In an aside to his audience after narrating the revolt of the Theruingi and the slaughter of the Roman army under Lupicinus in AD 376, the ’lonely’ historian Ammianus Marcellinus asks the indulgence of his readers on a particularly difficult matter ... The rather poignant parenthesis is consistent with the view that Ammianus presents elsewhere in his history of a public at Rome concerned only with the trivial biographies of emperors and caring more for the details of the private lives of the imperial household than with the grand sweep of res gestae. The last antique historian is indeed a great one, and he may even have been as isolated as is sometimes suggested.

What is the aesthetic status of these interactions? I am tempted to answer: that is it, aesthetic. The answer to a further question, ’whose aesthetic?’, is implicit in my opening argument. The aesthetic must be dynamic, representing ’not a having and a resting, but a growing and a becoming’, as Matthew Arnold phrased the human ideal. It must accord with newly recognised possibilities of literature – of any literature – and equally with those long recognised. Above all, if it hopes to illuminate the particular literature in hand, it must be supported by that literature, must not supplant it.

Uwe Walter explains how memoria in Rome was rooted in institutions vital to the res publica. Many of these were embedded in an oral context with highly suggestive settings – public speech, the theatre, festival performances, among others. Hence, they had only a limited capacity to store memories and preserve them over time. In similar fashion, buildings and monuments were subject to decay, and with their splendour their memorial force vanished. Historiography was of a different quality. Fabius Pictor attempted to create a unified memory of the res publica, distilled and synthesized from multiple individual and collective repositories of memory across a variety of media – and charged with the authority of the senatorial voice. Two concluding case studies illustrate how Walter envisions the relation between narrative synthesis and the production of meaning: one, the case of L. Marcius Septimus, lower commander during the Punic Wars; and the other the highly politicized episode of ten high-ranking prisoners released after the battle of Cannae by Hannibal on their word of honour that they would raise a ransom in Rome in exchange for their comrades. Each tradition integrated different elements of memory to generate a qualitatively new knowledge of past events.

This book is not an attempt to apply to classical literature the habits of modem literary criticism, but as it might be supposed to be just that, I may as well forestall the supposition at the outset. Despite intermittent efforts in recent times, it is still comparatively rare for practising classicists to attempt such ’applications’ and, if anything, especially rare for Hellenists. But the present work represents something much less fashionable altogether: an attempt by a practising classicist to extend the ’theory’ of an aspect of literature in general in the practical context of the literature of antiquity. But in case the claim should seem unduly immodest, it can be said at once that the ’aspect of literature’ in question is, in itself, a small aspect, although not a trivial one. And by way of glossing the claim, let it be said also that the ’habits of modem literary criticism’ and the theoretical apparatus (if any) that accompanies them are not simply separable from their ’traditional’ counterparts. There is rather, as anyone familiar with the ancestry of modern criticism will know, a developing tradition, complex and many-sided, but continuous, which, in its development, sometimes modifies, sometimes innovates entirely and sometimes reconstitutes, in effect, earlier modes.

Up to this point our concern has been how the ancient historian justifies himself before his audience and attempts to portray himself as the proper person for the writing of history, that is, with his role as narrator rerum. The present chapter examines how he approaches his task when a participant in the deeds he records, and how he reconciles the dual role of actor and auctor rerum. For many historians of the ancient world had the opportunity to be both participant and rememberer. The historian’s formal method of presenting himself has received comparatively little attention, yet it is of interest not only because it tells us something of the way that men who wrote history in the ancient world approached the writing of their own deeds, but also what their concerns were in doing so. It is usually assumed that in order to give authority to his account, an historian who narrated his own deeds used the third person and maintained a show of formal impartiality. But a study of the surviving (and partially surviving) historians reveals a variety of approaches and methods, changing with time, the specific type of history written, and the individual intention of the historian himself.

Intrusion, the second main type of interaction, has comparatively few distinct varieties. The chief reason for this would seem to be that for once considerations of word order or structuring hardly arise. Another contributory factor is that in general the distinctions between the different forms of imagery have little practical relevance here. In particular, the distinction between implicit imagery (i.e. metaphor) and explicit (e.g. simile) is not of much consequence in most cases – with one exception. The exceptional case has already been treated, albeit briefly. In its most rudimentary form, intrusion is confined to comparison and short simile, where a predictable ’N as V’ (or ’more N than V’) is replaced by ’T as V’ (’more T than V’).

The historian’s task is to narrate, but he must also win credibility for that narrative: his task is therefore also to persuade his audience that he is the proper person to tell the story and, moreover, that his account is one that should be believed. In his capacity as persuader, the historian will often try to shape the audience’s perception of his character and to use this as an additional claim to authority; indeed, among the Roman historians, where explicit professions of research are rarer than with the Greeks, the shaping of the narrator’s character takes on a correspondingly larger role. But most of the historians, Greek and Roman, try to shape their audience’s perception of their character. Nor is this surprising when we consider the teachings of rhetoric.