by Horace
Since, however, that manner is one of sophisticated variety, it does not lend itself easily to generalization. For example, are the epistles of Book I (published in 19 BC) ‘real letters’? Some critics believe they are; others hold that they are rather thoughts or recommendations cast in an epistolary form; others again maintain that they are both private letters and general reflections. Each of these positions tends to assume that all the pieces satisfy the same criteria. Yet this is not the case. In Epistles I. 3, for instance, Horace asks Julius Florus various questions about himself and his friends, and looks forward to receiving an answer; Epistles I. 8 contains a specific message for Celsus Albinovanus (‘Don’t let success go to your head’); in Epistles I. 9 the situation is less straightforward. (Presumably Horace had in some way recommended Septimius to Tiberius, but the epistle itself, which is mainly about Horace’s scruples, can hardly constitute the original recommendation.) And in Epistles I. 6 we have a causerie on peace of mind, which begins ‘Dear Numicius’ and ends with a brief farewell.
But we cannot stop here, for we have not decided what the criteria of a ‘real letter’ actually are. To illustrate the difficulty let us put four questions: (1) Were the epistles addressed to real people? (2) Were they spontaneous? (3) Was their primary purpose to communicate with the recipient (conveying statement, question or command)? (4) Were they actually sent? The answers, crudely, are as follows: (1) Yes, if we allow that I. 20 is ultimately meant for the Sosii (as I. 13 is ultimately meant for Augustus). (2) No. They are highly finished poems, and such objects take time to construct. (But are ‘real letters’ always spontaneous?) (3) In some cases probably yes, in others certainly no. (But don’t we sometimes write ‘real letters’ in the hope of clearing our own minds of some intellectual or personal problem?) (4) We cannot be sure, but it is reasonable to believe that most of them were. At least we should not assume that because an epistle is largely general (like I. 6) it could not have been sent. Educated Romans enjoyed discussing ethical questions more than we do.
So as usual the question of reality is obscure and difficult. But luckily our enjoyment of the poems does not depend on the answer. Nor need we trouble overmuch about the book’s structure and arrangement. It is true that if we regard no. 20 as an epilogue (as it is), then the collection is framed by nos. 1 and 19, addressed to Maecenas, and by nos. 2 and 18, addressed to Lollius; we can also see that the regularly spaced 7 and 13 are intended for Maecenas and Augustus respectively, and that the central piece (no. 10) is addressed to Aristius Fuscus – friend, critic, schoolmaster, and a man of no political importance. But on the whole very little emerges when the epistles are laid side by side like bricks. It is much more illuminating to see them as forming a web of interrelated ideas. The reader will identify several of the strands for himself; but to get some conception of the book’s full richness and complexity he should consult the chapter entitled ‘The Texture of Argument’ in M. J. McGann, Studies in Horace’s First Book of Epistles, Bruxelles, 1969.
McGann has also written the best guide to Epistles II. 2.5 This long poem, composed in 19 or 18 BC, takes the form of an elaborate excuse for not supplying the lyrics which Julius Florus had expected: I was always lazy and never pretended to be anything else; nowadays I’m comfortably off and don’t need the money; Rome is impossible – the noise is appalling, and I dislike the mutual congratulation of the literary set; writing poetry is hard work – not just a pleasant pastime for amateurs; and anyhow at my age one becomes interested in more serious matters, like philosophy. Within this framework there are passages of great vividness and diversity, including autobiography, complaints about city life, and amusing stories like those about Lucullus’ soldier and the lunatic from Argos. Pope’s Imitation is well worth reading. It is not an antiquarian exercise, but an eighteenth-century poem in its own right, and English commentators have noted a number of brilliant gains vis-à-vis the original. But there were losses too, as Pope would have been the first to admit.
Odes IV, published in 13 BC has an autumnal quality. Virgil and Cinara are dead; Phyllis will be the last of Horace’s loves; though not forgotten (11. 17–20), Maecenas is not addressed; he has now little political influence. New stars are rising – Tiberius and Drusus, Iullus Antonius, Paulus Fabius Maximus; Horace wishes them well, but they are not of his generation. Yet there is no bitterness; on the contrary Horace enjoys recognition, and his loyalty to Augustus – the ruler who had made it possible for his talent to ripen in peace – is undiminished.
In writing that book Horace had broken his resolution to give up lyric poetry (Epistles I. 1. 10, reaffirmed in Epistles II. 2), a change of mind referred to in Epistles II. 1. 111–12. The same poem speaks of the religious honours being paid to Augustus (15–16) – honours which probably began in 12 BC when he became Pontifex Maximus. So the epistle seems to have appeared in that year. According to Suetonius it was prompted by Augustus, who after reading certain hexameter poems (doubtless epistles, but we do not know exactly which) complained that Horace had not addressed him. Here then we have a long epistle on a topic of general interest, viz. the position of the poet in contemporary society, but which has at the same time cleverly twisted into its fabric three substantial sections devoted to Augustus himself (1–19, 214–28, 245–70). In addition, the subject-matter is, as always, selected, shaped, and presented so as to express the poet’s own point of view:
It makes me annoyed that a thing should be faulted, not for being
crudely or clumsily made, but simply for being recent,
and that praise and prizes should be asked for the old, instead of forbearance.
Because Horace is now a classic, it is easy to forget that in his own day he was not just a modern poet but also a daring innovator who had to win acceptance in the face of conservative taste.
The work referred to by Quintilian (VIII. 3. 60) as the Ars Poetica was probably addressed to Lucius Calpurnius Piso (the Pontifex) and his sons in 10 BC (See pp. 20 – 21 of my commentary.) The greater detachment from contemporary controversies also suggests that it came after rather than before Epistles II. 1. Apart from the date, there are two other long-standing problems about the Ars Poetica, namely its structure and its relevance. Is there, as many have thought, a division between ars (1–294) and artifex (295–476)? Should we go further and subdivide ars into poema (style) and poesis (content)? Advocates of this idea point out that the same three terms were used by Neoptolemus of Parium (a scholar-poet of the third century BC) and that, according to Porphyrion (a commentator of the third century AD), Horace ‘gathered together the precepts of Neoptolemus of Parium on the art of poetry, admittedly not all, but the most significant’. But can we be sure that poema and poesis had these functions in Neoptolemus? And what degree of precision can be attributed to Porphyrion? This controversy can best be studied in the books of Brink and Williams (see Bibliography). Here one need only remark that if Horace took over this tripartite scheme (as he may well have done), he so blurred the lines of demarcation that the separate parts were no longer plainly apparent to his readers. And so the scheme as such can hardly have been of central importance.
The question of relevance arises in connection with the passages on tragedy, comedy, and satyr-drama. Was Horace hoping to encourage and assist some budding playwrights? If so, one wonders how vital new dramatic writing was under Augustus, and whether someone was really thinking of attempting a satyr play. Unfortunately the evidence is frustratingly slender.6 But perhaps it is wrong to imagine that Horace was addressing himself to any actual situation. In that case he would have written about drama because, since the time of Aristotle, that had been a central area of critical concern, and because the subject provided topics for satire, moral affirmation, and general reflections on life. This may be the right approach, but if so we must acknowledge that the Ars Poetica has no unity of intent; for several other sections of the poem are clearly related to Roman literary life. Again, however, our enjoyment of the work does not depend on
possessing the right answer to this problem. Whatever view we adopt, we can appreciate that the Ars Poetica covers an immense historical scope, and has exercised a powerful influence on European literary theory. It handles a variety of topics with lightness, humour, and good sense; and as no one had ever written a poem on poetics it remains a work of impressive originality.
When he died in November, 8 BC, only two months after Maecenas, Horace had completed what he himself had earlier referred to as ‘a monument more lasting than bronze’. Yet when we hear his name we don’t really think of a monument. We think rather of a voice which varies in tone and resonance but is always recognizable, and which by its unsentimental humanity evokes a very special blend of liking and respect.
PERSIUS
On 4 December AD 34, almost a century after Horace’s birth, another, very different, Flaccus was born. This was Aules Persius Flaccus, and his birthplace was the Etruscan town of Volaterrae. He himself was a knight and he had a number of senators among his relatives and friends. So it is not wholly surprising to learn from his ancient biography that he left a sum of two million sesterces on his death.7 Persius went to school at Volaterrae until the age of eleven. Then he moved to Rome where he was taught language and literature by the brilliant but dissolute Remmius Palaemon, and then public speaking by Verginius Flavus. Finally, when he was sixteen, he came under the influence of the Stoic Cornutus, a freedman from the household of Seneca. Dramatist, scholar, and thinker, Cornutus was a man of real intellectual distinction. He did a great deal to assist the development of the young Persius, who had lost his father at the age of six; and in the fifth satire he is warmly thanked for his kindness. When Persius died, aged only twenty-seven, Cornutus advised his mother to suppress his juvenilia, which included a tragedy and (apparently) a collection of travel poems. But he arranged for the Satires to be edited for publication by the poet Caesius Bassus, a friend addressed in no. 6.
We are told that when they appeared the Satires caused a lot of interest – largely, no doubt, among the intelligentsia. They were praised by Lucan, Quintilian, and Martial,8 and their combination of high-mindedness and stylistic peculiarity ensured their survival among theologians and scholars of the middle ages. The date of the first edition (Rome, 1470) put the Satires among the earliest printed works. In the last five hundred years they have been read in sixty translations, and their influence has been out of all proportion to their size.
There are only six poems and a prologue, containing in all less than seven hundred lines. The range of illustrative material is correspondingly limited. We hear of contemporary poetry and the audiences for whom it catered at dinner-parties, recitals, and theatre performances. There are several passages about schoolboys and students; and a number of references to special skills, e.g., pottery, agriculture, navigation, and especially medicine. Attacks are made on anti-Greek prejudice and on ignorant misconceptions of religion. Some use is made of Greek characters (e.g., Socrates and Alcibiades), and there is an excerpt from a scene of Menander. A few references are made to Roman public life – e.g., court scenes, ceremonies of manumission, triumphal processions and shows. So there is, if you like, a certain degree of variety; but the area of interest is much smaller than Horace’s and minute in comparison with that of Lucilius.
All this would not prove that Persius lived a quiet life, but that is certainly the impression given in his biography. We hear of no military exploits, no perils by sea, no commercial or erotic adventures. On the contrary we are told that the poet had a very gentle disposition and a young girl’s modesty. He was handsome, good, clean-living, and devoted to his female relatives. Much of his time seems to have been spent in talking and thinking about philosophy. On his death he left Cornutus seven hundred volumes on Stoicism.
Yet although Persius did not seek a wide range of experience it does not follow that the whole of his life was sheltered and secure. He may have run considerable risks by writing as he did. This is a rather debatable question, but as it has a bearing on our assessment of the Satires we must consider the more important pieces of evidence.
First, the poet’s family connections. Persius was related to Arria, the wife of Thrasea Paetus, and to her even more famous mother. The elder Arria’s husband, Caecina Paetus, had taken part in an abortive plot against the Emperor Claudius. When he was sentenced she showed him how to die by stabbing herself and then handing him the sword saying ‘It doesn’t hurt, Paetus’ (Pliny, 3. 16). We know that as a boy Persius had written verses on her bravery.
More important, Persius was a friend of Thrasea Paetus for ten years and occasionally accompanied him on journeys abroad. Thrasea belonged to a senatorial family from Padua, an area with a strong sense of the past. Significantly he wrote a book on Cato, who in imperial times represented the essence of the old republican spirit. Thrasea was also a Stoic. This must have had some bearing on his political attitude; for although in theory Stoics favoured monarchy if the monarch was a good man, it soon became clear that Nero was the very antithesis of the Stoic ideal. At first Thrasea tried to cooperate. He held the consulship in AD 56. But after that he became more and more disenchanted. In AD 59 Nero had his mother murdered. The senate, with its usual servility, was giving thanks for the Emperor’s lucky escape when Thrasea walked out in disgust. He deplored the growing frivolity and licentiousness of court life, and did not conceal his contempt for the musical and theatrical performances in which Nero took part. In AD 62 he opposed the death penalty in the case of a man who had written abusive verses about Nero, and he further annoyed the Emperor by securing the abolition of automatic votes of thanks to provincial governors. All this happened before Persius’ death in November, AD 62. Shortly after, Thrasea withdrew from public life, but this did not save him from being executed in AD 66 on a charge of treason.
In the spring of AD 65, less than three years after the death of Persius, there was an unsuccessful plot against Nero. In the ensuing purge many famous men perished, including Seneca, who was acquainted with Persius, and Lucan, who had been a fellow student. Others were driven into exile, notably Persius’ former teachers, Verginius Flavus and Cornutus. Had the poet himself been alive he could hardly have escaped. It would be naïve to plead that his poetry did not constitute a political act. In an autocracy anything that offends the dictator is a political act, and some passages of Persius could certainly have given offence.
Before considering what they were we should recall that among the various kinds of poetry being written at the time were Latin versions of the Iliad, tragedy (by Seneca), pastoral (by Calpurnius), elegy (by Cocceius Nerva), and miscellaneous compositions by Lucan. In many cases the authors were known personally to Nero. Tacitus (Annals 14. 16) says that some of the minor talents would have dinner with the Emperor and then spend the evening reading poetry to each other and improvising verses together. Nero’s own compositions included an epic on Troy in more than one book, a piece on Attis and another on the Bacchanals which he recited accompanying himself on the lyre, and various minor poems, some erotic, some satiric. He was insatiable in his desire for applause and could be highly sensitive to adverse criticism (Suetonius, Nero 25).9
Now in the first satire we find adverse comment on a Latin version of the Iliad, on tragedy, elegy, epyllia, and romantic epic. Scorn is directed at the recitations and improvisations of wealthy Romans around the dinner-table. And particular reference is made to drivel written about Attis and the Bacchanals. In view of these facts it seems rather perverse to deny that the Emperor and his friends could have been included in Persius’ condemnation. On the other hand, it is going too far to suggest that Nero was singled out for ridicule and that the whole satire focuses on him. It is not certain that the verses quoted in I. 93 ff. and 99 ff. were written by Nero himself, and even if they were that would not alter the fact that the satire was meant to have a general application. This is also the main objection to the story that at v. 121 Persius actually wrote auriculas asini Mida rex habet – ‘King Midas has an
ass’s ears’, and that Cornutus changed Mida rex to quis non to avoid offending Nero. The story is more likely to have arisen from the presence of the words Mida rex as a marginal gloss on v. 121.
We shall therefore confine ourselves to believing that in Satires I Persius attacked various kinds of poetry which were being written by wealthy dilettanti, including Nero and his circle. If this is true, then the satire was quite a daring piece of work, even though it wasn’t published in the poet’s lifetime.
Persius was the most doctrinaire of the Roman satirists in that he kept more closely than the others to a single philosophical school. In the first satire (123–4) he speaks highly of the Greek fifth-century comedy because it castigated folly, but he despises the romantic sentimental verse written in Alexandria and imitated by Catullus, Ovid, and their successors. He also dislikes the bombastic rhetoric of Roman tragedy. These opinions are in line with the Stoic view that poetry should above all have a moral function. The Stoics also held that if a man had one vice it affected his whole nature. Hence a degenerate character would manifest itself in degenerate literary tastes. The belief that the style is the man receives its classic statement in Seneca’s 114th letter.
The positive Stoic conviction underlying Satires 2 is that the true object of prayer is to align one’s own will with that of God. This purpose is commonly frustrated by the frivolous desires of the flesh (62–7).
The first half of Satires 3 reminds us of the emphasis which the Stoics placed on the education of the will. In 66 ff. we are told how the fundamental questions about life are answered by philosophy – a theme which has many parallels in Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. And the final section, from v. 88 on, employs the Stoic metaphor of the philosopher as doctor of the soul. Seneca and Epictetus also insist that constant self-examination is necessary if one is to make any progress towards virtue. That is the central message of Satires 4.
