Statius' Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War

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S TAT I U S ’ THEB AID A N D T H E P O E T I C S O F C I V I L WA R

This study focuses on ways in which Statius’ epic Thebaid, a poem about the civil war between Oedipus’ sons Eteocles and Polynices, reflects the theme of internal discord in its narrative strategies. At the same time that Statius reworks the Homeric and Virgilian epic traditions, he engages with Hellenistic poetic ideals as exemplified by Callimachus and the Roman Callimachean poets, especially Ovid. The result is a tension between the impulse towards the generic expectations of warfare and the desire for delay and postponement of such conflict. Ultimately, Statius adheres to the mythic paradigm of the mutual fratricide, but he continues to employ competing strategies that call attention to the fictive nature of any project of closure and conciliation. In the process, the poem offers a new mode of epic closure that emphasizes individual means of resolution. C h ar le s Mc N el is is Assistant Professor of Classics at Georgetown University.

S TAT I U S ’ THEB AID A N D THE POETICS OF C I V I L WA R C H A R L E S M CN E L I S

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 8RU, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521867412 © Charles McNelis 2006 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published in print format 2007 ISBN-13 ISBN-10

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For Eileen

Contents

Preface

page ix

Introduction

1

1 Gods, humans and the literary tradition

25

2 Beginning

50

3 Nemea

76

4 Middle

97

5 Heroic deaths

124

6 End

152

Epilogue Bibliography Index Index locorum

178 180 192 194

vii

Preface

Statius’ poetry is no longer ignored or, when read, dismissed out of hand. This critical rehabilitation stems in large part from the editions, commentaries, translations and literary studies of his poetry that have appeared in the past twenty or so years, as well as from the intense interest in allusion or intertextuality that has reinvigorated the study of all Latin poetry – especially post-Virgilian epic. We now know that the Thebaid, for example, is indeed about something. But for all the progress that has been made, much remains to be done on Statius’ poetic practices. In the hope of illuminating a constitutive feature of the artistic underpinning of the Thebaid, this book focuses on how Statius claims a distinguished place in the epic tradition for himself and his poem by reworking the poetry of Callimachus, the self-conscious artist par excellence. The study of Latin poetry has, hopefully, moved beyond the point of anxiety about the importance of Greek – and especially Hellenistic – poetic predecessors. Attempts to single out and favour one part of the literary tradition at the expense of others are reductive and misguided; Damien Nelis has shown, for instance, that the Argonautica constantly informs the Aeneid and virtually mediates Virgil’s use of the Homeric tradition. In the case of Statius, the son of a Greek poet from the Hellenized community of Naples, much less attention has been paid to his use of Greek literature than to his engagement with his Roman predecessors. This segmentation of the literary tradition has precluded a fuller assessment of the poem’s richness. My argument, then, does not favour Callimachus over the many other poets whose work is also important for understanding the Thebaid. Rather I consider how Statius reworks Callimachus’ poetry in ways that define both the structure of the epic and his relationship with the broader Greek and Roman literary traditions. This prominent aspect of the epic has not received sufficient attention. This study took its initial form as a UCLA Ph.D. dissertation (2000). Since then, I benefited from a Georgetown University Summer Grant ix

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Preface

(2003) and Junior Faculty Research Fellowship (2004) that allowed me to add and to rewrite substantial portions. Far more important, however, has been the help I received from the many students and colleagues at Occidental College, the University of Virginia, Smith College and Georgetown University who enhanced and clarified my ideas in both direct and indirect ways. Mallory Monaco was a particularly helpful research assistant. In addition, I am grateful to Alessandro Barchiesi, Michael Haslam, and Susanna Morton Braund for their help and criticism over the years. This study began in a seminar taught by Carole Newlands, and I am deeply indebted to her for support at all stages. Pamela Bleisch asked the questions that prompted me to formulate central points of my argument. Early on in graduate school, Thomas Frazel and I discussed for the first time the ideas that came to fruition in this book. I am grateful to him for that conversation and the many generous comments upon my inchoate ideas ever since. Alexander Sens kindly read drafts and improved the form and content of the argument in many places. It has been a delight to share ideas with such friends and colleagues, and I am deeply grateful to them. Finally, I thank my wife Eileen for her contributions to this work at every stage and in every way. More than anyone, she made it possible. The text I cite for the Thebaid is from Hill (1983). All translations are my own, and I make no claims as to their literary merit. Earlier versions of portions of chapters 3 and 4 appeared in Stratis Kyriakidis and Francesco De Martino (eds.), Middles in Latin Poetry (Bari, 2004).

Introduction

On his journey through the ninth circle of Hell, Dante sees the Guelph Ugolino, who had been locked in a tower with his sons and starved to death, eating the head of his captor, the Ghibelline Ruggerio (Inferno 32.124–33.78). At the start of the scene, Ugolino is likened to Tydeus (Inferno 32.130–1), a character from Greek mythology who horrifically gnawed the skull of his foe Melanippus.1 The comparison illustrates a persistent feature of Dante’s artistry, namely that he accentuates the brutality of the atrocities committed in the internecine warfare that was plaguing Florence by evoking scenes from Statius’ Thebaid.2 In fact, Dante transforms Statius’ Thebes into a ‘metaphoric textual model’ for Hell.3 Later in the Commedia, however, Statius himself appears to Dante and Virgil as they proceed through Purgatory, and he is compared to Christ joining the two disciples on the road to Emmaus (Purgatorio 21.7–9). As the three epic poets continue their journey, Statius explains some of the workings of Purgatory and of the soul, and even accompanies Dante through the Earthly Paradise (Purgatorio 32.29). Dante thus plainly distinguishes Statius the salvific poet from his hellish Thebaid.4 In employing the literary past in such a way, Dante emphasizes the division that underlies both the Florentine civil war and the distinct components of his poem about Heaven and Hell. This book argues that Statius’ own practice in the Thebaid anticipates Dante’s strategy of alluding to the literary past both to structure a poetic study of contemporary civil war and to replicate that conflict in the very fibres of the poem.5 In particular, I contend that allusions to the poetry 1 2

3 5

Dante calls him Menalippo (Inferno 32.131). Tydeus devours Melanippus’ head at Theb. 8.739–62. Less startling moments of the Inferno also draw upon scenes and characters from Statius’ epic. In the eighth circle of hell, for example, Amphiaraus heads a group of condemned seers that includes false prophets of Dante’s own age (Inferno 20.31–130). And Capaneus, damned to the seventh circle, is a model for blasphemers (Inferno 14.63–75). 4 Ibid. 106–9. Brownlee (1993) 108. I use the word ‘allusion’ to describe the processes of literary interaction between Statius and his predecessors because it implies that the author is involved to some extent. Intentionality is of course

1

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Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War

of the Hellenistic Greek Callimachus constitute a fundamental part of the Thebaid’s strategy for dealing with current internecine struggles.6 greek my th and roman realit ies That Statius’ epic on a Greek mythological theme – the war between Oedipus’ sons Eteocles and Polynices that culminates in a mutual fratricide – pertains to his contemporary Rome has been recognized.7 For example, when Theseus arrives at war-torn Thebes in an effort to bring an end to the tensions there, he embodies clementia, a virtue that was a central component of imperial ideology.8 His celebration of a triumph also evokes Rome’s imperial families since they held the exclusive right to put on such displays (Tac., Ann. 3.74).9 What Theseus actually achieves is disputed: some view

6

7

8

9

a problem. Conte (1994a) 133–8 issues a nuanced response to objections of intentionalist readings of allusion: the text generates intentions through its generic form. By reading the poem in relation to its cultural models, in Conte’s view, one understands how the text wants to communicate. Statius as author, then, is understood from the text and from its cultural models. However, Hinds (1998) 50 frankly admits that while ‘the alluding poet is ultimately and necessarily a figure whom we ourselves read out from the text, let us continue to employ our enlarged version of “allusion”, along with its intention bearing author, as a discourse which is good to think with – which enables us to conceptualize and to handle certain kinds of intertextual transaction more economically and effectively than does any alternative.’ I follow Hinds’ position. The theoretical problems here are serious and extensive (though Hinds (1998) 48 notes that occluding the author raises serious problems too), and my lack of engagement with them is not intended to be dismissive. Nonetheless, the primary goal of this study is to examine Statius’ poem, not to offer another methodological explanation of allusion or intertextuality (for recent discussions of this phenomenon in Latin poetry, see, e.g., Hinds (1998), Pucci (1998), Edmunds (2001). In fact, basic tools – such as commentaries on a few books and studies similar to those of Knauer (1964) and Nelis (2001) – necessary to study allusion in the Thebaid in a comprehensive way are still wanting.) Statius’ interest in Callimachus’ poetry has been recognized. Delarue (2000) 117–40 is the most extensive examination of a number of episodes from the Silvae and Thebaid. Fiehn (1917) 60 suggested that whoever reads Statius will find that the poet followed in the footsteps of Callimachus and the Alexandrians. A number of critics and some of the more than fifty papyri of Callimachus’ poetry that have been published since Fiehn’s work have corroborated his claim: the discovery of the Victoria Berenices, for example, prompted the work of Colace (1982), Thomas (1983), and Newlands (1991). Aric`o (1960) and Vessey (1973) discuss Callimachus’ importance elsewhere in the epic. Hutchinson (1988) 353 notes the inevitability of post-Augustan authors drawing upon the Augustans for their Callimacheanism, though he overstates his case by saying that it is hard to establish more fundamental influence of Callimachus on post-Augustan poets. Wimmel (1960) completely ignores the Thebaid. Ahl (1986) made a watershed case that the Thebaid is relevant for Roman affairs. This is not to say that the relationship between the poem and imperial Rome is straightforward. Critics such as Henderson (1991), Morton Braund (1996), Ripoll (1998), Delarue (2000) and Aric`o (2002) vary greatly in their assessments of the poem’s world view(s). Schetter (1965) 125, Ogilvie (1980) 234 and Vessey (1982) 76, however, offer that the poem is not relevant to Rome. Syme (1958) 414 and Weinstock (1971) 233–43 discuss the political dimensions of clementia at Rome. Morton Braund (1996) argues that Theseus’ possession of clementia at the end of the poem connects the mythic hero with Roman rulers; see also Henderson (1991) 34, Delarue (2000) 373. Campbell (1984) 138–9 discusses the triumph and the imperial house. Hardie (1997) connects Theseus’ arrival with Augustus’ entry to Rome in Aeneid 8.

Introduction

3

his instigation of all-out war as troublesome, others argue that his actions stem from just anger.10 Even such disparate interpretations, however, agree that Theseus is an analogue for Roman leaders, and thus that Statius’ consideration of civil war and its resolution looks beyond the mythical world to his contemporary Rome. Statius’ exploration of Roman politics through Greek myth reflects a regular ancient practice.11 In a play entitled Atreus, Aemilius Scaurus replicated a verse from Euripides that advocated toleration of thoughtless rulers.12 Tiberius thought that the verse was a critique of his rule and Scaurus paid the price with his life.13 So too Domitian executed the son of Helvidius Priscus on the grounds that he had criticized the emperor’s divorce through a play that involved the characters Paris and Oenone (Suet., Dom. 10.4). And Tacitus’ Aper accuses Maternus of ignoring pressing forensic duties in favour of composing tragedies that are based on Greek myth but actually concern Roman history (Dial. 3.4). In fact, by the Flavian period the correlation between Greek myth and Roman realities was so strong that Valerius Flaccus reversed the dynamic and compared the fight between the mythical Aeetes and Perses to actual Roman civil war: Romanas veluti saevissima cum legiones Tisiphone regesque movet, quorum agmina pilis, quorum aquilis utrimque micant eademque parentes rura colunt, idem lectos ex omnibus agris miserat infelix non haec ad proelia Thybris: sic modo concordes externaque fata petentes Palladii rapuere metus, sic in sua versi funera concurrunt dominis revocantibus axes. Arg. 6.402–9

As when most cruel Tisiphone stirs Roman legions and rulers, whose battle lines shine on each side with eagles and spears, whose parents cultivate the same fields, and whom the same wretched Tiber had sent after they were gathered from all fields to wars other than this one, so now fear caused by Pallas held them as they similarly sought their foes’ deaths, so now chariots, turned towards their own destruction, run on despite their drivers calling them back. 10 11 12 13

For a negative assessment of Theseus, see Ahl (1986) 2894–8; recent optimistic readings of Theseus have been offered by Morton Braund (1996), Ripoll (1998) and Delarue (2000). MacMullen (1966) 36–44 looks at a range of instances in which Greek myth informs Roman realities. Leigh (1996) examines the earlier use of Atreus and Thyestes by the Augustan regime. Dio relates that Tiberius heard the play and recognized himself in Atreus (58.24.3). Tacitus’ version is different, with an informant playing a significant role in Scaurus’ death. See Syme (1958) 336–7 and 362, and Champlin (2003a) 303–4. Whatever the reality may have been, the point is clear that Romans thought a Greek mythological play could pertain to contemporary politics.

4

Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War

The juxtaposition of characteristically Roman words such as legiones (6.402), pilis (6.403), aquilis (6.404) and Thybris (6.406) with Tisiphone indicates that the distinctions between myth and history can be easily blurred.14 While Roman authors and audiences could see contemporary relevance in a range of mythic stories, Theban themes were particularly charged. Rome and Thebes shared similarities – such as the fact that fratricide is central to the mythical histories of both cities and that each community has two foundation myths – that made the Greek city an attractive vehicle for Roman writers to confront their society’s attitudes and values. In the Metamorphoses, Ovid takes advantage of parallels between the two cities to ‘short circuit the Virgilian vision of an enduring foundation’ for Rome.15 More specifically, Thebes appears in accounts of Roman political tension and civil war. Cicero, for instance, quotes words spoken by both Polynices and Eteocles in Euripides’ Phoenissae when he writes about Julius Caesar’s power and position in Rome (Att. 2.25.1, 7.11.1).16 Imperial literature also links the Rome of the Caesars with Thebes. In recounting the perverse omens that appeared just before the outbreak of civil war between Caesar and Pompey, Lucan mentions that at the conclusion of the Latin festival, a flame symbolically split into two parts. He then likens this flame to that which appeared on the funeral pyre of Eteocles and Polynices (BC 1.552).17 Lucan also compares the mutual destruction of two groups of Roman soldiers to the fratricide of the men sprung from the dragons’ teeth that Cadmus had sown in Thebes (BC 4.551). Roman writers, then, consistently pair Rome with Thebes, particularly in the context of civil war.18 Statius follows suit. By drawing upon Thebes to explore current events, Roman writers modified the practice of Athenian tragedy.19 Froma Zeitlin has argued that in fifth-century bc Athens Thebes . . . provides the negative model to Athens’ manifest image of itself with regard to its notions of the proper management of city, society, and self. As the site of displacement, therefore, Thebes consistently supplies the radical tragic terrain where there can be no escape from the tragic in the resolution of conflict or in the institutional provision of a civic future beyond the world of the play. There the 14 15 16 17 18 19

See the discussion of this passage in Hershkowitz (1998b) 224–8. Hardie (1990) 228. Janan (2004) also considers Ovid’s Theban episode and its implications for Rome. Morton Braund (2006). Ahl (1986) 2812. Hardie (1990) 230 writes that by ‘the time of Lucan, the analogy between the fratricide and civil wars of Thebes was well established.’ Hardie (1990) 229 discusses the Roman adoption of Theban themes and its departure from tragic examples.

Introduction

5

most serious questions can be raised concerning the fundamental relations of man to his universe, particularly with respect to the nature of rule over others and of rule over self, as well as those pertaining to the conduct of the body politic.20

For Zeitlin, ‘events in Thebes . . . [instruct] the spectators as to how their city might refrain from imitating the other’s negative example.’21 In imperial Rome, events in Thebes still instruct the audience, but Thebes is no longer the other. It has become the self: civil war, monarchical power, and problems of dynastic succession were real concerns for first-century Rome.22 For instance, Galba’s revolt in 68 ad – an uprising that closely followed an unsuccessful mutiny led by Julius Vindex – started a string of civil wars that plagued Rome during the years 68 and 69. And in 89, Saturninus started a revolt that Suetonius dubbed a civil war (Dom. 6.2). Moreover, the maturation of the imperial system and individual rule led to literary studies about kingship (e.g. Seneca’s De Clementia and Dio Chrysostom’s Orationes 1–4).23 Succession was also a concern throughout the principate. Augustus famously faced numerous problems.24 In addition, Vespasian’s rise to power after a series of civil wars was helped by the fact that he had two sons (Josephus, BJ 7.73; Tac., Hist. 2.77.1),25 but his assumption of control also raised questions about what powers he should inherit from his predecessors. The Lex de imperio Vespasiani was thus passed to define those powers.26 Legislation could not remedy all the problems involved in the transfer of power from one individual to another, however, since Titus’ sudden death and Domitian’s inability to produce an heir created a vacuum.27 In sum, monarchy, the inheritance of it, and its role in society similarly confronted Thebes and Flavian Rome, and in the Thebaid, Thebes is a metaphor to examine civil war and its concomitant problems in early imperial Rome. the augustan past The emergence of the principate brought an end to civil war.28 Yet while that form of government persisted, peace did not. In fact, the Flavians’ control of Rome was predicated upon their victory in civil war. Significantly, in the 20 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

21 Ibid. 145. Zeitlin (1990) 131. And for Statius, whose father wrote a poem about the civil war of 69 (cf. Silv. 5.3.195–8). See Jones (1978) 118–23 for Dio’s speeches and their relation to Trajan. Syme (1939) 419–39. Though there was concern that Titus would turn out like Nero (Suet., Tit. 7.1). For the Lex de imperio Vespasiani, see Brunt (1977) 95–116. Syme (1983) 130–2. Velleius Paterculus 2.89.3 and Res Gestae 34.1 correlate the elimination of civil war with the creation of the principate.

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aftermath of these internecine struggles, Vespasian made extensive use of the Augustan past to legitimate his position and to proclaim peace.29 His coins echoed Augustan slogans such as Fortuna Redux and Pax Augusta,30 and his building programme – including structures such as the Temple of Peace and the Colosseum – deliberately recalled the Augustan past.31 Like Augustus, he closed the doors of the Temple of Janus to herald a new era of peace.32 Also, Titus and Domitian were represented as Vespasian’s heirs in ways similar to those in which Augustus depicted his designated heirs, his grandchildren Gaius and Lucius.33 Vespasian thus sought to eliminate the spectre of civil war by manipulating public images and by associating himself with his predecessors, especially Augustus.34 Domitian continued this interest in the Augustan past, revaluing the coinage to meet the level that it had been at under Augustus, celebrating the Ludi Saeculares in 88 in order to conform with his predecessor’s plan to hold them in 23 (or 22) bc, restoring the temple of Apollo on the Palatine, and most of all implementing a moral programme that was modelled upon Augustan legislation.35 Despite the depiction of their rule as a revival of the Augustan peace, the Flavians faced the continued threat of civil war. Saturninus’ revolt occurred in upper Germany on 2 January 89, eerily replicating the time and location of Vitellius’ coup that took place twenty years earlier.36 Moreover, the appearance of false Neros under Vespasian in 69 (Tac., Hist. 2.8), Titus in 79 (Dio 66.19.3) and Domitian in 88 (Suet., Nero 57.2) posed potential threats to the peace.37 In the face of – or perhaps because of – these pressures, the Flavians exploited the memory of Augustus in order to strengthen their claims that they had eradicated civil war and brought peace and order to Rome. One way in which Roman imperial epic could address the topic of civil war was to engage the Aeneid. The nature of the relationship between 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

36 37

Scott (1936) 25–39; Levick (1999) 73. Levick (1999) 70; Scott (1936) 25 notes that the role of personification in Vespasian’s coinage is similar to that of Augustus. See too Sablayrolles (1994) 126. Levick (1999) 126. Boyle (2003) 5 cites the evidence provided by Orosius 7.9.8–9. Hannestad (1988) 119. Levick (1999) 73 discusses the importance of Claudius as well; Suetonius (Dom. 20) suggests that Tiberius was a model too. For the revaluation of coinage under Domitian, see Carradice (1983) 9–56; for the Secular Games, B. Jones (1992) 102–3 and Sablayrolles (1994) 127; the moral reforms are discussed by Jones (1992) 99. Sablayrolles (1994) 125–7 discusses other ways in which Domitian used Augustus as a model. Syme (1983) 122. The two later Neros were actually more aligned with Parthia than Rome; see Jones (1992) 157–9.

Introduction

7

Virgil’s poem and the establishment of the principate after the civil wars between Antony and Octavian is controversial, but the fact that the poem was coeval with the new form of government created a link between the two. Ovid, for instance, tendentiously dubbed the Aeneid Augustus’ poem (Tr. 2.533 tuae . . . Aeneidos auctor). Whatever may be the tone and larger effect of this connection between Augustus and Virgil’s epic,38 two particularly marked means by which the Aeneid illustrates the ascendancy of Augustus are the gods and the arrangement of the narrative. For example, with the obvious exception of Juno, the Olympian gods act to help and to benefit Aeneas and the Roman state. Venus (Aen. 1.657–94), Neptune (Aen. 1.124–56), and Vulcan (Aen. 8.729), for example, all assist Aeneas. And this divine aid is not limited to the mythical realm: Apollo aids Augustus (Aen. 8.704), and Jupiter prophesies the achievement of peace under Augustus (Aen. 1.257–96). Jupiter’s speech also exemplifies the way in which the narrative is organized to highlight Augustan Rome: he begins by discussing Rome’s earliest history, then moves towards the peace that followed Augustus’ victory in civil war. The teleological thrust of Jupiter’s speech is replicated by the account of Roman history that Vulcan puts on Aeneas’ shield, a narrative that also begins with the archaic city and culminates with Augustan Rome. In linking formal features of epic to the Roman state, Virgil built upon the practices of predecessors such as Ennius, but the political transformation that virtually coincided with the publication of the Aeneid created an entirely new relationship between politics and epic. In the sixties ad, hopes for continued peace had been dashed, thus opening up – indeed, demanding – new perspectives on and readings of Augustan Rome. The Flavians offered their version in the political realm by replaying Augustan slogans. Statius’ Thebaid parallels those Flavian evocations of Augustan Rome in its reconsideration of the Aeneid. The poem adopts the Virgilian interest in both the gods and the arrangement of the narrative, but it then presents disturbing gods and a narrative that is hindered from making progress. By upsetting these formal features, Statius challenges – but does not dispose of – Augustan claims for order, stability and national progress.39 The Thebaid does not accommodate the transfer of the Pax Augusta to the Flavian world. 38 39

Thomas (2001) 74–8 discusses Ovid’s claim and various interpretations of it. Lucan aggressively eliminates many epic norms, but Statius preserves many features of Virgilian epic. Some obvious examples are the structure of the epic and the activity of the gods; also, he explicitly cites the importance of the Aeneid (Theb. 12.816). The relationship between Statius and Virgil has generated an enormous bibliography, but Pollmann (2001) 10–30 is a recent account.

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Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War

When Statius narrates the conclusion of the war between Eteocles and Polynices, he engages more directly with real Roman concerns. His emphasis upon clementia and triumphs particularly connects his version of the Theban myth to Roman events, as does the Virgilian framework of the final books of the epic. But once again the poem adopts Virgilian features only to overturn them, to illustrate that Augustan narratives are incongruous with Flavian Rome. In place of the Virgilian portrayal of the end of civil war, the Thebaid exalts the virtue clementia as a way to achieve order. The central role of this virtue indicates that the imperial house, of which clementia was a special prerogative, is essential to closural narratives. Statius’ vision of the virtue, however, is strikingly original in that it emphasizes that clementia is available not simply to the powerful but also to the powerless and to those who have suffered. By opening up this means of resolution to such a wide range of individuals, Statius builds upon Virgilian interest in individual reactions to the end of civil war (Aen. 8.717–18), but then expands upon that ideal in ways that have little to do with a specific place and/or time. He offers a virtually universal means of peace that will work in all places under any circumstances. Because the principate originated with Augustus,40 the Theban myth, which concerns origins and the difficulty of escaping them, is a poignant way to explore the reappearance of civil war. Statius’ engagement with the Aeneid and its cultural concerns allows him to go back to the origins of the principate and to revisit the purported establishment of peace after a series of civil wars. To address these issues, Statius employs Virgilian form within the framework of a paradigmatic myth about origins. callimachus and generic expectations The second major argument of this book is that allusions to Callimachus’ poetry are a fundamental part of the Thebaid’s designs. Callimachus’ most influential poem was the Aetia, which explained the origins of (sometimes arcane) religious practices. And it was this poem in which Statius seems to have been particularly – though not exclusively – interested. The Aetia’s theme of origins has obvious relevance for a Theban tale. Moreover, the religious nature of the Aetia was important for Statius’ epic. Richard Hunter has observed that the Aetia is ‘a kind of sequel’ to Hesiod’s Theogony in that the latter is concerned with the establishment of a world order and the former targets the practices of cult and religion that refine and vary that 40

Tac., Ann. 1.1; Dio 52.1.1, 53.11.4 identify the origins of the principate with Augustus.

Introduction

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Olympian order.41 For good reason, then, an episode that typifies relations between gods and humans in the Thebaid patently alludes to Callimachus’ poem. In chapter one, I consider the ways in which an aetion about Linus, Coroebus and the Argive celebration of Apollo showcases an uneasy alliance between Olympian and chthonic forces. The aetion starts with Apollo’s destruction of the Python, a paradigmatic myth about the establishment of Olympian order. Afterwards, Apollo seeks expiation, but when he arrives at Argos, he rapes the daughter of his host, leading to a deadly string of violence in which the god sends an infernal monster and then a plague against the Argives. His enlistment of the underworld essentially undoes the normal consequences of his defeat of the chthonic Python, and thus perverts standard mythic narratives. Another result of this partnership between Olympian and chthonic forces is that divine hierarchies become confused, a central point of the poem. For instance, early in the Thebaid, Jupiter still lords it over humans, but his position seems to have been usurped by Tisiphone. Additional chthonic deities challenge Jupiter’s authority throughout the epic, and at the end of the poem he abdicates and allows infernal forces to assume control and govern the horrific fratricide (Theb. 11.122–35). Olympian order is thus not only threatened but actually usurped by the underworld. What is even more perverse is that the destruction wrought by the infernal deities leads to the fruition of Jupiter’s wish to annihilate the human race (Theb. 1.214–47).42 This divine cooperation, then, disturbingly realizes Juno’s strategy to ruin Aeneas (Aen. 7.312 Acheronta movebo). The Thebaid, however, is not about one powerful goddess causing trouble for humans. Statius’ entire divine machinery does so, and the Callimachean aetion at the end of Thebaid 1 crystallizes the problematic nature of the relationship between Statius’ humans and gods. Through this depiction of the gods, Statius perverts their conventional roles in Roman epic as guarantors of national safety. Naevius may have appropriated for Rome the universality of the pan-Hellenic Zeus, but Ennius and Virgil certainly do so.43 The ruler of the gods is thus on Rome’s side, as is clear, for example, in the Aeneid when Jupiter tries to soothe Venus’ fears by saying that he has given Rome an empire without end (Aen. 1.279). Silius Italicus updates this Virgilian scene for a Flavian context when he has Venus anxiously question Jupiter about Rome’s safety because of the Carthaginian invasion. Jupiter responds by saying that there 41 42

Fantuzzi and Hunter (2004) 54. Dominik (1994) 1–33 discusses Statius’ Jupiter.

43

Feeney (1991) 115; 128.

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Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War

is no reason to worry, and that Rome will see the Flavians rule the world, join the gods after their death, and leave divine children on earth (Pun. 3.557–629). Ovid also connects gods and rulers when he equates Jupiter and Augustus (Met. 1.200–5; 15.855–60).44 This link between Jupiter and the emperor also appears at the start of the Thebaid (Theb. 1.29–31) and is ubiquitous in Statius’Silvae (Silv. 1.6.25–7; 4.2.11, 20; 4.3.128–9; 4.4.58), so there is good reason to think of this familiar dynamic throughout the Thebaid.45 What to make of Statius’ analogy is less clear. Many of the Silvae that equate Jupiter and Domitian have been understood as unabashed flattery. But even if this is the case for the occasional poems,46 the Thebaid cannot easily be assimilated to that model because its gods are wicked, and the divine ordering of the universe is pernicious and perverse.47 Indeed, the very order of the universe is called into question at the end of the poem when the Olympians are absent. Such problems are not a veiled critique of the Flavians or Domitian. In fact, Statius glorifies the imperial virtue of clementia as a source of order and resolution.48 Moreover, Theseus’ employment of the virtue at the end of the poem seemingly provides a positive exemplar for an imperial figure. Thus the position and authority of the emperor is not challenged. Nonetheless, Statius’ perverse treatment of the gods discards one conventional means of expressing order, and in its place he offers a markedly new form of security and comfort that may allow individuals to find comfort and consolation in a turbulent world of civic disorder. Individuals now have a means by which they can achieve peace amidst civil chaos and thus are no longer dependent upon forces greater than them.49 By moving away from the closural paradigms of grand narratives and focusing upon the ability of individuals to find their own solace, Statius ends his epic of loss and chaos with a hope that is distinctly new. 44

45

46 47 48 49

Ibid. 220. In addition, Ovid’s assembly of the gods is explicitly compared to a meeting on the Palatine (Met 1.176), and the Ovidian assembly influenced both Statius and Lucan. See Feeney (1991) 296, 353. Coins and gems also equate Jupiter and Domitian, who is famously said to have preferred the title dominus et deus (Suet. Dom. 13.2); see Scott (1936) 139–40; a wider range of evidence is treated on 133–40. Scott (1936) 141–8; 166–88 also shows that Hercules, Apollo, Bacchus and particularly Minerva were also used to represent the authority of the Flavians and especially Domitian. Newlands (2002) argues against this traditional view of the occasional poems. Feeney (1991) 359 n. 151. For the political implications of clementia, see Weinstock (1971) 232–41; Burgess (1972); Morton Braund (1996). The Thebaid’s interest in individual opportunities to achieve solace counters – or at least deflates – the Aeneid’s emphasis upon collective gain at the expense of individual loss (e.g. Aen. 5.815 unum pro multis dabitur caput). Hardie (1993) 3–10 offers a broader discussion of this theme.

Introduction

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teleology and roman epic Narrative arrangement is another way in which Roman epic expresses national order. In Ennius’ Annales, the narrative progression towards its telos seemingly corresponds to the increasing Roman domination of the Mediterranean: after the first three books that concern the period of kings, Annales 4–6 cover the Roman conquest of Italy, Annales 7–9 the Punic Wars, Annales 10–12 wars in Greece, Annales 13–15 in Syria, culminating in 16–18 and the wars of M. Fulvius Nobilior, Ennius’ patron. A teleological narrative is manifestly connected to national interests in the Aeneid. David Quint has argued that the shield of Aeneas, with its chronological depiction of hundreds of years of Roman conquest and survival in the face of various threats, is particularly emblematic of the Virgilian melding of politics, history and epic poetry. Indeed, the shield’s sequential depiction of the growth of Roman hegemony replicates the annalistic style of Ennius’ epic and thereby reinforces the link between linear narratives and national progress.50 Finally, in the proem of his Metamorphoses, Ovid connects his teleological narrative to the Caesars (Met. 1.3–4 primaque ab origine . . . ad mea . . . tempora). Allusions to Callimachus’ poetry play a substantial role in Statius’ construction and pursuit of a teleological narrative. In chapter two, I consider Statius’ description of Vulcan’s creation of a necklace that is worn by Argia on the day of her wedding to Polynices (Theb. 2.269–96). This ekphrasis assumes as a point of comparison the Virgilian account of Vulcan’s work on Aeneas’ shield. For example, just as in the Aeneid, the Cyclopes help Vulcan create a gift for the child of Venus. Moreover, Virgil’s god produces an object of civic safety and hegemony, and the decoration he puts on the shield produces a narrative that progresses in a linear fashion (Aen. 8.629 pugnataque in ordine bella). The necklace wrought by Statius’ Vulcan similarly presents a linear narrative (Theb. 2.267 series; 296 ordo). Ultimately, however, Statius upsets the Virgilian model because his god creates an object that, instead of preserving its founder, transmits evils from one generation of the Theban ruling house to another. The necklace is the cause of trouble in the Theban dynasty. The necklace, however, does not operate solely at the level of the ‘story’.51 The description of Vulcan’s handiwork suggests that it is a synecdoche for 50

51

Quint (1993) 8–9. Quint’s point about epics and teleological narratives is a good one, even if his argument for a dichotomy between epic and romance is troublesome. See Hardie (1986) 347–8 and Barchiesi (1997b) 274–5 on the annalistic style of the shield. I use ‘story’ in the sense put forth by Genette (1980) 27.

12

Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War

the larger narrative, and that the makers of the necklace are ‘responsible’ for the narrative of violence that is the subject of the Thebaid. That is, the fictive artisans call attention to the poetic fiction of which they are part, and in doing so illuminate the encompassing narrative.52 While Vulcan is chiefly responsible for the destructive Theban narrative, he receives help from, among others, the Telchines, whom Statius characterizes in ways that recall Callimachus’ famous poetic enemies (Aetia 1.1.1). By doing so, Statius aligns the narrative that results from the necklace with anti-Callimachean poetic values. In chapter three, I argue that the Thebaid contains a narrative interest that consistently thwarts the realization of Vulcan’s designs. Statius does this by drawing upon a Callimachean aetion for the Nemean games that creates a massive delay and postpones the recounting of the fratricide. This Callimachean episode clashes with the linear narrative created by the Telchines, and the resulting formal tension between the advancement of the teleological narrative and the postponement of it works on a broader level. David Quint has argued that in Lucan’s Bellum Civile the resistance to teleological accounts of coherence and Roman domination may be construed as a resistance to form: to the political unity and uniformity that the imperial regime sought to impose upon its subjects, to the formal closure it placed upon its version of history. The poem speaks against the desire for endings that would freeze history into any final shape and unalterable political configuration.53

The Nemean episode certainly does resist Virgilian form. Statius pointedly creates this stoppage in the fourth book, the same book in which Aeneas and his troops leave behind the delay that hindered their progress towards national destiny – and to a war that may be construed as civil.54 Also different is the fact that the delay of this heroic journey actually benefits civic safety by postponing the war that will destroy the community. In these ways, Statius alters the pattern of epic history that concerns civic order and universal control, thereby suggesting the incompatibility of that form with a Flavian context. In chapter four, I argue that the tension between the narrative interest in war and impediments to it comes to a head in the seventh book, a book that, according to the model of Aeneid 7, is supposed to focus on the narrative transition to martial themes. At least since Servius it has been pointed out that Aeneid 7 begins the ‘Iliadic’ half of the poem and closes the ‘Odyssean’ 52 54

53 Quint (1993) 147. Leach (1974) 104 comments on this phenomenon in Ovid. Rossi (2004) 165–8 is a recent discussion of civil war in the Aeneid.

Introduction

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(e.g. ad Aen. 7.1).55 Thebaid 7 demonstrates a similar concern with the literary past and narrative shifts, though it specifically concerns the turn from dilatory aetiologies to civil war. In addition to following the Virgilian model for the literary significance of a seventh book, Statius also heralds the Iliadic background of his book by replicating large portions of the Homeric Catalogue of Ships in a list of the allies fighting on behalf of Thebes. However, Statius continues to use Callimachean aetia and the closely related theme of metamorphosis to diffuse and to put off the realization of martial expectations. The efficacy of epic paradigms is thus challenged in a charged location. In the end, Statius follows Virgilian conventions and begins his narrative of warfare and battles. However, he does so by emphasizing that this war is modelled upon Lucan’s civil war and that, consonant with Lucan’s model, these upcoming battles will pervert Homeric and Virgilian norms. Conventional paradigms are dismantled and debased. I contend in the fifth chapter that after the transition to the Iliadic half is achieved, the actual battles illustrate an anti-Callimachean narrative strategy. That is, in scenes defined by hyperbole and excess, the deaths of the leaders of the expedition against Thebes instantiate themes or poetic traditions that are antithetical to Callimacheanism. The particular nature of these battles scenes reinforces that the martial agenda was put in place with the help of the Telchines. Chapters two through five thus concentrate on formal concerns such as the progress of the narrative towards its telos and obstacles to it. Statius creates this poetic friction by having the Telchines assist in the creation of a necklace that catalyses a narrative of violence, and then by alluding to Callimachus’ poetry in ways that postpone that narrative interest. In some sense, this poetic tension replays the antagonism between Callimachus and the Telchines that is featured in the Aetia prologue. Significantly, that programmatic opening concerns unity: Callimachus says that the Telchines carp at him because he does not produce one continuous song (Aetia 1.1.3
    ). What Callimachus means by that has been debated, but however that issue may be, Roman poets need not have responded to his statement in the same way.56 In the case of the Thebaid, this replaying of that literary conflict seems to underscore the point that the poem does not consist of one continuous narrative, but rather distinct ways – Telchinic and Callimachean – of telling the story that are brought together through the poet’s arrangement. Unity of the Aristotelian sort that depends upon a 55 56

This scheme is oversimplified, and both Homeric poems are important for each half of the Aeneid. But it is nonetheless useful and appropriate way to talk about broad designs of Virgil’s epic. See Myers (1994) 5; Hunter (1993) 194 discusses the Aetia and the notion of unity.

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Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War

beginning, middle and end is still present – hence the title of three chapters of this book. But delays and divagations persistently challenge that formal arrangement, and thereby generate within the narrative itself a kind of internal division and conflict that mirror the theme of the poem.57 In Thebaid 12, Statius addresses Augustan narratives more directly, and this book, and especially the arrival of Theseus, is the basis of my final chapter. Statius’ worrisome treatment of the gods and of generic form creates problems that have to be resolved at the end of the poem, and Theseus is the one to resolve them. Because Creon denied burial to Polynices and the other Argives, Theseus has to go to Thebes and gain burial for them. Forbidden burials recall the end of the Iliad, in which Achilles finally relents and allows Priam to bury Hector. But Statius deviates from the Homeric model and indicates that hatred lasts beyond the grave, and that burial is insufficient for resolution. In addition to reconsidering Homeric closural strategies, the ending of the Thebaid also revisits Roman imperial concerns that are raised in Aeneid 8. Theseus’ imperial associations and his arrival at a city ravaged by war, for example, suggest that he is an Augustus-like imperial figure. But Statius invokes this model only to scrutinize it. First, allusions to Catullus 64, a poem that works within the Callimachean tradition, raise doubts about Theseus’ possession of clementia and about heroic narratives. Next, it also emerges that collective celebration does not resolve individual loss as easily as it does in the depiction of Augustus’ triumph in Aeneid 8. Indeed, the Theban myth itself implies that Theseus’ accomplishments can only bring about a temporary pause in the cycle of violence. Statius thus rewrites previous scenes of epic closure to show their insufficiency for his poetic world. In place of those narratives put forth by its predecessors, the Thebaid asserts the benefit of the imperial virtue of clementia, but tweaks the concept in such a way that its accessibility extends to a range of individuals. Resolution is no longer dependent upon great narratives. Throughout the Thebaid, Statius creates expectations by alluding to Homeric and Virgilian models.58 Of course, these expectations need not reach fruition. As Hans Robert Jauss observes: A literary work, even when it appears to be new, does not present itself as something absolutely new in an informational vacuum, but predisposes its audience to a very specific kind of reception by announcements, overt and covert signals, familiar 57 58

This poetic arrangement also reveals an artistic design behind the episodic nature of the poem that has been missed by modern critics (e.g. Legras (1905) 152; Williams (1978) 250–2). That expectations are created through allusions to generic models is a familiar idea. Conte (1994a) 114: ‘genre is not only a descriptive grid . . . but also an expectation.’ See also Fowler (1982) 88–92 on allusion and genre.

Introduction

15

characteristics, or implicit allusions. It awakens memories of that which was already read, brings the reader to a specific emotional attitude, and with its beginning arouses expectations for the ‘middle and end’, which can then be maintained intact or altered, reoriented, or even fulfilled ironically in the course of reading according to specific rules of the genre or type of text . . . The new text evokes for the reader (listener) the horizon of expectations and rules familiar from earlier texts, which are then varied, corrected, altered, or even just reproduced.59

In passages that allude to or adopt Homeric or Virgilian features, Statius regularly confounds the realization of these expectations by reworking Callimachus’ poetry. Statius’ practice results in a dialogue between earlier epic and the Thebaid about literary versions of history and about the legitimacy of these historical accounts. By consistently disrupting the ideological package of the Aeneid, Statius illustrates the inherently tenuous nature of its claims. For Flavian Rome, in which the Augustan past figured strongly, the Thebaid’s refusal to accommodate the Aeneid takes on special significance: the poem reflects the difficulty of adapting the Augustan past – or indeed any dominant narrative of the past – to the present. callimachus, thebes and ro man poet ry Whatever the poetic values of the Aetia prologue may have been, they should no longer be considered coterminous with what it meant for Roman poets to explore ‘Callimacheanism’.60 Virgil and Ovid wrote epics that engage with Callimachean ideals, thus destroying any strict Callimachean ‘orthodoxy’ about small-scale poetics and antipathy towards long poems about kings and heroes. To be sure, Statius employs features that are often thought to be conventional Callimachean poetic ideals, but I consider his allusions to Callimachus primarily in relation to the unfolding of the narrative, and to the epic tradition. Richard Thomas has stated that ‘allusion to, and adaptation of, the Callimachean program really becomes a way of talking about one’s own changing tradition and one’s own place in that changing tradition.’61 My argument proceeds along similar lines, suggesting that Statius uses Callimachus to revisit issues raised by culturally dominant epics and to carve out his own place in the epic tradition. 59 60

61

Jauss (1982) 23. The bibliography on this point is enormous, and there have been a variety of views. Cameron (1995) considers the controversial prologue and the Roman reception of it, and draws attention to the hazards involved in trying to establish a Callimachean orthodoxy. Fantuzzi and Hunter (2004) 444–85 provide an excellent discussion of Callimacheanism in the Greek world and at Rome. Thomas (1993) 201–2.

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Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War

Statius’ strategy was not invented ex nihilo, and owes much to his predecessors. In fact, Callimachus’ poetry was central to questions about Roman literature and its relationship to the world of politics.62 In the proem of the Metamorphoses, for instance, Ovid marks the importance of Callimachean poetics: In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas corpora; di, coeptis (nam vos mutastis et illa) adspirate meis primaque ab origine mundi ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen! Met. 1.1–4

My mind prompts me to sing about forms changed into new bodies. O gods, inspire my undertakings, for you changed those bodies too, and spin a continuous song that runs all the way from the origins of the world down to my own day.

Ovid creates a literary paradox at the start of his poem by claiming to produce a non-Callimachean perpetuum carmen in Callimachean fashion (deducere).63 This conflict precludes easy assessment of the narrative as a whole,64 and Ovid’s Rome is not exempt from such narrative difficulties. The proem’s ad mea . . . tempora anticipates the apotheosis of Julius Caesar at the end of the epic (Met. 15.860),65 and Ovid approaches this transformation as he did previous metamorphoses. As Alessandro Barchiesi has put it, ‘the principle regulating [the metamorphosis of Caesar] is no different than what transformed the Minyeiades into bats or the Cecropes into monkeys. The aura of incredibility that suffuses the entire poem seems to envelop this final miracle as well.’66 The proem’s paradox sets the stage for a narrative that constantly challenges the reader to find secure footing. To some extent, then, Statius’ conflicting narratives and the consequent interpretative challenges posed by them develop an Ovidian practice. Indeed, as will be seen, Statius alludes to Ovid’s proem at moments that also draw heavily upon Homeric and Virgilian epic and in doing so generates narrative friction. 62

63 64 65

66

Georgics 3.1–48 is a pointed example of the intersection of Callimacheanism and Roman politics. Fowler (1995) 254 and (2000) 30 notes the dynamic. This is obviously a large issue that has many and varied accounts, but in short the political dimensions of Callimacheanism owes quite a bit to the Hellenistic relationship between poet and ruler that prefigured similar Roman relationships. Myers (1994) 4–5 contains bibliography on the topic. This tension is perhaps best represented at Met. 8.618–878, where stylistically different Callimachean stories are juxtaposed. See Barchiesi (2001) 55 on the clash of narrative voices. The word tempora also has special force at the start of the Fasti, where the words cum causis create a Callimachean context. See Barchiesi (1997c) 51. For the remarkable dialogue between the Fasti and the Metamorphoses, see, e.g., Hinds (1987) 115–34. Barchiesi (2001) 75.

Introduction

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Roman poetry provided a more specific model for Statius by articulating a tension between Callimachean poetry and themes that concern war at Thebes. In 2.1, Propertius writes that if it had been his fate to write something other than love elegy, he would not write about the Titanomachy, the Gigantomachy, Thebes, Troy or a host of other themes, but he would address the exploits of Octavian and Maecenas: quod mihi si tantum, Maecenas, fata dedissent, ut possem heroas ducere in arma manus, non ego Titanas canerem, non Ossan Olympo impositam, ut caeli Pelion esset iter, nec veteres Thebas, nec Pergama nomen Homeri, Xerxis et imperio bina coisse vada, regnave prima Remi aut animos Carthaginis altae, Cimbrorumque minas et bene facta Mari: bellaque resque tui memorarem Caesaris, et tu Caesare sub magno cura secunda fores. Nam quotiens Mutinam aut civilia busta Philippos aut canerem Siculae classica bella fugae . . . 2.1.17–28 (Goold)

If, Maecenas, the fates had given me the power to lead heroic troops to war, I would not sing of the Titans, nor Ossa piled upon Olympus so that Pelion be a path to the sky, nor old Thebes, nor Pergamum – Homer’s source of repute – nor that the two seas were joined at Xerxes’ order, nor the early rule of Remus nor the spirit of lofty Carthage, nor the threats of the Cimbri and Marius’ great accomplishments. I would recall the wars and deeds of your Caesar, and you would be a close second after great Caesar. For how often I would sing of Mutina or the citizens’ graveyard at Philippi or the sea battle and rout at Sicily . . .

Mutina, Sicily, Perusia and Philippi refer to actual Roman civil wars, and Remus brings to mind the fraternal strife that is central to Roman (and Theban) myth. And Greek mythological themes such as the Titanomachy and the Gigantomachy could also refer to contemporary events such as civil war (e.g. Prop. 3.9.47–56). Collectively these battles illustrate the subject matter that Propertius avoids, and his reason for doing so is clear: sed neque Phlegraeos Iovis Enceladique tumultus intonet angusto pectore Callimachus, nec mea conveniunt duro praecordia versu Caesaris in Phrygios condere nomen avos. 2.1.39–42 (Goold)

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Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War

But with his slight chest Callimachus would not thunder the struggle between Jove and Enceladus that took place at Phlegra, nor is my spirit appropriate for putting the name of Caesar among his Phrygian ancestors through heroic verse.

Despite the unfortunate lacuna in the preceding verse, the references to Callimachus and small-scale poetics (angusto pectore) that oppose grand thundering (intonet) explain Propertius’ avoidance of topics such as civil war. He thus sets Callimachean poetry against narratives of civil war. Propertius restates his Callimachean avoidance of Theban warfare in 3.9, a poem in which he claims that he will not relate the razing of the city by the Epigonoi, the sons of the Seven: non flebo in cineres arcem sedisse paternos Cadmi, nec semper proelia clade pari; nec referam Scaeas et Pergama, Apollinis arces, et Danaum decimo vere redisse rates, moenia cum Graio Neptunia pressit aratro victor Palladiae ligneus artis equus. 3.9.37–42 (Goold)

I will not mourn that the city of Cadmus fell upon the fathers’ ashes, and the battles always equal in destruction; I shall not mention the Scaean gates and Pergamum, the citadels of Apollo, and that the Greek ships returned in the tenth spring, when the victorious wooden horse of Pallas’ art overpowered the walls of Neptune with a Greek plow.

Propertius adds that he does not need such grand poetic themes because it is sufficient that he is a Callimachean poet who produces erotic poetry that excites youths: inter Callimachi sat erit placuisse libellos et cecinisse modis, Co¨e poeta, tuis. haec urant pueros, haec urant scripta puellas meque deum clament et mihi sacra ferant! 3.9.43–6 (Goold)

It will be enough for me to have pleased among the books of Callimachus and to have sung in your meters, Philetas. Let these words inflame boys and girls, and let them shout out that I am a god and let them bring sacred offerings to me.

Propertius also mentions Philetas as a poetic model, but Callimachus himself had treated Philetas as a significant predecessor in the Aetia prologue (Aetia 1.1.10). Thus while Propertius widens the range of poetic forebears, he adopts a Callimachean manner of speaking about the Hellenistic past and its relevance for his poetic interests.

Introduction

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The conflict between Callimacheanism and Thebes is perhaps strongest in Propertius’ 2.34, a poem in which Lynceus, a poet and philosopher, has fallen in love.67 Propertius offers that Socratic wisdom and Homeric epic will be of no avail to him, and he advises Lynceus instead to follow the writings, once again, of Philetas and Callimachus: tu satius Musis leviorem imitere Philetan et non inflati somnia Callimachi 2.34.31–2 (Goold)

It is better that you imitate the rather slight Muse of Philetas and the Dream of Callimachus, who is not turgid.

Propertius’ description of Callimachus as non inflati recalls programmatic passages such as the end of the Hymn to Apollo and the Aetia prologue, and the word somnia evokes the Aetia and its dream (Aetia 1.3–4 Massimilla). The Callimachean context is thus established even before Propertius identifies for Lynceus specific heroic scenes that may be of benefit: nam cursus licet Aetoli referas Acheloi, fluxerit ut magno fractus amore liquor, atque etiam ut Phrygio fallax Maeandria campo errat et ipsa suas decipit unda vias, qualis et Adrasti fuerit vocalis Arion, tristis ad Archemori funera victor equus: 2.34.33–8 (Goold)

Though you may relate the course of the Aetolian Achelous and how its waters, broken by great love, flowed, and also how the tricky Meander wanders over the Phrygian plain and hides its own course, and how Adrastus’ horse Arion, the victor at the funeral games of sad Archemorus, spoke . . .

Perhaps because elegy has an intrinsically aetiological interest in funerals,68 Propertius singles out Archemorus’ funeral games as part of the Theban story that is appropriate for a Callimachean. A more certain point, however, is that Callimachus himself had told about the funeral of Archemorus and the subsequent founding of the Nemean games (SH 266), so Propertius’ allowance for this particular theme is based on the authority of Callimachus himself. Propertius adds, however, that topics such as Amphiaraus’ descent 67

68

The Theban implications of 2.34 are enhanced by earlier poems. Stahl (1985) has pointed out that the Lynceus of 2.34 is remarkably similar to the Ponticus encountered in 1.7 and 1.9, and a prominent point in those two poems is that Ponticus is a poet who addresses Theban themes. Although Propertius does not explicitly refer to Callimachus in 1.7 and 1.9, he nonetheless does dissociate his elegy from such themes and thus anticipates his renunciation of Theban material. The word was thought to come from the lament    ; cf. LSJ s.v.  II.

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into the underworld and Jupiter’s smiting of Capaneus will not benefit Lynceus: num Amphiareae prosint tibi fata quadrigae aut Capanei magno grata ruina Iovi? 2.34.39–40 (Goold)

Would the fate of Amphiaraus’ chariot or the destruction of Capaneus – pleasing to Jove – benefit you?

He thus implicitly opposes these two stories to Callimachean themes. Significantly these two moments are featured in the second half of the Thebaid, the half that Statius frames as anti-Callimachean. More generally, when one considers that Propertius views the Nemean games – the topic of Statius’ dilatory aetiology – as an acceptable Callimachean theme and the Theban wars as unacceptable, it becomes clear that, despite the many differences between Propertius’ and Statius’ poetic interests,69 the division of the story by Propertius in distinct parts anticipates Statius’ practices.70 Statius’ allusions to Callimachus thus help to situate his epic in the literary tradition. Mutatis mutandis, this formulation of literary history is similar to that put forth by Gian Biagio Conte, who writes that when they confronted the poetic tradition of Ennius, the neoterics and the bucolic Virgil ‘turned to Callimachus and others of the Alexandrian “revolt” to see what choices they had made when opposing the poetic conventions of the Homeric tradition’.71 ‘Revolt’ may be a strong word, and Statius does not ‘oppose’ poetic conventions – he continually utilizes them – but nonetheless Conte’s view that Hellenistic poetry provided a way to approach epic is useful. Statius’ literary tradition was especially rich, consisting of Homer and Virgil, as well as the deep literary tradition that surrounded the topic of Thebes. And it was Callimachus’ poetry that provided him with a specific way to engage with the tradition. 69 70

71

Concerns about appropriate poetic material, for example, are not central to the Thebaid. For ways in which elegiac concerns operate in the Thebaid, however, see Bessone (2002). A similar contrast between Theban themes and the tradition of Callimachean poetry may underlie Catullus 95, in which he contrasts the popular appeal of the grand Antimachus with his preferred small-scale productions. Catullus does not explicitly refer to Antimachus’ Thebaid, but the Greek poet was famous because of that epic (e.g. Quintilian 10.1.53), and disdain for popular pleasures is a Callimachean conceit (Ep. 28.4), as is the preference for things that are parva. Horace also seems to express Callimachean disdain for those who celebrate Athens in a perpetuo carmine (cf. Nisbet and Hubbard on 1.7.6), and since this claim follows so closely upon the priamel that excludes other Greek cities, of which Thebes is one, similar literary ideals likely underlie the rejection of poetic topics concerning those cities. Conte (1986) 92.

Introduction

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statius’ poetic representation The Statius offered in this book is thus attuned to and engaged with a wide spectrum of the literary past, both Greek and Latin. In short, I treat Statius as a doctus poeta who astutely uses the Greek and Roman literary tradition – especially the Callimachean heritage – for his own poetic interests.72 This point is corroborated by Statius’ occasional poems, in which he reveals that he fully engages, develops and modifies Callimachean ideas.73 For example, as I will discuss, the Silvae refer to the mythological figure Molorcus in ways that not only reflect Statius’ interest in the Callimachean background of that character, but also comment upon and illuminate the literary dynamics of the Thebaid. Moreover, the Silvae regularly comment upon the production of the epic, and they do so in a manner that characterizes the epic in Callimachean terms. For instance, Statius continually emphasizes the hard work that went into the Thebaid. At the end of his going-away poem for Maecius Celer, for example, Statius describes his epic as one that demanded work (Silv. 3.2.143 laboratas . . . Thebas). So too in Silv. 3.5, a poem that attempts to persuade his wife to leave Rome and to move to his home town of Naples, Statius mentions that she alone knows the amount of toil that produced the Thebaid (Silv. 3.5.35–6 longi tu sola laboris / conscia, cumque tuis creavit mea Thebais annis). Lastly, in Silvae 4.7 Statius offers that the Thebaid had been subjected to much revision and polish (Silv. 4.7.26 Thebais multa cruciata lima). This final passage seems to position the previous two claims specifically in the Callimachean tradition of poetic labour because the comment concerning revision and polish (‘lima’) alludes to Horace’s lament that Latin poets do not sufficiently revise their works (AP 291 . . . poetarum limae labor et mora). In turn, that Horatian comment builds upon the metaphor for the poetic toil prized by Callimachus (e.g. Ep. 6.1; 27.4).74 Statius also informs us about the production of the Thebaid in Silvae 5.3, where he reveals that his father helped him produce the epic: . . . te nostra magistro Thebais urguebat priscorum exordia vatum; tu cantus stimulare meos, tu pandere facta 72

73 74

Venini (1971b) 9–28 examines Statius’ doctrina by analysing his work in the context of Roman predecessors. See also the comments by Aric`o (2002) 182. Statius’ learning has surprised or has been downplayed by scholars: Tarrant (2002) 19 views Ovid as ‘the first and the last poet to combine a broad knowledge of Greek literature with an intimate awareness of the new Latin classics’. Conte (1994b) 485 tellingly writes about the Thebaid that ‘ . . . unexpected models also appear – Euripides, Apollonius of Rhodes, even Callimachus . . .’ (my italics). Newlands (2002) passim. For Horace’s usage, see Brink (1971) 321; Coleman (1988) 203–4.

22

Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War heroum bellique modos positusque locorum monstrabas. labat incerto mihi limite cursus te sine, et orbatae caligant vela carinae. Silvae 5.3.233–7

With you as my teacher, my Thebaid closely pursued the works of the ancient poets; you taught me to give passion to my poetry, to disclose the deeds of heroes, martial verses and the arrangements of scenes. Without you, my course wavers in an unsteady path, and the sails of my bereft vessel grow dark.

The elder Statius was his son’s poetic mentor. In fact, Statius’ father was an accomplished Greek grammarian and poet who taught the works of many Greeks, including Callimachus (Silvae 5.3.146–58).75 As Alex Hardie has stated, Statius’ father was a scholar-poet who operated in a tradition that harked back to Philetas and Callimachus.76 Statius’ comment upon the guidance he received while composing the Thebaid thus demands a reading of his poetry in relation to the tradition of the docti poetae. In addition, by using the guidance of his father, a Greek intellectual, to lend prestige to his artistic endeavour, Statius follows typical Roman practice.77 Horace, for instance, claimed to have transported the lyric poetry of Sappho and Alcaeus to Rome (Carm. 3.30.12–14); Virgil asserted that he did the same with Hesiod’s poetry (G. 2.176); Propertius called himself the Roman Callimachus (4.1.64). Such claims appropriate for the Roman writer the authority previously associated with Greek authors, and tendentiously attempt to eliminate further dialogue with the Greeks: Roman authors have become the models for subsequent authors. But by presenting us with an intense account of literary mentorship that involves a Greek poet, Statius reopens the dialogue with Greece and thus counters Augustan teleologies. Even from a literary-historical perspective, then, Statius demonstrates problems with Augustan endings. Finally, the Thebaid itself concludes with a self-referential statement about the Callimachean poetic tradition. In the epic’s epilogue, Statius advertises the importance of the poetic past: durabisne procul dominoque legere superstes, o mihi bissenos multum uigilata per annos Thebai? iam certe praesens tibi Fama benignum strauit iter coepitque nouam monstrare futuris. iam te magnanimus dignatur noscere Caesar, 75 76 77

For Silvae 5.3 and Statius’ father, see Holford-Strevens (2000); McNelis (2002). Hardie (1983) 9–10. Hinds (1998) 80–3 discusses this recurring phenomenon in Roman literature of writers offering accounts about their interaction with Greek learning and literature.

Introduction

23

Itala iam studio discit memoratque iuuentus. uiue, precor; nec tu diuinam Aeneida tempta, sed longe sequere et uestigia semper adora. mox, tibi si quis adhuc praetendit nubila liuor, occidet, et meriti post me referentur honores. Theb. 12.810–19

O my Thebaid, on which I worked at great length well into the night over twelve years, will you survive far into the future and, outlasting your author, be read? Already immediate fame has paved a kind path for you and has begun to point you out to posterity. Already great Caesar thinks it right to know you, and the Italian youth eagerly learns and recites you. Live, I pray. Don’t try to match the divine Aeneid, but follow far behind it and always adore its footsteps. Soon, if any envy spreads gloom before you, it will die, and, after I am gone, the proper honour will be paid.

Scholarship on this passage has justly focused on Statius’ position in relation to Virgil,78 and to the epilogue of Ovid’s Metamorphoses.79 Less attention has been paid to the phrase multum vigilata, which alludes to Cinna fr. 11.1–2 (haec tibi Arateis multum invigilata lucernis / carmina).80 Cinna’s verses reflect a strong interest in Hellenistic poetry: he talks about bringing poems of Aratus to Rome,81 and the word invigilata recalls Callimachus’ own epigram which praises Aratus’ sleepless nights (Ep. 27.4 

). Cinna’s diction thus establishes his ‘Alexandrian credentials’.82 The verbal parallel between Statius and Cinna is reinforced by the fact that Statius also adopts Cinna’s use of sailing as a metaphor for poetic composition. In particular, the learned adjective Prusiaca and the diminutive navicula correspond to the learned, small-scale poetry esteemed by Cinna and some of his contemporaries.83 Pointedly, in the verses immediately preceding the epilogue, Statius also uses the language of sailing to discuss his poetic composition (Theb. 12.809 et mea iam longo meruit ratis aequore portum).84 Obviously, the epic poetics of the Thebaid differ from Cinna’s small-scale brand of verse, but the details should not obscure the point that Statius situates his poetry in the tradition of Roman Callimacheanism. While this dimension of Cinna’s verse has been well studied,85 the allusion in Statius’ epilogue has prompted little consideration. 78 80 81 82 83 84 85

79 Henderson (1991) 30. Nugent (1996) 70. Sonnenberg (1911) 478; Courtney (1993) 222 note the similarities. Courtney (1993) 222. Williams (1992) 179 n. 8; Courtney (1993) 222; Hinds (2001) 227. Courtney (1993) 222 comments on learned features of Cinna’s language. For sailing and poetry, see Prop. 3.9.3, Ovid, Met. 15.176, Hor., Carm. 4.15.3. Statius himself refers to the Thebaid in such terms at Silv. 4.4.89. Wiseman (1974) 50–6; Thomas (1982) 200–1.

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Attention to the reception of Callimachus has greatly benefited the interpretation of so much Roman poetry.86 Yet despite the numerous suggestions throughout his poetic corpus that invite similar study, Statius’ epic has not benefited from such work. This book aims to bridge this gap by focusing on Statius’ allusions to Callimachus and on how they illuminate his artistic design, his relationship to the literary past and ultimately an assessment of early imperial Rome. Validation can only emerge from the poem itself, to which I now turn. 86

Wimmel (1960); Thomas (1983); Myers (1994).

chapter 1

Gods, humans and the literary tradition

At the start of the Thebaid, Eteocles rules over Thebes and Polynices has been exiled. In the course of his wanderings, a terrible storm drives Polynices to the doorway of Adrastus, the king of Argos. Tydeus, who has been exiled from his native Calydon, happens to seek shelter at the entrance to the king’s house at the same time. The two young men fight over the meagre shelter, and the commotion prompts the king to investigate its cause. When Adrastus sees Polynices wearing the skin of a lion and Tydeus that of a boar, he recalls a prophecy that foretold that his daughters would marry these animals. Believing the two exiles to be his future sons-in-law, he welcomes them into the palace as a religious festival is taking place, and he then explains the origins of the ceremony to the newcomers. The ways in which this aetion illuminates its encompassing narrative and affords deep insights into the gods of the Thebaid will be the subject of this chapter. Specifically, I look at the dissolution of distinctions between heavenly and infernal deities and the implications of this unusual divine arrangement for the poem. Adrastus’ account commences with Apollo’s victory over the massive snake-monster Python that had inhabited Delphi. Such mythical fights between sky and earth gods concern the ordering of the universe, and Apollo’s victory follows the standard paradigm in which the sky-god gains control. The king does not elaborate upon that story, however, and instead relates that immediately after slaying Python, Apollo sought expiation from Crotopus in Argos. He then reveals that while staying with Crotopus, Apollo raped and impregnated his host’s daughter, Psamathe. After she gave birth, Psamathe decided to hand the child – Linus – over to a shepherd in order to escape her father’s anger.1 Linus, however, was killed by dogs, whereupon Psamathe told her father the whole story, and he had her 1

Statius never actually mentions the child’s name until Theb. 6.64. But it is clear in Theb. 1 that the child is Linus. See Knaack (1880) 14 n. 24. Nor is Psamathe mentioned by name.

25

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killed.2 In response, Apollo conjured up a monster from the underworld to terrorize Argos and destroy its children, evidently as a comfort to himself (Theb. 1.596 solacia). After the hero Coroebus attacked and destroyed the monster, the god sent a parching plague that once again led to a host of deaths in Argos. Coroebus then went to Delphi, offered himself to Apollo, and requested that in exchange the innocent Argives be left alone. The Olympian finally relented and stopped the plague, thereby prompting the Argives to celebrate. Adrastus’ aetiological account of the Argive festival in honour of Apollo thus derives from a series of troublesome interactions between humans and divinities. Although Adrastus’ aetion has been viewed as a digression,3 more frequently critics have emphasized that it is tightly connected to and reflects upon its surrounding narrative.4 For instance, the story encapsulates the troubled relations between divine and human that pervade the poem. As C. S. Lewis observed, Adrastus’ tale proclaims ‘the unambiguous inferiority of Olympian to mortal’.5 The king’s explanation also illustrates the incapacity of humans to comprehend divine action fully. William Dominik, for example, well notes that the aetion contains ‘an important message on the consequences of supernaturally incited furor that goes uncomprehended’ by characters such as Adrastus.6 This ignorance leads to a profound gap between the celebration and the actions that underlie it, thus marking another moment in a Theban story in which Apollo challenges human ability to comprehend divine plans.7 The destruction and confusion caused by Apollo overturn typical treatments of male Olympians in the opening books of epics. The plan of Zeus is mentioned in the proem of the Iliad (1.5) and guides the poem throughout. Likewise in the first book of the Aeneid, Jupiter and Neptune 2 3

4 5

6 7

Statius does not say why Psamathe is killed. Conon 19.6–7 mentions suspected prostitution as the motivation. Legras (1905) 152; Duff (1927) 473; Aric`o (1960) 277. It is well worth remembering that the model for Adrastus’ aetion – the scene in the Aeneid of Evander’s welcome of Aeneas and the subsequent account of Hercules killing Cacus – had long been regarded as ‘episodic’ (see Galinsky (1966) 18 n. 3). Critics are now unlikely to use that term to explicate any passage, since it ignores a wide range of narrative interests. Kytzler (1955) 186; Vessey (1973) 103–5; Brown (1994) 172; Dominik (1994) 63 (with further bibliography cited in n. 92); Delarue (2000) 122. Lewis (1998) 99. Lewis speaks only of Coroebus, whose heroism is not representative of most human behaviour throughout the poem. Nonetheless, Lewis’ conclusion about the aetion’s significance for understanding the gods throughout the Thebaid is valid. Dominik (1994) 63. As will be seen, readers are well aware of Adrastus’ misconceptions, creating an enormous gap between the king’s focalized narrative and the surrounding narrative. Such a depiction of Apollo’s direct involvement with humans goes beyond even his role in Sophocles’ OT, where the god plays a major – though indirect – role in the unravelling of order (e.g. 151–7, 203, 1329–30).

Gods, humans and the literary tradition

27

create a sense of order out of chaos. Moreover, the initial books of epics often feature assemblies of the gods that afford important insights into the divinities – and particularly Jupiter (cf. Il. 1.493–611; Od. 1.26–95). Statius, however, builds upon Ovidian precedent (Met. 1.163–252) and depicts an assembly that reveals a Jupiter who seeks to destroy humans.8 The aetion about Apollo reinforces the problematic nature of the Olympians in the Thebaid. Little attention has been paid to the literary underpinnings of Statius’ treatment of his divinities.9 In this chapter, I argue that Statius models his aetion about Apollo upon earlier scenes from Virgilian and Homeric epic in which the god – or an analogue – brings about order and stability. These allusions reinforce the expectation of order created by the employment of a representative myth of the fight between Olympian and chthonic deities. Since Apollo brings about chaos and disorder, these expectations are defeated. Statius confounds expectations in part by building upon treatments of Apollo and the Delphic oracle in Lucan and Ovid, but most of all by reworking the poetry of Callimachus, who related the story of Coroebus, Linus and Apollo in the Aetia (F 28–34 Massimilla). Moreover, Statius’ adaptation of this aetion epitomizes poetic strategies that run throughout the Thebaid. That is, allusions to generic models create expectations that are not realized as the narrative unfolds, and the defeat of these expectations often stems from Statius’ use of Callimachus’ poetry. These conflicting narrative interests recapitulate the conflict that lies at the heart of the Thebaid.10 The aetion thus anticipates – or even sets up – an uncertainty that pervades the epic about the relevance and efficacy of generic paradigms. Since the Aeneid provides the most important model for Adrastus’ tale, it seems most useful to start by looking at the influence of that Virgilian account upon the aetion in the Thebaid. evander and ad rast us Statius modeled the arrival of Polynices and Tydeus at Adrastus’ palace upon the scene in which Aeneas reaches Evander’s city in Aeneid 8.11 For 8 9

10

11

Schubert (1984) 75–101; Aric`o (2002) 172–3. For the gods in the Thebaid and the massive secondary literature concerning them, see the excellent discussion by Feeney (1991) 337–91; Legras (1905) 157–205, Schetter (1960) 5–29, Burck (1979) 334–43 and Schubert (1984) also discuss the gods. Henderson (1991) 30–80 forcefully illustrates the inherent conflict in the Thebaid. Statius had much precedent for such narrative interests, since Roman epics contain a great deal of internal conflict. See, e.g., Hardie (1990) 229. Eissfeldt (1904) 413; Legras (1905) 38; Schetter (1960) 82–4; Burck (1979) 309–10; Brown (1994) 166– 8. There are also differences between the two scenes: Statius modifies Virgil’s account by depicting

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instance, Pallas begins his question to Aeneas and his comrades with the words iuvenes, quae causa . . . (Aen. 8.112), and Adrastus asks quae causa furoris / externi iuvenes (Theb. 1.438–9). The newcomers in each poem are then fed a meal after which the king explains the ritual that is taking place. Statius’ prefatory rex ait (Theb. 1.559) derives from the Virgilian rex Evandrus ait (Aen. 8.185). The kings then utter similar words: Adrastus’ non inscia suasit / relligio (Theb. 1.559–60) echoes Evander’s non . . . vana superstitio veterumque ignara deorum / imposuit (Aen. 8.185–8).12 In addition to the verbal similarities, there are thematic parallels. Both kings state that the rites celebrate deliverance from great troubles (Aen. 8.188 saevis . . . periculis; Theb. 1.560 magnis . . . cladibus), and the descendants of the two kings joyfully react to the elimination of this danger.13 Finally, each aetiological story is followed by a hymn to a god (Aen. 8.285–302; Theb. 1.696–720). More significantly, the aetia that are related by the two kings are mythological analogues. Evander tells Aeneas that Hercules defeated the monster called Cacus. This fight represents the struggle between chaos and order: Cacus is an evil chthonic force that is countered by the redeeming Olympian Hercules, whose victory purports to establish order and control in the universe.14 So too Adrastus’ aetion about Apollo’s destruction of Python concerns a struggle between Olympian god and chthonic force. Indeed, Apollo’s tussle with Python is a paradigmatic example of the duel between heavenly and earthly divinities over control of the universe.15 The mythological link between the two stories is reinforced by the fact that the Virgilian hymn to Hercules (Aen. 8.285–302) recalls the song celebrating Apollo and his victory over Delphynes (=Python) that is sung by Orpheus

12 13 14

15

Argos as wealthy, a pointed contrast to the humble nature of Evander’s Rome. In this scene, Statius also recalls the arrival of Aeneas at Dido’s palace in Aen. 1. See Heuvel (1932) 283. Heuvel (1932) 243; Vessey (1973) 102. Legras (1905) 38. Both passages also contain an infinitival form of the verb explere (Aen. 8.265; Theb. 1.623). Fontenrose (1959) 342–4 discusses the cosmic implications of Hercules’ struggle with Cacus. For Cacus as chthonic force, see Galinsky (1966) 38; Lyne (1989) 128–9. Cacus is also an autochtonous divinity who is overthrown by Hercules, and thus pointedly prefigures Aeneas’ fight with the Italians. Hardie (1986) 110–18 well demonstrates that Virgil specifically couches this fight as a Gigantomachic conflict in which Olympians fight for control of the universe against the Titans or Giants. Fontenrose (1959) addresses the slaying of Python and its universal significance. h. Ap. 300–87 well represents the cosmic implications of Apollo’s actions; see Clay (1989) 70–2 and Miller (1986) 87–8. For the struggle between god and dragon in cosmogonic myths, see Burkert (1999) 98. Strictly speaking, Statius’ account is not cosmogonic in the sense that it concerns the origins of the universe (nor is Virgil’s Hercules and Cacus episode, for that matter). Burkert (1999) 87 also notes the paucity of actual cosmogonies in Greek and Roman myth.

Gods, humans and the literary tradition

29

in Apollonius’ Argonautica (2.698–713).16 Moreover, Hercules’ crushing of the snakes sent by Juno (Aen. 8.288–9) parallels the destruction of the serpent by the young god Apollo (Arg. 2.706–7).17 The Apollonian and Virgilian villains also terrorize the inhabitants and livestock of the lands in which they dwell.18 Hercules thus parallels Apollo, and the subject matter of the aetion related by Adrastus underscores the verbal parallels between the Statian and Virgilian episodes. ovid’s py thon Statius also alludes to the Ovidian treatment of Apollo’s defeat of Python (Met. 1.436–51). Ovid recounts this story after relating the flood and the subsequent restoration of human life by Deucalion and Pyrrha (Met. 1.400– 28). The juxtaposition of the scene in which the earth is repopulated with an episode in which Apollo eradicates the chthonic force that was a terror (Met. 1.438–40) reinforces the cosmic significance of the combat.19 In gratitude to the god, a religious festival – the Pythian games – is created. Ovid’s account thus functions as an aetion (Met. 1.445–9), just as in the Thebaid the killing of Python contributes to the establishment of the rite whose origins are recounted by Adrastus. Furthermore, Ovid immediately turns from the victory over the snake to Apollo’s pursuit of Daphne, and Statius’ narrative progression similarly segues from triumph to the rape of Psamathe. Statius’ diction also recalls that of Ovid’s episode. His noun terrigenam (Theb. 1.563) evokes Ovid’s description of Python’s birth from the earth 16

17

18 19

Conington (1871) 109; Eden (1975) 97. Stephens (2003a) 211 n. 100 notes the association between Hercules and Apollo in Apollonius as well. While the hymns are similar, Fontenrose (1959) 358 notes that Hercules’ defeat of Cacus is a mythic analogue to Apollo’s defeat of Python. Galinsky (1966) 45. Moreover, Virgil’s diction associates Cacus with the serpentine creatures that are the traditional foes of Olympians (Galinsky (1966) 47). Nelis (2001) 360–4 enumerates further parallels between Virgil and Apollonius. Hardie (1986) 111 n. 68. B¨omer (1969) 133. The order and control brought by Ovid’s Apollo seem to be destabilized through generic terms, however. Cosmogonic histories operate in an epic tradition that stretches back to Hesiodic epic (Myers (1994) 7–9). Since Ovid begins his epic with Chaos (Met. 1.7), he recalls Hesiod (Theog. 116         ) and situates his cosmogonies in such a tradition. Moreover, Apollo’s epithet arquitenens (Met. 1.441) evokes Naevius (FPL 24) and Aeneid 3.75 and thus lends additional epic flavour to the passage. So too fortibus armis (Met. 1.456) and the description of Python as tumidum (Met. 1.460) are redolent of epic; see Myers (1994) 61–2). Yet less than ten lines after slaying Python, Apollo runs into Cupid who then shoots Apollo with an arrow and drives Apollo to desire Daphne. Ovid transforms Apollo from an epic hero to a frustrated elegiac lover (Knox (1986) 17 notes the elegiac dimensions of Apollo in the Daphne episode). Indeed, the entire encounter between Cupid and Apollo evokes elegiac discourse (Knox (1986) 14–17). The epic achievements of Apollo are thus juxtaposed with his elegiac loss of control: in the process, hierarchies are put forth only to be challenged. See Otis (1970); Nicoll (1980); Wills (1990).

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(Met. 1.434–9 . . . tellus . . . nova monstra creavit. Illa quidem nollet, sed te quoque, maxime Python, tum genuit), and his account of the wounds that the snake received (Theb. 1.567 absumptis numerosa in vulnera telis) echoes Ovid’s depiction of the injured Python (Met. 1.460 innumeris tumidum Pythona sagittis).20 Also, like Ovid (Met. 1.459), Statius uses the word iugera to emphasize the amount of space the snake took up (Theb. 1.568). Finally, a suggestive point of contact between Statius and Ovid occurs before Adrastus even begins. Statius relates that the band of slaves and friends who celebrate Apollo’s rite wear leaves that are pudica (Theb. 1.553–5 Phoebum . . . ciet comitum famulumque evincta pudica / fronde manus). Though the type of leaves is not specified, it is safe to assume they are laurel because of the tree’s associations with Apollo.21 In addition, the description of these leaves as ‘chaste’ or ‘sexually pure’ points to a specific moment in Apollo’s past, specifically Daphne’s refusal of Apollo’s sexual assault and her subsequent transformation into a laurel tree. Statius’ description of the leaves thus seems to nod towards Ovid’s account,22 and it allusively augments the other allusions that mark the importance of Ovid’s epic for Adrastus’ aetion. aetiological ex pectat ions These universal myths about the struggles of Apollo and Hercules against chthonic divinities bear upon the human realm. As Walter Burkert puts it, ‘cosmogony ends in the installation of religious hierarchy which gives legitimation also to earthly power.’23 The clash between Hercules and Cacus indeed has an impact upon humans because they are delivered from danger (Aen. 8.188; 201) and benefit from the emergence of early Roman commercial and religious areas – the Ara Maxima and Forum Boarium – in the place where the fight occurred. The transformed physical space functions as a tangible symbol of Roman prosperity and growth. Moreover, Hercules’ 20 21

22

23

Heuvel (1932) 245 notes another similarity in Ovid’s mille gravem telis exhausta paene pharetra (Met. 1.443). The laurel is ubiquitously associated with Delphi: the first temple at Delphi was supposedly made of laurel (Paus. 10.5.9); Euripides refers to the trees in the sacred precinct (Ion 76) and branches at the entrance of the temple (Ion 80); and the Pythia supposedly chewed laurel leaves before delivering the oracle (Lucian, Bis Acc. 1). Heuvel (1932) 242 notes the Ovidian precedent. Knox (1990) 183–202 discusses other ancient accounts of the Apollo and Daphne story. In addition, the fact that both Ovid and Statius address the story of Python, which, despite the fact that it was common in Greek literature (e.g. h. Ap.), was rare in Latin, further connects the two passages. According to Tertullian, Pindar and Callimachus had Apollo put on a laurel crown after slaying Python (Aetia F 89 Pf.), so it is possible that Statius’ and Ovid’s juxtaposition of laurel and the Python-slaying may have had some sort of Callimachean colouring. Burkert (1999) 102.

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defeat of Cacus symbolically anticipates Aeneas’ vanquishing of Turnus, and is thus further suggestive of the advance of the Roman cause.24 Ovid also connects – perhaps speciously – the story of Apollo’s attempted rape of Daphne to Roman hegemony when he has Apollo say that the laurel will be present at military triumphs (Met. 1.560–5).25 Of course, everything is not simple in these stories of monster-killing. Fontenrose suggests that ‘both creative and destructive forces are mingled on both sides of the divine combat. So myth is nearer to reality in this respect than that sort of partisanship in life or that sort of melodrama in literature which pits pure good on one side against pure evil on the other.’26 The general point is correct, even if literature presents more problems than Fontenrose allows. To take Virgil’s account, Hercules blurs the distinctions between Olympian and Giant. Denis Feeney, for instance, suggests that Hercules’ tremendous violence is ‘an attempt to attain to the status of divinity, and any such attempt is fraught with terrible moral hazard, always susceptible of being represented as gigantesque.’27 So too Ovid disturbs the seemingly straightforward aetion involving the Pythian games by immediately turning to Daphne’s unfortunate fate at the hands of Apollo.28 Pure good and evil are thus hard to find even in literature, but the aetiological accounts found in the Aeneid and the Metamorphoses nonetheless present the benefits of divine action that lead to tangible markers – however ambiguous they may be – of order and civilization. Statius’ allusions to similar myths in his Roman predecessors thus raises expectations that the aetion about the Olympian triumph over a chthonic power will also lead to civic enrichment. lucan’s delphi Statius’ mythic aetion differs from those found in Virgil and Ovid, however, because the god’s victory over Python and then his sexual transgressions 24

25 26 27

28

Buchheit (1963) 120–33. The violence and fury of Hercules and Aeneas have prompted various reactions (e.g. Galinsky (1966) 41; Cairns (1989) 82–4; Feeney (1991) 159–61; Thomas (1991) 261), and it is unnecessary here to enter into a debate that is all too familiar to readers of the Aeneid. The Roman associations of Hercules’ conflict with Cacus is even deeper since Octavian celebrated Hercules’ rites at the Ara Maxima on 12 August 29 bc – the anniversary of Hercules’ advent in Rome – and then celebrated his own triple triumph the next day. Barchiesi (2005) 144–6 notes that the Seleucids seem to have used the myth of Daphne in politically expedient ways, and thus potentially offered Ovid a precedent. Fontenrose (1959) 473; Burkert (1999) 104. Feeney (1991) 159–60; O’ Hara (1994) 219–22. Indeed, even in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo there is a degree of uncertainty in the achieved order; see Clay (1989) 72. For a more general assessment of the precarious nature of the established order in these myths, see Burkert (1999) 104. Wheeler (1999) 201–2 discusses Daphne’s position in the narrative. See also Otis (1970) 101–4.

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lead to the punishment of innocent children and civic chaos. And for this perversion of the Delphic myth, Statius owes much to Lucan, who had thoroughly overturned typical accounts of Delphi and its oracle.29 For instance, in order to indicate the wickedness of the Thessalian battleground on which Pompey and Caesar fight, Lucan mentions that the Python came from there to Delphi (BC 6.395 hac tellure feri micuerunt semina Martis). Lucan also compares the clash between Apollo and Python to the civil war between Pompey and Caesar (BC 7.144).30 Yet the poet renders inoperative the conventional pattern of mythic order: in the wicked struggle between Caesar and Pompey, Caesar wins and disrupts the cosmic arrangement by entering into the Olympian pantheon.31 This troubling treatment of the Delphic myth coheres with the state of decay into which the oracle has fallen. When Appius goes to consult the oracle about the outcome of the civil war (BC 5.80), the prophetess states that the oracle is no longer functioning. One explanation she offers for the malfunctioning site is that the ashes of the burnt Python clogged the chasm from which the priestess receives inspiration (BC 5.134–6). The narrator had anticipated her view that humans can no longer access the divine when it was revealed that rulers had destroyed the oracle’s function (BC 5.111–14). However, Appius disregards such comments and compels the priestess to foretell the future of the world, but he is given only a disingenuous account of his own prospects. In Lucan’s poem, then, the killing of Python and the subsequent establishment of Apollo’s oracle no longer represent conventional – though hardly straightforward – means for humans to learn of divine plans. The god’s precinct has become dysfunctional, and illustrates both that the hierarchy of the universe has been disturbed and that there are troubled relations between gods and humans. Statius’ transition from Apollo’s defeat of Python to widespread death and disorder builds upon Lucan’s troubled depiction of Delphi. Parallels between the two accounts are clear: each poem contains an aetion (cf. BC 6.409 unde et Thessalicae veniunt ad Pythia laurus),32 and then recounts the disastrous results of Apollo’s victory. And at the level of diction, a form of the verb explicare used by Statius in conjunction with Apollo’s destruction of the snake (Theb. 1.569 vix tandem explicitum) evokes Lucan’s version of the slaying of Python (BC 5.81 explicuit).33 29 30 31 32 33

Masters (1992) 91–149 is a full discussion of Lucan’s Delphic episode. Lucan persistently uses fights between heavenly and chthonic forces to underscore the strife between Pompey and Caesar. See Feeney (1991) 297. Henderson (1987) 145; Feeney (1991) 297. On the unusual location of the snake’s origins in Thessaly, see Masters (1992) 175–6. Barratt (1979) 31.

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callim achus, delphi and apollo in t he t h e b a i d Statius’ perversion of the standard mythic account of Apollo’s victory does not draw solely upon Lucan. It is Apollo’s pursuit of expiation and his rape of Crotopus’ daughter (Theb. 1.575) that undoes the conventional myth, and this material comes from Callimachus’ Aetia. Curiously, Statius seemingly ignores Callimachus’ own handling of Apollo’s expiation after the killing of Python (Aetia F 87–9 Pfeiffer), and instead turns to the story of Linus, Apollo and Coroebus that was told in the first book of the Aetia (Aetia F 28–34 Massimilla). The joining of these two stories about Apollo is unusual. Indeed, Statius was evidently the first author to link Apollo’s quest for expiation with his visit to Crotopus’ house,34 and he may even advertise the novelty of his account when he claims that Apollo went to Crotopus’ seeking a ‘new expiation’ (Theb. 1.569 nova piacula). The adjective seems to indicate self-referentially that the upcoming narrative uniquely reworks previous accounts of the expiation.35 Callimachean practices and ideals shape Statius’ scene. Not only are both aetia concerning Linus related in the opening book of their respective poems, but Crotopus’ reception of a god (or hero) in a humble house (Theb. 1.570 tecta haud opulenta) brings to mind the Callimachean scenes involving characters such as Hecale and Molorcus.36 In addition, once Apollo enters the house, Statius’ narrative quickly moves away from the god’s need for expiation and concentrates on the interaction between him and his human hosts. In Callimachus’ account of Apollo’s actions after his victory, the god purifies himself in the waters of Peneios and then is welcomed with a feast by the Deipnians. If, as happens elsewhere in his poetry, Callimachus devoted more attention to an unfamiliar detail (such as the feast with the Deipnians) surrounding famous mythic activity rather than in the feat itself, he may have offered Statius a precedent for making the conventional myth subordinate to the reception scene. Details surrounding Psamathe’s abandonment of her child reveal specific links between Statius and Callimachus: 34 35

36

Conon and Pausanias (1.43.7) offer no explanation for the reason behind Apollo’s meeting with Psamathe. Ironically, the story of Apollo and Crotopus was written in elegiac couplets upon the grave of Coroebus and – together with a visual image of Coroebus’ slaying of Poine – formed, according to Pausanias (1.43.8), the oldest images in the Greek world. Statius’ nova piacula is thus particularly marked. Hinds (1987) 112–13 discusses the poetic resonance of some Ovidian examples of humble dwellings.

34

Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War . . . ac poenae metuens – neque enim ille coactis donasset thalamis veniam pater – avia rura eligit ac natum saepta inter ovilia furtim montivago pecoris custodi mandat alendum. non tibi digna, puer, generis cunabula tanti gramineos dedit herba toros et vimine querno texta domus; Theb. 1.578–84

And fearing punishment – for that father would not have forgiven forced sex – she chose the pathless country and among the sheepfolds secretly surrenders her child to be raised by a shepherd who roams the hills. Child, your home was woven out of pliant oak branches and the grass provided you a bed on the turf, a cradle unequal to your grand lineage.

Scholars have long seen that this particular passage is indebted to Callimachus’ story of Linus and Coroebus.37 According to Statius, Linus was raised in sheep pens (saepta inter ovilia), a detail that alludes to Callimachus’ phrase ‘lambs, child, were your playmates and your chums, the pens and pastures your bed’ (Aetia Massimilla 1.28.1–2  , ! ", #  $%, / , &'(  ) ( *).38 The address to the child, preceded by the dative case of the second person singular pronoun (tibi . . . puer), replicates Callimachus’ diction (Aetia 1.28.1 , ! "). In addition, after Linus is killed and Apollo sends his punishment against the Argives, Statius mentions that nurses lose their babies to the monster: haec tum dira lues nocturno squalida passu inlabi thalamis, animasque a stirpe recentes abripere altricum gremiis morsuque cruento devesci et multum patrio pinguescere luctu. Theb. 1.601–4

In its nightly wandering, this destructive, filthy pest creeps into bedrooms and tears newborns from their nurses’ breasts. It then devours them with bloody teeth and gorges itself on the nations’ grief.

This detail corresponds to the Callimachean verse in which mothers are said to have become bereft of their children and nurses of their charges 37 38

Knaack (1880) 14–28; Heuvel (1932) 250; Aric`o (1960); Vessey (1973) 101; Delarue (2000) 121–3. The lambs in Callimachus’ account have aetiological import for the name of an Argive month (Aetia 1.28.1 +% ).

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(Aetia 1.30.14    &, -, &.!'  '/).39 Finally, Psamathe surrenders Linus in the pathless woods (Theb. 1.579 avia rura). This location may activate a Callimachean metaphor, particularly since it contrasts strongly with Statius’ description of the path to Thebes as a notum iter (Theb. 1.101), a phrase that metapoetically indicates the well-established place of the Theban saga in poetry.40 Since the stories of Linus and Oedipus are similiar,41 it is tempting to conceive of these different ‘paths’ in poetic terms: the pathless countryside in which Linus is found has good Callimachean credentials,42 and forms a stark contrast to the well-discussed Theban story. The distinct characterization of each story about the abandoned child may thus hint at the two different poetic traditions that lie behind them. The narrative sequence in Adrastus’ aetion also seems to cohere with the course of events in the Aetia. After the account of Linus’ sleeping quarters, Statius relates that dogs killed Linus (Theb. 1.587–90), and that because of her outstanding grief, Psamathe confessed her entire story to her father (Theb. 1.590–4). Next, Crotopus kills his daughter (Theb. 1.594–5), and Apollo retaliates by sending a monstrum that destroys Argive babies. The tattered state of the Aetia precludes certainty about what connection Callimachus drew between the fragments describing Linus’ bed among the lambs and those preserving the remainder of the story, but Rudolph Pfeiffer posited a plausibly reconstructed narrative of the Aetia that is replicated by the sequence of events in the Thebaid.43 Pfeiffer proposed that once Linus dies (Aetia 1.30.3 ' . . .), Callimachus mentions the young girl Psamathe (Aetia 1.30.10 .!

) and calls Crotopus a child-killer (Aetia 1.30.11  !0-1). Apollo then sends Poine against the Argives (Aetia 1.30.12 2 & +[ ), after which Callimachus mentions the nurses who lose their charges (Aetia 1.30.14). Though the arrangement of the Callimachean narrative cannot be established with certainty, it does seem to parallel Statius’ sequence. Statius’ rewriting of the Callimachean aetion matters because it is the visit to Crotopus’ house that leads to the perversion of the results conventionally 39 40 41 42 43

Pausanias and Conon do not mention nurses. Pausanias simply states that Poine snatched children from their mothers (1.43.7 .  3 %  4 5   - !( 67). Henderson (1991) 41 notes the literary-historical suggestions of the phrase. Vessey (1973) 105 points out similarities in the stories. Dominik (1994) 66 n. 96 objects to the idea that Linus recalls Oedipus, but I follow Vessey. One may think of the ‘untrodden paths’ that are mentioned at Aetia 1.1.27–8. Callimachus, Aetia F 26 (Pfeiffer) is of particular importance. He draws upon Ovid’s Ibis 573–6, Statius, and Greek epigram to reconstruct the narrative. Massimilla (1996) 304–5 essentially follows Pfeiffer’s account. Frazel (2002) 90 n. 11 succinctly captures parallels in narrative chronology between Ovid and Callimachus.

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achieved in the mythic combat between god and dragon.44 For example, the deaths of Psamathe and Linus prompt Apollo to send Punishment against the Argives.45 This creature is tellingly called a monstrum from the underworld (Theb. 1.597–8 Phoebe, paras monstrum infandis Acheronte sub imo / conceptum Eumenidum thalamis; cf. 1.637), a characterization that mirrors that of the chthonic Python (Theb. 1.562 monstri).46 Apollo’s punishment of Argos thus undoes his earlier slaying of Python by unleashing on humans another chthonic force. Even more worrisome from a mythic perspective is that Apollo’s fight with Python results in an alliance between Olympian and chthonic forces. Rather than using that mythic struggle to delineate divine hierarchies, Statius employs it in a way that jumbles any distinctions. This confusion reflects a central theme of the Thebaid, namely that the Olympians use hell to destroy Thebes, but in so doing, they lose control over the cosmos. Jupiter, for instance, had sent Mercury to the underworld in order to have the shade of Laius stir up war in Thebes (Theb. 1.292–302), and Oedipus’ speech at the start of the Thebaid suggests that in some ways Tisiphone has supplanted Jupiter.47 Since this divine struggle for control will persist throughout the epic,48 Adrastus’ aetion about Apollo and the monstrum recapitulates and crystallizes the problematic nature of Olympus in the Thebaid. Statius’ cosmogonic scene leads to perverse events on earth as well because the installation of the Olympian hierarchy in the Thebaid does not lead to any collective benefit. In fact, Apollo kills children and begins a cycle of violence and destruction. Virgil and Ovid accenctuate earthly power through Olympian triumph,49 but Statius’ reworking of Callimachus’ poetry creates a markedly different scenario, and a very different Olympus. The mythic 44

45

46 47 48 49

The significance of the allusions has been ignored. When discussing Statius’ use of Callimachus, for example, Vessey (1973) 101 states that ‘. . . to name the source of the story-material does not explain why Statius chose to insert this particular myth at this point.’ Vessey is right that the study of allusion does not equal source criticism, but he then oddly abandons further analysis of Statius’ engagement with Callimachus. Pausanias (1.43.7) indicates that Apollo sent personified ‘Revenge’ against the Argives, though it is possible that the monster Apollo sends in the Thebaid is not a personified creature but just ‘poena’, i.e. ‘a punishment’. The word monstrum also punctuates the Apollo/Python and Hercules/Cacus passages from the Metamorphoses (1.437) and Aeneid (8.198). Feeney (1991) 346–53 analyses the interrelation between heaven and hell – and Jupiter and Tisiphone – in the Thebaid. As Feeney (1991) 345 puts it, a tension runs throughout the Thebaid ‘as to where the centre of gravity resides’. Burkert (1999) 102 discusses cosmogonies and the establishment of hierarchies that legitimate earthly stability.

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material that owes a debt to the Aetia disrupts the theological vision of earlier epic, and the scene thus follows Lucan’s lead in suggesting that cosmogonic struggles do not lead to human benefit, or to dramatic change. Rather, hazards that replicate earlier troubles emerge and illustrate that humans are continually plagued. The Argive story is thus relevant to Thebes, which is also subject to recurring violence. And in terms of the poems’ design, the aetion evokes standard treatments of epic divinities only to pervert them and to defeat the realization of generic expectations. Within its own narrative, then, the epic contains a struggle that stems from the expectations created by the evocation of generic models and the subsequent failure to realize these expectations. linus and poetic inheritance That the aetion related by Adrastus concerns Linus lends special point to Statius’ engagement with the literary past. There were two Linuses, one of whom was an infant who died in the Argolid, the other a Boeotian singer/musician (or even teacher).50 Although the two Linuses are clearly different, the myths about them were malleable and interchangeable. Propertius, for example, applies the adjective Inachio (‘Argive’) to Linus the singer/poet, thereby conflating the youth and the artist (2.13.8).51 Linus thus connects the two Greek geographical regions – Argos and Boeotia – that are about to join in battle when Polynices marries Argia.52 In addition to geographic significance, Linus is central to literary genealogies. As the son of Apollo, his song possessed a divine heritage and he himself figures prominently in accounts of poetic lineage. For example, Virgil has Linus transmit the poetic past to Gallus:53 dixerit: ‘hos tibi dant calamos – en accipe – Musae Ascraeo quos ante seni quibus ille solebat cantando rigidas deducere montibus ornos. his tibi Grynei nemoris dicatur origo ne qui sit lucus quo se plus iactet Apollo.’ Eclogue 6.69–73 50 51 52

53

Brown (1994) 176–82 discusses the Linus myth and its variants. See also Ross (1975) 21–36. Ross (1975) 35–6. Statius’ exploitation of geographic links between Boeotia and the Peloponnese is also exemplified through his awareness of Callimachus’ treatment of the Asopus, as will be seen in chapter four. Ross (1975) 23–38 explores this highly charged scene in detail, and at 118–20 he also points out the poetic importance of Linus in Propertius 2.13.

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He said: ‘The Muses give you – take them – these pipes which earlier belonged to Hesiod and with which he used to lead down tall ash trees from the mountains by singing. With these pipes let the origin of the Grynean grove be told by you, in order that there there be no grove in which Apollo exalts himself more greatly.

Though it is the mythical Linus who hands over the pipes to Gallus, the influence of actual poets permeates this passage. For instance, Virgil’s modification of the gifts the Muses gave to Hesiod (pipes, not the laurel branch) marks a specific interest in pastoral poetry.54 Also, Servius noted that the Grynean grove is a subject Gallus took over from Euphorion.55 Further, Virgil had earlier used a form of deducere in his reformulation of Callimachus’ ‘refined Muse’ (Aetia 1.1.24 8 9" . . .  ),56 and this poetically charged context suggests that it has poetic significance here as well. For certain, the phrase ne qui sit lucus quo se plus iactet Apollo is a clear allusion to Callimachus.57 Linus thus transmits the literary heritage – in which Callimachus’ poetry figures prominently – to Gallus. Strikingly, Callimachus’ own aetion about Linus displays a similar interest in poetic inheritance, though he seems to discuss his own – rather than another poet’s – poetry and its relationship to predecessors. A Pindaric scholiast assigns to Callimachus the pentameter that contains the words ‘the story woven to the wand’ (Aetia 1.30.5 Massimilla ( 4 &( :* -; "' ) has poetic undertones,58 and thus the masculine speaker, either an embedded narrator or the narrator Callimachus, discusses his reception and articulation of the literary past. Epic seems to be the particular focus since :*  is associated with rhapsodic performance,59 which, as Susan Stephens has noted, entails the ‘combining of various songs into one “text” or performance’.60 Callimachus, then, refers to a poetic story – and an epic one by all indications – as something that is received by his narrator who then weaves together disparate tales.61 The programmatic significance of this passage is suggested by the adverb ‘continually’ (= ), which harks 54 55

56 57 58 59

Clausen (1994) 203. The details of Servius’ statement are well-debated. Lightfoot (1999) 59–67 rehearses the arguments. The relevant point for my argument is simply that the layers of poetic lineage surrounding the Grynean Grove are lengthy. Massimilla (1996) 217 is a recent, straightforward discussion of both Virgil’s verses and the bibliography on Virgil’s well-scrutinized allusions to Callimachus. Coleman (1977) 198; Clausen (1994) 204. Massimilla (1996) 303; D’Alessio (1996) 409 n. 91. 60 Stephens (2003b) 22. 61 Ibid. Cf. Pindar I. 4.37–9 and N. 2.1.

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back to the highly charged prologue and the Telchines’ complaint that Callimachus does not write one continuous (   ) song.62 This claim may answer that charge in the sense that it calls attention to a different type of narrative continuity.63 For certain, Callimachus’ aetion contained an important statement about his reception of the epic past and its relationship to his particular narrative style. Statius adopted the metaphor of weaving from Callimachus’ story of Linus and Coroebus. Later in the Thebaid, an image of Linus is prominently featured on the funerary adornments of the child Opheltes: summa crepant auro, Tyrioque attollitur ostro molle supercilium, teretes hoc undique gemmae inradiant, medio Linus intertextus acantho letiferique canes: opus admirabile semper oderat atque oculos flectebat ab omine mater. Theb. 6.62–6

The top part of the bier clatters from the gold, and a soft overhang of Tyrian purple rises, and polished jewels illuminate this on all sides. Linus and the deadly dogs are woven into the middle among acanthus. The mother always hated this incredible work and always turned her eyes from the omen.

Since weaving is a frequent metaphor for poetic composition in Latin as well as in Greek,64 the word intertextus works on a literary level, virtually glossing Callimachus’ word ( / . In his On Literary Composition (Usener-Radermacher 2.98.9), Dionysius writes that Antimachus and Empedocles are the epic poets who excelled in the so-called austere style, which admits harsh and dissonant collocations (2.96.15–19 @  @/' @/J ( . % *% L  L/J ! , Y  5   ' - & Z  '- [ 8 ,  * , (  ( L@ ). See the discussion by Krevans (1993) 158 of Dionysius’ characterization of Antimachus’ epic style and sound as it may apply to Antimachus’ Lyde: ‘Antimachus . . . writes in a severe style characterized by harsh combinations of sounds.’ Demetrius Laco may also characterize Antimachus in such a way, if Romeo’s conjecture at Philodemus De poet. 2 col. 7, 11–12 is correct.

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work on this catalyst of war since as early as Ennius she throws open the gates of war (Ennius, Ann. 225–6 Skutsch). Despite the efficacy of these abstractions, they are negated at the end of the poem by the Athenian Altar of Clemency, which receives the Argive women seeking burial for their dead husbands. Statius reveals that irae are far removed from the altar (Theb. 12.504), and though editors print the word with a lower case ‘i’, it is nonetheless reasonable to think of the personified Irae that have caused problems throughout the poem. Similarly the fact that the grieving Argive women find some comfort at the Altar illustrates that Luctus and Dolor can be overcome. While the end of the epic offers a way to handle such forces and their influence on human lives, that later scene illustrates that in this description of Argia’s necklace, Statius unveils the forces that drive his troubled epic. close Argia’s necklace is a synecdoche for the larger narrative, but Statius presents this work and the narrative itself as a well-known and pre-existing story developed by predecessors. Indeed, by making the necklace the origin of evil in the Theban household and by linking it with the actual origin of Thebes, Statius has it determine and represent the poem’s structure and narrative. That form was put in place by Vulcan, the Cyclopes and the Telchines, all of whom represent similar poetic values. The Telchines, Callimachus’ poetic enemies, are practitioners of grandiose poetry and participate in the construction of a necklace that, though small and intricately made, is a symbol of a long chronicle of internecine strife. Because they create harsh, large-scale objects, the Cyclopes may also be read as anti-Callimachean. But Vulcan’s desire for revenge is the driving force behind the creation of the necklace, and his designs generate the narrative of violence. To return to Hollander’s assessment of ekphraseis, then, Argia’s necklace does indeed provide profound insights into the Thebaid’s poetic structure and theme. However, the necklace and its makers represent only one narrative strategy, one way of making fictions. In later books of the Thebaid, Statius alludes to Callimachus in ways that counter this ‘Telchinic’ strategy, specifically by delaying and creating alternative poetic possibilities. These vying narrative strategies produce an internal literary conflict that reflects both the conflict of the house of Oedipus, and the conflict between the Telchines and Callimachus that is famously depicted in the Aetia prologue. The next chapter looks at the development of this Callimachean narrative that relates aetiologies and consequently postpones war.

chapter 3

Nemea

Mars unwittingly does the work of Vulcan when he ignores Venus’ request for delay and rushes off to incite the Argives to march against Thebes (Theb. 3.273). The movement of characters within a work often corresponds to the advancement of the narrative itself,1 and in the Thebaid the Argives’ advance towards Thebes does indeed symbolize the narrative interest in war. However, Venus’ point that delay is an alternative to war does not disappear. In fact, she articulates a narrative struggle that pervades the epic but is especially prominent throughout the Nemean episode of Thebaid 4–6.2 When the Argive troops pass through Nemea, Bacchus dries up all sources of water and the army suffers a parching thirst. They meet Hypsipyle, who leads them to a stream where they refresh themselves. As the Argives are about to resume their march, however, they ask Hypsipyle who she is. She reveals her identity and tells them about the massacre that was perpetrated by the Lemnian women against their husbands and fathers that led to her departure from the island, whereupon she was captured by pirates and ended up as a nurse for the baby of king Lycurgus. She had just placed this child, Opheltes (also called Archemorus), in the grass before leading the Argives to the stream. While she recounts her story to the troops, the child is touched by the scales of a massive snake and dies. Opheltes is buried and funeral games are held in his honour before the Argives continue their advance on Thebes. Throughout the nearly 1,900 verses in which the army lingers at Nemea, Statius persistently signals that this episode delays the march and thus the progression of the narrative towards the decisive duel. Such a strategy is standard epic practice.3 The Iliad patiently keeps Achilles and Hector away from one another. Juno wants to postpone Lavinia’s marriage to Aeneas (Aen. 7.315 at trahere atque moras tantis licet addere rebus), and the second 1 2

Goldhill (1991) 287 discusses the journey of Odysseus and its relation to progress of the narrative. 3 Barchiesi (1997b) 278. Wetherbee (1988) 75 well discusses delay in the Thebaid.

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half of the epic is full of the kinds of delays that the goddess desires.4 Lucan too postpones the combat between Pompey and Caesar.5 However, each work creates such delays in distinct ways. In the case of the Thebaid, Statius brings the Argive march to a halt by patently drawing upon the aetiological account of the Nemean games offered by Callimachus at the start of Aetia 3. This reworking of Callimachean aetiological material has an impact upon both the story and the narrative itself in that it stops the army’s advance on Thebes and deflects the narrative away from martial themes. The Nemean episode thus provides a counterpoint to the martial agenda devised by Vulcan and his assistants. Such a conflict between dilatory and goal-oriented narratives – a ‘dynamics of dilation’ – often results in a dialogue (or even competition) between poetic strategies that generate distinct readings.6 In the workings of the Thebaid, the Callimachean underpinning of these different modes of reading is clear: the teleological narrative that aims to destroy Thebes was generated by Vulcan, the Telchines and the Cyclopes, whereas allusions to Callimachus’ poetry create an extended aetion that retards the goal-oriented narrative. Specifically, this aetion about the death of a child deflates the realization of heroic warfare. The poem thus has conflicting narrative strategies, and reflects in its very fibres the theme of intestine conflict.7 This chapter focuses on the creation of this poetic friction, particularly as it relates to the Nemean delay of the Argive advancement. the argive preparation for war After Venus fails to stop Mars, the end of Thebaid 3 focuses on the preparations for war. Statius describes the inauspicious omens received by Amphiaraus before the Argive march against Thebes (Theb. 3.470–575), but the prophet refuses to relate the horrible portents that he saw and goes into his house for days.8 In the meantime, Jupiter and Mars urge the Argives 4 5 6

7

8

Semple (1959–60); Hardie (1994) 3. Miura (1981) 207–32; Henderson (1987) 133; Masters (1992) 5. Kinney (1992) 183 discusses the ‘dynamics of dilation’ and their concomitant literary implications. Barchiesi (1997b) 274 discusses an example from Aeneid 6, where Aeneas gazes at images of neoteric and Alexandrian poetry on the doors of Apollo’s temple at Cumae (Aen. 6.14–36). The Sibyl interrupts Aeneas’ gazing at the doors of Apollo’s temple at Cumae and says it is not the right time for such activity. She thus points out narrative antagonisms between Aeneas’ goal-directed epic journey and his dilatory gazing. A similar contention for Lucan’s epic is made by Masters (1992). A difference between Lucan and Statius lies in how they create the poetic conflict. Lucan appeals to political history, pitting Pompey against Caesar. Statius appeals to literary history – and specifically the Aetia prologue – to create an epic of conflict and civil war. Fantham (2006) examines a range of issues that emerge from Amphiaraus’ taking of the auspices.

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to proceed to Thebes in order to fight the war (Theb. 3.575–8), and the soldiers prepare their weapons: . . . arma paternis postibus et fixos superum ad penetralia currus vellere amor; tunc fessa putri robigine pila haerentesque situ gladios in saeva recurant vulnera et attrito cogunt iuvenescere saxo. hi teretes galeas magnorumque aerea suta thoracum et tunicas chalybum squalore crepantes pectoribus temptare, alii Gortynia lentant cornua; iam falces avidis et aratra caminis rastraque et incurvi saevum rubuere ligones. caedere nec validas sanctis e stirpibus hastas, nec pudor emerito clipeum vestisse iuvenco. Theb. 3.580–91

There is a desire to pull arms from their ancestral doorposts and to retrieve chariots that had been fixed to the shrines of the gods. Then they refurbish spears that were rotting rust and swords sticking in their scabbard so that they may give cruel wounds. They restore the weapons by rubbing them with stone. These ones put on round helmets, and the woven bronze of great breastplates, and tunics creaking on their chests from rusty iron. Others bend Cretan bows. Sickles, ploughs hoes and curving mattocks cruelly grow red in greedy furnaces. There is no shame to cut down strong spears from sacred stocks, and to cover a shield from an ox that has done its job.

This description of martial preparations is modelled upon similar Virgilian scenes. First, the measures taken for battle recall the activity of Italian soldiers before the war with the Trojans (Aen. 7.626–40).9 Both sides, for instance, sharpen or mould weapons in fire (Theb. 3.579; Aen. 7.636). Statius’ diction also recalls Virgilian battle scenes. The phrases aerea suta (Theb. 3.585) and tunicas Chalybum squalore crepantes (Theb. 3.586) echo words from consecutive verses in which Aeneas kills Theron (Aen. 10.313– 14 . . . aerea suta / per tunicam squalentem . . .). In addition, the Cretan bows (Theb. 3.587) seem to be modelled upon the weapon of Virgil’s Chloreus (Aen. 11.773). Although words such as putri robigine (Theb. 3.582), squalore (Theb. 3.586), and pudor (Theb. 3.591) imply that the war will fall short of heroic ideals, Statius’ appeals to the literary past create the expectation of war and situate his fight within the epic tradition. After this arming scene, Capaneus urges the coalition to proceed and he challenges the cloistered Amphiaraus to come and join the rest of the 9

Snijder (1968) 232.

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expedition. Although Amphiaraus states that the cause is cursed and advocates that they stay in Argos, he ultimately capitulates and joins them. Capaneus reacts to the prophet’s speech by calling attention to the delay that it caused (Theb. 3.651 quis vota virum meliora moraris?). Significantly, when he derides the delay, Capaneus is inspired by Mars (Theb. 3.598–9 Capaneus Mavortis amore / excitus). This detail pointedly reinforces the tension that had emerged earlier between Mars’ interest in war and Venus’ desire to postpone that interest. Indeed, the juxtaposition of Mavortis and amore may even invite consideration of Mars’ relationship with Venus and their different narrative interests. However that may be, as in their earlier conversation (Theb. 3.260–316), Venus’ hopes to defer the war are once again dashed by Mars, who drives his children to war. Capaneus’ statement and the excitement it generates in the troops suggest that the narrative will move towards its theme of fraternas acies. A simile punctuates the idea that war is inevitable: ut rapidus torrens, animos cui verna ministrant flamina et exuti concreto frigore montes, cum vagus in campos frustra prohibentibus exit obicibus, resonant permixto turbine tecta, arva, armenta, viri, donec stetit improbus alto colle minor magnoque invenit in aggere ripas: Theb. 3.671–6

Like a raging river to which the spring breezes and the mountains thawed from their frozen chill lend strength, when it goes wandering into the plain over obstructions that check its course to no avail, houses, fields, cattle, and men clatter in the mixed up swirl, until uncontrollable it stands, smaller than a high hill and finds its banks in a great heap.

The statement that obstacles have been overcome obviously pertains to the narrative itself. Moreover, the comparison evokes Homeric and Virgilian similes that describe warfare,10 and thus Statius aligns his narrative content with martial themes by alluding to the epic past. The river simile may even function symbolically: water is a common symbol for poetry, and rivers in spate often serve as metaphors for lofty poetic registers.11 Statius’ river seemingly evokes the poetic grandeur that is associated with epic battles. 10 11

Snijder (1968) 253 points out that Homeric (Il. 4.452–5; Il. 5.87–92) and Virgilian (Aen. 2.304–8) parallels for the swollen river simile have a martial context. E.g., Call., h. Ap. 105–12; Hor. Carm. 4.2.5–8. The Aeneid reveals that battles are a lofty poetic topic (e.g. Aen. 7.44).

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The final scene of Thebaid 3 also suggests that warfare will begin.12 Argia pleads with her father Adrastus to march against Thebes because Polynices chafes at his exile (Theb. 3.687–710). She adds that his feelings have been clear since their inauspicious wedding day (Theb. 3.691–2 ex quo . . . movitque infausta sinistram / Iuno facem), and that as a loyal bride she wants her husband to be happy. The reference to her ill-starred wedding recalls Thebaid 2 and the verses leading up to the description of the necklace that dooms the marriage. Understandably, Argia thinks that Juno, the goddess of marriage, is responsible for her troubles. Her view also makes sense from a literary-historical perspective since Juno had linked a war and a wedding when she arranged for Bellona to be Lavinia’s pronuba (Aen. 7.319). Yet Argia is wrong to blame Juno. As she herself notes, her problems stem from her wedding day, and readers know that this ill-omened wedding was due to Vulcan’s designs. The malicious handiwork of the divine craftsman may even be referred to in subsequent verses where Argia adds that Adrastus approved of her marriage to Polynices and that her marriage was thus proper: non egomet tacitos Veneris furata calores culpatamve facem: tua iussa verenda tuosque dilexi monitus. Theb. 3.701–3 I did not steal secret fires of love, or a guilty wedding torch. I respected your august commands and warnings.

Since Argia behaved like a good Roman daughter and married the man her father wanted her to, the wedding was not something that brought ill-repute to Adrastus (non . . . culpatamve facem).13 However, culpatus seems to implicate the literary past as well as Roman realities. The word is rare word in epic poetry,14 but Virgil uses it to describe Paris (Aen. 2.602 culpatusve Paris). The word thus links Argia and Paris, and the equation is apt since their respective marriages lead to the destruction of their cities.15 The particular means of civic disaster in the Thebaid may even be suggested through the phrase tacitos Veneris . . . calores. Veneris is most easily construed metonymically as an objective genitive (‘the quiet passions of love’). But the context also allows Veneris to be taken as a subjective genitive, in which case 12 13 15

Bessone (2002) 199–204 well discusses the connection between love and war in this scene (and others). 14 Austin (1964) 233. Snijder (1968) 262. On the other hand, Argia is unlike Helen (and other female epic characters such as Dido and Medea) in that she did not enter into a problematic relationship with a newly arrived man.

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it would refer to Venus’ secret affairs,16 and in the Thebaid, that means her relationship with Mars.17 On this reading, Argia claims to have avoided an illicit relationship of the sort that prompted Vulcan’s design of the necklace. Her words, then, seemingly need to be read in light of the ekphrastic account of the necklace. For certain, Argia’s motivation to stir her father to war derives from her husband’s unhappiness and her ill-starred wedding, and Vulcan’s role in creating this situation had been made clear. Argia’s opposition to delay and desire for war, then, support Vulcan’s designs, but her ignorance illustrates the human tendency to misinterpret divine behaviour. Adrastus’ response to his daughter reinforces the narrative dichotomies at work when he tells his daughter that they will march against Thebes despite the momentary delay (Theb. 3.718–19 neu sint dispendia iustae / dura morae: magnos cunctamur, nata, paratus). Even before the Argives reach Nemea, then, numerous characters call attention to the obstructions that lie in the way of the advance to Thebes. Collectively, these examples illustrate that there is a conflict between different types of narrative: the march against Thebes represents the narrative interest in warfare, but delay, as Capaneus, Argia and Adrastus point out, retards the telling of it.

t h e b a i d 4 and the catalogue War seems imminent at the start of Thebaid 4.18 The war goddess Bellona stirs both Thebans and Argives, even distributing weapons to the latter and guiding them to the gates (Theb. 4.5–12). Soldiers say their goodbyes, and their abandoned families, watching the exodus of the warriors, are compared to those watching a ship that has set sail: sic ubi forte viris longum super aequor ituris, cum iam ad vela noti et scisso redit ancora fundo, haeret amica manus: certant innectere collo bracchia, manantesque oculos hinc oscula turbant, hinc magni caligo maris, tandemque relicti stant in rupe tamen; fugientia carbasa visu dulce sequi, patriosque dolent crebrescere ventos. Theb. 4.24–30 16 17 18

Since Paris stole Helen as his reward for choosing Venus in the beauty competition, the phrase may also refer to the goddess’ role in the Judgement and the subsequent theft of Helen. The adjective tacitus may look to the affair of Mars and Venus mentioned at Val. Flacc. 2.100. Fantham (2006) rightly observes that the start of Thebaid 4 dispenses with delay. This elimination of delay, however, applies only to the immediate context of Amphiaraus’ hesitancy about the war and not the remainder of the poem, as Feeney (1991) 339–40 shows.

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So it is for men who are about to go over the great sea, when the wind fills the sails and the anchor has been brought back from the cleft ocean floor, a loving group clings. They hasten to wrap their arms around a neck, and kisses or the fog of the great sea cloud their moist eyes. Finally, left behind, they nevertheless stand on a rock, since it is sweet to follow with their eye the fleeing sail and they grieve that the winds from their country grow strong.

The nautical simile is out of place in the land-locked Thebaid, but it serves the purpose of marking the commencement of martial themes. Indeed, at the end of the poem, Statius states that his ship has reached port after being out on the great sea (Theb. 12.809 longo . . . aequore). This ship that comes in represents his poetic account of the war, and reveals that, as so often, the sea symbolically represents poetic composition.19 The simile in Thebaid 4 works in similar fashion, intimating that the poem embarks upon martial themes. The catalogue of the Seven augments these bellicose suggestions (Theb. 4.38–308).20 Adrastus, accompanied by his horse Arion, carries his sword and leads a formidable contingent of three thousand Argive soldiers bearing weapons of all kinds (Theb. 4.38–73). Statius calls attention to Polynices’ ferocity by describing his weapons and the lion skin that he wears (Theb. 4.86). More importantly, he leads soldiers from both Thebes and Argos (Theb. 4.76–83), the cities that will be destroyed in this civil war. Tydeus leads Aetolian troops driven by the typical epic desire for military glory (Theb. 4.102 belli fama). Capaneus is indirectly likened to Hercules (Theb. 4.168–9), an appropriate model since he sacked Thebes and also entered the realm of the gods on Olympus, a feat Capaneus will attempt in Thebaid 10.21 Parthenopaeus’ contingent has an epic pedigree because his soldiers come from places that Statius took from the Arcadian section of the Homeric Catalogue of Ships.22 These troops are thus evocative of heroic poetry. 19

20 21 22

Roman poets regularly correlate writing poetry and travelling (usually by sailing) on the aequor, cf. Geo. 2.541, Prop. 3.9.3, Ovid Met. 15.176, Hor. Carm. 4.15.3. The relation between sailing, writing and the advance of martial interests also appears at Theb. 7.139–44, and between the Thebaid and sailing at Silv. 4.4.88–9. For the epic pedigree of a catalogue, see Harrison (1991) 106–7. Harrison (1992) 248 notes Capaneus’ Herculean attributes. Theb. 4.286 (Rhipeque et Stratie ventosaque donat Enispe) translates Iliad 2.606 ( \]   C   ( =0 A ). Statius also replicates the Homeric placement of Tegea after the first longum in the subsequent verse. Moreover, the phrase dives et Orchomenos pecorum (Theb. 4.295) recalls the Homeric ^@4 .  (Il. 2.605), Statius’ Cyllene (Theb. 4.288) comes from Iliad 2.603, Pheneos (Theb. 4.291) from Iliad 2.605, Aepytos (Theb. 4.296) from Iliad 2.604. See Parkes (2005) 358–65 for an excellent discussion of this part of the catalogue that deals with Parthenopaeus.

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The section of the catalogue that considers Amphiaraus’ troops contains a key point for the narrative of the Thebaid. Statius reveals that the seer was reluctant to go to war, but had to because of fate and his wife, who desired to possess Argia’s necklace (Theb. 4.189–90). Statius in fact focuses on the necklace for over twenty verses, and specifically mentions that the small heirloom was a prime force in starting the evil conflict (Theb. 4.212 scelerumque ingentia semina). The impact of Eriphyle’s lust is underscored by the fact that Tisiphone smiles at the influence of the necklace (Theb. 4.213), and her delight ominously recalls that she had been charged by Oedipus with provoking problems in Thebes (Theb. 1.59–87). However, the attention lavished on the necklace harks back to the description of it in Thebaid 2, where it is clear that Vulcan and his assistants made it precisely to generate a narrative of violence. The prominence of the necklace at this point illustrates its agency in starting the war and in directing the narrative towards martial themes. Despite all these suggestions that the narrative is headed towards its theme of brothers-at-war, Statius also prepares for delay within the catalogue itself. The central section of the list is the only one that is not under the direction of one of the Seven: quis numerum ferri gentesque et robora dictu aequarit mortale sonans? suus excit in arma antiquam Tiryntha deus; non fortibus illa infecunda viris famaque inmanis alumni degenerat, sed lapsa situ fortuna, neque addunt robur opes; rarus vacuis habitator in aruis monstrat Cyclopum ductas sudoribus arces. Theb. 4.145–51

What mortal voice could match in words the amount of weapons, the people, and the strength? Hercules rouses his ancient Tiryns to arms. She is not barren of brave men, nor has she failed the fame of her massive child, but her fortune has slipped from decay, nor does wealth add strength. A lonely dweller in the empty fields points to the towers built by the work of the Cyclopes.

This party hails from Tiryns, the city of Hercules. But it does not live up to its past: Tiryns musters only 300 soldiers, and its earlier glory has faded (Theb. 4.148–9). A curious detail is that the Tirynthian cohort sings hymns in honour of Hercules (Theb. 4.157 canunt), thus calling attention to the special position of poetry in this section. Specifically, it is Callimachus’ poetry that matters, as is revealed by the origins of some of the troops:

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Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War dat Nemea comites, et quas in proelia vires sacra Cleonaei cogunt vineta Molorci. gloria nota casae, foribus simulata salignis hospitis arma dei, parvoque ostenditur arvo, robur ubi et laxos qua reclinaverit arcus ilice, qua cubiti sedeant vestigia terra. Theb. 4.159–64

Nemea provides troops and so too the sacred vineyards of Cleonaean Molorcus offer strength which compels them to war. The fame of the cottage is well known, and the arms of the god who was a guest are depicted on its willow doors. It is shown in the tiny plot where he put aside his club and under what holm oak he rested his unstrung bow, and where the imprint of his elbow remains in the soil.

Some of these soldiers are from the vineyards of Cleonae, where Molorcus lived (Theb. 4.160 Cleonaei . . . Molorci). Molorcus, who appears in an aetion about the foundation of the Nemean games at the start of Aetia 3, was either invented by or raised from obscurity by Callimachus.23 Moreover, since the epithet Cleonaei appears in that same aetion about Nemea (SH 259.37), the collocation of the two words has a strong Callimachean flavour.24 Indeed, the phrase gloria nota casae (Theb. 4.161) alludes to the hut that forms the setting for Hercules’ stay with Molorcus, and the small plot (Theb. 4.162 parvo . . . arvo) coheres with both Nemea’s relatively meagre contribution of forces and Callimachean poetic ideals. Statius’ inclusion of these Callimachean soldiers is incongruous with the martial pretensions of the catalogue. In Silvae 4.6, a poem in which he describes the miniature statue of Hercules owned by Novius Vindex, Statius states that on the one hand the statue is not the type of work such as the Telchines would make, but on the other it is the kind of Hercules that Molorcus would have seen: tale nec Idaeis quicquam Telchines in antris nec stolidus Brontes nec, qui polit arma deorum, Lemnius exigua potuisset ludere massa. nec torva effigies epulisque aliena remissis, sed qualem parci domus admirata Molorci aut Aleae lucis vidit Tegeaea sacerdos; qualis et Oetaeis emissus in astra favillis nectar adhuc torva laetus Iunone bibebat Silv. 4.6.47–54 23 24

Morgan (1992) 538 argues that Callimachus probably did not invent the story, but rather took it from Agias or Dercylus. Thomas (1983) 103–4 and n. 67.

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Neither the Telchines in Ida’s cave nor brutish Brontes nor Vulcan, who polishes the armour of the gods, would have been able to work with the tiny lump. The statue is not grim and unsuited to a relaxed meal, but [Hercules was depicted] as the kind of hero that the home of frugal Molorcus admired, or that the Tegean priestess saw in the groves of Alea, or such as he was when he was joyfully drinking nectar – despite Juno’s anger – after he was sent to the stars from the ashes of Mount Oeta.

After this account of fictive sculptors, the poem subsequently dissociates this statue from war and stresses the peaceful environment in Vindex’s home (Silv. 4.6.96–7 hic igitur tibi laeta quies, . . . nec bella vides pugnasque feroces . . .). Molorcus’ Nemea is thus peaceful, and epitomizes craftsmanship that is antithetical to the designs of Vulcan, the Cyclopes and the Telchines. In a slightly different way, Silvae 3.1, a poem that celebrates Pollius’ temple to Hercules on his estate on the Bay of Naples, corroborates these poetic ideals. Programmatically placed at the start of the third book, Statius’ poem engages with the Callimachean Hercules from the opening of Aetia 3.25 For instance, Statius once again mentions Molorcus, though this time he suggests that that mythological figure is inappropriate here since the poverty of his hut pales in comparison with Pollius’ luxurious temple and estate (Silv. 3.1.29–30 non te Lerna nocens nec pauperis arva Molorci / . . . poscunt). But the poem’s Callimacheanism is nonetheless pervasive,26 and when Statius summons Hercules to the temple, he makes it clear that his bow, club, and lion skin – i.e. his heroic attributes – are not needed since this is a non-violent context: sed felix simplexque domus fraudumque malarum inscia et hospitibus superis dignissima sedes. pone truces arcus agmenque immite pharetrae et regum multo perfusum sanguine robur instratumque umeris dimitte rigentibus hostem. Silv. 3.1.32–6

A happy and straightforward house, ignorant of evil frauds, a most worthy dwelling for celestial guests. Put aside your fierce bow and the hostile supply of your quiver, and your club soaked with much blood of kings. Throw aside the enemy skin spread over your stiff shoulders.

The connection between this peaceful environment and the poetics of the Thebaid emerges later when Statius relates that Pollius’ temple is even 25

Ibid. 105; Newlands (1991) 439.

26

Ibid. 439–42.

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more impressive than something that Vulcan and the Cyclopes would have worked on: non tam grande sonat motis incudibus Aetne, cum Brontes Steropesque ferit, nec maior ab antris Lemniacis fragor est ubi flammeus aegida caelat Mulciber et castis exornat Pallada donis. Silv. 3.1.130–3

Not so loud does Aetna resound when the anvils move when Brontes and Steropes strike, nor does a greater clamour come from the Lemnian caves when fiery Mulciber embosses a shield and adorns Pallas with chaste gifts.

The mention of Vulcan and the Cyclopes invites consideration of this passage in conjunction with Thebaid 2 and the description of the necklace. However, the passages are different in that Pollius’ private and placid home is distinguished from the work of the creators of the necklace. Peaceful Nemea is thus once again dissociated from the work of Vulcan and his assistants. Callimachean topography also appears elsewhere in Statius’ catalogue. For example, Adrastus leads soldiers from celsa Proshymna (Theb. 4.44), a place that is mentioned in Callimachus’ Hecale (Hollis F 96).27 And Hippomedon leads men from the area around the river Lyrcius (Theb. 4.117) as well as the Asterion (Theb. 4.122),28 both of which are mentioned in the Hecale (Hollis F 95 and 98). Statius thus draws upon the Argive geography of Callimachus’ Hecale and Aetia.29 Given that the Roman reworking of Callimachean ideals typically precludes martial themes (e.g. Eclogue 6.1–9), there seems to be an incongruity between form and content in the catalogue. d el ay and callimachean nemea The tension between the progression of the narrative towards martial themes and the peaceful character of Nemea becomes more pronounced later in Thebaid 4, when the Argive march reaches Nemea and encounters delay: 27

28 29

Hollis (1990) 282–3 notes that the papyrus reads . (‘rich in barley’), but some ancient texts of the Hecale may have read .  (‘with many mountains’). The variant might be relevant for Statius’ epithet celsa. Asterion is unattested in Latin outside this instance. No other Latin writer refers to a river by the name of Lyrcius, though Ovid (Met. 1.598) and Valerius Flaccus (4.355) refer to a Mount Lyrceum. See Pfeiffer on Call. F 266 and 280.

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interea gelidam Nemeen et conscia laudis Herculeae dumeta vaga legione tenebant Inachidae; iam Sidonios avertere praedas, sternere, ferre domos ardent instantque. quis iras flexerit, unde morae, medius quis euntibus error, Phoebe, doce: nos rara manent exordia famae. Theb. 4.646–51

Meanwhile, the roaming Argives reached cool Nemea and the thickets that witnessed Hercules’ famous deed. They are already keen to carry off Theban treasure and to destroy and to plunder houses. Phoebus, say who turned aside their anger, where the delay came from, and how they got lost in the middle of the journey. There are only a few beginnings of the story for us.

Hercules’ association with Nemea is common, but, as we have seen, this Nemea and its Hercules are Callimachean.30 And it is precisely in this Callimachean locale that the march against Thebes is delayed. Bacchus sees the advance of the Argive army against his beloved Thebes and implores the rivers and streams to dry up and thus dehydrate the troops (Theb. 4.670– 96). Given that the similes of a raging river and of the ship setting out from port symbolize the commencement of martial themes, the parching dryness here may be viewed metaphorically, as a counter to that poetic agenda.31 The Argive march is brought to a standstill until Hypsipyle leads the army to Langia.32 Upon seeing the stream there, the soldiers rush into the water and foul it: . . . fremunt undae, longusque a fontibus amnis diripitur; modo lene virens et gurgite puro perspicuus, nunc sordet aquis egestus ab imis alveus; inde tori riparum et proruta turbant gramina; iam crassus caenoque et pulvere torrens, 30

31

32

Brown (1994) 41–3 argues for a Callimachean interest in Statius’ Phoebe, doce: nos rara manent exordia famae (Thebaid 4.651). Also, she rightly observes (192) that Statius creates the anticipation for a Herculean excursus only to frustrate it. Statius’ interest, as Brown points out, is in the tiny child Opheltes and the female voice of Hypsipyle, at the expense of the heroic Hercules. It is difficult to see what (if anything other than mentioning him) Callimachus did with Opheltes in the Victoria Berenices. But perhaps Statius approached the aetion, like Callimachus, by emphasizing the small at the expense of the grand. After all, the Victoria Berenices, as it survives, is about catching a mouse, not killing a lion. One of the streams that dries up is the Amymone (Theb. 4.742), which, though mentioned by other Roman poets (Prop. 2.26.47; Ovid, Am. 1.10.5), appears in Aetia 3 (F 66.7) where Callimachus dealt with Argive streams that were used for washing after childbirth. The drying up of the Argive water sources in the Thebaid may owe something to Callimachus’ account, but the poor state of preservation of the aetion makes assessment difficult if not impossible. Statius’ scene recalls Nicander’s Alexipharmica 104–5, where a nymph reveals the spring to a hero. That parallel reinforces the Hellenistic background of the Nemean episode.

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Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War quamquam expleta sitis, bibitur tamen. agmina bello decertare putes iustumque in gurgite Martem perfurere aut captam tolli victoribus urbem. Theb. 4.823–30

The waves crash, and the long river is ripped from its source. Recently it was a gentle green and clear with pure water, now its channel, stirred from its depths, is filthy, and the ridges of the banks and the uprooted grasses foul it. Now it rushes thick from mud and dust, and, although the soldiers quenched their thirst, they nevertheless drink from the river. You would think that armies were fighting in war and that a righteous battle raged in the water, or that a city, captured, was taken by the victors.

The contrast between the pure, gentle stream (lente, gurgite puro, perspicuus) and the turbulence created by the soldiers (sordet, turbant, crassus, torrens) coheres with the water imagery that is often employed by Callimachean poets.33 Although martial interests prevail in this particular clash, it is nonetheless significant that different types of poetic approaches have been brought into conflict. hypsipyle After the army quenches its thirst, it prepares to leave (Theb. 5.1–9). At first glance, then, the delay contrived by Bacchus seems to have lasted for only 200 verses. But the departure from Nemea is actually postponed for another two books, and a simile with deep literary roots heralds the deferral of the Argive march: qualia trans pontum Phariis defensa serenis rauca Paraetonio decedunt agmina Nilo, cum fera ponit hiems: illae clangore fugaci, umbra fretis arvisque, volant, sonat avius aether. iam Borean imbresque pati, iam nare solutis amnibus et nudo iuvat aestivare sub Haemo. Theb. 5.11–16

Such as the noisy flocks, protected across the sea by Pharian calm, leave from Paraetonian Nile when harsh winter subsides. With a rushing clamour they fly, shadows on the sea and land, and the pathless air resounds. Now it is pleasing to endure the North wind and rain, to swim in melted rivers, and to summer under Haemus that has lost its snow. 33

For Callimachus and the metaphoric use of water, see F. Williams (1978) 85–99; Knox (1985b).

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Statius does not identify these birds that fly to Thrace, but the simile is modelled upon the Iliadic comparison of the rush of the Trojans against the Greeks to the noisy attack of cranes against the Pygmies: =.  8 -   L0' 0, M  &( D @5 !. ( ' ! V*, /J     &   _% :-,   T !0 ( / ! . Il. 3.3–6

Just as the noise of cranes goes to the heavens, when they flee the winter and unceasing rain and noisily fly to the streams of Ocean, bringing death and bloodshed to the Pygmaian men.

The Homeric simile in turn influenced Virgil’s description of the Trojans who welcome Aeneas back from Etruria: . . . quales sub nubibus atris Strymoniae dant signa grues atque aethera tranant cum sonitu, fugiuntque Notos clamore secundo. Aen. 10.264–6

Such as when Strymonian cranes give the battle cry under black clouds, and they pass through the air with noise, and then flee the North wind with a favorable clamour.

The parallels are clear: Statius’ rauca and clangore replicate the noise made by cranes in both epics (Il. 3.3–5; Aen. 10.266), and all three similes refer to weather conditions. Statius’ birds, it is natural to conclude, are cranes. But this simile differs from the Homeric and Virgilian models in two ways: first, Statius’ predecessors use the animals to accentuate the commencement of battle; second, their cranes fly to the south to avoid the winter and rain.34 In particular, the Iliadic birds fly against the Pygmies, who conventionally dwell along the Nile.35 Statius’ birds invert these models because they return for the summer and tolerate rain. In addition, Statius’ birds reverse the Homeric course and fly away from Egypt to Thrace, the home of Mars. Significantly, their flight pattern follows the path taken by the cranes in Callimachus’ Aetia prologue (1.1.13–14),36 where the birds, representing abhorrent poetry because of their ugly sounds, are banished from Egypt.37 In reversing the direction of the birds’ flight, the Thebaid both limits the 34 35 37

The martial connotations of Virgil’s birds are manifest in the phrase dant signa (Aen. 10.265). 36 Massimilla (1996) 213. LSJ s.v. % II. Acosta-Hughes and Stephens (2002) 247–8

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influence of these warlike birds to Thrace and proclaims the adoption of Callimachean sensibilities. The actual obstacle to the narrative pursuit of warfare arises when the Argives, preparing to leave Nemea, ask about Hypsipyle’s identity. She responds by lamenting her fate, but she stops and briefly identifies herself in order not to delay them any longer (Theb. 5.36–9). Adrastus assures her not to worry and to proceed, and she makes a remarkably long speech about the massacre of the Lemnian men by their wives and daughters. This story of familial violence has obvious relevance for Polynices and the Thebans who have joined forces with the Argives. It also makes significant points about the gods and Statius’ narrative. For example, just as she does in the Lemnian stories recounted by Apollonius of Rhodes and Valerius Flaccus, Venus features prominently in this account.38 She appears to Polyxo in a dream and urges the women to kill their husbands. The goddess even promises to bring them new ones (Theb. 5.135–8). And when the slaughter commences, even among Mars and violent, infernal deities, Venus is preeminent (Theb. 5.157–8 . . . sed fallit ubique / mixta Venus, Venus arma tenet, Venus admovet iras). The appearance of any noun or name three times in a single verse is rare,39 so the threefold repetition of Venus’ name strongly highlights her involvement. Subsequently the goddess is dubbed ‘deadly’ (Theb. 5.281 funesta) and she is even depicted in company with the Furies (Theb. 5.302–3). Valerius Flaccus’ treatment of Venus was an important model for Statius’ malevolent goddess.40 In the Argonautica, Venus goads the Lemnian women to murder their men because, in retaliation for her affair with Mars, they have neglected her shrine: . . . contra Veneris stat frigida semper ara loco, meritas postquam dea coniugis iras horruit et tacitae Martem tenuere catenae. quocirca struit illa nefas Lemnoque merenti exitium furiale movet. Arg. 2.98–102 Opposite stands the altar of Venus, always cold, after the goddess trembled at the just anger of her husband and the hidden chains held Mars. For that reason she plots evil and like a Fury stirs deadly destruction for deserving Lemnos. 38 39 40

For a discussion of Statius and his antecedents, see Vessey (1973) 171–8; Poortvliet (1991) 66–9; Dominik (1997). Wills (1996) 364. Poortvliet (1991) 76, passim; Spaltenstein (2002) 336. There are differences between Statius’ account and those of his epic predecessors.

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Although Statius’ Hypsipyle only glancingly refers to the Lemnians’ inattention to Venus and her consequent hostility (Theb. 5.57–9), the brief mention is enough to evoke the contentious marriage of Venus and Vulcan. And just as the divinities’ dysfunctional relationship prompted activity by Vulcan that operated at both the level of the story and of the narrative itself in the description of Argia’s necklace, so too here the same marital problems spur Venus to stimulate events on Lemnos, events which become Hypsipyle’s very narrative. The narratives generated by each of the divinities thus come into conflict. That is, the Lemnian narrative of familial discord pre-empts the advance of the army against Thebes and, consequently, the warfare desired by Vulcan. This delay is obviously the result of a narrative flashback that occurs before the temporal moment of the Argive march, but its impact upon the narrative is apparent because Hypsipyle’s tale delays the Argive advancement for nearly 500 verses. Marital and domestic strife on Lemnos illuminate the narrative tensions that permeate the poem.41 aetion Despite the length of Hypsipyle’s story, however, an aetiological narrative that alludes to Callimachus creates an even greater delay. Before she led the Argive army to Langia and related her story to them, Hypsipyle placed the unattended Opheltes in the grass, where he is accidentally killed by a giant snake. Opheltes is subsequently buried in an elaborate ceremony that serves as the founding moment of the Nemean games. These athletic competitions function as a prelude to the war (Theb. 6.3–4),42 but they do not simply foreshadow events. The aetion of the games greatly contributes to the Argive delay in Nemea. Statius signals the Greek background of these competitions (Theb. 6.5), and mentions of other major athletic festivals at Olympia, Delphi and Corinth evoke epinician Greek poets such as Pindar and Bacchylides.43 But Callimachus, who related the foundation of the Nemean games in Aetia 3, is the Greek author upon whom Statius draws for this aetion. Callimachus’ account was essentially unknown until the 1970s, when Peter Parsons pieced together fragments of papyrus and argued that they contain Callimachus’ celebration of Berenice’s victory in the chariot race at the Nemean games.44 41 42 43

44

Nugent (1996) 56–62 discusses martial and domestic in Statius’ Lemnian episode. Venini (1961); Lovatt (2005) 257–61. The origins of the Greek games would likely have been of special interest to Statius because his father won competitions at the Delphic, Nemean and Isthmian games (Silvae 5.3.141–3). Lovatt (2005) 54 and 166–78 discusses some broader implications of the importance of the Greek nature of the games. Parsons (1977) 1–50 discusses the fragments and their history.

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In this poem, Callimachus seemingly includes two aetia: one in which the games commemorate the victory of Hercules over the Nemean lion, the other in which the games honour the child Opheltes. The Herculean version receives much attention, but characteristically Callimachus recounts lesserknown details of that famous mythic story. In particular, he lingers on Hercules’ stay at Molorcus’ house, complete with the host’s capture of a mouse that was eating his food.45 The story is a foil to Hercules’ conquest of the lion. Callimachus’ account deeply contributed to Statius’ aetiological treatment of the games. The connection between Nemea and Hercules that emerged earlier brings to mind the second aetion for the games, and so too the association between Molorcus and Nemea is unmistakably Callimachean. Moreover, both poets elaborate upon non-heroic figures such as Opheltes and Molorcus and push heroic narratives to the background. Statius’ interest in Opheltes, then, follows more general Callimachean practice by emphasizing the small child at the expense of the larger heroic narrative. Numerous verbal parallels strengthen these thematic similarities between Statius and Callimachus. Both poets refer to the woods that have not been cut (Theb. 6.90–1 veteres incaedua ferro / silva comas; SH 257.25  E '   @),46 and the need to use wood that can be burned (Theb. 6.100 flammis alimenta supremis; SH 257.23 ( %).47 In addition, the account of the running horses in Statius’ funeral games (Theb. 6.438–9 prior Hippodamus fert ora sequentum, / fert gemitus multaque umeros incenditur aura) echoes the Hellenistic poet’s description of competing steeds (SH 254.8–10).48 It is also possible that Statius’ description of the trees that make up Opheltes’ funeral pyre owes something to Callimachus.49 Finally, Hypsipyle states that Opheltes playfully crushed the grass as he moved forward (Theb. 5.612 lascivum et prono vexantem gramina cursu). Her description, suggestive of horses racing in a plain, may self-consciously herald the games that will be held in the child’s honour, and this verbal play may derive from the Aetia.50 Statius’ Nemea thus engages the Callimachean treatment of the games in terms of diction and theme. In the workings of the poem, however, the interest in the foundation of the Nemean games disrupts the martial agenda in two ways. First, the Nemean episode illustrates positive 45 46 47 49

Livrea (1979) 37–42 connected the story of the mousetrap with the Victoria Berenices. Brown (1994) 45; 200. 48 Ibid. 144. Colace (1982) 147–8 notes the parallel in diction, if not in context. 50 Ibid. 251. Bornmann in Lehnus et al. (1980) 250.

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fraternal relationships. Hypsipyle is reunited with her sons Euneus and Thoas, both of whom then display exemplary devotion to one another as they compete in the running race (Theb. 6.433–5). In this respect, then, the Callimachean aetion creates a serious challenge to the Theban narrative that was forged by Vulcan and his assistants.51 Second, Statius calls attention to the fact that the movement towards the goal of fraternal warfare has been stopped by Callimachean topography. For example, Bacchus is said to contrive delay (Theb. 4.677 nectam . . . moras), Hypsipyle is aware that she causes the army to linger at Nemea (Theb. 5.36–7), and Amphiaraus explicitly hopes that Apollo will contrive even more delay (Theb. 5.743–4 innectere . . . moras).52 The funeral games that occupy the sixth book fulfil the prophet’s wish. Indeed, the very name of the child Archemorus, in whose honour the Nemean games are founded, may be a (false) bilingual play on the beginning of delay (@# and mora).53 Statius’ Callimachean Nemea thus self-consciously retards the pursuit of the violent narrative that was generated by Vulcan, the Cyclopes, and the Telchines.54 linus The Nemean aetion also returns to Statius’ earlier reworking of the Callimachean Linus (Theb. 1.557–668) when, before the funeral conflagration, Opheltes’ bier is described. Perfumes, plants and jewellery adorn it, but even amongst such precious goods, a picture of Linus and the dogs that killed him receives special attention: . . . Tyrioque attollitur ostro molle supercilium, teretes hoc undique gemmae inradiant, medio Linus intertextus acantho letiferique canes: opus admirabile semper oderat atque oculos flectebat ab omine mater. Theb. 6.62–6

51

52 54

Even at such a moment Statius emphasizes the precarious nature of life and its sudden reversals that can quickly turn to misery from joy. The parents of Opheltes, Lycurgus and Eurydice, obviously contrast with Hypispyle. 53 Mozley (1928) 560. Feeney (1991) 339. See also Gossage (1972) 191. Feeney (1991) 339–40 observes that Statius’ careful framing counters the criticism that the army’s stay at Nemea is an unnecessary digression that reflects the poem’s lack of unity and coherence. Thus the episode is not a flaw in the poem’s composition, as, e.g., Legras (1905) 152 and Williams (1978) 250–2 argue.

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A soft overhang of Tyrian purple is raised, and polished jewels illuminate this on all sides; Linus and the deadly dogs are woven into the middle among acanthus. The mother always hated this amazing work and turned her eyes from the omen.

The death of the young Linus forms an appropriate backdrop for Opheltes’ funeral. Indeed, the deaths of the children are similar in that aetia concerning the foundation of major Greek games – the Pythian games in Linus’ case, the Nemean in Opheltes’ – are connected to their deaths. Of course the two aetia also differ from one another. The malevolence of Apollo is not an issue in the aetion about the Nemean games, since the serpent that kills Opheltes does so accidentally (Theb. 5.535). More significant is the difference between the kings Adrastus and Lycurgus. Whereas Adrastus’ optimism leads to misinterpretation and embroils his kingdom in the Theban war, Lycurgus refuses to participate because omens had warned that his family would suffer (cf. Theb. 5.645–7; 6.45–53).55 When both leaders nonetheless experience serious losses in their households, the inevitability of fate is illustrated – a trenchant point in a story about Oedipus’ family. The most pronounced difference between the two accounts is that the Nemean aetion is about a dead child, not a god’s cosmogonic victory. By combining the games with a funeral Statius models his scene upon both the games held in honour of Patroclus in the Iliad and those in honour of Anchises in the Aeneid.56 But as he does throughout his epic, Statius perverts his epic models by drawing upon Callimachus’ poetry. The funeral games of the Iliad and Aeneid perpetuate heroic fame. Achilles, for example, makes clear that his own funeral will take place on the very mound that the Greeks built for Patroclus before the games (Il. 23.236–48), and this magnificent burial site perpetuates the hero’s glory (Od. 24.81–4). The games held in Anchises’ honour will be commemorated in the new city founded by Aeneas (Aen. 5.59–60). Both sets of games thus look toward the future and celebrate heroic activity and achievement. Although the games held in Opheltes’ honour offer one final moment of social order before its dissolution in civil war,57 the overall effect of his funeral lacks the redeeming communal prospects found in the Aeneid and the Iliad. The child’s alternative name, Archemorus (‘beginning of doom’), ominously sets up the Theban conflict, and the games that are held in his honour showcase the madness that will ensue in the upcoming battles.58 Winthrop Wetherbee rightly suspects that 55 57

Vessey (1973) 189. Wetherbee (1988) 78.

56

Juhnke (1972) 108–13; Lovatt (2005) 12–19. 58 Lovatt (2001) 103–20.

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In placing such a burden of meaning on the relatively minor event of the infant’s death Statius seeks to convey something more, something which he cannot or will not express directly: a sense, perhaps, of the spiritual needs of a world which can no longer place any real trust in the gods, and for which the existence of youth and innocence, vulnerable though they are, provides at least a tenuous means of sustaining the possibility of a better life.59

The delay at Nemea allows for reflection upon the forces that drive the poem. Indeed, when the prophet Amphiaraus desires further delay, it prompts one to realize the perniciousness of Statius’ gods. Jupiter wants Argos and Thebes to fight so that the two cities will be ruined. Vulcan has forged an awful string of violence, and in the service of these two gods, Mars is highly active. The Nemean delay stands in the way of these malicious aims, but even at such a moment Venus’ dysfunctional relationship with her husband stays at the fore when Hypsipyle relates events that took place in Lemnos. Statius’ Callimachean Nemea simultaneously deflects the narrative away from warfare and highlights the destructive forces that drive his epic world. Statius’ games – and the entire Nemean episode – also represent a grandscale inversion of Virgilian narrative norms. Aeneid 4 repeatedly emphasizes Aeneas’ need to resume his journey and to stop tarrying in Carthage (e.g. Aen. 4.235; 265–76), and despite the fact that the funeral games held for Anchises in Aeneid 5 (and for that matter, Aeneas’ visit to the underworld and Cumae in Aeneid 6) represent a slowdown in the movement of the narrative,60 the games and Aeneas’ catabasis generate an order that will emerge with the foundation of Rome.61 The teleological movement of Aeneid 4–6 presages Roman success. In contrast, Thebaid 4–6 invert the Virgilian paradigm. The army seems to start its march at the start of Thebaid 4, but ends the book mired in Nemea, thereby reversing the course of action portrayed in the central books of the Aeneid. In addition, Hypsipyle, who has numerous similarities with Dido,62 is dislocated and dominates not the fourth but the fifth book, perhaps suggesting that Virgilian structures cannot be accommodated within the Thebaid. More importantly, she becomes an important figure in the epic not for the avoidance but for the contrivance of delay. The Nemean books that draw upon Callimachean aetiology overturn Virgilian patterns of order and national progress. Yet given the particular aims of the gods in the Thebaid, this stagnation is a good thing. 59 61

Wetherbee (1988) 78. Feldherr (1995) 255.

60 Williams (1960) xii. 62 Nugent (1996) 65–8.

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The march against Thebes opened with Mars’ activity, but when the Argives reach Nemea, he becomes impotent. Given that he is an agent of Vulcan and that this is an epic about war, he needs to reclaim his authority. Following upon the tradition of seventh books in Roman epics, he does just that in Thebaid 7. His role in that book will be the focus of my next chapter.

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The narrative interests of the Thebaid greatly depend upon Mars. In Thebaid 3, he seemed all-powerful as he resisted the entreaties of Venus and stirred the Argives to march against Thebes. This journey corresponds to the progress of the narrative towards the warfare that was desired both by Vulcan, for whom Mars has been a virtual agent, and by Jupiter, who also expects his desire for battle to be realized through the war god (Theb. 3.220). But Mars’ influence is undone when Bacchus arranges for delay at Nemea, and in fact the war god disappears from the poem. Indeed, as we have seen, in Thebaid 5 Statius uses a simile about birds of war to confine Mars’ influence to Thrace. Consequently, the narrative interest in warfare is thwarted. The Argive tarrying at Nemea angers Jupiter, however, and the ruler of the gods thus dispatches Mercury to Thrace to rebuke Mars and to urge him to complete his task of starting the war (Theb. 7.1–2). This chapter will focus on Mars and the outbreak of war in Thebaid 7. Statius was not the first to address this topic in a seventh book: Ennius’ Annales 7 describes the opening of the Gates of War at the start of the Second Punic War, and in Aeneid 7, Aeneas leaves behind the so-called ‘Odyssean’ marvels, travel and adventure in favor of a new world of ‘Iliadic’ battles (Aen. 7.41–2 dicam horrida bella, / dicam acies actosque animis in funera reges).1 This transition is punctuated by an acrostic involving Mars’ name (Aen. 7.601–4),2 and by numerous similarities between Aeneid 1 and 7 that suggest that the middle of the poem is indeed a starting point.3 Thebaid 7 follows the example of these predecessors. In fact, Statius adopts numerous formal features from Virgil and perhaps even Ennius that create expectations that he too will relate battles and warfare. Perhaps the most pronounced indication of the impending martial narrative is a catalogue of Theban 1 2 3

Servius on Aen. 7.1; Gransden (1984) 34. On the acrostic, see Horsfall (2000) 391 and bibliography cited. Fraenkel (1945) 3–4; Knauer (1964) 229–31; Gransden (1984) 36–7.

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forces.4 The location of this list in the seventh book corresponds to the position of the catalogue in Aeneid 7,5 but Statius does not restrict himself to borrowing from Roman predecessors. In fact, he incorporates numerous details and sometimes even entire hexameters that come from the Homeric Catalogue of Ships. Statius thus authenticates his transition to the ‘Iliadic’ half of his epic.6 These allusions to Homer, Virgil and (if only indirectly) Ennius shape Statius’ seventh book, and create expectations that, after the Nemean delay, combat will actually begin and that this half of the epic will focus on the war between Argos and Thebes. Statius also develops Virgilian practice by placing a narrative transition at the midpoint of the epic.7 Aeneid 7 is intensely concerned with the shift from the six books of Aeneas’ wanderings throughout the Mediterranean to the second half of the poem and Aeneas’ war in Latium.8 Thebaid 7 similarly contains a narrative transition, specifically from Callimachean aetiology to battles and warfare. During the Nemean books, an aetiological account impedes the march towards Thebes, but this dilatory narrative must yield to the martial themes of a seventh book in a Roman epic. Indeed the Argive troops seem to overcome aetiological delay and thus to foreground themes of battle. However, Statius continues to introduce aetia as well as tales of metamorphoses that challenge the realization of generic expectations and call attention to different poetic possibilities, to types of stories that could direct the narrative away from the martial themes of a seventh book. Such practice may stem from Virgilian influence,9 but details reveal that these potential narratives derive from Callimachus’ poetry and from an Ovidian tradition of epic. The conflict between different narrative interests thus 4 5

6

7

8 9

Catalogues have varied roles in their narratives since they may cause delay (Williams (1961) 147), but the context reinforces the martial implications of this list. Though it is doubtful (Skutsch (1985) 368), Ennius may have included a catalogue in his seventh book. Virgil’s (and Statius’) placement of their catalogues in Aeneid 7 would then have poetic precedent. For the catalogue, see Horsfall (2000) 68. More generally, Horsfall (2000) xix–xx, 354 ff., and 415 discusses Virgil’s seventh book and what we know – and do not know – about Ennius’ importance for it. Statius’ father was a teacher of Greek poetry (Silv. 5.3.146–59), a grammarian. Much grammatical criticism on Homer concerned geography, especially the Catalogue of Ships. Apollodorus of Athens, for instance, wrote twelve books on the Catalogue alone. Such work continued at Rome during the early empire, as we can see from the Greek grammarian Epaphroditus, who was working at Rome during the Flavian period (see Luenzner (1866) 12; Niese (1877) 276 fn. 2). Statius’ deep knowledge of the Catalogue of Ships may then be viewed both as an example and a product of an established educational process conducted by grammarians like his father. Ennius’ practice may be significant here as well. Skutsch (1985) 367 notes that Annales 7 ‘opens with a major proem in which the poet speaks of himself and his work [suggesting] we have here a new beginning . . .’ See Horsfall (2000) 354–6 for a discussion of the relationship between Ennius and Virgil concerning preparations for war. Gransden (1984) 31–9. Fraenkel (1945) 11 notes Virgil’s use of aetia in Aeneid 7 to move away from martial themes.

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persists even in this seventh book, reflecting the poem’s theme of civil war, of authority called into question and of confused boundaries. The conflict of such different poetic aims in the middle of a work poses a problem for the order sought by teleological narratives. The importance of the ‘middle’ goes back at least to Aristotle, who, in his discussion of plot, defined it as something that follows something else and that has something else follow it (Po. 1450b31). According to this Aristotelian formulation, the middle is a critical part of a teleological narrative. But there is no reason to restrict the conception of the middle to the actual midpoint of a work. Indeed, Hillis Miller argues that the middle may be a much broader concept that stands for the unfolding of the narrative.10 This expansive view certainly works for the Thebaid since the Callimachean poetic interests that emerge in the actual midpoint of the epic had been anticipated in Thebaid 4–6. The ‘middle’ of the Thebaid thus encompasses numerous books, in which the unfolding of the martial narrative is continually challenged. Such poetic tension illustrates that formal order and Aristotelian teleology are contested throughout the Thebaid. This resistance to form looks beyond the narrative itself. Seventh books represent crucial stages in the advancement of Roman hegemony: Annales 7 concerns the Second Punic War, and Aeneid 7 addresses the start of a war that, despite its ambiguous nature, ends with the imposition of an order upon the world that presages Roman control. The conflict inherent in the narrative of Statius’ seventh book resists such order, so although Flavian Rome replicates Augustan ideals and Statius invokes the Augustan epic paradigm, his narrative demonstrates the incongruity of that paradigm for his poetic world. Indeed, when Statius eventually follows his epic exemplars, he shows them to be partial or even flawed accounts of the world. He achieves this effect in part by alluding to Lucan’s Bellum civile, a potent model for deflating teleological and heroic narratives of national destiny. In particular, Lucan’s seventh book counters the ideology of the Aeneid (and the Annales) by relating the horrible civil war between Pompey and Caesar. For the start of war in Thebaid 7, Statius alludes to Lucan’s description of Caesar’s crossing of the Rubicon, and thus marks the second half of the Thebaid as troubled, as a post-Lucanic war taking place in a postVirgilian Iliadic half.11 Statius follows Lucan’s example and privileges disruption and chaos at the expense of warfare and heroism. There will be no 10 11

Hillis Miller (1998) 61–77. On the relationship between Virgil and Lucan, Martindale (1993) 48 writes: ‘The Aeneid . . . constructs a possible pattern [in history], which we may approve or deplore. And what is constructed can also be deconstructed, and this too Lucan does to all the tropes, sequences and procedures of the Virgilian text.’

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victories in the Theban conflict, nor any civic order that results from such conflicts. mars’ temple and del ay At the outset of Thebaid 7, Jupiter is annoyed that the Argives have lingered at Nemea for so long (Theb. 7.1–2 Atque ea cunctantes Tyrii primordia belli / Iuppiter haud aequo respexit corde Pelasgos), and thus dispatches Mercury to rouse Mars (Theb. 7.1–33), who is at his temple in Thrace (Theb. 7.34–84). When he describes the temple, Statius thrice mentions that it is constructed of iron (Theb. 7.43–4 ferrea compago laterum, ferro apta teruntur / limina, ferratis incumbunt tecta columnis).12 This emphasis upon the building material has martial connotations since it evokes Ennius’ and Virgil’s Gates of War, two other iron structures that were also located in seventh books (Ann. 225 Skutsch postquam Discordia taetra / Belli ferratos postes portasque refregit; Aen. 7.622 Belli ferratos rumpit Saturnia postis). Statius’ description of Mars’ temple thus builds upon the literary past and creates expectations of warfare. In addition, the location of this description of a temple at the centrepiece of the poem recalls Virgil’s claim at the midpoint of the Georgics that he will build a temple: et viridi in campo templum de marmore ponam propter aquam, tardis ingens ubi flexibus errat Mincius et tenera praetexit harundine ripas. in medio mihi Caesar erit templumque tenebit: G. 3.13–16

In a green plain I will place a marble temple near the water, where the huge Mincius wanders with slow turnings and covers it banks with tender reeds. Caesar will be in the middle and he will have the temple.

Since the Virgilian temple functions, in part, as a declaration of future poetic themes, perhaps even martial themes,13 Statius’ temple may also point to future poetic content. However, Virgil explicitly notes that the description of his future poetic programme is a delay (G. 3.42–3 en age segnis / rumpe moras), and thus Statius’ temple might be a false start as well, and the commencement of battle narrative more complex than it first appeared. 12

13

Smolenaars (1994) 23 and 26 notes that the three references to iron evokes the threefold repetition of building materials in the description of Alcinous’ palace in Odyssey 7 and Juno’s temple in Aeneid 1. He also comments that the iron also ‘offers a sharp contrast between the glittering magnificence [of Alcinous’ palace and Juno’s temple] and the gloomy aspect of Mars’ palace’. What those themes may be is a matter of dispute. For recent treatments, see Conte (1992) 150–1; Thomas (1999) 315.

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Initially, however, delay is explicitly eradicated. After Mercury informs Mars of Jupiter’s dissatisfaction, preparations for war proceed quickly: Mars sends Fear to hasten the departure of the Argives (Theb. 7.105–30), just as the Virgilian Allecto roused troops to war (Aen. 7.638–40).14 The Argives then proceed and the earlier delay gives way to a swift march:15 praecipitant redimuntque moras. sic litora vento incipiente fremunt, fugitur cum portus; ubique vela fluunt, laxi iactantur ubique rudentes; iamque natant remi, natat omnis in aequore summo ancora, iam dulcis medii de gurgite ponti respicitur tellus comitesque a puppe relicti. uiderat Inachias rapidum glomerare cohortes Bacchus iter . . . Theb. 7.139–46 They rush forth and compensate for the delays. Thus shores resound with the rising wind when the port is left. And everywhere the sails flow, and loose ropes are tossed about. Oars float, and every anchor floats on the surface of the water. Sweet land is looked back upon from mid-sea, and so too the comrades that have been left behind by the ship. Bacchus had seen the Argive troops rapidly cover the course.

Not only does Statius mention that the soldiers do away with delay, but the metaphor of a ship leaving port replicates the simile used to describe the departure of the troops from Argos before the delay at Nemea (Theb. 4.24– 31). In addition, as he did at Nemea, Bacchus attempts to avert combat by stopping the march, but this time he fails. In fact, when Bacchus appeals to Jupiter to spare Thebes, he calls attention to Mars’ renewed strength (Theb. 7.172–3). In response, Jupiter tells Bacchus that Thebes will be destroyed (Theb. 7.207–9), a comment that replicates his statement at the start of the poem (Theb. 1.224–47). All indications, then, are that this is indeed a place for the beginning of war. The Nemean books and their concomitant narrative delay have come to an end, and the civil war may soon begin. the catalogue The Thebans pick up on the narrative cue. They respond to the Argive advance by marshalling their forces and allies on the battlefield (Theb. 7.227–42). The assembly of troops has obvious martial implications, and indeed Mars is responsible for their gathering (Theb. 7.234–6). Moreover, 14 15

Smolenaars (1994) XXXVI. Schetter (1960) 71; Vessey (1973) 318 and 321observes that these verses end the Nemean episode. See too Kytzler (1955) 71–80 on the importance of the seventh book as a transition.

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the catalogue symbolically proclaims the narrative movement towards war through its persistent use of the Iliad.16 Phorbas, for instance, stands on the walls of Thebes and tells Antigone who’s who, thus reversing the situation in Iliad 3, where a woman identifies warriors to an old man (Theb. 7.246 senem; Il. 3.181 X  -, 3.191 X 0 ).17 The cities and places mentioned in the catalogue in the Thebaid also owe a great deal to the Homeric Catalogue of Ships: of the 47 place names that Statius mentions, 31 come from the Homeric list.18 Moreover, the initial part of the catalogue (Theb. 7.254–81) is particularly Homeric in both content and manner of presentation: Statius mentions fourteen cities, of which eleven stem from the Homeric catalogue, and he replicates the style of the Homeric list by omitting extensive characterization or description.19 The initial part of the catalogue uses the Iliad to herald the upcoming martial half of the poem. helicon’s arrival Statius deviates from Homeric style, however, when Phorbas notes the allies from Helicon: vos etiam nostris, Heliconia turba, venitis addere rebus opem; tuque, O Permesse, canoris et felix Olmie vadis, armastis alumnos bellorum resides. patriis concentibus audis exultare gregem, quales, cum pallida cedit bruma, renidentem deducunt Strymona cygni. ite alacres, numquam vestri morientur honores bellaque perpetuo memorabunt carmine Musae. Theb. 7.282–9

O people of Helicon, you come to add strength to our concerns and you, Permessus and Olmius, happy in your resounding waters, you have armed your children who are so slow to war. You hear the group pour forth their native song, such as when swans sing of shining Strymon, after dusky winter fades away. Go, eager ones! Your praise will never die, and the Muses will tell of your battles in an unending song. 16

17 18 19

The leaders introduced in the catalogue play a significant role in the upcoming books, so the catalogue is nicely integrated with the second half of the poem. Smolenaars (1994) 121 is a good response to the charge that Flavian epic, in contrast to the Aeneid, tends to use catalogues as a ‘stitched on piece of decoration’ which are not ‘part of the fabric’ of the poem (Williams (1961) 146). With a debt to Euripides’ Phoenissae and Valerius Flaccus as well. See Smolenaars (1994) 120–1. Helm (1892) 14–17. Fraenkel (1945) 10–11 discusses Virgil’s use of similes and aetiology to describe people or places in similes and how that differs from the Homeric catalogue. See too Basson (1975) 126; Horsfall (2000) 417.

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This passage both introduces the Boeotian contingent of warriors and takes advantage of the mention of Helicon to call attention to the art of poetry.20 Swans, for instance, are often associated with poetic composition,21 and the word carmine explicitly refers to poetry.22 In fact, the verses are so evocative of poetic composition that Lactantius took the words Heliconia turba to refer to a group of poets coming to the aid of Thebes.23 Such a metaphorical reading is unnecessary, but the forces from Helicon do afford the poet the opportunity to comment on his poem and its poetics.24 In particular, the poem’s debt to Virgilian epic is emphasized through an allusion to the invocation of the Muses at the start of the catalogue in Aeneid 7: Pandite nunc Helicona, deae, cantusque movete, qui bello exciti reges, quae quemque secutae complerint campos acies, quibus Itala iam tum floruerit terra alma viris, quibus arserit armis; et meministis enim, divae, et memorare potestis; ad nos vix tenuis famae perlabitur aura. Aen. 7.641–6

Now open up Helicon, Muses, and start your song about which kings were roused to battle, what troops filled the plains under whose command, with what men Italy, nourishing even then, flourished, with what arms she raged. For you goddesses, you remember and are able to say. To us comes hardly a faint whisp of fame.

Statius’ Heliconia and memorabunt recall Virgil’s Helicona, meministis and memorare. In addition to drawing upon Virgil, Statius also alludes to the beginnings of other poems. Mention of the Permessus and the Olmius, for instance, recalls the proem of Hesiod’s Theogony (Theog. 5–6), and the collocation of the highly significant words deducunt and perpetuo carmine alludes to the start of Ovid’s Metamorphoses (1.4).25 Moreover, the very position of Statius’ Heliconian section nearly parallels the location of the proem that 20 21 22 23 24 25

Haslam (1993) 122 n. 22 comments on a similar circumstance in Callimachus: ‘as if the story’s arrival at the word Helicon presents the poet with an opportunity too good to pass up’. Hinds (1987) 44–8. Helicon provides inspiration elsewhere in Statius’ poetry (e.g. Silv. 1.2.4, 1.5.1). Barchiesi (1996) 53–4 discusses the poetic atmosphere of this part of the catalogue. Smolenaars (1994) 139. Ovid’s perpetuum carmen alludes to Callimachus’
    (Aetia 1.1.3), the type of poem the Telchines criticize him for not writing. Ovid seems to distance himself from Callimachus’ poetry by characterizing his epic as a perpetuum carmen, or the kind of poem the Telchines charge Callimachus with not writing. But Ovid keeps in line with Callimachean poetics through the word deducite, which introduces the idea of Callimachean refinement. So even if perpetuum carmen is interpreted as anti-Callimachean, deducite brings Callimachean poetics back into the proem. The bibliography on this point has become large. See Myers (1994) 2–4, especially 4 n. 13 for a bibliographic account and treatment of the matter.

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appears near the start of Aeneid 7 (7.37–44). That is, Virgil’s proem begins in the thirty-seventh verse of the book, and Statius’ invocation of Helicon begins in the thirty-sixth verse after the beginning of the catalogue.26 At any rate, the allusions to Hesiod and Ovid indicate that Statius engages with proems and poetic beginnings at this point in the catalogue. Though Statius’ description of Helicon’s troops is not an invocation proper, it does call attention to poetry and poetics, and thus it also functions as a virtual ‘proem in the middle’, a phenomenon among Latin poets that has been discussed by Gian Biagio Conte.27 Such proems function differently from those at the start of a poem in that they concentrate on programmatic declarations, on the ‘how’ of their poetic enterprise rather than the ‘what’.28 The description of the Heliconian contingent thus needs to be unpacked in order to gain a sense of Statius’ poetic interests. helicon’s poetics The characterization of the Heliconian troops seems to pick up where the first thirty-six verses of the Iliadic-style catalogue left off. That is, the entry of the Heliconian troops suggests that war impends. These troops are keen for battle (Theb. 7.288 alacres),29 and the Muses will sing of war (Theb. 7.289 bella). The inclusion of a simile in a catalogue is not Homeric but does recall Virgilian cataloguing technique.30 Moreover, the 26

27 29 30

Acceptance of such numerology will vary from reader to reader, but Roman poets were attuned to it. See Thomas (1983); Scodel and Thomas (1984); Smith (1990). Another jarring coincidence is that the placement of this ‘invocation’ and proemic context this far into Thebaid 7 may call attention to the importance of reading the Aeneid through an Ovidian filter. Virgil displays profound respect for the book as a structural unit except at the midpoint of the epic (Hinds (1998) 109). At the start of Aeneid 7, one might expect an invocation of some sort, as happens in the Georgics and in Apollonius’ Argonautica, which influenced Aeneid 7 (Hunter (1993) 177–8). However, the aetion of Caieta usurps the position at the midpoint of the epic (Aen. 7.1–4), leading to the notorious thirtysix-verse displacement of the invocation of the Muses (Aen. 7.37–44). Yet, Virgil links the transition between the sixth and seventh books of his epic by telling the Caieta story in two parts, one at the end of the sixth book (Aen. 6.900–1), the second at the beginning of the seventh (Aen. 7.1–4), thus creating a narrative bridge to create a sense of unity even at this moment where he ruptures the symmetry of book division. Taking Virgil’s cue, Ovid also breaks up the Caieta story into two parts. However, he does not distribute the aetion into two books but rather keeps it within Metamorphoses 14 and separates the two parts of the story by inserting a 282-verse narrative interposition between his two halves of his Caieta story (14.158–440; see Hinds (1998) 107–11). In a post-Ovidian world, then, the transition between the sixth and seventh books of the Roman epic model is no longer marked by the Caieta bridge followed by a proem that is postponed for thirty-six verses. Rather, the transition requires 282 verses. Surprisingly, it is this number of verses into Thebaid 7 that Statius brings Helicon and the Muses into his seventh book. 28 Ibid. 156–7. Conte (1992) 147–59. For the military connotations of alacer, see Harrison (1991) 247. Fraenkel (1945) 10–11; Basson (1975) 126. Indeed, quales is often used to initiate a simile in Virgil; see Harrison (1991) 97.

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song sung by Statius’ soldiers is compared to the sound of swans, a likeness that echoes the song from Virgil’s list of Italian forces (Aen. 7.699– 705). Thus, the extensive debt to Homeric geography in the earlier part of the catalogue, the evocations of the Virgilian catalogue, and the suggestions that this seventh book is a beginning all create the expectation of warfare. But the simile also contains diction and ideas that are not consonant with martial poetry. For instance, swans are inappropriate birds to sing of the Strymon, a Thracian river associated with Mars.31 The appropriate bird to celebrate the martial qualities of Thrace, and of the Strymon in particular, is the crane; Virgil, for instance, regularly associates that bird with the Thracian river (G. 1.118–20; Aen. 10.264–6; 11.578–80).32 However, since cranes were thought to make cacophonous sounds, poets avoid associations with them.33 In Statius’ case, his substitution of swans for cranes not only dissociates the poor aesthetic qualities of the bird from the Thebaid, it also reveals an incongruity between poetics and theme. The Heliconian section contains additional features that do not cohere with battles and warfare. Statius specifies that the offspring of the Permessus and Olmius have been armed (Theb. 7.284 armastis alumnos) and that their progeny are normally slow to war (Theb. 7.285 bellorum resides).34 The implication is that the Permessus is typically not found in a martial context, and indeed, in Roman poetry, the river is often used in passages that reject themes of war. Propertius, for instance, claims that since his poetry has bathed only in the streams of the Permessus, he cannot sing of Augustus’ military triumphs in the east: nondum etiam Ascraeos norunt mea carmina fontis, sed modo Permessi flumine lavit Amor. 2.10.25–6 Not yet do my songs know the Ascrean springs, but my love-poetry has bathed only in the stream of the Permessus.

The Permessus also appears in a Virgilian passage in which Gallus encounters inspirational divinities: 31 32

33 34

For swans in the Thebaid, see Ahl (1982) 387–9. The example from Aeneid 10 is a simile which – like Statius’ simile – is introduced by quales and thus seems particularly relevant for setting up the crane’s martial heritage. Virgil himself drew upon the Homeric simile that compares the noise of the inspired Trojans to the sound of cranes flying to fight with the Pygmies (Il. 3.3–6). Call., Aetia 1.1.14; Lucretius, DRN 4.181–2. For resides used to describe those uninterested in battle, see Aen. 6.813–14 residesque movebit Tullus in arma viros.

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Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War tum canit, errantem Permessi ad flumina Gallum Aonas in montis ut duxerit una sororum utque viro Phoebi chorus adsurrexerit omnis; ut Linus haec illi divino carmine pastor floribus atque apio crinis ornatus amaro dixerit: ‘hos tibi dant calamos (en accipe) Musae, Ascraeo quos ante seni, quibus ille solebat cantando rigidas deducere montibus ornos.’ Ecl. 6.64–71

Then he sings of how one of the sisters led Gallus, who was wandering by the streams of the Permessus, to the Aonian hills; and how the whole chorus of Apollo rose up for Gallus. Then he sings of how Linus, a shepherd of divine song, wearing a wreath with flowers and bitter parsley, spoke these things to Gallus: ‘The Muses give to you these reeds – take them – which they once gave to old Hesiod, reeds with which he was accustomed to lead down the unyielding ash trees from the mountains.’

Gallus’ poetry is set in the tradition of Hesiod, whose own literary activity is described with the same verb (deducere) that was earlier used to describe Virgil’s poetic programme: Prima Syracosio dignata est ludere versu nostra neque erubuit silvas habitare Thalea. cum canerem reges et proelia, Cynthius aurem vellit et admonuit: ‘pastorem, Tityre, pinguis pascere oportet ovis, deductum dicere carmen.’ nunc ego (namque super tibi erunt qui dicere laudes Vare, tuas cupiant et tristia condere bella) agrestem tenui meditabor harundine Musam: Ecl. 6.1–8

My Muse thought it acceptable to play in Sicilian verse, and was not embarrassed to live in the woods. When I was singing of kings and battles, Apollo tugged my ear and warned: ‘Tityrus, it is right for a shepherd to feed the sheep so that they be fat, and to sing a fine-spun song.’ Now I will practise the rustic Muse on the slender reed, Varus, for there will be enough and more who would desire to sing your praise and to write about sad wars.

Since Virgil contrasts the martial themes of reges et proelia (Ecl. 6.3) and tristia bella (Ecl. 6.7) with the deductum carmen that Apollo advised him to write,35 the reappearance of deducere in Gallus’ initiation implies an 35

Deductum carmen translates Callimachus’ 9" . . .   (Aetia 1.1.24). Callimachus also mentions the Permessus, though it is difficult to see precisely what he does with the river. See Cameron (1995) 454–5.

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avoidance of martial themes.36 Statius’ use of the same verb recalls the Virgilian passage and reminds readers that the Permessus is incompatible with martial epic (Theb. 7.287). Subsequent hexameters reveal additional poetic importance in deducunt. Statius writes that ‘the Muses will relate the war in a continuous song’ (Theb. 7. 289 bellaque perpetuo memorabunt carmine Musae). This claim suggests pride in his own poetry: the Thebaid will be a lasting or eternal poem.37 In addition, the collocation of perpetuo carmine and deducunt echoes the proem of Ovid’s Metamorphoses (Met. 1.4 ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen), which itself alludes to Callimachus’ Aetia prologue. In the Metamorphoses, perpetuum carmen is the object of the verb deducite,38 whereas in Statius’ poem it is not even part of the same sentence. But Statius’ terms are used in a homologous way: deducunt refers to the kind of song the swans sing, while perpetuo carmine qualifies the type of song the Heliconian Muses sing. The swans and Muses, though syntactically distinct, are related poetically because each uses one key term from a programmatic passage of the Metamorphoses. The two halves complement each other to form the poetic whole. Statius’ allusion to the Metamorphoses at this point in his seventh book strikingly introduces a different set of expectations. In his books on the Trojan exodus and Aeneas’ journey to Italy, Ovid covers much of the same material handled in the Aeneid. The catalogue in Aeneid 7, which clearly informs Statius’ scene, is also a point of contact between Ovid and Virgil, but Ovid avoids martial matters and does not show any interest in the Virgilian catalogue per se: concurrit Latio Tyrrhenia tota, diuque ardua sollicitis victoria quaeritur armis. auget uterque suas externo robore vires, et multi Rutulos, multi Troiana tuentur castra. neque Aeneas Euandri ad moenia frustra, at Venulus frustra profugi Diomedis ad urbem venerat: Metamorphoses 14.452–8 All Etruria rushes to battle with Latium, and a hard-fought victory is sought for a long time by restless struggles. Each side increases its strength with outside help. Many defend the Rutulians, many the Trojan camps. Nor did Aeneas fruitlessly 36 37 38

The contrast between elegy and martial service is reinforced at Ecl. 10.44–5, where military service keeps Gallus from his beloved Lycoris. Smolenaars (1994) 143. However, Wheeler (1999) 21 points out different possibilities for construing the sentence.

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go to Evander’s home, but Venulus had gone to the city of the exiled Diomedes to no avail.

Ovid’s Tyrrhenia pointedly recalls the first verse of Virgil’s catalogue (Aen. 7.647), but he quickly disposes of that list of troops in one hexameter. In addition, the comment that Aeneas increased his forces by going to Evander reduces a second catalogue from the Aeneid (10.163–214) to a single verse. On the Italian side, Ovid comments that Turnus sent Venulus to Diomedes to gain help. In the Aeneid Diomedes briefly mentions that his men were changed into birds (Aen. 11.271–4), but this glancing detail from the Aeneid becomes the focal point of the Metamorphoses, and Ovid explains the cause of the change and the process of metamorphosis for nearly thirty verses (Met. 14.482–511).39 The actual embassy of Venulus, in contrast, is of minimal interest to Ovid. Instead, he reshapes the attempts of Virgilian characters to augment troops in ways that direct epic away from martial enterprises into the realm of metamorphoses. Statius’ interest in the Metamorphoses is thus disruptive to the catalogue that had manifestly drawn upon Homeric and Virgilian models. This is not the only passage in which Statius turns to Ovid as a way to engage with the epic tradition. In the proem of the Achilleid, his subsequent, unfinished poem on the epic hero par excellence, Statius once again uses the word deducere to allude to the start of the Metamorphoses (Ach. 1.5–7 sic amor est . . . tota iuvenem deducere Troia). In doing so, Statius constructs a literary history in which Ovidian epic – not Homeric or Virgilian – features front and centre (at least in the extant portion).40 The allusions in the catalogue of Thebaid 7 – and indeed the remainder of the catalogue – to Ovid’s poem anticipate the interest of the Achilleid: Statius draws upon Ovidian themes to direct the narrative away from warfare.41 sudd en impact The allusions to Ovid’s Metamorphoses initiate a dramatic shift in the content of the catalogue. Immediately following the section on Helicon, Antigone asks a question about the lineage of two warriors: 39 40 41

Hinds (1998) 105 has pointed out that Ovid often backgrounds major themes or players from the Aeneid and instead focuses on themes of metamorphoses. Hinds (1998) 142–3. The aetiological component of the Metamorphoses is advertised by its allusions to Callimachus’ Aetia. See Myers (1994) vii–viii for the connection between aetia and metamorphoses.

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dixerat, et paulum virgo interfata loquenti: ‘Illi autem, quanam iunguntur origine fratres? sic certe paria arma viris, sic exit in auras cassidis aequus apex; utinam haec concordia nostris!’ Theb. 7.290–3

He spoke, and the girl briefly interrupted: ‘Those brothers – what is their origin? Their arms are similar, and the peaks of their helmets reach the same distance into the sky. I wish that my brothers got along like this.’

origo (Theb. 7.291) prompts an aetiological explanation of why the two soldiers can be taken for brothers.42 Phorbas reveals that the two warriors are not brothers, but rather one is the father, the other the son. The father, Lapithaon, was raped by the nymph Dercetis as a youth and thus looks the same age as his son Alatreus: . . . non prima errore videndi falleris, Antigone: multi hos – nam decipit aetas – dixerunt fratres. pater est natusque, sed aevi confudere modos: puerum Lapithaona nymphe Dercetis expertem thalami crudumque maritis ignibus ante diem cupido violavit amore inproba conubii; nec longum, et pulcher Alatreus editus, ac primae genitorem in flore iuventae consequitur traxitque notas et miscuit annos. et nunc sic fratres mentito nomine gaudent, plus pater; hunc olim iuvat et ventura senectus. Theb. 7.294–304

Antigone, you are not the first to misjudge the situation when looking at them. Many have said that they are brothers – for their age is deceptive. They are father and son, but blur the distinctions of age. The nymph Dercetis was driven by a passionate desire for sex, and she shamelessly corrupted the boy Lapithaon who was inexperienced of the bed and not ready for conjugal passion. Soon thereafter lovely Alatreus was born, and he follows his father in the flower of first youth and takes on his father’s features and confuses their ages. And now they take pleasure in being wrongly called brothers, more so the father, pleased by the coming years.

A number of words in this passage sit incongruously in a battle catalogue. Lapithaon was a puer, not a vir,43 when Dercetis raped him. The word ignibus (Theb. 7.299), here used of the fires of love, has erotic overtones 42 43

For origo and its aetiological connotations, see Eclogue 6.72. See too Ross (1975) 31. Arma virumque is the material of Roman epic. Keith (2000) 8–35 discusses the epic importance of vir and its cognates.

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that recall Virgil’s Dido.44 Inproba recalls the same Virgilian episode (Aen. 4.386, 412). Moreover, the collocation of expertem and crudum maritis (Theb. 7.298) brings to mind Horace’s Carm. 3.11, where he calls upon Mercury, the god who taught Amphion how to move the foundation stones of Thebes through song (Carm. 3.11.1–2), to help him move the obstinate Lyde through his verse. Horace then compares her an immature filly (Carm. 3.11.11–12 nuptiarum expers et adhuc protervo / cruda marito). The aetion about Lapithaon thus uses the language of stories of unrequited love that either retard heroic journeys or use Thebes simply as a backdrop for love poems. The catalogue has moved away from exclusively martial matters. Virgil’s Dido and Horace’s Lyde provide the language, but the flavour of verses involving a nymph, seduction and ephebic sexuality seems highly Ovidian.45 Indeed, the link between ephebic beauty (Thebaid 7.300–1 pulcher Alatreus . . . primae . . . in flore iuventae) and war anticipates the interests of the extant portion of the Achilleid, and Rosati has well argued that Statius’ reshaping of Achilles – and thus Homeric epic – owes a great debt to Ovid’s interest in the transformation of reality and in disguised appearances.46 Such themes are clear in this passage of the Thebaid as well, since Statius notes that Lapithaon’s appearance confuses viewers (Thebaid 7.294–302 errore . . . falleris . . . decipit . . . confudere . . . miscuit). Statius’ warriors cause the audience to make mistakes, to be deceived by appearances. Ovid in fact does not relate the story of Lapithaon’s rape; nor did any other author, as far as we can tell, so Statius’ ‘footnoting’ (Theb. 7.295–6 multi . . . / dixerunt) of a story that has no tradition – or at least an extant tradition – may be another deceptive move.47 At any rate, tales of nymphic rape and confused identity did not appear in the stylistically straightforward first half of the catalogue. Once Antigone asks about origins, however, Statius moves away from the style of the Iliadic catalogue and introduces non-martial themes and language. Moreover, the story of Lapithaon offers a poetic alternative to the narrative of Theban violence. The inability to recognize true familial relationships lies at the heart of the Theban conflict,48 and the aetion of this loving father and son stands in pointed contrast to the situation in Statius’ Thebes.49 Indeed, Antigone explicitly wishes that her brothers could get along like this (apparent) set of brothers (Theb. 7.293 utinam haec concordia nostris!). The explanation of Lapithaon’s ancestry thus 44 45 46 47 48

Smolenaars (1994) 144–8. Such stories develop details that are glancingly referred to in epic as early as the Iliad (e.g. 14.444). Rosati (1994) 55. See also Koster (1979) 196–7. For ‘Alexandrian’ footnoting, see Ross (1975) 78. 49 Vessey (1973) 207. Hershkowitz (1998a) 283–84.

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presents a narrative of familial (or even fraternal) unity that runs counter to both the Thebaid’s theme and the implicit agenda of this seventh book. As with Nemea, a story of origins serves as an alternative to Statius’ narrative of civil war. This time, however, Statius draws upon Ovidian themes and practices to generate such stories.50 martial agenda While the introduction of the forces from Helicon leads to a range of poetic interests, martial themes do not disappear. In fact, Phorbas resumes cataloguing in Iliadic style: . . . hi deseruisse feruntur exilem Glisanta Coroniamque, feracem messe Coroniam, Baccho Glisanta colentes. Theb. 7.306–8

They say that these soldiers left both light-soiled Glisas and Coronia, the latter is rich in the harvest, the former they cultivate with the vine.

The ‘Alexandrian footnote’ (Theb. 7.306 feruntur) refers to Homer, since Statius’ geography and the participle colentes borrow language from the Catalogue of Ships (Il. 2.503–4 M  R ( #'’ `, M  T @ = ’ M PF’ & ). This Homeric manner recalls the initial part of the catalogue and thus suggests that preparations for battles may once again be the focus of the narrative. Indeed, Phorbas reinforces the martial atmosphere by describing a warrior in clearly heroic terms: sed potius celsos umbrantem hunc aspice late Hypsea quadriiugos, clipei septemplice tauro laeva, ter insuto servantur pectora ferro, pectora: nam tergo numquam metus. hasta vetustum silvarum decus, emissae cui pervia semper armaque corporaque et numquam manus inrita voti. Theb. 7.309–14

But rather look at Hypseus casting a far shadow over his four tall horses, his left protected by a shield of seven bulls’ hides, his chest protected by triply-woven mail – his chest, for there is no fear of exposing his back. His spear is the glory of an old forest; bodies and armour are always penetrated by its course, and his hand is never frustrated in its hopes. 50

Statius’ interest in Ovid is a rich topic; Keith (2002) discusses Statius’ rewriting of Ovidian characters. Deipser (1881) lists a range of parallels between the two ancients.

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Hypseus’ shield, made from the hides of seven bulls (Theb. 7.310 septemplice tauro), has a clear epic lineage: drawing upon a Homeric adjective (Il. 7.220 $*0), Virgil seems to have coined the adjective septemplex in his description of Turnus’ shield (Aen. 12.925).51 The characterization of Hypseus’ horses as ‘lofty’ (celsos) and the mention of the shadows cast by them enhances the epic tone (Thebaid 7.309 umbrantem . . . late).52 Indeed, the very etymology of Hypseus’ name (ab ) evokes the grand style of epic.53 The Iliadic half once again seems to be on its way, and the potential difficulties raised by the aetion of Lapithaon avoided. mudd ying the water Phorbas seems to like explaining origins, however. Immediately after identifying Hypseus, he reports, without any prompting from Antigone, that Hypseus’ father is the river Asopus: Asopos genuisse datur, dignusque videri tunc pater, abreptis cum torentissimus exit pontibus, aut natae tumidus cum virginis ultor flumina concussit generum indignata Tonantem. namque ferunt raptam patriis Aeginan ab undis amplexu latuisse Iovis: furit amnis et astris infensus bellare parat – nondum ista licebant nec superis – stetit audaces effusus in iras, conseruitque manum, nec quem imploraret habebat donec vix tonitru submotus et igne trisulco cessit. adhuc ripis animosus gurges anhelis fulmineum cinerem magnaeque insignia poenae gaudet et Aetnaeos in caelum efflare vapores. Theb. 7.315–27

They say that the Asopus is his father. The river is worthy to be as such when, in full torrent, he goes forth with broken bridges in his stream or when he, swollen in anger to avenge his young daughter, drove on his waters because he was upset with Jupiter, the young girl’s lover. For they say that Aegina, snatched from her father’s waters, hid in Jove’s embrace. The river rages and prepares to wage war against the stars – for the gods were not allowed to ravage young girls yet. He had nobody to call on for help, but breaking out in daring anger, he engages in combat until, barely subdued by thunder and Jove’s three-pronged lightning, he gives way. Even now, the proud river takes pleasure to breathe forth Aetnean vapours and the ash caused by the lightning – a badge of honour – into the sky. 51

Smolenaars (1994) 150.

52

Ibid. 149.

53

LSJ s.v. 2.

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This account explains Hypseus’ paternal origins, and why even now (Theb. 7.325 adhuc) the banks of the Asopus smoke and are a source for coal. The language surrounding the aetion is of a noticeably lofty poetic register. Tumidus, for instance, is a literary-critical term evocative of the grand style,54 and since rivers are often metaphors for poetic composition (e.g. Call., h. Ap. 105–13), one that rushes wildly (Theb. 7.316 torrentissimus) and rages (Theb. 7.320 furit) is particularly suggestive of a high style.55 In this context, Jupiter’s thundering has special significance (e.g. Theb. 7.318 Tonantem; 7.324 trisulco), since the loudness of thunder was for Callimachus a metaphor for grandiose poetry (Aetia 1.1.20). The river also prepares to wage war (Theb. 7.321 bellare parat) against Jupiter, hardly a light matter. However, Statius’ Asopus is more than a marker of grand poetics. The words datur (Theb. 7.315) and ferunt (Theb. 7.319) suggest that this aetion stems from the literary tradition. Whereas the aetion of Lapithaon seems to have been invented by Statius, this account of the Asopus alludes to Callimachus’ treatment of the river. Statius reports that the Asopus tried to stop his daughter Aegina from being raped by Jupiter but the ruler of the gods beat the Asopus back with lightning bolts (Theb. 7.315–25). Approximately 100 verses later, Statius emphasizes that this Asopus is a Boeotian river (Theb. 7.424–5 iam ripas, Asope, tuas Boeotaque ventum flumina), thus explicitly locating the mythic story in that Greek region. The Boeotian Asopus is normally not the one that chased after Zeus when he tried to rape Aegina; that Asopus is located in Sicyon.56 Pindar seems to be the first to place Zeus’ rape of Aegina in Boeotia, but he makes no reference to the lightning bolts and punishment (I. 8.35–55), the point to which Statius devotes four verses (Theb. 7.324–7).57 Corinna also discusses the Boeotian Asopus, but in her account the story ends very differently.58 There is, then, some geographical variance between the poetic tradition and Statius’ Boeotian Asopus: first, in most accounts, the 54 55 56

57 58

Brink (1971) 111 comments on such words and their literary history. For another raging river, see Hor., Carm. 4.2.1–12. Zunker (1995) 55–6 discusses the Asopus and the rape, and collects evidence from Pausanias (2.5.2), Apollodorus (3.12.6), Bacchylides (9.39) and Diodorus Siculus (4.72.5). All of these authors refer to the Sicyonian Asopus. The Boeotian Asopus is mentioned as early as Homer (Il. 4.383) and is developed by the Boeotian poets Pindar (I. 8) and Corinna (PMG 654). Bacchylides 13.77–8 may also refer to the Boeotian Asopus and its rape of Aegina, but no mention of the punishment is made. Corinna has a prophet of Apollo address the Asopus, revealing the adventures and destinies of the Asopus’ daughters. Zeus, Poseidon, Apollo and Hermes have all but nine of his daughters, and Asopus should take pleasure in the fact that he will have many descendants who are children of the gods. For Corinna’s version of the Asopus, see Page (1963) 25–6.

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rape took place in Sicyon, not in Boeotia; second, even in Pindar, who alludes to the rape of the Boeotian river’s daughter, the punishment is not mentioned.59 In extant poetry, Callimachus is the only other author in whose poetry the Boeotian Asopus is punished by Zeus for interfering with the rape.60 Though no fragments survive, a scholium to Apollonius of Rhodes attests that Callimachus related the story,61 and the Hymn to Delos hints at this version of the myth: !" ( + 4 ? 0, [ ’ &!  c  C!  b#!  @ d " @  0 , X ’ M 4 V' +-4 B. , &(  5.J (75–8)

Aonia fled in the same way, and Dirce and Strophia, holding the hand of their dark-pebbled father Ismenus, followed. Asopus, slow-kneed because he was struck by a thunderbolt, followed way behind.

In Callimachus’ hymn, the Asopus ranks among Boeotian rivers, and is said to have been hit by Zeus’ thunderbolts (78 &(  5). J Rudolph Pfeiffer thus suggested that the scholium to Apollonius refers to the Hymn to Delos and its allusive reference to the story of Zeus striking the Boeotian Asopus. The reference to the thunderbolt may indeed be sufficient to recall the rape story,62 but the relation between the Hymn and scholium must remain uncertain. Nonetheless, it is clear that the scholium locates Callimachus’ account of the story in Boeotia, and no other author relates the story in that way. Thus it is reasonable to conclude that Statius’ Asopus owes its origin to Callimachus. The rival locations of the river reflect a larger tension between the competing claims of Boeotia and the Peloponnese that are most obviously represented by Polynices and Eteocles.63 Statius’ employment of myth reinforces his theme of division. In this regard, Statius follows the lead of Callimachus, whose prose and verse writings on geographic features such as rivers and 59 60 61 62

63

The Asopus and its concomitant myths generated controversies even in antiquity (see Pfeijffer (1999) 248 and fn. 21). Perhaps, then, Statius entered into the fray. See Pfeiffer on F 594: ‘Praeter Corinnam . . . ante Call. de Asopo Boeotio nemo narravisse videtur . . .’ C 1.117: +-4 4 e *5 @- E  E & +' ;. &'