names. There is still a similarity to them all. This is a poet at the height of his craft. The catalogue of rivers becomes all the more meaningful, however, when we realize that it is a literal renunciation of Ovid’s previous statement that his poetic vein flows more narrowly: carmen vena pauperiore fluit; “my song flows in a narrower vein” (4.2.20). Now Ovid literally 551 This is a similar phenomenon to Pont. 4.7 and 4.9 where Ovid used Vestalis and Flaccus to act as eye-witnesses who could support his assertions. 253 opens the floodgates of that vein. Further, the only appearances of this form of fluit occur in these two poems ad loc. 552 A few minor details also recall other poems to poets. carissime in 4.10.3 anticipates the addressee Carus in 4.13 and looks back to 4.3.1-2. The description of Ulysses (ending the hexameter at line 9) being tossed about for ten years, per duo lustra mari (10), returns in 4.16 when Ovid says that Sabinus wrote return letters to the Heroides, particularly Ulysses responding to Penelope (end of hexameter at line 13), who wandered for ten years per duo lustra mari (14). The word domesticus appears only in 4.3.15 and 4.10.41. The form domestica occurs in reference to Ovid’s home of Sulmo in 4.14.49. Appearances of the word therefore form a triptych concerning Ovid’s feelings of home that connects the poems in Pont. 4. My main interest in the poem, in terms of my central argument, comes near the end when Ovid explains why he has written the explanation for the Sea freezing: si roget haec aliquis cur sint narrata Pedoni quidve loqui certis iuverit ista modis: “detinui,” dicam, “curas tempusque fefelli. hunc fructum praesens attulit hora mihi. abfuimus solito, dum scribimus ista, dolore in mediis nec nos sensimus esse Getis.” If anyone were to ask why Pedo has been told these things, or what benefit there is to have said these things in a careful meter, I would say “I have held off my cares and tricked time. The present hour gives me this reward. While we write these things, we lacked that usual sorrow and we do not feel like we are in the midst of the Getae.” (Pont. 4.10.65-70) For the first time in a very very long time, writing poetry gives Ovid delight, relaxation, and reward (fructum). He explicitly says that he profits from fitting words to meter (certis…modis). This phrase takes us to a very important moment in Fasti 3 when Ovid describes 552 There is a fluat at Pont. 4.4.2 describing rain flowing intermissa. 254 the ancile of the Salii: iam dederat Saliis a saltu nomina ducta / armaque et ad certos verba canenda modos; “he [Numa] had already given them the name Salii derived from the dance. And he had given them weapons and words to sing to meter” (F. 3.387-388). As Thomas Habinek has pointed out, the song of the Salii at this moment “confirms the understanding of the Salian rite as tripartite (movement, objects, and words) while at the same time suggesting that the verbal performance is in effect a fitting together of language and rhythm.” 553 It seems as if Ovid grammatically makes Pedo a participant in his performance when, in lines 69-70 he switches to first person plural verbs (afuimus, scribimus, sensimus). When they no longer feel like they are in the midst of the Getae, we realize that Ovid can feel like he is back at Rome performing the normal poetic interaction that links him to Pedo. Ovid even offers a tutorial on the ties that bind such figures together. First, both men are involved in poetic craftsmanship. Ovid transitions from his poem to describe Pedo’s: at tu, non dubito, cum Thesea carmine laudes, / materiae titulus quin tueare tuae; “but you, no doubt, since you praise Theseus in a song, are guarding the glory of your material” (Pont. 4.10.71-72). Ovid’s strong transition to Pedo (at tu) provides further support that his first person plural verbs in the previous couplet were meant to include both Ovid and Pedo. When Ovid uses materia at this point, he deploys a word that, for him, is used exclusive to denote poetic content. It is the very stuff out of which poetry is made. Ovid goes on to compare the friendship between Theseus and Pirithous (the subject he supposes of Pedo’s poem) to their own friendship. Earlier, he had connected the mythological friends with his own sodales: quosque ego dilexi fraterno more sodales, / o mihi Thesea pectora 553 Habinek 2005: 15. There might be a very subtle invitation by Ovid to hear further evidence for the Salii in the Latin word for salt. In the line before the current passage, Ovid explains that salt water is heavier than the river water because its weight comes from salt (mixto de sale pondus habet, 4.10.65). 255 iuncta fide; “the sodales whom I loved in a brotherly fashion, o hearts joined to me with Thesean good faith.” (Tr. 1.3.65-66). 554 Now, in Pont. 4.10, he elaborates on this early idea from the Tristia. He uses his own earlier materia to create something new. In this case, it is to redefine their friendship. Here is how the poem ends: sed praestandus amor, res non operosa volenti. quis labor est puram non temerasse fidem? haec tibi, qui praestas 555 indeclinatus amico, non est quod lingua icta querente putes. Your love must be outstanding: this is not difficult for one who wants it. What work is it not to defile a pure faithfullness? You who stand firmly beside your friend, do not think that you have been told these things with a complaining tongue.” (Pont. 4.10.81-84) Ovid’s connection between the love they share and the lack of complaint he has will introduce the major themes that we see play out in the final three poems addressed to specific poets. iv. Tuticanus (1) The first poem to Tuticaus, Pont. 4.12, forms a diptych with 4.14. However, for the purposes of our diachronic reading, we must consider 4.13 to Carus in between them. Ovid opens 4.12 with an elaborate joke about fitting Tuticanus’ name into the meter, previously discussed in chapter one (pp.51-53). In lines 17-38 Ovid promises to send some verses to his friend, reminisces about their joint poetic composition as young men, and says Tuticanus will be loyal. In the last part of the poem he requests aid, although he does not know of what sort (39-50). 554 There is always an inescapable irony in celebrating the fida Theseia, since he is much better known for breaking fides with Ariadne. 555 Richmond prints praestas; Wheeler and Akrigg perstas. I prefer praestas not only because it is recorded in the majority of manuscripts but because it fits in the diction of excellence introduced by praestandus amor. 256 Obviously, the poetic joke about meter in the first part of the poem sets a jocular tone that nevertheless emphasizes poetic ingenuity. This is quickly undercut by the powerful reminiscences in the next section. It is here that I want to begin because these lines directly correspond to Pont. 4.3: teque canam quacumque nota, tibi carmina mittam, paene mihi puero cognite paene puer, perque tot annorum seriem quot habemus uterque non mihi quam fratri frater amate minus. tu bonus hortator, tu duxque comesque fuisti, cum regerem tenera frena novella manu. saepe ego correxi sub te censore libellos, saepe tibi admonitu facta litura meo est, dignam Maeoniis Phaeacida condere chartis cum te Pieriae perdocuere deae. I will sing to you under some mark or other, and I will send you poems—you who are known to me since we were nearly boys; and through a series of years, as many as we both have, I have loved you no less than a brother loves a brother. You gave positive encouragement; you were my leader and companion, back when I was holding the new rein with a slim hand. Often I corrected my books with you as a censor, often you made corrections under my suggestion, while the Pierian goddesses taught you to write a Phaecis worthy of Homer’s pages. (Pont. 4.12.19-28) There is much to unpack in these lines. Let me begin with the ways in which the lines create a web of connection with other passages throughout the Pontic materials. I have already mentioned that paene…puero…paene puer (20) directly juxtaposes Tuticanus with the unnamed former poet friend of 4.3.12 (paene puer puero), with the addressee of 4.12 being a much better friend. 556 556 There is a likely echo of this sentiment in Pliny Epist. 2.13 to Neratius Priscus. Pliny tells that man about his friendship with Voconius Romanus. In their youth, they mixed serious things with pleasant (cum hoc seria cum hoc iocos miscui; “with whom I mixed serious things and light” (Epist. 2.13.5). Compare Ovid’s relationship with his betrayer: ille ego, qui primus tua seria nosse solebam / et tibi iucundis primus adesse iocis; “I am the one who was accustomed first to know your serious tings and first to be present at your pleasant light things” (Pont. 4.3.13-14). Further evidence that Pliny is drawing upon Ovid’s idea of literary friendship appears shortly after this when he says that he has wanted to help his friend: equidem iuvenis statim iuveni; “certainly at once, youth to youth…” (Epist. 257 Tuticanus’ role as one who gave encouragement (bonus hortator) recalls Messalinus’ support of Ovid (hortator studii, 1.7.28). The metaphor of writing poetry as guiding reins (regerem tenera frena novella manu) recalls Ovid’s releasing the reins in Pont. 4.2.23 (studiis quoque frena remisi). Ovid’s use of duxque comesque is part of a discourse we have already seen with Perilla (Tr. 3.7.18). It is also used of Ovid’s Muse (Tr. 4.10.119). Finally, the repetition of saepe and the language of correction recalls Pont. 2.4 to Atticus. Ovid remembers that they often spoke for hours and submitted their own work to the other’s criticism (lines 11-14). Importantly, Ovid quotes other lines in Pont. 2.4. In the earlier poem, Ovid wrote: utque meus lima rasus liber esset amici, / non semel admonitu facta litura tuo est; “and so my book was polished by the file of a friend, and more than once an erasure was made at your suggestion” (Pont. 2.4.17-18). In the poem to Tuticanus, he changes the person: saepe tibi admonitu facta litura meo est. For Bartolo Natoli, these lines (and the fact that both men are named sodales) link “them to the exile [Ovid] in past communities of revision.” 557 I think Natoli is certainly correct, although his conflation of all the exilic material leads him to draw broad, rather than nuanced, conclusions. Certainly, Ovid throughout his exile tries to rejoin his former poetic communities. This has, after all, been one of my central arguments. But I think that the community that he wants to rejoin changes over time. He becomes increasingly specific and inclusive. This, we can suppose, is one of the reasons he begins to name his addressees in the Epistulae ex Ponto, and one of the reasons we find so many new recipients in Pont. 4. Tuticanus is a different sort of friend than Atticus. Their relationship is more professional. Significantly, Ovid discusses the topic of Tuticanus’ work in a similar way that he 2.13.8). For those aware of it, Pliny shows that he is the kind of friend Ovid was to Tuticanus, not the bad friend to Ovid. 557 Natoli 2017: 136. He is drawing on the work of Gurd 2012. 258 did Pedo’s. Ovid is showing that he is engaged with his addressee’s current work. He is performing his duties as a sodalis. v. Carus This poem may very well be the most significant of those addressed to poet friends. In the first place, Carus is immediately identified as a sodalis: o mihi non dubios inter memorande sodales, qui quod es, id vere, Care, vocaris, ave! “o you, an undoubted sodalis among those to be remembered, you who are what you are called, truly, greetings Carus” (4.13.1-2). He then says that Carus is sure to recognize his works from their color just as he can Carus’ by the same token (3-16). Ovid next describes a poem that he wrote and performed in Getic. This is his explicit return to his sarcastic comment in 4.2 about the need to perform for the locals. Now, over the diachronic course of the book, he has changed rather than his locale. This is the solution to his misery, and he can still write about Roman affairs. faciam paene poeta Getes, “I am nearly a Getic poet” (4.12.19) he writes, as if to excuse any faults in his writing: 558 a! pudet et Getico scripsi sermone libellum structaque sunt nostris barbara verba modis: 20 et placui—gratare mihi!—coepique poetae inter inhumanos nomen habere Getas. materiam quaeris? laudes: de Caesare dixi! adiuta est novitas numine nostra dei. nam patris Augusti docui mortale fuisse 25 corpus, in aetherias numen abisse domos, esse parem virtute patri qui frena rogatus saepe recusati ceperit imperii, esse pudicarum te Vestam, Livia, matrum, ambiguum nato dignior anne viro, 30 558 Ovid’s status as a Getic poet has, unfortunately, drawn utterly the wrong kind of attention. Rather than considering what it means to assert he has been so transformed, scholars fixate on his ability to write in a local language. Williams 1994: 91-99 first summarizes earlier positions and then offers a refreshing analysis of Ovid’s assertion as proof of his unflagging wit and ability. 259 esse duos iuvenes, firma adiumenta parentis, qui dederint animi pignora certa sui. Alas! It’s embarrassing, but I wrote a libellus in the Getic speech and organized barbarian words to fit our meter. Still, I was well received—congratulate me!—and I began to have a reputation as a poet among the uncivilized Getae. You ask my material? You would approve [or, praises]: I spoke about Caesar! Our novelty was assisted by the godhead of a god. I taught that the body of Augustus was mortal and that his godhead was apart in heavenly homes. That he was equal to the virtue of his father who, having been asked, took up the reins of rule so often refused. That you, Livia, (it is unclear if you are more worthy of your son or husband), are the Vesta of chaste matrons. That the two young men [Drusus and Germanicus] stout supports of their parent, have given certain guarantees of their spirit. (Pont. 4.13.19-32) The passage is full of juxtapositions between oral and written forms of speech, which highlight Ovid’s interest in linguistic expression in this poem: scripsi / sermone, verba; materiam / laudes; dixi, docui, laudes / perlegi (line 33). The entire poem is enormously interested in issues of translation, and we might begin by noticing that speaking and writing is one form of that translation. After all, we are reading this poem in Latin, but it describes the content (materia) that was presented in Getic, that is, in a language that few in Rome would be able to understand. Ovid is saying that he said one thing, but we have no way of knowing in what manner he said it. When he says that he “organized barbarian words to fit our meter” he is saying that he put Getic words into a Latin meter. Whether this meter consists of hexameters or elegiac couplets (or anything else) is besides the point. Rather, we should remember the certi modi from 4.10. There, we learned that it gives joy to fit words to meter. This is also a key concept with Germanicus in 4.8.73 (nam modo bella geris, numeris modo verba coerces, “for now you are waging war, now you are fitting words to meter”). Ovid, we can suppose, has delighted in this challenge. 260 Ovid’s audience, inhumani Getae, form the last part of a narrative about their inhumanity. They have previously appeared in the same metrical position twice before. In Pont. 1.5, addressed to Cotta Maximus, Ovid had offered some advice to his young friend: ut recitata probentur carmina, Pieriis invigilate choris; “in order for your recited songs to win approval, devote yourself to the Pierian chorus” (1.5.67-68). This Cotta can do because he is in Rome, but his competition is fierce. Ovid claims there is no competition about the Getae: hoc, ubi vivendum est, satis est, si consequor arvo, / inter inhumanos esse poeta Getas; “if I dwell in this land, where I must live, it is enough to be a poet among the uncivilized Getae” (1.5.65-66). Now, in Pont. 4.13, he is exactly that; he has come to terms with his existence. The second poem in which we find the phrase, Pont. 3.5, is also addressed to Cotta, and in it Ovid requests proof of his friend’s study: quem quoniam fatum patria vobisque relictis inter inhumanos maluit esse Getas, quod licet, ut videar tecum magis esse, legenda saepe, precor, studii pignora mitte tui. Because I am the one whom fate preferred to be among the uncivilized Getae, with fatherland and you left behind. Since it is permitted, and so I might seem to be more with you, I beseech you often to send me guarantees of your study to be read. (Pont. 3.5.26-30). In this passage, Ovid again reveals that he is not engaging with his neighbors. However, in the third example of this phrase (in Pont. 4.13) he has overcome his desire for other people’s material and is writing his own for a new audience. The implicit suggestion is that by spreading Romanitas, he is civilizing the periphery. After Ovid, the Getae will be humani. I have already discussed the content of this poem a little in chapter one, but it is worth repeating that the reins Tiberius often refused (frena, line 27) recall those Ovid had put down in 4.2.23. Thus, we find poet and prince deliberately compared. 261 Most strikingly, however, in this poem about translation, is the fact that the subject of Ovid’s poem is the translation of Augustus’ godhead to heaven. Thus, he “translates” (structa) barbarian words to Latin meters. He translates Augustus to heaven. These two moments build to the culminating joke, in the last line, when Ovid hopes for Carus to work on his behalf for a translation out of Tomis, mutato…loco (50). At this point in his career in Tomis, I do not think that Ovid has any actual hope for a return. So, instead, he makes an elaborate, and playful, poetic joke out of the whole affair. For just as his translation out of exile is an impossibility, so too, we are invited to see, is the translation of Augustus. These are the dangerous terms that come to the fore when the sacer impetus of a poet with Ovid’s ingenium activates. Another crucial aspect of this poem comes when the audience reacts. As we saw, in Pont. 4.2, Ovid lamented not having an audience. But when he actually decides to perform in Tomis, he finds himself very well received: haec ubi non patria perlegi scripta Camena, venit et ad digitos ultima charta meos, et caput et plenas omnes movere pharetras, et longum Getico murmur in ore fuit, When I had read through these things written in a non-native Camena, and when the last page came to my fingers, then everyone shook their full quivers and there was a long murmur on the Getic lip. (Pont. 4.13.33-36) The first and last lines of these two couplets are the most interesting, but I will begin with line 34 because it strengthens the connection between this poem and 4.2. Writing to Severus, Ovid had said: ducitur et digitis littera rara meis; “it is the rare letter that is drawn by my fingers” (4.2.24). Now we see that those fingers have written what must have been several pages if there is an ultima charta. We see the narrative of poetic resurgence culminate at this point, a narrative that began back in 4.2. 262 For a poet as interested in literary tradition as Ovid, it may surprise us that his references to the Camenae only appear near the end of his life. The first is an interesting moment in Met. 14, during the episode with Picus and Canens, when the latter evaporates: fama tamen signata loco est, quem rite Canentem / nomine de nymphae veteres dixere Camenae; “rumor, nevertheless marks the location, which the ancients solemnly say is Canens from the name of the nymph Camena” (Met. 14.433-434). Rather than being geographically specific, this passage is important evidence that Ovid, like others, etymologically associates the Camenae with singing (canens). 559 In Met. 15, Camenae appear again. After Numa learned the teachings of Pythagoras, he returns to Latium and takes up the reins of rule (habenas, 15.481) at the request of the people. We are reminded both of a poet taking up the reins of poetry and of Tiberius taking up the reins of empire. The next lines are important: coniuge qui felix nympha ducibusque Camenis / sacrificos docuit ritus gentemque feroci / adsuetam bello pacis traduxit ad artes; “happy with a nymph wife and under the leadership of the Camenae, he taught sacrificial rites and led a race, accustomed to fierce war, to the arts of peace” (15.482-484). One might, more boldly, render the last line “and translated a race, accustomed to fierce war, to the arts of peace.” 560 Here, with docuit, we may remember Ovid’s docui (Pont. 4.13.25). Perhaps, we understand, he is trying to pacify this wild, uncivilized, race by teaching them the rites, the sacra, of poetry. There are two references as well in the Fasti. In book three, there is a minor (if one can call a word like Camena, minor) modification of Egeria: Egeria est quae praebet aquas, dea grata Camenis; “Egeria is the one who supplies the water, the goddess pleasing to the Camenae” (F. 3.275), which leads to Numa pacifying the Quirites. One result of which is that coeptaque 559 For a general discussion of the etymology Camenae, see Waszink 1956. 560 For traduco as translation, see McElduff 2013: 194. She shows parallel passages in Cicero (Tusc. 2.5) and Gellius (NA 1.18.1). 263 sunt pure tradita sacra coli; “inherited rites began to be carried out properly” (F. 3.280). I am, naturally, compelled to read a parallel here to Ovid’s own emphasis on poetic sacra in his late career. Ovid, not being in Rome to help train a future generation of poets, nevertheless writes a serious poetry book that can teach the rites of a poet by modeling them. The second appearance is more important. In the fourth book, Ovid asks Erato about Attis. When she finishes, Ovid writes talibus Aoniae facunda voce Camenae / reddita quaesiti causa furoris erat; “with such things, by the eloquent voice of an Aonian Camena, the questioner was given the reason for madness” (F. 4.245-246). It is exceedingly rare for the Camenae to be associated with a Greek Muse; however, Ovid is clearly playing with literary history at this moment. 561 This is further supported by an unassigned fragment of Ennius’ Annales, which Skutsch proposes be in book 15. Musas quas memorant nosce nos esse Camenas; “know us to be the Camenae whom they remember as the Muses” (Ann. 487 Sk.). Skutsch strikingly proposes that this line is related to Fulvius Nobilior’s transfer of the aedicula Camenarum to the Temple of Hercules Musarum. 562 More keenly felt, however, is a whole tradition of Latin invocations. Livius Andronicus begins by invoking a Camena, whom Ennius rejects: Virum mihi, Camena, insece versutum; “tell me of the translated man, Camena” (Od. 1) contrasts with Insece Musa (Ann. 322 Sk.). Livius’ is an invocation at the beginning of his poem, and Ennius’ is a late invocation (Skutsch puts it in book 10). Ovid, in turn, renames Erato, whom Vergil invoked in his proem-in-the-middle (Aen. 7.37). 561 Fantham 1998: 143 “O. stresses the blend of Greek and Roman elements in his poetry, but nowhere else is Italian Camena(e) (a nymph or nymphs with the gift of carmen, ‘song’ or ‘prophecy’…) applied to a Greek Muse.” We might compare Hor. Carm. 2.16.38 Graiae…Camenae. 562 Skutsch 1985 note ad loc. Habinek 2006: 476 uses metaphorical language that parallels this transfer: “the passage is surely to be understood as announcing not just incontrovertibility but also, and more importantly, substitution: the Camenae have become the Muses, have taken up residence in their abode.” 264 All of this brings us back to Ovid’s Camena in Pont. 4.13. He is referring Livius Andronicus in that both poets use the singular form. Ovid’s subject matter adapts Andronicus’ virum…versutum by describing Augustus’ “translation” into the heavens. As we have seen, however, according to one prominent tradition, Fulvius Nobilior brought the Camenae from Numa’s shrine to the Temple of Hercules Musarum. When Ovid uses the phrase non patria Camena, he brings the Camena out of the patria. It is almost as if to say “the Camena, no longer (of) the fatherland.” Ovid, at a new peak of his poetic powers, has invented an entirely new tradition. He re-enacts Livius Andronicus’ creation of a Latin literature for the Getae. Ovid has invented Getic literature—or at least Getized a Latin tradition. 563 The response of his audience underscores this. He writes et longum Getico murmur in ore fuit; “and there was a long murmur on the Getic lip” (Pont. 4.13.36). Any reader of Ovid hears the ending of the Metamorphoses in this line. quaque patet domitis Romana potentia terris, / ore legar populi, perque omnia saecula fama, / siquid habent veri vatum praesagia, vivam; “and wherever Roman power extends over conquered lands, I will be on the people’s lip, and if the prophecies of the vates have anything of truth, I will live, famous, for all the ages” (Met. 15.877- 9). 564 Little did Ovid know that he would be on the lips of those whom Rome had barely contained. 563 In many ways, the positive response of Ovid’s audience is more surprising than the fact he performs in Getic. After all, he is teaching a very Roman world-view of the afterlife. It seems to me that Ovid invents science fiction for his local audience, complete with travels among the stars. 564 Any reference of fame coming from the people is in dialogue with Ennius’ epitaph: nemo me lacrumis decoret neque funera fletu faxit. / Cur? volito vivos per ora virum; “let no one honor me with tears nor fan my funeral rites with tears. Why? I fly, alive, on the lips of men” (quoted by Cic. Tusc. 1.34, 117; Sen. 73). Vergil picks this up: victorque virum volitare per ora; “to fly, victorious, on the lips of men” (G. 3.9). Ovid’s vates in the last line of the Metamorphoses, are these previous poets. He one-ups them, as well, by describing the lips not just of Roman men but of a whole population of provincials. c.f. Latos <per> populos res atque poemata nostra / clara> cluebunt; “across the broad peoples, my subject matter and poems will be called famous” (Enn. Ann. 12-13 Sk.). 265 vii. Tuticanus (2) Pont. 4.14 is the last poem addressed to a specific poet. In 4.15 Ovid will end the “political” narrative with his last poem to Sextus Pompeius, and in 4.16 bring his Pontic project to a close. The poem begins with Ovid saying that he writes to someone about whose name he recently complained (modo…questus, 1). This is, of course, Tuticanus, which indicates a strong Ovidian inclination to read diachronically through, at least, this part of the book. He goes on to describe the landscape negatively and to assert that he has never complained about the people (5- 14). He connects this to the way in which his poems have hurt him in the past and asserts his innocence (15-40). There is a malignant translator of his works who has been turning the locals against him, but Ovid has been well respected by the locals and they should not turn (41-56). He closes by saying he loves Tomis where it is…he just wishes it were elsewhere (57-62)! This poem concludes the narrative of miniaturizing and imitating Ovid’s entire poetic career: his poems harming him and sending him into exile. 565 His self-defense rewrites much of Tr. 2, and his attempt to refuse the crown the people gave him also satirizes Tiberius’ coronation. When he writes: ergo ego, ne scribam, digitos incidere cunctor, / telaque adhuc demens, quae nocuere, sequor?, “why, lest I write, do I hesitate to chop off my fingers, and still—crazed— follow the weapons that harmed me?” (19-20), he brings to a close some minor motifs in Pont. 4. We saw his reluctance to use his fingers to write in 4.2; the way his fingers touched the last page in 4.13. Now, he is thinking of cutting off those fingers. Second, when he calls himself demens, we recall that he had earlier associated the quality with his unnamed adversary in 4.3.29. He is his own enemy. But these are minor points compared to the more interesting offerings of the 565 A joke: he is trying to get himself exiled out of Tomis and back to Rome. 266 poem, namely, the way in which the poem looks outward and anticipates cultural change that will arise under Tiberius and his successors: at malus interpres populi mihi concitat iram inque novum crimen carmina nostra vocat. But an ill-willed interpretor rouses the anger of the people against me and charges my poetry with a new crime. (Pont. 4.14.41-42) This is about audience reaction. In the previous poem, Ovid recited a Getic poem that the locals could understand, and they really enjoyed it. But now someone who reads Latin and who speaks Getic has been telling the locals what Ovid “really is saying about you.” As a result, the people—and not the leader—accuse him. What interests me most is the legacy of the terms in this couplet. Ovid’s malus interpres finds later resonance both in Seneca and Martial. The latter shows his awareness of the Ovidian experience when he tries to circumvent it in his prologue: 1. Spero me secutum in libellis meis tale temperamentum ut de illis queri non possit quisquis de se bene senserit, cum salva infirmarum quoque personarum reverentia ludant; quae adeo antiquis auctoribus defuit ut nominibus non tantum veris abusi sint, sed et magnis. 2. Mihi fama vilius constet et probetur in me novissimum ingenium. 3. Absit a iocorum nostrorum simplicitate malignus interpres nec epigrammata mea scribat: inprobe facit qui in alieno libro ingeniosus est. 4. Lascivam verborum veritatem, id est epigrammaton linguam, excusarem, si meum esset exemplum: sic scribit Catullus, sic Marsus, sic Pedo, sic Gaetulicus, sic quicumque perlegitur. 5. Si quis tamen tam ambitiose tristis est ut apud illum in nulla pagina latine loqui fas sit, potest epistola vel potius titulo contentus esse. 6. Epigrammata illis scribuntur qui solent spectare Florales. 7. Non intret Cato theatrum meum, aut si intraverit, spectet. 8. Videor mihi meo iure facturus si epistolam versibus clusero: “I hope to have struck a balance in my little books such that nobody can complain of them who has a good opinion of himself; their jesting is with respect of persons, even the humblest, respect which was lacking in writers of old when they made free not only 267 with real names, but even with great ones. I would not have fame at such a price; ingenuity is the last quality for which I seek approval. My quips are straightforward. I want no interpreter’s malice, and beg that nobody write addressees on my epigrams. It is a scurvy trick to be ingenious with another man’s book. As for the license I use in calling a spade a spade, the language of epigram that is to say, I should make apology if the example were my setting. But that is how Catullus writes, and Marsus and Pedo, and Gaetulicus, and whoever else is read all through. However, should any man so flaunt his prudery [tristis, sorrow] that Latin cannot be spoken on any page in his presence, he can make do with my letter, or better, my title. Epigrams are written for those who use to watch Flora’s games. Let Cato keep out of my theater; or if he comes in, let him watch. I think I shall be within my rights if I conlude my letter in verse.” (Epig. 1 prologue) 566 This whole prologue is an extended literary historical joke and a serious reflection on writing culture under Domitian. It is the closest thing we have to Ovid’s own approach to the same situation. For my purposes here, however, I want to limit myself to the way in which it is (likely) an extended reference to Ovid’s exile. When Martial opens by saying that writers of old (antiquis auctoribus) named names in their poems, he could be referring precisely to Ovid’s decision in the Epistulae ex Ponto to write to named addressees. When he lists Marsus and Pedo, he could very well be thinking of Pont. 4.16.5-6 when both men also appear. We find another potential joke that if someone is tristis he can be content with the epistula. Here we likely have the titles of Ovid’s Tomitan works. In fact, when Ovid introduced his Epistulae ex Ponto to Brutus (a figure with a nomen magnum “great name”), he wrote: non minus hoc illo triste, quod ante dedi. / rebus idem, titulo differt; et epistula cui sit / non occultato nomine missa docet; “this one is no less sorrowful than what I sent before. Same subject, different title. And the letters say to whom they are sent without concealing the name” (Pont. 1.1.16-18). Here, in these two passages alone, do the three words come together. 566 Text and trans. Shackleton Bailey, Loeb. 268 All of this work is necessary to support the idea that Martial is considering Ovid’s Tomitan project. The main emphasis, in my view, is that Martial is trying to control the reception to his poems in a way that Ovid was unable to. He has learned from Ovid’s malus interpres and tries to prevent a malignus interpres from interfering with his own work. The other writer who may potentially be thinking about Ovid is Seneca the Younger, particularly in de Beneficiis. In a passage in the second book, where he is complaining that the politically ambitious are never content with the honors they have received, Seneca claims that these men never recognize that they should be happy (2.28.1). He goes on to say that a better approach is to esteem yourself for what you have accomplished rather than look outward. Then, in what could easily be a critique of Ovid, he says that complaining just shows you do not deserve what you have been given (2.28.2). The argument ends with an even stronger likelihood of Ovidian influence: nullum est tam plenum beneficium, quod non vellicare malignitas possit, nullum tam angustum, quod non bonus interpres extendat. numquam deerunt causae querendi, si beneficia a deteriore parte spectaveris. For no benefit is so full that malignity cannot criticize it, nor so small that a positive interpreter cannot enlarge it. Reasons for complaint will never be wanting if you view benefits from their worse side. (Ben. 2.28.4) This is Seneca talking back to Ovid over time and saying he could have looked at his situation differently. Even though the subject of Seneca’s philosophizing is generic, that does not mean a specific circumstance cannot lie under it. Later in de Ben. we find another moment that recalls Ovid. In book 4, Seneca asserts a paradox: est aliquando gratus etiam qui ingratus videtur, quem mala interpres opinio contrarium tradidit; “sometimes someone is grateful even though he appears ungrateful; one whom rumor 269 (opinio), a bad interpreter (mala interpres), presents as its opposite” (Ben. 4.21.5). Seneca, from this point of view, exonerates Ovid. The poet, after all, thought himself innocent. The situation Seneca describes exactly fits Ovid’s position in Pont. 4.14. He claims that he is grateful to the people of Tomis but a malus interpres (interpres is a common noun) is giving the locals a different impression. In addition to the later impact malus interpres will have on cultural responses, Ovid also uses the striking phrase novum crimen. On the surface, it seems fairly straightword, a new crime. But it is, rather, better to render it a novel crime, a crime that has occurred for the first time. We find it in this usage first in Cicero, but Ovid will mediate it and we will find it later in Seneca and, intriguingly, in Quintilian. Cicero’s use of the phrase novum crimen became famous. He opened pro Ligario (46 BCE) with the phrase: Novum crimen, C. Caesar, et ante hunc diem non auditum propinquus meus ad te Q. Tubero detulit, Q. Ligarium in Africa fuisse; “A novel crime, Caesar, and before this day never-before heard, has my relative Quintus Tubero brought before you: that Quintus Ligarius was in Africa” (Lig. 1). After the Civil Wars, Caesar kept Ligarius, who had sided with the Pompeians, in exile in Africa. The current court case is the attempt to return him to Italy. There is, then, a certain fascinating exilic overtone to this speech. Novum crimen forms an iambic opening, and it is this that Quintilian admires. Usually, he says, it is best to begin with long syllables, but sometimes a short one is exactly what is needed: optime incipitur a longis, recte aliquando a brevibus, ut ‘novum crimen’ (9.4.92). He returns to the phrase in book 11 when discussing the proper gestures to accompany this opening. It takes one movement to express the phrase: ut sit unus motus ‘novum crimen’ (11.3.108). What this shows us is that, even in Quintilian’s time, the phrase would have been redolent of Republican 270 oratory. For Ovid to use it, then, in a context when he claims his poetry is being attacked, means that he considers himself in need of a fervent defender. Seneca’s Agamemnon provides us with the main point of reception of this phrase. Whether it is reception of Ovid or Cicero or both cannot be said for certain, but since Seneca elsewhere seems to show awareness of Ovid’s exile poetry, we cannot put aside the possibility. We find it twice. In the Agamemnon it appears in a passage of the first stichomythia between the nurse and Clytemnestra: N. Tuta est latetque culpa, si pateris, tua. C. Perlucet omne regiae vitium domus. N. Piget prioris et novum crimen struis? C. Res est profecto stulta nequitiae modus. N. Quod metuit auget qui scelus scelere obruit. N. Your guilt is safe and hidden, if you permit it. C. The fault of a royal house shines clearly. N. Does your earlier crime shame you even as you plot a new/novel crime? C. Moderation of wickedness is completely stupid. N. The evil that covers evil increases what one fears. (Ag. 147-151) On the one hand, the sequence of synonyms for crime (culpa, vitium, crimen, nequitiae, scelus) is an act of variatio. On the other, the novum crimen gains emphasis by being the middle element and because of the rarity of crimen in the Agamemnon. It will only appear again in line 277. 567 Later, when reading (or watching) the Thyestes, we find another new crime. The fury takes the stage from the ghost of Tantalus and demands new crimes: nec vacet cuiquam vetus / odisse crimen: semper oriatur novum; “do not give space for anyone to hate an old crime: always 567 Forms of scelus dominate the opening of the play, especially in Thyestes’ mouth (24, 29, 47); culpa (22, 147, 307); vitium appears only here and nequitiam again at 114. 271 let a novel one rise” (Thy. 29-30). 568 The general idea we get from Seneca is that crime begets crime, and the new crime is always a novel one. This returns us to Ovid’s novum crimen. He fully acknowledges that his crime was his Ars. However disingenuous this stance is, it is still his stance. Nevertheless, now in exile, there is a novel crime: someone is telling the Getic people lies about his poetry. This new crime is not just a crime against Ovid, it is a crime against the Getic people who are being manipulated. This powerful stance, and the general presence of the phrase throughout the first century, culminates in Tacitus: Cornelio Cosso Asinio Agrippa consulibus Cremutius Cordus postulatur novo ac tunc primum audito crimine, quod editis annalibus laudatoque M. Bruto C. Cassium Romanorum ultimum dixisset; “under the consulship of Cornelius Cossus and Asinius Agrippa, Cremutius Cordus was charged with a new crime then heard for the first time: that, having published Annals and praising Brutus, he called Cassius ‘the last of the Romans’” (Tac. Ann. 4.34.1). The year is 25 CE. Thus, we are shortly after the death of Ovid and five years after the trial of Piso in 20 CE. Tiberius has been in power for ten years. This is the world after Augustan literature. The opening clearly alludes to Cicero’s pro Ligario given that both contain a “novel crime:” novum crimen vs. novo crimine; and both were “never heard before:” ante hunc diem non auditum vs. tunc primum audito. Cremutius’ argument may well owe something else to Ovid’s Tomitan poetry. He explicitly says that Antony’s letters and Brutus’ speeches are still read: Antonii epistulae, Bruti contiones falsa quidem in Augustum probra, sed multa cum acerbitate habent (Ann. 4.34.5). This is similar to Ovid’s statement of the same: Antoni scripta 568 Boyle 2017: 117: “the Fury anticipates Atreus’ search for ‘novel’ revenge.” Novel is, I think, precisely the range Ovid goes for as well. Yes, the crime is a new one (there have been older crimes in the past) but this one has never before been seen. 272 leguntur, / doctus et in promptu scrinia Brutus habet; “the writings of Antony are read, and learned Brutus is ready on the shelf” (Pont. 1.1.23-24). 569 Cremutius’ writings also share a fate with Ovid’s: libros per aediles cremandos censuere patres; set manserunt, occultati et editi; “the senators ordered his books be burned by the aediles; but they survived, hidden and published” (Ann. 35.4). 570 Such was the fate of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, only he had tried to burn them himself, in an obvious act of poetic posturing: imposui rapidis viscera nostra rogis; “I placed my innards on the swift fire” (Tr. 1.7.20). But they survived because many copies were made: pluribus exemplis scripta fuisse reor (24). All of these linguistic echoes indicate that Cremutius Cordus may be ventriloquizing Ovid at this point both for the knowing listener but also for the emperor who kept the poet out of Rome. Conclusion Throughout this chapter, I have sought to understand Ovid’s relentless interest in the sacred quality present in poetic communities. I have argued throughout that his metaphor is distinct from those who came before him because he needs to find a way for those who perform the sacra to do so even if they are not present together. It might be beneficial to look at one last late passage wherein we find evidence for Ovid’s keen interest in sacra during his exile. Here is the only overt edit he makes to Fasti 4: 571 Sulmonis gelidi, patriae, Germanice, nostrae. me miserum, Scythico quam procul illa solo est! ergo ego tam longe—sed supprime, Musa, querellas: non tibi sunt maesta sacra canenda lyra. 569 Suet. Aug. 69 quotes from the letters of Antony; they are all about sex. Perhaps more indicative of the style are the letters preserved by Cicero (Att. 10.8a, 10.10.2, 14.13a). 570 On Cremutius Cordus and this passage, see Wisse 2013. For Roman bookburning, Howley 2017. 571 Fantham 1998: 106 “This outcry to Germanicus is the only undisputedly late passage in book IV or subsequent books of the Fasti.” 273 Cool Sulmo, o Germanicus, is my home. Woe is me, how far that place is from Scythian soil! Therefore I, for so long—but stop my complaints, Muse: sacred things must not be sung on a sad lyre. (F. 4.81-84) One is clearly reminded that one of the main topics of the Fasti are the sacra (1.7, sacra…eruta), but at this moment he also brings together several disparate elements. First, the passage invites comparison with Pont. 4.14, the only other place (besides his autobiography, Tr. 4.10.3), that Ovid names his hometown in his late writings. In Pont. 4.14, Ovid says that his own people are as kind as the locals in Tomis: gens mea Paeligni regioque domestica Sulmo / non potuit nostris lenior esse malis; “my people, the Paeligni, and my homeland of Sulmo, could not be more kind to my miseries” (Pont. 4.14.49-50). Ovid is trying to set a more positive tone throughout the fourth book of the Epistulae ex Ponto as we see him rise out of his poetic torpor in 4.2. By celebrating poets and the communia sacra for one last time, he reaches out to specific poets and discusses their work. His lyre finds happy things to celebrate. However, and this is part of what happens at the end of Augustan literature, he is censured at the height of his joy, when he has maintained his former poetic ties and started to create a new community in Tomis. In chapters two and three, I emphasized how closely Ovid kept his nose to the political developments in Rome and how he changed and nuanced his approach to his addressees depending on these changes. Those chapters were written from the perspective that Ovid is tying his book to a specific time period. In this chapter, in contrast, I have tried to emphasize the way in which Pont. 4 can look backward in time to the origins of Latin poetry and offer some amount of prognostication about what it may look like in the future. In the next chapter, I mediate this position and observe that, when Ovid writes his catalogue of contemporary poets, he gets as close as he can to describing the immediate poetic environment in which he lived and that he will lose upon his death and that will lose him. 274 Chapter Five The Function and Meaning of Pont. 4.16 In this chapter we return to the structure of the poetic book. I argued in chapter one that the dominant structure of Pont. 4 is the recessed panels between poems 1 and 15, 2 and 14, etc. Under this model, 4.8 is the centerpiece and 4.16 acts as an epilogue. It is equally viable is to read the poems in a purely recessed manner wherein 1 and 16 are paired, 2 and 15, etc. and poems 8 and 9 act as the middle poems. As I showed, this structure also makes sense because these last two poems are the longest. When divided this way, we saw more clearly that the back half of Pont. 4 is particularly focused on literary friendships. Ovid also plays cleverly with the reading of a poetry book. As I argued in chapter one, 4.1 and 4.2 act as double programmatic poems, introducing themes of politics and poetics, respectively. After one finishes the book and is required to roll it back up, it becomes clear that Ovid has structured the book so that one re- encounters these two themes with 4.16 about poetry and 4.15 (to Sextus Pompeius) about Ovid’s debts to him and politics. What this chapter concerns, primarily, is Pont. 4.16. It is the capstone to a sequence of poems in which Ovid writes about the poetic output of the friends he addresses. I will ultimately argue that it is the most important poem of his Tomitan career because it is the poem in which he sacrifices himself for the preservation of Roman poets and Latin poetic production. This chapter proceeds in three parts. In the first I discuss in greater detail the relationship between 4.1 and 4.16 in order to support my arguments about the structure of the book. I anticipate my detailed discussion of the named persos in 4.16 by analyzing Ovid’s history of literary canons. In part two I discuss the catalogue. The lack of rigorous critical work on the order and method of this catalogue necessitate the length of this part. In part three, I discuss the larger meaning of 4.16. 275 Part One Structures and Catalogues Pont. 4.1 ends with a canonical catalogue of Greek sculptors and painters. 4.16 ends with a catalogue of Roman poets none of whom (at least according to the sources that survive) had been in a catalogue before, although a handful would be in the future. I will argue that Ovid is also investing himself in the question of the development of a Latin poetic tradition. A catalogue acts as a depository of cultural information. It represents the (sometimes postured) rigorous engagement with entire subjects. When Ovid gives us the astonishing array of poets in 4.16 he turns his back not only on his own history of such lists, but on that of the Hellenistic tradition underlying the very practice of lists. In fact, Ovid’s generous catalogue should be seen as directly responding to the changed (likely oppressive) literary environment that Ovid anticipates appearing under Tiberius. a. Pont. 4.1: Greek Visual Art In order to make the intuitive step from Greek artist to Roman poet, it will be helpful to remember that this comparison already existed in the Roman cultural and aesthetic imagination. Two examples suffice: nam et Odyssia Latina est sic tamquam opus aliquod Daedali et Livianae fabulae non satis dignae quae iterum legantur; “For the Latin Odyssey is just like some statue of Daedalus and there is not enough worth in the plays of Livius to justify a second reading” (Cic. Brut. 71). 572 Closer in time to Ovid, Horace opens his Ars Poetica with an extended comparison 572 Citroni 2013: 195. Citroni’s investigation is about the way in which different figures, primarily Cicero, Varro, and Horace (with passing reference to Livy and Quintilian) present the development of Latin poetry as either a continuity (it began with a figure, usually Livius or Ennius, and developed until it reached an apex) or discontinuity (it was perfect from the start). Along similar lines he asks whether it was imported from Greece or did it begin in the Italic countryside. Cicero likes the comparison between poetry and art. He returns to it in a discussion of Naevius whom he defends against Ennius’ slurs: tamen illius, quem in vatibus et Faunis annumerat Ennius, bellum Punicum quasi Myronis opus delectate; “Despite the fact that Ennius lists him [Naevius] among the vates [here=primitive poets] and Fauns, nevertheless his Bellum Punicum delights, like a sculpture of Myron delights” (Brut. 75). Annumerare is a technical term for a canonizing list. See Citroni 2005: 212. 276 of a painter who elicits mockery because of blending images he should not combine with a poet who does something similar: credite, Pisones, isti tabulae fore librum / persimilem; “believe me, Piso, the book would be exactly like those paintings” (Hor. AP 6-7). Later, and more succinctly we read: ut pictura poesis; “poetry is as a painting (361). 573 Ovid does not surprise us with the figures present in his catalogue: 574 …quod fecit, quisque tuetur opus. ut Venus artificis labor est et gloria Coi, aequoreo madidas quae premit imbre comas: arcis ut Actaeae vel eburna vel aerea custos bellica Phidiaca stat dea facta manu: vindicat ut Calamis laudem, quos fecit, equorum: ut similis verae vacca Myronis opus: sic ego pars rerum non ultima, Sexte, tuarum tutelaeque feror munus opusque tuae. Each man protects the work which he has made. As Venus is the work and glory of the Coan artist [Apelles], she who wrings the sea-spray out of her damp hair; as the bellicose goddess (either ivory or bronze) crafted by Phidias’ hand stands over the Athenian citadel; as Calamis earns praise from the horses which he made; as the lifelike cow is the work of Myron, so I am not the least of your possessions, Sextus. I am said to be the gift and work of your protection. (Pont. 4.1.28-36) 573 The phrase is justly famous. Confronted with the daunting task of saying something about it, Rudd 1989: 209: “its ramifications are endless.” More helpful is his reference to Simonides which indicates just how entrenched in the classical imagination the relationship between poetry and painting is: πλὴν ὁ Σιμωνίδης τὴν μὲν ζωγραφίαν ποίησιν σιωπῶσαν προσαγορεύει, τὴν δὲ ποίησιν ζωγραφίαν λαλοῦσαν “Simonides calls painting ‘silent poetry’ and poetry ‘talking painting’” (Plut. Mor. 346F). See Trimpi 1973. 574 Poetic precedent Prop. 3.9.9-16. Further references will be discussed below. 277 The list is canonical and programmatic. 575 The greatest painter and sculptor each receives a full couplet (Apelles 29-30; Phidias 31-32). 576 The “lesser” sculptors share a couplet (33-34). 577 Ovid is teaching us how to read his carefully crafted lists, to recognize the ways in which he names, or hides names, and provides subjects and genres. He is giving his readers, in this first poem, an “easy” passage to interpret as practice before the intricacies of 4.16. The artists all flourished around the same time in the fifth and fourth centuries BCE as part of Athens’ period of cultural hegemony. 578 They therefore create an apt comparison for the way in which catalogues can be used to define a period. They also form a two-part unit in that the two superior artists depicted goddesses: one in her erotic role and the other in her martial role. The other two artists depicted animals. These are not figures who attempted, according to Ovid’s presentation, 575 In the later ps.-Vergilian Aetna we read about Roman viewers captivated by Greek art in which the poet frames two paintings of tragic themes with the statues of Apelles’ Venus and Myron’s cows: quin etiam Graiae fixos tenuere tabellae signave: nunc Paphiae rorantes matre capilli, sub truce nunc parvi ludentes Colchide nati, nunc tristes circa subiectae altaria cervae velatusque pater, nunc gloria viva Myronis. “The paintings and statues of the Greeks have transfixed us. Now there is the dripping hair of the mother of Paphia [Venus]; now the small sons play at the feet of hard Medea. Now the veiled father stands with mourners around the altar of the substituted deer. Now the vivified glory of Myron.” (593-597) 576 Cicero stands in for the communis opinio. He considered Apelles the apex of the painterly tradition. at in Aetione Nicomacho Protogene Apelle iam perfecta sunt omnia; “but in Aetion, Nicomachus, Protogenes, and Apelles all these things [color and drawing] have reached a state of perfection” (Brut. 70). The context is Cicero’s argument that genres get better over time (Citroni’s continuity). Pliny the Elder concurred: HN 35.34. Cicero holds Phidias in even higher esteem: itaque et Phidiae simulacris, quibus nihil in illo genere perfectius videmus; “and the same holds for the statues of Phidias, in which we have seen nothing in that style more perfect” (Orat. 8). The context is Cicero’s attempt to create an image of the ideal orator even if such has never existed, and he points to Phidias as one who did not base his Athena on a real woman 577 In the passage from the Brutus, Cicero says that Canachus’ statues are too rigid (rigidiora) to imitate reality but Calamis’ horse, while still rigid (dura) is softer than Canachus’ (molliora). Myron is still not fully lifelike yet, but his works are, at least, pretty (pulchra). Cicero caps this catalogue with Polyclitus (Brut. 70). Quintilian largely cribs Cicero when he makes his own list and comparison between sculptors and orators (Inst. 12.10.7-11). Vitruvius acknowledges the fame of Myron and Phidias when he says their names are still known (de Arch. 3.2). We can see in Ovid’s description of the lifelike nature of Myron’s cow a response to Cicero and those who follow his views. 578 On the date of Apelles, Pliny HN 35.34 the 112 th Olympiad (332 BCE) says it was in this year that he surpassed all other painters. 278 to portray humans. This—there is the tacit suggestion—is the role of the poet. And what better way of depicting a person than through a personalized letter? The sculptures are well known; Ovid offers novelty. A catalogue is never benign no matter how generic its content, and I would like to explore these particular pieces further. For Helzle, the passage is “quite unique in its implication” because Ovid does not make a comparison between the sculptors and himself but between the sculptors and Sextus Pompeius. 579 He suggests that Pompeius, given his wealth, could easily have owned copies of these pieces, and possession is thereby equated with creation. 580 Ovid’s concern is always over the afterlife of his work, and it is no accident that the pieces he mentions all have afterlives imbricated with the rise of Augustus. Take, for example, Apelles’ Aphrodite Anadyomene and Myron’s cow. One of the many times Cicero referred to them, he did so in the context of the impossibility that a people, in possession of a treasure, would allow the object’s removal. In the Second Verrine, Cicero rhetorically asks the audience what a nation would accept in order to surrender a precious art object. Among the items listed in this catalogue, such as the marble Venus of the Rhegians, the Tarentine Europa, and the Cupid of Thespia, he places Apelles’ Venus and Myron’s cow: quid ut pictam Coos…aut ex aere Myronis buculam? “What would the Coans accept for their picture of Venus? What would the [Athenians] take for the bronze cow of Myron? (Ver. 2.4.135). Cicero cannot imagine these works leaving their city-states. Yet only a few years later, we find that both are in Rome. Pliny the Elder relates that: Venerem exeuntem e mari divus Augustus dicavit in 579 Helzle 1989: 53-54. 580 On ownership, consider, for instance, Statius Silvae 2.2, which lists the contents of Pollius Felix’s villa, among which are works by Apelles, Phidias, Myron, and Polycleitus (2.2.63-72). See also 4.6 and Vindex’ sculpture collection. Juvenal mocks the collecting habits of the wealthy in Sat. 8 (see lines 100-104 for the reference to Phidias and Myron). 279 delubro patris Caesaris; “divine Augustus dedicated the “Venus Rising out of the Sea” in the shrine of his father” (HN 35.91). 581 Myron’s cow, which Cicero was certain the Athenians would never sell, is also now in Rome. Propertius is the first to comment on the cows in Rome: atque aram circum steterant armenta Myronis, / quattuor artificis, vivida signa, boves; “and around the alter stood the bovine herd of Myron, four living statues of the artist” (Prop. 2.31.7-8). 582 Propertius’ vivida signa parallels Ovid’s similis verae, but there is no reason to press for an intertextual engagement given that the life-like qualities were commonplace in the epigrams about the cow. 583 What deserves emphasis is the new location. These cows, for Cicero, would never be sold by the Athenians. How, then, did they become decoration for the Temple of Palatine Apollo in the very heart of Rome? The easiest answer, and the least problematic, is that they are copies. 584 Yet I would like to extend the possibility, based on a parallel with Apelles, that the original has been brought to Rome. This is why Ovid’s verb for the Athena Promachos is so fitting, stat, present indicative. That piece, as opposed to the others, still stands in Athens. Perhaps illuminating is Procopius, the 6 th century C.E. Byzantine historian. 585 This passage will help us understand Ovid’s references to Phidias as well as to Myron. Procopius relates a delightful anecdote. When Atalaric was king in Italy (526-534 CE), a herd of cattle went roaming through the Forum Vespasiani (=templum pacis). In that place stood a heap of neglected 581 If anyone is curious about how much Augustus paid (thereby answering Cicero’s rhetorical question) Strabo informs us that Augustus discounted the Coan tribute by 100 talents: φασὶ δὲ τοῖς Κῴοις ἀντὶ τῆς γραφῆς ἑκατὸν ταλάντων ἄφεσιν γενέσθαι τοῦ προσταχθέντος φόρου, “they say that in exchange for the painting, the Coans deducted one hundred talents from their appointed tribute” (14.2.19 =14.657). 582 The textual crux of the relationship between poems 31 and 32 does not concern us here, neither does the placement of the lines. For a recent defense of both poems belonging together, see Bowditch 2009. 583 Palatine Anthology 9.713-42, 793-98, Posidippus 66 A-B, Ausonius 63-71, Epigrammata Bobiensia 10-13. See, most recently, Squire 2010 to whom I owe these references. 584 On Roman copies, see Gazda 2002. 585 I owe the reference to Newlands 2011: 138. However, her assertion that he “claims the famous cow was transferred from Athens to Vespasian’s Templum Pacis in Rome” is misleading as it implies the transfer took place during Vespasian’s rule directly from Athens. The statue was already in Rome. 280 ancient sculpture. Procopius assumes that the bronze bull was by Phidias or Lysippus: ἀγάλματα γὰρ ἐν χώρῳ τούτῳ πολλὰ τούτοιν δὴ τοῖν ἀνδροῖν ποιήματά ἐστιν, “because in that area there are many statues made by those men” (Procop. Goth. 4.21). 586 He proves this by saying that there is a statue signed by Phidias, although he does not say of what. Then he mentions Myron’s cow along with an explanation: ἐνταῦθα καὶ τὸ τοῦ Μύρωνος βοΐδιον. ἐπιμελὲς γὰρ ἐγεγόνει τοῖς πάλαι Ῥωμαίοις τῆς Ἑλλάδος τὰ κάλλιστα πάντα ἐγκαλλωπίσματα Ῥώμης ποιήσασθαι, “also in that place is the cow of Myron. The ancient Romans were careful to make all the most beautiful things of Greece the decorations of Rome” (ibid.). In a comic, although unsurprising given the cow’s verisimilitude, climax to the story, a steer attempted to mount the cow, without success. Procopius’s evidence, then, makes it clear that Rome had become something of a museum of Greek culture, and we can easily imagine that the decoration of the Palatine hill had been moved down at some point to the Forum Vespasiani. With Procopius’ passage at hand, we can now account for three of the four artists Ovid mentions. I want tentatively to put forth a reason for Ovid’s inclusion of Calamis. He delays the specificity of “horses” until the end of the line. 587 This means that he has just spent two lines discussing the colossal Athena Promachos. The next line reads: vindicat ut Calamis laudem, quos fecit… “so does Calamis claim praise, those which he made…” and then come the horses. By leaving the horses to the end of the line, and because the first two examples have been of gods, Ovid opens up a space for his readers to anticipate how he will end the line. Indeed, Ovid 586 The method of citing Procopius is peculiar. His work comes down in 8 volumes on the wars of Justinian, but tradition has decided to refer to them by three different titles. Therefore, Wars 1-2=Pers. (Persian Wars); Wars 3- 4=Vand. 1-2 (wars with the Vandals). And Wars 5-8=Goth. 1-4 (Gothic Wars). The most accessible text is that of H. B. Dewing’s Loeb for which the citation is 8.21.11-14. 587 I am suspicious about the horses of Calamis for another reason. According to Pliny the Elder (HN 34.19.71) Calamis was especially famous for his quadriga. Could it be that Augustus’ favorite sculpture in his eponymous forum was based on a work by Calamis? The chariot gains emphasis as the last item mentioned in his list of accomplishments (RG 35). 281 might be priming his reader to expect the colossal statue of Apollo by Calamis that was worth 500 talents. The statue is a little difficult to uncover. Pliny the Elder mentions it twice. Early on we learn, in a discourse on islands, that there is an island called Apollonia in the Black Sea (HN 4.13) from which Marcus Lucullus brought back a statue of Apollo (71 BCE). Later Pliny returns to this statue and offers further details: Marcus Lucullus brought the statue back from his conquests on the western coast of Apollonia and set it up on the Capitolium. Pliny provides the new location of the statue: in Capitolio Apollo (HN 34.18). Strabo confirms the island of Apollonia and Lucullus’ spoliation of Calamis’ Apollo. 588 In this section, Strabo is describing the west coast of the Black Sea and makes specific mention of Tomis. I believe that we can understand Ovid as having passed through Apollonia on his way to the more northern city of Tomis. 589 Therefore, the sculptor Calamis, if not his horses explicitly, is an artist whose works were violated, which makes a nice inversion of Ovid. He was taken from Rome to the Black Sea; Calamis’ work was taken from the Black Sea to Rome. A final piece of evidence indicating that Ovid invites us to make this comparison is that Calamis follows Phidias’ Athena, which stood on the Acropolis, the Athenian equivalent of the Capitoline. Before we move on from this passage, let us briefly turn to another Propertian model that maps onto this particular poem in a complementary manner. In Prop. 3.9, Ovid’s predecessor told Maecenas that one must write in the manner fitting his skills. Therefore, he cannot write a martial epic because he is a love elegist. In order to bolster his argument, Propertius enumerates 588 τὸ πλέον τοῦ κτίσματος ἱδρυμένον ἔχουσα ἐν νησίῳ τινί, ὅπου ἱερὸν τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος, ἐξ οὗ Μάρκος Λεύκολλος τὸν κολοσσὸν ἦρε καὶ ἀνέθηκεν ἐν τῷ Καπετωλίῳ τὸν τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος, Καλάμιδος ἔργον. “The majority of the settlement [of Apollonia] was established on a certain island where there is a temple of Apollo; Marcus Lucullus stole a colossal statue of Apollo made by Calamis from there and set it up on the Capitolium” (7.6). 589 One recalls that Ovid disembarked from his ship and continued overland, likely following the coastline where there were road networks connecting the colonies (Tr. 1.10.24-25). Apollonia is modern St. Ivan Island, Bulgaria. It is 297 km by land from Tomis. 282 some Greek visual artists. Lysippus sculpts in a lifelike manner (Prop. 3.9.9): exactis Calamis se mihi iactat equis; / in Veneris tabula summam sibi poscit Apelles; “it strikes me that Calamis’ horses are perfect. Apelles demands the heighest place for himself based on the painting of Venus (10-11). Parrhasius claims (vindicat in a possible anticipation for Ovid’s use of the same word) a place based on his miniatures (12). Mentor makes statue groups (13). Mys sculpts acanthus swaying in the breeze. Phidiacus signo se Iuppiter ornat eburno; “the Jupiter of Phidias dresses himself like an ivory statue” (14). and Praxitiles earns praise for Cnidian marble work (15). Of this catalogue’s members, three are found in Ovid. We can draw a rough distinction. Propertius is performing a recusatio after Maecenas has demanded an epic from him. Ovid is in the opposite situation. Pompeius has demanded nothing from him. In fact, Ovid might even be sending his poetry against the addressee’s will (Pont. 4.1.19-22). In summary, the catalogue in Pont. 4.1 artfully represents a relatively canonized set of four Greek visual artists each of whom was the epitome of his chosen style. They have different fates, which Ovid organizes chiastically. Apelles and Myron, as the frame, have been brought to Rome; Phidias’ statue and perhaps Calamis’ horses are in Greece. Each of them represents a point in the height of Athens as a city and cultural center. Artist, product, and genre are all famous. The artists are all dead but their fame lives on. b. Earlier Catalogues The catalogue of poets in 4.16 could not be more different than this catalogue of artists or even from his own, earlier, catalogues. 590 In fact, one does not overstate in asserting that there is nothing like it in all of Latin poetry. It is Ovid at his most audacious, overturning entire elegiac 590 In an aside, McKeown (1989): 394 differentiates this catalogue from that in Am. 1.15: “the difference in both tone and perspective is acute and eloquent.” He provides, ad loc. a useful collection of other examples of Ovidian catalogues. 283 conventions, challenging his own skill of versification, and rewriting the history of Latin literature. To understand the importance of this poem, however, it is necessary to investigate Ovid’s earlier catalogues. When writing himself into the Roman catalogue of poets, Ovid re- inforced the canonicity of his predecessors. It was explicitly a project of selection that he crafted to culminate in himself. His last catalogue is a project of expansion. i. Amores 1.15 Ovid is no stranger to tendentious (and frequently solipsistic) lists of poets. 591 His first collection, Amores 1, ends with a brazen declaration of his arrival on the literary scene. 592 It is also an utterly conventional list until his own name. In twenty-nine lines (Am. 1.15.9-30) he informs us that many have achieved fame, including such figures as Homer (9-10) and Hesiod (11-12). Then he startles with the non-chronological Callimachus (13-14). It is interesting that these three figures are all named through periphrasis (Maeonides, 593 Ascraeus, Battiades) rather than by name as in the case of all who follow later in the poem. Sophocles and Aratus have to share a couplet (15-16), but Menander gets his own along with a description of the tropes of New Comedy (17-18). Ovid then switches his catalogue to Latin authors. Ennius and Accius share a couplet (19-20) perhaps because Ovid is thinking of them as tragic writers—he says nothing of their content. 594 Varro of Atax gets an entire couplet (21-22) describing him and his subject matter. Lucretius earns a couplet (23-24). Ovid’s turn to Vergil is striking because he does not name the poet but describes him only through circumlocution. But, unlike the toponyms he 591 Canonical catalogues are common. For its use in a poetic precedent, see Propertius 2.34. See the essays by Nicolai and Broggiato in Colesanti and Giordano 2014. Broggiato focuses on the Hellenistic literary scholars who crafted the early canons. 592 On Amores 1.15 see Vessey 1981 for some comments on how Ovid uses the catalogue as a legal argument and draws upon the figures to bear witness to the truth of his fama perennis. 593 This is a bold move. Ovid appears to have invented the term. McKeown 1989: 395. 594 McKeown 1989: 405 prefers Ennius as an epic writer based on his placement as the first Latin author paralleling Homer as the first Greek writer in the catalogue. I think he looks in both directions and therefore represents both epic and tragedy in a rather Ovidian polysemous move. 284 applied to the Greek poets, he uses titles for Vergil and ties them to the fate of the Roman Empire: Tityrus et segetes Aeneiaque arma legentur, / Roma triumphati dum caput orbis erit; “Tityrus (Eclogues) and the crops (Georgics) and the arms of Aeneas will be read as long as Rome will be the head of a conquered world” (25-26). 595 Tibullus and Gallus each earn a couplet. donec erunt ignes arcusque Cupidinis arma, discentur numeri, culte Tibulle, tui; Gallus et Hesperiis et Gallus notus Eois, et sua cum Gallo nota Lycoris erit. While fire and bow are the weapons of Cupid, your meters will be learned, elegant Tibullus. Gallus will be known in the West. Gallus will be known in the East. And alongside Gallus, his Lycoris will be known. (27-30) Lines 31-42 all concern Ovid’s fame thereby numerically equating his career and its impact with that of the entire Latin tradition (twelve lines each). It is surprising, perhaps, to read Tibullus’ name since Ovid does not address his death until Am. 3.9 and there is a reluctance to name living poets. 596 I suggest that this inclusion is part of the reworking of the Amores that Ovid describes in the preface. I also suggest that the first edition of Am. 1 would not have had this couplet. 597 595 The first words of the Eclogues, Georgics, and Aeneid are, respectively, Tityre; quid faciat laetas segetes; arma. For the choice of segetes over the more common fruges in the manuscripts, see McKeown: 1989: 409. Compare the ps.-Vergilian epitaph: Tityron et segetes cecini Maro et arma virumque (Anth. Lat. 133.1). 596 This convention seems to date at least as far back as Alexandrian librarians Aristophanes and his student/successor Aristarchus in the Hellenistic period. In describing Greek canons of poets, Quintilian says that Apollonius is not in the list because he was alive at the time of the list-makers: Apollonius in ordinem a grammaticis datum non venit, quia Aristarchus atque Aristophanes poetarum iudices neminem sui temporis in numerum redegerunt; “Apollonius does not appear in the canons of the grammarians because Aristarchus and Aristophanes— the judges of poets—did not include any who belonged to their own time” (Quint. Inst. 10.1.54). For more discussion on this passage and Quintilian’s lists, in general, see Citroni 2005 and 2006. Further evidence, and closer to Ovid—and about Latin authors—is in Velleius Paterculus’ list (2.36.3). Ovid (Tr. 3.4b.63-72) says his friends do not wish him to name them, and he is afraid to. He makes the point, however, that his friends used to like it when he used their names. 597 It is dangerous to re-write, but I suggest that the name would have been Catulle. In 3.9.62 he calls him docte. This also fits the numeri Ovid attests to Tibullus. Catullus actually used multiple meters. 285 Gallus’ prominence marks him as the head of latin love elegy, and the Roman poetry book. 598 Further, if a nomen is a literary reputation, then Gallus’ has three times the reputation of anyone else in this poem. This is the most important predecessor for Pont. 4.16, as I shall explain below, but first let us take a brief tour through some of the other major catalogues. ii. Amores 3.9 In the conclusion of this epicedion on Tibullus’ death, Ovid says that Tibullus will rest in the Elysian vale alongside Calvus and Catullus (61-62). He also supposes that Gallus will be there—if he is cleared of any charges that have been made against him (63-64). This is a much shorter catalogue than before and the figures are united more by friendship than poetry. Catullus and Calvus are friends, and now Tibullus will join Gallus as a friend. 599 The former are accustomed to be seen together in a list, as indicated by Horace Sermones 1.10.19. 600 iii. Ars 3 Starting in line 329, Ovid provides his female readership with a syllabus. It includes some Greeks: Callimachus, the Coan poet (Philitas), the drunk old man (Anacreon) (329-330), and Sappho and Menander (331-332). Then come the Roman elegists. et teneri possis carmen legisse Properti, sive aliquid Galli, sive Tibulle, tuum. and you can read the poetry of gentle Propertius, or something by Gallus, or something of yours, Tibullus. (333-334) 598 Fantham 1996: 59. 599 On Calvus, see Hollis 2007: 49-86. 600 Critiquing those who are trained only to recite Catullus or Calvus: nil praeter Calvum et doctus cantare Catullum. They are also found together at Prop. 2.25; Pliny the Younger Epist. 1.16, 4.27. One could say, then, that their friendship became proverbial. 286 Next, he mentions Varro of Atax (335-336) and the Aeneid (337-338). He ends by hoping his name can be added to this list (339-346) and boldly names his works: two books of Instructions (instruit, 342), the Amores (libris…Amorum, 343), and the Letters (Epistula=Heroides, 345). This is a much shorter catalogue than before. Notice again that Ovid appears in final position and gives himself more lines than anyone else. It is most remarkable for the first appearance of Propertius in Ovid and for his canonizing of the Roman erotic elegists: Gallus, Propertius, and Tibullus, the last of whom he addresses most intimately. When Ovid hopes his name mixes with those of the others, it is not yet as an erotic elegist but as a Latin author. He adds his name to the entire list. A few hundred lines later, Ovid returns to these elegists and includes himself uniquely among their number. This time the members are named via periphrasis. And Ovid hints at this when he uses nomen for fame, but it is also, obviously, name—or rather pseudonym: nomen habet Nemesis, Cynthia nomen habet; Vesper et Eoae novere Lycorida terrae: et multi quae sit nostra Corinna rogant. Nemesis has fame; Cynthia has fame. The West and Eastern lands know Lycoris. And many ask who my Corinna is. (536-538) For the first time, the Roman elegists are identified by their mistresses. 601 Tibullus appears first sharing a pentameter with Propertius; Gallus has a whole hexameter (and note the similarity of language with Am. 1.15.29-30). Then Ovid gives himself a whole pentameter in final position. 601 The most famous list of mistress names is the great “unveiling” of the true identities behind the pseudonyms by Apuleius in his Apologia 10.7. Martial 8.73 also lists the pseudonyms. In addition to those mentioned by Ovid, he adds Lesbia and Alexis (the object of Corydon’s desire in Eclogues 2 and 6). The poem is Martial’s wish for a lover to bring him fame. 287 What we can see in these two collections, so far, is that Ovid is working through a literary tradition into which he begins to position himself as the inheritor of that tradition, as the capstone of its development. iv. Remedia Amoris Ovid uses his next poem to begin solidifying the identification of four elegists as canonical. In order to recuperate from the ill-effects of being in love, Ovid advises his reader to avoid Callimachus and Philitas (759-760). Also out are Sappho and Anacreon (761-762). These four were all recommended in Ars 3. Only Menander is overlooked and can still be read. Ovid moves to the elegists: carmina quis potuit tuto legisse Tibulli, vel tua, cuius opus Cynthia sola fuit? quis poterit lecto durus discedere Gallo? Et mea nescio quid carmina tale sonant. Who was able to read the poems of Tibullus in safety? Or yours, whose work was Cynthia alone? Who could depart with a hard heart after reading Gallus? And my poems ring with some similar tenor [=sound in the same genre]. (763-766) The elegists here appear in the same order as in Ars. 3. Other similarities indicate that Ovid is overtly recalling his earlier poem. In line 763 he copies much of the vocabulary from Ars 3.333, albeit in different form: et teneri possis carmen legisse Properti. Potuit for possis; carmina for carmen; the infinitive legisse stays the same in form and metrical position; Tibulli gets substituted for Properti. When Ovid transfers the second person address to Propertius in 764, he alludes to the fact that he had so addressed Tibullus earlier. He is making the two rather 288 interchangeable. 602 I would also suggest that in discedere (765) we have a hint of the discentur in Am. 1.15.28. v. Tristia 2 Ovid abandons poet-catalogues for the next few years until he mounts his tour-de-force literary defense in Tristia 2. 603 In a sustained defense that he is the only one to be hurt by his poetry, Ovid brings forth a list of figures who were also poets but who were either not punished because they were innocent or punished because of some other slip-up. Hence, Gallus, who was innocent of anything having to do with Lycoris but guilty of saying something foolish while drunk makes an appearance (lines 445-446). Ovid then turns to Tibullus and lists all his teachings as a praeceptor amoris (lines 447-464). Gallus’ name appears at the end of the line (Gallo, 445), something we already saw Ovid enjoy doing in the earlier poems (and will do again in line 775), and Tibullus’ name frames the section dedicated to him (Tibullus, 447, 463). Propertius is introduced similarly in the next line (Properti, 465). Ovid dedicates a couplet to himself: his ego successi—quoniam praestantia candor / nomina vivorum dissimulare iubet; “I was their successor—because honesty orders me to hide the famous names of the living” (467- 468). This passage is one of the best examples of the cultural reluctance to name living writers. Ovid uses the commonplace, however, to emphasize that he has power over names. The quoniam is peculiar and arresting. While his indicates Gallus, Tibullus, and Propertius, it could also be 602 Ovid’s phrase opus Cynthia sola is a playful reference to the first line of Propertius 1.1: Cynthia prima suis miserum me cepit ocellis. We can re-translate Ovid as saying: “whose work was the Cynthia sola.” Perhaps this was the original opening, and Propertius changed it. 603 Ingleheart 2010 remains unparalleled for understanding this poem. See pp. 22-23 for her re-evaluation of his presentation of literary history. Ovid, of course, did not abandon cataloguing, as evinced throughout the Metamorphoses but most ingeniously in the catalogue of Actaeon’s dogs (Met. 3.206-224). Catalogues proliferate throughout the text and for a time many considered one of the drives behind the Metamorphoses to be “to fulfill the aspirations of a Neoteric program of catalog poetry (Kollektivgedicht) in contradistinction to epic” (Wheeler 2000: 1 with further sources in fn.4). While neoteric and Hellenistic impulses are easy to acknowledge, they tend to distract from more rigorous engagement with the originality of Ovid. For an appreciation of the structure of a catalogue, in this case the trees in Met. 10.90-105, Galinsky 1975: 183. 289 seen as introducing another list, a list which Ovid excuses himself from enumerating as if to say: “I am the successor to these ones along with—wait! honesty stops me from naming the living.” 604 vi. Tristia 4.10 The quartet appears again in Ovid’s so-called “autobiographical” poem at the end of his fourth book of Tristia: saepe suas volucres legit mihi grandior aevo, quaeque necet serpens, quae iuvet herba, Macer. saepe suos solitus recitare Propertius ignes iure sodalicii, quo mihi iunctus erat. Ponticus heroo, Bassus quoque clarus iambis dulcia convictus membra fuere mei. et tenuit nostras numerosus Horatius aures, dum ferit Ausonia carmina culta lyra. Vergilium vidi tantum, nec avara Tibullo tempus amicitiae fata dedere meae. successor fuit hic tibi, Galle, Propertius illi; quartus ab his serie temporis ipse fui. Often Macer—older than me—would read to me about the birds, and which snakes harmed and which herbs helped. Often Propertius gave a recitatio of his flames; according to the law of the sodales by which we had been bound. Ponticus, famous for epic, and Bassus, famous for iambics, were also pleasant members of my group. Many-metered Horace captivated our ears when he strummed his elegant songs on the Ausonian lyre. I only saw Vergil. Covetous fate did not give much time to Tibullus for my friendship. He was the successor to you, Gallus and Propertius to him. I myself was the fourth after these in the series of time. (Tr. 4.10.43-54). The poem is obsessed with a timeline; Macer is older by far: grandior aevo. Ovid is the last in order of time: serie temporis. Everything has been leading up to him. Ovid provides more information than one might detect on a first reading. 604 Ingleheart 2010: 356 “Ovid’s concealment of the identities of distinguished living exponents of erotic literature has political (as well as literary) implications…suggesting an atmosphere of fear and oppression in Rome.” 290 Lines 43-46 tell us the subject of what was performed. Four lines on two writers. Ovid caps this with the bond of their relationship, a ius sodalicii. Lines 47-8 tell us the meter for which the writers were famous, epic and iambic. They were sweet members of his dinner parties, dulcia convictus membra. Two lines on two poets. Lines 49-50 returns to meter and performance. Two lines on one poet. 605 Lines 51-52 rely solely on the reputation of the individual. We learn nothing about the poetry of the figures, but we do learn that Ovid’s relationship with Tibullus was one of amicitia. Two lines on two poets, but really one and a half on one poet since Ovid dispenses with Vergil in three words. Lines 53-54 similarly rely on name recognition. Gallus and Propertius share a line with a pronoun (illi) whose antecedent is Tibullus. Ovid gives himself a whole pentameter without naming himself besides quartus ipse. Ovid, in my view, presents a short history of the living memory of Latin poetry. We need to know the most about Macer since memory perhaps has faded. Ovid gives Bassus and Ponticus short glosses in order to jog the memory of the reader. He fully expects the reader to be familiar with the names of the final group of poets. The memory of the closeness of the performance spaces (see chapter 4) is poignant for the exiled poet to remember, but it is also provocative as a reminder of what poetic production used to look like. 606 Ovid’s tantum to describe Vergil is a powerful contrast to the iterated saepe 605 This is the only time that Ovid uses Horace’s name; indicating, perhaps, his role as a medium between iambic and elegiac poetry. The adjective Ausonia which Ovid uses to modify lyra acknowledges Horace as an Italian poet. He is fifth in a list of nine (10 if we count Propertius twice) poets and appears in the middle. Hence numerosus is also a joke about Ovid enumerating a list. 606 A further point is made in Lowrie 2009: 85 “Ovid depicts these poets in increasingly formal performance contexts.” 291 in lines 43 and 45. There is also the lack of saepe implied in the sudden death of Tibullus. One recognizes, then, another mode of structuring this list in terms of frequency of interaction. I think that one ought to capitalize volucres, serpens, and herba. These sound like titles of the books Macer wrote. This pairs well with the ignes of Propertius. Each of these is modified by a possessive adjective as well, indicating that the Birds or Flames belonged to the author. 607 Regardless of the reality of the situation, we observe that the first two poets, Macer and Propertius, are giving readings of their work. Ovid is not yet performing as well. He seems to be describing his first attendance at poetic events in Rome and the whetting of his literary appetite. 608 The subject matter of both also fits Ovid’s self-presentation. The hexameter work of the former hints at the challenge of making lists in poetry and fitting unusual words into meter, words like the names of foreign birds, snakes, and plants (and we might think about Ovid’s pleasure in his own catalogue of rivers in Pont. 4.10). The elegy of the latter shows Ovid’s initial interest in love elegy, the genre for which he would make his name. Ponticus and Bassus represent epic (heroo) and iambic (iambis) poetic genres. 609 And Horace is in a metrical league 607 The stakes in this argument are not high, but nevertheless titles are intruiging. Today’s shorthand for Propertius’ first book, Monobiblos, was nothing Propertius himself wrote. It only appears in the manuscript tradition as a title for Martial 14.189 Monobyblos Properti, indicating that this was likely the title Martial knew them by. The first word of that poem, and the first word of Propertius 1.1 are the same: Cynthia. This would certainly make a fine title, but it is not certain. Thus, space opens for Ignes. There might be further support for this in Am. 1.15.27: donec erunt ignes arcusque Cupidinis arma; “while fire and bow are the weapons of Cupid.” Propertius does not appear in this catalogue, but is this a slight hint at his rising star in Roman poetic circles? Hollis 2007: 94-95 on Macer, has citations from Nonius Marcellus, Servius, and Diomedes who call his poem Ornithogonia. A scholiast on Lucan called the snake poem Theriaca. Hollis (103) suggests that Macer so named the bird poem after a Greek poem of the same name by—or at least attributed to—a Boeus or Boeo. I am not convinced and think it just as likely for the Latin author to translate the name. An interesting comparison is Ovid’s Metamorphoses; a title he never uses preferring “the changed forms of men” (carmina mutatas hominum dicentia formas; Tr. 1.7.13) which has the added benefit of sharing part of the proem: Met. 1.1-2 in nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas / corpora. Later he calls it the work containing corpora versa “changed bodies” (Tr. 2.64). Quintilian knows the work as Metamorphoses (Inst. 4.1.77.4) as does Seneca the Elder (Cont. 3.7.1.10) and Seneca the Younger (Apoc. 9.6.1). Martial can refer to it as “the fifteen books of Ovid” carmina Nasonis quinque decemque (Epig. 14.192.2). 608 As Heslin 2006: 69 has noted Ovid would have been around fourteen years old when the Propertius 1 was published. It is such performances that may have spurred Ovid to abandon his political career (Tr. 4.10.35-40). 609 Both figures are far more interesting for Heslin (2006) than for most scholars. He argues that Ponticus is a cipher for epic writing in general and that Bassus is a pseudonym for Horace. 292 of his own. The elegists are similarly bound by (an implied) shared meter and genre. We are supposed to understand by the development over the course of the catalogue that when we come to the names of the elegists we should bring with us knowledge of title, subject, meter, and connection. Ovid teaches us what we should know about these figures. When he says that Tibullus is the successor to these men, he uses the language he had previously used to describe himself. This linguistically connects the lists and reveals them to be successive developments toward a deliberate process of canonization. vii. Tristia 5.1 The quartet appears one last time when Ovid says that the reader will not find happy material in his poetry but that one should turn, instead, to that of the other elegists for some lascivious material: lascivaque carmina (Tr. 5.1.15): 610 aptior huic Gallus blandique Propertius oris, aptior, ingenium come, Tibullus erit. atque utinam numero non nos essemus in isto! Gallus will better suit that one [the reader wanting lasciviousness], or Propertius of the pleasant mouth, or the affable talent of Tibullus. If only we were not counted in that meter/number together! (5.1.17-19) Ovid playfully nods to the audience with the irony of the last line. Numero does double duty since it was Ovid who (1) counted himself among those who wrote in the (2) elegiac couplet. Ovid is also the one who perpetuated his inclusion of the four; he says, essentially, “if only I had not worked so hard to make sure that we were thought of as a unit.” This is the most 610 His success at ensuring that a Roman thought of the four together is seen in Quintilian: mihi tersus atque elegans maxime videtur auctor Tibullus. Sunt qui Propertium malint. Ovidius utroque lascivior, sicut durior Gallus. “Tibullus seems far and away the most polished and elegant writer [of elegy]. Some prefer Propertius. Ovid is more lacking in restraint than the other two. Similarly, Gallus is harsher” (Inst. 10.1.93). Tastes change. Ovid thought Catullus lascivius (Tr. 2.427). For Tacitus it is a trait characteristic of elegy: elegorum lascivias (Dial. 10.4.4). Does Quintilian’s use of durior Gallus show an awareness of Tr. 2.775: quis poterit lecto durus discedere Gallo? 293 conservative of the lists. No other poets are in it, although he implies the presence of others, still living, when he writes near the end of the poem: nec me Roma suis debet conferre poetis; / inter Sauromatas ingeniosus eram; “Rome should not compare me with her poets; I was a genius among the Sauromatae! (Tr. 5.1.73-74). At the end of Pont. 4, he gives us a list of Rome’s poets. Part Two: The Catalogue of Pont. 4.16 neminem viventium, ne quam in speciem adulationis incidam, nominabo Pliny the Younger 5.3.5 With this background, we can discuss Pont. 4.16’s radical departure from the Roman literary tradition of canons. 611 It is a daring contrast to 4.1 in which Ovid had offered his list of canonical Greek plastic artists. Now, he lists thirty-one poets, besides himself, most of whom are likely still alive at the time of composition, although such arguments are difficult because we only know that most of them were poets because Ovid names them in this poem. 612 This statement must be properly emphasized. Ovid writes an enormous list of contemporary and living authors. 613 Before him, going as far back as Aristarchus and Apollonius, critics did not put living figures in their lists. 614 After Ovid, according the epigraph to this section, an author still does not include living figures. Pliny, defending himself against critics of his light verse, lists serious men who also wrote occasionally in a frivolous vein: “I will name no one who is alive lest I happen 611 Despite its intrinsic interest for the Ovidian and any student of Latin literature and literary history, the poem is often mentioned but little analyzed. 612 There is some confusion as to the number of poets. Evans 1983: 167 has thirty-nine, but on page 6 thirty. Thirty is explained by leaving out Cotta; this list includes just those about whom we learn something and does not include the two groups of poets Ovid alludes to but does not name. He is the last in the list, as is usual, and therefore one could say that there are thirty-two poets. 613 Two very different, but prominent poems, containing catalogues of poets appear as the prefaces to the Garlands of Meleager and Philip. 614 See above p.284fn.596. 294 upon any appearance of flattery.” 615 Ovid’s list, then, brazenly throws out Hellenistic precepts and Roman cultural norms, including his own from Tr. 2.467-468. In this catalogue, Ovid generates a curiosity in the reader that propels him or her onward due to the impossibility of guessing what, or who, will come next. He further engages the reader via antonomasia (substitution of a proper name), although he often undermines this practice with potential bathos. Other tactics include metrical variation, provocative associations, puns, titles, periphrasis, topics, and a highly allusive game that reveals underlying associations beneath seemingly innocuous names. The opening of the poem deliberately recalls Amores 1.15. The first word is Invide, but in line 47 Ovid calls the addressee Livor, which was the first word of Am. 1.15. That poem claimed that many had gained fame and immortality through their verses and Ovid listed many Greeks. In this poem, Ovid says that many are famous even when alive: et mihi nomen / tum quoque cum vivis adnumerarer, erat; “I had a reputation even back when I was counted among the living” (Pont. 4.16.3-4). Adnumerarer belongs to the language of a “fairly stable Latin terminology” for talking about canons—even when no word corresponds directly. 616 I will be arguing that living is ambiguous. It refers to anyone who was alive at the same time as Ovid. This helps explain figures whom other scholars have considered inappropriate for the list. It also refers to the works of the authors, and so can account for texts that are still being read, or in the case of drama, re- staged. 615 Ironically, in Epist. 4.27.4, Ovid quotes a few hendecasyllables of Sentius Augurinus who wrote a poem in which he praised Pliny’s own poetry. Pliny (3.21.5) is also pleased to appear in a poem of Martial’s (10.19). 616 Citroni 2005: 212 “the terms which recur in Quintilian to indicate the series of excellent authors are ordo and numerus, whereas the most widely used Latin term for the tendentially complete lists…seems to have been index.” Ovid’s language recalls earlier catalogues: adnumerarer the numero in Tr. 4.10; nomen and vivis recall the nomina vivorum in Tr. 2. C.f Pliny 5.3.5 viventium and nominabo. 295 The poem then spends lines 5-36 listing named poets, often along with their subject and genre. Lines 37-40 are about the names he will not say because there are too many or because they have not yet published. Lines 41-44 are addressed to Cotta Maximus. 45-46 repeat that Ovid’s muse was known. Then comes the coda in 47-52. Lines 5-40 form one astonishing sentence. In the following text, I divide the poem into the divisions I have discovered. Ovid’s catalogue is deliberate and structured in quatrains that he has organized along a light chiastic structure, the elements of which I will lay out in the end of this section. The beginning and the end of the catalogue are marked by verbal repetition: foret (5) and forent (37). Cotta’s quatrain is a separate category but he is still connected to the catalogue in other ways. In addition to the chiastic, Ovid will also frequently use a name or genre in order to transition to the next quatrain, thereby creating an energetic movement backward and forward, a practice we saw in his use of Ennius in Amores 1.15. Further, one must not be too distracted by playing a prosopographical game. The names, as I will argue, are often chosen for their various resonances rather than strict adherence to the truth. The catalogue is a game, and Ovid has a lot of fun creating puzzles for the readers. I make no claim to have “solved” it completely, but I do hope to gesture toward many of the different ways one can read the catalogue. 617 Here is the entire catalogue so that one can appreciate it the quatrains and chiastic structure. I translate it when I consider the individual sections. cumque foret Marsus magnique Rabirius oris 5 Iliacusque Macer sidereusque Pedo et qui Iunonem laesisset in Hercule, Carus, Iunonis si iam non gener ille foret, quique dedit Latio carmen regale, Severus 617 Helzle 1989: 181 offers a word on the structure, and it is terse: “Ovid proceeds from the high to the low genres, then moves on to amateurs like Cotta Maximus, and finally mentions himself.” Akrigg 1985: 450 “It is possible to discern a rough order in the catalogue of names; first come the writers of epic and Pindaric verse (5-28), then the dramatists (29-31), and finally the writers of lighter verse.” 296 et cum subtili Priscus uterque Numa, 10 quique vel inparibus numeris, Montane, vel aequis sufficis et gemino carmine nomen habes, et qui Penelopae rescribere iussit Ulixem errantem saevo per duo lustra mari, quique suam Troezena inperfectumque dierum 15 deseruit celeri morte Sabinus opus, ingeniique sui dictus cognomine Largus, Gallica qui Phrygium duxit in arva senem, quique canit domito Camerinus ab Hectore Troiam, quique sua nomen Phyllide Tuscus habet, 20 velivolique maris vates, cui credere posses carmina caeruleos composuisse deos, quique acies Libycas Romanaque proelia dixit, et Marius scripti dexter in omne genus, Trinacriusque suae Perseidos auctor et auctor 25 Tantalidae reducis Tyndaridosque Lupus, et qui Maeoniam Phaeacida vertit, et, une Pindaricae fidicen, tu quoque, Rufe, lyrae, Musaque Turrani tragicis innixa coturnis et tua cum socco Musa, Melisse, levi; 30 cum Varius Graccusque darent fera dicta tyrannis, Callimachi Proculus molle teneret iter, Tityron antiquas Passerque rediret ad herbas aptaque venanti Grattius arma daret, Naidas a satyris caneret Fontanus amatas, 35 clauderet inparibus verba Capella modis, cumque forent alii, quorum mihi cuncta referre nomina longa mora est, carmina vulgus habet, essent et iuvenes, quorum quod inedita cura est, adpellandorum nil mihi iuris adest. 40 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- te tamen in turba non ausim, Cotta, silere, Pieridum lumen praesidiumque fori, maternos Cottas cui Messallasque paternos, Maxime, nobilitas ingeminata dedit. dicere si fas est, claro mea nomine Musa 45 atque inter tantos quae legeretur erat. 297 a. Who’s Who In this section, I do not wish merely to repeat what Helzle, Akrigg, Hollis, and Green have concluded, although I will mention their ideas when pertinent. 618 All of them, by and large take a prosopographical stance and when nothing is known about a figure historically they simply move on. 619 My view is that a poet who began naming names with a figure like Brutus is capable of provocation. 620 I will proceed through the quatrains I have identified in order to outline the diachronic progression and unity between sections. i. Mostly Hexameter cumque foret Marsus magnique Rabirius oris 5 Iliacusque Macer sidereusque Pedo et qui Iunonem laesisset in Hercule, Carus, Iunonis si iam non gener ille foret, When Marsus was around and Rabirius of the great mouth. And Ilian Macer and Starry Pedo. And Carus—he would have wounded Juno in his Hercules, if that one were not already her Son-in-Law. Some general observations that will be consistent through all the authors. We have names that appear unadorned (Marsus); or with an enigmatic descriptor (Rabirius); we have an author with adjectives that hint at subject matter (Iliacus Macer) and authors with titles (the Hercules of Carus). Ovid “teaches” us how to see the units of four lines by repeating foret in lines 5 and 8, thereby framing the unit. 618 One might expect White 1993 to be of more use than he is. When the figures are unknown, he uses the repeated phrase: “Named in a catalog of contemporary poets as the author of X” or “named as a writer of X in Ovid’s catalog of contemporary poets.” The former phrase, which does not even mention Ovid helps in grossly mischaracterizing Ovid’s poem. 619 Helzle’s position is that Ovid makes hidden stylistic references to the works of the authors he includes. Helzle bases this decision on the parts of Grattius’ Cynegetica that survive and which are echoed in Ovid’s lines. “It is on the basis of this verbal echo and Ovid’s practice in other catalogues of poets…that one can assume that Ovid is echoing the other poets’ works which are lost now” (192). This becomes his chief tool of discussing style, and one to which I am certainly not opposided; although it does seem to deny other approaches. I prefer that it is one of many strategies available to Ovid. 620 For Brutus as a choice, see above p. 22fn.54. 298 This is the first time that Ovid has mentioned Marsus and Rabirius, but Macer (2.10), Pedo (4.10), and Carus (4.13) have all appeared in the Epistulae ex Ponto, and the latter two in book four. Domitius Marsus comes down to us as an epigrammatist whom Martial respected and placed in the company of Pedo, alongside Catullus and Gaetulicus in the preface to his epigrams. 621 His Amazonis has generated controversy concerning its genre. Helzle, Hollis, and Green all consider it an epic; but Cameron provocatively suggests that there was no epic and that it was a long epigram. 622 I am not invested in this question. 623 The lines look forward to the next couplet with Severus because he, along with Macer, Pedo, and Carus, are all known previously in Ovid’s poetry. About Rabirius, little is known other than that he wrote an epic about the war between Antony and Octavian (Sen. de Ben. 6.3.1 quotes Antony’s words in the poem). Velleius Paterculus (2.36.3) considered him a master of his genre (historical epic?) and Quintilian (10.1.85) said he could be read alongside Pedo, but only if one had some free-time. Ovid decorates Rabirius with an epithet formerly used by Propertius in a famous poem in which Propertius claimed to want to sing about Augustus’ anticipated battles in Parthia: surge, anime, ex humili; iam, carmina, sumite vires; / Pierides, magni nunc erit oris opus; “Spirit, rise out of humble pursuits; now, Songs, take strength. Pierides, I need a great mouth” (Prop. 2.10.11-12). He does not get the mouth, of course, and takes up once more the subject of Cynthia. Ovid’s use 621 He also appears in the company of others four more times. Martial Epig. 2.71. 3 with Catullus; 2.77.5 with Pedo—they wrote long epigrams; 5.5.6 with Catullus and Pedo; about the contents of the Palatine library that Sextus overlooked, 7.99.7 with Marsus and Catullus; this is the programmatic last poem of book seven. 622 Helzle 1989: 181. Hollis 2007: 305. Green 2005: 378. Cameron 1995: 311-312. 623 A lack of investment is no reason not to have an opinion. I side with Cameron. The evidence comes from Martial. He says that his vast output turns the reader off him. As a comparison, he writes: saepius in libro numeratur Persius uno / quam levis in tota Marsus Amazonide; “In one book, Persius scores more often than light Marsus does in his entire Amazonis” (Epig. 4.29.7-8). Martial’s use of levis is a generic marker. I take “entire Amazonis” to refer to a single long epigram, the sort Martial has been sure to know his readers understand Marsus to have written (cf. Epig. 2.77.5). 299 of this epithet for a poet who wants to write historical epic hints that Rabirius was successful in turning recent military events into verse. This creates an intriguing connection with the next two poets because Ovid thinks that Carus will write about Germanicus’ victories (Pont. 4.16.45-46) and the only lines of Pedo that survive are about Germanicus’ campaigns (Sen. Rhet. Suas. 1.15). Most importantly for our purposes, however, is the memory that we saw a variation on this phrase in Tr. 5.1.15 (aptior huic Gallus blandique Propertius oris) that Ovid’s placement of Propertius’ name in between the phrase indicates his open borrowing. Ovid has made an obvious invitation to the reader to juxtapose this list with previous ones because both Marsus and Gallus appear unadorned and are followed by the marked epithet. Macer, on the other hand, wrote quicquid restabat Homero, “whatever Homer left out” (Pont. 2.10.13). He is the one who took a different path (iter, Pont. 2.10.18) than Ovid, a reference, I believe, to both genre and meter. Ovid also introduced him in Amores 2.18 where we learned that he wrote everything up to the wrath of Achilles, indicating that he wrote an AnteIlias. This is also hinted at in the epithet, Iliacus, which the reader who recognizes Macer from previous appearances can best appreciate. It also easily differentiates this Macer from the poet of the birds, snakes, and plants in Tr. 4.10. We can draw a few conclusions at this point. Ovid does not know Marsus and Rabirius, and so they share a couplet. He knows the next three and all of them send us back into Ovid’s own poetry. Two genres are explicit: historical and military epic. If we apply outside knowledge, we know that elegiac epigram is also present. Ovid signals two different groups of poets: those associated with Maecenas and those associated with the rhetorical schools of Seneca. Martial 7.29 (along with Vergil) and 8.56 place 300 Marsus under Maecenas’ patronage (along with Vergil). 624 Ovid and Pedo, on the other hand, are found together in a fascinating anecdote. One day, Seneca tells us, two friends asked Ovid to remove lines they found distasteful; Ovid agreed on the condition that he be allowed to pick the lines that remained untouched. The lines were the same. Seneca tells us that Albinovanus Pedo was one of the friends (Suas. 2.2.12). 625 The word order in Iliacusque Macer sidereusque Pedo is playful. While Iliacus indicates the Iliad, it is also a pun given its added meaning of anything huge. 626 When one reads the lines for the pun, however, it makes more sense given that a star is as far from a foot as possible. Hence: huge Mr. Thin (Macer) and Heavenly Mr. Foot. 627 Because Iliacus is an explicit reference to the Iliad, we might consider sidereus in more detail. Syme, in his enigmatic way, helps: “He had written about Theseus (10. 65), cf. ‘sidereusque Pedo’ (16. 6).” 628 The reference to Theseus is actually 10.71-80. In that passage, Ovid emphasized Theseus’ fidelity, fidem (74) and fide (78). Obviously, these are meant to refer to his friendship with Pirithous, but other than that, Theseus is not known for his fidelity, certainly not in the tradition of Latin poetry beginning with Catullus 64. We could interpret 624 8.56 is particularly interesting and possibly indicates Martial’s knowledge of this present poem. He writes: quid Varios Marsosque loquar ditataque vatum / nomina, magnus erit quos numerare labor? / ergo ero Vergilius, si munera Maecenatis / des mihi? Vergilius non ero, Marsus ero; “why do I mention Varius and Marsus and the rich names of other poets; the work required to name them is huge. So, will I be a Vergil if you give me the gifts of Maecenas? I will not be Vergil, I will be Marsus [i.e. I will be an epigrammatist]” (lines 21-24). 625 I wonder if the couplet mentioning Pedo’s name is a veiled allusion to this experience. The two lines Seneca records are semibovemque virum semivirumque bovem (Ars. 2.24) and et gelidum Borean egelidumque Notum (Am. 2.11.10). Both lines that are in the pentameter follow the pattern adjective, noun; adjective, noun. The line from the Ars even has the enclitic -que pattern. Further, if one reads the pun that I identify in the line (see the following paragraph), it even follows the ludic humor of the earlier lines. 626 For size: Cicero (ad Att. 8.11.3) has the amazing phrase: tanta malorum impendet Ἰλιάς, “such an Iliad of cares looms.” Propertius 2.1.14 uses longas…Iliadas to refer to something large, in this case long descriptions of his heroic sex. 627 I also think that Ovid winks at the knowing reader who is thinking about structure. He puts Macer and Pedo in the same line just has he had previously put them in the same number poem, Pont. 2.10 and 4.10 respectively. 628 Syme 1978: 81. 301 sidereus as Pedo writing a catasterism, and specifically, perhaps, the story of Ariadne’s translation into the stars. 629 Before moving on, I want to ask a question. Why is Marsus the first figure? Obviously, Ovid could begin with anyone but has chosen a figure he has never discussed before. In this case, extra-textual information helps. As a part of Maecenas’ circle, Marsus was a friend of Tibullus. Upon that poet’s death, Marsus wrote two elegiac couplets celebrating the other poet. It is perhaps on the basis of this poem that Ovid gives Marsus primacy; he is another poet, besides Ovid, who wrote about poets in their afterlife. Ovid’s poem, in contrast, is about the living. It is worthwhile to look at Marsus’ poem. Te quoque Vergilio comitem non aequa, Tibulle, Mors iuuenem campos misit ad Elysios, ne foret aut elegis molles qui fleret amores aut caneret forti regia bella pede. You too, Tibullus, a companion to Virgil, unfair Death sent as a young man to the Elysian fields, so that there should not be anyone to bewail soft loves in elegiacs or to sing of regal wars in heroic metre. 630 I see Ovid alluding to the second couplet of this poem in the first couplet of his catalogue when he brackets it with the same words all while punning on the word pes: cumque foret Marsus magnique Rabirius oris / Iliacusque Macer sidereusque Pedo. The major change, however, and a reason Ovid might want to have made this allusion, is that Ovid is celebrating the 629 Ovid concluded his own Theseid: amplexus et opem Liber tulit, utque perenni / sidere clara foret, sumptam de fronte coronam / inmisit caelo; “embracing her, Liber helped, her and, so that she would be bright among the eternal stars, he drew her crown from her brown and threw it into the sky” (Met. 8.177-179). Cf. Fasti 5.345-346: Bacchus amat flores: Baccho placuisse coronam / ex Ariadnaeo sidere nosse potes; “Bacchus loves flowers. You can know that Bacchus is pleased by the crown from Ariadne’s star.” Ovid may also be referencing the Eclogues, in a context specific to katasterism: candidus insuetum miratur limen Olympi / sub pedibusque videt nubes et sidera Daphnis; “radiant Daphnis marvels at the unaccustomed threshold of Olympus and stares at the clouds and stars beneath his feet” (Ecl. 5.56-57). 630 Text and translation Hollis 2002: 304 to whom I am indebted for knowledge of this poem. It survives in some manuscripts of the Corpus Tibullianum. A more precise translation of the first couplet would be “You too, Tibullus, although you were young, impatient death sent to be a companion for Vergil in the Elysian fields.” 302 living. So, he reminds the reader about dead poets, particularly young ones. The interest in the age of poets will come back when, in the last section of his catalogue, he mentions the iuvenes (Pont. 4.16.39). Further, Ovid’s authors are a variety of those who write in elegy and in hexameter, this copies Marsus’ connection between Vergil as a writer of epic and Tibullus as a writer of elegy. The placement of Carus at first seems strange. He receives a complete couplet about his poem on Hercules. Partly, as I have said, the reason for the placement is that he is someone Ovid has written to in the fourth book. But Carus is also someone who writes mythological epic, a characteristic he shares with Pedo (4.10.71-72). Ovid says he was the tutor of Germanicus’ children (4.13.47). Ovid’s very particular way of describing this poem raises an intriguing possibility: is Carus writing a Hercules as a sort of allegory for what he witnesses at court? After all, Hercules as a gener and Juno as a noverca (c.f. Fasti 6.797: cui dedit invitas victa noverca manus) would parallel Germanicus and Julia the Elder, Augustus’ only natural daughter and the one banished for her “scandalous” behavior. 631 More importantly, she was the second wife of Tiberius. This connection depends on blood lines and adoptions. A more immediate comparison would be between Germanicus and Livia, whom Ovid already compared to Juno (c.f. Pont. 3.1.145 vultum Iunonis adire). 632 One of Ovid’s strategies for turning to another unit of poets is to “signal” the transition in the last line of the preceding unit. In this case we see the transition occur in two ways. First, Ovid has listed a series of poets to whom he has already written, Macer, Pedo, and Carus. Severus 631 Germanicus married Agrippina the Elder who was Julia’s daughter. Julia’s son was Agrippa Postumus, the figure at the center of the mysterious visit by, and later deaths of, Augustus and Paullus Fabius Maximus. For the importance of this story for Ovid’s own exile, see ch. 2. 632 In his Aratea, Germanicus calls Juno a nunquam secura noverca; “a never untroubled step-mother” to Hercules in line 546. 303 begins the next series. Secondly, the subject of Severus’ poetry is a carmen regale and this continues the theme of historical epic. Ovid has also trickily signaled this transition in his allusion to Marsus’ epigram which told of the regia bella of Vergil, which anticipates a similar poem of Severus. ii. Hexameter to Elegy quique dedit Latio carmen regale, Severus et cum subtili Priscus uterque Numa, 10 quique vel inparibus numeris, Montane, vel aequis sufficis et gemino carmine nomen habes, And Severus, who gave Latium the “regal poem;” and both of the Prisci along with strict/slender Numa. And you, Montanus, who are decent enough in uneven meters [elegiacs] and even ones [hexameters]: you are famous for both types of song, The pattern continues from the first unit of introducing four poets in the first couplet and one with extended description in the second. There is a mixture of titles and/or subject matter (carmen regale) and meter. Mostly, however, I will argue that the names are largely playful. For Severus, a letter of Seneca the younger (79.5) is intriguing because in it he says that although Vergil and Ovid wrote about Aetna, Cornelius Severus was not deterred from doing the same (ne Severum quidem Cornelium uterque deterruit). Quintilian informs us (10.1.89) that he wrote a Bellum Siculum, which will become more interesting to us when I discuss lines 21-25. 633 At this moment, Ovid concludes a narrative that unfolds about Severus’ poetry over the course of book four. In 4.2, the first poem addressed to Severus, Ovid calls Severus: o vates magnorum maxime regum, “greatest vates of great kings” (4.2.1). At the end of the letter, he made a request: huc aliquod curae mitte recentis opus, “send me some work of your recent care” (line 50). Now, 633 Nothing can be said about Severus without acknowledging the important work of Dahlmann 1975. An extended fragment comes down to us of his lines on the death of Cicero (Sen. Rhet. Suas. 6.26). We thus see him, like Pedo, running in Senecan circles. 304 in 4.16, he can use the perfect verb dedit of the carmen regale. This seems to indicate that it has been published. Ovid, it seems, offered some feed-back on the first version. This may help to explain Ovid’s tantalizing phrase at the beginning of 4.2 that they have exchanged prose letters (orba tamen umeris cessavit epistula numquam / ire per alternas officiosa vices, 5-6). These letters may well have been poetic advice. 634 Little is known about these Prisci and Numa. 635 This is fortunate because it allows us to see the forest of structure instead of the trees of prosopography. The names are a joke, and even if we account for one of them, there is still a mysterious Priscus and a Numa in play. Their inclusion lies in Severus’ subject matter, since Severus has written a poem on Roman kings. Ovid then names two of them: Priscus, the fifth king of Rome, and Numa, the famous second king of Rome. 636 The doubling of the Prisci combined with Montanus’ two genres is an otherwise unmatched interest in doubles. There is a stylistic joke. Cornelius is severus compared to Priscus, who is subtilis, refined. 637 Ovid seems to continue this system of connection via stylistic allusion when writing about Montanus being sufficient in two kinds of versifying. 638 He is neither severe nor subtle. He 634 This would be consistent with the placement of Severus at this moment given the anecdote already related about Pedo suggesting edits for Ovid’s work. Further speculation: when discussing Severus, Quintilian says that the first book was much better than the rest: Cornelius autem Severus, etiam si est versificator quam poeta melior, si tamen (ut est dictum) ad exemplar primi libri bellum Siculum perscripsisset, vindicaret sibi iure secundum locum. “Moreover, Cornelius Severus, even if he were a better verse-maker than poet would have justly secured for himself second place [after Ovid] if (as has been said) he had completed the Bellum Siculum to the polish of book one” (Quint. 10.1.89). Did Ovid live only long enough to help Severus with his first book? 635 Although Helzle 1989: 185 has identified one of the Prisci with Clutorius Priscus (Ann. 3.49) who wrote a celebrated poem on Germanicus’ death for Tiberius but when he tried to do the same in 21 CE for the still-living Drusus he was banished. For the importance of the story of Clutorius Priscus for our understanding of “Tiberian literature” see Knox 2004. 636 Helzle 1989: 185 catches the joke about Numa but not Priscus. He notes the order and another pun: “the former was the second king of Rome and therefore priscus for our poet.” 637 Ibid. 638 Quintilian uses sufficio in this way in describing Aratus: Arati materia motu caret, ut in qua nulla varietas, nullus adfectus, nulla persona, nulla cuiusquam sit oratio; sufficit tamen operi cui se parem credidit. “Aratus’ topic lacks movement; there is no variety, no feeling, no characters and no oration. Nevertheless, he is sufficient enough in the work he thought he was equal to” (Quint. 10.1.55). I wonder if Quintilian is making a joke about the subject matter 305 suffices. 639 Montanus’ placement, however, is determined by the fact that Ovid marks him as a writer of two types of meter. He therefore acts as a “capstone” to the first section of poets; the first ten of thirty. This is also a hint that we should not automatically assume that Ovid sees Marsus and Pedo as, primarily, writers of epic in hexameter but that he is aware of their status as epigrammatists. Finally, a visual joke. Montanus’ skill is mountainous because what are mountains if not variations from a plain—as seen in the letter “M.” Turn it on its side, and it resembles the elegiac couplet. Note that this pun about mountains is paralleled in chiastic structure in line 35 where Ovid talks about a similar nature name, Fontanus, who fittingly writes about nymphs and satyrs, those beings who commonly spend time at fountains. Ovid invites this kind of reading when he says that Montanus has a name, nomen, for two types of song. He deliberately asks us to think about the multiplicity of interpretation names generate, to be thinking onomastically. Ovid wants us to see the jokes he has crafted for us. iii. The Great Imitator et qui Penelopae rescribere iussit Ulixem errantem saevo per duo lustra mari, quique suam *Troezena* inperfectumque dierum 15 deseruit celeri morte Sabinus opus, And the one who commanded Ulysses to write back to Penelope after wandering for ten years on the harsh sea. Because of a swift death, Sabinus left behind his *Troezen* and an incomplete work about the days. of Aratus’ poem. It should have a lot of movement because it is supposed to describe the movement of the stars. For imparibus numeris meaning elegy, compare Tr. 2.220: imparibus carmina facta modis with Ingleheart 2010: 211. 639 This ambivalence is amusingly reflected in the different opinions of the Senecas. For the father, Montanus was egregius poeta (Contr. 7.1.27). For the son, tolerabilis poeta (Epist. 122). At first he was a friend to Tiberius, but the emperor’s favor waned. This connects him with Clutorius Priscus and the changing fortunes of poets under Tiberius. One also might recall Gallio’s fall from favor (ch. 3). Coincidentally, Pedo also appears in this letter where Seneca calls him a fabulator elegantissimus. 306 These four lines about Sabinus have attracted attention for three reasons. They are the only ones to deal with a single poet in four lines (Cotta also has four lines but, as I will argue, for different reasons). Sabinus is the only poet who is explicitly dead. Thirdly, there is a relatively famous textual crux in line 15. These four lines look backward via the inperfectum in line 15 to imparibus in 11. They look forward in that Ulysses (13) and Antenor (line 18) both belong to the Nostos tradition. This quatrain indicates that we are correct to divide the catalogue into quatrains as I have done by setting a single figure off in four lines. His swift death is like that of Tibullus; he therefore fulfills a catalogue topos. Sabinus, like Macer, Pedo, Carus, and Severus, has already appeared in Ovid’s work. In fact, he was mentioned in Amores 2.18 in which Macer also appeared. In that poem, Ovid devoted eight lines to his poetic project of writing responses to the Heroides. The first two lines of the quatrain under discussion are about this project. Ovid’s use of the prefix re- in rescribere can be seen as a direct allusion to the earlier poem where Ovid first mentioned Sabinus’ name: quam cito de toto rediit meus orbe Sabinus / scriptaque diversis rettulit ille locis, “how quickly my friend Sabinus has come back from the other side of the world and sent back writings from all sorts of places” (Am. 27-28). 640 Ovid’s reminder of the Amores acts to tell us when Ovid is placing himself among the living. There are two types: those with whom he mixed socially, as 640 I think there is a further allusion to (and morbid joke in) these lines in that the death which took Sabinus away is celer and his responses had been cito. For the “swift death” topos, see Cic. In Verr. 2.5.119.3: sed mortis celeritatem and de Re Pub. 3.34: oblate mortis celeritate. Most relevant for our purposes is Pliny the Younger’s lament that Fannius died before he finished his great work: pulcherrimum opus imperfectum reliquit; “he left behind the beautiful work, incomplete (5.5.2). Fannius was writing a history of everyone exiled or executed by Nero. 307 the writer of the Amores and Heroides, and the others with whom he has a relationship that is more textual, for instance Severus. 641 Ovid can take for granted the fame of the Amores. 642 The next two poems are controversial. 643 I think that critics have possibly missed a joke in the textual crux of Troezena. 644 The line is deliberately awkward for two reasons. The first is that Ovid has remarked already in Am. 2.18.27 that Sabinus writes quickly. Second, Ovid creates a rare elision with a word meaning “incomplete,” or “un-revised.” 645 The line mimics the words in it. What would a Troezen contain? The history of the region, perhaps. But given the line’s location—immediately after Ovid uses Ulysses’ response to Penelope—we might look back to the Amores. Here we find the following: candida Penelope signum cognovit Ulixis; / legit ab Hippolyto scripta noverca suo; “innocent Penelope recognized the mark of Ulysses; the stepmother read the writings of her Hippolytus” (Am. 2.18.29-30). I suggest that Ovid is recalling this couplet to suggest that Sabinus was writing a fuller account of this particular relationship, or 641 There is a density of linguistic connections to these two works in the quatrain. Ovid’s words come, largely, from Heroides language: we find verba inperfecta reliquit (13.13: Laodamia Protesilao) and 21.25, but Sappho is problematic; of Daphne Met. 1.427; of Ovid Tr. 1.3.69. Deseruit (5.126: Oenone to Paris; 6.136: Hypsipyle to Jason; 19.202: Hero to Leander). Ovid’s use of the language of abandonment renders his own relationship with Sabinus like that of the mythological heroines. 642 This is reflected by Velleius Paterculus who associates him with Tibullus (2.36.3). It takes half a century for him to become primarily associated with the Metamorphoses. Martial can take it for granted that when he says: “the fifteen books of Ovid” the reader will recognize what he is talking about (14.192). 643 Wheeler thinks there is one poem and translates “Sabinus, who in untimely death abandoned his Troesmis, the uncompleted work of many days.” 644 The most complete discussion is by Akrigg 1985: 455-456. The best manuscripts preserve Trisomen and the minor Troezen. The latter is tempting but is the wrong case: Troezen (=Τροιζήν) is nominative and Troezena (=Τροιζῆνα) would elide with inperfectum, a dire situation for Helzle 1989: 186 “obliterates the main caesura of the hexameter.” He suggests that the elision may allude to one of Sabinus’ versus. I am comfortable with this idea, as explained in the next note. 645 This interpretation works even for the more common Trisomen in the main manuscripts, a nonsense word, but one that would be edited later. Scholars have suggested that this Trisomen has been amended (Ehwald) to Troesmin thereby making a reference to the city Ovid describes Vestalis capturing in Pont. 4.6. The suggestion is peculiar and Akrigg 1985: 454 rightly describes it as unlikely, an opinion shared by Hollis 2007: 427. There is no reason to invent Ovid’s text when interpretation offers support. 308 even just another work on Hippolytus. 646 The elaboration of a work on stepmothers would fit in with Carus’ Hercules. The second poem contains another joking reference. I propose that Ovid is referencing his own Fasti which looks—even though it was not—incomplete. To paraphrase, “Sabinus died before he could write July to December in response to my January to June.” 647 He anticipates the response of critics who would complain of an incomplete Fasti. As mentioned, Sabinus receives two couplets and is dead. Why such a length? 648 Partly it is because Ovid takes space to “unveil” the addressee. For the reader familiar with his work, the first couplet will make it clear who Ovid alludes to. With the second couplet, Ovid (un)wittingly 649 shows that an author’s fame depends upon others knowing the name. The next line draws attention to this approach. iv. Hidden Gallus and Vergil ingeniique sui dictus cognomine Largus, Gallica qui Phrygium duxit in arva senem, quique canit domito Camerinus ab Hectore Troiam, quique sua nomen Phyllide Tuscus habet, 20 And Largus, so called because of his genius, who led the elderly Phrygian [Antenor] into Gallic fields. And Camerinus who sang about Troy after Hector’s taming. And Tuscus who got his name from Phyllis, 646 The road toward Troezen is where Ovid placed the death of Hippolytus, a death one could certainly call sudden: Pittheam profugo curru Troezena petebam, “I was steering my exiled chariot for Pitthean Troezena (Met. 15.506). 647 I am putting forward a stronger interpretation than others. Helzle 1989: 176 suggests merely “a work like Ovid’s Fasti and presumably an epic.” Hollis 2007: 427 “a poem which had something in common with Ovid’s Fasti.” McKeown 1998: 284 says of Sabinus “a friend who had once been inspired by his Epistles and, perhaps, more recently by his Fasti.” The last words of each line, dierum and opus are a slight playful reference to Hesiod’s Works and Days. 648 Helzle 1989: 176 suggests merely that Ovid may be “here paying tribute to a deceased friend.” 649 Unwittingly because Ovid could not know that none of Sabinus’ works would survive. Wittingly because perhaps he knew these works never existed. 309 Structure and internal consistency: these three poets are framed by Largus and Tuscus who explicitly are named after their work in one way or another. 650 All three are modified by an ablative of source, Largus and Tuscus from a name, Camerinus from a temporal point associated with a name. There are four different references to location. Movement: The “Phrygian” to Gaul. Place: Troy. Onomastic: Tuscus=the Etruscan. This last adjective looks forward to the next quatrain with its mention of Libya and the Romans. The ingenium looks back to the imparibus and the inperfectum; the mythological battle of Camerinus develops into a historical battle in the following lines. Ovid employs a paradox in the couplet about Largus. His name means bountiful, but his poetics are marked with the neoteric duco. 651 His subject matter, about Antenor founding Patuvium could also be described as occurring ab domito Hectore, which aligns him with Camerinus in the following line. But there is another line of thinking that I want to pursue, namely that he is (or is meant to remind us of) Valerius Largus, the delator behind Gallus’ downfall (Dio Cass. 53.23.6). Helzle has a few objections to this identification, “this would make him older than all the other poets in the catalogue…Bardon (1956), 60f. also objects to this 650 Helzle 1989: 187 calls this an “open use of the ‘telling name.’” The lines are unclear to me. Is Largus called “large” because his genius was huge? Or is this his real name and he got a nick-name from a character in his poem; i.e. he is called Antenor, or the Phrygian, by his friends? 651 Helzle 1989: 187 with other examples. The choice of Largus is surprising when one looks it up in a concordance. This is the only time Ovid uses it not only as a proper name but also in the nominative. Other examples of it show that it is largely a word associated with liquids in Ovid’s imagination. A couple of examples suffice. miscendas large rivus agebat aquas. (F. 1.404 there is a textual problem and some replace large with, antonymically, parce). It modifies imber (Met. 4.282, 11.516), blood (F. 4.436), wine (F. 2.636, 3.656). It could be a name, therefore, that looks forward to the emphasis on the sea in the following quatrain. Hollis 2007: 424 offers the intriguing parallel from Juvenal 10 on Demosthenes and Cicero dying due to their eloquence: largus et exundans leto dedit ingenii fons, “a bountiful and overflowing fountain of genius gave them to death” (119). He does not observe the water similarity. The idiom leto dare is Ovidian. Coincidentally, he first uses it in the first line of Phyllis’ epitaph at the end of the second Heroides. Phyllida Demophoon leto dedit hospes amantem, “Demophoon, a guest, sent Phyllis, a lover, to her death” (Her. 2.146). 310 identification because it would mean that Ovid is here praising the murderer of one of the Augustan poets to whom he regarded himself as a successor.” 652 His subject matter, however, suggests such a reading. Ovid is not praising the character of Largus. The internal logic of the poem suggests that the swift death of Sabinus has reminded Ovid of another poet who suffered a swift death. A poet named Gallus. The first word in line 18 is Gallica and the postponed pronoun emphasizes this particular word, especially because of the preceding lines, all of which began with qui in “proper” position introducing the figures. Helzle’s objection about him being older than the rest of the poets is pointed out in Ovid’s description of the subject matter, an elderly person, senem (18). The subject of Antenor disguises Ovid’s real object of describing Gallus, whom he is interested in throughout his exile. 653 Yes, Antenor is the subject and one can cite Aen. 1.242ff (including an arva at line 246 and a nomen dedit at 248). But this chaste and obvious allusion to Vergil is all the more effective because it stops the reader from thinking about other possibilities. However, for someone steeped in Ovidiana, the combination of Gallica, Phrygium, and duxit would recall Fasti 4 when Ovid is asking questions of Erato about the most famous Phrygian immigrant to Italy: Cybele. Her worshipers, one recalls, are the Gallae/i (c.f. Catullus 63). Ovid asks about those worshipers: ‘cur igitur Gallos, qui se excidere, vocamus, / cum tantum a Phrygia Gallica distet humus?’ “Why do we call those ones who castrate themselves ‘Galli’ when the Gallic land is so far from Phyrigia” (F. 4.361-362). Erato answers in a way that I think suggests Gallus: ‘inter’ ait ‘viridem Cybelen altasque Celaenas / amnis it insana, nomine Gallus, aqua. / qui bibit inde, furit,’ “She answered: ‘between green Cybele and lofty Celaenae a crazed 652 Helzle 1989: 187. 653 Claassen 2017: 324 cites Winniczuk’s identification of Pont. 10.55-56 (quinque duas terras…/ separat) as an echo of Gallus’ uno tellures dividis amne. (Similar discussion Hollis 2007: 241). Claassen’s article as a whole shows the influence of Gallus on Ovid’s own exilic self-presentation. 311 river runs. It is named Gallus. Anyone who drinks from it goes crazy” (363-365). 654 The name Gallus and Gallica trigger similar cognitive resonances. Not everyone would agree that the words Phrygium, duxit, and gallica are enough to recall Gallus the poet to the reader’s mind, although Largus’ name is fairly strong evidence. But any reader of Vergil sees what Ovid is up to. Apollo famously asks Gallus in Eclogues 10: Galle, quid insanis? “Gallus, why are you crazed?” (10.22). An onomastic reading suggests that Gallus should be crazy because Gallus is a crazed river. In his answer, Gallus wishes he had been a bucolic poet with a Phyllis to love (10.37, 41). In the forth line (Pont. 4.16.20) of this unified quatrain Ovid marks this allusion with his placement of a Tuscus who does have (or at least has written about) a Phyllis. Gallus continues: he has a crazy love (insanus amor, Ecl. 10.44) of war and describes being surrounded. The relationship between the amorous, the wandering, and the martial is encapsulated in Ovid’s quatrain via Tuscus, Largus, and Camerinus, respectively. Thus, if we follow Ovid’s clues we come to a provocative conclusion. Largus should make us think of water, the combination of Gallica and Phrygium should make us think of the Fasti and its crazy rivers which then send us to Eclogues 10 and Gallus’ speech. Our hunch is confirmed when we find him longing for Phyllis in that poem and see that Ovid has brought a Phyllis into his own quatrain. 655 The hidden reference to Gallus is supported by the otherwise perplexing switch to Phyllis and Tuscus. She acts doubly. On the one hand, she looks back to Sabinus as a heroine of the 654 Pliny the Elder also mentions the river: idem contingit in Velino lacu potantibus, item in Syriae fonte iuxta Taurum montem auctor est M. Varro et in Phrygiae Gallo flumine Callimachus. sed ibi in potando necessarius modus, ne lymphatos agat; “the same thing [curing bladder stones] happens from drinking out of Lake Velia. Varro says this also happens at the Syrian fountain near Mout Taurus and Callimachus says it happens in Phrygia from the river Gallus. But in those places you need to drink in moderation lest the drinker becomes deranged” (HN 31.10). 655 Another possible hint is the near acronym of Gallus within Largus. The only difference is an “l” and an “r” which experience rhotacism. 312 Heroides. 656 But she also sends us to Vergil’s Eclogues, specifically to Ecl. 3, 5, 7, and 10. By sending us there, Ovid gives us an insight into the organization of this quatrain. He has fields (arva); arms (domito Hectore); and the bucolic (Phyllide). He has, in a word, the entire career of Vergil hidden in these lines. We will see him perform this concealment again in lines 33-36. Before moving on, something remains to be said about Camerinus. There is no need, I think, to assume that he is writing strictly martial poetry. Rather more interesting—and fitting given the context—is that Ovid is describing the moment immediately after Hector’s death, which would be the lamentations of the women of Troy. The men in the poems, then, represent an old man, a dead man, and a lover. This is a poet who has mastered variatio. A final reference. When Ovid says that Camerinus is writing ab domito Hectore, this is a deliberate reference to the last line of the Iliad. Ovid is saying that Camerinus picks up immediately after that poem. Domo is the language of horse-taming. 657 The last line of the Iliad is ὣς οἵ γ᾽ ἀμφίεπον τάφον Ἕκτορος ἱπποδάμοιο, “and so they conducted the funeral of Hector, tamer of horses (Il. 24.804). The last part of the epithet, δάμοιο is the point at which Camerinus begins. He writes Il. 24.805 as his first line. v. Naval and Land Battles velivolique maris vates, cui credere posses carmina caeruleos composuisse deos, 22 quique acies Libycas Romanaque proelia dixit, et Marius scripti dexter in omne genus, And the vates of the sail-swept sea. You would believe that his poems were written by the sea-blue gods. And the one who told of the battles Libyan battle lines and Roman battles. And the writer Marius, skilled in every genre of writing, 656 Demophoon is the recipient. Her. 2 (c.f. Am. 2.18.21, 32). This letter has further ramifications for our present couplet with its two references to names. Immediately before she announces her epitaph, she says: aut hoc aut simili carmine notus eris; “either by this verse or another you will be known” (Her. 2.146). 657 OLD s.v. domo 1. 313 This quatrain is the middle of the catalogue. It is therefore provocative and emphatic that Ovid does not name two of the three writers who appear in it. The couplet describing the first poet is rich in archaisms: velivolus and the alliteration of line 22. Critics agree that the vates likely wrote some kind of nautical text. 658 I am inclined to agree with those who think it a reference to naval warfare, as the the following couplet refers to land-battles (proelia) and so sea-battles are a nice complement, perhaps something about Sextus Pompey and Agrippa at Naulochus. Further evidence for the self-conscious and careful construction of this catalogue is that it is here alone Ovid uses the term vates in this poem, and its appearance is in the middle of the catalogue. 659 He uses no other term for a poet, choosing instead to describe poets through periphrasis. Ovid connects the vates with the gods at this point by essentially saying they were speaking through the figure. 660 This fits with the setting of an earlier appearance of the adjective velivolus. One place Ovid could read the word in a predecessor was in Ennius’ Alexander or, intriguingly, in Cicero’s de Divinatione, which records the Ennian fragment. 661 There, when talking about prophecy, Cicero argues: vaticinari furor vera soleat, “let it be customary for madness to prophecy true things” (Div. 1.31). He then quotes the lines from Ennius where Cassandra feels the god approach. He explains: deus inclusus corpore humano iam, non Cassandra, loquitur, “a god trapped in a human body is speaking now; not Cassandra” and she speaks prophesies: 658 Didactic for Helzle 1989: 188; grandiloquent for Hollis 2007: 429-430 who suggests the text may be scientific or philosophical or about naval warfare. 659 After calling Germanicus and himself a vates in 4.8.67, Ovid uses it only of Hesiod (4.14.34), and here. 660 Before his list of poets that he heard when he was young, Ovid says that quotque aderant vates, rebar adesse deos; “as many vates as were present, I considered gods to be present” (Tr. 4.10.42). 661 Ennius’ Alexander was, most likely, antehomeric. Cassandra’s speech anticipates the events of the Iliad. This allusion, via velivolis connects us to the material in the previous quatrain and hints that maybe this poem dealt with the arrival or even gathering of the Achaeans. 314 iamque mari magno classis cita texitur; exitium examen rapit; adveniet, fera velivolantibus navibus complebit manus litora. A fast fleet is being built now on the great sea. It carries a swarm of death. It will come and a savage army will fill our shores with sail-swept ships. (Cic. De Div. 1.31.67; Enn. Scen. =Warmington 69-72=Jocelyn 43-46) Early on, the word is used to modify ships or the sea. 662 Ovid, I think, is alluding to Vergil partly as a continuation of his reference in the earlier quatrain, but also to continue the element of poetic play. In Book 1 of the Aeneid, which we still have open because of the previous Antenor reference, we look back a few lines to Jupiter looking down on Aeneas’ recovering companions: et iam finis erat, cum Iuppiter aethere summo despiciens mare velivolum terrasque iacentis litoraque et latos populos, sic vertice caeli constitit, et Libyae defixit lumina regnis. It was over. Jupiter, looking down from the sky on the sail-swept sea and the calm lands and shores and spread out peoples, stopped on the peak of heaven and fixed his eyes on the kingdom of Libya. (Aen. 1.223-226) Although doubt has been cast on these lines inspiring Ovid, the combination of the rare adjective modifying the sea alongside a reference to Libya indicates a stronger connection. 663 Structurally, they confirm our reading of Ovid’s catalogue as a series of quatrains. The meaning of it is also provocative. Ovid points us to the moment just before Venus complains about 662 By Ennius, Scen. 79 rapit ex alto naves velivolas; Ann. 380 Sk. navibus velivolis. Lucr. 5.1442 tum mare velivolis florebat navibus ponti and Ovid Pont. 4.5.42 et freta velivolas non habitura rates. The last occurs in an adynaton. Of the sea, Laevius Helen fr. 11 (Courtney) tu qui / permensus ponti maria alta / velivola. In book six of the Saturnalia, Macrobius discusses several words that people claim Vergil invented but that he, Macrobius, can prove go back farther in the literary record. Among these is velivolus wherein he quotes Laevius and Ennius (Sat. 6.5.10). 663 Helzle 1989: 188 “an allusion to Vergil seems unlikely because Ovid’s use of Vergilian phrases is usually pointed…Since such creative imitation does not seem to be applied here, the allusion is more likely to be to the unknown poet’s work.” The presence of Libya in both passages, separated by a single line in each, marks it. 315 Aeneas’ suffering when Jupiter offers his famous prophecy about the future of Rome complete with imperium sine fine (279) and the end of all wars: aspera tum positis mitescent saecula bellis; “then harsh ages will soften once wars have been put aside” (291). When Ovid follows his allusion to this speech—it is a prophecy and Ovid has marked this poet as a vates, a prophet- poet—with the reference to wars between Rome and Libya he shows, yet again, the lie of the Pax Romana. A note about the sea-gods to whom Ovid credits belief in authorship. These are neither Muses nor Olympians. When Ovid uses the phrase, he is alluding to Triton, Proteus, Aegaeon, Doris, and her daughters. This list comes from the ecphrasis on Apollo’s doors in the second book of the Metamorphoses: caeruleos habet unda deos, Tritona canorum Proteaque ambiguum ballaenarumque prementem Aegaeona suis inmania terga lacertis Doridaque et natas The ocean contains the sea-blue gods: musical Triton, shifting Proteus, Aegaeon squeezing the huge backs of whales with his arms bound around them, Doris and her daughters. (Met. 2.8-11) What do poems composed by these gods look like? Proteus is often a seer and his daughter with Doris is Arethusa. Triton is sonorous, but Aegaeon is violent and powerful. There is no single kind of poetry associated with these gods; rather we see a multiplicity of interpretations. Ovid’s line about the daughters acts well to summarize: facies non omnibus una, / non diversa tamen, qualem decet esse sororum; “they neither share the same features nor are they completely different; this is the way things should be for sisters” (Met. 2.8.13-14). The same could be said for the catalogue we are currently examining. All the names share the feature of being poets, they are alike (roughly) in age and skill, but each works a different subject matter. 316 This couplet reflects, as so many of the references do, on the nature of poetry and poetics. It also creates a game for those inclined to play by Ovid’s rules. There is no need to pigeon-hole the lines to a specific figure, since Ovid chooses not to name anyone at the very middle with the marked term vates. This decision offers the literary critic the entry point to re-interpret the catalogue on a number of levels, in such a way as I have attempted. To be clear, I am suggesting two different types of poetry based on these lines. Material like Macer’s leading up to the Iliad (like the Alexander) or after (like the Aeneid). It could be some kind of historical epic based on Rome’s sea-battles. Ovid’s lack of specificity is purposeful. Perhaps he is even pointing to an entire genre that has not survived. 664 The next couplet contains a joke and a serious reference. As I mentioned, the intertextual relationship between the Aeneid and the preceding couplet means that this reference to wars between Rome and Libya indicates the fallacy of Jupiter’s prophecy. The lack of specificity emphasizes the constant state of war for Rome because we are compelled to ask: which Libyan and Roman war? Rome was often in North Africa. Is it any of the Carthaginian wars? What about a war with Jugurtha? Perhaps the battle of Thapsus? I suspect any kind of civil war. In a famous passage from the Georgics, Vergil wrote: ergo inter sese paribus concurrere telis / Romanas acies iterum videre Philippi, “therefore, Philippi again saw Roman army fighting against Roman army bearing matching weapons” (Georg. 1.490). Ovid’s plural romanaque proelia indicates that there are many battles, more than just the two in Vergil’s time. The next line is a joke. Having brought up wars between Libya and Rome, Ovid uses the name Marius, rich in its suggestion of Gaius Marius, the consul and general who defeated Jugurtha in Africa, but whose name is also nearly synonymous with civil war because of his 664 Or something along the lines of Argonautica of Varro of Atax. 317 conflict with Sulla. His name previously appeared in Pont. 4.3 in this connection. Marius’ skill in every genre is vaguely reminiscent of Montanus’ sufficiency in two. 665 But Marius is also skilled in every kind of writing—not necessarily as the writer but, perhaps, as the subject of the writing. He would appear as skilled in war. vi. Sicily and Genealogies Trinacriusque suae Perseidos auctor et auctor 25 Tantalidae reducis Tyndaridosque Lupus, et qui Maeoniam Phaeacida vertit, et, une Pindaricae fidicen, tu quoque, Rufe, lyrae, And Trinacrius [the Sicilian] author of his Perseid, and Lupus author of “The Return” of the male descendent of Tantalus and the daughter of Tyndarus. And the one [Tuticanus] who adapted the Maeonian [Homeric] Phaeacis. You too, Rufus, you were one player of the Pindaric lyre. Unity: these couplets go together due to shared structure. In each, the hexameter ends with et and a disyllabic word with enjambment into the pentameter beginning with a quadrisyllabic proper substantive adjective in the genitive. The first uses Greek genitives, titles, and names to frame the couplet; the second uses Greek authors and titles to describe genre. The first couplet is carefully patterned. Both men are auctores and their subject is defined by patronymics. This is a joke for lines about genealogy. Etymologically auctor means one who grows or originates a thing. It comes from augeo. It can even mean a father. 666 665 There are two interesting parallels for omne genus. The first is from the Tristia: omne genus scripti gravitate tragoedia vincit; “Tragedy overcomes every genre of writing with its seriousness” (Tr. 2.381). This connection anticipates Ovid’s shift to tragedy in four lines. Cicero also uses it in a list about great orators: nihil enim ample Cotta, nihil leniter Sulpicius, non multa graviter Hortensius; superiores magis ad omne genus apti Crassum dico et Antonium; “for Cotta lacked dignity, Sulpicius softness, Hortensius gravity. The elders were more equipped for every genre, namely Crassus and Antonius” (Orat. 106). 666 mihi Tantalus auctor; “Tantalus is my father” (Met. 6.172). Ovid earlier called Vergil an auctor: et tamen ille tuae felix Aeneidos auctor; “nevertheless, that lucky author of your Aeneid” (Tr. 2.533). See Ingleheart 2010: 384. Note that the possessive refers to Augustus. Ovid’s most sustained pun on augeo is with augustus and augurium in Fasti 1.609-613. An auctor is also one who has auctoritas. 318 It is generally agreed that Trinacrius is not a real name but is, rather, a pseudonym for someone from Sicily. 667 There is some debate about the subject of his poem with Helzle suggesting a Life of Perseus rather than a historical epic on wars against the Medes (sons of Perses). Hollis finds Trinacrius a likely name for a bucolic poet and suggests the author began in such a vein before switching to mythological epic. 668 I think we can get closer to the meaning. The name is a locative joke, but it serves to add to our understanding of the work he “wrote.” Suae is feminine and we might look at Ovid’s own work for clues about how to take Perseidos. 669 It appears only once, in book seven of the Metamorphoses, when Medea has decided to end her desire for Jason. She goes to the woods to do some magic, but he just happens to show up looking like a god. Her desire fans once more. The place she had gone was Hecate’s altar: ibat ad antiquas Hecates Perseidos aras, “She headed for the ancient altars of Hecate, daughter of Perses” (Met. 7.74). The poem of Trinacrius, I argue, is the Persa (Perseis?), or the Hecate. 670 This supposition is supported by the name because of its prefix, Trinacrius. Hecate was, called Triformis and was the goddess of the crossroads, for which her epithet was Trivia. 671 Part of putting the semantics of Sicily into this portion of the poem is that we have just been prodded to think about Roman wars, and probably naval ones at that. Sicily was the site of the most recent of these wars (Battle of Naulochus, Sept. 3, 36 BCE) and the opposition to Rome was one Sextus Pompeius, the namesake of Ovid’s most frequent addressee in Pont. 4. 672 Ovid 667 Helzle 1989: 189; Hollis 2007: 428. 668 Hollis 2007: 428 uses Catalepton 9 for his argument. There, Theocritus is called: Trinacriae doctus…iuvenis, “the learned youth of Trinacria” (Catal. 9.20). 669 Akrigg 1985: 458 thinks suae “seems strange, and is probably corrupt.” But all the manuscripts agree. 670 As far as I can discover, only E. A. Andrews has had this conclusion when, in 1851, he put it in his dictionary, A Copious and Critical Latin-English Dictionary. The OLD gives the citation to Perseus. 671 An epithet shared by Diana OLD s.v. trivium 1c. 672 On the shared name, see ch. 2. 319 was fond of the island; in 2.10.22 (the letter to Macer) he reminisced about their shared time on Sicily, and we might remember Seneca the Younger’s story of Cornelius Severus writing about Aetna even though Ovid and Vergil already had. Another reason for Sicily being placed here is that if one interprets the poem Ovid is describing as a real one, this is evidence that its subject matter is the Carthaginian wars, specifically the First Punic War (264-241 BCE), the result of which led Sicily to become a Roman province and Rome to develop its navy. Lupus’ poem is equally enigmatic. The surface meaning seems clear: Helen (the daughter of Tyndarus) comes home with Menelaus (the descendent of Tantalus). 673 The generations do not align entirely, and I will show that the names are actually quite suggestive of a whole range of poems. Tantalus Tyndareus 1 st Generation Tantalus 2nd Generation Pelops (and Niobe) 3nd generation Atreus and Thyestes 4rd generation 1st Generation Atr<Agamemnon and Menelaus Tyndareus+Leda<Clytemnestra Th<Aigisthos Zeus+L<Helen 5th generation 2nd generation Aga+Clyt< Orestes Men+Hel<Hermione Aeg+Clyt<Aletes 6th generation 3rd generation Orestes+Hermione (doubly cousins) 673 The phrases in parentheses are from the OLD s.v. Tantalis and Tyndaris. 320 The poem, we now see, could be about Menelaus and Helen or any permutation of the above. Because the redux goes with the offspring of Tantalus, it is not necessarily “The Return of both the Male and the Female” but “The Female and the Return of the Male.” Along these lines, Agamemnon returning home would also fit. In this case, the daughter of Tyndareus would be Clytemnestra. Added support for this is the presence of Aegisthus, suggested by the name Lupus. He was known as a wolf since Aeschylus, when Cassandra gave a speech calling him one. 674 This interpretation is supported by Ovid’s relatively recent use of Tyndaridos to refer to Clytemnestra in Tristia 2. If you read about Electra and Orestes: Aegisthi crimen Tyndaridosque legis; “you will read about the crime of Aegisthus and the daughter of Tyndareus” (Tr. 2.396). Finally, this could be yet another reference to the Heroides and their afterlife, or even parallel lives. The eighth letter is Hermione writing to Orestes to save her from Pyrrhus. One of her tactics to persuade him is to remind him of their shared lineage: they have the same grandfather (avus…idem, line 27). The last line of the poem underscores the connection: aut ego Tantalidae Tantalis uxor ero, “or I, a Tantalid, will be the wife of Tantalus’ offspring” (Her. 8.122). In this case, the redux would be the return after he has saved her. The confusion trebles with the seventeenth letter. Helen scoffs at Paris’ genealogy and boasts: Iuppiter ut soceri proavus taceatur et omne / Tantalidae Pelopis Tyndareique decus; / dat mihi Leda Iovem cygno decepta parentem; “let’s skip the fact that Jupiter was the fore-father of my father-in-law [Atreus]—the entire glory both of Pelops (son of Tantalus) and of Tyndareus. Leda, swan-tricked, tells me that Jove is my father” (Her. 17.53-55). She is just one step from 674 παπαῖ, οἷον τὸ πῦρ: ἐπέρχεται δέ μοι. / ὀτοτοῖ, Λύκει᾽ Ἄπολλον, οἲ ἐγὼ ἐγώ. / αὕτη δίπους λέαινα συγκοιμωμένη / λύκῳ, λέοντος εὐγενοῦς ἀπουσίᾳ, “Oh! Like fire it rushes over me! Alas, Lycean Apollo, woe is me. She, a two- footed lioness lies with a wolf; while the well-born lion is away” (Aesch. Ag. 1256-1259). Aeschylus’ reference to Agamemnon as “well-bred” is an insult to Aegisthus being the illegitimate son of Thyestes. 321 Jupiter, he five. Later, reminding him of Venus’ promise, Helen says Venus told him: Tyndaridis coniunx…eris, “you will be the husband of the daughter of Tyndareus” (117). The next poet, he of the Phaeacis, has been identified with Tuticanus, the recipient of 4.12 and 4.14. Ovid glances back at Trinacrius, a locative placeholder, with Maeoniam, an epithet that refers to Homer’s supposed birthplace in Libya. Tuticanus’ name, which Ovid has already discussed at length for being unmetrical would fit perfectly with all these other long words beginning with “T” in this section full of playful onomastics of a different sort. Further evidence that Ovid is connecting these two figures is that the lines have a stichometric intertextual relationship, that is, the references appear in the same line number: dignam Maeoniis Phaeacida condere chartis; “you were writing a Phaecis worthy of Maeonian pages” (4.12.27). et qui Maeoniam Phaeacida vertit; “and the one who was adapting the Maeonian Phaecis” (4.16.27). The first passage appears in the context of Ovid describing how they edited each other’s work when they were young poets, although Tuticanus was the elder and he guided the younger poet in his first forays into poetry. Ovid is wittily teaching us that we can read deeply into these lines because he has so carefully crafted them, an argument that defends the idea that the appearance of the Phaecis in line 27 is no coincidence. Ovid playfully rewrites his own previous line; or even edits it, as an allusion to the context. In 4.12, Ovid says that Tuticanus has “founded” (condere), a word associated with city founding, the poem. This makes the reference ironic since the great debate about Phaeacia was where it actually was. Ovid’s very clever change of condere to vertit indicates that this is a work that changed over time. Tuticanus is a careful writer. This transformation fits with our approach to Severus as well in his two appearances. 322 Ovid also accesses literary history with vertit in the context of Odysseus because it sends us to Livius Andronicus’ first “translation” of the Odyssey: 675 virum mihi, Camena, insece versutum, “tell me about the translated man, Camena” (Andron. Od. Fr. 1). 676 Tuticanus is also translating/adapting elements from Homer. It remains to ask what this poem might contain? 677 For Cicero, a reference to Phaeacia raises the question of the history of Greek literature because there are songs on the island that predate the poem (Brutus 71). For Propertius it is a lovely place with famous apples. 678 For Tibullus, it was the site of his illness that separated him from both Delia and Messalla. 679 Once one starts to question Phaecia it becomes even less well known. A strong feeling of aporia descends. One can counter it, however, by recognizing that the lack of information and specificity is part of this catalogue’s project as a whole. We see through Ovid’s highly selective doling out of information that interpretations proliferate. Thus, for the reader inclined to see the amorous, we have the possibility of Odysseus and Nausicaa. It is also the location of Odysseus’ relating of his adventures, and so one can suppose it contained a series of stories, perhaps further expanding upon what Odysseus had already said. On Rufus, who strummed on a Pindaric lyre, a couple of observations: Pindaric connects to Maeonian in the line above, a Greek proper adjective, while the lyrae gestures forward to the tragic cothurnis in the next line. This tu is different from the generic second person subject in line 21 (posses). tu indicates a certain level of intimacy. I think, based on the reference to Sicily 675 Indispensible for issues of translation is McElduff 2013. For Andronicus, see chapter two: “Livius Andronicus, Ennius, and the Beginnings of Epic and Translation in Rome” pp. 39-60. Also Feeney 2016. 676 Ovid has previously used vertit for “translation” in Tr. 2.443: vertit Aristiden Sisenna; “Sisenna translated Aristides.” He goes on to say that Sisenna was not punished for adding bawdy jests: turpis inseruisse iocos (Tr. 2.444). This is also further evidence that it is not a “translation” so much as an “adaptation” that is meant by vertit. 677 Hollis 2007: 428 “Odysseus’ stay with King Alcinous and his Phaeacians.” Why would this be a compelling topic? Cicero perhaps answers: the chance to rewrite Odysseus’ speeches (Brut. 71). 678 Prop. 3.2.13; Ovid Met. 13.719. 679 me tenet ignotis aegrum Phaeacia terris; “the Phaeacian island holds me, sick, on her unknown lands” (Tib. 1.3.3). 323 above, in Trinacrius’ name, that we can draw the connection to the Rufus who was the addressee of 2.11. 680 Further evidence for this is that in Pont. 2.10 Ovid talked about Sicily. Therefore, in both cases, Sicily is followed by (a) Rufus. I think the name is meant to distract us. The real reference is to Pindar. First, because he, more than most writers, is associated with Sicily, and specifically its tyrants. 681 He therefore fits nicely in this quatrain that began with Trinacrius. This is also the only time in Ovid that the name Pindar appears, giving it an importance equal to the singular appearance of Horace’s name in Tristia 4.10. Perhaps we are meant to think that the poems Rufus writes are not metrically complex but are panegyrics, instead. Maeonian and Pindaric have appeared together before. Horace 4.9, a poem dedicated to praising Lollius has these lines before a catalogue of canonical Greek lyric poets: …si priores Maeonius tenet / sedes Homerus, Pindaricae latent…/ Camenae; “[do not believe] that the Camenae of Pindar will lie hidden even if Homer, the Maeonian, holds primary position” (Carm. 4.9.5-8). 682 Ovid’s reference to these lines again underscores just how different this list is from previous ones. Horace made judgements about poets; he ranked them. Ovid is not doing that. His list does not proceed from the good to the less good, or vice-versa. No one is the successor to anyone else; this list represents neither continuity nor discontinuity. It is, on its surface, utterly 680 Green 2005: 380 suggests this identification but does not stick with it. I think added evidence comes from the strange play with relationships that Ovid uses in that poem with the ones we have just seen in line 26. Compare: namque quod Hermionae Castor fuit, Hector Iuli, / hoc ego te laetor coniugis esse meae; “for that which Castor was to Hermione or Hector to Iulus, I am happy to say that you are this to my wife (Pont. 2.11.15-16). Another hint: Ovid’s envoi: maxima Fundani gloria, Rufe, soli; “Rufus, greatest glory of the Fundanian land” (2.11.28). The vocative Rufe is in the same place metrical position. 681 See most recently, and most thoroughly, Morgan 2015. 682 There is more hidden Horace. Ovid’s decision to call Rufus a fidicen recalls Horace’s praise of the Muses: quod monstror digito praetereuntium / Romanae fidicen lyrae; “[this], that by the finger of the pedestrians I am pointed out as the player on the Roman lyre [I owe to you]” (Carm. 4.3.23-24). Partly these cues point us to Horace’s fourth book and Ovid’s rather clear engagement with it. They also act to keep the reader thinking about Roman versus Greek practices and the cultural capital of poetry. 4.3 is about Horace’s pre-eminence; 4.9 his ability to give the same to someone through his verse. 324 descriptive. But in that eerie state of the innocuous, we have already uncovered a variety of dangerous poetics. The other idea from Horace consists in the theme of what lies hidden. Ovid has disguised a great deal in this poem; sometimes names, sometimes titles, sometimes topics. But in doing so, he invites us to uncover what lies hidden. vii. The Stage Musaque Turrani tragicis innixa coturnis et tua cum socco Musa, Melisse, levi; 30 cum Varius Gracchusque darent fera dicta tyrannis, Callimachi Proculus molle teneret iter, And Turranus’ Muse, supported by tragedy’s boots; and your Muse, Melissus, wearing comedy’s slipper. When Varius and Gracchus gave harsh words to tyrants and Proculus held the soft path of Callimachus. These lines best support an argument that Ovid is structuring the catalogue under broad genre categories: epic to lyric to tragedy to minor genres, although I think there is more complexity to this. As we have seen, Ovid does not allow any single genre to be pre-eminent, and these four lines certainly add to this feeling. Two problems have been raised: Varius is seen as too old, and Callimachus is not associated with the theater. Both problems are solvable. Structurally, the lines belong together based on the interlocking deployment of adjectives: tragicis, levi, fera, molle. The first and third are more serious words, the second and fourth less so. Turranus’ name is a double pun: first in the similarity of Turranus to Tyrannus. The first listed writer of tragedy has the name of a frequent type of character in tragedy, the tyrant. Ovid gestures toward this interpretation when he specifically says that this is the type of character in the works of Varius and Gracchus (31). The second pun is that the name equals: turris + anus, or 325 “pertaining to a tower.” The idea of height inherent in a tower fits because the boots at the end of the line lend height to the actor, make him towering. 683 As he has been doing the whole catalogue, Ovid gestures back to his previous work. In the debate between Tragedy and Elegy that began Amores 3, Tragedy appears and delivers a speech urging Ovid to embark on her genre. When she finishes: hactenus, et movit pictis innixa cothurnis / densum caesarie terque quaterque caput; “she ended and, supported by painted boots, shook her coiffure three or four times” (Am. 3.1.31-32). When Ovid relates his poetic trajectory, he includes his tragic detour: et dedimus tragicis scriptum regale cothurnis, / quaeque gravis debet verba cothurnus habet; “and I gave a royal poem in tragedy’s boots, complete with the words the serious boot demands” (Tr. 2.553-254). 684 These two recollections of his own output act to maintain Ovid’s place as a poet who wrote in a variety of genres and was well equipped to do so. Melissus opens up an intriguing avenue. Much is known about him thanks largely to Suetonius’ brief vita (Suet. Gram. 21). He wrote comedy and 150 volumes of jokes. He invented the short-lived fabula trabeata. He was Maecenas’ slave secretary. After manumission, he became a librarian: quo delegante, curam ordinandarum bibliothecarum in Octaviae porticu suscepit; “Augustus appointed him to direct the task of organizing the library in the Portico of Octavia” (Gram. 21). His name, therefore, raises the issue of how books are stored and organized. Likewise, we are forced to remember the sad case of Tristia 3.1 when the book of poetry was thrice rejected by the libraries of Rome: at the Temple of Apollo on the Palatine, the 683 Ovid imagines a figure in tragic boots to be towering, or lofty. Amores 3.1.63: alto cothurno; cf Juvenal 6.634: altum coturnum. innixa comes from innitor, supported by, which may suggest the height. 684 Ingleheart 2010: 394 accepts two conjectures in these lines against all the manuscripts: sceptrum regale for scriptum regale, and tragicis…tyrannis for tragicis…cothurnis. Despite the fact that having tyrannis would strengthen my own argument, I prefer to follow the manuscripts. Besides, there is wonderful Ovidian wit in saying the boot is heavy and then giving us two boots. It also undercuts the seriousness of the lines. 326 Porticus Octaviae, and Asinius Pollio’s library in the Atrium of Liberty. That Ovid deliberately sends us here is supported by the topography of Rome: the Porticus was hard by the Theater of Marcellus: altera templa peto, vicino iuncta theatro; “I seek another temple, one neighboring the theater (Tr. 3.1.69). Libraries and theaters share cognitive space. Ovid’s works, on the other hand, are remembered differently, by his friends, or those who have access to them through other means than the public libraries. He began the Pontic project, after all, with an appeal to Brutus to find a place for the new works because they are banned from the libraries (Pont. 1.1.3-6). Varius fits nicely with this theme of literary afterlives. It was he, after all, who along with Tucca, was chosen by Augustus to prepare the Aeneid for publication. 685 I do not share Helzle’s qualms about Varius’ age. 686 Ovid said at the beginning of the catalogue that he was counted among the living. This means any who were alive while he was so, or with whose works he could be compared. But the main point is that he chooses as his exempla for tragedy two figures who wrote a Thyestes. 687 In this case, it is the subject matter that is important, not so much the authors. 688 It was a surprisingly popular play in the time of Tiberius, who rather resented it. 689 Most famously Mamercus Scaurus wrote one, called Atreus, that made Tiberius so upset he brought about the poet’s death (Dio 58.24.3-4). This was in 34 CE, though, and so would postdate this argument, except I am drawing attention to a broad 685 Hollis 2007: 253 for the text of Jerome on the year 17 BC. 686 Helzle 1989: 190 “His appearance in the present catalogue is problematic because he is a contemporary of Horace and Vergil and therefore likely to have been dead by the time Ovid wrote the present poem…In this respect he seems to differ from all other poets in the catalogue except Sabinus.” 687 The idea of Thyestes also connects to the Tantalids in line 26. 688 Ovid could also be suggesting that Varius’ work gets re-staged and is, therefore, always alive. His famous production was underwritten by Octavian in 29 BCE. In this quatrain, Ovid is likely remembering Horace’s Ars Poetica, where that poet had also juxtaposed comedy and tragedy and used Thyestes as an example: versibus exponi tragicis res comica non volt;/ indignatur item privatis ac prope socco / dignis carminibus narrari cena Thyestae, “comic affairs are unwilling to be set into tragic meter; likewise the Feast of Thyestes hates to be told in ordinary verse more suitable for the comic slipper” (AP 89-91). 689 Hollis 2007: 335 “We know of seven poets who wrote an Atreus or a Thyestes.” See, more recently, Boyle 2017: lxix, lxxiii-lxxviii. He supposes (“probably”) the Gracchus in question is Sempronius Gracchus (lxxvii) as well as suggesting eight plays adapting the myth before Seneca. 327 cultural environment. 690 Gracchus clinches the issue. Tacitus (Ann. 1.53) writes the story of his exile, in 2 BC, and death in 14 CE, a year we have already observed to be key to the structure and tone of Pont. 4 given that it is when both Augustus and Paullus Fabius Maximus died. The Grammarian Priscus (GLK 2, p. 269) tells us that Gracchus wrote a Thyestes. 691 We have found, therefore, that these lines are not only about poets who write tragedy or comedy, but about literary reception. 692 Varius was celebrated for his; Gracchus likely was not. What, then, to do with Proculus? In this case I put myself on a rather flimsy limb. For he is not (just) an elegist, although he might well have been a neoteric. 693 Based on tenuous evidence, I would like to suggest that the vein he followed Callimachus in was his comedic one. According to the Suda, Callimachus wrote satyr plays, tragedy, and comedies (σατυρικὰ δράματα, τραγῳδίαι, κωμῳδίαι). 694 He therefore fits into this list nicely, and Ovid’s use of molle signals that he did not follow Callimachus in writing tragedy or satyr plays. This reading is slightly forced but given the way in which Ovid uses the quatrain structure it is permissible. Add to this the interlocked adjectives I observed above: molle is paired with the levi of comedy. Of course, the first conclusion to which any reader of Latin poetry would jump from the appearance of mollis with iter would be elegy given the prominent influence of Callimachus’ Aetia on the neoterics. 695 But I am arguing that context also counts. The line permits a proliferation of connections, and the appearance of a gentler genre acts to transition to the next 690 Suetonius attests to this literary environment of easy offense. In the Life of Tiberius, he mentions that a poet had slandered Agamemnon in a tragedy and was put to death and his works destroyed (Tib. 61.3). 691 Hollis 2007: 335. 692 Martial, remembering this catalogue, gestures toward the popularity of Varius’and Marsus’ names in catalogues, when he writes an elegy about patronage and poets: quid Varios Marsosque loquar ditataque vatum / nomina, magnus erit quos numerare labor? “Why should I speak about the Varii and Marsi? It would be too much work to list the famous names of vates” (Epig. 8.55.21-22). The theme of not naming contrasts strongly with Ovid’s poem. 693 Helzle 1989: 191 “He wrote elegy in a Callimachean vein”; Hollis 2007: 426 “Clearly an elegist;” Green 2005: 381 “the imitator of Callimachus…and thus a neoteric.” 694 Suda s.v. Καλλίμαχος. 695 From Apollo’s famous injunction to the poet to keep his muse slender and stay off the beaten paths (Aet. 23-28). Helzle 1989: 191 quotes other examples of mollis used for love poetry. 328 quatrain. One of which is another linguistic pun. Proculus “holds” to the path. Yet his name Proculus means “far off.” 696 There is a second slight joke in the verb teneret immediately following molle since tener is a synonym for mollis. Proculus holds from afar the tender path of Callimachus. Bringing up Callimachus’ name in a context with Melissus means thinking about the association of Callimachus with the Library of Alexandria. While he was, himself, never a librarian, he did write the Πίνακες (Pinakes), the first library catalogue. Thus, his name deserves to be in this list, even if it is a bit forced. Ovid’s quatrain is not only about authors, but about transmission and reception. Here we have figures closely associated with public libraries, Melissus and Callimachus; an inventor of a genre that did not live on and two who wrote on one of the most frequent (but also dangerous) themes. Varius’ presence also reminds us of his role in preparing the Aeneid for publication. 697 viii. The Countryside Tityron antiquas Passerque rediret ad herbas aptaque venanti Grattius arma daret, Naidas a satyris caneret Fontanus amatas, 35 clauderet inparibus verba Capella modis, And Passer went back to Tityrus and the old fields; and Grattius gave weapons suited for the hunt. Fontanus sang about Naides loved by satyrs, and Capella locked words up in unequal meters. And so, we come to the last quatrain with named figures. The lines are framed by what appear to be pseudonyms based on animal names, passer (sparrow) and capella (goat). They are united by references to Vergil. Generically Tityron and Capella and herba point us to the Eclogues, and Grattius’ arma playfully reminds us of the Aeneid. Ovid has referred to Vergil’s 696 Itself a possible allusion to the Aetia and steering far from the beaten path. 697 Suet. Vita Verg. 39-41. 329 three works in this manner earlier in a catalogue: Tityrus et segetes Aeneiaque arma legentur; “Tityrus and the crops and the Aeneid’s arma will be read” (Am. 1.15.25). Hollis hears the Vergilian allusion and points to Ecl. 9: Tityre, dum redeo (breuis est uia) pasce capellas; “Tityrus, until I return (the journey is short) pasture the goats” (Ecl. 9.23). He also points out the herbis in line 19. 698 He does not observe that capellas supports his argument. He could go further by quoting the lines fully since he leaves out key points of evidence that Ovid is, in fact, alluding to this passage: quis caneret Nymphas? Quis humum florentibus herbis / spargeret aut viridi fontis induceret umbra? “who would sing about the Nymphs? Who would scatter the ground with flourishing grasses or surround the fountains with green shade?” (Ecl. 9.19-20). Ovid has answered this question. His Fontanus sings, with the naiads and satyrs substituting for the nymphs. These are bucolic poets, which proves that Vergil is still being read. And Rome is still ruling the world. Ovid’s statement of Vergil’s fame in his first catalogue is refracted in his last. Finally, a visual connection. Grattius is a man, Capella is a goat, and in between we learn that Fontanus (whose name is nearly synonymous with transformation given water’s association with metamorphoses) sings about satyrs, the combination of man and goat. 699 Line 33 is an even worse textual crux than line 15. 700 Tityron appears in every manuscript (or titir* in some minor ones). Passer appears only in the best. 701 I support the validity of Passer with the evidence I have shown from the pattern of names with an animal meaning. The re- 698 Hollis 2007: 426. He argues that Passer picked up where Vergil left off. Compare Hutchinson 2013: 180fn.26 “Calpurnius’ Tityron alludes also to Ov. Pont. 4.16.33…(if sound); there rediret and antiquas, esp. after 32, suggests the post-Virgilian poet is going back beyond Vergil.” 699 Helzle 1989: 192 notices that “Ovid seems to be playing with the names in this verse.” 193 “Etymological word- play between Naiades and Fontanus…also seems to be at work here since the name Naiades is derived from νάω ‘flow’ and νᾶμα ‘stream,’ as Ovid well knows (cf. Met. XIV 556f).” 700 Akrigg 1985: 464 “the divergence of the manuscripts here is greater than at any other point in the book.” 701 The scribe behind manuscript M thought the allusion to Vergil obvious: titirum et antiquas recusbasse referret ad umbras. Compare: Tityre, tu patulae recubans sub tegmina fagi…/ tu, Tityre, lentus in umbra (Ecl. 1.1,4). Or Propertius: visus eram molli recubans Heliconis in umbra (Prop. 3.3.1). 330 prefix could also be a hint that he writes amoebaean poetry, or any kind of poetic dialogue. Regardless, the topic, antiquas herbas is a sharp contrast from the tyrannis of the tragic poets above. Thus, we see that the molle iter of Proculus acted well to transition us to these couplets in which each of the poets seem to have taken nature as a topic or setting. 702 Of all the poets in the catalogue, Grattius has survived most fully. 703 541 lines of his Cynegetica survive and it is on the basis of a few echoes between the two works that Helzle offers his theory that Ovid plays with the style or poems of the other poets throughout the catalogue. Ovid: Aptaque venanti Grattius arma daret. 704 Grattius: carmine et arma dabo et venandi persequar artes (line 23). He also notes that Grattius used a similar wordplay between fountains and naiads and, perhaps, satyrs (lines 17-18). 705 I completely agree with this and simply add that this is excellent evidence that Ovid put great care into making the list, evidence that supports the approach I have been taking of underscoring Ovid’s self-conscious use of names and topics. Fontanus’ subject of Naiads and Satyrs is intriguing. As Helzle notes, “Nymphs and Satyrs generally belong to Dionysus’ entourage…but water-nymphs are surprisingly rare before Ovid.” 706 Thus, we have more evidence that one of Ovid’s tactics in these lists is to show his own impact on the poetic production and themes and tone of the other poets he mentions. 702 Additionally, adding to the ambiguity, the line could refer to the herba of the elder Macer in Tr. 4.10.44. Perhaps this Tityrus is writing in the archaic vein of cataloguing hexameter poetry. 703 See Green 2018 (forthcoming). 704 The line is an adaptation of Amores 1.13 when the poet asks Aurora not to rise so that he can remain in bed with his lover. As part of a catalogue listing those who rise before dawn, he includes soldiers: et miles saevas aptat ad arma manus; “and the soldier fits his cruel hands to the weapon” (Am. 1.13.14). Compare Sen. Phaedra 533: non arma saeva miles aptabat manu; “no soldier fit a weapon to his savage hand.” 705 Helzle 1989: 192-193. The lines from Grattius: umentes de fontibus omnes / Naiades, et Latii <satyri> Faunusque <subibant> (17-18). 706 Helzle 1989: 192. 331 Capella clearly represents a writer of elegy with the imparibus modis. But there is also a joke in his name since, ironically, the goat (capella) pens in (clauderet) the words. 707 Usually, the goat is penned in. Word order supports this with the imparibus modis enclosing both capella and the verba. All four of these poets represent the countryside in one way or another. They are, therefore, a strong contrast to the previous quatrain in which the political sphere (tyrannis) was strong. Even Melissus’ genre, the fabula trabeata, would have been political since it featured equestrians wearing the purple trabea, which marked their class. ix. The Unnamed cumque forent alii, quorum mihi cuncta referre nomina longa mora est, carmina vulgus habet, essent et iuvenes, quorum quod inedita cura est, adpellandorum nil mihi iuris adest. 40 When there were others all of whose names it would take a long time to recall; besides, the common people know their songs. And there are the young ones, but because their projects are unedited, it is not right for me to name them. In addition to its elegance, this last quatrain formally brings the literary catalogue to a close. It also shows that Ovid has not wholly disposed of the tradition of not naming authors in catalogues, but he has nuanced it. The first thing to notice is the phrase: nomina longa mora est. This is an Ovidian capstone to catalogues. We find it at Met. 13.205-205 where Ulysses says it would take him too long to relate the plans and contributions he has made which ensure his right to the shield of 707 Compare Ecl. 7.14-15: quid facerem? neque ego Alcippen nec Phyllida habebam / depulsos a lacte domi quae clauderet agnos; “What should I have done? I had no Alcippe or Phyllis to pen the newly weened lambs at home.” Note how Vergil ironically keeps the sheep outside of the pen by enclosing the verb. Others use the verb in Ovid’s sense. Hor. Serm. 2.1.28: me pedibus delectat claudere verba; “It delights me to enclose words in meters.” In a slightly different sense, Gellius NA 1.7.20 on Cicero’s clausulae: at si ‘explicuit’ diceret, inperfecto et debili numero verborum sonus clauderet; “but if he [Cicero] had said ‘explicuit’ [instead of explicavit] the clang of the word would have stopped with an incomplete and weak rhythm.’” The OLD 8e adds Persius 1.93 for meter. 332 Achilles. At Fasti 5.311, Flora uses it of those punished for forgetting the gods. The most likely precedent is Met. 2.225 where Ovid uses quosque referre mora est to cap the catalogue of Actaeon’s dogs. These two lists, much more than the others are a celebration of fitting names to meter. 708 Thematically the quatrain consists of two similar couplets in which Ovid names neither audience nor poet. He refers to the audience whom he calls vulgus. In a similar way to Ovid’s abandonment of primus language that we saw in the previous chapter, we can see Ovid here expand his understanding of audience. The people are the caretakers of a whole mass of poets. 709 Ovid’s vision of the poetic production at the start of Tiberius’ reign (and the end of the poet’s life) is enormously energetic. In a poem whose influence we cannot escape, Ovid had previously discussed the vulgus: vilia miretur vulgus; “let the masses marvel at cheap things” (Am. 1.15.35). Ovid has replaced vilia with carmina. He makes a positive assertion about the current (~17 CE) state of affairs in opposition to the way things used to be with the previous generation. It is largely because of Ovid that Vergil, Propertius, Tibullus, and Horace became those we call Augustan. Now, in his old age and under a new emperor, he erases all that canonizing work. This new Ovid proliferates the literary landscape and seeks, one last time, to change the face of poetic consumption in Rome. Before, at the time of Am. 1.15, the masses had vilia; but Ovid led the charge to transform their cheap things into carmina. He has completed the project he hinted toward in the first poem of Tristia 5: quod superest, animos ad publica carmina flexi, / et memores iussi nominis esse 708 I wonder, as well, if Ovid is not making another metrical joke. The names of the rest he would list are literally too long to fit into his meter. If so, adpellandorum is marvelously witty since he fills the entire first hemiepes with one quintasyllabic word. The heavy spondaic nature of the word draws attention to its massive size. 709 Contra Helzle 1989: 193 “the phrase recalls the Callimachean hatred of the masses… The associations [Cat. 9.94, Hor. Carm. 1.1.32, 2.16.39, 3.1.1; Prop. 2.23.1; Ov. Am. 1.15.35] introduce an element of disparagement of the unnamed poetry.” I think that Ovid is reversing his earlier position. 333 mei; “For the future, I bent their attention to public songs, and ordered them to remember my name” (Tr. 5.1.23-24). For Evans, who takes the title of his study of Ovid’s exile poetry from this line, the phrase refers to the epistolary project. He is partly correct, but I also think it is relevant that Ovid implies he will turn away from the kind of poetry he has previously written (anonymous Tristia) and begin the Epistulae ex Ponto, which will appear private but actually be public. He is writing poetry to be circulated broadly. Now, we see that the animos of 5.23 can be reconsidered. He bent new poets onto new public paths. The second couplet, about those who have not yet edited their work develops a theme we saw in the previous chapter, namely Ovid’s interest in revision, which appeared in Pont. 2.4.18 when he discussed Atticus’ editing and in 4.12.25 to Tuticanus. 710 This is how works become edita. Cura works in two ways. It marks a literary work, but it also implies that the care taken by poets is still incomplete. They need to create systems of support, such as those enjoyed by members of a collegium. 711 There is also a poetic joke in the line, which acts similarly to the one I argued for in line 15’s inperfectum. In this quatrain, Ovid has two prodelisions: mora est and cura est. These are the only elisions in the catalogue with the exception of the quique acies in 23. Is this the kind of thing he says should be edited? I have argued that this catalogue primarily celebrates the changed literary landscape that Rome owes to Ovid. I have done so by showing how he suffuses the catalogue with ambiguity 710 non semel admonitu facta litura tuo est, “more than once I made corrections at your advice” (Pont. 2.4.18). saepe ego correxi sub te censore libellos, / saepe tibi admonitu facta litura meo est, “often I revised my poetry books at your suggestion; often you made corrections at my advice” (Pont. 4.12.25-26). 711 For cura as a literary work, notably Pont. 4.2.50: curae…recentis opus. Tac. Dial. 3.3 (of a Thyestes); 6.5 (on an orator’s novam recentem curam); Ann. 3.24.2 of his own work. In a catalogue of great men who made bad decisions or whose behavior did not match their status, Tacitus writes: sed aliorum exitus, simul cetera illius aetatis memorabo, si effectis in quae tetendi plures ad curas vitam produxero; “but the outcomes of others I will record along with everything else from that period [the rule of Augustus] if, after completing those things in which I am now engaging, I extend my life to many future literary endeavors” (Tac. Ann. 3.24.2). Based on these examples, it appears mainly to refer to a recent work or an anticipated one. 334 and aporia. His main tools are intertextuality, onomastic wordplay, and ambiguity. Regardless of whether one picks up on the subsurface interpretations, the sheer proliferation of names celebrates the vastness of Roman literary culture that previous catalogues have all sought to limit. Ovid, in his final poem, generates a new horizon of poets and says, essentially, “you cannot exile us all” in this new Tiberian age. b. Structure I turn now to describing the structure of the catalogue which is largely chiastic. The strongest connections are between the first pairings which serves to introduce the idea. In what follows, I will outline the linguistic joinings and then explain what the comparison adds to our understanding of the poem. Ovid frames his catalogue in a striking way, deploying similar pentasyllabic words at the beginning and end. The first pairing is also marked by verbal repetition. Ovid “teaches” us how to see the units of four lines by repeating foret in lines 5 and 8; he then uses the verb again in line 37 to send us back to the first couplet. i. Tum quoque, cum vivis adnumerarer, erat cumque foret Marsus magnique Rabirius oris 5 Iliacusque Macer sidereusque Pedo et qui Iunonem laesisset in Hercule, Carus, Iunonis si iam non gener ille foret, cumque forent alii, quorum mihi cuncta referre nomina longa mora est, carmina vulgus habet, essent et iuvenes, quorum quod inedita cura est, adpellandorum nil mihi iuris adest. 40 The adnumerarer in line four combines with erat making it, nearly, a single word filling the entire hemiepes. It signals the start of the catalogue to come. To signal the end of the catalogue, he uses the same trick with the entire spondaic adpellandorum. The catalogue begins 335 with a “clang” in the parechema, or having one word end with the same syllable as the following word begins. 712 Ovid also reintroduces forent alii to signal the conclusion. ii. quique dedit Latio carmen regale, Severus et cum subtili Priscus uterque Numa, quique vel inparibus numeris, Montane, vel aequis sufficis et gemino carmine nomen habes, Tityron antiquas Passerque rediret ad herbas aptaque venanti Grattius arma daret, Naidas a satyris caneret Fontanus amatas, 35 clauderet inparibus verba Capella modis, In a light tone, Hollis shrugs his shoulders on the identity of Fontanus and thereby, unwittingly, paid tribute to Ovid’s structure: “though if Montanus, why not Fontanus?” 713 The main unity between the two is the repetition of the unequal lines. This underscores that Ovid has not written a catalogue that proceeds through generic hierarchies but rather is suffused with variatio. iii. et qui Penelopae rescribere iussit Ulixem errantem saevo per duo lustra mari, quique suam Troezena inperfectumque dierum 15 deservit celeri morte Sabinus opus, Musaque Turrani tragicis innixa coturnis et tua cum socco Musa, Melisse, levi; 30 cum Varius Graccusque darent fera dicta tyrannis, Callimachi Proculus molle teneret iter, The connections between these two quatrains are not as strong. There is a slight joke in that Proculus “held the path” and Ulysses “wandered.” These two contain the only “negative” 712 Parechema is also called epanastrophe. Helzle 1989: 111 argues that Ovid did not find the feature cacophonous based on its frequency in Pont. 4.4. See Claassen 2008: 98-99 for an appreciation of these lines. She uses the term epanastrophe in a very interesting chapter on sound effects. McKeown 1998: 50-51 has a full note with other citations on ancient perceptions (or lack thereof) of this effect in both Greek and Latin poetry. He concludes that the effect of epanastrophe depends on context. 713 Hollis 2007: 423. 336 adjectives, saevo and fera. The juxtaposition is between the single poetic projects of one poet and the single generic (tragedy) projects of the theater. In both, however, the element of language gains primacy. Sabinus gave Ulysses words in a similar way to Varius and Graccus. Both point to two different sources of inspiration: Ovid (for Sabinus) and the genre of tragedy (for Varius and Graccus). iv. ingeniique sui dictus cognomine Largus, Gallica qui Phrygium duxit in arva senem, quique canit domito Camerinus ab Hectore Troiam, quique sua nomen Phyllide Tuscus habet, Trinacriusque suae Perseidos auctor et auctor 25 Tantalidae reducis Tyndaridosque Lupus, et qui Maeoniam Phaeacida vertit, et, une Pindaricae fidicen, tu quoque, Rufe, lyrae, Only a slight verbal element connects these two in duxit and reduces. These lines also hold Homeric locations: Troiam and Phaeacia. Structurally, the first three lines of each seem to represent something in epic meter and the last acts as a turn to a “gentler” meter. Once we have paired them, richer discoveries emerge. The explicit statement that Largus gained a different name from his poetry (or its output) adds credence to the idea that Trinacrius is a pseudonym. We see just how much influence Homerica still has, but we also see the generic intrepidness of this generation, with Tuscus in bucolic and Rufus in Pindaric. These poets are not imitative, they adapt and compete. They have led Greek material to their own fields and, like the proliferation of options for the Tantalidae they, too, are descendants. v. velivolique maris vates, cui credere posses carmina caeruleos composuisse deos, quique acies Libycas Romanaque proelia dixit, et Marius scripti dexter in omne genus, 337 The benefit of recognizing this chiastic structure is that the two unnamed poets are central along with the omni-talented Marius. Most significantly, the word vates appears here alone in emphatic central position. The theme of civil war also becomes prominent, all the more so given how the two quantrains that bracket this one are about mythic elements. The very specific topic here shows the degree to which poets can be dangerous by refusing to be silent about Rome’s history. c. Cotta I left Cotta out of the above catalogue because in my view his purpose is different. The structure fell into place only once I realized that Cotta and Ovid do not fit into it. The return to Cotta is unexpected, as he had disappeared completely from book 4, and his absence stretches back to 3.5, a poem in which Ovid condescended and asked for some of his poetry. Ovid had addressed him: o iuvenis studiorum plene meorum; “youth full of my own pursuits” (Pont. 3.5.37). Now, Cotta appears again. te tamen in turba non ausim, Cotta, silere, Pieridum lumen praesidiumque fori, maternos Cottas cui Messallasque paternos, Maxime, nobilitas ingeminata dedit. Cotta, I would not dare be silent about your place in this crowd, you light of the Pierides and guardian of the forum. A doubly noble lineage, Maximus, has given you Cottas from your mother and Messallas from your father. (Pont. 4.16.41-44) There are two ways of reading this passage: historically and poetically. They are not mutually exclusive, but they are suggestive. In 17 CE, Cotta became a praetor and Germanicus went on campaign into the east, after celebrating a triumph. 714 One could argue, therefore, that Ovid turns to Cotta to take over Germanicus’ role as a guardian of poets and poetic production 714 Syme 1978: 117. He became consul in 20, the only one not to be replaced by a suffectus under Tiberius. 338 and to be someone who will defend the poet’s freedom to write. 715 On this reading, the catalogue becomes important because it is Ovid’s way of telling Cotta “these are the ones you must protect.” On the other hand, Cotta has been getting closer to Tiberius, and we might read Ovid’s use of his name as a slight warning to the politician. Along these lines, Ovid’s decision to conjure Cotta’s genealogy is a deliberate strategy to summon his imagines before him, his ancestral masks. Ovid knows where Cotta has come from. If we read the passage poetically, emphasizing Cotta as Pieridum lumen, we can still argue for his role as a guardian of poets. But it is equally important, I think, to take Ovid’s declaration of Cotta as a poet seriously. In Pont. 3.5 he had called him a iuvenis. Now, in Pont. 4.16, he is the lumen. It is as if he has developed into a poet over the years that have gone by since the publication of Pont. 1-3. Cotta does not fit with the iuvenes in line 39 with their unedited work, but he also does not fit with the range of poets whom Ovid names. He has become a poet without Ovid beside him. We might suppose that he has been sending Ovid work and Ovid responding and advising. The second couplet of the quatrain is most intriguing. Ovid has just finished his catalogue in which each of the members had achieved a nomen in one way or another. They were responsible for their own reputations. Only Cotta gets his fame (or nobility) from his parents. He is famous for who his parents are. The chiastic structure of this adds to the effect; he (cui) is surrounded on either side by his parents; grammatically, he is the indirect object, the passive recipient. 715 The role of a guardian of poets is implied by the presence of Messalla, the father of Cotta. Messala Corvinus was a famous patron of the arts. See White 1993: 237. 339 Part Three The Stakes of Pont. 4.16 From the radical epigraph of the edited volume of the Amores to this poem, Ovid has continually developed his deliberate self-fashioning as a poet. 716 We have investigated some of these ways already in the start to this chapter. Now, I turn to the last lines Ovid writes about himself. dicere si fast est, claro mea nomine Musa atque inter tantos quae legeretur erat. ergo submotum patria proscindere, Livor, desine neu cineres sparge, cruente, meos! omnia perdidimus, tantummodo vita relicta est, praebeat ut sensum materiamque mali. 50 quid iuvat extinctos ferrum demittere in artus? non habet in nobis iam nova plaga locum. If it is right to speak, my muse had a famous name and she was read among the such poets. Therefore, bloody Livor, don’t cut one removed from the fatherland; don’t scatter my ashes! I [we] have lost everything. Only my life remains in order to provide the perception and substance of misery. What point is there to plunge a sword into dead limbs? Now there is no place in my body for a new wound. (Pont. 4.16.45-46) Ovid’s relationship with Livor extends back to the first lines of Am. 1.15: quid mihi, Livor edax, ignavos obicis annos, / ingeniique vocas carmen inertis opus; “why, consumptive Livor, are you insulting me with cowardly years and calling my song the work of inept genius?” (Am. 1.15.1-2). More pertinent, however, is the second appearance of Livor in that poem at the end: pascitur in vivis Livor; post fata quiescit; “Livor feeds on the living; after death there is quiet” 716 Martelli 2013: ch. 2. “Gemini amores: approaching the two editions.” Pp.32-67. Drawing on Genette’s ideas of the paratext, she argues that the preface is in reality already a postscript. Regardless of how one sides over the debate about the reality of a first edition, the first words one reads upon opening the first collection are about Ovid as a poet: qui modo Nasonis fueramus quinque libelli, / tres sumus; hoc ille praetulic auctor opus; “We who were formerly the five books of Naso are now three; The author prefers these to those” (Am. praef. 1-2). Ovid’s declaration of himself as auctor means that he has the auctoritas over his text. Ovid’s declaration of himself as auctor; literally one who enlarges is delightfully insouciant since he has actually decreased the size. 340 (Am. 1.15.39). This is four lines from the end of the poem. Hence, in Am. 1.15, Ovid framed the poem with an address to envy. In Pont. 4.16, he does the same thing, with Invide paired with Livor in an adaptation of the opening of the Amores. Invide, quid laceras Nasonis carmina rapti? non solet ingeniis summa nocere dies / famaque post cineres maior venit… “Jealous one, why are you slashing at the poems of swept-away Ovid? The last day doesn’t usually wound brilliance, and reputation becomes greater after one becomes ashes” Pont. 4.16.1-3). The echoes of the beginning and end of the Amores are clear. Am. 1.15.1-2, quid, carmina, ingenium, and 39, post fata~post cineres. The easy identification lends itself to brief comment rather than rigorous engagement. Ovid is distracting the reader with the easy reference so that he or she might not notice the dramatic change. In the Amores, Ovid said that rest came after death. Now, he says that there is no rest in death and a poet becomes a piece of carrion. It is crucial to understand Ovid’s ashes. He is not speaking literally about his cremation. Rather, we are to understand the ashes as a metaphor for the burning of his works. Only Ovid is allowed to do this. 717 But the threat to his poetic body remains. Livor may ruin his reputation; these are the blades being thrust into him. Reputation may increase after death, but reputation is also rumor and fama is not necessarily a good thing. Ovid’s last lines paint a picture of a paranoid literary culture. 718 This is a trajectory Ovid has been working out over time, and it might help to follow his hint. The last line is essentially a rewriting of something he wrote in Pont. 2. Listing his complaints, he summarized his Tomitan situation: sic ego continuo Fortunae vulneror ictu, / 717 multa quidem scripsi, sed, quae vitiosa putavi, / emendaturis ignibus ipse dedi. tunc quoque, cum fugerem, quaedam placitura cremavi; “indeed, much that I wrote which I thought garbage I myself put in the fire for revision. And when I fled, I cremated certain things that would have delighted” (Tr. 4.10.61-63). His fires are well fueled, c.f. Tr. 1.7.16 (Met.), 4.1.101-102 (random works composed in Tomis), 5.12.61-62 (works from Tomis). Sen. Contr. 10 praef. 7 calls book burning a “great savagery” (quanta…saevitia.). 718 Claassen 2008: 87 has suggested that Livor replaces Caesar and Livia as imperial prosecutors. I am more inclined to see Ovid pointing to a general atmosphere. I like her idea that we hear Livor in Livia. 341 vixque habet in nobis iam nova plaga locum; “so am I struck by the continual blows of Fortune, now there is scarcely a place in my body for a new wound” (Pont. 2.7.41-42). Ovid has changed that one small word, vix to non. And in doing so has marked the progression. His body is the battlefield upon which he has waged his poetic campaigns. He has endured all that he can. 719 The interweaving of politics and poetry is marked in the phrase dicere si fas est, which we previously saw in Pont. 4.8.55 (si fas est dicere) and Fasti 1.25 (si licet fas est, vates rege vatis habenas) both of which were addressed to Germanicus. By using this phrase to transition from Cotta to himself, he reminds the reader of Germanicus’ role in the poetry of this period. But it is also a rejection of him and only a slight hope in Cotta. Ovid, in these last lines, privileges the poet. He puts some hope in Cotta but does not rest upon it. Ovid’s dead limbs, extinctos…artus, are a quotation of an earlier moment in Tr. 3.9.31-32 (artus / dum legit extinctos) where Medea has cut up the limbs of her brother, Absyrtus, and scattered them to delay her father’s pursuit, since he must gather them up. legit here is polyvalent. On the one hand, it has its meaning of to pick up cremated remains. 720 But on the other, it means to read. The father is gathering the limbs and arranging them in order to create a recognizable image of his son. He is assembling a (literary) corpus. This is the image with which Pont. 4.16 ends. The poet begging that his body (physical and literary) not be scattered. “Do not stab my dead limbs” means, essentially, do not cut up my work so it is unrecognizable. It is a powerful stance for the poet of Pont. 4 to end on, but it fits my argument well that he has organized this poetry book and hopes for its survival. 719 The line has an interesting afterlife. It gets adapted by an anonymous poet (or Archias) in the Greek Anthology: Ὁπλίζευ, Κύπρι, τόξα καὶ εἰς σκοπὸν ἥσυχος ἐλθὲ / ἄλλον· ἐγὼ γὰρ ἔχω τραύματος οὐδὲ τόπον. “Cypris, take your bow and go in silence to another target, for I do not have space for the wound” (Anth. Pal. 5.98). 720 OLD s.v. lego 1b. 342 Epilogue In the 1960s, while exiled in Norenskaia in northern Russia, Joseph Brodsky wrote two poems on Ovidian themes that were never published. The second of these he had tentatively titled “Ex Ponto: The Last Letter of Ovid to Rome.” 721 To you, whose pretty features perhaps do not fear fading, into my Rome, which, like you, has not changed, since our last meeting, I am writing from sea. From sea. The ships Strive to these shores after a storm in order to prove that this is the edge of the earth and in their holds there is not freedom. 722 There is something doubly poignant in the fact that this poem was never published by Brodsky. It is, thus, a poem from exile that fits the impression so many have of the poems in Pont. 4, namely, that they are collected after his death and put together for posthumous publication, an impression this dissertation has sought to counter. For the translator of the poem, Zara Torlone, the poem is bleak: Brodsky established concisely what he had in common with the ancient poet: his abandoned beloved whose features haunted him, the city as a metaphor for that beloved, the proximity of the sea, and his feelings about being on ‘the edge of the earth’ [line 7]. The last line of the poem was especially striking; it stood independently and in juxtaposition to the whole poem revealing Brodsky’s conviction about the futility of any journey in pursuit of happiness or freedom. 723 I think more can be said about this poem especially given Brodsky’s subtitle “The Last letter of Ovid to Rome.” Brodsky is taking up the mantle of Ovid. He is continuing the earlier poet’s project, a notion implied in the unchanging quality of Rome. Rome stands in for whatever 721 Torlone 2009: 176. 722 Trans. Torlone 2009: 178. She also provides the transliterated Russian. 723 Torlone 2009: 178. In the Russian, but not in the translation; the last line truly does stand apart because there is a full stop after line 7 and the eighth line stands as its own sentence. 343 land an exile has lost. Similar is the unnamed friend. Unlike Ovid’s unnamed recipients, often so lest he reveal them or give them inadvertent fame, Brodsky’s unnamed recipient does not age. It is the person who will forever be awaiting the letter of the exilic persona, whoever that person is and whenever that poem will be written. Brodsky’s poem ends with the image of the ships coming to the shores “in order to prove that this is the edge of the earth,” but Tomis was only the first edge of the earth, the first periphery. After Ovid, others will find new ends. And while in these ships, the holds have no freedom, the last word is freedom [свободы; svobody], and it will always be found at the conclusion even if, as is implied by Ovid’s poem, that freedom is only in death. The death of Ovid marks a watershed: the end of Augustan literature. Due to the vicissitudes of fortune, it is a death that gains periodizing force from the fact that we have lost most of Ovid’s inheritors, the poets who wrote under Tiberius, Caligula, and Claudius. He becomes the monumental figure on one side of the valley of poetic creation until the time of Nero; although the literary florescence under Nero may very well be overemphasized. If we read Ovid generously, as I have sought to do, we find a poet who not only needs a reader, he needs fellow poets to be writing. And in this, he has been very lucky indeed, although many of these poets do not appear to be his immediate peers. This leads to a claim made by those who doubt his exile: if he went, others would mention it. 724 Some have, in fact, found Ovidian echoes in later poets. 725 There are a number of reasons for someone to remain silent about Ovid’s 724 See the summary in Tissol 2014: 14 “Fitton Brown’s case…is partly based on a historical argument from silence—later historians such as Tacitus, Suetonius and Dio never mention Ovid’s exile though they might be expected to do so.” 725 Tissol 2014: 25-27 is the first to consider this somewhat systematically. He finds that Severus imitates Pont. 1.2; Seneca the Younger de Providentia 1 is based on Ovid (Dial. 1.14), other moments are in de Ben. and Epist. 81. He also notes that Anth. Lat. 415 (about spex fallax) comes from Ovid. Most interesting are the instances in Pliny the Younger, especially the idea that the letters are random (Epist. 1.1.2, Pont. 3.9.53). Ovidian reminiscences have been explored in the Carmina Latina Epigraphica by Wheeler 2004-2005: 17-26. 344 relegation, particularly a fear that it might rebound upon them. But the relative lack of reference to his exile poetry does not stop people from talking about Ovid entirely. He has not suffered a damnatio memoriae, as his works are too famous for that. This leads to one of the great peculiarities one finds in the first historian of the Tiberian age, Velleius Paterculus. This hardline Tiberian partisan includes Ovid’s name in a list of poets. Paene stulta est inhaerentium oculis ingeniorum enumeratio, inter quae maxime nostri aevi eminent princeps carminum Vergilius Rabiriusque et consecutus Sallustium Livius Tibullusque et Naso, perfectissimi in forma operis sui; nam vivorum ut magna admiratio, ita censura diffcilis est. It is almost idiotic to make a list of the geniuses still before our eyes, among whom the greatest of our age are the Princeps of poetry, Vergil, and Rabirius, Livius who followed Sallust, Tibullus and Naso—the best in the beauty of their work. But it is difficult to judge how great the admiration is for the living. (Vell. Pat. 2.36.3) The list is peculiar, to say the least, with Rabirius’ inclusion and Tibullus rather than Horace and Propertius. This may reflect Velleius’ use of other sources rather than his own opinion, or (unlikely) this is the point of view of a connoisseur. Similarly, naming Ovid during Tiberius’ reign (Book 2 goes up until 29 BCE) seems strange. Also, what genre does he consider Ovid’s best? It may be love elegy, but Tibullus covers that. It may be the Heroides. But we are left with the possibility that it may be didactic elegy, the Ars Amatoria, the texts Ovid claims caused his exile. We can never come close enough to the time period and the authors in question to find precise answers to these challenges, and my dissertation has not been about such answers. I have, rather, attempted to argue for a multiplicity of readings, and, while I have often pushed the limits of persuasion, I hope I was, at the very least, consistent. 345 Throughout this dissertation, I have argued for a twinned effect of Pont. 4 of poetry and politics. It is a reflection upon the contemporary political situation of the death of Augustus and the development of a political dynasty. Simultaneously, Ovid develops a more theoretical approach to poetics than he had previously. These topics are not separate but carefully interwoven. In the end, Ovid leaves us with an image of the poet without room in his body to receive another wound, but there are other poets who will come after him to bear future wounds, whose bodies (physical and poetic) will be the memorials to their age. My chapters have been interlocked in a superficial nod to the organization of the Augustan poetry book. They are not sequential. My first programmatically defended the poetic tradition in which Pont. 4 takes part, namely, the Augustan poetry book. Chapters two and three explored the political and social worlds that Pont. 4 reveals by looking at consuls and warriors, equestrian and elite women, and the world they inhabited around 14 CE. Chapters four and five explored the poetic themes in Pont. 4, especially the way in which Ovid abandons the primus- language of his Augustan predecessors and gives poetic production a more communal importance even as he imbues it with a new sacrality. All of this culminates in the audacity of Pont. 4.16 when Ovid writes the longest list of contemporary poets that Rome has (or will) see. Looking forward, this dissertation lays the groundwork for future research on literary production under Tiberius, Caligula, and Claudius. 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Abstract (if available)

Abstract This dissertation offers a literary, historical, and cultural analysis of Ovid’s “Epistulae ex Ponto” IV. This book of poetry has largely been overlooked by scholars of Ovid and historians of the Augustan age. By bringing attention to it, I show how crucial it is to our understanding of Roman poetic practices during the transition from Augustus’ political experiment of the Principate to dynastic imperial politics with the ascension of Tiberius to the throne. I offer substantial analysis of all sixteen poems in the collection from a variety of angles, especially, philological, historical, biographical, and feminist. In chapter one, I situate “ex Ponto” IV in the history of the Roman poetry book. I focus especially on how Ovid has modeled his book on the fourth books of his predecessors Propertius and Horace. I argue against the scholarly opinion that the book was not organized by Ovid. In chapter two, I examine the historical period of the book and inquire into Ovid’s explicit attention to Augustus’ death and the ambiguities around his celebration of the consulship of Sextus Pompeius in 14 CE. I show that the book is deeply invested in questions of inheritance and dynastic politics. Chapter three considers the portrayal of women in Ovid’s exile and stems from the curious fact that his wife does not appear in book four. I argue that Ovid had attempted to use his wife to access an unspoken network of women who were close to powerful men. He had thought that she could help get him recalled from exile. After the death of Augustus, though, Ovid distances himself and his wife from Livia because of her uncertain role in Tiberius’ reign. Chapter four looks at Ovid’s late interest in the Temple of Hercules Musarum and poetic communities in general. How, these poems ask, are poets meant to maintain a community when their members can be exiled? My last chapter is an extended study of “ex Ponto” 4.16. It considers the nature of Ovid’s catalogues throughout his poetry, especially catalogues of proper names. I particularly discuss his bold decision to put the names of living poets in the list, a phenomenon he had only ever reserved for himself.

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Creator Lehmann, Christian (author)

Core Title The end of Augustan literature: Ovid's Epistulae ex Ponto IV

School College of Letters, Arts and Sciences

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program Classics

Publication Date 08/07/2018

Defense Date 04/04/2018

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag exile,Latin,OAI-PMH Harvest,Ovid,Poetry,politics,Tiberius

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Language English

Contributor Electronically uploaded by the author (provenance)

Advisor Boyle, Anthony (committee chair), James, Heather (committee member), Rebeggiani, Stefano (committee member)

Creator Email clehmann@usc.edu,lehmanns.terms@gmail.com

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c89-58436

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