That March Boy Martial

Today is March 1st, the birthday of the Roman poet Marcus Valerius Martialis, commonly called Martial. I would often teach about Martial and his poetry to my Latin students as they were making the transition between textbook Latin and authentic Latin literature.

In honor of the poet's birthday, here is the less-than-humble epigram he wrote to introduce his work:

Hic est quem legis ille, quem requiris,

toto notus in orbe Martialis

argutis epigrammaton libellis:

cui, lector studiose, quod dedisti

uiuenti decus atque sentienti,

rari post cineres habent poetae.

                                                                    Martial, Epigrams I.1 

And my translation:

Here's that guy you read, who you're looking for,

Martial, known in the whole, wide world

for his witty little books of epigrams.

The props you have given him, eager reader,

while still alive and awake,

few poets get after they're dead. 

 

Here is the information about his life and works I would distribute to my students:

Marcus Valerius Martialis, known commonly as Martial, perfected the Latin epigram as a literary artform. He penned well over 1,500 poems, each one on a single, specific topic. His work became popular among the Romans and was imitated by the poets of the empire and Renaissance and it still serves as the model for writers of epigrams today.

HISTORY AND CAREER

Martial was born around AD 40 in Bilbilis in the Roman province of Hispania.  He was given the cognomen Martialis because he was born on the Kalends of March. After spending most of his life in and around Rome, he returned to his hometown late in life and died there around 104.

After receiving a good education, Martial made his way to Rome in about 64.  There he made the acquaintance of several of the notable authors of the day, including Juvenal and fellow Spaniards Quintilian, Seneca the Younger, and Lucan. He quickly learned of life in the center of the empire after both Seneca and Lucan were ordered to commit suicide upon being linked with the conspiracy of Lucius Calpurnius Piso in 65.

Martial, of humble, provincial origins, had to rely upon his writing talent to make ends meet in the big city. In his own poetry he writes of being poor and having to climb up three flights of stairs to his humble apartment. He also writes that his patrons were not very generous. As his fame grew, his conditions improved and he makes mention of a small house on the Quirinal Hill and a cottage in nearby Nomentum, a small town in Latium. He was also awarded the honorary rank of military tribune and, although not married, was granted the ius trium liberorum, giving him tax exemption and other privileges usually reserved for fathers of three children.

HIS WORKS

The term epigram comes from the Greek epi meaning “upon” and graphein meaning “to write.” Its origins lie in the precision and economy of inscriptions on monuments and tombstones, but it was later developed into its own genre by the Greeks. Before Martial, Catullus from the 1^st century BC, reigned as the king of epigrams, often writing about love and hate and the struggles with his relationships. Following Catullus’ inspiration, many writers of the late republic and early empire penned epigrams, but very few of their works have survived. Martial perfected the form, writing to the point and without the weighty mythological similes and allusions so common in Latin lyric and epic poetry. Many of his poems consist of a single couplet with only a few exceeding twenty lines. Most of his epigrams are written in elegiac couplets; a sixth in hendecasyllabics, some 80 are choliambics, a few in iambics and hexameters.

Martial’s first known work was the Liber Spectaculorum, a collection of poems commemorating the opening of the Colosseum in Rome in AD 80. Thirty-six of the poems have survived, most of them praising the emperor Titus and providing valuable information about his inaugural games.

Around 84, Martial published a series of elegiac couplets used as labels on gifts given to friends and guests attending banquets during the Saturnalia. These gifts included food, drinks, clothing, stationary, furniture, toys, artwork, pets, and even slaves. Later, these epigrams would become Books XIII and XIV of his complete collection of Epigrams.

In the ensuing years 86-98, Martial produced eleven volumes of his most famous work of Epigrams. Like all good authors, Martial wrote about the world around him, including the memorable characters and follies he saw every day in the bustling, cosmopolitan streets of Rome. His subject matter includes poignant anecdotes and affections for true friends, acquaintances, admirable heroes from Roman history, faithful wives and slaves, the joys of country life and his Spanish homeland.  He is better known for his commentary on the seedier inhabitants of Rome: fortune-tellers, drunks, lovers, critics, and hypocrites. He also wrote in praise and complaint about his patrons and fellow poets. Finally, as a dutiful client, some of his poems are addressed to the emperor Domitian. They are marked by obvious flattery or overt praise, most likely as a means of insuring preservation and support from the principate.

A large number of Martial’s epigrams are obscene, causing him to preface several of his books with defensive comments and he cites Catullus as a precedent. Perhaps in response to criticism, he dedicated Book V to matronae puerique virginesque and Book VIII has no poems on objectionable subjects. While most of his poems are addressed to an individual, many of the names are probably pseudonyms. He wrote that it was his custom parcere personis, dicere de vitiis = “to spare the people but reveal their vices.”

Around 100, Martial had exhausted his material and tired of Rome. He returned to Bilbilis and settled down comfortably on a farm given to him by a patroness. It was there that he wrote his twelfth book in the winter of 101. While the specific date is not known, Pliny the Younger, in one of his epistles, praises Martial and mentions his death in 104.

SOURCES

Lilian Feder, The Meridian Handbook of Classical Literature. New York: New American Library, 1986.

M. C. Howatson, ed., The Oxford Companion to Classical Literature, 2^nd edition. New York: Oxford University Press, 1989.

 

Erotion's Parents

The other day in Latin III, my students asked a question that made me realize something about Martial's poem V.34 about the death of Erotion. The parents of this very young slave are dead.

Hanc tibi, Fronto pater, genetrix Flaccilla, puellam

     oscula commendo deliciasque meas,

parvola ne nigras horrescat Erotion umbras

     oraque Tartarei prodigiosa canis.

Impletura fuit sextae modo frigora brumae,             5

     vixisset totidem ni minus illa dies.

Inter tam veteres ludat lasciva patronos

     et nomen blaeso garriat ore meum.

Mollia non rigidus caespes tegat ossa nec illi,

     terra, gravis fueris: non fuit illa tibi.                    10

In line 1, there has been mention of the chiasmus that exists in Fronto pater, genetrix Flacilla and how this reflection of word order suggests that the mother and father are facing each other, perhaps consoling each other in their grief. I generally like this suggestion and agree with it, even using this phrase as an excellent example of the poetic device and how it works. What is more interesting to me, though, is the placement of Hanc and puellam at the beginning and ending of the line, completely surrounding her huddled parents. To me this arrangement illustrates that Erotion exists in a world outside her parents. If her parents were alive, wouldn't "this girl" be more comfortable and loved by the placement between her father and mother?

When reading the poem, we do not learn by the persona, presumably Martial, that Erotion has died until the third line. He sets up the image of a sweet girl by mentioning her oscula and delicias until line 3, a jarring revelation when we realize that she, quite young (parvola) will be shuddering at the "dark shadows" which will be surrounding her, quite literally. Notice the arrangement of nigras...umbras physically around the shuddering girl (horrescat Erotion). The whole image is reinforced in line 4 with the realization that she will have to make her way past Cerberus (Tartarei...canis).

Therefore, if Martial is entrusting the care of Erotion to her parents (tibi...commendo, lines 1-2) before she her soul makes the journey to the Underworld, it only logically follows that Fronto and Flacilla are already there, waiting to receive her on the other side.

I think I overlooked this interesting point in the past because I was so eager to get to Martial's "gotcha" at the end of the poem and show my students the poet's poignant conclusion:

Mollia non rigidus caespes tegat ossa nec illi,

     terra, gravis fueris: non fuit illa tibi.                    10

"Do not let rough sod cover her gentle bones, earth, nor lie heavy upon her; she was not heavy upon you."

Living the Happy Life

I offered this poem to my Latin III students recently. They dutifully translated it, but, as it should be, they did not appreciate the message:

Martial X.47: "Living the Happy Life" Vitam quae faciant beatiorem, Iucundissime Martialis, haec sunt: Res non parta labore, sed relicta; Non ingratus ager, focus perennis; Lis numquam, toga rara, mens quieta; Vires ingenuae, salubre corpus; Prudens simplicitas, pares amici; Convictus facilis, sine arte mensa; Nox non ebria, sed soluta curis; Non tristis torus, et tamen pudicus; Somnus, qui faciat breves tenebras: Quod sis, esse velis nihilque malis; Summum nec metuas diem nec optes.

And here is my (somewhat free) translation:

Martial, my good man, these things make for a happier life: stuff not gotten from work, but left to you; a happy garden, always a fire in the stove; never being called to court, a little-used suit, a mind at peace; free-born strength, a healthy body; straight-talking wisdom and friends who feel the same way; modest entertainment, simple food; not partying all night, but free from cares; not sleeping alone, but not around either; dreams which make the night pass quickly: may you want to be who you are and long for nothing; may you neither dread your final day nor look forward to it.

Certainly words of wisdom which could have been typed by anyone seeking to shut out the frenzy of the modern world and not penned by someone over 1,900 years ago.

I'll Do It Tomorrow...

The poet Martial writes in Epigram V.58:

Cras te victurum, cras dicis, Postume, semper:
dic mihi, cras istud, Postume, quando venit?
Quam longe cras istud! ubi est? aut unde petendum?
Numquid apud Parthos Armeniosque latet?
Iam cras istud habet Priami vel Nestoris annos.
Cras istud quanti, dic mihi, possit emi?
Cras vives? Hodie iam vivere, Postume, serum est:
ille sapit quisquis, Postume, vixit heri.

And I offer this translation:

You always say that you will live tomorrow, Postumus, tomorrow!
Tell me, that tomorrow of yours, Postumus, when does it come?
How far away that tomorrow is! Where is it? Where must we look for it?
Does it hide out among the Parthians and Armenians?
That tomorrow of yours is already as old as Priam or Nestor.
Tell me, how much will that tomorrow of yours cost?
Will you live tomorrow? Postumus, it is already too late to live today:
He is wise whoever lived yesterday, Postumus!

This poem has come up in class at a very interesting time. It is the end of the marking period and I have just spent a very unpleasant weekend grading papers, tests, essays, and make-up work. When I say that I spent the weekend, I mean, literally, the whole weekend.

The first part of the problem comes from my own procrastination. I let the papers pile up and then they become a chore. When they become a chore, they are avoided. When they are avoided, they hang over my head and make me more anxious than any sword of Damocles.

The second part of the problem I attribute to overextending myself and saying "yes" to far too many things when I am already taxed. We moved to block scheduling this year and that means three 90-minute shows a day, each show different, interesting, and, I hope, productive.

Finally, I am beginning to realize that the third part of the problem is that I am requiring too much graded work from my students. There are quizzes on vocabulary, grammar, syntax, translations, culture, history, mythology, and then tests, benchmark tests, and exams. I also require prepared translations and exercises and even the occasional poster or project. Those who are marginal students are quickly overwhelmed and become discouraged. In frustration they come to hate the study of Latin, regret their decision of taking it, and refuse to go on.

My realization, some twenty years after I started teaching: not everything requires work, not all work requires a grade, and not every grade needs to be recorded. As a young teacher fresh out of college I would have considered this blasphemy. Now, as an experienced teacher in the middle of my career, I realize that this is the approach that will allow me to see the wisdom of Martial's words.

Echoes Between Authors

I always get excited when I come across an echo from one author to another. When I was reading Martial the other day, I found

Verona docti syllabas amat vatis,
Marone felix Mantua est...
te, Liciniane, gloriabitur nostra
nec me tacebit Bilbilis. (Epigrammata I.61, ll. 1-2, 11-12)

and immediately thought of Ovid's

Mantua Vergilio gaudet, Verona Catullo;
Paelignae dicar gloria gentis ego... (Amores III.15, ll. 7-8) .

Also worthy of note... my students always consider it arrogant when a poet boasts of his present or future fame, which brings to mind Horace's

Exegi monumentum aere perennius...
Non omnis moriar multaque pars mei
vitabit Libitinam... (Odes XXX.30, ll. 1, 6-7).

I use this as one of those "teachable moments" when I remind them that the poet's prophetic statements actually came true.