Though verse may occasionally be found in other ancient novels (e.g. Apul. Met. 4.33; 9.8), and quotations from Homer that are linguistically integrated into the text often appear in Chariton, the Satyrica is unique in ancient fiction in that no less than 30 poems (including the Virgilian cento at 132.11) appear in the preserved parts alone. There are then at least as many poems that have been transmitted as fragments under the name of Petronius, mainly in the Anthologia Latina. Though these are anything but devoid of interest and have been rightly revalued (e.g. by Courtney 1991, 46–75, and Sommariva 2004), after a long neglect largely due to mistrust in their Petronian authenticity, we may confidently assume that the lack of context makes their full appreciation impossible. The poems transmitted together with the prose by Petronius’ direct tradition are in fact an integral part of the novel (cf. Barnes 1971, 6–7; Connors 1998, 1, 4; Yeh 2007, 57) and acquire full meaning and import only in relationship to the prose frame in which they appear. On the one hand, literary nods and allusions often interpenetrate both the poem and the surrounding prose; and on the other, as we shall see, several of the poems that can be attributed to Encolpius define and demarcate a level distinct from that of the prose narrative, but inseparable from it, in that prose and verse alternate in expressing the moods of the character, as he goes through his multifarious adventures, or of the narrator, as he reports and recalls his past vicissitudes later in time. It can be added that these verse pieces tend to pour into the recognized mold of literary convention the often incongruous situations described in the prose, and to extract their universal implications (cf. Connors 1998, 2, 9, 50), and it may be said that they have an “organizing” function (Yeh 2007, 57). There are, besides, some poems which are even syntactically connected with the prose context. One is the poem recited by Tryphaena at 108.14,1 which contains a verbum dicendi in the first line, functioning as the main clause of a sentence begun in the preceding prose narrative (“quis furor” exclamat “pacem convertit in arma?” significantly quoted by Isidorus, Orig. 2.21.19 in this form: quis furor, o cives, pacem convertit in arma?; cf. Lucan. 1.8). Two others, 128.6 (Setaioli 1999b, 399–412; Yeh 2007, 87–88) and 136.6 (Setaioli 2004b), are often considered to be incomplete, but in reality both are the parabole of similes whose antapodosis rounding off the sentence is contained in the prose. Not unlike Isodorus with the poem at 108.14, the excerptor of the Florilegia tradition has changed the first line of 128.6, reported by him without the prose context, to make the poem syntactically self-standing (veluti cum has been changed to si quando). Even the cento at 132.11 functions as the main clause of a sentence begun in the prose. So, as far as we can see, all the poems in the Satyrica are complete, with the single exception of the two lines at 15.9.
Ernout, at the end of his edition, gives a list of nine different meters employed in the poems, including the fragments (Barnes 1971, 317, rightly remarks that “the variety of metres lends corresponding variety in the types of literary caricature and amusement available to the author”). Hexameters and elegiac couplets are by far the most common, but hendecasyllables are also well represented, and two other types are remarkable: the sotadeans used by a cinaedus in a solo performance at 23.3 and again by Encolpius at 132.8, and also the peculiar arrangement of two hexameters and one pentameter employed by Trimalchio in his epigram at 34.10 and then attempted again (unsuccessfully, as it seems) at 55.3. (For both poems in sotadeans, 23.3 and 132, cf. Setaioli 2003; Yeh 2007, 104, 525–531.)
Petronius’ poems have been especially investigated by Heinz Stubbe (1933, mostly the Troiae halosis and the Bellum Civile), E.J. Barnes (1971), Edward Courtney (1991), Catherine Connors (1998), and, lately, by Wei-Jong Yeh,2 in a bulky book that addresses especially the problem of the nature of the Satyrica’s prosimetric mixture and—exhaustively—Petronius’ metrical technique. Concerning the former problem, we should at least remember that the recent publication of papyri containing scraps of ancient fiction with verse inserted in the prose has cast some doubt on the former classification of the Satyrica as a Menippean satire, a literary genre in which both verse and prose were employed (the connection of the Satyrica with Menippean satire was roundly denied by Astbury 1977, and recently strongly upheld by Yeh 2007, 20, 37–40; see also Baldwin’s contribution in this collection). One of these fragments, the so-called Iolaus (P.Oxy. 3010), appears to contain a lewd narrative, quite different from the Greek novels of idealized love that have come down to us, and it also features a speech in sotadeans uttered by a gallus, i.e. a character not too different from Petronius’ cinaedus reciting sotadeans at 23.3. Another narrative fragment containing verse inserted in the prose has since been published (the so-called Tinouphis), and this too seems to differ from the Greek novels previously known. Though both these papyri go back to a time later than Petronius, it is not impossible that a type of satiric narrative featuring roguish characters and employing both verse and prose preexisted the Satyrica; but our evidence is too meager to admit of any unqualified statement about the generic affiliation of Petronius’ novel.
Surely there is a connection between the verse and the literary affinities displayed—and almost flaunted—in every page of the Satyrica, almost invariably in the form of parody and desecration. This is true for all the poetic forms appearing in the novel, but it is particularly evident in the use of sotadeans. Each of the two poems is a specimen of the two types of poetry attested for Sotades of Maroneia: song performed by the cinaedi and obscene parody of epic. The sotadeans at 23.3 are indeed recited by a cinaedus, and those at 132.8 cast Encolpius and his treacherous mentula in the roles of Achilles and Agamemnon in Iliad 1: as in Homer, after a frustrated attempt to exact bloody vengeance, the indignant hero is content with hurling verbal abuse at the culprit. As often, the parodic mood overflows into the prose and reaches the climax with the cento (132.11) obscenely desecrating two of Virgil’s loftiest figures: Euryalus and Dido. These (132.8 and 132.11) are two of the very few poems that are functional to the narrative, carrying it forward, rather than pausing to reflect on the situation sketched in the prose.
Some of the Satyrica’s verse does in fact contain programmatic references to the author’s literary attitude. The scholars who see a hint at the novel’s closeness to the mime in the second part of the poem at 80.9 (v. 5 grex agit in scaena mimum; cf. Connors 1998, 13–14) are probably right—with no need to split the eight lines of the poem into two parts of four lines each, as there are clear structural links uniting the two parts,3 and the poem is given as a whole in the manuscript tradition, with the two parts first separated by Pithou in his second edition of 1578 (followed, among others, by Buecheler and Müller). In view of this, assuming that the last four lines were added to those that precede by an excerptor who saw the closeness and similarity of two different poems is a clear case of begging the question (cf. Slater 1990, 160; Buecheler 1862, 95, already believed that these verses “ex alio loco inlati sunt”).
Several other such programmatic references have been seen in other poems and passages, including such unlikely details as the pastry Priapus at 60.4, the pebble in fr. 40.8 M., and the parrot in fr. 45 M.,4 but, strangely enough, many scholars refuse to recognize them where, in my opinion, they are most evident. At 132.12, Encolpius feigns shame for having addressed his recalcitrant mentula, but immediately following this (132.13–14) he adduces the examples of common people cursing their aching limbs (those who complain about their belly remind us of Trimalchio at 57.2) and of epic and tragic heroes addressing parts of their own body (Ulysses is explicitly mentioned, Sophocles’ Oedipus is clearly alluded to), and finally breaks into verse (132.15)5 to vindicate his novae simplicitatis opus and the smiling gratia candidly portraying matters of sex as opposed to the supercilious hypocrisy of his censors, who are also targeted in the following prose sentence. The stage illusion is undoubtedly broken here. Encolpius is alone: he would not need to justify his outburst, as there has been no witness, and nobody is there to listen anyway. However, Encolpius—and Petronius behind him6—is addressing his readers; the whole context (prose and verse) lucidly lays bare the main components of the work (opus; and cf. the genitive of quality, comparable to 4.5 schedium Lucilianae humilitatis, where a literary composition is surely referred to): “realism,” literary parody, freedom to treat themes like sex, excluded from so-called “high” literature, sincerity joined with urbanity of expression, and—this is probably the deeper meaning of the final hint at Epicurus—art aiming at pleasure alone, with no pretense of usefulness. The poem was certainly understood as a literary program by Martial, as made clear by the introductory epistle to the first book of his Epigrams. Verbal parallels are clear and numerous (cf. Setaioli 1997, 154–155, and also other passages of Martial).
All the poems not attributable to Encolpius, the narrating voice, must of course be actually recited by some other character in order to be reported in the narrative (although, as we have seen, the poem recited by Tryphaena at 108.14 contains a verbum dicendi belonging in the narrator’s report, so that its nature of authorial elaboration with no claim to actual mimesis is exposed). This poem, however, is a clear parody of epic speeches, as shown by the multiple allusions in the verse itself and in the whole context, as well as by the formula signaling the end of Tryphaena’s speech, which clearly hints at those employed in epic (of the type haec ubi dicta dedit) and temporarily keeps the metric pattern even in the ensuing prose through the solemn rhythm produced by the first half of a totally spondaic hexameter: haec ut turbato clamore mulier effudit (109.1).
One single poem is also recited by Quartilla (18.6: a generalizing conclusion of a speech begun in prose) (cf. Barnes 1971, 277–278; Yeh 2007, 505–506), Oenothea (132.14), and the cinaedus (23.3, discussed earlier). The poem at 14.2 (Setaioli 1998a; Yeh 2007, 507–508) is commonly thought to be recited by Ascyltos, but this is based on an editorial transposition with no support in the tradition. In the mangled text we possess, it surely makes more sense if uttered by Ascyltos, but it might equally well be a reflection by Encolpius. Ascyltos never speaks in verse anywhere else in the Satyrica.
The one poem recited by the rhetor Agamemnon (Setaioli 2002–2003; Yeh 2007, 409–412, 511–516) is very important, in that, in connection with the preceding prose, it presents an educational program which must be assessed against the background of what we know of contemporary literary culture. This poem is made up of two parts in different meters (choliambics and hexameters) clearly connected with each other (another single poem in two different meters is probably 109.9–10: elegiac couplets and hendecasyllables: see the following text). The first part treats the moral requirements to become a successful orator; the second the studies necessary to attain the goal. The two parts are clearly connected by the strongly stressed sed opening the section in hexameters, marking the transition from the part in choliambics, cast in the negative form through the mention of the vices the future orator must be free from, to the positive program of literary studies. The poem is not, very probably, the schedium Lucilianae humilitatis (4.5), which must refer to a poem previously recited, possibly by Encolpius. Agamemnon introduces it by stating that he too (et ipse; 4.5) will express his literary ideas in verse (carmine), lest Encolpius should think that he (Agamemnon) did not appreciate (improbasse; notice the past tense) the “improvisation in Lucilius’ simple style,” i.e. the schedium, which, as a consequence, cannot be the poem he has not yet recited.
Agamemnon’s questionable morals, as well as his intention and capability to carry out the program he proposes, are immaterial when the program itself is analyzed and evaluated. There are ideas clearly paralleled in contemporary or roughly contemporary rhetoric, sometimes with striking verbal similarities (the clearest parallels are perhaps to be found in Quintilian, e.g. 10.5.14–16; cf. Setaioli 2002–2003, 271). Like Eumolpus, and like the author of the Peri hypsous, Agamemnon advocates the harmonization of inspired utterance (13–14 mittat habenas / liber; cf. 118.6 [Eumolpus] praecipitandus est liber spiritus … furentis animi vaticinatio; de subl. 13.2, 15.4, 32.1, 32.4) and painstaking literary training (21–22 flumine largo / plenus and 4.3 lectione severa irrigarentur; cf. 118.3 [Eumolpus] ingenti flumine litterarum inundata; 118.6 plenus litteris; de subl. 13.2–3). It is, of course, impossible to ascertain whether Petronius approved or disapproved of this program and whether he judged it appropriate or not appropriate to the situation and needs of Roman culture at the time; but it must be realized that what is presented here are ideas that had full right of citizenship in the contemporary debate. The frequent attempts to pass off Agamemnon’s educational program as risible and absurd in itself are therefore unjustified.
The assessment of Eumolpus and his poetry is even more complex. Eumolpus is an important character in what survives of the Satyrica, and a professional poet. We have just sketched some of his theoretical ideas; he makes further statements in close connection with his most ambitious poetic essay, the Bellum Civile. Like Agamemnon’s, Eumolpus’ morals too are questionable at best; but in my opinion it would be a misunderstanding if we believed, as some scholars do, that he uses poetry as a means to other ends. Quite the opposite: he is a compulsive poet who cannot give up what he believes to be his calling, even though he has long since realized that it offers no practical benefits. No doubt, he is a swindler and a rogue; he will wear the mask of the philosopher to seduce the youth of Pergamum, but poetry for him is never role-playing; the “mime” he stages at Croton is only metaphorically literary; and, in the shipwreck, he turns to poetry not to seek a famosa mors, like Horace’s vesanus poeta (AP 455–469) (he has not planned to die), but to face death in his real and true capacity—as a poet, as Giton and Encolpius face it as lovers.
How is this to be reconciled with the actual samples of poetry with which Eumolpus regales the reader in the course of the narrative? And how does Petronius judge them? The first poem recited by Eumolpus (83.10; cf. Setaioli 1998b, 221–226; Connors 1998, 63–64; Habermehl 2006, 84–88; Yeh 2007, 394–399) is in the form of a priamel listing different lifestyles, like Horace’s first—and introductory—ode; but, unlike Horace, Eumolpus’ choice of a life devoted to poetry has to face a social situation in which all lifestyles are really reduced to one: all activities are pursued with the quest for money as the only goal; all bioi have become a universal philochrē matos bios. Poetry is different from all other activities in that it does not afford practical rewards. Eumolpus obviously resents this; still, poetry is and will remain his choice. Just as Horace’s first ode, the poem may be regarded as a sort of introduction to the poetry Eumolpus will produce in the novel, or rather to his whole way of being and acting. The omnipotence of money is, of course, one of the main themes of the Satyrica, and appears in several poems too (e.g. Stöcker 1969, 146–151), but it is also a prominent feature in Eumolpus’ most ambitious poetical essay, the Bellum Civile (119.41–55). The other two short poems he recites are impromptu compositions; but the first one, 93.2, which, like 83.10, continues a speech begun in prose, and contains a tirade against the craze for the exotic, also features a theme that not only appears in the verse recited by Trimalchio at 55.6, but again presents very close parallels with the beginning of the Bellum Civile.7 The second, 109.9–10 (cf. Setaioli 2006a; Yeh 2007, 516–521; Landolfi forthcoming), is a paignion on Encolpius’ and Giton’s temporary baldness. Like the poem in Chapter 5, it appears to be made up of two parts, the first one in elegiacs, the second in hendecasyllables. According to several scholars, however, these are two separate poems, perhaps originally separated by a prose interlude suppressed by the excerptor. Hence, for example, Habermehl (2006, 471–479) and Barnes (1971, 242–253) believe the hendecasyllables to be directed at Giton and the elegiacs to describe Eumolpus’ own baldness. Yeh (2007) and Landolfi (forthcoming) consider 109.9–10 as one poem.
As a professional poet, Eumolpus produces the two ostensibly very ambitious poetic pieces in the novel: the Troiae halosis (89) and the Bellum Civile (119–124.1).8 The recitation of the first one is greeted with a throwing of stones by some accidental listeners (90.1). This might be taken as a covert judgment passed by the author; but the contemporary public, as portrayed in the Satyrica, hates poetry, be it good or bad (90.2–3; 93.3),9 and Eumolpus has a point when he considers that his poetic calling marginalizes him in contemporary society (84). This is humorously offset through the fleeting appearance of the one character who fervidly admires Eumolpus: Bargates (96.4–7). Also, we should not forget that the Troiae halosis is presented as an impromptu ekphrasis of a painting (89 conabor opus versibus pandere) and the Bellum Civile as an unfinished and unperfected poem (115.4; 118.6—and the last line of the poem does appear like a stopgap).
The Troiae halosis—the title is curiously reminiscent of the Halosis Ilii reportedly sung by Nero during the fire of Rome: Suet. Nero 38.2, though in Petronius it is referred to the painting, not to the poem—is often taken to be a parody of Senecan tragedy (denied, e.g. by Barnes 1971, 92–94, and Yeh 2007, 486–487, though the latter [422–434] stresses the poem’s metric affinity with Seneca’s tragic trimeter), as it is written in tragic meter (iambic trimeters), and it does somehow resemble the reports of “messengers” common in tragedy—the ekphrastic pretext is in fact totally forgotten; the poem is developed as the report of different moments and scenes by an eyewitness, indeed by a Trojan: there are verbs in the first-person plural (11, 35), and even the apostrophe o patria (11). But of course, the description, and indeed the readers’ expectations, could hardly prescind from Virgil’s narrative in Aeneid 210—though with the meaningful shift of attitude we shall presently try to sketch.
The other extensive poetic essay, the Bellum Civile, is introduced by Eumolpus with clear references to Lucan: when he says (118.6) that historical epic cannot dispense with the traditional mythological machinery, he surely has the Pharsalia in mind, a poem that had done away with mythological gods. Indeed, Eumolpus’ poem covers the same subject as Lucan’s first book, and there are clear reminiscences of the Pharsalia, including parts that had not been published by Lucan in his lifetime (e.g. 294 ~ Lucan. 7.473, 8.33–34). Given Eumolpus’ attitude (at 118.5, he calls Virgil Rome’s national poet: Romanus Vergilius), the reader expects him to stick to Virgilian expressive modes, and in a way he is not disappointed. There are of course numerous Virgilian reminiscences (cf. e.g. Barnes 1971, 143), although Eumolpus’ hexameter may be less close to Virgil’s than has been routinely assumed.11 And, at 123.229–237, Eumolpus recasts a simile borrowed from Lucan (1.498–509) into a typically Virgilian mold (parabole introduced by ac velut[i] … cum, with ac and velut reinforcing each other: cf. Verg. Aen. 2.626 ff.; 4.402 ff.; 6.707 ff.), which is also found in Statius (Theb. 5.599 ff.; 7.436 ff.) and Silius (4.302 ff.), but never in Lucan. This formal detail is already a token of the natural evolution of the supposedly traditional, Virgilian branch of Roman epic.
The divine figures of the Bellum Civile, such as Fortuna or Discordia, are personified allegories more reminiscent of Statius than of Virgil. And in both the Bellum Civile and the Troiae halosis, we witness an almost morbidly sinister transfiguration of Virgilian elements to fit a dark and hopeless overall picture: for example, the figure of Laocoon in the Troiae halosis, where no redeeming hope for the future is in view, and some pointed reversals of Virgilian descriptions in the Bellum Civile (e.g. 119.53 ~ Verg. Aen. 6.673, 124.253 ac maerens lacera Concordia palla ~ Aen. 8.702 et scissa gaudens vadit Discordia palla; 124.272 extulit ad superos Stygium caput ~ Aen. 1.127 summa placidum caput extulit unda).
Ever since Seneca the Elder (Contr. 1, praef. 6–7), Roman writers had the feeling of living in an age of epigones. Some, like Lucan, tried to open new paths; some, like Eumolpus and his rightful heirs Statius and Silius, refused to follow them, and though they did attempt some interesting experiments (such as the fusion of epic and tragedy or the “expressionist” exasperation of the received patterns), their poetry was bound to be caught in a dead-end road.
In conclusion, though we will never know what Petronius thought of Lucan’s epic and the alternative approach represented by Eumolpus, we should be aware that, as in the case of Agamemnon’s ideas on rhetoric, he presents us with a position that had full right of citizenship in the contemporary debate, and actually gained the upper hand in the following generation. Eumolpus surely represents a recognized cultural trend; the correspondence of the judgment he passes on an historical epic with no mythological machinery (118.6: quod longe melius historici faciunt) with the evaluation of Lucan as an historian rather than a poet that obtained down to the end of antiquity and beyond (Serv., ad Aen. 1.382 Lucanus … in numero poetarum esse non meruit, quia videtur historiam composuisse, non poema, almost literally repeated by Isid. orig. 8.7.10; Lucan. comm. Bern. 1.1 Lucanus dicitur a plerisque non esse in numero poetarum, quia omnino historiam sequitur; Iordanes, Get. 5.43 Lucano plus historico quam poeta testante; cf. already Mart. 14.194) cannot certainly be coincidental.
Another character in the novel is portrayed as customarily composing poetry: the rich but ignorant Trimalchio. He epitomizes a social phenomenon exposed by Horace (Epist. 2.1.117: scribimus indocti doctique poemata passim). For the former slave, this is a way to assert his social success. Interestingly enough, not all of Trimalchio’s poetry that is recited in the novel is actually reported (41.6; neither is Trimalchio’s recital of mime at 35.6; similarly, only the first line of the recitation by Habinnas’ slave is reported 68.4; but it is immediately followed by Encolpius’ expression of disgust 68.5), but only a few specimens recited by himself, obviously sufficient to show how bad a poet he is. The two “epigrams” at 34.10 and 55.3 (cf. Setaioli 2004a; Yeh 2007, 95–98, 521–524) contain the whole, very commonplace “philosophy” of the author: enjoyment—especially food and drink—is the only remedy against death and misfortune. The first one has been obviously prepared beforehand and is introduced with a careful stage direction: 100-year-old wine, a prose speech opening with the same word as the poem (eheu) and containing its most conspicuous one (homuncio), the silver skeleton. The meter (two hexameters followed by a pentameter) is typical of uncultured literary production (it is commonly used in funerary inscriptions), and, with Trimalchio’s failure to keep the correct grammar (sic erimus cuncti postquam nos auferet Orcus, instead of abstulerit), it neatly characterizes his pretentious ignorance. The second epigram (55.3) is composed at the moment, after the fall of an acrobat, which could have hardly been planned in advance (Yeh 2007, 96, cf. 97–98, 521–524, implausibly thinks that the acrobat’s fall has been planned beforehand, and even less plausibly that 34.10 and 55.3 really constitute one single poem). Trimalchio asks for writing material, but cannot concentrate for too long and comes out with three metrically very defective lines, a vain attempt to reproduce the meter of the previous poem. The third poem is recited by Trimalchio immediately after (55.6) and attributed by him to Publilius Syrus. These lines are probably by Petronius,12 but they too must aim to characterize Trimalchio. His pairing of Cicero and Publilius, which introduces the verse, is surely meant as a sign of his ignorance. That these lines intend to parody Seneca’s use of quotations from Publilius in his moral writing (cf. Courtney 1991, 21) is surely possible, but it is hard to believe that the author has totally superimposed himself upon his character.
The poems that can be attributed to Encolpius are both the most interesting and the most difficult to assess. He is the narrator, and does not need to utter his poems as an acting character in order to report them. Actually, aside from the prayer to Priapus at 133.3, no poem appears to be recited by the character Encolpius, including 126.18 (cf. Setaioli 1998b, 232–237; Connors 1998, 70); the words at 127.1 (delectata risit tam blandum) probably appear after a lacuna and are hardly the description of Circe’s reaction to Encolpius’ poem);13 and we are not sure whether the schedium Lucilianae humilitatis (4.5) was recited by him to Agamemnon, even though, as we saw, this appears to be possible. Poems by Encolpius appear at 79.8, 80.9, 126.18, 127.9, 128.6, 131.8, 132.8, 132.11 (Virgilian cento), 132.15, 133.3, 135.8, 136.6, 137.9, and 139.2. He is probably the author also of 82.5 (cf. Setaioli 1998b, 217–221; Habermehl 2006, 52–56), utterly lacking a context; 15.9 (two isolated lines, the only surely incomplete poem); and possibly also of 14.2, which, as we have seen, most editors attribute to Ascyltos.
Two of these poems, 133.3 and 139.2 (Setaioli forthcoming), are crucial for the interpretation of the novel as a whole. In both, the central figure is the god Priapus. The first one is a prayer addressed to him by Encolpius after being affected by sexual impotence, modeled after well-known patterns of such invocations, and containing the confession of a “minor fault” (culpaeque ignosce minori; v. 11) as well as a declaration of innocence as far as such grievous faults as murder and sacrilege are concerned. The second is a list in the form of a priamel of heroes who were persecuted by some god, culminating with Encolpius himself, hounded, as he says, by the wrath of Priapus.
About 120 years ago, Elimar Klebs (1889) used 139.2 to support his theory that the wrath of Priapus was the leitmotiv granting unity not merely to the parts that came down to us, but to the novel as a whole, ever since its beginning (probably in the city of Massilia), and fulfilling the same function as the wrath of Poseidon in the Odyssey. Klebs’ theory enjoyed great success, and is accepted even today by several scholars, though the idea of Priapus’ wrath persecuting Encolpius from the very beginning hardly seems to be well founded. It is based on the notion that Encolpius’ impotence should be regarded as a punishment, whereas, in his prayer to Priapus, Encolpius himself sees it as a fault, even though a minor one, for which he must ask for the god’s forgiveness, as confirmed by his statement that this fault was committed with only one part of the body (133.3.9). It is also clear, despite the efforts of some scholars, that Encolpius was not impotent before his adventure with Circe (cf. 11.1, 24.7, 79.8, 129.1; in 20.2 and 23.5, Encolpius’ failures are due to exhaustion and disgust, respectively), and that he is not only saddened, but also surprised by his failure with her.
His declaration of innocence as far as murder and sacrilege are concerned, however, does not necessarily imply that he never committed these crimes. The confession of minor faults, while disclaiming more grievous ones, obeys a well-attested pattern of ancient prayers. Clearly, Encolpius is referring to the present situation, in which the fault to be forgiven is only his impotence with Circe, not any crime he may have committed in the past. In the preceding parts of the novel, we come across at least three passages (9.8 [Ascyltos], 81.3, 130.1–2) that impel us to believe that Encolpius is really guilty of murder and sacrilege. The efforts of some scholars to consider these three passages as unreliable, and thus clear Encolpius of these crimes, are unconvincing; it is difficult to understand why Encolpius (as well as Ascyltos) should always lie, and tell the truth only once—furthermore in his very prayer to Priapus, in which such a declaration of innocence was required by the accepted patterns of religious speech.
Besides, Encolpius does not come immediately, but rather slowly and gradually, to the conclusion of being persecuted by a god, like the mythological heroes of 139.2. At first, he thinks of magic (128.8; and still at 138.7), and even of psychological and pathological reasons (130.5; 7–8); but, whatever the cause, it is clear that impotence is an offence against the god of sex, Priapus, for which forgiveness must be asked. Finally, since nothing avails, be it magic, medicine, or prayer, Encolpius comes to the conclusion that he must be persecuted by that god, and that his impotence is not merely a fault, but also and primarily the effect of Priapus’ wrath (139.2.7–8); and he sticks to this idea in the few more surviving pages (140.11, 140.12). In this whole episode, Encolpius’ mind comes to be more and more dominated by Priapus—which means that the god plays an important role in this part of the story, but hardly warrants the attribution to him of such a central function from the very beginning of the novel.
Not rarely, Encolpius’ poems are presented as his own reflections, which “universalize” the specific situation being narrated; however, neither do they all belong to this type, nor do they invariably define the moods of the acting character as opposed to the more detached attitude of the narrator at the moment he reports his past adventures. Some are mere descriptions: 131.8 (cf. Barnes 1971, 231; Connors 1998, 71–72); 135.8; in one case (132.8; cf. 132.11), the poem continues the narrative. It is clearly a fallacy to believe that the poems invariably represent the literary transfiguration through which reality is perceived by the naïve or “mythomaniac” character Encolpius—and that it is exposed every time as delusion by the older and more mature narrator in the prose. Sometimes the verse clearly reveals that the literary transfiguration continues in the narrator’s present: the poem at 136.6 (Setaioli 2004b) proves that the narrating voice still believes that the geese with which he has fought in the narrated adventure were like mythological monsters, as shown by the present tense (136.6.1–2 tales Herculea Stymphalidas arte coactas/ad caelum fugisse reor). In reality, the moments in time defined by the poems are interchangeable: 126.18 and 139.2 appear to be the acting character’s reflections, 80.9 and 137.9 the narrator’s. At times, the narrator vividly relives in verse the emotions he experienced as a character: 79.8 (qualis nox fuit illa, di deaeque; Setaioli 2001b; Habermehl 2006, 7–10) clearly reflects the narrator’s standpoint, as shown by the perfect tenses; but, in the prose, he has his sobering present violently break in upon his cherished past: sine causa gratulor mihi. In general, when verse and prose define two different moments, it is always the narrator—and of course Petronius behind him—who contrives this effect for artistic purposes; the two moments can never be separated, if we are not to miss the author’s subtle play.
In the cycle of poems connected with Encolpius’ adventure with Circe (126.18, 127.9; cf. Setaioli 1999a, 131.8, with 128.6, Setaioli 1999b, Yeh 2007, 87–88, in between), the first two poems hark back not merely to the Odyssey, but to an even greater extent to Iliad 14 (Zeus and Hera making love on Mount Ida), but with a pointed reversal of the sexual roles, made explicit in the prose context (cf. Setaioli 1999a, 254–257). The scene is transposed from nature to a garden (cf. also 131.8). The poems taken in and by themselves appear totally serious; Encolpius’ impotence, narrated in the prose, forms the other panel of the diptych, which can only be understood and enjoyed as a whole.
In the Oenothea episode (Setaioli 2004b; Perutelli 1986; Winter 1992), while the prose consistently depicts a sordid reality, the four poems (including the first one, 134.12, recited by the priestess) register the changing moods of Encolpius and hark back to different literary models: Theocritus (134.12), Callimachus, and Ovid (135.8, in which Callimachus’ Hecale is expressly quoted), epic (136.6). The fourth poem, 137.9 (Setaioli 2006b; Yeh 2007, 502–505) in elegiac couplets, whereas the previous ones are in hexameters, is a reflection on the omnipotence of money, prompted by the conclusion of the episode. The last two poems reflect the standpoint of the narrator; both contain a verb in the first person of the present tense (136.6.2 reor; 137.9.9 multa loquor), but they define two different attitudes: the continued literary transfiguration on the one hand, the disenchanted assessment of reality on the other: obviously, not even the sadder but wiser Encolpius has entirely lost his irremediable literary “idealism.”
1 cf. Setaioli 1998b, 226–232; Connors 1998, 76; Habermehl 2006, 452–458; Yeh 2007, 399–404. For reasons of space, I avoid detailed mention of the relevant bibliography as far as the single poems are concerned, and will refer to my papers covering most of them, in which it is systematically surveyed—though of course it is presupposed here too. I further refer to the bibliography on Petronius’ poems, quoted and discussed by Yeh 2007, and, for recent scholarship on Petronius in general, to Vannini 2007. See also Habermehl 2006, for the parts covered by his commentary.
2 Yeh 2007, whose conclusions, though ostensibly based on a thorough analysis of metrical technique, often appear to be far-fetched and hardly convincing. He dates the Satyrica under the reign of Domitian. Among the numerous papers concerned with Petronius’ poems, mention may be made of Beck 1973 and Sommariva 1996.
3 For 80.9, see Setaioli 2001a, with the literature quoted and discussed; also Yeh 2007, 107–108, who considers the verses as one poem, and Habermehl 2006, 24–32, who splits them in two. It should be emphasized that nomen amicitiae (v. 1) corresponds to nomen divitis (v. 6); vultum (v. 3) and ora (v. 4) correspond to facies (v. 8); and vultum servatis (v. 3) anticipates both the theatrical metaphor of vv. 5–8 and the emphasis that these final lines place on pretence and fictionality. In modern terms, we can say that the “hypocrisy” of false friendship, which is the subject of the first part of the poem, is explained and revealed, as it were, through an etymological association (hypokritēs is the Greek word for actor) by the description of theatrical pretense in the second.
4 I’m referring to Connors 1998, 30 pastry Priapus; 79–80 pebble; 47–49 parrot. She also sees programmatic references in Encolpius’ sotadeans (33) and, as already hinted, in the verse on the mime at 80.9 (13–14).
5 Setaioli 1997; 1998b, 237–239; 1999b, 412–415; Connors 1998, 72 n. 57: “clearly though it is best to read this poem within the frame of Encolpius’ character”; Yeh 2007, 553–556.
6 The scholars who admit that this poem does deal with expression, but limit it to the character Encolpius, fail to see that the latter’s wording of the story is identical to the text of the Satyrica, which is presented as a report by him. See, for example Barnes 1971, 254–274; he, like others, limits the opus alluded to by Encolpius to the single episode in which the poem appears. Connors 1998, 146 (“in Petronius’ novel, the narrating voice does not seem to consider anything off limits: as Encolpius says [132.15.4], ‘whatever people do, my lucid tongue reports’”) implicitly contradicts her former statement (cf. preceding note); it is in fact the “narrating voice” that creates the text of the novel.
7 For example, Petr. 93.2.3–5 at albus anser / et pictis anas renovata pennis / plebeium sapit; 10 quicquid quaeritur, optimum videtur ~ 119.7–8 non vulgo nota placebant / gaudia, non usu plebeio trita voluptas.
8 The problems raised by these two compositions are too complex to be properly addressed here. We shall treat them solely in their relations, qua poems, to the prose narrative as well as to the other verse parts of the novel. A clever simile proposed by Connors 1998, 100, should be kept in mind: the Bellum Civile is like a rat swallowed by a python; as a part of the Satyrica, it produces a very different impression from the one we would get if it were a free-standing piece. For the Troiae halosis and the Bellum Civile, see Yeh 2007, 116–188, 195–385, 423–470.
9 Encolpius himself seems at times to share this attitude (90.3; cf. 93.3), although he is consistently portrayed as compulsively associating his own adventures with those of literary heroes. The impression produced upon him by the Bellum Civile is expressed somehow ambiguously (124.2 cum haec Eumolpus ingenti volubilitate verborum effudisset; such volubilitas was disparagingly associated with the shallow verbosity often attributed to the contemporary Greeks: Plin., Ep. 5.20.4; Val. Max. 2.2.2). At 110.1 (plura volebat proferre, credo, et ineptiora praeteritis), Encolpius is simply reacting to Eumolpus’ paignion, making fun of his and Giton’s temporary baldness.
10 Stubbe 1933, 31–37, though conceding that Petronius (or rather Eumolpus) tries to emulate Virgil, strangely denies that he directly referred to the Aeneid (31: “es läßt sich jedenfalls deutlich zeigen, daß Petron den zu behandelnden Stoff sich nicht an einem ihm vorliegenden Aeneistext vergegenwärtigte”). Any details that come from different sources acquire special significance and relief only in relation with the Vergilian version.
11 Stubbe 1993, 103; Barnes 1971, 128; Connors 1998, 116 n. 47—all have stressed the closeness of Eumolpus’ hexameter to the Vergilian pattern. On the basis of a thorough metrical analysis, however, Yeh 2007, 259, concludes that the meter of the Bellum Civile differs both from Virgil’s and from Lucan’s. It rather shows archaizing leanings, and is close to Silius Italicus’ hexameter; Yeh 2007, 385, 575, etc.
12 Most recent scholarship agrees on this. For Barnes 1971, 54, the poem is neither a fragment nor an imitation of Publilius, but merely aims to convey Trimalchio’s impression of his poetry. Yeh 2007 is rather confused: on p. 102, he states that 55.6 cannot be by Trimalchio, since there are no metric faults, and on p. 422 attributes it to Publilius Syrus. However, at the end of the metrical analysis of the poem (pp. 471–485), he concludes that there are too many archaizing elements for an authentic specimen of Publilius’ poetry. If I understand correctly, he thinks that Trimalchio wrongly attributes to Publilius verses written by somebody else (not by Petronius).
13 As believed, among others, by Beck 1973, 50, and Yeh 2007, 79. In the text as we have it, there is nothing to show that the poem is recited by Encolpius to Circe in the situation reported. Therefore, there must be at least one lacuna, either before the verse (possibly, but not necessarily, a passage stating that the poem is actually recited to Circe), or, more probably, after (a caption giving the reason for the lady’s smile). In the tradition, the poem is actually preceded and followed by the indication of a lacuna.
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Setaioli, A. 2003. “Le due poesie in sotadei di Petronio (Sat. 23.3; 132.8).” Cuadernos de Filología Clásica. Estudios Latinos, 23: 1: 89–106.
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Bartonková, D. 1976. “Prosimetrum, the mixed style, in ancient literature.” Eirene, 14: 65–92. On the mixture of verse and prose.
Conte, G.B. 1996. The Hidden Author: An Interpretation of Petronius’ Satyricon. Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press. Contains a whole chapter on the relationship between Petronius and the satira Menippea.
Courtney, E. 2001. A Companion to Petronius. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. A real step-by-step companion to Petronius’ text.
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Parsons, P. 1971. “A Greek Satyricon?” Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies, 18: 53–68. On the papyrus fragment of the so-called Iolaus, a narrative text containing a section in verse.
Schmeling, G. 2011. A Commentary on the Satyrica of Petronius. With the collaboration of A. Setaioli. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. A complete commentary on what is left of the Satyrica.
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Slater, N. 1990. Reading Petronius. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press. A sensible approach to Petronius’ novel.
Sullivan, J.P. 1968. The Satyricon of Petronius. A Literary Study. Bloomington and London: Indiana University Press. A classical essay on Petronius.