This article has the aim of bringing some fresh observations to the interpretation of a Martial epigram. Beyond the individual poem, it seeks to read Martial's poetics more broadly, particularly with regard to the presence of Greek avatars, of various kinds, in his poetic production. The strategy will be an exact reading of the literary avatars in 10.4, with an attempt to specify the tone with which individual writers are associated. Once this strategy is developed in the case of well-recognized intertextual models, it will be used to explore an underrated intertext in 10.4.

The twelve lines of this epigram are packed with literary significance,Footnote ² both in the texts to which Martial refers and in the developed metaliterary attitude which Martial strikes.Footnote ³ It has been argued, for example, that Martial declares his satirical stance in opposition to Statius’ Thebaid in the single word caligans and in the choice of the Greek accusative Oedipoden (first attested in Statius).Footnote ⁴ The debate over the precise nature of Martial's stance towards Statius has been a cause célèbre in Martial scholarship: whether we should take the poem as evidence for a heated literary rivalryFootnote ⁵ or as evidence for the playful adoption of a rhetorical attitude,Footnote ⁶ Martial has distanced himself decisively from Statian epic. Furthermore, the manner in which he has done so shows a consummate mastery of literary tone. The end of the poem returns to the issue of famous, learned predecessors. The addressee, Mamurra, is a familiar figure from the poems of Catullus: as a rule, a perfect picture of vice, being prodigal,Footnote ⁷ sexually indulgentFootnote ⁸ and a poetaster.Footnote ⁹ In Martial the name occurs also in 9.59, and again the bearer is over-sexed, pretentious and ridiculously incapable of backing up his delusions of grandeur. The strategy of borrowing this figure had already been employed by Horace (Sat. 1.5.37): Mamurra had become a byword, and the notion that Mamurra in Martial was a mere ‘willkürlich gewählter Name’ seems untenable in view of the consistent portrayal with which he is furnished.Footnote ¹⁰ Catullus’ view of Mamurra is thus being co-opted by Martial: Mamurra, of all people, stands in need of correction, of ‘knowing himself’, both in the Catullan text and in Martial's reflection of that text in his own epigrams. The addressee of the poem is thus himself a deliberately literary character.

Yet, for readers of earlier Latin poetry, the literature from which Martial wishes to protect his addressee strikes an unusual note (10.4.11–12):

Catullus’ Mamurra, who might benefit from better reading-material but whose character does not allow him to do so, is said to prefer reading the Aetia. Catullus—Martial's favourite intertext—is thus distanced from Callimachus, since Catullus’ target is to read literature that Martial also distances himself from.Footnote ¹¹ Callimachus’ prized status among the Augustan poets hardly needs demonstration.Footnote ¹² To name him here explicitly as a model to be avoided is therefore a significant stance.Footnote ¹³ Indeed, the very naming of the poet and his work, entirely contained within a single metrical colon, is in deliberate contrast to the oblique reference to Statius at the poem's opening. If we must guess the identity of Statius, and the particular work at which Martial is tilting here, from the opening line of the epigram, the end of the poem leaves us in no doubt that an individual writer and a particular poem were indeed meant. The coupling of a Latin and of a Greek writer serves to underline Martial's point that mythological poetry monotonously reconfigures the same material.Footnote ¹⁴ Good poetry, therefore, must be sought elsewhere. Indeed, it is precisely with good poetry and what makes it that Martial is concerned in the sequence 10.2–10.5, providing us with an instance of Martial's careful structuring of his individual books.Footnote ¹⁵

The question of Martial's judgement of Callimachus is important for our argument. In the only other reference to Callimachus, 4.23, the Greek poet once again fails to reach Martial's standards.Footnote ¹⁶ Callimachus is said to have conceded the palm of epigram of his own accord to Bruttianus, whose talent in the field of Greek epigram is thereby assured.Footnote ¹⁷ Martial's prayer to Thalia, Muse of epigram, is that she put him second to Bruttianus, should the latter begin to write Latin as well as Greek epigram. But the terms in which Bruttianus’ skill is couched call for comment (4.23.6–8):

The charm with which Martial fears Bruttianus may be sated is specifically ‘Attic’ charm.Footnote ¹⁸ In connection with Cyrenaean or (perhaps more relevantly) Alexandrian Callimachus, this seems strange. Bruttianus might have been given the palm of Greek epigram by Callimachus, but he is explicitly distanced from Callimachus’ literary heritage: in fact, Callimachus is effectively dismissed.Footnote ¹⁹ One might compare Horace's Pindar poem, Carm. 4.2, and Prop. 2.34, in which there is a similar ‘triangulation’ of poetic talent:Footnote ²⁰ in the case of Horace, between himself, Iulus and Pindar; in the case of Propertius, between himself, Lynceus and, ultimately, Virgil. Propertius’ Virgil is the representative of ‘grand’ poetry, precisely the kind of writing Lynceus is warded away from; Iulus is also contrasted both with Horace and with Pindar, the latter standing for a style beyond the imitative powers of lesser poets, the former demonstrating how such imitation might be done while disclaiming any intent to do so. In Martial, differently, Callimachus is to be nudged gently into third place, given Bruttianus’ putative foray into Latin epigram; it is probably impossible to say whether or not this is deliberate inversion of the pattern in Horace and Propertius. Attic charm, Roman wit and Alexandrian epigram are thus ranked in this order and, as we shall see, the specific qualities of Attic literature are crucial for the argument of this paper.

Evidently, then, the kind of Greek literature with which Martial associates Bruttianus—in flattering terms—is Attic and not Alexandrian; and by implication it is this kind of literature which Martial sees also as his own province. Even if Callimachus is here a representative of epigram, it is clear that Martial sees his work as fundamentally different in kind; the taint of mythological literature, it seems, still lingers.Footnote ²¹ Martial's statements here are sometimes brought into alignment with the recusatio so often practised by Augustan poets.Footnote ²² But there is a significant difference from the Augustan use of this motif. The Roman elegists disclaim an ability to write the required verses; the recusatio is a request to be let off from the duty of producing grand epic. Martial's point, both in 10.4 and in 4.23, is that writing mythological epic is less good than writing epigram: ‘his principal argument is not that he is unable to write in the loftier genre … but straightforwardly attacks those who write in the genre of mythological epic as well as tragedy’.Footnote ²³ This accords with Martial's polemic elsewhere, for example in 9.50.5–6:

The beauty of Brutus’ famous statue (cf. 2.77.4, 14.171, Plin. HN 34.82) is contrasted with the ‘dirty great Giant’ of Gaurus’ mythological poem on Trojan topics (9.50.3–4); note that size alone is not the issue as much as poetic finish.Footnote ²⁴ The combination of the word luteus, so often used of dirty water in metapoetic contexts, with the Gigantomachy, the classic subject of inflated epic, links Martial's poem with this literary topos.Footnote ²⁵ The contrast between the Giant, a fictional unpoetic creature, and the deceptively realistic Langon,Footnote ²⁶ which is so lifelike that it may be described as uiuus, is plain. The catalogue of mythical exploits in Spect. 27 ends on a similar note (Spect. 27.11–12 = 31.11–12 Coleman):

The dismissal of Hercules’ exploits (several of which are explicitly named in the rest of the poem) in favour of the real cut-and-thrust of the gladiatorial arena again corresponds with Martial's values elsewhere.Footnote ²⁷

Thus, we need not be surprised at the statement in 10.4 that the Aetia ranks low in Martial's estimation next to his own form of poetry.Footnote ²⁸ Indeed, given the parallels to the thought in 10.4 sketched above, it may not be correct to read 10.4 as a paradoxical joke.Footnote ²⁹ But how does Martial characterize his own poetry? Martial frequently points to earlier poets to justify his own practice (particularly Marsus and Pedo: 1 praef. 11; 2.77.5; 5.5.6; 8.55.23; 7.99.7; 10.20.10). The highly structured balance of the epigram is confirmation of this:Footnote ³⁰ we expect another author alongside Martial to balance Statius and Callimachus; furthermore, we might guess that this poet is Greek, in counterpoint to Callimachus and in combination with Martial's own role in representing Latin poetry. However, if Martial is referring to a poetic predecessor here, he is not named; we must therefore be supposed to recognize some allusion, rather as we are at the epigram's beginning. And if our reading of 4.23 is correct, we might also expect that we are looking for an Attic writer in particular, and one whose works embody the qualities of everyday realism that Martial prizes.

The clue to this poet's identity is the ‘vivid personification’Footnote ³¹ of uita in 8 (10.4.7–8):

This is the opening couplet of the poem's second half, ‘la parte propriamente programmatica’, according to Sergi.Footnote ³² Watson and Watson are right to call attention to the personification, for not only is it vivid, it is highly unusual.Footnote ³³ In fact, one of the very few forerunners of this motif, as seen by Holzberg,Footnote ³⁴ is found in an epigram of Aristophanes of Byzantium:

This was the most famous formulation of Menander's closeness to real life, though other poets, including Latin writers, also remarked on the realism of New Comedy.Footnote ³⁶ Realism, in fact, is a key theme in Martial's own production:Footnote ³⁷ the programmatic statement in the prologue to Book 1 is perhaps the clearest indication of this (1 praef. 9–10):Footnote ³⁸

It is not simply a matter of Martial's personal intention to write poems with claims to ueritas, rather the very nature of the genre demands the use of language enabling this claim. Elsewhere in Martial's work this link between poetic quality and ueritas justifies his use of obscenity (1.35, 11.90): real life is by this means brought into his poetry.

Might Martial have had some other Greek author in mind when he personified uita in this way? Strikingly, the only other case of the vocative of βίος in Greek literature before the Byzantine period is in an epigram of ‘Aesopus’ (Anth. 10.123):Footnote ³⁹

But even here the literary heritage is plain to see: this epigram has been imitated from Menander, fr. 373,Footnote ⁴¹ albeit with a less philosophical spin on the desirability of short life:

The vocative βίε in Aesopus thus once again points us in the direction of Menander. The advice given is as much literary as it is moral. The reader of the epigram is presented with a contrast between things which are a delight to see (earth, sea, stars, moon and sun) and everything else (dismissed as ‘fear and pain’ or, if good, as attracting requital). Aesopus too is using the reminiscence of Menander to draw a picture of the everyday pleasures accessible to all; Menander, the reading material of everyday life, is recalled both by the address to Life and by how the good things of life are defined.Footnote ⁴²

Martial 10.4 thus activates the literary heritage of Attic comedy against the heritage of Alexandria.Footnote ⁴³ Although Menander is not without reminiscences of mythological motifs, his interest is always in their relevance to the everyday lives of seemingly realistic characters, rather than in narration of details for the sake of it.Footnote ⁴⁴ We are a world away from the Aetia’s mythological preoccupation. Menander's poetry is exactly the sort of which life could say ‘it is mine’—indeed, that is precisely the point of the witty epigram of Aristophanes of Byzantium; Martial, by articulating this through the voice of ‘Life’ itself, draws our attention to Aristophanes’ joke, and the inversion of mimetic practice it implies.

For Damschen, the key to the interpretation of this epigram was line 10: hominem pagina nostra sapit. This line, with its culinary tone (linking it with 10.59 in Damschen's interpretation), led him to see the whole epigram as a battle over the content—the ‘flavour’—of different forms of poetry.Footnote ⁴⁵ Other scholars have also seen culinary themes as crucial to Martial's output, in particular to his poetic claims.Footnote ⁴⁶ For our purposes, the more important link is the frequently observed similarity to New Comedy, particularly Terence.Footnote ⁴⁷ And yet, the interest in moral qualities like ‘humanity’ is no Terentian invention: they can be traced back into Greek New Comedy as well. Perhaps the most striking example of this can be found in the prologue of Menander's Dyskolos (6):

The play will dramatize the process by which Knemon's humanity is (partially) re-established. More widely, the idea of an essential unity in humankind is a frequent topos exploited by Menander, usually by young men seeking approval for their choice of partner (cf. Men. fr. 835 and a sadly fragmentary dialogue passage on an apparently similar theme at Sam. 137–43 m).

There may be yet another indication that Martial has Menander in mind in the last couplet of the poem. Callimachus is recommended as Mamurra's reading material not because Mamurra has explicitly mythological interests as such, but rather because he has no desire either to discover his own ways or to know himself. The reference to the Delphic wisdom γνῶθι σεαυτόν could hardly be more apparent.Footnote ⁴⁸ Yet, the poet who perhaps made more, and more famous, play with this proverb than any other was once again Menander:Footnote ⁴⁹

This last example is particularly striking, since it is the only extant case in which the Delphic wisdom is subjected to ironic criticism.Footnote ⁵⁰

Again, Martial uses the literary reminiscence with pinpoint rhetorical accuracy. Mamurra, who has no interest in self-knowledge or personal development, will turn his back on morally improving poetry. New Comedy's concern for the τρόπος of its characters, and by extension of its audience, aligns it with the epigram's assumption of a moral program.Footnote ⁵¹ Mamurra is thus susceptible neither to Martial's message nor to comedy's; mythological epic offers him, by contrast, a means of avoiding the everyday, realistic and applicable in favour of the monotonous and remote.Footnote ⁵²

Menander—as an Attic author, as a comic poet writing ‘realistic’ drama and as a writer concerned with morality in a broad sense—is revealed as the key intertext of this epigram. If the presence of comedy is accepted, we can schematize the second half of the epigram according to the following pattern:

The patterning, with its sudden reversal in the final couplet, adds a further layer to the ἀπροσδόκητον identified by Sergi, and brings the structural play of the first half of the poem into the second as well. This reading of the Martial epigram has brought some new interpretative material to bear on 10.4, in particular Attic comedy, and the opposition of Attic and Alexandrian literature. Martial's polemic against mythological poetry is thus not only a matter of his own literary stance; rather, it is itself part of a rich network of literary texts forming the background of ‘light’ or ‘small’ literature.Footnote ⁵³ Comedy, with its realistic characters and deep connection with the everyday, must have been an attractive genre in which Martial could set his own poetics.Footnote ⁵⁴ Furthermore, Menander specifically must have been an attractive comic poet for Martial's purpose; the anecdotes that were told in the Imperial period of concentrated and detailed plotting followed by fluent verse composition—whatever be their veracity—provide an obvious analogue for Martial's own assertion of writing nugae.Footnote ⁵⁵