Nights of Egeria: Juvenal’s De Memoria Deorum

David H. J. Larmour

It is a conundrum that while Juvenal’s verse satire appropriates the metre and discourse of epic poetry to a much greater extent than is the case with his predecessors in the genre - Persius, Horace and Lucilius - it dispenses almost entirely with the divine apparatus surrounding the epic hero and his quest; indeed, the gods are noticeably absent from a genre whose concern with morals and justice, or at least with vice and punishment, might lead us to expect their presence.

7-9), so we know that the satirist’s attitude to the genre is less than wholly positive.¹ But he does style himself, at least initially (1.19-20), as an epic hero who has decided ‘to charge across the plain’ (decurrere campo) on which Lucilius, the founder of Latin hexameter satire, ‘steered his horses’ (equos... flexit).² In such a setting, even allowing for Juvenal’s all-encompassing irony, the almost total absence of the ‘righteous anger’ of the gods with its implied threats of vengeance against all manner of miscreants and (less frequently) rewards for the virtuous few - of the kind we see, for example, in Ovid’s tales of Lycaon (1.163-252) or Philemon and Baucis (8.611-724) in the Metamorphoses - provokes some surprise.

One probable reason for this is that the satirist needs to portray a corrupted world in order to motivate his own corrective stance, and the absence of gods symbolizes this. The ‘godless’ landscape also alludes to the fundamentally ‘deconstructive’ nature of Juvenalian satire, which leaves little or no space for improvement.³ As a prototype of the restless flaneur of later metropoleis, the satirist-narrator, like the heroes of epic, is on a quest: he strays across the physical space of Rome, wandering through an ideological landscape laden with chronotopic significance which promises to solidify his identity as a subject, but always fails to do so.⁴ The monuments and sites of Rome, laden as they are with the tropes of Roman memorializing and the physical manifestations of moral and ideological imperatives, should offer fixed points of Romanitas to which the speaker can anchor his floating subjectivity; but in their Juvenalian projection, if they are not inherently repellent locations like the Subura or the Circus Maximus, they are important public spaces which have become repulsive through their contamination by outside elements or the outrageous behaviour of people who frequent them.

Although there are some fleeting suggestions in the Satires of appropriate piety in religious observance - such as Umbricius’ request that Juvenal invite him from Cumae to visit Helvinam Cererem vestramque Dianam (‘Helvius’ Ceres and your Diana’, 3.320)⁵ or the narrator’s observation in 15.140-2 that ‘no-one who is good and worthy of the mystic torch, who behaves as the priest of Ceres wishes, considers the sufferings of others irrelevant to themselves'

- the majority of the participants in religious activities are ridiculed as hypocritical and self-serving, if not downright impious.⁶ So, for example, even though the fat and dissolute Lateranus duly makes sacrifices in accordance with Numa's rite (more Numae), when standing before Jupiter's altar he swears only by Epona - goddess of mule-drivers - and ‘the pictures painted on the smelly stables' (8.155-7).⁷ It is clear from numerous such examples that the topic of interaction with religious signifiers is in fact central to Juvenal's vision: when the speaker lists the ingredients that go into his satirical stew, he puts ‘prayers' first - quidquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas, / gaudia, discursus, nostri farrago libelli est (‘all human activity, prayers, fear, anger, pleasure, joy, rushing about, this is the mash of my little book’, 1.85-6)

- and the whole of Satire 10 is devoted to the theme of foolish and misplaced objects of prayer to the gods, the reasons why it is right and proper (fas) ‘to cover the gods' knees with wax [tablets containing prayers]' (10.55).

This article discusses three revealing moments of engagement with the lieux de memoire of Roman religion in the Satires before moving to some conclusions about what we may term Juvenal's De Memoria Deorum. First, we shall look at a trio of sacred sites, namely the temples of Concord and of Mars Ultor and the Altar of Pudicitia, whose divinities no longer receive the reverence they enjoyed in earlier times. In Juvenal's Rome, gods are marked more by their absence than their presence; indeed, they appear to have ‘fled' from the city, leaving it and their empty temples to its corrupt inhabitants. In conjunction with this theme, we have the unedifying spectacle of new arrivals, aliens from the east, such as the cults of the Great Mother (Bona Dea) or Cybele or Isis;⁸ these intruders usurp the space of venerable Roman deities, as occurs when the Grove of Egeria is rented out to Jewish refugees (3.10-20), a vignette worth examining in some detail. Finally, we shall consider the ways in which the Roman gods have been ‘belittled' and ‘banalized' so that they are reduced to little more than part of the household ‘furniture' and merely one constituent of the sordid practice of everyday life.

O Templa, O Mores

In Satire 1, some of the most venerated abstractions of Roman religion appear in a group as the speaker feigns surprise that there is no temple of Pecunia where ‘deadly cash' could be worshipped, along with - or instead of - Pax, Fides, Victoria, Virtus and Concordia (1.112-16):

quandoquidem inter nos sanctissima divitiarum

maiestas, etsi funesta Pecunia templo

nondum habitat, nullas nummorum ereximus aras,

ut colitur Pax atque Fides, Victoria, Virtus quaeque salutato crepitat Concordia nido.

Since it is the majesty of wealth which is most revered among us, even if deadly Money hasn't yet got a temple to dwell in and we haven't yet set up altars to cash, as Peace and Loyalty, Victory, Virtue are worshipped, and Concord who clatters when her nest is greeted.

The joke that the Temple of Concord, presumably the one located at the entrance to the Capitol,⁹ now functions as a bird's nest undermines some of the most powerful watchwords of Roman ideology embodied here in architec­tural form, including fides and virtus. The worship of Fides, for example, was said to have been initiated by Numa, the founder of Roman religion, and there was a Temple of Fides on the Capitol.¹⁰ The site of the Temple of Concord is redolent with powerful memories ripe for Juvenal to exploit for his own satirical purposes; for us, a sense of the weight of memory associated with this temple can be gleaned from Ovid's description in Fasti 1.637-50:¹¹

Candida, te niveo posuit lux proxima templo,

qua fert sublimes alta Moneta gradus,

nunc bene prospiciens Latiam Concordia turbam,

nunc te sacratae constituere manus. 640

Furius antiquam, populi superator Etrusci, voverat et voti solverat ille fidem.

causa, quod a patribus sumptis secesserat armis

volgus, et ipsa suas Roma timebat opes.

causa recens melior: passos Germania crines 645

porrigit auspiciis, dux venerande, tuis.

Inde triumphatae libasti munera gentis

templaque fecisti, quam colis ipse, deae.

Hanc tua constituit genetrix et rebus et ara,

sola toro magni digna reperta lovis. 650

Gleaming Concordia, the next light enshrined you pure white

Where high Moneta lifts its soaring steps.

Now you have a fine view over the Latin mob;

Now consecrated hands have confirmed you.

Furius, conqueror of the Etruscan people,

Vowed the old temple and kept his vow.

The cause: the mob's armed secession from the Fathers

And Rome itself fearful of its power.

The new cause is better: Germany spreads hair in homage

Under your auspices, revered leader.

Hence you offered this nation's triumphal tribute

And enshrined the goddess whom you worship.

Your mother confirmed this with deeds and an altar,

She alone found worthy of great Jove's bed.¹²

‘Furius' refers to Camillus who made a vow to build a Temple of Concord in the Forum during the strife between plebs and Senate in 367 bc and of course duly kept his fides; a Temple of Concord was rebuilt by Tiberius with the spoils from victories in Germany.¹³ It was also the location where the Senate met to condemn Catiline's accomplices to death and Cicero delivered his Philippics.

Ovid connects the Temple of Concordia with that of Juno Moneta, which was close by;¹⁵ the name Moneta seems to have been connected with both Mnemosyne and monere (to warn) and linked with the patriotic exploits of Camillus and with the geese who alerted the city to the invading Gauls in 390 bc. Juno Moneta was also the guardian of coinage and the city's silver mint was attached to her temple.¹⁶ In Juvenal's grouping of temples we are alerted to a threatening new presence on the block, namely Pecunia: its elevation to the status of a virtue in contemporary Rome - effectively detailed throughout Satire 1, especially in the central scene of the ‘daily dole' (sportula) - ought to have resulted in an architectural incursion into sacred space which a temple to Pecunia would represent. The unholy association between temples and money reappears in 10.23-5:

Prima fere vota et cunctis notissima templis

divitiae, crescant ut opes, ut maxima toto

nostra sit arco foro.

Just about the most popular prayer, yet so familiar in

the temples, is for riches:

May my wealth grow! May my treasure chest be the biggest in the whole Forum!

This is usually thought to refer to the Temple of Castor, where deposits were kept under guard (a detail echoed in 14.260, ad vigilem ponendi Castora nummi).¹⁷ The corrupting influence of money and the desire for wealth has, however, spread from the human to the divine realm, according to 3.137-46:

da testem Romae tam sanctum quam fuit hospes

numinis Idaei, procedat vel Numa vel qui servavit trepidam flagranti ex aede Minervam: protinus ad censum, de moribus ultima fiet quaestio: ‘quot pascit servos? quot possidet agri 340

iugera? quam multa magnaque paropside cenat?

quantum quisque sua nummorum servat in arca, tantum habet et fidei.

Rome, produce a witness as saintly as the man who welcomed the Idaean goddess [Scipio Nasica], let Numa step forward, or the man who rescued a trembling Minerva from the blazing temple [Caecilius Metellus] - its straight to his wealth; his character will be the last enquiry. ‘How many slaves does he keep? How many acres of farmland does he own? How many and how lavish are his courses at dinner?' Everyone's credit matches the amount of coins he keeps in his treasure-chest. Though you swear an oath on the altars of the Samothracian and Roman gods, a poor man is thought to disregard the divine lightning-bolts, with the acquiescence of the gods themselves.¹⁸

The degree to which a Scipio, Metellus or Numa would be considered sanctus in Rome today is directly dependent upon his ‘net worth' (censum) while fides is measured by the amount of coins a man has in his treasure chest. The phrase dis ignoscentibus (‘with the gods themselves forgiving') is nicely ambiguous: the gods forgive the poor man his perjury either because he is completely insignificant and lies out of necessity or because they have become as corrupt as mortals.

As noted above, one implication of the clattering storks on the roof of the Temple of Concord is that the goddess herself has simply upped and left Rome. Only the facade remains, akin to the manner in which the great signi- fiers of Roman morality and identity (like libertas, fides, religio) have become detached from their ‘original' meanings: ‘magna inter molles concordia’ (‘there's enormous concordia among effeminates'), observes Laronia, in the course of her attack on dissolute males in Satire 2.36-64. This notion of departing divinity is echoed at various points throughout the Satires; for example, in 2.124-34, upon witnessing the marriage of Gracchus to another man, the speaker asks why Mars is not displaying his anger (2.124-34):

Segmenta et longos habitus et flammea sumit

arcano qui sacra ferens nutantia loro sudavit clipeis ancilibus. O Pater Urbis, unde nefas tantum Latiis pastoribus? Unde haec tetigit, Gradive, tuos urtica nepotes?

traditur ecce viro clarus genere atque opibus vir,

nec galeam quassas nec terram cuspide pulsas

nec quereris patri? Vade ergo et cede severi 130

iugeribus campi, quem neglegis. ‘officium cras primo sole mihi peragendum in valle Quirini.'

‘quae causa officii?' ‘quid quaeris? nubit amicus...

He wears the bridal trimmings, long gown and veil, the very same man who carried the sacred objects swinging from the mystic strap sweating under the sacred shields. O Father of the City, whence comes such a great impiety to the shepherds of Latium? Whence this itch that taints your descendants, Gradivus? Behold - a man illustrious in his lineage and fortune is betrothed to another man and you neither shake your helmet nor strike the ground with your spear nor complain to your father? Be off, then - abandon the acres of the stern Campus [Martius] which you don't care about. ‘Tomorrow at sunrise there's a ceremony I must attend in the Valley of Quirinus.’ ‘What's the occasion?' ‘Why, a friend of mine is getting married [to a man]...'

The setting of the marriage in the valley of Quirinus creates a startling juxta­position of the deified Romulus with an exemplum of disgraceful behaviour by a descendant of a noble family.¹⁹ Gracchus is one of the Salii, the priests of Mars (who were also closely associated with Quirinus), established according to tradition by Numa.²⁰ Romulus is addressed in a solemn formulation as pater Urbis and Mars as Gradivus, with which we may compare antiquissime divom /... lane pater in 6.393-4. In spite of all that goes on, however, he is not shaking his helmet or striking the ground with his spear. Indeed, the speaker tells him to ‘be off' from the Campus which bears his name, ironically qualified by the epithet severus here.²¹ Although Juvenal deploys language pointing to the rituals of Roman religion (arcane... sacra... nefas), the message of the passage is that the gods who ought to be guardians of morality and the virtues which constitute Romanitas have become impotent or abandoned the city altogether. The corruption runs deep: in 602-6, the speaker describes how the Salian and other priesthoods have been contaminated by ‘spurious' children, abandoned by their parents and adopted by noble families, like the Aemilii Scauri, which provided members of the august colleges:

Transeo suppositos et gaudia votaque saepe ad spurcos decepta lacus, saepe inde petitos pontifices, Salios Scaurorum nomina falso corpore laturos. Stat Fortuna improba noctu adridens nudis infantibus.

I pass over the spurious children and the pleasures and prayers so often cheated at the filthy pools [latrines?], the high priests so often sought from there, the Salian priests who will bear the name of Scaurus in their false body. Shameless Fortune stands there at night, smiling on the naked babies.

We note the presence in this sordid nocturnal scene of ‘shameless' Fortuna who has stepped into a leading role among the gods, rather like Pecunia amid the older temples.²² She becomes the satirist's accomplice, ‘smiling ironically' (adridens)²³ and furnishing exempla for his attacks.

The point of divine abandonment is made very effectively by focusing our attention on Mars Ultor, whose temple was the centrepiece of the Forum Augusti - a building the speaker has already alluded to very early on in 1.129-31, commenting on the impertinent insertion by ‘some Egyptian Arabarch' of his own statue into the ranks of the triumphales, the heroes of Roman history, which graced the sides of the complex:²⁴

atque triumphales inter quas ausus habere

nescioquis titulos Aegyptius atque Arabarches, cuius ad effigiem non tantum meiere fas est.

and the triumphal statues among whom some Egyptian Arabarch has dared

to put up his statue, on which it's right and proper not only to piss.

Once again, Juvenal's picture of Mars is a far cry from the scene in the Fasti (5.549-54), where the god (addressed as Gradivus, 556) descends clatteringly to his new temple in the centre of the city:

fallor, an arma sonant? non fallimur, arma sonabant:

Mars venit et veniens bellica signa dedit.

Ultor ad ipse suos caelo descendit honores templaque in Augusto conspicienda foro.

et deus est ingens et opus: debebat in urbe

non aliter nati Mars habitare sui.

Am I deceived? Do arms clank ? No deceit. Arms did clank.

He comes and has displayed the signs of war.

Mars Ultor drops from heaven to view his honours

And temple in the Augustan Forum.

Both the god and the work are massive. Mars deserved

No other dwelling in his son's city.

The only detailed description of a particular site in the Fasti, this passage presented Ovid with a chance to expatiate upon Augustus' appropriation of Mars as protector of the city of Rome.²⁵ The language of presence (venit et veniens... descendit... habitare) emphasizes the god's propinquity. Mars is also the protector of Roman pudor (shame) from foreign - in this case, eastern - enemies, as Ovid recalls the triumph over the Parthians (5.594-8):

pignora iam nostri nulla pudoris habes.

rite deo templumque datum nomenque bis ulto,

et meritus voti debita solvit honor.

sollemnes ludos Circo celebrate, Quirites:

non visa est fortem scaena decere deum.

Now you possess no proofs of our shame.

The twice vengeful god received a shrine and a title;

The merited honours discharge the vow.

Hold the festival Games in the Circus, Quirites:

The stage seems not to suit the manly god.²⁶

Mars presents Juvenal with the opportunity to comment upon the absence of fitting punishment for vice (cf. his opening words in 1.1-4: numquamne reponam...? inpune...? inpune...?). In the satirical cityscape, this powerful divine ‘presence’ is unobservable, because the occupant of the temple has ceased to fulfil his role as Avenger. In Satire 14.258-62, as the satirist returns to the profanation of religious sites by money, he again refers to this temple:

Si spectes quanto capitis discrimine constent incrementa domus, aerata multus in arca fiscus et ad vigilem ponendi Castora nummi, ex quo Mars Ultor galeam quoque perdidit et res non potuit servare suas.

Just look at how much people risk their lives for increased household worth, for the big deposit in the bronze-bound treasure chest and the cash which has to be deposited under Castor’s guard, since even Mars the Avenger lost his helmet and wasn’t able to keep hold of his own property.

The joke here appears to be that the Temple of Mars Ultor has recently been robbed, but the picture of Mars without his emblematic helmet is also suggestive of the god having lost his power. Indeed, robbing temples is an everyday activity in Rome, according to 13.147-52:

confer et hos, veteris qui tollunt grandia templi

pocula adorandae robiginis et populorum

dona vel antiquo positas a rege coronas;

haec ibi si non sunt, minor exstat sacrilegus qui

radat inaurati femur Herculis et faciem ipsam

Neptuni, qui bratteolam de Castore ducat.

Compare too those who take from an old temple large goblets of venerable rust and the gifts of nations or crowns dedicated by some ancient king. If these things are not there, a minor defiler comes forth who scrapes the thigh of a gilded Hercules or the very face of a Neptune, who strips the gold-leaf from a Castor.

The image of Mars departing from the ‘stern’ Campus Martius is picked up by the departure of Pudicitia (Chastity) and then of her sister Astraea (Justice) in Satire 6. Here the speaker conjures up the Saturnian Golden Age, when shaggy and big-breasted women nourished their offspring in country caves and Pudicitia was still dwelling on the earth (1-20):

Credo Pudicitiam Saturno rege moratam

in terris visamque diu, cum frigida parvas praeberet spelunca domos ignemque laremque et pecus et dominos communi clauderet umbra, silvestrem montana torum cum sterneret uxor 5

frondibus et culmo vicinarumque ferarum pellibus, haut similis tibi, Cynthia, nec tibi, cuius turbavit nitidos extinctus passer ocellos, sed potanda ferens infantibus ubera magnis

et saepe horridior glandem ructante marito. 10

quippe aliter tunc orbe novo caeloque recenti vivebant homines, qui rupto robore nati compositive luto nullos habuere parentes.

multa Pudicitiae veteris vestigia forsan

aut aliqua exstiterint et sub love, sed love nondum 15

barbato, nondum Graecis iurare paratis

per caput alterius, cum furem nemo timeret caulibus ac pomis et aperto viveret horto. paulatim deinde ad superos Astraea recessit hac comite, atque duae pariter fugere sorores. 20

I can believe that Chastity lingered on earth during Saturn’s reign and that she was visible for a long time during the era when a chilly cave provided a tiny home, enclosing fire and hearth god and herd and its owners in communal gloom, when a mountain wife made her woodland bed with leaves and straw and the skins of her neighbours, the beasts. She was nothing like you, Cynthia, or you [Lesbia] with your bright eyes marred by the death of your sparrow. Instead she offered her paps for her hefty babies to drain, and she was often more unkempt than her acorn-belching husband. You see, people lived differ­ently then, when the world was new and the sky was young - people who had no parents but were born from split oak or shaped from mud. It's possible that many or at least some traces of ancient Chastity survived under Jupiter too - but that was before Jupiter got his beard, before the Greeks had taken to swearing by someone else's name, at a time when no one feared that his cabbages or apples would be stolen but people lived with their gardens unwalled. It was afterwards that, little by little, Astraea withdrew to the gods above with Chastity as her companion. The two sisters ran away together.²⁷

Cynthia and Lesbia (through the love poetry of Propertius and Catullus respectively) mark the link with Rome, as does the adjective montanus, suggesting the seven hills of the city.²⁸ The flight of Pudicitia gets a reprise in 11.55-6, where the speaker is describing fugitive bankrupts: sanguinis in facie non haeret gutta, morantur / pauci ridiculum et fugientem ex Urbe Pudorem (‘not a drop of blood remains in their faces, few detain derided Chastity as she rushes out of the City'). The only other use of the word pudicitia in the extant poems comes in 10.297-8, rara est adeo concordia formae / atque pudicitiae (‘so rarely is beauty in concord with chastity') of a son whose ‘excellent body' only makes his parents anxious because, no matter how pure and simple his upbringing, he is not permitted ‘to take the male role' (non licet esse viro, 10.304). In the twisted logic exposed by the satirist, good looks ( forma) expose the youth to moral danger via sexual degradation, because pudicitia is such a rarity. This is one of his recurring themes: in Satire 2, the speaker targets Roman males who have lost their sense of what is appropriate behaviour for their gender; in Satire 6, he launches a related, much lengthier, attack on females and the corrupted condition of Roman marriage. There is a graphic scene in the middle of the poem when two women, Maura and her sister, cavort under cover of darkness at the Altar of Pudicitia (306-13):²⁹

I nunc et dubita qua sorbeat aera sanna

Maura, Pudicitiae veterem cum praeterit aram, Tullia quid dicat, notae collactea Maurae. noctibus hic ponunt lecticas, micturiunt hic effigiemque deae longis siphonibus implent inque vices equitant ac Luna teste moventur. Inde domos abeunt: tu calcas luce reversa coniugis urinam magnos visurus amicos.

Go now and ask yourself with what grimace Maura sniffs

the air, when she passes the ancient Altar of Chastity;

what Tullia says to her, sister nursed on the same breast as infamous Maura.

Here at night they stop their litters, here they piss

and fill the image of the goddess with their long sprays

and ride one another in turn and prance about with the Moon as witness.

Then they go off home: and you tread, when the daylight returns, in your wife's urine on your way to see your important friends.

By placing Maura next to Pudicitiae veterem and having aram followed immediately by Tullia in 307-8, Juvenal emphasizes the profanation of formerly sacred space by these incontinent intruders. While the urinating or defecating on the Egyptian Arabarch’s statue in the portico of the Temple of Mars Ultor in the Forum Augusti in Satire 1 was imagined in a day-time setting, performed by a Roman male treating the impudent outsider with justified contempt, the pissing all over the image of Pudicitia takes place at night, unwitnessed by all but the Moon (although the evidence is there in the morning for those who care to look, including their husbands).

The temples of Concord and Mars in Rome have been abandoned by their divinities, just as Pudicitia and Astraea have long since taken flight. Various other temples and sites of veneration do receive mention in the Satires, but in almost all instances when they are more than mere background,³⁰ they are no longer sacred locations: in 9.22-4, for example, Naevolus the rent-male hangs out hoping for custom at the temples of Isis, Pax, Cybele or Ceres (‘for is there any temple where a woman doesn’t prostitute herself?’, 24) - a grouping which parallels the set of temples threatened by Pecunia in Satire 1.115 (Pax, Fides, Victoria, Virtus). As Courtney notes, ‘Ceres was a particularly chaste goddess... and therefore adultery in her temple was the more reprehensible.’³¹

Nights of Egeria

The Temple of Concord is now occupied by nesting storks, but not all occupa­tions of sacred space are so benign. This can be observed particularly in the jaundiced description of Egeria’s Grove, where Umbricius takes his leave of the speaker in Satire 3.10-20 and the only sustained piece of topographical description of a specific location in the entire collection. It was a site endowed with a considerable weight of memory, quite apart from the obvious associ­ation with Numa: before the Temple of Mars Ultor was built, for example, the most important shrine to the god was a temple near the Porta Capena, dedicated during the wars with the Gauls in 388 bc.³² In Ovid's account in Fasti 3.259-80, in fact, Mars and the origins of the weapons of the Salii are interwoven with the encounter between Numa and Egeria. The scene in the grove is a pivotal moment in the Juvenalian corpus, for it is where the satirist's voice is explicitly divided - into that of the narrator and that of Umbricius, who delivers his farewell speech before leaving Rome for good and going to Cumae (1.10-20):³³

Sed dum tota domus raeda componitur una,

substitit ad veteres arcus madidamque Capenam.

in vallem Egeriae descendimus et speluncas dissimiles veris. Quanto praesentius esset numen aquis, viridi si margine cluderet undas herba nec ingenuum violarent marmora tofum. hic, ubi nocturnae Numa constituebat amicae, 15

nunc sacri fontis nemus et delubra locantur ludaeis, quorum cophinus fenumque supellex;

omnis enim populo mercedem pendere iussa est arbor et eiectis mendicat silva Camenis.

But while his whole house is being loaded onto one cart,

he stops near the old arches and the dripping Capena Gate.

We go down into the valley of Egeria and its fake-looking caves. How much more present the spirit of the waters would be, if grass enclosed the pool with a green border and marble did not profane the native tufa.

Here, where Numa used to meet his night-time lady friend,

now the grove with its sacred spring and its shrine are given over

to Jews, whose paraphernalia is a hay-filled hamper.

For every tree has been ordered to pay rent to the people

and, with the Camenae expelled, the grove has become a beggar.

The reduction of large to small in the picture of Umbricius' ‘whole house' loaded onto ‘one cart' narrows the gaze of the viewer from the macrocosm of the city as a whole to the microcosm of this one archway and the single grove nearby, so that these reduced spaces synecdochically represent Rome, the Urbs with ‘no place for honourable skills' (artibus... honestis... nullus in Urbe locus, 3.21) or indeed ‘for any Roman' (non est Romano cuiquam locus hic, 3.119). Umbricius' departure from the city offers a parallel on the human level to its abandonment by the gods. Thus, through his alter ego Umbricius, the satirist associates himself with the perspective and actions of the displaced and disgusted divinities of Roman religion, to be picked up in Satire 6 with the flight from the earth of Pudicitia and Astraea

Although he will leave through the Porta Capena, Umbricius chooses to unburden himself of his reasons for abandoning Rome in the Valley of Egeria, with descendimus recalling the imagined descent into the Underworld which comes at the end of Satire 2. This valley also offers (at least momentarily) a contrast with the activities which went on in the Valley of Quirinus in the previous poem. Umbricius' reframing of Rome is analogous to the long speech delivered to Aeneas by Anchises in the Underworld in the sixth book of Vergil's Aeneid (6.725-892), prophesying the future greatness of Rome through a parade of heroes yet to be born. The fact that Umbricius' journey will take him from Rome to Cumae is also suggestive: it makes his trip into a return from the Underworld, the City of the Dead that Rome has become, to a land where living as a ‘true Roman' is, if we take his narrative seriously, still possible. It is also a journey back to a chronotope before the city of Rome existed, with the encounter between the satirist and Umbricius paralleling that between Numa and Egeria.³⁴ Thus, the Grove of Egeria allows for a satirical ‘time warp' as we are invited to contemplate the current condition of the location where the foundations of Roman religion were established and hence the deterioration that has occurred since the promulgation of Numa's original vision.

In Juvenal's description, the spring and the caves are associated with the dripping arches at the Porta Capena, and the scene appears to point towards proper religious observance, but the designation of the caves as dissimiles ueris (artificial-looking) immediately introduces a note of suspicion and alerts us to that lack of correspondence between appearance and reality which is a commonplace in satiric discourse: as we saw in Satire 2, for example, the outward ‘manly' appearance of Roman males, especially those who pretend to be devoted to philosophy, belies a shameless descent into all sorts of immoral activities. ³⁵ The Camenae (the Roman Muses) are associated with Egeria in Ovid's Fasti 3.275 (Egeria est, quae praebet aquas, dea grata Camenis; ‘it's Egeria, who provides the waters, a goddess dear to the Camenae') but Juvenal's description from this point onward focuses upon the invasion of the grotto by foreign elements, culminating in the expulsion of the specifically Roman Muses. Thus the grove for the narrator is a locus of unnatural defilement and profanation of the ‘authentically Roman' by representatives of the Outside; and, as the Camenae were ejected from it, so Umbricius will eject himself from the city through the nearby Porta Capena, following the trend set by his divine predecessors.

The unflattering description of the grove's new inhabitants, with their foreign religious practices, is blended with comments on the ‘unnatural' character of the grove's superficially natural features - the spring, grass, caves and trees - leading to the observation that the numen (the divine spirit) of the spring would be ‘much more present' if its waters were enclosed by grass and if marble did not violate the native tufa (quanto praesentius esset / numen aquis, uiridi si margine clauderet undas / herba, nec ingenuum uiolarent marmora tofum (‘How much more present the spirit of the waters would be, if grass enclosed the pool with a green border and marble did not profane the native tufa', 3.18-20). The gap between Past and Present, the speaker seems to suggest, could be closed in this space freighted with memory, if only the ‘native tufa' had not been ‘violated' by marble, and if the ‘edge of the water' was ‘enclosed' (only) by grass. The imagery and the vocabulary are significant: presence as opposed to absence, green grass as opposed to white marble, and native or natural (ingenuus) as opposed to imported or constructed. The encircling of the pool by grass or tufa would be, in the eyes of the speaker and his implied viewer, entirely appropriate: an analogous ‘natural enclosing' appears in the Golden Age of the cave-dwellers (Satire 6.4): et pecus et dominos communi clauderet umbra (‘[when a cave] enclosed both herd and owners in communal shade'). We may note, too, that when the two sisters, Pudicitia and Astraea, abandoned the world, people no longer lived with their gardens unwalled (6.18). In this passage, the word order reinforces the point: viridi and herba enclose undas within the clause, while herba and tofum similarly enclose marmora within the line, but the collocation of marmora and tofum brings out the harsh encounter - one might say the lack of harmony or concordia - between the quintessential building material of the imperial city, probably imported, and the naturally occurring porous tufa which was popular in pre-Augustan times. A similar notion appears later in Satire 14 with the builder Caetronius ‘outdoing’ (vincens) the temples of Fortuna and Hercules ‘with marble brought from Greece and far away’ (Graecis longeque petitis / marmoribus, 14.89-90). The sentence continues with: ut spado vincebat Capitolia nostra Posides (‘as the eunuch Posides was trying to outdo our Capitol’, 14.91), referring to a large house built by a freedman of Claudius near the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus.³⁶

The rather striking comparative praesentius (‘more present’ or ‘nearer [to help]’) suggests a craving, not only for the kind of divine nearness in Ovid’s account of Mars, but also for authenticity and for a secure correspondence between what appears to be and what actually is. The waters and the shrine, in other words, while retaining the superficial trappings of the site of a numen, have, in fact, lost all memory of it - just as the shrine of Pudicitia in Satire 6 is bereft of chastity (as we see all too clearly from Maura and Tullia’s antics) since the goddess has long since gone. There is a notable echo in 11.111, where the speaker describes how modestly people behaved in the old days templorum quoque maiestas praesentior (when ‘the grandeur of temples was more present’). He is referring to the mysterious warning heard near the Temple of Vesta in 391 bc, in the silence of the night.³⁷ In 6.342-5, in a similarly nostalgic vein, the speaker asks:

et quis tunc hominum contemptor numinis, aut quis

simpuvium ridere Numae nigrumque catinum

et Vaticano fragiles de monte patellas

ausus erat? sed nunc ad quas non Clodius aras?

and what man then was a despiser of deities,

or dared to laugh at Numa’s ladle or his black bowl

or fragile dishes from the Vatican hill?

But what altars now haven’t got their Clodius?

Thus the state of affairs in Egeria’s Grove, where marble ‘violates’ the tufa, parallels the situation with most of the temples and altars mentioned in the Satires. Indeed, the verb violare recurs frequently in connection with temples and divinities, for example, fictilis nullo violatus luppiter auro, 11.116: the reference is to Jupiter’s protecting the Latins ‘when he was made of earthenware and not corrupted by gold’, that is, was still an old terracotta statue.³⁸

The Grove of Egeria is therefore replete with chronotopic resonances and shifts: it is associated with the very beginnings of Rome, and, in particular, with the man who established its religious institutions and its legal boundaries. In Livy's narrative (1.17-21), Numa pretends to have nocturnal meetings with Egeria for advice, because he believes he needs to put fear of the gods (deorum metum) into the Roman people, ‘lest relief from foreign dangers should lead to luxury and idleness' (positis externorum periculorum curis ne luxuriarent otio animi, 1.19.4-5). This combination of ideas finds an echo in Satire 6.292-3: nunc patimur longae pacis mala. saeuior armis / luxuria incubuit victumque ulciscitur orbem (‘now we suffer the misfortunes of a long peace. Luxury, crueller than war, has settled upon us and avenges the world we have conquered'). By Juvenal's day, the descent into extravagance and idleness that Numa feared has taken place and is narrated to us in the very grove where he used to meet Egeria. Livy tells us that Numa's religious organization was effected so that the people could get advice ‘should there be any confusion arising from neglect of ancestral rites and the adoption of foreign ones' (ne quid divini iuris neglegendo patrios ritus peregrinosque adsciscendo turbaretur, 1.20.6). He later offers a picture of Rome as a civitatem totam in cultum versum deorum (‘a state completely concerned with the worship of the gods') - not a description likely to be applied to Juvenal's Rome - and he follows this immediately with a description of the grove (1.21.3):

Lucus erat, quem medium ex opaco specu fons perenni rigabat aqua. Quo quia saepe Numa sine arbitris velut ad congressum deae inferebat, Camenis eum lucum sacravit, quod earum ibi concilia cum coniuge sua Egeria essent, et Fidei sollemne instituit.

There was a grove, which a spring from a dark cave watered with a perennial flow through its midst. There Numa often used to withdraw without witnesses as if to meet the goddess, and so he dedicated the grove to the Camenae, claiming that they met there with his wife Egeria, and he established a solemn worship of Fides.

This is the ‘primal scene' of Roman religio, its fons memoriae, into which the Camenae and Fides are fully incorporated. It is very likely that Juvenal's tableau of the Grove of Egeria is modelled on Livy's Numa-narrative, with some discernible influence from Ovid's Fasti (3.259-80). In the lens of satire, we find a porous Rome into which foreigners, especially from the east, pour their own population dregs and religious practices, swamping original Romans and their rites. As Umbricius remarks (3.62-4), ‘for a long time now the Syrian Orontes has been polluting the Tiber, hauling in its language and customs, its slanted strings along with a piper...'. In Juvenal's vision, the religious confusion which Numa anticipated and wished to forestall has occurred even in his own grove, signalled by the arrival of its latest Judaean inhabitants, with their bizarre accoutrements.³⁹ This shady spot now typifies the Rome of the satirist's day, occupied by foreigners and enslaved to money­making, with the personification of the ‘paying tree' and the ‘begging wood' emphasizing the point.

When he engages with temples and divinities, then, Juvenal combines the notion that the old gods have abandoned Rome with the arrival of new - or rather new-fangled - entities from elsewhere. In addition to the recently- arrived followers from Jerusalem, Egyptian cults of Isis, Osiris and Anubis come in for criticism (6.512-41; 15.1-11), but the most extended attacks are reserved for the rites of the Bona Dea and Cybele, which the speaker associates especially with the ruination of Roman masculinity (2.82-96; 6.314-45). We noted above that the ranks of the Salian priests of Mars and others have been infiltrated by abandoned children of uncertain parentage, masquerading as the sons of nobles - Salios Scaurorum nomina falso / corpore laturos (‘Salii to bear the name of Scaurus in their false persons', 6.604); it is under similarly false pretences that suspect cults of foreign origin have established themselves as accepted forms of religious activity in the city. To restate the theme of Satire 2, frontis nulla fides (‘there's no trusting appearances').

Household Furnishing

There is one further way in which Juvenalian satire denies the gods their tradi­tional role. We can speak of a sustained reduction in their status, a downgrading of their role to the point where they become part of the ‘furniture' in the house of satire, just one more element making up the banality of daily existence. This is analogous to how ideologically-freighted terms like fides and concordia have become detached from their original signifieds. The ‘daily round' with the gods as part of the backdrop is captured by the following lines in Satire (1.127-29), alluded to earlier in connection with the Egyptian Arabarch:

Ipse dies pulchro distinguitur ordine rerum:

sportula, deinde forum iurisque peritus Apollo

atque triumphales...

The day itself is distinguished by a splendid sequence of activities: the dole, then the forum and Apollo skilled in the law, and the triumphal statues.

One of the central ‘truths' of Juvenalian satire is the predictable nature of vice. Our gaze is continually drawn by the speaker to eye-catching and lurid examples of individual Romans, but these are merely passing representa­tives of the populus in its totality. In this setting, gods are addressed directly in a manner no different from the satirist's mortal addressees - Gradive (2.128), Quirine (3.67), Bellona (4.124) - and often with just as little respect (6.393-7):

Dic mihi nunc, quaeso, dic, antiquissime divom,

respondes his, lane pater? Magna otia caeli;

non est, quod video, non est, quod agatur apud vos.

haec de comoedis te consulit, illa tragoedum commendare volet: varicosus fiet haruspex.

Tell me now, please, tell me, most ancient of the gods,

do you answer people like this, Father Janus? There's a lot of free time in heaven. There is nothing, that I see, nothing, which gets done up there among you. This woman consults you about comic actors, that one wants to commend a tragic actor: the soothsayer will have varicose veins.

The majesty of the mode of address in antiquissime divom contrasts not only with the trivial nature of the prayers offered by the music-lovers, but also with the frech and chatty discourse of the speaker. In Satire 10, the ridiculing of prayers made to divinities by humans seeking to fulfil their pathetic desires inevitably carries over to the gods themselves (10.289-92):

Formam optat modico pueris, maiore puellis

murmure, cum Veneris fanum videt, anxia mater

usque ad delicias votorum. ‘cur tamen' inquit

‘corripias? pulchra gaudet Latona Diana'

Beauty is what the anxious mother requests - in a quiet voice for her sons, more loudly for her daughters - when she sees the shrine of Venus, making the most extravagant prayers. ‘But why' she says, ‘do you criticize me? Latona rejoices in her beautiful Diana'

Likewise in 13.78-83, someone who has stolen money from a temple swears his innocence by all the divine weapons he can think of:

Per Solis radios Tarpeiaque fulmina iurat

et Martis frameam et Cirrhaei spicula vatis,

per calamos venatricis pharetramque puellae perque tuum, pater Aegaei Neptune, tridentem, addit et Herculeos arcus hastamque Minervae, quidquid habent telorum armamentaria caeli.

He swears by the rays of the Sun and the Tarpeian thunderbolts and the spear of Mars and the darts of the Cirrhaean prophet [Apollo], by the shafts and quiver of the virgin huntress [Artemis] and by your trident, Neptune, father of the Aegean; he adds as well the bow of Hercules and the spear of Minerva, whatever weapons the armouries of heaven contain.

As often in Juvenal, the piling up of items in a list offers the chance to blend rhetoric with ridicule. This comes in Satire 13, which offers the victim of a fairly trivial crime (Calvinus has been defrauded of a small sum of money) an equally trivial consolation, demonstrating that perjury is accepted practice nowadays when people either attribute everything to Fortuna or reason that a god's anger is slow ‘and may even be biddable' (sed et exorabile numen / fortasse experiar, 13.102-3). The perjurer presents a convincing case while the victim roars (112-13) ‘like Stentor, or, rather, as loud as Gradivus [Mars] in Homer (Gradivus Homericus)’ his complaint to Jupiter (13.113-19):

‘audis,

luppiter, haec nec labra moves, cum mittere vocem debueris vel marmoreus vel aeneus? Aut cur in carbone tuo charta pia tura soluta ponimus et sectum vituli iecur albaque porci omenta? Ut video, nullum discrimen habendum est effigies inter vestras statuamque Vagelli' ⁴⁰

‘You hear this, Jupiter, but don't move your lips, when you ought to have made an utterance, whether you are made of marble or bronze? Or why do we unwrap pious incense and place it on your coals, or the sliced liver of a calf and the white fat of a pig? As I see, there's no difference to be made between your images and the statue of Vagellius.'

The poem ends with Calvinus mockingly being urged to trust in the vengeance of the gods and ‘happily admit that none of the gods is a Drusus [i.e. Emperor Claudius] or a Tiresias' (13.249).

Another means of downgrading involves the presentation of gods as ‘part of the family' and as enjoying amongst themselves the same trivial interactions that we see among humans: so, for example, in the visions of the Golden Age, we see a world under a Jupiter ‘not yet bearded' (sed Iove nondum barbato, 6.15-16), ‘when nobody feared that his cabbages or apples would be stolen' (17-18), or Juno as a ‘little girl' (virguncula, 13.41), Jupiter as an ordinary fellow (privatus, 41), and the gods lunching modestly on their own (prandebat sibi quisque deus, 46). In 2.98, Juno domini refers to a slave's mistress while fire is described in 7.27 as ‘Venus' husband' - in the context of a writer's garret - or as ‘filthy Vulcan' in 10.132 - with reference to the sword factory owned by Demosthenes' father. Pluto is Ceres' ‘son-in-law' (10.112) with a ‘Sicilian wife' (13.50). In 16.5-6, letters of recommendation for a military recruit are likened to one to Mars from Venus or from his mother, Juno. In 3.219 a ‘Minerva centrepiece' stands in a rich man's library and in 14.270 wine jars (lagonae) are described as ‘compatriots of Jupiter' (municipes Iovis, because they come from Crete). The gods are thus blended into the scenery and language of satire; what is belittling is not so much the periphrasis - although that is also self-reflexive - as the contexts into which these divine figures are stuck. Juvenal expands the traditional notion of the domus as a microcosm of the state and shrinks the cosmic realm to the level of the ordinary household. Destabilizing the boundaries between large and small, and between grand and banal, is a staple of the satirist's repertoire (Gulliver’s Travels offers a familiar example) and Juvenal uses it to great effect not only in the scene with Umbricius in Egeria's Grove but also in his treatment of the signifiers of Roman religio, so that, as the corpus unfolds, it becomes almost impossible to hear of gods without an accompaniment of irony and ridicule.

What, then, of our opening conundrum, the surprising absence of a divine apparatus from the satirical project? I should like to return, in this regard, one last time to the scene in Egeria's Grove and the satirist-narrator's encounter with his alter ego: the vacating of this location by the Camenae, the Roman Muses, opens up a sacred space into which the satirist may now move. In Juvenal's universe, it is the satirist who fills the gap created by the departure of the gods. He is the new Mars Ultor, who will provide some satisfaction to the implied reader, but with his writing. These satires are about the ‘crush of space' in Rome - the crush of vices and inhabitants, the crush of narrow streets and the (re-)occupation of public and private spaces. When the satirist demands in his opening outburst to be heard above the cacophony of poetasters, he says he will explain himself si vacat (‘if there is space'). He becomes the agent of punishment and vengeance, first putting on display and then flaying with his verbal weaponry the objects of his contempt and hostility.

It is significant that while Mars loses his helmet and ceases to shake his spear, the satirist strikes a pose - initially at least - as an epic warrior, riding into battle (or the Campus Martius) in the mode of Lucilius, ‘with sword drawn' (ense stricto, 1.165) and with his helmet on (galeatum, 169). At the end of the poem, he changes his mind because attacking contemporaries can prove dangerous - galeatum sero duelli / paenitet (‘it's too late to regret going into battle once you've put your helmet on') - and says that he will deal only with those whose ashes are buried along the Appian and Flaminian roads (1.169-71). Thus Juvenalian satire is already in hock to Memory, as it locates itself among the tombs of the dead, in order to achieve its own preservation. The Camenae were expelled from Egeria's Grove, but the satirist - who refuses to abandon Rome with Umbricius - sets out to ‘recover' them, as he reminds us of the origins of Romanitas - embodied in the now absent Mars, Pudicitia and Numa.⁴¹ Satire becomes the guardian of memories as it creates its own monuments in the cityscape, a new set of memories for the Romans.

Notes

1 One could reasonably say that after Vergil's Aeneid, epic declined in the hands of later practitioners, such as Valerius Flaccus, who wrote an entertaining but inferior Argonautica, and other poets much less talented than him. Recitations of epic and other poetic genres were a regular - if not always enjoyable - feature of social life in literary circles by Juvenal's day. Translations are my own unless otherwise noted.

This is somewhat, although not completely, undermined by his decision at the end of the programmatic Satire 1 to speak only of the dead, having realized that wielding the Lucilian sword can prove dangerous in today's Rome (1.165-71). See Zimbardo 1998; Larmour forthcoming 2013.

Cf. Barta 1996, 5-12, on the flaneur and the badaud. See also Larmour 2007, 168-77, on which the following remarks draw.

Referring, it seems, to a temple built by a member of the Helvius family and to the worship of Diana in the region around Aquinum from which Juvenal's family hailed.

See also Bommas' article in this volume on Satires 6.526-8.

As Courtney (1980: 407) notes, ‘to swear by her in this solemn ceremony is an insult to Jupiter'.

On the worship of Isis in Rome, see the articles of Harrison and Bommas in this volume.

See Platner and Ashby 1929; Courtney 1980: 108-9; Braund 1996: 101-2.

See Ogilvie 1965 on Livy 1.21; Plutarch, Numa 16.1.

Ovid himself, of course, is already playing off a tradition about Concordia whose outlines can be detected in Livy and other less playful (although no less manipulative) sources: Livy, 9.46, 23.21, 26.23; Pliny the Elder, Natural History, 34.73, 80, 89; Plutarch, Camillus, 42.3-4.

Translation by Woodard 2000: 22-3.

Cf. Plut. Cam. 42.3-4; Dio 66.8.2; see Woodard 2000: 181-2; Newlands 1995: 44-7, 76-8.

Newlands 1995: 44-7, 77-8; Flory 1984.

In Fasti 6.89-96, Concordia intervenes to settle an argument between Juno and luventas over the naming of the month of June.

Littlewood 2002: 57-63; Cicero, De Div. 1.45; Livy, 6.20.13.

On the Temple of Castor (and Pollux), see Platner and Ashby 1929: 102-3. Transl. Braund 2004: 179.

Courtney 1980: 145 notes the degeneracy that has taken place since the appearance of Quirinus and compares 8.13-18 on a descendant of the Fabii who is intellectually and morally so weak as to disgrace his illustrious name. Ovid may mention this site (Fast. 4.375), although the manuscripts tend to favour colle (hill) rather than valle (valley); Braund 1996: 157. Gracchus makes such an impression that he gets a lengthy reprise in 8.199-210.

Later on in 2.142, there is an allusion to the Lupercalia, when young nobles ran along the Via Sacra striking those they met with strips of goat-leather in order to induce fertility.

In 10.82-9, during the reminiscence of the fall of Sejanus, Bruttidius Niger, one of his adjutants, is described as ‘looking a little pale' by the Altar of Mars (which was on the Campus Martius); in this case, the avenging aspect of Mars is grimly appropriate.

Cf. 14.315-16: Fortuna would have no power without Romans' lack of prudentia (nullum numen habes, si sitprudentia: nos te, / nos facimus, Fortuna, deam).

Cf. 2.13, 38 of the doctor and Laronia, both stand-ins for the satirist.

On the Forum of Augustus and the Temple of Mars the Avenger, see Newlands 1995: 87-123; Barchiesi 2002.

Transl. Woodard 2000: 130. Cf. Newlands 1995: esp. 87, 92-4; Barchiesi 2002. Transl. Woodard 2000: 131.

Transl. Braund 2004: 235-7.

Courtney 1980: 134; cf. 8.239; Braund 1996: 143. Cf. Cic. Dom. 74; Tac. Hist. 2.12. Rome originally was a place called Septimontium according to Varro LL 5.41. For the location, either the Vicus Longus or Forum Boarium, see Courtney 1980: 297; Platner and Ashby 1929: 433-4; cf. Livy 10.23.6-10 on the history of Pudicitia Patricia (patrician) and Plebeia (plebeian).

Whether that is ever entirely the case is, of course, open to question: in 4.40, the temple of Venus at Ancona, or 4.61, the temple of Vesta at Alba are incorporated into the narrative of the giant fish and its dissection of the court of Domitian; the latter reference picks up on the allusion to the seduction of the Vestal Virgin Cornelia earlier in the poem at 9-10.

Courtney 1980: 430.

Livy 6.5.8; Ovid, Fasti 6.191-2: lux eadem Marti festa est, quem prospicit extra / appositum Tectae porta Capena Viae, this same day is a festival of Mars, whose temple by the Covered Way the Porta Capena looks out towards.

For more discussion, see Larmour 2007: 191-201, upon which this account draws.

On the sexual overtones of descendimus, see King 2006: 233, n. 26, citing Varro RR 2.7.9 and Juv. 11.164.

One of the main themes of Satire 2 is frontis nulla fides (‘there's no trusting appearances'), lamenting how sham philosophers, supposedly the guardians and teachers of Virtue, ‘imitate the Curii, but live like Bacchanals' (2-3).

That he's a spado only makes it worse; this is one of Juvenal's top targets, cf. 1.22 ‘a eunuch taking a wife' is the first item in his list of reasons to write satire.

37 Livy 5.32.6.

38 Cf. fidei violatae (‘of trust betrayed', 13.6); templum et violati numinis aras (‘the temple and altars of the insulted god [Jupiter]', 13.219); porrum et caepe nefas violare et frangere morsu (‘it is a sin [among the Pythagoreans] to violate or crunch with your bite a leek or an onion', 15.9); hic gaudere libet quod non violauerit ignem (‘here we can celebrate the fact that [the cannibalistic Egyptian crowd] didn't desecrate fire', 15.84).

39 Cf. the gate is called Porta Idumaea (‘Jewish Gate') at 8.160, with its Syrophoenix (Syrian Jew), where Lateranus meets a prostitute; 6.542-52, a long description of the ‘high priestess of the tree' who expounds ‘the laws of Jerusalem' and ‘sells whatever dreams you like for the smallest copper coin'; 14.96-106, disparaging such practices as observing the sabbath, abstaining from pork, and circumcision and worshipping ‘nothing except clouds and the spirit of the sky'.

40 The exact point is unclear; Vagellius is a declaimer in 16.23.

41 We may note here Horace's association with the Camenae (Carmen Saec. 62) and Quintilian's designation of the genre of satire as tota nostra, ‘completely Roman'.

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