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NARRATIVE AND CLOSURE IN FRONTO’S EPISTVLAE AD MARCVM CAESAREM ET INVICEM BOOK 5

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  18 February 2025

Mary K. Anastasi Open the ORCID record for Mary K. Anastasi [Opens in a new window]
Mary K. Anastasi*
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University of California, Los Angeles
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mkanastasi@g.ucla.edu
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Abstract

This paper argues that the unknown editor of Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem arranged the letters in their non-chronological order so as to create a work that is essentially historical fiction, providing the reader with a romanticized version of the early life of Marcus Aurelius, a Marcopaedia of sorts or even a quasi-prequel to the Meditations. The paper demonstrates that the anomalous Book 5—full of shorter, less elaborate letters—can be read not only as an appendix composed of leftover letters but also as a part of the broader narrative. Book 5 creates a sense of closure to the epistolary fiction created by the editor. In particular, this article focusses on the recurrent motif of Fronto’s health; the frequent references to Fronto’s illness work in a metaliterary fashion to signal the impending conclusion of the work, creating a sense of resolution for the health/sickness letters appearing in Books 1–4. The sickness/health topic also connects to certain philosophical topoi regarding death, illness and consolation—a connection that is appropriate in light of the young Marcus’ burgeoning interest in philosophy.

Keywords

FrontoMarcus AureliusepistolographySecond Sophisticnarratologyfriendshipclosure

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Type
Research Article
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The Classical Quarterly , Volume 74 , Issue 2 , December 2024 , pp. 661 - 676
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Copyright
© The Author(s), 2025. Published by Cambridge University Press on behalf of The Classical Association

INTRODUCTION: STARTING FROM THE END OF THE LETTER-BOOK

The collected letters of Roman orator Fronto and his most illustrious student, future Emperor Marcus Aurelius, could be considered captivating for a variety of reasons: the intimate look into Marcus’ early life and relationship with his teacher, the numerous examples of Fronto’s elaborate rhetorical style, or even the simple fascination of reading personal letters made public.Footnote 1 Not unlike Plato’s Socrates, who allegedly loved only philosophy and Alcibiades, ‘two passions run through Fronto’s life as they do his letters: an obsession with rhetorical culture and a love for Marcus Aurelius’.Footnote 2 This is certainly true for the first four books of the collection, which indicate a deep friendship.Footnote 3 The final book of the collection, however, presents an anomaly: gone are the long, flowery letters, and in their place the reader finds instead a long series of short communications that are rather undetailed compared to the letters of the prior four books.Footnote 4 Two interpretative questions come to the fore in reading Book 5: first, how the reader ought to approach this strange series of short letters; and second, how Book 5 provides a sense of closure to the greater collection of early letters. I will address the questions Book 5 raises in the following sections: first, some context and explanation of the structure of the collection; second, a discussion of Fronto’s health, a recurrent and therefore especially illustrative motif both in Book 5 and in the greater collection; third, a discussion of the final letter of the collection and how it creates a sense of closure for the reader; and finally, some concluding thoughts reflecting on the narrative impact of Book 5 as a whole.

The reappearance of specific motifs from the earlier part of the collection—not only rhetoric, illness, requests and congratulations but also birthday wishes, family dynamics and nostalgia—continues many themes from the rest of the collection, providing a sense of culmination to the work while simultaneously challenging the idea of what an ending is.Footnote 5 Despite the appearance of randomness or disorder, I argue that the editor of the collection has given some attention to the ordering not only of the letters in Books 1–4 but also of Book 5. Book 5 has two functions. First, the short and unadorned letters create the impression that Fronto and Marcus’ relationship has evolved to become less intense from an emotional standpoint, signalling Marcus’ transition away from being a student and into an adult who is soon to be emperor.Footnote 6 Second, the book provides the reader with a sense of closure by picking back up the themes and motifs from the earlier part of the collection. The final letter acts as a return to the tone of the earlier books, punctuating the collection and driving home the point that the five books must be read as a unified whole. It is not simply a letter ‘of some interest’, as M.P.J. van den Hout suggests.Footnote 7 Instead, it actually creates a ring structure both with the beginning of Book 5 and with the beginning of the letter collection as a whole.Footnote 8 Indeed, the narrative structure of Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem is a cyclical one.

There are several narrative subplots in Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem. Overarching is the narrative of the relationship of Marcus and Fronto, which builds over the first four books; in letter 4.13, the final letter of Book 4, Marcus declares that he is done with studying rhetoric and will focus on philosophy, which feels like the end of their close friendship after letter 4.12, in which Fronto describes his tendency to badmouth Marcus in front of other people even though he can never abide to hear others do the same.Footnote 9 These two letters are chronologically unconnected and probably had nothing to do with one another, but when paired in this way create an epistolary narrative. The comparatively terse letters of Book 5 create the illusion of an ‘aftermath’ to this ‘conflict’ while simultaneously tying together some of the narrative strands from the rest of the collection and therefore providing a conclusion that is satisfying to the reader.

BOOK 5 IN CONTEXT: THE STRUCTURE OF AD M. CAESAREM ET INVICEM

Some further context is required to understand the structure of the Fronto letters. Mary Beard urges that we read ancient letters in their ‘book order’ as originally edited in antiquity, as opposed to reordering letters chronologically.Footnote 10 Before looking more closely at Fronto’s letters, however, it is important to be aware that the ‘book order’ of the Fronto manuscript is a complex matter.Footnote 11 Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem is preserved in two halves of a palimpsest codex, the Ambrosian volume and the Vatican volume; altogether, we probably have around four-sevenths of the total Fronto collection.Footnote 12 Moreover, the ordering of the leaves can never be certain. The collection’s most recent editor, M.P.J. van den Hout, issued a revised version of the text in 1988 based on new research, although he never saw the manuscript himself. His edition is, to date, the best option available.Footnote 13 The presence of tables of contents for Books 4 and 5 does allow for confidence with regard to the number and order of letters in those two books.Footnote 14

Moreover, the lacunae in the collection and the question of the intentionality behind the editing of the collection are not the only things that make this text so puzzling to read. The structure is itself unusual and reflects a unique editorial perspective: the collection is not arranged in chronological order, but instead stages letters in pairs of communication-and-reply.Footnote 15 The reply letter, however, is often not the actual response, but is rather only presented as the reply, unconnected from a chronological standpoint.Footnote 16 This feature is not found in any other Graeco-Roman letter collection. A comprehensive read-through of all the letters of Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem reveals that the order of the letters is significant, and I suggest that the editor was working to further a specific creative vision: to select and arrange letters carefully so as to tell a story about the close and evolving relationship between Marcus and Fronto, as well as Marcus’ gradual transition from eager student to future emperor.Footnote 17 Because the editor has chosen the longest and most emotional letters for Books 1–4, and because the letters have not strictly been organized in chronological order, this collection can best be thought of as a work of historical fiction, despite the fact that Fronto and Marcus clearly felt true affection for one another, since they did in fact compose letters containing such emotional depth.Footnote 18 There are obviously different ways to interpret the specificities of this affection. A close reading of the collection with an eye to the arrangement of the letters reveals that it can be read for narrative, plot and design, not simply as a compilation of communications—which means that readers are free to interpret the particulars of Fronto and Marcus’ relationship as they wish.Footnote 19 Perhaps the most straightforward way to describe the relationship that the editor constructs is that it resembles the relationship that Socrates had with his students, and indeed such a reading would allow the work to also be seen as a ‘Prince’s Mirror’ or even a Marcopaedia, a quasi-prequel for fans of the Meditations.Footnote 20 Additionally, we can see in the dialogue between Fronto and Marcus the development of certain themes that also resonated with philosophical authors: in this case, the persistent topics of bearing death, disease and distress with equanimity make a connection to Marcus’ developing interests in Stoicism, and the work might therefore hold additional significance for readers of the Meditations.Footnote 21

Van den Hout describes Book 5 as an ‘appendix’ to the collection, in which ‘the ancient editor has collected shorter letters on various subjects, such as illness, rhetoric, congratulations, requests etc … Fronto himself would never have published such letters’.Footnote 22 Book 5 picks up on motifs that have already appeared in the previous books, like an appendix, but its relationship to the prior books is stronger than that of an appendix.

THE FINAL(?) WORD ON FRONTO’S HEALTH

Although Book 5 connects back to a variety of topics from Book 1, I will focus on one particular topic that takes up approximately half the book and nicely illustrates the role that Book 5 plays in relation to the others: the health of Marcus and Fronto.Footnote 23 Indeed, the subject of sickness/health is something of a leitmotif for the Fronto letters.Footnote 24 But Fronto’s ongoing health problems are only one part of Book 5, just as they are only one part of the collection. Of the sixty extant letters in Book 5, thirty-one letters (22; 25–36; 39–40; 44–6; 55–6; 59–66, 69–73) deal with the health of Marcus and Fronto; judging from the incipits of the lost letters (5–19), several of them dealt with health matters too.Footnote 25 Interspersed among these are letters dealing with other topics (homework and rhetoric: 1–4, 37–8, 41–3, 74; family matters: 21, 23–34, 53–4, 57, 67–8; letters of recommendation: 49–52; birthday letters: 47–8, 58, 69). In the fictional world the collection creates, health is not simply health but rather a means of fostering a closer connection between two interlocutors. In the context of Book 5, the health-related letters both remind the reader of letters past and gesture to the fact that the letter-book is quickly coming to a close, as they point to the end of Fronto’s life from both a biological and a narrative standpoint. Moreover, death and illness are philosophical concerns as well, and if we accept this collection as a sort of Marcopaedia, we can see ties between this work and Marcus’ burgeoning philosophical interests.

We can take letter 1.2 as an example of the type of letter that characterizes the health-related letters of the earlier part of the collection, although there are more like it. Marcus writes (1.2.1):

quid ego ista mea fortuna satis dixerim uel quo modo istam necessitatem meam durissimam condigne incusauero, quae me istic ita animo anxio tantaque sollicitudine praepedito alligatum attinet neque me sinit ad meum Frontonem, ad meam pulcherrimam animam confestim percurrere, praesertim in huiusmodi eius ualetudine propius uidere, manus tenere, ipsum denique illum pedem, quantum sine incommodo fieri possit, adtrectare sensim, in balneo fouere, ingredienti manum subicere?Footnote 26

What would I say sufficiently, with that fortune of mine being what it is, or in what way would I rightfully find fault with that hardest necessity of mine, which holds me here in this way, bound, with my mind anxious and having been shackled with so great a worry, and does not allow me to immediately hurry to my Fronto, to my most beautiful soul, to go see him up close when he’s so sick, to hold his hands, and finally to gently handle that foot of his, as much as I can without hurting him, to foment it in the bath, to prop my hand under him as he is walking along?

Fronto’s various ailments that appear in the earlier books reflect what Maud Gleason calls the ‘askēsis culture’ of the Imperial period, in which hypochondria was prevalent and even fashionable.Footnote 27 In letter 1.2, for instance, there never seems to be doubt that Fronto will soon become well again, and his poor health provides a pretext for Marcus and Fronto becoming closer to one another. In Book 5, however, the sense of expansive dialogue is mostly absent because of the lack of longer letters. More specifically, letters 5.27–5.33 best reflect what Annelise Freisenbruch refers to as Fronto and Marcus’ ‘diseased dialogue’.Footnote 28 Letters 5.27 and 5.28 are a pair.Footnote 29 Fronto writes: quomodo manseris, domine, scire cupio. ego ceruicum dolore arreptus sum. uale, domine. dominam saluta (‘My lord, I desire to know how you spent the night. I was seized by a pain in my neck. Farewell, my lord. Say hello to the lady’, 5.27). The following letter from Marcus gives an update on his own health while expressing concern for Fronto’s (5.28). He uses exactly the same phrase: ‘seized by a pain in the neck’. The tone of much of Book 5 is much terser than that of Books 1–4, an effect created purely by the arrangement of the letters; if the letters of Book 5 were interspersed with the letters of Books 1–4, the effect would be quite different. The editor’s choice to include these letters following the close of Book 4, in which Marcus puts an end to his study of rhetoric, makes it seem as though Fronto and Marcus have become less close with one another, even though the real-life chronology of letters such as 1.2 and 5.28 is unclear.

Letter 5.29 also deploys the same type of phrase as 5.28, bolstering the slightly overwhelming effect of sameness and repetition in the letter-book. Here, Fronto again suffers from neck pain: ceruicum, domine, dolore graui sum correptus, de pede dolor decessit. uale, domine optime, dominam saluta (‘My lord, I was seized by a bad pain in my neck; the pain has withdrawn from my foot. Farewell, best lord, say hello to the lady’, 5.29).Footnote 30 Letter 5.30 probably does not respond to 5.29, and instead reads like an early letter because of the salutation mi magister. Nevertheless, its placement furthers the motif of Fronto’s neck pain. This exchange takes the reader back to earlier letters such as 4.6, in which Marcus describes his daily activities: he reports that his cold has improved after getting some extra rest, then describes his morning routine (4.6.1). Finally, he chats with his mother, Domitia Lucilla, and even debates with her whose affection is greater: hers for Fronto’s wife, or his for Fronto (uter alterutrum uestrum magis amaret, 4.6.2). In letter 4.6, there is a heightened sense of closeness between Marcus and Fronto: there, Fronto is not magister but meus Fronto. But in letter 5.30, the same kind of scene is compressed almost to the point of unrecognizability; Domitia Lucilla only appears briefly, and the reader is not given any specifics.Footnote 31 Here, for the time being, the pangs of missing a dear companion have given way to physical pains—pains that are, nevertheless, still able to be assuaged by the ‘therapeutic effect’ of exchanging letters.Footnote 32

For Marcus, however, the fixation on the body does hinder the harmonious disposition of the spirit. In letter 5.31, Marcus writes that he is unable to bear the news of Fronto’s neck pain with equanimity (aequo animo). To the reader who reads only this letter, this short communication might seem unremarkable. However, if the reader takes a broader view of all the letters that have come before, the phrase aequo animo and the motif of mental equanimity more generally become recurrent throughout the collection, with the specific phrase appearing in letters 1.2, 1.6, 2.1 and 4.12. In those letters, the phrase refers to a tranquillity of mind that has been threatened by traumatic life events such as illness, in the case of Fronto, or the death of a son, in the case of Herodes Atticus (2.1). Now, Marcus is unable to maintain this equanimity; the salubrious effects of letter writing are counterbalanced by the pain caused when they report suffering. This effect is magnified by the accumulation of so many letters that focus on pain and little else; the reader is guided away from the idyllic fantasy of the previous books; the relationship now appears to be simpler and less emotionally charged—although the reader is perhaps also getting a glimpse of a more ‘real’ Marcus and Fronto, who probably did not have the time to compose long and ornate letters in every instance. For readers of the Meditations, these letters might offer an interesting look at the early life of a Stoic who struggled to retain a sense of peace in the midst of trying times.Footnote 33 While philosophy (Marcus’ interest) might be thought of as something that opposes rhetoric (Fronto’s interest), the letters that deal with Fronto’s poor health have allowed the editor to use teacher and student as case studies in dealing with life’s difficulties, and each interlocutor becomes a character in a quasi-philosophical discourse.Footnote 34

In fact, this particular string of repetitive letters draws the reader into the oscillation between joy and distress that takes place in the span of even the shortest of letters, offering the reader a compressed version of the experience of reading the longer letters of the earlier books.Footnote 35 In the reply to 5.31, Fronto speaks to this fluctuating state between abject misery and unqualified joy: dolores quidem ceruicum nihil remiserunt, sed animo bene fuit, quom te balneo et uino libenter usum cognoui. uale, domine. dominam saluta (‘Indeed, my neck pain has not at all abated, but it did me good when I learned that you had gladly enjoyed a bath and wine. Farewell, my lord. Say hello to the lady’, 5.32). Erik Gunderson’s words on the letters of Cicero, although figurative, are applicable to the condition of Marcus and Fronto in a sense that is all too literal: ‘The writing propagates the very disease that it laments. Every attempt to bridge the sick and sickening fact of distance only instead underscores the gulf between the writer and the addressee.’Footnote 36 Gunderson’s disease of distance finds physical reality in Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem in the form of bodily disorders. This resonance, then, is not out of place, although the romance of the earlier books is not as striking for most of Book 5 as it perhaps is at certain points in the earlier books and in the so-called Erōtikos Logos (Add. Ep. 7).Footnote 37 The rapid-fire exchange of brief letters in the book—even when they are false exchanges created by the editor, such as letters 5.29 and 5.30, and 5.33 and 5.34—gives the impression that the two are in constant contact, and yet the happiness of a close relationship is marred by the fact that the mentions of illness or pain in each letter cause the receiving party to live the other person’s suffering through their letter, doubling their own woes. And yet the sheer number of short letters—which Fronto or his family members obviously kept—suggests that they were important, sentimental items, and that Fronto and Marcus found their correspondence a valuable practice for maintaining their friendship even when there was nothing particularly happy to discuss.

The focus of Book 5 on the ailments of the body even veers into the grotesque, an even more striking break from the tone of letters prior. In letter 5.69, for example, Fronto writes that he suffers from diarrhoea. Although the topic of Fronto’s health is not a new one to the reader, the descriptiveness of his ailment marks the letter as a departure from the letters that appeared before, and, included as it is toward the end of Book 5, it emphasizes Fronto’s decline. Perhaps to the reader’s dismay, letter 5.70 continues the discussion of Fronto’s digestive problems. This letter also refers to a celebratory occasion of some kind, although not a birthday. Strikingly, Marcus refers explicitly to Fronto’s bout of diarrhoea (5.70.1–2). J.E.G. Whitehorne notes, quite understandably, that these letters ‘could be characterized as repulsive to modern taste’.Footnote 38 Here, Marcus goes on to mention the practice of inducing diarrhoea as a health measure after the winter.Footnote 39 The letter therefore adopts the tone of an informal medical treatise, with Marcus playing the role of doctor in asserting his positive prognosis for Fronto’s condition. Marcus’ letter is, however, ambiguous: when he concludes with the words delector potius talem querellam corpusculi quam dolores aliquos intercessisse (‘I delight that such a little complaint of the silly body occurs rather than other pains’, 5.70.2), what exactly does he mean? Perhaps echoing the Stoic principles of which he was already so fond, Marcus seems to be contrasting physical suffering with another kind of pain, which could refer to something like arthritis as opposed to diarrhoea but could be emotional distress. Here, Marcus seems to take Fronto’s illness in stride, noticeably lacking the emotional distress of prior letters such as 1.2, in which Marcus yearns to rush to Fronto’s side and help him while he is feeling unwell. And yet this matter-of-fact letter, with a minimal amount of compassion, could represent Stoic tranquillity or simply show a lack of interest; the position of the letter makes it appear that he has moved beyond such effusive outpourings of sympathy.Footnote 40 In this stretch of letters, the epistolary plot has devolved into a continuous Groundhog Day-like loop of afflictions, and the same-but-different narrative structure flattens out into an unending same-same-same, a collapse of the previous books into a banality that highlights, by way of contrast, the vivid images that came before. But the contrast is the key: the letters of Book 5 loop the reader back to the earlier letters which show the depth of feeling that now feels like the standard and not the exception for Marcus and Fronto. All the same, the unadorned frankness of the letters in Book 5 brings him closer still to Marcus.

Book 5 generally shows a more mature Marcus, especially when Marcus’ children make an appearance. In letter 5.34, for example, Marcus writes to Fronto:

doluisse te inguina cognosco, mi magister, et cum recordor quantam uexationem tibi iste dolor adferre soleat, grauissimam sollicitudinem patior. sed me leuat quod spero illo spatio, quo perferebatur hoc nuntius, potuisse cedere fomentis et remediis omnem illam uim doloris. nos aestiuos calores adhuc experimur, sed cum paruolae nostrae, dixisse liceat, commode ualeant, mera salubritate et uerna temperie frui nos existimamus. uale, mi optime magister.

I understand that you have a pain in your groin, my teacher, and when I recall how much annoyance that pain is accustomed to bring you, I suffer the heaviest anxiety. But this lightens me, that I hope that in that span of time in which this news was brought, all that force of the pain was able to yield to poultices and remedies. We are still feeling summer heat, but since our little girls are doing all right, if I might say so, we reckon that we are enjoying pure health and springtime temperatures. Farewell, my best teacher.

Marcus’ continued use of the term mi magister to address Fronto is striking, since he is now married with at least two daughters. Freisenbruch asserts that ‘the narrative of illness in Fronto and Marcus Aurelius’ letters is in fact interwoven with the pedagogical narrative of the correspondence. Their letters are both teaching aid and tonic.’Footnote 41 Throughout Books 1–4, Fronto and Marcus have employed discussions of health and sickness as a means of jockeying for authority, in a continuing contest for who can be more concerned for the other, who gets to be the caretaker/teacher and who gets to be the one cared for/student. Now, Marcus gets to impart wisdom to Fronto, as time has finally equalized the two of them; they are both now fathers. The phrase uerna temperie has a figurative quality to it: children usher in a springtime of sorts for their parents, offering the hope of continuity for the future. Marcus’ words prompt the reader to think of the context outside the letter book, in which Marcus and Fronto are not the only ones in their own little world.

Letter 5.34, moreover, speaks to the way in which circumstances can so quickly change in-between letters, as Marcus hopes that, in the span of the delivery of Fronto’s letter informing Marcus of his groin pain, the remedies have already worked—that Fronto’s letter is now obsolete. In another reversal from a sentiment Fronto frequently expresses, as in letter 3.12, that Marcus’ talent makes him feel young and healthy again (for example ego beatus, hilaris, sanus, iuuenis denique fio, quom tu ita proficis, 3.12.1), now Marcus is the one to picture Fronto as being restored to health, if not youth. Ultimately, Marcus’ ingenium is what brings Fronto back to physical and emotional wellness—and, on a textual level, it is the reminder of Marcus’ talent and Fronto’s energy as a teacher that simultaneously reinvigorates Book 5. As Marcus takes the reader from summer heat backwards to springtime temperatures, the narrative time of the letter even moves backward for one more brief instant. It is difficult, however, to avoid the feeling that Marcus is now replying to Fronto out of habit or politeness. The letter expresses concern, but it lacks the emotional intensity of, for instance, letter 1.2, in which Marcus wishes to rush to Fronto’s side and help him while he is unwell.

These health-related letters describing Fronto’s various ailments endow the book with the perpetual sense that the end is near, which is fitting for the final book of the collection. In letter 5.55—a rare, longer letter—this ‘false ending’ effect is heightened:

cholera usque eo adflictus sum, ut uocem amitterem, singultirem, suspirio tum a<n>gerer, postremo uenae deficerent, sine ullo pulsu uenarum animo male fieret. denique conclamatus sum a nostris; neque sensi aliquandiu; ne balneo quidem aut frigida aut cibo recreandi me ac fouendi medicis tempus aut occasio data; nisi post uesperam micularum minimum cum uino destillatum gluttiui. ita focilatus totus sum. postea per continuum triduum uocem non reciperaui. sed nunc deis iuuantibus commodissime ualeo, facilius ambulo, clarius clamito; denique, si dei iuuabunt, cras uehiculo uectari destino. si facile silicem tolerauero, quantum pote ad te curram. tum uixero, cum te uideo, a.d. VII Kal. Roma proficiscar, si dei iuuabunt. uale, domine dulcissime, desiderantissime, causa optima uitae meae. dominam saluta.

I was afflicted by cholera so that I lost my voice, I was hiccupping, then had trouble breathing, and finally my pulse was weakening, and without any pulse in my veins I felt absolutely terrible. Finally, my family raised the lament for me, and I passed out for some time; for the doctors, there was no time and opportunity given for reviving me or keeping me warm, not even by a bath or cold water or food; only after evening I had the merest bit of bread with wine trickled on it. In this way I was completely revived. For three days straight thereafter I did not regain use of my voice. But now, with the gods helping, I am faring very well, I walk more easily, I shout more clearly; finally, if the gods will help, I intend to be conveyed in a carriage tomorrow. If I tolerate the paving stones easily, I will run to you as much as I can. I will live then, when I see you, and I will set out from Rome on the seventh day before the Kalends, if the gods will help. Farewell, sweetest lord, most longed-for, the best reason for my living. Say hello to the lady.

This letter is the horrible negative image of Marcus’ fantasy from letter 1.2 of helping nurse his teacher back to health. Now, there is no bath or food that can possibly help him, and, although Fronto’s letters in Book 5 increasingly cry out for that same tender solicitude, Marcus is completely absent. Further, he will not learn of Fronto’s near-death experience until he receives the letter, which, judging from the letter itself, was written more than three days after the episode occurred. Perhaps letter 5.55 is not so much the negative of letter 1.2 as a reminder of the atmosphere cultivated in Book 1. The heartfelt closing is certainly a strong reminder of these earlier letters (domine dulcissime, desiderantissime, causa optima uitae meae). Generally, it is not unusual for a letter writer to reuse similar words or phrases, especially in casual letters, but, when arranged together as a collection, these same repetitions take on more significant meaning for the reader. Any instance of repetition can jog the reader’s memory, taking them back to an earlier point in narrative time.

Letter 5.55 is positioned so as to indicate that an ending is near, even if this ending is ultimately illusory. The ever-impending doom of the writer is reminiscent of the letters of Cicero; there, the editor’s knowledge of Cicero’s horrible death overshadows all of his letter books. In Book 5, similarly, the reader is faced with constant threats of the main character’s demise, even if the reader knows that Fronto lived for at least another decade after these letters were composed. When placed in a longer epistolary narrative, letters such as 5.55 seem to constitute some kind of praemeditatio mortis, the philosophical practice of spiritually preparing oneself for death. Scholars have argued for a similar effect in Seneca’s letters, and this framework is equally effective for approaching Fronto’s as well.Footnote 42 Just as Fronto and his family prepared for his demise, readers too are prompted to ready themselves for an ending, even if that ending is ultimately delayed: reading the letters can serve as a passive philosophical exercise for those inclined to read them that way. Fronto himself clearly did not intend for his personal letters to be taken as a moral guide. The editor, however, who was probably aware of Marcus’ Stoic interests, might have been intrigued by the idea that the letters, arranged in a specific way, could appear as a quasi-philosophical discourse to the reader predisposed to read them in such a way. In the case of Fronto, such a connection can be made because of the work of the editor and not necessarily the intent of the writer.

Indeed, the threat of Fronto’s death is, in its way, as satisfying for the reader as it is horrifying. Deborah Roberts, remarking on closure and aftermath, suggests that death is the only true ending readers crave, and other endings may seem ‘merely provisional’.Footnote 43 Book 5, the end of the collection, also seems to be provisional, with the non-linear chronology always leaving open the possibility that another letter, not included in the collection, exists somewhere, ready to provide resolution and closure.

The provisional nature of Fronto’s close encounter with death is reflected in the placement of this letter pair: fifty-fifth and fifty-sixth out of a total of seventy-four letters in the book. The reader is invited to move on and accept Fronto’s safety. Marcus seems to do the same; letter 5.56 is surprisingly short after the news of so great a calamity. Marcus’ letter, brief as it is, still charts a series of reactions to Fronto’s letters as he reads it. Marcus writes that he is relieved that Fronto is all right, and that he had already been eager to see him—now all the more so post periculum (5.56). While these sentiments sound nice enough, they hardly resemble Marcus’ effusive words from letter 1.2. His words direct the reader’s focus to a relationship that has changed over time; at this point in both epistolary and chronological time, Marcus himself has delved more deeply into his philosophical studies, and readers see him in a more grounded and even Stoic emotional state. Fronto will, in a way, always be in a state of evading death, because the publication of his letters allows him a means of living on. As Roberts remarks:

The relegation of death to the aftermath also constitutes a gesture of defiance, reminding us that life, although transient, is necessarily more vivid than death. Death is always the aftermath, but death is only the aftermath.Footnote 44

Marcus’ reply is certainly dismissive, and does mark a closing, but the reader can also continue to the next letter: the closing is delayed. Death is only the aftermath; life and the persistence of writing triumph over death and the end of historical persons but not of their legacies. Thus, Fronto’s near death and return back to health invite the reader to mimic this reversal by thinking back to previous letters or ahead to the next ones, in which Fronto lives; for the reader, the memory of what has come before results in a rejection of the idea that Fronto might die.Footnote 45 The epistolary praemeditatio mortis engages the reader as well as the figures in the narrative. In writing, Fronto prepares Marcus, and any other reader, for his death, but the very presence of the letter is a reminder that he is still alive, and the letters ensure that some part of him will live on.Footnote 46

APPROACHING THE END OF THE COLLECTION: LETTER 5.74

After these intermittent clusters of letters chronicling Fronto’s decay and Marcus’ apparent lack of interest, the final letter of the book (5.74) comes as a bit of a surprise—albeit a pleasant one—to the reader: it is the longest in the book, and the fact that it would not be out of place in Books 1–4 makes it seem so here in Book 5. The effect of this placement is one of coming full circle with the beginning of the collection. As Don Fowler remarks, ‘the reader may be offered any number of possible places to stop in the closing pages, as the writer finds herself gripped not simply by an inability to achieve closure but by an embarras de richesses.’Footnote 47 Letter 5.74 offers to its reader this embarras de richesses because of the length of the letter and the details it provides. Unsurprisingly, it is Marcus Aurelius who gets the last word in the collection that bears his name in its title. The letter circles back to many of the narrative threads that have developed throughout the five books. If there is any doubt that the editor put thought into Book 5, the placement of 5.74 dispels it. Marcus’ greeting, haue mi magister optime (‘Hi, my best teacher’), takes the reader back to what has come before; this salutation, common in the earlier books, was last seen in letter 4.7, and has been totally absent from the rest of Book 5. Right from the start, the letter evokes nostalgia for the earlier parts of the collection. The last image of Marcus is not of a father, statesman or Stoic but of a student, exploring the world of literature with Fronto. Marcus writes (5.74):

egone ut studeam, cum tu doleas, praesertim cum mea causa doleas? non me omnibus incommodis sponte ipse adflictem? merito hercule. quis enim tibi alius dolorem genus, quem scribis nocte proxuma auctum, quis alius eum suscitauit nisi Centum Cellae, ne me dicam? quid igitur faciam, qui nec te uideo et tanto angore discrucior? adde eo quod, etiamsi libeat studere, iudicia prohibent, quae, ut dicunt qui sciunt, dies totos eximunt. misi tamen tibi hodiernam γνώμην et nudiustertianum locum commune. heri totum diem in itinere adtriuimus. hodie difficile est ut praeter uespertinam γνώμην quicquam agi possit. ‘nocte’, inquis, ‘tam longa dormis?’ et dormire quidem possum, nam sum multi somni; sed tantum frigoris est in cubiculo meo, ut manus uix exseri possit. sed reuera illa res maxime mihi animum a studiis depulit, quod, dum nimium litteras amo, tibi incommodus apud Portum fui, ut res ostendit. itaque ualeant omnes Porci et Tulli et Crispi, dum tu ualeas et te uel sine libris firmum tamen uideam. uale, praecipuum meum gaudium, magister dulcissime. domina mea te salutat. γνώμας tres et locos communes mitte.

Do you want me to study, when you are in pain, especially when you are in pain because of me? Should I not afflict myself with all troubles by my own free will? Deservedly so, by Hercules. For what else aroused the pain in your knee, which you write flared up last night, what else aroused that thing except Centum Cellae, not to say myself? Therefore, what should I do, I who do not see you and am tortured by so great a choking anxiety? Add to this that, even if it were pleasing to me to study, the courts prevent it, which, as those who know say, take up entire days. Nevertheless, I have sent you today’s maxim, and the day before yesterday’s commonplace. Yesterday we spent the whole day on the road. Today it is difficult to get anything done beyond an evening maxim. You say, ‘Do you sleep so long a night?’ And indeed, I am able to sleep, for I am a sound sleeper; but there is so great a chill in my bedroom that I can hardly draw my hand out of the covers to write. But in truth that matter most greatly diverted my mind from my studies, that, while I love letters too much, I caused you trouble at Portus, as the matter made clear. And so, goodbye to all the Catos and Ciceros and Crispuses, as long as you are doing well, and just as long as I see you strong, even without books. Farewell, my particular joy, sweetest teacher. My lady says hello to you. Send three maxims and commonplaces.

The letter forms a ring composition within Book 5, as letter 5.1 deals with rhetoric as well. But just as it reminds the reader of letters past, parts of the letter must remain opaque. What happened at Centum Cellae? What did Marcus have to do with Fronto’s injury? What was the trouble he caused at Portus? Only Fronto and Marcus know. The literal pain in Fronto’s knee is eclipsed by Marcus’ figurative suffocation as he wishes for Fronto’s presence. Marcus’ lucubratio, a motif from the earlier books, makes another appearance: after a long day, he returns home in the evening, but has only enough energy to complete a short writing exercise.Footnote 48 Indeed, the motif of insomnia finds its resolution, and the image of Marcus sleeping creates a ring structure with letter 5.2. Marcus is able to sleep, even describing himself with the term sum multi somni (‘I’m really sleepy’). This phrase is reminiscent of his words from letter 1.4, somno adsum (1.4.1), another letter written from Marcus’ bed. Here, Marcus again writes a letter from bed. Everything is just the same as in Book 1, but now also different because of the letters the reader has now encountered. As Fronto says in Book 1, the presence of Sleep, personified in the letter, makes Marcus’ writing more charming (1.5.2). In the last letter of the collection, sleep leaves Marcus in a permanent state of allure, and the collection’s ring composition is rendered complete.

Marcus’ word choice also allows the editor to provide closure to the work. When he writes itaque ualeant omnes Porci et Tulli et Crispi, dum tu ualeas et te uel sine libris firmum tamen uideam, the reader is forced to bid farewell to all these famous literary figures who appeared so frequently throughout the collection, and, with uale, praecipuum meum gaudium, magister dulcissime, it is now time to say goodbye to Fronto himself. But this goodbye is of course deceiving. Marcus asks Fronto to send him more work, a request that promises the conversation’s continuation. In the very last sentence of the collection, then, the reader realizes that the finality of Fronto’s last letter (5.73) is only an illusion: the true last word from the great orator is withheld, thus preserved forever in a state of always being yet-to-come. For now, the reader can only imagine what Fronto will say next. When reading letter 5.74, the reader can almost imagine that the next letter might in fact be the letter we know as 1.1, Fronto to Marcus.Footnote 49 The work of striving to become better—as student, philosopher, statesman or otherwise—is never truly done, a reality underscored by the illusion of a perpetually ongoing correspondence between the two.

Thus, although the ending of the epistolary narrative remains open, the editor has chosen a letter that provides a sense of closure for many of the themes and motifs from the greater collection. The end of the collection might feel anticlimactic; readers have ended up right back where they began at the beginning of Book 1. The cyclical nature of Book 5 reflects the cyclical nature of the letter collection as a whole; if nothing else, its non-linear chronology has taught the reader that the order of events is, paradoxically, both highly important and meaningless within the kaleidoscope of memory. As Peter Brooks notes, within a given work ‘repetition can take us both backward and forward because these terms have become reversible: the end is a time before the beginning’.Footnote 50 Brooks’s words are equally apt in the case of these letters.Footnote 51 In Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem, the fantasy of the letter book is the reality—or, rather, the reader comes to realize that the ‘reality’ these seventy-four letters provide is just another epistolary illusion; using an early letter as the final letter of the collection truly makes the ending ‘a time before the beginning’. Just as Book 5 is the longest of the collection, so too is 5.74 the longest letter, and indeed both do the same narrative ‘work’ for the collection: to provide a sense of closure to a collection whose various parts are untethered from chronological time.

CONCLUSION: THE ILLUSION OF THE END

This article has demonstrated one possible method of approaching Book 5: to read it in close connection with the preceding books, both continuation and epilogue of the epistolary narrative. Ultimately, letter collections and all their composing elements are like a set of matryoshka dolls, harnessing, as Graham Anderson says, ‘the art of miniature’ to produce works of ‘compression and erudite wit’.Footnote 52 Each letter, exchange of letters, book or collection can stand on its own, but each can also be read as part of a greater pattern; the sum of the whole exceeds the parts. Here, the editor is the architect of a novel way of experiencing another person’s life. Book 5 ought not to be seen as falling short of the previous books but rather as being another part of this multifaceted portrayal of Fronto and Marcus. Book 5 draws this collection to a close, and yet the short snippets of conversation between Marcus and Fronto suggest that there is always more to be said, on any possible subject. The reader is left with the lingering impression that the next tabellarius could arrive at any minute: 5.74 is as much of a false ending as 5.56, creating the impression that Marcus and Fronto’s dialogue might very well continue on forever, yet the effect is not so much aporetic as it is simply satisfying. This narrative effect might appeal as much to the casual ‘fan’ of Fronto or Marcus Aurelius as it would for the philosophically minded reader looking for additional material from the famous Stoic emperor and his teacher. In the realm of the letter book, Fronto himself seems to evade death entirely. Despite his seemingly constant illness, he remains, as ever, Marcus’ steadfast and undying interlocutor.

Footnotes

*

I would especially like to thank Amy Richlin, with whom I have spent many an enjoyable hour discussing Fronto and Marcus’ letters. Amy also generously shared with me some chapters of her forthcoming book, How Fronto’s Letters Got Lost. Many thanks are also owed to N. Bryant Kirkland and Alex Purves, who graciously offered their feedback on earlier versions of this article.

References

1 E. Champlin, ‘The chronology of Fronto’, JRS 64 (1974), 136–59, at 142 notes that these letters start around 139 c.e., when Marcus was in his late teens and Fronto in his forties.

2 E. Champlin, Fronto and Antonine Rome (Cambridge, 1980), 4. For further discussion of Fronto’s rhetorical style, see P. Fleury, ‘La flûte, le général et l’esclave: analyse de certaines métaphores rhétoriques chez Fronton’, Phoenix 55 (2001), 108–23; P. Fleury, ‘L’argument de la nature: définitions et rôles de la fable dans le corpus frontonien’, LEC 74 (2006[a]), 115–41; P. Fleury, Lectures de Fronton: un rhéteur latin à l’époque de la Seconde Sophistique (Paris, 2006[b]); P. Fleury, ‘Évanescence de la déclamation dans le corpus Frontonien’, in R. Poignault and C. Schneider (edd.), Fabrique de la déclamation antique (Controverses et Suasoires) (Lyon, 2016), 411–19; Y. Taoka, ‘Onomastic irony in Fronto’s letters Ad M. Caesarem 1.7, 2.5, 2.13 and 3.18’, CQ 32 (2015), 301–9.

3 The effusive Marcus of these letters is quite different from the austere, saintlike Marcus familiar from other portrayals: see A. Richlin, ‘The sanctification of Marcus Aurelius’, in M. van Ackeren (ed.), A Companion to Marcus Aurelius (Chichester, 2012), 497–514, at 498. Marcus’ reputation as a letter writer also gained traction; P. Fleury, ‘Marc Aurèle épistolier’, Anabases 19 (2014), 133–53, at 137 has shown that ‘il existait … un lien dans l’historiographie antique entre Marc Aurèle et l’épistolaire, mais ce lien n’était pas plus fort que d’autres associations’, such as his status as a philosopher–emperor. There is somewhat of a history of fake letters being attributed to Marcus Aurelius, e.g. the letters in the Historia Augusta as well as the Golden Book of Marcus Aurelius, written by Antonio de Guevara in the sixteenth century.

4 At seventy-four letters, Book 5 is more than twice as long as Book 3, the second longest in the collection. Moreover, the letters present in the palimpsest—several, listed only in the extant table of contents, are completely lost—are generally very short compared to the letters in the earlier books. For reference, out of the seventy-four letters of Book 5, fifty-eight are extant and sixteen are lost; of the fifty-eight extant letters, thirty-two are fewer than five lines, while twenty-three are between five and ten lines. Only three are more than ten lines. Unlike the collection of, for instance, Pliny’s letters, Fronto’s letters were unlikely to have been originally intended for publication. It is therefore probable that the editing process took place after Fronto’s death, and possibly Marcus’ as well. O. Elder and A. Mullen, The Language of Roman Letters (Cambridge, 2019), 178 suggest the fourth century as a possible date.

5 For further discussion of closure, see e.g. D. Fowler, ‘Second thoughts on closure’, in D.H. Roberts, F.M. Dunn and D. Fowler (edd.), Classical Closure: Reading the End in Greek and Latin Literature (Princeton, 1997), 3–22; D. Fowler, ‘Postmodernism, romantic irony, and classical closure’, in D. Fowler (ed.), Roman Constructions: Readings in Postmodern Latin (Oxford, 2000), 5–33.

6 That is, we cannot be sure of any given letter’s exact date, except in limited cases; in reality, the letters of Book 5 might have been interspersed with the longer letters we see in Books 1–4. A true chronological arrangement would therefore impact the way in which we perceive the epistolary narrative.

7 M.P.J. van den Hout, A Commentary on the Letters of M. Cornelius Fronto (Leiden, 1999), 222. While the first letters of the first book are missing, it seems reasonable to conclude that they concern Marcus’ rhetorical training and/or his growing friendship with Fronto, like the others in the first book.

8 Other subplots include tension with Herodes Atticus, with Marcus trying to mediate between Herodes and Fronto (2.1, 3.1–3.6); Marcus’ intellectual development (taking up much of Books 2 and 3); and Fronto’s relationship with Domitia Lucilla (2.2, 2.3, 2.15).

9 N. Zeiner-Carmichael, ‘Intellectual and pedagogical power in Fronto’s correspondence’, in P.R. Bosman (ed.), Intellectual and Empire in Greco-Roman Antiquity (London and New York, 2018), 116–41 argues that Fronto cultivates an image as someone who is the ultimate teacher of rhetoric, a role that connects him to imperial power. Letters such as 4.12, which adopt an aggressive tone, show Fronto in a display of his own intellectual power.

10 M. Beard, ‘Ciceronian correspondences: making a life out of letters’, in T.P. Wiseman (ed.), Classics in Progress (Oxford, 2002), 104–44. The Beard-style analysis is applicable to other Roman letter collections; for example, see F. Martelli, ‘The triumph of letters: rewriting Cicero in Ad Fam. 15’, JRS 107 (2017), 90–115 for a discussion of Cicero’s letter books and R. Gibson, ‘Reading the letters of Sidonius by the book’, in J.A. van Waarden and G. Kelly (edd.), New Approaches to Sidonius Apollinaris (Leuven, 2013), 195–220 for a discussion of Sidonius Apollinaris. For discussion of epistolary narratives in Greek literature, see O. Hodkinson, P.A. Rosenmeyer and E. Bracke (edd.), Epistolary Narratives in Ancient Greek Literature (Leiden, 2013).

11 L.D. Reynolds, ‘Fronto’, in L.D. Reynolds (ed.), Texts and Transmission: A Survey of the Latin Classics (Oxford, 1983), 173–4, at 173 notes that ‘Fronto was cut to pieces during the Dark Ages. Any author may fall on hard times, when parchment is scarce and other texts are more in demand, but to Fronto belongs the unique distinction of surviving solely as the lower script in no fewer than three palimpsests.’ One of these three contains some letters from Verus to Fronto. For further discussion, see B. Bischoff, Der Fronto-Palimpsest der Mauriner (München, 1958). Codex Ambrosianus E 147 sup. and Codex Vaticanus latinus 5750 are the two codex halves containing the bulk of Fronto’s dossier and the letters to Marcus. See further L. Holford-Stevens, ‘The new Fronto’, CR 41 (1991), 76–80.

12 C.R. Haines, Fronto: Correspondence, Volume II (Cambridge, MA, 2020), xiv.

13 The prolegomena to M.P.J. van den Hout, M. Cornelius Fronto: Epistulae (Leipzig, 1988) provide an extensive rationale for the arrangement given in his edition. See section LXIII in particular.

14 As mentioned above, the primary issue is Book 1: the beginning of the codex is missing pages, and so it is unclear how many letters came before the letter we call letter 1.1. The other issue is where we should place the boundary between Books 1 and 2 and between Books 2 and 3. Regardless of strict book divisions, it is still possible to see a narrative progression in the letters, and, as I will show below, the finality of Book 5 ties the collection together, a finality in which we can have confidence thanks to the table of contents. I believe it unlikely that Books 1–3 had anywhere near as many letters as Book 5, even if the high volume of epistles in Book 5 is offset by their relative brevity.

15 This is not to say that the editor was not also inspired by earlier letter collections, such as those of Cicero, Pliny or Seneca. For the influence of earlier letter collections upon later ones, see A. Wilcox, The Gift of Correspondence in Classical Rome (Wisconsin, 2012): Wilcox argues that Seneca’s letter collection responds in certain ways to that of Cicero, adapting or departing from Ciceronian conventions to suit his own philosophical agenda. Fronto’s letters deal with many of the same themes regarding family, friends, political life and so on, and the arrangement of the collection by the unknown editor is no doubt indebted to earlier models.

16 In Book 5, ‘true’ exchanges feature more often than in the previous books: the scribe occasionally labels letters rescriptum to indicate what he believed to be the real reply. For example, letters 5.3 and 5.4 are obviously connected.

17 Champlin (n. 1), 142 does not share the view that the editor was working with any kind of cohesive vision; he describes the dossier as an example of ‘editorial chaos’.

18 Cf. A. Richlin, ‘Fronto + Marcus: love, friendship, letters’, in M. Kuefler (ed.), The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality (Chicago, 2006), 111–29; A. Richlin, Marcus Aurelius in Love (Chicago, 2006); A. Richlin, ‘Retrosexuality: sex in the Second Sophistic’, in W. Johnson and D. Richter (edd.), The Oxford Companion to the Second Sophistic (Cambridge, 2017), 115–35; Y. Taoka, ‘The correspondence of Fronto and Marcus Aurelius: love, letters, metaphor’, CA 32 (2013), 406–38 for further discussion in support of reading Marcus and Fronto’s relationship as a romantic one. For discussion of possibly amorous language in the letters, see P. Barrios-Lech, ‘Putting on a Fronto: persona and patterns of language in Fronto’s correspondence’, New England Classical Journal 49 (2022), 27–54. On the opposite side of the argument, C. Laes, ‘What could Marcus Aurelius feel for Fronto?’, Studia Humaniora Tartuensia 10.A.3 (2009), 1–7, at 6 says that Marcus and Fronto’s ‘nuanced language of male affection’ does not allow for ‘the interpretation of a gay master and pupil playing dangerous games’. Laes is correct that reading Marcus and Fronto as ‘gay’ in the modern sense is anachronistic and impossible to speculate upon. The term used by E. Sedgwick, Between Men (Columbia, 1992), 2 (‘male homosocial desire’) may well be the best way to think of Marcus and Fronto’s relationship. Cf. K. Hansen, ‘“Our eyes beheld each other”: masculinity and intimate friendship in antebellum New England’, in P.M. Nardi (ed.), Men’s Friendships (Thousand Oaks, CA, 1992), 35–58 for a discussion of ‘intimate friendship’ in nineteenth-century America, a concept that holds much relevance for understanding ancient friendship as well. As C. Williams, Reading Roman Friendship (Cambridge, 2012), 252 remarks, ‘Letters like [sc. the ones in Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem] suggest that amicitia could be set up as the master term of this relationship, the framework within which Marcus and Fronto live out and express their amor for each other’.

19 Some reader–response theory can be helpful in untangling the relationship between the author, the editor and the reader. Cf. P. Rabinowitz, ‘“What’s Hecuba to us?” The audience’s experience of literary borrowing’, in S.R. Suleiman and I. Crosman (edd.), The Reader in the Text. Essays on Audience and Interpretation (Princeton, 1980), 241–63, at 252: Rabinowitz makes a distinction between the authorial audience, the authors’ intended audience and the narrative audience, which ‘considers the fiction as real, and may view the pattern as a reflection of the actual shape of the world’. In the case of Fronto’s letters, the narrative audience would be the purported recipient of the letter: Marcus and Fronto. Here, we might consider the editor’s intended audience, but the point stands. It is productive to read Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem through the perspective of the narrative audience and therefore try to identify directly with Marcus and Fronto as we read, believing that the arrangement of letters has created a narrative world with its own rules and realities. Certainly, the lack of an intermediary narrator in this work of historical fiction complicates the task of the interpreter. It is best to view the editor as a co-author who is creating a work of historical fiction from letters.

20 It is possible that the editor was inspired by works like Xenophon’s, a favourite didactic text of the Imperial period. See J. Tatum, Xenophon’s Imperial Fiction (Princeton, 1989), 18; E. Bowie, ‘Xenophon’s influence in imperial Greece’, in M.A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon (Cambridge, 2017), 403–15, at 406.

21 M.P.J. van den Hout, ‘Reminiscences of Fronto in Marcus Aurelius’ Book of Meditations’, Mnemosyne 3 (1950), 330–5, at 335 sees a connection between Fronto and Marcus’ letters and Marcus’ Stoic leanings. For example, he argues that several instances in the Meditations reflect Fronto’s teaching, even when Fronto is not specifically mentioned; he remarks that ‘the famous orator of the second century has doubtlessly been judged far better by Marcus than by Niebuhr or Mai.’ Here, of course, Marcus is less concerned with Fronto’s rhetorical prowess and exhibits a more personal concern toward his teacher.

22 Van den Hout (n. 7), 189–90, ad loc. The collected letters of Symmachus and others follow a similar structure, in which the ‘leftover’ letters are placed at the end. Although these letters may have been left over after the earlier and more elaborate books were compiled, they are not necessarily meaningless for the interpretation of the whole. For further discussion of what constitutes a letter, see M. Trapp, Greek and Latin Letters (Cambridge, 2003), 1–11 and R. Gibson and A.D. Morrison, ‘What is a letter?’, in R. Morello and A.D. Morrison (edd.), Ancient Letters (Oxford, 2007), 1–16. For further discussion of how the ancients viewed and spoke about letters, see P. Ceccarelli, Ancient Greek Letter Writing: A Cultural History (600–150 BC) (Oxford, 2013), 1–13 and A. Sarri, Material Aspects of Letter Writing in the Graeco-Roman World, 500 BC–AD 300 (Berlin, 2018), 16–27.

23 Letters devoted entirely, or in large part, to the matter of Fronto’s or Marcus’ health are: 22, 25–36, 39–40, 44–6, 55–6, 59–66 and 70–3. The purpose of writing about one’s health is debatable and often ambiguous. P.V. Cova, Lo Stoico imperfetto (Naples, 1978), 114–31 argues that Fronto may have been faking the severity of his symptoms in order to slither out of his social obligations toward Marcus and Antoninus Pius, using as corroboratory evidence the fact that Libanius (writing centuries after Fronto) may have exaggerated his own illnesses in order to avoid travel. Aside from the frequency with which these two authors cite their health problems, there is no reason to believe that either is exaggerating their chronic health problems. Moreover, there are few instances in which Fronto actually wants to get out of a social obligation (e.g. 5.35, 5.57); usually, he simply informs Marcus of the symptom.

24 See A. Freisenbruch, ‘Back to Fronto: doctor and patient in his correspondence with an emperor’, in R. Morello and A.D. Morrison (edd.), Ancient Letters: Classical and Antique Epistolography (Oxford, 2007), 235–56; J.E.G. Whitehorne, ‘Was Marcus Aurelius a hypochondriac?’, Latomus 36 (1977), 413–21.

25 In other words, provided the limitations of the manuscript are kept in mind, the uncertainty of having entire letters lost need not hinder the reader from making conclusions about the whole of Book 5. As G. Most, ‘On fragments’, in W. Tronzo (ed.), The Fragment: An Incomplete History (Los Angeles, 2009), 9–22, at 9 remarks, ‘total continuity is usually, perhaps always, an illusion.’ Reading through the fragments taken from the incipits, the reader seems to hear snippets of a conversation from another room and can imagine Marcus and Fronto discussing a dinner party, a new malady, their families or any number of other things. A letter itself is already a fragment because it captures the specific thoughts of a given moment and time and remains static, while its writer changes even during the time it takes for the letter to be read and received by its addressee. So, while the extensive damage to the manuscript does mean that Book 5 cannot be completely analysed, a complete analysis of a collection of private letters must necessarily remain elusive anyway.

26 I follow the text of van den Hout’s 1988 Teubner edition (n. 13 above). All translations are my own unless otherwise noted.

27 M. Gleason, Making Men: Sophists and Self-Presentation in Ancient Rome (Princeton, 1995), 84.

28 Freisenbruch (n. 24), 240.

29 Van den Hout (n. 7), 196, ad loc.

30 It is difficult to say whether domina refers to Marcus’ mother, Domitia Lucilla, or to his daughter. The latter is a distinct possibility. For further discussion of the relationship between Marcus, Fronto and Domitia Lucilla, see A. Richlin, ‘Parallel lives: Domitia Lucilla and Cratia, Fronto, and Marcus’, EuGestA 1 (2011), 163–203. For further discussion of women in general in the Fronto letters, see Y. Taoka, ‘Liminal women in Fronto’s letters’, CJ 108 (2013), 419–45.

31 Indeed, in Book 5 anyone other than Marcus or Fronto seems like a minor side character, although this was not the case; Fronto communicated with other people as well, and Marcus obviously did as well, although his other letters are not included in the Fronto dossier. For further discussion of Fronto’s social circle, see P. Fleury, ‘Fronto and his circle’, in D. Richter and W. Johnson (edd.), The Oxford Handbook to the Second Sophistic (Oxford, 2017), 245–54; H.G. Pflaum, ‘Les correspondants de l’orateur M. Cornelius Fronto de Cirta’, in M. Renaud and R. Schilling (edd.), Hommages à Jean Bayet (Brussels, 1964), 544–60.

32 Freisenbruch (n. 24), 241.

33 Wilcox (n. 15), 101 argues that, in the case of Seneca, letters are a vehicle for self-examination, not simply a way to keep in touch. The diary-like format of the Meditations suggests that Marcus felt similarly about personal writing and its potential to aid with moral improvement. By writing about both joys and struggles, Marcus and Fronto model for the reader this activity of self-reflection via writing.

34 Fronto was interested in some philosophers, especially Plato because of his usefulness as rhetorical model; cf. L. Costantini, ‘Philosophy and Platonism in Fronto’s Correspondence’, BICS 66 (2023), 23–31.

35 Cf. letter 4.9 est igitur uera Socrati opinio doloribus ferme uoluptates conexas esse, cum in carcere dolorem constricti uinculi uoluptate resoluti conpensaret (4.9.1). Plato tells this story in the Phaedo (114b); see van den Hout (n. 7), 539, ad loc. for further discussion.

36 E. Gunderson, ‘S.V.B.; E.V.’, ClAnt 26 (2007), 1–48, at 45.

37 Angelo Mai labelled this letter Erōtikos, as opposed to the ancient scribe himself. This letter, written in Greek, is Fronto’s take on the speech of Lysias referenced in Plato’s Phaedrus, and is arguably the most overtly erotic letter addressed to Marcus. The use of Greek is good for this purpose, as ‘Greek was taken up as the badge of the elite because it particularly showed the possession of wealth and leisure by taking the classics as its point of reference’: S. Swain, Hellenism and Empire: Language, Classicism, and Power in the Greek World AD 50–250 (Oxford, 1996), 29. There are other interpretations that are equally plausible. For example, Fleury (n. 2 [2006(b)]), 305–6 asserts that its purpose is driven by an interest in ethics and rhetoric: see M. Trapp, ‘Plato’s Phaedrus in second-century Greek literature’, in D.A. Russell (ed.), Antonine Literature (Oxford, 1990), 141–73 for further discussion of the reception of the Phaedrus in the Antonine period. See S. Swain, ‘Bilingualism and biculturalism’, in L. Holford-Strevens and A. Vardi (edd.), The Worlds of Aulus Gellius (Oxford, 2004), 3–40, at 20–5 on Fronto’s use of Greek as opposed to Latin.

38 Whitehorne (n. 24), 417.

39 Van den Hout (n. 7), 221 notes that popular remedies for constipation included milk, chicken brains, mallow and cabbage.

40 In these letters, Marcus’ growing interest in philosophy takes him further away from any interest in rhetoric and, by extension, Fronto; note the juxtaposition of Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem 4.12 and 4.13. As the recurrent sickness/health motif shows, however, navigating everyday trials and tribulations can be reframed in a philosophical light for those who wish to read it that way.

41 Freisenbruch (n. 24), 247.

42 J. Ker, The Deaths of Seneca (Oxford, 2009), 147–76; J. Henderson, Morals and Villas in Seneca’s Letters: Places to Dwell (Cambridge, 2004), 24; Henderson makes a compelling argument for the connections between epistolarity and philosophical concerns in Seneca’s letters regarding moral improvement, and specifically preparing oneself for death. Letter 1.12, Henderson argues, shows Seneca using a visit home to a country property to think about his life as he heads into his final years. Location is perhaps less prominent in Fronto, but the editor’s arrangement of health letters makes it seem like Fronto’s own ongoing ‘practising’ for his death.

43 D.H. Roberts, ‘Afterward: ending and aftermath, ancient and modern’, in D.H. Roberts, F.M. Dunn and D. Fowler (edd.), Classical Closure: Reading the End in Greek and Latin Literature (Princeton, 1997), 251–73, at 254–5 (emphasis in original).

44 Roberts (n. 43), 273.

45 The health letters of Book 5 are not all grouped together. Why might this be so? First, the intermittent nature of the health letters maintains the cyclical nature of the narrative; sometimes, Marcus and Fronto are young and engaged in dialogue about other matters, and at other times one or the other of them is dealing with health problems. Sickness was not all of Fronto’s life, and the health letters must ultimately be subordinated to the other parts of his very full life. This article is limited in its scope; it is essential, however, to keep in mind that only focussing on the health letters dilutes the other topics that appear in the book and indeed the collection.

46 Wilcox (n. 15), 175 suggests that by reading Seneca’s letters we too commemorate Seneca; the gift of the letter continues to increase as a result of its ‘continued liveliness’. The same can be said of Fronto. When it comes to Marcus himself, the letter-as-gift contains happy news of Fronto’s survival and is thus another token of Fronto’s aliveness.

47 Fowler (n. 5 [1997]), 21.

48 Cf. J. Ker, ‘Nocturnal writers in imperial Rome: the culture of lucubratio’, ClAnt 99 (2004), 209–42, at 240; Ker argues that night-time writing, or lucubratio, was part of the erudite culture of the Imperial period; especially when works that describe the lucubratio were published, there is an added element of performance (recitatio) to a scholar’s nightly activities. The presence of this performative aspect in Book 5 is interesting, considering how short and unartful most of its letters are. The presence of 5.74, a highly performative letter, gives the reader the sense that the entirety of Book 5 has been a careful build-up to this final letter, both climax and denouement.

49 For further discussion of epistolary endings, see J. Altman, Epistolarity (Columbus, 1982), 187; Altman observes that the letter inherently leaves ‘an enigmatic silence’ in its wake. Letter writing specifically creates a kind of psychological effect on the reader, with a perpetual expectation that any given letter will have a reply. For further discussion of the psychological impact of reading and writing letters, see J. Derrida, La carte postale: De Socrate à Freud et au-delà (Paris, 1980). For further discussion of Derrida and ancient letters, see F. Martelli, ‘Introduction: une lettre arrive toujours à destination’, Arethusa 49 (2016), 393–7, at 394 and 396–7.

50 P. Brooks, Reading for the Plot: Design and Intention in Narrative (Cambridge, 1984), 103.

51 The epistolary story of Marcus and Fronto is not over: there is another collection between Fronto and Marcus as emperor.

52 G. Anderson, The Second Sophistic: A Cultural Phenomenon in the Roman Empire (London and New York, 1993), 190–1.