The dating of Catalepton 9 has been the central issue of scholarship on that poem.Footnote 1 The more particular questions of the poem's authorship, the identity of the addressee, and its chronological relation to other texts, both depend on and contribute to ascertaining the date of composition. The clearest exposition of the problem remains that by Richmond.Footnote 2 Evidence provided by Catalepton 9 falls into two categories: literary and historical. Literary evidence encompasses two kinds of data: various formal features of the text and intertextual links with other poetry. While the poem's metre, language and style suggest a relatively early date of composition (before the Eclogues), the close textual parallels with the Eclogues, interpreted as borrowings from rather than sources of Virgil's poetry, point in the opposite direction. Historical indications are likewise ambivalent. On the one hand, it seems likely that the addressee is M. Valerius Messalla Corvinus (cos. 31 b.c.) and, further, that the occasion of composition is his (only) triumph in 27 b.c. (Catalepton 9.3 uictor adest, magni magnum decus ecce triumphi). On the other hand, the allusions to his military achievements (4–5, 41–54) are both too vague and exaggerated, and, if taken literally, do not fit well our Messalla at any particular point of his career (nor any other known member of the family). Richmond, following Birt and followed by Schoonhoven,Footnote 3 believed that at least some of the historical references are ‘intended to be prophetic’.Footnote 4 More recently, Peirano has attempted to explain this lack of precision by arguing that Catalepton 9 is not a real-life panegyric but a later biographical fiction, the real focus of which ‘is to be found […] in the relationship that the poem constructs between Virgil and his patron’.Footnote 5
While the problem of dating is certainly of crucial importance, it is inevitably tied up with that of the poem's literary evaluation and interpretation. For one thing, scholars are more inclined to view a text as derivative, and accordingly to date it later, if it appears poetically second-rate.Footnote 6 In this paper I propose to explore a particular literary aspect of Catalepton 9, largely neglected in previous research: the poem's engagement with Hellenistic poetry. Apart from demonstrating the poet's familiarity with a number of Hellenistic authors, I shall argue that the use of Greek models in Catalepton 9 implements a specific poetological programme. Then, building up from the new reading of Catalepton 9, I shall offer some thoughts on the poem's date of composition.
Two preliminary notes of methodological nature should be made. Firstly, my approach will be inclusive rather than rigorously selective. Some parallels will be less convincing than others. In discussing potential intertexts of Catalepton 9, my aim will be not so much to prove direct connection in every individual case as to show that different cases of possible allusion to Hellenistic texts share certain formal features and poetological implications. Secondly, in several cases Hellenistic intertexts will have ‘rival’ intertexts in Latin poetry. Rather than asking whether the actual model of a particular passage of Catalepton 9 is to be found in the Hellenistic or the Latin parallel, my discussion will principally focus on points of contact with the Greek context.
Before turning to individual contexts, a few words on Catalepton 9 as a whole. Perhaps its most characteristic feature is that it praises Messalla both as a victorious general and, somewhat unexpectedly, as a poet.Footnote 7 The poem's entire structure is organized around this opposition. The text can be divided into five thematic blocks:Footnote 8 (1) The first (1–12) invokes the Muses, then introduces Messalla as both a man of arms and a man of arts, and finally states the problem: which side of Messalla's personality should he, the poet, write about? (2) The next passage (13–22) describes Messalla's poetry in greater detail: it turns out that he wrote bucolics in Greek. (3) The third (23–38) focusses on a central theme of Messalla's poetry: Messalla's girlfriend, who is favourably compared with a long list of mythological beauties. (4) The fourth block (39–54) switches to Messalla's military career. (5) The conclusion (55–64) answers the problem stated at the beginning: the poet of Catalepton 9 will translate (or imitate) Messalla's poems rather than praise his military achievements. I suggest that the most natural way to read Catalepton 9 is as an introductory piece to translations from Messalla's Greek poetry, analogous to Catullus 65 that prefaces the Latin version of Callimachus' Coma Berenices.
I. HOMER
Before we proceed to Hellenistic authors, a Homeric intertext can be briefly discussed. At Catalepton 9.25–38 the poet produces a catalogue of famous women from Greek mythology and Roman history, who are said to be surpassed in fame by Messalla's beloved. Atalanta (25–6), Helen (27) and Hippodamia (29–32) are famous for having attracted many suitors. Cassiopea (28) is apparently relevant because she boasted to be more beautiful than the Nereids (cf. 24 altera non fama dixerit esse prior). Lucretia (35–8), with whom the list concludes, is the only Roman figure: through her the topic of Messalla's military exploits is subtly introduced. In the penultimate position Semele and Danae are mentioned as Zeus's lovers (33–4): regia non Semele, non Inachis Acrisione, | immiti expertae fulmine et imbre Iouem. As is noted by Jahn, the hexameter ultimately goes back to two Homeric lines, Il. 14.319 οὐδ’ ὅτε περ Δανάης καλλισφύρου Ἀκρισιώνης and 323 οὐδ’ ὅτε περ Σεμέλης, οὐδ’ Ἀλκμήνης ἐνὶ Θήβῃ.Footnote 9 What Jahn does not note is that the entire Homeric context (Il. 14.315–28) is highly relevant: like Catalepton 9.25–38, it is a list—a list of Zeus's lovers, mortal women as well as goddesses, whom he claims to have never desired as much as he now desires Hera. The allusion works on two levels. First, the joint mention of Semele and Danae produces a kind of pars pro toto: the reader will remember that Homer's list also included Dia, Europa and Alcmena, as well as Demeter, Leto and Hera herself.Footnote 10 Secondly, the poet of Catalepton 9 creates a reference to the archetypal model of all such catalogues. We may also point out a formal detail: both Semele's name and Danae's patronymic occupy in Catalepton 9 the same metrical position as in Homer. As we shall see, this kind of attention to the metrical structure of a model verse is highly characteristic of Catalepton 9.
II. THEOCRITUS, ID. 8
Messalla's Greek bucolics would have been the most relevant intertext, had they survived.Footnote 11 As it stands, we may attempt to trace in Catalepton 9 the presence of Theocritus,Footnote 12 who arguably appears in person as Trinacriae doctus … iuuenis (20).Footnote 13 Our task, however, will be complicated by the existence of intertextual links with Virgil and Messalla: quite real in the former case and hypothetical in the latter.
Catalepton 9 presents two shepherds, apparently characters from Messalla's poetry, engaged in an ‘amoebean’ contestFootnote 14 (17–22):
It is remarkable that the shepherds' names, Moeris and Meliboeus, do not occur in the Theocritean corpus (nor, in fact, in any surviving Greek poetry from b.c.), but they appear in Virgil's Eclogues.Footnote 15 Unless Messalla's Greek poetry is discarded as either fiction or a misreading of Catalepton 9,Footnote 16 it seems an attractive possibility that both our poem and Virgil have derived these names from Messalla.Footnote 17 I suggest the same may be true of perhaps the most conspicuous textual correspondence between Catalepton 9 and Virgil: Catalepton 9.17 patulae sub tegmine quercus and Ecl. 1.1 patulae … sub tegmine fagi (cf. G. 4.566). It has long been recognized that Virgil's choice of fagus is likely to allude to its Greek paronym φηγός (and Theoc. Id. 12.8 σκιερὴν δ’ ὑπὸ φηγόν is often suggested as the actual model).Footnote 18 But it is not generally noted that quercus at Catalepton 9.17 may likewise be a translation of φηγός (rather than just a random substitute for Virgil's fagus). Whatever their relative chronology, both the poet of Catalepton 9 and Virgil seem to have had in mind—in addition to the Latin predecessor—a specific Greek context featuring φηγός, either Theoc. Id. 12.8 or perhaps its imitation by Messalla.Footnote 19 In other words, the later of the two Latin contexts could be described as a ‘window’ allusion, through the earlier context, to their common Greek model.
An analogous relationship can arguably be postulated between the references to ‘amoebean’ singing in Catalepton 9, Virgil's Eclogues and Theocritus. There is only one such reference in the Theocritean corpus that is terminologically explicitFootnote 20 (Id. 8.30–2, 61–2):
This context is justly recognized as the source of Ecl. 7.18–19 alternis igitur contendere uersibus ambo | coepere, alternos Musae meminisse uolebant.Footnote 21 In turn, the Virgilian passage is often seen as an intertext of Catalepton 9.19 dulcia iactantes alterno carmina uersu. Again, whatever the actual relation between the two Latin contexts, Catalepton 9 is likely to have a direct connection with Theoc. Id. 8 too.Footnote 22 Indeed, the combination of bucolic motifs and elegiac metre that we encounter in Catalepton 9 finds a parallel in Theoc. Id. 8, which is the only poem in the Theocritean corpus that has a section written in elegiac distichs. If, as I am suggesting, Catalepton 9 was originally intended as an introductory piece to translations of Messalla's bucolics, Theoc. Id. 8 would have provided a precedent of a kind for combining, within a single collection, elegiacs (the metre of Catalepton 9) with pure hexameters (presumably the metre of Messalla's bucolics). Moreover, in Theoc. Id. 8 it is precisely this elegiac section (33–60), which consists of quatrains sung in turn by two shepherds, that is introduced as ἀμοιβαίαν … ἀοιδάν and then summed up with δι’ ἀμοιβαίων … ἄεισαν. I tentatively suggest that Catalepton 9.19 iactantes alterno carmina uersu may be meant as a pun, for, out of context, the line can also be taken to refer, not to alternate songs, but to elegiac songs.Footnote 23 Although in Greek ἀμοιβαῖος does not seem to be used of elegy, the fact remains: in Theoc. Id. 8 ἀμοιβαία ἀοιδά refers to alternate songs in elegiac metre.Footnote 24
My next suggestion is even more tentative. Near the end of the singing contest one of the shepherdsFootnote 25 reveals his ideal (Theoc. Id. 8.53–6):
He wants no riches or supernatural abilities; what he wants is to be with his beloved and sing a bucolic song. In a comparable way, at the end of Catalepton 9 the poet formulates his programme (55–6, 59–64):
He will not write an epic about Messalla's enormous military exploits, which is beyond the power of men; he will be content with merely translating Messalla's bucolics. Apart from the formal structural similarities, which are admittedly trivial, I would emphasize that both the Theocritean shepherd and the author of Catalepton 9 aspire, in effect, to be bucolic poets. Yet the real import of this allusion, if allusion it is, would seem to lie elsewhere: not so much on the level of content as on that of expression. To start with, there is a formal point of contact between two pentameters—σύννομα μῆλ’ ἐσορῶν Σικελικάν τ’ ἐς ἅλα (8.56) and si patrio Graios carmine adire sales (9.62)—as both end with the same word.Footnote 26 In both cases the object referred to by this word is a source of attraction for the speaker (ἐσορῶν, adire). In both cases the noun is defined by a ‘geographical’ epithet (Σικελικάν, Graios). In both cases it is used not in its etymological sense, ‘salt’, but figuratively: ἅλα means ‘sea’, sales apparently means ‘witticisms, jokes'.Footnote 27
In fact, however, the meaning of the Latin line requires closer attention. The poet of Catalepton 9 is evidently expressing his hope to be able to reproduce the wit of Messalla's Greek poetry in Latin. This reading is supported by an earlier context that speaks of Messalla's poetry as cum lingua tum sale Cecropia (14): ‘Attic in both language and wit’. Yet there is room for ambiguity, for the immediate context rather appears to suggest a (quasi-)geographical interpretation. It would seem natural, after adire Cyrenas in the preceding line (61), to see in Graios … adire sales likewise a geographical metaphor: while ‘to come close to Cyrene’ means ‘to reach the standard of Callimachean poetry’, ‘to come close to the Greek sea’ would mean ‘to reach the standard of Greek poetry’.Footnote 28 The literal reading of adire at 62 as ‘to come close to’ is further supported by the use of the same verb, in the same form and at the same metrical position, in an unequivocally geographical context only ten lines earlier (52): aurea nunc rapidi flumina adire Tagi (note that it too speaks of a body of water). The Theocritean intertext would also favour understanding Graios sales as ‘Greek sea’.Footnote 29 This ambiguity may be intended, I suggest, as an example of the wit the line, on one interpretation, is speaking about. And finally, there is arguably a third way of reading the line, as a pointer to the intertextual bilingual pun: patrio Graios carmine adire sales could be taken to mean ‘to come close to the word salt in Greek (ἅλς)’, and this is—assuming the Theocritean intertext is there—precisely what we see happen. In other words, the poet of Catalepton 9 thus demonstrates, quite literally, his ability to come close to Graios sales (found at Theoc. Id. 8.56), which is all he hopes for (9.63): optatis plus iam procedimus ipsis.
A detailed discussion of the last parallel organized around the connection of sales with ἅλα, however uncertain it may be, was important for two reasons. First, as we shall see, the practice of placing a Latin word at the same metrical position as its etymologically related counterpart in the Greek model is typical of Catalepton 9Footnote 30 and has certain poetological implications. Secondly, the ideal of transplanting Greek wit to the Roman soil, both proclaimed and, on my reading, exemplified by Catalepton 9.62, is of crucial significance for the entire poem; later we shall return to it too.
III. CALLIMACHUS
The other Hellenistic poet most obviously present in the background of Catalepton 9 is Callimachus.Footnote 31 As already noted, he is likely to be implied by the mention of Cyrene at 61. Likewise, the concluding statement (64 pingui nil mihi cum populo) has often been seen as a declaration of Callimachean elitism. Callimachus, Epigr. 28.4 (Anth. Pal. 12.43.4) σικχαίνω πάντα τὰ δημόσια and Catullus 95.9–10 parua mei mihi sint cordi monumenta … | at populus tumido gaudeat Antimacho are generally adduced as the most relevant intertexts (the latter in turn going back to Callim. fr. 398 Pfeiffer Λύδη καὶ παχὺ γράμμα καὶ οὐ τορόν).Footnote 32 The Catullan context also voices another Callimachean idea important for Catalepton 9: the preference of quality over quantity. The poet of Catalepton 9 only asks the Muses for a few lines (1–2 pauca mihi … dicite, Pegasides); he is happy to have only a few of Messalla's poems translated in his collection (13 pauca tua in nostras uenerunt carmina chartas) and does not want to write about the many merits of the Messallae family (39 multa … praemia). This poetic ideal of brevity will repeatedly resurface in our discussion.
As suggested earlier, Catalepton 9 may have been originally an introductory piece to translations from Messalla's bucolics, just as Catullus 65 prefaces the translation of Callimachus' Coma Berenices.Footnote 33 There is, in fact, at least one close textual parallel between the two ‘introductions': Catalepton 9.7 uestros [sc. the Muses’] expromere cantus is in all probability modelled on Catull. 65.3 Musarum expromere fetus. More to the point, the hexameter of the preceding couplet (9.5 horrida barbaricae portans insignia pugnae) is a variation on a line from the Coma Berenices itself (66.13 dulcia nocturnae portans uestigia rixae).Footnote 34 Unfortunately the Greek original of the Catullan line is lost, but it seems intrinsically likely that the poet of Catalepton 9 would have been familiar with it.Footnote 35 First of all, it should be pointed out that Catalepton 9.5 is not merely an inert imitatio cum variatione of the Catullan line, but takes into account its wider context. The transfer of the notion of the ‘marks of fight’ (uestigia rixae, insignia pugnae) from an erotic to a military context reflects the parallelism implied in Catullus (and presumably Callimachus): fresh from his victory in bed, Ptolemy III is headed for military victories in the east (66.12 uastatum fines iuerat Assyrios). But there may be a more specific point of contact with Callimachus. It has been speculated that the word translated by Catullus as rixa was ἀεθλοσύνη (on the ground of Agathias, Anth. Pal. 5.294.17–18 τὸ φίλημα | σύμβολον ἐννυχίης εἶχον ἀεθλοσύνης).Footnote 36 Yet ἀεθλοσύνη is arguably too mild a term, and in Agathias it refers to a contest for a girl, not with a girl. In Callimachus, if Catullus’ translation is to be trusted, it is a violent fight which left visible marks on the king's body (the idea is more closely paralleled by Hedylus, Anth. Pal. 5.199.6 σκυλμῶν τῶν τότε μαρτύρια).Footnote 37 I tentatively propose a different word, πυγμή: σύμβολα πυγμῆς, ‘a (victory?) token of the fight’,Footnote 38 would closely parallel both Catullus’ uestigia rixae and, especially, insignia pugnae of Catalepton 9. The term pugna is usually understood at Catalepton 9.5 as ‘fight, combat’ in general, but it seems likely that its more specific etymological sense of ‘boxing’,Footnote 39 which is also the standard meaning of πυγμή, is alluded to as well. The reason behind the comparison of Messalla with Oeneus’ offspring and Eryx (6 magnus ut Oenides, utque superbus Eryx), as well as the identity of the former, have been a matter of dispute.Footnote 40 But Eryx is best known as an outstanding boxer, and Schoonhoven seems right in suggesting that the other is Tydeus (rather than Diomedes or Meleager), who is said by Apollodorus to have won the boxing at the first Nemean games (3.66 ἐνίκησεν … πυγμῇ Τυδεύς).Footnote 41 The point of comparison between Messalla on the one hand and Tydeus and Eryx on the other would thus be quite precise: he is not just generally as great as the two heroes, but he resembles them at their moment of victory in a boxing match (5 portans insignia pugnae).
While the direct engagement of Catalepton 9.5 with the Greek original of Catull. 66.13 remains a conjecture, another textual parallel with the Aetia is more palpable. Catalepton 9.15–16 praises Messalla's poems as
It is usually assumed that the point of comparison between Messalla's poetry and Nestor is longevity.Footnote 42 Yet a Callimachean intertext suggests the implication may be different; love, says Callimachus, makes people more eloquent, not longer-lived, than Nestor (fr. 80.20–1):Footnote 43
Messalla's poetry too was inspired by love (Catalepton 9.23 felicem ante alias o te scriptore puellam). A formal point of contact should be stressed: both passages refer to Nestor with the same antonomasia (note also that Pylium and Πυλίου are placed in the same metrical position). Callimachus' fragment is the earliest extant text to use this antonomasia for Nestor.Footnote 44 Although it is not uncommon in Latin poetry, its origin in Callimachus is likely to be remembered.Footnote 45 The wider context of the passage, the story of Phrygius and Pieria, is also relevant. As Harder points out, ‘Pieria's name may be related to the birthplace of the Muses in Hes. […] Thus Pieria, whose achievement surpasses that of Nestor […], may remind the reader of the qualities of Hesiod's poetry.’Footnote 46 The superiority of Pieria's brief request over Nestor's many long speechesFootnote 47 is clearly consonant with Callimachus' preference of quality over quantity—an ideal also important for Catalepton 9. Like Pieria's few words, Messalla's few poems (13 pauca tua in nostras uenerunt carmina chartas) are worth more than all the speeches of Nestor.
Why, then, does Catalepton 9 emphasize Nestor's age (senem: a motif absent in Callimachus) and the durability of Messalla's poetry (saeclis accepta futuris)? The ‘Pylian old man’, I suggest, is to be contrasted with the ‘Sicilian young man’, Theocritus (20 qualia Trinacriae doctus amat iuuenis). It is Theocritus' poems, rather than Nestor's speeches, that establish a model for Messalla's poetic production. This opposition of youth and old age finds a telling parallel in the Aetia prologue, where Callimachus reports the Telchines' reproach (fr. 1.5–6): ἔπος δ’ ἐπὶ τυτθὸν ἑλίσσω | παῖς ἅτε, τῶν δ’ ἐτέων ἡ δεκὰς οὐκ ὀλίγη. As Harder comments: ‘The childlike or youthful poet is a positive contrast to the Telchines' demand of adulthood and Callimachus shows how, in spite of old age, he is able to preserve and renew his youthful qualities.’Footnote 48 Paradoxically, the poet's youthfulness goes hand in hand with the longevity of his poetry (fr. 7.14 ἵνα μοι πουλὺ μένωσιν ἔτος: the similarity of diction with fr. 1.6 τῶν δ’ ἐτέων ἡ δεκὰς οὐκ ὀλίγη seems deliberate). Catalepton 9 employs the same paradox: Messalla's youthful poetry surpasses Nestor's senile eloquence and thus secures lasting fame.
IV. ANTIPATER OF SIDON, ANTH. PAL. 7.713
The Callimachean preference of quality over quantity finds a notable expression in an epigram by Antipater of Sidon on the poetess Erinna (Anth. Pal. 7.713):
This epigram is perhaps best known as the model of a programmatic statement in Lucretius (4.180–2 = 909–11):Footnote 49
Commentators usually draw attention to the closeness of Lucretius' imitation of the epigram's final couplet in the second and third lines of the quoted passage.Footnote 50 But its first line too has points of contact with the first line of the epigram. The compound adjective suauidicus, unattested elsewhere, parallels in a way παυροεπής, which likewise does not occur again till Nonnus (Dion. 19.103); multis uersibus corresponds to πολύμυθος ἀοιδαῖς (which looks forward to ἀναρίθμητοι ἀοιδῶν μυριάδες). Lucretius' allusion to the epigram indicates that it was known in Rome in the first century b.c.
Antipater's epigram seems also to be present in the intertextual background of Catalepton 9, even if less conspicuously than in Lucretius'. The epigram's opening couplet finds a neat parallel in 1–2 pauca mihi, niueo sed non incognita Phoebo, | pauca mihi, doctae, dicite, Pegasides. As we can see, the epigram and Catalepton 9 share the same combination of two concepts: that a poem's shortness can be outweighed by its poetic excellence (παυροεπής … ἀλλ<ά>, pauca … sed) and that the latter depends on divine inspiration (ἀλλ’ ἔλαχεν Μούσας τοῦτο τὸ βαιὸν ἔπος,Footnote 51 sed non incognita Phoebo and dicite, Pegasides).Footnote 52 Of course, both concepts can be traced back to the prologue of Callimachus' Aetia, but their combination within a singe elegiac couplet as well as the formal similarity of expression (note the adversative ἀλλά and sed) place Antipater's epigram and Catalepton 9 together in opposition to Callimachus. As is often the case with epigrams, our epigram is not entirely original. It borrows the former concept from a similar epigram by Asclepiades (Anth. Pal. 7.11.1–3): ὁ γλυκὺς Ἠρίννης οὗτος πόνος, οὐχὶ πολὺς μέν … ἀλλ’ ἑτέρων πολλῶν δυνατώτερος. Both concepts are employed in an anonymous epigram on the same subject, which also, however, prominently features the metaphor of honeycomb, alien to Antipater as well as Catalepton 9 (Anth. Pal. 9.190.1–2): Λέσβιον Ἠρίννης τόδε κηρίον· εἰ δέ τι μικρόν, | ἀλλ’ ὅλον ἐκ Μουσέων κιρνάμενον μέλιτι.Footnote 53 On the Latin side, the closest parallel is provided by the opening of Virgil's tenth eclogue, which is no doubt directly related to Catalepton 9.1–2 (Eclogues 10.2–3): pauca meo Gallo, sed quae legat ipsa Lycoris, | carmina sunt dicenda; neget quis carmina Gallo? Yet again, although Virgil does voice the idea that quality is more essential than quantity (pauca … sed), Lycoris' approval takes the place of divine inspiration as the criterion of poetic excellence.Footnote 54
Rather than arguing that Catalepton 9 alludes solely to Antipater to the exclusion of other related epigrams, I would admit the possibility that, of the five epigrams on Erinna preserved in the Greek Anthology (Anth. Pal. 7.11 [Asclepiades], 7.12 [anonymous], 7.13 [Leonidas], 7.713 [Antipater], 9.190 [anonymous]), more than just one may have influenced Catalepton 9. It seems reasonable to view these five epigrams, if only hypothetically, as in a sense a single unit.Footnote 55 With this admission, I would speculate that Catalepton 9.7–8 nec minus idcirco uestros expromere cantus | maximus, et sanctos dignus inire choros may have been inspired by Anth. Pal. 7.12.5–6 σὸς δ’ ἐπέων, Ἤριννα, καλὸς πόνος οὔ σε γεγωνεῖ | φθίσθαι, ἔχειν δὲ χοροὺς ἄμμιγα Πιερίσιν.Footnote 56 To start with a formal observation, the grammatically equivalent phrases inire choros and ἔχειν δὲ χορούς are placed in metrically similar positions: at the end of either the second or the first half of a pentameter. More essentially, both elegiac couplets speak of a poet's admittance to the choir of the Muses.Footnote 57 Considering their wider contexts, we may further point out that in both cases this statement is made in opposition to some other fact: Messalla is a great warrior but also a great poet, worthy of the company of the Muses; Erinna may have died, but she continues to live in the company of the Muses.
V. ASCLEPIADES, ANTH. PAL. 9.63
Antipater's epigram we dealt with in the preceding section is thought to have been intended, or at least imagined, as a preface to Erinna's Distaff.Footnote 58 Let us now consider another piece of the same kind, an epigram by Asclepiades on Antimachus' Lyde (Anth. Pal. 9.63 [= XXXII Sens]):Footnote 59
To begin with, we may note two possible allusions to this epigram in Latin poetry that attest to its circulation in Rome in the first century b.c. First, there is a fragment of an epigram by Ticida on Valerius Cato's Lydia (fr. 103 Hollis): Lydia doctorum maxima cura liber. The line seems to be punning on two meanings of Lydia: a girl's name and a book's title (especially if cura already means here ‘beloved’ as in later poetry).Footnote 60 In Asclepiades' epigram ΛΥΔΗ (Λυδή / Λύδη) is similarly first an ethnonym, then a proper name, and finally a book's title. The appositive liber neatly parallels the appositive γράμμα. Both the Lydia and the Lyde have their readership (doctorum maxima cura, τίς οὐκ ἀνελέξατο Λύδην;). Cairns even speculates that ‘Lydia could […] have been the title of a translation by Valerius Cato of Antimachus' Lyde’Footnote 61 (rather than of an entirely original work).Footnote 62 Second, an ode by Horace has a girl boast (3.9.7–8): multi Lydia nominis | Romana uigui clarior Ilia. This (Lydian) Lydia, more illustrious than the Roman Ilia, has been argued likewise to be modelled on Antimachus' Lyde, who is τῶν δ’ ἀπὸ Κόδρου | σεμνοτέρη πασῶν:Footnote 63 although Lydian, more dignified than the noblest Athenian women.Footnote 64
Again, it is a specific combination of two motifs that exclusively links Asclepiades' epigram to a passage of Catalepton 9 (23–4): felicem ante alias o te scriptore puellam: | altera non fama dixerit esse prior. This passage is usually compared with Propertius 3.2.15–16 fortunata meo si qua es celebrata libello: | carmina erunt formae tot monumenta tuae. Indeed, both Latin contexts express the same idea that the poet makes his beloved famous by writing about her (te scriptore and meo … celebrata libello; cf. δι’ Ἀντίμαχον). But whereas Propertius speaks in absolute terms, Catalepton 9 introduces comparison: Messalla's beloved is more famous than many celebrated women of the past,Footnote 65 just as Lyde is τῶν δ’ ἀπὸ Κόδρου | σεμνοτέρη πασῶν.Footnote 66 A further point of contact between Asclepiades' epigram and Catalepton 9 is the notion of the joint authorship by the poet and the Muses: τὸ ξυνὸν Μουσῶν γράμμα καὶ Ἀντιμάχου and 9.59–60 quae tecum finxerunt carmina diui, | Cynthius et Musae …. One more possible link between Catalepton 9 and Antimachus will be suggested in the following section.
VI. HERMESIANAX, FR. 3 (LIGHTFOOT)
Most passages of Catalepton 9 we have discussed so far come from those parts of the poem that are more or less directly concerned with poetry. It is therefore hardly surprising that most intertexts suggested so far have poetological implications. Now we turn to the section of Catalepton 9 that speaks of Messalla's military exploits; but as we shall see, on the intertextual level it likewise contributes to shaping Messalla's character as a poet. A kind of Odysseus figure, Messalla leaves Rome and undergoes all manner of hardships on his military campaignsFootnote 67 (43–6):
Yet, while vaguely Odyssean associations are certainly there in this passage, I suggest that also a specific intertext is alluded to which opens a rather unexpected perspective. This intertext is the section of Hermesianax's Leontion narrating of Homer (fr. 3.29–32):
To start with a formal observation, both Homer and Messalla are said to have left their fatherland far behind: πολλὸν ἀπ’ εὐρείης λειπόμενος πατρίδος and tam procul hoc gnato, tam procul hac patria (note that both contexts place the word ‘fatherland’, πατρίδος or patria, in the same position at the end of a pentameter). This may not be a very specific parallel, but it is further corroborated by the emphatic contrast between their previous and their current places of residence. Homer leaves his wide home-country, Asia Minor (εὐρείης … πατρίδος), for the tiny island, Ithaca (λεπτὴν … Ἰθάκην, ὀλίγην … νῆσον);Footnote 68 Messalla leaves the city and forum for military camps (castra foro, te castra urbi praeponere). Both contexts refer to their heroes' suffering: ἣν διὰ πολλὰ παθών and immoderata pati … (note, again, that both place a form of the verb ‘to suffer’, παθών or pati,Footnote 69 in the same metrical position). Behind these similarities lurks the fact that Hermesianax's Homer, too, is modelled on Odysseus.Footnote 70 Homer, it turns out, ‘wrote the Odyssey as a fictional analogue to his own migration from Asia Minor to Ithaka and his own love for Penelope: he created the fictional Odysseus in his own likeness'; in this way Hermesianax creatively misrepresents Homer as ‘a crypto-love poet’.Footnote 71 By alluding to Hermesianax, I suggest, the poet of Catalepton 9 accomplishes a similar goal: while on the surface presenting Messalla as an Odysseus figure, implicitly he indicates that the driving force behind his military exploits is nothing other than love. Messalla's military career proves subordinate to his love poetry.Footnote 72
This implication is apparently further asserted by the allusion to another part of the same fragment that treats Antimachus and his love for Lyde (Hermesianax, fr. 3.41–2): Λυδῆς δ’ Ἀντίμαχος Λυδηίδος ἐκ μὲν ἔρωτος | πληγεὶς Πακτωλοῦ ῥεῦμ’ ἐπέβη ποταμοῦ. Just as Antimachus is said here to have ‘come near the stream of the river Pactolus', so Messalla, only a few lines after the previous passage, is envisioned to ‘come near the stream of the rapid Tagus' (Catalepton 9.51–2): nunc celeris Afros, periurae milia gentis, | aurea nunc rapidi flumina adire Tagi (note the syntactical similarity of the second hemistichs of the pentameters). What in the Greek passage is stated explicitly—Antimachus did it for love of Lyde—is to be inferred, I suggest, for the Latin context as well. Apparently the concept of militia amoris is thus hinted at. But why is the Pactolus replaced with the Tagus? While the former lies far to the east and the latter far to the west, the two rivers share a prominent feature: both of them were famous for their gold-bearing sands. Unlike the Latin (aurea … flumina), the Greek context does not explicitly mention this feature, but it is referred to in what apparently was Hermesianax's model, a fragment of Antimachus' Lyde (fr. 93 Matthews Πακτωλοῦ χρυσέοισιν ἐπ’ ἀνδήροισι θάασσον).Footnote 73 As argued earlier, Catalepton 9.52 aurea nunc rapidi flumina adire Tagi may be intentionally phrased so as to parallel, and thus suggest an alternative reading for, 62 si patrio Graios carmine adire sales. But it also seems likely that, in return, line 62 can shed some light on line 52: the replacement of one gold-bearing river with another—the Pactolus flowing at the edge of the Greek-speaking world, the Tagus at the (opposite) edge of the Latin-speaking world—can be seen precisely as a case of the adaptation of Greek poetry to the Roman soil line 62 speaks about.
VII. POSIDIPPUS' SPHRAGIS
Our final and in certain ways most crucial Hellenistic intertext is Posidippus' so-called Seal elegy (118 Austin-Bastianini) that apparently either introduced or concluded a collection of Posidippus' epigrams.Footnote 74 This sphragis opens with an invocation of the Muses, who are to help Posidippus in composing poetry (1–8). Then it turns to Apollo, who is asked for an oracle to secure the poet's fame (9–18). And it concludes with a wish for a blessed journey to the underworld after a long and fruitful life (19–28). The clearest points of contact with Catalepton 9 are found in the first section of the sphragis (1–8):Footnote 75
These first four distichs of Posidippus' poem are summed up, as it were, in the opening couplet of Catalepton 9 (1–2):
As usual, we may start with formal details. Both passages have their first lines end with a form of Apollo's alias Phoebus; both have their last lines end with formally analogous addresses to the Muses: βαίνετε, ΚασταλίδεςFootnote 77 and dicite, Pegasides. Similarly, though this is more likely to be a coincidence, the etymologically cognate adjectives νιφόεντος and niueo are placed in the same metrical position.Footnote 78 It seems further relevant that both poems refer to Apollo for a second time by his rarer epithet ‘Cynthian’ (9 καὶ σὺ Ποσείδιππόν ποτ’ ἐφίλαο, Κύνθιε, 59–60 quae tecum finxerunt carmina diui, | Cynthius et Musae, Bacchus et Aglaie), and also that both mention Bacchus in connection with poetry. Even more to the point, τι καλόν (παρὰ Φοίβου) can be compared with pauca (sed non incognita Phoebo): both expressions, referring to poetic utterance, emphasize the importance of quality over quantity. And here we come to the most crucial poetological concept that is present in both Posidippus' sphragis and, I would argue, Catalepton 9: the process of composition can be visualized not just as some form of collaboration of the poet with the Muses (or other deities) but more specifically as a chain of poetic transmission in which the Muses only play the role of intermediaries. This idea is quite explicit in Posidippus: the Muses are to write in the poet's tablets what they have heard from Apollo. Indeed, in order to do so, they are to come down from Helicon to Posidippus' home town. The same scenario, I suggest, is hinted at in Catalepton 9 through the somewhat cryptic litotes non incognita Phoebo: what the Muses are to tell the poet is far from unknown to Apollo precisely because it is his ipsissima verba.
Is it important that in Posidippus the Muses act as mere intermediaries between Apollo and the poet? One particular intertext seems crucial for understanding the poetic programme of the sphragis: the so-called proem of Theognis' elegiac collection (lines 1–18). Commentators usually note that the very first words of the book, with which Theognis addresses Apollo (1 ὦ ἄνα Λητοῦς υἱέ), reappear in Posidippus (14 ὦ ἄνα, 9–10 Λητοῦς | υἵ’ ἑκάεργε),Footnote 79 but do not pursue the connection further. The invocation of the Muses and the Graces concluding the proem, I suggest, may be especially relevant for Posidippus' sphragis (15–18):
It has been a matter of dispute why Posidippus invites the Muses to Thebes as well as what city is actually meant (7–8): λιμπάνετε σκοπιὰς Ἑλικωνίδας, εἰς δὲ τὰ Θήβης | τείχεα Πιπλείης βαίνετε, Κασταλίδες.Footnote 80 Whatever is the place alluded to as ‘Piplean Thebes' (if indeed Πιπλείης is the correct reading), the reference is evidently intended to evoke the circumstances of the Theognidean context: the wedding of Cadmus and Harmonia in Thebes. Just as the Muses came to Cadmus' wedding (Κάδμου | ἐς γάμον) and sang for him, so apparently Posidippus asks them to visit him (εἰς δὲ τὰ Θήβης | τείχεα) and write poems in his tablets.
For our purposes, Theognis' invocation is remarkable for containing a line authored by the Muses (and Graces); it is against this line, as we shall see, that the opening of the sphragis resonates (1): εἴ τι καλόν, Μοῦσαι …. The line is a version of a proverb, also known from other texts, but its original sense is not immediately clear.Footnote 81 In the Theognidean context, however, it takes on a somewhat self-referential ring: the saying about beautiful things is itself defined as beautiful (καλὸν ἀείσατ’ ἔπος). It is therefore tempting to read it, whether or not this meaning was intended, as a poetological maxim: the Muses like (φίλον ἐστί) what is beautiful (ὅττι καλόν) and do not like what is not (τὸ δ’ οὐ καλὸν οὐ φίλον ἐστί).Footnote 82 Theognis too quotes this line because it is beautiful itself (καλὸν … ἔπος). In a similar way, Simonides introduces a line from Homer (Il. 6.146) by stating that it is the most beautiful of his sayings (fr. 8.1): ἓν δὲ τὸ κάλλιστον Χῖος ἔειπεν ἀνήρ.Footnote 83 Against this background, we can see first why Posidippus asks the Muses to repeat to him, specifically, beautiful things they have heard from Apollo: only what is beautiful is worth repeating. Yet on the implicit level, the point is that in the very act of asking the Muses to write down for him their, or rather Apollo's, divine words Posidippus is actually doing what he is asking for: τι καλόν is a quotation from the Muses' ipsissima verba as reported by Theognis (note that Posidippus repeats the phrase in the same metrical position). And the deeper import is this: Posidippus can only know the Muses' words because of his knowledge of poetic tradition, in particular of Theognis. In other words, the Muses who are intermediaries between Apollo and the poet can be understood as a metaphor for poetic tradition, the medium by which the poet has access to the transcendent source of all poetry.Footnote 84
It is difficult to decide if the poet of Catalepton 9 recognized Posidippus' allusion to Theognis,Footnote 85 but whether he did or not, he seems to have understood, and developed, its programmatic implication. We have already seen that the opening couplet of Catalepton 9 introduces the notion, derived from Posidippus' sphragis, of poetic composition as a chain of transmission from Apollo through the Muses to the poet. Messalla evidently has an analogous relationship with the gods of poetry: he gives voice to the Muses' songs (7 uestros expromere cantus) and, more generally, shares the authorship of his poems with Apollo, Bacchus, the Muses and one of the Graces (59–60 quae tecum finxerunt carmina diui, | Cynthius et Musae, Bacchus et Aglaie). It seems a natural inference, though perhaps not indisputable, that these gods assisted Messalla in different roles: some composing poems for him, others merely transmitting them. What is even more crucial is that the relationship between Messalla and the poet of Catalepton 9, too, follows the same pattern: our poet puts some of Messalla's poems in his own collection (13 pauca tua in nostras uenerunt carmina chartas; cf. 6 γραψάμεναι δέλτων ἐν χρυσέαις σελίσιν) and in general he aspires to imitate what Messalla wrote in co-authorship with the gods (59 nos ea quae tecum finxerunt carmina diui). While at the opening of Catalepton 9 the Muses are given the role of intermediaries between the poet and Apollo, at the conclusion it is already Messalla who stands between the poet and the gods. This parallelism is, I believe, programmatically important. On the surface level, Messalla is thus assimilated to the Muses; but on a deeper level, it is poetic tradition, more specifically Greek poetic tradition, that is conceptualized as the Muses' non-mythological counterpart.
VIII. THE POETIC PROGRAMME OF CATALEPTON 9: A SUMMARY
The introductory character of Catalepton 9—if indeed it was originally written as a preface to translations from Messalla's Greek bucolics—makes it a particularly suitable place for the poet to express his views on poetry. Several of its intertexts that we have discussed are likewise introductory poems (or something similar). The closest parallel is Catullus 65, which introduces a translation from Callimachus. Antipater's epigram on Erinna (Anth. Pal. 7.713) and Asclepiades’ on Antimachus (Anth. Pal. 9.63) are written as prefaces, though possibly fictional, to editions of the Distaff and the Lyde respectively. Finally, Posidippus' sphragis is likely to have either introduced or concluded a collection of epigrams. These four intertexts make programmatic statements about the poems they accompany. Catalepton 9 differs in that its poetological ideas are applicable not only to the translations from Messalla but also to the poem itself. It does not only state poetic principles, but also puts them into practice.
The Callimachean insistence on the paucity of poetic output, so prominent in Catalepton 9, is only a negative principle. It is supplemented with a positive one: the value of a poem is guaranteed not by its length but by its divine provenance. The involvement of the Muses in the process of composition is, of course, not a new idea. It is already present in Homer (Il. 1.1 μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεά; Od. 1.1 ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, Μοῦσα). Yet the character of this involvement can be conceived of in different ways. Basically two scenarios are possible: joint authorship by the Muses and the poet, or borrowing of the Muses' words by the poet (though the two are not always strictly distinguished).Footnote 86 Among the relevant intertexts, the former concept is employed in Asclepiades' epigram on the Lyde (Anth. Pal. 9.63.4 τὸ ξυνὸν Μουσῶν γράμμα καὶ Ἀντιμάχου), whereas Antipater's epigram on Erinna seems to imply the latter (Anth. Pal. 7.713.2 ἀλλ’ ἔλαχεν Μούσας τοῦτο τὸ βαιὸν ἔπος: if Erinna is the subject of ἔλαχεν). In Posidippus' sphragis, too, the Muses write down verses for the poet (6 γραψάμεναι δέλτων ἐν χρυσέαις σελίσιν), though the language of joint composition is also used (if at 5 συναείσατε rather than συναείρατε is read). Furthermore, it is Apollo rather than the Muses who is presented as the ultimate source of Posidippus' poetry. The idea that the poet's divine co-authors, or rather ghostwriters, are involved in the process of composition in different roles—Apollo producing poems, the Muses forwarding them to the poet—appears unique to Posidippus. I have argued that Catalepton 9 adopts this Posidippean concept—though, of course, the language of our elegy is far from explicit and consistent.
While, as we have seen, in Posidippus the Muses' role as intermediaries between the ultimate source of poetry and the poet is attributed, on the abstract level, to poetic tradition, for the author of Catalepton 9 it is specifically Greek poetic tradition—of which Messalla is a representative—that performs the Muses' function. But what does this declaration mean in practice? Most generally, it means that, as has been argued throughout this paper, Catalepton 9 is engaged in an intricate dialogue with Greek poetry. The author's generic consciousness can be noted: like Catalepton 9 itself, most of its intertexts are in elegiac metre.Footnote 87 As we have seen, Catalepton 9 derives from its Greek models a number of poetological ideas. Yet this intertextual dialogue takes place not only on the conceptual level but also on that of verbal texture. Throughout the discussion, I have been pointing out contexts where a Latin word is placed in the same metrical position as its etymologically cognate counterpart in the Greek model.Footnote 88 This feature is apparently meant to be recognized by the reader. In a sense, it makes Greek poetry materially present in Catalepton 9,Footnote 89 in the same way as the Muses' words quoted by Theognis (17 ὅττι καλόν …) are inconspicuously present in the very opening of Posidippus' sphragis (1 εἴ τι καλόν …).
One final aspect of our poem's engagement with Greek models requires closer attention. In an emphatic way, Catalepton 9 speaks of emulating the wit of Greek poetry (62 Graios … sales), Greek (Attic) wit also being a quality ascribed to Messalla's bucolics in particular (14 carmina cum lingua tum sale Cecropia). Commentators note the parallel, but do not discuss the significance of this poetological concept.Footnote 90 On the surface of it, it may seem that wit is merely singled out as a particular quality that is a manifestation of, say, elegance and sophistication in general. In fact, however, the repeated use of the metaphor of sal appears to have a more specific point of reference. Both passages speak explicitly of either Greek or Attic wit, which cannot but recall a number of Ciceronian contexts. Cicero is notably the most likely person to have introduced into rhetoric the concept of sal, as well as an exponent of the view that wit is particularly characteristic of Athenian authors.Footnote 91 The apparent lack of a proper term in Greek may have contributed to the way Cicero speaks about sal: in several places, he plays with the paradox of Romans mastering this art despite its Greek nature. In a letter to L. Papirius Paetus, Cicero admires his addressee's non Attici sed salsiores quam illi Atticorum Romani ueteres atque urbani sales (Fam. 9.15.2). In the Orator (89), Cicero sets for his Roman audience an image of the ideal orator who will exercise the art of sal in such a way as to surpass those self-proclaimed Atticists and become truly Attic. In On the Orator (2.217), Cicero makes Caesar wittily observe that Greek theorists have been unable to teach the art of wit (as well as to master it themselves); Caesar concludes: qua re mihi quidem nullo modo uidetur doctrina ista res posse tradi. This elusive inimitable nature of sal is evidently the reason why the poet of Catalepton 9 chooses that quality as both the highest praise for Messalla's poetry and the highest ambition for his own. At the same time, although, like Cicero, he underlines the Greek character of the art of wit, the Ciceronian precedents also subtly imply that the poet of Catalepton 9 may in fact be able not just patrio Graios carmine adire sales but indeed to produce non Attici sed salsiores quam illi Atticorum … sales.
IX. CONCLUSION: DATING AND INTERTEXTUALITY
The main purpose of the preceding argument has been to demonstrate that Hellenistic poetry plays a prominent role in the intertextual background of Catalepton 9. It has also become apparent that Catalepton 9 develops an original poetics. The conflicting indications of date have led some scholars to suspect that Catalepton 9 is more of a literary game, a game which does not shun chronological inconsistencies and the dramatic date of which may be quite different from the actual date of composition.Footnote 92 Yet the character of its engagement with Hellenistic poetry, as discussed above, seems to attest to at least some seriousness of intent behind Catalepton 9. Even if this may not be a sufficient guarantee that Catalepton 9 is what it appears to be—a prefatory piece to translations from Messalla's bucolics written on the occasion of a military victory—it is a sufficient reason to attempt a reconsideration of the poem's dating under such a premise. What follows is a first uncertain step in that direction. I propose to begin by re-examining internal historical references in Catalepton 9. Then I shall briefly consider two possible allusions to Catalepton 9 that may help establish a terminus ante.
To start with, some relevant dates of Messalla's career.Footnote 93 Messalla's first significant military success came in 42 b.c. at Philippi, where, fighting for Cassius and Brutus, in the first battle Messalla commanded a legion on the victorious right wing.Footnote 94 In 36 b.c. Messalla participated in the Sicilian campaign against Sextus Pompey;Footnote 95 after Pompey's defeat, he was made an augur.Footnote 96 This is apparently also the year of the birth of Messalla's elder son, Messallinus.Footnote 97 In 35–34 b.c. Messalla fought against the Pannonians and, less certainly, against the Salassi, but with no significant achievements. In 31 b.c. Messalla replaced Antony as consul and held a naval command in the battle of Actium. In 29 b.c. Octavian celebrated his triple triumph (in which Messalla may have participated). Messalla's consulship of 31 b.c. was followed by governorships in Syria and in Aquitania; for successes in Aquitania, Messalla celebrated his own triumph in 27 b.c.
In Catalepton 9 references to Messalla's military activities are confined to two passages. One comes at the beginning of the poem, after the invocation of the Muses (3–6):
If triumphi is taken literally, it will naturally imply Messalla's only triumph in 27 b.c. But the complete absence of recognisable references to the Aquitanian campaign for which Messalla was awarded a triumph is awkward, to say the least.Footnote 98 It has also been proposed that magni magnum decus ecce triumphi may allude to Messalla's participation in Octavian's triple triumph of 29 b.c.Footnote 99 Yet the solemn acclamation (uictor adest …) must surely refer to the triumphator, not one of his generals. Moreover, uictor, qua terrae quaque patent maria, if taken literally, does not merely imply a victory by land and sea but a world conquest (cf. 54 uincere et Oceani finibus ulterius). While it can be doubted whether such an exaggerated praise would be appropriate even at Messalla's own triumph in 27 b.c., it seems all but impossible in 29 b.c. in the presence of Octavian, the real conqueror. If, however, triumphi does not refer to an actual triumph, it may either mean a victory in general or hint at an anticipated triumph. It has been suggested that the way in which Apollo is mentioned in the first line of the poem lends a prophetic colouring to the lines that follow.Footnote 100 A reasonable inference might be that, while some specific, perhaps not very significant, victory is meant, more is expected of Messalla in the future.
The other passage seems to describe Messalla's military activities in greater detail, but again no references to identifiable historical events are to be found (39–54):
To begin with, it has been disputed whether lines 41–54, in whole or in part, refer to Messalla himself or to his glorious ancestors, Messallis Publicolis. Richmond insisted that the only way to make sense of the transition from 40 to 41 is by giving nam its full explanatory force (‘for’) and taking ista at 41 to ‘refer to the family of the Valerii, and mean ista uestra’.Footnote 101 This compelled him to accept solitos at 43 ‘from the inferior Z branch of the tradition’,Footnote 102 to obelize gnato at 44 and, since he viewed 51–4 as referring to Messalla personally, to posit a lacuna after 50. Yet, it is by no means necessary for nam to imply such a strict logical connection. As an old grammar puts it, nam and namque ‘are often transition particles, being used when the speaker passes on to a remark occasioned by the former sentence, but not containing any cause or reason’.Footnote 103 If we have to choose a specific function for nam, it can perhaps be described as exemplification (OLD s.v. 3c). First, the poet states the general rule: the merits of the Valerii have always been given due reward (39–40: praemia). Then he applies it to an individual case: Messalla's merits are manifest (41–54) and due reward will follow (55–8: laudes, monumenta, decus).
If, then, the whole of 41–54 refers to Messalla himself, what historical information can be derived from the passage? Not much. The first ten lines (41–50) describe the hardships of warfare in general. The only specific detail is possibly the mention of a son at 44, if we take it to imply Messallinus (apparently born in 36 b.c.). The final four lines (51–4), on the contrary, contain more or less precise geographical allusions, but none refers to any known campaign led by Messalla. Richmond concluded that they must allude ‘in a prophetic way to the future achievements of the hero’.Footnote 104 ‘To consider the passage from v. 41 to v. 54 as a whole, then: it will be noticed that 41–50 describe labores […] but 51–54 rather describe uictoriae […]. Verses 41–50 seem to refer to the past; we have come to the conclusion that 51–54 must refer to the future. The corollary seems to be inescapable that there is a lacuna in the text after v. 50.’Footnote 105 Richmond further speculated that ‘the lacuna post 50 may have mentioned the conquest of the Aquitani’.Footnote 106 But is a lacuna necessary? The final four lines with their anaphoric nunc are clearly intended to mirror the preceding four lines with their anaphoric saepe. This triple nunc is usually understood as an idiom equivalent to the repeated modo (OLD s.v. nunc 8).Footnote 107 I suggest that here nunc retains more of its temporal force, and is, not paralleled, but contrasted with saepe:Footnote 108 ‘often (in the past) you have been brave; now (in the imminent future) you will conquer the whole world.’ This opposition of saepe and nunc is more effective when the one quatrain is immediately followed by the other. But if there is no lacuna, an argument ex silentio can be used: since Catalepton 9 has no recognisable references to any of Messalla's known military achievements, a date of composition closer to the beginning of his career is more likely.
To sum up: there are some indications of a date in or shortly after 36 b.c., but none is compelling. The mention of the Sicilian hero Eryx at 4 may hint at Messalla's participation in the Sicilian campaign against Pompey in that year. In that year Messalla also became an augur—which may account for the prophetic elements in Catalepton 9. The son alluded to at 44 may be Messallinus, apparently born in that same year. In addition, a British campaign, implied at 54, may have been contemplated at around the same time: in 34 b.c. Octavian is reported to have set out to invade Britain.Footnote 109
Let us now briefly consider two intertexts that may bear on the dating of Catalepton 9. The first is Tibullus 1.7, a poem celebrating Messalla's Aquitanian triumph of 27 b.c.Footnote 110 To start with, a formal similarity can be pointed out: both elegies are 64 lines long (this may be a further argument against lacunae in Catalepton 9). The crucial parallel is found in the passage that arguably foretells Messalla's future victories (Catalepton 9.51–4):
I suggest that it is pointedly alluded to in the opening of Tib. 1.7 (1–4):
On the formal level, the anaphora nunc — nunc is paralleled by the anaphora hunc — hunc; the end rhyme gentis — gentem, by the end rhyme nentes — gentes. The first distich of the Catalepton 9 passage and the second distich of the Tibullan passage have a further similarity: in both cases, the hexameter names a people (Afros … milia gentis, Aquitanas … gentes), the pentameter a river (Tagi, Atur). The pentameters immediately preceding these distichs—9.50 communem belli non meminisse deum and 1.7.2 stamina non ulli dissoluenda deo —have a point of contact too. The former speaks of Messalla's ignoring the impartiality of the god of war, the latter explains, as it were, why Messalla was right to do so: not even a god can change fate (belli … deum is included in ulli … deo). But the most important is, of course, the thematic connection: the Catalepton 9 passage is arguably a prophecy, the Tibullan passage speaks of a prophecy come true (note 1.7.5 euenere). It is thus intrinsically probable that the latter alludes to the former rather than the other way round.
Tibullus' elegy for Messalla opens with the recollection of a birthday prophecy; it concludes with birthday wishes. This concluding passage likewise features suggestive points of contact with Catalepton 9 (1.7.55–62):
Tibullus' first wish, taking up one distich, sounds conventional: may Messalla's progeny increase his glory. The three following distichs develop a rather unexpected idea that Messalla will be praised by people walking along the road he constructed. I suggest this idea was prompted by the refusal in Catalepton 9 to celebrate Messalla's achievements, for ‘they will secure fame and glory for themselves on their own’ (57–8):
Tibullus interprets this prediction literally, as it were. The road built by Messalla will itself be his memorial, indeed a memorial much spoken about (nec taceat monumenta uiae). It will even inspire songs in praise of Messalla, not by poets but by farmers (te canat agricola). Furthermore, it seems no accident that this road is paved, so to speak, with those very stones (hic glarea dura | sternitur, hic apta iungitur arte silex ) on which, according to Catalepton 9, Messalla slept during his campaigns (46 sternere uel dura posse super silice ):Footnote 112 the road thus becomes a monument of Messalla's military exploits as well.
If my interpretation of the relationship between Catalepton 9 and Tib. 1.7 is correct, it gives us a terminus ante of about 27 b.c. The second intertext comes from Horace's first book of satires published in 36/35 b.c.; it will thus potentially establish an even earlier terminus ante. At the beginning of the sixth satire, addressed to Maecenas, Horace argues that humble origin should not prejudice against a man; that, on the contrary, noble descent is no guarantee of a man's virtues. Horace cites the example of a Laevinus who, although a descendant of the famous P. Valerius Publicola, apparently had no political career because of a lack of personal qualities (1.6.12–16):
I suggest Horace's argument can be read as a polemical allusion to the passage of Catalepton 9 that introduces the rehearsal of Messalla's merits (35–40):
In contrast to Horace, Catalepton 9 makes noble descent and personal virtue go hand in hand. Like Laevinus, the ‘Messallae Publicolae’ trace their origin from P. Valerius Publicola; unlike Laevinus, they have merited numerous awards. Two individual points of contact should be stressed. First, both passages refer to the expulsion of King Tarquin in similar terms (1.6.13 Tarquinius regno pulsus fugit; 9.35–6 pulsi liquere penates | Tarquinii); both allude, either explicitly or implicitly, to the role in it of P. Valerius Publicola, but omit that of L. Junius Brutus. Second, both passages speak of the Roman Republic awarding honours; yet whereas Catalepton 9 claims that honours are given to those who have merited them (9.39 multa, neque immeritis, donauit praemia alumnis [sc. Rome]), Horace emphatically asserts the reverse (1.6.15–16 populo, qui stultus honores | saepe dat indignis). It seems further relevant that a few lines later Messalla is mentioned, with a hint of mockery, as a typical aristocrat (1.6.41–2 hoc tibi Paulus | et Messalla uideris?). The point of Horace's polemic apparently would be this: with the aristocratic kind of patronage cultivated by Messalla,Footnote 113 Horace favourably contrasts the more liberal, meritocratic attitude of Maecenas.
This cursory discussion of the Tibullan and Horatian intertexts is, of course, in no way conclusive. Either intertext can admittedly be argued to be irrelevant, or to predate rather than postdate Catalepton 9. Yet it seems suggestive that the resulting terminus ante of 36/35 b.c. is consonant with the date indicated, however faintly, by internal historical references. This dating is also more consistent with the poem's language and style.Footnote 114 If Catalepton 9 was indeed written around that time, and later alluded to by Horace and Tibullus, its place in the history of Latin poetry may prove more significant than usually assumed. A date of composition in about 36 b.c., I suggest, can be accepted as a working hypothesis—to be either confirmed or refuted by further research. A systematic exploration of the intertextual links Catalepton 9 has with the poetry of Horace and Tibullus would no doubt be fruitful. Such an early date of composition also makes Catalepton 9 roughly contemporary with the Eclogues: perhaps one should be open to the possibility that this controversial elegy may have influenced at least some of Virgil's bucolic poems too.
