Aemilius Macer as Corinna’s Parrot in Ovid Amores 2.6

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tokens are not mere items of recognition, but more meaningful allusions to a narrative trope that governs the play throughout. Michael C. Sloan Wake Forest University

LITERATURE CITED Mueller, Melissa. 2010. Athens in a Basket. Arethusa 43: 393–98. Owen, A. S., ed., comm. 1939. Euripides: “Ion.” Oxford.

AEMILIUS MACER AS CORINNA’S PARROT IN OVID AMORES 2.6 The similarities between Ovid Amores 2.6, on the death of Corinna’s parrot, and Amores 3.9, on the death of Tibullus, have often troubled critics.1 After all, the extreme sadness that Ovid conveys over the human death risks becoming less impressive when the same degree of angst is expressed for a bird. Scholars have taken several different tacks in addressing this jarring juxtaposition between human and avian death: some elevate the importance of the parrot as a sincerely missed pet;2 some question the sincerity of the poet’s grief for Tibullus;3 others have sidestepped the issue by interpreting the parrot metapoetically and reading Amores 2.6 as a statement not about a parrot but about poetry.4 This article will combine the interpretations that read the parrot metapoetically and those that concede genuine grief over the parrot’s death by suggesting that Ovid’s parrot is not a general symbol of a type of poetry, but is a mask for a particular dead poet. Specifically, I will argue that in Amores 2.6, Ovid mourns the death of Aemilius Macer in the guise of Corinna’s parrot. While many scholars have focused on the metapoetic qualities of Ovid’s parrot or have interpreted it as an alter ego of the still-alive Ovid, only two critics have suggested that the dead parrot might instead represent a particular dead poet, even as the close parallels between Amores 2.6 and 3.9 on Tibullus encourage such a reading.5 J.-Y.

I am grateful to CP’s editor and anonymous referee for their helpful suggestions. Many thanks also to Tim O’Sullivan and Richard Thomas for providing valuable feedback on an earlier draft of this article. 1. E.g., Myers 1990, 374. Thomas (1965) provides a detailed analysis of the parallels between Am. 2.6 and 3.9. 2. E.g., Thomas 1965, 599. 3. E.g., Perkins 1993, 455. Cahoon (1984) both elevates the value of the parrot as a symbol of “such old-fashioned values as fides, pietas, and pax” (34) and downgrades the value of Ovid’s Tibullus as representing “the new, artificial, and sophisticated techniques for deceit and seduction and adultery . . . ” (34). 4. E.g., Boyd (1987, 200) argues that “the psittacus is not to be seen simply as any kind of poet, but as a specifically Alexandrian poet”; in her later book, Boyd (1997, 178) calls the parrot Ovid’s “would-be poetic alter ego.” For Ovid’s metapoetic parrot, see also Parker 1969, 94 –95; Hinds 1987, 7; Davis 1989, 87–96; Myers 1990; Houghton 2000, 718–20; Holzberg 2002, 58–59; Fréchet 2005; James 2006; O’Rourke 2012, 402–3; Thorsen 2014, 162–65. Cahoon (1984) acknowledges some metapoetic aspects of 2.6 but does not support a purely aesthetic reading of the poem. Booth (1991, 45) is also skeptical of the metapoetic approach. 5. In addition, Ovid’s reference to Philomela’s lament for Itys in Am. 2.6.7–10 brings to mind Catullus’ lament for his dead brother in Catull. 65.13–14 and so may further encourage the reader to think in terms of dead people and not just dead birds. James (2006, 13) also compares the parrot’s final farewell to Corinna (Am. 2.6.48) to Catullus’ farewell to his brother in Catull. 101.10.

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Maleuvre proposes that the parrot is Virgil, who died in 19 BCE, and Ulrich Schmitzer that the parrot is Gallus, who died in 27 or 26 BCE.6 While the close proximity of the deaths of Virgil and Tibullus, as suggested by Domitius Marsus’ epigram (7 Bl.) on Tibullus’ death, may support the notion of Virgil-as-parrot, little else in the poem does.7 Schmitzer’s theory about the parrot-as-Gallus is carefully argued but ultimately based on strained textual evidence.8 Paula James acknowledges that Schmitzer’s theory would “address in some measure the discomfort various critics have felt over the similarity between the parrot poem and the mourning for Tibullus” but also notes that “although Gallus was exposed to the Hellenistic literary influences transmitted to Roman writers by the Greek Parthenius, he was important to the Latin elegists as an originator not an imitator.”9 I agree that the imitatrix-parrot would be an odd bird to represent Gallus (or Virgil), and I hope to show that the connections between the parrot and Aemilius Macer, who died in Asia in 16 BCE, are more compelling.10 Aemilius Macer was a poet famous for his imitations of Greek models: Quintilian references Nicander as Aemilius Macer’s model for the Theriaca, and Boeus’ Ornithogonia is usually assumed to be the model for Macer’s other major work, the Ornithogonia.11 While critics point out that Aemilius Macer’s works seem to take liberties with their models and are not simply translations in the modern sense,12 the fact remains that no wholly “original” poems are attributed to him, and the titles of his works invite close comparisons with their models. The parrot in Amores 2.6 is not just called an imitatrix ales (“imitator bird,” 2.6.1) but is also linked to verbs that can be used of literary translation. For instance, J. C. McKeown notes a reference to translation in 2.6.18: vox mutandis ingeniosa sonis (“a voice ingenious at translating words”) and does not quite

6. Maleuvre 1999, 179–90; Schmitzer 1997. 7. To make his case, Maleuvre (1999) generally relies on drawing parallels between lines from Am. 2.6 and lines from Virgil’s poetry or poems about Virgil, but I find his parallels too loose to be convincing. 8. E.g., Schmitzer (1997, 253) connects Ovid’s mention of the parrot’s eastern origins (2.6.1) to the EastWest formula frequently attributed to Gallus (on which, see Cairns 2006, 97–99), but the parrot is not linked to the East and West—simply the East. Schmitzer also suggests (254 –55) that the “stammering” nature of the parrot’s speech (blaeso  . . .  sono, 2.6.24) is an allusion to the cause of Gallus’ downfall since blaesus can also mean intoxicated (cf. the drunken speech that led to Gallus’ downfall in Tr. 2.445– 46). But this parrot is specifically said to drink water, not wine (2.6.32)—a marked preference since parrots are reputed to enjoy wine (e.g., Plin. HN 10.117). 9. James 2006, 5 (both quotes). James (2006, 30 n. 10) adds that she owes the point about Gallus being known as an originator to Carole Newlands. 10. The date of Aemilius Macer’s death, which is recorded by Jerome, fits well with what (admittedly, little) we know about the publication of the Amores. For an overview of the chronology of the Amores and the possible publication dates of the first and second editions (if there really were two editions), see McKeown 1987, 74 –89. Aemilius Macer’s death in Asia could also fit with the focus on the Eastern origins of the parrot (Eois . . . ab Indis, 2.6.1)—though even without Aemilius Macer’s connection to Asia, he might be associated with the East through his imitation of Nicander of Colophon. 11. Quint. Inst. 10.1.56. For an overview of Aemilius Macer’s poems, see Dahlmann 1981; Néraudau 1983; Courtney 1993, 292–99; Hollis 2007, 93–117. There is debate over whether Macer also wrote a third didactic work, based on Nicander’s Alexipharmaca, on the medicinal power of plants, or whether the ancient references to his poetry on plants (e.g., Ov. Tr. 4.10.44; Disticha Catonis 2.2–3) allude simply to sections of the Theriaca. For my purposes, it is not essential to determine whether Aemilius Macer wrote a separate work on plants, though my instinct, following Hollis (1973), is to believe he did. On Boeus’ Ornithogonia, see Forbes Irving 1990. As Forbes Irving (1990, 33) notes, an underlying theme of Boeus’ work is that “all birds were once men,” and “each story ends with a general transformation of even irrelevant characters into different birds.” 12. E.g., Hollis 2007, 104, ad frag. 50. As many have commented, the Roman concept of translation could encompass word-for-word translation as well as looser or more creative imitations (e.g., Beall 1997, 218). For further discussion of Roman theories of translation, see Lewis 1986; Possanza 2004, 21–77; McElduff 2013 (with notes for further bibliography).

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know what to make of it: “mutandis . . . sonis is difficult . . . . It may be, however, that the sense is ‘translate’. . . . It is not clear, however, in what way Corinna’s parrot might have been considered to ‘translate’.”13 In addition, toward the end of the poem, the parrot in Elysium “attracts to himself by his words the feathered faithful” (convertit volucres in sua verba pias, 2.6.58)—so, Grant Showerman’s Loeb translation. But the Latin suggests another possibility: converto can be used both of physical metamorphosis (OLD 8a) and literary translation (OLD 9)14—a perfect verb for an author who translated a work on bird metamorphoses. In fact, volucres is the word that Ovid uses to refer to Aemilius Macer’s Ornithogonia in Tristia 4.10.43 (saepe suas volucres legit, “often he read to me his own birds”). Perhaps, then, in Elysium, the parrot continues to “translate his pious Birds into his own words” (2.6.58).15 Thus, Ovid’s decision to pay tribute to Aemilius Macer—an author famed for imitating or translating a work on birds (and particularly on humans who become birds)—in the guise of a skilled, imitating parrot would make sense in a way that representing another sort of poet as a parrot might not. After all, the parrot is no nightingale or swan, and, as K. Sara Myers notes, “Parrots and other imitative birds such as crows, jackdaws, and magpies appear in Greek and Latin literary-critical contexts as symbols for the most part of bad poetry (the swan being of course the most frequent positive metaphor for a poet).”16 That said, while it is always difficult to gauge Ovid’s tone, I do not think that we need to read his parrot necessarily as a disparaging representation of a poet and that we can take seriously the many compliments he pays it, such as labeling its voice “clever” (vox . . . ingeniosa, 2.6.18) or its mouth “skilled in speech” (ora . . . docta loqui, 2.6.62). It also seems reasonable to interpret the dearness of the parrot to Corinna as a statement of the dearness of the parrot to Ovid’s poetics, if his puella is a symbol of his poetry.17 Certainly, the evidence we have for Ovid’s relationship with Aemilius Macer suggests that he respected the older poet. The most direct evidence is found in Ovid’s “autobiographical” account of his life in Tristia 4.10, in which Aemilius Macer appears prominently at the beginning of the list of poets whom Ovid associated with in his youth (4.10.43– 44): saepe suas volucres legit mihi grandior aevo, / quaeque nocet serpens, quae iuvat herba, Macer (“often Macer, advanced in age, read to me his own birds, and what snake harms, and what plant heals”). In addition, Macer’s Ornithogonia is usually assumed to have influenced Ovid’s Metamorphoses, itself so full of bird metamor­

13. McKeown 1998, 119. I am using Kenney’s text of Ovid’s Amores (OCT, 1994). Translations are my own unless otherwise noted. 14. McElduff (2013, 190) says of converto, “Along with verto, this is one of the most common verbs for translation.” 15. In the Underworld, Ovid separates the “pious birds” (volucrum . . . piarum, 2.6.50) from the “inauspicious ones” (obscenae . . . aves, 2.6.51). Maybe this distinction between pious (auspicious?) and inauspicious birds constitutes another reference to Macer’s Ornithogonia, since one of the surviving fragments concerns the swan as an auspicious bird (frag. 4 Bl.). Ovid may also be playfully distinguishing his poetic parrot from the obscene bird of Catull. 2 and 3. For the debate on the erotic reading of Catullus’ sparrow poems, see Gaisser 2007, 305– 40. 16. Myers 2002, 193. She discusses (193–95) examples from Callimachus (Ia. 2, frag. 192.11 Pf.), Persius ( p raef.8–14), and Martial (10.3.1–6), among others. See also Newlands 2005, 164. 17. Cf. Schmitzer (1997, 266–67), who views Corinna as a symbol of Ovid’s love poetry and the parrot’s farewell to her in 2.6.48 as Gallus’ farewell to love elegy.

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phoses, even though we are lacking enough fragments of Macer’s work to prove that Ovid engaged with it.18 If Ovid did choose a parrot to represent Aemilius Macer qua poet-imitator of Greek models, there may be additional reasons he chose this bird despite the potential literary-critical baggage it brings with it. For instance, it is always possible that the parrot appeared in a positive fashion in Aemilius Macer’s Ornithogonia or even as an alter ego of the poet. Another possibility is that the negative connotations of the parrot were applied to Aemilius Macer by his critics, and Ovid may be tendentiously defending Aemilius Macer’s reputation by paying tribute to him as an ingenious (and not a bad) parrot-poet. Indeed, there is some evidence that Aemilius Macer was not universally admired by his contemporaries or later readers in antiquity. A recent interpretation of Catullus 97, addressed to an Aemilius, suggests that Catullus’ reference to the Cisalpine word ploxenum in 97.6, as well as his colorful depiction of a mule in heat in 97.7–8, make it possible that Catullus is critiquing his fellow Cisalpine poet, Aemilius Macer, and parodying his poetry.19 It seems plausible that Aemilius’ rustic, technical topics may indeed have inspired ridicule among urbane poets such as Catullus, and that this ridicule is reflected in the prosaic words and rustic, repulsive tone of Catullus 97.20 Whether or not Catullus 97 parodies Aemilius Macer, we know that Quintilian ranks Aemilius Macer far behind Virgil as a hexameter poet and faults his style for being humilis (“not sublime,” “humble”).21 Certainly, the few fragments that remain of Macer’s work have led critics to comment on his simple style, so different from that of the neoterics.22 Thus, perhaps Ovid’s garrulous,23 imitative parrot, who drinks “simple 18. For the probable influence of Aemilius Macer on Ovid’s Metamorphoses, see Dahlmann 1981, 10–11; Néraudau 1983, 1726; Hollis 2007, 102. Critics generally (and, I think, rightly) agree that the Macer referenced by Ovid as a writer of Trojan epic (Am. 2.18; Pont. 4.16.6) and a recipient of a letter from Ovid in exile (Pont. 2.10) cannot be Aemilius Macer. See, e.g., Hollis 2007, 101. The only other reference to a Macer in Ovid is found in Quint. Inst. 6.3.96, in which Quintilian references some quatrains of Macer used by Ovid to compose a book Against Bad Poets. Both Courtney (1993, 292) and Hollis (2007, 116–17) express uncertainty about which Macer Quintilian is referencing, and we know nothing else about this elusive work of Ovid. 19. O’Bryhim 2012. Quint. Inst. 1.5.8 connects ploxenum to Cisalpine Gaul, and Jerome calls Aemilius Macer a Veronensis poeta. O’Bryhim (2012, 154) suggests that “Catullus’ scorn for Aemilius was aroused not so much by his uninspired catalogue poetry as by his attempt to cross generic boundaries by writing love poetry, the one type of verse that could be expected to draw the sexual attention of women.” Yet, in the absence of evidence that Aemilius Macer wrote anything besides technical, didactic poetry, I do not think it is necessary to posit lost love poems in order to make sense of the poem. 20. Ovid’s description of the parrot as being “snatched away by envy” (raptus es invidia, 2.6.25) might also connect to his carping enemies. Cf. Ovid’s similar description of his own poetic enemies in Pont. 4.16.1: Invide, quid laceras Nasonis carmina rapti (“Envious one, why do you tear apart the poetry of Naso, snatched away”). Similarly, the still-living group of hateful birds in 2.6.33–36 and the “inauspicious birds” (obscenae . . . aves, 2.6.52) in the Underworld might reference further groups of critics. Cf. Schmitzer (1997, 265), who sees the first group of birds as representing the poetic and perhaps political enemies of Gallus. 21. Quint. Inst. 10.1.86 –87. For the literary-critical ramifications of humilis, see the discussion of Néraudau 1983, 1715–16. 22. E.g., Néraudau 1983, 1723–25. 23. Other critics have noted the potentially un-Callimachean nature of Ovid’s depiction of the parrot’s speech as garrulus (“talkative,” 2.6.26) and loquax (“loquacious,” 2.6.37). E.g., Myers 1990, 369 n. 8; Schmitzer 1997, 269. Since Myers’ overall argument presents the parrot as representing Ovid’s own Callimachean ideals, she counters the negative possibilities of these adjectives and suggests that garrulus “may simply underline the ability of the parrot to speak (as in line 37 loquax, and lines 29–30 below), or alternately, that Ovid may be poking fun at his own pretensions and poetic productivity” (369 n. 8). I agree with Schmitzer’s (1997, 269 n. 103) resistance to this explanation. Cf. Horace’s use of garrulus to describe Lucilius’ long-winded and unrefined style in Sat. 1.4.12; he also associates both garrulus and loquax with the terrible chattering of his “pest” in Sat. 1.9.33. On the negative stylistic implications of garrulous birds in Pindar and Callimachus, see Steiner 2007, 190–91.

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water” (of poetic inspiration?) (simplicis umor aquae, 2.6.32) and eats the humble food of nuts (nux erat esca tibi, 2.6.31), is a nod toward this reputation of Aemilius Macer as a humilis poet—but a loving nod, and one that expresses fond admiration for a dear poet and friend upon his death. In addition to reflecting the simple and humble style of Aemilius Macer’s poetry and the subject matter of the Ornithogonia, Amores 2.6 makes other possible allusions to Macer’s didactic works. For instance, critics have not known what to make of the fact that Ovid’s parrot self-medicates in order to sleep (causaeque papavera somni, “poppy seeds were the cause of your sleep,” 2.6.31).24 However, this detail makes perfect sense for a writer of didactic poetry about the medicinal power of plants (whether this work was part of the Theriaca or a separate poem). While we do not have a fragment of Aemilius Macer pertaining to the poppy, Nicander references it several times in his didactic works and has a particularly long digression on the sleep-inducing properties of the poppy in Alexipharmaca 433–64.25 Thus, it seems not unlikely that discussion of the poppy appeared in one or more of Macer’s works. Ovid’s characterization of the parrot as “a lover of gentle peace” (et placidae pacis amator, 2.6.26) could also fit well with Macer’s reputation as a didactic poet. While several critics have connected the parrot’s association with peace (as opposed to war) to the genre of love elegy,26 the juxtaposition of peace and war could also relate to the contrast between didactic and heroic epic, as the Certamen Homeri et Hesiodi demonstrates.27 Of course, didactic poetry qua genre is notoriously underdeveloped in our ancient theoretical discussions of genre, and Quintilian is happy to group his discussion of Hesiod, Aratus, and Nicander with other sorts of Greek epic poets (Inst. 10.1.46–57), and Lucretius and Macer with other sorts of Roman writers of epic (10.1.85–90). Nevertheless, there are plenty of indications that in Ovid’s time, Aemilius Macer’s poetry would have been recognized as belonging to a type of epic genre having affinities with other poems and authors, beginning with Hesiod, whom we traditionally label as didactic.28 In addition, the parrot’s association with “simple water” (2.6.32) instead of the wine frequently associated with parrots could reflect not just Aemilius Macer’s humilis style, but also his Hesiodic genre since Hesiodic poetry was associated with water instead of wine, and a plain style, instead of grand.29 We know that Aemilius Macer turned Nicander’s one book of Theriaca into two (see frag. 9 Bl.); is it possible that Aemilius had a reputation for being wordy? 24. E.g., McKeown (1998) tries to avoid the scenario whereby the parrot uses poppy seeds as a drug and suggests that “it is preferable to construe causae as nominative plural in apposition to papavera . . . giving the sense ‘nuts and soporific poppy-seeds were your food,’ and thereby placing more emphasis on poppy-seeds as simple food than as drugs” (127). Cf. also Booth 1991, 128, ad 2.6.31. 25. See also Nic. Ther. 851–52; Ther. 946; frag. 74.43 Gow and Scholfield. 26. E.g., Myers 1990, 369–70; Schmitzer 1997, 25–57; Fréchet 2005, 126. 27. On the Certamen and its juxtaposition between Hesiod, the poet of peace, and Homer, the poet of war, see Koning 2010, 239–95. The roots of this juxtaposition are present in Hesiod himself and expressed in his famous fable of the hawk and the nightingale, on which, see Steiner 2007, 178–88. 28. For a review of the ancient theoretical discussions of the didactic genre (or the general lack thereof ), as well as an analysis of what ties together the works of poets such as Hesiod, Lucretius, and Virgil, and how these similarities might have been perceived in the first century BCE, see Volk 2002, 25–68. Even Quintilian at times groups didactic poets together, such as when he mentions Lucretius, Aemilius Macer, and Virgil (Inst. 12.11.27); Nicander, Aemilius Macer, and Virgil (Inst. 10.1.56); and Virgil, Aemilius Macer and Lucretius (Inst. 10.1.86–87). On the reception of Hesiod as a didactic poet in the ancient world, see Koning 2010, 341– 46; Hunter 2014, 40–122. 29. On the associations between Hesiod-water and Homer-wine in the Hellenistic period, see Koning 2010, 333– 41. On the juxtaposition of the simple or middle style of Hesiod with the grand style of Homer, see Koning

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Finally, I would suggest that Ovid plays on both the nomen and cognomen of Aemilius Macer throughout Amores 2.6. I will first discuss the possible allusions to “Aemilius.” There are several different versions of the origin of the gens Aemilia: according to Plutarch, Mamercus, the son of Pythagoras (or Numa; Num. 8.19), was nicknamed Aimilios “because of the persuasiveness of his speech and charm” (δι’ αἱμυλίαν λόγου καὶ χάριν, Aem. 2.2). Festus (Paulus’ epitome, 22 L), in addition to reporting the version in which the gens goes back to a son of Pythagoras (this time named Aemylos), also notes a variant tradition in which the origin of the gens is from a son of Ascanius named Aemylos. Festus further notes: gens Aelia, quae ex multis familiis conficitur (83L). C. J. Smith’s translation brings out the implicit logic of Festus’ explanation: “ ‘The gens is called Aemilia, because it is brought together from many families’; the word aemulus means striving or rivalling.”30 Thus, two words and concepts might come to the mind of a Roman hearing the name Aemilius: the Greek αἱμύλος /αἱμυλία, used almost always of persuasive and clever speech,31 and the Latin aemulus/aemulatio, used of rivalry and imitation. Ovid’s parrot alludes to both of these concepts. His “clever voice” (vox . . . ingeniosa, 2.6.18) and “love of speech” (sermonis amore, 2.6.29) might bring to mind αἱμύλος /αἱμυλία. Even more strongly felt, however, are the allusions to aemulatio—a concept closely related to imitatio.32 Perhaps the many references to the parrot’s status as an imitator (e.g., imitatrix ales, “imitator bird,” 2.6.1; vocum simulantior, “a better imitator of words,” 2.6.23; humanae vocis imago, “an echo of the human voice,” 2.6.37) reflect not just Aemilius Macer’s literary ambitions to emulate Nicander and Boeus, but his name Aemilius. Ovid also seems to play on the meaning of Aemilius’ cognomen “Macer,” namely “thin.” The parrot is described as eating very little ( plenus eras minimo, nec prae sermonis amore / in multos poteras ora vacare cibos, “you were full with very little, nor were you able to make room in your mouth for much food due to your love of speech,” 2.6.29–30) and needing only a small tomb (ossa tegit tumulus, tumulus pro corpore magnus, / quo lapis exiguus par sibi carmen habet, “a mound covers your bones—a mound just big enough for your body—on which a little stone has a poem equal in size to itself,” 2.6.59–60). The metapoetic readers of the parrot invariably point to the metapoetic aspects of the parrot’s leanness—namely, the association between Callimachean poetry and thinness, as well as the topos among the love poets of imagining a small

2010, 350–57; Hunter 2014, 282–315. Quintilian’s description of Hesiod’s style (raro adsurgit, Inst. 10.1.52) seems quite similar to his description of Aemilius Macer’s as humilis. On the association of Hesiod with the genus tenue, see Steiner 2007, 185 n. 30. Myers (1990, 370) calls the “parrot’s meagre diet” “a witty reference to the Callimachean images of the poet desiring to live merely on dew (Aetia 1, fr. 1 32–34) and of the pure (simplicis), small stream of water (Hymn 2.111–12) symbolizing his poetic inspiration and ideals.” See also Schmitzer 1997, 255–56. However, as noted previously, Myers struggles to accommodate with her theory some non-Callimachean aspects of the parrot’s speech, such as his loquacious manner. Viewing the parrot instead as embodying the poetics of Aemilius Macer (and, to some extent, Hesiod) allows for this mixture of both Callimachean and non-Callimachean features. 30. Smith 2006, 36 n. 89 (see 35–36 for his full discussion of the ancient explanations of the origins of the Aemilian gens). See also Maltby 1991, 12–13. 31. Cf. LSJ, s.v. αἱμύλος: “wheedling, wily, mostly of words.” While the adjective frequently has a negative cast and can be associated with deceptive speech, it can also clearly designate persuasive speech in a positive sense as indicated by the complimentary nature of the nickname given to Pythagoras’ (or Numa’s) son. Cf. also Gow and Page (1968, 2: 227, ad Crinagoras 19.2), who note the complimentary sense of αἱμύλος in epitaphs. 32. While aemulatio and imitatio are not always synonymous, they are close enough in meaning to allow the sort of name-play that I am suggesting. For an in-depth study of the different nuances of the terms, see Reiff 1959. See also Russell 1979; Williams 1983; Beall 1997; McGill 2012, 156 –58, 187–97, and passim.

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tombstone for themselves.33 While I do not deny that there could be a metapoetic aspect to the parrot’s leanness, a parrot who is renowned for his garrulous and talkative nature may need another explanation for its association with thinness, and certainly the cognomen of Macer could provide one.34 If Ovid’s parrot is a reference to a particular poet, then my reading raises the question of whether the other birds in the poem might be linked to particular poets, as well. As Schmitzer points out, Tibullus is greeted by other poets in Elysium in Amores 3.9, and Tibullus himself had pictured a poet’s Elysium as being inhabited in part by birds (1.3.57–60).35 So, it seems a small leap to imagine that Ovid’s other birds in Amores 2.6 represent poets, as well, though it is difficult to know if we are meant to link them to particular poets. Schmitzer feels fairly confident that we are and suggests that Ennius (and Homer) are the peacock, Orpheus and Linus the swan, Callimachus the phoenix, and Philitas and Mimnermos the dove.36 I am less convinced by these specific identifications, though the connection of the peacock to Ennius is certainly plausible given the fragment of his Annales in which he recalls becoming a peacock (11 Sk.).37 I do agree with Schmitzer’s linking of Virgil to the turtur (“turtle-dove”) mentioned prominently near the beginning of the poem as the best friend of the parrot (2.6.11–16).38 Turtle-doves were traditionally thought to be friends with parrots, and the biographical tradition about Virgil presents Aemilius Macer as his close friend.39 As Adrian Hollis notes, “One might question the evidence for a close friendship between Macer and Virgil . . . . On the other hand he was not an obvious person to choose, and these fantasies may derive from a genuine tradition of personal friendship.”40 The turtle-dove also makes a prominent appearance in Eclogue 1.58 as part of Meliboeus’ vision of Tityrus’ pastoral paradise and so could certainly bring to mind Vergilian poetry. Ovid’s added detail that the turtle-dove was best friend to the parrot “to the end” (ad finem, 2.6.14) and “so long as it was permitted” (dum licuit, 2.6.16) is usually taken as a reference to the limitation imposed by the parrot’s death, but this end point could just as easily refer to the death of the turtle-dove (in 19 BCE, if Virgil).

33. E.g., Boyd 1987, 200–202; Myers 1990, 371, 373; Booth 1991, 131 (though Booth resists an overall metapoetic or allegorical reading of the poem); Schmitzer 1997, 255–56; Boyd 1997, 176 –77. On the metapoetic potential of Propertius’ fantasy of a small tomb in Prop. 2.1.72; 2.13b.32–33, as well as the small tomb in Callim. Epigr. 11 Pf., see Boyd 1987, 201–2; Myers 1990, 373; Booth 1991, 131; Boyd 1997, 176–77; Fréchet 2005, 125 n. 5. 34. Another possible play on the thinness of the parrot might be found in Am. 2.6.21 if fragiles is emended to fragilis (“weak, fragile”) and describes the parrot, instead of the emeralds, as proposed by Most (1979, 362–66). As Most points out, “Unfortunately, emeralds are not fragile . . . . Nor was this fact unknown in antiquity” (362), and the only type of emerald that Pliny does label fragile (HN 37.72) is “worthless and of an uncertain color” (364). McKeown (1998, 121) acknowledges that “fragiles is difficult” but also thinks that “as an epithet for the parrot . . . fragilis seems rather stark.” It is not stark, however, if included as a play on macer. On the association of macer and fragilis, see Plin. HN 17.225, where macies is modified by fragilis. 35. Schmitzer 1997, 261. See also Fréchet 2005, 124 –25. 36. Schmitzer 1997, 261–63. 37. It is also possible that the other birds in Am. 2.6 somehow allude to their presence or particular treatment in Aemilius Macer’s Ornithogonia. In the surviving fragments of this work, swans, woodpeckers, and ibises are mentioned (the latter are sometimes placed in the Theriaca—e.g., frags. 61–62 Hollis)—so only the swans overlap with Ovid’s birds. 38. Schmitzer 1997, 260. Schmitzer bases his suggestion on the friendship between Gallus and Virgil. 39. On the friendship between parrots and turtle-doves, see Ov. Her. 15. 38; Plin. HN 10.207. Aemilius Macer was one of the sources for Book 10 of Plin. HN, and Lefèvre (1999, 113) imagines that Ovid may have learned of the friendship between parrots and turtle-doves from Aemilius Macer. 40. Hollis 2007, 100. See also Néraudau 1983, 1710–11.

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In his discussion of the tradition regarding the friendship between Virgil and Aemilius Macer, Hollis also notes the ancient allegorical interpretation of the character Mopsus from Virgil’s Eclogues as Aemilius Macer.41 Before the Eclogues, the name Mopsus was most famously used of the Argonaut who teaches augury (Ap. Rhod. Argon. 1.65–66), can interpret the language of birds (1.1086–1102, 3.916–18, 927–39), and dies from a snakebite (4.1502–36). Thus, while critics today are frequently skeptical of allegorical readings of Virgil’s pastoral characters, Mopsus is certainly a perfect pseudonym for Aemilius Macer.42 Ovid has his version of the Argonaut Mopsus hail the transformation of the Lapith Caeneus into a bird at Metamorphoses 12.530–31 in language that recalls Ovid’s description of Corinna’s parrot: “o salve,” dixit “Lapithaeae gloria gentis, / maxime vir quondam, sed avis nunc unica Caeneu!” (‘“Hail,’ he said, ‘glory of the Lapithaean race, once a man, but now a unique bird, Caeneus!’”).43 Might these similarities suggest that Ovid recognizes a connection between the parrot and Mopsus?44 Perhaps the metamorphosis of Caeneus even appears in Aemilius Macer’s Ornithogonia? Statius’ own dead parrot poem (Silv. 2.4) also seems to look back to Mopsus’ song in Ovid: “occidit aeriae celeberrima gloria gentis / psittacus” (‘“The parrot, the most distinguished glory of the airy race, has fallen,’” 2.4.24 –25). Regardless of whether this link through Mopsus between Silvae 2.4 and Amores 2.6 is convincing, critics generally agree that Statius Silvae 2.4 is modeled closely on Ovid Amores 2.6.45 In particular, many read Statius’ poem as responding to the metapoetic strand in the Ovidian model while showing more of a concern for the tensions involved in a poet’s relationship to his patron and the emperor.46 I agree with this basic metapoetic and political approach to the poem, though there are some oddities about Statius’ dead parrot and its relationship to its dominus that have not been fully explained by theories that equate the parrot with either Statius or a non-specific Flavian poetfigure.47 Instead, I would argue that like Ovid, Statius pays tribute to a dead literary figure qua parrot and specifically that Statius’ parrot represents Petronius, Nero’s “arbiter of elegance” (elegantiae arbiter, Tac. Ann. 16.18). I will briefly summarize some of my evidence for this identification, which is examined more fully in a forthcoming study. Just as Ovid’s parrot-poem has trou­ bled readers by its similarity to Ovid’s tribute for the dead Tibullus, so Statius’ parrot 41. Hollis 2007, 100. 42. The possible connection between Macer and Mopsus could provide a reason for the similarity between Am. 2.6.59–60 and Ecl. 5.42, spoken by Mopsus. As McKeown (1998, 143) notes on 2.6.59–60: “Ovid is possibly influenced by Verg. Ecl. 5.42 tumulum facite, et tumulo superaddite carmen (with a two-line epitaph following)”—or are Virgil and Ovid both influenced by a common source, perhaps the poetry of Aemilius Macer? 43. Cf. avium gloria in Am. 2.6.20 and unica . . . avis in Am. 2.6.54. 44. A connection between Aemilius Macer and Mopsus could also help explain the vexed line from Ov. Ars am. 1.26 (nec nos aeriae voce monemur avis, “nor are we advised by the voice of an airy bird”), which appears in a discussion of various sources of poetic inspiration that Ovid is disclaiming. Since Ovid is speaking in the persona of a didactic poet and alludes to other didactic poems in these lines (e.g., Hesiod’s Theogony and Callimachus’ Aetia; see Miller 1983), it would make sense if the reference to inspiration from birds also referred to a didactic poem. Macer’s Ornithogonia seems a good candidate, particularly if he took on Mopsus-like skills in a discussion of his own poetic inspiration. After surveying the many explanations of this line over the years, Ahern (1990, 45 n. 4) adds his own: “As good as any of these, if a literary candidate were wanted, would be the crow who taunts the seer Mopsus in Ap. Rhod. Argon. 3.932–37.” 45. For Statius’ “parroting” of Am. 2.6 in Silv. 2.4, see Colton 1969; Van Dam 1984, 336– 40; Myers 2002, 189; Dietrich 2002, 99; Newlands 2011, 179–80. 46. See Dietrich 2002; Myers 2002; Newlands 2005, 151–73; James 2006; Newlands 2011, 179–80. 47. E.g., Myers 2002, 199: “Identifying a figure behind the parrot of 2.4 is as impossible as it is for the bird of Am. 2.6 and perhaps as undesirable, but both Statius himself and Martial are appealing candidates.”

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poem has similar problematic parallels with poems for dead people in the Silvae (e.g., Silv. 2.1 and 2.6). It also has parallels with a poem for a dead Neronian poet, namely Silvae 2.7, in honor of Lucan’s birthday, in which Statius takes the opportunity to vilify Nero for his role in Lucan’s death.48 I argue that Statius’ parrot-poem similarly mourns a literary victim of Nero and commemorates not his birthday, as in 2.7, but his famous death. Statius’ choice of a parrot to commemorate Petronius can be explained not just by the Ovidian model but by an epigram attributed to Petronius (Anth. Lat. 691 R), whose speaker is a parrot that boasts of its superiority to swans. Several critics have interpreted this epigram metapoetically, as representing Petronius-the-parrot’s literary competition with the lofty, epic swan,49 and Statius similarly juxtaposes parrots and swans in Silvae 2.4.9–10. Statius’ poem depicts his parrot as the “eloquent pleasure of his master” (domini facunda voluptas, 2.4.1)50 and a flatterer of Caesar (ille salutator regum nomenque locutus / Caesareum, “that greeter of kings and having spoken the name of Caesar,” 2.4.29–30). As Carole Newlands notes, “Statius’ parrot, of course, is ostensibly the bird of his friend and patron Atedius Melior. The parrot, however, speaks flattery of the emperor rather than of Melior. Statius treats the parrot as if it were a privileged servant of the imperial court.”51 Statius uses dominus as a (disparaging) reference to the despotic Nero in his poem on Lucan (Silv. 2.7.61), and I argue that he similarly references Nero as the parrot’s dominus in Silvae 2.4.52 Understanding Nero as the dominus explains the otherwise odd fact that the master’s grief over the parrot’s death is never mentioned.53 A Neronian dominus also gives meaning to the pointed opening question about who was responsible for stifling the speech of the bird (Silv. 2.4.3), and the multiple allusions in the poem to Ovidian characters punished for their subversive speech.54 Further, some have noted the surprising absence in Silvae 2.4 of the parrot’s death scene.55 I argue, however, that the opening banquet scene (2.4.4–8), at which the parrot is depicted enjoying food and light banter with the guests just before its death, is the parrot’s death scene and is similar in several respects to the famous description of Petronius’ staged death at a banquet in Tacitus (based, no doubt, on earlier accounts).56 Finally, the parrot’s cage, strikingly labeled a domus with a golden dome (rutila testudine, 2.4.11) and called an augustum tectum (“august dwelling,” 2.4.15)—the same phrase used by Statius of Domitian’s palace (Silv. 4.2.18), built on the location of Nero’s domus aurea—becomes a mini-domus aurea. The further shocking depiction of the lux­

48. For critique of Nero, see Silv. 2.7.58, 60–61, 100–104, 118–19. 49. The most developed discussion is in Connors 1998, 47– 49. See also Myers 2002, 194; James 2005, 220. 50. The phrase facunda voluptas fits well with the depiction of Petronius as a refined and erudite voluptuary in Tac. Ann. 16.18. 51. Newlands 2005, 162. 52. Cf. Newlands 2011, 238, ad Silv. 2.7.61: “Nero was often called dominus after his death for treating the Romans like slaves.” 53. Cf. Newlands 2011, 179–80: “. . . unlike Ovid and Catullus St. makes no mention of the owner’s grief (cf. Cat. 3.17–18; Ov. Am. 2.6.43–8).” 54. Cf. Newlands 2011, 181, ad 2.4.3: “The stifling of the parrot’s voice may allude to a prominent theme of Ovid’s Metamorphoses: the deprivation of speech is often a punishment for those who rely on the voice, esp. women and poets.” See also Myers 2002, 198; Dietrich 2002, 101–3. 55. E.g., Van Dam 1984, 343, ad 2.4.3; Newlands 2005, 161. 56. E.g., Statius’ phrase, dapes moriturus inisti (“you engaged in feasts, about to die,” 2.4.4) has connections to the surviving ancient references to Petronius’ death found in Pliny the Elder (moriturus invidia Neronis, “about to die because of the jealousy of Nero,” HN 37.2) and Tacitus (iniit epulas, “he engaged in a banquet,” Ann. 16.19).

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urious cage as a “prison” (carcer, 2.4.15) finds a parallel in Pliny the Elder’s description of the domus aurea as a prison for the works of Nero’s artist Fabullus (or Famulus) (carcer eius artis domus aurea fuit, “the domus aurea was the prison of his art,” HN 35.120). Nero was known for his love of talking caged birds (Plin. HN 10.120); perhaps Petronius appreciated the metapoetic potential of the parrot to reflect not just his poetics but also his own situation as a poet-courtier trapped in the prison of Nero’s gilded cage.57 In turn, Statius, an adept reader of Ovid, appreciated the potential of a dead parrot to serve as a vehicle for paying tribute to a dead poet. With its many Ovidian allusions, Silvae 2.4 is ultimately, then, an homage to two poets famously punished by an “Augustus” for their subversive speech and behavior. In conclusion: my reading of Amores 2.6 falls in line with the readings of critics who have viewed Ovid’s dead-bird poem as veering away from the erotic tradition of Catullus’ sparrow and toward a focus on metapoetics. Unlike most of these critics, however, I do not interpret the bird as a general symbol of the author’s poetics. Not only do such interpretations fail to explain many of the specific details of the parrot’s life, death, and poetic style, but they also gloss over the careful parallels drawn by Ovid between his dead parrot poem and his dead poet (Tibullus) poem (Am. 3.9). From a bio­ graphical perspective, Aemilius Macer makes sense as the parrot since he died (in the East) shortly after Tibullus and, if Tristia 4.10 can be trusted, seems to have been one of Ovid’s closest poetic friends in his youth. As a poet famous for his imitations of Greek models, Aemilius Macer could understandably be represented as an imitating parrot— particularly one associated with “translating birds” in Elysium. In addition, the further qualities associated with the parrot—a peaceful bird, who is a simple water-drinker and humble eater, familiar with the medicinal power of plants, and garrulous—could all capture the didactic style of Macer (and fail to capture perfectly the style of a Callimachean elegiac poet, who is anything but garrulus and loquax). The fact that the parrot is an imitator with an ingenious voice and is thin might represent a play on the name of Aemilius (aemulus/αἱμύλος) Macer. Finally, Statius Silvae 2.4 appears to follow in Ovid’s footsteps by using the parrot as a vehicle for commemoration of a dead poet. While it is always risky to argue for a specific identification like this since certainty is impossible, if my argument is convincing, then Amores 2.6 has the potential to provide precious information about the early reception of a little attested writer, who was dear to Virgil and Ovid and had a lasting influence on Latin poetry. Leah Kronenberg Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey 57. In addition, Petronius’ decision to place a magpie in a golden cage (cavea . . . aurea) at the entrance to Trimalchio’s house (28.9) may also have metapoetic ramifications given the associations some have made between Nero and Trimalchio. On possible allusions to Nero in the depiction of Trimalchio, see, e.g., Rose 1971, 77–79; Bartsch 1994, 199; Vout 2013, 101–2.

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