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NARRATIVE AND CLOSURE IN FRONTO’S EPISTVLAE AD MARCVM CAESAREM ET INVICEM BOOK 5
Published online by Cambridge University Press: 18 February 2025
Abstract
This paper argues that the unknown editor of Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem arranged the letters in their non-chronological order so as to create a work that is essentially historical fiction, providing the reader with a romanticized version of the early life of Marcus Aurelius, a Marcopaedia of sorts or even a quasi-prequel to the Meditations. The paper demonstrates that the anomalous Book 5—full of shorter, less elaborate letters—can be read not only as an appendix composed of leftover letters but also as a part of the broader narrative. Book 5 creates a sense of closure to the epistolary fiction created by the editor. In particular, this article focusses on the recurrent motif of Fronto’s health; the frequent references to Fronto’s illness work in a metaliterary fashion to signal the impending conclusion of the work, creating a sense of resolution for the health/sickness letters appearing in Books 1–4. The sickness/health topic also connects to certain philosophical topoi regarding death, illness and consolation—a connection that is appropriate in light of the young Marcus’ burgeoning interest in philosophy.
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- Research Article
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- © The Author(s), 2025. Published by Cambridge University Press on behalf of The Classical Association
Footnotes
*
I would especially like to thank Amy Richlin, with whom I have spent many an enjoyable hour discussing Fronto and Marcus’ letters. Amy also generously shared with me some chapters of her forthcoming book, How Fronto’s Letters Got Lost. Many thanks are also owed to N. Bryant Kirkland and Alex Purves, who graciously offered their feedback on earlier versions of this article.
References
1 E. Champlin, ‘The chronology of Fronto’, JRS 64 (1974), 136–59, at 142 notes that these letters start around 139 c.e., when Marcus was in his late teens and Fronto in his forties.
2 E. Champlin, Fronto and Antonine Rome (Cambridge, 1980), 4. For further discussion of Fronto’s rhetorical style, see P. Fleury, ‘La flûte, le général et l’esclave: analyse de certaines métaphores rhétoriques chez Fronton’, Phoenix 55 (2001), 108–23; P. Fleury, ‘L’argument de la nature: définitions et rôles de la fable dans le corpus frontonien’, LEC 74 (2006[a]), 115–41; P. Fleury, Lectures de Fronton: un rhéteur latin à l’époque de la Seconde Sophistique (Paris, 2006[b]); P. Fleury, ‘Évanescence de la déclamation dans le corpus Frontonien’, in R. Poignault and C. Schneider (edd.), Fabrique de la déclamation antique (Controverses et Suasoires) (Lyon, 2016), 411–19; Y. Taoka, ‘Onomastic irony in Fronto’s letters Ad M. Caesarem 1.7, 2.5, 2.13 and 3.18’, CQ 32 (2015), 301–9.
3 The effusive Marcus of these letters is quite different from the austere, saintlike Marcus familiar from other portrayals: see A. Richlin, ‘The sanctification of Marcus Aurelius’, in M. van Ackeren (ed.), A Companion to Marcus Aurelius (Chichester, 2012), 497–514, at 498. Marcus’ reputation as a letter writer also gained traction; P. Fleury, ‘Marc Aurèle épistolier’, Anabases 19 (2014), 133–53, at 137 has shown that ‘il existait … un lien dans l’historiographie antique entre Marc Aurèle et l’épistolaire, mais ce lien n’était pas plus fort que d’autres associations’, such as his status as a philosopher–emperor. There is somewhat of a history of fake letters being attributed to Marcus Aurelius, e.g. the letters in the Historia Augusta as well as the Golden Book of Marcus Aurelius, written by Antonio de Guevara in the sixteenth century.
4 At seventy-four letters, Book 5 is more than twice as long as Book 3, the second longest in the collection. Moreover, the letters present in the palimpsest—several, listed only in the extant table of contents, are completely lost—are generally very short compared to the letters in the earlier books. For reference, out of the seventy-four letters of Book 5, fifty-eight are extant and sixteen are lost; of the fifty-eight extant letters, thirty-two are fewer than five lines, while twenty-three are between five and ten lines. Only three are more than ten lines. Unlike the collection of, for instance, Pliny’s letters, Fronto’s letters were unlikely to have been originally intended for publication. It is therefore probable that the editing process took place after Fronto’s death, and possibly Marcus’ as well. O. Elder and A. Mullen, The Language of Roman Letters (Cambridge, 2019), 178 suggest the fourth century as a possible date.
5 For further discussion of closure, see e.g. D. Fowler, ‘Second thoughts on closure’, in D.H. Roberts, F.M. Dunn and D. Fowler (edd.), Classical Closure: Reading the End in Greek and Latin Literature (Princeton, 1997), 3–22; D. Fowler, ‘Postmodernism, romantic irony, and classical closure’, in D. Fowler (ed.), Roman Constructions: Readings in Postmodern Latin (Oxford, 2000), 5–33.
6 That is, we cannot be sure of any given letter’s exact date, except in limited cases; in reality, the letters of Book 5 might have been interspersed with the longer letters we see in Books 1–4. A true chronological arrangement would therefore impact the way in which we perceive the epistolary narrative.
7 M.P.J. van den Hout, A Commentary on the Letters of M. Cornelius Fronto (Leiden, 1999), 222. While the first letters of the first book are missing, it seems reasonable to conclude that they concern Marcus’ rhetorical training and/or his growing friendship with Fronto, like the others in the first book.
8 Other subplots include tension with Herodes Atticus, with Marcus trying to mediate between Herodes and Fronto (2.1, 3.1–3.6); Marcus’ intellectual development (taking up much of Books 2 and 3); and Fronto’s relationship with Domitia Lucilla (2.2, 2.3, 2.15).
9 N. Zeiner-Carmichael, ‘Intellectual and pedagogical power in Fronto’s correspondence’, in P.R. Bosman (ed.), Intellectual and Empire in Greco-Roman Antiquity (London and New York, 2018), 116–41 argues that Fronto cultivates an image as someone who is the ultimate teacher of rhetoric, a role that connects him to imperial power. Letters such as 4.12, which adopt an aggressive tone, show Fronto in a display of his own intellectual power.
10 M. Beard, ‘Ciceronian correspondences: making a life out of letters’, in T.P. Wiseman (ed.), Classics in Progress (Oxford, 2002), 104–44. The Beard-style analysis is applicable to other Roman letter collections; for example, see F. Martelli, ‘The triumph of letters: rewriting Cicero in Ad Fam. 15’, JRS 107 (2017), 90–115 for a discussion of Cicero’s letter books and R. Gibson, ‘Reading the letters of Sidonius by the book’, in J.A. van Waarden and G. Kelly (edd.), New Approaches to Sidonius Apollinaris (Leuven, 2013), 195–220 for a discussion of Sidonius Apollinaris. For discussion of epistolary narratives in Greek literature, see O. Hodkinson, P.A. Rosenmeyer and E. Bracke (edd.), Epistolary Narratives in Ancient Greek Literature (Leiden, 2013).
11 L.D. Reynolds, ‘Fronto’, in L.D. Reynolds (ed.), Texts and Transmission: A Survey of the Latin Classics (Oxford, 1983), 173–4, at 173 notes that ‘Fronto was cut to pieces during the Dark Ages. Any author may fall on hard times, when parchment is scarce and other texts are more in demand, but to Fronto belongs the unique distinction of surviving solely as the lower script in no fewer than three palimpsests.’ One of these three contains some letters from Verus to Fronto. For further discussion, see B. Bischoff, Der Fronto-Palimpsest der Mauriner (München, 1958). Codex Ambrosianus E 147 sup. and Codex Vaticanus latinus 5750 are the two codex halves containing the bulk of Fronto’s dossier and the letters to Marcus. See further L. Holford-Stevens, ‘The new Fronto’, CR 41 (1991), 76–80.
12 C.R. Haines, Fronto: Correspondence, Volume II (Cambridge, MA, 2020), xiv.
13 The prolegomena to M.P.J. van den Hout, M. Cornelius Fronto: Epistulae (Leipzig, 1988) provide an extensive rationale for the arrangement given in his edition. See section LXIII in particular.
14 As mentioned above, the primary issue is Book 1: the beginning of the codex is missing pages, and so it is unclear how many letters came before the letter we call letter 1.1. The other issue is where we should place the boundary between Books 1 and 2 and between Books 2 and 3. Regardless of strict book divisions, it is still possible to see a narrative progression in the letters, and, as I will show below, the finality of Book 5 ties the collection together, a finality in which we can have confidence thanks to the table of contents. I believe it unlikely that Books 1–3 had anywhere near as many letters as Book 5, even if the high volume of epistles in Book 5 is offset by their relative brevity.
15 This is not to say that the editor was not also inspired by earlier letter collections, such as those of Cicero, Pliny or Seneca. For the influence of earlier letter collections upon later ones, see A. Wilcox, The Gift of Correspondence in Classical Rome (Wisconsin, 2012): Wilcox argues that Seneca’s letter collection responds in certain ways to that of Cicero, adapting or departing from Ciceronian conventions to suit his own philosophical agenda. Fronto’s letters deal with many of the same themes regarding family, friends, political life and so on, and the arrangement of the collection by the unknown editor is no doubt indebted to earlier models.
16 In Book 5, ‘true’ exchanges feature more often than in the previous books: the scribe occasionally labels letters rescriptum to indicate what he believed to be the real reply. For example, letters 5.3 and 5.4 are obviously connected.
17 Champlin (n. 1), 142 does not share the view that the editor was working with any kind of cohesive vision; he describes the dossier as an example of ‘editorial chaos’.
18 Cf. A. Richlin, ‘Fronto + Marcus: love, friendship, letters’, in M. Kuefler (ed.), The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality (Chicago, 2006), 111–29; A. Richlin, Marcus Aurelius in Love (Chicago, 2006); A. Richlin, ‘Retrosexuality: sex in the Second Sophistic’, in W. Johnson and D. Richter (edd.), The Oxford Companion to the Second Sophistic (Cambridge, 2017), 115–35; Y. Taoka, ‘The correspondence of Fronto and Marcus Aurelius: love, letters, metaphor’, CA 32 (2013), 406–38 for further discussion in support of reading Marcus and Fronto’s relationship as a romantic one. For discussion of possibly amorous language in the letters, see P. Barrios-Lech, ‘Putting on a Fronto: persona and patterns of language in Fronto’s correspondence’, New England Classical Journal 49 (2022), 27–54. On the opposite side of the argument, C. Laes, ‘What could Marcus Aurelius feel for Fronto?’, Studia Humaniora Tartuensia 10.A.3 (2009), 1–7, at 6 says that Marcus and Fronto’s ‘nuanced language of male affection’ does not allow for ‘the interpretation of a gay master and pupil playing dangerous games’. Laes is correct that reading Marcus and Fronto as ‘gay’ in the modern sense is anachronistic and impossible to speculate upon. The term used by E. Sedgwick, Between Men (Columbia, 1992), 2 (‘male homosocial desire’) may well be the best way to think of Marcus and Fronto’s relationship. Cf. K. Hansen, ‘“Our eyes beheld each other”: masculinity and intimate friendship in antebellum New England’, in P.M. Nardi (ed.), Men’s Friendships (Thousand Oaks, CA, 1992), 35–58 for a discussion of ‘intimate friendship’ in nineteenth-century America, a concept that holds much relevance for understanding ancient friendship as well. As C. Williams, Reading Roman Friendship (Cambridge, 2012), 252 remarks, ‘Letters like [sc. the ones in Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem] suggest that amicitia could be set up as the master term of this relationship, the framework within which Marcus and Fronto live out and express their amor for each other’.
19 Some reader–response theory can be helpful in untangling the relationship between the author, the editor and the reader. Cf. P. Rabinowitz, ‘“What’s Hecuba to us?” The audience’s experience of literary borrowing’, in S.R. Suleiman and I. Crosman (edd.), The Reader in the Text. Essays on Audience and Interpretation (Princeton, 1980), 241–63, at 252: Rabinowitz makes a distinction between the authorial audience, the authors’ intended audience and the narrative audience, which ‘considers the fiction as real, and may view the pattern as a reflection of the actual shape of the world’. In the case of Fronto’s letters, the narrative audience would be the purported recipient of the letter: Marcus and Fronto. Here, we might consider the editor’s intended audience, but the point stands. It is productive to read Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem through the perspective of the narrative audience and therefore try to identify directly with Marcus and Fronto as we read, believing that the arrangement of letters has created a narrative world with its own rules and realities. Certainly, the lack of an intermediary narrator in this work of historical fiction complicates the task of the interpreter. It is best to view the editor as a co-author who is creating a work of historical fiction from letters.
20 It is possible that the editor was inspired by works like Xenophon’s, a favourite didactic text of the Imperial period. See J. Tatum, Xenophon’s Imperial Fiction (Princeton, 1989), 18; E. Bowie, ‘Xenophon’s influence in imperial Greece’, in M.A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon (Cambridge, 2017), 403–15, at 406.
21 M.P.J. van den Hout, ‘Reminiscences of Fronto in Marcus Aurelius’ Book of Meditations’, Mnemosyne 3 (1950), 330–5, at 335 sees a connection between Fronto and Marcus’ letters and Marcus’ Stoic leanings. For example, he argues that several instances in the Meditations reflect Fronto’s teaching, even when Fronto is not specifically mentioned; he remarks that ‘the famous orator of the second century has doubtlessly been judged far better by Marcus than by Niebuhr or Mai.’ Here, of course, Marcus is less concerned with Fronto’s rhetorical prowess and exhibits a more personal concern toward his teacher.
22 Van den Hout (n. 7), 189–90, ad loc. The collected letters of Symmachus and others follow a similar structure, in which the ‘leftover’ letters are placed at the end. Although these letters may have been left over after the earlier and more elaborate books were compiled, they are not necessarily meaningless for the interpretation of the whole. For further discussion of what constitutes a letter, see M. Trapp, Greek and Latin Letters (Cambridge, 2003), 1–11 and R. Gibson and A.D. Morrison, ‘What is a letter?’, in R. Morello and A.D. Morrison (edd.), Ancient Letters (Oxford, 2007), 1–16. For further discussion of how the ancients viewed and spoke about letters, see P. Ceccarelli, Ancient Greek Letter Writing: A Cultural History (600–150 BC) (Oxford, 2013), 1–13 and A. Sarri, Material Aspects of Letter Writing in the Graeco-Roman World, 500 BC–AD 300 (Berlin, 2018), 16–27.
23 Letters devoted entirely, or in large part, to the matter of Fronto’s or Marcus’ health are: 22, 25–36, 39–40, 44–6, 55–6, 59–66 and 70–3. The purpose of writing about one’s health is debatable and often ambiguous. P.V. Cova, Lo Stoico imperfetto (Naples, 1978), 114–31 argues that Fronto may have been faking the severity of his symptoms in order to slither out of his social obligations toward Marcus and Antoninus Pius, using as corroboratory evidence the fact that Libanius (writing centuries after Fronto) may have exaggerated his own illnesses in order to avoid travel. Aside from the frequency with which these two authors cite their health problems, there is no reason to believe that either is exaggerating their chronic health problems. Moreover, there are few instances in which Fronto actually wants to get out of a social obligation (e.g. 5.35, 5.57); usually, he simply informs Marcus of the symptom.
24 See A. Freisenbruch, ‘Back to Fronto: doctor and patient in his correspondence with an emperor’, in R. Morello and A.D. Morrison (edd.), Ancient Letters: Classical and Antique Epistolography (Oxford, 2007), 235–56; J.E.G. Whitehorne, ‘Was Marcus Aurelius a hypochondriac?’, Latomus 36 (1977), 413–21.
25 In other words, provided the limitations of the manuscript are kept in mind, the uncertainty of having entire letters lost need not hinder the reader from making conclusions about the whole of Book 5. As G. Most, ‘On fragments’, in W. Tronzo (ed.), The Fragment: An Incomplete History (Los Angeles, 2009), 9–22, at 9 remarks, ‘total continuity is usually, perhaps always, an illusion.’ Reading through the fragments taken from the incipits, the reader seems to hear snippets of a conversation from another room and can imagine Marcus and Fronto discussing a dinner party, a new malady, their families or any number of other things. A letter itself is already a fragment because it captures the specific thoughts of a given moment and time and remains static, while its writer changes even during the time it takes for the letter to be read and received by its addressee. So, while the extensive damage to the manuscript does mean that Book 5 cannot be completely analysed, a complete analysis of a collection of private letters must necessarily remain elusive anyway.
26 I follow the text of van den Hout’s 1988 Teubner edition (n. 13 above). All translations are my own unless otherwise noted.
27 M. Gleason, Making Men: Sophists and Self-Presentation in Ancient Rome (Princeton, 1995), 84.
28 Freisenbruch (n. 24), 240.
29 Van den Hout (n. 7), 196, ad loc.
30 It is difficult to say whether domina refers to Marcus’ mother, Domitia Lucilla, or to his daughter. The latter is a distinct possibility. For further discussion of the relationship between Marcus, Fronto and Domitia Lucilla, see A. Richlin, ‘Parallel lives: Domitia Lucilla and Cratia, Fronto, and Marcus’, EuGestA 1 (2011), 163–203. For further discussion of women in general in the Fronto letters, see Y. Taoka, ‘Liminal women in Fronto’s letters’, CJ 108 (2013), 419–45.
31 Indeed, in Book 5 anyone other than Marcus or Fronto seems like a minor side character, although this was not the case; Fronto communicated with other people as well, and Marcus obviously did as well, although his other letters are not included in the Fronto dossier. For further discussion of Fronto’s social circle, see P. Fleury, ‘Fronto and his circle’, in D. Richter and W. Johnson (edd.), The Oxford Handbook to the Second Sophistic (Oxford, 2017), 245–54; H.G. Pflaum, ‘Les correspondants de l’orateur M. Cornelius Fronto de Cirta’, in M. Renaud and R. Schilling (edd.), Hommages à Jean Bayet (Brussels, 1964), 544–60.
32 Freisenbruch (n. 24), 241.
33 Wilcox (n. 15), 101 argues that, in the case of Seneca, letters are a vehicle for self-examination, not simply a way to keep in touch. The diary-like format of the Meditations suggests that Marcus felt similarly about personal writing and its potential to aid with moral improvement. By writing about both joys and struggles, Marcus and Fronto model for the reader this activity of self-reflection via writing.
34 Fronto was interested in some philosophers, especially Plato because of his usefulness as rhetorical model; cf. L. Costantini, ‘Philosophy and Platonism in Fronto’s Correspondence’, BICS 66 (2023), 23–31.
35 Cf. letter 4.9 est igitur uera Socrati opinio doloribus ferme uoluptates conexas esse, cum in carcere dolorem constricti uinculi uoluptate resoluti conpensaret (4.9.1). Plato tells this story in the Phaedo (114b); see van den Hout (n. 7), 539, ad loc. for further discussion.
36 E. Gunderson, ‘S.V.B.; E.V.’, ClAnt 26 (2007), 1–48, at 45.
37 Angelo Mai labelled this letter Erōtikos, as opposed to the ancient scribe himself. This letter, written in Greek, is Fronto’s take on the speech of Lysias referenced in Plato’s Phaedrus, and is arguably the most overtly erotic letter addressed to Marcus. The use of Greek is good for this purpose, as ‘Greek was taken up as the badge of the elite because it particularly showed the possession of wealth and leisure by taking the classics as its point of reference’: S. Swain, Hellenism and Empire: Language, Classicism, and Power in the Greek World AD 50–250 (Oxford, 1996), 29. There are other interpretations that are equally plausible. For example, Fleury (n. 2 [2006(b)]), 305–6 asserts that its purpose is driven by an interest in ethics and rhetoric: see M. Trapp, ‘Plato’s Phaedrus in second-century Greek literature’, in D.A. Russell (ed.), Antonine Literature (Oxford, 1990), 141–73 for further discussion of the reception of the Phaedrus in the Antonine period. See S. Swain, ‘Bilingualism and biculturalism’, in L. Holford-Strevens and A. Vardi (edd.), The Worlds of Aulus Gellius (Oxford, 2004), 3–40, at 20–5 on Fronto’s use of Greek as opposed to Latin.
38 Whitehorne (n. 24), 417.
39 Van den Hout (n. 7), 221 notes that popular remedies for constipation included milk, chicken brains, mallow and cabbage.
40 In these letters, Marcus’ growing interest in philosophy takes him further away from any interest in rhetoric and, by extension, Fronto; note the juxtaposition of Ad M. Caesarem et inuicem 4.12 and 4.13. As the recurrent sickness/health motif shows, however, navigating everyday trials and tribulations can be reframed in a philosophical light for those who wish to read it that way.
41 Freisenbruch (n. 24), 247.
42 J. Ker, The Deaths of Seneca (Oxford, 2009), 147–76; J. Henderson, Morals and Villas in Seneca’s Letters: Places to Dwell (Cambridge, 2004), 24; Henderson makes a compelling argument for the connections between epistolarity and philosophical concerns in Seneca’s letters regarding moral improvement, and specifically preparing oneself for death. Letter 1.12, Henderson argues, shows Seneca using a visit home to a country property to think about his life as he heads into his final years. Location is perhaps less prominent in Fronto, but the editor’s arrangement of health letters makes it seem like Fronto’s own ongoing ‘practising’ for his death.
43 D.H. Roberts, ‘Afterward: ending and aftermath, ancient and modern’, in D.H. Roberts, F.M. Dunn and D. Fowler (edd.), Classical Closure: Reading the End in Greek and Latin Literature (Princeton, 1997), 251–73, at 254–5 (emphasis in original).
44 Roberts (n. 43), 273.
45 The health letters of Book 5 are not all grouped together. Why might this be so? First, the intermittent nature of the health letters maintains the cyclical nature of the narrative; sometimes, Marcus and Fronto are young and engaged in dialogue about other matters, and at other times one or the other of them is dealing with health problems. Sickness was not all of Fronto’s life, and the health letters must ultimately be subordinated to the other parts of his very full life. This article is limited in its scope; it is essential, however, to keep in mind that only focussing on the health letters dilutes the other topics that appear in the book and indeed the collection.
46 Wilcox (n. 15), 175 suggests that by reading Seneca’s letters we too commemorate Seneca; the gift of the letter continues to increase as a result of its ‘continued liveliness’. The same can be said of Fronto. When it comes to Marcus himself, the letter-as-gift contains happy news of Fronto’s survival and is thus another token of Fronto’s aliveness.
47 Fowler (n. 5 [1997]), 21.
48 Cf. J. Ker, ‘Nocturnal writers in imperial Rome: the culture of lucubratio’, ClAnt 99 (2004), 209–42, at 240; Ker argues that night-time writing, or lucubratio, was part of the erudite culture of the Imperial period; especially when works that describe the lucubratio were published, there is an added element of performance (recitatio) to a scholar’s nightly activities. The presence of this performative aspect in Book 5 is interesting, considering how short and unartful most of its letters are. The presence of 5.74, a highly performative letter, gives the reader the sense that the entirety of Book 5 has been a careful build-up to this final letter, both climax and denouement.
49 For further discussion of epistolary endings, see J. Altman, Epistolarity (Columbus, 1982), 187; Altman observes that the letter inherently leaves ‘an enigmatic silence’ in its wake. Letter writing specifically creates a kind of psychological effect on the reader, with a perpetual expectation that any given letter will have a reply. For further discussion of the psychological impact of reading and writing letters, see J. Derrida, La carte postale: De Socrate à Freud et au-delà (Paris, 1980). For further discussion of Derrida and ancient letters, see F. Martelli, ‘Introduction: une lettre arrive toujours à destination’, Arethusa 49 (2016), 393–7, at 394 and 396–7.
50 P. Brooks, Reading for the Plot: Design and Intention in Narrative (Cambridge, 1984), 103.
51 The epistolary story of Marcus and Fronto is not over: there is another collection between Fronto and Marcus as emperor.
52 G. Anderson, The Second Sophistic: A Cultural Phenomenon in the Roman Empire (London and New York, 1993), 190–1.