Speaking Stone in Catullus 55
2016; University of Chicago Press; Volume: 112; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1086/689728
ISSN1546-072X
Autores Tópico(s)Classical Philosophy and Thought
ResumoPrevious articleNext article FreeSpeaking Stone in Catullus 55Molly Pasco-PrangerMolly Pasco-PrangerUniversity of Mississippi Search for more articles by this author PDFPDF PLUSFull Text Add to favoritesDownload CitationTrack CitationsPermissionsReprints Share onFacebookTwitterLinked InRedditEmailQR Code SectionsMoreIn Catullus’ Poem 55, the poet-narrator traverses much of the center of Rome in search of his friend Camerius: he passes through the campus minor (perhaps the flat land south and east of the Petronia Amnis as far as the Capitoline), through an area named as in circo (either the Circus Maximus or the Circus Flaminius), through the libelli (perhaps bookstores near the top of the Forum and along the Vicus Tuscus, but I will return to this question),1 around Jupiter’s Capitoline temple, and finally into the portico of Pompey’s theater (in Magni … ambulatione), dedicated in 55 BCE, not long before the composition of the poem. Pompey’s portico is distinct from the other stops on Catullus’ itinerary: he has come here last, and stays here at least through the next seven lines, never expressly leaving. This topographical climax of the poet’s search also gets us somewhere in interpretive terms, and it is here I too will linger for the next few pages, making an attempt to read Catullus’ encounter with “all the girlies” (omnes … femellas)2 in the portico both in relation to a set of Hellenistic and Augustan poems in which statues address or converse with the poet, and in relation to well-known poetic initation scenes, suggesting that Catullus’ search for Camerius is more textual than it might seem at first read.We must note to begin that some of the key lines in question are severely textually vexed; here is Douglas Thomson’s text (Catull. 55.9–12):3†avelte† (sic usque flagitabam):“Camerium mihi, pessimae puellae!”quaedam inquit, nudum reduc “en hic in roseis latet papillis.”[“Hand over” ?] (I kept demanding like this)“Camerius to me, you awful girls!”One of them said, exposing [?] her bare [breast?],“Look, he’s hiding here in my rosy little tits!”We read in line 6 that the narrator “grabbed all the girlies” (femellas omnes … prendi) and here he addresses them. The manuscripts read avelte, which means nothing; editorial suggestions have included audite, audite en, efferte en, aufertis.4 Camerius’ name appears in the accusative, then mihi in the dative, so the garbled word might be an imperative of giving, showing, telling. On the other hand, it may be that the situation is sufficient to imply such a demand in the nominal syntax of direct and indirect object without the expression of an imperative.5 No entirely satisfactory emendation has been adduced. The usque Thomson prints is H. A. J. Munro’s emendation for an ipse in the manuscripts;6 the end of line 11 requires some work as well, though there, at least, there is general agreement that the speaker is pulling down her dress to reveal her breasts, as her words in the next line make clear.At this point in the poem, commentators frequently observe that Pompey’s portico was a popular pick-up spot in the city,7 and see the words and gesture of the femella as evidence for prostitution in the portico. As Thomas McGinn notes in his study of Roman prostitution, “The portico at the Theater of Pompey was such a familiar venue for the solicitation of clients that the association was elevated to a literary topos,”8 with Ovid, Propertius, and Martial offering ample evidence of this sordid reality.9 The Catullan poem would offer, then, the first example of the topos. McGinn, quite reasonably, reads real prostitution as generating the literary topos, but the interaction between literature and life is seldom so simple as that, and we must keep open the possibility that the literary topos generated the place’s reputation as much as the other way around, that this is a truly literary “topography” we find ourselves in.10Whether it was (or was already in Catullus’ day, just months after its dedication) easy to pick up women in Pompey’s portico, there was certainly another group of femellae lurking in Magni … ambulatione, in fact many such groups: the place was well stocked with statuary from the East or copies thereof, commemorations of Pompey’s conquests, and the statuary was largely feminine in subject. In a late Republican Rome where statue groups of women were a distinct rarity, this concentration of feminine statuary would have been striking.11 We know that the collection included a group of Muses, a group of female Nationes, a group of female authors, a set of extraordinary births (or, as Janet DeRose Evans suggests, “Wonders of Nature”) that was likewise heavily feminine, and perhaps a group of famous Greek hetairai. The last group has been recognized by Ann Kuttner as significant to the Catullan poem; Kuttner writes: “The call-girls’ implacable vultus serenus evokes the garden-statues of courtesans; … she who pulls down her gown turns herself into a classic Venus image.”12 This observation is excellent and requires but a small adjustment to take us much further: is a vultus serenus really characteristic of a teasing, flirting, flesh-and-blood prostitute who flashes the poet in the next line? Do we have to think of real prostitutes here at all? Are the statues themselves not being addressed here, and speaking back? This could explain not just the vultusserenus, but also the strange use of vocabulary: the word femella is otherwise unknown; might it indicate smaller-than-life size statues or an imitation of a femina? Or perhaps Ca-tullus marks the unusual femininity of the sculptural program with an unusually girlish word.13 In line 17, Catullus uses another word elsewhere unknown until quite late as he asks nunc te lacteolae tenent puellae? These “milky-white girls” are not always read as connected with the femellae of line 7, also called puellae at line 10, but they almost certainly should be, and so their milky-whiteness might be that of marble.14Speaking statues are, of course, not unheard of in Hellenistic poetry: Callimachus’ interview with a statue of Apollo at Delos in Aetia fragment 114 functions by dint of its survival as the ur-text for the motif: there the poet addresses short questions to the statue about its identity, size, and attributes, and is answered directly. Tibullus in 1.4 asks a statue of Priapus how he gets so much attention from beautiful boys, and is answered with some sixty lines of useful advice, concluding with praise of poetry as a valuable gift to a beloved. This longer “Priapic” poem finds its analog in short poems inscribed (or quasi-inscribed) on statues of Hermes and Priapus in which the statue addresses the passerby’s presumed questions.15 Propertius 4.2 likewise picks up on this tradition: a statue of Vertumnus located in the Vicus Tuscus begins the poem with a second person Quid mirare …?, and speaks for the whole of the poem about its own history and powers. Ovid’s Fasti also contains a variety of speaking statue-gods, Janus in Book 1, for example, or Magna Mater in Book 4.The fact that all of these other speaking statues are divinities perhaps suggests that we should open up our view of which statues might speak in Pompey’s portico. As I mentioned above, the statue groups present included, in addition to the hetairai group, a set of Greek poetesses and a set of Muses, the latter of which is partially extant;16 Kuttner has argued that these two groups were likely in a pendant relation of some sort in the garden’s sculptural program, which she reads as a “museum” of culture and history, an invitation to poets and patrons to walk through an inspiring “moralized and moralizing landscape.”17 Evans goes further, suggesting that what we have identified (following the Christian apologist Tatian) as statues of prostitutes in the portico more likely should be understood as a group of comedic heroines (and perhaps also tragic ones), appropriate to the attached theater and more in concert with the literary turn of other statue groups in the portico. What, then, if we think of the femellae whom Catullus accosts in Poem 55 as not a hetairai group, but instead a more literary set, perhaps even the Muses themselves?One effect of this shifted identification is to make new meanings for the saucy banter between Catullus and the girls: this is precisely the way the Muses (or their stand-ins) talk to poets when they meet them. Most famous (and harshest) is the Hesiodic ποιµένες ἄγραυλοι, κάκ᾽ ἐλέγχεα, γαστέρες οἶον (“Rustic shepherds, evil oafs, nothing but bellies,” Theog. 26). Epimenides in his initiation by Aletheia and/or Dike clearly imitates Hesiod: Κρῆτες ἀεὶ ψευσταί, κακὰ θηρία, γαστέρες ἀργαί (“Always lying Cretans, evil beasts, idle bellies,” frag. 1). Archilochus has a similarly contentious meeting with the Muses, reported in an inscription of the third century BCE from the Archilocheion outside Paros:18 when he was a youth, his father sent him into the countryside to lead a cow back to the city for sale; at a particular place along the way a group of women seemed to appear; young Archilochus greeted the women with jests (σκώπτειν), appropriate to his iambic career to come; they responded in kind (τὰς δὲ δέξασθαι αὐτὸν µετὰ παιδιᾶς καὶ γέλωτος), and offered to buy the cow from him at a fair price; the women and the cow disappeared, and a lyre was there in their place. Theocritus’ poetic initation in Idyll 7, complex as it is, shares this feature of mockery: the quasi-divine shepherd Lykidas answers the poet-figure Simichidas’ challenge, “grinning unperturbed with a smiling eye and laughter held his lips” (καὶ µ᾽ἀτρέµας εἶπε σεσαρώς / ὄµµατι µειδιώντι, γέλως δέ οἱ εἴχετο χείλευς, 20]), and continues this gentle mockery throughout the poem (see, e.g., lines 42 and 128), handing Simichidas a staff as a gift of friendship from the Muses at the end of the exchange.19Turning back to the Catullan poem with these models in mind opens new interpretive avenues. We might be inclined, for example, to revert from Thomson and Munro’s usque to the manuscripts’ ipse in line 9—the pronoun would emphasize that Catullus spoke first (like Archilochus or Theocritus), not waiting for the femellae to mock him. It may also be that the narrator’s admittedly rude address to the ladies in question is due to a mistaken understanding of their social class or standing. Compare the Archilochan initiation, where there is an implication that the young Archilochus thought these women were something they were not:ὡς δ᾽ ἐγένετο κατὰ τὸν τόπον, ὅς καλεῖται Λισσίδες, δόξαι γυναίκας [ἰ]δεῖν ἀθρόας. νοµίσαντα δ᾽ ἀπὸ τῶν ἔργων ἀπιέναι αὐτὰς εἰς πόλιν προσελθόντα σκώπτειν, τὰς δὲ δέξασθαι αὐτὸν µετὰ παιδιᾶς καὶ γέλωτος …When he came alongside the place which is called “Slippery Rocks” he seemed to see a group of women. Thinking that they were coming into the city from work, he mocked them as he drew near, and they received him with jesting and laughter …I suspect that women met in the predawn hours and believed to be returning from “work” might be suspected of prostitution, and addressed accordingly. Archilochus’ ladies respond with teasing, and so do Catullus’.20Unfortunately, no poetic initiation follows in Catullus’ case, so we might seem to have hit the end of this line of interpretation. We must remember, however, that Catullus is not looking for initiation. He is no cowherd or shepherd, nor is he pretending to be, but a poet already well into his (albeit brief) career. It is not a staff or lyre, but Camerius that he wants those Muses or literary ladies to hand over. What would Camerius be doing in this company? It may be that he too is a poet. T. P. Wiseman has made a tentative argument for an identification of Camerius based on a Republican tomb inscription (ILLRP 439) that names a Cornificia, daughter of Quintus, wife of Camerius. A Q. Cornificius, likely Cornificia’s brother, is known: a praetor in 45 BCE, and a poet, likely the addressee of Catullus 38. Cornificia too wrote, Jerome tells us, and a reference to her in Cicero’s letters suggest that she moved in the same circles as Catullus.21 Is Camerius, then, a member of a literary family? This possibility renders a more satisfactory explanation of Catullus’ search for Camerius “in all the libelli.” Though proposed emendations still arise, Scaliger’s suggestion, dating back to 1577, that in omnibus libellis has the poet-narrator searching “in all the bookshops” remains the most widely accepted.22 If we indeed are speaking of bookshops, then one would only look for a man with a literary turn of mind therein.23 However, nowhere else does libellus mean “bookstore,” and Catullus uses it elsewhere, of course, to refer to his own “little book.” Even if Catullus is using the word as a substitute for librarii, it surely retains some tinge of its more literal meaning, and so could take us one step further: one does not look for people in books unless they are writers.It is significant, however, that Catullus has not found his friend in any libelli; he does not, in fact, have a place in the books, at least not yet. Sarah Culpepper Stroup has recently reexamined the meaning of the libellus within the literary “society of patrons” in the late Republic. Arguing that the diminutive of liber in Catullus’ usage and elsewhere indicates “anxious special interest,” with the anxiety in question centering on “potentially large-scale literary publication: the circulation of one’s written text outside a sphere of competent textual fellows—out of the sphere of one’s control—and into the world at large.”24 The appearance of the term frequently in introductory or dedicatory contexts marks this association with the “anxieties of publication,” the fear of losing control, the sense that the work must simultaneously be sent boldly forth and be protected.25We should not be surprised, then, that Catullus’ reaction to his failed search is to urge his friend to reveal himself, to publish: dic nobis ubi sis futurus, ede / audacter, committe, crede luci. (“Tell me where you’re going to be. Be bold—publish! Go for it! Trust the light of day!” 55.15–16). The verb edere is rare in Catullus, but is more than once associated by him with poetry and publication (4, 64.306, 92, 95).26 Poem 95 in particular celebrates the long-awaited publication of Cinna’s Smyrna: Zmyrna mei Cinnae nonam post denique messem / quam coepta est nonamque edita post hiemem (“My Cinna’s Smyrna, finally, nine harvests and nine winters after it was begun, has been published,” 95.1–2). There is, of course, a literary topos in erotic/symposiastic literature of urging friends to reveal their love affairs, sometimes called the “out with it!” motif (cf. Hor. Carm. 1.27; Catull. 6) and Poem 55 certainly plays with that topos: nonetheless, the narrator never implies a particular love affair that has hidden Camerius away from him—the “girls” are always plural. In Poem 6’s “out with it!” appeal, Catullus wants to put Flavius’ loves into verse: quare, quidquid habes boni malique, / dic nobis. volo te ac tuos amores / ad caelum lepido vocare versu (“So whatever you have, good or bad, tell me. I want to summon you and your loves to the sky in clever verse,” 6.15–17). In 55, Catullus wants speech or words from Camerius himself: si linguam clauso tenes in ore, / fructus proicies amoris omnes. / verbosa gaudet Venus loquella (“If you hold your tongue in a closed mouth, you lose all the profit of love. Chatty Venus enjoys talk,” 55.18–20).Catullus’ search, then, is both for a man and for his words, and it is important to think about those two things together. Don Fowler describes the sexual and gender ambiguity implicit in poetic inspiration wherein the poet is both energized or empowered by the muse and simultaneously changed from subject to object; to be inspired is to “lose masculine self control” and be “penetrated and overborne.” Yet the results—an authoritative voice, poetry, words, the fructus amoris that Catullus points to in line 19—are worth it. They leave the poet back on top, as it were.27 Except, Camerius has not come out on top; in fact, he has not come out at all. His encounter with the poetic has not just meant penetration, it has meant occlusion, immersion; he has been swallowed up, held by “the girls” in the shadows (ubi sint tuae tenebrae, 55.2; crede luci, 55.16).28 He has not, after all, published—nothing has come of his submission. In successive lines, Camerius himself, and then his tongue, function as the object of the verb tenere: nunc te lacteolae tenent puellae? / si linguam clauso tenes in ore … (“Now the milky-white girls hold you? / If you hold your tongue in a closed mouth …” 55.17–18). The lines suggest the close connection between Camerius’ occlusion and his silence, with Catullus perhaps playing with a (false) etymological connection between tenebrae and tenere.29 The thought here, and even at points the language, is strikingly similar to Cicero’s defense of literary otium in the Pro Archia: ceteros pudeat, si qui se ita litteris abdiderunt ut nihil possint ex eis neque ad communem adferre fructum, neque in aspectum lucemque proferre: me autem quid pudeat … (“Let others be ashamed, if they have so hidden themselves in literature that they can neither produce anything out of it for the common good, nor bring anything forth to be seen in the light. But why should I be ashamed …” Arch. 12).30 Literary otium without production is shameful and leaves one hidden away, in the shadows, away from the action in the public eye that is so crucial to the construction of Roman manhood.31Walking back through the topography of Catullus’ search for Camerius, we might note that the search begins in the public, open, masculine spaces of the campus and the circus. If the libelli are bookstores in the Vicus Tuscus, we can imagine the poet passing through that road into the northwest end of the Forum Romanum, and then to the only place that can top the Forum in masculinity, public prominence, and visibility: the Capitoline. Throughout these lines, the man himself is anaphorically emphasized with the repeated pronoun: te in Campo … minore / te in Circo, te in omnibus libellis, / te in templo summi Iovis sacrato. With the precipitous descent into the enclosed shade32 of the Magni ambulatione, the object of the poet’s searching grasp shifts immediately (simul) to the feminine figures (femellas omnes), through whom alone he might gain access to Camerius. Kuttner’s analysis of the Hellenistic models and the Roman cultural contexts of Pompey’s portico makes clear its overwhelming emphasis on the feminine, not just by virtue of the female deity honored at the top of the theater’s cavea and the collection of statues of women and goddesses displayed in the garden, but also by virtue of its “insistent recourse to Greekness” in association with intellectual activity. As Kuttner observes, however, the portico’s celebration of “the worth of the female, of civilization, of Hellenism” is “shown to depend on a masculine Roman virtus” that orders, presents, and sustains the space. With the formal request that starts this poem, Catullus asks of Camerius a similar demonstration of his masculine control of the cultural milieu into which he has ventured: Oramus, si forte non molestum est / demonstres ubi sint tuae tenebrae (“Please, if it’s not too much trouble / show me where your shadows are,” 55.1–2). Through composition and publication, the poet redefines and emerges from the shadows. Find the words (out there, in the public space of the city) and you find the “man” as well. Notes 1. The topography of the first part of this itinerary is still uncertain, not least because the arrangement of some buildings and spaces in the southern Campus Martius is uncertain, with much depending on the nature and extent of the Circus Flaminius. For the debate as centered on this poem, see Richardson 1980, answered by Wiseman 1980; for the broader topographical questions, see Coarelli 1997, 3–17, 363–74; LTUR, s.v. Petronia Amnis (Coarelli), Campus Martius and Campus minor (Wiseman), and Circus Flaminius (Viscogliosi). I tend to favor Richardson’s argument for a set of locations close together at the south of the Campus Martius, rather than Wiseman’s more wide-ranging suggestion that the circus in question is the Circus Maximus and the campus minor is to be identified with the Campus Martialis on the Caelian; the choice, however, has no major effect on my discussion.2. Translations throughout are my own.3. Thomson 1997, 132.4. For a good discursive presentation of the history of several textual questions in these lines, see Harrison and Heyworth 1999, 100–101.5. A suggestion made by Thomson (1997, 337 on 55.10), but rejected by Harrison (in Harrison and Heyworth 1999).6. Munro 1938, 130.7. E.g., Ellis 1889; Fordyce 1961; Garrison 1989; Thomson 1997, ad loc.8. McGinn 2004, 22 n. 54.9. Ov. Ars am. 1.67, 3.387; Prop. 2.32.11–16, 4.8.75; Mart. 2.14.10, 11.1.11, 11.47.3. It is worth noting that none of these sources actually point to prostitution, however, but rather to the generalized presence of available women and the portico’s regular use as a place to stroll. While Cynthia in Prop. 4.8, as part of her strict new lex, forbids the poet to stroll there, the poet in 2.32 wishes Cynthia would pass her time there rather than heading out of town so often. This seems an unlikely wish if strolling = prostitution, or if a woman strolling in the portico risked being taken for a prostitute.10. A point brilliantly made for Roman poetry broadly by Thomas (1988), in a review of Jasper Griffin’s Latin Poets and Roman Life.11. Evans 2009, 135. On the program’s feminine focus more generally, see Kuttner 1999, 345–49.12. Kuttner 1999, 351, though I cannot think of an ancient Venus image where the goddess actually pulls down her dress front.13. On the use of Latin diminutives to convey femininity or even effeminacy: Ross 1969, 22–23; Hanssen 1951, 113–16.14. Again, Kuttner (1999, 351) almost says this, but with the emphasis on the likeness of the flesh-and-blood girls to the statuary in the portico.15. A good discussion of these precedents for the longer Roman “speaking statue” poems can be found in Hutchinson 2006, 87–88, in his commentary on Propertius’ Vertumnus poem.16. Fuchs (1982) sets out the evidence and images of the surviving Muse statues.17. Kuttner 1999, 361–62. The argument for the arrangement is based on Antipater of Thessalonike in the Greek Anthology, Gow-Page, GP 19.18. Lasserre and Bonnard 1958, frag. A 11a = SEG 15 no. 517. Mnesiepes, the dedicator of the inscription, claims ancient sources for his stories, but the epigraphical style indicates that the inscription likely has a fourth-century book-source (Lasserre and Bonnard 1958, LXXIX). For a good recent discussion, see Clay 2004, 14–16.19. Though it postdates the Catullan poem, we might also think of Ovid’s teasing interaction with Venus at Fast. 4.1–18.20. See Wray 2001, 167–86 and Heyworth 2001 for recent treatments of the relationship between Catullus’ poetry and Archilochus’.21. Wiseman 1976. See Jer. Chron. Olympiad 184.4; Cic. Att. 13.28.4.22. Discussed and defended in Wiseman 1980, 8–10; see also Thomson 1997, ad loc. and a new suggestion in Kokoszkiewicz 2007, 616–19.23. White (2009, esp. 282–85) has recently taken us a long way toward imagining the role bookshops played in the literary culture of Rome. See also Winsbury 2009, 57–66, which is more conservative in assessing the importance of the book trade.24. Stroup 2010, 101–9, quote on 107. One might quibble with the “potential large scale” in Stroup’s formulation, but the point stands.25. See Fitzgerald 1995, 44–55 on Catullus’ broader poetic engagement with this theme and its connection to erotics.26. Winsbury (2009, 87–90) analyzes the Latin vocabulary of “putting into circulation” a book or other literary work.27. Fowler 2002.28. We might detect in the background here the model of Hercules’ fruitless search for Hylas, his young beloved, pulled into a spring by desirous nymphs in Mysia, with the story activated for the reader by 55.13: sed te iam ferre Herculei labos est (“But now to bear you is a labor of Hercules”). Cf. Kuttner 1999, 351 on the variety of “labors” of Hercules this line might evoke. The search for Hylas is not amongst the canonical labors, but it becomes in the later Roman tradition a central myth for elegiac reflections on erotics, gender inversion, and poetic production: see Miller 2004, chap. 3 passim, but esp. 65–66, 72, 84, 94.29. Cf. Isid. Etym. 13.10.12: tenebrae dicuntur quod teneant umbras.30. See Stroup 2010, 42–63 on literary otium in Catullus and Cicero and esp. 51–53 on the Pro Archia.31. As CP’s reader has pointed out to me, Poem 35 is a useful comparandum here, as the poet calls his fellow poet Caecilius from the arms of a very literary girl (Sapphica puella / musa doctior, 35.16–17) to return attention to a poem on Magna Mater he has “charmingly begun” (est enim venuste / Magna Caecilio incohata Mater, 35.17–18). Caecilius runs a risk of being unmanned and destroyed by the girl (illum deperit impotente amore, 35.12) if he fails to respond to Catullus’ summons, a danger the poet perhaps links playfully with the motif of ritual castration implicit in Caecilius’ topic.32. For Ovid and Propertius, shade is characteristic of Pompey’s portico (scilicet umbrosis sordet Pompeia columnis / porticus, Prop. 1.32.11–12) and can often metonymically name it (tu neque Pompeia spatiabere in umbra, Prop. 4.8.75; tu modo Pompeia lentus spatiare sub umbra, Ov. Ars am. 1.67; at licet et prodest Pompeias ire per umbras, Ov. Ars am. 3.387). 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