With the new edition and translation of Statius’ Silvae, Gottfried Eugen Kreuz makes a major contribution to the Tusculum Series, which remains an important tool for scholars and amateur Latinists in the German-speaking world and beyond. The volume, which, quite contrary to its content, is, with its almost 700 pages, hardly a ‘little book’, is composed of a rather detailed introduction (pp. 7–73); an en face edition and translation of the 32 poems (pp. 76–389); a list of loci critici within the Latin text (pp. 391–398), followed by an extensive apparatus of notes with comments on various thematic and textual points throughout the poems (pp. 399–664); a short essay on the poetics of the Silvae (pp. 665–677); and finally a very condensed bibliography (pp. 679–681).
The introduction itself is organised into different sections and sub-sections: it opens with a focus on the author and the present text, along with the historical context (“Statius, die Silvae und ihre Zeit”). This includes, alongside explanations of Statius’ life, family (information based on the Silvae themselves), and work, a useful list of all the addressees the reader encounters throughout the collection (pp. 19–49). Kreuz also discusses the Silvae in terms of their composition as individual pieces and as (a series of) poetry books. Already here, Kreuz’s reader gains a glimpse of the content of Statius’ poems, which he cursorily examines in this section. The second part of the introduction is more methodological in scope, explaining the textual basis – in terms of manuscript tradition as well as modern philological interventions – for the present edition (in large parts identical with Liberman 2010), which the author intends to present as a coherent and legible text (“ein kohärenter, lesbarer Text”, p. 69). Finally, some considerations on the translation and the commentary round off the introduction. Already at this point it becomes apparent—as reading will confirm—that although Kreuz puts much thought into the translation of certain complex terms (such as chelys, for instance, which he renders as “Schildkrötenleier” (‘tortoise-lyre’), a choice not beyond doubt), the question of style remains unresolved. While his defence of a translation that more or less closely follows the original is understandable, throughout the German version this can lead to some very obscure renderings, not quite in line with the aim of presenting a text that is “readable.” I shall return to what are, in my opinion, the greatest difficulties of the present translation in due course.
Besides presenting the Silvae as, or indeed in the form of, a readable text, the scope of this volume remains somewhat difficult to pin down. The introduction, together with the short essay occupying the final pages, acts as an introductory overview of the universe of the Silvae alongside selected poetic considerations. The intended audience of these sections seems to be the amateur reader rather than the seasoned scholar. Indeed, Kreuz repeatedly underlines that his aim was to broaden the readership of the Silvae. Yet the volume does not appear devoid of scholarly ambition either, as the essay in particular demonstrates. And it is here that perhaps the weightiest problem lies, namely the almost total lack of references to critical literature. This is a bold choice, given that—especially in the commentary section—many of the explanations are sometimes grounded in recent Statian scholarship, something that is immediately apparent to specialists in the field but impossible to appreciate for a public less versed in Flavian scholarship. This choice is further aggravated by the fact that Kreuz does include references to his own work (e.g. at pp. 57; 401; 476; et al.)—an author’s privilege, one might argue.
That Kreuz also intends to address the less-versed reader becomes apparent from his decision to equip a range of words with accents indicating the correct stress (as he explains on p. 71). This practice may be well-intended, yet it quickly becomes alienating, especially when the reader is provided with an accent on names such as “Néro” (p. 568, and only here) or “Homér” (p. 465), or with a supposedly incorrect indication in the very rare word “Priamélstruktur” (p. 435), which should be stressed on the second rather than on the third syllable, as suggested by the author. Choices like these contrast with the fact that, for instance, key terms such as “Panegyrik” are passed over without comment. It is difficult to imagine a reader ignorant of the correct pronunciation of Apollo (“Apóllo” p. 532), yet familiar with the definition of panegyric.
Perhaps with a view to pleasing “as large an audience as possible” (p. 72), the volume is interspersed with value judgements that seem more at home in a nineteenth-century piece of scholarship than in a contemporary publication. Thus, one is at a loss as to what to make of Kreuz’s statement that Horace’s Carmen Saeculare is “nicht eben seine stärkste lyrische Leistung” (p. 39), or of his assertion that Silv. 3.2 “enttäuscht” (p. 519) because it employs the common topoi of propemptic literature. Indeed, one might argue that the recognition of the piece’s novelty lies with the commentator rather than the poet, as recent studies such as that by Michael Putnam have underlined its complexity.[1] In line with such statements is a certain oversimplification, perhaps a consequence of the publication’s nature, of facts, or, more often, assumptions about Statius’ life and work. For instance, Kreuz, in line—this much must be conceded—with common scholarly opinion, yet without firm evidence, depicts the epigrammatist Martial as “der ewige Antipode”. This certainly makes for a good story, yet beyond the mutual silence of the two vis-à-vis one another, it has no solid basis. Another problematic passage concerns Statius’ wife, whom Kreuz interprets as being much older than the poet, given that her daughter was already a widow. Yet the basis for this assumption is tenuous (viduo… cubili at 3.5.60), and D’Urso has convincingly refuted this misunderstanding in his recent commentary, notably absent from the bibliography.[2] Perhaps the omission of this work, along with Antonino Pittà’s 2021 commentary,[3] is a sign of the long labour this publication must have been; nevertheless, it would have been desirable at the very least to be provided with a comprehensive list of the commentaries, if not of the critical literature more broadly.
There is little to be gained from a detailed discussion of the translation; any translation is inevitably a matter of choice, and I would certainly have chosen differently from Kreuz on more than one occasion. However, in view of the translator’s stated aim of rendering the Silvae accessible to a non-specialist public, some of the more systematic decisions may warrant reconsideration. Thus, with one exception (4.6.55–56 with n. 13 at p. 592), hypallages are translated one-to-one into German, e.g. at 2.6.57 tardi reditus … Ulixis – “die Heimkehr des späten Ulixes”. In this instance, the translation would have profited either from resolving the hypallage and translating “the late return of Ulixes” or from choosing a different equivalent for tardus, such as “lingering” or, as he does at 2.7.49, “langsam”. In the same spirit, in Silv. 3.4, Kreuz maintains the hyperbaton in the first line, presumably in order to preserve the striking rhetorical effect, but fails to note that the reason for the hyperbaton in Latin is the juxtaposition thus constructed between facilem(que) and precor, which is lost in his rendering: “Geht, ihr Haare, und quert, so mein Gebet, rasch ein freundliches Meer.” A less literal and more idiomatic German version might have been preferable.
A final remark on the translation concerns the fluctuation between stylistic registers. Once again, it cannot be stressed enough that Kreuz’s undertaking is a challenging one, and it is hardly conceivable that any translation could fully do justice to the Silvae; yet too often in the present volume colloquial expressions find their way into the translation where they sit uneasily. For instance, at 2.5.29 the translation has “draufgehen zu lassen” (‘go west’) for perdere, or “und hui” for nec mora at 4.3.47, or again for non te … pudebit / hoc cessare decus? (3.5.68–9): “wirst du … dich nicht genieren, dass solche Pracht in der Warteschleife (‘wait loop’) hängt?”. These sit alongside somewhat curious expressions such as “Huftier” for sonipes (1.1.46) and “Tischaufsatz-Herkules” for Epitrapezios. The list could go on.
A detailed discussion of the notes is equally impossible given their extent, but it is fair to say that Kreuz frequently provides useful and detailed information, often indeed necessary for a fuller understanding of the poems. Alongside explanations of a religious, geographical, historical, prosopographical, or textual nature (and the list could be extended), the author also proposes interesting and learned interpretations of difficult passages, not all of which are equally convincing (there is, for example, a misidentification of Albula and Albunea in Silv. 1.3 at p. 430). The question that remains concerns the utility of these notes and their format: substantial as they are and presented as endnotes, they interrupt the flow of reading to a considerable degree. If the aim is to render the text more accessible, the minimal explanatory footnotes provided by Shackleton Bailey in the Loeb edition remain preferable. Moreover, the extent and scope of Kreuz’s notes once again risk proving problematic in view of their lack of engagement with the critical literature.
A few words on the critical apparatus (“Zum Text dieser Ausgabe”): although its format largely follows that of other editions in the series, its usefulness is somewhat limited. This is due in part to the nature of the edition on which Kreuz bases his own, namely that of Gauthier Liberman (2010). As the editor explains, many of Liberman’s conjectures appear as Kreuz’s because, in Liberman’s edition, they do not appear in the text itself but only in the notes. Quite apart from the fact that Kreuz does not always indicate which conjectures are his own and which he adopts from earlier editions (at least in this section), this circumstance greatly limits the usefulness of the list. A more extensive overview of the conjectures across the various editions, such as that provided, for example, in the 2013 Tusculum edition of Martial’s Epigrams, would have been desirable.[4]
Finally, the absence of an index is regrettable, as it might have helped to avoid repetition in the notes and perhaps to reduce the overall length of the book.
Given the considerable extent of the volume, typographical errors are few; however, there is a pervasive issue concerning the inconsistent use of different types of brackets—angle, square, and round. Furthermore, some of the notes begin with a lower-case letter; in one instance, the number is missing (p. 400 n. 6).
Kreuz’s project of offering a new translation cum commentary of Statius’ Silvae is indeed a daring one. Perhaps it is precisely the deceptive ease with which the poems present themselves that makes them texts of such complexity. In this new edition, Kreuz transforms the little Silvae, to borrow Sidonius Apollinaris’ expression, into a magnum opus, in which their learnedness, abundance, and variety shine forth—not least through the work of their editor, translator, and commentator. For this he is to be complimented. This edition is certainly a worthy addition to the library of any Flavian scholar; to what extent it will succeed in making the Silvae more accessible to a broader readership remains to be seen.
Notes
[1] Michael Putnam. “Statius Siluae 3.2: Reading Travel.” Illinois Classical Studies, vol. 42, no. 1, 2017, pp. 83–139.
[2] Valentino D’Urso. Statius, Publius Papinius, Ecloga ad Claudiam uxorem (Silv. 3, 5). Pisa: ETS, 2024.
[3] Antonino Pittà. Statius, P. Papinius, Silvae, Liber I : i carmi di Domiziano / P. Papinius Statius ; a cura di Antonino Pittà. Firenze: Felice Le Monnier, 2021.
[4] Paul Barié and Winfried Schindler, Martialis, Gaius Valerius, Epigramme. Gesamtausgabe : Lateinisch-deutsch Berlin/Boston: De Gruyter, 2013.